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The bottle shattered against the kitchen tiles at 3:17 AM. Glass shards skittered into the grout lines like tiny fleeing insects. Lewis watched them scatter, his fingers still curled around nothing—the phantom weight of the formula bottle lingering in his grip. His wife, Jude, didn't even flinch from the nursery doorway. She just rocked their tiny daughter tighter, her shoulders rigid with exhaustion.
The baby's cries weren't normal. They were jagged things, too raw for a body that small, shredding through the apartment's thin walls. Jude's lips moved silently against the top of Cora's head—counting seconds between screams, pleading with a god she didn't believe in. Lewis knew because he'd heard her do it five times already tonight.
He crouched to pick up the glass, fingertips brushing a shard still wet with milk. The pediatrician had called it colic, said it would pass. But medical terms didn't account for the way Jude's thumbnail was splitting from gripping the rocking chair, or how Lewis's own pulse hammered every time Cora gasped mid-wail like she'd forgotten how to breathe.
"Did you—" Jude started, voice frayed.
"Burp her twice. Yeah." Lewis didn't look up from the glass shards. His palms stung from squeezing them too tight.
Jude shifted Cora against her shoulder, the baby's red face buried in the sweat-damp cotton of her shirt. "Gripe water?" The question was dull—they'd emptied the bottle two nights ago. The memory of Cora's tiny tongue pushing the dropper away flickered between them like a dying bulb.
"Christ, Jude. Wanna get out of here? She's going to scream wherever we are. Let's wrap her up and go for a drive. We can go get those burritos you like. These walls are closing in on us."
Jude exhaled a shaky laugh and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "The baby hates the car seat."
"We'll make her hate it more," Lewis said, grinning through the exhaustion. A surge of giddy adrenaline took them—the kind that comes at 3 AM when you're too tired to think straight—and suddenly they were both wheezing with laughter, leaning into each other like drunk college kids. Cora's scream hitched in surprise, her tiny fists unclenching mid-air.
The minivan smelled like spilled soda and air freshener. Jude wedged herself in the backseat to hover over Cora, finger outstretched in case she choked on her own fury. The baby's tiny face was purple, her cries so violent the car seat straps trembled. Lewis white-knuckled the wheel, pressing the accelerator harder as if speed could outrun the sound. Neon signs blurred past, gas stations flickering like distant lighthouses.
Then—silence. So abrupt it felt like a power outage. Jude's hand froze mid-reach, fingers twitching. Lewis's foot slipped off the gas. The only sound was the hum of tires on asphalt and Cora's wet, uneven grunts. Jude's pulse thumped absurdly loud in her ears, half-convinced this was the pause before a final, catastrophic wail. But Cora just blinked up at the sunroof, her tiny chest rising and falling like a tide going out. She rocked gently, her legs crossed stiffly.
Lewis caught Jude's eye in the rearview mirror. His face was slack with disbelief. "Holy shit," he whispered, as if speaking normally might restart the screaming. The sudden absence of noise pressed against Jude's eardrums, leaving them ringing. She touched Cora's socked foot, half expecting her to jerk away—but the baby made a soft, pleased sound, her toes curling in against Jude's fingertip.
The traffic light ahead turned red. Lewis slowed obediently, his hands rigid on the wheel. Neither of them dared exhale fully. Across the intersection, a neon burrito sign pulsed greasily through the windshield. Jude realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt hungry. Cora's lashes fluttered, her tiny fists twitching against the car seat straps as she rocked.
"Ah. Ah. Ah." Cora babbled softly, her eyes unfocused, legs squeezed together tight as she rocked.
The minivan idled at the light, the engine’s vibrations humming through the seats—warm, rhythmic—like she was finally listening to the same lullaby as them. Jude held her breath. The silence was so fragile she could almost see it shimmering in the air between them, threatening to shatter if she moved too fast. A drop of drool slid down Cora’s chin and plopped onto her onesie. The baby didn’t even notice, the tiny rhythmic rocks of her hips taking up her focus. Her face remained flushed, but it was a calm flush.
Lewis exhaled through his nose, easing off the brake as the light turned green. The van crept forward. Jude watched Cora’s legs twitch again—her little fists balled up, her hips jerking faster now, grunting with each rock.
“Uh.” Jude cleared her throat, glancing toward Lewis. “Is she—”
“Yeah.” Lewis kept his eyes glued to the road, gripping the wheel tighter. Cora’s little grunts grew louder, her legs stiffening as she rocked faster, her breath hitching in tiny, urgent bursts. Jude leaned closer, her stomach twisting—not with exhaustion now, but something else entirely.
