Commissions: Volume 7

The image above represents Amy in the story America Part VII: Purity

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Triumph

The festival was lively, its various moving pieces, each made of human body and limb, as colorful as necessary to acknowledge, mythologize, and celebrate the eternal clash between good and evil. You walked with your mom through the joyous crowds, their very nature proof itself that good will eventually triumph.

You looked back at her gorgeous face. For a moment there, maneuvering through the crowd, she didn’t notice you looking. When she did though, her eyes locked onto yours, and her face transformed into one of pure warmth.

You two kept your eyes on each other so intently that you hadn’t noticed the man walking up, his awareness distracted by a beautiful woman passing nearby.

Their hips met, your mother’s and the man’s, and they were both startled. Your mom began to apologize near-immediately, but the man only stared at her, his expression hard, unforgiving, and, if you at all had any way to gauge, menacing. It was strange to see, as your mom’s beauty often disarmed men, enough where she rarely had any negative interactions with them to speak of. The way she was being looked at now had clearly put her on edge, as it would have anyone, but because of her lack of experience with this kind of hostility, it especially unnerved her.

The man passed by, still staring until his head turned and looked ahead to leave. Your mom turned and looked at you to shrug. She said something, though it was inaudible over the noise of the passing crowd, but you knew it was a statement made to trivialize what she could only assume was an innocent and isolate moment.

But you, still looking past her, saw the man’s head turn yet again. He stopped, and he continued to watch as your mom grabbed your hand and ushered you to leave.

As you turned around, ready to go, the crowd almost demanding it, his eyes were still on you, and you could swear, though you had only a fraction of a second to see it before you were facing the other way, that he had taken his first step in your direction.

Your mom sat at the corner of the alley, admiring the sarees that passed, both from the perspective of a hindu, and from that of a businesswoman, as she dealt with that trade. The colors which passed were marred by the occasional hijab, which would make her lips curl into an expression of subtle disgust, quite unlike you were used to seeing in her, every time she saw it. Even still, it was never enough to ruin the day for her. You were sure nothing could. This had always been her favorite celebration, the one which spoke the most directly to her, and the one which made her feel like everything in this world had its purpose.

She looked at you, her eyes creased into her beautiful smile. “Wonderful day, isn’t it?”

You stood there, taking the moment to admire her for a second. “It is,” you finally answered.

She turned to look back at the passing bodies. As she did, you looked down at hers, enjoying its shape, being both familiar with it and constantly surprised by it. Your sights settled on her ass, the way it poked out to her right because of how she was shifting her weight.

Just when you were in your deepest moment of focus, you heard a groan behind you. Your mom turned to look so quickly that your eyes were still locked onto her ass while she looked at you. “What?” she said, looking concerned.

You looked at her, confused as to why she was looking at you.

Then the groan came again, this time sounding more specifically like pain.

She looked past you, realizing it wasn’t you making that sound, and down the dark alley, what it held near-invisible with shadow.

“What’s that?” She asked.

You focused your eyes, trying to see. Then you turned, looked at her, and shrugged.

She began to walk toward the source of the sound, moving past you, and it became clear as she went that she was intent on finding out what it was. You looked at her, shocked, and your head pivoted, watching her move toward that darkness with her characteristic empathy, and her will to always do what she thought was right.

As her body, its limbs stiff with resolve, and her ass soft with its shapeliness, was engulfed by that dark shade, you stopped staring hopelessly, and instead ran to catch up with her.

She called into the darkness, which was now engulfing you as well, nearing up behind as you were.

You could smell her gorgeous perfume about as well as you could see her.

You turned around, noticing the colorful throng, itself engulfed in light, beginning to get more distant. Your anxiety grew bigger in inverse proportion to how small that frame the crowd became.

Then you heard a shriek behind you.

You turned to look and you saw your mom being dragged through the darkness by some unseen figure. Her sandal rolled across the pavement, and suddenly she disappeared around a corner.

You ran to the corner, not knowing what was dragging your mom, but intuitively assuming it to be some beast or entity. When you rounded the corner, instead, all you saw was Him.

It was the man from before. He stood over your mom, looking down at her with that same expression. His fists were clenched and you could tell by the tiny light above, which shone down on the two of them as if they were the only two things to exist, that he was clenching his teeth with equal pressure.

Your mom looked up at him. “What are you-“ she said, almost as if she were talking to a flustered customer, her tone unable to adapt to the novelty of the situation.

His hand, at hearing her dare open her mouth to him, rocketed toward her face, smacking it with severity. She yelped horribly, the sound of it churning your stomach. Behind you, you could hear the sound of the crowd, and you knew that it would take a whole lot for her screams to be heard here, even on a usual day.

He grabbed at her clothing, ripping it from her body, her shoulders becoming bare. “You hindu animal!” he said.

That combined with the sensation of her clothes being torn from her was enough for her to connect the dots about what was now happening. It took her a moment to process it, but once she was halfway there, she shrieked with the most guttural voice, itself coming from deep within her gut.

He slapped her again, this time much harder, and continued to tear her dress from her. You could see her bare back, caramel-toned and elegant, glimmering in the light, and you knew that on the other side, her bare chest was exposed to him. Your heart was like machine-gun fire, and your stomach was rippling with an electricity which occurred with the same pace and tone as firecrackers going off in the distance.

His greedy claw palmed at her breast, and you could see it being squeezed now through his fingers. She groaned, apparently in pain. “Shut up you hindu whore,” he said.

You could tell by how he dressed and carried himself that he was muslim. All your mom’s warning from childhood about muslims, how to watch out for them, and what they were like, came back to you at once.

And just as it did, his hand found the waist of his pants, pulling them down, and exposing his hardening cock, which, while falling out, hit your mom in her face.

She shrieked again. This time, he didn’t bother slapping her. He only stuffed her mouth with his dirty cock and began thrusting.

You could see the dark nipple every few seconds as her left breast bounced everytime he thrusted into her throat. She groaned audibly over the sound of her glugging. You saw his balls, dirty and sweating, slapping against her chin, and you realized that that much of the liquid which fell to them, didn’t come from her violated mouth, but from her devastated eyes, which spilled copiously with tears.

He pulled his cock from her mouth, lifting it up against his belly. “Lick my balls, you hindu whore.”

She struggled to get away, his hand gripping onto the back of her head, holding her in place by her black hair. “Help, somebody! Please!” She wailed.

“No help is coming, you rich bitch,” he said. “It’s just me and you.”

The man’s balls were disgusting, and you could tell by how dirty they were that he was poor. You had always loved the shade and tone of your mom’s tongue, and you couldn’t believe it yourself, but part of you was curious to see what it would look like to see it pressed up against those dirty testicles.

As he thrust her head up against them again, this time with more threatening force, you thought to yourself Do it, mom. Just do it.

As if she could hear your thoughts out there in the darkness, she did it, feeling the hairy surface of them, their bitter sweat and grime. She lapped at them, terrified for her life, revolted by the taste, and revolted even more to think about the look of that muslim, his face contorted into supreme satisfaction, above her.

Before she could even get used to the taste and the indignity, the testicles were pulled from the base of her tongue and then she felt them make contact with her face, and she groaned as they were rubbed up and down her every beautiful feature. “My hindu sex slave,” he said. “This is the way I brand you. Your son is watching…”

Your breathing stopped.

“… and he’s enjoying out there, the hindu pig. Look.” He pushed your mother down to her hands and knees, and you watched as the rest of her saree was torn from her, exposing her entirely caramel-toned nakedness beneath that yellow light.

He hunched down, and as he readied his cock to insert it inside her, she made you out within the darkness. First her eyes plead, for you to get help if not to run in help her yourself, but then, as she realized that you weren’t going to do either, a look of despair, both logistical and existential, overtook her. She heard the sounds of the celebration in the background, and she thought of the Goddess Durga it celebrated, and her triumph over evil in the form of a malicious demon. She knew that good eventually won, but always at the final moment, otherwise that victory would have meant nothing.

And for a mere fraction of a second, that thought alone sustained her, genuinely make her believe that she was saved.

She felt the cock push ruthlessly inside her until the hips of that horrible man slapped into shapely fat of both her butt cheeks.

As she felt it, she let her head fall to her hands, hiding her face from the world, and she groaned. Soon the sound of her groaning was overtaken by the sound of his thrusts and by the sound of his satisfying grunt.

You stood there, clutching the corner you peered beyond, watching your mom’s ass cheeks ripple as the slapping noises echoes along the tight walls of the alley.

“Where is your Durga now?” he asked, maliciously. Your mom felt doubly violated now, almost fearing that he could read her thoughts, or at least understood her well enough to predict them. “Or are you the Durga?”

She whimpered.

“You are, aren’t you? Is this what happened to you? Is it all a lie out there? A hindu lie? That’s it, isn’t it?” He thrusted, speaking over the sound of his sinewy body slapping against her soft hind. “Durga didn’t win. She was raped by the demon. Raped nice and good. And nobody was there to stop it.” His expression of anger turned into a devilish grin. “You see, this is what happens when you don’t accept the light of Allah. Pagan dog.”

The pavement below your mom’s face was wet with her tears.

“Here’s what I think of your stupid culture,” he said. He grabbed her saree, which she had designed herself, balling it up into a mockery of its former being, and then he slowly, but surely, began to cram it up into her butthole, using his thumb to push it in as she screamed in pain.

“It burns, doesn’t it? This evil thing.”

As he got the first bit in with his thumb, getting it in up to his knuckle, he pulled his thumb out with a plop and grabbed another bit of length, pushing that in as well. Your mom groaned in horrible pain. He got more in, and then did it again. He kept doing it, unbelievably to everyone, your mom, you, and even him, and until the entire length of her saree was up her ass with only the last little bit sticking out.

The sight of it was enough to bring him to climax, and he picked up his violent thrusting as his testicles emptied their muslim pleasure, white and sticky, into your mom’s hindu body.

He pulled his cock out of her pussy, the ends of both dripping with cum, and he awkwardly stepped over her. His feet on either side of her torso now as she clutched her stomach in pain. He grabbed his dick, and he tugged on it.

She couldn’t see what he was about to do, her face weeping within her hands, but you knew. And all you did was stand there and watch.

You saw the yellow stream leave his cock, itself glimmering in the yellow light. It went through the air in an arc, and when it hit the back of your mom’s black hair, it did so in an unsatisfying sizzle.

Your mom didn’t know exactly what it was until she could smell it. And when she couldn’t, she didn’t say anything. She had stopped crying. She only lay there, covering her face, despondent.

She saw it on the pavement, that growing yellow puddle, overtaking her clear puddle of tears, combining with it, and then washing it away into nothing.

A trickle of the stuff pushed its way along the pavement and you watched as it neared up toward your foot. You moved your foot and watched as it passed beneath you, toward the sounds of the celebration outside.

He stood over her, smiling. Then, just to drive the point home, he gave her beautiful ass a perfect slap, doing so with all the strength he could muster. “Remember,” he said. “You’ll always be mine. In this life and the next.” He began walking in your direction.

He stared you down with those intent eyes as he passed you, saying nothing, with only a little upturned angel at the corner of his mouth. He disappeared into the mind-numbing density of the crowd.

Your mom lay there, illuminated by that circle of light, almost within the dead center of it. She weeped, her body naked and abused, never to be unabused again.

You had eventually been able to console her and raise her to her feet. You were about to leave, but before you could, you both realized she still needed her clothes. Today was bad enough, being seen completely naked by thousands would have only added insult to injury.

So instead you grabbed her saree by its visible end, and, with one tug, you tore it out from between the cheeks of her ass.

That was her last shriek for the day. Like all the others, it was washed away by outside sounds of celebration.

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Eternity

Your mom stood in front of her mirror, her body completely nude. Nobody could see her except herself, and even then, she saw herself in reverse. Her hair, brunette and shining, hung over her shoulders, and she looked at herself inquisitively. Her body stood below, itself still as she looked over its every inch, as if eager to find its flaws.

