It was a Tuesday.
It was always a fucking Tuesday.
Panchy stood in the east-wing kitchen at 12:11 a.m. with milk going warm and her nightie stuck to the backs of her thighs. She was humming something stupid from the radio. She had no idea the house was already full of the sound of her daughter being opened up.
Then she heard it.
Not screaming.
Something wetter.
The hard, rhythmic slap of skin and the high, broken noise underneath it that didn't sound like pain exactly. It sounded like something being *used up*.
Panchy's hand froze on the microwave.
Her first thought was burglars.
Her second was Trunks.
Her third — the one that made her stomach drop — was that she recognised the voice.
She set the milk down carefully and walked barefoot down the hall.
The door to Bulma's room was open a crack.
She looked through it.
And the world tilted hard.
---
Bulma had stopped thinking in full sentences about forty minutes ago.
That was the point of Tuesdays.
You didn't get to keep the version of yourself that signed planetary defence budgets and ran Capsule Corp. You got on the bed and became the thing they made you. The arrangement had started as a surprise two years ago become the only night of the week her brain went quiet.
She needed it the way some people needed air.
Right now she was face-down with Krillin's fist twisted so tight in her blue hair her scalp was on fire and fifteen thick inches of cock slamming into her cunt so hard the headboard was trying to punch through the wall. Every thrust punched a sound out of her throat she couldn't control. She hated that sound. She needed that sound. She needed the way her mind went blank when he used her like this.
*Harder*, she thought, but the word came out as a broken, wet moan.
"That's it," Krillin muttered against the back of her neck, voice low and mean. "That's the fucking sound. Keep making it."
She did. She couldn't help it.
Goku watched from the side, grinning like this was the best show he'd ever seen. Vegeta sat at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, cock hard against his stomach, supervising the way he always did.
"Look at her," Vegeta said, flat. "Still pretending she's in charge until the second someone's balls-deep. Two years and she still falls apart the same way."
Bulma wanted to tell him to shut up.
Instead she pushed back against the next thrust and took him deeper.
No one outside this room understood.
She wasn't being forced.
She was *starving* for it.
---
Panchy's hand was over her mouth.
She couldn't look away.
Her daughter — the girl who built engines at nine, who saved the planet more times than Panchy could count — was being fucked like a toy. Hair wrecked. Cheeks red and spit-slick. Mouth open. Taking a man half her size from behind like her body had been built for exactly this.
And she was making those sounds.
Panchy's first clear thought was: *I should stop this.*
Her second was: *Why does she sound like that?*
Her third was something she didn't want to name.
She stayed in the doorway.
Forty minutes.
Maybe longer.
She lost track.
She watched them rotate. Watched Goku take her mouth while Krillin stayed buried in her cunt. Watched Vegeta pull Krillin off and take his place without a word, like they had a system. Watched her daughter's body go limp and then tense and then go limp again every time one of them bottomed out.
Panchy's hand drifted under her nightie without permission.
She was wet.
Soaking.
She hadn't been this wet in years.
The guilt hit a second later, sharp and ugly.
*That's your daughter.*
*That's your baby.*
*What the fuck is wrong with you?*
She didn't leave.
---
Bulma felt the shift in the room before she heard the voice.
Vegeta's rhythm changed. Slightly. The way it always did when he noticed something.
Then he said, almost casually, "Panchy."
Bulma's eyes snapped open.
No.
No no no no—
She tried to push herself up. Krillin's hand between her shoulder blades kept her down hard.
"Evening, Panchy," Krillin said, and his voice was too calm. Too pleased.
Bulma's stomach dropped through the floor.
Her mother was in the doorway. Nightie. Grey hair. Eyes huge. One hand still under the fabric like she didn't realise she was doing it.
Bulma wanted to die.
She also felt something darker and hotter twist low in her belly at the look on her mother's face.
*She watched.*
*She fucking watched.*
Krillin pulled out of her with a wet sound and stood up.
