They sat in the basement, all four of them, bathed in the light of the television, controllers in their hands, strung tight by their competition.
“Got you,” Dylan said.
“Fuck you, you did,” replied Tom.
“If I didn’t get you, who did?”
As they sat there in the television light, a figure of torn rags walked wraith-like up the steps. She opened the front door of the house, silhouetted in the night by the light left on in the kitchen. She walked within and the door closed behind her.
“I did,” Tom repeated in the basement.
“In your dreams, you did.”
“No,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “In your nightmare.”
Liam was the first to notice her, standing there on the steps, her face darkened by the night, her body visible, covered by her overhanging coat. Her gait strange, her mouth unmoving. Liam was frozen stiff, staring at her. As he was, Dylan aimed at his avatar on screen. He grinned before taking his shot. After Liam’s character dropped, he turned to look at him with that grin, but seeing his friend sitting there, somehow looking white even within the television light, his gaze aimed behind all of them, Dylan himself felt his heart stop.
He slowly turned to see the figure on the steps. He stared at her for a moment, dread building in his stomach. And then, just like that, she dropped out of the little light there was. Dylan shot up, running past Leo, who had caught the last glimpse of what the other two had, and past Tom, who had seen nothing. He flicked on the light.
Gianna lay on her side at the foot of the steps, trying to push herself upwards with one hand.
The boys were silent. “Mom!” Dylan screamed and ran over to her.
Gianna lay there, not speaking. She felt nothing, not physical or mental, except for some distant, near but half-remembered shame, and an aching within certain places in the lower half of her body, places which she, in some long-and-forgotten part of her psyche, once associated with shame.
“You guinea bitch,” the man had said, leaned over her perfect ass in the private room. His goblin thrusts pushing his cock through the length of her asshole. “Mommy has a sweet hole,” he said. “Yes, mommy!”
After he was finished with her, he headed toward the beads pushing past them, out into the dark pink of the strip club hallway. His bodyguards stood there, not letting the house security past for the last little hour, occasionally peaking in to see what the boss was up to.
He now stood before them, nude and unashamed, his priority, for some reason, to put on his glove. He motioned into the room with his head, the place where Gianna lay, barely conscious. “Have fun, boys,” he said. And as his men rushed in, happy to have a piece of the house favorite, he put on his other glove and flexed his fingers within it. “Have fun.”
Gianna, her body bruised, used to its maximum capacity and a bit more than that, lay there, before her son and his staring friends.
Tom leaned on the back of the couch, staring down at her with wide eyes. He saw the glimmering strands of fabric that peeked through her coat. He was the first to notice, and as Dylan shook her on the floor, trying to make sure it was only drunkenness again which made her like this, Tom began to smile.
Liam looked over, seeing that smile. He turned and looked back at her. That glimmer was unavoidable to him too. Leo noticed as well, but it wasn’t until Dylan had turned around, some relief on his face, that he felt the mirth that Tom did.
Dylan turned to see it on all of them, all of them staring down at his mom. He turned and looked down at her, seeing what they saw. She lay there, like a fallen bird, but with feathers which shone, glimmering and sparkling, looking both magnificent and cheap. Her cleavage hung out, a protruding, conspicuous sight. Her thighs were smooth and bare.
He said nothing.
“It can’t be…” Tom said, sounding genuinely shocked at first. Everyone looked over at him, and then saw the nature of his shock wasn’t born of empathy. “It just fucking can’t be…”
“A stripper,” Leo said with a soft ecstasy. “No fucking way.” He shook his head. “Miss Pizzolatto never disappoints.”
Liam said nothing, but he shifted excitedly, loving the new energy in the room, both for its relief, and for its new and unexpected thrill.
Dylan stared at them, his face blank, saying nothing. He looked somewhere in between a stoicism born from needing to save face and a blankness from not knowing what to do.
“Say Dyl,” Tom said with a smile, his voice electric with a tinge of teenage arousal. “That’s your mom’s crotch down there, isn’t it?”
Dylan didn’t look, but everyone else did, seeing the triangle of Gianna’s panty crotch. “If it’s not hers,” Leo said. “Whose is it?”
Tom looked up at Dylan. “Given that it’s just… right here… in front of all of us, maybe you should do us a solid and…. You know… give us the goods. She’s apparently been showing them off quite a bit anyway.”
“Yeah show us the goods, Dyl!”
“How much do you think it costs?” Tom said, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “Because I got five dollars here.” He threw the five ones and they landed on her breasts with a comical splat. Tom smiled as the room (except Dylan) laughed.
Dylan stood there for only a moment. It were as if the world waited around him, wordlessly waiting for his response. Then he turned, looking down at her. To everyone’s shock, he kneeled down, grabbed the crotch of her panties in his fingers, and slid them aside.
All the boys stared down at it, their mouths open.
“Mother of…” was all Leo could say.
