Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Whispers and Windows

The days after that garage afternoon blurred into something feverish and wrong.Alex couldn't look at his mother the same way anymore. Every time she bent to load the dishwasher, the curve of her ass reminded him of how it had jiggled under Marcus's bruising grip. Every time she laughed at something on her phone, he wondered whose cock had made her moan like that. Every time she kissed his cheek goodnight, he smelled the faint trace of unfamiliar cologne clinging to her skin like guilt she refused to wear.She acted normal. Too normal. That was the worst part.She still made his favorite breakfast—scrambled eggs with chives, toast cut into triangles because he'd once said he liked them better that way when he was eight. She still asked about his AP Calc test, still reminded him to take out the trash. She still wore those soft cardigans over sundresses that hugged her tits just enough to make every man on the street do a double-take.But now Alex knew what happened when the cardigan came off.He started coming home at different times on purpose. Testing. Watching.Most days the house was quiet. Elena would be in the kitchen humming, or in the living room folding laundry with the TV on low. Sometimes she'd be upstairs "napping," door closed. Alex would stand outside it, ear pressed to the wood, heart hammering, listening for any sound that didn't belong.He never heard anything.Until Thursday.He'd told her he had late track practice. Instead he parked two streets over, walked back through the alley behind the houses, and slipped into the backyard like a thief in his own life.The sliding glass door to the kitchen was cracked open—just an inch. Enough for summer air. Enough for sound.Inside, Elena was laughing. Low, breathy, the laugh she used when she was tipsy on wine at block parties. Except there was no wine on the counter. Just her, perched on the edge of the breakfast bar in nothing but a thin silk robe the color of champagne. The belt was loose. One breast had already slipped free, nipple tight and dark against pale skin.Marcus stood between her spread thighs. Fully dressed except for the thick black cock jutting from his open fly. He wasn't fucking her yet. He was teasing. Dragging the swollen head along her slit, slow, deliberate, letting her feel every ridge while she whimpered and tried to rock forward."Beg for it," he said. Voice calm. Almost bored."Please…" Elena's voice cracked. "Please, Marcus—I need it. I've been wet since breakfast thinking about you.""Since breakfast?" He smirked. "While you were feeding your little boy his eggs?"She moaned at the words. Actually moaned. Her head fell back, throat exposed. "Yes—fuck—yes. I was so wet I had to change panties twice."Alex's stomach lurched. He should leave. He should smash through the door and scream. Instead his hand moved on its own, pressing against the aching bulge in his jeans.Marcus finally pushed in. One long, brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt. Elena cried out—sharp, ecstatic. Her legs wrapped around his waist like they belonged there. He didn't give her time to adjust. Just started fucking her in short, punishing thrusts that made the breakfast bar rattle against the wall."Look at you," Marcus growled. "Perfect little housewife turned neighborhood cum-dump in under a week. Bet your husband hasn't made you scream like this in years.""He hasn't," she gasped. "He never—oh god—never fucked me like this."Alex bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.Marcus pulled out suddenly, cock glistening. "Turn around. Ass up."Elena obeyed instantly. She spun, braced her elbows on the counter, arched her back like she'd practiced. The robe fell open completely. Her heavy tits swayed beneath her. Marcus slapped her ass once—hard—leaving a red handprint that made her yelp and push back for more.He entered her again. This time slower. Deeper. Letting her feel every inch stretch her open."Tell me who this cunt belongs to.""You," she sobbed. "It's yours—Marcus owns it—fuck—Marcus owns my married pussy—"Alex's vision swam. His hand was inside his jeans now, stroking himself in time with the wet, obscene sounds coming from the kitchen. He hated it. He hated her. He hated himself most of all.Marcus fucked her harder. The bar scraped the tile floor with each thrust. Elena's moans turned into broken chants."Yes—yes—use me—fuck your slut—fill me—please—""You want my load inside you?" Marcus's voice was rough now. Close."Yes—please—breed me—make me drip all day—"Alex came first. Silent, violent, spilling over his fist while tears burned down his face. He didn't even try to catch it. Just let it drip onto the patio stones.Marcus groaned low in his throat. His hips slammed forward one last time. Elena screamed—actual scream—as he emptied into her. Her whole body shook. Legs trembling. Back arched so sharply it looked painful.When he finally pulled out, a thick rope of cum followed, sliding down her inner thigh in a slow white trail.Elena stayed bent over, panting, ass still presented like an offering. Marcus tucked himself away, gave her cheek a casual pat like she was a well-behaved pet."Clean yourself up before the kid gets home," he said. "Wouldn't want him smelling another man on his mommy."Elena laughed—shaky, dazed. "He won't. He's too busy jerking off to porn in his room to notice."Marcus chuckled. "Maybe he's jerking off to you."The words landed like a slap. Elena went still for half a second. Then she laughed again, softer this time. "Don't be ridiculous. He's my sweet boy."Marcus leaned down, kissed the back of her neck. "Keep telling yourself that."He left through the front door like he belonged there.Elena stayed in the kitchen another minute. She didn't move to clean up right away. Instead she reached between her legs, scooped some of the leaking cum onto her fingers, and brought it to her mouth. Sucked it clean with a contented little hum.Alex backed away from the glass door before she could turn around.He didn't go in the front. He circled to the side gate, let himself out, walked three blocks before he trusted his legs enough to sit on someone's curb and breathe.When he finally came home an hour later—pretending he'd just finished practice—Elena was in the shower. Singing. Some pop song from ten years ago.She came downstairs in yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Hair wet. Face scrubbed clean. No trace of what had happened except the faint pink flush still on her cheeks."Dinner's in the oven," she said brightly. "Lasagna. Your favorite."Alex stared at her.She tilted her head. "You okay, baby? You look pale."He forced a smile. It felt like cracking glass."Yeah. Just… tired."She crossed the kitchen and hugged him. Pressed her still-damp body against his. He could smell her shampoo. Could smell something muskier underneath it."Get some rest after we eat," she murmured against his hair. "Mommy's got you."Alex closed his eyes.He didn't hug her back.But he didn't pull away either.And that, he realized with sick clarity, was the most dangerous thing of all.