Luan Loud opened the oven door, bent, and craned her neck this way and that to get a better look at the roast. Baking heat washed over her face, and if the eyebrows weren't painted on, they probably would have singed. She waved her hand to dispel the heat and studied the roast for a few moments, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. It was moist and brown, but somehow, it didn't look like the roasts Pop-Pop used to make when he would visit for the weekend. Those were so yummy. He used lots of cracked black pepper and other spices she could still taste to his day but could never properly name. She hated cooking, but over the years, she sporadically tried to replicate those delicious hunks of heaven, spending all day bustling around the kitchen half drunk, but couldn't. She was like Plankton going through the dictionary and trying out literally everything to try and find the Krabby Patty's one secret ingredient. That, she obsessed over it, dreamed of it, but always came up short.
She eventually gave up and decided Lean Cuisine frozen meals and copious amounts of boxed wine were the better diet anyway. At nearly forty, she was single, kind of an alcoholic, and so lonely that she sometimes cried in the bathtub, so cooking fell pretty low on her list of priorities. She ate from the microwave and that was good enough for her. Who did she think she was wanting love and home cooked meals? A successful comedian with lots of money and a big career? Ha! That was funnier than any joke she could ever tell. She was middle aged and managed a failing craft store on the second floor of Twin Pines Mall. She drank too much, giggled like a loon at old black and white comedies, and cried when she watched romance movies, which was fairly often, because though she was bitter and beginning to wrinkle, she held out hope that she would find her one true love.
And a small, fragile hope that was. When she was a teenager, she was head over heels for Benny Stein and just knew that one day they'd get married. They'd have kids, a full time career in a profession of their choosing (stage for him, comedy for her), and a beautiful home. Maybe even two beautiful homes, one in L.A. and the other in Europe somewhere, France or Italy perhaps. But dreams don't always work out...if they ever really do...and she found that the future she meticulously planned for herself was a girlish house of cards. Benny moved away in junior year, and in senior year, after eight months of maintaining their relationship from afar, he broke up with her. He said there was no one else and she believed him; being apart from her was starting to wear on him, and to be honest, it wore on her too. Loving someone who isn't there, craving their touch and their closeness when they're thousands of miles away, is one of the hardest things you can do. It was better, she reckoned, to not love anyone at all.
The break up stung but she recovered quickly and moved on. She had a career as the next Amy Schumer to build, and she needed to give it everything she had; a boyfriend would take too much time and effort, and it wouldn't be fair to get with someone and then force them to take a distant second place to your career.
For that reason, she decided to lay off dating for a while. Just until she was a little more stable in life.
LOL.
That's one of the biggest lies young people told themselves. I want to wait to do X until I'm stable. They decided to hold off on kids, dating, chasing their dreams, etc until they reached some magical promised land where they made six figures, owned a home, and drove a new car. Some people get there, most don't; they wake up one day and realize they're thirty-five, single, unfulfilled at work, and don't have anywhere near as much in the bank as you hoped you would. Life is hard and it will always be hard in one way or another. Unless you're lucky enough to have a great job, you'll likely never feel 100 percent ready for some things. There will always be uncertainty and setbacks. That's just the way it goes. She thought she'd be ready for love and a family in five years, then ten. At thirty, she was working a dead end job and waiting for her career to take off, still not wanting to date lest she get too attached and ruin her own plans.
So day after day, year after year, she held out for something that became increasingly unlikely with every revolution of the earth around the sun. She worked in a few stage plays in Great Lakes City and hit every open mic night in a one hundred mile radius, but her career never took off the way she imagined it would. No talent scout or Hollywood agent came up to her after a performance, contract in hand; no screenwriter saw her and wrote a part in their next project with her specifically in mind; she caught none of the breaks everyone in Hollywood seems to catch. The light in her eyes slowly faded and the burning passion in her chest, the passion that had sustained her through moments of doubt and pain, began to go out. By thirty-six, she had given up entirely on her dream, and that upset her more than anything else ever had. She would never be a comedian, she would never star in movies, and she would never make enough money to live any better than she already did.
For a long time, she was so depressed that she would break out in random crying fits and spend her days off in bed, too dejected to even get up. Soon, however, she just stopped caring. About everything. Her work, her family, herself. What point was there? She had tried and failed at every turn and getting over it wasn't as easy as sucking it up and walking it off. She felt inferior, inadequate, and like a loser. She put her heart and soul into something and worked her ass off to obtain it for more than fifteen years, and she still wasn't good enough to succeed in the end. You can't put in that amount of time and dedication and then be okay when you realize you're no good at it.
