top of page

Caught in the Act


The shadow of the building had cast itself on the railing of the balcony for just long enough that your mom could rest her arms on it without issue. Even still, its leftover heat could be felt through her skin. If there was one thing she needed more of, it was not heat. The week had been hot enough. Too hot if anything. She had spent an unfortunate amount of time this vacation under the showerhead, receiving its cool spray against her overhot skin.


As she stood on that balcony, overlooking the pool and bar area, two kids from next door glared out of their hotel room, having the opportunity do so brazenly now that their mom was in the shower, and they both filmed the attractive lady standing on the next door balcony with their phones.


They had just reached the age of puberty, their hormones buzzing inside them, adding to the force of the heatwave. Your mom’s butt devouring their obsessive minds, just like it devoured the seat of her bathing suit, ever since they’d first seen it, her body exploding into the resort, first in tight-fitting jeans, a style which made much more sense coming from the January you and your family had been living through back home in Buffalo. They only counted down every minute until they saw that ass in a bikini. Having seen it now, they would be having dreams about your mom’s ass for the rest of their lives.


Your mom only stood there on that balcony, oblivious to the fact that she was being watched, wanting the sun to go down, or for it to catch one of the two stray clouds gliding through the sky. She was oblivious to the many pairs of eyes which spotted her from a distance. A creepy old man sat on a lawn chair down below, laying next to his sleeping wife by the pool, looking up at your mom with that shamelessness which only came with age. Not eager to hide anything, not even his cock, which throbbed in his swim wear.


The two kids, giggling to each other, knowing that their mom would be occupied for many minutes more in the shower, leaving them free to gawk at yours, suddenly heard a deliberate thudding noise, made with the intention of being noticed. They dropped their phone and felt their bodies tighten up from sudden shock and terror at being discovered in what they assumed was a shameful act.


“Room service!”


The help came in, a young man, nodding to the two innocuous boys laying down on the bed.


“It’s hot outside,” he said to them. “You’re resting in the air condition?” His English was broken.


One of the boys nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, and he picked at his thumbnail as if unoccupied with anything else.


As the help began replacing towels, he caught bare flesh in his peripheral. He looked up and through the sliding glass door, to the woman standing on the balcony of the neighboring room. He looked down and folded his towels. He looked up again.


The two boys looked at him. When he caught them staring at him, he looked back down.


Your mom only stood there, unaware that she was being watched. Unaware just how many eyes her ass drew to it with a pull more gravitational than magnetic.


Besides the attention she got from her husband, your dad, she had no idea how much headspace her ass took up in the minds of other men. And maybe that was for the best. If she knew how much her soft body did for so many, her beautiful curves would be crushed down into a jagged diamond just from the pressure of this knowledge alone.





You leaned there, your mouth hanging open, your eyes made wide, staring at it as it sat there innocuously.


You looked into its black eye. If it were any bigger, you’d be able to make out your shaded reflection. Then you turned and followed its visual trajectory, seeing it point toward the clear and clean glass door of the shower.


You looked up at the showerhead, following its hose down toward the tiles of the shower floor. Recent moisture sat around the drain. Your mom had been in here not too long ago.


You swallowed.


You turned around and looked at the camera staring you in the face.


You couldn’t believe it. You were having trouble thinking it was possible.


It sat hidden within a cloth, one which was tied against the toilet paper dispenser, seeming like it was put there to keep the broken dispenser together in place of a repair.


It hadn’t been there before this morning. You knew that for sure. You had placed a new roll onto the dispenser yourself, and there was no obstruction then. Not only that. The dispenser wasn’t broken at all. Now it was. The rag not only held that camera in place, but genuinely held the dispenser contraption together. Somebody had come in, broken it, and tied it back together into functioning shape again, all while placing a camera within the rag that held it together.


Somebody at this hotel.


You stood up and looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes looked back at you, red and filled with anxiousness and focus. You listened to the percussion of your own heartbeat. You stood there, looking around. You didn’t know what to do. You looked back down the camera. You wanted to grab it. To remove it. Maybe to throw it out. But some strange sheepishness in you made you second-guess that strategy.


Part of it was just a general fear of confrontation. You knew that once anything was done about this, even the most private of options, that someone out there, whoever they were, would become desperate, and unhinged in turn, when they made their way back into this room and found nothing within the rag contraption they tied themselves with such effort and care. For all they knew, the device was already in the hands of the local authorities. Or at the very least, if they happened to work here, their employer.


The other fear that ran through you was the fear of upsetting your mom. She hadn’t appeared to have noticed it so far, having bathed twice here this very morning to cool off and saying or doing nothing which would imply discovery. She had been caught by the very device placed here to capture her, and her alone (you were sure of that. Not that voyeurs couldn’t be gay. But you knew that it was only the absolute vision that was your mother who could draw that sort of single-minded motivation from anyone. You or your dad didn’t hold a candle.). You were afraid that by rocking the boat, even if it involved removing the camera silently, you were only increasing the likelihood that she’d find out that she had been violated in this very private way. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the look of sadness and horror on her face at the realization, and the possible scars it would leave with her, as much a part of her as the dimples on her face, or the very blemishes on her ass that the camera was put there to record.


Having your dad become aware of this held the same degree of fear for you, just for different reasons. You had been having such a fun vacation, your dad finally unwinding from his horribly stressful job, and you didn’t want to ruin that for him, nor did you want him to do something crazy, which he often did when driven by anger. His rage was easy to draw from him, you were terrified of seeing just how deep that well of blinding-hatred actually went, knowing that this situation, the bodily violation of the woman he loved more than anyone else in his life, would expose that depth to you in a sudden burst.


Those were the reasons you gave to yourself, and none of them were false, you feared all of that as you stood there, your hands on your hips, looking at that camera. But another motivation lay within you, sleeping there like a crocodile beneath cool lakewater, as cool as ice, but with teeth jagged and clenched.


And though you kept that motivation from conscious awareness when you decided to leave the camera alone, at least for now, strip yourself down and get into the shower to cool off, its very existence within you could be made out externally through one, and only one, tell.


That was your raging hard prick, which throbbed, even under the cooling jets of water which tickled the rest of you to blissful discomfort on this hot August day.


 

Your dad sat at the table, smiling down at his phone. The shower was on yet again, your mom having claimed she needed to take another one if she were going out, needing to clean herself of the stickiness which humidity brought (she wasn’t imagining it either. You saw her bikini bottoms stuck to her cheeks like cheese on toasted bread).


Your dad was intolerant of everybody and everything, the smallest obstacles to his plans and schedule registering to him as deep affronts. It was only your mom which bucked that trend. He loved her like nothing else. His patience was infinite with her, and this only hurt your heart more as you looked over at him from the couch.


Beyond your dad’s grinning face, the door to the adjacent room stood, seeming innocuous to the naked eye, though you looked on it skeptically, trying to imagine the morbidly obese man who roomed there, maybe while his horrendous looking wife was sleeping obliviously, sneaking into your family’s room after a few minutes not hearing any noise within, realizing that the three of you were out in the resort, finding the bathroom, setting up his little trap within, and then tip-toeing back to his hellish and sexless life he came from, eager to sit and wait like a spider at the corner of his web, for when your mom’s perfect body netted itself unawares within the embrace of its sticky construction. Then all he’d have to do is pull her in. There wouldn’t even be any kicking or screaming.


Your dad flipped through the face of his phone with his thumb, oblivious to the possibility. The door between the rooms wasn’t even locked, at least not on your side. It was possible, even if unlikely.