The rhythm was unmistakable. Cora’s face scrunched tight, her whole body tensing as she let out a high-pitched squeak—then went limp, sighing like a deflating balloon. Jude’s cheeks burned. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Did she just—?”
Lewis’s knuckles went pale on the wheel. “Yep.” His voice was strangled. The silence thickened, punctuated only by Cora’s contented coos and the wet squelch of her wiggling deeper into the car seat. Jude pressed two fingers to her tiny wrist, counting the frantic beats. Her pulse jumped under her skin, equal parts relief and something embarrassingly primal.
Lewis unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click. “We're here. Shrimp with green salsa and corn, i remember,” he announced, too loudly. He didn’t look at Jude as he shoved the door open, nearly tripping over the curb in his haste. The neon sign’s glow painted his ears red as he power-walked toward the taqueria. Jude exhaled, shoulders slumping.
Her fingertips hovered over Cora’s diaper—hesitant, then dipping her fingers inside. Warmth. Silky-wet slickness. She recoiled as if burned, but the evidence clung to her skin. The baby moaned, hips arching into the touch, legs splayed bonelessly, her eyelids fluttering. Jude’s throat tightened. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Not yet. She wiped her fingers on her jeans, the motion frantic.
The taqueria’s door chimed in the distance. Lewis walked back to the car, arms laden with food neither of them would taste, pretending the last ten minutes hadn’t rewritten their daughter in ways neither could articulate. Jude pressed the heel of her palm to her sternum, willing her pulse to slow. Cora gurgled, kicking her feet lazily, her cheeks flushed with satisfaction. The car seat straps creaked.
“They, uh. Ran out of black beans, I got refried.” Lewis handed Jude a grease-stained bag without meeting her eyes. His fingers trembled slightly. A single drop of salsa escaped the foil-wrapped burrito, splattering on his shoe like an accusation. Jude stared at it, then at Cora’s blissfully slack mouth.
Twenty-three minutes. That’s how long it took to drive home—twenty-three minutes of Lewis tapping too loudly and Jude picking at her nails. Cora slept the whole way, her tiny fingers twitching occasionally against the straps. The silence was different now. Charged.
Lewis carried her inside, careful not to jostle her, as if she might wake up and start screaming—or worse, go back to that rhythmic rocking. Jude trailed behind, her bag of untouched burrito swinging limply from her fingers. They laid Cora down in her crib without a word, stepping back in unison when she didn’t stir.
The kitchen light buzzed overhead as they sat at the table, unwrapping their food with deliberate slowness. Jude’s burrito had too much guacamole, its foil crinkling too loudly in the quiet. Lewis chewed mechanically, staring at the wall where a single crack ran from the ceiling to the light switch—he’d never noticed it before. Jude swallowed a mouthful of rice, then set her fork down with a clatter that made them both flinch.
"We have to talk about it," Jude said, her voice too steady, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if to keep from shaking. Lewis froze mid-bite, his eyes flicking to hers briefly before darting away. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, crumpled it into a tight ball. "She's—" Jude hesitated, her throat working around the words. "She's not supposed to be like that yet."
Lewis exhaled sharply, a sound halfway between a laugh and a choke. He pushed his plate away, a stray crumb of beef skittering across the tabletop. "What, you got like, a developmental timeline for—" His voice cracked. He rubbed his palms over his face, hard. "Christ. She's five days old."
Jude's thumbnail dug into the laminate wood grain. The pediatrician's chart flashed in her mind—growth percentiles, reflex benchmarks, nothing about this. The fridge hummed too loud. "But it happened."
Lewis's fork hovered over cold beans. "You're sure it wasn't just—" He mimed a vague spasm with his free hand. The gesture hung between them, absurd and insufficient.
Jude stared at him until his ears turned red. She pressed her damp fingertips against the laminate tabletop, leaving faint smears. "There was slickness. Not pee." Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last word, as if the walls might repeat it.
Lewis swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing helplessly. "But—that’s not—" He gestured vaguely toward the nursery, where Cora lay in post-coital stillness. "They don’t have the wiring yet, right? Like, neurologically?"
Jude traced the condensation ring on the table, her voice flat. "What age did you figure it out?" The question hung between them, barbed. Lewis’s knee bounced under the table, rattling silverware.
"Seven," he muttered finally, eyes fixed on the grease spot blooming through his burrito wrapper. "Masturbating in the shower like a goddamn idiot, slipped and cracked my head on the tile. I told my dad I was trying to grab the soap." He rubbed the faint scar hidden in his hairline. "You?"
