Soft Landing

Your dad was gone now. There was nothing that could be done about that. A smoldering crater stood in his place, and your mom weeped over it as you and your brother stood at her side, somberly. As your mom cried into her hands in the kitchen, you and your brother looked at each other over her back. Your brother nodded with a stoic resolve, knowing what had to be done, whether or not he liked or approved of it.

You felt bad, but you never forced him to take the bet. He had thought he had it in the bag. After all, flying was the safest way to travel, everyone knew this. He had no reason to expect his father would die in a fiery plane crash over Brazil. Nobody did. Yet you put your PS5 on the line over the expectation that exactly that would happen. And now you were getting what was owed to you for the gift and curse of being right.

When your brother knocked on your door later that day, your mom was still weeping into the seat of the living room couch. You opened your door, with your finger pressed to your lips, and nothing covering the lower half of your body. Your pink erection stood proudly. You waved your brother in. He was shocked to see you like that, but not surprised. That summed up his entire understanding of you, from when you were both young to this very moment.

When the two of you found out the bad news the day before, your brother, before grief could even register, looked with shock at you, as if to ask with his stunned face “how did you know?”

You looked back at him stoically as if to say “remember what the bet was,” and it was only after that, after you both sunk into the reality that what you asked for was yours, and what he assumed could never be - was, you both broke down and cried over the loss of your father together.

Now he was in your room, sucked in and past you by the bizarre image before him, fast enough so you could close your bedroom door before your mom could look down the hallway and see your erect cock poking out of your doorway. Your brother saw your chatroom open, enough to wonder at what you were telling those faceless usernames that you knew so well, before he around to face you.

You stroked your cock as he talked “Will you call Mr. Todyschuk, or should I?”

“You do it,” you said as you held up your shaft with one hand and tickled your balls with the other.

Your brother looked down at the sight. “What should I tell him. Our dad is dead and we want you to come console our mom?”

“Just tell him the truth,” you said, and gyrated your hips. “’My brother wants you to fuck our mom now that she’s vulnerable. I don’t but I lost the most convoluted bet I’ve taken in my lifetime.’ Something like that.” There was no sense of irony or humor in your affect.

Your brother took a deep breath. “Seriously. If I’m going to do this for you, how?”

“Just like I said.”

“That’s not how life works.”

You looked him in the eyes as you played yourself like an obscure European fiddle. “Life works that way all the time. We just never try it that way.”

Your brother tilted his head and sighed with exasperation.

“It would have worked,” you said. “But if you can’t bring yourself to do it, just approach him after gym class on Monday.”

Your brother stood there, expecting more. “And say what?”

“It’ll come to you when you get there.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, and went to rush past you, expecting you to move out of his way.

You stood there, unmovable. “Trust me,” you said. “I have faith in you that whatever you say will work in the end.”

Your brother stood there, looking into your eyes, as your head shook with each tug of your naked prick. Your mom’s crying came muffled through the door.

“Okay,” your brother said. “Do we have to drug her?” your brother asked, begging for a ‘no’ with his eyes.

And that’s exactly what he got. “No,” you said. “Liquor will be enough.”

He looked down as you massaged precum over the head of your irritated cock with the palm of your hand.

“Do you want to join me?” you asked, and you motioned down to your hard prick with your head.

“No,” he said, angrily and looked away.

“You’re already going to help me with this. There’s no shame in enjoying it.”

“I’m not going to enjoy it,” he said. “I’d rather crawl into a hole and die.”

“It’ll come in time,” you said.

He looked up at you with fury in his eyes. You stood there, blank in the face, as if you weren’t tugging your cock passionately in front of your own brother. “Why are you like this?” he asked, a little bit too loudly, catching himself. Luckily your mom couldn’t hear it over her own sobs.

“Like what?” you asked, flatly.

“The way you talk. It’s always ‘it’ll happen,’ ‘wait and see this,’ ‘you won’t get it now,’ and all this other shit. Why are you always so sure of every little thing?”

“It’s just the way that I talk,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

He looked down, feeling ashamed of himself for his outburst. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just… you said the same thing before dad left. It’s….”

“I know,” you said, and you took your hand off your cock and you placed it on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for everything.”

He looked at your hand, then at you. “No, man. I’m sorry.” He took your hand off of his shoulder as delicately as possible, perhaps to show that he didn’t mean anything by it, then he walked past you and said “I’ll talk to Mr. Todyschuk on Monday. I’ll… I’ll come up with something.”

