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Commissions: Volume 2


The image above represents the mom in the story Freedom


Okay guys! So I’ve decided it’s about time to put out another round of commissions. There will likely be a third commission compilation coming around soon, as I already have enough content for more. Again, if you’re interested in getting your own bluvelvet99 story crafted just as you’d like it, feel free to commission me. I’m more than happy to do it, and I’ve been having a blast so far.



Just fyi, the prices above are those listed for the word counts I have there. For the most part, I’ll be sticking to those prices. But if you’d like a story shorter than the smallest tier, or longer one than the largest tier, you can just DM me, on reddit, twitter, or fiverr, and we can work out a reasonable price and completion date. Also, if you’d like to commission a story, but don’t want it posted to my site (or you only want it posted with edits), that’s obviously fine, just inform me of it and the story will be between just me and you.

 

Taking Your Lumps


Mark sat on the edge of his bed, his face in his hands, as he listened to his mom wash herself in the bathroom. No Nut November was nearing its end, and he had done so well. And he would somehow have to maintain that discipline even after his mom stepped out of the shower, wrapped her towel around her naked body, continued to her room, as Mark re-enters the shower, grabs the camera hidden in the laundry basket, plugs it into his computer, views the footage of his mom’s naked and unaware body, and pastes copies of it to his own harddrive in case the pocket drive is lost or fails.


That would be hard. This whole ordeal was. But Mark was willing to do anything to avoid getting that beating from Mason and Reese. The last time they had beat the shit out of him, when they cornered him in the tennis court, Reese’s fist coming at him from the side in a sucker punch, rattling his world, filling his entire awareness with a buzzing, all-encompassing pain; Mark came home to his mother’s horrified gasp. Apparently he looked even worse than he felt.


He managed to convince his mother Melissa that he didn’t recognize the two guys who attacked him, and she sat by his bed for the entire weekend. She only left the bed in small increments, to get him food, water, or whatever else he needed, and her soft hand would caress his bruises with her palm or the backs of her fingers, brushing him to an impossible solace. Occasionally, she’d crumble into tears, lean in close and hug him tightly. Her large breasts would press into Mark’s chest as she did. Her giant butt would occasionally get sore, and she would try to hide it by constantly changing her seating, between resting her but on the back of one leg and then the other.


She refused to go back to her bed and sleep, though she’d continually fall asleep seated. Mark would watch her sleeping tits, her giant cleavage, which rose up and down as she breathed, and he’d lean over and take peeks at his mom’s gigantic ass, which was pressed out of shape by the stiff wood of the chair she sat on.


Come Sunday, after she fell asleep in the early afternoon, Mark, who was bursting with unfulfilled horniness from two whole days without jerking off, slipped his hardening dick out of his pants. He began to stroke it underneath his sheets while examining his sleeping mother’s body mere inches from where he lay. As his horniness rose, so did his stupidity, and he eventually removed his sheets from over his waist, letting his hard dick free. His mom was now in his room with him as he was jerking off right in front of her. His hard cock, and his naked balls, two parts of him that shared her golden brown skin, but two parts that she would never see, were being massaged to a perfection in front of her.


Mark looked up at her sleeping face, then down at her sleeping hand, and he imagined grabbing it slowly and softly and placing it on his swollen member, feeling the soft hands which she rubbed against his face now against the welcoming nerves of his throbbing penis. As his horniness rose, his confidence did as well, and he wondered, somewhere in the dumbest landscapes of his mind, if he could get up, standing on his bed as he did, jerking off, and nutting, fast and clean, two days worth of stored cum, all over his mom’s face, watching it drip in full, satisfying drops, unto her giant breasts, leaking down between the fault line of her cleavage and landing on her stomach.


Just as that thought invaded his mind with absolute clarity and plausibility, his mom blinked her eyes open, her head spinning in a half circle as she swooned herself back into conscious life. Mark’s sheets were swung back over his shameful pride within an instant, and just before his mom’s sight could focus back in on waking reality.


The shock to the system didn’t leave him unscathed though, and he had to lay there, with a poker face, as he busted nut after thick nut on the underside of his sheets, all while his mom greeted him with the inaccurate phrase “good morning, sweetheart!”


Droplets of warm cum fell from his sheets to his pubic region, all while his mom ran her fingers against his beat-red face.


Mark thought about that as his mom exited the shower and headed to her bedroom. The steam left in the bathroom was warm and intimate and Mark couldn’t help but imagine what his mom looked like in that steam when he grabbed his camera.


As Mark continued back to his bedroom, his mom Melissa changed from her lone bath towel into her clothing for the day, all the while oblivious to the busy bee machinations of young men around her. She knew little of these machinations, nor did she know how relevant they would prove to be to her. She turned her head and looked behind her, seeing herself in the mirror, with her bare braless back below, and her giant ass in shorts, which obscured what was visible beneath just seconds earlier. Her feet were bare and she shuffled in place slightly. Melissa could see herself there, but she couldn’t see what was coming, nor could she know that what she was looking at now was why anything was coming to begin with. She was about to pay dearly for her beauty. Because the front door had just slammed, and her son was on his way to school.



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



Reese and Mason sat with their arms crossed, skeptical that Mark had done what they asked.


Mark scrambled to set up what he had caught on the outdated equipment of his school. All the while, every movement made by the two boys behind him caused him to flinch involuntarily out of fear he would be sucker punched in the back of his head.


“Look at this wetback work,” Reese said. “They’re not lazy. You just have to beat them to get ‘em going.”


Even with his hands shaking, Mark managed to set up the device. He backed away from the television, cringing when he felt the chest and hands of the two boys behind him offering him a brick wall. He instead stepped off to the side, something with Mason helped him with by giving him a sturdy push.


“-the fuck out of my way!”


The image flashed on the screen. It was Mark’s bathroom.


Reese, looking at it with a smile, motioned to the door and told Mark to make sure that it was locked. When Mark passed him, he swatted the kid on the back of his head and laughed, all the while keeping his eyes on the video ahead.


Melissa’s golden brown body came onto screen. She looked in the mirror and adjusted her hair.


The boys marvelled how good her ass looked in her shorts.


Before either of them could make a demeaning comment, Melissa bent down and grabbed the waist of her shorts.


“Oh yes!” Reese said.


Mark dropped his head, and rested its in his hand. Even as he burned with a horror and rage, knowing what was coming next, his cock still throbbed, hard from 29 days worth of inactivity.


“Drop those pants, bitch!”


As if in response to Reese’s demand, Melissa’s fingers tightened around the shorts and she leaned down, pulling them by their waist down to the level of her kneecaps. There was no need for her to remove her underwear to make her buttcrack completely bare for the boys, they had come down with the friction of her shorts and were resting on her thick thighs.


“Jackpot!” Reese said.


Mark looked at the two boys who terrified him more than anyone. He knew what their dicks looked like, having seen them in the gym showers, and he knew what they looked like hard. He knew that those hard dicks were pressed up against the front of their underwear, and he knew that they were all the harder knowing that they gerrymandered this nudity of his very own mother directly into their laps. They were masterminds as far as they could see.


But little did Mark know that their little plan was far from over.


After viewing the video until its completion, it being capped off with Melissa stepping out of the shower wet, her bronze body glistening under the white light of the room, Reese turned and looked at his victim, who stood there, stiff, damp from sweating, and hot from the blood rising to his face.


The average person looking at this miserable heap of humanity would have taken pity. Reese instead smiled at his classmate.


“What are you going to do when we spread this tape all over the school?” he said.


Mark’s eyes went wide.


“Look at him, Mase. He’s going to shit his pants.”


Mark stood there, believing his world to be over.


Mason stepped forward, invading Mark’s space. “You’d do anything to stop us, wouldn’t you?”


Mark didn’t say anything, afraid that if he did, it would mean a beating.


“Wouldn’t you?”


Reese followed behind his friend. “Because there is something you can do you know?”


Mark looked up at the two demons before him. His eyes wide with desperation for the hole he had dug himself into with all the strength of his accumulated cowardice.


“I think that’s a yes, Reese,” said Mason.


“Okay,” Reese said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” As he was talking, he was fishing for something in his pocket. Just as his sentence ended, he pulled it out and presented it closely to Mark’s face. “Do you know what this is?”


It was a small, blue pill.


Mark looked up at Reese, then down at the pill. He looked at both again, not believing what he was seeing, nor believing the seriousness in the face that presented him with the sight.


“You’re going to stick this in your mom’s drink for us - maybe at supper, maybe when your mom is having her little glass of wine or tea or whatever – and we’re going to come by for a little visit.”


Mark didn’t say anything, but the beads of sweat pooling up and falling from his forehead spoke volumes.


“Capiche?”


As the three boys left the equipment room, Mark’s pocket being one pill heavier, and into the general mass of the school, Mark bumped into the shoulder of a passer-by.


“Watch it, spick.”


Mark turned to see Jonathan staring back at him as we walked off.


Jonathan then turned around, giving a knowing look to his equally racist friend David. The two boys disappeared within the mass of students. Mark thanked his stars that the worst of his bullies were Reese and Mason, and that they were the only ones who were going to be coming to his house that afternoon.



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Mark’s instinct now that he was in his house, without his bullies within hearing distance, was to call the cops. After all, just the knowledge that they were involved would keep the boys from uploading anything. On top of that, he could probably put them behind bars once and for all. Even if his mom didn’t press charges, there had to be something Mark could do, some official crime they committed by making him use that camera through threat of violence, one which would ruin their lives the same way they were planning to ruin his.


The thing was, on any other day of the year, this would have been Mark’s plan of action. Either that or he would use the strength and resolved he gained in being separated from his tormentors in order to text them with his plan to call the police, scaring them off once and for all, likely even to the point that they’d destroy the evidence they so coveted, that of Mark’s mom’s naked ass and tits, just to make sure they wouldn’t get caught with it later.


This would be the gameplan on a typical day. But today was November. 30th, the final day of his No Fap. It was the horniest day of the year, and coupled with the video he had seen earlier, and all the threats that came with it, the horniest in his life. He thought about the opportunity being offered to him, and what it meant to his throbbing dick, and as unbelievable as it was to him, he knew that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop this from happening. He had gone this far, exposing her perfect body. All it took was a slight push, in this case the unclasping of his thumb and forefinger while over his mom’s tea, and everything would be set in motion. That’s all it would take, that one motion, and his life would be set in that direction forever.


He watched as the pill which cut through the steam of her tea seemed to float for mere seconds, before being swallowed up by the hot liquid, and obliterated in its form, but not in its use, before his very eyes.


Mark watched his mom come back into the kitchen and grab her tea, smiling at him as she did, her eyes narrowing from it, and then he watched her from the kitchen, as she lay on the couch taking periodic sips from that very tea. Her body voluptuous. Her face beautiful. And her personality to kind and wonderful for the monsters that were coming by.


Mark knew he would be terrified once they got there, but until then, he was just enjoying the knowledge of what was beyond his ability to stop, as if he were sitting on the tracks, waiting to climb the incline upwards on the rollercoaster, knowing that what goes up must come down.


When his mom dropped her mug to the carpet below, staining it with the last droplets of her tea, Mark knew that he only had one more step left. He had to send the text.



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



When Mark saw his two bullies coming up his driveway, his heart rate rose so intensely that he felt as if he could feel it in his neck and wrists. He couldn’t sit still, but he couldn’t move either. His mom lay inert below him on the couch, her giant breasts heaving as she breathed in and out.


But when he saw Jonathan and David, following close behind, he felt a sudden rising sickness, crawling up his shoulder like a crab, rising to his head.


Before David climbed the front steps with the others. He looked at Melissa’s garden and suddenly jumped in it and began smashing her roses with the heel of his foot. When the front door clicked open, David turned and looked and then ran up the steps to meet the others.


They all came in and saw Mark standing there. They then looked at the couch.


Reese looked at the two newcomers. “Told you,” he said.


Mellissa’s tits were the first thing to come out. Mason sat on the couch next to her, grabbing them by their base and shaking them back and forth.


Mark looked at her helpless face. He felt a sense of overwhelming injustice rush through him. And even still, his arousal refused to not only go away, but seemed to be highjacking the intensity of his regret, riding it toward higher vistas. His penis throbbed. And David, realized this, demanded that he pull it out.


Mark did, and the four boys marvelled at how his cock throbbed faster at roughly the pace that Mason shook his mom’s tits. Sucking on her tits did it for Mark even more. The removal of her ass from her pants did so even more.


Before any penetration happened, Jonathan looked at the others, who were all squaring up for their first ride on the beautiful older woman. “What are you doing, guys?” he said. “Let’s keep this moment immortal.”


They looked at him, not understanding.


He looked over at Mark. “You have a phone, don’t you?”


Mark didn’t say anything.


“So start filming.”


Mark went to his pants and fished his phone out of his pocket. His dick throbbing as he did.


He then looked at the sight, his mom completely nude with the four vultures flocking around her. He could barely believe it was all real.


