Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino.
TheAllSeeingEye4812: That's always the question, though.
fuzzle17: Thank you very much!
Catspeaker: As always, thank you for the kind words. I have a thing for Rita too. She's got a fantastic ass, and I could have a lot of fun with an ass like that. Lynn is an interesting case in this story. There's something more going on behind the scenes, influencing his reluctance. But that's for a later chapter! And I agree. When building a world, the devil is in the details.
Pandora's Box
By Lola Presents
Chapter 3
The more videos Rita watched, the more she drank, which lowered her inhibitions, leading to watching even more videos. Every time she encountered a new perversion, Rita reacted with disgust, immediately taking a pull on the bottle before returning to an earlier movie.
Once the effects of the alcohol set in, Rita would try the new video again. By three in the morning, she could barely keep her eyes open, much less focus on what she was watching. She had masturbated so much that her pussy was red, swollen, and sore.
Despite her condition and having dried up over an hour ago, she finally stopped abusing herself, closed the application, and turned off the laptop. Rita's thoughts became jumbled in her inebriated state as she reviewed everything she'd seen that night.
Sitting there, staring at the bare rafters above her, Rita was still aware that she should be ashamed and disgusted with herself and her son. However, that part of her brain was not functioning correctly. Those mental faculties that were active were busy making new connections.
Rita had been married to Lynn for over twenty years and hadn't cum as much in such a short time as she did that night. Regardless of any moral convictions that her parents had baked into her since childhood, she finally understood Lincoln's attraction to such material.
The things Rita had witnessed since yesterday had pushed the boundaries of experience and ignited every nerve in her body. And though she was still aware that such things were wrong, the thrill she got from watching them had overpowered her sense of reason.
Rita laid back on the laundry with her legs spread wide, letting the brisk night air grace her sore flesh, soothing it and rewarding her for her submission. Soon, she closed her eyes, if only for a moment, though it felt like hours in her drunken state.
An image of Lincoln and herself danced within her mind, embraced in an unholy union as they devoured each other passionately. Considering Lincoln's attraction to his sisters, Rita began to wonder if she had a chance. After all, one relative was as good as the next. Right?
But the truth was, she didn't have an answer to that question. She had briefly talked with Lincoln about what happened before leaving his room, but not enough to truly understand the breadth of his longings. While Rita was confident in her ability to seduce her son, she didn't want to do that.
Rita needed someone who loved her and admired her on their own, not a victim. Despite her fogginess, she remained resolute on that issue. Still, there was so much Rita didn't know, which nearly drove her to madness. Before doing anything rash, she had to know her son's limits.
Slowly, Rita sat up, cleaned herself up using a discarded skirt, and prepared to leave the cellar. Not wanting her precious catalog of filthy videos to fall into the wrong hands, she locked it in the utility closet, hidden behind some boxes. Finally, she redressed and headed upstairs.
Initially intending to go to bed, Rita halted a mere foot from her door, her hand hovering over the knob. Recalling Lynn's callous and selfish remarks, her body trembled in anger, and her hand slowly fell to her side as she reconsidered. Instead, she turned toward the stairs with angst.
As if driven by an unseen force, Rita padded silently upstairs and turned toward her son's room. Slipping in quietly, she locked the door, sat cock-eyed on his bed's edge without turning on the light, and stared longingly at his sleeping form.
Lincoln was going through the pains of puberty, but unlike others his age, he was unlikely to have sex, let alone satisfy his perversions. Wondering what he must be going through, she compared it to her newly awakened sense of sexuality as she gently chewed on her lower lip.
"Lincoln," she whispered, nudging him gently. "Honey?"
"Huh?!" gasped Lincoln as he shot upright. "What?!"
"Shhh," whispered his mother, resting her finger across her lips. "It's just me. I'm sorry I woke you, but there are a few things I need to know."
"Mom?" muttered the exhausted boy before flopping back into bed. "Couldn't this have waited until morning?"
"I'm sorry, baby," Rita cooed quietly, reinforcing the need for discretion. "But, no. I don't want to risk anyone overhearing."