Liam had been silent, and Tom joined him now in that silence. Gianna’s pussy gave to the slow thrusting in front of them. They, theirs mouths drying, their loins electric, could only stare.
After a few moments, each of them watching her pubic region and pussy lips move around at the prompt of Dylan’s mechanical fingers, Tom, his voice cracking, said “they’re- they’re very meaty.” Dylan didn’t respond, still massaging it.
“…very meaty.”
There was more silence. Dylan’s fingers rubbed against his mother’s soft pubic hair. He didn’t say anything, only repeating this action.
“Hey,” Tom said, his voice shakily. “Since you’re already down there, maybe…” he swallowed. “…maybe you could give us a tour.”
Dylan’s fingers stopped. The room was silent. Gianna lay there, her eyes shut as the four boys stared down at her.
Dylan’s finger, still one moment, moved quickly in the next, the rest of him unmoving, and they grabbed her lips and spread them.
When they did, something shone like a pearl within. And then, its solid structure broke and dripped down from her whole.
At least two of the boys gasped audibly, but to this day, nobody knows which two it was.
“What a fucking whore,” Leo said.
Dylan didn’t look back, but something in his body, despite his expression facing away, betrayed the guilt he felt. Though that began to fade quickly, it being replaced by a burning anger at his mother, a rage and resentment over her embarrassing him yet again.
Tom then spoke: “Look at the bright side, Dyl. If your mom is this much of a whore, you can probably have a little fun with her and not feel guilty. That’s what whores are good for, aren’t they?”
Dylan knelt there, not saying anything. There was a silence, an awkward one. Then everyone noticed it, it was the skin on Dylan’s cheeks. They were beginning to glow red. They all stared, wondering how much of it was related to shame, how much of it was anger, and how much of it was blood rising to his face from his own arousal.
Dylan suddenly grabbed his mom, throttling her body, her expression tightening into half-conscious stress at the violent motion, her coat coming undone, and her breast, gigantic and smooth spilling loose.’
Dylan grabbed at her thigh, pulling it around his hip, doing it in front of his shocked and amazed friends. He went for his belt buckle, pulling it down. His pants undone, his ass bare to his friends, his cock throbbing violently with both arousal and rage before his mom’s used and naked body.
He was about to thrust inward, feeling it was his right now, his revenge, his only way of saving face before his friends’ judging eyes. But before he could thrust forward, he felt something collapse within himself, and he suddenly lost strength.
He fell on top of his mother, his cock pushing into her thigh, but no further. He held her close, not out of love, or out of a sense of protection, but because she was the only thing there to hold
.
His friend stood there, saying nothing, knowing it would be going too far. Even at their young age, having at least that much sense.
Even Tom, who stood there, the grin on his face fading.
“She’s the one from the video.”
Charlie’s ears burned, knowing who they had to be talking about.
“It’s simply shameless,” another mother said.
“That’s her?” someone, a male voice, one much younger, said.
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Charlie’s m-“
“Shhh!”
Charlie didn’t turn to look. The only way he could save whatever face he had left was by pretending he couldn’t hear it. Even still, his face burned, and he almost felt as if everyone could see that, as if it produced its own radioactive glow.
Gianna stood aside, talking to a few moms, her voice the loudest of all three. The moms stared at her, taking occasional glances at one another whenever she shut her eyes to laugh at her own joke. Every time she laughed, her fingers would fall back onto her own cleavage, which was exposed, even in the gymnasium of her son’s school. She was ‘dressed up’ for the occasion, but in a silky black low cut cocktail dress, one which hugged her form inappropriately, more as if to keep her from bursting free than to cover her up.
“Is she here for her son, or did they hire her for a striptease?”
Charlie got up, knowing he shouldn’t, and he headed for the bathroom.
He slammed the stall door shut and sat there on the closed toilet lid. The bathroom door creaked open, and two voices, accompanied by two shoes below, came into the room.
“Do you think she’s wearing any panties?” one of the voices asked.
“What difference would it make?” the other one replied, his response accompanied by the sound of a comb running through hair. The comb stopped. “You seen the video, her ass practically devours panties?”
The other voice laughed.
“She as probably wearing granny panties in that video, and those giant ass cheeks just swallowed them whole.”
The other one laughed as they both left the room.
Charlie sat there, staring down at the floor.
Charlie sat there, staring down at the carpet. Dust bunnies sat below, mingled amongst each other. It was like that everywhere in the house. Everywhere except Charlie’s room.
“You would miss your brother’s event,” she said, her voice, as loud as usual, coming from the kitchen.
“How many times am I going to say it,” Dylan said, also from the kitchen. Without seeing them, or without hearing the nuances in their voices, it was hard to tell who the parent was. “I’m not going anywhere where you’re going if you’re going to dress this way.”
“What way?”
Charlie couldn’t see either of them, but he could tell through the silence that followed that they were both looking down at her body. Charlie shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
“You know, Dyl,” she said, breaking the silence. “You don’t have to go through life being so self-conscious. I know that you’re young, and that you think everyone’s watching you, but you need to realize-“
“I!?” Dylan burst in suddenly. Charlie looked up at the kitchen doorway. “I need to realize? Self-conscious?”