“I know you will,” you said, and you walked to your computer and sat down. Your brother opened the door, letting the sounds of your mom’s unbelieving sobs into the room, and before he stepped out into the hallway, which was irreparably permeated by the specter of those sobs, he turned around to look at you. You were staring at your computer screen. And when you minimized the window, a stark black image took its space, one criss-crossed maniacally with white lines that went up and down in jagged interims along the x-axis, bending to and away from each other like furious brambles. It took him a second to realize that what he was looking at was the stock market, or at least a piece of it, a piece relevant to you in some way. And then his eyesight floated up to the top of the screen. Where it said: YOUR BALANCE: $83, 401, 121.

And when he saw it, his jaw fell agape. “It’s true what they say about him,” he thought. “He really is…”

You stopped typing, and you sat there, staring at the screen. He turned around quickly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

You sat there, silently, without expression, hearing the delayed sound of your door closing, knowing ahead of time that it was going to be delayed. Knowing that it had to come to pass. It all did, if you wanted your desired outcome.

Within that moment, your portfolio went up another 5,000 dollars. It would be $83, 742, 311 by the time you went to bed, you knew that even now. And you knew that the night after it would be $83, 842, 932 tomorrow night at the same hour of night., and $84, 000, 162 on the 24th hour after that.

You looked down at the time. It was 9:31. It would be exactly 10:47 before your mom would stop weeping, after passing out from emotional exhaustion. You knew that too. And then at 11:01, you’d be asleep.

Mr. Todyschuk sat there, his usual arrogance, while still apparent, was now smothered in shock and wonder. Your brother had figured out a way to tell him, just as you predicted. As the sounds of sneakers squeaking across hardwood and bouncing basketballs came muffled through the office door, your brother sat there, his face sweating and red, not believing what he had just said out loud. He looked down at Mr. Todyschuk’s whistle, which hung from his neck on a blue string. He focused on it as if it were a totem keeping him tied to some semblance of a saner world, which existed to him before he got that horrible news five days prior. Before he heard you openly make that bizarre and ghoulish bet with him. Years before when he knew nothing of your fetish and the intensity with which it consumed you. And a few days ago, before he found out your secret. The one that was equal in its impossibility to believe as your fetish was, but nowhere near as shameful. Even then he knew, or grasped at in the vaguest of terms, your willingness to let you find out the shameful truth years prior, and to not let the other one slip until now, meant something that only you understood or could keep tabs on. It was as if he wasn’t supposed to find out, not until that very moment at the doorway when he turned around. But why?

“Well,” Mr. Todyschuk said, jerking your brother out of his maelstrom of thoughts by slamming the table. “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

Your brother sat there, looking down at the table, unable to speak.

“But,” his gym teacher started again, making him cringe in his seat. “Let’s go over this again. You want me to come to your place and pound your mom while she’s wasted?”

“I don’t want it,” you brother started saying. Even as he did, Mr. Todyschuk began to wave his hand in a circular motion, signalling that he understood what your brother was getting at. Even still, your brother continued. “My brother wants it. I lost a bet.”

“And your bet was whether or not your dad would die in a routine plane accident?”

Your brother sighed in quiet exasperation. “Yes,” he said, quietly, but forcefully.

“Okay, got it.” Mr. Todyschuk said. He looked off into space with consideration. “I always knew there was something off about your brother. Even more than most geeks. He’s the worst kid at sports I’ve ever seen. You know that figure of speech: ‘you were nowhere near the ball,’ or puck or whatever? I swear to god, I don’t think I’ve seen someone who always seems to be standing in the exact wrong spot at any given time, no matter what sport we’re playing. It’s as if the puck, or whatever, wants nothing to do with him. Except in dodgeball, where I guess the same thing is true, because he’s never been hit once. And trust me, I sit waiting for it, just wanting to see him get creamed. And it never happens. Yet his team still loses because he refuses to throw a ball. He just looks at everything, or sometimes at nothing. It’s creepy.”

He had gotten so wrapped up in his anti-You monologue that he had forgotten where he was going. Your brother sat there waiting for it.

“Yeah…” said Mr. Todyschuk. “So I guess what I’m saying is, I can see that guy wanting to see his mom getting it. Believe it or not, that doesn’t shock me. What I don’t get is why you’re pulling through with your side of the bet. I’ve seen you put your foot down plenty. Are you scared of that creep too? Is that it?”

Your brother sat there, again exasperated. He had never been as exasperated as he had been for this past week. He was so deep in exasperation that he had barely any time for natural grieving.

