Dylan stood in the shadow of the hallway, clutching its corner, staring out at the couch. His mother, half illuminated in lamplight, writhed there, her curvaceous body wrapped in tight-fitting silver dress being pawed by the palms of a stranger, not just a stranger to Dylan himself, but, as far as Dylan could discern, almost as much of a stranger to her.
Her hand shot down toward this stranger’s hand in the shadow, pushing it away from some specific, apparently-desired, spot below her waist. “Stop,” she insisted in a subtle whisper, giggling as she did.
Dylan could see the man’s arm pushing on harder, the man’s face barely visible behind the shadow cast by his mom’s form.
“Stop,” she said, still giggling, this time less so.
He grumbled and continued pushing. Dylan watched as she continued to resist, doing so inefficiently. He could tell by the combined stiffness and elasticity in her arm that she was drunk. Very drunk. Her face, if it could be seen within the darkness, would have burned a humiliating shade of red.
“Stop.” She was using both hands now.
He pushed on, effortlessly pushing past her. “Let’s go. Let’s do another one,” he said.
She groaned. “I already… ugh…” She leaned her torso forward to gain leverage on the violating hand. “Didn’t we have enough of a good time in the bathroom back there?”
“No… There were too many people there.”
“And when I sucked you off on the ride back?”
“It only made me want more.” His voice was lower than hers, but harsher, more unforgiving. “Take it as a compliment.”
“No,” she said, this time much more acutely.
The hairy masculine arm stopped its snaking in the partial light. It didn’t move, didn’t leave where it was, giving Gianna her space, but that seemed to be enough for her.
“Besides,” she said, breathing heavily. “You’re going to wake up my boys.”
There was a silence. But more than that, a stillness, a stillness that Dylan recognized as being more still than still. Then he saw that face, masculine, lean over until it was over his mother, looking down at her, fully illuminated now by the light. “Boys?” he asked.
It was the way he asked it that made Dylan’s blood run cold.
Gianna only looked up at him, vaguely, silently. Her head now, obscured by his head above, sat shrouded in darkness.
“How many?” he asked.
She stared at him a second long. Then her gaze pulled away, looking out as if for someone to commiserate with. “Oh christ…” she said, as if feeling trapped in some familiar misfortune.
“Two?” he said. “Three? Mommy dearest then.” He leaned down kissing her huge heavy breasts, almost seeming to suck it as far as Dylan could tell, but it was still covered.
She looked down at his face, annoyed.
He lifted his head from her breast, the sound of the lips leaving the fabric audible. “Can I be your boy?”
She pushed against his forehead with the palm and heel of her hand. His expression emerged in the light clearly. Dylan looked at that expression, its manic joy in the moment of discovery and uncovered debauchery, laid bare to him, its focal point pinned below him now, spurring him on. “Come on!” he insisted, his voice raspy at room volume rather than a whisper. “Give me a kiss, mommy.”
“Get off me,” she said, pushing harder, her face falling deeper within the darkness as she pushed.
“Mommy,” he said, whispering into her chest. He grabbed her by her dress, jerking it, her body jerking with it, her hair fluttering with a single shockwave running through it, then settling. “Give it to me, mommy. I need it.”
“No!” she said, her teeth audibly gritting against each other. “Get off me. Get lost.” She seemed to be caught in a very normal and healthy sensation of shame, or at least the beginning stages of it. Dylan watched, blindsided by the emotion, almost never seeing it in her, except during the occasional time she had been caught in a lie or contradiction. He never knew his mother could know shame, or that she could draw any lines in the sand at all. Now he saw her, her muscle straining from within her copious feminine phat, jiggling said phat, as she pushed against that shame.
The man, like most drunks, felt the shame rising to his nostrils and taste buds, and relished in its smell and taste, saw it in the expression below whenever Gianna’s head jerked out of the darkness, and with that, even Dylan knew, there’d be no stopping him. Dylan saw his mom’s smooth thigh and calf pulled out from the darkness by that hairy hand. Her inner-thigh, even as she kicked, was pulled against the man’s hip.
Dylan felt a strange terror, one mixed with the atmosphere, the unreality of the night, and, all of it, somehow came together cocktail-wise, as something entirely new to him. He had felt traces of it before, that day not too long ago in the basement, his mother lying on the floor as he and his friends, in wonder, made a semi-circle around her drunken body, its barest places exposed. And he... lowering himself in front of them, to…
He gripped the edge of the hallway tighter.
The man, being pushed away one too many times, not settling for it, thrust his hands down into the darkness, and, grabbing something within it, tore with incredible strength, the sound it made making it clear what he had grabbed.
The fabric of her dress tore loose, sitting impotently and ragged in his palms. He threw the strips away then tore again. There was a jiggling in the darkness. “You bitch,” he said. “You mommy bitch.” The anger of it mixed with a vicious joy. “You fuckin…”
“Get… off of me…” Her voice was strained but assertive, confident but desperate. It was filled with grit more than fear, determination more than humiliation, yet fear and humiliation were prominent within it.
Dylan, feeling the need, almost inspired by her timbre, to rush forward, to shoot from the darkness, and almost about to do so, then saw it, what it was waiting in the darkness for him, jiggling there. It was a nipple. Its sister nipple emerged next to it, as the man tugged what little fabric there was left on her body, her breasts coming big, full, and exposed into the lamplight.
“Oh god, these things!”
Dylan was frozen now, the confusion of the moment adding to his inhibition. More than that, a need, the need to see more.
She pushed at him, and, rather than fight back against those wild arms, he reached past them, to the core of her body, grabbing it, plunging his head toward her center mass, sucking from her tits, the sight of it emerging the light in lone seconds, his mouth hungry and cloying, as if reaching for milk in earnest, only finding bliss.
Dylan could have sworn, those giant tits, for the moments they emerged in the light, were once dry. Now they emerged, slick and wet, with the occasional froth on them, some of which leaked from the stranger’s mouth in an infantile oral fixation.
He slapped her a few times, the house becoming rich with the sound of it, and Dylan stood there, terrified of Charlie hearing it, of Charlie coming out and seeing him there, staring at the sight ahead, Dylan knowing he couldn’t explain it to him, and, more than that, he wouldn’t be able to pull his gaze away from the sight at hand to address his brother.
His mom was flipped over in front of him, and he saw her naked body, bare now, her dress, what was left of it, sitting torn open and hollow on the cushions. The man, having to have loosed his lower body while Dylan was fixated on his mom’s tits, plunged his thick, hairy thighs toward Gianna’s ass.
The man’s cock, beautiful in its aggression and twitching strength, disappeared inside the groaning Gianna. Her face was too distant from his ear, and her voice box too shaky within her bepumelled body to say anything without it coming out loudly, so she instead grunted in dissatisfaction. Not seeming to understand, this only spurred the man on more, finding in her defiance, her will to resist, her humiliation, his own sweet aphrodisiac, her every twitching muscle only brought him to thrust harder.
