Went to the market today and felt the strangest mix of emotions. I was picking out vegetables for dinner, being a perfectly normal mother, while my mind kept replaying the sensation of his two cocks trapped between my thighs last night—the way he grinded against me, his breath hot on my neck, until my entire ass was slick with his pre-cum. I had to wear my tightest jeans to keep myself from slipping into that wet heat again. It’s humiliating how my pussy throbbed in the middle of the produce aisle, just remembering how he’s not allowed to look but he’s learned exactly how to press those twin shafts against my clothed crack until I’m shaking. I bought extra spicy peppers for dinner—maybe the burn will distract me from the ache between my legs that only his hands and his cocks seem to soothe. Motherhood is supposed to be about packed lunches and homework help, not secretly craving your son’s forbidden touch while you pick out tomatoes.