She sighed, apparently not aware of her own statuesque beauty. Not aware of how everyone would kill to see her in her state of undress now. Her ass, its size and shape impressive, almost otherworldly, hung to her magnificently. But in her mind, it was only just a random fact of life. To the rest of the world it was a miracle.

Even you, as you lay downstairs, unaware of your mom’s nudity on the second floor, pondered at just what she looked like without her pesky clothes on. You wanted to know. But not just that. You wanted to have a perfect record of it, to preserve it in its pristine state, and to possess it, not just now, but forever, and for the future, so other could admire her perfection too.

As you sat deep in the bed of those thoughts, you heard a thundering crack. You looked up, startled, to see the front door hanging open, its edge splintered, with a man in a ski mask standing there. He seemed shocked to notice your presence, but the men coming in behind him seemed more prepared.

Within seconds, you were thrust to the floor with a gun to your head. “Move, scream, or struggle and I put a fucking bullet in your head.” You did as you were told, feeling your heart beat against the hardwood floor.

You heard the boots rushing upstairs, you heard another, more distant cracking noise, you heard your mom’s scream. And then, after a moment of scuffling and muffled shrieks, you heard a slap. Not a bony and acute one, like one you’d hear against someone’s face. No, it was as if it happened against a giant wall of voluminous flesh.

It occurred to you. You had heard smacks like that before.

Then it occurred where.

You had heard it in porn.

Your mom burst into view, her bare feet dragging against the floor, her eyes wide with terror, looking at you laying there with a knee against your skull.

Your eyes fell from her terrified face, and that’s when you noticed it, a patch of brown, not unlike the brunette hair which hung from your head.

Your mouth fell open.

You were looking directly at your mom’s pubes.

She struggled, twisting in place. Suddenly you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your head.

Your mom stopped, looking as if she were choking, down at the side of your head.

“Struggle more and I pull this trigger,” you heard above you. “And then you can kiss your son’s head goodbye.”

Her whole body was racked with revulsive terror, yet she didn’t move an inch. Her eyes spoke volumes.

“Mommy’s good,” you heard being said down to you. When he spoke again, you could tell he was looking up at her. “She does what she’s told.”

She looked at the place where you imagined his head was.

“When we scoped her out at the mall today, I only got a look at her from the front. That was enough.”

You looked down at her waist, seeing the shape of her hips, just how wide and curvaceous they were, and you imagined what was on her other side. Apparently, your kidnapper did too.

“Turn around,” he said.

She looked at him with horror.

“Eddie. Turn her around,” he said.

Eddie grabbed her, and you watched as her ass, for the first time nude, came into view. Its cheeks were immense, and crack between them rode up high.

“Yeah,” the man said above you. “Your mommy’s going to make us a killing.”

You felt him lift you to your feet, then he dragged you, with you stumbling to stay up, toward the sight of your mom’s naked body.

“Now,” he said, your mom’s ass before your eyes like some dream. “Kiss it goodbye.”

You stood there, shocked. It stared back at you, so close you could smell it, the crack of it like an eye or some clue to its personality.

You thought about his command. About kissing it goodbye. And as you kneeled there on your knees, seeing her cheeks jiggle as she jerked slightly against the arms which held her by her elbows, you realized you were leaning forward, toward it, your lips puckering. Your eyes shutting.

Before you made contact, you felt a sudden light in your eye, and the sound as if space was cleared before you.

You opened your eyes to watch your mom’s ass, with her legs trailing behind her, her toes against the ground, being dragged by the men to the front door and then she disappeared outside without even a shriek (she feared for your life).

You felt the gun nozzle against your head. “You don’t call the cops,” he said. “Or else you’re never seeing her again.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there silently.

Then you felt the gun nozzle leave your head. And you felt him release your arm. He walked to the front door, turning to look at you, then he was gone.

You heard their van peel off.

A cop car drove, in bumper to bumper traffic. To the left of it was a Cadillac with an old man sitting in it. To the right was a white van. The man who drove it seemed innocuous enough.

Inside that white van, a woman was hunched on all fours, with a man behind her, thrusting into her giant ass. As a single tear rolled down her cheek, she looked into the blackness of that gun barrel. “Not a sound,” the man holding the gun said. “Just take it.”

The man behind her made sure to accentuate his thrusts, making them more satisfying for him, more humiliating for her. He watched as her ass rippled against him. “There’s nothing like testing out the merchandise.”

The man with the gun smiled, then he leaned forward. Your mom looked at the gun trigger, her eyes wide, seeing his finger glide haphazardly across it. She then her a sudden *spack* sound, and for a moment thought she was dead. It wasn’t until she felt a sting on her ass, and realized that the sound had come from there, the man pulling his hand back to rest it on the gun again, that she realized she was still very much alive. She wondered if she would regret that.

She was dragged out into the sunlight, only for a moment, her feet against the gravel, until being submerged again into the darkness of a warehouse.

The three men “tasted the merchandise,” her ass, pussy, and mouth for another hour. She thought this would be the brunt of it. She assumed that she’d be safe otherwise, as they seemed concerning with not “damaging her.”

As this “tasting” of her “merchandise” went on, she could smell something in the air. She looked across the large empty space, seeing a large vat of something, a flame beneath it, in the distance. Something bubbled up from the large barrel.

She almost ended up ignoring it, but then one of the men looked over. “It’s almost finished,” he said.

She looked up at him, his head rocking back and forth with each thrusting sending her own body forward and back, the world itself jerking into two directions.

The man who was talking looked down at her. “How are we going to pose her?”

“Like she is now,” said the one pounding her from behind, looking down at her bent over body. “We have to. She’s perfect like this.”

The word perfect echoed in your mom’s mind. It was the first time she had heard it. And she knew, by the nature of the situation, and the way it came so spontaneously out of his mouth, that he was being sincere. She was perfect, and she only knew it now.

“She might be the best we’ve had,” he said, thrusting harder.

“She is. Out of all 79 of them, she’s the best.”

Your mom looked down at the gravel below, seeing it jerk back and forth as she felt that pressure against her ass. A cock slid against the cheek of her face. It pressed into her lips. She opened her mouth, with almost no fight, and it slipped in against her inner cheek.

“Yeah,” the one behind her said. “Let’s pose her like this.”

Her big toes was the first thing to touch the stuff.

She shrieked, feeling it scalding against her skin viciously, that even the mouths of the guns meant nothing to her.

They knew they were safe out there, they only pointed their weapons - as the third cranked the pulley system, lowering her inch by inch into the vat – to keep some extra fear in her.

She felt the liquid swallowing up the toes of both feet, then it was up to her soles. The pain was unbearable.

She rotated in place, one moment seeing the men, showing them her terror and pain, the other showing them her twitching ass.

“Slower,” one of the men said. “I want to see her suffer.”

“You try it then!” the one at the pulley snapped. “You know how much weight is in that ass?”

The other one grabbed the crank from his friend, feeling exactly what his friend meant, but trying his best to hide it. “Here,” he said. “I’ll show you how a pro does it.”

They all watched at the surface of the liquid crawled past her ankles, her face contorting to match her screams.

She could see the substance settling, drying and solidifying almost instantaneously against her, though the every inch it gained ground on her became submerged entirely within the main body of water in no time.

It crawled up her thighs, which displaced much of the stuff with their thickness. She shrieked in horror as she watched it rise to her pubic hair. She was right to be scared, the pain was unbearable. So much so, she kicked in the water, realizing that her legs barely moved. The liquid was thick, and more than that, seemed to be drying on top of her. The liquid rose up, over, and against the giant surface of her ass, the every inch of which a map for pain, until the entirety of her butt-crack was swallowed by it.

“See,” said the one at the crank. “Slowly. That way you capture their terror. Forever.”

Your mom’s eyes were wide, her mouth twisted in shock. It rose up her bellybutton. She then cringed as it passed by her breasts, her nipples exploding into burning pain.

She felt it rise to her neck.

Then she felt a jerk.

The pulley stopped. She hung there, almost standing in the solidifying goo, no longer rotating, not being able to, looking at her three torturers.

They stared at her, pleased with themselves, and, apparently pleased with whatever profit they were going to make from whatever it was they were doing now. The one at the crank held tight, no longer twisting, just looking up at her with the heel of his hand on the device.

“You want to get out?” one of the men said.

She didn’t nod, didn’t say anything, her eyes speaking for her, her mind entirely set on escaping the pain and the humiliation.

“That’s not a problem,” the man said. “There’s just one thing you have to do.”

She wanted to say “anything,” but she found she couldn’t produce a syllable.

He looked at her, his grin, which was already wide, going wider. “You’re going to have to call your guardian angel.”

Her look of pleading exploded, wide-eyed, into a look of sudden shock.

Suddenly, she heard the pulley system snap. Everything fell out of view. Everything, all of reality, was pain.

They looked at the vat, seeing her brunette hair sitting at its surface and nothing else. Even that was eventually submerged, a final bunch of hairs slowly falling to its bottom.

They watched the giant hunk of tin, each with a smile on their face.

“We’re going to make a killing,” one of them said.

“Give it a few hours. We’ll come back here to crack it open. We should be able to get it out of here for tomorrow morning if we get started asap.” He looked at his watch.

“Sorry for starting so late.”

“No,” said the man as he looked down at his watch. They had only started so late because the other one kept suggesting they wait for something better. “Don’t apologize. If we didn’t wait, we wouldn’t have spotted her.” He let his watch fall to his side, turned around, with the nozzle of his weapon his shoulder and began walking away. A smile on his face, knowing that they didn’t just end up with something better. Then ended up with the best.

You stood there, looking up at it, not believing you had finally found it. A full year of internet research, of hearsay, and sleuthing and guessing at where it could be. Even when you came here, you believed yourself to be crazy.

You stood now, in a room full of statues, each one modelled after a beautiful woman. The collection had grown to 79 works. And you were now standing there, among a crowd, admiring what the collection owner claimed was the best out of all of them.

The statue, beautiful and curvy, stared down indistinctly, her body bent over, the voluptuousness of her ass, her thick thighs, her hanging breasts, all captured beautifully, so lifelike you couldn’t believe it. Even the lines in her face, though filled with a sudden shock, still portrayed a beauty beyond being ruined by any specific expression. If anything it only captured her beauty further. The beauty in suffering.

You neared behind the statue, doing so more slowly than everybody else, almost fearing its face was watching.

Its ass, looking familiar, stared back at you.

“It’s the finest we have in our collection. After this, Mr. Bernstein stopped commissioning more, saying none would ever undoing he… it.”

The cheeks were enormous. The line between them riding up from top to bottom, apparently going in deep. There, clear as day, ready to be examined, not just by one, but by many. And for eternity.

“Okay then, on to the next exhibit. If you’d follow me.”

As the guide left, the tour with him (with every face trailing along the lines and curves of the statue’s body) you stood there, not even looking back at them. Only looking forward to the ass just before your face.

The last straggler in the tour, other than yourself, took one last look, then disappeared behind the corner. You stared at the ass for what felt like a lifetime, its size much bigger than your head. Its crack like the feature of a facial expression, dry and without shock.

You suddenly leaned in, your lips puckered, your eyes shut, and you planted one big uninterrupted kiss against it.

You stared at it. You nodded your head.

“Goodbye,” you said.

You turned around.

You gave it one last look as you rounded the corner, leaving it to its empty room. Leaving it to eternity.

---

America Part VII: Purity

Amy felt like a shadow, already passed on, as she squeezed herself down the tight street toward her destination. Eyes watched the young twenty-year-old beauty, her shape unforgettable, as there was nothing like it for thousands of miles in any direction.