Her tits swung between light and darkness violently, at the whims of his thrusting. She grit her teeth there, as did her assailant. Dylan though, open-mouthed, only watched from the darkness. His dick throbbed within his underwear with an alien pleasure. As much shame as he felt to be enjoying this with such force, he felt an anger rising the second he notices her groans and grunts had become moans and panting. It wasn’t as if she had emerged from out one to find her place in another, but as if the two were the same, as if there was pleasure in her own discomfort, and, worst of all, as if this was no surprise to her.
She began to cum, and the man, not even believing it, almost feeling one-upped by it somehow, began to cum with her. The man’s body, like some marionette father figure, thrust forward with mechanical animalism until it was flush with Gianna’s ass, his balls twitching as they presumably emptied inside her.
“No….” she hissed with pleasure. “No….” her face betraying the words, her body taking in his seed, the source of his joy, sucking it from him until he was dry.
When he finally was, he fell on top of her.
They both lay there breathing, and the man, after some time, pushing his palm into Gianna’s lower back to lift himself, his face disappearing within the darkness. “Now, was that so hard?”
There was no answer from the lower strip of darkness. Only a noise. It was snoring. She had fallen asleep.
The man’s body leaned, it expressing an emotion to Dylan that the face could not now. His big hairy arm wound up and his hand met Gianna’s ass, giving it a farewell smack. Dylan saw the flesh of his mom’s ass, half-obscured, jiggle. The man got up, his body visible without a head, and Dylan watched as this faceless apparition hid itself again in civilian clothes. The man disappeared out into the night, and Dylan, not knowing how to feel, just stood there. His mom snored in the darkness.
He stared at her, seeing her form, making out its shape by what little of it was visible. He felt as if his emotions were a shore, and the waves which crashed against it were tainted with some rotten substance, perhaps an acid, or that they were an acid themselves, and the nipped and burned him, just as they tickled him too.
He slowly moved over to her, his scowl, growing more bitter with each step, come into the light. He fell back within the darkness himself, and soon enough, his palms filled with a glorious, delicious flesh. Not reducing his shame, not reducing his guilt, he just felt, and enjoyed feeling, anyways, large amounts of it filling within the nooks of his body, his palms, his thighs, his chin, his lips, and, pretty soon, his testicles and the head of his cock.
In no time, after grunting in the darkness for a bit to this ecstasy, he felt himself releasing. His penis head, poking into the light, emptied glimmering white cum all over the face of his mother, which sat now, as if in spotlight, at the very center of the light.
When Dylan’s nice and creamy nut finished with a final, thick drip against her face, feeling her breasts, big and bountiful, against his thighs, he stood there, breathing. His bare chest, shiny with sweat, showed each breath. But his face, whatever tale it told, was shrouded in black.
Gianna’s face, shut-eyed and peaceful, dripped with his brooding cum.
Charlie lay on his bed, his phone floating above him, held in his trembling fingers. His other set of fingers ran up and down his shaft. Above him, staring down at him, his mom, face and body, existed on that screen, every part of her in motion, her gigantic tits most of all. Charlie stroked his cock, his bottom lip open, his eyelids drooping.
The video finished and repeated from the beginning seamlessly, its lewd soundtrack repeating those same four bars:
“Big titties, ass fat
And you know I give up the kitty cat
Cock big, I opened wide
Choked on it, I almost died.”
Gianna’s body shook so violently with the beat, it almost looked like she would fall apart at any moment. This increased quality in cinematography had nothing to do with Charlie, and, despite how much he had hated being forced to film her at the beginning, part of him, as ashamed as he was to admit it, missed it.
Even just standing in front of her, pointing the camera at her, capturing her within it, almost felt like its own sex act, like he was participating in a new form of intimacy with his mother. The fact that she sometimes changed in front of him, offering only the barest attempts at covering herself as she did, added to this. He would sometimes rush her, as if they were on a schedule, to get her to be less guarded as she changed. It didn’t take much, and he’d often get a good look of an unobscured tit, or her buttcrack, each time he tried.
He was sometimes capture this on her camera, holding it before him for the next tik tok, but not posting this footage, only sending it to his own phone, which would beep and buzz audibly within his pocket as he did. He’d then rush her further, more urgently, so she wouldn’t connect the dots.
Those were the closest thing this nightmare had to their own glory days.
She was a big star now, and he could already feel himself growing cold with her shapely shadow. It was that ring camera sent to her by one of her “fans.” Charlie had found this particular fan’s account, seeing in it a pathetic obsession with his mother, one which, he wasn’t blind enough to miss, couldn’t only be a fraction as pathetic as his own. He understood this.
Even still, he couldn’t stop himself. He cycled through her deluge of content, her body shaking, jiggling, twisting, ass, waist, titties, thighs and all.
The outfits rode up her ass, or hugged it tightly, her cleavage bare and otherworldly in its gigantism. Charlie would find a video he liked, and, in the height of his horniness, would rub the face of his phone against his testicles. Occasionally, that would lead to him “like”ing the video when his testicles ran against the heart icon, which was fine, he watched his mom’s tiktok from an anonymous account.
Sometimes he wondered why he even needed to watch her videos. That very second, as he tapped the head of his throbbing cock against his phone’s face, his mother was dancing to another song in the living room. He would sometimes peek from down the hallway, seeing her keeping up with trends, her body a soldier in that service. Every challenge or popular dance, she was on it, adding herself to the pile, and each time she did, her pile of fascinated onlookers only grew. The few who didn’t recognize her from the infamous ZZaxx video would later find that video through searching for more of her content.
And the comments were like a codex for cruelty, almost 30/70 in the amount of shade they casted on the whole operation. Often they referred to her as a slut, or as a bad mother. And those were the bad comments. The “good” ones begged her to open up an Only Fans account.
Dylan, in his usual cruelty, would again try to reinforce the shame, as if he were her the amygdala she should have had, now incarnate, speaking to her face-to-face which only should have been mused about internally.
“What?” she’d say, indignant, almost certainly in earnest. “It’s just dancing…”
“Because it’s funny…” she’d say in response to her every activity. “Because it’s exercise,” in response to why she did push-ups, jumping jacks, or squats in the middle of the living room, with her phone on the coffee table.
“I’ve seen girls wear way worse than I do on there. Right Charlie? You’ve seen them. They wear way worse than mommy does.”
“By the way,” Dylan started dryly. “You might want to adjust that bikini top. They’ll ban you for nudity on there.”
She looked down, seeing her exposed nipple. She tucked it behind her barely-existent top with a giggle, looked over at Charlie, and winked innocently. “Pre-performance jitters,” she said. “Okay,” readying to start the video. “It’s…. showtime!”
Gianna’s new dress shone with an otherworldly sheen. It wasn’t anymore revealing than her usual attire (that would be impossible without breaking the law), but its shine, on account of its heavy price tag, somehow managed to frame her cleavage so that it appeared even larger than usual.
Charlie was despondent passing her in the hall. Her body even seemed, through some illusion, to take up a wider portion of it.
He slunk in the hallway, and only left when her heard the front door closing, nearing the window to watch her body, wrapped up like a gift, as it sashayed toward her car. Her ass looked back at Charlie as if to tease him.
“She’s a whore, isn’t she?”