Jude scraped a fingernail along the foil seam of her half-eaten meal. "Ten. Found my mom's vibrator in her nightstand." She snorted suddenly—a wet, exhausted sound. "Jesus Christ, we're talking about infant masturbation over lukewarm burritos."
Lewis drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythm syncopated with the nursery monitor’s static hiss. "Maybe—" He wet his lips. "Maybe she was just gassy?" The lie wilted under Jude’s glare. They both knew gas didn’t make a baby arch like that, didn’t leave that dazed, sated look afterward.
Jude pushed her chair back with a screech. "We could ask Dr. Alvarez." The name curdled between them. Dr. Alvarez was the only other pediatrician in network, and a bitter rival to Anna, Lewis’s stepmom. Anna had delivered Cora, had cooed over her in the hospital—had on one Christmas party drunkenly confessed to all the guests that she'd given Lewis treatment for crabs in the tenth grade. Going to Dr. Alvarez was unforgivable betrayal, but telling Anna was lunacy. Everyone would know in a week. Jude choked on a sudden laugh. "Never mind."
Lewis cracked his knuckles too loudly, exhaling through his nose. A car alarm wailed somewhere outside, the sound muffled through the apartment’s thin walls. "The internet?" His voice was tentative, already knowing the answer.
Jude snorted, flipping her phone face-down on the table. "You wanna be the guy who searches 'why is my newborn humping her car seat' to completion at 4 AM?" Her thumbnail found the peeling laminate again, digging in deeper. "Congratulations, Agent Smith, you’ve just flagged the FBI’s weirdest case file."
Lewis drummed his fingers harder—one-two-three, one-two-three—like Morse code for this isn’t happening. "Okay, but—biologically, what’s the worst that could happen? Like, chafing?" The word hung between them, ridiculous and clinical.
Jude giggled, high-pitched and nervous, her fingers twisting a napkin into knots. "Trust me, she was way too wet for chafing." The admission burst out of her, raw and unfiltered, and suddenly they were both wheezing again—half-hysterical, half-terrified—their foreheads knocking together over the wreckage of cold burritos. The fridge hummed in solidarity.
"Okay, so we have a baby sex freak. What's the harm, really? Besides, what’re we gonna do? Swaddle her tighter? Buy her a chastity belt?"
Jude choked on her water at that, droplets spraying onto her half-eaten burrito. Lewis grinned through his exhaustion—the same stupid grin that had made her fall for him in the first place—his stubble catching the kitchen light in patches. Cora’s monitor crackled softly—just the rustle of her tiny body shifting in the crib, not another incident. Yet.
Lewis reached across the table, hesitating for a fraction before sliding his fingers over Jude’s wrist. His thumb traced the blue veins there, grounding them both. "I vote we get two hours of sleep and pretend this never happened," he whispered, pulling her up by the hand.
The bedsprings groaned as they collapsed onto the mattress, still fully clothed, arms and legs tangling in a heap of exhaustion and residual laughter. Jude pressed her forehead into Lewis’s shoulder, inhaling the stale sweat and formula smell of him. "What the fuck kind of baby masturbates, anyway?" she mumbled into his collarbone.
Lewis snorted, rubbing circles against her back. "Hey now, no kinkshaming our daughter. Maybe she's into restraint—those car seat straps did all the work." Jude pinched his side hard enough to make him yelp, but her shoulders shook with quiet laughter. Cora’s monitor hissed softly on the nightstand, a reminder of the tiny anarchist they’d created.
Morning light seeped through their curtains like diluted orange juice. Cora woke without fanfare—no shrieking, no purple-faced outrage—just a series of soft grunts and the wet sound of her fist finding her mouth. Jude watched through the nursery doorway, her knuckles white on the doorframe, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Cora merely blinked up at the mobile, legs cycling lazily in the air, a perfectly ordinary baby.
Lewis shuffled up behind Jude, stale coffee breath warming her neck. "Maybe it was a fluke," he whispered, fingers hooking loosely in the waistband of her sweatpants.
Midnight shattered the illusion. Cora's scream was a rusty blade dragged through their eardrums—but this time, between wails, she arched her back against the crib mattress, hips stuttering in frantic little jerks, obviously frustrated at not having anything to rub on. Jude's stomach lurched. "Not again," she groaned, pressing the heel of her hand between her eyebrows.
