Timmy, Bree, and Jamal: Chapter 8

Abstract:
The 8th of 12 chapters. Jamal moves in with Bree in the master bedroom. Timmy removes Bree's wedding ring and she now wears a necklace bearing Jamal's name. Breeding begins.
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Timmy's hands trembled as he hauled the last of Jamal's possessions through the front door, the cardboard boxes stamped with bold labels like "workout clothes" and "Personal Effects" thudding onto the polished oak floor. The house, once a cozy haven of Bree's volleyball trophies and Timmy's vintage watch collection, now felt like a stage set for a new act, Jamal's impending arrival.

Bree watched from the kitchen island, her fingers twisting the hem of her sundress, the fabric clinging to her athletic curves in the afternoon heat. She caught Timmy's eye, offering a small, protective smile. But today, it was laced with apology, her taller frame slumping slightly as she mouthed, "You okay?" He nodded, though his cheeks burned, the nine-inch height gap between them making her concern feel like a gentle tower over his world.

By evening, the guest room was Timmy's exile: his suits hung neatly in the closet, ties folded into drawers. The master bedroom now prepped as Jamal's domain. Timmy fired up the stove to prepare dinner. The sizzle of garlic and herbs filled the space, grilled salmon and quinoa salad materializing as if to prove his worth. Bree hovered nearby, her presence a quiet anchor, but Jamal's arrival cut through it like a shadow.

He strode in, duffel slung over one shoulder, his muscular frame filling the doorway, dark skin taut over biceps that flexed with casual power. "Smells good," Jamal said, putting his strong hand on Timmy’s shoulder and squeezing firmly. Bree's stomach flipped, a mix of that forbidden thrill and the ache for Timmy's kind eyes. They ate at the dining table, the clink of forks punctuating an uneasy silence. Jamal dominated the space, his plate piled high, while Timmy served seconds without a word, his charm subdued into servitude.

Bree picked at her food, her mind replaying the night's before—Jamal's thick cock flooding her, the warmth of his seed a promise she both craved and feared. "This is nice," she ventured, her voice soft, trying to bridge the gap. Jamal grinned, reaching under the table to squeeze her thigh, his touch igniting sparks despite the tension.

Timmy cleared the plates afterward, his movements efficient, but Bree insisted on cleanup duty, waving him off with a lingering hand on his arm. "I've got this," she whispered, her protectiveness flaring. In the sink, suds bubbling over her hands, she stole glances at the two men retreating down the hall, her heart twisting.

Timmy got naked and led Jamal to the master bathroom, the steam from the shower already curling in anticipation. Timmy removed Jamal's clothes and lead him into the shower. Timmy turning on the rainfall showerhead, the water cascading like a tropical storm. Timmy soaped up a loofah, his hands steady as he lathered Jamal's broad shoulders, the suds sliding over muscles that dwarfed his own frame. Jamal leaned back against the tiled wall, eyes half-lidded, his cock hanging heavy between his legs, stirring under the warm spray.

"Shave me smooth," Jamal commanded, handing over a razor. Timmy, with the water pattering against his back, carefully moved the blade over Jamal's face, then his armpits, arms, back, and chest, the shave to accentuate his glistening skin. Lower still, Timmy's breath caught as he shaved Jamal’s public area, his massive cock and balls, the razor gliding close to that veiny shaft, now half-hard from the attention.

Jamal watched with a smirk, his hand resting on Timmy's head like a crown. "Good boy Timmy. Now my ass, and legs." Timmy worked methodically, shaving his firm bottom, the powerful thighs, the calves, until Jamal stood like a hairless, sculpted god, water beading on his bare form.

Stepping out, Timmy patted him dry with a plush towel—chest, arms, the curve of his ass, then gently between his legs, where his dick twitched at the contact. Bree's oils waited on the vanity, scented with sandalwood and jasmine, and Timmy poured a generous amount into his palms, warming it before rubbing it into Jamal's skin. Starting at the shoulders, he kneaded the oil in, thumbs pressing into knots, down the back, over the firm globes of Jamal's ass, fingers daring to brush the cleft.

Jamal groaned low, spreading his legs slightly as Timmy's hands ventured to his inner thighs. Jamal commanded "Timmy, get on your knees and oil and rub my cock and balls." Timmy did as he's told, kneeling with his face staring straight at Jamal's massive cock, oiling it and stoking it to full erection, with the other hand, he oiled and massaged his big, round, smooth, and potent sperm-filled testicles, marveling at this site of his superior being.

Jamal put his hand under Timmy chin and gently lifted it to lock eyes with him. "Timmy, I'm going to get your wife pregnant. We're going to have a child together. Will you be able to handle that?" Timmy paused, then responded "Yes Jamal, I will." Jamal smiled, knowing he had Timmy in full control. Timmy's face flushed, his own modest dick stirring traitorously.

In the master bedroom, Bree perched on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets still rumpled from last night's frenzy. Her sundress was gone, replaced by a simple lace bra and panties, her long legs crossed, nipples pebbling against the fabric from the air's chill—or anticipation. The door opened, and Timmy entered first, guiding Jamal by the elbow, his eyes downcast but flicking to Bree with a smitten gleam. Jamal followed, naked and oiled, his cock swinging semi-erect, a ten-inch promise that made Bree's pussy clench.