Charlie almost thought those words came from his mom’s ass, and would have gone the rest of his life believing so, or believing he was crazy in that moment, if he didn’t feel the shock of a hand land on his shoulder.
He jumped.
He spun around to see a grinning Dylan. “It’s undeniable now.”
Charlie didn’t say anything, not able to scrape up the strength to do so, his vocal chords themselves already vibrating with insecurity, insecurity which would show if he spoke. There was also a part of him, some hidden part, which resented the fact that he was being forced to defend her yet again. He wasn’t able to examine the implication as to why that would bother him in the first place. All he did instead was shake his head.
Dylan, both with disappointment, but with a glimmer of hope that he wasn’t getting through to his naïve brother, said “here, let me show you.”
A few seconds later, they were sitting down. Charlie watched his brother log out from his social media accounts, and then, as adeptly as if they were his own, he logged onto Gianna’s Instagram. “This is pandora’s box we’re opening up,” Dylan said. “But… fuck it…”
He hit login, and, like some anomaly or glitch, the inbox sat there, wearing as scarlet letter of sorts, one which read “99.”
“Her messages are maxed out,” Dylan said dryly. “That’s been happening a lot lately. I wonder why…”
Charlie regretted shaking his head. He shook his head again anyways, digging deeper into his denial, even if he barely had any left to hold onto internally.
Dylan clicked on the inbox. The messages, being sent by men of all types and quality, filled the screen.
Dylan, theatrically, shot threw them with a careless thumb roll. Then again. Then again. The messages ran past in reflection in the glazed whites of Charlie’s eyes, which only became more glazy as more moisture accumulated.
“Hmm, let’s find a good one…” He apparently did, and he opened it up.
What upset Charlie the most, the most viscerally, was not the message from the man: “Good little whore. Is daddy gonna fill your whore pussy with my good stuff tonight?” which was vulgar enough. Instead it was his mom’s message in return. “Mommy like.”
Charlie’s face had already been white, but now it was showing the faintest hints of green.
Dylan ducked out of the DM’s, doing so quickly, as if he was ashamed to pry, and then he scrolled through, stopped, scrolled up, and found another name. “You recognize that one?” he said, his thumb hovering above the profile picture. Charlie did. He said nothing. “That’s the point guard for the Toronto Raptors.” He looked back down at the phone with a grin. “Maybe mom’s been giving him pointers on his jump shot.”
He clicked the message thread.
A picture of Gianna came up, her body hugged tightly, almost mercilessly, by the very same dress she had just left the house in. “Love the dress you sent me. No panties, just like you told me, daddy.”
“Nice,” was the reply.
“Am I a good girl.”
“Good enough. We’ll see how good you can be soon.”
Before Charlie could even breathe, he exited the chat (“define good”), and then scrolled through more.
A barrage of famous male names hit Charlie’s sights like grape shot. He wasn’t aware of it, but his mouth fell open more and more with each name he recognized, until he stood there with an almost hole in his face. There were influencers, Tik Tok, Instagram, and Youtube-famous, there. There were famous tech figures with big brains, famous athletes with big muscles, famous rappers with big bank accounts, and even famous pornstars with big cocks.
“Tip of the iceberg,” Dylan said, sending a chill through Charlie’s heart, dropping his stomach from a precipice. “Let’s take a look at her most famous date.”
Dylan scrolled down, and when Charlie saw the name there, his face went white.
“Fun ass night last night. Just thought you’d want this as a memento.”
ZZaxx’s face sat attached to the message. Below it was a video.
Dylan took one last satisfied breath before playing it. Charlie didn’t breathe at all.
Gianna’s body, nude and voluptuous, exploded into sight. Her beautiful pale skin was accentuated by the black-brown bodies which crowded around and against her.
When the first cock, big and throbbing, came into frame, Charlie felt his world crumble as if it were a square foot of dirt within him.
As the thighs, testicles, shafts, and cockheads pressed against her hips, thighs, ass, hands, tits, and mouth, as big black lips met hers, Charlie began to tremble, his cock stiffening in his pants even as he prayed it wasn’t real.
A cock, one from ZZaxx’s entourage, was pushed into her from behind until the man’s black hips pressed into the softness of her ass.
A cock came toward her face, and she smiled as she stared at it, her eyes wild with excitement, almost pure joy. She looked up at its owner, grunting childlike at it. Then, suddenly, she pounced. The cock filled her mouth, pushing in against her cheek. The sound of it in her throat was audible, even over all the other masculine moaning.
The camera panned, and, looking down at his source of pleasure, was the man of the hour. It was ZZaxx.
He looked at the camera, winked, and then looked back down at Gianna. “Yeah… suck that black cock.”
She mumbled something below, something which was muffled impossibly by the black cock which filled her mouth. Charlie knew what she had said though. “Yes baby.”
The two sons watched, with very different expressions, as their mom’s holes were stuffed. She was airtight between their black bodies, looking like some foreign captive, like some hopeless case of sexual slavery, with no hope of delivery or redemption. Yet, she existed between them a begging, quivering mess, her eyelids drooping with satisfaction, even at the warm wet touch of their cum falling to her face, tits, or ass cheeks.
Her thighs, long and majestic, almost looking too old-fashioned and golden era Hollywood to belong to a whore, were manhandled between them. She laughed at the twisting, turning, spinning of her body, seeing the same humor in it that they did. She knew, as her ass cheeks spread and the cum dripped from between them for the camera, how funny the visual would look, and laughed even as they stood, filming in near reverence.
Dylan seemed to share in the humor, he smiled at the image. Charlie looked as if her were about to die, the corners of his mouth dry and white, his breathing increasing to catch up to his extended moments of breathlessness.
Gianna almost seemed to be looking directly at him through the screen. Her smile, big and wide, almost as if in mockery of him, was crowded with black cocks which slapped against it. She barely flinched at the assault of these giant penises, but even when she did at the eyes, her smile barely moved. Then ZZaxx grabbed her by her head, forcing his cock into her mouth, facefucking her as Charlie watched.
Dylan exhaled in a way which almost sounded like a satisfied grunt. “Mom is taking it like a champ.” It came out in a low, deliberate whisper.
“Give it to me!” she begged. “Fuck my white ass. I want it. I need it!”
“Yes she does,” Dylan said, and, just as he did, ZZaxx did also: “Yes you do.”
“I’m a dirty white whore. I was built for this.”
“She fucking is, Charlie, isn’t she? She can’t even control herself, the fucking bitch.”
Charlie saw something move in her peripheral. He looked down to see Dylan’s cock twitching forcefully in his pants.
“Remember this every time you look at her, Charlie. She’s been ran through by black cocks. And still, we’re only at the tip of this iceberg. It goes down for miles. To the center of the earth.” He looked over at Charlie with a rage, one which hid an ecstasy behind it. “It’s the foundation of the earth. The loadbearing stone.” He looked back down at the screen, his expression as if her possessed. “Here,” he said. “Let me send this to you, so you can enjoy it later.” Charlie felt his phone buzz in his pants, vibrating against it stiff cock. “Watch it every night and remember what she is. Don’t run away from it.” He looked up at his brother with a vague intensity. “Embrace it.” He then looked down. His eyes were wet. “I can see you’ve already started.”