The boys invaded the woman’s body, their dicks might as well have been the teeth of ravenous canines, and every part of her was their meal. Three of the four boys rubbed their cocks in between her giant tits. Two of them pressed their cocks between her butt cheeks as if they were hot dog buns. All four of the boys slapped their cocks against Melissa’s face. Mark took that for notice and knew it for sure. At one point David fucked her, getting balls deep within her asshole, his balls literally slapping against the crack of her ass, all while Reese get equally as deep down her throat from the other end. It almost gave off the illusions that their dicks would somehow touch tips within her.


Mason at one point told his captive to come in close with the camera, and when Mark got there, Mason grabbed the pen from the coffee table and began writing on Mellissa’s forehead. “Property…” Mason repeated as he wrote it. “of the…. White…. Race….”


Jonathan, who was fucking her from behind, asked for the pen. When it was handed to him, he opened up her butt cheeks and began writing on the inside of her right cheek. “Property of Jonathan,” and then he drew an arrow which pointed directly at her butthole. His handwriting was surprisingly clear giving how much her cheeks shook as he thrusted into them. David, seeing what his friend was doing, wanted to do the same, and wrote his name in, with his own arrow pointed toward her butt, all while his friend continued to fuck the poor woman. Likewise, Reese and Mason did the same, making it clear to any passer-byer who just so happened to open the cheeks of Mark’s mom’s ass that she had been claimed.


There was a short window of time where all the boys ejaculated on or within her. Reese and Mason both creampied inside her pussy. David busted nut after copious nut onto her sweating ass, ropes of it glided down her butt-crack, dripping over her swollen and filled pussy. Jonathan’s balls tightened as his cockhead was within her throat, and not longer after, he felt himself gushing within the warmth of the woman’s mouth.


Mark filmed lovingly, feeling like his cock would explode if it touched any surface whatsoever, as his mom became a gooey treat before him.


The boys were far from over and done with, and before long, the fucking continued. Mark watched as his mom’s body was bent and turned into wonderful positions and shapes. Then came the moment when Reese began to feel his balls tighten against while inside the woman. He looked at his victim with a grin. “I’m about to cum into your mommy.”


Mark said nothing, only trying to focus on filming to keep from cumming.


“Well,” Reese said indignantly. “You going to thank me?”


Mark didn’t say anything. Only looking the young man in his eyes.


“Well?” he said again, this time forcefully.


Mark looked around at the others, not knowing what to do. He looked back at Reese. “…Thank…. You?” he said.


“Don’t mention it.” Reese’s balls began to tighten and load after load gushed into Mellissa’s sweetest place.


The next in line was Mason, who did the same, demanding the same verbal gratitude, which Mark gave both with maximum humiliation and maximum arousal.


Melissa’s pussy dripped with the excess cum. But the day wasn’t over for her. Because David was next. Mark thanked him. And Jonathan did the same to similar fanfare and appreciation.


Mark thought that his orgasm was now inevitable, what with his mom’s pussy bursting with cum. But before he could let his month’s worth of seed spill to the floor, the four boys got a good idea.


“Cover this spick in her son’s cum,” David said, and he grabbed Mellissa forcefully by her arm and whipped her forward.


Reese, more delicately, grabbed her other arm and began to drag her lifeless from toward the throbbing dick of her son.


David grabbed the back of her head and pushed it into Mark’s cock. “Smack your mom’s face with it,” he said.


Mark did what he was told, and the slight wincing on his mom’s sleeping face, combined with the loud thwacking noise against the fat and bone against his dick, he was going to cum soon.


“Do it,” Mason said, standing behind the others. “Cum on that bitch’s face.”


“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “Empty your balls, Mark.”


Mark looked down at his helpless mother, and his hips thrusted in circles, and the overwhelming arousal was too much. He had been corrupted by his own discipline and this was the end result. The horribleness of it only made it hotter.


Before he knew, Mark felt his balls tighten up to a degree he assumed was impossible, and nut after satisfying nut, seeming to come from a storage space much larger than his balls, gushed out of the throbbing tip of his penis, first coating his mom’s soiled forehead, before falling to her nose, cheeks, lips, chins, eyes, and bangs. Her body hung limp from the hands of the grinning boys.


Mason stood in the corner, his phone capturing all of it.


After he was empty, the boys dropped his mom and she landing on his dick, making him fall back to the couch. He lay there, satisfied beyond all reason. His mom’s face resting intimately on the same dick and balls which soiled her.


“Yeah,” Mason said, looking at the face of his phone. “That’s definitely going to the internet.”


Mark didn’t say anything. He didn’t object. He had falling through the deepest rings of hell, had felt their stress and had known their heat. He was numb to all of it, lying frozen at the deepest ring, the one set aside for betrayers, swallowed by Satan’s mouth. There was no lower to fall. And as the last of the four boys left his house, he looked down at his mom’s face resting between his legs. And he did it with all the love in the world. Because this time it was his mom who had taken the beating, and it was his job to sit down beside her until she was all better. And he would remain there, seated dutifully, until she was. Because that’s what love was.


 

Siren's Call (Escaping the Cyclops)


“What do you mean you can’t refund it if it’s open?”


Ryan rested his chin on the palm of his hand as he listened to his mother have another unnecessary spat with customer service over the phone in the kitchen.


He was trying to watch TV, but he realized he wouldn’t be able to even hear the show, never mind keep his focus on it, with his mom screaming like this.


“Okay then, if you can’t help me out maybe I should just talk to your manager. What…. You are the manager? Ugh.”


Ryan took a big breath. Before he could exhale, he caught something purple in his peripheral. He looked out the window to see a giant ass moving up an incline toward a similarly large pair of breasts.


That ass belonged to Bethany, who was trudging it up the driveway of Kassandra, who stood there with a look of concern floating above her giant chest. Kassandra’s lips were moving, and Bethany held her hands at her exposed waist as she listened. He could tell, even from the distance, that they were both unhappy about something.


Ryan loved both of these women, Loincloth and the Toga were their nicknames, due to Bethany being black and Kassandra being Greek. All the young men in the community would joke about combining the two women as one. “Imagine those fucking big tits with that perfect round ass. It would be the perfect woman.” “Yeah, a girl with a black ass and white tits. Sounds great.” Everyone in the neighbourhood had their own answer for that conundrum. Some wanted this dream amalgamation between the two of them to possess the sultry olive-flavored flesh of Kassandra, while others preferred to depth of Bethany’s mocha-colored skin.


Ryan was Switzerland in all of it. He had no interest choosing between one color of skin, especially if it disqualified the existence of the other. Nor did he want to dilute what either woman had by mixing it out of existence in the process of making them one individual. Ever since Ryan could remember, he loved both these women, exactly as they were, and he had no interest in changing them for anything.


Both of them were around for his perilous track through puberty. They were always these figures in the distance, linked to him through proximity and friendship with his mother. He had had Kassandra’s tits in his passenger seat, and Bethany’s ass pressing into his backseat, all while his mother sat back there with Bethany, looking out the window with her ever-present scowl, only for him to pick the three of them up from the bar later in the night, with Bethany sitting in the passenger seat asking him personal questions about his dating life with a smile, all while Kassandra’s tits bounced in the rear-view mirror every time Ryan hit a speedbump or a pothole (he always seemed to hit a lot of them whenever those two were in his car).


“Stop asking him these kinds of questions, Beth,” his mom snapped. “He’s seventeen years old.”


“Only seventeen?” Bethany beamed. “No, no. Your mom must have missed a year or something. You’re way too mature to just be seventeen.” She winked.


As Ryan’s mom grumbled in her bed, Ryan lay awake that night, tugging on himself with real intensity, imagining himself in the nude with both women. Sucking Kassandra’s giant Greek tits, only to pull away and have his face engulfed by Bethany’s impossibly large ass. Both women were just so much fun to be around. Kassandra seemed to be the type who could approach a vicious beast of legend, calm it down through her soothing words, and discover, as nobody else could, that it was the thorn lodged within its giant paw that had angered it so. She then would be the only who could remove it with the beast’s trust, her tits jiggling at the final pulling out of the painful obstruction. Bethany was the type Ryan imagined riding the beast afterward. Laughing joyously as she did, somehow always having a sassy comment to shoot back at anyone who tried to kill her pleasure by warning her against it.


His mother was the beast before its thorn was removed. Or at least that’s how she was when dealing with others. When dealing with Ryan, it could be argued that she was the beast without its thorn. He was the only thing in the world she seemed to show any compassion toward, and when she did so, she did so without any limit. Ryan felt like he should have been more appreciative of it, but it was hard to. His heart was just too big. He knew how beautiful life was, and how precious the lives of others was with it, and he was naturally drawn to others who understood. His mother could love him with all the passion in her heart, but if she couldn’t face the remaining sections of the world with the same patience and empathy, he had trouble returning that love with as much intensity as he had received. Bethany and Kassandra, on the other hand, were much more his kind of people.


Ironically, it was only his own mother who Ryan had witnessed naked, when looking at her through the open crack in her bedroom door. She had a body that was much too beautiful for her soul. And she had been the first woman Ryan had ever seen naked. Ryan sometimes joked within the safety of his introverted mind that his mom might be the woman he loses his virginity too. That she would do it, and do it without complaint, if only he asked. Her precious son. He could imagine ramming her from behind, watching her fat ass press against his pelvis as he did. The thought was enjoyable. But never as enjoyable as the thought of being with those other two.


He looked at them through his window. After they were done talking, they both walked up the driveway, and disappeared inside Kassandra’s house.


“Okay then!” Trisha screamed at her phone. “I’m done shopping with you. And after this call, I’m going to call up every single person I know and tell them what horrible service you… you morons have. You understand?”


There was some mumbling on the other end of the phone.


“Good day!” she said and slammed the phone on its hook. “Morons,” she said.


Ryan sighed as he saw Kassandra’s front door close on Bethany’s ass.


He looked back at the TV. After a few seconds, he had the feeling like he was being watched.


He turned his head toward the kitchen. Standing in the doorway was his mom, looking over at him. Her hair was frazzled and her face was still red, but she was looking at her son with a deep contentment. She was smiling.


“I thought maybe today you would want your favorite,” she said. “Chicken tenders.”


Ryan shot his mom a half-hearted smile. “Sure,” he said, and he looked out his window toward the closed door of Kassandra’s private abode. “Sounds good.”



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“Are you sure?” Kassandra asked.


“I’m sure,” Bethany said.


“But she’s our friend.”


“That’s cute, Kass. But you know that that doesn’t mean shit these days.”


Kassandra leaned over the arm of her couch and pulled aside her blinds, looking at the house across the street with an expression of real sadness.


“Terence told me everything.”


“But that doesn’t mean George-“


“Terence said George was there,” Bethany said.


“But…” Kassandra said. “what does that mean?”


“He was there,” Bethany said impatiently. “There, the two of them. She took them both… at… at the same time. She slept with both of them.”


Kassandra’s eyes were becoming wet with tears.


“That was it. At least for Terence, but I wouldn’t be surprised if with George it was the same. That’s why they left us.”


Kassandra was silent. She only looked out her window. Bethany watched the side of her face as a tear rolled down her cheek.


“She was our friend,” Kassandra squeaked out.


“Well, not anymore.”


After a few more minutes of silence. “What are we going to do?”


“Kass, I know your family. I know they’re like mine. Your mom didn’t raise no punk, right.” She grabbed Kassandra’s hand. “So what I want you to do, I want you to ball up this fist. Like… like this. And we’re going to both go over there and give that cranky bitch an early birthday present. We’re going to beat a smile into her face.”


Kassandra didn’t move. Her gaze was still out the window.


She looked across at the adjacent yard. Ryan pushed a lawnmower forward, cutting a line through it as he descended its incline.


“You hold her by her wrists, Kassy, and I’ll start stomping her in her forehead. Then… then I’ll hit her where it really hurts.”


“Where it really hurts,” Kassandra suddenly repeated.


“Huh?”


“Where it really hurts.” She looked at the young man across the street, taking him in for a minute. She then turned her head and looked her friend in her eyes. “Beth, I know you love gossip. Would you like to hear some gossip I’ve heard recently? From my daughter?”


“Sure,” Bethany said, confused, but always eager to trust her friend’s oddly prescient thought processes whenever given the chance.


“Okay,” she said. “According to my daughter, there’s a young man on this very street, one who we know, that’s still a virgin.


Bethany squinted at her friend. Then she looked over her shoulder and out the window. Kassandra turned and looked out the same window. Both women with their eyes on the same point in the distance. Both with the same rising intention.




The two women had flipped a coin to see who would do the honors. The role fell to Bethany, who was then given Kassandra’s daughter’s yoga pants to wear. She grunted as she tried to pull them up the giant obstruction of her ass. When the two of them realized it was impossible, she was given a much looser pair of yoga shorts instead. She exited the house with some nervousness, but like with all things, that nervousness began to evaporate the moment she began to act.


She started walking across the street. Kassandra watched her friend as she approached the young man. When she saw how nervous he became at seeing the woman he had known for years, she wondered why she hadn’t sniffed out Ryan’s virginity earlier. Bethany had her hands on her hips, the heels of them resting on her protruding curves, and she seemed to shift her weight on the opposite hip every few seconds.


“She’s a natural,” Cassandra thought.