“I mean,” Mr. Todyschuck continued. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it or anything. You know I went to school with your mom, right? She was ahead of her time. She had what you kids call a ‘donk’ way before that was the cool thing to have. I used to wait ‘til she passed after chemistry class, and I’d follow her down the hallways, just admiring that thing on the way to biology. The way it moved, man, it was hypnotizing. I wanted to peg that thing so badly. Let me tell you, when your dad locked her down, I wasn’t the only one that wanted to kill him.” He caught himself after the last statement. “Sorry,” he said.

“I guess,” your brother said, in response to the earlier question. “I guess it’s just that my dad…” he stopped for a second, feeling that rudderless force and catching himself before it could take him away. “My dad always told me to keep up my side of a bargain.”

Mr. Todyschuck looked down at your brother. Then he said “your dad was a wise man,” with as much somber respect and admiration as anyone could ever expect him to muster. Your brother looked up at him. And then he said “so I guess you really should help me fuck your mom!” and he began laughing from the bottom of his belly. His office filled with his laughter.

Your brother sat there, his face red and sweating, looking down at Mr. Todyschuk’s whistle.

Your brother had suggested red wine. His logic being that that was her favorite. But you insisted that white wine would do the trick.

“Are you sure? She loves red wine. She barely drinks white,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you replied. “White wine will do.”

“Listen,” he said, and he pulled a baggie full of chalky blue pills from his pocket. “I bought some stuff if we have to use it.” He stood there awkwardly with the bag hanging from his lifted fist. He expected the shame within his preparation and its implications, but he was completely blindsided by the warmth he felt in his honor in going above and beyond to keep his side of the bargain and his initiative as a brother to do what you wanted.

“White wine will do,” you said. “You can put those away.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Maybe we should keep them just in case?”

“No,” you said, looking down at the bottle of wine with a blank face. “If you use those, the guilt of it will drive you to use them yourself one day. Besides, if you save them, they’ll come in handy for you some other time.”

Your brother didn’t even ask what you meant, he just glared at the side of your head with wide eyes and then pressed the baggie into his pocket. “It’s true what they say about you, isn’t it?”

You said nothing, you just lined up the wine glasses along the countertop.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“If I told you,” you said suddenly. “We wouldn’t be here right now.”

As much as your brother knew it to be true, hearing you say it to him now plainly astonished him. “Then why did you let me find out in your room that day?”

“If I didn’t let you find out, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Your brother grinned in the corner of his mouth. Then a grey thought entered his mind, and his face went somber in tone. “So that’s why you made the bet. You knew…”

You stood there, your hands busy. Whether your mind was as well, no one could tell.

“If you did know, why didn’t you stop it?”

“If I told anyone,” you said. “Would they believe me?”

That made sense to your brother for a moment. But only a moment. “But… you seem to be able to predict everything, like how one thing leads to another, there was nothing you could do six or seven ‘things’ ago that could have stopped it?”

“I could have stopped him from dying in a plane crash, yes.”

Your brother sucked in cruel air, his eyes wide, his mouth dry. If you had stopped there, you would have lost a brother. You knew that. Not through deduction, but as if it were a historical fact. You had never deduced a single thing in your life. Your math tests came back with passing grades not because you understood math, but because you could see the checkmark or X next to every possible answer as if it was being graded in the moment. The only reason that you never aced a single test or assignment was because you knew exactly what questions you needed to get wrong in order to end up right here on this very day. You also knew exactly what you needed to tell your brother now:

“But he would have died some other way in that exact moment.”

It was such a strange sentence to derive relief from, but not only did it stop him from flying into a rage against you, it somehow dulled the cruelty of it all at once to know that no matter what happened, nothing could be done. It was meant to be. Your brother looked up over your head at the five-inch model airplane that sat above the fridge. “If you had to go anyways,” he thought to himself, as if his thoughts could be heard in the next world. “I’m glad you went out doing something that you loved, dad.”

He looked back down at you. “I get it,” he said. “I know you probably already know, not that you can read minds specifically.” He stopped himself. “Can you?”

You shook your head in the negative.

“Well, either way. I just wanted to let you know I’m not mad. The way I see it now, you could have done it, with mom and Mr. Todyschuck I mean, without my help or me knowing. As much as this whole thing tears me up inside, I would much rather know it’s happening than not. I mean, if it has to happen. I’m sure you had thousands of different scenarios that you knew would work. I stood no chance no matter what. Neither did mom.” He put his hand on your shoulder. “Thanks for making me a part of it.”