Bulma tried to speak. Tried to say *Mom, go, please go* or *I'm sorry* or anything that would make this stop being real.
Nothing came out except a broken little sound.
Krillin held out a hand to Panchy.
"Come here."
And her mother — her soft, humming, milk-warming mother — walked across the room and took it.
---
Panchy's head was static.
She told herself she was going to pull Bulma out of there. Comfort her. Make the men leave. Be a mother.
Then Krillin put his hand between her legs and two thick fingers slid into her like they belonged there.
"Wet," he said, almost kind. Almost. "You've been standing there getting off on this."
She wanted to deny it.
The words wouldn't come.
He dropped to his knees and put his mouth on her.
Panchy's entire body locked. The first orgasm hit so fast it felt like a slap. She grabbed his bald head with both hands and made a sound she hadn't made since before Bulma was born — raw, hungry, ugly.
On the bed, Bulma was watching.
Panchy saw her daughter's face over Krillin's shoulder — flushed, wrecked, eyes glassy — and something in her chest cracked open.
*She's not shocked.*
*She's not horrified.*
*She's watching me the same way I watched her.*
When Krillin stood, hooked her leg over his arm, and pushed in, Panchy's mind went white.
Fifteen inches.
She felt every one.
The stretch burned. The depth made her see stars. She screamed and the scream turned into a moan and the moan turned into something worse — something that wanted more even while it hurt.
"Years," Krillin said against her throat, fucking her into the wall with that same brutal rhythm he'd used on her daughter. "Your husband's been neglecting this cunt for years. Look at how it's taking me."
Panchy couldn't answer.
She was too busy coming again, thighs shaking, nightie stuck to her skin with sweat.
---
Bulma watched her mother get fucked against the wall and felt something complicated and ugly and electric move through her.
She should have felt protective.
She should have felt violated.
Instead she felt *seen*.
For two years she had kept this secret. The schedule. The way she asked for it. The way she needed the degradation, the three of them rotating her like furniture, the way she only felt quiet when she was full of cock and being told exactly what she was.
Now her mother was seeing it.
And her mother was *wet* for it.
When Krillin finally carried Panchy to the bed and laid her down beside Bulma, Bulma reached over and took her hand without thinking.
"Hi mom."
Panchy's voice was wrecked. "Hi sweetie."
"You're doing great."
Panchy laughed — a broken, disbelieving sound — and then Krillin pushed back into her and the laugh turned into a moan that cracked in the middle.
Bulma turned her head and watched her mother's face while Krillin fucked her. Watched the way her eyes rolled. Watched the way her mouth fell open. Watched the same expressions she made every Tuesday reflected back at her on an older face.
*Same face*, Vegeta had said earlier.
Genetic.
Bulma felt something like pride and something like shame and something like arousal all tangled so tightly she couldn't separate them.
When Krillin took her mother's ass, Bulma squeezed her hand harder and whispered, "Just breathe. It gets easier."
Panchy looked at her with wide, glassy eyes and whispered back, "How do you *do* this every week?"
Bulma's answer was honest.
"Because I need it."
---
The brutal part came later.
After Panchy had come so many times she was shaking and sobbing into the sheets. After Krillin had finished inside her and pulled out and still been hard. After he had looked at Bulma with that same quiet, mission-focused expression and climbed back on top of her while her mother watched from six inches away.
Bulma tried to say she needed a break.
The words came out wrong.
"Rest's over," Krillin said, and slid into her again in one long, punishing stroke.
She screamed.
Panchy made a soft, shocked sound.
Then all three of them were on her at once — Krillin in her cunt, Goku in her ass, Vegeta in her throat — and her mother was right there, holding her hands, watching every thrust, every stretch, every time Bulma's body tried to curl in on itself and failed.
Bulma's mind went somewhere else.
This was the place she only reached on the big nights. The place where language stopped and she became pure sensation and need. The place where the only words left were the ones they put in her mouth.
