Impotent Dad Watches Me Fuck Mom

In a double room on the third floor of the hospital, the sharp sting of disinfectant mixed with the thick afternoon heat.

On the bed by the window lay Dad, fresh from the car crash. His left leg was in a cast and suspended, gauze taped across his forehead. His face was pale, eyes full of restless frustration and defeat.

The doctors said he’d been lucky—just a mild concussion and a broken leg. But privately they’d told him something that dropped this once-strong middle-aged man into ice water: his sexual function was fucked. His cock could still get hard, but the second he tried to push inside a woman it would go soft.

That diagnosis sat in him like a thorn.

Mom sat in the plastic chair beside the bed. Today she wore a cream-colored dress that stopped at her knees. The neckline wasn’t low, but it hugged every soft, ripe curve of her body. Her heavy tits pushed the fabric into exaggerated swells; her waist, wrapped in a layer of soft flesh, only looked more lush and fuckable. Below the hem, her calves were sheathed in sheer nude stockings, and on her feet were simple flat shoes.

Thirty-eight-year-old Mom, round face still gentle, but at the corners of her eyes and mouth a quiet, unsatisfied hunger sometimes showed. She was peeling an apple, her fingers white and plump.

“Wife.” Dad’s voice came out dry. He stared at the ceiling. “My cock’s aching. Swollen as hell.”

Mom’s hands froze on the apple. A flush crept up her cheeks. She knew exactly what he meant.

Dad’s mood had been shit ever since—snapping one minute, silent the next. The more his body failed him, the hungrier the need got.

Mom shot a quick glance at me on the empty bed across the room, head down, phone in hand, pretending to play a game.

I’m eighteen.

“The son’s still here…” Mom said under her breath, voice tight with embarrassment.

“Tell him to go walk around.” Dad sounded impatient, mostly pissed at himself. “Hurry the fuck up. I’m dying here.”

Mom bit her lower lip, set the apple and knife aside. She looked at me and said softly, “Son, go downstairs to the supermarket and get your dad a bottle of room-temperature water, okay?”

I lifted my head and stood up slow, dragging my feet.

Then Dad changed his mind, too far gone to wait. “Forget it. Don’t send the kid out. Just pull the curtain.”

Mom didn’t understand why he’d suddenly switched, but her face burned. She still did what she was told—walked to the side of the bed and dragged the pale-blue privacy curtain closed, cutting the room into a tight private space.

I stood there useless, staring at the gap in the curtain, watching Mom.

Mom drew a deep breath, stepped to Dad’s bed, and crouched down.

The position shoved Mom’s round ass out even more. The skirt rode up, flashing more of those stocking-wrapped thighs.

Mom’s hand trembled as she reached for the drawstring of Dad’s hospital pants. He lifted his hips. She tugged them down to his knees.

Dad’s cock was already half-hard—thick, veins starting to show, but dull-colored from the painkillers and the shame.

“What the fuck are you staring at? Hurry.” Dad snapped, eyes closed.

Mom looked at the familiar cock in front of her and felt a hollow ache open up inside her own body.

Then Mom did something neither Dad nor I saw coming.

She lifted her hands, unfastened the top buttons of her dress, slipped her fingers inside her bra, and cupped those heavy, white, soft tits. She started kneading them right there in the open.

Flesh spilled over the edges of the cups. Her dusty-pink nipples stiffened under the friction of the fabric.

While one hand worked Mom’s own tits, the other wrapped around Dad’s cock and started stroking—awkward, a little clumsy.

“Nn…” Dad grunted. His cock jumped to full hardness in Mom’s fist, thick and rigid.

Mom’s technique was clumsy as hell.

Dad’s breathing roughened. He cracked his eyes open and stared at Mom’s flushed face and those half-exposed snow-white tits.

I was frozen at the edge of the curtain, cock already rock-hard the second I saw it. My pants tented hard enough to hurt.

My mouth went dry. Heart hammering. Eyes locked on Mom’s hands mauling her own tits and the thick cock twitching in her grip.

Without thinking I shoved my hand into my pocket and squeezed my aching cock through the fabric.

Mom’s breathing turned ragged.

The pleasure of mauling her own tits right in front of her son, mixed with the filthy taboo of it, had already soaked Mom’s puss