There was enough space for Gianna to retort, to correct her son, but she filled it with nothing. Charlie imagined his mom standing there, looking on at Dylan with shock.
“When are you going to develop some self-consciousness? Any amount will do.”
“I-“
“And I think everyone is watching me? Think? Not only is everyone in school watching me, thanks to you, but the entire world is watching you! As we speak, people in shacks in Timbuktu are watching that video. Did you forge- how are you not understanding!?” He said all this, barely stopping to breathe, with a shock and indignation, an exasperation with how hard it was to drive all this home in her. “You’re just going to-“ his voice was wiry and frayed. “You-“ he stopped again. Charlie saw him emerge suddenly, his face contorted into a series of knots, as he stormed down the hallway. Charlie didn’t even flinch when he heard his bedroom door slam shut.
Gianna stood in the kitchen, watching the empty doorway Dylan had stormed out through. She was speechless, but, at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel like her son was being foolish, then she heard a creak. She turned, looking at the other doorway into the kitchen, Charlie, her pride and joy, filling it, red-faced and hard of breath.
Her heart melted at seeing him there. Then he spoke.
“He’s not wrong…” was all he said.
Gianna’s brow contorted, her heart stinging, first with a sense of betrayal, then with the sense that she must have done something wrong.
“He’s not imagining it. I get the same thing at school now.”
“Oh Charlie!” Gianna said, her voice frayed, rushing to her son, grabbing him, and thrusting his trembling face toward her chest.
He stood there, feeling the warmth of her cleavage against his face, bare flesh to flesh, as she heaved heavy breaths.
“I’m so sorry. I was drunk. I didn’t mean anything by it. You know that. Mommy was just having fun. That’s all I wanted. I work hard all week. I-“ her voice cracked slightly, stopping to let her lip tremble without breaking. “I just wanted to have a fun time.”
Charlie’s heart welled, the line between his mom’s gigantic breasts rubbing against his face. “It’s okay mom,” he said. He could feel her breathing slow down, the gigantic lifting and falling of her chest against his cheek signaled exactly that. “They’re just being jerks,” he said, driving it home, feeling her sweet relief. “You didn’t do anything… that bad…” He shut his eyes, knowing it was a lie.
“Oh Charlie…” she said.
He opened his eyes. Before he could react, his mom thrust him away, the breasts falling from his face before being replaced by her lips. They pressed against his skin, wet and warm. He felt another warmth, one much more intoxicating, run through his hips and loins.
He looked at her thankful face.
Not long after, in his bedroom, he sat next to his phone, looking at that footage with the volume down.
His mom, her body erotic and bare, nude in front of an entire crowd of onlookers, gyrated on stage. Zzaxxx stood behind her, his entourage with him, coaxing it on, with Gianna’s new friend, Mrs. Li, twerking next to her, her giant ass gyrating with the awkward rhythm of it. Gianna, like a sandwich between these influences, was guided by this slight prodding, not by alcohol, but by the need for something much more substantial. He could see it in her now, Dylan had trained him for it. The ecstasy in her face, the firm expression in her mouth, her eyes shut, locking her deep within a subterranean want, as powerful over her as gravity.
He watched her, body and face and influence and all, and though his cock throbbed in his pants, his mom’s lips still burning on his cheek, he couldn’t bring himself to pull his jeans down, to play with himself there, the guilt for doing it the first time being too intense, the post-nut clarity too gnawing. Even still, he couldn’t stop himself from watching the video. When he didn’t watch it, he thought about it obsessively, either with great pain or with great pleasure.
As he watched her there, he imagined her standing on a stage more familiar to him, one less international, but somehow more mortifying. She stood there, in his mind, scantily-clad on the stage in his school gymnasium, with all his teachers, classmates and their parents there, watching. Her dress riding over her body, barely covering it, her body gyrating, her hands running against herself suggestively, until she reaches down for her thighs, grabbing the dress and pulling it upward, her body, as Charlie now knew it, exposing itself, in the flesh, to everyone there, first her ass and pussy, then her breasts, until she discarded the whole thing, standing there nude, opening her holes for the crowd, filling those holes, and whatever hole existed in her soul, with their attention.
Charlie wanted to stop thinking it, feeling his shame rising, but he couldn’t. Just like her, his eyes were, shut, his mouth firm, as he imagined it, her body, moving, her flesh jiggling, the eyes of everyone looking on, ashamed in her and aroused by her, knowing she shouldn’t continue but wanting her to, encouraging her to, even with their judgement, knowing she preferred it to silence.
Charlie felt it at the moment he imagined her wandering hand lifting her breasts and letting it drop, its full and giant mass jiggling. The pleasure was like that of a wet dream, and all-encompassing burst, and his hips slowly pushed upwards as he felt his cum fill his pants and underwear.