"Say it," Krillin ordered, fucking up into her hard enough that the bedframe groaned.
"I'm a cum dumpster—"
"Louder."
"I'm your cum dumpster— I'm everyone's—"
Panchy's hands tightened around hers.
When they folded her in half and pushed two cocks into her ass at the same time while Krillin stayed buried in her cunt, Bulma's mind fractured in the best way. The stretch was too much. The fullness was too much. She was sobbing and coming and begging and her mother was whispering *I'm here, baby, I'm here* like this was normal. Like this was just another Tuesday.
They didn't stop when she came.
They didn't stop when she started shaking so hard her teeth clicked.
They didn't stop when the wet sounds turned thicker, when the friction started to burn, when Bulma's voice cracked into something raw and continuous.
Krillin's rhythm stayed the same brutal piston stroke. Goku and Vegeta ground against each other inside her ass, stretching her wider than she had ever been stretched. The pressure was constant. Relentless. No pause. No mercy.
Bulma felt the moment something gave.
A sharp, bright pain under the pleasure. A wetter heat. She looked down between her folded legs and saw it — a thin line of red mixing with the cum and spit already running out of her.
She made a broken sound.
Krillin saw it too.
He didn't stop.
"Still with us?" he asked, voice rough, hips still slamming.
Bulma nodded weakly, eyes glassy.
"Say it."
"Still— still with you—"
"Good girl." He drove in harder. The next thrust forced another thin streak of red out of her. "You can take it. You've taken worse."
Panchy's face had gone pale. Her hands were still locked around Bulma's.
"Bulma—" she whispered.
Bulma squeezed back.
"It's okay," she managed, voice wrecked. "It's— it's fine. Don't stop."
They didn't.
They fucked her through it. Through the burn. Through the blood mixing with everything else leaking out of her. Through the way her body kept clenching and coming even while it hurt. Krillin's cock came out shiny with red every few strokes. Goku and Vegeta stayed buried in her ass, moving in that slow, grinding way that kept her stretched open while Krillin ruined her cunt.
Bulma's mind floated somewhere above the bed.
She could hear herself making sounds. She could feel her mother's hands. She could feel the three of them using her like she was made for exactly this.
When they finally came — Goku first, flooding her ass, then Vegeta right beside him, then Krillin burying himself to the hilt and pumping load after load into her already-bleeding cunt — Bulma's whole body locked up one last time. The orgasm tore through her so hard she blacked out for a few seconds.
When she came back, all three of them were still inside her, still twitching, and the sheets under her were a mess of cum and blood and sweat.
Panchy was crying quietly, still holding her hands.
---
Afterward the room was quiet except for breathing.
Bulma lay in the middle of the mess — thighs shaking, throat raw, blood and cum still leaking out of her in slow, thick streaks — and stared at the ceiling.
Panchy was beside her, equally wrecked, nightie still around her waist, hair everywhere.
For a long time neither of them spoke.
Then Panchy said, voice small and rough, "How long has this been happening?"
"Two years."
"Every Tuesday?"
"Every Tuesday."
Panchy was quiet again. Then: "You never told me."
Bulma laughed once, broken. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Mom, I get passed around by three of the strongest men on the planet once a week because it's the only time my brain shuts up'?"
Panchy turned her head and looked at her.
Really looked.
Her eyes dropped to the blood still smeared on Bulma's thighs. Then back up.
"Does it help?" she asked.
Bulma thought about the schedules. The pressure. The way the world kept needing her to be the genius, the inventor, the one who fixed everything. The way Tuesdays were the only night she didn't have to be any of that — even when it left her bleeding on her own sheets.
"Yeah," she said. "It helps."
Panchy reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of Bulma's face with fingers that were still shaking.
"Okay," she said softly.
Then, after a longer pause: "Same time next Tuesday?"
Bulma's eyes burned.
She nodded.
"…Same time next Tuesday."