Charlie looked down to his cock twitching his pants. Dylan’s cock, not too distant, did the same.
Before Charlie could even do anything, before he could run from the room in panic and fear, Dylan called his attention back to the screen. “This is my favorite part.”
The black cocks crowded around Gianna’s face, but with some distance, as if they were worshippers reverent to some white, polished shrine. She seemed to wait there with expectation, expectation which made Charlie’s stomach drop into an oblivion.
The first cock went, and the others, as if they were rifles in a firing squad, went with it, and suddenly, multiple streams of piss shot toward Gianna’s happy face.
“Fuck yeah,” Dylan grunted in a low hum. “Piss on that bitch.”
“Yes,” Gianna said, her words slightly garbled as liquid bubbled against her lips. “Piss on me.” She sounded as deep into a haze as Dylan was now. The piss ran down like a torrent over her curves, falling from the ends of her giant breasts like waterfalls, the puddle of it forming beneath her shamefully, like a naughty dog, but the shame didn’t show on her face, not even for a moment. The cameraman rounded her, knowing he was capturing something special, and Charlie watched as the piss of multiple black man ran down the length of her back, and then split into three streams, two of which bounced off the edges of Gianna’s ass, one which ran down its center, spilling between her legs as if it were her own piss.
“Remember this next time she lectures you on anything,” Dylan hissed. “That mouth has drunk piss before. She’ll do it again too. That’s all she’s worth. She’s a glorified toilet. Don’t let the fact that she flushes all this down confuse you. That’s what toilets do.”
A black hand came down, spanking her ass. She nearly barked like a small dog, chipper and bright, even through the cum, piss, and matted hair. The kissing, which had been ubiquitous earlier on the video, had all but faded, and her lips, rather than those search for those kisses, knew they’d no longer come, and, judging by the smile which was formed by those lips, Charlie knew his mother was okay with this.
“She deserved it,” Dylan said. “Good for her. She deserves more. She deserves…” he seemed to stall for only a moment, shocking even himself. “She deserves rape.” He began to laugh. “Gang rape.”
Charlie looked on at his brother, his mouth dropping.
“At gun point. She deserves to have all her holes stretched until they don’t even work any more. I hope they kick her in the head, just to feel that asshole tighten on their cocks. When they’re done, they can store her in a crate, just stuff her in there like trash. Take her out whenever they need her holes.
Dylan threw his phone on the counter, and began to go for his pants, his cock raging visibly behind them.
Charlie took that as his cue to leave the room. He cleared the door, only catching the faintest glimpse of Dylan’s cock falling free. He would never forget, even though he saw it within a millisecond, the rage inherit in the way it throbbed.
He had dreaded the video sent to his phone, but some part of him was grateful that night when he opened it up, undid his belt and pants, and lay there, watching the video while he stroked himself.
He couldn’t believe this was his world now. It wasn’t just his mother who he’d view differently, not just his brother either, but himself. He lay in the darkness, illuminated only by the video itself. The black lower halves looked great against her familiar white body. Some primal part of him, some gene which had been bashed until it was embedded in dirt, raged within him. He had felt so confident and eager, so prone to seeing and relating to the brightness of life. Now he felt like a worm, jerking off to the reality he had ignored for so long, his former confidence, and then some, reflected in the black bodies on screen. The colossal joke of it all reflected on his mom’s joyous smile, even as a thick wad of cum emerged from that black penis head and dripped onto her waiting face, her eyes shut, her head turning slightly from side to side, happier than anyone he had ever seen.
That next morning, Charlie emerged from his room to the sound of whistling. He stared down the hallway to that disembodied sound. Then the sound found body, and that body, thick and voluptuous, still in her dress, passed by.
“Cleaning…” he murmured to himself.
She emerged again, back within the frame of the hallway, holding a broom and dustpan.
She then turned and looked. Charlie froze.
The image of that face, those black cocks slapping against it, came back to him vividly.
He felt guilt overcoming him, reading horrors into the Rorschach of her vague expression.
Then the vaguery disappeared. She smiled. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
A dozen bikinis, tops and bottoms both, sat on the coffee table. Everything had been cleared to the sides, and it was this sight that caused Charlie to gulp. For a flash of a second, the image of his mom’s open ass cheeks, cum dripping down from between them, came to his mind. “You know how to set up a livestream, right?”
“You know how to set up a livestream, right?”
He didn’t answer, but she read into his blank expression that he did.
Charlie blushed as his mother stood within the hallway, away from his sight, trying on her bikini. Her clothing sat there at the hallway’s edge, hinting at her nudity. He stood behind the camera, unable to moved forward, even for a wonderful, unbroken peek of her obscured by hallways darkness.
When she came out - her body nearly exposed, her gigantic tits almost falling from the embrace of her bikini cups, the sway of her lower half, its overwhelming mass, making her feel as good as nude, even if she wasn’t - she did so with a smile, one which froze and then faded when she noticed her son’s blushing face. “Oh, sweety,” she said. “Are you sick?”
Charlie, shocked by her obliviousness, even shocked at himself for being shocked, said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
She came up to him, her body moving with a double motion, forward and with static jiggling. “You look sick.” Her fingers met his cheek.
“Mom.”
“Yes, sweety?”
“Do you think you should be…” He looked down. Her giant titties sat below him, as if they were the distant but unignorable earth, and he was hanging from a ledge in terror and awe.
She looked down. “This!?” she said, her hand falling from his face. He felt the absence of those fingers, and was shocked by the sudden sense of acute loss. She giggled. “Baby, you’ve seen me wear a bikini plenty of times. What is there to be embarrassed of!?” She looked up at him with a brow-furrowing which displayed her incredulity, her playful superiority to his angst. “Besides,” she said, and her every ounce of beautiful flesh jiggled at her shifting her weight. “This is work. I’m making money on this. Some company. Some brand of bikinis for larger women.” She looked down at her huge breasts, destroying any vagaries in what the term ‘larger’ meant. “I kind of think it’s cool. People might think I’m selling out. But..” she looked up, her eyes almost looking like Amy’s in their cute squinting. “Don’t bigger gals need something like this. Lord know I do.”
Charlie nearly gulped. His mind, furious just inches form his mother’s face, was filled with the thought of that face, her ‘bigger’ness below it, being slapped by the sturdy confidence of multiple cocks, as black as they were long, her mouth, like a vacuum, moving toward each and every one she could find, sharing the wealth, her lips and throat both.
As Charlie sat at the dining room table, his homework before him unmolested, his mom’s phone sat mounted in front of him. It recording her now, live and unedited. Burning in his own flesh, he watched his mother flaunt before the camera, her image before him twice. “Oh!” she giggled, looking down at the screen of her laptop, addressing one of its many, fast-passing comments. “Maybe in the next life you can a bikini then.”
Charlie cringed.