Amy had never asked to look like this. And once upon a time, not too long ago, she didn’t. Back then, she would run up and down the playground with the other girls, playing tag, her body just like there’s, her shape basic and plain, and with a face above it, pretty enough to provoke compassion from anyone who looked at her. At some point, halfway into her teenage years, she began to notice she couldn’t run without feeling her body at war with itself, the energy necessary excessive, with skin slapping against skin, and pain from the most basic of movements.

And then one day alone in her room, she looked into the mirror, with the intention of truly understanding what had been happening to her. And when she did, she saw what others had been noticing.

Since then, she had only blew out, balloon-like, in every direction, except for everything below her kneecaps, her hips, and everything above her breasts. She was now twenty, and she had to squeeze through the alleys and halls of her town with much more finesse than everyone else. Crowds were the worst to traverse through, and she’d often try to avoid them, though it was a fool’s errand. China was full of people, half of whom were male, none of whom minded accidentally bumping into her, brushing past, or grinding against her all that much. In fact, it almost seemed like they were going out of their way to do so, if the grins on their faces were anything to go by.

Amy would blush, her expression would show just how uncomfortable she was, and rather than empathize, this only seemed to entice these grinding bodies further, the compassion evoked by her pretty face now doing nothing to stop it.

As her body filled the center of every gaze she passed, her shapely curves moved in and out of gauntlets and nooks made of pelvises and palms, she had at least possessed the pride to know that she had never given herself up to anyone, despite what a few mean and jealous girls in the neighborhood would claim.

As Amy reflected on this, and thought of the face of her sweetheart, a few of her tears splashed the fish-stained cobblestones below. She only stepped over her tears, still moving, doing so until she saw the black limo waiting for her at the end of the lane.

Inside it, a man, his skin weathered like fermenting fruit, saw her body fill the frame of his window. His window rolled down and that shapely body emerged from the dull tint into vibrant color, its tight-fitting dress a bright red. He exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke. He stuck his hand out the window. He looked at her straight. Then his index and middle finger curled with all the erotic motion of smoke, and he beckoned her toward the car.

As she went, she felt her legs giving beneath her like jello. Since then, she had often wished that she had collapsed, right then and there, and saved herself the grief of what came next that day, Tony be damned.

The man watched her crawl into his private and mobile space, his eyes on her gigantic ass as it passed by, bent over and jiggling, beneath his gaze.

He gave it a hardy slap, to which her face shot up, first. He slammed his door shut second.

Standing outside, at the end of the lane buying fish, was one of the girls from the neighborhood. Amy began to get up, feeling herself being pulled into the foreign grasp of a much older man, and, as she did, she saw a familiar face watching her from the street. That face, as smug as it was when neutral, became unbearable when the corners of its mouth lifted, its eyes lighting up, and its chin turning upwards.

Amy’s gaze fell in shame. And before she even had a moment to reflect on how low she fell, she felt a sudden and humiliating smack, square against her giant ass. And as she felt that weathered hand pulling her dress upward over that object of admiration, the one she meant for her first and only sweetheart, the impulse to put her own hands down to stop it almost kicked in, until her conscious mind followed almost as quickly, reminding her that it wasn’t her place to stop this any longer.

“Amazing person you must be,” he said, seeing her ass, gigantic and bare, emerging to his greedy eyes. He pulled her dress up to the small of her back. Then he looked down at its perfect, unbroken delight. “Giving up all this just to save your brother’s hand.”

His palm came down with sudden and violent force, its nature implying an anger burning within him, one which he was about to transfer toward a scapegoat, a scapegoat he frankly preferred.

Amy sucked in air, halfway between a grunt and a cry, but she kept herself from sobbing openly, only allowing a single tear to find the gawdy carpet below.

He grabbed her cheek and pulled it outward, exposing in the inner crevice of her ass, its valley deep between her two soft and pillowy canyons. “You know, if this was any smaller, even by an inch, I’d have at least taken one of his pinkies. Thank God you’re exactly the size necessary to match his gambling debts. What a happy coincidence…”

The man let go, and then he leaned in, his pelvis wrapping itself close to her giant ass. His face came up beside hers, making itself a nuisance to her, one she wanted to just avoid if she could. She realized now that she wasn’t going to be offered that opportunity. His face kissed itself up her cheek, much more confidently than her boyfriend’s timid pecks, and then she felt the lukewarm embrace of a slug.

He licked the side of her face, from her chin to her temple, then he grabbed her softly by her chin, turning her face towards his. “Put out your tongue,” he said dryly.

She stared at him.

“As dumb as Tony, I see. Put out your tongue.”

She did what she was told, slowly.

He smiled looking down at it. Then he looked up and into her eyes. His palms came around her flanks and she felt them squeeze her giant and tender breasts, she pulled her tongue back into her mouth.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, still squeezing.

She slowly extended her tongue again.

“That’s better. Now give daddy a kiss.”

His mouth opened and his eyes shut, and hers did to. And then she felt his lizard lips wrap around her tongue, and in no time, he was sucking.

When he pulled her tits out of her dress and then squeezed them a second time, this time bare, flattening her nipples in his palm, she didn’t dare pull back her tongue.

After a bit, he backed up, and part of her almost wanted to believe that he had finished. But, even as a virgin, she knew this wasn’t all sex entailed.

She heard his belt buckle being undone, feeling it fall against the back of her thighs. Then she felt it, something muscular and pulsating behind her.

Two hands grabbed at her thighs, pulling them apart, then they grabbed at her butt-cheeks, doing the same, and then they froze, still holding her cheeks astray.

“Huh,” he said. There was silence for a moment. “Well then, I guess I’m happy to be your first.”

Her eyes shot wide, not knowing how he had figured it out.

Then she felt something tear into her, and the pain, itself nauseating beyond any she had known, almost lead her to passing out.

Within moments, she felt that thing, muscular, as sluglike as his tongue, pushing in and out of her. The unwanted fat of her cheeks and thighs clapped with each thrust as she watched the slums she lived in pass by, with the hundreds of faces, some of which she recognized from contexts she couldn’t remember. Her tits swung back and forth, smacking into the paneling of the limousine and becoming sore. Her consciousness filling with a nauseating discomfort, the likes of which shocked her.

The man’s hands soared all over her, her body itself seeming to be an adventure for him. His fingers found all the places she once examined in the mirror (the space beneath her breasts and between the cheeks of her ass). As they went, unimpeded, and his slaps against the fat of her ass picked up and slowed down according to his energy and preference, Amy saw something which made her jaw drop and her focus come back.

Even as the world bobbed and jerked every half-second with her body, she saw it there, her entire mind set on the image.

It was Tony standing there, yuan bills in his hand, cheering. He stood among a crowd, and as the limo past, Amy tilted her body around, trying to get a better look.

That’s when she saw it, the eye of that hurricane within that circle of screaming men, her brother among them.

It was a rooster standing opposite another rooster, the two of them facing each other, both agitated and poised to fight.

She looked back at her brother, his eyes wild with anticipation, his money in his raised fist.

The roosters were no longer visible, but half of the crowd exploded, the other half twisting into shapes of horror and disappointment. Tony was among the latter, and before Amy knew it, she watched his face drop further when a hand reached out and deprived him of his bills.

Amy’s gaze burned with anger, the likes of which she never knew she could feel. Before she could even think about it, she suddenly felt a smack behind her, one that was more intense than the countless flurry of others.

Her face smacked up against the window. She cringed at the pain in her cheek and forehead.

She suddenly felt hands grab her at her flanks. She was turned over, and she sat there on her knees, facing a frantic old man. She looked down, seeing the source of that sluglike sensation, red and throbbing, and his wide-eyed face as he struggled to get to his feet.

When he did, he thrust that ugly shape before her mouth, and she looked down at its droopy face.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “I’m cumming. I’m cumming!”

She looked up at him confused. Coming where? she asked herself.

“Ugggh!”

The slug throbbed in the air.

She stared it in its face.

Before she knew it, something shot out.

Within a second, she was blind.

She felt the warm liquid coating her, and shuddered at the thought of what it was, fearing he was urinating on her.

That’s when her shocked and opened mouth caught a dripping string of it. It fell to her tongue, and at feeling it there, and tasting its overwhelming saltiness, she suddenly knew the nature of the fuel which kept men going; and, because of it, kept the world spinning round.

“Jealousy. That’s why.” Tom said.

“Fuck you, I’m jealous,” Dylan said, and pushed him.

Their voices echoed through the basement, up to the empty main floor of Tom’s house.

Tom leaned in, grabbed Dylan by his shirt sleeve and pulled. Dylan stood his ground.

Tom looked at everyone, John particularly. “Doesn’t he sound jealous?”

John only stared.

“I don’t know,” Liam said, sitting on the opposing couch. “I’m not that into her either.”

“What!?”

“Shape.”

“Shape?”

“Yeah,” Liam said. “She has none. She’s pretty. I like that about her. But I like a girl with some shape to her.” Dylan nodded along.

Tom only stared, astonished. Then he looked at Leo with resignation. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess…”

Leo shrugged knowingly.

“Look at these two,” Dylan said, motioning to Tom and Leo. “Like they’re God’s gift to women.”

“We don’t have to be God’s gift to all of them,” Tom said. “Just one.”

“Or several,” Leo said, with a groan from everyone.

John only stood there, looking back and forth at every speaker as they spoke, not contributing. Something bothered him in his gut as he listened, some uneasiness which he didn’t really know the source of.

“I’m not saying I’m not happy for you,” Liam said.

“I am,” Dylan interrupted.

“I’m saying that she’s not my type. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Tom said, leaning back in his couch. “You’re quite the superstar then. Nice.”

“What do you even see in this bitch,” Dylan said. “She’s like a toothpick. You might as well be fucking John here.” He pointed at John, making him blush. “Is it her personality? I know Maddison. It can’t be that.”

Tom’s fingers were clasped together, as if he was a superstar himself. “You just don’t like that one of the popular girls like me.”

Dylan jerked his head up with a grin. “’Popular!’ That’s the key word, isn’t it?”

“You accusing me of being shallow? Me!?” He leaned forward to accentuate the joke.

“That’s not what I’m saying…” Dylan said with his mischievous grin.

“Then what then?” Tom asked, knowing enough about his friend to know he’d regret asking.

“She’s popular,” Dylan repeated. “Very, very popular.” He winked.

“Oh, fuck you!” Tom said, pushing him. “This guy would know.”

“So you’re admitting it then?”

“No, I was saying that your mom’s a-“

“-a whore. So, again, you’re admitting it then.”

“Fuck you,” Tom said, and adjusted himself in his chair. He looked at John and motioned to Dylan with his thumb. “This guy…”

John blushed.

Tom looked around the room at everyone else, still motioning to Dylan. “This guy thinks every girl is a whore.” He began laughing, but when he noticed nobody else joining in, instead just staring at him awkwardly, he looked back and forth between them. “Oh, don’t tell me you guys think… you know what, fuck all of you.”

“Who here thinks Maddison has been around the block a few too many times?” Dylan asked, and then put up his hand. The other hands went up. Everybody’s except for John and Tom’s.

Tom didn’t even look up, he just stared down at his knuckles as if he weren’t bothered.

“That’s three against two,” Dylan said. “And you don’t count. You’re an interested party. And John, he’s from a communist country. He doesn’t understand democracy or voting, so he’s a write-off.”

John blushed at the term ‘write-off,’ having heard it before from his friends and others as a term for lost cause or someone who missed their chance. And at hearing it, mistaking the context it was being used in this time, his face began to go red.

Tom, without looking up from his hands, said “Well, she hasn’t been around the block. And, even if she has, what difference does it make? None of us are virgins either.”

At hearing Tom say this, John felt a calm suddenly come back to him.

“Wow, Tom,” Dylan said. “I didn’t know you were such an egalitarian.”