Krillin, half-asleep on her other side, made a low sound that might have been a laugh.
"Told you," he muttered. "Should've knocked."
Panchy stared at the ceiling for a long time.
Then she smiled — small, ruined, real.
"Next time," she said, voice quiet but steady, "don't lock the door.
And next time… don't stop when it starts to bleed."
Bulma lay there staring at the ceiling, thighs still shaking, the sheets under her a sticky mess of cum and blood. Every breath pulled at the raw places inside her. The burn hadn't faded. The thin red streaks kept slow-leaking down the inside of her legs every time she shifted.
Panchy's hand was still locked around hers. Her mother's face was pale, eyes wet, looking at the blood like she couldn't decide whether to cry or look away.
Krillin sat up on one elbow, looking down at the mess he'd helped make. His cock was still half-hard, shiny with everything that had come out of her. He didn't look guilty. He looked thoughtful.
"Senzu," he said quietly.
Goku was already moving. He dug through the discarded clothes on the floor, found the small pouch he always kept in his gi, and tossed one green bean onto the bed beside Bulma's face.
"Eat it," he said, voice soft for once. "You're leaking too much."
Bulma's fingers were clumsy. She picked the bean up, put it between her teeth, and bit down.
The taste was the same as always — earthy, slightly sweet, like chewing a blade of grass. The effect hit in seconds.
Heat flooded through her from the inside out. The sharp, bright pain in her cunt and ass vanished like someone had flipped a switch. The raw, scraped feeling smoothed over. The bleeding stopped. The swollen, overused ache faded into the familiar post-Tuesday soreness she actually liked. Her body knit itself back together so fast it almost hurt in a different way — the sudden absence of damage.
She exhaled hard.
"…Fuck," she whispered.
Panchy was staring. "What was that?"
"Senzu bean," Bulma said, voice still rough. She flexed her thighs experimentally. Nothing tore. Nothing bled. She felt whole again. Over-sensitive, still dripping, but whole. "Instant healing. We keep them around for… nights like this."
Vegeta made a low sound from the chair. "Waste of a bean. She could have taken more."
Bulma turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were still glassy, but the sharp edge of pain was gone. In its place was the same hungry, blank quiet she always got on Tuesdays once the worst of it had passed.
"I can take more now," she said.
Krillin's mouth curved.
Panchy's hand tightened around hers. "Bulma—"
"I'm fine, Mom." Bulma squeezed back. "Better than fine. It fixed everything." She shifted, felt the slick mess of cum still inside her with no more blood mixed in, and something low in her belly twisted hot. "I'm good."
Krillin was already moving. He rolled her onto her back again, pushed her knees up, and looked down at her cunt — still red, still puffy, still leaking white, but no longer bleeding. He ran two fingers through the mess, pushed them inside her, and watched her face.
Bulma's breath hitched. The healing had left her hypersensitive. Every nerve ending felt brand new and too close to the surface.
"Still with us?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Say it."
"Still with you."
He pushed in again — slow this time, all the way to the hilt — and the sound she made was pure relief mixed with fresh need. No pain. Just the deep, stretchy fullness she craved. Her body took him like it had been reset for exactly this.
Panchy watched, wide-eyed, still holding her daughter's hand.
"You're really okay?" she whispered.
Bulma turned her head on the pillow and met her mother's eyes while Krillin started moving again, steady and deep.
"I'm better than okay," she said, voice already going soft and ruined again. "This is what I needed. The bean just… lets us keep going."
Goku crawled back onto the bed on her other side, already hard again. Vegeta stood and walked over, cock still rigid.
The rotation started over.
They were gentler for the first few minutes — letting the senzu work settle, letting Bulma's newly healed body adjust — but the gentleness didn't last. Krillin's rhythm picked up. Goku took her mouth. Vegeta waited his turn with that same patient, appraising stare.
Bulma's mind began to float again.