Lewis snatched the baby up, holding her stiffly at arm's length like she might explode. Cora's legs bicycled furiously, her tiny face scrunched in rage. "Oh god," Lewis croaked, "she's trying to—" He snapped his mouth shut as Cora let out a high-pitched whine of frustration, her body trembling with unmet tension.
Jude stumbled forward, grabbing a teddy bear to shove between Cora's squirming thighs—not to stop her, just to give her something safer than the scratchy car strap. The moment the fabric brushed her skin, Cora went silent mid-scream, her whole body shuddering as she ground down against it with alarming focus. Lewis made a strangled noise in his throat and set her down to grind with abandon.
"What the fuck—" Jude's voice cracked. The bear's embroidered smile stared up at them, now damp with sweat. Cora's breaths came in shallow pants, her tiny fingers clutching the plush like a lifeline.
Lewis swallowed audibly. "Is she... supposed to sound like that?" The rhythmic squeaks of pleasure, obscene in their familiarity. Her eyes went glassy, her tiny rosy mouth hanging slack.
Jude couldn't look away from the way Cora's dimpled thighs clamped tighter with every jerky thrust against the teddy bear, her toes curling into stiff little hooks. The spectacle reminded Jude of porn she'd watched in college—that same frantic, graceless urgency.
Lewis dug his nails into his palms, half-expecting CPS to burst through the door on principle. His throat clicked when Cora let out a guttural little moan—a sound no five-pound human should be capable of—followed by a shudder that rippled through her entire body.
The silence afterward was worse than the screaming. Cora lay limp against the bear, her chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers twitching against the plush like she was coming down from a high. A bead of drool slid from her parted lips onto the teddy’s fur. Jude reached out on instinct, thumb brushing the dampness away, then recoiled when Cora whimpered at the contact, her hips giving one last aborted jerk.
Lewis exhaled through his teeth—somewhere between a laugh and a sob—and gingerly adjusted the baby’s diaper where it had ridden up during her… session. The plastic stuck to her skin, warm and slightly damp. "Okay," he whispered, voice cracking. "That was…" His hands hovered over her, unsure where to land without triggering round two.
Jude snatched the teddy bear away, tossing it into the hamper like contraband. Cora whined at the loss, her legs twitching in protest, but exhaustion won out—her eyelids drooped, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. The crib sheet bore faint sweat marks where her tiny body had arched.
Lewis backed into the dresser, knocking over a bottle of baby powder. The white cloud hung in the air like guilty evidence. Jude wiped her palms on her pajama pants, her breath uneven. "We need to tell Anna," she muttered, avoiding Lewis's horrified stare. "She'll know if this is...a thing."
Lewis barked a laugh that sounded more like a choke. "Anna? Anna who announced that my niece started growing pubic hair last Thanksgiving?" His voice cracked. "If we tell her, by sunrise it'll be a PowerPoint at her Pediatric conference. The woman has a YouTube channel, for fuck's sake."
Jude pressed her thumbs into her eye sockets—dry from exhaustion, not tears. The nursery smelled like talcum powder and something muskier underneath, clinging to the humid air. Cora snuffled in her sleep, one tiny hand curling into a fist near her slack mouth. Normal baby things. Jude's stomach twisted.
"Maybe—" She swallowed, tasting bile. "Maybe we treat it like a TV time allowance. Rules." The words tasted absurd even as she said them. "Forty-five minutes with the bear after feedings, before it escalates to..." Her gesture encompassed the damp crib sheet, the discarded teddy. Lewis stared at her like she'd suggested putting their daughter on OnlyFans.
The baby care book sat untouched on the dresser, its cheerful cover photo of a giggling baby taunting them. Jude flipped to the index—nothing under "masturbation," "self-stimulation," or even the clinical-sounding "infantile autoerotic behavior." The closest entry was "soothing techniques," which recommended pacifiers and swaddling. Jude snorted. Pacifiers weren't for the orifice their daughter wanted stimulation in.
Lewis paced the nursery like a caged animal, occasionally glancing at Cora as if expecting to see her tiny form humping the crib bars. "We could get her one of those vibrating bouncy chairs," he muttered, then immediately cringed. "Christ, that sounded wrong."
"But she's not doing anything wrong, Lewis. It's just... happening too soon." Too soon according to what? Parenting books written by people who’d clearly never met a baby like theirs? She eyed the discarded teddy bear in the hamper—its embroidered smile now looked mocking.