He smiled at you and was shocked to see a smile form across your face as well, though you weren’t looking at him.

“I’ll never forgive you for making it Mr. Todyschuck though,” he said with a grin.

Your smiled was still slapped to your face as you looked down at what you had laid out before you.

“So…” he said, sounding like he was trying to psych himself up, even as he trembled. “You ready to get mom’s phat ass blasted?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wine,” your mom asked, baffled. “I can’t do that right now. It’s…”

Your brother looked at you with concern. But when he saw your face, sure of itself in its blank stoicism, he felt embarrassed to worry. He wasn’t a driver on the road any longer. He was a passenger on a train. And you weren’t even the conductor. You were the engineer who laid out the blueprints for the track. It was the cause and effect of the world around you that did all the manual labor guided and instructed by the blueprint that you laid flat on an ivory-white desk with confident palms. Its math perfect. Its perfection infinite in its intricacy and steadfast in its solidity.

“We’ll just have one glass then,” you said. And when you looked up at your brother and smiled, he knew that even that had its purpose. He would never know what that was, or the chainlink bind between one factor and another which you had taken into perfect account when flashing him that uncharacteristic smile. Even his self-awareness at his own need to be assured, as he assumed was the purpose, and you giving it to him out of necessity, was a factor in-of-itself that was being plugged into this web of wild equations that filled your beautiful mind.

You all drank after your brother poured three glasses. He watched you as you rubbed your mom on the small of her back as she tipped back the glass. “Everything has a purpose,” he thought. “Everything.” When he suggested you all have a second glass, your mom agreed, but he was shocked when you motioned to him to stop pouring in her glass, as if he had poured too much. “Everything,” he thought again.

After another glass, your mom broke down and began to cry. Your brother began to rub her shoulders. “It’s okay mom, we’re here.” He then watched as you leaned over the table and began to rub the rim of her glass with your index finger. He looked into your face with his eyebrows furrowed as if to ask “why?”

You didn’t look back at him, though he knew you seen him gesturing.

Your mom sobbed on the table. And as he continued trying to console her, though being too wrapped up in the process and what lay ahead in order to empathize with her, he watched as you stood up and stood behind her. Then his jaw dropped when he realized what you were about to do.

You stood behind her, and you slowly unzipped your pants, and pulled them, along with your underwear, down to your ankles and kicked it all aside. Then you leaned in close to your mom, your hard and naked cock just inches from touching her, and you leaned into her back with your chest and you said “It’s okay mom. It’s all going to be okay,” with as much soul in your voice as he had ever heard from you.

The look on your face was as earnest as any look could be, but your red cock below sat in contradiction to it with each pulsating twitch. He glared down at it as you spoke softly into your mom’s ear. And then he watched in fascination and horror as you poked out your pelvis and let the tip of your pre-cum-wet cock lightly press into your mom’s ass just subtly enough that she wouldn’t notice. His jaw dropped at the surreal image of your mom leaning further into her arms, and into her own vocal grief, which were resting on the table, pulling her ass away from you, and seeing your pre-cum still attached to it like a rope connecting it to the tip of your hard penis.

And though he knew better on paper, his soul told him that everything you had planned was now flying off the rails. “He doesn’t have it,” he thought. “He messed up. He misunderstood. He never really had the gift to begin with.” All of this flashed through his mind. He couldn’t accept your brazenness as part of any sort of divine plan. All he could see was madness. Or were powers such as yours, just as vulnerable to the blindfold of arousal as everything else in a man’s life?

And then you backed up, and you circled around him and to the other side of the kitchen table. And just as your naked lower half, in all its vulgarness, was out of your mom’s possible field of vision from where she sat, she looked up at the two of you, taking her time to examine your eyes. “Oh,” she said, her voice wobbling on its last string of composure. “If I didn’t have you two, I don’t know what I’d do.” She smiled at him, and then at you. And he looked over to see you smiling back with real purpose. And just below the table’s end, the naked side-profile of your ass and thighs, with your hard cock resting on the side of the table stand, every inch of it hidden from her view.

She excused herself, stood up, and walked to the bathroom, not noticing for a second the pile of clothes which sat on the kitchen floor, looking off to the right at the exact moment when it would have been visible to her. The two of you watched her move, the focal point being the tiny white stain on her ass, which bobbed and weaved with each step, until she disappeared down the hallway.

Your brother looked down at his watch. “He’s going to be here in less than twenty minutes.”

“I know,” you said, and without looking you placed your hand on his kneecap.

“She’s going to be wasted in twenty minutes?”