The blood was gone. The damage was gone. All that was left was the need and the three of them and her mother's hand in hers.
She looked at Panchy while Krillin fucked her and whispered, "You can still leave if you want."
Panchy's throat worked. Her eyes dropped to where Krillin's cock was disappearing into her daughter again and again, clean now, no more red. Then she looked back at Bulma's face.
"…I'm not leaving," she said.
Bulma smiled — small, wrecked, real.
"Good."
Krillin leaned down, put his mouth against Bulma's ear, and muttered, "Told you the bean was a good idea."
Then he snapped his hips harder, and the bed started hitting the wall again.
The night was nowhere near over.
They didn't give Panchy time to change her mind.
One second she was still holding Bulma's hand, watching her daughter take Krillin again like the senzu had reset her completely. The next, Krillin pulled out of Bulma with a wet sound, looked at Panchy, and said, "Your turn."
Panchy's stomach dropped.
"I— I already—"
"That was the warm-up." He grabbed her ankle and dragged her down the bed until her hips were at the edge. "Full rotation. Same rules as her. No breaks until we say."
Bulma turned onto her side, still breathing hard, and took her mother's hand again. Her eyes were glassy but clear. The floating Tuesday quiet was back in full.
"Just breathe through it, Mom," she whispered. "It gets worse before it gets quiet."
Panchy wanted to say she already felt quiet. She wanted to say she was done. Instead she watched Krillin line up and push back into her in one long, relentless stroke.
She was still soaked from earlier. Still open. It still punched the air out of her lungs.
"Fuck—"
"That's one," Krillin said, already moving. Fast. Mean. The same piston rhythm he used on Bulma. "You've got two more after me. Keep count."
Goku crawled up beside her head, cock already hard again, and tapped her cheek. "Open."
She opened. He slid over her tongue and into her throat with the same casual ease he used on Bulma. Panchy's eyes watered immediately. She tried to breathe through her nose. Failed for a second. Goku just held still until she adjusted, then started shallow thrusts.
Vegeta stood at the side of the bed, arms crossed, watching both women with that flat appraisal.
"Look at them," he said. "Same face. Same sounds. Genetic, like I told you."
Panchy made a broken noise around Goku's cock. Bulma squeezed her hand harder.
Krillin fucked her like he had a point to prove. Every thrust bottomed out. Every few strokes he ground deep and stayed there, making her feel the shape of him. When she started shaking he just kept going.
"You're tighter than her," he muttered. "But you're taking it the same way. Look at that. Already drooling."
Goku pulled out of her mouth long enough for her to gasp, then pushed back in. "She's doing good."
"She's doing what she's told," Vegeta corrected. He stepped closer, grabbed a fistful of Panchy's grey hair, and turned her face toward him. "Open."
She opened. He replaced Goku without ceremony. Thicker. Heavier on her tongue. He didn't bother with shallow. He pushed until her nose pressed against his stomach and held her there while Krillin kept slamming into her cunt.
Panchy's mind started fracturing the same way Bulma's did.
The guilt was still there — *this is my daughter's bed, these are her men, I'm a mother* — but it was getting quieter under the wet sounds and the stretch and the way Bulma's fingers stayed locked around hers.
When Krillin finally pulled out, breathing hard, he nodded at Goku.
"Your turn."
Goku flipped her onto her stomach like she weighed nothing, yanked her hips up, and pushed into her ass in one slow, continuous stroke. Panchy screamed into the sheets. Bulma shifted closer and stroked her hair.
"I know," Bulma whispered. "I know. Just take it."
Goku didn't rush. He worked himself in until his hips were flush, then started fucking her with that steady, heavy rhythm that made the whole bed move. Every thrust forced a broken sound out of Panchy. Her arms gave out. She ended up face-down, ass up, taking it while Bulma held her hand and watched.
Vegeta took her mouth again. Krillin sat back and watched, stroking slowly, waiting his next turn.
They ran it exactly like they ran it with Bulma.