She cupped her breasts, and jiggled them, testing the give of the bikini. She looked back up. “My bikini!?” she said. “You want to be my bikini! Oh!” She jiggled her tits for the camera. Charlie’s dick, in betrayal of his emotions, slid stiff through his pants at the sight. “Top or bottom?” she asked with a grin. “Both! Wow, what greed. It’s okay,” she said, reaching for her strap from behind, her viewers, almost certainly, breathless watching. “We can just pretend for today.” She stepped out of frame. Charlie looked up, watching, as if he were a ghost or a fly on the wall, as his mom’s bikini top came loose, falling from her giant tits, which sat exposed in the morning light. She loosened her bikini bottoms with it, her pussy visible to him, and then she turned around, bending over, to grab from her pile of new bikinis. Her big ass, as nude as her viewers wanted it to be, bent over, expanding with its stretching flesh, giving beautiful shape to her butt-cheeks, and lengthening the line of the buttcrack between them.
Charlie, despite the acidic bubbling within, felt himself taken by a wave of ecstasy.
“Just wait guys,” she called. “I haven’t abandoned you just yet.”
Her nudity was covered by new fabric, and she jumped before the camera, emerging in its frame with a violent jiggle. She looked down at herself. “Not too shabby, if I say so myself.” Her fingers and thumbs rand against the strings. “Hmm,” she mused. “I wonder…” she began to tug at the string. Her big breasts gave to these tugs, moving out of shape and back again. “Yeah,” she said. “Very sturdy.” She let go, and her breasts fell, jiggling into their usual place. “They have to be to support these puppies.”
Charlie could imagine those ‘puppies’, as he had seen them only last night, covered, dripping, with cum. He knew that, ultimately, this is what her ‘fans’ were here to see. That to see the video he had, with its events that they knew too well (more than he knew only recently) to be a fact of history, would be their holy grail. They wanted his mom, not only nude, but fucking, and not only fucking, but blacked. And they didn’t want one black cock in or on her, they wanted many. They wanted his mom, her every inch of flesh and beauty, utilized in a sexual pummeling, one definitive in its finality, its pushing to the sweetest depths of bliss.
She stood before the camera, bending down to pick up the description she dropped. “Whoops!” she said. Her tone of voice signalled to Charlie’s bitter mind that she understood what she was doing, and this only made Charlie angrier, and more aroused, as he watched her big tits, their cleavage stretching forth, within the frame of that phone before him.
He had seen black cocks run through that cleavage.
His pen, once placed to the page, was now poking a hole through it. His brother’s words came back to him. “A slut, Charlie. That’s all she is.” The sound of her panting and thrashing and moans, the sight of her feet as she scrambled to get stable on the couch, both to keep herself up, and to position herself for more of what ZZaxx and his crew were giving her. Even now, as she stood there with false formality, ease, and dignity, he could see the scrambling toes in her spirit rushing toward that same end.
“Let’s get to the next one,” she said, again reaching for the strap of her bra.
She stepped out of frame, and as Charlie watched her tits and ass again coming free before him, as if he weren’t even there, he heard his brother as if he were sitting next to him, whispering in her ear. “Accept it. Our mom is a slut.” His eyes scanned over her naked body, taking in its every rogue inch. “Whatever she gets…” Flashes of her being fucked. “…she deserved.” She screamed, the bodies around her, rather than groping, now grabbed, tugging her between them. She screeched, one of the black hands grabbing her by her hair, tugging her upward, her massive tits jiggling from the violence, her pussy lifted from a black cock, which fell, wet with her lust, against the sternum of the man it belonged to. She was thrust toward another. “No!” she screamed. Rape, the word Dylan had said, repeated itself, with stark acoustics, in Charlie’s mind.
Gianna, now clothed, came back into the shot. “This one’s nice. What do you guys, think?” She nodded. “Oh, some of you are baaaad! No, no. It can support me. What are you even talking about. Here, let me show you.” She suddenly jumped, Charlie saw it as if it were in slow motion. Her grin, oblivious and wide, and it stayed that way, for almost a full second, after her feet fell to the ground, and her tits, their size too big to be contained, flopped loose, jiggling, exposed nipples and all, into sight.
Charlie felt a sudden flushing thrill, and then a rising and darkening shame. His face, despite his need to look, fell within the lap of his own arms, upon his unfinished schoolwork. The unconscious mark he made with his pen, doing so for minutes now, sat next to his hidden face, its shape big and round, almost reminiscent of Gianna’s breasts themselves, which were, even now, being distributed with the speed of technology. Before she could even get the top back on, her Tiktok account was gone.
Charlie was happy, his mom’s tiktok obliterated, his worries, right at their peak, maybe in response to that peak (and those ‘peaks’), being alleviated.
He felt a peace, as strange as it was, sitting on his bed, jerking off to that final moment, its immortality reproduced on every porn site he knew of. The comments below were ravenous, joyously so. But as bad as they were, they were like water off of his duck feathers, and he massaged his cock to the thought that it would never get any worse.
Earlier that day, he heard Dylan in the kitchen with his mother, heard them talking, heard them joking. Almost like old times. Her voice was a little strained, a little upset from the drip of fame she had lost, but she at least seemed to have forgotten, at least in the midst of conversation. It was almost as if they were mother and son, like they used to be. Like they always should have been.
Charlie sat with his mother’s image before him, reliving his own humiliation, reliving his old pain, her tits frozen their moment of her undoing. He had a dozen other files, including clips of his mom being blacked. He heard Gianna in the living room, her heels on the coffee table as she cracked open another beer, its cap falling carelessly to the floor (she would probably step on it later and act as if it were unforeseeable). He sat looking at her, her nipples like googly eyes in their moment of shock. “This one last time,” he murmured to himself, and he jerked off to the video of her ravishing. He came at exactly the same moment as Zzaxx, his cockhead being licked by Gianna’s mischievous tongue, bust within her mouth.
After he was finished, he shut the video off, closed the file, closing its folder with it, somehow, conveniently, forgetting to delete it, like he promised himself he would. He turned over, not just away from the computer, but away from himself.
Charlie’s heart was at peace now, and even healing, until he came upon his doorstep about a week later. When he touched his doorknob, he could hear rap music from within. And though this wasn’t proof of anything, and he knew that, he still felt an uncomfortable glimmer. He shook it off, making it all that much harder for himself when he opened the door, stepped within, and saw his mom, as naked as she once was off camera, standing before her ring camera, her body in perfect unison with the beat of the song.
He stood there for a moment, staring, watching her body, taken by the sway and stopping of her hips, jiggle in the living room, the unjudging eyes of the camera watching her.
It was only when he, out of habit, shut the door behind him, that she stopped, spun around, her big tits swinging with her, and looked at her son, a pink hue rising to her face. “Charlie!” she said, surprised, embarrassed. “Sweety.”
“What are you….”
“Oh,” she said, moving toward her son, doing so as if she wasn’t naked, her body then next to his, her hand on his shoulder, almost playfully. “I’m just being goofy, sweety.”
Charlie looked past her, seeing the camera, and she knew he could see it. “How was your day?” she asked, embracing him, her chest, naked against his, her tits, their size so big he lost all perspective, squeezing against his heart.
She let go of him, looked him in his eyes in a way that was strictly motherly, stroked his face, then turned around. He watched her, her ass cheeks at war with one another at every step, as she moved to her camera and shut it off.