“Yes,” you said.

“How?”

“It will come.”

Your brother looked down at your hand. Then he looked at your naked thigh, which tensed randomly and for a fraction of a moment. Then he followed your thigh up to your hard cock, which was marinating in a pleasure all its own, dripping pre-cum all over the solid table stand. He had never seen more emotion, more unbridled excitement, in an appendage before. Yet he had never seen a face more blank. When the cock twitched, he had realized that he was rooting for it above and beyond anything, or anyone, else.

In that moment, he realized something. He looked back up at you. “I was always going to do it, wasn’t I?”

You stared ahead, saying nothing. You could both hear the toilet being flushed, and the bathroom faucet being turned on.

“Oh fuck it,” he said, and he pulled his little bag out of his pocket and quickly grabbed two pills and threw them impulsively into your mom’s recently refilled glass of wine.

Your mom again came into the kitchen, looking out the living room window, at the exact window of time when your discarded pants would have been visible to her, and then she sat down, just at the exact right moment for the final shreds of the two pills to be eaten up by the tang of the wine.

She snorted back tears and lifted the glass to her mouth to drink. Your brother watched the wine, and all it contained, leak down her beautiful throat. Then he looked over at you, and saw you were still looking down at the table, expressionless. He looked down to see your cock twitch, a rope of precum linking it to the table stand it rested on. He smiled.

“You know,” your mom said. “You both look so much like him.”

You and your brother looked up at her.

“I bet if he could see you now, he’d be proud.”

You looked up at your mom, your eyes brimming with tearful pride, and your brother watched as your features peaked at that high, and then as suddenly as physics would allow, dropped into the baseline of your usual blankness. You turned over to him and said “her short-term memory is cooked. Everything from this point on will be a blur to her. Let’s get started.”

You got up and rounded the table, and when your mom saw what was lying in wait for her on the other side of it, it now pushing itself aggressively into her view, she screamed. When your brother saw you grab her with that sudden intensity, he shot up, and instead of moving in to save her, to his surprise, he grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her arm away from her.

“What are you…” your mom screamed, gutturally. And just as sudden and violently, your hand flew up and slapped her in the face.

“Be quiet mom,” you said. “Dennis Todyschuk is coming over to rape you in 3… 2… 1…”

The front door opened up, with Mr. Todyschuck standing there, his face shocked by the sounds he could hear as he approached the front door, sounds which made him give up the social nicety of knocking.

Your mom looked up at his shocked face, and when combined with everything else about the moment, including your authoritative pronouncement, which seemed to be drudged up from the most evil shadow within the most obscure nook in all of hell, she kicked and screamed in terror.

Your brother grabbed her under her thigh between kicks and pulled her leg up until her knee touched her breast. The sudden power he had over her spurred his aggression on in a way that startled him. “Shut the fuck up, mom,” he yelled through the commotion, as he assisted you in tearing off her clothing. “Toddy-boy is here to make my bro’s dream come true.”

You knew that you needed ‘Toddy-boy’s’ help, but you also knew you wouldn’t need to ask for it.

Your brother yelled: “Mr. Todyschuk! Come here, quick!”

Mr. Todyschuck stood there, horrified himself, not sure what to do.

Your brother realized what was wrong. “We drugged her,” he screamed. “She’s not going to remember any of this!”

Your mom screamed at it all. Her bottoms were now being torn from her smooth ass and thighs.

Your brother’s explanation was all the prompt Mr. Todyschuck needed, and he ran around the table and grabbed your mom, and stood, almost outside of himself, watching the surreal moment of tearing off the clothes, exposing the ass of a girl he knew back in school, back when both he and her were about the same age her sons were now. “It’s okay,” he assured her, barely audible over her screams, even as he tore at her clothing. He shared in the collective lust of you and your brother, but he was too old for that kind of anger.

“Slap her Todyschuk,” he heard. And he looked over at you as your mom’s foot kicked upward, missing your face by inches. You didn’t even flinch. “My daddies not here to protect her ass. Slap the bitch. Show her who she should have given this fat plum of an ass up to years ago.” The sentence meant nothing to you, but you said it because you knew the result.

Mr. Todyschuk, impulsively, as if spurred on from a jockey that sat on his saddled-spine, thrust forward and slapped your mother in her face. It was good he did it then, because that was his last window for it. At least while she was conscious. After that, her body went limp slowly underneath the three of you, and all that was left was your exhausted breaths.