Within a few minutes, Bethany turned around and began walking, her hips swaying excessively as she went. Ryan followed behind, his eyes on her ass. “It’s like a honeytrap,” Kassandra murmured to herself. She felt as if she were luring the young man with chocolate. She didn’t feel too bad about it though. She was just looking at that big beautiful black ass moments earlier, as it tried in vain to squeeze into more reasonably-sized attire. It not only delivered on first appearances, but exceeded all expectation by miles.


Kassandra got up off the couch and stood up. “Here it goes,” she said. She removed her shirt.


Just as she did, the front door opened, and Bethany came in smiling, their prey following behind her.


When he saw Kassandra standing there, her breasts covered by nothing but a lacey black bra, he gasped.


“Hello sweety,” Kassandra said. “It’s been a while since we last talked, hasn’t it?”


Ryan stood there, saying nothing. The breasts sat there, supported in their bra, staring back at him, equally as silent.


The olive-toned face above the massive pair of olive-toned tits spoke. “Come here. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Wow, you know up close, I can see you definitely look a lot more mature these days.”


Bethany laughed with her hands in the straining pockets of her shorts. “He knows. That’s what I just told him outside. He’s like a totally new young man, but still the same Ryan we all know… and love.”


“Look at all this stubble,” Kassandra said, and she brushed her palm against his face.

She could feel him shaking as she did.


His stubble reminded her of George’s, and because of it, she wanted to pull his face toward her chest, but she refrained. She instead looked him up and down. He stood there, staring straight ahead all the while, his gait awkward and strained.


“He’s become quite the big boy now, hasn’t he Beth?”


Quite the big boy,” she said.


“Did Beth tell you what I needed help with?” she asked.


“No,” Ryan said, his voice cracking.


“Okay,” she said, and began brushing his hair with her fingers. “It’s hard to explain, but I’ll guide you through it. First, I need you to take off my bra, it’s stuck.”


Ryan didn’t move his body, but his eyes were wider now.


“Here,” she said, grabbing his hand, noticing it shake within hers. “I’ll show you.”


She placed the hand on her giant right breasts, and then pushed its fingers into the cup of her bra. The backs of his fingers brushed against her nipple.


“Just… take them out,” she said. “It’s okay.” She was whispering now.


Ryan stood there for a moment, feeling the forbidden flesh against his fingers, the flesh of legend and intrigue. He was touching that very flesh, and was soon about to see it with his own eyes.


“Come on,” she said. “You can do it.”


He pulled down her cup and with it, her giant unobstructed breast came into view.


“The other one,” she said.


He reached into the other bra, slightly bolder, and pulled the other heavy breast out of its bra cup with the same heft usually used to pull up a boat anchor.


She stood there, her bra now hanging at her waist, her tits out and free to his touch and view. She was still running her fingers through his hair..


“Okay,” she said. “Now I want you to tell me whose is better.”


He looked up from her breasts into her soft eyes. “Whose… better?”


All of a sudden, emerging from his peripheral, came a shapely form.


He didn’t even have time to turn his head. Instead she emerged into his field of vision, walking behind Cassandra. It was Bethany. Much to Ryan’s astonishment, her two giant big black butt cheeks were hanging out of her shorts, slightly propped upward by the elastic waistband of them.


“My ass is way better than Cass’s tits,” she said, and got them to wobble slightly with her fingers. “Right?”


He was shocked to feel Kassandra’s hand over the bulge in his pants. “You don’t think that’s true, do you? That her big ass is better than my boobs?” She massaged the bulge.


“Please Kassy,” she said as she crawled onto the couch. She looked behind her, bent over, her butt cheeks apart enough to expose the space between them. “I’ve seen the way he looks at me. I’m driving him more wild than you ever could.”


“Tell me that that’s not true,” Kassandra said. Ryan sucked in air as he felt her hand disappear within the waist of his pants. Her soft fingers wrapped around his stiffening dick.


“He wants me so bad, he’s going to lose his virginity to me,” Bethany insisted.


“Lose it to me,” said Kassandra, and she started to kiss his neck. “You can only lose it once.”


“That’s true. So lose it to me.” She hopped off the couch and backed up into Ryan’s side. Ryan felt Kassandra’s giant breasts pressing into his chest, as wall as Bethany’s round shapely ass cradling itself against his dick. Kassandra’s hand was engulfed by the thing, and then she pulled it away when she realized she had no space to maneuver it. Ryan’s cock was entirely being eating up by Beth’s butt crack.


She lifted her giant tit to Ryan’s mouth, eager to compete. “Put it in your mouth,” she said. She pressed it against his cheek, her nipple being pressed flat by it. “It’s okay.”


He did as he was told, and he fondled the nipple with his tongue until it got hard.


“Now suck,” she said.

Ryan began to suck.


At the same time, Bethany, not being able to reach Ryan’s cock beneath the pressure of her own ass pressing into it, leaned forward, clearing some space, and then grabbed his hard dick and after a few jerks of it with her hand, began to press it inside her.


Kassandra looked down. “I guess this is it,” she said. She kissed the young man on his lips. “See you on the other side.”



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



Trisha’s phone buzzed. She looked down at it with a scowl. She hated when people sent texts instead of calling.


She pushed the phone across her kitchen table with disgust.


She moved toward the living room.


The phone buzzed again.


“Ughh,” she said. She looked back into the kitchen.


*bzzzdd*


It buzzed again.


“For fuck’s sake,” she said, and she stormed toward the phone.


*bzzdd*


It buzzed as she picked it up.


The texts were from Kassandra.


“Oh, what does that olive muncher want no-“


As soon as the video popped up, Trisha’s mouth fell open.


Her son stood there, naked as the day he was born, as a black woman hung from his body, her ass protruding considerably from the rest of her. Trisha’s eyes went wide when she saw her son’s beautiful virgin cock going in and out of the black woman’s body.


“No,” she said.


In the next video, Ryan laid on the couch, his eyelids twitching, as Kassandra licked his nuts. Beth’s finger could be seen at the periphery of the shot. “Say hi to mommy, Ryan.”


Ryan didn’t say anything, he only smiled through the unstoppable waves of pleasure that ran through him as the beautiful woman licked his balls, her breasts hanging softly against his knees.


“Mmm,” said Bethany. “Let me get in there.”


In the next video, Kassandra’s breasts dangled deliciously in Ryan’s face, and he sucked and smooched at them. All the while, Bethany’s giant black ass rode in his lap. As Kassandra whispered sweetly into his ear, Bethany moaned out loud, “oh he’s going in so deep. So deeeep.”


Trisha dropped her phone and ran to the living room. She looked out her window at the house across the street. She thought she could see the occasional flourish or flash within the house’s inner-darkness. But it still seemed so unreal and so unlikely.


Suddenly, within the flash of a second, two giant tits pushed aside her skepticism as they came smack dab, flattening themselves, against the house’s window. They were so big they could be made out from that distance. And above them, half seen in shadow, Trisha could see a moaning face, ripe with all the pleasure her son had to give.


When she heard her phone buzz again on the kitchen table, she ran to it, first to throw it in the trash compactor, but at picking it up she couldn’t help herself but to look.

Her son sat with his mouth hanging open in bliss as the exotic Greek woman rode him. Trisha’s tits couldn’t match hers, nor could her ass match Bethany’s. And her son lay there, losing his innocents to both. In the next video, he fucked Bethany from behind, and Trisha thought she could almost hear the intensity of the smacks from across the street even now.


Her son’s body was beautiful. She remembered when she caught him once, changing in his room, and she had marvelled at how nicely he was coming along. She had joked to herself once that she’d be the one to take his virginity. It was a private thought, one which she never took too seriously, but one which she didn’t think was as absurd as it initially seemed. After all, it would have just been another great mother-son experience.

Trisha’s eyes teared up as she watched her son’s penis inside the other two women. Suddenly, her sadness gave way to her usual mode of being: unfiltered and undirected rage, the likes of which knew no moderation. She burst out of the front door of her house screaming, and she bolted toward the front door of the house across the street.


Just as she did, and she began to bang on it and scream violent threats, insults, and racial epithets, Ryan felt that familiar wave run through him, except now more so, and the two women kneeled before him expecting and ready for what they knew was coming.


“Ughh,” he moaned and gush after gush of warm white cum ejected all over their smiling faces.


“No! You fucking bitches. Dumb bitches sluts. Fuck you. Fuck you! I’ll kill you!”


The two women inside ignored the screams from their unhinged neighbour. They instead kneeled below the sweet boy they had just made into a man. They looked up at him grinning. The underside of his chin pointing at him, his head resting on the backrest of the couch. They then looked at each other. And today, as with every other day, they smiled.




 

Freedom


Freedom:


I stood there, my jaw agape, looking down at the face of my mom’s phone. While I stood there, she whistled within the shower, oblivious to my invasive presence past the doorway of her bedroom. I had initially come with the purpose of deleting photos, not preserving them. If only I had stuck to that goal.


I knew I had to do it the moment the picture was snapped. I stood, looking at her, my lips wet with the slimy surface of a fish’s mouth. I had tripped into it while holding the little bugger by his gills when the wave of a nearby boat rocked us from our steadiness, and she had snapped the photo at the exact moment my lips and the fish’s lips met. I knew what she had caught the moment she, while looking down at her phone, began squealing with laughter.


I just wanted to have a fun day fishing.


When we got home, I waited for her to head to the bathroom, where she’d wash off the fish smell, and I snuck to her room. Her phone was lying on her bed. I knew she had yet to post the image to facebook, which was her usual MO. I’d been checking her wall every so often just to make sure she hadn’t. Part of me hoped she had the common sense not to mortify me in front of friends and family like that, but I couldn’t rely on my faith in her. I had enough love to hold her in high regard, but not enough to maintain faith in her good sense. Perhaps that was just the way it was when dealing with women.


I scrambled through her phone, and when I found the culprit, I scowled. It looked worse than I remembered it. Like I was tongue kissing the fish, despite somehow my tongue never exiting my mouth. I went to click on the image, intending to send it to her trash bin, but I was overzealous with my thumb, and inadvertently ended up swiping to the side.


What I saw there staring back up at me would change my life forever.


It was only a solid line, a gap between two continuities of flesh. That solid line was on my mom’s body. She smiled back at me from the photo as I looked down at that solid, black, unbroken line. She was in an image, state of dress, and pose clearly meant for my father. But here it was, on the face of her phone, looking back and into my eyes. She smiled over the sight of her bare ass, as if it was meant for my eyes to see. It wasn’t. That ass was meant for my dad, and my dad alone. Yet by some cosmic accident, one which she set into motion, it had become more than that. One embarrassing photo was traded for another, and after sending it (and a few others which were similar) back to my phone, I put her phone down as if nothing had happened, and slunk back to my bedroom.


I could hear my mom leaving the shower, but was still effectively deaf to it, as I lay my phone on my desk. Her unbroken buttcrack, between those giant sweet cheeks, looked back at me as if it were smiling. As if the smile between those cheeks of her ass and the smile between the cheeks of her face were one and the same.


On the screen of my computer monitor was much more explicit imagery. It was that of white women, their bodies not much different than my mom’s (PAWGs), in blissful union with the bodies of giant black men whose flesh was as dark as night, and their faces in perpetual grimace. BBC porn was my drug. It did things to me nothing else could. Watching the brushing together of two different worlds, Europe and Africa, as if the Sahara Desert and the Mediterranean Sea had folded into negative space, merging the continents into blissful union to the accompaniment of moans and grunts.


I watched, with keen eyes, as black balls slapped against the milky white surface of a white woman’s buttcheeks, and I looked down at the image of my mom, her butt cheeks the same shade of milky white, her redbrown hair indistinguishable from the redbrown hair of the girl in the video.


I thought of my dad’s shining bald head, with his greying horseshoe, and his glasses which expanded the size of his eyes to comical levels. I thought about his skinny body, and the limited size of his white dick compared to these black sea monsters on the screen. It was a crime that the beautiful bodies of white women were wasted on bodies like my father’s. It was a crime that I knew for a fact, when accompanied by the soundtrack of slapping white cheeks and feminine moans, was unforgivable. One that should be punished with imprisonment.


As I fell deeply into the warmed pillow of these thoughts. My phone, with my nude mother still emblazoned upon its glowing face, buzzed.


It startled me and I almost came right there because of it. I looked down at the phone, and when I saw it was an alert from facebook, my heart dropped.


I let go of my throbbing cock and grabbed the phone.


It had occurred to me in the flash of that instant the colossal mistake I had made in my overwhelming arousal. I had forgot to delete my mom’s embarrassing photo of me.


The image exploded before my eyes, and underneath it, at the thinnest part of the mushroom cloud, was a column full of likes, laughing reacts, and humorous comments.

Arthur Schlesinger: “Fish Kisser.”


Amy Morand: “I always knew he was a ladies man.”


Jim Collins: “I didn’t know he swung that way. It’s 2023, to each their own.”


I fell back into the grooves of my seat. I looked down at the phone as if it were the image of a deadly crash site, whereas just moments earlier, it appeared to me like the sight one receives when they quietly stumble upon beautiful young women skinny dipping in a moment they assumed was private.