At her lowest point, earlier that year, she drank an entire box of wine everyday and couldn't get out of bed unless she had a little alcohol in her system. She was well on her way to becoming a drunk and she just didn't care. She needed something to get through her empty and meaningless day. Then, one thing, things started to change.
And it started with a clogged toilet.
She plunged and plunged but the damn thing was toast. She needed help and the only person she could call was Luna, who lived across town. "Can you send Lindemann over?" she asked. "I need help with my toilet. There's something wrong with it."
Lindemann was Luna's seventeen year old son. He was a handsome and intelligent kid who ran with the wrong crowd...or was the wrong crowd other people ran with. Despite that, he was sweet and kind and agreed to help. Fifteen minutes later, he was bent over plunging the toilet, his not inconsiderable forearm muscles flexing and tightening. He wore a tight T-shirt that hugged the contours of his body like a second skin and Luan couldn't help appreciating him.
After he left, she found herself thinking about him. The next day, she invented a bogus reason for him to come over, and though it made her feel disgusting, she openly oogled his body, feeling flustered as she did so.
Slowly, she began to touch his arms and chest and to make comments about how handsome and muscular he was. One night, she called him over to move her TV, and she answered the door in nothing but a sheer robe. She flirted with him but he ignored her. Finally, she took the robe completely off. Once he saw her body, he changed his tune real quick. She had the face of a woman in her late thirties but the figure of a teenage girl, and Lindemann's jaw dropped. She stepped into his arms and pressed herself lightly against him. "Like what you see?" she asked.
Long story short, he threw her onto the couch and fucked her until her knees shook and her mind scrambled. Every day thereafter, he would come over and they would do things to each other, unspeakable things. At first, it was a purely physical relationship, but Luan found herself clinging to him. After sex, he held her and the feeling of being cherished and desired put her over the moon. Did he feel the same way? She thought he did, but she couldn't be sure. He kissed her deeply, ate her pussy, listened to her, and rubbed her feet; if she was just a quick fuck to him, would he do those things?
A few months ago, he started staying the night with her, once a week at first and then more. She made comments about him moving in and their being together just to gauge his reaction, and he never seemed uncomfortable or indecisive. She really enjoyed what they had; did she really want him to move in? Did she want their relationship to change? If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?
Presently, she stirred a pot of green beans, then took them off the burner. It was Friday night and Lindemann was coming over for the weekend. She wanted to make him a good, home cooked and suck his dick until he called her mommy, and had been working in the kitchen for hours. She sat the pot aside, went into the dining room, and set the table. She lit two candles, fetched a bottle of wine from the pantry, and grabbed two glasses.
Just as she was finishing up, the doorbell rang. Luan's heart skipped a beat and her hands jittered.
He was here.
Rubbing the creases out of her sweater and straightening her skirt, she went to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Lindemann stood on the step in an olive drab jacket and a pair of jeans. A warm smile lit up his face and they kissed, their tongues swirling around one another in greeting. He wrapped his strong arms around her and brushed the back of her neck, sending shivers of delight tumbling down her spine. She slipped her hands under his shirt and traced the outline of his rippling muscles. His erection prodded her crotch and her nipples ached to be kissed and played with. Lindemann ran his hands down the curve of her back, squeezed her butt, and pulled her body flush with his, jamming his boner deep into her groin. If it weren't for their clothes, he would be in her right now, and she would have no choice but to close her legs around her waist and let him pin her to the wall and fuck her until he shot his load into her stomach.
Pulling away from his lips, already dizzy and drunk on his kiss, Luan uttered a breathless chuckle. "We have to eat first."
"I'm not hungry," Lindemann said and attacked her neck with urgent kisses. He caressed his hands along her sides, pushing the hem of her sweater up; the warmth of his palms cupping her hips made Luan's panties damp and her heart slam. She threw her head back and gave into the sensation. His hands crept to her breasts and his thumbs grazed her quaking nipples. Luan bit her lower lip to stifle a moan and jammed her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, more to hold herself steady than to get them off of him.