"Fine..." conceded Lincoln, tempering his volume. "What do you need to know?"
"Sweetie..." began his mother. "For the next few minutes, I'm going to treat you as an adult. Alright? I need you to be honest and open with me. If you can do that, I promise not to hold anything you say against you," she quietly informed her son. "Does that sound reasonable?"
Here it came, the discussion Lincoln had feared since his mother discovered his activities. And while he wasn't looking forward to all the embarrassingly intimate questions, he could either answer or accept the alternative, therapy.
"Yeah," muttered the boy in quiet reserve. "Go ahead."
"Okay..." whispered Rita, taking a sharp breath only to release it in a quick puff before pressing on. "Why are you so in love with your sisters? There are plenty of girls available, some just like you."
"Mom," muttered Lincoln tiredly. "I never said I was in love with them. I mean, sure, I love them. But I'm not in love with them. I only want to fuck them."
"So, would it be fair to say you don't mind casual sex?" Rita asked, pushing the conversation along.
"Well, yeah," responded the defensive young man, shrugging despite his mother's inability to see the gesture. "Who wouldn't want free reign to fuck the girls he's most comfortable around?"
"Even though they are related to you?" Rita prodded.
"Are you kidding?" replied Lincoln matter-of-factly. "That's what I like most about them. They're my flesh and blood. Being with them would be the pinnacle of self-satisfaction, and being taboo reinforces the idea."
"I see," murmured Rita, breathing somewhat labored again.
Then, turning more toward him, supporting herself with one arm on either side of his prone body, she slowly lowered her face toward his.
"Thank you," she barely whispered as she drew even nearer. "That's what I needed to know," she mouthed almost inaudibly as her lips hovered inches away from her son's.
At the very last moment, just before their lips might have touched, something deep within the recesses of her consciousness pulled her back into reality. Blinking rapidly, Rita kissed her son on his forehead before rising to excuse herself.
"Good night, Lincoln," she said, smiling before heading for the door. "Sleep well."
Lincoln stared incredulously at his mother as she gracefully slipped from his room, then she was gone without reprimands or demands, which struck the young man as odd. In retrospect, it occurred to him that the entire conversation had been unusual.
Mention of his sexual tastes made it clear that his mother had, indeed, reviewed his internet history. Why, then, was she not upset? His mother had been all too casual, and it seemed to Lincoln that his fetishes were a secondary concern. There was something amiss.
However, as confused and intrigued as Lincoln was, he was exhausted, and his rest had already gotten interrupted. Closing his eyes, he pulled the covers up to his chin, hoping to clear his mind and regain some of the rest he'd lost after unceremoniously getting roused.
Lincoln succumbed to the call of slumber in record time, though it wasn't as peaceful as he might have hoped. Who knew? Maybe one day, Lincoln would develop deeper feelings for his sisters. In the meantime, his sexual drive had overridden the need for genuine companionship.
Moments later, Rita lay in bed, wearing only her panties and a sheer nightgown. The comforter had gotten thrown back, leaving her body draped lightly by the sheet. However, as comfortable as the woman was, she couldn't sleep.
Rita's thoughts continued to replay certain portions of the videos she had stashed away, sometimes as they were, other times replacing the actors with herself and her son. While Rita has consciously considered the idea, the alcohol began to wear off, and small tears trickled from her eyes.
After more than twenty years of marriage, she couldn't say she loved Lynn any less, even if he had been inattentive for some time. But Lincoln was just a boy. Regardless, Lincoln had made no mention of her in his ramblings, which made her feel even more alone than was the case.
Then, with little warning other than the sudden rustle of the bedding, Lynn rolled over in his sleep. Unconsciously wrapping one arm around his wife, he pulled her close, disturbing her thoughts further. Rita's eyes clinched tight, forcing out even more tears at the realization he still loved her.
Wrapping her free arm around his, she gently rubbed the back of his hand, which was as rough and warm as it had always been. Suddenly, Rita's eyes flew open, recalling something she'd seen in one of the videos involving two lesbians.