It was only after the beautiful moment, its pleasure immeasurable, had passed that his shame had come.
Gianna giggled there on the couch, her bare legs and feet pulled up underneath herself, her every erotic inch in motion below her as she rocked there, staring down at her phone.
Charlie almost stumbled into the living room at seeing it.
She looked up. At seeing Charlie, her face, already blissful, had the added element of peace. “800,000,” she said.
Charlie only stared. “What?”
“Followers. Instagram. 800,000.”
Charlie didn’t say a word.
She looked back down at her phone. “It’s like I’m selling water at a forest fire. They just keep pouring in.”
“800 thou…” Charlie almost sounded like a ghost.
“Yeah!” she said, not hearing it in him. She almost leapt off the couch, her body always so limber and springy, even with her massive jiggling tits, their soft surface still resilient after so many years of motion. She thrust her phone before her son’s face. Her body, as it was the day before at school, appeared to him, nearly bursting out of her dress, her cleavage a shock to the soul as much as it was a treat to the senses.
She stood next to him in the image, her body upright and proud, shoulder to shoulder with his, as he stood slightly hunched over, his cheeks red with shame. “Look,” she said, pointing at the likes.
Charlie saw them, noted them with horror, then let his gaze fall down, to the places Gianna apparently didn’t, or wouldn’t allow her to, see. “Anyone else suddenly hungry for watermelon?” Apparently thousands of others were, going by the likes for that comment. “Men of culture, greetings.” Thousands of men of culture had responded. “Just based on face alone, I want to give it to her. That body is a plus. But what a plus.” Charlie felt faint.
“How can she smile like everything’s normal, she just spread her ass cheeks for the world?” “I love seeing a whore in her civilian life.” “Mommy must have given good milk.” “Zzaxxxed!” “-Prepares roast beef at home. -Son looks down at it, reminded of her pussy.” “You can see his shame, jesus christ. Poor guy.”
As he stood there, staring at it, all color gone from his expression and soul, Gianna, unknowingly driving the knife in, pushed one step further. “Also, I was meaning to ask you, Charlie – because I know Dylan wouldn’t want to answer – do you use Tik Tok?” She gasped innocently. “You do, don’t you. I’ve seen you watching the videos. The ones of the girls dancing.”
Charlie looked up at her, a frantic desperation visible at the fringes of his expression.
“Everyone’s telling me I should make one.” She pulled her phone away, looking at it, the comments invisible to her. “Something about the Jello Shake Challenge.” Her eyes exploded into life. “It sounds fun, whatever it is.”
Charlie gulped, doing so audibly to anyone who could have been near. Anyone except for her. She looked up with real intention in her eyes. “So… what about it?”
Charlie’s face burned as he entered her screen name for her: “GiannaGcups.”
“u-p-s,” she spelled out for him, even as he had already finished the username without her. He knew the nickname for her, the crown placed on her head by the internet, both with endearment and mockery.
He finished he e-mail confirmation, then handed her back her phone. She looked at it like a child with a toy, nodding her head, her face all aglow. Her nodding then stopped, her smile became a look of bewilderment. She looked up. “Now what?”
Charlie was sweating while he stood next to his mom, looking down at videos with her. He had went so far out of his way to find videos that would guide her in a preferable direction, one where she kept most of her clothes on, and where she moved her body in a way which wasn’t too obscene.
He looked down, seeing her pants hug her body. They were still tight (she didn’t seem to have any which hung loose enough) but it was better than what she wanted to wear.
Gianna looked down at the screen, her face blank. Not unimpressed, but without excitement, as if she didn’t know there was more than this. “This looks fun…” she said dryly, but without irony, still searching for what the fuss was about.
The girls on screen, their faces pretty, their dress and bodies modest, danced goofily, doing so with comedic timing, on screen. “Like that,” Charlie said. “It’s… it’s a fun little app.”
“Looks like it…”
They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, Charlie breathing harder, Gianna’s breathing subdued more than he had ever noticed (he took this as a good sign).
Then suddenly, as if the disappointment were gone, she perked up: “Let’s get started!”
Charlie stood there for hours, filming each video, wanted to be there for each, wanted to police them into wholesome shape. Gianna made goofy faces, moved about, but despite how hard Charlie tried, her body, even without conscious effort, made a snack of her.
He sat there on her accumulating gold mine of footage, telling her it was better to film a lot and then keep them, spreading out their publishing to match a consistent, but modest, schedule.
Charlie knew he was in trouble when, despite all his efforts, his mom’s dancing, even as seen through her little phone screen, began to make his cock stir in his pants. Her tits most of all were a problem. Her cleavage wasn’t bare, and she was wearing a bra, but still they bounced freely as one within her shirt, their motion violent, as if rebelling against their capture.
Charlie stared, another dance, another video, and as his mother’s body, her tits most of all jiggled, he felt his focus zoning in on them. They were clothed, but he imagined them simultaneously without clothes. He stared, staring for a while, until snapping out of it, his gaze snapping upward, toward his mom’s face.
