I looked forward to my son returning from his stint working the oil rigs. Even though he was 25, an age when most guys think about setting up their own houses, a dad like me is always pleased to have his son come back. My wife and I missed him, and it was fun sitting around in the evening, watching movies and eating popcorn, just like when he was younger. He had changed, however, in some way that I couldn't quite put my finger on. He was more assertive, slower to smile. There was an edge to his personality that wasn't there before. Typically, I would be in my easy chair, and he'd be on the couch with his mom. They looked so comfy together. He'd lean against her, or she'd lean against him, eating popcorn together.

After a few weeks of the three of us hanging out together, he stood up one night to get a beer while we were all watching TV. As he walked past his mom he reached down and grabbed her breast, and kept on walking as though he had done the most natural thing in the world. She was clearly startled. I was speechless. so was she.

This was the beginning of a pattern. Every now and then, he'd put his arm around her while sitting, and his hand would gradually drop to fondle her breast. I expected her to object. In hindsight, I suppose I should have objected, but the weirdness of it all was so bizarre that I was intrigued, wondering what he would dare to do next, wondering at what point his mom would draw the line and get angry, although that point never seemed to arrive. Maybe, to tell the truth, I was a little turned on in a pervy way. My sex life with my wife had dwindled over the years to nothing, and in her mid-forties, she was still a damned good looking woman with a good body for a middle-aged mother.

One night the petting went further than ever before, as he unbuttoned her blouse and slipped his hand underneath to fondle her boobies. I couldn't help but stare, and they knew I was staring. I don't know what made me do it, but I got up and got a bottle of vodka out of the kitchen. "Let's enjoy something a bit stronger than these crappy beers," I said. I didn't exactly have to twist anyone's arm. In hindsight, I suppose I knew I was throwing a match into a pool of gasoline but I couldn't help myself.

I had to use the john, and when I came back, my son and wife were gone, obviously in the bedroom. I tried the door handle but it was locked. I heard sounds like spanking and squeals. I went to sleep on the couch, or at least I tried to. It would be more accurate to say that I spent the night staring at the living room ceiling while straining to listen for sounds from the master bedroom.

The next morning, she served my son and me breakfast as usual. She was wearing short shorts with a t-shirt and no bra underneath, which was a first. He barked at her, "Take off that t-shirt!" She complied, and continued to serve us breakfast with her tits flopping around. "More toast, bitch!," he barked at her, and she hurried to give hm more toast.

The next evening was similar, except after dinner, I noticed that my clothes had been thrown into the hallway. I moved into my son's bedroom, realizing this symbolized the role reversal that had occurred. Once again, I heard my wife's squeals from the master bedroom.

The next morning, she wore a bustier to breakfast, with her tits out in the open, thrusting over the upper edge of the bustier. I didn't even know she had lingerie like that. He addressed her as "bitch" and she seemed eager to comply. They ignored me sitting there. It was as though I was invisible, until my son barked at me, "Loser, pass the butter."

The next morning was more of the same, except at one point he pulled his cock out while standing, and said "Bitch, suck it like a whore," and my wife obeyed. Just as he was about to cum in her mouth, he pulled out and walked toward me a few steps, and came on my waffles. It looked like a puddle of melted butter on my waffle. "Eat it, loser." I ate.

A new daily rhythm developed. We still watched TV in the evening, while the two of them fondled each other on the couch, and I pretended to watch TV from my easy chair. About a week later, he pulled out his cock while sitting on the couch and said "I need a blow job." My wife started to change position to service him, but he stopped her. "No, bitch not you. I want loser to blow me."

Anyone else would have walked out. In fact, anyone else would have walked out weeks ago, but my fantasy world had always been pervy fantasies about cuckolding. I just never expected it would happen in reality, or that my son would be the alpha male of the house. I blew him, knelling before him as he slouched on the couch. "Swallow my cum, loser," and I complied. "Bitch and loser, tomorrow both of you go to the tattoo shop with me. I know a tattoist who lost his license and he'll do anything for the right amount of money" he announced after I swallowed his cum.

When the bandages came off the tattoos, I had "cocksucker" on one upper arm and "ugly fag" on the other upper arm. I guess getting flu shots will be a bit embarrassing from now. On second thought, maybe I'll just skip the flu shots. My wife had a big red heart tattooed on her right upper breast with the word "slut."

That was the same day that the pills started. Unbeknownst to me, my wife had gotten a prescription for hormone pills, except I was the one who had to take them every morning as I watched the two of them go through their lovey-dovey routine at breakfast, often developing into an outright orgy as I sit there eating my breakfast. My wife, who had always been so puritanical about sex, started walking around the house naked. When she left the house, she'd wear revealing outfits, always braless.

The hormones did their damage in turning me into a genderless freak. It became more difficult to get hard-ons as the weeks turned into months. One day at breakfast, my son said, "Loser, stand up and try to jack off for us." I did, and I really tried to make it erect, but it was so small and limp. My wife looked and starting chuckling, then laughing, and eventually she roared with laughter at my impotence.

My son joined in the laughter. "Hey loser, since you're not a man anymore, I want you to start wearing mom's bras all the time. A stacked babe like her doesn't need them. But you, loser, are getting some floppy boobs that need a bra. Hey, look at loser's perky little nipples. I think it's going through puberty." He started groping her and they began necking on the spot. I had never seen that erotic side of her, but he had her under his total control. When I went into my bedroom - my son's former bedroom - I noticed all my underwear had been replaced by bras and panties.

A new equilibrium developed in our household. I ended up doing most of the chores, waiting on my son and wife, catering to their every whim. Watching them kissing and fondling each other was emotionally hard and exciting at the same time. It was only when I had to do housekeeping in the master bedroom, like run the sweeper or dust the furniture, that I felt deep pangs about the bizarre changes that happened.

There seemed to be only one step left. I had come this far and might has well move our pervy family to the next logical stage. I addressed him one evening, "Sir, will you fuck this loser's hole." He seemed ready for the moment.

"Loser, bend over, and when I cum into you, moo like a cow. If you do a good job of being a fuckhole, I'll pull on those growing tits of yours while you moo."

Why don't I find this disturbing?

[The end]