“I didn’t know you were such an asshole,” Tom said, intending it to hit well. Instead it just confused everyone, all of them knowing very well how much of an asshole Dylan was. Tom only picked at his thumb. “Yeah, who am I to judge? I lost my virginity to a Swedish girl in the alps. For all I know, Maddison lost hers on a trip as well. It’s like a… uh… a rite of passage thing.”

“Yes,” Dylan said, slyly, crossing one leg over the other as if he were now the star. “Who am I to judge? I lost my virginity to someone I didn’t even know was my cousin. She was old enough to be my aunt, and her ass… jesus christ… her ass. It was unbelievable.” He sat there for a second, his irritating grin stable but somehow growing. “Maybe Maddison had sex with her older cousin too. One who she thinks is an uncle, with a cock…. sweet zeus… his cock.”

“Fuck off,” Tom said. Pushing him again.

“I lost it with Karen and Cassandra on the same night.” Everyone looked at Leo.

“You have two?” Dylan asked and motioned toward his dick.

“No, it was Karen first, at Cassandra’s party, then Cassandra got jealous and took me up to her parent’s room.”

Everybody stared at Leo. John felt his face burning, and he began to worry. “You see?” Dylan said. “Who are we to judge. Maybe Madison lost her virginity to two guys. She has enough holes for it.”

Tom opened his mouth, faking laughter silently.

Dylan lifted his hand suddenly, ultimately pointing it at Liam, but for a second John felt a panicked jolt run through him.

“And you, superstar, how did you lose the Big V?”

Liam blushed. “I already told you guys. It was with Molly. From theatre.”

Dylan began nodding knowingly. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. The artsy one with the huge tits.” He looked at everyone else. “You see, who are we to judge? Maddison could have lost her virginity to drunk uncle who drinks beer and has huge tits as well.”

Liam laughed.

“He probably had bigger tits than she did.”

There was a silence for a second, the uneventfulness of it lulling John into believing the moment would pass without him. He tried to stop the heat from rising to his face, not wanting to be red, not wanting to sweat; and he wished he could stop his hand from trembling.

“Anyways,” Tom said. John sensed his will to move the conversation forward, or to at least wrap it up, and at hearing it, he felt as if he had emerged from the water, now capable of drawing in breath. And as Tom continued speaking, he only felt this way more so. “She’s cool,” Tom continued. “I like her. I’m going out with her tomorrow, and regardless of whether I’m the first of the last, I’m fucking her, and that’s all that really mat-“

“Wait,” Dylan said.

John looked over at him, completely unaware of the panic in his face. Nobody noticed. Not even Dylan, who was now looking directly at him.

“How did you lose your virginity, John? Did it involve chopsticks?”

John’s face showed a panic beyond any they were used to seeing on it. They didn’t even know he could conjure such an emotion. It was so jarring, his cheeks so red, that they almost assumed he had misheard the question as some form of threat.

“How did you lose your virginity?” Dylan asked again, this time dryly and with perfect enunciation to try to avoid being misheard. “Have sex, I mean. Your first time.”

John’s face was still red, his eyes still wide with panic. A bead of sweat dripped down to his eyebrow from his hairline.

“Oh god,” Dylan said. “I can’t believe it.”

It didn’t take long for the others to catch up with realization, but like Dylan, they were still struggling with belief.

“He’s…” Tom said.

“…a virgin,” Leo replied.

John’s soul sunk with his stomach.

There was laughter, there were double-takes, and the guys asking each other questions. All the while, Tom sat there, his disposition not unlike what it would be if he were cornered by detectives after murdering his own mother.

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me this much,” Dylan said.

John felt that as if it were a dagger plunging into his gut.

“It’s normal in China,” John finally protested. “Many like me are virgins. Most people.”

“Pfft,” Tom said.

“That just means you’re a nation full of losers,” Dylan drove him.

“And to think,” Tom said. “My dad says you guys are taking over…”

“No wonder they are. Think of how sexually frustrated they must be. It’s a whole country full of school shooters.”

John furrowed his brow, feeling a sudden tug of anger, one which surprised even himself. Even still, his shame kept his mouth glued shut.

“Geeze,” Leo said. He pointed at the black television screen. “And I thought you got so raging hard on movie nights because it was so small and it didn’t take much to fill up. Now I see why it gets you so much. If anything, I’m jealous. I don’t even remember what it’s like to not have any female attention.”

John looked over to Liam, the only spot left where sympathy could possibly be derived. Instead he saw Liam’s reserved features now tarnished with a little, mean-spirited grin.

It was rare that the cruelty of all four of them would be focused directly against him. Even Tom, who had just weathered their barbs, had turned on him at the drop the of a hat once the opportunity had presented itself. Was virginity that big of a deal?

“Damn,” Leo said, shaking his head. “I feel bad for the guy. I’m almost willing to play my mom’s video for him, just to cheer him up.”

Tom looked over at Leo.

“Play his own mom,” Dylan said. Tom looked at the side of his face. “He gets hard to her too, the weirdo.” It was a testament to how much cowardice Dylan saw in John that he could say that without expecting John to narc on what he did to his mother’s helpless body when she came home drunk. “Let’s put her on the big screen. I’ve been nursing a craving for that sweet and sour ass. Let’s kill two chickens with one stone then.

Leo picked up the remote and he turned on the TV.

As everyone leaned forward, or adjusted themselves, Tom looked over at John, who was looking down, ashamed into his own lap. Tom examined his face, a lightbulb seeming to go off behind his own.

Then John’s bathroom appeared on the screen. Tom turned away, waiting for Amy to appear.

John looked at the familiar Chinese characters, an entire wall of them, appearing to him as not so different from a firing squad.

John had no idea how he felt about concepts such as fate or self-actualization, but at the very least, what he was looking at now was an inconvenient coincidence. The irony was that he had only logged into the chat, to talk to his friends from back home, with the intention of forgetting about what was on his mind.

He stared at the screen.

“How many blondes have you been with?” stared back at him in mandarin. The person who was asking it was a virgin and had never made any claims otherwise.

John didn’t answer it, pretending he hadn’t seen it yet, or was busy.

“Probably a lot,” someone else answered. “They’re big sluts over there. You can tell by the way they dress. Everything hangs out.”

“I’m jealous,” chimed in someone else.

“Don’t answer yet, John,” the first one said. “Let’s place bets on how many. I think it has to be at least two. I’ll say three then.”

“Four.”

John sat there, staring at the screen. His face almost tired from blushing. He grabbed the lid of his laptop and closed it shut.

That night, after spending hours in bed with a busy head filled with the taunts and laughing grins of his friends, John found sleep. And in his sleep, rather than finding the oblivion he would have preferred, he instead found a waterfall of soft blonde hair, silky to touch, and shining, reflecting some unknown light source in its sheen. John’s fingers ran through it, and he savored its silky curtain, until his fingers

stopped against something solid. The hair swayed, in motion, and then a face appeared from out its wild foliage. It was Evelyn. She looked at him with longing eyes. “Shh,” she said. “Not too loud, John. Tom’s downstairs.” Her eyes darted suspiciously from side to side, as if to spot any onlookers within the surrounding darkness. “I think Avery knows.” Tom felt a soft but authoritative hand find his thankful genitals. “Wow,” she said. “It is a stereotype.” She pulled his cock out of his pants and jerked it off in her hand while admiring it. “You’re much bigger than I thought you’d be.”

John nodded his head, looking down at it with her, seeing her colossal tits above.

“Don’t get too excited. Like I said, Dylan’s in his room.”

John looked up, and inches from his face sat a veil of dark brown hair. A chin peeked out from behind its strands.

“My son just hates seeing me give men attention.” The face turned, emerging from behind the brunette veil, exposing itself as Gianna’s. “But you’re just such a sweetheart, you know?”

John nodded. He looked down, Gianna’s big tits hung, naked, their nipples pierced with metal foreign to her, the aspect of which only served to accentuate her nudity. John looked down at his cock below them, the way her hand massaged it, and he shut his eyes with satisfaction. He opened them again, the hand still there, the giant tits with them.

The hand let go of his shaft, only for her fingers to crawl below, fingertip to fingertip, until they were beneath his scrotum. He felt her nail, delicately, playfully, tickle against the sensitive skin of his nutsack. “Coochie, coochie, coo,” she said.

He looked up, seeing wild tangles of red.

“I hope that that doesn’t mean anything in Mandarin,” the woman said, turning to expose her famous beauty.

John looked at Autumn. She smiled, her eyes crinkling.

“Would you be mad at me if I bit it?” Her brows were raised. She laughed and then looked down at it, opening her mouth animalistically, and snapping downward like a little dog. “It’s like… It’s like a little snack,” she said.

John looked down at it, seeing Autumn’s hand playing with it with all the kinesthetic intelligence an actress would have, except now her hand was a cocoa brown.

“Beautiful…” she said, with an accent. “It’s simply just…”

John looked up, and Sofia was already there waiting for him with her eyes.

“We’re both immigrants,” she said. “Me and you. We share that together.” Her eyes shone with longing. Then she shut them, and she began to lean in for a kiss. John leaned in to meet her. Their lips met, and John’s eyes shot open, feeling that they were somehow more familiar than he was expecting.

Sofia’s hair was still black, but her skin was a heavenly shade of pale.

And then when he could focus, he saw her looking back at him, with the same longing, but with a face John knew better than any other.

It was Amy.

Her longing danced along her shut-eyed features, and she seemed to wallow in it. Then she opened her eyes, and if just noticing him there, she froze. The jerking of his cock didn’t stop though.

When it finally did, she spoke. “Yixin,” she said, her brows furrowing. Her face then slowly went loose, as if giving way to thought. She was no longer looking at him. When she did look back, she shook her head. “A virgin,” she said. “A virgin.” She shook her head as if to get away from the thought. “I thought I raised you better, Yixin. That’s…” she stared at him. “…it’s… shameful,” she said it, almost ashamed herself to admit what it was.

John’s face burned red. He could feel his mom’s giant breast against his ribcage. Her hand still held his hard cock, but it sat still on it, unmoving.

“John,” she said, suddenly summoning some sort of resolve. She turned to look him more directly, and John could feel her breast brush past various parts of his torso in an arc that felt almost impossible in its duration and length. Then both tits were pressed against his chest. “John, I can’t live with your virginity any longer. This is more shameful for me than it is for you. I’m your mother after all. I should have been as vigilant with your sex life as I’ve been with your schooling, if not more so. I should have made sure you knew how to talk to girls. What to say to them. When to say it. In what tone. I should have taught you how to date. What to say on your dates. The whole song and dance. What to tell a girl when you want to date her. To smile while you talked to them. To show attention, but not too much attention. To show your attraction to them, just enough so they know and are interested, but not enough to creep them out.”

John sat there, filling with joy and shame. Joy at his mom finally understanding his plights as a young man, and shame for letting it get so out of hand for so long.

“...and,” she continued. “How to lean in for a kiss.”

John’s chest filled with tingling vibrations.

Amy’s eyes became glassy and moist. John had the distinct notion that she was leaning closer to him, but it was happening so slowly he felt as if he couldn’t be sure.

And by the time he was sure, her lips opened and met his.

They kissed passionately, and for an indeterminable amount of time, the only sound he was aware of during was the smacking of her wet lips. Her giant breasts pressed firmly against his chest.

She pulled her lips back just far enough to speak. Her forearms hung onto the back of his neck, and her breasts had only decompressed against him slightly from the gained distance. “Like that, John,” she whispered. “Just like that. Now John, I want you to feel these Nai Zi.” She leaned her left shoulder back, exposing the nipple of her left breast. “Feel it,” she insisted. “With your hand.”

John’s hand slowly moved toward it. He wasn’t nervous to feel it, as he had felt them to his own liking before, having spent almost an entire night with them freely against his palms, lips, and cock. He was nervous now to feel them with her conscious awareness, and, apparently, with her approval.