She looked back at him, her face goofy and fun, but then he saw it, sitting there behind the goofiness, like an ambushing unit of cavalry in the reeds or a wizard behind the green curtain. It was an expression, one sultry and alive, inviting, intimidating and burning with passion. She looked at the screen, looked at her soon-to-be-large audience. Looked at Charlie. He stared at her, her body jiggling below her, staring into those sultry eyes. They, despite him knowing better, seemed to stare back into his own.
He gulped.
Suddenly, the jiggling stopped. “Uggh,” she said.
Charlie shuddered, feeling as if he had done something wrong.
“This bra…” she said, reaching behind herself.
“The br…” Charlie stopped himself.
“It’s digging into… my….”
Charlie heard her click its strap open, then she reached into her shirt through its neck, pulling the red bra, its cups gigantic, through her shirt.
Charlie watched as her tits, unsheathed but still covered within, came loose, their nipples poking against the fabric as the giant globes which supported them fell in a sudden rush.
Charlie blushed, feeling a sudden panic, while also feeling his cock stir.
Her heavy tits fell to their lowest point, jerked into places, and then sat there, still.
“Next one,” Charlie said, his mouth hanging open after saying it, shocking himself.
He stared at her chest on the screen, stared at those loose breasts. “Okay,” she said gleefully. “Next one.”
Charlie watched, the music playing as she danced, not seeing her face, just seeing those giant tits, to his dread and pleasure, bounce. He imagined those G-cup tits, nude on stage, bouncing not too differently than they were now, in front of him. Soon to be dancing for her thousands of fans, he was sure.
When Dylan came into the house, Gianna stood there, her tits still without their bra below her shirt. “And where were you?” she said, her tone angry, as if she weren’t standing there braless.
He looked at her, saying nothing, then he looked down, clicking his tongue with a disgust which was unusually authoritative, even for him.
“Did you hear what I said?’”
“GiannaGCups?” he said.
She didn’t answer.
Charlie, watching from the couch, felt his stomach drop.
“GiannaGCups…” Dylan repeated. “Nice…” he said sarcastically. “A good role model. For us and everyone else.”
“Who are you to…”
“Who are you?” he said, intending the open-endedness that implied.
The house was silent. Charlie looked from Dylan’s angered face to his mom standing there still and silent.
“You embarrass us once with the concert, now this?”
Charlie heard it: “Us,” and to his shock, a resentment sat on his tongue. It wasn’t that he disagreed with Dylan’s anger at all. It was something else, something primal which upset him.
He leaned forward on the couch. “She’s just dancing, Dyl…”
Dylan looked over at him, shocked. “What?” he said, sounding ghostly.
“It’s just a fun thing to do,” Charlie said, halfway between apologetic and aggressive. “She might as well take advantage of the fame.”
Gianna’s face soured, doing so suddenly, while being caused by something not only unknown to her two sons, but unknown to herself as well. “I’m not taking advantage of anything,” she said.
They both looked at her, surprised by her outburst. Charlie most of all, feeling hurt by it.
“Dylan,” she said, addressing him specifically, perhaps feeling bad for snapping at Charlie’s statement. “I dance whenever I feel like dancing. I don’t need your permission. I don’t need anyone’s permission. I won’t be lectured by my own boy. It’s ridiculous. You should be ashamed.”
Dylan stared at her, then his mouth opened. “I should be…”
But before he could finish, knowing where he was going, Gianna cut in quickly. “You need to show some respect as long as you’re living under this roof. You’re not gonna eat any of the meals I pay for if you…”
“Fuck both of you,” Dylan said, moving past her without deference.
Gianna, expecting it, began to feel something like glee, not truly happiness, but a sensation of control at at least being able to force him out of the moment.
But just as that sensation began to come to her, offering her some solace, she heard it. A slapping noise. The feeling, somehow, came later.
She spun around, seeing her son’s gaze, fixed and confident, down where her ass was, its right cheek still stinging from the slap of his open palm. Her eyes burned. “Don’t-“
“Shut up!” he said, dragging out the two syllable statement until it sounded like four, not sounding angry any longer, only sounding dismissive and arrogant. “Shut your sweet ass up.”
Charlie stared, in shock.
Dylan stood there, the only upright column in the room, staring down at Gianna’s waist, though her ass was turned around now. She looked back at him, apparently still shocked, but with her body in motion, as if to build the moment to say something or to hit him back.
“Turn around,” he said almost playfully, grabbing her by the arm, softly trying to force her to turn. She put up resistance, pushing against his force. “Come on, let me touch it,” he said. “Just let me-“ he cut himself short with a snort.
He let go, turning to leave.
“Stop,” she said as a delayed response to his action.
He had a grin on his face. “Guess I’ll have to do it again later.” He said this out loud, causing Charlie to blush. Then he looked at Charlie, clicking his tongue in his cheek and shooting him a wink before disappearing down the hall.
