A Bumpy Ride

I also plan to put out a commission compilation when I have enough material. If you've gotten a commission with me and are excited to see it posted, don't worry, it'll be up here in a few weeks or so.

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Tom had always felt nervous having Dylan in his house, even back in those days. The way Dylan’s eyes would shift from side to side, lingering over every piece of silverware, vase, and electronic, as if he was viewing his own reflection through their lustre and sheen. But Tom knew, the last thing on Dylan’s mind in those moments was his reflection, or on any awareness of himself whatsoever.

Dylan’s fingers would twitch back then, and he’d walk up and down the halls and stairways of Tom’s house, his head always on a pivot, and his eyes wide. Even after visiting there for a few times, it was as if the unbelievable opulence of the place had yet to settle on his mind, which only knew the dirt and grime of poverty and neglect, so intimately in fact that he had only assumed that it was the natural way of the world.

Tom, a lot younger then, but growing fast as he followed Dylan around his house like a security guard, spoke: “I think they’ll be home any minute now,” referring to his parents.

“That’s nice,” Dylan said, pretending not to understand.

Tom looked over his shoulder, hoping he’d see a shadow or loose glimmer along the wall reflecting their approach. “It’s just… they might think it’s weird the way we’re walking around the house and…” He turned around to see his hallway empty.

Dylan was gone.

Tom speedwalked up his hallway. He peeked into his own bedroom, almost hoping that if Dylan was going to make the jump to stealing, he would do it there so Tom’s parents wouldn’t realize anything was missing.

The room was empty of everything except for sunshine and the necessary ingredients for a fun time (as far as boys their age saw it).

Tom looked over to the bathroom. Its door hung open and it was black inside. He checked anyways. The door creaked open to darkness with a faded strip of light over the porcelain tub.

Tom backed out of the bathroom. Then he heard something coming from his parent’s room. His heart skipped a beat.

When he pushed the door open, he saw Dylan in the half-darkness, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Tom stood there, saying nothing to him.

Dylan seemed to be manipulating something within his hands. Whatever it was, it had him distracted enough to not notice Tom’s heavy breathing.

Tom took a step in, creaking the floor. There was a snapping noise and Dylan jerked his head back and upright, still facing away.

“Huh…” was all he said.

Tom expected more. He continued forward, the object that sat in his friend’s hand coming clearer into view.

Dylan looked down at them: the convex craters which made up Evelyn’s bra.

Tom noticed the underwear drawer was hanging open. Its contents, lush and pristine normally, hung out slightly, dishevelled.

Dylan, looking down, pawed at the deepest part of the cup with his thumb. “These are as big as my mom’s,” he said. He continued feeling. “But it feels so much… softer.” He tugged on the either end of the cup. “And… stronger.”  

Tom stared at his friend.

Dylan got up suddenly, and Tom, for a second, assumed it was the sudden self-awareness, or even shame, that Dylan seemed to lack normally finally bringing itself into being. Instead, Dylan let the bra fall onto the floor and he stood over the open valley of Tom’s mom’s underwear.

He pawed through it, shamelessly and without even looking to Tom for permission. “All of it,” he said. His hand ran through the sea of fabric, feeling the curved inner and outer surfaces of the bras, and sudden sensation of panty-crotches, running up the fine hairs of both arms. “It’s so… it’s…”

“Expensive,” Tom said.

Dylan looked at him directly in the eye for the first time in a while, his eyes wide and his mouth closed.

When Tom recognized the rising angst, not acute but profound, which began to rise in his usually-stoic friend’s features, his flat mouth twitched at its end, and, now without any shame of his own, rose into what – even in the darkness – could be recognized as a little smirk.

---

It was a strange moment, very small, so small he had forgotten about it, but Tom, laying down on his bed with the heels of his feet resting on his headboard, wondered at what it would be like to have an Asian friend. He pondered the thought for a moment, but he remembered that there were no Asians in town. None in his grade at least. He smirked to himself then, thinking about that caveat, wondering what it would be like to be friends with Tony and his wife, when suddenly he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

He looked over at it, annoyed. Even before she could speak, he guessed it was her. After all, she was the only person he knew who knocked with an open palm.

“Tom,” she called as if talking to the help. “Remember what I told you about the benefits of exercise?”

He stared at the door for a moment. “How could I forget?” he said dryly.

“I was thinking that now’s as good a day to start as any.”

Tom grit his teeth. He took in a deep breath and looked up at his ceiling. Then he looked back at the door. It stared back at him silently. “Funny,” he said, his words crushed by his molars. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“How funny!” she said, excited. “I guess it’s true what they say then…”

“What’s that, mom?”

“Great minds think alike!”

Tom cringed when he came out to the living room and saw what his mom was wearing. Her sports bra held tight to her breasts, giving their enormous size only enough shape to make them easier to ogle, with its pink material naturally drawing the eye. Her shorts sat tight against her ass.

She looked her son up and down.

He stared back at her.

“That what you’re going to wear?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as if it were a question she should be asking him and not the other way around.

“What’s wrong with this?” he asked, looking down at his shorts.

She stared for a second too long. Then she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I was just asking.”

Tom felt the air against his skin, the sensation of it making him realize he was already sweating. He didn’t know why until he took another look at his mom. Behind her, far off on the neighbor’s stoop (though he had to squint to see him from that distance), the neighbor stood, staring at Evelyn. Tom had seen his mom from even further distances, and he knew that his neighbor was having no problem right now making out her shape.

She leaned over, putting the weight on one hip to stretch, her arm extending in a curve over her head, her careless hand hanging. Her breasts fell from her torso, the sport’s bra itself having trouble keeping them in place. She gave a little pant, and then alternated to her other side, her hanging breasts switching their polarity violently, almost looking as if it were painful, though her face, wearing some of the grin inherited for more nefarious purposes by her son, showed no signs of it.

Tom looked over at the neighbor, who stood there on his elevated stoop, still staring. Tom almost wanted to scowl, but he knew his expression was invisible from that distance. He looked down at the man’s driveway, seeing his glimmering Porshe draped in sunrays.

“You ever ride in one of those?”

“In what?” Evelyn asked, pulling her body up and upright, her giant breasts plopping into place and settling before her.

“The Porshe,” Tom said, nodding toward it.

She looked over, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as a visor. The neighbor, assuming they were looking at him, looked away. Even from that distance, Tom could see the reddening hues of the man’s age-weathered cheeks.

“Ooh,” she said. “No… I rode in a lot of nice vehicles. Never a Porshe though.”

Tom stood there, imagining what it would be like to drive one, or to, at the very least, sit in its passenger seat.

“Hey,” Evelyn said. “Your shoelace is untied.”

Tom looked down.

“It’s a good thing I caught it,” she said as Tom kneeled. “If you would have tripped on it, it would have been bad. Woman’s intuition I guess.”

As Tom tied his shoe, he recalled watching his mom’s fingers as she was down on one knee, tying the loop around the lone bunny air in a way which seemed to him, at the time, like magic. He remembered that vividly. He also remembered the sensation of her breasts pressing against his face. He never forgot it, even though at the time, he was too young to know what it was.

He pulled the loop closed, then he stood up, looking at his mom’s giant chest for almost a full second before looking up at her face.

“You think you can keep up?” she said.

Tom smiled, assuming she was joking. His smile faded as he realized she wasn’t. “Yeah, I think I can.”

“Good. Cuz I don’t want to go any slower than my normal pace.”

“Okay,” he said dryly. “I’ll try to keep up.”

The only thing that kept Tom from being far ahead of his mother the whole time was the sight of her pink bouncing tits in his peripheral. He had heard the joke about large-breasted women giving themselves black eyes when they ran, the visual of it within his potent imagination as funny as any thought he had ever had. But now, running next to his mom’s large breasts, he realized that this dumb joke was actually a physical possibility. The thought of it made his face burn red.

He could hear his mom’s subtly wheezing breath, as its sounds rose over the near silence of his own. Tom relished the every over-exaggeration, delusion, and hypocrisy of his mother. Like her tits, her personality was multi-purposed, in that it embarrassed him while also tickling his humor, fascination, and nostalgia. His mom had been who she was, and that presence had brought him into the world. What appeared like a strange amalgam of insufferability and endless beauty to others, was the same to him, but also his mother. Her presence, its good and its bad, obtusely occupied by the circle of his life. To others, she was an acute moment in the clock of their awareness.

Princess Peaches was her nickname among his peers, one which they assumed covered their tracks with him. But Tom was smart enough to know who they were referring to whenever they whipped out that familiar nickname. He saw those pink peaches in question, bouncing in his peripheral. As people, men strolling in the park with their girlfriends, and jogging up and down the path, rubbernecked to get a look at them as they bounced, their pink getting deeper with her gathering sweat, Tom clamped down on the corners of his smile with his teeth. His mom, only looking ahead, fixated on her snaking path, even as the stray breasts bounced up covering half her sight, was implicitly funny to him; the sturdiness in her mouth, the seriousness in her eyes, and the cartoonish image of those bouncing breasts. And him, him stuck within the middle of it all. It was all too good to be true. Even the very real embarrassment that came to him as every third person recognized him wasn’t enough to wash away the humor he felt. Even still, his blushing from embarrassment only managed to barely match Evelyn’s blushing from exertion.

“Tom!” She called out, sucking in breath soon after. “Tom!”

He ignored her, his grin gaining at the edge of his mouth. He was sure she was the only person who knew him for any considerable time who never noticed his grin or knew what it meant.

“Tommy!”

Tom slowed down. Even as he found his stop, he still ran in place, turning around to look at his heaving mother. “It’s okay, mom,” he said. “I’m not too tired. I’m getting there, but not yet.” He smiled warmly. “You don’t have to stop for me.”

She stood there, her palms against her thighs, sucking in breath, her breasts jiggling with the violence of each one, falling softly with every exhalation.

Tom noticed a crystal clear dew of sweat falling, glimmering in the sun a moment, before striking pavement silently. Tom looked around, trees bordering them on both sides, with the area down the path, and that which they came from, both snaking bending out of view.