“Feel mommy’s Rǔfáng,” she said. And then when he grabbed it, feeling it squeeze beautifully within his palm: “Mine will be a lot bigger than any girl’s you meet. But practice with mine.”

He felt her hand continuing to jerk him off. “You’re small,” she said. “But you can still do a lot with this.”

She looked him in the eye.

“Do you want to see?”

John only nodded, not wanting to open his trembling lips.

“Okay John,” she said. “Your shame ends today.”

She stepped forward, her breasts pushing into him harder, and then she seemed to lift her leg as she went. Suddenly, John felt something strange against the tip of his penis, and before he could look down to see what it was, he suddenly felt its full length being engulfed by an immeasurably beautiful sensation.

“Congratulations,” his mother said, her eyes dreamy and wet. “You’re no longer a virgin.”

John suddenly felt an urge come over him, and, before he knew it, he was thrusting animalistically as his mom’s shaking head stared at him.

“How does mommy feel?” she asked. And then: “Most girls won’t feel this good either. There are very few women who are as beautiful, and as much as a paradise to be with, as your mommy, John, but don’t hold it against them. You need to start somewhere.”

John just continued thrusting.

“Here, John,” she said, leaning forward. “You need to kiss. Girls like kissing.”

Their lips met, and John made out passionately with his mother, feeling her giant breasts against him, jiggling and swaying and compressing with his every thrust.

Their lips parted. Her eyes were still shut. “A-minus,” she said, ashamed. She opened her eyes. “John, you need to improve. Getting the girl is just the beginning. Pleasing her is even more important.” She looked down as if to assess his thrusting. She looked back up. “You know, John. Most girls like it rough. She spanked him on his ass suddenly, surprising him. “Show mommy that you can be rough with her.”

John suddenly, as if possessed by her, grabbed the back of her head, filling his palm with a fistful of her hair, then he thrust her forward, away from himself, down onto a bed, which sat there in the darkness.

She landed there on her knees, and within seconds he found his way back inside her, and was quickly and viciously thrusting.

He stared at the back of her head as she spoke. “Slap mommy’s ass,” she said. He did what he was told, seeing it ripple like it had on that one drunken night. “Yes, like that,” she said. “But harder. Harder. Like a whore. Treat mommy like a whore. Women like it. They want it that way.”

Something in that statement stung John somewhere along the length of his soul, but he couldn’t put his finger on why, not in any obvious way. Even still he thrusted through it, as if the cheeks of his mom’s prodigious ass were the thoughts he was trying to obliterate.

“I want it that way, John.” She all but purred. “Your mommy. You saw the way I devoured that white cock, John. You noticed. Uncle Tony expected it to be that way, you noticed that too. Mommy is a pro. Take his sloppy seconds, John. That’s what I am John, American sloppy seconds. Spank me. Spank me. I’m your bad girl, baby!”

John slapped her ass with an accumulating rage, none of which detracted from his growing lust, possibly only adding to it. Her ass shook in a humiliating motion, the likes of which was almost subservience personified.

“Fuck these sloppy seconds, John. Fill this used body with your cum.” John felt the end approaching. “That’s what most women will be to you John. Sloppy seconds, touched and penetrated by the body of another man. But that’s okay. It’s better to be second…” She stopped to pant. “…to be second… than it is to be last.”

John felt his balls begin to tighten against his undercarriage.

His mom was screaming “inside, inside. Cum inside me, John.” Her ass rippled violently, and with a consistent rhythm. And as she screamed, screaming for his cum, the darkness around the two of them began to saturate itself with morning light, and what was once void became limited with determinable walls, floor, and a ceiling, and before he could cum, losing the shameful burden of virginity within the first woman he had ever noticed, she began to fade, her moaning screams fading with her, and then she was replaced by nothing except for a door. And that’s when John noticed it, the door was rattling. And then, beyond the door, muffled but familiar, he heard a voice. It was Amy’s. And she was screaming for him, just like in the dream. Except when he could finally make it out, hearing what it was, he knew he was in trouble.

“…9 o’clock already! You’re going to miss your first class! I told you to not stay up all night playing those stupid ga-“

She opened up the door.

She was greeted to the sight of her son laying there, his sheets fallen to the bedside, his body bare and naked, with the undersides of his thighs and the soles of his feet facing her now.

His cock sat that, throbbing in front of her. Her son looked at her, not even attempting to cover himself. Just staring.

Her one hand held the door handle, the other held a laundry basket against her hip, and after a painfully long second standing there, just staring at her nude offspring, she took a step back beyond the doorway, and let the door shut with her.

John stared at one side of that door from a distance, and she stared at the other side of it up close.

It wouldn’t be until the next day that they spoke. And this was good, as it took them both a full day to burry the thought of what had just happened.

Tom opened up the pristine white door. He stood there, looking out with disgust. “It took you long enough.”

John said nothing.

“Come in, come in. Or are you going to waste more time standing there?”

John did as he was told.

They moved through the house as Tom continued to jab at him verbally. “I thought Asians were supposed to be punctual. Christ…”

They passed by the screen door in the kitchen.

John saw Evelyn laying there next to the pool, bathing her white body in the sun. Her breasts – scantily covered, but still more so than they were on that day her dress was tugged off her body by his own mother’s hand – were eye-catching. John stared at them, nervous but unable to drag his gaze away.

“Water or pepsi?”

John looked over, startled.

“Water or pepsi, I said.” Tom was annoyed. “It’s the same choices every time. Which one?”

“Water,” John said.

“’Watel,’” Tom repeated, exaggerating the accent. He leaned into the fridge to grab it.

John looked back outside. To his shock, Evelyn was looking at him through the black lenses of her sunglasses.

Her tanned white body was now blushing red, both on the cheeks of her face, and on the bare flesh above her breasts. She smiled and nodded to say hello silently. John did the same, blushing as much as she was, both of them seemingly embarrassed by what had happened on that day.

John felt a hand grab his wrist.

He turned to see Tom looking at him. “Let’s go upstairs.”

John sat on the edge of Tom’s bed.

“Yeah,” Tom said, sitting on his dresser with his feet dangling a few inches off the ground. “She’s cool. I’m cool.” He nodded his head, looking at his carpet in reflection. “She’s funny.” He pointed at his chest. “I’m funny.” He looked out the window. “She’s beautiful.” Again, he pointed at his chest, his eyes wide with mock power. “I’m beautiful.”

John didn’t say anything, only listening.

Tom was nodding, as much to himself as to John. Then he looked down. “Only thing she’s missing is in the body department.”

John fidgeted in place.

Tom looked down at him. “I think we have similar tastes, John.” That smile began to form on his face, making John uneasy. “In that we both like our women with a little more ‘oomph’ to them.”

John must have looked confused because Tom felt the need to explain.

“Like this,” he said, shaping out an hourglass figure with his palms. “You know… ‘oomph.’”

John felt a sudden rushing fear, but he dropped it self-consciously at realizing he didn’t know what it was from.

“’Oomph,’” Tom repeated. “Maddison has everything.” He looked back out the window at the blue and cloudless sky. “Everything except ‘oomph.’”

John adjusted himself again.

“You know, John. That girl I told you guys about, the first girl I’ve been with I mean, wasn’t who I said it was. I mean… she was a real girl… I really did fuck. But… she wasn’t the first.” He put his weight on his other leg, still smiling. He came across as less unnerving with that smile, just because it hadn’t changed for a while, making it seem conventional rather than indicative of some deeper intention or effect. “The first woman I’ve ever been with had ‘oomph.’” His smile got wider, now unnerving John. “She was much older, and she had gained it in all the right places with age. Like fine wine,” he said. He snorted to himself. “That’s an understatement.” There was silence in the room for a moment, and then Tom broke that silence. “That’s my model for women as I like them now. Nice…” he paused, looking up at John, his smile now unnerving. “…and curvy.” His eyes crinkled into smiles themselves. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone like that, would you John?” he asked suggestively.

John again fidgeted in place, this time annoyed as well as fearful, knowing where his friend was going.

“No offense, buddy,” he said. “But she’s almost exactly the type I’m into.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Why are you telling me it, I mean?” John said, the statement being as much about pleading as it was questioning.

Tom’s fingers were still clasped together, his face unmoved from its permanent grin. “Before I go on, I just want to let you know that I have three thousand dollars I’m willing to give you.”

John froze, both at astonishment over that number, and also at the dread its high amount naturally brought. He couldn’t bring himself to ask “three thousand dollars for what?” but his friend answered as if he did.

“I just need some alone time with her. Or… alone time with her body.”

John’s heartbeat began to increase in frequency all at once.

“I don’t need her to be there,” Tom continued. “Just her body, alone.” He grabbed the waist of his pants, and then he pulled them down, exposing his hard cock. “Just my naked white body against that perfect yellow ass.” He was trying to entice John viscerally with the prospect of him seeing his own mother being fucked.

Instead, John’s face, usually stoic, was now contorted into a look of disgust. Not at his friend’s throbbing cock, nor at the thought of his mom’s ass being pulverized from behind by it. But only at the thought of selling her out like that, to Tom of all people, for the money. It was obscene, offensive to John’s every moral impulse.

Tom seen this in him, yet still, his resolve didn’t falter, only adjusted itself. John could see it in his face as he stood there.

“Your loyalty goes deeper than money,” Tom said, sounding as if he admired it. “How quaint.” He looked out his window. “John, come here,” he said, and moved toward it.

John watched his friend move, feeling astonished at his calm. John stood up and followed.

Tom was looking below. John couldn’t see at what until he got close enough, the backyard coming into view. That’s when Evelyn’s body, glistening and white, appeared below, sitting there in a way that almost seemed unreal from this angle, like a target seen through the swing away doors of the B52 bomber which glided by above it.

Her breasts sat plopped on her torso with the white triangle of her bikini top barely covering them.

Tom’s expression didn’t change. His affectation remained flat. “John?” He said. “Do you know what a quid pro quo is?”

John stared at the side of his face.

“Don’t repeat it. I don’t want to ruin the drama of this moment with humor.”

John kept staring.

Tom seemed to be thinking. He stared down at his mom’s body, the lines of his face unchanging as he did. “Before I explain, let me tell you a story. Just because this moment reminds me of something. Once upon a time, in the magical land of Italy, there once was a wealthy American family who came to visit, eager to have a good time.” There was a moment of silence. “And they did,” Tom continued. “They had a great time… They spent a lot of time in a beachside resort, not that far from Rome. The young man from this family – let’s just call him… um… Tom. Just to keep it simple – made friends with a few Italian boys. This.. Tom… was good at that. Good at making friends with weird foreigners.” He looked at John, then back down at his oblivious mom below. “Well these Italian boys, not having the big bank account necessary to do fun stuff with, had to get their kicks somehow. And, being Italian, nothing gave them kicks more than being very, very sexually aggressive. They tell this… Tom… about a little spot they have, a secret between them, and a little game they like to play there that they call ‘James Bond.’ They say it with a funny little accent, and Tom laughs at them every time. But, being Italian, they’re too slow to notice. So they continue explaining the game. James Bond. It’s where they sneak up to a hill with her hands and knees, slowly enough to remain quiet, but quickly enough to not miss their chance. They wait until they see a girl, usually a tourist, leave from the common area of the beach to go to the place where every other girl goes to relieve themselves, given that there are no bathrooms nearby. And when that golden moment happens, they sneak away, again on their hands and knees, up to their little spot, and from it, looking down at what just so happens to be there below, they see a little sight that make their poor littles lives worth living.

“They’re excited to tell me… I mean Tom… about this game, and more than that, excited more than usual because of a ‘big-tittied’ American that they can’t stop talking about. Tom can tell by the way they talk about her that they feel like they’ve won the lottery. Tom, infected by their excitement, feels the same way. And then, one day, just as he’s sitting there, watching one of the boys play with his older sister’s panties, their ‘lookout’ comes running toward them. ‘The Americana! The Americana!’ he says, and they all scramble to their feet, run off, beckoning Tom to come with them. Tom does, and halfway toward their destination, they all fall to their hands and knees to crawl. And that’s when Tom knows he’s about to see something amazing.