Timmy knelt before her, his smaller frame folding neatly at her feet, hands resting on her knees. The height difference hit her anew—she towered even sitting, her protective instinct warring with the heat pooling between her thighs. Jamal stood beside them, his presence commanding the room like a director on set. He pulled a slip of paper from the nightstand, handing it to Timmy. "Memorize and recite. Make it count."

Timmy scanned the words, his lips moving silently, then nodded, voice steady despite the quiver in his chest. He reached for Bree's left hand, her wedding ring glinting under the lamp, a symbol of their matrimony. Gently, he slid it off, holding it in his palm like a fragile relic. "Bree," he said, eyes lifting to meet hers, brimming with unshed tears, "I am removing your wedding ring. Even though we’re still married, our marriage will no longer be recognized."

The words hung heavy, a ritual severance. Bree's breath hitched, tears spilling hot down her cheeks, her hand trembling in his. Timmy's own eyes welled, a sob escaping as he clutched the ring. She cupped his face, thumb brushing his tear-streaked cheek, her heart aching for the charming boy who'd won her with kindness, not conquest.

Jamal watched, unmoved, then produced a gold necklace, the chain gleaming, a pendant encrusted with diamonds spelling "JAMAL" in bold script. He handed it to Timmy and said "put it on her." Timmy rose slightly, fastening the necklace around Bree's neck, the cool metal settling against her collarbone, right above her breasts. His fingers lingered, tracing the chain, before he kneeled and spoke again, voice cracking. "This necklace bearing Jamal's name signifies you now belong to him."

Bree's sobs deepened, her body shaking as Timmy pulled her into a brief, desperate hug, his face buried in her neck, the scent of her skin—a mix of soap and faint arousal—reminding him of lazy mornings when his tongue had worshiped her pussy, drawing out orgasms that left her boneless and adoring. She held him tight, protective even now, whispering, "I love you Timmy," into his hair, though the words twisted with the new reality.

Jamal put his hand on Timmy’s shoulder and said, "Help her into position." Timmy obeyed, his hands gentle as he eased Bree onto her back in the center of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. He hooked his fingers in her panties, sliding them down her legs, exposing her freshly shaved pussy, already glistening with reluctant need. Bree spread her thighs wide, knees bent, her athletic flexibility on display, the lips of her cunt parting slightly in invitation—or surrender. Timmy arranged pillows under her hips, lifting her for better access, his eyes lingering on her folds with that smitten hunger, remembering how he'd lap at her clit for hours, his favorite way to make her shatter.

But tonight, he stepped aside, kneeling at the bedside like a sentinel. Jamal climbed onto the bed, his oiled body sliding against hers as he positioned himself between her legs. He was fully hard now, thick and veiny, his shaved cock and balls making it look even more imposing, pre-cum beading at the tip. Bree's breath came in shallow gasps, tears drying on her lashes as she stared up at him, the necklace a weighty reminder against her skin. "Are you ready to start a family Bree?" Jamal asked, voice a low rumble, his hand stroking her inner thigh, thumb brushing her clit to coax a whimper from her. She nodded, conflicted fire in her eyes—love for Timmy's tenderness clashing with the raw pull of Jamal's dominance.

Timmy watched from his kneel, his dick straining, a mix of humiliation and arousal knotting his gut. Jamal guided his cock to her entrance, rubbing the fat head along her slick slit, coating himself in her juices. He pressed in slowly, the stretch evident in Bree's gasp, her pussy yielding to his girth inch by inch. She was soaked, the oil and her arousal easing the way, but the burn made her arch, full breasts heaving in her bra, nipples straining the lace. "You feel so good….so tight," Jamal groaned, bottoming out with a wet slap, his balls resting against her ass.

Bree's hands fisted the sheets, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper despite the tears that had given way to moans. Timmy's view was intimate, torturous—seeing Jamal's thick cock disappear into the woman he'd devoted his life to, her walls clenching visibly around it. He started thrusting, measured at first, each slide pulling obscene squelches from her pussy, the oiled friction making it glide like silk over fire. Bree's hips bucked to meet him, her clit grinding against his pubic bone, sparks of pleasure chasing away the sorrow.

"Oh Jamal," she breathed, “I want to start a family with you. Please my love, make me pregnant, put our baby inside me.” One hand reached for Timmy's, squeezing his fingers in a lifeline of affection. Jamal picked up pace, pounding into her now, the bed creaking under the force, his hands pinning her thighs wider. Sweat beaded on his shaved skin, dripping onto her belly as he leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock.

Bree moaned into it, her free hand tangling in his hair, the necklace swinging with each impact. Timmy couldn't look away, his charm reduced to this voyeuristic role, but the sight stirred him—Bree's face contorting in ecstasy, the way her pussy lips gripped Jamal's shaft, slick and swollen. He remembered his own pleasures, how Bree's fingers would wrap around his tiny dick, stroking him to release while he buried his face in her folds, his tongue flicking her to mind-blowing climaxes.

Now, he was the outsider, yet part of it, his presence a twisted thread in their tapestry. Jamal erupted, with his potent sperm shooting inside Bree, while Bree had a mind-blowing organism. When Jamal pulled out, Timmy jumped on to the bed and held Bree’s legs up over her shoulders, to ensure none of Jamal’s baby-making batter leaked out.