I thought things couldn’t get any worse.


Oh boy was I wrong.



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



Chains:


“So what are we going to do with him?”


“If we lived in a better state, he’d get the chair.”


“Well, given we don’t, what do we do? We’re not even allowed to put prisoners in solitary anymore.”


“We keep him to his own cell.”


“Okay. You think that’s going to-”


“He’s already killed two people. What’s expected of us? Are we just supposed to serve him up a third?”


“I don’t know why you’re arguing with me. We’re in agreement. But we’re dealing with crazies who don’t care. They don’t listen to what we have to say. You see it yourself. They know better than us about everything, because they have a degree. That’s the way they see it. They’ll demand we end his cruel and unusual punishment through isolation, say that we’re putting him in solitary and calling it an odd number of inmates in a prison where we stack ‘em two to a cell. We give in, give him another cellmate again, and boom, three weeks later, maybe less this time, the new guy’s dead. What do you suggest?”


“I don’t know.”


“The best we can do is give him the worst inmates, that way we know the poor sonofabitch who gets it at least deserved it this time.”


“’Deserved it.’ Like that’s our job. Extrajudicial punishment. A virtual death penalty. These freaks are so misguided they’re creating the type of prison they think we always were in their little imaginations. Fuckin-“


“Well I don’t know then.”


“Well, find something. We need something, some workaround in the rules. An obscure one so nobody catches wind of it, no matter how deep they pushe their noses into this.”


The two men sit there for a silent few minutes in the browngold office. The man in the big chair looks at the buck on the wall, then he looked out his window down into the yard, where men in orange jump suits wander around like ghosts. A giant black man sits in the corner in orange, with not a soul within reach of him. He’s still chained at the wrists, and his chains extend to a steel loop in the bench.


“Mean sonofabitch,” says the man in the chair. “Kills six people outside, two in here, and still has a beautiful young lady who comes here once a week for conjugal visits. I just don’t understand that community.”


Before he even finished his sentence, the one standing cut in with a sudden eureka of tone. “Conjugal visits!”


The one in the chair turns around. “Huh?”


“We limit his conjugal visits!”


“We’ve- huh- I thought we talked about this. We can’t do that either. The activists are the ones who set that up last year. Our hands are tied there more than anywhere els-“


“We don’t stop the visits themselves. We stop the visitor. You understand?”


The man in the chair looked up at the other. His eyebrows furrowed. He looked down at his desk. His fingers tapping its top. A smile began to form on his face. He looked back up. “It’s brilliant. Just one question though, smart guy. How do we do that?”


“Tyrone knows how to do it.”


The one in the chair turned around and looked out his window. He saw Tyrone sitting there. Staring into space. The chains on his heavy wrists like those fashioned to fetter a god.


“You know what Tyrone knows the value of better than anyone else?”


The man in the chair turned around to look at the speaker.


The speaker looked down at him with grin. “Fear.”



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



Capture:


It was three in the morning when my front door burst open.


Flash lights grazed every surface in the living room and kitchen, grazing more as they moved down the hallways, until they grazed the sheets of my bed and the moisture of my eyes.


The sweating palms of my hands shot up on their own volition to shield my eyes from the blinding light.


Minutes later, I was being dragged down my hallway as my screaming mother and bellowing father risked getting shot to demand the reason why, with banshee shrieks and peasants’ pleading. I was thrown into the back of a police vehicle. My rights were read to me half-heartedly. But I had no reason to complain. I knew them from television.

Exactly twenty-three minutes later, I was sitting in an interrogation room.


I had heard that you should always default to a lawyer when in this position, but my sense of justice (it seems quaint now) refused to believe that common sense and reason weren’t enough to get me out of this. And because of this I spoke.


They asked me a furious barrage of questions about where I was two nights before. The answer was simple. I was sleeping. They asked if anyone could vouch for that. I said my parents. But with each question, jagged and direct, I didn’t even seem to know if that could be true. The light in my eyes blinded me, confusing me. The aggressive snarls on the two middle-aged white men did even worse to my coherence. I was exhausted from being woken up mid-REM sleep, and I was clouded in my thoughts by terror.


After some more confusion and placelessness, something was said which acted as a through-line extending through the fog.


“Fish Kisser!”


I looked up at the detective.


“Oh, so you do get worked up about something.”


Where had I heard that before?


“You don’t like that one, do you?”


“I… uh.. I don’t know what that…”


“Arthur Schlesinger. Your victim. He called you that, and that was the straw that broke the fish’s gill, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it, you punk?”


The look of sudden realization and terror must have been easily apparent on my face, because the smiles on theirs seemed to double in size.


“Yeah, yeah. You didn’t think we could figure it out. He calls you Fish Kisser. You stab him thirty-one times. Do it until you remove his head from what was left of his throat, and toss the thing into his aquarium. ‘Whose the Fisher Kisser now!’ I can’t say it’s not creative, kid. Too bad I’m not a sick enough fuck to laugh at the joke with you.”


Before I could object, a stinging pain and blindness exploded into being, making itself the center of my universe. When awareness and sight came back to me, the realization that I had just been struck by an officer of the law was so surreal to my little mind, with all its little concerns, that I became a dumb mute for the remainder of the interrogation, not even finding the words to ask, however meekly, for a lawyer.


Not long after, I was in a jail cell with real criminals. Then by myself. Then four months later, I was in court.


My mother and father stood and sat there in black, as if they had come to see my funeral, tears and all. And any moment I could find to turn and get a look at them, if only just to regain the anchor of my mom’s shape, it being beautiful in her black formal wear, was a moment of uncharacteristic peace. But even that would fade.


On the day where a jury of my peers doomed me to a life without life, twenty years in a cage, my mom shot up like some cruel jack in the box, and began screaming. Her butt jiggled like a hot mess as she did and the security officer had fun restraining her when she bolted towards me to hold me one last time.


His strong black arms locked her into place against him, and I saw the subtle smile which formed and I knew it had everything to do with the way her ass, in that tight-fitting black dress, pressed into his eager crotch.


It was good that that was my last spectacle for the day, because when I got back in my cell, being informed on the way there that I’d be headed for the penitentiary first thing in the morning, I did something I hadn’t done for the last four months. I dropped my beltless pants, let my cock free beneath my sheets, and began to jerk off to the sight of what I had seen that day, my mom’s shapely ass cradled in that black man’s pants. At least he had a good day today. And I could find some peace there. My mind went precisely to his tiny moment of subtle thrust against her trembling backside.

And for the next six minutes, I was free.


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


Hell:


Jean Paul Sartre once said that hell is other people.


I always knew that to be true in the way that every introvert did.


But it wasn’t until I had been placed in my cell on the first day at the pen that I really understood the weight of that observation.


Sitting on the bottom bunk, glaring at me with large, white, soulless, eyes was a black face.


I had always heard jokes about being imprisoned with Bubba. When my name became a public spectacle, people who didn’t even know me made the same jokes about my situations all the way around the world.


Now I was here, stuck in a single place, and through it, living that trope in reality. And my Bubba’s name? It was Tyrone.


He didn’t look at me, so much as look through me. I looked out of my cell at nothing, a random piece of railing and the wall. There was screaming without periodically. I had learned that on the first walk to this cell and I also learned that most of the screaming went unnoted by the guards. My cell was in the furthest corner of the walkway. I knew what this all added up to.


I had all this in my mind at once, and it baffled me because I knew what this was referred to as in many other parts of this country. It was street smarts. I was beginning to develop them out of pure terror and necessity.


So when the large onyxed-skin man looked at me, I looked down at the floor reflexively.

I tried to hide my trembling. I thought I couldn’t be more afraid.


Then he spoke: “What you in for, cracker?”


I slowly looked up at him, his face as stony as it was when I came in. I looked away.


“Murder,” I said. As much as it hurt to say it, I was too afraid to tell him the truth that I didn’t belong here. That it was just one big accident and that I should be home playing video games, studying for finals, and jerking off to porn.


“Ah,” he said. “We got ourselves an aristocrat. Hey, why don’t you take a guess as to why I’m here.”


I couldn’t look at the man. I didn’t speak.


“Well,” he started. “Here I’ll show you with this hand.” He held out a giant black fist. And then his index finger, its knuckles blacker than all the rest, shot upward. “Murder,” he said. A smile forming on his face, exposing his white rows of teeth. Another finger shot up. “Murder.” More shot up as he spoke. “Murder. Rape. Assault. Rape. Murder. Breaking and entering. Murder. Possession of marijuana.” He reset the count on his fingers. “Murder. Sexual assault. Rape. Impersonating an officer. Assaulting an officer. Home invasion. Rape. Murder. Arson. I should also have a few extra years added for four counts of manslaughter after I hit that family of white niggas with a stolen truck. I could only tell it was a family of four after from the news. At the time there was nothing left of the car. I didn’t know a Ford pickup could do that…. Then I did it….” His smile was wide. “It wouldn’t matter anyways. The longest a sentence could be back when they caught me was twenty-six years. So I’ll be free as a motherfuckin’ bird in twenty-one.”


I didn’t say anything. I had came into that cell terrified more than I ever knew was possible. Now, the emotion I felt defied language. It was like all reality was a sinister vibration, loud and constant. If I spoke, he’d only see that.


Unfortunately for me, he saw it anyways.


“You shouldn’t be here, should you?”


I thought it was a threat.


“You didn’t do it. Your murder.” He began laughing. “I can see it in you. You couldn’t squish a motherfucking fly. Nigga, they got… you’ve been framed.”


I looked at him with one eye.


“Mistaken identity. Oh, that’s it. I saw it in your eye there. You poor motherfucker. They put you in a cell with a nigga – a straight murderer, raping motherfucker – and you was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”


Other than my parents, he was the only one who believed in my innocence. And with that, I began to feel a sudden kernel of safety. If only I knew how naive that was.


We spoke for a few more hours before I felt comfortable crawling up to my top bunk. Even as I did, I feared he’d grab my thigh and whip me to the floor, just to hear my head crack against the concrete. When I made it up there, I finally felt like I could take a full breath.


For the next few days, I stood next to him in the workshop. He helped me with my clumsy craftsmanship. On the third day, I watched him improvise a shank, and then I watched him hide it skillfully in a small tear in his pants.


All I could think at the time was I was glad to not be the guy that thing was meant for. He seemed to be sharpening its edges extra carefully for whoever that was.


During our outdoor hour, I watched as he was chained to the bench. I stood near him in that corner of the yard. Not too close to appear weak, having to rely on him for my safety. But not far enough away where I felt alone among the sea of scowling young men.


One night before I went to bed, I heard a shuffling underneath me. I peaked over in the darkness, where a ray of light from outside shone on my cellmate, at exactly the level of his crotch. I saw his giant sea-monster of a snake flop about, hard as iron, as his black hand ran up and down the side of it. “Fuck… uhh… yeah…. Shaniqua….” He was murmuring to himself. “Yes… I’ll kill those fucks… I’ll escape. Get the guard’s keys…. Escape…. .and get back to you… and tax that… uhh.. that fat black ass…. Fuckers…. Took you away from me…”


I slowly removed the photograph of my parents from under my pillow. And then, with the little light I had, I looked at it, seeing the two of them smiling in each other’s arms. I imagined my mom’s smile, but in the context of another photograph. One I wish I still had with me. Then I folded the photo in half lengthwise so that only my mom was visible. I peeked over the edge of my bed at the flapping black dick. Then back at my mom’s photo.


I was lucky they didn’t trust us with belts in here, because I removed my pants silently, and I slowly began to tug myself loose. My comparatively smaller penis throbbed in my fist. I imagined as if I were clutching it back home in the safety of my own bed, with my mother sleeping peacefully in her room, with my dad next to her.


I thought of the black cock below.


“Motherfucker…” he mumbled in the dark. “Take this diiicckkk.”


I imagined my mother, that big naked ass in that photo that I didn’t have long enough to enjoy. Tyrone stood behind her, and as his big black pelvis slapped against the fleshy white of her ass, I could almost visualize how deep his cock plunged within her. It was like an adventurer, going deeper than any other explorer had, putting my dad’s cock to shame. His black hand gripping my mom’s breast. Her face, first screaming in pleasure, before slowly being corrupted in the swamp of mind into a look of pure terror. Tyrone was a rapist after all. And my mom, well she was perfect to be one of his victims.


Waves of pleasure began to vibrate all through my body, and I felt them like colored streaks in the dark. The lower half of my body rode that trajectory into a moment of pure bliss, which rose, rose, reached its peak, and then subsided, back into common experience, and, finally, when it had, I had realized something.


The last few rattles rung out before the bed frame and the mattress stopped moving.

Tyrone lay under me. Silent.


The silence persisted and I lay dry-mouthed within it.


Then I could hear his voice from below: “Having a good time up there, huh whiteboy?”


If I hadn’t blown all my horniness in orgasm, I might have played along with his question. But because my balls were empty, and my motivation flat, I pretended I didn’t hear him. Like I was sleeping.


He didn’t say anything. But one thing I should have taken notice of, unless I had missed it during the moment of my furious orgasm, it didn’t seem like he had finished himself before finally falling to sleep.