By week two, they'd developed a rhythm. Afternoon feedings bled into "bear time"—Jude would lay Cora on her playmat with the teddy wedged between her legs like some perverse training wheel, then intently pretend to read a book while Lewis paced the hallway, counting down from sixty. The wet smacks and breathy grunts from the nursery became just another domestic sound, no more shocking than the coffee maker gurgling. They were rewarded with a placid, easy baby, hitting every milestone they had expected. It was easier to adjust to their tiny pervert than they'd expected. And importantly, Anna saw a happy, normal baby at her next appointment, Cora's nymphomania kept secret.
One Wednesday, Lewis returned from the grocery store to find Jude crouched behind the sofa, phone clutched white-knuckled as she recorded Cora's latest "session." "For documentation," she hissed when he raised an eyebrow, zooming in on their daughter’s ecstasy-twisted face. Later, they reviewed the footage in bed like amateur scientists—freezing frames where Cora's tiny toes curled, counting the seconds between thrusts, noting how her breathing changed at the climax. Lewis traced the screen with a fingertip. "She's getting, uh, multiple rounds in," he murmured, equal parts horrified and impressed. Jude saved the video under "Cora_Research_4" without comment.
A baby clothing store's holiday catalog arrived featuring a grinning toddler—"I bet this baby isn't a pervert," Lewis muttered, tossing it in the shredder. Cora, now two months old, had graduated from teddy bears to the armrest of the sofa, leaving suspicious damp patches during mealtimes. Jude caught Lewis wiping down the cloth with disinfectant wipes three times daily. "Relax," she said, handing Cora a teether shaped like a strawberry. The baby immediately clamped it between her thighs, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Lewis poured himself a shot of vodka at 10 AM.
Then came dinner at Grandpa Ed's house—Cora thrashing against his forearm while he said grace, her tiny hips pistoning against his sleeve buttons with such fervor he shouted "SEIZURE!" and nearly baptized her in the gravy boat. The table fell silent. Jude's mother's fork clattered onto her plate as Cora arched into the climax, shuddering against Ed's Rolex, a girlish moan leaving no doubt about what was happening. Jude lunged to pry her free, but the damage was done: Ed's shirt cuff glistened with moisture the diaper couldn't contain, his face frozen in horrified comprehension. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, scrubbing his wrist with a napkin like he'd touched a live wire.
Cora, blissfully oblivious, dozed in her car seat with one chubby hand tucked between her thighs—a habit they’d stopped trying to break after the third failed mitten intervention. Ed's Rolex sat soaking in a dish of baking soda. Dinner congealed on abandoned plates as Jude's sisters whispered behind cupped hands, shots of Fireball disappearing at an alarming rate. Jude counted the exits—three, if she ignored the coat closet—weighing whether disappearing into Russia was still an option. Lewis cleared his throat.
"It's a phase she's going through. Our policy is to ignore it. And just, not talk about it to my family. Especially Anna."
"Yes, I think that's best." Grandma Cate muttered.
Jude and Lewis argued in hushed whispers on the way home, not willing to risk her waking for round two with the car seat straps.
"Okay, fine. We'll try something drastic," Lewis said, pulling out his phone to Google "baby sex addiction treatment centers", but Jude snatched it away before he hit search.
In the nursery, Jude held Cora at arm's length as the baby squirmed hungrily against her forearm. "Maybe we just... exhaust her," Lewis whispered, scribbling calculations on a receipt—if Cora climaxed roughly every 90 minutes, they could theoretically tire her out with marathon sessions.
Jude kicked the bedroom door shut with her heel, nodding toward the dust-covered box peeking from under the bed frame—their honeymoon toys, untouched since pregnancy. "Something smaller than a teddy bear," she murmured, kneeling to unearth a bullet vibe still in its unopened packaging. The silicone gleamed pink under the nursery lights.
Lewis paled, gripping the crib rail like it might steady the entire situation. "You cannot put that near our baby's—" His protest died as Cora arched off the changing table, her diaper bunched angrily from rubbing, her furious little body searching for friction against thin air. Jude peeled the sticker off the vibrator with numb fingers. She pulled the tabs of her diaper open and confronted at last the culprit of their nightmare: her swollen clit, pink and pulsing, slicked with excitement.
The bullet hummed to life in Jude's trembling hand—its lowest setting still louder than Cora's whimpers. Lewis turned away, pressing his forehead against the wallpaper as Jude hovered the vibrating tip just above their daughter's feverish skin. Cora froze mid-thrust, her entire body attuning to that foreign sensation—then lunged upward with a desperate grunt, slamming herself onto the silicone with terrifying precision. A breathy sigh escaped her lips, her eyes filled with gratitude.