“They get to the top of the hill, and Tom can feel his heart beating, excited to see a nude woman for the first time in his life. He gets to the top and looms over. And that’s when he sees a headful of blonde hair. And then it hits him. It was a familiar headful of the stuff. So Tom, wondering what the hell is going on, leans over further to get a better look. And that’s when he notices the America’s tits. They look familiar too.

“And then, laying there, staring, he feels his sunglasses fall from his forehead and fall down, landing on the giant tits of this Americana. Before she could look up, her own face covered with shades, Tom ducks back behind the hill. The Italians are furious with him. He exposed their spot. And worst, did it to the Americana they had been tugging themselves to all week. They abandon him there, not even daring to peek over the edge now. Tom sat there, watching them walk off, and, as he did, he noticed that guilt wasn’t the only emotion running through his mind. His cock lay there before him, larger than the boys who moved off in the distance. More than that, it stood up straighter. It throbbed.

“The boys didn’t want to talk to Tom anymore that week. They almost certainly felt like they made the right decision. And maybe they did. Though at one point, after Tom had left, and the Americana with big tits was nothing but a recently-formed memory, they went back to their usual spot to find a bikini top sticking out of the sand. They tripped over each other reaching for it, and when the fastest boy tugged it out they were shocked to see the size of its cups, which spilled with enough sand to make a castle on the beach. Within one of those enormous cups, they found a single photograph. They’re eyes lit up. Within that photograph, their famed Americana sat, smiling toward them wearing the very same bikini top that they hold between them now. Standing next to her, smiling just as widely, was their American friend Tom. And it was only then that they knew.”

Tom took a deep breath. “That last part was just conjecture. The Americana, when she got home, was shocked that she somehow forgot her bikini top at the hotel. She had no idea it was being shared between the same mouths and cocks of the Italian boys who watched her as she privately pissed in the sand.” He smiled down at his mom. “There’s a lot of things she doesn’t know.”

John stared down at her, watching her breasts rise and sink with her breathing. The sunlight reflected off her glasses like some bright star in a void. At hearing his friend’s story, coupled with the many times he had seen those breasts nude, he felt a strange power over her, one which was further accentuated by the height of the second floor they looked down on her from, and the near-nudity of her body while they stood fully clothed, scanning over her every bare inch.

Tom spoke, this time directly at John. John turned to see his friend looking at him, directly and sincerely (more sincere than he had ever seen him), directly into his eyes. “Your mom is the best chip you have, John,” he said. John’s felt the heat rising to his face at the coming realization of what Tom was truly saying. “In exchange. I’ll give you anything.”

Evelyn lay below, her eyes shut behind her glasses, her body being massaged pleasurably by the sun’s warm fingers. Behind those eyelids was only void, with no star to illuminate her way.

Dylan opened up his creaking front door. He stood there, looking out with a smile. “Jesus Christ,” he said, looking back at the clock on the oven. “You’re always so early.”

John said nothing.

“Come inside.”

John followed him inside.

As they moved through the house, Dylan teased him. “It must be an Asian thing. Always being on time, I guess.”

They passed through the living room, its coffee table littered with empty bottles.

John saw Gianna asleep, looking like a total wreck on the couch. Her body was covered over by a sheet, but based on her bare shoulders and feet, she seemed to be naked beneath. John stared at her, his mouth dry. Dylan leaned into his ear, startling him in his feverish voyeurism to whisper: “I had a good time with her last night.” He put his finger to his grinning lips to signal that there was nothing more to say.

Her dress from the night before, the one John could imagine her stumbling into the house wearing, lay as a heap on the carpet, manifesting the decadence and debauchery that was absent in any trace of her peacefully resting face or body, its various folds speaking the cryptic language expressing Dylan’s wild rubbing and thrusts.

John, subtly nudged on by previous events, imagined what it would feel like to go over there and to enjoy Dylan’s seconds. In fact, it didn’t seem now like mere imaginings. It was an impossibility which suddenly seemed with the realm of plausible. And then she stirred.

Dylan leaned against him. “Let’s go to my room.”

As they both sat on the edge of Dylan’s bed, its mattress squeaking with every micro-movement, John heard a yawn from the living room. Then he heard a sheet drop and the stepping of barefeet across the carpet toward the direction of Gianna’s room. He knew she was completely nude out there, but before he could dwell on it, Dylan spoke:

“Toilet cam.”

John looked at his friend and stared. He was unsure of what to say.

“You ever seen those?”

John didn’t speak.

“On the internet. I think they set them up in the garbage can, or I those little brush holders people have.”

John still didn’t say anything.

“Looking up, to catch when the girl sits down.”

John blinked.

“For your mom,” Dylan said, annoyed. “I want to get a look at her fat, bent over ass before she sits down. Maybe get a peek at that butthole. I hear gooks have them on sideways.”

John was frozen. Dylan assumed he was trying to visualize what a sideways asshole would look like.

“It’s a joke, you idiot.”

The corner of John’s mouth lifted slightly, feigning humor.

“Anyways,’ Dylan said, rolling his eyes. “I just want to have a shot at her that none of the guys have. That’s why I wanted to talk to you – alone. When I watch the footage, I want to imagine that it’s my face she’s sitting down on, and mine alone. You understand?”

John did, but he was wordless, riding the strange vibe of his own déjà vu.

Dylan sighed. “I thought you’d put up a fight. Look, remember that one cousin I told you about? The slut? How would you like a date with her?”

John didn’t say anything, not out of any rejection to the idea, but just from being blindsided by it.

“Jesus, you want to be a virgin forever?”

John shifted uncomfortably, his face turning red. At the same time, the secret that he was about to lose that very virginity in question filled him with a strange pride. He was somewhat wrapped up in a sense of surrealism that so many offers were coming at him at once, but he figured it was related to an inverted version of that American saying, when it rains it pours.

“No, it can’t be it. Nobody is a virgin voluntarily. Unless…” He looked at John with a salesman grin. “…you only want to lose your virginity to that one special person.”

John didn’t have any clue what Dylan was talking about, not even figuring that he was referencing a specific individual right now, but at the mention of ‘special person,’ it was as if some flushing warmth ran through his chest at the though. Whatever that was, Dylan saw it, giving him confidence to continue.

“I’m going to her house to ‘study’ coming up. She’s bringing her redhead friend by and I’m trying to smash. I don’t know why she’s always helping me with that stuff. She’d obviously never let me in her place again if she knew about my hidden camera stunt.”

It was only then that John knew who this ‘she’ was referring to, as the image of her naked body, the first nude American civilian he had ever seen, flashed in his mind, along with the butterflies that fluttered through his gut every time he thought of her.

“So how about it, John. You give me that cinematic shot of your mom’s sweet ass, and I give you some alone time with Danielle while I’m working her friend’s ass in my uncle and aunt’s room. How do you feel about that? There’ll be alcohol there too, provided by yours truly. Her parents are gone for the weekend.”

John blushed in his cheeks so intensely, it felt like they were burning, while the rest of his face was pale and cold.

“Would you like that, John?”

John breathed, shifted uncomfortably. Then he nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, his heart rate already intolerable at the thought.

“Good,” Dylan said. He reached into his pocket and handed John the black sock with the hole and the camera taped inside. “Just make sure it’s right beside the toilet and facing up. I’m pretty sure that’s how they get that nice and invasive angle. And if you don’t get it the first time, just keep trying until you do. It’s your house, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances as long as you hide the camera properly.”

John knew that that was true, but the mention of opportunity, and the finality of opportunities which came only once in a blue moon, lead to an acidic rising in his gut at the knowledge that he would have to make that date count.

He took his friend’s camera, and as he got up, excusing himself to leave, he placed it in his pocket, right next to the plastic container with the little blue pill that had been given to him by Tom.

As Dylan waved him off at the front door, eyes full of hope in contrast to John’s expression of growing anxiousness, Gianna lay in her bed, examining the playful bite marks around her tender nipples with her fingers. The front door closed as she did, her focus remaining acute. Dylan walked passed her door, back to his own room, slamming the door shut the way she would usually chastise him for when she was less hungover. After a few more moments of examination and thoughts, she let go of her nipple, letting her breast fall inert, shrugging it off as something that must have happened at the club. After a few moments more she shut her eyes, and she was blissfully back to sleep.

John stood in front of his mirror, his clothes ironed and his tongue minty with mouthwash. As he stood there, trying to muster a masculine stoicism, his teeth rattled behind his lips, which would give the occasionally tremble, his conscious will to try to make it stop only seeming to make it worse.

His mom was outside, ironing the rest of their collective wardrobe, taking the opportunity to do so after he asked her to iron his clothes for the night. As she did so, looking down into the red fabric of her dress, she imagined her son in his room, getting ready for his date (though he never referred to it as that to her). A part of her smiled, feeling half as excited as he did, though with almost as much anxiety. She had no idea who this woman in question was. Part of her didn’t even care. She was just happy to see her son dating, though she was also worried at the thought of him getting into some trouble, the American flavor of which she’d have a hard time spotting in advance, and registering what to do even when it had arrived. This angst could be seen in her butt cheeks, which were sucked tight by her straining stomach muscles as she ironed her clothes. Even her giant breasts didn’t swing with as much freedom when she pressed the dress flat from one end to the other.

She took a deep breath, ironing the dress to a flatness beyond what was possible, with a rising intensity, her thoughts now populating with vague disasters.

She heard a sound from John’s room. She looked up. She sucked back breath in pain. She lifted her burnt forefinger to his mouth and began to suck on it.

John stood there. He put his mouth spray in his pocket. He then stood on his tippy-toes, trying to imagine what he’d look like if he were taller. He let go and fell back to his heels, losing eight inches in one sudden thud.

He took a deep breath.

His stomach began to churn. He sat down, hunching over as if to snuff his whining stomach out of existence.

He was so lost in thought that when his phone vibrated, he looked to it with panic. He was terrified it would be Dylan telling him it was off, and was equally terrified that it would be Dylan, telling him to hurry up and get there. Whatever it was, he knew he didn’t want it, or that some animal part in him didn’t, its fight or flight triggers raging.

He looked at the phone.

It was Tom.

John’s eyes went wide.

The text message read. “It’s tonight. My dad and sister are out.”

John scrambled with his thumbs, opening up messenger to type, to buy himself another day.

“Bombs away,” was the next message. “It’s in her drink. You do the same. I’m coming by now. My phone’s dying.”

John couldn’t believe this, his awareness being tugged back to the voluptuous nudity of Evelyn, her breasts pressed against her tightening forearm as shocked onlookers watched. The sensation was violent in John’s mind, as the entire body of his thoughts were formed around the specific silhouette of Danielle for the past few days. He now felt a vicious tearing, coming from both sides, and, surprisingly to him, his fingers got to work. “Not today,” he wrote, and hit send without a second’s thought. The message sent and then turned red with an exclamation point beside it.

His mouth fell open.

Dylan was coming over now after just using his only pill to drug his mother. Evelyn was likely sipping at her wine now, filling herself with that stuff. John moved over to his dresser. He tugged it open, and the little case rattled. The pill was in that little case, sitting there, as innocuous as a forgotten dream. But John couldn’t forget it now. He couldn’t afford to.

The camera, equally as forgotten, sat in the trashcan, covered in toilet paper, next to the toilet, ready for his mom to take her seat there, her throne in her own little kingdom, one which lacked privacy or dignity.