The next day, I noticed that Tyrone didn’t greet me in the morning. We both sat in our cell silently. Then we were walked to the showers, where I watched his black dick swing through the warm jet of water, his balls seeming to be engorged, ready to burst. In shop, he did nothing except lollygag in the corner where the 1982 Swimwear calendar sat on the wall. Miss July, a white woman with wild, blonde hair looked back at him with her blue eyes. She had no shape to her whatsoever. Still, I could see his cock throb inside his pants.


Looking at it there, I had forgotten completely about the other secret those pants were hiding.


He was then chained to the bench in the yard. And while I stood off, not too far from where he sat, he seemed to be stewing in some sort of silent reflection, his mind as black in its thinking as the dark flesh which it wore on its surface. It took a while for me to spot the hint of anger burrowed within the deep black of his brow. And then his gaze went from dead space, up toward a window on the third floor of the office and records building.


He looked up at the window with all the hatred I’ve seen in all men I’ve ever known. I looked up at the window and saw a well-dressed white figure looking down at him. The figure then turned and disappeared.


It seemed that as much as my street smarts were coming along, they were still weren’t even close to being developed enough for my own good. I walked back to my cell with the others with complete obliviousness. I waited there alone for my cell mate, who often came after, escorted by a larger detail of CO’s.


I had no indication that today was about to be rough day until I heard it, as if it were overlapping volleys of rifle blasts, coming down the landing.


“You motherfuckers!”


“Hold him! Hold him!”


I heard the sound of banging flesh and metal. Then the scuffling and screaming got louder and louder. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t know who it was. That the voice didn’t sound familiar. But I knew.


I watched as they appeared in my cell doorway.


“Get in that cell you fucking ni….”


They threw Tyrone in with me, and just as quickly they slammed the gate shut.


The man bubbled with rage in front of me, looking at me for a moment, then spinning around to aim his mountain of red ire at the men that held him captive.


The guards seemed to look on in horror. It was when I realized that it wasn’t horror they felt for themselves that I began to feel scared. And just at that moment of mounting realization, they both turned around and went in the direction they came in, down that thin strip of terrace. They looked like marionettes as they went. Like they knew they shouldn’t be leaving, but they had no choice. The rules were the rules.


As soon as they were gone, Tyrone turned around, slowly but with a stiff intent. His eyes focused on mine. They bubbled large with rage. I thought it would just be a look, nothing in me told me it could ever be anything more than that. My reality didn’t contain that possibility, even after the events of the last five months. Suddenly, as if to prove me naïve, he lunged at me.


I felt his powerful hand grip me by my throat as I was pushed backward.


“They won’t let me get pussy? Then I’ll fucking show them. I’ll fucking smear your guts all over this cell so they understand what it feels like. Those punk bitches.” His white teeth were gritted in unfiltered rage.


He suddenly reached toward his pants, and it only took a second for me to realize what he was reaching for.


The shank glimmered in the harsh light of the cell. I could hear the CO’s footsteps clanking away. They could hear us fine, they just couldn’t turn around and do anything about it. There were forces beyond them making sure it couldn’t happen. Forces which were animated by gears so useful to those involved, that they’d rather let them crush me then to damage their beauty by shutting off the sputtering machine.


Tyrone swung me, and I struggled to keep standing, knowing that if I tripped, even if just for a second, my neck could break.


The shank glimmered, and, as if to prove to me that this terror I felt was justified, he jabbed toward my torso with it. I let my gut fall in and retreated back, feeling my head pushed forward with the leverage his hand had around my throat.


He took another swing. It cut my clothes. I looked down for a moment and could see my pink flesh, thankfully unharmed, peeking up at me through the clean slice in my shirt.

Tyrone dipped down and then thrusted me toward the bunkbed.


And with that, from the pillow on my bed, a solitary leaf of paper fell majestically to the ground. Both of us stopped what we were doing, distracted by the silent beauty of the moment. It was strange to remember it that way, that the terror and rage that we respectively felt could be obliterated by such a small thing. It was as if we were watching the falling feather of an angel, the make-up of which had the cure to our combined ills.

That wasn’t too far from the truth.


We both looked down at the fallen leaf. It was a photograph. My mom stood in it, fully-clothed and happy, smiling back up at the two of us.


There was silence for a moment. The only thing I felt was the constriction of his palm against my throat. But nothing else.


He then spoke: “Who the hell is that?”


I didn’t want to speak. But I knew I had been given the gift of a small shot at survival. Its waters were sweet. I drank from its spring: “That’s my… ugh… my mom.”


His glance shot up at me. His ugly grimace began slowly to fade. “Your mom?”


“…yeah,” I said, my voice constrained.


His newly-gained neutral expression began to form into a white-toothed smile. “Is that just the photo playing tricks, or does she really have an ass like that?”


I looked down at the photo, seeing exactly what he meant. The shape of my mom visible even from the front. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s… ugh… that’s what it looks like.”


He began to laugh. He looked up and me, and then down at the photo again.


“You know,” he said. “The last time I raped a white bitch was a while past. I did it and then I set her on fire in front of her family.”


If I could breathe, I would have gulped.


“You should have seen them screaming as she ran like a fireball all over the house, setting her fucking furniture on fire. Her son tried to run to the sink to put her out, so I put my gun to his head and he stopped cold. You should have seen her when she stopped running and just stood there. All flaming and shit. Like the human torch. Then she slowly fell to her knees. Then she was down.” He chuckled. “This bitch looked like Karen Fisher one minute, the next minute she’s a black, steaming raisin on the ground. That’s how you have a good time. People like you will never understand that. You don’t have it in you.”


He pulled his shoulder back, then he thrusted me forward. I landed on his bed and began to immediately suck in air. The shank in his hand lost its glimmer under the shade of the bed as he stepped forward.


“So white boy, you have two options now. You either serve as my method for protest, because they took away all my others, and I kill you and make a modern art project with your ass right now. Or…” his smile became extra toothy. “You help me with picking up a new conjugal visit partner, no matter what it takes.”


My brows narrowed to confusion, even through the terror, I couldn’t pretend to understand. How much of this was due to a lack of oxygen was hard to say. “Who?” I said, holding my throat.


He began to laugh. “Don’t worry white boy,” he said. “I don’t want to set her on fire. They haven’t even given me the means. But I still have my dick. They can’t take that away from me. And I intend to use it on someone.”


I sat there, my fingers still on my throat, staring at him.


He stepped back for a second. The shank in his hand glimmered now again.


I thought of my mom, screaming in terror, as her giant white ass smushed against his black pelvis with every thrust.


I looked up at his frightening face, its every feature seeming to scream to my brain that he was an existential threat to me. One which needed to be placated, if removal was impossible.


“So… what it’ll be, white boy?”


I thought of my father, as if he were super-imposed against the man I was looking at. I couldn’t think of two more distinct figure. My father’s empathetic eyes contrasted with Tyrone’s angry gaze. The musculature of Tyrone’s body and his inherent size, a size which my father couldn’t fill, in more ways than one. And then I thought of my mother, her flesh beige and pink, her giant white butt cheeks and that unbroken crack, her feet and her pink toes and her green eyes. And then I thought of Tyrone, the parts of him that were hidden to me now. His large cock in the moonlight, and his solid black thighs and hips. His big, juicy lips and the shape of his head. And then, only to add to it, I thought of being free from his murderous rage, from never having to know what it felt like to be his stabbing victim. To never know what it felt like as life slowly slipped from my body as sure as a cliffside would lift when one fell from it to the ground below.


The last thing I saw before I spoke was my mom’s innocent face, as it looked back at me from that photo, that photo that started it all.


“Yes,” I said. “I’ll do it.”


The shank dropped to the ground. I could almost here the sense of relief from the CO’s eavesdropping from afar.


I understood. But believe me, nobody felt more relief than me.



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



Trial:


“He’s going to kill that kid.”

“I know.” He held his temple.


“So, you’re okay with that?”


“No, but we’ve been over this. Our hands are tied.”


“He’s eighteen.”


“Yeah, but he’s a murderer. I’m not saying that it’s right, but at least we can take solace in that. He decapitated-“


“I don’t think he did.”


The one in the chair looked up.


“You agree with me, don’t you?”


“It’s not for us to decide who did what. That’s for the courts to figure out. And they’ve decided that he’s a murderer.”


“But we have the power to at least save his life.”


The one in the chair snorted, then looked down at the model car sitting on his desk. “By letting him give up his mother?”


“A rape is better than death.”


“Again, it’s not for us to decide who gets raped, who gets murdered, who gets thrown in a cage.”


“It’s not for us to decide who gets put in solitary. That’s why we’re here.”


“Ughh.”


“And isn’t it us who decided he won’t be seeing his girlfriend. We’ve made these tough decisions before.”


“Then we’ll reverse that one.”


“You think he’s going to be okay with that? Have you seen the boy’s mother?”


“No, I haven’t.”


The standing one reached into his backpocket and then extended a white, folded paper toward the one in the chair. “Here. I took this from their cell.”


The one in the chair looked at the photograph for a moment. He was silent. His fingers fondling the windshield of his model convertible. Then he lifted his hand to the photo. “What’s this?” He unfolded it.


“That’s the kid’s father.”


He swallowed. “Okay,” he said dryly. “If we can guarantee her safety…”


“You know that we can’t.”


The one in the chair took a deep breath, and then shrugged as if to an invisible figure in the corner of the room. “Okay, I know. But, we can keep guard’s posted on the outside, right? And we can…” he looked up at the other.


The one standing shook his head.


The one in the chair turned and looked out his window. Tyrone sat on the bench, staring off at nothing with what felt like an otherworldly confidence. Like he knew something great was coming over that hill with an assurance that no other prisoner had for anything. “And of course, if he does end up hurting her in any way, that will only prove to the activists, once and for all, that we were right to persecute him this entire time, right?”


“Right?” said the other, gravely. “Right on the money.”


The one in the chair turned and looked back at the photograph. His index finger ran down the side of the woman’s curves.


With his finger still on the image, his eyes darted up to the eyes of the other.




Redemption:


“Here mom,” I said, sitting so close next to her I could smell her. I put my hand down on her opposite hip. Then I pulled my hand away when I realized I was shaking.


“What are all these blacked-out sections?” she asked. She looked up at me with her large, green eyes.


“I don’t know,” I said with a dry throat. “I have no idea how things work here.” As I said it, I was looking down at one part of the release they had forgot to black out. CONJUGAL VISIT it said plainly.


I put my open hand down on the contract, obscuring the term, and then slid it toward her. “Here,” I said. “Just sign on the dotted part.”


I watched silently and slowly as my mom put the pen to the page, began to let it glide up and down in her usual ballet, and then watched as its well of ink dried up on her. I took a deep breath, almost feeling a moment of sanity and strength, only to then exhale, reach over across the table for another pen and hand it to her. She pressed it to the page again, and I sat there, leaning over the table with my hands at the back of my neck, watching her finish off the final curves and depression of her black signature on that white paper.


When her pen lifted off the page, I leaned back. Then I turned and looked down at my mom’s ass pressed again the bench. My bottom lip quivered.


I looked up at the CO. “Okay,” I said to him as if he was working for me. “Let’s go.”


I walked with my mom toward the room, and once we got close to its doors, I felt hands grab me around my arms.


My mom turned to see me being pulled away by a CO. “Hey!” she said.


“It’s alright ma’am,” he assured her as he dragged me off. “Just continue into the room. We just need to check him for weapons.”


“He’s my son!” she protested.


The CO didn’t answer.


He dragged me up to my terrace, throwing me into my cell. I stood there, alone. I turned and looked at Tyrone’s bed, precum wiped all over his sheets. “What have I done,” I said out loud.



My mom continued into the room, which was small, artificial in its casualness, and without harsh edges.


“Oh,” she said. “This is an awfully nice room for what it is. Do they use it for anything else?”


“No,” the CO said. “Just for conju…. for private conversations.”


“Wow,” she said. She looked around.


She wandered toward the couch. She sat down at it, looking at the CO. “It’s comfortable,” she said. Without answering, the CO turned around and left the room, shutting its door behind himself. “Not much of a talker I guess,” she said.


She sat in the strange silent room. She exhaled deeply. There was a nervous energy in it. Her entire being focused around her worry for me, though she tried to keep it buried for my sake. Little did she know it wasn’t me she should be worried for.


I sat in my cell, looking at my happy photograph of her. I unfolded it, bringing my dad back into the image. He held onto her with a smile.


“Oh god,” I said. “No…” The realization that it was too late to go back now came to me.

I looked around at the oppressive walls. The tightness of the room. The meagreness of the bed and colorlessness of the concrete floor. This was my home now. My mother had been free of it all. She had never murdered anyone, or done anything mean to anybody except for play a joke on me. And I had betrayed her. I had brought her here, to the worst place in the world, all just to save myself.


“No!” I said again.


I heard laughing from some of the other cells.


“She’s dead,” a voice called.


“No!” I said.


“Her ass is grass, boy!”


She looked at the desk, a strange, penis-shaped figure looked back at her.


She tilted her head.


The door suddenly shot open.


A large black man seemed to almost be pushed into the room. Upon seeing her his eyes lit up.