Tom looked around, noticing how silent it was out here, realizing he hadn’t seen anyone for a few minutes now. He looked down at the path, his mom having told him this was her usual way. He wondered at how many accumulated beads of sweat this path had absorbed after so many years of her passing over it. He looked down at his feet, moving his shoe out of the way, as if he’d see it beneath him.

“Ogh,” his mom whined. “I have to pee.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

She waved ahead twice with the full motion of her arm. “Ahead…” she was still out of breath. “Ahead somewhere. It’s… I have to go now. No time…”

“What?” Tom’s grin was there, but it was tarnished with confusion.

“In the bush,” she said.

“Are you crazy?”

She shook her head. “I do it all the time, Tom. Nobody…. Nobody’s out there.” She pointed into the treeline. Tom looked into it, its confines dark even within the brightness of the surrounding afternoon.

“I even…” she tapped the pocket of her shorts, giving her butt a jiggle. “I even carry… um… tissue for this… uh… very reason.” Her breath was coming back to her. She slowly leaned back upright, finally sounding as if she had found air.

Her breasts fell back into their usual position, Tom watched every millisecond of it as it happened, and his mind flashbacked to that time in Italy, watching his mom from high up on that ridge, knowing that many Italian boys, horny both from their youth and from their ethnicity, had seen her exactly like this, her “Americana” ass out in the salt-bitten Italian air.

Tom had no interest in stopping his mother from being nude outdoors again. Part of him was excited to hear that she did this regularly, so much so that when he waved her on, he did it hoping she’d move quickly. He was in his shorts and didn’t have much chance hiding an erection from her. “Yeah,” it’ll be fine he said, his warm grin growing mischievous. “Go.”

She turned and went off. Tom watched her ass in her shorts as she went, watching each cheek shift from dominant to submissive in light of the other. After she disappeared, Tom looked from side to side, both snaking ends of the pathway empty. He looked ahead, grinning at no one except for circumstance now. “Just a little peek,” he whispered to himself. “I’m entitled to one more.”

His palm found the bark of the first tree, and with that, he began sneaking forward.

Eveyln moved between the trees, hearing the grass crunch beneath her sneakers, taking a look back every few steps to gauge how far from the path she had gotten. She was more than far enough, but she wanted to be careful. The thought of being spotted in such a compromised state mortified her. She was a beautiful woman, she was well aware of it (and she prided herself and how little she brought it up), and she was aware of all of its little privileges, which she knew, as an unspoken rule, often dwarfed the privileges of being white itself. But she also knew that with every privilege came its responsibility, or at least its weight.

The weight of beauty loomed on her as she hunched up next to that tree, her palm chafing its weathered bark. She kneeled down, removing her yoga shorts and her underwear, feeling them pull from her sweaty thighs and hips, and the nooks between them, like a peel from an orange.

She bent her naked ass, feeling it goosebump like it usually did when tickled by blades of grass.

No, she just needed to focus. She shut her eyes.

Tom leered around the tree. The first thing he saw was his mom’s stream, its consistency pure, as opposed to how it was in Italy, where alcohol and food tainted it. She now sprayed out a consistently clear blast. Tom watched, feeling his cock get hard, pressing against the tree he hid behind, realizing he was much closer to his mom than he was on that European vacation. And the fact that this was all happening so close to home this time only made it so much more enticing to take in.

His mom’s butt-cheeks seemed to flare out from the pressure. She wasn’t kidding when she said she had to go, Tom thought. Jesus. Her pink pussy, its insides, almost beckoning with their texture, was plainly visible, almost becoming comical in their context. Tom watched as rebellious streams veered off and ran down her thigh, falling in droplet into her panties. Tom’s cheeks held his usual grin, but with his mouth held open in wonder warping it. He couldn’t believe how one single person could be such a perfect meeting point for the primordial forms of beauty, sexuality, and perfection while also being the same for such clownishness and oblivious unawareness. She was represented perfectly as she was, as she always was, with her giant tits hanging from her chest, her perfect ass bent over erotically, spraying piss into her own panties, even as she held her back up straight with the same dignity she displayed at every dinner party. If anything, it might have been her straight back which tarnished the direction of her piss to begin with.

As Tom watched there, taking in the surreality and the hotness of it all, he watched, in growing shock, his mind was almost not ready for what happened next. Two figures, moving innocuously as tourists in Paris, stood up out of nearby foliage. They looked down at his mother, nearing her from behind with steps that were barely quiet, until she turned to look up at them over her shoulder.

Tom clutched the tree, almost feeling as if he were in a dream. His momentary inactivity the natural result.

Evelyn, apparently felt the same, as she looked over her shoulder, up at the two masked figures, who watched her from behind as the spraying stream continued from beneath her ass, the only outstanding sound.

Evelyn’s expression stayed the same, even as the piss began to slow down. Then it was a slight stream. Then a few more sprays, each separated by nothing. And then dripping. And then a final drip.

“You done?” one of the men asked.

Evelyn answered with a scream, it finally sinking in what was happening. She stood up to run, but as she moved her legs, her lifetime of exercise, rather than helping her now fatefully in this moment, lead to her ankle tugging against her underwear and shorts with an increased power. It was as if she had been training her whole life for this, the most embarrassing trip possible.

She fell crashing to the ground. Tom stood up against the tree, his palm chafing in his slide upward. He had the momentum to eject himself toward the scene, but he found himself stuck in place, even without taking care to hide himself any longer.

The two men, walked, not ran, over to her. “I told you,” one man said to the other.

“Holy shit.”

Evelyn’s tits, smushed beneath her, extending on her either side like the marshmallow in a smore. She looked up at the two men, from one to the other frantically, as if looking for a more innocent explanation, no matter how improbable, for why they were there. As she probed for this delusion, her naked ass stared back up at them with much more neutrality than her face.

“First thing’s first,” said one of the men, leaning down, his elbow on his knee. “Shut this bitch up for once.”

His fist shot downward.

For the second time, Evelyn began to scream.

He gripped her underwear, tearing it, having an easy time with it after she had done half the work in attempting to escape. His partner held her down, his hands on her back, watching her tits smush further against the twigs and grass until they appeared to be almost spilling out from beneath her like a liquid.

Getting the panties loose, feeling them wet in his palm, the other assailant dropped to his knees, almost falling on top of her, reaching to her chin and lifting it, so he could shove the panties into her mouth.

Evelyn’s cries turned to muffled non-sense. She looked up, her eyes open in terror, filled with nothing except suggestions that they go for her wallet and not her more prized possession, her dignity.

The man shoved the panties in, copper-scented, deeper into her mouth, copper-tasting, with his thumb. “Chew on that, bitch.” He pulled his thumb out, feeling its wetness, he ran it through her golden hair. Her terrified eyes shut as he did, smelling her own urine, reeking of it.

As the men went for their belt buckles, solidifying what they were there for, Tom found the hormonal courage within him, and he shot forward from behind the tree, screaming “hey!” with a depth in his voice that neither he nor his mother knew he had. “You fuckers! Stop!”

Just as he got halfway, the man looked at him, and, almost automatically, lifted his hiking boot over Evelyn’s head.

“T-tommy, don’t…” Evelyn wailed, seemingly on impulse.

Tom froze in place.

The man’s boot came down, slowly, softly, its tread resting itself on the side of her face. Evelyn stared at Tom, her eyes wild with panic, her expression ridiculous.

The man throttled his foot for effect. “One step closer and…” He looked down. “…listen kid. Don’t make me do this. Mommy’s too pretty for what you’ll force me to do.”

Tom stood there, his mouth fallen open, his expression unlike his mother had ever seen it, and, at seeing him like this now, her panic only multiplied. She heard a thud behind her, and she turned to see the other man, sans belt buckle, going for his jeans. He undid them, and then he pulled them downward. Her blue eyes went wide at seeing his cock fall free.

Her sight was then shifted violently toward her son as the other man tugged on her shoulder. Her tits shook, apparently helping the man’s purpose, as he pointed down at them. “We’re here for these,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Ugh,” Evelyn groaned.

“And this,” the other one said, kneeling down the back of his fingers running against the white flesh of her ass.”

“You might as well just sit down and enjoy the show.” His hands shot down, one of them grabbing her throat, the other grabbing a palmful of her gigantic tit, squeezing into it as if it were gruel. Evelyn shut her eyes in pain.

“No!” Tom said, to no effect.

His mom looked at him with terror, more afraid for his safety than her own.

Tom watched, feeling a coiling terror beyond anything he had felt, coil about one another. The situation, as if it had its own stony face, stared back at him. He wanted to smash that face, or to at least vocalise that he would, but his mom’s eyes, wide and panic-stricken, kept him from doing or saying anything.

The man grabbed Evelyn’s shirt, and with a violent tug, her tits fell out, their pink nipples free in the woods.

“No,” She screamed. “Please, not in front of my son!”

Tom wanted to shoot forward, but he knew he couldn’t for her safety’s sake. He looked his mom’s loose breasts, their sudden, unbroken, and uncontrolled eroticism, betraying her with their own delicious shape. Tom glared at them in place of action, the sight of them, the confusion they brought, fuelling his impotence.

“Don’t-“ he started, following it with nothing.  

The man grabbed more onto the fabric for leverage, and he tugged so hard this time her whole torso lifted. The man kneeling at her ass watched her body as it was tugged out of his sight. He looked up and repositioned himself at her bare ass where she was pulled a few feet away.

Eveyln sobbed and hyper-ventilated into her copper-smelling panties, her tits now free, both of them gripped by aggressive palms and fingers. Another set of fingers accosted her. She could feel them being shoved up her pussy, and her eyes looked down with panic.

Tom watched his mom being penetrated by the rough and dirty hands. He looked up at her face, her eyes pleading to him, both for him to do something, and for him to run away, to stay safe even if it meant her life.

Her tits, big, comical, and beautiful, were being squeezed violently, and their every gesticulation was undignified with a comedy all its own. Tom watched their flesh run through those aggressive fingers.

The man at her waist positioned himself, lifting her thigh, her foot clad in her running shoe, and he slowly, in front of Tom, without fear or rushing, pressed his penis deep inside her. He pushed until her pussy lips touched his balls and then he groaned, chuckling to himself about how good it felt.

“Fuck you!” Tom said, having seen in push into his mom, witnessing it happen as vividly as if it were slow motion.