She then went around the house, doing chores (her version of chores), completely nude. Charlie felt as if she had failed to put clothes on as her way of making whatever it was he had caught her doing seem innocuous. Because of that, with dread still in his heart, he floated around the living room and kitchen, wanting to be as close to her nudity, to steal as many glances at it, to even (twice) brush past it, feeling her against him again.
Her nudity thrilled him, her blushing chest and butt cheeks, and he almost resented it taking this long, and with such horrible baggage, to get to see it so often. He almost wished now that he had Dylan’s bravery, which he would have once referred to as shamelessness, to touch and grab his mother more brazenly. To even get nude with her, to wrestle her, and to act as if she were the crazy one when she suggested he stop.
The R-word suddenly came to his mind, but she shook it off as soon as it occurred.
He then watched his mother, grinning awkwardly, as she grabbed a towel and went to the bathroom.
Her ass again in luscious civil war with itself, until she closed the bathroom door. He headed to his room.
He quickly, despite his arousal, checked her tiktok. To his horror it was reinstated. But his horror soon left him at realizing all her newest video were, in some way, more innocent than what had came before. He drew in a giant sigh of relief, which was then choked halfway when he saw the latest video’s caption. “If you guys enjoy this video, and would like the ‘other’ version, click here:” Next to the message was a link.
Below, the comments seemed to share in a common ecstasy: “Finally!” is what the top one said, and every comment beneath it seemed to share in that same sense of redemption.
Charlie clicked on her link, and when he saw that emblem come up, his stomach dropped.
Only Fans
His mom’s body, as nude as he had caught it moments earlier, stood naked in a video. He clicked on it, seeing five seconds of her dancing, before the video stopped, asking him to subscribe for more.
Behind her, in the now-still image, he saw a row of various dildoes, half of them black, he knew, in his deepest dread, that they were there for a reason.
This would be the first Only Fans Charlie had subscribed to.
The first video he got for his hard earned money, was his mother’s ass, poking out at the camera, the beat dropping, and her cheeks, with each twerk to the beat, vibrating impossibly.
He had lost track of the time which passed, and lost track of the amount of money his mom must have been raking in (their money troubles would be gone now), as he lay on his bed, in a fever of horrible lust, enjoying each video.
Every room in his house, except for Dylans and his own (and he was almost surprised by this), had been tarnished with her own lack of respect for herself, the every inch of their living space open for the eyes of these perverse, paying men, their cocks enjoying what Zzaxx had.
As he watched, his anger grew. And then he heard the door of the bathroom swing open. His rage at the human being which moved through that door, whistling as if the world were fine, burst free. He leapt off his bed, reached his door and tore it open.
Gianna, at hearing the violence behind her, dropped her towel in fright and spun around.
Charlie moved toward her, her nudity, her shock, not stopping his momentum one bit. “Only Fans!?” he demanded.
“What?” she said, her arms shooting out to the side in her usual animated fashion. “It’s just for bikini pics? Just so I don’t have the same issue as last-“
Charlie was about to open his mouth, about to contradict her, when he realized what he’d be admitting to.
Gianna found confidence in his sudden silence, and her body language reflected it. “I mean, everyone does it these days…” she shrugged, looking up at him with innocent eyes, though he failed to even see the illusory innocence there, no longer believing she had any shred of it.
They stood there, his mom, nude before him, but, in his rage, he couldn’t even find a way to enjoy it. Either that or he had become so used to her being nude it was beginning to mean nothing.
“Speaking of,” she said. “I’m going to need the living room. Mommy’s gotta put on a show.”
When Charlie turned around to head back to his room, he felt as if his own silence were a pact to the devil. He closed his door behind him, his mother’s luscious nudity now shrouded in darkness. Only her shape would have been visible now, but as a second past, the barest traces of light reflecting off her teeth could be seen, their window in the shape of a smile.
Charlie lay on his bed, staring, drunk with anger and with lust, as his mother stood there on her livestream, wearing a uniform he could only identify as something a stripper would wear. It hurt extra bad, as the alert for her show (“on the other site”) that she posted on TikTok and Instagram was of her in her sweater.
Now she stood there, her view count climbing, and her body nearly bare. She had a wine glass before her, and she had emptied it down her gulping throat twice. It was half full now. The bottle sat next to it, its curves failing to meet those of Gianna’s.
“Wine aunt!?” she exclaimed, in response to a comment in her chat. She took another sip of wine, throwing her hair back with her other hand. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be your wine aunt if you want.” She scanned over the chat, visibly excited by its activity and the eyes which is implied. “Shake e-“ She leaned forward, shaking her tits. Many of the comments begged her to drink more. They seemed to pick up on her tipsiness and saw the opportunity in it being prodded on further.
“That’ll be five dollars, Megatron,” she said, and took another tip, emptying the glass. As she steadied it back on the table, grabbing the bottle for more, Charlie looked at the comments.
“Show them,” was what ‘Megatron’ had asked.
Charlie stared at it bitterly, and before he could even figure out what to feel, a comment popped up with a carnival ding. “Megatron has tipped $5 dollars.”
“And there it is!” Gianna said, her voice coming first through Charlie’s door before he heard it from the stream. “Five buckaroos.” She stood up, and pulled her bra up, her tits falling free before the silent cheering of her chat, its volume scrolling past like an active tank tread.
Another ding, another five dollars.
“Okay,” she said. “The people have spoken!” She slammed the table. “Bra off. Completely.” She threw it off screen carelessly, and Charlie could imagine it falling by the front the door.
The festivities continued, and Charlie, his pants pulled to his kneecaps, could only watch it, gritting his teeth through his own shame and pleasure.
“I used to be a stripper,” she said, slurring her S’s. She shook her tits back and forth. “How did you know?” She said it without sounding too sarcastic, and then she laughed hardily. She hoisted her tits up on her palms. “Used to make quite a lot of money with these bad boys.” She was breathing heavily, her expression going flat. “Look at ‘em,” she said, with stress in her speech. She jiggled the tits with a quick motion. Then again. “Fuckin’… I see why you guys like ‘em. I wanna…” she began to laugh, and fell back on her ass. “I wanna kiss ‘em.” She leaned down, kissing her tits. Then she began to lick them. It was as if she were in a world all her own, as if she needed no outside push, her lips and tongue finding her nipples and making sweet love to them. She then looked up, distracted by a ding.
Charlie looked to the comments, already sweating.
It was a one hundred dollar tip. “Why don’t you relive your viral moment for us. Do it nice and up close.”
She stared at it, her breasts cradled, like pillows beneath her chin. Her curiosity slowly gave way to a creepy, crawling grin.
She began to stand up, and Charlie felt himself like an ant crouching within her gathering, gaining shadow. “Don’t’ mind if I do.” She stumbled, then she turned around, her ass swinging into view, one cheek pushing against the other in its inertia as she settled, struggling to stand up straight.
She bent over, and with her buttcheeks already dangerously close to the camera, she spread them open, giving her fans an up and close view of her butthole.
Charlie lay there, no longer even jerking off, just watching it fill his screen. The lens of the camera must have been between her giant two cheeks, as when she lost her grip on them, they clapped over it, eclipsing the sight of everything.