My mom looked at him with her eyes wide.


Behind him, the door slammed shut, and she could hear its lock being clicked into place.


She gasped.


Tyrone, like a black panther lunged toward her.


She shrieked and shot up, backing away from his hand. He jumped at her and she stepped aside. He fell onto the couch. She ran to the door, trying its handle to see that it was locked. She looked back at the giant black man. “Help!” she screamed outside. “Get me out of here!”


Tyrone moved slowly, methodically, confidently toward her, admiring her every inch of exposed white flesh. Using her as a springboard to reminisce about other white victims. Reliving his glory days within seconds, days of raping other white moms, free as a bird and moving to his own beautiful drum.


His hand shot up and gripped her by her throat, his favorite move. She gasped for a moment, only for it to be cut short by the pressure of his hand.


He grabbed her shirt and he tugged it down. Her giant tits fell out and into the open. He thrust her violently towards the couch. She fell back, her hair flying upward as she hit the cushions. Her tits jiggled.


“Help!” she screamed, tilting her head as if to project her screaming past him and towards the door. Her voice was hoarse.


The confusion in her face mixed in with the terror. Nothing in the moments leading up to now implied to her that she’d be put in this situation. It had to be some sort of sick accident, and she screamed louder, terrified that things were about to become even more tragic.


“Oh,” Tyrone said. “That white woman scream. It’s like a drug.”


She looked at him, her sense of a possible savior coming, completely obliterated as if it had never existed to begin with, replaced entirely with the expectation of worse.


Tyrone kneeled down and grabbed at her skirt. She tried to wiggle away, her tits shaking as she did. Tyrone only gripped down harder. Within seconds, he tore her skirt from her ass. Her red bush came into view. The total size of her ass could now be seen from the front.


“Oh, you fucking pawg bitch.”


She tried to back up on the couch frantically, terrified by that word, “pawg,” not knowing what it meant.


Tyrone looked down at the pawg, perhaps the last he’d ever taste. Nobody had power over him now. Not the warden, the CO’s, or the riflemen on the towers. The entire prison structure, its concrete walls and steel bars, all there, no longer his oppressors, but his allies, keeping his prey, and her gorgeous and thick white body, trapped inside with him.


My mom screamed as Tyrone ripped off his own pants. She screamed louder as he leaned down, grabbing at her pink thighs. She tried as best she could, but with each push back, it only solidified for her just how much power the black convict had over her. Her limbs were useless, pushing with exhaustion against the opposite force of his own.


She thrashed in horror regardless, maybe assuming he’d take pity. He laughed. “Cool it the fuck down, bitch.”


She looked up at him with doe eyes. He spit into her face.


He grabbed her at her hips and suddenly flipped her over. The world spun before her until she found she was facing the backrest of the couch.


She felt something pushing into her pussy from behind her.


She screeched in terror.


Within a fraction of a second, the black dick plunged within her.


Her body jiggled and vibrated all over, her cheeks most of all, as she was pummelled from behind. Even her screams and cries came out in comical vibrations. Tyrone looked down at her white ass which rippled with his every thrust, her beige flesh a sea.


I heard a distant screaming, loud and horrific. And I thought of my father. What he would do if he could hear it. Men in the prison hooted and hollered.


“Looks like it’s too late for your mom,” the voice from a floor above said. “Describe what she looks like.”


I sat there, my stomach eating itself from the inside with worry. Without even thinking about it, without even realizing I was doing it, I began to detail blindly the every physical feature of my own mother, looking down at her photo for reference. It was like it was my only way of holding onto some form of sanity, though doing it in-of-itself was an act of just that.


“Uh huh!” Tyrone said. “I love this fat fucking white ass. I can’t believe it. Even in prison I get to rape and murder a bitch.”


“Oh,” my mom didn’t much as say, but choke forth.


As I looked down at the photograph, I realized that I may never see my mom like that again.


She bawled into the couch cushion as she got pummelled from behind. Then she felt hands grab her at her hips and flip her over. Tyrone kneeled down and began licking her face.


The warden sat in his office, his hand on his model car. He took a deep breath, then he turned and looked out he window. An empty bench sat there with a loop to ring chains through. The other prisoners walked past and around it. But Tyrone wasn’t there.

“There was no other way,” his assistant said.


Tyrone grabbed my mom’s body and flipped her around effortlessly so that her head hung off the couch cushion. He then hunched down his giant black dick forced its way into her mouth.


My mom’s mouth filled with black dick. No woman who was ever raped by a stranger thought it was going to happen to her until it did. This was my mom’s realization moment that yes, she was being raped, and furthermore, it was by a black man. No matter what happened from this point forward, even if he died this very minute, she would never escape the reality of being his one-time victim. His act had sullied her with the spectre of his mind and body forever.


He then pulled out of my mom’s mouth, giving her only a fraction of a second to breath, before turning around and thrusting his big black butt cheeks onto her face. She saw nothing but darkness, but in that darkness, the two faces of the only men she loved flashed into her mind. It was the face of my father, and my own face, both looking back at her with horror.


After a few moments, she realized she hadn’t taken a breath in a while. Attempting to do so, she was panicked to find that she could only suck in black ass. Her body thrashed again. Tyrone, feeling it, lifted himself off of her and look down into her face as she sucked in air.


“Huh, you don’t like choking.”


She looked up at him as she gasped for more air.


“I’ll keep that in mind.”


The warden sat there, his fingers clasped. “The activists are going to regret this,” he said.


“There’ll be an outcry.”


“You know there won’t,” his assistant said. “They won’t let this get out.”


Tyrone leaned down again to insert himself into my mom’s pussy. “Oh,” he said. “Looks like you liked that.”


My mom furrowed her brow at him.


“You’re all wet.”


She looked down to see his giant black cock sliding into her wet pussy.


Her eyes went wide.


“That’s something they never talk about. They always get wet.”


Tyrone continued to fuck her, his big black lips coming down to kiss her face. She felt the utter size of his cock probing deep within her.


She felt herself shriek again, and then was shocked to realize that the shriek wasn’t a shriek at all. It was a moan. And then he fucked deeper, harder, faster, and with the increase in power came a sudden rush running through her thighs and belly.


“Ooh,” he said. “White girl is going down. You wanna suck this cock?”


She only looked up at him, her body rocking back and forth.


“Bitch!” he demanded. “You want to suck this cock!?”


She suddenly, both out of fear and desire, began to nod her head.


Tyrone took his cock from her and stood before her. She took it into her mouth immediately and began to suck on it, removing it for a few licks of his shaft or his balls, before pushing it back into her mouth.


“Yeah,” he said with a husky whisper. “Your son set this up. He did it to save his own life.”


My mom didn’t stop. She looked up at him for only a second, even as her tongue ran against his cock. She then looked back down at it and continued.


“Because of him, your husband is never going to see you again.”


She was still sucking.


“Is his white peckerwood as big as the big black cock?”


She shook her head.


“Aren’t you glad that if you’re going out, you’re going out with a taste of this first?”


She didn’t say anything, making as if she was just too focused on sucking.


Suddenly his hand came down, slapping her in her face, then gripping her throat and throttling her. “I asked you a fucking question, bitch. Me or your husband, who would you rather fuck before death more?”


“You,” she said, and then put his cock back in her mouth.


“You want this monster back in your pussy?” he asked.


She didn’t say anything, so his eyes went wild looking down at her. Seeing this, she answered quickly. “Yes,” she said. She nodded her head eagerly. “Ohh, yess.”


I could hear her screams of wild pleasure, and I only held my face in my hands.


“They always get into it before the end,” the voice above said. “White bitches. I’ve raped and killed three, and they always love my black cock before the end of it. Like they have nothing left in life, knowing that it’s ending so soon, so they latch onto that.”


My throat squeaked. I lifted my hands to my face, wetting my palms with copious tears. “Oh god,” I said. “What have I done?”


“You killed your mom, sonny boy,” the voice said. “It’s okay though, I’m sure her life for yours is exactly what she’s always fantasized about. White women and their savior complex. Now just imagine her ass as he fucks it. You’ve seen him naked. He’s you’re cellmate. Imagine that body slapping against her ass.”


I moaned in the shade beneath the bunk.


“She loves how much bigger and more evil he is than your dad. Just imagine it. Come on, think about it, for real.”


My pants came off. I grabbed my cock, even as I sobbed. Many other voices joined in, egging me on, laughing at me.


Suddenly a cheer began to form from the voice of one. Soon becoming the voice of two, then the voice of five, until after a short while, it was the entire wing of the prison which was saying it. “Kiss-The-Bitch. Kill-The-Bitch.” They banged on their cell bars.


The warden looked at his desk, hearing the chants.


As Tyrone fucked my mom, they both heard the chants. She looked up at him as he thrusted, feeling him going deeper inside her than she ever thought she’d be able to experience.


“You ready for it, bitch? You about to be my next and final victim.”


Almost without hesitation, she began nodding her head. She had never been more sure of anything in her life.


Tyrone, without stopping or slowing down in his thrusting, wrapped the fingers of both giant hands around her throat and he began to throttle her.


My mom first felt the pain against her throat, then she felt the sudden need for, and denial of, oxygen. Then she felt a throbbing panic. Her arms shot out. He gripped tighter, even as her hands slapping against his neck and face.


She looked him in his eyes.


As she felt a haziness and a distance, like she was falling down a deep well, she also felt an overwhelming series of waves begin to run through her, first seeming to come from a distance, like from within the glowing black, until she seemed to exist in a state with nothing but the waves.


The every inch of her white flesh tickled with an infinite joy. The light above her, with the black figure at its center, closed into an eternal blackness.


Tyrone stood over her, feeling her body go limp beneath him. He looked into her eyes, no longer focused, no longer animated. His thrusting didn’t stop. Even in her stillness, he could see the pleasure within her final moments. It was the same pleasure and inner-peace they always showed him before leaving.


As he felt his balls tighten, and he began to cum inside her, he leaned down to kiss her on her lips, sending her off to her next life, and, in that way, knowing her better than her husband. Being loved by her more than she loved her husband, him being the last thing she had on her mind, and within her body, before passing.


As you nutted in your cell, you somehow knew she was gone. Droplet after droplet fell from your cock, landing on your mom’s photograph, all while your dad stood off to its side, smiling.


As your mom was shipped to the prison morgue, her photograph was passed from cell to cell, just so all the inmates could know and admire the woman who had died within their midst. As beautiful as she was, none of her could feel too bad for her. After all, she possessed something that they all lacked.


Freedom.




 

America Part II: Evelyn


Formerly known as Crouching Tiger Mom, Hidden Dragons. I've changed the name to make it more in keeping with the universality that this entry, and future entries in the series, are leaning towards.



“It makes you feel like home, doesn’t it?”


Tom’s mom Evelyn looked at John with chopsticks in the fist she rested under her chin. If it weren’t for her eyes being so big, blue, and beautiful, she would be irritating to look at. The rest of her face brimmed with a smug pride in herself.


“Yes,” John said. He looked down at his Chinese takeout. He pushed his fork toward his sweet and sour pork.


“Oh, oh!” Evelyn insisted. She reached across the table, her giant white tits being dragged against its top as she did, and she grabbed a pair of chopsticks. She pressed them against her plate to pop their paper wrapping and she handed them to John, shooting him a wink. “You don’t have to eat with a fork to impress us, Yin Zin.” She looked down at her plate with a big smile, her blonde bangs hanging precariously into her eyes.


“Yeah Yin Zin,” Tom said, sitting at the other end of the table, shooting a mischievous grin at his foreign friend. “Here, have more rice while you’re at it.” He leaned over the table to pass the rice, and his father grabbed it and passed it, oblivious to the joke being made.


John looked down at the rice.


It looked back up at him, inertly.


Tom’s mom swallowed the champagne in her elegantly-shaped glass, then she looked up and said “you know, I’ve always had a thing for the Chinese culture. I just find that…” The milky-white tops of her breasts shook as she began to wave her hand circularly in the air. “…it’s just so… wise…” She looked at John with her head tilted to the side, drawing his gaze back up to her blue eyes. “You know what I mean?”


John looked the gorgeous blonde American in her face. Unsure of how to respond. He nodded slightly and said “yes” nervously.


She smiled, and then looked down and picked up a chicken ball with her chopsticks, seeming to be eager to demonstrate her perfect form. “You know,” she said, holding it in front of the long line of her cleavage as she pointed their wooden tips at her exotic house guest. “Many people blame the Chinese for what happened with COVID.” She shook her head in performative disgust. “But I don’t. I just think that’s awful. As if we did much better with dealing with it. And we can be critical of people in other countries for eating bats… or for eating dogs or cats… or whatever they eat. But at the end of the day, when you look at the horrible things us Americans stuff into our faces, who are we to judge? Like really. There’s a reason why we’re so overweight as a country and you guys are so thin. If anything, maybe we should start eating bats ourselves. It would at least open our minds a little bit.”


Tom’s dad looked at his wife as he chewed. Nothing she ever said, even when he was being talked to directly, ever seemed to register.


John could see the very edge of Tom’s smile at the end of the table.


“How is bat, by the way?”