When he began thrusting, Evelyn’s running shoe shook back and forth on his shoulder.

The man standing over her torso cleared her hands from her breasts just so he could watch them shake and jiggle. He looked up at Tom, a grin in the exposed part of his mask. “You got to suck on these puppies?” he said.

“Fuck you!” he said again. “Go fuck yourself!”

Even as he said it though, he was still looking down at his mom’s comically jiggling tits, not able to take his eyes away. Evelyn looked back at her son, her eyes, while still wild with terror, settling enough into her sinking sense of humiliation instead, that they became familiar to Tom, if a bit exaggerated in their usual kind. Tom looked from her beautiful blue eyes down to her jiggling tits, and the thought occurred to him: she’s going to get a black eye.

The man was still looking at Tom. “Lucky boy you are,” he said, and he put his palm back down, rubbing the giant surface of her tit, nipple and all, for effect. “Thanks for warming them up for me.” He plunged his head down, like a werewolf, his lips falling to the nipple, missing, recalibrating, his tongue out, catching it, missing again, and recalibrating again. Large volumes of her tit were sucked within his slobbering mouth and he pushed violently against them with his tongue.

Tom threw out a barrage of random expletives, his rage insane, but impotent all the same. He watched through that rage, focused on the man’s lips and tongue interacting with his mom’s curvy nudity.

Evelyn sobbed throatily into her panties as she felt the sluglike tongue against the sensitivity of her nipples.

Tom’s cock was hard now, harder than it had ever been in his entire life, and he was past the point of wanting any of this to stop. The sight of squirming, jiggling mom, though rage-inducing, was so erotic, especially to his young teenage mind, that his only concern now, and it came with a certain revelation, was that they would do more to hurt his mother, more than they were currently doing that is. He had worried about this because at pondering, even in his frantic terror, why and how this man knew her to be his mom, and he to be her son, had realized something. He recognized these voices.

He recognized them, working in his living room. Working while his mom stood aside, hands on her hips, shaking her head. “I heard you guys were pros,” she said. “That’s what they all said. I guess you must be having an off day today.”

One of the men, Tom could remember his face, mostly due to astonished expression, vividly. He looked up at the psychotic woman from his labored kneeling on the floor.

She stood there, proud, with her hands on her hips, gaining leverage within her own shamelessness. “I was going to put in a big tip,” she said. “But I guess I can just withhold that. That way I won’t have to charge you for the mistakes.” She smiled, expecting this to be seen as not just a compromise, but as an example of her benevolence.

She lay there in the grass now, naked flesh tickled by its blades and dirt, those previously astonished eyes now looking down at her with power and vengeance, as she lay there, her body rocking about in ways beyond her control, her eyes wearing the expression of unbelieving terror.

The man inside her pulled out. “Move, move,” he said. “I’m going to bust on her tits.”

“No!” Tom growled.

His partner pulled back, doing so with the perfect craftmanship he showed in Tom’s living room. The man hunched over her chest, and his cock gushed with volley after volley of warm cum, its drops landing on the tits’ giant surface, the distance between them so far it appeared like paratroopers falling over two giant grassy hills during a botched military operation.

Evelyn looked down at her tits being coated and defiled by the men’s pleasure. She began to shake back and forth, sending cum flying from them, but at feeling some of it hit her face, blinking and gagging through her panties, she stopped.

“No…” Tom said, this time with less power, as the action had already been done.

Before it could even register, Evelyn felt her thighs being grabbed by the other man. He flipped her over. Cum sprayed from her giant tits all over the ground below, so much so that as she faced that ground now, she saw some of the spattering.

The man behind her inserted himself. She could feel his every throbbing inch force its way in. He grabbed her hips and twisted her, her tits swaying from side to side comically, so that the top of her head faced her son. Then as he thrusted behind her, he caught her arms in a full nelson, pulling them back suddenly so that her torso shot up.

Her gigantic tits flopped openly and freely before Tom. Tom watched, his lip quivering, with strange sensations in his lower extremities, as the man behind her, thrusting into her, caused her tits to bounce and jiggle, so much so that the occasional bounce caused a tit to rise and slap her in her own cheek, even hitting her eyes sometimes, though never leaving a mark. Tom knew why that was as he watched it. They were too soft to do damage to anyone or anything.

“Watch this blondie bitch go!” He said. “Natural born porn star. Born with it. Like her silver spoon.”

“You’re going to-“ Tom stopped, shockingly to him, the recognition that he was about to launch into a cliché being the reason.

The spent man sat aside on his naked ass, his flaccid cock resting against his thigh, watching, just enjoying the sight itself for what it was. He laughed. “It’s going to give her a black eye,” he said.

Tom looked at him. The man laughed, his features obscured by his mask. But not his eyes or his mouth. He looked back at Tom with a smile in both.

“Look,” he said. He grabbed Evelyn’s tit. He wound it back with a tug, then he threw it upward, directly at her face. She flinched. “See,” he said, laughing. He grabbed it again, its pale weight and size spilling over his tanned hand, and he flung it up again, watching it smacking into the side of her face. “Look,” he said again, grabbing both tits, stabilizing them so that they looked at Tom like a second pair of eyes. Then he lifted both and obscured the entirety of Evelyn’s face with them, then he pulled them away, and clamped them against either side of her head. “She’s like a one-woman playground.”

At that, or possibly in spite of it, the man behind her began groaning, he pushed down violently on her back, causing her huge tits to fall out of the other’s hands, and she fell, against the side of her face, to the grass below. The man pulled himself out of her, then he crouch-walked over her quickly like some type of creature. His cock, huge and hard, with its balls engorged with ready-to-burst cum, hung over her face, bouncing and throbbing, and as she looked over at her son, the blues of her wild eyes piercing, the first ejection of cum gushed out, landing against the side of her face and her bangs. More followed, coating her as Tom watched, his stomach sinking and his balls and the underside of his shaft ticklish with a strange, unwelcome electricity.

“Oh fuck,” the guy said, spreading his thighs out more, bringing his cock lower, and then rubbing it against Evelyn’s face. “Don’t want us redoing the job this time, I bet.”

“You fuck,” Tom said, the last part trailing off, fearing it would let them know that he knew who they were.

The man was lucky the woman was so filled with terror, and her son, for some reason even unbeknownst to himself, unwilling, to identifying them, even after that comment.

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the panties from her mouth with his index and forefinger. “Now what do you have to say?” He ripped the panties from her mouth in one quick tug.

Evelyn choked out everything except for words.

“Oh,” he said. “Nothing? Not so talkative now, huh?” It was possibly Evelyn’s lack-of-self-awareness which caused her to see this comment as anything other than just a generic one rapists make to their victims, or men to women more broadly. It was this obliviousness of her own flaws and how she was perceived by other which saved them from prison on this day.

“Ugh,” she squeaked, finally saying something through tears made mild by exhaustion. “You got what you wanted, now go…”

“’You got what you wanted, now go,’” he repeated in a high-pitched squeak. He grabbed her tits from beneath her, pulling them forward, and then grabbed her by the back of her head, his fingers snaked through her blonde hair, and he plunged her face down into the upper-side of her tits. Tom, growling expletives at them as he watched, saw her blue eyes disappear, but her nipples, as if exaggerated eyes of their own, stared back at him, their shape and expression changing as Evelyn’s face was rubbed violently into the breasts which supported them. It was almost as if she no longer existed, transformed now into her most erotic and ridiculous caricature. As if she had been obliterated and only that of her which genuinely held merit continued in her place. The effect was so striking, that Tom, for a moment, almost felt, for reasons he couldn’t describe, as if she had died or disappeared, the vivid sensation of it only fading once the man brought her face back up into existence, and she sucked back the air that the flesh of her giant tits deprived of her.

Tom couldn’t see it, but he heard the smacking of the man’s hand coming down against her ass. The man looked own at her face as he did, a smile on his mouth. It was as if he were taming a horse.

He threw her head back down, letting them find the cushioning of her tits, face-first.

He stood up, now looming over her. He looked around lazily. At seeing where her panties and shorts ended up, he stepped over her, almost tripping in the bliss and exhaustion of his afterglow. He grabbed them both.

He looked at Tom, then back at her. She sobbed into her tits. “Phones?” he asked. “Wallets?”

“Motherfucker…” Tom whispered.

The man looked to his partner, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disgust. “You wanna-“

He motioned to Tom. Before the other one even got up, Tom was in his pocket, looking for his phone. The standing one fished through Evelyn’s discarded shorts, finding both items, then, seeing Tom find his, he held his other hand up.

Tom threw both. The wallet landed in the man’s palm, but the phone, thrown from a fist shaky with anger, bounced and fell to Evelyn’s ass, cushioning its blow.

“You’re lucky your mom has a fine ass,” he said, reaching down to pick up the undamaged phone. “Or I guess I’m the one who’s lucky. He showed Tom the phone’s unbroken surface as if Tom didn’t know what he was referencing, and then he put it in his pocket.

His friend still sat there, nude from the waist down, smiling at Evelyn. He poked his foot over at her, tapping her on the back of her head with its treading. “Wakey, wakey,” he said. “Rise and shine.”

Tom watched, throwing out the occasional invective, as they both got back into their clothes, Evelyn sobbing into her tits silently the entire time. Tom could see tear droplets spilling down her tit like the condensation of a sweating glass.

As they both stood there, ready to leave, the more dominant of the two looked down at the back of her blonde head. “I hope this didn’t inconvenience your life too much,” he said. “We wouldn’t want that…” He turned around, and he and his friend left, walking directly past Tom, fearlessly.

Tom sat there, hearing them go, staring at his mom, her nipples staring back at him, jiggling each time her face sobbed into her breasts.

