Mother Fluffer

By: Max Monroe

Weren’t Sundays supposed to be a day off, a day of rest, a day of family…a day of motherfluffing fucking?



A day of God, actually, you say? Yeah, well, close enough.



I thought so. But as I was coming to find out, I was often wrong—even when I was right. It was like an appendix to Murphy’s Law—Murphy’s Law of Marriage. As a man, whenever you could possibly ever, ever be wrong…you were.

“Do you really have to go to work?” I whined. And yes, it was just as obnoxious in real life as it sounded in your head, but it worked because I’m lovable.

Cassie frowned slightly with pity and then reached down and twisted my nipple, and I let out a shriek.

Okay, so it only partially worked because, in addition to being lovable, I’m also a pain in the ass.

According to my wife, and pretty much all of my friends, a big one. But honestly, it was just the size of my personality. You can’t be this charming without an equally balanced vat of faults. Though, I contended that some of the things other people saw as negatives were, in fact, positives.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh and followed it up with my favorite eye roll. My wife could pull off attitude like no one else, and hell if it didn’t drive me crazy.

“Yes, you’re going to stay home and let me hold your tits all day?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Yes, I have to go to work. What, do you expect me to just hang out barefoot in the kitchen all day because I’m pregnant?”

I scoffed right into a chortle, but the venomous arch of Cassie’s eyebrow made me regret it nearly immediately. She was seven months along with our second child—another boy according to the ultrasound—and no less of a challenge. Hell on wheels was too soft a description for the woman I’d married, and all the hormones involved with cooking a human only enhanced her natural traits. She wouldn’t be who she was if she didn’t bust my balls and make society at large a little uncomfortable. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push past the boundaries to poke the already agitated bear, so to speak.



Oh, by the way… don’t tell her I compared her to a bear. I’m quite attached to my balls, and I’d really love to live past the age of forty. Thanks.



“Come on, Crazy. You spend approximately zero minutes of your day in the kitchen.”

She scoffed. “Like you’re a saint.”

I laughed at her complete non sequitur. My rap sheet had absolutely nothing to do with the amount of time she did or didn’t—didn’t—spend in the kitchen.

“I didn’t say anything about being a saint.”

“That’s right! You’re fluffing not. You’re also a fluffing idiot for bringing up anything other than my tits and my pussy right now. Do you even remember that your dick is inside me?”

I did, in fact, remember, the pseudo-argument between us making the Supercock harder by the minute.

“I’m not the one who forgets she’s having sex and falls asleep.”

“Take that back! It happened one time!”

I shook my head with a laugh, the vibration of it stimulating my dick and shooting pleasure up my spine. I fucking loved when we had battles in the middle of sex. Something about the combination of the two reminded me just how much I loved right where I was—how suited we were for one another.

“Nooo,” I corrected. “It didn’t. It happened at least twice. And after that, I’m not convinced you didn’t just figure out how to fake alertness in a sleep state.”

Chagrined, she did her best impression of an apology.

“Shut up, and fuck me.”

Notoriously, her apologies tended to look a little different in the wild than someone else might be used to in the societal zoo.

“I am,” I reminded her with a laugh. “Can’t you tell?”

“Oh, whoops. I guess I couldn’t feel your tiny dick.”

I guffawed, nearly shouting each bark of laughter. She covered my mouth with her hand. “Shut up! Ace is sleeping.”

“Okay,” I agreed through a hand-muffled mumble. “But come on…a tiny dick? You’re losing your coital-quarrel sharpness.”

I jolted my hips up under hers for emphasis, and she moaned.

“Yeah,” I taunted. She licked her lips with a smile, and her huge, fucking shrine-worthy tits bounced before settling back on top of her pregnant swell.

“Thank God your stomach gets bigger when you’re pregnant,” I cooed, rubbing my hands all over her rounded belly. She looked perfect up there, sitting astride me with my cock nestled deep inside.

“What?” she shrieked and smacked me on the shoulder. “Why would you say that?”

“Because, Crazy. How else would you support these beautiful, big, succulent, motherfluffing perfect titties of yours?”