Charlie felt as if he were selling his soul, not to the devil, but to some primordial id, some constant and unquenchable lust on the part of the same public that his mother was selling her body too.
He would stand there, pointing Gianna’s phone at her, it capturing her long exposed lengths of flesh, including the tops of her breasts, the cleavage, itself impossibly long, running between them, wobbling with the inconstancy of her dance. As he stood there, becoming more complacent with this daily activity with time, he had a tougher time reminding himself to fight the arousal he inevitably felt. In his mind, the arousal itself wasn’t the issue (at least not anymore) as long as he took effort to check himself on it. As even that began to wane, his shame only grew. But committing so much to it all already, it was hard to change course.
Instead, he just stood there, standing within their own family home (at angles which hid the squalor) capturing his mom’s curves in their exotic moment of motion.
The views climbed, and, likewise, the vulgarity of the music which accompanied the videos did too. Female rappers, their bodies as shapely as Gianna’s, but with mouths which expressed what Gianna, with all her teasing, erotic dance, only ever implied, became the soundtrack to these dances more and more. The stress in their syllables, the aggression in their delivery, like a cage which bound Gianna’s thick and sexy body, forcefully, to the objectification which her actions warranted, now more than ever.
“Pussy delicious
Ass is so fat
You sleep with the fishes You nap with my cat”
Charlie at musing over, finally understanding the metaphor, the dirty street poetry, began to blush. Gianna, stewing in the fun of it all, failed to notice.
“Ahh,” she said, her dance stopping short. Her tits taking a while to get the memo. “I think that one’s another classic.”
Charlie looked down at the phone. “Yeah,” he said, his cheeks and eyes burning. “You might be right.” “Post it,” she said. “Let’s see.”
He didn’t say anything, only doing what she asked, unable to stop now, not having the ground to take a stand any longer. When he hit publish, his body reacted with both a cringe and with a solitary throb of his cock.
“Fifty guys!”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I wish I was,” the student said, not even musing as to what that turn of phrase meant. “But it’s true. She sucked up their virginity like a vacuum.” He began to laugh. “That’s why her tits are so big. She’s like the Shang Tsung of men’s virginities.”
“Because men have so many?” in response to the plural of that word.
“No, because she does. She takes their virginities to replace the virginity she lost so long ago.” There was a mock sadness with that one, as if he were telling an old folktale, one which warned of the consequences which came from moral shortcomings.
Charlie, sitting around the corner, buried his face into his arms. He then lifted his burning head and laid it on its side, cradling his own worries as if they were his baby.
“You know Frank? The homeless guy behind Tony’s place?”
“Yeah.”
“She took his dick in her mouth. Start sucking it. Frank was enjoying it, enjoying it, just standing there. In heaven, right..”
“And..” someone said impatiently.
“And he was enjoying it, right. Then, it plops out of his mouth and hangs there, she has his cum in her mouth. And he looks down and he practically shits. His cock…”
“Yeah?”
“She sucked it so hard, right, she sucked the black right off it. It was pure white.”
“Uh huh…”
“It even got smaller too.” He began laughing at his own joke, doing so more than anyone else.
Charlie stared at the table, just happy they didn’t see him there.
“Yeah,” another voice said. “She’ll suck anything that moves.”
“I move…”
“Well, approach her then. It’s cheaper than a whore. All it’ll cost you is a ‘hello.’”
“I heard the fifty guys thing. But from what I understood, it was fifty guys in one night.”
“I heard that too.”
“Who knows how many it is in total.”
“It’s gotta be everyone in town.”
“It’s gotta be.”
“Wow…” one of them said. The others were silently, probably at hearing the astonishment in that statement. “I can’t believe ZZZax has a white cock now.”
“She didn’t just suck him.”
“She got fucked by his whole entourage. All at once, I heard.”
“I heard that too.”
“Fuck, imagine her. Her big tits and everything, you seen ‘em, being fucked airtight and…” he stopped himself, likely because he realized the blackness of the men was the next thing he was about to openly wax poetic about.
Charlie took whatever pleasure in this he could, trying to find some shred of superiority in the thought of those who mocked him and his mother being host to their own shameful perversions, but as he felt his dick throb beneath the desk, imagining all those black bodies as he seen them, onyx-skinned and sweating in the video, their flesh flush against his mother’s, her beige jiggles giving in between their phalanx of black. He knew none of this could be true, but the thought of it, the harrowing fever dream, had him by his imagination, and that was more real than life.
Charlie had seen the comments, they weren’t unlike the fevered thoughts in his own mind: “Damn, Zzzax and his niggas must have been sucking on those white titties all night.” “Imagined how wide she got stretched after that.”
He shifted in his seat, upset with himself for entertaining these thoughts, even for a moment. His mom did nothing backstage except have a conversation with them, just like she said. He knew it was true. It had to be.
smack
Dylan’s hand bounced off Gianna’s ass with such spring it almost looked like something out of a cartoon. “Shut the fuck up,” he said.
