Descent into Poppers
Chapter 2 — Dad’s Descent
Mark Vargas pulled into the driveway just as dusk settled over their quiet suburban neighborhood, his tie loosened after a long day at the office. At 45, he was the picture of middle-aged stability—broad-shouldered, with a slight paunch from years of desk work, but still handsome in a rugged way. He loved his wife Elena dearly, appreciating her submissive nature that made their marriage so harmonious. Little did he know what awaited him inside.
As he opened the front door, the scent hit him like a wall: sharp, chemical, almost fruity, but with an undercurrent that made his head spin immediately. Poppers—he recognized it vaguely from college parties, but this was concentrated, pervasive. The house reeked of it, the air thick and hazy. “Elena? Honey, what’s that smell?” he called out, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. But already, the vapors were working their magic. A warm flush crept up his neck, his muscles relaxing against his will. Pleasure bloomed in his chest, spreading downward, making his cock twitch in his pants.
“Hunghhhhh,” he groaned without meaning to, his knees weakening. He took a few staggering steps toward the living room, but the intensity grew with each breath. “Hnghhhh... yessss.”
His vision swam, the hallway seeming to elongate as waves of euphoria crashed over him. He dropped his briefcase, his hands fumbling at his shirt buttons. It was too much — the pleasure was insistent, demanding submission.
Before he knew it, he was on all fours, crawling toward the source of the scent, his body driven by an primal urge he couldn’t resist. Drool began to form at his lips, spilling over as he panted, the trance deepening with every inch forward.
By the time time he reached the living room threshold, he was fully entranced, his clothes half-shed in a trail behind him—shirt unbuttoned, pants around his ankles, his hardening cock bobbing free. Elena sat there, transformed: her blouse partially open, revealing the deep cleavage of her sloppy, saggy big natural tits that hung heavy and inviting.
Her skirt was hiked up slightly, hinting at the slick pussy beneath, glistening with her arousal. She towered over him in her newfound dominance, a bottle of poppers in hand, her eyes gleaming with lust.
“Welcome home, my pet,” she purred, stepping in front of him as he crawled closer. Drool dripped from his chin onto the carpet, his eyes glassy with the popper-induced haze. “You need to serve me now. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To descend into depravity for your mommy.”
Mark looked up, his mind foggy but his body screaming yes. “Yessss... hunghhhhh,” he moaned, another wave hitting him from the ambient vapors. She held out a fresh bottle of poppers to him, uncapped and ready. “Take it. Huff it. Let it pull you under. I want you to do it yourself—eagerly, like the slut you are.”
He snatched it greedily, missing the rush already. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply once, the hit slamming into him like a freight train. “Hnghhhh... hugh... yessss!” But he couldn’t stop; the pleasure was addictive, pulling him deeper. He huffed again, and again, drool pouring from his mouth now, slick strands connecting his lips to the bottle. His cock raged hard, leaking pre-cum onto the floor as he gooned out, his face contorted in bliss. Saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chest, mixing with sweat.
“Stop,” Elena commanded sharply, her voice like a whip. He froze, looking up at her, drooling profusely, naked and exposed with his throbbing erection pointing skyward. Strands of spit hung from his chin, pooling on the floor between them.
“Worship me,” she said, spreading her legs slightly, her slick pussy lips visible now, dripping with her own excitement. He crawled forward, leaking cum in a sticky trail behind him, his gooning expression one of pure surrender. Between her knees, he gazed up, taking in her form: those sloppy, saggy big natural tits swaying gently, nipples erect and begging for attention; her belly soft and inviting; her pussy slick and swollen, juices trickling down her thighs.
“You like this, don’t you?” she teased, running a hand through his hair, pulling his head closer. Drool cascaded from his lips as he nodded, unable to form words at first. “it you want to serve me.”
“I... I want to serve you,” he mumbled, his voice thick with saliva. And with that ission, his body betrayed him—he came hard, ropes of cum splattering onto her feet, mixing with the drool already there. “Hunghhhhh... yessss... serve mommy...”
She laughed, a sultry, dominant sound. “Then you need to clean my feet first. Drool on them. Worship them. Show me how much you want to serve.”
He leaned down, taking another few hits from the bottle she pressed back into his hand. “Hnghhhh... hugh... yessss,” he groaned, the poppers amplifying everything — the taste of her skin, the messiness of it all. Drool poured from his mouth as he lapped at her cum-covered feet, sucking her pedicured toes, his tongue swirling through the sticky mixture of semen, saliva, and her own sweat.
It was sloppy, messy, utterly depraved: spit bubbles formed as he sucked on her toes, mumbling incoherently at first, then repeating what he saw, what he felt. “Mommy’s feet so delicious... covered in cum... must eat that cum... yessss, I need to savour that cum...”
Elena moaned above him, her own hand slipping between her legs to stroke her slick pussy, but she held back, savoring his submission. “More, pet. Drool harder. Make it messier.” He obliged, huffing again — “Hunghhhhh... hnghhhh” — and letting saliva flood out, soaking her feet, the carpet, his face. Strands of drool connected his lips to her skin as he licked and sucked, his cock twitching back to life, leaking more pre-cum. “Worship mommy’s feet... sloppy, messy feet... eat that sperm... forever your slave...”
He repeated it like a mantra, his voice garbled through the drool: “Mommy so good... feet covered in drool and cum... Mmmmmmm, delicioussss... serve forever... yessss.” His hands gripped her ankles, pulling her toes deeper into his mouth, sucking noisily, the sounds wet and obscene. Saliva dripped everywhere—down his chin, onto his chest, pooling between her toes. He gooned harder, his eyes crossing slightly from the popper rush, mumbling, “Hnghhhh... drool on mommy... eat that cum... hugh...”
She guided him, pressing her foot against his face, smearing the mess across his cheeks. “Look at you, my drooly little slave. Repeat it: Mommy’s feet are your world.” He did, over and over, his tongue never stopping, lapping up every drop of cum and spit. “Mommy’s feet are my world... need to clean that cum... drool forever... yessss.”
The scene was a tableau of filth: his naked body glistening with sweat and saliva, her feet shiny and slick, the air thick with poppers and the scent of arousal.
As he continued, huffing intermittently — “Hunghhhhh... yessss” — more drool cascaded, turning the worship into a slippery, chaotic ritual. He mumbled through the mess, “Slave to mommy... lick the drool... eat that sperm... hnghhhh.” Elena watched, her own drool starting to form from the excitement, dripping onto her tits as she played with herself lightly. But she wanted more from him, drawing it out, making him beg in his trance. “Tell me what you see, pet. Repeat it all.”
“Drooly feet... mommy’s saggy tits so good... slick pussy dripping... cum... serve forever... hunghhhhh.” He came again without touching himself, spurting onto the floor, only to lap it up mixed with drool, his submission complete. The living room was a wreck — puddles of saliva and cum, the bottle of poppers half-empty beside him. He huffed one last time, “Yessss... hugh... mommy’s slave,” and collapsed at her feet, drooling contently, mumbling his devotion in endless, sloppy repetition.