John looked over at his grinning friend.


“Because I heard it tastes like chicken.”


John didn’t know what to say. He wanted to just ignore his friend, like he would every other time, but he didn’t know if his silence would be taken as offensive. Tom had filled his mind with all sorts of fake landmines to avoid, faux pas after faux pas, which seemed to be constructed by Tom’s imagination out of thin air. John couldn’t tell the difference between Tom’s jokes and Tom’s real advice anymore. John looked down at his plate. He thought of the first excuse which would come to him. “I… I haven’t had bat. It’s… it’s expensive. My mom couldn’t afford.”


“Oh,” said Evelyn, her outstretched hand pressed against the tits which covered her heart. Her hand stretched forward and grabbed John on his forearm. “It’s okay, Zin Chin. If you ever want bat, I’m sure Avery here can find someone who sells it.” She looked at her husband. “Isn’t that right, Av?”


He slowly nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s what I heard,” he said.


Evelyn looked back at John with a smile. Her thumb ran up and down a small section of his forearm twice. She said “see, this is your home as much as it is ours” and then she pulled her hand back and began eating. Something occurred to her and her gaze shot back up. “This country, I mean. Not this house.” She said it as if she were terrified that John would think this house was his and that he’d never leave.


John didn’t know what to say or do. So he did what he always did when in doubt. He nodded.



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



Danielle’s giant naked ass looked extra large blown up to the size of Tom’s basement television.


John’s dick sat in the foreground of his view, in front of the television. Seeing that ass now, in this context, he wondered how it was he could even fit his dick between those giant white butt cheeks, even if the chance to fuck Danielle fell into his pale lap.


Everybody there tried to ignore the slapping of Leo’s dick, which seemed to always slap against his thighs or tummy when he was jerking off. John looked over. Looking at it, he couldn’t help but wonder at all its various nerves, just how many there was, and how much pleasure that could possibly add up to if it were inserted within a woman like Danielle.


“Here’s the best part,” Dylan said as he jerked his moderately impressive dick.


Danielle leaned down, her brown hair spilling over her face, and she grabbed her mom’s scale from underneath the bathroom sink, giving the four boys a perfect shot of her bent over ass. Even as she bent over, her butthole was obscured by the giant weight and size of her butt cheeks.


“That’s my girl!” Tom said.


Was your girl,” said Liam, his dick as strangely thin as his body.


“Yeah, well at least I had a girl. Your mom’s on primetime television and I don’t see anybody hanging off of your arm.”


“Guys, guys,” Dylan said, still stroking at a constant pace. “Let’s leave Liam’s mom’s huge tits out of this.

We have my cousin’s ass up there on the screen. I didn’t set up that camera so you two could be ingrates.”


John looked at his friends’ dicks. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was what America had turned out to be. Jerking off in the basement of a mansion with four other guys while looking up at his classmate’s naked and shapely body on the screen.


“While you’re at it,” Leo said, his black cock, only half hard, being stroked in his caramel-colored hand. “Get some footage of your mom.”


Before Dylan could respond, Tom butted in: “something tells me we’ll all be seeing her naked soon enough.”


“Fuck you, man!” Dylan said, almost completed naked, with his famous leather jacket sprawled beneath his naked ass.


“Shh,” Tom said. “My parents are upstairs. Do you want them to come down here and see what you filmed?”


Dylan was quiet for a second. He looked down from the corner of his eyes. Then he looked back up. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if it’s only your mom coming down.”


Liam hooted.


“Shut up, you sperg,” Tom said.


Liam went silent. He hated being called that.


John hated the dynamic with his friends. He had thought he found his niche, however meagre, through the beauty and voluptuousness of his own mother, only to find that all of his friends had the same niche.

He couldn’t even have the distinction of having the most exotic mom there, as Liam’s mom was Hispanic. On top of that, Dylan’s mom, with her dark hair, ever-present come hither gaze, and large breasts, was known as the neighborhood cum rag (though Dylan always maintained that those were rumors), and Liam’s mom, whose delicate, pale white body seemed to be poured into her every dress, was a literal sitcom star who lived out in Beverly Hills, and whose red head was no foreign element at all the parties, award shows, and the red carpet sprawled in front of the Chinese Theatre. And Tom’s mom, well, she was… she was Tom’s mom alright.


John liked to take stock of things in his usual analytical way. But whenever he tried to do it regarding him in relation to his friends, the sum total of his calculations and categorizations was always meager at best. He thought about it in terms of attractiveness. In this domain, Leo stood with a handsome masculinity, which was only multiplied by his impressive height (he was the tallest person John had yet to know). Furthermore, he was very much in shape, and had the biggest dick out of anyone in that basement. John couldn’t wrap his mind around how much Americans hated stereotypes given their entire land mass was just one giant example of the very stereotypes they denied actually being true.

Leo’s cock fit the stereotype of being impossibly large just as much as John’s fit the stereotype of being distractingly small.


Neither Tom nor Dylan were drop-dead gorgeous, but both had that basic symmetry, and distinctiveness of bone structure, which made qualified any man who had them as generally attractive. In terms of who was better-looking, John was partial to Tom, feeling a stronger loyalty towards him over any of the rest due to Tom being his first American friend, but he also couldn’t deny how much American girls seemed to enjoy the company of rebels, and Dylan fit that description to a tee, both superficially, with his leather jacket and unkempt hair, and in essence with his refusal to follow any rules, no matter how logical, simple, and to his own benefit. The fourth member of this ratpack, Liam, was relatively handsome. He was strange, distant, and shy enough to be mysterious, but pretty enough in his features that any awkward edge in him was interpreted through the rose-tinted lenses of his female admirers. He would often squint behind his glasses when confused, and he seemed to suffer from a chronic and unjustified low self-esteem. It almost seemed as if it were the product of his mother’s fame doing a number on him. But in many others, a celebrity mother would only be a source of pride. Liam seemed to be different than most, in that he seemed to be able to spot the potential negative in everything, and would often retreat to the predictable three act structure, or the occasional subversive rejection of it, that he could get in film and literature. His first discussion with John had him bringing up Hsiao-Hsien Hou and Edward Yang with excitement, and then promptly becoming silent when he realized that John had no idea who these people were. Nobody did.


The least attractive of the group was John himself. And John knew this. He was short, kind of strange looking, maladjusted to the brashness of American society, and he had by far the smallest dick. His accent didn’t help either.


John’s second mode of comparison though, hurt all the more, because it was the mode he had assumed previously that he would excel most in. In China it was no contest. That mode was the attractiveness of his and his friends’ mothers.


On some days, John could get himself to believe that his mom was the second or third most attractive, and in his least insecure moments, he knew that to be almost certainly true.


But even still, John felt a little crestfallen when he discovered that the parts of his mom that he felt were unique trait, were actually shared among his friends’ mothers in various degrees. All of the mothers, for one, had giant tits. Tom’s mom’s tits heaved as she inhaled and exhaled upstairs on the couch with her reading glasses over her pretty blue eyes. A copy of White Fragility in her dainty white fingers, and her nodding her blonde-head along dutifully to the book’s every word. Liam’s mom’s tits hung naked from her chest in a white changing room. She had her hands outstretched, waiting for her assistant Maria to hand her her wardrobe for what the script only described as the “dogwalking” scene. Dylan’s mom’s tits bounced up and down as she rode the cock of Leo’s uncle in the bedroom of his ill-kept apartment. She had only first talked to him three hours earlier at the local bar, and now she had her palms pressed down onto his abdomen as she gyrated on top of him.


When it came to the backside of a woman, Leo’s mom took the cake. Right now she had her back arched, with her ass up in the air, in the downward dog position, not only displaying the giant size of glorious ass in general, but proving that it beat the “yellow” cheeks of John’s mom by a hair. This was easy to establish. After all, these two women were doing the downward dog directly next to each other.


A husband who had come to pick up his wife stood at the glass window of the establishment, looking in with a greedy gaze. He had come, excited to see his wife’s instructor, the gorgeous Latina, in her usual compromising poses. But he felt like he had received a special little treat when he neared that window to see that beautiful oriental rose, bent over in the same positions he had admired in the spicy bronze-skinned woman he usually watched posing in.


“I didn’t know they were built like this over there,” he mumbled under his breath.


He then felt as if he was being watched. He looked over and saw his wife’s disapproving gaze. He looked down at the ground.


Amy lay stretched there next to her new friend. The yoga pants she had purchased based on Leo’s mom’s recommendation seemed to fit perfectly and comfortably, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel ashamed by the size of her ass. She lay there, feeling the every fibre of her arms, back, glutes, and thighs stretch, while the fibers of her very pants stretched against the pressure from her squeezing butt cheeks.


Her sense of personal security was unmatched. She looked up at herself in the wall mirror to see her adorable face looking back at her. She was smiling.


Unbeknownst to her, and to everyone else there, on a microscopic level, a singular thread within the hemming of her pants, began to strain against the overwhelming pressure of her giant ass, which swelled as easily as her mind did with a newfound pride.


Danielle stepped out of her shower, giving the boys who watched her on screen a perfect look at her shaved pubic region.


“She’s cleared for entry,” Liam said.


Suddenly, the television shut off, followed closely by every light in the basement.


“Goddammit,” Tom’s mom said upstairs, her voice muffled beyond the shut basement door. “If that shithead idiot you hired screwed up our power, Av, I’m going to destroy his cheeseburger-eating ass for good.”


“Yes, honey,” her husband said obliviously. “I’ll do that tomorrow after my meeting.”


The boys were silent. John looked at the black space where his friends originally lay. Then after some more silence, he heard Leo’s voice. “Oh, Amy. Yeah. Give it to me, Amy. With your big Asian tits!”


John sat motionless in the dark.


Suddenly, with a throbbing noise, the power came bake on all at once, the sight of Danielle’s shaved pubic region coming back with it.


John lay there, now completely exposed by the light, with his face and thighs a beat red.


He looked over at Leo, who looked back at him, now with a completely hard cock.


Tom looked at John with his trademark mischievousness. “You going to let him get away with that, Short Round?”


John didn’t say anything. Leo only kept his eyes on him, as if to feel out if he had gone too far. “Hey man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mea-“


“I don’t think you have to apologize, man,” Tom said.


Leo and the two others looked at Tom.


He lifted his finger and pointed it at John’s waist without looking over. “It looks like he’s excited for a new dad.”


John looked down at himself.


Staring back at him was his own cock. And it was harder than it had been all day. He knew it as well as everyone else in the room. Leo most of all.



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



Uncle Tony looked down at his sister’s ass as she came into the restaurant with her work clothes in a duffle bag. Frank the homeless guy out back watched her in her yoga pants as she smoked before going in.


“She must be eating all the leftover rice off those plates when she washes the dishes,” he said to himself as he admired her thighs. “How else do you explain it?”


She looked over at him, not understanding what he said or what it pertained to. She dropped her cigarette and stomped it out with her runners before heading in.


Uncle Tony stood at the counter, confused. He had just felt excited looking at his sister’s ass. And as tight as those pants were, they only seemed to strengthen the glow in her face. She is becoming one of them, he thought. He rushed to the backroom and he stood by the staff bathroom door. He looked around to make sure none of his staff was near, especially not his wife. And when the coast was clear, he turned and looked inside the bathroom. His eyes went wide, with only one thought on his mind.


She is becoming an American.


As the day went on, he watched periodically as young American men looked up at her from their seats with eyes which shone under the lights of his restaurant, making them appear charming. They seemed to take special interest in her, these American men, even when she was dressed as conservatively and unglamorously as she was when in her work attire, they still seemed to become alive around her. He recognized their looks. They were actually very familiar. Because those upturned gazes were not very different than the look he had seen in his own face, when he saw it reflected back at him by his television as a youth in China, as Pamela Anderson ran down the beach with a life-preserver and a onesie on the screen.


Tony wiped his hands on his rag, and after seeing to it that they were dry, he threw the rag, in a sudden whip, down at the counter.



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



“Just let me in, man! Is your mom home?”


“Yes,” John said. “She has no…” he had to stop to think of the word. “She has no shift right now.”


“She won’t let me in?” Dylan asked.


“Yes, she will,” John said, confused. “Why did you not try the front door first?”


“I didn’t tly the front door because I’m not a front – excuse me, flont – door kind of a guy. Just open your window all the way so I can hop in.”


John did as he was told. His friend guiding him as he tried to work the distinctly American mechanism behind the window.


“Fuck man,” Dylan said as he climbed in. “Are you keeping it shut to keep out ninjas or something?”


“No,” John said. “It was always shut. Ever since we came, it was.”


“Oh,” Dylan said sarcastically. “Yes, you do have a TV in here. Here, let me show you something.”


“Show me what?”


“Just wait!” He snapped. “You fucking people drive at two miles an hour, even with a mile’s worth of traffic behind you, but you need everything done for you in seconds. Chill out.”


John said nothing.


He watched as Dylan fished through the pockets of his leather jacket. “Shit did I forget it a- oh!”


John watched as he pulled out a strange black device.


“You know what this is?”


John shook his head. Then he said “Oh, it’s a…. no. I don’t know.”