Your mom was in the shower now, her body embedding itself within the digital embrace of that web, regardless of who the spider who strung it up there was.


The visual of your mom kicking, suspended in the air over a rain spout, the webs stretching and tearing between her alternating calves, thighs, and heels, all of it for not, each moment of struggle only embedding her deeper; it held a weird fascination with you, one which you had to consciously cut short, being in your swimming trunks and all. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than your own father catching you with a giant erection poking out at him through the mesh of your trunks.


The shower turned off. Your dad looked up from his phone and into dead air. “Finally,” he said, and he looked down at his phone, the same grin attached to his face as he scrolled through images.


You didn’t even excuse yourself from the room. You only turned and headed for the room door to leave. You turned around once in case your dad was looking, but he was still fixed to the face of his phone.


As you opened the door, the door to the bathroom opened up, and you turned your head to see the hem of your mom’s towel, with her naked calf and foot extended outward.


You turned around to the hall, and you saw two young teenagers standing near your hotel door. When they saw you, they both looked down at the garish hotel carpeting. You shot them a glance. One of the kids, presumably the older one, looked up at you, then he looked down at the bug the two of them were examining on the floor. The young kid nudged it. They both seemed to be fascinated with it as if it had been occupying their minds for a while, but there was also a weird flustered nature to the two of them which made it seem like they were trying to look busy, only finding the bug last second as an opportunity to do so.


You shut the room door tightly behind you.


As you walked down the hall, away from your door and the two kids out in the hall, you thought about how you saw one of those kids, earlier in the week, trying to get a look through your room door peephole. “It doesn’t work,” he had said to his brother. “It’s blurry.”


You passed by the door on the other side of your room, looking at it, imagining the bloated whale of a man sitting inside, possibly staring at his inter-room door, waiting for his chance to go into your family’s room when it was finally silent to grab his little trap. Then you turned and looked back, seeing the two kids, their mom and them staying in the room on the opposite side of the fat man’s, staring back at you, only looking down quickly at the bug (which had escaped) when they were flustered by your look.


The elevator had stopped at your floor. It opened and you saw two couples standing within. One couple was middle-aged and white, the other looked like they were from another Latin American country, much younger and more attractive. You backed up, telling them you’d take another elevator, but both men waved you in. As you waddled in, trying to keep from rubbing up against anyone, you almost naturally neared by the younger, more attractive couple. The man stood aside, as if giving you the back corner of the elevator, likely because he had been the first at the buttons and only assumed that that was now his duty. “Main floor?” he asked.


You nodded.


You stood behind them. To the right, the older couple stood. The wife had a large, but still somehow flat ass. You looked at the younger couple in front of you, their bodies bronzed. You looked down at the backside of the girl. It was beautiful. Large, round, and smooth. But even as you enjoyed it there, only inches from you, you couldn’t help but notice, and take great pride in it as strange as it sounded, that the beautiful Latin American ass of the young woman was still somehow smaller, less round, less perfect, than the ass of your own middle-aged, white mom.


The man’s hand came down over his girl’s butt-cheek, almost as if he was aware you were staring at it (even though he was facing the opposite direction) and he was claiming it for himself. The top of her butt-crack, just its barest nudge, was visible. You tried to imagine, with the little you had, what the remainder of that butt-crack looked like riding down that ass, in between those giant, brown cheeks. You wished you could know, and at wishing, you realized that your mom’s ass, even nicer, had already been captured, more than once, on camera by somebody out there, somewhere, and that they very may well be going home one day soon, or maybe even just back to their hotel room, with that knowledge of what your mom’s butt-crack looked like bare.


The elevator stopped. The two couples went ahead, and you were about to follow them. Then your swimming trunks twitched. You looked down at yourself. A giant tent within your trunks looked back up at you. Luckily, neither of the two couples turned around. They just kept walking toward the pool area. You pressed your thumb firmly against the Close Door button. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, possibly ride the elevator up to the top floor and back down again, hopefully losing your erection by then.


Just before the doors met each other, four fingers jutted it violently and blocked them from closing. The doors slid back open. Room service stood there, breathing hard. He nodded his head at you and walked in. You leaned back against the wall, trying not to blush or to look as panicked on the outside as you felt within.


You didn’t even have to look down at your waist to see the tent was still there. It was visible enough in your lower peripheral.


The room service guy stood there, next to you. You tried looking at his elbow as a way to kill your erection. But that’s when something caught your eye. Bursting from out his pocket, there was a rag. The image of the rag tied to your toilet dispenser flashed in front of you.


As you stared at it, he must have felt like he was being watched, as he turned and looked at you. When you realized he was looking, you looked up at him. He followed where your gaze was previously, looking down now at his own rag. His face was neutral, no anger, no fear, no confusion, no innocence, no nothing. He only looked at the rag, then he let his eyes travel to you. And they stopped before rising to your face.


Down at your crotch, poking into the inner-lining of your swimming trunks, your cock stood extended.


When you realized what he was looking at, you only looked ahead.


The elevator stopped, the door opened up, a group of people came in. “Going down, right?”


“Yes,” said the room service. “It’s the highest floor, sir.” He then squeezed past them before they came in.


“Yeah,” said one of the guys, shaking off embarrassment with humor. “I guess there’s nowhere to go but down.”


You wanted to press the main floor button, but you instead backed up, letting somebody else do it for you.


Guys and girls, none of them in swimwear, likely on their way to the restaurant, stood in front of you. The elevator stopped and one more person came on. Then it stopped again, and though you weren’t paying attention, trying with all your might to kill your erection before anyone in there noticed it, to the fact that the floor which was stopped at should have been one familiar to you.


Your parents came on, both of them dressed in dining attire. Through the various bodies, you could just catch a half-second glimpse down the hallways to the two boys kneeling on the floor, looking in your mom’s direction, before the elevator doors closed shut.


You stood at the back of the overfilled car. Your parents not seeming to have noticed you. Your mom backed her head up and looked at the buttons, seeing that the M button had been pressed. She looked ahead at the gold-colored door.


The young men all seemed to notice the voluptuousness of your mom’s body, without barely even seeing it in the cramped and intimate space, as if the structure of her head alone gave off clues to what the rest of her looked like. They all tried to sneak glances at her, likely because their girlfriends, or maybe the girls they wanted to get with, were standing there with them and they couldn’t afford being too brazen. Though even one of the girls themselves couldn’t seem to help herself but to look at your mom, whether out of lesbianic urges or just as an admirer/competitor, eager to see what she was packing.


None of this was helping your erection, which throbbed in your trunks.


The elevator found the main floor. The doors thwipped open to the sights and sounds of the pool, which was now beginning to become more lively as the day was advancing, the falling sun leading to a cooler grass and pavement, making the day just bearable enough for a swim.


“Maybe we should swim now,” your dad suggested in her ear, his smile visible to you from the back of the crowd.


“I’d have to do it in my underwear,” your mom said, her palm running against the side of her dress as she looked down at herself, disappointed.


Your dad shrugged and smiled. They left the elevator, as did the young crowd. You could still catch glimpses of your mom’s ass, hugged tightly by her yellow dress, as she and your father disappeared.


You again hit the Close Door button. The last sight you saw, as you stood there hoping for the door to close quickly enough this time, was one of the young men, a little ways behind the rest of his party. He was looking back at your mom’s ass, trying to catch whatever bare glimpse of it he could, even if just for a fraction of a second longer, before turning around and following his friends moving in the opposite direction.


The door closed.


You rode the elevator back up to the fourth floor.


