The sun hung high over Mount Paozu, and for the first time in what felt like years, the Son household was quiet.
Chi-Chi had planned this day with the precision of a general plotting a campaign. Goku was off-world — Beerus's planet, of all places, training with Whis and that cat-god, doing whatever ridiculous thing gods and Saiyans did when nobody was watching. Goten had been shipped off to Capsule Corp for a sleepover with Trunks that would stretch into the next afternoon. And little Marron, Krillin and Eighteen's daughter, was spending the day with Bulma, baking cookies and being spoiled rotten by the richest woman on Earth.
That left Chi-Chi. Alone. In her own house. With absolutely nothing to do.
Which was, in her considered opinion, the most dangerous state a woman could be in.
She took a long bath. She put on the softest, thinnest robe she owned — the pale blue one that tied at the waist and gaped open in the front if she breathed too hard. She made a pot of tea she never drank. And then, around eleven in the morning, she went to the bedroom, opened the bottom drawer of her dresser, and pulled out *it*.
Not just any toy. Ten full inches of it, thick as her wrist, veined and ridged and curved just slightly at the tip, made of warm skin-like silicone that held heat like a living thing. The catalog had called it "The Ox-King," which had made her laugh out loud, because it was absurd and because it was true. She called it *Little Goku*.
She was on her back now, knees up, robe flung wide, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other working the thing in and out of her cunt in slow, wet, deliberate strokes. The room smelled like her — musky and thick, that heavy grown-woman smell she'd forgotten she had until she was alone long enough to notice it. Sweat ran down into her cleavage. Her dark hair was a wild mess across the pillow.
And she was *moaning*. Loud. Unfiltered. The way you only moan when there's nobody within a mile to hear you.
"Ahh — *fuck* — right there, right there, ohh—"
She'd gotten the head of it wedged against that spot inside her, the one Goku hit by accident and never on purpose, and she was grinding against it in tight little circles, thighs shaking. Her tits had come loose from the robe entirely and were bouncing with each thrust, big and heavy, nipples dark and hard. She pinched one and twisted.
She didn't hear the gate swing open — Goten was supposed to be gone all day, so why would she lock anything? — and she didn't hear two sets of footsteps cross the yard, climb the porch, and stop at the open bedroom window.
What she *did* hear was a voice.
"Whoa."
Her eyes flew open. Ten inches buried to the root, hand still on the base, she froze.
Krillin stood in the doorway. Eighteen was behind him, arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted so high it had nearly left her forehead.
"How long have you two been standing there?!"
"Long enough," Eighteen said flatly.
Krillin hadn't moved. His eyes were enormous, fixed on the pale base of the toy jutting out of her, then up to her chest, then back down. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened.
"That's... ten inches," he said, awed.
Chi-Chi yanked the robe over herself with all the dignity she could muster, which wasn't much. "What are you *doing* here?"
"Gift." Eighteen lifted a small wrapped box. "We were in the area. Goten and Marron are with Bulma. We figured you'd be bored." Her lips twitched. "We figured right."
"It's *normal* for a woman to—"
"Nobody said it wasn't." Eighteen walked past Krillin and sat on the edge of the bed like she owned it. She looked at the toy. Then at Chi-Chi. Then at her husband, still frozen in the doorway. "Krillin. Come here."
He came like a man in a dream. She took his wrist and pressed his palm flat to Chi-Chi's stomach, right above where the toy was buried. Chi-Chi's belly jumped. Her skin was hot and wet.
"Feel that?" Eighteen said. "She's so worked up she's *burning*."
His fingers slid down through the dark patch of hair and found the base. He gripped it. Pulled it out — slow, inch by inch, the whole length emerging from her slick, swollen pink with a sound like a wet kiss — and Chi-Chi gasped and arched. Then he shoved it back in, all ten inches in one motion, and she *moaned*, open and shameless, tits shaking.
"Oh — *oh* — Krillin—"
Eighteen watched. That was the thing. Eighteen just *watched*, one leg crossed over the other, a slow smile spreading across her cold pretty face.
"Do it again," she said.