Lewis gasped at the wet squelch, gripping the crib rail hard enough to crack the veneer. "Jesus fuck," he wheezed, watching Cora writhe into the vibrations with the focus of a concert pianist. Her tiny fingers dug into the changing pad, her legs splayed wide—not reflex, but eager surrender. The bullet's buzz hitched when Jude adjusted the angle, and Cora responded with a guttural moan that belonged in a cheap motel, not a pastel nursery.
"Okay, Lew, this is happening. So we're going to roll with it, okay? We can handle this."
She adjusted the angle of the vibrator slightly—Cora responded with a series of frantic little jerks, her tiny nostrils flaring with each ragged inhale. Jude's thumb trembled on the intensity button, torn between maternal concern and morbid fascination as Cora's back arched off the changing pad, her entire body locking into a rigid, trembling curve. The wet sounds were obscene.
Lewis slid down the wall into a crouch, covering his face with both hands. "This is so fucked," he mumbled through his fingers, but when he peeked, Cora was staring at the ceiling with glassy-eyed rapture, her mouth slack around silent panting. The bullet's buzz climbed in pitch—Jude hadn't realized she'd increased the speed. Cora flailed suddenly, and the narrow bullet vibrator slipped inside her tiny hole, taking her virginity in an instant. Cora spasmed and shrieked, clear baby squirt shooting out of her like a porn movie.
Lewis scrambled forward as Jude jerked the toy away—too late. Cora's body bowed off the table, her tiny fingers clawing at the vinyl pad, her squeals shifting from distress to mindless ecstasy as her first g-spot orgasm ripped through her. Drool pooled under her cheek as she went limp, twitching like a landed fish. The bullet lay abandoned between her legs, still humming ominously.
Jude pressed shaking fingers to Cora's stomach, feeling the aftershocks ripple under damp skin. "That wasn't... supposed to go in," she whispered, staring at the glistening toy. Lewis made a choked noise, grabbing a wipe with trembling hands to clean their daughter's thighs—already, Cora was stirring, her hips making abortive little circles like she wanted more. Her blue eyes stared up in questioning.
The bullet vibrator clicked off abruptly when Jude fumbled the switch, the sudden silence louder than the buzzing had been. Cora whimpered, her tiny fists clenching. Lewis exhaled sharply through his nose, tugging at his hair. "We just fucked our baby's vagina," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "That's—that's a sentence I never—"
Jude jammed the vibrator back into its box like it might spontaneously activate again, her pulse hammering in her wrists. Cora kicked her legs in slow, deliberate motions against the changing pad—not the frantic thrashing from before, but satisfaction. A thin trail of slickness glistened between her thighs. Jude's stomach turned. "Okay," she whispered, more to herself than Lewis. "Okay, we... we stick to external stimulation from now on."
Lewis wiped his palms on his jeans, staring at the discarded bullet like it had grown teeth. "External," he repeated numbly. Cora gurgled in her sleep, her fingers curling around air as if already imagining her next session. The nursery smelled like baby powder and sex—a combination that made Lewis's throat tighten. He reached for a fresh diaper with robotic movements, avoiding eye contact with either of them.
Jude pressed a cold washcloth to her forehead, her pulse thudding in her ears. "We need rules," she muttered. "Like... no insertion, no more than fifteen minutes per session, and absolutely no recording." Lewis nodded too quickly, his hands trembling as he fastened Cora's diaper tabs.
The baby sighed in her sleep, fingers twitching against the blanket—already chasing phantom sensations. Lewis stared at her tiny fist, remembering how it had clutched the vibrator with terrifying purpose. "What if she—" His voice cracked. "What if she starts asking for it? When she starts to talk, I mean?"
Jude shoved the bullet back under the bed with her foot, watching Cora’s eyelids flutter. "Then we teach her about privacy."
Lewis barked a laugh that dissolved into a groan. "We’re gonna be the parents giving the ‘don’t masturbate in kindergarten’ talk soon." He slumped against the crib, pressing his palms into his eyes until stars burst behind his lids. The monitor hissed—Cora sighing in her sleep, toes curling lazily. Jude elected to stay up and drink instead of joining him in bed that night.
The rabbit vibrator arrived in the Amazon Prime box two days later, wedged between a "discreet" lavender clitoral sucker and a pack of hypoallergenic water-based lube. Jude frowned at the invoice. "We didn’t order this," she muttered, turning over the tiny pink monstrosity in her palm—its bunny ears barely wider than a pencil eraser, the shaft absurdly short and slender, curved for g-spot stimulation. A post-it fluttered to the floor: Free gift with purchase!