When you got there, you saw that the kids were no longer in the hallway. You continued down the hall. On the floor of the hall, you saw a discarded rag, not unlike the rag in your bathroom. Not unlike the rag you saw in that hotel staff’s pocket. You began to wonder if that was just the standard hotel rag, maybe one provided to each room by the staff, and you just hadn’t noticed it yet in your own room. Or was it possible that…


You thought about male hands twisting open a rag as he walked quickly down the hall, casting it aside when he got what he was eager to grab wrapped within.


As you neared your hotel room, the door to the left of yours opened. The fat lady came out in an evening dress, looking even more atrocious done up than she did in her natural state of dress. She closed the door behind her and walked past you down the hallway alone.


You turned to watch her go. Then you looked at her hotel door, the one she left behind, wondering if her husband had left earlier, or if he was still sitting in there. You imagined him, sitting on the couch, looking at that door leading to your room, waiting for his wife’s heels to click down the hall until inaudible.


You grabbed the door of your hotel room. You lifted your key, but before it could make contact, the door opened up from just the weight of your hand on it alone.


It squeaked open slowly.


You looked inside, standing at its doorway. It appeared to be empty. The door which lead into the next room was shut. Every door, except the doors of your bedroom and the bathroom, were shut. You slowly began to walk within. You didn’t even close the hotel room door. You inched your way in, not sure why you were being so cautious. You looked at the slightly ajar bathroom door. Its light was on. You inched toward it.


You turned your head as you got closer, looking behind you at the room door. The empty hallway looked back at you. You wondered where the two kids were.


You turned and looked back at the bathroom door. You stood against it, not knowing how much noise you had made coming in.


You slowly pushed against the door with your fingertips.


It inched open.


It made contact with the wall. You leaned inward.


The bathroom sat empty.


You walked a few steps in.


The rag sat there on the dispenser, looking as if it had barely been touched (though the toilet paper roll was thinner than it had been earlier.


You went to it and grabbed it.


Something hard and round sat within.


You leaned down.


The lifeless black eye of the camera looked back at you.


It had been untouched.


You stood there, exhaling, happy you had caught nobody there. Unsure of what you would have done, what would have been obligated of you, if you had. You imagined an indistinct mystery man, standing there, at an angle as if he could fold himself out of existence and free himself from being trapped there, discovered in his aggressive perversions.


You put your hands on your hips, smiling down at the lens, which peeked back up at you like an old friend.


You laughed to yourself a little bit.


You looked up at yourself in the mirror. You could see yourself from the waist upward. Your body was releasing itself from the tension it had accumulated in the last minute. It couldn’t have been more than a one, though it had felt like an eternity. You took another breath. You smiled.


You turned to look back down.


Your face dropped.


The tent in your trunks looked back up at you. You followed the tip of your cock, and at its end, pointing right at it, the camera lens stood. It only peered at your shame, unjudging and objective.


You stared into it, seeing your own reflection in the tiny ball of glass. Your erection sat, stretched to comical largeness by the curve of the lens, so much so that it appeared as if it made up the majority of your body. Like your cock its own being with you attached to it as an appendage.


It had caught your cock, hard and throbbing. More than that, it had caught you naked at some point. It had caught your dad’s cock as well.


The image of your mom’s thumbs pressed into the sides of her bikini, leaning down to push them lower, flashed in your mind.


Your dick throbbed.


The camera had caught that.


You looked down at it with a smile.


Slowly, you motioned toward the waist of your shorts, and catching it in your sweating hand, you lowered it. It slipped out of your hand and it slapped against your thigh. Your cock wobbled from the motion.


You looked down at it. Then you took it in your hand. You began to massage it. You looked back up at the camera. “Yeah,” you said. “Fuck yeah.”


You let go of your shaft and you began to massage your taut testicle sack.


You looked down at the lens. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” you said. “But if you can, I just want to know I know what you’re doing. Yeah, fuck yeah I know.” Your voice was a hoarse whisper, a husky groan. You don’t remember ever being this aroused before, and you trembled as you spoke.


“You can have her,” you said. “Whoever you are, I don’t care. I know what you’re doing. It’s our little secret.”


You had lived a sexless life up until now, and you had no idea what it felt like to connect with somebody on that private and intimate level. This was the closest you had ever come, and you seemed to be devolving into an elemental source which existed plainly for this moment. Your individuality dissolving into this symbiotic relationship of vulnerable material with whoever this mystery spy was. Your only goal now was to let him know you knew, to let him know you enjoyed it, and to let him know how much you desired he enjoy it as well.


“Enjoy her ass,” you said, jerking off your cock. “She’s out eating dinner with my dad. They have no idea. Enjoy that fat fucking ass. Put this all on the internet if you want. My mommy’s big ass and me. I don’t want her to have privacy. I want that fat fucking ass on the internet.” You began to laugh a trembling laugh to yourself. It felt so exciting to say these things.


Your cock throbbed with a lack of release for the past few days. You grabbed your balls and you jostled them, making your cock sway forward and back for the sake of the footage. You spoke more, mostly in repetitive phrases about your mom’s ass, its size, shape, softness, and perfect proportions, and you kept returning to the logistical facts about your mom and dad’s current location, activity, and lack of awareness regarding this whole thing. Everything that aroused you, which drove you deeper into the net of this mysterious spy, it all fell from your mouth like cool water bursting from a blackened cloud, falling to the hot pavement in gushes rather than drops, throwing up steam in the process.


“My mom has no defense,” you said. “And I’m not going to provide her one. No siree.”


You looked up into the mirror and saw yourself, your eyes wide but narrow simultaneously, giving off the most devilish from of glee. You didn’t even know your face was capable of such an expression. And you knew the man on the other end would share in that glee with you.


You wanted to cum, but something in you told you not to. It might have been the heat or fear. Or maybe it’s because you wanted to keep this overwhelming level of arousal for as long as possible. Either way, you removed your shorts entirely and you stepped into the shower.


As the cool lukewarm water fell over you, you stood with your back to it, looking at the tiny, almost imperceptible, black lens of the camera. Your cock throbbed.


When you were finished, you stepped out, naked, knowing the next day’s heat would dry it all, and you looked the camera down as if it shared in an inside joke with you, before you left the bathroom to get changed.




When the elevator had reached the main floor, you looked out at the shining aqua blue of the night pool, its internal sources of light dancing in the water’s distortion like a moon on the lake.


You knew that in this country, 18 years old meant old enough to drink, but you were headed to a bar or restaurant without that in mind. You walked along the walkway, occasionally seeing bodies and hearing voices move through the dark. Sometimes you could make out a youthfulness in the feminine bodies, and catch the barest hints of an erotic shape. You felt like reaching out and grabbing one of these abstracted models of womanhood as you passed them, feeling them freeze and then push back against you, their voices going from happy, stunned, shocked, to confused, and then to angry, their bodies jiggling in your grasp as they did. It would have felt so nice. But you knew that if you wanted to take a woman’s body unfairly, even if it were just for the sake of a touchless glimpse at it, it had to be done with as much privacy and freedom of movement as you were depriving of the girl herself.


All of the girls there would escape this fate exactly because of that.


Your mom would not be one of those girls.


You heard the sounds of harmless party music, and when you rounded the corner, you saw the muted lights of night festivity, made colorful by many-hued lampshades. Figures, half-obscured by the black night, moved within that light.


When you neared up to the bar, you sat down at a stool.


You then felt eyes on yourself. You tried to look away.


Then you were called, and you ignored, until they called out your name.


You looked up.


Your dad’s colleague looked over at you from his table with his young girlfriend sitting next to him.


“Come over here, man,” he said. “You just going to sit alone and be all mysterious…”


You got up and approached the couple.