With just as much caution as desire, Rita gently guided his hand into her panties and between her folds. When Lynn stirred, she paused for a moment, biding her time until his breathing fell into a predictable pattern once more.
Rita then began using the tip of his pinky finger to massage her urethral opening until it relaxed. Biting her lip, she curled the knuckle and bore down on it, pushing it into her smallest hole. Already damp with residual urine, the tip of his finger slipped in, but not without great effort.
While the external teasing had felt amazing, entry was another matter. Lynn's pinky was much larger than a stream of urine, and Rita was wholly unprepared for the effects of such extreme stretching. Her eyes widened as she clamped her legs tightly around their hands, holding them in place.
The pain was almost too much, and Rita nearly abandoned the idea, but if Lynn felt she was too loose, she was determined to give him something tighter. And once the pain receded, assisted by highly measured breaths, the horny woman pushed him in even further.
Upon reaching Lynn's second knuckle, Rita rested until the pain subsided again. This time, she slowly began stimulating herself with her husband's finger, taking long, deep breaths until she got used to the sensation. Rita kept her movements slow and gentle, adjusting naturally.
Soon, the discomfort faded altogether, replaced by a sensation she couldn't describe. It wasn't the same as vaginal entry, but it was infinitely more satisfying. While her knowledge of human biology railed against her, screaming about the risks of infection and injury, she ignored them.
After roughly five minutes, Rita's body trembled as her Kegel muscles contracted around them, ushering in the second most intense orgasm she had ever had. Surprised that Lynn hadn't woken and reprimanded her, she gently withdrew his hand from where it lay and sighed heavily.
"Oh, Lynn..." she whispered as she glanced over at her soundly slumbering husband. "What's wrong with me?"
Finally exhausted, partially from the alcohol but mostly from her physical exertion, Rita closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Like her troubled son, the changing mother's dreams ran rampant with incestuous visions involving her son rather than her husband.
Rita rose that Monday morning at dawn with an intense need to use the restroom. Sluggishly getting out of bed, she draped her housecoat around her and glanced at the clock, which read six in the morning. Sighing, she slipped from her room and made her way upstairs.
Given how old and creaky their house was, Rita entered the lavatory and locked the door behind her as quietly as possible. Then, after hanging her robe on the little hook mounted on the backside of the door, she pulled her nighty up around her waist and sat down.
However, Rita quickly found it impossible to pee as her urethra had swollen overnight and was now red, puffy, and sore. Every attempt to urinate ended with a stinging pinch that made her cringe. Holding it wasn't an option, and she frantically sought an alternative.
Finding little option, Rita dipped her fingers in the bowl's cool, fresh water and pressed them to her bottom. Immediately, she felt relief. After a few moments, the inflammation receded enough that she could pass her urine, adding another sensation to her overloaded senses.
The feeling of the warm liquid rushing through her tortured hole tore through her body like a raging fire, stimulating her in a way she never thought possible. It stung like wildfire yet triggered every sexual nerve she possessed, forcing an unexpected orgasm upon her.
"Holy fuck..." Rita muttered as she recovered, resting limply against the seat cover and tank.
The overly tired woman cleaned herself up, let her nighty fall back into place, then headed downstairs to make a pot of coffee. After her binge the previous night, a massive headache remained, and she desperately needed something to take the edge off.
After tossing a packet of specialized grounds into the appropriate place, Rita filled the reservoir with tap water and started the brew sequence. While she waited, listening to the churn of the water inside the machine, she stared idly out the window above the twin sinks.
Something was happening to the middle-aged woman, and as much as it intrigued her, it also scared her. She knew that whatever her husband was going through, he loved her. It was her own emotions that she began to doubt, which frightened her the most.
Perhaps it was the slight thunk of a door closing somewhere in the house. Maybe it was his erotic dreams. Regardless of the reason, Lincoln awoke suddenly, sitting upright in bed. His stomach turned and writhed within his torso, threatening to erupt at any moment.