He realized his cock was throbbing in his shorts. The horror of what he had just witnessed was still with him, its weight too heavy, yet he felt the strangest of sensations, wondering what he’d do if he could only turn back the clock. It surprised him that he didn’t immediately have an answer. He felt no malice towards his mother now, not even in his usual comedic way. All he felt was empathy and compassion, this moment beyond anything she had ever been asking for. And yet still felt a strange luck at being able to be here as a witness, even being able to witness her sobbing mass of flesh now, and to only have to pay for it with his phone and wallet. It was only his built-on iconoclasm which saved him from seeing himself as an irredeemable freak in this moment. He didn’t know what this feeling was, and as strange as it felt, it still all came across to him as natural. And at sitting there, his heart beating a million times a second, his body river-wet with his own perspiration, he somehow felt an invincibility beyond any he had ever heard of in others. It was as if as his mother’s soul sunk into that black pit weeping, the shape of his soul took on the shape of his mother’s shuddering body, her beauty now his strength, and the shame he should have felt adding to her own shame. He felt all of that, even with his limbs trembling and his anger unaddressed.

After giving his mother a bit of time, looking up into the canopy of the woods every so often as he did, he eventually stood up, moved to her, kneeled next to her, with his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, mom,” he said. “It’s over. It’s okay.” Birds chirped in the trees. The wind rose, blowing through the foliage before dying down to nothing again.

Evelyn lifted her head. He managed to get her up to her feet, and he stared at her chest without apology as she did. She didn’t notice, but he wouldn’t have even cared if she did. Her held her against his hip, walking with her to where he assumed the path was. Her body was naked but for her running shoes, and any time she stopped or faltered, he tucked his palm under her ass, lifting her slightly to convince her onward.

He thought of his father as they moved, what he would think, about how he had now taken his father’s place, at least for the moment, as the guardian of his mom. Her shepherd, even in a moment of raw, nude, vulnerability.

He could see the clearing ahead, and, as they got near it, he lifted his hand, covering his mom’s breasts as best he could, with his arm against both nipples, squeezing them as a consequence.

They cleared the final tree.

That’s when they saw it, first the yellow lines on the pavement. Tom knew now, he had taken her in the wrong direction.

A Porsche suddenly appeared, and, in an instant, screeched down into a halt, leaving black skidmarks behind it. Both Tom and Evelyn watched it almost spin, as it continued down the road, carried by its own momentum.

When it finally stopped, the black smoke clearing in the wind, the car slowly backed up. Both Tom and Evelyn recognized it. It then stopped. It came back toward them. As it did, the window rolled down. He looked out at them, his eyes not believing what they were seeing. Both Evelyn and Tom stared back at him, their expressions exhausted, over top of her unignorable nudity. “Evelyn…” he said, as if it were a question, all neighborliness gone.

Evelyn stared back at her neighbor, wordless, her breasts lifting and falling as she breathed.

As he got out, asking a fleury of questions, he opened up his passenger door. It was only a two-seater. “We’ll have to squeeze in,” he said. He grabbed Evelyn from Tom’s hands, putting her into the passenger side first, almost pushing Tom aside to do it. “Get in,” he said to Tom, rounding his car. “I’ll take you to the police.”

“Okay,” Tom said, getting into the car with a weird relief, feeling his mom’s nudity pressing against his side, her tits against his peck.

He thought for a moment about that sensation, not knowing what to think.

Then he felt his neighbor get into the car from the other side, the whole thing shifting.

He looked over at his mom’s body quickly, and sure enough, he saw it there, as pressed tightly to his neighbor’s body as it was to Tom’s.

Tom looked up into the man’s familiar face. The man only looked ahead, serious and concerned.

Tom watched him, waiting for him to show any sign of something more.

The man reached down to his clutch, shifting it between Evelyn’s legs. “Let’s go,” he said. “I can’t believe it… I can’t believe it….” And for a second, Tom took his trembling voice at face value.

As they moved down the road, Tom felt the world pass as if it were a dream.

“What happened?” their neighbor asked. “How did you-“

Tom looked over at him, seeing his confusion, seeing his worry.

“How did you end up like this?”

Tom looked away wordlessly.

The man held to his steering wheel, looking ahead. Every time he turned left, his elbow lifted, pushing into Evelyn’s breast. Tom looked over, seeing the motion of his mom’s gigantic tits in his peripheral. The man straightened the wheel. Tom watched as Evelyn’s breast fell back to resting position.

“Were you in an accident? Were you-“ he stopped, his eyes slowly going wide as he turned over a possibility in his head. He opened his mouth again. “What was it? I want to help. What was it?”

Evelyn, staring ahead, her tears drying, her bottom lip hanging open, suddenly seemed to perk up, at least comparatively. “Uh,” she said, looking down, as if trying to not just formulate the thought, but trying to formulate any thought at all. “We…”

The man turned again, his elbow poking into her breast. Tom watched it lift slowly, her nipple pointing upward. Then he watched it lower. “You what?” the man asked, frantically, his driving seeming to be just as frantic.

“We…” she said. “I was…” she tilted her head suddenly, as if realizing something. “…I was raped.” She said it as if it were some strange fact, relaying the meeting with an old friend or the discovery of a twenty dollar bill on the pavement.

“You were what?” he said, asking it slowly, his tone possessing the gravity hers lacked.

“I was raped,” she said.

He took a sharp turn, itself rife with nerves, and her tits jiggled. Tom watched them jiggle, then he watched them settle into perfect stillness as if their jiggling had just been a delightful dream.

“You were-“ He put one hand to his head. “Oh god,” he said. He shook his head. “Oh my god.”

There was more silence, Evelyn still looking ahead, her head still tilted.

“Who did it?” he asked. “Was it one guy?”

Evelyn turned and looked at him. She looked down at her lap. She saw her blonde bush staring back up at her. She saw his hand fall to her thigh, his fingers wrapping around it, as if to get her attention.

“How many?” he asked.

“Two,” she said, her mouth getting graver.

“What did they do to you?”

Tom watched his neighbor’s hand, his fingers running slowly against her thigh.

“They…” she pushed his hand off with the heel of her own. “They…”

“They stripped you nude?”

Evelyn was looking down at her own nudity, her giant breasts and her naked thighs. She didn’t’ speak.

“What kind of things did they make you do?”

Tom looked at the man. He caught him looking down at Evelyn’s chest. Then back up at the road.

The man’s hand grabbed Evelyn’s thigh again, lightly. He looked into his rearview mirror as he spoke. “Did they finish inside you too?’

Tom furrowed his brow. Then he looked down at his mom’s chest, seeing the drops of cum still leaking from it, landing on her thigh. One drop hit the man’s pinkie finger. He lifted his hand, his expression, busy and intent, unchanged, and he rubbed the back of his pinkie against her thigh.

“Inside you?” he asked again, his hand sliding closer to her bush. “Did they make you suck it?”

Tom’s torso shot forward slightly. He watched the man’s fingers crawl up her thigh, sliding toward its inner-curve more as it went. The rage appeared suddenly from nowhere, just a little, but it rose fast. Then he felt something.

He looked up to see the man looking directly at him. “Did they force you to watch?”

Evelyn looked ahead, her face stony and blank, with just the slightest hint of confusion and the sadness and the desolation she was sitting on.

Tom stared into the man’s wild eyes, his furious interest in the answer to his question. Before Tom could even speak, the man turned, distracted by something on the road. “Oh shit!” he said.

Tom looked to see a fallen tree trunk. The man swerved, sending mud up into the air on both side of the car. Evelyn slid landing first against Tom, and then sliding into the man’s grasp. The man, his right arm reaching around Evelyn’s torso, running against her right tit, grabbed the wheel and turned sharply again, bringing the car back onto the dirt road.

Tom’s brow furrowed further. It was only now that he had realized the road had turned to dirt. The trees leaned in aggressively on both sides, looming over the car.

Tom looked back at the man, seeing his arm wrapped tightly around his mom, her tits falling against the man’s chest. The man leaned in, still watching the road, and he sniffed the back of her blonde head.

“Hey!” Tom said, suddenly, and he thrust forward.

The man’s arm tightened around Evelyn, her tits finding new shape within the squeeze, and he slammed on the break. He was without gravity for a moment, but his seatbelt held him in place. His arm held Evelyn so that the only part of her which moved was the hairs of her head and her two giant breasts.

Tom had no such security. He felt the world fly past, and then his arm hit the dashboard. He cried out in pain, seeing stars all around him. And as his vision came back to him, he gasped audibly at seeing there was nobody in the driver’s seat.

He looked out the windshield, seeing his mom, now fighting, being dragged in front of the car.

He shot for his door, finding its handle, he tugged. It was locked. He looked for the door lock, not finding it, he looked to the driver’s side door. He saw nothing, but he grabbed at the handle, hearing his mom scream outside. “You fucker!” he said. He tugged the handle. Nothing.

“It locks remotely,” the man said, almost out of breath.

Before Tom could look to see him, he heard the sound of something hitting the hood.

He turned to look and was shocked to see his mom right before him, her body pressed up against the windshield. Her face was pressed against it, her cheek smushed flat, her eyes closed. “No!” she screamed.

Tom let his gaze fall.

Staring back at him, their giant volume made flat by the glass, were her giant tits. They stared in at him, again like eyes, their size almost freakish, so much so that Tom would have never been able to guess at just how much surface area they would have taken up. It was only now, seeing them flat, a landscape stretched off in every direction, that he knew the gravity of how much his mom could feel against those things, just how much of her consciousness was dedicated to their sensation, the likes of which must have been like a universe unto itself.

Tom looked up at his mother, but before he could form a thought, the man’s hand grabbed the back of her head. Pulling her face from the windshield, he now, mounting his own hood, spoke into the side of her face through grit teeth. “Look at your boy,” he said, almost snarling it out.

She looked at him, seeing his horrified face through the windshield. Her blue eyes, after a moment of lifelessness, filled with the terror she had thought she escaped. The man tugged her head again, her tits, their flat surface, rolled in a slight circled against the windshield. “Oh,” he said, looking down at something he was doing at about waist level.

“Looks like they didn’t use all your holes.”

All of a sudden, his head shook as if he had dropped into something.

Evelyn’s eyes went wide. They then narrowed, her mouth stretching open unbelievably, but without sound.

“This is what you get,” he said, his body thrusting slowly, and then picking up speed. “For going around flaunting these giant fun bags.”

Evelyn, as if finally finding wind, screamed at the top of her lungs. “Nnnoooo!” It came out guttural, piercing the natural air.

That’s when Tom realized. His neighbor was using his mom’s “unused” hole. “You fuck!” he said, elbowing at his window to no avail.