He looked up at you, his face half-obscured by darkness, grinning under his grey hairs.


His girlfriend, blonde and pretty and young, but modestly-shaped, smiled at her boyfriend, then looked up at you and smiled warmly, inoffensively.


You sat down.


After some niceties, asking you what you wanted to drink, insisting it be alcohol, and then relenting when you insisted otherwise more than once, waving over the waitress and informing her of what you wanted in Spanish, he looked back at you, his one eye wide and visible. “How’s your dad doing?”


“My dad?”


“Yeah.”


“He’s good.”


“Good,” he said, and looked over his shoulder. Then he looked back at you, his face rotating back within the light. “How about your mom? Has she died from the heat yet?”


You felt a little tug in your stomach.


There was a silence for a second. “No,” you said. “She’s still alive.”


Your dad’s colleague laughed, playing with his glass on the table. His girlfriend’s arms were wrapped around his. She wasn’t that much older than you. She looked at the side of his face.


The waiter came and put down your drink.


Your dad’s colleague didn’t say anything, he just looked distinctly ahead. You couldn’t even tell where, his features were obscured in blackness.


After a few more minutes, he excused himself and asked his girlfriend if she was ready for the beach. When he asked, he tapped the jean pocket of his pants.


“They do blue together,” you recalled your dad saying a few days earlier, standing in the light of the sun.


“Blue?” your mom asked from the room’s kitchen. “The drug.”


Your dad shuffled in place as he looked out the screen door. “Um. You know what? Just forget I said anything.” He held his forearm to his head. “We all have our secrets,” he mumbled to himself.


His colleague put money on the table to tip the staff, and he got up, and you watched them go, his girlfriend’s disappointingly-sized ass twitching uneventfully, its cheeks too small for anything more, with each step as they both exited into the dark. Eventually, they were gone.


You got up and you left in the opposite direction. As you moved through the blackness, you realized now that every shape you passed in the darkness, no matter how pretty or feminine in voice, seemed to be of that more modest shape, like the one you had just been sitting with. You could see it clearly now, whether it had been your eyes had adjusted, or you had just stopped seeing the shapes in the darkness which you would prefer to see.


The shapes you saw, ballooned outward within your mind, taking on specific forms which were conjured out of your own preference and fevered wants, was a shape very familiar to you, down to its every jiggle and step.


Your cock throbbed in the night, and you walked unashamed, being as invisible to those who passed by as they were to you.


The lights exploded into daytime brightness by the elevator doors beyond the pool. As you passed the pool, you noticed the room service man, now standing next to the blue water with a net. He looked you in your eyes as you passed.


On a lawn chair, off to the side, the ugly fat women slept, her husband sitting next to her, his hands clasped, looking into the blue light of the pool, pondering it as if it were a crystal ball.


You went upstairs. The rag on the floor was gone. The two kids weren’t there. Instead you heard a movie playing from behind the door to their room, something vaguely cartoonish, likely animated, blaring.


You opened your hotel door. This time you needed the key.


You sat at the kitchen table, alone, sipping bottled water. The air-conditioner hummed.


You looked out the screen glass door to the balcony. Then you turned around and looked at the door to the room next to yours.


You put your bottle down, got up and went to the door. You pressed your ear against it to listen. Nothing. You tried its handle and found that it was locked from the other side.


You turned around and walked to the middle of the of the room. You stood, looking out on to the balcony, seeing other rooms, most of them with blinds closed, or blinds open with nothing exciting happening within. One room had a middle-aged man inside who waved his arms around a lot as he spoke. You couldn’t see who he was talking to.


You looked over to your left.


The bathroom door stood there, half-open, the light inside off.


You smiled, wondering if that little friend of yours was still there.


Your cock throbbed. You grabbed the waist of your shorts and you pulled them down. Your cock fell out, throbbing in the empty air of the room, its air finally bearable without air conditioning.


You decided you needed to check.


You moved toward the bathroom door. Your cock throbbed until it was near being fully erect. You grabbed the bathroom door.


Suddenly, tearing into your awareness, you heard the knob of your hotel room jostle.


You spun around.


You could hear your parents talking on the other side of the door. You looked over at your half-open bedroom door, its blackness peeking out at you, as you tried for your shorts, but as you pulled on them, and they dragged against your knees, you knew you weren’t going to make it in time.


The room door opened.


“You see?” your dad said. He looked into the room with a grin. “I told you he wouldn’t be here. He’s out. He probably met a girl.”


You heard your mom’s steps against the carpet. “I just hope it’s one he’s eager to bring home to me,” she said.


“I bet he’s with Gary’s new girlfriend.”


Your mom slapped your dad on his bicep.


You listened from within the darkness of your bedroom.


You saw the two of them walk into your line of sight.


“Don’t say that!” your mom insisted. Her giant ass sat round, seeming to be rounder than usual, within the tight fit of her yellow dress.


You slowly pushed your door towards closing, hoping it wouldn’t squeak. It didn’t.


You saw their bodies pass as they passed through the tiny open bar of light.


Your mom’s ass sat isolated within that bar as your heard the glass door of the balcony slide open. Then you saw her ass disappear. You rotated yourself within the darkness, around the thin bar of light between the door’s edge and the doorway, and again, it was your mom’s ass alone, as seen through the two panes of glass overlapping, which you could see. They were standing on the balcony.


You then saw your mom grab the handle of the glass door.


“Don’t close it,” your dad said. His arm grabbed her wrist.


“Why not?” she said. “We’re letting the cool air out.”


“It could get locked again, just leave it.”


Her hand sat around the handle for a moment. Then it dropped.


Her butt jiggled as her hand fell to her side.


There was a moment of silence. Then your dad said “it’s nice out at night, isn’t it? You can barely hear anything down there from this height.” You heard his hands slap softly against the railing. “It’s just a shame the days are so fucking hot. Planning this trip for weeks. Then we happen to get here during the country’s biggest heatwave in years.” There was a small interim of silence. “What are the chances?” he asked.


Your mom didn’t respond. They just seemed to stand out there, saying nothing, enjoying the night. Then suddenly, as if she couldn’t contain herself, she said “you didn’t get me this time, did you.”


You stood there, looking at her ass. Somehow, through just its appearance alone, you could tell there was an anticipation in that statement.


“What do you mean?”


“You know what I mean.”


There was more silence.


“Well,” your dad said. “When you say I didn’t get you, there’s only one thing which comes to mind.


“Yes?” your mom asked wryly.


“And it couldn’t be that. Because I did indeed get you.”


You held onto the knob of the door looking out.


“Bullshit.”


“I did.” You could hear the smile in your dad’s voice.


“No, you didn’t. I was like a hawk.”


“Did you wipe?” your dad asked.


Your mom didn’t say anything.


You stood in the darkness. At first, the statement alone gave you a little jolt, and that was all. But as the seconds in the dark past, seconds filled with only the sounds of the night, your mother silent and devoid of immediate response, you began to feel something rising in you.


“Wow,” your mom said. “Just when I think I beat you… You somehow think of everything.”


“You just bring it out of me, sweety.” Your dad’s hand came into view, colliding open-palmed against your mom’s ass, causing her right cheek to jiggle, betraying her stoicism.


The darkness around you, initially peaceful, seemed to be populated now with the vaporous spirits of panic and nausea. Everything about you, and everything within, whether physical, emotional, conceptual, or intellectual, throttled about as if in screaming and painful vibration, the nature of which seemed as if it would leak from out the door of your room and make your parents aware of your presence, and worse than that, aware of what you had done.