“You two sure know how to show a fella a good time,” he said, and laughed as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Your brother knew he didn’t have to ask. He knew that you had chosen Mr. Todyschuk for a reason. But he also knew that asking wouldn’t hurt by the same logic. “Mr. Todyschuck, make sure you fuck her good. I mean, real good. Don’t make it so I did all of that for nothing.”

Mr. Todyschuk took your mom’s legs by her calves and lifted them so her feet were up above her head, and then he admired the bent ass before him. Then he said “ohhh,” and he leaned his head into the bare ass, pressing the cheek of his face, flush and smushed, against the combined cheeks of your mom’s ass, the vacancy of space that was her butt crack now real to him and could be felt as viscerally as the flesh of each of her cheeks. “I loved this thing so much. You don’t have to tell me, boy. My motivation is right here, pressed against my face now.”

Mr. Todyschuk dragged your mom by her hair, her ankles and feet dragging along the tiles, to the other side of the table where there was room. As you and your brother got up, he was shocked to feel you grab the waist of his pants. You undid his belt-buckle and pulled down his jeans. And he was the only one shocked out of the two of you to see that he was hiding a giant stiff cock. As he turned over, a grin on his face, and looked over at your mom being plopped down, he felt your fingers brush the exact spot on his testicles that he loved touching most.

“You don’t have to motivate me to enjoy it,” he said, looking away, down at his mom. “I already do. You won. You were right.”

You turned to look at your mom on the floor. “I know,” you said. “That was for you.”

Your brother blushed and looked down at the ground. His eyes lit up. “Holy shit, man! Looking at Todyschuk’s cock. It’s huge!”

“I know,” you said.

“Holy shit. He’s going in.”

Your mom’s ass being punctured, an image that you had seen and was always as real to you as it was before you now, had finally stepped in from the infinite well of what was possible, a well your whole being had been immersed in since birth, into the open air of what had now happened and would forever be irreversible. Mr. Todyschuk’s cock had now entered its holy desire, or desired hole, a gift of a moment that you made true. The one strand, out of an endless pile, you knew you had to make true, the others as good as spent electrical wiring to you now.

You knew exactly what joy Mr. Todyschuk was now basked in, having explored your mom’s holes yourself in multiple possible timelines, the memory of which, if memory was the right word, as real to you as this moment, and equally as possible, though you chose, and it wasn’t a hard choice, to opt for what you were seeing now. An even easier choice of path to avoid gave you insight into what your mom was going through as Mr. Todyschuk’s cock entered her aggressively. In those possible timelines, you couldn’t walk straight for weeks afterwards. And you knew in this timeline, your mom would end up the same way.

You knew every woman by the feeling of her holes over your cock, and every man by the feeling of his cock in your holes, as you had fucked everyone in one timeline or another, including your mom, brother, and dad. You knew what it was to fuck celebrities and pornstars, or to having an orgy with over one hundred women, which you seduced en masse through extremely specific actions and statements. You knew what it was to walk into select strangers’ houses, and to find the female owners lying there, sleepy in their private drunkeness, open to your every whim with a 100% certainty that you’d be out before they woke up.

But you never took that chance, not even once. Instead you gave your information, like pearls to swine, to schizophrenics, the only people who would listen to your wild claims. You once sent an anonymous tip in to the authorities which lead to the recovery of a missing mother of three. But you had also giving the advice to the man whose basement she was found chained up in, telling him exactly how to get her, and then informing him of exactly what he had to do to avoid arrest.

You were a hero to any and all men willing to listen, and a scourge to any and all women whose holes you deemed worthy of forced entry. That list had now mushroomed out to include your very own mom. She was the cherry on top of it, and the testament to your will’s purity.

“Yeah, spank that ass, mommy,” your brother said.

“She thinks she’s being bit by a bug,” you explained. “That’s how numb she is to everything now.”

Your brother laughed. “I wish I could make fun of him for it. But I can see with my own two eyes that he’s pretty huge.”

The two of you sat there, side by side, tugging yourselves silently for a moment. Until you blurted out, as dryly as everything else you ever said, “he’s bigger than dad.”

Your brother’s cock twitched in his hands, but he sat there silently.

“I’m only telling you now because you’d end up wondering it a few days from now if I didn’t.”

As he rubbed his inner left thigh with the palm of his hand, he said “plus you knew it would give me a bit of a jolt, didn’t you?”

You didn’t say anything. And then when a few moments passed you said “and yes, dad’s cock was burnt off in the crash.”

“Fuck yes,” your brother growled to himself. “Toddy has the last cock standing.”