“Thatch!”

“Your milk jugs need a shelf, honey.” I skimmed my thumbs along the seam where tit met stomach to emphasize my point.

“But right now, I’m about to pour myself a glass.”

“Don’t you fucking dare make my milk come!”

“Ooh,” I teased. “A real curse. You must mean business.”

“I will dick-punch you.”

I smirked. “Gonna be kinda hard while it’s wrapped up nice and safe inside the sweet heat of your pussy.”

She moved immediately to pull up, so I gripped her hips with a flex of my fingertips and slammed her back down.

Leaning up and forward, I flicked her nipple with my tongue. “What’s the matter? You want to play rough?”

She grabbed my hand and moved it to the connection between us, using her finger on top of mine to make me rub her clit. “I want you to hurry, motherfluffer. I’ve got to be out of the house in twenty minutes, and Ace is going to wake up any second.”

“Perfection can’t be rushed, honey.” Though, she was right. Our little demon was waking up earlier and earlier these days, and if we didn’t take this tussle to a satisfying conclusion, no one was going to be happy with me. Not her and certainly not the Supercock. Time to hurry this along.

“I swear to God, I’m going to strangle you—ahh!” She squealed, effectively cut off from her new line of arguing, as I sat up and bucked my hips at once, forcing her to her back and spreading her knees wide. I put the tip of my finger to her clit and swirled.

“Still want to strangle me?” I taunted with a wink as she moved her hips greedily in time with my finger.

She nodded. “Yeah, actually. I want to fluffing choke your perfect neck.”

I smirked at her use of a fake curse word, even in the throes of sex, but I didn’t call attention to it. Unlike the ribbing of before, she wouldn’t take kindly to any form of real criticism—especially since I’d been the one to point out her need for language reform in the first place.



Word to the wise, fellas: Call as little attention as possible to any past actions that could be construed as mistakes. You’ll make more than enough in the present and future, and there’s only so much a man can deal with. We’re not multitaskers by nature.



“Later,” I told her, using an arm on her upper back and a hand behind her knees to safely flip her to all fours, and I surged back inside.

She threw her head back, her chocolate hair flying up and over in an arc as she did, and pushed her weight back toward me.

Every inch of her slightly-curvier-than-normal ass called to me.

Slap me, Thatcher. Sting me with the bite of your huge, manly hands. Geez. Not even her ass was immune to complimenting me.

I brought my hand down sharply, the clap of my skin against her perfect ass ringing out into the room.

“Again,” she pushed as she slammed her hips back toward mine.

Good God. Yep, this was why I loved this woman. She matched me effortlessly in everything—and even outdid me on occasion. When it came to me, Thatcher Kelly, that was a feat not often achieved.

“That’s it,” I encouraged, bringing my hand down to connect with her already pink skin once more. “Use me, baby. Make my cock your bitch.”

“Thatcher!” she yelled out as I slapped her ass once more, and she rammed her hips back harder.

“Hey!” I heard from outside the door, my four-year-old son’s tiny but gangster voice pulling both me and my wife to an abrupt and panicked stop. “Stop that!” Three angry knocks shook the door, and Cassie’s flustered eyes shot over her shoulder to meet mine.

“Mommy! Daddio! I am trying to sleep! You guys are too loud!”

Oh, thank Jesus. He didn’t know what we were doing, just that we were doing it too loudly.

I leaned forward and put my lips to Cassie’s ear. “I guess it’s time to be really quick, huh?”

Immediately, she dissolved into a fit of tears and curled her body into an accompanying ball.

Great. Neither one of us is going to finish now.

Like it was the body’s natural will, a certain supercocky part of me started to shrink at the sound of her hysteria, too.

Her crying picked up in intensity as if she sensed it.

Ah, fuck. Pulling out and turning her in my arms, I did my best to envelop her in comfort.

“What’s wrong, Crazy?”

“Pretty soon we’re going to have two of them. Two little, miniature yous. What did I do to deserve this? I’m a nice person!” she wailed.

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