You leaned over, looking across the apartment, and into the open door of the bathroom. Its darkness within peeked back at the darkness which hid you.


That black lens sat there, cold, unjudging, within that darkness.


You were about to do it. About to bolt toward it, risking everything. Even if just to flush the thing and pretend it were an accident. Maybe the toilet water alone would fry it. You gripped the handle of your door, your leg tensed up, your voice readied to insist you needed to use the bathroom if either of them asked, your eyes narrowing in mock imitation of sleepiness.


Your mom spoke: “Well, now that I know where it is, I’m going to take it and throw it off this balcony.”


“If that’ll make you feel like a winner, sure.”


“You wouldn’t be mad?” your mom asked, her tone of voice tinged with an obvious humor.


“I mean, I’d be out eighty dollars,” your dad said. “I guess that wouldn’t be nice. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve already won.”


“Not if I destroy it, you haven’t.”


“No,” he said. “You can destroy the camera, but everything in it is still up there.”


You shut your eyes. Your forehead pushed against the edge of your door. You wanted to drive that dull edge through yourself, ending it all there.


You could imagine him on that balcony, looking back at her in faux-innocence, the heels of his hands resting on the banister, his two index fingers pointing up toward the sky.


Then your mom spoke: “That would have looked a lot more dramatic if there were a single cloud up there.”


A cloud, you thought. It had all been – all of it – uploaded to a cloud. A cloud which didn’t exist in any physical place. All ones and zeroes, with information easy to destroy, but which you wouldn’t even know where to look to find it. It was all safe, private, and hidden. You thought of your wild eyes when you saw them in the mirror, ecstatic to be sharing your visible and throbbing arousal with your new secret friend.


“Come inside,” your mom said.


“Not yet,” your dad said. “I want to try one of these cigars.”


“Okay,” your mom said, and she stepped back within the single bar of light, her whole body, except for her ass, visible now. “But I’m going to close this door then. I don’t want to be smelling that thing for the rest of the week.”


“Whatever you say, sweetcheeks. Just know that you got got. It’s too late for you.” Your dad said it all with such a teasing accent and aggression, as if he were one child mocking another. You felt as if there were a demon in the darkness, some imp of fate or compulsion, mocking you with that same tone, mocking all of you. The tone of your dad’s voice contrasted, a clear 180 degrees, from what he sounded like when angry, his being filling with rage, and the world around him becoming one with it. You tried to imagine what it would look like this time, and you gave up. You couldn’t. It wouldn’t just be rage when he found out, it would be disgust beyond anything he could even imaging, bewilderment and shock. And hatred. Genuine hatred, his face contorting into gargoyle-like manifestations, with his two burning eyes looking nowhere then, except into the very same eyes that looked back at him in that footage, smiling with glee.


You thought it was too much to bare.


And you imagined the look on your mom’s face…


You fell to your knees.


“Whatever,” your mom said. “See how funny it is when I spit in your lunch.”


“Ooh,” your dad responded. “I can’t wait. Might as well cut out the middle man and spit right in my mouth.”


Your mom slid the glass door shut. Even in all your mounting despair, you still somehow found the impulse to tilt your head to get a look at her ass jiggle from the slamming motion. She stuck her tongue out at your dad. You imagined him looking back at her through the glass, sticking out his own tongue, or just standing there with a grin, looking back at his beautiful, and clothed, wife being silly.


You sat there in the dark as your mom walked out of sight. You kneeled down in the blackness, unseen and unacknowledged, hearing your mom moving around the kitchen, pouring bottles of water into glasses. You saw the column of smoke rise and then blow in the barely-apparent wind outside.


The darkness across the room, peered at you from behind the bathroom door, its secrets not as secret as they seemed. Your secrets about to be just as available and exposed. You let your forehead fall to the carpet.


When your mom slammed the fridge shut, you pushed your door closed.



The first few early birds travelled the walkways, enjoying the moments before the burning sun would rise and fry the earth without mercy. Resort staff moved about in their red shirts, their skin brown and healthy and their hands and feet busy. Birds chirped. The ugly man lay sleeping next to his wife, who began to smack her lips, open her eyes, and rise onto her right palm. She looked around. “We slept outside,” she said, barely believing it. “The whole night.” She looked over at her husband. He lay there, his eyes shut, snoring, his features facing the blue, cloudless sky.






“Whatever they say, babe,” your dad’s colleague yelled behind himself. “I don’t make the rules. We’ll see what they say when we get there.”


“I heard they let you see dolphins,” his girlfriend said from the next room.


“They do,” he said, rummaging through his drawer. “I seen it in the brochure.


“Like, up close I mean.”


“They probably do. They probably don’t regulate that stuff here.” he said. He began rummaging deeper. “It’s got to be in here somewhere.”


“I hear you can touch their tongues.”


“Babe?” he called to her.


“Yes!” she called back, putting her shirt on over her braless torso. “What is it?”


“You’ve kept the Do Not Disturb thing on the door, right?”


“Yes,” she said.


“Are you sure?” he had asked it with real firmness.


She looked over at the door of the room. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, and she moved toward the door.


He didn’t say anything.


She pushed the door open.


He sat there on his knees, looking at a bunch of odds and ends sitting as a heap on the carpet, next to the overturned drawer. “The blue,” he said, looking up at her with wide eyes. “It’s gone!”






The room service fluffed the pillows, all while the two boys lay on the bed, each periodically looking over at him through the corner of their eyes.


He felt their gaze. He set one pillow aside. Then he looked up and out the window at the neighboring balcony.


It sat there, empty. A burning glimmer of sun shone off the banister.


He went to the bed and the boys lifted their heads as he replaced their pillows. He said “have a good day then,” and he went to the door. He grabbed his cart and pushed it down the hall, one door to the left.


The Do Not Disturb card sat inverted on the door handle, its other side saying Please Clean Room.


He felt a weird thrill every time he came into this one. He knew that there was a full drawer full of underwear, all shaped for a wonderfully-proportioned pair of butt-cheeks, though he never had the guts to try to find that drawer, and plunge himself elbow deep into its silky waters. He opened the door.


He called out room service without looking inside, and he turned to grab his cart, wheeling it into the doorway.


He turned around.


He stopped cold.


The room stood silent and uneventful for the most part, its length bathed in diagonal sunrays, its every fibre like it had always been his past eight years of employment here.


Everything was as it should be except for that which lay on the couch.


He looked at it, his eyes unbelieving. His mouth dry.


A giant female ass stared back at him.


Your mom lay there, attached to that ass, facedown. Her lower lip hung open, and her eyes lay shut beneath her sunglasses.


He looked around the room, all its doors hanging open, all of them seemingly empty. She was the only person there, and she breathed as she lay unconscious. Her body as naked as the day she was born, except for a pair of sunglasses which sat resting above her bangs. The curves of her body almost seeming as one with the sun that shone over it, illuminating her every inch.


He looked down at her two bare butt-cheeks. The crack of her ass, unobscured by panties now, looked back at him as if it were one horizontal eye, or a slot in a machine sitting ready for a coin the size of a plate.


The two boys stood at their balcony window, looking to the neighboring balcony, hoping that the lady with the butt would come out again.


The room service stood there, staring down at her.


He heard a noise out in the hall. He turned and looked frantically. Then he grabbed his cart, pulled it inward, and he reached over it to shut the room door.


“Lock it.”


He spun around.


The room lay empty, except for your mom lying there, inert and silent.


He only stood there, breathing heavy.


“Lock the door.”


He flinched.


Before he could turn to head for the door and flee, the closet slid open, its door pushing outward like the ridges of a xylophone.