She spun around, and her tits swung loosely in her shirt. “You bast-“ she caught herself.
“Say it!” he said.
She stared at him.
“Say it, bitch.”
Charlie clenched his fist, but sat there, silently.
“You need to-“ she started.
“Say it!” he reached down, toward her thighs, his hand landed between them, palming, for just a second, his entry point into the world.
“Hey!” she shrieked, sounding less like a word than a random guttural syllable.
Dylan backed up, his grin unbearable. “Is that what all the fuss is about?”
She leaned forward, pushing him, to which he only laughed.
Gianna was the first to leave the living room then, moving, her ass jiggling in anger, down the hallway toward her bedroom.
Dylan stood there, triumphant, watching her go, smiling to himself.
Charlie sat there, staring at the back of his head, seeing in its away-facing subtleties something which sickened him. He thought of that night, of Gianna’s naked body, and of Dylan’s cock, and a dark warping sounded in the chord of his heart, one which darkened the moment even beyond what it was now. That reach for the crotch reoccurred to him, and he imagined the motion, happening again, but this time with Gianna’s eyes shut tightly, her mouth hanging open, and with her body being nude, at least bottomless. And with Dylan, leaning there, with the same smile he had now, satisfied in himself.
Charlie’s only solace was that she didn’t seem to be going out much, instead replacing the neon lights and strobes of clubs with the light beaming off the face of her phone. She looked down at the comments, liking every one which called her “mommy.” That one, beyond all the other lewd elements, was what bothered Charlie the most.
Charlie’s phone itself would ding with messages from people who found out who he was, found out his social media, sending him the videos, teasing him, digging it into his sensitive flesh, that this was his mother’s online footprint, and it would never be anything different. Rather than a digital footprint, she’d be leaving a digital silhouette, and even that wasn’t true, as silhouettes were shapes without detail. The internet had her details, sucking them up like bread and stew. The puckering of her very asshole itself was recorded and pressed into its digital concrete.
The videos flooded his phone from other sources as well, the long trail of them like a snake which traced itself through her life.
Her giant tits bouncing for beads at Mardi Gras (an event that Charlie didn’t even know about until seeing the video) taken from years ago, spreading her ass cheeks for a crowd outdoors as a band in the back played on stage, hands running themselves over her voluptuous body on a boardwalk, upskirt shots of her dancing without panties on, her ass-cheeks free and open. Charlie would always feel the dread as he felt his phone buzz again and he’d see another message from a username he didn’t recognize. Yet still, he couldn’t help himself. He always clicked. Gianna’s tits bounced in a wet t-shirt as a hose sprayed them with water. Her legs, spread open, were licked by the tongue of another woman. Another enterprising soul, eager for her own fifteen minutes, but failing to reach it. Gianna, unconcerned with the thrill of the fame, instead in it more for the thrill itself, only enjoying the fame as its corollary, was the more successful. And the video showed this, her eyes rolling into the back of her head from the pleasure while onlookers roared.
Other videos, these ones being from people he must’ve known, came in of Gianna being filmed without her knowledge. She walked up and down streets, aisles, and parks, her body being filmed by those enterprising enough to film it. Those who could have seen so much more if they were only brave enough to ask her.
One of the videos was from outside the town. It took a while for Charlie to recognize from where, but as the palm trees past on the edges, beyond his mother’s body, he recognized it as Miami Florida. They had been there as a family, two years ago. The creep followed a pre-fame (lucky him) Gianna, capturing her beautiful ass with a creep’s artistry. Charlie watched this, feeling less bothered by it than he did with the others, probably because he’d never see the creep who shot it ever again. And then he saw it, his mom noticing. Rather than alert him, rather than alert Dylan, her walk only grew in its exaggeration, becoming more over the top. She even spun around a few times to point out a few things to the two of them, taking quick devilish glances down at the camera’s lens in order to let him know she spotted him. Charlie stopped the video. Gianna stood there, her breasts poked out.
Another video caught her from behind, filming her in her neon pink rave outfit, dancing at a festival. The camera poked in toward the fish nets which hugged her otherwise-bare buttcheeks, doing so so up close that Charlie felt closer to them through this video than he ever had. He could even see her two holes through her pink g-string, her butt cheeks bouncing around them.
The cameraman reached out and began groping her, molesting her phat ass. She didn’t seem to care. She instead pushed back against his hand. Trying his luck, he took out his cock, doing so shamelessly on the public dancefloor, and he begean pressing its stiffening head against her butt-cheek. Again, she pushed back, with her ass not her hand, and he, not being able to control himself, not wanting to, nutted all over that exposed cheek. Charlie watched as she, even though she had to have felt it, just kept dancing, her ass rubbing against the cock head as it gushed warm, sticky cum on her in bursts. Her dancing continued, even after he backed up, and he filmed, more out of fascination than out of horniness now, as it dripped down, hanging from her ass like a tail.