Saliva fell from Evelyn’s mouth, landing on the windshield, dribbling down like rain to her fat tits, the flat circle of which rocked up and down just in front of Tom’s face, their nipples’ points pointing up and down again every time.

Evelyn looked through the glass, at her son, but without seeing him. Her whole world was pain now, and the only things which registered were those which could save her. Unfortunately, she saw nothing which could, and all of reality had washed away into a meaningless blur.

Tom within watched as his mom’s face and tits contorted into strange shapes. Her horrible screams, whenever they could escape, sent shivers through his spine, but the look on her face, even as the disgusting man kissed her cheek, and her tits, which scrubbed at the windshield with violence, were alive with their own electric beauty.

The man grabbed her throat, choking out her screaming, and he pulled her back, her tits peeling from the glass back into their usual shape. “Oh god,” he said, reaching down to feel them. “I thought they were fake,” he said. “I thought they were fake. Oh god.” He was thrusting hard. “I thought they were fake.” It was like it had become his mantra. Her tits gave within his squeezing talons. “They’re real. They’re real. They’re real.”

“Let go of her!” Tom screamed.

He let go of Evelyn, and she fell flat against the windshield. Sucking back air, her tits smushed flat again. As they went irr, irr, irr against the windshield, Tom watched, both helpless and unable to look away, her nipples not just visible now, but flattened into a humiliating quarter, shielding his sight from the world beyond the windshield as effectively as overcast clouded the sun.

“I don’t know if they came inside,” the man said. “But I’m going to.”

Evelyn heard none of it, she only felt the warm liquid gush inside of her.

The man’s last few thrusts as he groaned were his least violent, but his most vulgar. After he was finished, he pulled his cock out of Evelyn’s tired body with a plok, and he rolled over onto his side, breathing heavily.

Tom watched them, the two of them laying there on the windshield as if it were a bed, post-coitous. Their bodies lay in contrast, with his being old, flabby in all the wrong places, dry and worn. She lay next to him, her body with feminine shape, her skin smooth, her flesh, pressed flat against the glass, healthy. Her blonde hairs falling from her head, his grey hairs, atop his thinning crown. He looked up into the canopy above, seeming to be satisfied. He then turned, grabbing her hand, pulling her close. Tom watched as her tits scrubbed the windshield as she moved. “I knew I’d have you one day,” he said, almost huffing it out rather than talking. “I just knew it. It was just too good to not…” he sucked in breath. “…to not come true.”

Tom banged against the windshield until his hand hurt. Then he sat there, breathing hard as he stared at them both. The man’s gut resting on the windshield with as much recourse against gravity as his mom’s tits. He turned to get up, and Tom could see his ass, pale and flat, as he pushed himself off up with the palms of his hairy hands. Evelyn turned over, herself breathing heavily. Tom could see the perfect shape of her ass, its beauty untouchable, but its dignity tarnished now with the cum which leaked from between her butt cheeks.

The passenger side door opened. Tom felt the man grab his wrist. He was surprised by his strength, or surprised by how much of his own he had lost in the day’s events. He stumbled and rose to his feet, but before he could turn around, before he could grab that cocksucker by his throat, he heard the door slam shut.

He looked at the man, crawling over his shifter. He started the car. He looked at Tom, a smile in the corner of his mouth, rivaling Tom’s. He pointed up at the windshield.

Tom ran to the door, swearing at the man. He grabbed the handle, tugging it to get it open, but to no avail, he was as locked out now as he was locked inside seconds earlier.

“Get her off quick,” the man said, muffled, “Before she falls off.”

Tom was still ripping at the door handle. “You motherfucker!”

The man stepped on the gas. Evelyn shrieked as the car handle slid out of Tom’s fingers. The car stopped immediately. “Quick,” the man said.

When Tom grabbed his mother, her excess body was still in motion from the sudden jerk of the car.

He pulled her off, feeling her weight against him, and just as her sneaker slid to the end of the hood the car screeched off.

Tom felt his mother twirling in his grasp, almost hearing the gritting of her teeth, or the sound her anxious hum made when in contact with those grit teeth. They both fell down to the grass below.

Evelyn groaned.

Tom felt a soft cushion, immeasurably large before him.

It took him a moment to realize what that cushion was.

He looked down, seeing his mom’s body below him. Torso-to-torso, her breasts pressing against his side.

She looked up at him, an expression of tearfulness, but without any tears left to cry.

Tom, slowly (very slowly), pushed himself up, feeling her body fall away from his. Feeling it as if it were loss.

Then he knelt there. He gave his mom his hand. She grabbed it, and he leaned back, tugging her upward.

Her giant tits shook on the way up and remained shaking even after seconds of standing there.

She stood there for a moment, breathing. She looked at Tom. A smile almost forming on her face, no matter how desperate, when suddenly, to Tom’s panic, she swooned.

Tom grabbed her, suspended her above the ground. Her blue eyes opened up again, she looked into his.

The two of them walked down the dirt path, finding the main road, and they walked along side it with Evelyn’s body free and unguarded. Only her sneakers remained, and they had been caked in dirt.

A car came around the bend, and Tom began flagging for help, not even covering up his mother as he did.

A family sat within the car, staring, their eyes wide, as they passed. They didn’t stop. They couldn’t. Not with their kids in the car. Tom wondered, and he wondered if his mom wondered, if the parents in that car just thought them to be two crazy junkies.

He looked back at his mom, who was walking on as if there was no car, her pink nipples just a fact of life now, exposed to the late-afternoon sun.

Tom was so preoccupied by her, watching her stumble forward every few steps, that he didn’t even hear the approaching truck, it slowing down, it stopping. All he heard to let him know they weren’t alone was the honk.

His mom shot up straight, having seen the truck but not seen it, and her tits jiggled.

Tom looked down at them.

Then he turned around. He saw the grill. He looked up, seeing the trucker looking down at him. Then looking at his face more closely, he realized, the trucker wasn’t looking at him. He was looking past him. The eyes on Evelyn’s face weren’t looking back at him. The eyes on her chest were.

Tom would have shooed him away when he came around to help lift her to her seat, but he felt his body weakening against her weight before the man’s hands made contact with her to assist him. He pushed her, one hand on her lower back, one against her buttcheek, until she found her seat.

“Get in,” he said to Tom, not looking him in the eyes. “In the back, on my bed.”

He rounded the truck. Tom watched him, not liking his grizzled exterior.

Tom looked back up. His mom sat there, staring ahead.

Tom grabbed the door, and just as he was about to pull himself upward, he saw the image on the tire flap, that of a silhouetted naked woman, shapely and enticing.

The image passed and then he was crawling over his mother, then leaning over her, her tits against his shoulder, as he shut the door.

The trucker looked over, seeing her tits shake as the door was slammed shut. Noticing it, and waiting for Tom to get to the back seat, he grabbed his own door, gripping it strongly. He then pulled it shut with maximum force.

Evelyn’s tits shook, and he watched them, doing so until a few seconds after they had finally found stillness.

He then turned, putting the truck into drive. He turned his head. Tom could see his grizzled features by his side profile. “Sit back in there,” he said. “It’s a bumpier ride than you’d expect.”

Tom was leaning forward, staring at the man. Then he looked over to see his mom, sitting there, nude, still, looking ahead, her breasts, braless, poking out in front of her, almost reaching the dashboard. He looked back at the man. He slowly leaned backward. He felt his upper back make contact with the backrest.

He took in a deep breath.

The tucker released the brake. He stepped on the gas. The truck shot into motion.

Tom saw his mom’s tits jerk and he cringed.

He looked up at the trucker’s face, seeing it aimed forward and on the road. He felt some relief at that. And then he noticed it. It was the trucker’s eyes. They were peeking over every few seconds, and with every changing gear, as to catch Evelyn’s tits in a moment of jiggle.

Tom wanted to raise his voice, but it had already been raised enough today that every subsequent squeak felt like swallowing glass. He instead watched, apprehensively, wanting to avoid conflict until it was actually necessary.

Tom looked away from the man, doing so to calm down, and without realizing it, he focused instead on his mom’s breasts, watching every few moments as they jiggled yet again. And as a few moments passed, he felt his eyes getting heavy. He fell asleep.

The truck must’ve hit a bump, as not only did Tom suddenly wake up, but the trucker went “ah, watch out.”

Tom looked for his mom in the passenger seat, but saw nothing sitting there. He leaned forward, and as he did, his stomach dropped.

He saw her ass there, he followed it, her body, as it extended over the center, toward the driver’s seat.

Tom leaned to the right to see beyond the driver seat’s backrest.

The trucker sat there, his head back, his mouth open, as a foliage of blonde hair sat in his lap.

“Yeah,” he said. “Suck that cock.”

He brushed the blonde hair to the side, and Tom could see his mom, the trucker’s cock going in and out of her mouth as he thrusted.

“Stop,” Tom said impulsively, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” the trucker said, taking Evelyn’s mouth off his cock as if he heard Tom, but then bringing her face back down to her rub it against his dick and balls. “Yeah,” he said again, husky-voiced. “You gotta pay your fare somehow.”

“Stop.”

“Everybody does.”

Tom leaned forward more, wanting to grab the man’s shoulder, but as he did, he could see the floor, seeing not just the two pedals, with the trucker’s boot alternating between them, but seeing water bottles all over the ground, most of them filled. Those that were filled were filled with a yellow liquid.

The truck hit a bump again, causing the bottles to pop up and roll about.

Before Tom could wonder what that yellow liquid was, before his mind, strained with terror and humiliation, could process it, the trucker pulled Evelyn’s head back, giving his cock room.

“Jesus,” he said. “Always at the most inconvenient times.” He pulled her face closer to his cock again. “Open your mouth,” he said. She did as she was told, dead-eyed. “Nature calls.”

Tom watched as the stream of piss shot upward, shining in the evening sun, up into his mom’s mouth, splashing against her tongue and inner-cheek. Her eyes squinted, her expression contorting with disgust.

Tom didn’t say anything, almost as if he was more disturbed by the idea of piss spilling, or of it missing her mouth and hitting her face, than he was at the fact that his mom’s mouth was being pissed into.