He did it again. And again. He fucked Chi-Chi with her own toy — hard, fast, his forearm flexing, the wet slap filling the room — until her moans broke into a shuddering scream and she came, hard, her thighs clamping around his hand.
She collapsed. Panting. Ruined, and they hadn't even started.
Krillin held the dripping toy up and looked at his wife with a dazed expression. "Honey—"
"Take your pants off," Eighteen said.
---
He was not ten inches. Chi-Chi noticed, because Eighteen *made* her notice — she plucked the toy from Krillin's hand and held it up beside his cock, which had sprung free the second his pants dropped.
"Little shorter," Eighteen observed. "Little thicker, though. And he's *alive*." She tossed the toy onto the nightstand. "You'll feel the difference."
Chi-Chi didn't get to answer, because Krillin was already on her.
He grabbed her hips — small man, big hands, hands that had spent a lifetime punching gods — yanked her to the edge of the bed, dragged her legs apart, and pushed into her in one long, unstoppable stroke. Chi-Chi *screamed*. Not a moan — a scream. The toy had opened her, made her soft and slick, but Krillin was *hot*, and thick, and *moving*, and she was so slippery he went to the hilt in a single motion and the base of him kissed her clit and she felt every ridge of him drag her walls.
"*Goku's not here*," Eighteen said, standing, circling the bed like a predator. "So be as loud as you want."
Chi-Chi took her up on it.
"*Ahh — Krillin — oh god, oh fuck, harder, HARDER—*"
He gave her harder. Planted his feet, gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, and started *slamming* into her. Rough. Mechanical. Relentless. The kind of fucking that wasn't trying to be pretty — the kind that was one body using another, hard, because it wanted to. The bed frame groaned and knocked the wall. Sweat flew off his bald head. Her huge tits swung and slapped her own ribs with every thrust, and Eighteen reached down, grabbed one, squeezed, pinched the nipple, twisted.
"Look at these," Eighteen said. "Goku's a *moron*."
Chi-Chi laughed, breathless, and it turned into a moan. "He — he is — such an *idiot*—"
"Sixteen years," Eighteen mused, still twisting. "Sixteen years married to a man who can teleport, and he never uses it to come home and do *this*."
"*Fuck*—"
Krillin's rhythm changed. He angled his hips, found the spot, and started hitting it *hard* — short and fast and mean — and Chi-Chi's eyes rolled back. She grabbed the sheets with both fists and wailed. Eighteen watched her husband fuck another woman like she was watching a nature documentary — calm, attentive, deeply entertained. Every so often she'd lean in and bite Chi-Chi's earlobe, or slide her fingers down and rub tight circles on her clit while Krillin pounded.
"Don't come yet," Eighteen whispered. "Not until he tells you."
"*Please*—"
"You'll come when he says. Let him earn it."
Chi-Chi had never been talked to like that. Goku didn't *talk*. Goku fucked and then ate and then slept. This was two people *using* her — one inside, one in her ear — and it was the single hottest thing that had ever happened to her.
Krillin's breath went ragged. His hips stuttered.
"Come," he grunted.
And she did — so hard her vision whited out, her whole body clenching down on him like a fist. He held her there, buried deep, and waited, because Eighteen had trained him better than to finish early.
When she stopped shaking, he pulled out.
And there, coating his cock and her inner thighs, was a thin smear of pink.
Blood.
"*Oh*," Eighteen said, genuinely pleased. "There it is."
Chi-Chi touched herself. Brought her fingers up. Pink. "I — I've never — he never—"
"Goku fucks you *gently*," Eighteen said. "Because he's afraid of breaking you. Because he loves you." She smiled, slow and sharp. "Krillin doesn't love you. Not yet. So he doesn't hold back."
"Then he's not *done*," Krillin said.
Something in his face had changed. The goofy little man was gone; what was left was somebody with a plan. He flipped her onto her stomach, dragged her hips up, spread her cheeks with both thumbs.
"Again," he said. "Different hole."
"*Krillin, I haven't—*"
"You're wet enough."