Everyone could hear the sound of her flesh sliding against the mic as she pulled her ass loose, turned around with a smile and started clapping.
The chat was eager to draw attention to Gianna’s unique form of ASMR.
“Asmir?” she repeated it as if it were a word. She squinted as if trying to figure it out. “Ass mmm yours?” she began laughing at whatever that meant in her head.
Suddenly, and with a loud bang, she fell to her ass, looking over at the front door with shock.
Charlie had heard the bang, but not from the stream, the microphone going dead for a second at that sudden burst of noise.
Gianna looked over and upward, her eyes, even through their glaziness, giving way to a childlike fear. “Dylan!” she said.
His shadow fell over her. “What the fuck are you doing?” He had asked it, his voice raised, but not yelling, disgusted, but not surprised.
“What did I-“
“Only Fans!?” He demanded.
She said nothing, only staring up.
“Only Fans!?”
She then turned, and, despite the concern of her chat, shut down the stream.
Charlie was left staring at a plain message: This Stream Has Ended.
“Do you hear me!?”
He could hear Dylan loud and clear through his door.
“What the fuck goes on in your head?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You never did,” he said. “It’s like I’m the parent.”
Charlie could hear a ruffling, an angry one, but when he heard Dylan’s voice come back, he realized, it was the sound of Gianna getting up to her feet.
“Wait-“ Dylan said. “That’s… you were wearing that when…”
Charlie would never know, but Dylan had seen the outfit which hung in tatters now from Gianna’s flanks, he had seen it when she had come home, absolutely ravaged, making a clown of herself in front of Dylan’s friends in the basement years ago. Even Gianna didn’t know what he was talking about.
Charlie snuck to his door, his heart beating out of his chest, his mouth dry with nervousness, with his intense fear of conflict. He slowly opened the door to see everything looked exactly like he imagined it. They were both upright, with Dylan standing a few inches taller, looking down at his mother, her body nude close to his.
“Dylan,” she said. “You’re very disre-“
Dylan’s hand came up with a sudden motion, slapping Gianna in her shocked face. The sound reverberated down the hallway. Charlie rushed forward, rushing toward the sight of his mom’s shock, and the rage in his brother’s eyes.
That’s when Gianna looked up, seeing him there. All she said was “Charlie…” And Dylan, apparently unable to control himself, pounced on her.
Her held her down by her wrists, and her chest poked upward as she grunted and exhaled. “No…. no…” Her tits rubbed, smushing against Dylan’s chest. Dylan then, wrapping two of her wrists in his one hand, used his other to tug her thigh around himself.
“Oh mommy” Dylan said, his hand running against her outer thigh. “Mommy…” his teeth grit within his shut mouth. “You fucking bitch.”
Both his hands came down, gripping her naked thigh, ignoring her fighting hands. Charlie could hear Dylan’s belt buckle being unloosened, and in not time, his brother’s pants were down.
Dylan’s eyes shone both with a rage and with a disbelief, but also with a focus, as he seemed to be trying to do something. It was only once he had done it that Charlie realized what that something was.
Dylan’s pelvis thrust forward in a sudden jerk, and his eyes showed a sudden pleasure, just as Gianna’s showed horror.
“Oh fuck!” he said. “It’s… it’s just what I thought it would be…”
He began thrusting.
“Dylan… stop…”
“You fucking bitch. You deserve this…”
Charlie watched, weak and frozen both, as his brother raped his mother in front of him.
Gianna’s body, in its lusciousness, did her no favors, the resistance in her face itself so beautiful that Charlie, even in his world-shattering fear, which was more than enough to keep him frozen in place, also felt a rising excitement, one, in it is multiple taboos, beyond any he had felt. A tremble, one ecstatic as it was violent, rose to his throat and chin, pushing up into his tongue like electricity, his breathing like fire, his hips trembling.
“Yeaahh!” Dylan moaned, with real joy, his voice vibrating outward rather than being spoken or yelled. “You need this. You need this rape. That’s what whore need. Take it.” His thrusting was animal-like and cruel, completely in keeping with his personality. Completely in keeping with his simmering rage, always manifesting itself in the least direct ways, its pathway to relief always so strange. But, Charlie thought, never this strange.
Gianna struggled beneath him, failing to get loose, both from drunkenness and from her female weakness. Her son kissed and licked her chin and cheek, sometimes going lower, sucking her breasts.
“Please stop!”
It was as if that was a invitation to be worse. His bottom lip protruded, Neanderthal like, as his thrusting became more vulgar and victorious. Her occasional bouts of kicking only jiggled her big tits, and when Dylan backed up a bit to admire their shaking: “Yeah, shake those bad boys,” he grunted. Gianna stopped.
Dylan then got those legs over his shoulder, her feet hanging there, and he gained leverage over her, his feet on the couch cushions, and he began to pound into her, her body like a ball on the couch, her face at its bottom straining with humiliation and pain.
Charlie could see Dylan’s cock now entering into his mom’s pussy, her giant ass jiggling with each rough thrust, the house filling with its smacks. Dylan began laughing while trying to catch his breath. “You fuckin’ bitch. You fuckin’ bitch. You… this suits you so much.” His laughing accentuated the slapping noises and the motion of his pelvis. “Look at her, Charles. She’s not a stripper. She’s a clown.”
Charlie looked at her, looking in her eyes, her strained face, her red cheeks, her tufts of hair which fell over her eyes. She really was exactly like how Dylan described her. Her tits, compressed against her thighs, pushed into her chin to add to the spectacle.
Then Dylan spit into her face, and it was no different than a big red cherry on top of a comically large sundae.
Dylan then, without barely slowing down, grabbed her ankles, gripped them, and threw them loose. She rolled backwards, and he grabbed her, stabilized her, and positioned her to mount her from behind.
He thrust in, giving her no moment to find shelter. “Ooh,” he said. “It’s so good.” His thrusting picked up. “I know you don’t feel as blessed, mom,” he said. “But some of us just have average equipment. We can’t all be rappers.”
Charlie watched his mom’s ass giving in its fleshy purity to Dylan’s bony thrusts.
“Oh fuck,” Dylan said. “I’m about to cum.”
“Not inside! Not inside!” She demanded. “I’ll get pregnant.”
Dylan’s thrusting didn’t slow down, instead he just kept laughing. “Not only are you a slut,” he said, his mouth opening in wonderful orgasm.
Charlie watched the moment with eyes wide, feeling a sinking drag in his stomach. Dylan’s thrusting slowed down, his body fell, his pelvis sliding against their mom’s ass.
Satisfaction seemed to come, all without anything resembling guilt. “You can’t fool me,” he said, with his eyes shut and satisfied. “You’re on birth control.” His breathing was steady and deliberate. “If you weren’t, you would have been pregnant already.”
The three of them stayed where they were. Gianna then, finally, decided it was time to leave, to find whatever dignity she had left.
That’s when Dylan grabbed her by her hair. He pulled back, his cock coming loose, as hard as it had been (it had been hardening within her as he waited) and he spoke: “The first one was for me!” His cock twitched. “This one’s for Charlie.”
