The morning smelled of fried bread and cumin.

Surbhi moved between the small stove and the dining table with the stiff, careful walk of a woman whose body had been completely redesigned overnight. Each step was deliberate. Each movement was calculated. Her thighs pressed together when she walked. Her thick ass shifted under the brown skirt. Her heavy tits swayed under the fresh blouse she had pulled on — a plain white cotton that was already straining at the buttons because the fabric was old and she was fuller than she remembered being.

The reason she was fuller was standing against the wall with his arms crossed, watching her cook.

She did not look at him.

She kept her eyes on the pan.

The boy was already at the table.

He was seven years old. His hair was a messy crown of black curls that he had not brushed. His face was clean because she had wiped it with a damp cloth while he was still half asleep. He was wearing his school tunic, wrinkled at the collar. He sat with his legs swinging under the chair, his elbows on the table, watching his mother with the focused attention of a child who was about to say something inconvenient.

"Mother," the boy said.

"Mm." She set the bread on the plate. She did not turn around.

"The food smells different today."

"It is the same food."

"No it isn’t." He leaned forward. He sniffed dramatically. "You put the extra butter in. And the cumin seeds. You only do that when you are in a good mood."

Surbhi’s hand tightened around the wooden spoon.

"Eat your food, Kiran."

"But are you? In a good mood?" He tilted his head. His eyes were bright and clever. "You look different. Your face is all red. Did you sleep well?"

She turned around.

Her face was crimson.

"I said eat your food." She set the plate down in front of him harder than she intended. The bread bounced. "Stop asking questions."

Kiran looked at the bread. Then up at her. Then at the man standing against the wall.

"Uncle is also eating?" he asked.

Raven pushed off the wall.

He walked to the table. He pulled the second chair out. He sat down with the unhurried ease of a man who owned every room he entered. His clothes were clean. His face was pristine. He looked like he had slept ten hours in a feather bed rather than spent the night destroying a mother in a wooden bathtub.

He looked at Surbhi.

"Bring another plate," he said.

She turned back to the stove. Her hands were shaking. The seed he had pumped into her womb was still there, warming her belly. Her anal was sore. Her throat was raw. Her pussy leaked every time she took a wide step. She gripped the pot handle.

She brought the plate.

She set it down in front of him. She did not look at his face. She could not. If she looked at his face, she would think about what his face had been doing to her tits twelve hours ago.

"Sit," Raven said.

"I am not hungry."

"You have not eaten since yesterday morning." His voice was flat. "Sit."

"There are only two chairs." She gestured weakly at the table. "I will stand and—"

"Then sit on my lap." He pulled her chair slightly toward his. "You can eat here."

The silence was enormous.

Kiran looked at his mother. Then at the man. Then at his bread. He broke the bread in half with the concentration of someone working out a very important equation.

"You can sit on uncle’s lap, mother," he said seriously. "I do not mind."

Surbhi stared at her son.

"Kiran—"

"It makes sense. There are only two chairs. Uncle is a guest. Guests get the chair. You always tell me guests get the chair." He nodded, satisfied with his logic, and took a large bite of bread.

She looked at Raven.

His eyes were warm. Dark. Patient. The smile on his face was small and completely inexcusable. He patted his thigh.

She walked to him.

Her pussy clenched with each step. She could feel the wetness. The seed, his seed, was leaking into her smallclothes. She reached his chair. She turned. She lowered herself onto his lap.

The moment her ass settled against his thighs, she felt it.

The hard, heavy ridge of his cock beneath his trousers pressed directly against her. She sucked in a breath. Her spine went rigid. She gripped the edge of the table. She stared at the bowl of food in front of her and focused on breathing.

He picked up his spoon.

He served himself the bean stew. He looked at Kiran across the table. The boy was eating with both hands and both cheeks full, watching him with open curiosity.

"Do you go to the village school?" Raven asked.

Kiran swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yes. Teacher Brynn teaches us letters and numbers. I know all the numbers up to three hundred. I can count backward from a hundred too."

"Impressive."

"I am the best in the class," Kiran said, with the complete lack of modesty that only children can deploy. "Except Mira. Mira is better at letters. But I am better at numbers. And I am faster than everyone at running except Tobi but Tobi has longer legs so it doesn’t count."

Raven’s hand moved.

Under the table. Under the overhang of Surbhi’s skirt. His fingers found the hem. They moved upward along her thigh. They found the waistband of her smallclothes. They slipped beneath the fabric.

Surbhi’s face went blank.

She gripped the table.

"Tobi," Raven said, his voice perfectly even. "The one with the longer legs."

"Yes. His father is a blacksmith. He is very tall. But everyone says I am smarter." Kiran took another bite. "Also I have a friend named Pell who eats dirt. Not by accident. On purpose. He says it tastes like bread. I told him bread does not taste like dirt but he said he eats a lot of dirt so he knows better. I think he is wrong but he is also my best friend so I do not say it."

"Sound reasoning," Raven said.

His hand closed around Surbhi’s left tit.

She had not noticed when he had moved it upward. But his arm was under hers now, his hand beneath the front of her blouse, the thick, heavy breast filling his palm. He gripped it. His thumb found the nipple. He pressed.

Surbhi made a sound.

A small, choked, desperate sound that she immediately swallowed. Her eyes widened. Her knuckles went white on the table edge.

"Mother," Kiran said, looking at her. "Are you alright? You made a funny noise."

"I— yes." Her voice was three notes higher than normal. "The bread is hot. I burned my tongue."

"You are not eating the bread."

"I was going to."

Raven pinched her nipple.

The pressure was slow and deliberate. He rolled the stiff nub between his thumb and forefinger. Her tit was heavy in his hand. The flesh was warm.

He squeezed the full breast and then focused on the nipple again. Her body trembled. Her hips shifted. The cock under her ass moved against her.

"Mhh—"