He wasn't gentle. He spat down onto her asshole, rubbed the head of his slick, bloody cock against it in slow circles, and pushed. Her mouth opened in a silent O as the ring stretched, stretched, *burned*, and then gave — and he slid into her ass with a low, guttural groan. Chi-Chi screamed into the pillow because it was *so much*, so tight, so full, like being split open from the inside.
"*There* she is," Eighteen said softly, and sat back down by the window to watch properly, chin on her hand.
He fucked her ass like he'd fucked her cunt — no warm-up, no mercy, long brutal strokes that dragged her whole body forward an inch each time. Her fingers clawed the sheets. Her tits, pinned under her chest, squashed and spilled sideways, and Eighteen watched them bounce with pure satisfaction. The smell of sex and sweat and something faintly coppery filled the room. After a few dozen hard strokes, a little pink showed there too.
Blood in both holes. Chi-Chi, wife of Earth's greatest hero, mother of two, being *ruined* on her own bed at noon.
"Harder," Eighteen said.
Krillin grabbed her ponytail — her long thick dark hair — and used it as a handle, yanking her head back so her spine arched and her ass pressed up against his hips. Then he *pounded* her, fast and vicious, the slap of skin echoing off the walls, Chi-Chi moaning with every thrust like she'd forgotten how to do anything else.
"*Ah — ah — AH—*"
"Take it," Eighteen murmured. "Take all of it. He's been saving up all week."
His hand came down on her ass. *Crack*. She yelped, and her cunt clenched around nothing so hard she nearly came from that alone. He spanked her again. And again. Red handprints bloomed on each pale cheek, and each slap made her push back harder, and by the time he was done her ass was glowing and her thighs were shaking and there was a small wet spot on the sheets beneath her.
Then he pulled out and flipped her over — she was limp and boneless now, easy to move, a doll made of sweat and sex — and straddled her chest.
"Sit up," he said.
She sat up. Her huge breasts, each nearly the size of his head, were right there, slick with sweat, nipples hard and standing out. Krillin took one in both hands — he could barely fit his hands around it — lifted it, and sucked the nipple into his mouth, hard. Chi-Chi gasped and grabbed the back of his bald head.
"*Yes* — suck them — suck them hard, they're so *full*—"
He sucked and bit and licked and buried his face between them, dragging his tongue over the enormous soft weight, and Chi-Chi held him there and moaned like she was being worshipped, because she was. Eighteen watched with her lip between her teeth. She'd never once — not in ten years of marriage — seen her husband this *hungry*.
"Bite them," Eighteen said.
Krillin bit down on the side of her breast. Not a nibble — a *bite*, teeth sinking into the soft heavy flesh, leaving a wet red crescent. Chi-Chi *screamed*, back arching.
"*Again*—"
He bit the other one. Then pulled off and looked at what he'd done — two dark marks on two enormous breasts, nipples swollen and shiny with his spit — and something in him snapped. He grabbed his cock, jerked it fast, and came.
Not inside her. *On* her.
The first rope hit her collarbone. The next splashed across the top of her left breast, thick and hot, and more streaked down the valley between them, and by the time he was done Chi-Chi was covered — chest, stomach, the undersides of her tits, a little on her chin, all of it glistening and dripping. He'd come so much it ran off her.
And Chi-Chi, wrecked, bleeding from two holes, covered in another man's seed, looked up and said, in a small, stunned voice:
"...*again*."
---
## The Technique
It was somewhere around hour four that Krillin did the thing that broke her brain.
They'd moved to the floor — the bed was still standing, but barely — and Chi-Chi was on her back, legs over his shoulders, taking him slow and deep, when she felt it. A warmth against her entrance. A pressure. A *stretch*.
"Krillin," she panted. "You're — you're *bigger*—"
"Yeah." He grinned, sweat dripping off his chin. "Been working on it."
"What do you *mean*?"
"Ki." He rolled his hips, and she felt the difference — an extra inch, then two, then three, the cock inside her swelling and lengthening in real time. "I can focus it. Same way I focus it into my fist for a punch. Just... *here*." He pushed deeper. "Only been able to do it for about a minute before it fizzles. But a minute's a minute."
"*How big—*"
"Nineteen inches," he said. "If I really concentrate."