"I mean... it's really the perfect size, isn't it?" She murmured, eyes far away. Lewis gasped.
"We said no penetration!" He hissed.
Jude grabbed Lewis's wrist hard enough to leave crescent marks in his skin. "Look at her," she whispered, nodding toward Cora—their daughter arched against the changing pad, her tiny thighs slick with sweat, her face twisted in frustrated agony. Every aborted thrust against the air made her wail louder. "This isn't working."
"Are you going to tell me to fuck her next?"
Jude flinched at Lewis's cracked whisper, but didn't let go of his wrist. Cora's screams hit a new pitch, her tiny body bowing off the changing pad like she was being electrocuted. Jude watched a drop of sweat roll down her daughter's temple, the way her toes curled into pained little hooks with each aborted thrust against nothing. Something in her chest snapped. "Fine," she hissed, grabbing the rabbit vibrator with shaking hands. "You want to act like this is child abuse? Watch what real suffering looks like."
The moment Jude pressed the bunny ears against Cora's swollen little clit, the nursery went silent. Cora's entire body locked up—mouth hanging slack, eyes rolling back—before she slammed her hips down onto the shaft with terrifying precision. Lewis made a strangled noise as their daughter took the entire length in one smooth thrust, her tiny walls visibly fluttering around the silicone. Jude's stomach lurched at the wet squelch, but Cora's blissed-out sigh cut through the horror—the sound of a starving baby finally getting milk.
"Look at her, Lew! Yes, we're going to fuck her because life throws you curveballs, man!"
Lewis sank to his knees, watching their daughter ride the toy with precise focus—her tiny hips rolled like a seasoned adult performer, her breathing shallow and fast. Jude adjusted the angle slightly, and Cora responded with a guttural moan that made Lewis's vision blur at the edges. The rabbit's ears buzzed mercilessly against her clit, the shaft disappearing deeper with each practiced thrust. Jude brought a fingertip up to tease her miniscule nipple, which immediately pebbled under her touch.
"We have tried everything else and this is how it is," Jude hissed through gritted teeth. "She needs sex and we're going to give it to her because we're good parents, goddamn it. We're going to smile and learn to treat it as normal because we're not going to give her a negative body image. I will fucking leave you if you don't stop judging me for it!"
Lewis froze as he watched his wife lower her head and run her tongue over their daughter's slick flesh. Cora squealed and humped against her face.
"You're—" Lewis's voice cracked. Jude didn't look up—just adjusted Cora's hips for better access. He left his body momentarily before the sounds registered: wet slurps, high-pitched whimpers, Jude moaning against their baby's cunt like she'd missed the taste. She lifted her face, pupils blown.
"This is happening, so it's going to stop being a big deal. There's no way we don't end up right here in a few months anyway. So yes, I'm going to be a good mom and I'm going to fuck my baby. Get on board or get out." Her mouth made contact with her baby cunt once more as she pulled the toy out, replacing it with two fingers pistoning in her tiny hole.
Lewis watched, transfixed, as Cora's little body seized—her thighs clamping around Jude's wrist, her tiny nails raking red lines across her own stomach. The orgasm hit her like a truck, her back arching clear off the changing pad as a thin stream of girlcum spurted onto Jude's chin. Jude didn't flinch, just licked her lips absently while Cora whimpered through the aftershocks. But Jude kept on munching, assaulting the tiny clit with her tongue and curving her finger to attack her g-spot. Lewis knelt to watch more closely.
Jude glanced up, her mouth glistening, and held his gaze as she slowly—deliberately—sucked Cora's clit between her lips. The baby's shriek of pleasure tore through the nursery, her hips bucking uncontrollably. Lewis's hand moved to his own zipper before he even realized it. He'd joked about a threesome before, fantasizing to Jude about what it would be like to watch her eat pussy. Sure, it wasn't the way he'd pictured it, but it was still his beautiful wife sucking on a clit with relish. He was only human.
Jude reached for his belt with her free hand, her fingers sticky with Cora's slickness. "Get over here," she murmured, voice husky. Lewis hesitated for only a second before peeling off his jeans—his cock sprang free, already leaking. Jude guided him forward with surprising tenderness, positioning him above Cora's tiny, trembling body. The baby's eyes fluttered open, glassy with pleasure, and she reached up with grabby hands as if she'd been waiting for him all along. Lewis's breath hitched.