Charlie’s eyes went wide as his brother’s cock pushed into the very same asshole which had earlier filled his laptop screen.
Dylan began thrusting, his mother groaning, more in shame than in pain, her body already used to it. Dylan gripped harder onto her hair, pulling it, redirecting her gaze toward the end of that hallway, where Charlie, exactly where he had almost witnessed something similar before, stood.
Dylan’s lower half, vulgar and in constant, thrusting motion, redirected itself (without even slowing down in its thrusts) pushing Gianna’s body so that she faced Charlie more directly. Charlie looked on, looking at her reddening face, her eyes which grew wet, as her ass flesh gave to his brother’s humping behind her, the rotation as he guided her only making his thrusts seem that much more naked, depraved, and erotic.
“Charlieee,” Dylan called without looking at his brother. “Charlieeee. Look at mommy. Isn’t she something.” The plaps of their moms ass accompanied his speech. “Just what she deserves.”
Gianna looked at her son, looked at Charlie, into his soul, her eyes now spilling with water, weeping with a straight mouth, in a way Charlie had never seen her before. Her beautiful face, both marred and enhanced by tears, the humiliation in her eyes, painful and wonderful to behold, and then, before Charlie could manage to conjure any sympathy at all, he saw it, and felt déjà vu as he did, her expression.
It changed in an instant, becoming how he had seen it in the video his brother sent him. A wave of ecstasy shot through her, just as it did with Zzaxx’s black body behind her, fucking her the way Dylan was now.
Her mouth fell open, her eyes rolled back into her head. And just like that, she had gone from needing sympathy from her son, a defence, to being one with Dylan’s conspiracy, though unwittingly, to make her appear just as she actually was. Her body vibrated, throttled by the ecstasy of her own soul. “Yes…” she said lowly, softly, as if she had buried it beneath any and all awareness. But they both heard. And Dylan, without even looking at his brother, only knowing they had heard the same thing, only smiled.
Charlie saw the first splash against Dylan’s thighs. His mother was cumming, cumming to her son raping her. It was a Greek tragedy, but not one between the three reacted as such, with even Charlie, gritting his teeth, enjoying the look on his mom’s face, the look of her ass and thighs and her swinging globular tits.
“Yes, yes!” she said, devolving into her own ecstasy, gripping the cushion. “Harder. Harder, baby!” Dylan spanked her ass and she moaned. “Take it, mommy!”
“I will.”
“Take it!”
“I… will…”
As Gianna lay there, mangled within her own humiliation, Dylan walked off, past his brother, only giving him a pat on the shoulder before heading off to his bedroom. Gianna lay there, her body, its wonderful shape, curled up, her pussy and asshole leaking with Dylan’s cum, almost as copiously as her eyes leaked with tears and lips with drool.
She clutched the throw pillow against her face, and began to weep into it, almost animalistically, in a way that Charlie had never heard before, its unbroken note occasionally squeaking, almost clownlike.
Charlie watched her for a bit, feeling the tug of every squeak, but he saw her in this moment exactly how Dylan had trained him to, possibly liberated him to. His heart was hard. But then came another squeak, her frame shaking, her flesh jiggling, and his heart was softer. Then another. Then another.
Gianna felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, seeing only a shadow. “Dyl-“ she said, before clearing her tears.
Charlie stood above her, his face filled with compassion and love. “Let’s go, mom.”
He guided her, her body stumbling naked next to his. He felt her tits against his shoulder, her wide hips against his own, and he guided her to her bathroom. He looked down and then behind them as they went, and he saw the trail she left. Dylan’s cum.
They went into the bathroom and Charlie placed her in the tub. Her breath smelled like wine. Her body, despite the sweat, the cock, and the cum, smelled like perfume, and he wondered why she would wear perfume for a video. He would never truly understand her. He wasn’t sure she even understood herself. Her grabbed her calves and lifted her feet onto the tub. She looked up at him, happy to be guided by him. He turned on the tap, and she shivered at the cold touch of the water, but Charlie felt it with his fingertips until it went warm, and then he watched as his mother’s body was engulfed in that warm embrace. She sat there, holding herself like an embryo. The water passed her shape, distorting it, expanding it, like all beneath its surface was her.
Dylan then rolled up his sleeves, reached in, and began to wash her. He began with her thighs, soaping them up beneath the water, glimmers of light running past his arms as he did. He let his hands run down her smooth flesh, down to her calves, washed them, then her moved up, washing her hips, letting his hand fall down the sides of her ass. He moved up to her breasts, pushing against them with the bar of soap. Feeling them, his mouth open, allowing himself to, allowing her to know he was. He guided the bar of soap up to her shoulders and neck with one hand, but kept the other massaging her breasts.
When he was finished, her grabbed her ankles and lifted her upward til she rolled back a little (she rested her head on the tubs end), and he soaped up her ass, making sure, again, to get his feel of it. When they were done, he escorted her, as she shivered in her towel, to her bedroom.
After laying her there, her body bare, she looked up at him through the haze and healing humiliation.
Her hand stroked the side of his face. She leaned up, kissing him on his cheek. “You’re such a good boy, Charlie,” she said softly. “Mommy’s good boy.”
“We both are, mom.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes closed. “Just you.” Her breathing began to get slower. “Just you…” And with that, she had fallen asleep.
Charlie stared at her beautiful face, its features peaceful in sleep. He knew not what existed in that mind, he never would. He looked down at her body, voluptuous, almost large in what it offered, but never losing in its femininity.
He knew he shouldn’t, knew he had already taken what he should. But when he heard her words reverberate in his mind: good boy, a sudden tension took hold. He imagined his mother, her asscheeks spreading open for the camera, the sound they made as she pulled them back. He thought of his brother, the look on his face, and the thrusts in his body, as he ravaged his own mother.
“Good boy,” Charlie repeated.
His hands moved down to her breasts. He grabbed one. He began to feel it.
“Good boy.” His hand slid down her chest, down her sternum, then it found her pubic region, rubbed against it, and then he plunged his fingers within, feeling her warmth. He began to finger her, feeling her wetness come, like cavalry, almost immediately, as if it was a foregone conclusion that it would happen.
In no time, Charlie was naked on his mother’s bed, his body pressed flush against hers, feeling her flesh against him, feeling an ecstasy, one too good to be true, as her phat gave to his every squeeze and prodding. Her every inch, was his now, though he was the last to experience it. An hour had past, his palm, cock, and lips finding every exciting length, nook, and curve, his mouth eating the very ass his cock, moments before, had been sandwiched between the cheeks of.
Good boy, her velvety voice repeated to him in his mind.
He leaned over her, his cock hanging above her face. He nodded. “Good boy,” the first thick wad fell on her face. “Bad mom.” More came afterward, dropping to her squinting eyes, her lips protruding outward as the cum dripped.
The final drop fell. Charlie flicked it against her cheek to make sure it was done. He then got up, gathered his stuff, and his last act before leaving the room: he gave his mom a hardy smack on her ass.
“Bad mom,” he repeated at the doorway. She lay there, an unaware husk. He shut the door.