Chi-Chi's eyes went wide. "*Nineteen*—"
And then he *did* it.
She felt her whole cunt open around him like a flower, felt him push past every wall she had, felt the head of him bump something deep inside her that she'd never once felt before — not with Goku, not with the toy, not with anything — and she *screamed*, a raw animal scream, her nails raking red lines down his back.
"*OH GOD — OH GOD — KRIL—*"
"Ten seconds," he grunted. "Ten seconds at nineteen. Use it."
He used it. He fucked her with nineteen inches of ki-hardened cock for ten brutal seconds — short, fast, deep strokes that punched the air out of her lungs — and then it faded, shrinking back to normal, and Chi-Chi *sobbed* with relief and grief all at once because she'd been so full she thought she'd tear.
"Do it *again*," she begged. "Do it again, do it again—"
He did it again. Over and over, for hours. Nineteen inches for ten seconds, then normal, then nineteen again, a rhythm that broke her down a little more each time, until by hour six Chi-Chi had forgotten her own name and was just a mouth and a cunt and a pair of enormous tits, being used, on the floor of her own house, by a man half her husband's size.
---
## The Talk
They fucked for sixteen hours.
Not straight through — nobody can do that — but on and off, in waves, with breaks for water and food and breathless filthy conversation in between. Eighteen joined in eventually: her mouth on Chi-Chi's cunt while Krillin fucked her ass, her fingers in both of them, her cool steady hands and cruel precise tongue. The three of them made the Son family bed creak like it hadn't since Goku's honeymoon.
The bed *broke* at hour nine. They kept going on the floor.
By the end, Chi-Chi had come so many times she'd lost count. Literally. She'd tried to tally them and given up around twenty-something. Her body was one long ache and glow. Her nipples were raw. Her ass was sore in a way she felt with every step. And she had never, in her whole life, felt better.
They lay tangled on the mattress on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and Chi-Chi laughed.
"That's the problem," she said.
"What is?" Krillin asked, half asleep against her shoulder.
"Goku." She turned her head. "He's *stronger than everything*. He holds back all day, every day, or he'd break the planet. So when he fucks me, he's still holding back. He's *always* holding back." She stretched, wincing, grinning. "You didn't."
"I couldn't," Krillin admitted. "You're — god, Chi-Chi, you're so *tight*—"
"He's not even the problem. The problem is *me*. I could do that *again*. Right now. Ten more times and still want more. Sixteen hours and I'm *not done*." She rolled onto her side, eyes bright. "That's not normal. That's not a normal thing to be."
Eighteen propped herself on an elbow. "You married a Saiyan. Something rubbed off."
"*Something*," Chi-Chi snorted. They all laughed. Then Eighteen leaned in and kissed her — slow, thorough, hand cupping her jaw — and Chi-Chi kissed back and felt something warm and terrifying settle into her chest.
"Same time next week?" Eighteen said against her mouth.
"Same time next week," Chi-Chi agreed.
---
## Fifteen Hundred Words of Filth
*(the pillow talk, unedited, exactly as it happened)*
"Tell me the truth," Eighteen said, tracing a fingernail down Chi-Chi's sternum, between her breasts. "When you were on that bed with the toy. Before we got here. Who were you thinking about?"
Chi-Chi's face went hot. "Nobody."
"Liar."
"...Goku."
"That's a lie too, or you'd have said it faster." Eighteen pinched a nipple. "Say it."
"I was thinking about *you*," Chi-Chi admitted, and Krillin made a strangled noise against her shoulder. "I don't know! The toy's so big and you're so *mean* and I just—"
"You thought about my wife while you fucked yourself," Krillin said, sitting up. "With a ten-inch toy. Named *Little Goku*."
"Shut up."
"*Little Goku*," he repeated, delighted. "You named a rubber dick after your husband and then fucked yourself thinking about my wife."
Chi-Chi grabbed a pillow and hit him with it. "And then you showed up and ruined me, so maybe it was a *premonition*."
"It was a *signal*," Eighteen said. "You left the gate open."
"I did not."
"You did. Subconsciously. You *wanted* to be caught."