Your brother admired the smoldering carnage before him. “How do you think dad would act if he could see Toddy in mom’s ass now?”

“He would kill him,” you said. You said it with the same absolute certainty that you said everything else with.

Your brother took that as a figure of speech. After all, you had already told him that people die in their allotted time, never before or after. And he had believed you.

Your brother was now stewing in his own bliss. “Todyschuk is the perfect guy to fuck mom,” he said through furied panting, his eyes almost rolling into the back of his head as he tugged himself on the kitchen floor, his bare butt smushed into the cool tiles. “He’s so different from dad too.”

“There’s nobody more different,” you said, and you began to apply pressure underneath your balls with the three finger of your left hand. “Why do you think I chose him? It could have been anyone.”

“So Mr. Todyschuk beat out 3 billion other names? Toddy is the man!”

“He’s not the only one,” you say.

“What?” your brother asks, with a voice made from the perfectly balanced formula between terror and excitement. “Who else?”

“After you drop Mr. Todyshuk back home, you come back and have alone time with mom. You won’t be able to contain yourself then.”

“I fuck mom!?” he asked, with another alchemical concoction between indignation, shock, and hope.

“Well,” you say. “You wouldn’t have. Until I mentioned it now.”

“Bro,” he said. You didn’t have to turn to know his eyes were watering. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said. “It’s my gift to you for all the help.”

You were looking now upon the sight that you had been jerking off to since puberty. You knew you could see it one day if you wanted. You knew you could see a million things. You knew it all at once, for as long as you could remember. The waterfall of possibilities that rushed passed, around, and through you, each as real as the other, if you wanted them. It was this full range of possibilities, available to you like flavors of soda on a supermarket shelf, which woke this desire up in you. And for every passing second since, you knew every jot and tittle you would have to half-heartedly write into the book of your life to make this dream become flesh and muscle before you.

So much power given to one so young. The power to mold the shape of history. The power to create the weather by choosing when and when not to crush each butterfly. Such strength and vision at the fingertips of an individual. An individual who possessed the mind and hormones of a teenage boy, with a mom whose ass was as perfect in its shape as each step that brought it here. Each pump, each good vibration through her ass flesh, shaking out any sense of mourning or loss for your father, all planned with perfect by you. His entire life culminating in this moment, with him never knowing or suspecting the strings on his back. His death for the best of causes. Your mom’s ass bouncing over Mr. Todyschuk’s eager cock, in mockery to your father’s demise. It was all so delicious. The size of your mom’s ass, and the nature of its volatile vibrations, built perfectly for the cause of mockery. It was as if each shake and jiggle was a mirthfilled laugh.

As your mom’s asshole was filled with the cock whose sensation you knew every inch of, the way you knew every inch of her, the stock you had bought in Airplane safety technology had tripled within the last few days. You were now a billionaire. That was as much a secret now as the gift you hid for all these years. You had had the confidence of a billionaire, knowing you would become one, for as long as you could remember. Just like you’ve always seen your mom through the lens of this moment. She was always Mr. Todyschuk’s fuckpig to you. As much a possession for his pleasure, as she, and everyone else, was a possession for yours. Their fates were yours to play with. And you felt no guilt. For what? How could you feel anything for those whose fates you weaved as simply as breathing? How could you conjure up respect for one whose most embarrassing possible moment you knew like the back of your hand.

Through your prying third eyes, which saw through the walls that separated one timeline from the next, could never even approach a possible series of events that would have made your mom into a terrible person. That was the one thing, other than her gorgeous ass, which made her unique from every other person on this planet. Through no quantum universe that could ever come to be, had you ever seen a version of your mom that wouldn’t have her be the remarkable human being that she was. You had seen realities where you brother had become the head of a syndicate of Somali pirates, or where Mr. Todyschuk had built an orphanage with his own two hands. But never, in all your wide and instantaneous searching, could one reality where your mom strayed from the narrow path of righteousness ever be found.

And that’s exactly why you knew you needed to do this. The most innocent creature that had ever lived deserved to have this happen to her. The universe deserved it. You deserved it. The more you thought about her purity, the deeper the injustice of those dark timelines that burrowed in at your mind were. And the deeper they were, the more they permeated your waking thoughts. Until you couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to let them come to pass. And your body, the combined product of your mother and father’s love, reacted with interest of the sweetest kind. From that point on, thanks to your then 14-yeard old mind, your family was doomed. The past 4 years had just been a series of accidents, some small, some catastrophic, leading to this very Is.