The stream stopped all at once. The man was straining. “Swallow what you have,” he said. “Quick, before it spills.”

Her mouth shut, and she did it. Tom saw it, travelling as a bulge in her throat, down toward its only resting place.

She opened her mouth and said softly: “Oh, god. It’s disgusting,” softly, then her face devolving into a look of disgust, either from the memory or the aftertaste.

“My fluid receptacle,” the trucker said. “Company should pay for you.” He shifted. “Okay, open up.”

He let his stream go before she could. It hit her in her face. She shut her eyes, opening her mouth, retaking the stream.

Tom shot out his hand, grabbing the man on his shoulder, expecting it to startle him. Instead, he just looked up into his rearview mirror, seeing Tom, tire-eyed. Tom was looking at the back of his head. He turned slightly, just enough for Tom to see his right eye. “Your friend here is amazing,” he said. “You two dating?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s your drug of choice?”

“Drug?”

“Meth? I can get you some speed if she’s willing to go the whole way with me.”

Tom sat there, wordless.

“Is she your girlfriend?” he asked, putting his cock back into her mouth and thrusting.

Tom shook his head. “She’s…” his hand shot to his face, shielding his eyes. “She’s my mom.” Tears gushed into his hand.

“Your mom?” he repeated. “You whoring your own mom out for a ride?”

Tom shook his head, trying to open his mouth to speak, not wanting the thought continue, but finding, like a bad dream, that words wouldn’t come out.

The man ran his fingers over her slender back. “Well if you want money or favors or any substance of any kind.” He was breathing heavy. “You sure got a good way of getting it. Your mom, I can’t fuckin’ believe it.” He grabbed the back of her head, lifting it, then bringing her back down again. “Watch?” He began rubbing his cock and balls against her face. “That doesn’t bother you? At all?”

Tom lifted his hand, looking down at the sight through teary eyes. He wasn’t able to look away.

“Do you like this?” he asked, still shifting his hips to rub against her face.

“No,” Tom said, dryly, still staring.

“No? Why not? Just watch.” His voice was husky, playful.

“Stop,” Tom said, without strength.

The man grabbed the rearview mirror, adjusting it. Tom’s tired-eyed face disappeared from the trucker’s sight, replaced by Tom’s crotch. He alternated between looking at that and the road, waiting. And then he saw what he was looking for: movement in Tom’s shorts.

He began thrusting his sweating balls against Eveyln’s eyes. She shut them, flinching as the hairs of the balls ran past her nose. She tried to protest, but the balls against her lips delegated them to random raspberry noises. He stared in the mirror all the while.

“Oh,” he said. “Am I going to have a story to tell…” He shook his head and said softly to himself: “It takes all kinds.”

He lifted her head up by her hair. One hand on his giant steering wheel, he turned her head with just as much craft, toward Tom’s cock. “Look at it. Look what you’re making him feel,” he said. “Okay, if you want me to drive you all the way to town, I’m gonna need you to suck your boy’s cock for me. Give me a show.”

“No,” Tom said, again weakly. But the man thrust her down toward it.

She grabbed Tom’s thighs. “Lean back buddy, you’re about to get the experience of a lifetime.”

Evelyn stared down at it. At first Tom thought she was despondent, until her two blue eyes crinkled up into black squiggles and tears began to spill out, landing on his crotch.

The trucker’s hairy hand came back, landing square against her bare ass. “Let’s go,” he said. “Or I stop right here and you’re walking to the next stop.”

“No,” Tom said.

His mom grabbed his zipper, still spilling tears. She looked up into his eyes, pleading. “We need to go home, Tommy,” she said, doing so with a distance in her being.

“No,” he said again, but he watched, intently all the same.

His zipper was down, and his mom’s fingers grabbed his penis through his briefs. “We have to…”

“No.” he shook his head.

“And you better suck it well. I want a show.”

She grabbed his waist.

Both his hands were free to do something, but neither moved.

She pulled down his underwear, his cock fell free, hard, slapping her against her face. “We have to…” she said again.

“Stop, mom,” he said without effort, and he watched, knowing it would happen, as his mom’s lips came down, meeting with his cockhead.

“No,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “No.” He thrust upward, into the sensation of her mouth, while also bringing her head down, creating a rhythm, one which he couldn’t stop, enjoying the feeling of humid warmth against his cock, feeling it for the first time in his life.

“And his balls too,” the man said, watching from the mirror. “Get his balls.”

Tom’s cock fell from her mouth, landing against his stomach. She put his balls in her mouth and began sucking them.

“Mom, stop,” he said, thrusting his waist out so that her lips would find his most sensitive spot. “Please.” He pulled his cock back so that it wouldn’t get in the way. He grabbed his balls and pulled them upward so that she could lick their lowest places.

She looked up at him as she did, her eyes drying, seeming to find strange solace in his enjoyment. Not in the enjoyment itself, but in the realization that she wasn’t truly hurting him. But as she sucked his testicles, with him repositioning his cock now for her tongue, her eyes began to well up again, her mind rich with the thought of what this moment meant, for the both of them.

Tom said “no” all the while, even as the sun fell from the sky, and he hoped silently, internally, that the ride would never end.

He pressed her head against his thigh as he maneuvered to grab at her tits. Evelyn poked her chest out so Tom could grab them, feeling as if to do so, to make it so easy, was to sidestep the awkwardness at its worst.

Just as Tom felt his mom’s breast fill his palm, he saw neon in his peripheral. He looked up.

“Buckshot’s” it said in bright orange, a vision against the black night.

Cars, trucks, and motorcycles moved through its parking lot.

When the trucker pulled his mom away, Tom gave the first genuine “no” in a while.

“We’ll continue the fun inside,” he said.

Two men stood outside the truck, standing there with familiarity, likely knowing the driver. He smiled down at them. And then, within a moment, two giant white breasts came plap against the window.

Their mouths fell open.

The door rocketed open, and their gift, like manna from heaven, fell into their clutching grasp.

Tom tried to move forward, his shorts still pulled down, and by the time he crawled to the front, he felt cold metal against his wrist. He then saw a cuff, not connecting it with his own sensation, being thrust against the steering wheel, clicking into place around it.

He looked down at his wrist as the trucker lowered himself to the pavement. He saw the handcuff on his wrist just as he heard the driver’s side door slam shut, much more softly than the last time.

He tugged on the cuff, feeling pain explode in his wrist. He grit his teeth. “Fuck!”

He looked out the window, seeing the trucker wave to him, a big, dumb smile on his bearded face.

Behind him, two other similarly dirty truckers dragged Evelyn toward the bar.

Tom pulled on the cuff again, this time with his other hand gripping its chain, but to no avail. The man turned around. He headed inside.

“You fuckers,” Tom screamed.

Just before the door shut, barring Tom from any knowledge or sight of what would happen beyond it, the trucker gave Evelyn one hardy smack on her ass.

Tom sat within that truck, his mind in a mode of complete panic, his stomach falling innumerable depths. Occasionally, in the heat of his fury, he’d catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he’d feel shame rise through him like a wave, imagining that same face, looking down into the golden crown of his mom’s head, now caked with dust, feeling his cock, its pleasure immeasurable, being massaged by his mom’s tongue; wanting it, and not wanting it to go.

He looked into his own eyes, seeing someone strange. His mouth sat flat, without character or shape.

Tom, rather than sit with himself any longer, again tugged at the cuff, feeling the pain, but ignoring it, drowning it out with screaming, even as he put his foot against the dashboard, pushing off of it, eager to hear that metal snap. He then screamed harder, leaning forward to smack the dashboard with the heel of his hand. Then he looked at the glove compartment, trying for its handle, finding it to be locked, and then kicking it to no avail. He looked beneath the seats as far as he could, hoping to find a gun. Finding nothing. No crowbar. No jack. No beer bottle. No solitary marble or stone. His face was pressed against the seat, itself smelling like piss, his fingers his only eyes as he searched.

He then heard a click.

He leapt up, feeling the explosive pain in his wrist. And after the twirling stars faded from sight, he saw he was being watched.

That dirty, bearded face looked back at him.

“Oh,” he said, grinning. “You gotta come see this.”

Tom was dragged through the gravel, both willingly and unwillingly, his cuff still attached, wanting to see his mother, to make sure that she was safe, but fearing the fact that he was in someone else’s control.

The doors swung open.

He had never been in a place like this before, being below drinking age.

People watched, most of them weathered and stoney-faced, even the women, who were either old or seemed older than they were. Beer bottles, Budweiser and Papst, floated past on trays, the whole establishment bathed in red light and the overwhelming piss-like scent of beer.

“This your new twink?”

Tom looked over to see a man dressed in a shabby suit, dragging a tumbler in circles along the bar top by twirling his fingertip on its concave inside.

“No,” the trucker said. “This is our holy witness for the day.”

“Holy, hey?” he asked, looking equally amused and unamused.

“Don’t laugh, motherfucker. When you see what we got going on in the bathroom, you’re going to be on your knees, praying to Jesus.” He tugged on the handcuffs, dragging Tom before finishing his sentence.

The man in the suit’s voice faded as Tom was dragged away. He looked back, seeing him getting up, adjusting his suit. “Okay,” it sounded like he was saying. “I’ll bite.” He began to follow.

Tom looked at the bathroom doors, nearing up. A woman stood at the telephone just by the men’s washroom, weeping against its receiver. “But I love you so much!” she pleaded into it. “I didn’t know you’d be coming home then…”

Tom only had one second to look at the weeping woman’s face, and then the door to the men’s washroom burst open.

He was dragged in, feeling himself being pushed from behind. He looked back to see the man in the suit, looking at him with absolute disgust and disinterest simultaneously. Then the man’s face changed. He looked over, possibly chasing something he caught in his peripheral. His face, serially unimpressed until now, dropped.

Tom’s stomach dropped with it.

He turned his head slowly, and slowly, his mom’s body, voluptuously and thick, filled his entire sight.

“T-tommy…” she said, spilling from her like dust, her body soiled.

A small crowd of men stood around her.

 Like mother like son, she stood there, leaning down, her wrist cuffed and the cuff’s other end around the pipe of the urinal. She looked back at Tom, still somehow conjuring enough emotion to feel now that he could see her in her lowest moment.