The thought of his mom, butthole exposed within her crack as her spreading cheeks found that welcoming porcelain, gave John a thrill, and at feeling that thrill, he thought about the way he had ravaged her body that night, his cock running everywhere across it. He thought of the texture of her skin, and he imagined Eveyln’s texture being quite the same way, and plausibility now of him getting to know if that true rose to meet his awareness like acid in his throat.

At the same time, the soft flesh, and sweet smile, of Danielle played in his mind. He imagined her ass getting into that shower, the video he watched with suppliant religious zeal, as if it were some marvel, and what’s more, he imagined her hand within his, with her looking into his eyes, smiling with her own, and then leaning in to kiss him.

And suddenly, with the violence of a rug being pulled from beneath his feet, it occurred to him the distance of it all. He imagined sitting at Danielle’s place, with Dylan grunting in the next room, sitting across from Danielle, saying nothing, with her saying nothing in return. Awkward questions and small talk, and little embarrassments. John’s face went red, and he imagined Danielle being tugged from him, her expression as she went not angry, not disgusted, not disappointed. Just bored. Bored with him and who he was. Bored with his height. Bored with his looks. Bored with his accent and his awkwardness. Bored with his culture and his lack of spontaneity. John’s face burned.

In contrast, the thought of Evelyn sipping from her wine glass, it further emptying inside her every time she did, with her posting it, next to her smug face, on Instagram without realizing what was in it. Without anyone realizing. Her body. Her giant breasts, and her shut eyes beneath her blonde hair. And the color of her pubes and her scent up close and the… the texture of her skin.

It was all so near. The wheels were already in motion. All he had to do was the bare minimum.

He reached in and grabbed the pill case, clicking it open and then he left his room with an open fist.

His mom, sitting on the toilet now, heard his bedroom door rocket open, and she heard him moving intently down the hallway, not knowing that the fuel which pushed him so aggressively was the will to destroy his virginity once and for all.

And with that, John found her tea, sitting there, steaming while it steeped, waiting for his mom’s delicate hand to find its handle and lift it to her lips. He looked down at it, seeing his reflection, mean and eager. Then his expression rippled into destroying waves of brownblack.

The pill sat there, an island within her mug, before slowly dissolving until it could no longer be seen. Yet, like the camera in the bathroom, it was still there in its entirety, doing what it was meant to.

As John moved to the front door, he caught himself in the mirror. He almost didn’t recognize himself. His shirt made him look dapper, and the way he styled his hair made him seem a bit more confident. He leaned forward and brushed a few of his black bangs to side. He lifted his mouth spray and ejected two volleys onto his waiting tongue.

He was getting prepared. He had a date to go to.

Amy was getting up off the toilet when she heard the front door slam shut, startling her. She fell back to the porcelain, causing the fat of her ass to jiggle.

As she got back up, and pulled her pants over her giant ass, the camera watched below from within the toilet’s shadow.

As Amy washed her hands and fixed her hair in the mirror, she wondered what she would be doing tonight with the whole house to herself. She turned and grabbed the doorknob, taking one last look at the beauty in the mirror. Better not get ahead of myself, she thought. First things first. My tea.

Danielle’s ass looked so good, even Dylan couldn’t help but stare at the way it looked there on the couch. His attention was cut two-ways between his cousin and the redhead who sat across the coffee table. Because of this, when his phone buzzed, he hadn’t noticed.

As Dylan looked at the redhead’s downturned face, she spotted him, and slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. He smiled at her warmly.

Danielle fidgeted, turned around and looked out the window of the house as if there was something she was expecting to be there. Something which would have been walking up that drive.

John showed up to that gorgeous white door, his entire body shaking before it like it were some passage to the opposite side of fate. Its purity and the classical flourishes adorning it adding to this impression. He knew that Avery and Mia weren’t there, that Tom had already left, and that there was only one member of his family who sat inside now. He knew that it had been long enough since he had gotten that text, he felt every sweating, trembling second of the journey over here, and he knew its length in time as if it were a simple measure of space.

He imagined it as if it were measuring tape, stretched one from one end to the other, with the one on its final resting place calling to the one who had it at its starting point, relaying to him the distance in inches.

The house was quiet. The birds outside chirped. The sun shone, like it did on any other day.

John reached for the doorknob.

He twisted it, and it slipped from his moist palm.

The door swung open, and inside was only a silent dwelling.

He took his first step inward, and after that, more followed, each feeling more impossible than the last, until he rounded the corner to the living room, imagining its high ceiling before he even got there. What he didn’t imagine, though he logically would have understood it to be there, was the softly breathing body of Evelyn, who was there waiting for him.

Her arms were outstretched theatrically over the back of the couch, her gigantic chest poked prominently outward and slightly upward. Before her, on the coffee table, an empty glass of wine sat. Next to that empty glass of wine was a box of condoms with a note folded into a tent shape sitting next to it.

She was in her bridal lingerie, her breasts almost bursting out of its top, but still tucked within, as if Tom needed a way to protect her dignity somehow.

One leg had been crossed over the other, and its delicate white shoe had fallen from her foot.

John approached, his mouth dry and his heart palpitating within his chest. His ears rang.

As he moved closer, the matriarch of this luscious piece of Americana laying below him, resting beneath his mercy, he noticed a flash of vulgar red. He looked beyond the couch, seeing the first rose pedal, sitting lonely. Then the next. Then the one beyond that, their trail snaking around the corner. And John knew, without much thought, that it would lead up to that banister, and continue up those steps until it reached the door of Tom’s parents, with John there to violate the sacredness of that bedroom with the stunted intensity of his rabbit-like young man thrusting.

John looked down at the triangle of paper. He lifted it to his face between two finger, staining it with their oils. “I thought I’d put her in her bridal lingerie,” it said in Tom’s familiar scrawl. “That way, it’s like it’s her first time too.”

He looked down at Evelyn, and seeing her in her moment of peace, her eyes shut, entombing her within the purity of silence, he leaned down, moved his trembling arms (which were gaining in resolve) beneath her kneecaps and behind her neck, and he lifted her, being surprised he could (though just barely), until he was standing upright. He feared he would drop her, and he wondered how much of her weight belonged to her breasts alone. He took his first step. Then another. Then, despite the strain on his biceps and back, he carried his prize all the way through the white corridors of her home until reaching that staircase.

Her bare foot sat cradled next to the shoe on the other, and he disappeared with her up into the embrace of the second floor, feeling the strain of every step as if it were a test, some ritual to determine his desserts. The prize would be his for the night, but would belong to him for an eternity. He felt her there, sleeping in, and straining, his arms, as if she were the weight of the commitment itself, the disparity from her size to his as pronounced as the disparity between their physical features. It was wild to him, one hell of a treat, that the uniqueness of European beauty should also be couple with its size, leaving him with more of it, and with more to carry in turn.

He found their bedroom, the roses leading the way (past Tom’s and past Mia’s, doors both slightly ajar) and when he saw it there, its white and elegant purity, he carried her through its passageway as if she was his to protect and cherish, never to truly part, not just until death, but even after it.

He approached the bed respectfully, where the marriage photograph of Evelyn and Avery hung over the it like its looming god.

He placed her down with reverence, feeling the relief. Then he stared at her with wonder, taking her in with both sight and smell. Her right foot sat bare next to her half-shoed left. He leaned down, feeling her outer thigh with the back of his fingers. They almost burned, going numb with tingling, against her skin.

His cock was hard inside his pants. And then he remembered, the box of condoms sitting downstairs for his use, placed by Tom’s hand. But he felt suddenly as if he were being watched. He looked up at the gawdy, oversize photograph of the couple in their young years, and the smug look of Avery, his rich-boy arrogance, doubled in John’s mind with his smug gritting of teeth as John’s mom sucked his cock in that cramped backroom. Her giant pale ass, with Avery’s rough palm spooning against its curve, as if he owned her, spanking it and squeezing its Chinese volume as she occupied herself with sucking him and licking his every white inch.

John’s fist tightened.

Evelyn sat next to the slightly-overweight man, young and fresh, smiling naively. Much like her face in rest now below it, her face in the photograph displayed none of her less appetizing qualities. She only stood there, smiling for the camera, her family likely within view, and her mind, as it was now, without the polluting superficialities which filled it in consciousness. Her breasts, equally as adorned, sat impossibly large within the cradle of that dress, their conspicuousness decorated by the dress’s beauty and class.

John looked down at her, his anger subsiding, his fist falling loose, knowing full well the condoms were down there where they were going to stay.

She lay now there, busty, shapely and beautiful, in the same lingerie she wore on that night above. John admired Tom’s theatricality, and the hints of cuckoldry it implied; the bare traces of arousal, revenge, and schadenfreude it communicated, and, even more than that, the extent of their friendship’s bonds, which were now being established through the every merit of his mom’s flesh.

John knew the pleasure, John knew the rage, and John knew the camaraderie. Not a single note of it missed him as he slowly leaned down, reaching, with unbelieving fingers, into the cup of Evelyn’s bra, feeling his fingers press into the flesh of her breasts as if they were lifeboats fighting against a sea. He felt the slightest hint of her nipples. Then he pulled down.

Her giant tits, familiar but still somehow novel to him due to the context, jiggled into life before him. He marvelled down at them. Her oblivious face sat above, its mouth hanging open, ignorant of the Chinese immigrant nearly crying at her exposed chest. Then, after he had gotten his fill of the moment, he thrust his head forward, catching her breast in his open mouth, her nipple against his tongue, and then he began to suck.

As he did, he imagined Tom, with his thin lips and pink tongue, doing the same to his own mother, or, maybe even more so knowing Tom, imagined him thrusting wildly behind Amy’s ass, its flesh jiggling in humiliating split-seconds as his beat-red face only grinned down at the oriental gem he satiated himself on, grinning in his trademarked way.

John sucked on his first pair of American tits, and not long after, he tore her lingerie from her, exposing her eternal nudity. Her blonde pubes, fair and angelic, sat there, themselves making her nudity more prominent above her pink pussy lips. Her waist and thighs and pale and smooth, not any different than the flesh of her face. Her striking blue eyes were locked away behind her eyelids, but just knowing they were there gave John’s cock an extra twitch.

His clothes came off soon after, and he stood, hairless and nude, below that young and distant couple’s smiling joy, a sore thumb in their bedroom and in their lives.

He got on top of the beautiful vision, her body running against his, and he fell to her with a glutton’s lack of pause. He grabbed at her thighs, still not believing they were his to grab, and he lifted them, feeling their fat against his hips. His cock found a sweet place, one which tickled him gloriously at touch, and somehow he had known what to do next as cleanly as if someone had taught it to him.

He took in a trembling breath, processing the finality of what he was about to do, almost fearing he’d die just before it would happen. Or that he’d wake up from this dream, itself too blissful to be a wet one, where the figure he lost his virginity to would be no different, other than in bust-size (which was even larger) than the American beauties he grew up watching, and fantasizing about, on TV. He sat frozen there for a moment, millimetres from being within his own Pamela Anderson. His own Marylin Monroe. His own Autumn Jones. He trembled as he held her, feeling that gateway against the most sensitive part of his body.

All it would take now was just one thrust. And the world would end. He was sure of it.

His hip thrusted forward, and at feeling Evelyn’s insides engulf him, surrounding him with a radiating warmth and wetness, he realized he could die right there. Instead of that, he only gave another thrust, along with a few more, until feeling an uncontrollable vibration run through him, his nudity shivering against her, under the high ceiling of that room. Under her own naïve sight, itself not predicting in a million years where she’d eventually end up just below her watching eyes.

He came inside Tom’s mom, her face laying there, open-mouthed and dumb. Her eyes shut, blind.

He lay on top of her, his hips still twitching, as the orgasm subsided, looking down at his first date, not believing who it was or what he had done or the context which had brought it about.

After a few moments of looking down at her, realizing she would never be able to celebrate with him, her striking blue eyes behind those eyelids, he felt the arousal, this time tempered with repetition, come back to him.