The sight was obscured then by a million grabbing hands.
“She wants it,” one of the comments said. It had way too many likes for Charlie to be comfortable with it. Not that he would have been comfortable with it under any circumstances.
Charlie, feeling his limbs and chest tight with his straining angst, lifted his phone to his thumbs and began typing furiously, replying to the comment. “This is how you talk about a victim of assault?”
It took almost no time for Charlie to get comments. “Simp.” “White knight.” “Loser.” It was the rogue’s gallery of things young men were terrified of being called, even more than being “rapist” or “creep,” the democracy of the internet had decided that these things are worse, and Charlie, despite his own best wishes, had internalized this moral compass. He stood there, impotently, looking into a window in his hands, one which showed a world that turned on him, a world which Gianna danced through, sweating and sticky with fluids, without issue.
“She’s being treated the way she deserves,” was the next comment.
Charlie knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t stop himself. His thumbs just began to move, and again he was hit with a barrage, beating him back into place. All the while, the video played above, and Charlie could feel himself, after being so numbed, drawn to it. Just from going over the specifics, the specifics became rich in his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel them viscerally. His cock throbbed as if the cock in the video belonged to him, and he couldn’t help it. Alone in his room, he pulled out his cock and began to play with it, imagining what it would feel like to have it rubbing along his mom’s ass in motion.
The cock in his imagination was only inches away from her imaginary holes, which burst through the thin string of her thong. He brushed that string aside, seeing the very asshole he had seen in person, lying there on the family couch, and he pushed his cock inside, feeling the joy of entering his own mother.
His humping in his fantasies, probably out of shame, started out gingerly, then it grew until it contained its own violence and hints of resentment, her ass slapping at his thrusts, trying to punish her with them, but realizing that he couldn’t. The harder her fucked her, the more ruthlessly, the more he treated her like the object she was becoming, the harder she moaned, even in his imagination. His thrusting grew harder. She panted, screamed, and begged him for me. “Charlie,” she said. “Mommy wants it. Please.”
He felt a rising power overcome him, one he knew, even in its upcoming peak, would fill him with a shame he could only imagine now (and never predict, not when he felt this good). His balls tightened, just like the balls in the video, and he felt it, gushing through the length of his cock.
As it did, the bedroom door opened. Gianna, mid-syllable: “Charl-“ stopped dead, looking at her son’s cock, his red face above it, his eyelid limp, as his dick leaked cum all over the floor in front of her, his balls pulsating, his ass lifted into the air, and his body stutter-stepping forward slightly to keep balance.
Gianna’s buxom body, dressed in that same rave suit, its flesh interrupted by pink fishnet, stood there, her phone in her hand. The previous mood she took to Charlie’s room, excited to have him film the new idea she had come up with, was still apparent in her gait as she stood there, though her face, in its shock, showed none of that.
Charlie blushed, the waves of pleasure leaving him, and a panic took hold as the first glimpses of the shame began to rear themselves. He stood there then, naked in not only body, but soul, eager for obliteration in that moment. “Mom! I- Sorry, sorry, I just- Mom!”
The look on Gianna’s face, as if she had watched a skyscraper collapse, just as suddenly, gave way to a smile. The craziest thing to Charlie was not the smile itself. It was the casual nature of it, the obvious truth that this, his most shameful moment, could mean so little to her. She looked down at his cock. “Having fun, I see,” she said. The room smelled like his cum, and the sweat from his cock. His dick twitched. She not only stood there as it twitched, but watched it twitch. “Yeah, looks like a lot of fun.” She then looked down at her phone. “When you’re feeling up to it, I got another video idea.” She handed him the phone. She twirled in place, her ass, exactly as it had been on the screen, twirled before him. “I found this old thing.” She looked at Charlie over her shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s fab!”
She then walked out of the room, looked back again. “Take your time.”
Charlie’s cock twitched again.
She disappeared beyond the doorway, her ass jiggling so beautifully in just that second of motion that Charlie could feel his cock growing hard again.
He took a deep breath, trembling as he did, and then he took a step forward. Just as he did, he heard a roar behind him. He turned to see his screen was still up. His mom, on screen, danced there, cum staining her soft, round ass. She danced there,
carelessly.
He looked at it, astonished. He turned, looking where his mom had just stood in the doorway, then looking back at the screen, realizing, she had to have seen it, seen the video that had made him cum.
Fifty guys. He heard it in his head. He heard the voice of others. He saw the comments, all of them flashing through his mind like a rolodex, being read by an indistinct voice. He then heard another voice, a lot more distinct, a lot more familiar, and a lot more authoritative. “I’m telling you,” it said. “Mom’s a slut. She’s the biggest slut.” It was followed by a smacking noise. “Mmm,” he said. Nice.”
Charlie’s last thought, the last one he ever wanted to entertain, came to him the second he left the room: They’re all right. My mom’s a slut.
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