No mercy.
No breaks.
Swap when one of them decided he was done with that hole.
Dirty talk that never stopped.
"Same cunt as your daughter," Krillin said at one point, buried in her again. "Same way it squeezes when she's about to come. You taught her good, Panchy."
"She's louder though," Goku added from her ass. "Bulma's loud. You're louder."
Vegeta just kept using her throat and saying nothing, but the look on his face was pure satisfaction.
Panchy came hard around whoever was in her at the time. Then again. Then again until the orgasms started blurring together and her voice went raw. She stopped trying to form words. The only things left were moans and the wet sounds of three men rotating her like she was furniture.
Bulma never let go of her hand.
When they finally finished — Krillin in her cunt, Goku in her ass, Vegeta across her face and tits — Panchy was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. Cum leaked out of her in thick streams. Her voice was gone. Her mind was quiet in a way it hadn't been in twenty years.
She turned her head on the pillow and looked at her daughter.
Bulma was watching her with something like recognition.
"Yeah," Bulma said softly. "That's the quiet."
---
**Morning**
Sunlight was already coming through the curtains when Panchy opened her eyes.
Every muscle ached in that deep, overused way. Her throat was raw. Her cunt and ass throbbed with the good kind of soreness the senzu hadn't completely erased. The sheets under her were stiff with dried mess. Someone had thrown a blanket over both of them sometime before dawn.
Bulma was already awake, lying on her side, watching her.
"Hey," Bulma said. Her voice was still rough.
Panchy swallowed. It hurt. "…Hey."
The three men were gone from the bed. She could hear the shower running down the hall and low voices in the kitchen. Coffee. Normal morning sounds that felt completely wrong after what had happened.
Panchy stared at the ceiling for a long time.
"I don't know how to go home after that," she said finally.
Bulma was quiet for a second. Then: "You don't have to."
Panchy turned her head.
Bulma's expression was calm. Tired. Certain in that way she got when she'd already decided something and the rest of the world just needed to catch up.
"I talked to them while you were out," Bulma said. "They're fine with it. More than fine. Vegeta actually grunted approval, which is basically a standing ovation from him."
"Fine with what?"
"You. Tuesdays. Permanent." Bulma reached over and brushed hair out of Panchy's face. "No more standing in doorways. No more 'just checking.' You're on the schedule now."
Panchy's heart did something complicated.
"Bulma—"
"I'm serious." Bulma's voice stayed soft but there was steel under it. "I've been doing this alone for two years because I needed it. Last night you needed it too. I saw it. They saw it. You came apart the exact same way I do. So we make it official."
Panchy looked at her daughter — blue hair a disaster, neck marked, thighs still sticky under the blanket — and felt the last of the old guilt try to surface. It didn't stick the way it used to.
"…Every Tuesday?" she asked.
"Every Tuesday. Same time. Same rules. Full rotation when they feel like it. Senzu beans if it gets too rough." Bulma's mouth curved a little. "And no locking the door."
From the doorway, Krillin's voice cut in, casual and amused.
"She's already saying yes. Look at her face."
Panchy looked over. He was leaning against the frame, towel around his waist, hair still wet, that same quiet little smile from last night.
Goku appeared behind him with two mugs of coffee. Vegeta was further back, already dressed, arms crossed, waiting.
Panchy sat up slowly. Every part of her protested. She took the coffee Goku handed her anyway.
The four of them looked at her like the decision was already made and they were just waiting for her to say it out loud.
She wrapped both hands around the mug, felt the heat, and thought about the quiet she'd felt last night when they finally finished with her. The way her brain had stopped screaming for the first time in years. The way Bulma had held her hand through all of it and never once looked disgusted.
Panchy exhaled.
"…Same time next Tuesday," she said.
Bulma smiled — small, real, a little broken around the edges.
Krillin's grin widened.
Vegeta grunted.
Goku just looked happy.
And just like that, the arrangement got bigger by one.