Your brother lay there, a useless fool, next to you. Every tug of his cock and twitch of his face, finely tuned by your series of lifelong actions. His body an extension of your mind, just like all other bodies. Every single man and woman your employee, or rather slave. Your brother now a perfect cuck, one forged by fate. Your mom’s big ass a complete clown show. Her stupid face, as oblivious now to its own fate, even as it inhabited it, as it was in the years leading up to it. Your father, a blackened skeleton under six feet of dirt with that stupid look on his skull. And Mr. Todyschuk, pumping away at your mom’s swollen backside, with a look of unbelievable gratitude and pathos on his grin. It was all so delicate and finely placed.

The only mystery to you, the source of your own powers. Were they some unaccounted for aspect of the natural world, or were you just as much a clueless cog in some larger machine, designed by some larger mind than your own? Did some higher power or demonic force have some sort of vendetta against your family, and this gift of yours, being really a curse perfectly placed to destroy them? If so, you didn’t care. You would regret nothing. You knew that as well as any other tipped domino. You were ecstatic. And your only desire that you should live your life, as you had, and knew you would, live it, only to die and come back again from the beginning, to live it identically the second, third, or fourth time. Every time your mom a clown to be mocked, a cow to be milked. Your existence a long and broken hallelujah, or the most mind-shattering orgasm, stretched so thinly across an entire life, that each second was a wondrous hum.

You held up your hand, to which your brother looked over. Your five fingers outstretched. Then you tucked in your thumb. Then your index finger. Then your middle finger. Then the ring finger. And then just as you tucked in your pinky, Mr. Todyschuk pulled his cock out of your mom, drawing your brother’s attention forward again, and growled blissfully as nut after nut travelled in a beautiful arc from the tip of his red prick onto the welcoming hill of your mom’s ass.

“Fuck yes,” your brother said through clenched teeth. “Nut on mommy’s ass.”

“Just to let you know,” you said. “He pisses on her face in three minutes.”

“This day really is perfect,” he let out as he tugged.

Mr. Todsychuk collapsed in exhaustion on top of your mom’s naked cheeks.

“When you get on the freeway,” you said. “Take one exit early.”

“Sure,” he said, as he played with the keys in his hand. “Any reason why? And why am I driving him again? He has his own car.”

“He would have forgotten to take the early exit if he drove alone.”

“Yeah,” your brother said. “But why the exit?”

“There will be a nasty pileup if you don’t exit early.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty good reason. Okay…” he turned to usher Mr. Todyschuk and himself through the door. Then he stopped in place. He turned around. “Would we have gotten hurt, or… died in the pileup?”

“No,” you said. You were lying.

“Right,” he said, and turned around again. “Because everybody has their allotted time? Right?”

“Right,” you said. Lying again.

“Okay,” see you in an hour. He stopped again. “Are you going to clean mom up while we’re gone.”

“No,” you said. “You cleaning her is what gets you started with her to begin with.”

“Oh my god,” he said, as if he had forgot. “I can’t wait.”

They left the house, leaving you to the chirping of crickets coming through the open window with fresh air.

Your mom sat on the couch, her ride not yet over. Her ass still waiting to serve another purpose. A raunchy romp with her own son, his pelvis destined to feel the nuances of her ass flesh and to feel that satisfying smack within his nook.

Your mom started to shift slightly, and in doing so, her head approached the edge of the couch. As it did, she began to roll off, something you knew the consequences of would be dire. You stood there stoically, as if nothing bad would happen. And then, as if possessed with the alarm you should have felt, two cushions rocketed off the other couch and slid across the floor, directly underneath your mom’s head and waist, breaking her fall.

You then slowly approached her, your face blank, your cock enamored. And then there was the sound of ruffling on top of the fridge, and then the sound of little wheels rolling. Your dad’s model airplane had rolled off. But instead of hearing the snapping of plastic, the plane wheeled around through the air, floating majestically into the living room, and flying above your head, its shadow casting itself along your mom’s nude body. And after a few circles through the air, it came down, crashing itself directly into your mom’s ass, weding itself between her cheeks.

You stood on your toes, first slightly, and then you began to lean more on them, until you were resting, painlessly on their tips. And then, with that same rhythm and pace, you were now standing on an inch of thin air between you and the hardwood. You floated upwards and tucked your legs underneath you, as if sitting in lotus position. And then you floated backwards and admired your mom from the dining room. The model plane wedged within her ass a vital a cherry on top. Because it was that, and all its implications, which would get your brother going when he got home.

If only your dad had as soft a landing.