"I—" Chi-Chi opened her mouth. Closed it. "...maybe."
"There it is." Eighteen smiled, slow. "You wanted to be caught, and you wanted to be used, and you wanted somebody to fuck you hard enough to make you *bleed*, because your husband is too sweet to do it." She ran her thumb over Chi-Chi's lower lip. "So tell me. Did it live up to the fantasy?"
Chi-Chi looked at the ceiling. Then at Krillin, sweaty and small and grinning. Then at Eighteen, cold and beautiful and *pleased*.
"It was *better*," she said quietly. "It was so much better it's not even the same *category*."
"How many times did you come?"
"I lost count."
"Guess."
"Twenty-five? Thirty?" Chi-Chi shook her head, dazed. "At some point I stopped being a person and just started being a... a *hole* that felt good. You know? Like I wasn't Chi-Chi anymore. I was just *cunt* and *ass* and *tits* and everything else went away. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense," Eighteen said. "That's the goal."
"Goku's never done that to me. He's never made me *forget my name*. And the *nineteen inches*—" she shuddered, still feeling it. "I felt it in my *throat*. How is that possible? It's not possible. It's *not*."
"Ki's a hell of a thing," Krillin said smugly.
"Don't get cocky."
"I literally just—"
"He means he *literally just* had his cock in your ass," Eighteen said. "Twice."
"Three times," Krillin corrected.
Chi-Chi groaned and covered her face. "I'm never going to be able to look at you two normally again."
"You'll look at us *better*," Eighteen said. "You'll look at us and get wet. That's what this was for. That's what this *is*." She rolled onto her back, stretching. "Krillin, tell her what you thought."
"About what?"
"About being inside her."
Krillin went red. "Honey, I—"
"Tell her."
He cleared his throat. Looked at Chi-Chi. Looked away. Looked back. "The first time," he said slowly, "when I pushed in and you were already so wet the toy had opened you up — it felt like coming home. Like my cock had been looking for that exact place and finally found it. And when I felt you *bleed*—" he swallowed. "I don't know. It did something to me. Like — like I *marked* you. Like Goku's been in there a thousand times and *I* was the one who made you bleed. That felt *good*."
Chi-Chi's breath caught. "It did?"
"Yeah." He met her eyes. "And your tits — Chi-Chi, your tits are *Chi-Chi, your tits are insane. The whole time, when I was fucking you, they were bouncing and I couldn't stop looking. And when you sat up and let me suck them, I almost came right then. Both times."
Eighteen watched the two of them with a faint, smug expression. "Keep going."
"Your ass," Krillin said, and his voice dropped. "When I flipped you over. When I pulled your cheeks apart and saw you pink and stretched and wet, and you let me just — push in — no warning, no nothing — and you screamed into the pillow. That was the best part. Because you took it. You took nineteen inches in your ass and you moaned and you pushed back and you wanted more." He shook his head. "Goku's the strongest man in the universe and you're down here letting me do that to you. That's — I don't know what that is."
"It's good," Chi-Chi said. "That's what it is. It's the best thing that's happened to me in ten years."
"You should say that to Goku," Eighteen said.
"I will. With my whole chest. After I can walk again."
They laughed — all three of them, tired and sticky and glowing — and then Chi-Chi rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling and said the thing she'd been circling for hours.
"I want to keep doing this," she said. "Not once a month. Not once a week. Always. Whenever. Whenever he's gone, whenever you're free, whenever any of us wants it. Because I've been starving and I didn't even know it. I thought being tired and being a mom and being a wife meant I wasn't supposed to want this anymore. But I do. I want it so much. I want you to come back and break the bed again and make me bleed again and call me—" she faltered.
"Call you what?" Eighteen asked.
"...Call me whatever you want. That's the part I liked. When you told me. When you said 'don't come yet' and 'take it' and — I've never been told anything. Goku asks me what's for dinner. You told me to take your husband's cock." She shivered. "Do that more."
"Deal," Eighteen said, and rolled on top of her, and kissed her hard, and they started again.