Glancing at his clock radio, he knew he had fallen ill. The only times he woke at six-thirty in the morning was when he was sick. Tossing his covers aside, Lincoln clutched his stomach as he bolted from his room. Entering the recently vacated restroom, Lincoln proceeded to vomit profusely.
When the torrent subsided, he flushed the toilet and cleaned himself up at the porcelain sink. Having been thoroughly and rudely awoken, Lincoln knew there was no way he'd fall asleep now. Instead, he straightened his pajamas and headed downstairs, where the scent of coffee awaited.
Silently, aided by the softness of his socks, Lincoln padded into the kitchen and made for his seat before noticing his mother standing with her back to him. Stopping in his tracks, Lincoln scanned her up and down, his eyes following the contour of her body.
Why his mother was standing in the kitchen in nothing but her panties and sheer nighty, Lincoln couldn't fathom. Nor did he complain. Ever conscious of modesty around her children, she wore a robe over her nighty. However, that morning, she'd left it in the restroom.
"Good morning, Mom," Lincoln offered quietly, not wanting to surprise her.
"Lincoln!" gasped Rita as she spun toward him, helplessly floundering as she reached for her nonexistent robe. "Why are you up so early? You still have thirty minutes."
"I don't feel so good..." the boy muttered as his gaze landed upon the crevasse between her legs, hidden only by thin cotton panties.
Forgetting entirely about her appearance, Rita came to her son's side, placing one palm against his forehead and the other against his back. As she judged his temperature, she couldn't help but notice how sweaty he had become.
Lincoln's back was soaked, and his hair was damp, the front of which stuck out in all directions. After a few moments, Rita pulled her hand away from his forehead and turned him toward her, studying his face. There was no question about it. Lincoln had a relatively high fever.
"Alright..." sighed Rita, staring lovingly at him. "You're staying home today. No complaints. Okay?"
"Fine..." Lincoln replied, coughing into his hand as he sat in the nearest chair.
"Pbbbt..." came a starling noise from underneath Lincoln.
Furrowing his brows, he lifted himself and withdrew one of Luan's whoopie cushions from under the seat cover. Then, tossing it on the table, he gazed up at his mother, who seemed quite amused. Though he didn't think it funny, he found his mother's reaction disarming.
"It figures I'd sit in Luan's chair," Lincoln groaned as his gaze lowered again, coming to rest on his mother's forbidden valley.
Rita stood in front of her son, arms folded, as she studied him. But after following his gaze downward, she realized what was happening and turned her side to him. Not wanting to cause either of them undue stress, she excused herself.
"I'm sorry," she apologized as she left the kitchen, searching for her robe. "I'll be right back."
If Lincoln hadn't known any better, he could've sworn there was a distinct and sizable damp stain in the crotch of his mother's panties before she left, inciting erroneous thoughts in the horny pre-teens brain. She was married and shouldn't have needed to masturbate, after all.
Lincoln couldn't help but wonder if his mother had recently pleasured herself, and to whom, just before he entered the kitchen or if it was a more recent development. And, for the first time in his life, he saw his mother as more than just the woman that cared for him.
Turning his attention to the coffee pot, which had stopped percolating, something occurred to Lincoln. His mother was a woman with needs, just like any other female, and from her condition and appearance, it seemed that his father wasn't always up to the challenge.
Whether Lincoln had guessed right or not would go unanswered for now. Instead, the young man felt his rod stiffen underneath his pajamas, attempting to poke its way to the surface. Then, blushing furiously at the sound of his sister's alarms suddenly going off, he panicked.
Dashing from the kitchen, he ran upstairs, brushing against his mother on the way. Despite offering a quick apology, he continued upstairs unabated and into his room, locked the door, and eyed his nightstand. At least his mother had left his jar of Vaseline and box of Kleenex.
Stripping off his pajama bottoms and underwear, Lincoln fetched the jar of petroleum jelly and rolled into bed, working his engorged cock. As wrong as it felt, Lincoln closed his eyes and began undressing his mother before pulling her into the bed he'd prepared in his mind.