You stood there with your hand on its inner-side, looking at him, and just like with your mother, he was shocked to look down and you see you were entirely without clothes.


Your erection throbbed.


“Don’t run,” you said. You stepped closer to him, causing him to back up into his cart, which rattled behind him. You held out your hand as if to assure him to stop. Even still, your other hand was caressing your cock, massaging it while your mom lay unconscious and nude a few feet to your left. “You’ve done a good job for us this vacation.”


“Mister, I don’t-“ the man pleaded.


“I just thought I should give you a good tip.”


“It was an accident, I-“


“Just sit down.”


“I’ll leave-“


“She’s on blue,” you said.


“I-“ he stopped. He looked at you, then over at your mom, then back at you, then back at her again. The cart behind him had been resting on his hip. It clunked back down again. “Is- she needs help?”


“It’s blue,” you said, your hand still extended in an attempt to calm him. “You can’t overdose on it.”


He looked at you, then back at her.


His eyes hovered over her, taking her in.


“It’s nice,” you said.


He looked over at you.


“Her ass, I mean. It’s my first time seeing it too.”


He stood there silently, his body still hunched up with the remnants of his apologetic posturing.


“I don’t think anybody has seen.” You looked on it, admiring its shape and size over on the couch. “Except my dad.”


“She’s…” he started.


“My mom.”


He knew she had to be, but only doubted it now that it was said out loud. He looked over at you, and then back at her, all the time breathing heavily.


You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. “I did this – drugged her…. stripped her…. for you.”


His head snapped to look at you.


You were still looking at your mom. “My life,” you said. “My life back home is over.” You said it without emotion, as if it were only the most bare-naked of facts. “I guess… I guess I should go out with a bang… literally.” The corners of your mouth curved upward in a smile.


You looked over at him, and then you nodded in the direction of the couch. “Go over there and ‘wake her up’.” You shrugged. “She does whatever you guide her. I tried myself.”


You watched him, trying to be patient as he took a minute to register what was said, register what was meant by it, take a few steps toward the couch, stop, think some more, then a few steps further, stop again. All the while, your mom’s ass got larger, and more real, to him, and you knew this would be what broke him.


As soon as he was over her, his anxious reluctance was suddenly gone. He grabbed her by her wrists. She looked up into the air indistinctly. He guided her hands to his fly, and it was as if the very sensation of it reawaken some memory of what she was supposed to do with it.




Your dad laid sleeping now, almost as heavily dosed as your mother (you liked the idea of your mom getting the lion’s share of the stuff), in their bedroom, lying on the bed you had listened to them go at it on the night before. The two of them having such sweet and private fun as you lay in the room next to theirs, eyes open, staring at the careless moon.


You looked at the nervous man’s cock, it already getting hard, even through all the anxiety and fear. He seemed like he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a trap, even after your mom had grabbed his dick with her soft hands and began jerking it off. Though at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care. A beautiful woman did that to people.


You held your dad’s camera in your hand. It was small and felt so inconsequential. You couldn’t believe it had been the thing which ruined your life, nor could you believe it would be the thing to film what you were looking at now. The surreal nature of the moment, its existence as if it were pulled out of a strange dream, was not lost on you.


“Look dad,” you said, looking down at his device. “That doesn’t look like your cock there, does it?”


Your mom put the cock in her mouth and began to suck.


You leaned over and pointed the little device’s lens into your parents’ room.


Your dad laid there, naked from the waist down, sweating in the uncomfortable heat. His cock hung flaccid against his inner thigh.


“That’s your cock.” You smiled. “Mom doesn’t seem to be anywhere near it.” You turned the camera toward your smiling face. “Does she?”


You turned it back toward the couch.




“Wow,” you said. “He’s like a better-looking you. Younger, sexier, handsome. And mom… oh god, mom. She just looks so perfect with him. You pointed the camera down toward your cock. Your cock throbbed, putting on a show. The lens only watched, inert and without judgement, as your dick, looking not much different from your father’s, twitched at the sights.


You tilted the camera upward again. “Get her to sit on it,” you said to the man.


He looked over her shoulder at you, shocked by the suggestion.


“It’s my vacation,” you insisted. “Make it a dream vacation.”


You watched while he held your mom at her hips, and the camera captured every evolving nuance of his face as your mom’s ass dropped toward his lap with her pussy swallowing his cock all the way down, impaling her through the force of gravity alone.


“Fuck,” you said, speaking to your future father. “There’s no way you got that deep inside mom. No way in hell.” You turned again and filmed your dad laying there, his cock inert, flaccid, and unimpressive. “No. No way,” you said. “Not with that joke of a dick.”


You turned back around.




“What did you call it again. ‘got got.’ I think it’s safe to say she’s never been as got as she is now. Got nice and deep. Just imagine how good this guy’s cock feels.”


You leaned over to get a look at his face. “So what do you think?” you asked him. “Pretty good?”


He didn’t answer, only looking back at you, then back up at your mom’s face, still astonished.


“It was probably getting pretty frustrating watching her walk around out there, her ass eating up those bottoms. That’s been my entire life,” you said. You were stroking yourself with effort and control. “It’s why I was so overjoyed when I saw that cam.” You stroked there silently for as sombre moment, as if quietly drowning in reflection. “I thought maybe something had changed in my life for once. Something for the better.”




“What I know now is that the only change that ever comes is the change you make happen. Right dad?” you said, twisting the camera over your head without looking, as if you were sure you were catching your father in that lens. “That’s why you’re so successful in life. When you want something, you just go out and grab it.” You twisted the cam back around. “You put this idea in my head,” you insisted. “With this goddamn camera. You’re the one responsible. You don’t have to apologize. Your rage and horror are more than enough for me. Not to mention that sinking feeling you have in your gut, watching mom take it like this. Like the champ she is.”




“And mom’s clapping cheeks. Goddamn, that’s great. You paid for us to fly to a completely new hemisphere, six hours in the sky, just so mom’s ass could get fucked by one of the locals while you slept. Gary’s probably wondering where his blue went. I think all of it being in you and mom would be the last thing he’d suspect. You two are like goody two-shoes, both of you. At least that what he thinks. That’s what I thought. Until I seen your little perversion. And…” your mouth contorted up. “Mom’s acceptance of it.”




“Yeah,” you said, your mouth cruel. “She was asking for this. I never met a woman who deserved this more. Fat goofy looking ass. The best ass in the world, and she thought she was just going to move through that world cost-free. Not anymore. That age is over. You pay a tax now. With interest.”




“It’s only fair… Jesus, look at that ass. I stood over Gary’s girlfriend while she slept last night. Her breasts were hanging out on the couch. I could have touched them, maybe. Or just taken a single picture. But they weren’t even big enough to bother. I’m just telling you this, dad, so you know that I’m not doing this because I’m a sick fuck. I’m not like you. I’m doing this because it’s justified. If you’d film your own son’s dick just to get a shot of your wife unknowingly, what else would you do? Do you have Gary’s girlfriend on a hard-drive or on a cloud somewhere? Are you hogging that footage, like you do with mom, and not sharing it? Are you that much of a scumbag? You know you could post it all, her hot body, online, just like you could have always done with mom, but you’d refuse to. You’d refuse to even knowing all the joy she can bring.”


The man became emboldened. He grabbed your mom by her hips and rotated, turning her over and toward the couch.