He began thrusting more to feel out if he could. And after seeing that he was still enjoying rubbing himself through that wet warmth with more intensity than he had ever enjoyed anything else, he leaned down, feeling her gigantic breasts press against his skinny pectorals, and he began kissing her unresponsive face.

It lay there like his drunk mother’s, defenseless, and this only made his thrusting more intoxicating, the difference in her features to his mom’s, and peculiarities of her body and smell, and the bright openness of her blonde locks of hair.

He licked the side of her face, taking ownership over her now, whispering things he assumed lovers should in jagged Mandarin which filled the house along with the sound of his skeletal thrusting on her infinite softness.

It didn’t take long for him to cum again, his face pressing firmly against hers, holding on for dear life, as he did. It took even less time for him to find his arousal again, and, wanting to feel the full gambit that this newfound activity had to offer, he flipped her over, her dumb face falling to meet the pillow, and he mounted her from behind her beautiful ass.

He stuffed himself inside and began thrusting.

He looked down at her golden head, its locks flowing like straw. Then he looked up, seeing the much younger, happier couple. They seemed to be looking down at him as he pounded Evelyn’s ass, smiling as he did.

Before cumming, he grabbed her and moved her around until her face was over his cock. He looked up at the photograph and he thrust her mouth downward, feeling her warm breath surround his throbbing joy.

He looked up at Avery, imitating the intensity and mannerisms the old white man possessed while fucking John’s Chinese mom.

Evelyn’s tits shook as her face plunged up and down John’s cock. He pulled it out and began rubbing his cock and balls against her features, it dragging her lower lip every time it ran past it.

John had lost his virginity an hour ago, but he lay there now, Evelyn riding on top of him as he guided her, feeling his virginity instead slowly fading away with each thrust, like knots being worked persistently from muscles by rubbing thumbs. He thrust into Evelyn’s American softness as if his virginity had refuge within its soft inches and he were shaking it loose to be thorough.

He reached for his phone, and, turning on the camera, held it over his head with its eye on the action. Evelyn’s head bobbed next to his, and while smiling at the camera, he grabbed her by her hair and tilted her face into frame. Her classical beauty bobbed aimlessly about next to his meagre looks. A more odd couple could never be found. At least Amy and Avery shared equal maturity and total consciousness, if not race and history. John and Evelyn shared nothing.

“Just having fun with an American milf whore,” John said to his phone’s listening ear, his friends back home in China in mind. “Here look,” he said, thrusting the camera down below him, capturing his cock disappearing inside the American woman’s body, her blonde pubes over head his welcome mat. He then pushed her off of him, and he leaned over her, filming her tits, manipulating their giant mass for the camera with his other hand. “Best part is,” John said. “She’s my American friend’s mom.”

At saying it, he felt his body twitch violently. He knew what was coming and just barely had the sense to film it. He thrust the camera below again, capturing the sight of his pulsating cock as it emptied wave after wave of cum within her.

The hours passed, but the novelty never did. At the end, he only stopped more out of exhaustion than anything else. He wiped Evelyn clean, dutifully and diligently, with all the reverence he had typically had for adult authority. He had almost forgot about the mess he left inside her, until he saw a bit of it dripping out, running against her inner thighs. He leaned down, pulling out his camera, and he placed his face next to its swollen and dripping orifice, itself a monument to his lost virginity, bursting white with it. John snapped the photo first, only turning to look at it again, worrying then that it may have been enough to impregnate her.

When he was finished, and finished dressing her (putting her breasts back into her bra diligently), he leaned down one last time and kissed her, deeply and passionately, as if it were the morning after. Avery was still above, looming over the moment.

John stood up, staring at her. Then he headed out of the room, down toward the first floor, picking up every flower pedal as he went, and, thinking it to be a good idea, pocketing the box of condoms with the note before he left out the front door.

He stood on the front porch. It was now nighttime, well into it in fact, and he was looking out at the same world he had known, with its familiar American trees, and the singing birds which populated them now asleep, their chirping taken up by the crickets which hopped though the grass.

Everything was the same, nothing different in any way which could be described.

John took a step downward, feeling the world rush past him as he did, its air fresher than it had ever been, it’s every passing second a gift.

When John got home, he found his mom laying in his bed. Her hair dishevelled, her makeup smeared, her clothes still off and the sheets of her bed thrust aside. She lay there, a mess of humanity. The visual itself wasn’t what shocked John, as he had seen her like this once before. But at knowing that it was Tom who had done this to her, and Tom who had left her in this state, in John’s very own bedroom no less, with a carelessness equal to the careful deliberation he took fixing his own mom up for agreeable presentation to John, John felt a sudden wave of sorry thoughts come over him as he watched a droplet of cum run down the impossible length of her tit.

Condoms, all used, littered her bedroom. John looked around, taking a conscious tally of them, adding them to the drops of cum which coated her chest, realizing, with vivid sadness, that they added up to a number much larger than his own orgasms into Evelyn this night.

He, feeling a sudden defeat wash over him, fell to his mom’s bed, meeting her shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. His hands covered his face, both ashamed with himself and livid with his friend.

“Oh, mom,” he said in Mandarin.

Her window was open. The sounds of the crickets spilled in with the fresh nighttime oxygen.

He turned his head to look at her. She lay there, peaceful but for her mess of hair, which was matted with the contents of Tom’s empty nuts.

“I’m so sorry,” he let out sincerely. And then he leaned in, his lips finding hers. He kissed his mother. He leaned back, looking at her. He then felt something, something in his pants. He had thought he ejaculated it all away. At realizing it was still there though, he leaned in again, giving his mom another kiss. In doing so, he almost felt as if he was reclaiming some piece of her. He kissed her again, stealing her further from Tom. He did it again, as if doing so would remove her from Tom’s list of sexual partners. Again, as if doing so would erase what happened there, in that mess of a bedroom, its scent unmistakably Tom’s.

He lifted his hand, reaching to his mother’s giant tits. He grabbed it squeezing it, noting how dark and rich her nipples were compared to Evelyn’s, noting their size, which were somehow even larger. He looked down, letting his hand roam over her body, reaching for her pussy, seeing her pussy lips give as he pushed inward, seeing their dark richness. He leaned in to kiss again, and this time he didn’t pull back. He pushed his mother over with his twisting body, mounting her, feeling her soft and sticky beneath himself. And then he felt that familiar sensation against the tip of his cock. A sudden flash of déjà vu overcame him, and he trembled like he had trembled before. Maybe even trembled harder. But rather than avoid the sensation, or interpret it as an ill omen, he decided to follow its crashing wave forward onto whatever beach it rushed toward.

He thrust his cock in the direction of that sweet sensation.

His felt his cock engulfed in bliss, and some part of him, at feeling her warm, soft, wetness in particular, felt a nostalgia for some time ancient which he had forgotten. A rebirth of his infantile self, its impulse to cling toward mommy. His mom lay below him, shut-eyed and open-mouthed, her body rocking back and forth, intensely and effortlessly erotic. Her called her mommy in Mandarin, in a tone almost more innocent than erotic. He felt her safety, her wisdom, her infallibility, and her unconditional love rubbing past his hips and thighs, engulfing him, being pulled into him with each motion. He looked down at her inert face now with the same sense he had looking up at it smiling, framed by the edges of his cradle in a long-forgotten past.

He thrusted, looking down at his mother in disbelief. In almost no time, likely due to her extensive tightness (much more so than Evelyn) he ejaculated with heavenly intensity into his own mother’s body, doing so without a condom, making his coupling with her more real somehow.

His mom lay there, her respectability crumbled into a sticky, sweating, open-mouthed mess below the weight of her son, the skinny body of which pressing into her fat, squeezing it beneath himself and the bed, causing its to balloon outward like marshmallow in a smore.

John felt the immediacy of his arousal wane, and he braced for waves of horrific guilt, himself a sinner beyond the worst in mythology, striking at the most important bond, on earth and in heaven, with the hammer blows of his pelvic thrusts, destroying the tie that binds all human functioning, and doing it twice. He looked down at his mom, dumb-looking and oblivious to it all, as unaware to the days events as she was of her son laying on top of her.

Instead, the waves of horrific guilt never came, and instead John felt as if he were standing high up in the air, looking down at his mother’s face and breasts in the valley below, from the top of a mountain. The taboo of what he had done, the horror of it, only adding to his legend as violator, iconoclast, destroyer. Not only his mother’s pimp, but her rapist too. Not just the enjoyer of her food, shelter, wisdom, comfort, and love, but of her body along with it, the flesh of which still sat below him, enticing him with its warm rubbing on his trembling skin.

John found his arm suddenly thrusting upward, toward his mom’s face, grabbing her by her mouth, squeezing her cheeks, pushing them between her bottom and top row of teeth until she looked up at him with a shut-eyed pucker.

His cock was as hard within her as it had ever been. It was harder now than it had been inside Evelyn.

He grabbed her by her hair, twisting her around, seeing her giant ass before him, and entering it. Then he began to thrust, watching her cheeks rippled with her profile against the pillow, rocking back and forth. He gave her ass a spank, and then a squeeze. Her cheeks clapped, and the world around the two of them seemed to fade for John, into an indistinct and endless blackness. He reached around her torso, grabbing her tits, still sticky, squeezing them and pulling. He grabbed the back of her hair, pulling it until her face came up, dumb and open-lipped, and then dropping it so she landed with a humiliating puff of air against John’s pillow.

He imagined, as he thrusted, doing all of this to his mom back home in China, feeling her cheeks clap within his pelvis, spanking her ass, gritting his teeth with a subtle rage as he did, all the while surrounded by an endless sea of urban apartments, family stacked upon family, a latticework of unbreakable bonds. It all seemed so impossible.

Yet here, in this suburban sprawl with nothing but privacy, space, and a distant billboard for mustard that could be spotted from the backyard, John did all of that with unimaginable eagerness. Using his mother’s giant ass, only because he could, as if she were a thing to be taken advantage of within the privacy of within a private room or vehicle.

He considered, without slowing down or stopping in his thrusts, just how much had changed. Just how much of an effect this nation, and its landscapes and culture, had altered him, both rotting and improving him. And rotting and improving his mother, if her new wardrobe was anything to go by.

The thought of all of it, coming to him at once with the sight and sensation of that below him, caused him to cum again in his mother, this time with the thrilling and terrifying thought that this one would be the one to knock her up. John felt himself empty, and then felt himself going weak, knowing, for the first in the night, that he was now spent.

He fell from his mother’s ass. She fell with him.

John looked into her face. He leaned forward and began kissing her again, tasting Tom on her breath. As they both lay there, America sat over top the both of them, its weight pressing down on their bodies which sat spent and sweating into the chirping night.

Danielle lay down on her bed, her pillow over the back of her head, trying to drown out the sounds of her cousin and friend fucking in her parent’s room.

Failing that, she pulled her head up, her brunette hair, dark and mysterious, frazzled to match her frustration. She slapped the pillow down, her body hunched up, nude and turkey-like on her bed.

Little does she know, her cousin had placed a camera on the dresser behind her, and, as he went to town with her friend, his camera filmed Danielle’s skyward facing nude ass as she lay there on her chest, with a bitter tension.

Why didn’t he come? she thought. Was he more popular than she imagined. Did he have another engagement. Another friend group. Perhaps a girlfriend from another school.

She imagined him, placing features, too subtle for awareness, of K-Pop singers and stars of Korean dramas over his face.

The groaning, fucking, slapping, moaning, from the other room was only growing.

She imagined him, sitting across from her at her coffee table, looking up at her, a bit of blush in his cheek, smiling confidently, speaking in clipped and nervous sentences with his cute accent.

She slowly pushed her fingers into her wet hole from below, her arm against the underside of her body. And as Dylan’s camera filmed her, her full cheeks slapped against each other as she pleasured herself to the thought of what could have been.