Her makeup was smeared, her hair a wreck, her mouth dripped with liquids, that of her own and that of others. Her skin was glistening, and before he could wonder with what, he looked down to see the urinal cake with pieces of it missing, broken up with bite marks.

“She was a hungry girl,” the trucker said to devilish laughter.

“Thirsty too,” a man as bottomless as he was toothless said. “Watch.” He neared up on her, duck-walking with his pants bunched up at his ankles.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, before opening her mouth anyways, almost as a matter of course, trained for it by circumstance.

Despite how wide her mouth opened, the piss splashed her in her face anyways. When the piss finally found her mouth, the man grinned toothlessly. “Best toilet I ever had. I should get one for the home.”

“They let you keep toilets under the bridge?” the trucker asked.

“Yes, they do,” he smiled with pride. “Don’t flush though. It’s okay, neither does she.” Everyone laughed.

“Fuck,” one of the men said, scraping his boot against the wall.

Tom, dry-mouthed with his heart palpitating looked at him, noticing his vest, noticing its insignia, noticing its implications. The man’s boot had an egg-like white substance against it. Tom shut his eyes, knowing what that was, having expelled it himself in numerous tissues before, tissues he threw in the trash or flushed down the toilet.

“Stop,” somebody said. “Not the wall. It’s unsanitary. Besides, we got our own vacuum here.”

The man, a biker, smiled beneath his sunglasses. He slowly slid his foot forward toward Evelyn’s lifeless face.

She looked ahead, not even down at the shoe.

“You know what to do.”

Without even fighting back, she leaned down, her mouth falling open beneath her trembling eyes.

Tom watched, nearly choking, as he saw his mother’s tongue find the boot, finding the white liquid, and as her blonde head lifted back up, seeing her clear spit sitting there in its place.

Before Tom could scream, feeling as if he had to, he felt a violent push against his shoulder. He fell to one knee, and then looked up, seeing the man in the suit move toward his mother, his belt jingling open as he did.

“Let me have a whirl. Was looking for something to celebrate another million in the bank.”

The trucker snorted dismissively at the statement, but he watched, along with Tom and everybody else, as the shabby man’s cock came out. He lifted Evelyn to her feet, and then, lifting her leg, he inserted himself inside her.

The look in his eyes were that of someone discovering heaven, but his mouth contradicted that sense. “Not bad,” he said, his voice trembling. His hand gripped onto her giant tit. “I usually fuck better than this. But she’ll do for the night.”

“Lucky girl,” the biker said, ironically. “To get it from a bachelor like you, in a setting this romantic.” He motioned around. Tom looked, seeing the bathroom truly for the first time, its walls covered in mold and graffiti, nightmarish, disgusting, with one of the stalls doorless.

He looked back, seeing the disgusting, shabby man thrusting inside his mom, who still stood there, a figure of beauty even after everything. Her sneaker was gone now, shoved within a urinal. Her one bare foot lifted into the air, rocking back and forth with every pathetic thrust of the man. The other stood firmly against the dirty floor, the only thing keeping her stable.

The man thrust his eager tongue toward Evelyn’s tit, sucking on it, less like a man and more like a gremlin, his tongue wormlike, probing.

The trucker jerked against Tom’s cuff. “Remind you of anything?”

The crowd didn’t seem to pick up on it. Only a few of them did. They looked over. “Mother and son?” the biker said, asking and realizing at once. “Ah… I thought they looked alike.”

The shabby man pulled his lips from her teet. “Your mom’s not half-bad kid.” His hips were still thrusting, greedily, his cock, red and bothered, moving in and out of Tom’s mom’s pussy. “I’ve had better. But she’s fun enough.” He thrust his mouth back toward his tit.

“No,” Tom said, it being almost a whisper, and entirely a non-sequitur. It was the only word he had left.

“Oh yeah,” the trucker said. “That reminds me.”

Tom looked at him.

“Show ‘em,” he said.

Tom stared.

He jerked the cuff again. “Show ‘em.”

When Tom didn’t respond, he groaned, and he went down towards Tom’s shorts. He gripped their waist, pulling them down with his underwear. “Get a load of this.”

The crowd looked over, even the shabby man fucking Evelyn.

When the shabby man saw Tom’s cock, hard and throbbing, he felt his balls tighten up, along with his eyelids. “Oh god!” he said, and Tom watched, his cock throbbing as he did, as his mom’s pussy was filled with the man’s gushing cum.

In response, he only gave a dry “no,” inaudible over the man’s grunting.

“Mm,” said the biker. “I’d hate to see how fast you are when they’re really beautiful.”

“I’ve been saving up,” the man said, his slimy cock sliding out of Evelyn’s pussy. “Giving and not receiving if you catch my drift.”

“Well,” the biker said, sarcastically. “She seems satisfied.”

Evelyn stood there, her hair up into a sticky conflagration, like some laboratory monster, her face beautiful in smeared makeup beneath it.

Tom looked back at her, his face equally lifeless, throbbing.

“How’d he do?” the trucker asked, tugging again.

Tom shook his head.

“Scale of one to ten. Ten being the best fuck you ever seen. How’d he do?”

Tom tugged back limply against his chain.

“Well shit,” her assaulter said, pulling his pants over his deflating nudity. “Don’t be a baby. Your mom enjoyed it fine.”

Evelyn looked at him, her eyes lifeless. Her lips unmoving.

The man zipped up his fly. “I suppose you think you can do better?” He said it without thought, looking down at his fly as he zipped it up.

But behind him, the face of the biker lit up.

Tom noticed it, and then he noticed the biker looking to the trucker behind him, signalling something to him through expression alone.

“You barely got pubes on that little thing,” the shabby man said. “And no experience. How you’re expecting to please a woman like I can, I have no i-“

“Well,” the trucker interrupted. “There’s only one way to get experience.

Tom was pushed forward.

He stopped breathing, though he didn’t even know why yet, just feeling the rising dread.

One of the onlookers moved toward his mom, unzipping his pants. The biker looked at the man, worried, and then seemed relieved that he was just going to take a piss on Tom’s mom and nothing more.

Tom was being pushed closer from behind.

His mom’s eyes were shut as a cascade of piss rand down her features.

“Given that it’s been a memorable day,” the trucker began. “I think we ought to really drive that home.”

The biker looked down at Tom’s cock, seeing something in it that Tom didn’t see.

Evelyn opened her eyes, seeing her son standing right before her.

The trucker looked around. “What do you say fellas? She’s done every dick good here.” He grinned at the crowd. “Every dick except one.” He reached down, flicking Tom’s hard cock.

Tom looked at the onlookers, feeling terror at seeing their rising joy.

“Each one of us thinks he’s the most badass motherfucker here.” He looked at all of them. “But maybe it’s time we give up that mantle.”

Tom felt a spank against his ass.

“In the most literal way possible.”

There was an approving grumble from the crowd.

Tom looked into his mom’s eyes, and then, as if her thoughts were delayed, something sudden came to her eyes. First a sudden shock, then a rising horror, and then horror proper.

She screamed, the sound guttural, and Tom looked at her, getting closer to her from the pressure from behind himself, their toes now touching.

The trucker spoke through the scream, unimpeded: “This will be a good day. For all of us.”

“You’re damned right,” said the biker, smiling behind Evelyn’s screaming face.

The trucker, noticing Tom’s reluctance. “Come on now, boy. You’re not a virgin, are you?”

The crowd laughed.

Tom felt the tip of his cock press against some perfect softness in her body. It pushed upward, doing so as they were shoved, from both ends, closer together.

Tom felt his cock, throbbing insanely, press flat against his belly.

Evelyn tried to jerk away, violently, and when Tom felt it, he pushed against her, trying to work with her to break free.

A collage of hands reached at her, many grabbing her arms and shoulders, but some, fatefully, reaching for her thighs. She was brought down to the ground with controlled violence, and before Tom knew it, he was brought down against her, his hips sliding in between her soft, fighting thighs.

“Nnnnnoooooo!” she screamed.

“Yyyyyyeeeeessssss!” the trucker said, mocking her, as he pushed Tom downward.

Tom felt something, sticky, wet, and warm against the tip of his cock. Before he could even question it, he felt himself pushing inward.

“No,” he said. It was his final no of the night.

They grabbed his hands, wrapping them around his mom’s thighs. He was pushed from the spine, his chest pushing against his mom’s giant tits, squeezing them.

He stared down at his mom’s face as she jerked her head back and forth. A hand came against the back of her head, pushing it down. “Give mommy a big wet one.”

He stared at her, eyes open in disbelief, as their lips met.

Her mumbling and screaming stopped, but Tom could still feel her tongue jerking about within.

As his cock slid past that warm, heavenly (better than he had ever felt) wetness, he shocked himself. He jutted out his tongue, finding hers. Her tongue stopped.

“Look, how romantic,” someone said. And they all watched in disbelief as the lips of mother and son worked in unison.

“Thrust,” someone said, pushing at his ass to get him into the motion. “You fucking idiot.”

As Evelyn felt her son’s cock running through her, remembering what it was, her tongue pulled back, her lips pulling away to suck in air for another scream.

Tom’s lips came down against them again, forcing her into silence.

“No,” he said, finding her lips, feeling them fall away again. “Stop.”

He sucked her tongue out of her mouth and began sucking on it, and when she inevitably pulled away again, he began kissing her chin. She screamed, but he ignored it, too intoxicated with the feeling of her walls against his sensitive cock.

Everyone cheered around him, drowning out her screams, attracting more onlookers from outside.

The girl on the payphone took her earpiece away, even as her husband screamed at her. She looked at the bathroom door, muffled sounds spilling out, perplexed.

Tom could feel her trying to tug her legs closed, but the combined strength of the crowd, all working in unison for him, was too much.

Tom felt a warmth as rough hands fell against his ass and hips, pushing him rhythmically in encouragement.

Evelyn, squirming, screaming below, him smelled like the combined piss, cum, and sweat of the crowd. Her lips tasted like bitter salt, and when Tom took his own lips down to feel what her nipples felt like on his tongue, he soon learned that they did too.

“Suck milk out of those puppies,” the biker said.