Cora's fingers wrapped around his shaft with shocking familiarity, her grip surprisingly firm despite her size. Jude guided the head against Cora's spit-slicked lips—the baby latched on instantly, sucking with the same hungry rhythm she used on her bottle. Lewis groaned, one hand braced against the changing table, the other tangled in Jude's hair as she continued working between Cora's legs.
"Fuck her, Lew," Jude sighed. "She's soaking wet. She can handle it."
Lewis hesitated—teetering between horror and arousal—as Cora's pink tongue swirled around the tip of his cock, her tiny fingers tugging him closer with terrifying urgency. His hips twitched forward before he could stop himself, the head of his cock sinking into that warm, wet mouth he'd kissed goodnight hours ago. Jude moaned approvingly, her fingers working faster between Cora's thighs. "She's ready. Fuck her little pussy."
The moment he pressed against her, Lewis gasped—Cora's entrance was impossibly tight but slick with arousal, her tiny walls fluttering around just the tip. Jude guided his hips with both hands, her voice ragged. "Slow—oh Christ, she's so small—slow, Lew, slow—" Cora whimpered around his cock, her body arching into the stretch, tears glistening on her lashes but her hips grinding hungrily. Jude hitched up her dress and pulled her panties off, her cunt dripping and eager.
Lewis could barely breathe as Cora's body adjusted, every twitch and flutter magnified—her desperate little whimpers turned to moans as he sank deeper, Jude's hand now rubbing frantic circles on Cora's clit. The nursery air thickened with sweat and sex, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the wet slap of skin. Jude suddenly gasped, clutching Lewis's arm—Cora's tiny fingers had found her clit, rubbing with clumsy urgency. "Fuck, she's—god, fuck—" Jude stuttered, her thighs trembling. She climbed above her and slowly lowered her pussy over Cora's tiny face. Cora took to her mother's clit as if it were a nipple, and Jude grabbed her husband's shoulders to keep from crushing her, milk leaking from her nipples and soaking the fabric of her dress.
Lewis watched, hypnotized, as Jude rocked against Cora's mouth while simultaneously guiding his thrusts—Cora's body jerked between them, her muffled squeals vibrating against Jude's cunt. Jude's orgasm hit suddenly—back arching, toes curling—and Lewis felt Cora clamp down impossibly tighter around him in response, her tiny muscles milking his cock as her own climax ripped through her. The sensation was too much—Lewis came with a strangled groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into his daughter's convulsing body. Jude collapsed onto the changing pad beside Cora, both of them panting, glistening with sweat.
Cora blinked up at the ceiling, her breaths shallow but satisfied, fingers still tangled in Jude's pubic hair. Lewis pulled out carefully, watching his cum leak from her swollen little cunt—the sight sent a guilty thrill straight to his softening cock. Jude closed her mouth over her daughter's sex, slurping her husband's seed until she was all clean. "Okay," she whispered hoarsely, more to herself than anyone. "Okay. That happened."
Lewis slumped against the crib, staring at the mess of limbs and fluids on the changing pad—his wife's milk-darkened nipples straining against her dress, his daughter's thighs streaked with spit and semen. The rabbit vibrator lay abandoned in a puddle, its bunny ears still twitching sporadically. Cora yawned, stretching like a well-fed cat, her tiny toes curling against Jude's collarbone. A smile curved her tiny lips—her first smile.
Jude wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, watching Lewis's expression cycle through shock, guilt, and reluctant arousal. "Well, you were right, Lew. We shouldn't kinkshame the baby'," she deadpanned, swiping a smear of cum from Cora's belly button. Lewis made a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh, his fingers trembling as they traced the bite marks Jude had left on his shoulder.
Cora gurgled contentedly, her tiny hands kneading Jude's bare breast like she was priming it for dessert. The vibrations from the forgotten rabbit still hummed against Jude's thigh, its relentless buzzing underscoring the surreal tableau—Lewis's softening cock glistening under the nursery lights, Jude's dress rucked up around her waist, their daughter's thighs still twitching with aftershocks as she drifted off to peaceful sleep. Jude kneeded her breast through the wet fabric, her eyes still glazed with lust.
"We need rules," Jude murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion, but her fingers tracing Lewis's spent cock with purpose. "Three sessions a day—morning, after nap, and bedtime. No skipping, or she'll get cranky." Lewis choked on air, watching Jude's thumb swipe through the cum splatter on Cora's thigh before bringing it to her own lips. "And we'll alternate," she continued, licking her finger clean. "You fuck her cunt while I ride her face, then switch. I'll try not to fight you for a taste of that perfect pussy."
"Rules. Right."