And then, because the two of them couldn't help themselves, they spent another two hours talking while they did it — Krillin narrating every thrust out loud like a sports commentator ("here we go, deep, deeper, oh she's tight, babe look at this"), Eighteen giving instructions like a choreographer ("lift her hips, good, now the tit, bite it harder, yes — she likes that, don't you, sweetheart"), and Chi-Chi, pinned and used and adored, answering every filthy question they threw at her.
"You like being called a good girl?"
"Yes—"
"You like it when he pulls your hair?"
"Yes—"
"You like knowing he's going to come on your face this time?"
"God yes—"
And he did. And she did. And by the end of it, at hour sixteen, all three of them were wrecked beyond repair, lying in a heap on a broken bed frame on the floor of the Son house, breathing hard, laughing softly, sweating into each other.
"He's going to come home," Chi-Chi said eventually, "and think I've been training."
"You have been training," Eighteen said.
Twelve Noon
The bell rang.
Chi-Chi woke like a corpse coming back to life — slow, confused, every muscle screaming. Sunlight was slanting through the window at a high angle. Noon. Maybe past.
The bell rang again. And again. Fast, impatient little rings, the way a kid rings.
"Mom!"
Goten.
Chi-Chi's eyes flew open. She looked at the ceiling. She looked at the floor. She looked at the mattress. She looked at Krillin, naked and snoring, and at Eighteen, naked and stretching like a cat.
"GET UP," she hissed. "GET UP GET UP GET UP—"
"Mm?"
"GOTEN'S HERE—"
That got them moving. Krillin sat bolt upright, eyes huge. "He's supposed to be with Trunks—"
"He's back—"
The gate. The gate. Chi-Chi remembered with a lurch that the gate was standing wide open — had been open since yesterday — and the front door was unlocked, and the bedroom door was open, and there was a broken bed frame in the middle of the room, and three naked adults on the floor, and the whole house smelled like sex.
"Goten!" Chi-Chi yelled, scrambling. "Goten, honey, one second, one second—"
"Mom, the door's open and the gate's open, is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine!"
She was not fine. She was pulling a dress on over a body that was covered in bite marks and hickeys and dried come and two bright red handprints on her ass, and the dress was a sundress, low-cut, and the marks were visible, and—
"Hide the toy," she hissed at Eighteen.
Eighteen kicked it under the mattress.
Krillin was doing up his pants with shaking hands. Eighteen was already dressed — of course she was, she'd never undressed fully, the fiend — and sitting calmly on the edge of the broken frame like nothing had happened. Chi-Chi pulled her hair into a hasty ponytail and hobbled to the door, one hand on the wall.
She opened it.
Goten stood on the porch, backpack on, chewing a piece of toast. He looked her up and down.
"Mom, why are you walking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like a crab." He tilted his head. "You're doing that thing where you hold the wall."
Chi-Chi glanced back. Krillin and Eighteen were behind her in the hallway, fully dressed, hair neat, faces arranged into pleasant, innocent smiles. Eighteen had one eyebrow up. Krillin's grin was too wide.
Chi-Chi turned back to her son and said, with as much dignity as a woman with two bleeding holes could muster:
"I got hurt. During cooking."
"Cooking?"
"Yes. I — I pulled a muscle. Lifting a pot."
"A pot."
"A heavy pot."
Goten squinted. He was eleven. He was not stupid. But he was also eleven, and food-related injuries were the most normal thing in the world in this house, so he just shrugged.
"Oh. Okay." He stepped past her into the house, kicking his shoes off. "Is there lunch? I'm starving. Trunks's mom only had salads."
"Lunch," Chi-Chi said faintly. "Sure. Lunch."
Goten padded toward his room. He paused at the hallway, looked back at the three adults standing in a neat row — Chi-Chi at the door, Krillin and Eighteen behind her, all three of them frozen, all three of them with the exact same expression.
"...Why are you guys all smiling like that?"
"No reason," they said, in unison.
Goten shrugged again and went to his room.
And behind him, in the hallway, three adults exchanged a look — Krillin biting his lip, Eighteen smug as a cat, Chi-Chi flushed and aching and happier than she'd been in years — and the exact same knowing smile spread across all three of their faces.
Same time next week.