“You see,” the trucker said to the shabby man. “That’s how you fuck.”

“Kids not bad for a virgin,” he answered back.

The biker looked up. “He ain’t no virgin no more.”

Tom, looking down below at his mother’s face as he thrust, heard what was said, and at hearing it, and registering it, he felt himself pick up in speed.

Evelyn’s pussy was rich with squishing noises, its wetness artificial with the piss and cum of the men. Her thighs were soft, as if she were pure. As if such a thing existed. But Tom felt as if she was. The cheering was getting to his head, itself exhausted into delirium, to the point where he felt heroic, victorious. He was acutely aware that it was his mother below him, screaming and squirming, as he thrust into her, but rather than his mind entertaining, even for a second, the shame of it all, he only thought about how impossibly beautiful she was. He had imagined what his first time would be like for years. Imagining a moderately attractive, if not a bit geeky and lackluster girl in his age-group, herself as inexperienced as him. Instead, in this strange reality this day had taken him through, finding himself thrusting into a gorgeous figure of womanhood, her gigantic tits shaking and wobbling below him.

Every time she tried to squirm away, Tom feeling her gaining in distance, hands would grab her feet, pulling her until her body was as close with her thrusting son as could be.

As Tom went down again for her breasts, ravaging them with his tongue and lips, he had barely noticed figures crowding around her head. He looked back up to see multiple streams of piss falling against her grimacing face.

He stared at her as the final streams subsided. Her face, red, began to tremble, and it was impossible to tell where the piss ended and her tears began, and then she looked back at him, and her eyes unnarrowed, looking at him, seeing it in him, and at recognizing what was coming, her expression contorted into panicked horror. “No, Tom! No, don’t. Tommy please! Don’t!”

Tom kept thrusting.

“Don’t cum!” She screamed it so loudly that many of the onlookers looked to the door, worried her voice would carry outward.

Tom, first confused, felt something coming over him, a sensation which he knew, but he never knew in this form. Just then, his body tightened up, the crowd could see it and cheered accordingly. Evelyn’s mouth fell open, the blackness within it cavernous.

Her son silently pressed into her, feeling every muscle in the lower half of his body tremble in ecstasy.

Hands grabbed at her heels to pull her tight against her son as he finished inside her, her body squirming beneath him, her thighs, failing to kicking, rubbing furiously against his hips. “Not so fast…” someone said to her, mockingly. “Don’t be a buzzkill,” added another voice, as its owner tugged at her ankle.

As Evelyn watched her son’s face contort and then go limp, her mouth trembled. When the sensations were finally done with him, his head fell. He was now resting on top of her impossibly soft form, wordlessly.

Hands grabbed at his elbows, pulling him up.

He felt the cold air against his penis. The cold air against his chest, cheek, and loins.

Hands grabbed him on his stomach. It took him a moment, and some loose comments from the cacophony of the crowd, to realize what was happening. “Piss, buddy. Come on.”

He looked down at his mom, realizing that he had it in him to piss. She looked up at him, her bottom lip hanging open, her eyes wide.

He shut his own.

“I’m sorry, mom,” was the last thing he said before he let go.

He felt it exiting his body.

He could tell by the cheering of the crowd where it was hitting.

He opened his eyes slowly.

Sure enough, his mom’s face splashed with his piss, her eyes clamped shut, both to avoid the liquid, and to avoid the reality which carried it into her face.

The stream subsided, second by second, until its arc broke and then continued, less powerfully, splashing her tits, trailing lower until it was a stream of piss against the floor.

The crowd was in hysterics and jubilee, all rooting for their legendary underdog, his arc introduced to them and completed almost as quickly. Tom was on his hands, both of them resting on either side of his mom, listening to the sounds being made for him, noting that they weren’t too different, in some strange synesthesia, to the sensation he felt within himself.

Evelyn barely moved, but her sobs could be seen, at least by him, in the negative space where her usual self would normally be. Instead she lay there, a shapely husk, a beauty undignified, and a woman of the town’s highest caste thrust to its dirtiest factory floor, faces of soot jeering at her, and at the normalcy of her life and family.

Tom, robbed of his mind-blurring sensation, having evacuated all of it within his mother, breathed there, feeling his anger begin to rise. It was a rage made edgy by fear, wondering how these men assumed they could get away with all of this, not knowing if their brazenness was borne stupidity or of darker intention. Tom knew, though he never thought he’d experience it first hand, that primordial truth, that dead men spoke no tails. And he knew, looking down at his breathing, shuddering mother, her body stiff with exhaustion, fear, and humiliation, that women faired no better.

He saw a glimmer. He looked up, seeing the glimmer in the biker’s belt, just below his vest, distinct from the glimmer of his belt proper.

Suddenly, possessed by another foreign spirit (there had been so many), Tom’s hand shot up.

When he pulled it back, he felt the weight of what he had, and he could tell by the biker’s transforming face that what he had was exactly what was needed.

The crowd backed up, some falling, some slipping in piss, beyond the extending barrel of the gun.

Tom kneeled there, shaking, the pistol’s grip in his hand.

“Fuck off,” he said, the words being a demand, not an insult. “Fuck off! Back. Back.”

He slowly began to rise to his feet, reaching with his other hand for his mom, having to grip on her arm himself as she lay motionless.

He pulled her up, leaning her against himself so she wouldn’t fall. There was no eagerness in her body, but if Tom could see her face now, he’d see eagerness there.

She was heavy against him, her tits pushing into his ribs. The crowd watched, circling around him, not with ill-intent, but with thoughts of how to escape. It was only the biker, having known worse situations, who stuck out, his face equal with anger and a sense of being impressed with the little twerp.

Tom, looking the biker in the eye, reached down, again toward his belt.

The biker stared at him with equal resolve, as if eyeing his equal in different form, as Tom grabbed the keys from his waist.

“You sure you know how to drive it?” he asked through grit teeth.

“I’m going to have to learn,” Tom said, his voice strained and dry.

The biker’s firm, almost frightening expression, stretched into a smile. “You’ve learned quite a few things tonight, haven’t you?”

Tom stared at him, the every line of his face, reflecting on that rather than on the statement, which he refused to face.

He slowly backed away, waving the gun around methodically, until his back found the door, and, like a trapdoor spider, he pulled his mom with him out in the noise of the bar.

AC/DC played on the speakers, masking the gasps, but he was watched all around him by a gathering sea of eyes, themselves becoming more visible as he past, on his way to the front door. He still waved the gun around, not having time for anything else, his mom’s weight against him giving him urgency.

He found another door against his back. This time it was Evelyn who turned her body slightly, her arm over her son’s shoulder, to push that door open.

The door swung shut.

They stood in the parking lot. The night air nipped at Tom’s neck. He could only imagine how his mom’s entire body felt.

He took a breath.

Then he turned. There was a bike sitting there, the same insignia on its side.

He mounted it, guiding his mom on afterward.

She clung to his shoulders.

He put the key into the ignition and turned it.

He looked back, his voice strong, even over the sound of the purring engine. “Hang on,” he said.

She didn’t speak, but her arms squeezed, showing him that she understood.

The tires sent gravel up into the air, pinging against paintjobs, new and old, on all the vehicles waiting there, even the truck which brough them here.

As Tom cleared the parking lot, feeling the beast throb beneath him, his mother’s breasts pressed firmly against his back, he saw the door of the establishment rocket open within the circular rearview mirror.

The trucker stood there with the crowd, scowling in rage. The only one among them to show any other emotion was the biker, whose anger was still tinged by his own admiration. Then the face got small, disappearing into a dot, then into a blur, meshing with all the other blurs, and then it disappeared beyond the bend.

Tom looked ahead, the night illuminated by his single ray of light.

His mom squeezed against his back, her body warm against his. He felt her trembling after a long while of nothing from her, and he registered it as progress. But it wasn’t until he felt her, weeping against his back, mumbling to herself, that he knew the old her would come back soon enough.

He couldn’t wait.

Tom moved through his house, seeing his dad standing in the kitchen, thumbing through mail. He could hear his sister upstairs on the phone with her boyfriend. Tom felt like a ghost, his corporeal form recognized, but its experiences unknown. His mom sat him, while she was still nude, on the edge of his bed, looking him in his eyes, even as she dripped with cum, demanding of him, as if it were an oath, to promise to never tell.

“We need to forget what happened tonight.”

He stared into her eyes.

“You understand?”

He stood there, feeling surreal in the aftermath of that promise.

His dad whistled. His sister buzzed with teenage irritation at her first world problems.

Evelyn came into the living room, emerging from around the corner with her former intensity. She was looking down at her watch.

“Headed for a jog?” Avery asked her, not even looking up.

“No,” she said, plainly. “I think I’m done with jogging.”

“Oh,” Avery said, looking up and then back down at the mail. “Why’s that?”

She was done setting her watch. She passed by her son, standing at the door to put on her shoes. “I don’t know,” she said, forcing one foot into her shoe. She grabbed the other. “Too many weirdos, I guess.”

Avery nodded in the kitchen, barely listening.

She continued: “I thought I’d pick up some salsa dancing. You know Sofia teaches a class?”

Tom looked at his mom.

She finished tying her shoes, pulling its tongue up, making sure it looked straight. “I figured I could use some culture. We all could use a little more in this country.” She stood up straight. She looked at her son, noticing that he was watching her. Their eyes settled on each other’s, and then, as if there was nothing to say, nothing even out of the ordinary, she looked away. “If you need me, just call.” She grabbed the door.

Tom stared at the back of his mom’s blonde head.

She stood there for a second.

Then she turned the knob and stepped out.

As Tom watched her through the window, seeing her move down their colossal driveway, seeing a Porsche pass by quickly, as if ashamed on the street, he let his gaze fall down her lovely shape, her ass perfect, her tits jiggling visibly even from behind, he felt a sudden urge come over him, one which he had tried so hard to repress.

He felt her wrists within his clutching palms. He felt her squirming, her giant breasts against his chest.

He felt those hands pushing against his ass.

He felt himself thrusting.

He disappeared upstairs before his dad could even notice him there. He needed some time alone. He had a lot to think about. And, through thinking about it, a lot to enjoy.

---

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