You gasped at the sight. “Holy… oh my god,” you grunted out through grit teeth. “Look at that… look at… look at the way he jackhammers her. Look at that ass, daddy. Look at that cock and balls. How could you not want this? You haven’t even drugged her for Gary, I bet. You know how much he wants her. You still don’t care. You’re a selfish, small-dicked faggot. You lock away the greatest ass that exists behind your little closed doors and then you have the audacity to film it for yourself anyways. And for yourself alone. That’s why mom deserves no mercy.”




“Now you can see with your own two eyes, you raised a real man. Against all odds, you raised somebody with some backbone and values. Look at mom getting absolute ffuccckkedd! Ooh, god that’s good.”


You tilted the camera down towards your throbbing hard cock.


“Look how hard it makes my dick. Just watching mommy getting fucked. I never knew I could feel this good. Our whole family, both sides, is getting owned. Fucking right we are. There’s no coming back from this. We’re a joke on two continents. Your little cloud up there knows we’re a joke. He’ll be hiding that secret until you know it too. Oh god, I wish I could be there.”




“This is what you were doing to her last-night, wasn’t it? My last night, I mean. I don’t know when you’ll see this. I can tell this was what you were doing to her by the sound. Her ass clap is so distinct. Even with another guy, it sounds exactly the same. I guess any guy can make that sound with her. It’s not special. It’s not a special clap between you and her. Maybe you thought it was. Now you know it isn’t.”




“Mom, are you seeing this right now? Is he showing you? Maybe the police are, and they’re sitting there with a poker face, pretending not to enjoy it. See how good you look getting fucked by a real man? You fucking… oogh…. doesn’t she look good officers? Her fat fucking ass. It’s fuckin’ absurd you haven’t had this happen to you yet, mom. It’s a crime. I guess you’re paying for it with interest now. Jesus. Lock her up, boys.”




“I just wanted to tell you, mom, this will be the last moment I ever have with you. I just wanted you to know that you’re nowhere near as bad a person as dad is. You’re genuinely a ray of sunshine. You shine on everything. But sometimes… too brightly. And….” You wiped the sweat from your forehead. “Sometimes it’s too hot. That’s okay though. You’re paying for it now. Like you were always meant to. I’m glad dad’s sick tricks got me. If I never got got, I would have seen no need to get you in return. It pushed me toward the right course of action, just out of necessity. I just wanted you to know, mom. You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. There’s a reckoning coming. A reckoning for all hot moms. Moms with sons as angry as I am. Moms with asses as good as yours is. Moms with husbands, and sons, and families. Moms who are good people, maybe a few of them bad. There’s a battle going on right now. A battle being fought with words, with hidden cameras, and creepshots with phones. A battle being fought one slipped drug at a time.”




“Imagine a world where moms no longer have privacy. Where they no longer have autonomy. That’s the future. I can see it. It’s around us every day. You don’t notice it because you’re one generation too late. But wherever I go, in the real world or on the internet, even out here, I can feel it. This rage bubbling up amongst young men. A rage they want to take out on their mom’s asses. I just took out that rage. And it felt good. I’m not sorry, mom. And dad, fuck you. Try and do something about this, faggot. You’ll never find me ever again. You’ll be stuck back in Buffalo for the rest of your life with a clenched fist. And I’ll be somewhere out there, on this round globe, with my fist clenched as well, but it will be around my cock. I’ll be jerking to mommy’s fat violated ass for the rest of my life. And I will never – never in a million years – pay for it. My throat will be somewhere out there, completely free from your grip.”


You turned the camera back onto your face. You looked into its black, lifeless lens. You felt a smile coming on.


“I guess that means you’re got, dad. Doesn’t it?”


Your smile reached from ear to ear, ripe with Machiavellian glee. You thought you’d age in moments just from the lines being pressed tightly into your facial features. Your smile then devolved into a primal laugh.


You turned the camera around and filmed your dad, laying there, naked, humiliated, beaten.


His cock hung flaccid against his hairy thigh.


Then you heard a grunt.


You turned the camera back around.


“Uh oh,” you said. “Look what’s coming… in more ways than one, dad. Try eating mom’s ass after this.”




“Ughhh,” the man said, the inside of his nuts gushing outward and onto your mom’s soft ass.


“Just remember, the next time you look at that thing, whether it’s for real or on hidden camera, it’s been marked.”


You laughed a deep gut laugh, born of irony and adrenaline.


“Right down the middle of that crack, his cum ran. Remember mom, you got a nut on that fat ass. Fuck yeah, you did. It ran down in between those cheeks. Can you feel it now? A strange man’s cum, the help’s, running down the curve of that ass, dripping down onto your asshole? You thought dad won against you this weekend. You had no idea just how much you were going to lose. I’m not even going to say goodbye mom, just let my laughing be the farewell.”


You felt it rise to your throat, and seconds later, you were almost rolling over into a deep belly laugh. All the while, the man stood there, looking down at his work, astonished, not knowing whether to feel adulation or fear. He looked over at you, you holding the little ball of a device between your fingers as you rocked back and forth in jubilation. He grabbed his pants, his face red with shock over what he had just done, and began to pull them up over his naked thighs and softening penis.


Your mom, unaware but still ‘awake,’ looked up at him, as devoid of judgment as the eye of the camera.


Her gaze followed him as if he were a strange bird, watching as he pulled his shirt back on, not saying a single word. Moments later, he was gone.


He had been so flustered, he left the room without taking the cart.


You grabbed a few towels from the cart and then you approached your mom. You lifted her heavy body into your arms, feeling her wild voluptuousness within your grasp, and you dragged her with you into the shower. You laid her down gently on the shower floor tiles, then you got to work tying the camera back into place, making it appear as innocuous as it had been initially. Innocuous enough to be invisible to your mom, but, fatefully, not innocuous enough for your eye.


You then stepped into the shower, lifted your mom to her feet, and you began to wash her clean. The sensation of your hands over her body must have awoken memories with your father in her, because she began to grab for your cock, and when she found it groping through that featureless blur, she began to stroke it. You looked at the camera sitting there as she did, exhaling beautifully.


“Here mom and dad,” you said to it with a smile, your cock being tugged by your mom’s soft hand. “Watch this.”


You didn’t know what your mom’s face would look like seeing the footage of what you were doing to her from behind, but as you stood there, her soft body slapping against yours under the cold water, you looked up at her face now, which was dissolving into a careless ecstasy.


“You were right, mom,” you said loudly. “I did meet a girl this weekend.” You thrusted into her, her ass slapping like it had with her two previous partners, except exaggerated by the echoey tiles of the bathroom. “She was the best girl.” You felt a smile coming on as her flesh rippled below you. “And not only was she the best way to lose my virginity.” You looked into the camera. “She gave me the best ass eating I could ever hope for.”


You pulled out, then you lowered her toward the shower’s tiles, you turned around, glaring at the camera like the devil himself, and you thrust your ass out towards your mom’s face, engulfing all of it between your cheeks. You looked dead into the black eye of the camera with hostility, as if daring your dad to come and find you, to come and exact revenge for what it was you were doing to his wife’s face. Your mom’s face may have been eclipsed by your hungry ass, but you made enough expression for two of you.


“Kiss her now, dad,” you said, and then you erupted into laughter. You began thrusting your ass towards her face, burying it deeper between your cheeks, rubbing your every inch of inner-ass against the every inch of her face. You wanted it so that your dad couldn’t look your mom in her eyes, kiss her on her cheek, or rest his forehead against hers, without thinking of your ass being rubbed all over her every beautiful feature.


After getting your fill of feeling the features of your mom’s face on your inner-cheeks, you pulled her face from your ass, making a *thwock* sound with your own mouth as you did so to amuse yourself.


You then turned around, holding your mom’s head up by her hair. She looked up at you, her gaze without soul or intent.