"The roast will be done in a few minutes," she said weakly. As much as she wanted their dinner to be perfect and romantic, she also wanted her nephew's cock inside of her. Now.
Lindemann brushed his lips over her ear and jawline, his breathing dank and ragged and raising goosebumps along her arms. "I only need a few minutes."
"Are you sure about that?" she asked and squeezed his bulge through his pants.
He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and her lips, his tongue dominating hers. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him back. "If you incest hahahaha," she said.
They made their way into the dining room, their hands all over each other and their tongues entwined. Luan's butt bumped into the table and she sat, making the China clink. She held his face in her hands and sucked his kiss like a drunk sucking wine from a paper bag. He reached under her skirt, pulled her panties down, and whipped them off, throwing them over his shoulder. He unbuckled his belt and Luan watched with hazy eyes, the cool air against her fevered loins making her shiver. Lindemann pulled his pants and underwear down, and his dick sprang out like a big, thick, red-tinged spring. She spread her legs and he positioned himself between her knees. He slapped his hands on either side of her and slid his hips forward. His dick parted her sticky lips and pushed into her opening, the sting of his shaft spreading her tiny passage stopping her breath like it did their very first time. He was so big that if he jammed it in, he would eviscerate her, so he was always gentle with her.
At first.
Luan wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her heels into his firm butt cheeks, and put her arms around his neck. He pulled back and thrusted forward, his hooked head hitting her G-Spot and knocking a moan from her throat. He rocked back and forth, slamming into her cervix and sending pangs of ecstasy and agony through Luan's entire being. She held on and bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, and Lindemann fluttered light kisses up her neck. He pulled back, their mingled juices coating his shaft, and rammed forward again, making her jump. A wavering "God," broke from Luan's lips and he chuckled.
"Yes I am," he said.
"Yes you are," she trembled.
Now that he had given her time to adjust, he started to go faster. The wet friction of his body sliding against her sensitive walls set Luan on fire and her brain melted into a soupy, stupid mess.
Lindemann pulled all the way out and stood before her, his dick shimmering in the light. Realizing what he wanted, Luan got up and bent over the table, her back bowing and her butt sticking into the air. She smiled at him over her shoulder. "This being wrong is only a relative matter, don't you think? Hahaha."
"Don't kill the mood," he said.
Grabbing a handful of her hair and wrenching her head back, he lifted her shirt and jabbed her leaking core with his dick. He gripped her ass, pulled her head back even farther, and sank himself into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a shivery breath. He started off slow again, but quickly raised the volume until he was pounding her. The dishes shook, the candles wobbled, and one of the wine glasses fell over the side and broke on the floor with a weak clinking sound. Lindemann dragged Luan's lips to his and kissed her, their tongues flopping and licking and their breath filling each other's mouths. Letting go of her hair, he snaked his arm around her hip, slipped it under her shirt, and kneaded her nipple. Luan's knees buckled and she shook all over like jello. Lindemann went faster still and she couldn't take anymore.
"Are you close?" she asked.
"Yes," Lindemann grunted.
"Cum with me."
He slammed his hips against her butt and swelled so big she cried out. His seed flooded her womb and its heat spread through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her body clutched and she came with a spasmodic jerk, her hips unconsciously humping the table. She flopped forward, completely spent, and panted for air. Lindemann pulled out slowly, and their fluids left her raw pussy with a gush.
Brushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes, Luan said, "Now that's what I call a family reunion."
The oven dinged.
"Roast is done."
Lindemann sat while Luan went to get dinner. Ribbons of cum trickled down her inner thighs and she sloshed with every step. She got the roast out, carved in, and made them each a plate.
They ate by flickering candlelight and Luan made goo goo eyes at him, already geting horny and looking forward to him fucking her again. This time, they'd do it in her bed and she would be on top. To start off with, at least; she really liked it when he pinned her ankles over her head and filled her with his spunk.
Lindemann had two helpings. The second time she served him, Luan sat on his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. He circled one arm around her hips and lovingly stroked her leg. Something came over her, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I love you."
"I love you too," he said without missing a beat.
Luan's heart soared and she kissed his neck.
When he was done, he carried her into the bedroom and undressed her, then they made slow and passionate love for most of the night.
Sure, if something isn't broken, you shouldn't fix it...but that doesn't mean you can't improve it, and Luan had the gut feeling that her life - and her relationship with her nephew - would only improve from here.
And she was right.