“Yeah, good try,” Dylan said dismissively. “When I captured my cousin’s ass, how do you think I did it? Do you think I did it with magic powers?”


John looked down at the device, his face going blank. “But… why is it here now?” he asked.


“I said I have something to show you. Hold your horses.”


As Dylan began to set up the camera on the television he was still talking. “When we were at Tom’s, did you at all wonder why I suddenly had the weakest bladder of all time?”


John didn’t say anything, he just looked at the back of Dylan’s head, then up at the black screen.


“I was adjusting it to make sure it was placed properly. Over and over again. I missed my auntie once when it was aimed wrong and I’ve been terrified of that shit happening again. I just went by there this morning to pick it up. I said hello right to her face. I gave her a shit-eating grin like Tom always does. I do the same to my cousin every time I see her. Anyways, you were closer than my home so I thought I’d stop here and implicate you in the crime.”


The screen suddenly burst into life.


It was a bathroom. Tom’s bathroom.


Tom’s dad stepped into view.


Dylan leaned forward, about to fast forward it. Then he turned around and looked at John with his head tilted. “Did you…” he pointed at the screen. “You’re not lying when you tell us you’re straight, right?”


John didn’t say anything.


“Okay, good.” Dylan began to fast forward through it. “Gay AND Chinese. I couldn’t even imagine. Thank god…” his voice began to trail off as the footage progressed.


Next to come on screen was Tom’s mom Evelyn. The two young men held their breath. But when they saw that the annoying woman was just coming in to examine her face in the mirror for three minutes straight, her voluptuous body remaining clothed below, and then leave, they sat in the disappointed silence, fast-forwarding further.


Tom came into the bathroom next.


“Jesus,” Dylan said. “Even when he pisses, it sucks. What a loser.”


He fast forwarded more, and that’s when the two young men held their breath, because when Tom’s mom came back into the bathroom, she came back with a towel clasp against her body, underneath her giant cleavage.


As the woman stood there, slowly removing her clothing, she did so while examining herself in the mirror. That same smug self-satisfied grin was there, even now when there was nobody to look at her.

But as she looked at herself with that grin, she pulled down at her pants. The two boys’ faces dropped.


The unbroken butt crack of the women they had had the pleasure of knowing (as burdened with caveats as those pleasures were) appeared to them, like gold revealed behind an opening chest lid. And that metaphor only became more apt when she turned around to get a look at her back. It was a testament to the giant size of her tits in her bra that the boys alternated up and down between looking at those giant but clothed globed which hung from her chest, back down to admiring the fine blonde hairs of her pubic region, which had been trimmed down into a fine fuzz. The lips of her pussy sat below those hairs, reminding the open-mouthed boys that Tom’s mom was somebody who one could have sex with.


She worked the clasp of her bra with her delicate finger, until the giants cups and fine straps of it fell past her pubes and lips and landed at her feet on the ground. Her giant tits stood out in the open, her nipples a faint pink, almost seeming to disappear at some angles under the harshness of the bathroom light.


Even in her nudity, she stood elegant and classy, looking statuesque in the pristine marble of the bathroom.


Then her arm reached out behind her, all while she continued to examine herself in the mirror. She leaned down and grabbed the edge of the toilet seat and she lifted it up.


“No,” Dylan said, his dick just coming out of his underwear. “Is she really going….”


The crack of her ass lengthened and bended and then disappeared from sight as she sat down on the toilet’s seat. The sound it made on impact was like a slap.


She rested her elbows on her kneecaps and was slightly leaning forward. Her pink nipples near-invisible under the light.


There was a look of strain on her face. “Oh geeze,” she said. And suddenly, coinciding with a rising relief in her expression, the sound of liquid hitting liquid, and, occasionally, liquid hitting porcelain, began to rise.


Dylan began laughing. John kept his eyes on the screen, all the while wondering where Tom was in the house, if he was even in the house at all, when this moment happened.


“Uhh” she said in a husky whisper. The sound rose, combined with the museum-like acoustics of the room, into an echoey reverberation. “Oh,” she whispered. “Yeah.”


“That’s a whole bottle of champagne,” Dylan said. “We seen it go in one end, and now here it is, coming out on the other side.” A smile formed on his face. “She pisses like Tom talks.”


The stream began to slow down, followed by a few more blasts into the toilet. Evelyn had already reached for a square of toilet paper and was waiting for herself to finish before using it. Once she did, her tits shook as she wiped herself. Then she stood up, she grabbed another square and began to wipe her inner-thighs.


“That messy bitch,” Dylan said.


She then turned around and kneeled down, cleaning droplets off the toilet seat. The underside of her tits fell to the seat, and she lifted them up by cradling them with her left arm and wiped up that specific spot with her right before discarding the tissue in the toilet and standing back up.


She depressed the flusher with her delicate fingers.


“Hiding the evidence,” Dylan said. “Wouldn’t want the whole world to know she pisses just like everyone else.”


And then she turned around and washed her hands.


As Dylan spoke, “amazing, isn’t it? What would you do without a friend like me?,” jerking off while he said it, John, tugging on himself now, could only think of one thing. The sensation of her hand, its thumb, rubbing him on his forearm, up and down, up and down, as she looked at him with her blue eyes. And then he thought of Tom’s smug smile at the end of that table. Would it still be so smug if only he knew.



Two sets of tissues sat, crumpled and stiff, by John’s bed. He would have to clean them later, before his mom wandered past. Even if she didn’t know what they were, she’d be upset by John having trash on his floor.


As the two young men moved down the hallway, both stopped in place.


Amy lay there, her face toward the fireplace, the arch of her back stretched enjoyably, as she looked at her reflection beaming off the gold-metal plating on the brick on the walls before her. She was smiling from ear to ear back to herself with a distorted and overlarge version of her face.


Dylan looked at her giant, bent over ass, the cheeks of which pushed at the straining fabric of her yoga pants. Her mat depressed by the weight of her tits below.


And then they both noticed it. When John saw it, his eyes went wide. He could only assume that it was a mistake, an illusion from where she was sitting and the relative lack of light in the room.


Peeking out of his mom’s yoga pants was the waist of her underwear. And below that waist a single line of fabric ran vertically, down into where the boys couldn’t see.


It was a thong. John’s mom was wearing a thong, for the first time in her entire life. John couldn’t believe it. He didn’t believe it. It was a trick of his eyes, nothing else, he was sure of it.


Dylan looked at the beautiful vision, both familiar and foreign to him now. And as he looked at her, his enamored shock soon gave way to a rising smile.


“Hey!” he said toward the direction of John’s mom.


John looked over at him. He was smiling.


“I know that face.”


Amy turned around to see the young American man standing there, looking down at her. “Hello,” she said. “Are you friend of my son?” She was looking at the two of them over the top of her own bent-over ass.


“Uh, yeah,” Dylan said. “In a manner of speaking.” He began snapping his fingers. “That’s it,” he said, and stopped. “You’re at Tony’s restaurant. Chinese Tony. You’ve served me before.”


Amy’s blank look was suddenly devoured by her increasingly famous smile. “I remember you. You love the number 6.”


“Yes, the number 6. The number 9. I love them all.”


“Huh, yes,” Amy said cheerfully while sitting back up on her knees. “You friend of my son? What’s your name?”


“My name, uh, that’s Dirrin,” Dylan said with a grin.


“Dirrin?”


“Yes…. Dirrin,” he said again.


“Okay,” she said, and she moved up to him to shake his hand in the usual American way. “Nice to meet you, Dirrin.”


Dylan nodded his head slowly, knowingly. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. John.”


“My name’s Amy.”


“Amy? Like Ai… Mee?”


“Yes,” she said, bowing slightly. “Amy.”


“American Amy,” John said, clarifying, and feeling stupid as he did so, knowing that his mom was being made fun of directly to her face. “A-M-Y.”


Amy didn’t understand the dynamic. She only looked at her son, her expression bewildered, then she smiled again awkwardly.


Dylan excused himself not long after. “Sorry to leave so soon. I just have a few files I need to upload to the world wide web…” his voice trailed off.


John sat in his room, the thoughts of Tom’s mom completely nude to his foreign eyes as she undressed and bathed in what she assumed was the privacy of her own American bathroom, was occasionally overtaken, and it was violent every time, by the thoughts of his own mom’s ass bent completely over in those yoga pants as her wale tail peaked out at him and his friend. That was it, wasn’t it? She was wearing a thong. But she couldn’t be. No self-respecting Chinese woman, especially not a Chinese mom, ever would. Women in China, if they even had the gall to wear one, only did so to advertise themselves as loose and available. Could that have been what his mom was wearing? It didn’t make any sense.


There was only one sure way to check, and though he burned with a desire to do so, he had heard his mom rummaging through her drawer that one morning, confused as to why the bra that should have been there wasn’t. The bra which Tom had hidden in a shoebox in his closet. He couldn’t risk it. He had sullied her sacred drawer once with his sacrilegious probings. Not only did he feel an acute guilt, it only being amplified by the recent sight in his living room, but he knew that his mom could notice patterns. She would be wondering as to why she was reliving that moment of pawing through her pillowy mass of underwear yet again. And on top of that, she was logical and pragmatic. She’d know there was only one other person in the house.


John turned over on his side, his hands underneath his head. The last thought that happened in his waning awareness was the image of his mom back in that Chinese bathroom, the water of which swirled down from its showerhead, falling freely over its tiled floor, circling at her feet down the drain beneath her. She looked over at him, her body wet, naked, and bursting with life like a flowerbed, her feet turning over the drain in deliberate steps, before facing her son, body and expression. “Yixin,” she says. “America is my home.”



That night, all the other guys got the word regarding what was peeking out of John’s mom’s pants. They were all much more eager to believe it than John was. They received this good news at about the same time they got the video of Tom’s mom (except for Tom himself, who was exempt from the knowledge of this video). And the next day, they all got the word from Liam that John’s mom was occupied at the restaurant, and John, like the living stereotype he was, actually showed up to the drama club’s rendition of Hamilton.


Dylan was the first inside the house, coming inside through the now compromised window. He went to the front door and unlocked it, and the ravenous pack of Americans came through the house like barbarians. Within a minute, Amy’s room was invaded. Her underwear drawer sat empty and overturned on the bed, with her piles of bras and panties sitting there in a cone-shaped pyramid. The boys poked and prodded at her gigantic cups and the thin strings of her increasingly gaining thong collection, which all seemed comically small for the size of her ass. They fought over access to certain pieces of underwear, sometimes pulling on them at two angles, like a horny tug of war, stretching them until loose. Tom, in his obnoxious fashion, tried to mount the entire pile, giving it a few delicious humps, before the others pushed him back off, a pair of her panties still hanging from his dick as he was thrust backward.


At some point, Tom - in between ecstatic moments with his cheeks, forehead, dick, and balls within the various cups and g-strings of this treasure trove – looked up, noticing that one of his compatriots was missing.


After taking a quick head count, he looked at the other two. They burrowed through the pile with their faces like pigs in slop, enjoying whatever was leftover from the flesh of that Oriental and unknowing goddess. After a while, they both stopped, looking at their friend. “What?” Leo said, a bra hanging from the tip of his dick by its cup.


Tom looked at the two of them. “Where’s Dylan?”


Suddenly, they heard a toilet being flushed from the bathroom.


The bathroom door opened. Dylan appeared in the bedroom doorway.


“Got a little too excited?” Tom asked with his usual smile.


“Yeah,” Dylan said, smiling back. “Something like that.”


After the boys were done, each pocketing their own souvenir, they headed for the front. Just as they did, they saw the figure of their furious activity, her body shapely and pristine in its dress, underneath which were the same articles they had burrowed themselves through like rats only moments earlier. She trudged herself up her front steps, and they could hear her heels clicking on the ground, even through the front door.


They took a sigh of relief when she stopped at the top of the steps, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her purse and a lighter. They turned around and stepped slowly down the hallway toward John’s room.


Once inside, Dylan hurried them to the window. As he did, he looked over at the black face of John’s TV, and then looked over at Tom, who was busy lowering himself from the window into the backyard. He smiled at his friend.


They all continued outside, hopping to the grass below, one by one, with Dylan bringing up the rear. Just before he pulled the window closed, he made sure there was enough leverage available so he could push it back in again from outside.


As they all snuck around the house, waiting to feel the front door slam shut through the vibrating stucco of the house before rounding the front, one of the boys smiled a little wider than the others. As that boy walked off down the street when they all went their separate ways, he did so with his hands in his jacket pockets, both of which were as empty as the space reserved for concern in his mind.


After all, what did he have to be concerned about? He was an American.


He thought about heading home and checking out his little video again, but he decided that maybe he was going to go check out Hamilton after all.


Today was the last of three showings. His video would be forever. It could wait. And, besides, it wouldn’t be the only video of its type come tomorrow. But this one, he reflected, would be a little bit different than the first. And he really loved the first, but he thought he could do with a little more variety. It’s the spice of life as they say. And the new spice was one of his favorites: It was Sweet and Sour sauce. And because of that, he would value it more than the first. He wasn’t alone on this one. Everyone knew that John’s mom was the hottest of all the moms.


It wasn’t even close.


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