Tucker Gets a Bum Cuddle

There was a strange pressure on my hips. Not heavy, but… definitely there. Warm. Soft? Was I dreaming? Something about blueberries and church pews and a humming voice saying “just a little cuddle…”

I blinked.

Sunlight poked through the curtains in feathery beams, hitting the floral pattern on the wall. A soft breath tickled my collarbone.

I blinked again.

Blue lace. A ridiculous amount of cleavage. The kind of dress that might be banned in three states. Blonde hair, tousled. Tuva.

Sitting on me.

Cowgirl style.

I couldn’t move. Not out of fear—well okay yes, fear—but also because I didn’t want anything to shift. The skin-on-skin contact was real. Too real. My boxers were—wait. Where were my boxers?

“Tuva?” I croaked.

“Oh!” she gasped, eyes wide with delight and absolutely no shame. “Good morning, sleepy boy!”

Her hips squirmed once—innocently, playfully, like she was repositioning herself—but it was enough to send a panic signal down my spine.

“W-what are you doing?!”

“It’s a cuddle,” she said. Like it was obvious. “A bum cuddle.”

“A… bum cuddle?!”

“Yeah! Like a lap nap, but reversed. You looked so peaceful. I just wanted to sit on you a little. That’s not against the rules, right? I mean… unless it is?”

Before I could answer, the door burst open.

“TUVA!” shrieked Eira.

“Are you insane?!” Marte’s voice cut through like a buzzsaw.

Tuva tilted her head. “What? I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re naked on his thingy!”

“It’s not naked, it’s just—look, I was admiring. Like… spiritually.”

I shrieked. Yes. Shrieked. Like a teakettle under stress.

“You’re literally naked on his penis!” Eira screeched, stomping into the room in nothing but a long T-shirt that barely covered her thighs.

Tuva crossed her arms like a sulking art student. “I am not naked. I’m just not wearing panties. That’s totally different.”

“It’s not different!” Marte snapped. “It’s… thinner! What if Mom sees?!”

“I was careful! It’s just a cuddle,” Tuva huffed, looking down at me with those gigantic, sparkly eyes full of delusion and affection. “Tucker doesn’t mind. Do you, Tucker?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My soul had vacated the premises.

Eira sat down on the edge of the bed with a theatrical sigh. “Ugh, you’re so lucky. I’ve always wanted to try a bum cuddle with him. Just like… really squish it in there and feel the boy warmth.”

Tuva beamed. “Right? It’s so snuggly.”

Marte, standing near the dresser with her arms crossed, bit her lip. “I mean… not that I’m saying it was okay, but… if he didn’t mind, maybe we could, you know… rotate?”

“Like a cuddle circle!” Eira clapped, as if they’d just invented communism.

“No!” I yelped, finally locating my voice. “N-no rotation! No circling! No more cuddling!”

Tuva pouted, gently grinding once more before slowly sliding off me with exaggerated delicacy. “Fine. Spoil my morning, why don’t you.”

As she stood up, the hem of her dress fluttered, and I realized with gut-wrenching horror that she really wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Oh, Lord,” I muttered, covering my face.

Marte tilted her head. “You know, that’s a really rude reaction to someone offering you skin-to-skin comfort.”

Eira leaned closer, puppy-eyed and conspiratorial. “But if you change your mind later, just whisper it into your pillow. I’ll hear it. I always do.”

Before I could scramble for the sheets or scream into the mattress, the door creaked open again—slow this time. Soft. Gentle. Too gentle.

“Girls?” came Katrine’s voice, sing-song and glowing with maternal calm. “I thought I heard a little commotion.”

No. Please, no.

She stepped in, dressed in her usual linen house-robe—open enough to leave nothing to the imagination, tied just above her navel, generous cleavage glowing in the morning light like a holy offering. Her breasts looked somehow fuller than usual. Dangerous. Intentional.

Katrine took one look at the scene: Tuva fussing with her dress, Eira kneeling at the bed like she was praying to it, Marte trying to act like she wasn’t interested. And me—sweating. Trembling. Hiding under a pillow like a nervous Victorian ghost.

“Oh Tuva…” she sighed, not angry, just disappointed. “Darling, what did I say about sitting directly on boys?”

Tuva whined, “But it was just a bum cuddle! You said cuddling is good for circulation!”

“Yes, but with pants, sweetie,” Katrine said as she walked over and gently brushed Tuva’s hair like she was three years old and not a rogue bum-hugger. “Boys are very delicate. You can’t just… slide your privates onto them while they sleep. Even if they’re cute.”

“Thank you!” I wheezed, peeking from under the pillow like a wounded squirrel.

Katrine turned her attention to me with a warm, pitying look. “Oh Tucker, poor thing. You must be so stressed. Would it help if you sat in my lap for a bit and suckled?”

The pillow slipped off my face.

“What?”

“Just for a little while. It’s very calming. I always feel more connected to my girls when they nurse. It’s a special bond. Eira always get so calm after suckling my teats?”

I made the mistake of locking eyes with Eira. She gave me a proud nod. “I do! It is warm and sweet and I stop crying immediately.”

My jaw disconnected from my face.

“You mean… when she was a baby?” I asked, desperate.

Katrine tilted her head, confused. “No, no. Just last week. She climbed into my lap and had a good long suck while I braided her hair. Poor thing had such a bad math test last week.”

My soul left my body again.

Lord, what kind of family is this.

“Okay,” Katrine said cheerfully, “how about we all go downstairs and have breakfast, hmm? I’ll make fresh buns. And if anyone needs milky comfort… my bosoms are here for you.”

She gave her breasts a quick fluff like they were decorative throw pillows. They jiggled ominously.

Tuva clapped. “Can I suckle if I finish my juice?”

“Of course, dear.”

I stared at the ceiling and prayed for the Second Coming.