You grabbed the shaft of your cock and lifted it. “See these balls, mom and dad?” you said, looking at the camera, poking your hips out to accentuate them. You then pivoted slightly and rubbed them against the bridge of your mom’s nose. “These ones? Your balls dad, they had cum in them. And in that cum, I was there. You came where you needed to in this fine specimen here, and the product of it all was that I came into this world.”


You looked down into your mom’s face. She looked back up at you, her every feature tarnished by the knowledge of what you had just done to her. You looked back at the camera.


“I existed within her for nine months. I came out, you two took care of me. Fed me, clothed me, sent me to school. All the while, my dick,” you shook your cock from side to side, letting it sway in excess to your deliberate motion, as if it had a mind of its own. “It grew. And it grew, and it grew. And it began to get little perversions of its own. Now here it is dad. It’s as big as yours. And its full of its own cum.”


Your smile, devilish and perverse, was seemingly without bottom, as seconds later, it warped into something even more malicious and cruel.


“Do you want to see where my cum goes, dad? Your lineage? Where does it end? Here,” you said, looking down at your mom’s face. “Let me show you.”


Within a few strokes, the day’s ecstatic spectacle pulsed through you like electricity, releasing its buildup, gushing cum spewed from your cock, decorating your mom’s face like foam across displays on Christmas.


The black eye of the camera watched. It recorded. And it did it all without judgment.






You put your clothes on, you grabbed your backpack, which sat packed at the end of your bed. You lugged it, overheavy with clothes and water bottles, toward the hotel room door with one hand. You set it down on the couch, and then you opened the door and grabbed the room service cart and dragged it out into the hallway. The two boys kneeled outside the door, as if examining the ghost their little bug left behind.


You dragged the cart off to the side. You looked at the two boys, they both back up at you, and you went back into the room. As you did, going in to grab your suitcase, one of the boys, his curiosity getting the best of him, leaned back to look inside.


His face dropped.


His brother, noticing it, began to lean forward, falling to his hands, his anxiousness evaporating as his eager drive grew.


Before his gaze could clear the doorway, you emerged from out the room with your backpack on your shoulder, and the room door shut behind you, leaving the hallway in a moody darkness, lit only by a weak wall-lamp on each side every few feet.


You rolled your suitcase down the hallway toward the elevator. You hit the button to go down and you waited there for a moment. You turned around to see the two boys, one looking astonished and confused, with the other, the one who seen what he had seen, staring at the door as if he could see through it, staring into the recent memory of what he had just witnessed, what he would never forget.


“Sir?”


You turned around.


The elevator stood open. An attractive young man and his beautiful partner stood there. You recognized them from somewhere.


“Going down?” he asked.


You stepped onto the elevator. “No,” you said.


The doors closed.


Your dad lay on his bed, alone. Your mom, her body naked, but clean, lay face down on the very same couch her voluptuous ass had been explored so thoroughly on moments earlier.


The sun spilled in through the window.


A dark cloud cut across its brilliance, shattering its perfection like a stone in a puddle.


A shadow was cast over the living room. Your mom lay within it, her eyes shut tightly.


Out in the hallway, the two boys heard a click. They both turned their heads to see the room next to yours open up. A fat lady walked out, looked at the two boys, smiled and greeted them generically, and then she went down the hallway alone.


The two boys watched her, but before she could squeeze her giant body into the elevator, one of the boys turned his head back and stared at the blank face of your room door. His older brother stared at him, only wondering at the marvel his younger brother witnessed. Only wondering why it couldn’t have been him.


Inside the room, two bodies breathed, but nobody spoke or moved. The shadow was getting bigger.


There was a creaking from the room next door.


Then there was a silence.


The shadow crawled across the room, its broken façade apparent with bursting ruptures of light which shone in rays within the otherwise dimming moment.


There was a sliding sound against the opposing face of the neighbouring door.


The handle began to turn.


Your mom breathed softly as she lay there.


There was a clicking noise.


The door popped open an inch.


An eye peeked in from out the darkness.


The door squeaked as it slowly opened further.





You looked back. The glimmering buildings in the distance, storing countless vacationers from around the world, shone in what was left of the sunlight. You wondered for a moment at all the little stories which existed behind every pane of glass, and every drawn phalanx of shade.


A cool breeze ran across your face.


You turned around. Your hands held onto a collage of branches from many trees. There were nothing but trees and their branches for the foreseeable distance. You didn’t mind. The highway snaked along a mile east, headed in this general direction. You knew it would be a few hours before the nearest town.


You pushed against the branches, continuing into the unaccosted foliage. Your forehead was ripe with sweat, but an occasional breeze blew across it, giving you a pleasurable chill. It almost reminded you of home.


A dark cloud covered the entirety of the sun, and the rest of the sky was similarly coated in a soft blanket of cloud.


You pushed on, only stopping once to look up.


A drop of water fell to your cheek.


You looked on ahead, pushing the branches out of your path.


As you did, you heard *pat* *pat* *pat* *pat* noises dancing on the surfaces of the leaves which now surrounded you on all ends.


You stopped.


You looked up into the darkening sky.


It looked back down at you, pillowy with ink-stained cotton.


You shut your eyes.


A breeze blew across your forehead, and you stretched out your tongue into the cooling atmosphere.


*pat*

2,310 views7 comments

Recent Posts

See All

7 Comments


hornyprogrammer115
hornyprogrammer115
Nov 11, 2023

I love the father in this story and the feelings they evoke in the son, almost as if the son is swinging from the dad's ball sack and haplessly looking on while dad satisfies his most primal urges as a man. I'll return later to say more, gotta go, it's hard to put into words but I love it

Like
bluvelvet99
bluvelvet99
Nov 21, 2023
Replying to

That's a good point. I love juxtposing a dad with classically masculine qualities with the son who lacks them. It's one of those things that's very easy to add to the story, but which gives it infinitely more thematic resonance. I think it perfectly mirrors a lot of the generational bitterness that goes on today (and which had probably been going on forever). For the dad, he has everything cut out for him, so much so that he can even afford to be predatory, emotional, dominating, and backhanded and it will be interpreted as him being a man. Whereas, for the son, his world is much less clear-cut, with much fewer direct benefits rewarded for positive actions, and with a…

Like

Peter Parker
Peter Parker
May 04, 2023

Damn.. keep hoping the best writer this genre has to offer (that's you) will go beyond date-rape once in a while. But.. no. The most spectacular buildup, characterization, realism coupled with profound everything.. and she's out like a light. Nothing but oblivious darkness. Nothing to even insinuate her internal states, her reactions, her struggle, her remonstrations, her despair, her stunned discovery of her own viscerally quivering self, her potentially joyfully tragically overwhelmed submission. Nothing but oblivion. Just my opinion, of course -- but if you ever manage to get over whatever blockage and apply your talent to her perspective.. wow.

Like
bluvelvet99
bluvelvet99
May 04, 2023
Replying to

I understand your point of view, and I respect it. The reason why I don't write those stories has a lot to do with what you just wrote (very eloquently might I add) about the mom's cycle of emotional states.


Given how well you wrote about it, I should be getting aroused or interested just reading it. But I'm not. The reason being that the submission of the mom is not what turns me on about this fetish. It does nothing for me at all. The very subject is like a brick wall for my emotions.

The thing that gets me off personally is that the mom in my stories becomes an object. Her subjective state during that process means…


Like

I miss the days when the stories were FULL of gifs

Like
bluvelvet99
bluvelvet99
May 02, 2023
Replying to

Do you have any examples of that?

Like
Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page