top of page

Commissions: Volume 6


The image above represents Evelyn from America Part VI: Charity

 

Brightest Star



Part 1


A hint of limelight is more dangerous to a woman than the full thing. It gives her a taste of what’s out there, but without satiating her.


Your mom was one of those women who lived between those two circle on the venn diagram, her sultry and shapely body squeezed between them until she could almost squeak with ambiguous pleasure.


Before she met you father, she was an up-and-coming model. Her agent seemed to think she had a future, and he’d say so with his eyes feasting shamelessly on her, their gaze crawling up and down her the curve of her giant ass and her large breasts.


Back in those days, she felt a slight annoyance by such attention, but she was willing to tolerate it for the greater good. Likewise, photographers, managers, designers, and the fashion press, gazed upon her under the blinding lights like she was steaming meat at a barbeque. (A few of them even groped her, though she never knew which ones. They’d always disappear back into the crowd).


Then she met your father.


It was a relationship that was quite different from what her life had become, and maybe that was what charmed her. The unpretentious restaurants, the beer instead of champagne, the pickup truck and the love the sports.


She was in love. And because of that, your father got to know something about her that all the men in her occupation never did. He got to know the privacy of her naked body. What it looked like. What it smelled like. What it taste like. And what it felt like.


And then one day she noticed she was pregnant.


And though she was happy, she wasn’t ready for what was to come next.


Because as she denied alcoholic beverages, and she insisted on more sleep and a less hectic schedule, she was already being looked at with skepticism by those in the industry.


And then her belly came.


With that, the photoshoots dried up to nothing. And though she expected this, what she wasn’t expecting was what would come after.


You were born.


And she looked at you as if you were the world.


Then she went back to her agent, to find that your very existence had shut off an entire avenue to the world for her.


She was dropped.


They didn’t tell her why, but she knew. It was because they didn’t want a mom.


And with that, her star fell, and she faded into the common herd, becoming one with every other housewife.


That was until twenty years later, when she met Steve.


Steve saw her at the bar with her friends. The first thing he noticed about her was her ass. That was it. It was all he cared about. And with that, he set his target and attacked.


Your mom felt his hand on her hip as she stood up from the table.


Her friends giggled at the sight.


“Hey beautiful,” he said. “Want to come back to my place.”


Your mom looked at him, taken aback by his forwardness. She gave him a stony look and shook her head. “I’d rather not.”


“Oh, hard to get. I get ya. So would you like a drink instead?”


Your mom wasn’t that interested, but there was something in the young man’s smile which she found weirdly disarming. She accepted the drink, thinking “what’s the worst that could happen.”


A few hours later, and a few drinks more, her friends had mostly left.


Steve had his hands all over her, and it felt exciting, though she told herself it was okay because he hadn’t tried to kiss her.


When he finally did lean in and kiss the side of her head, she told herself that it was only a fun experiment. Nothing more. She just wanted to let the young man hang on a bit more. She didn’t want to admit she let him do it because she was enjoying it.


He grabbed her hand and brought it down to his crotch, and she felt his gargantuan snake of a penis through his pants.


He pressed her hand to it, daring her wordlessly to grip it, which she did. She began to slowly move it up and down, playing with it as people passed by in the restaurant.


“Yeah, you do that good,” he said, spurring her on more.


She felt very confident in herself now and she was telling herself that this was all only for a little boost in self-esteem. It wouldn’t go further.


When he asked if she wanted to go to his place, she accepted.


He fingered her as she sat in the passenger seat of his car.


“Oh,” he said. “You’re so tight. So tight and so beautiful.” It basically spilled from his mouth. And his inability to hold it back made your mom feel like she was one in a million.


In his head, he thought: “I’m going to wax this ass like a surf board. I love older women, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”


“How old are you?” he asked. “34?”


She was much older than 34. She blushed.


They pulled up in his driveway, and he walked her inside.


She felt his hand on her ass, and she wanted it there. It squeezed her.


Inside, all prospects of civility ended. He pushed her onto the couch, and lifted her dress, exposing her perfect ass to his hungry gaze.


In not too much time, your mom was being rammed from behind, and she was moaning as it happened. His big palm came down, smacking her on her right cheek. She was being claimed. Claimed by a man other than your father. But she didn’t care. She needed this. She knew she did.


She sucked his cock with more care, attention, and finesse than she had ever used on your father. She licked the young man’s balls and kissed his lips with passion. She rode on his cock and he grabbed each of her cheeks and spread them as he fucked her, looking at her butthole in the reflection of the window.


Your mom orgasmed on his lap multiple times. When he was finished, he lifted your mom up and placed her on the side of the couch.


Then he began texting someone. “Hey, why don’t you come by. I have something I need to give back to you.”


“Who’re you texting?” your mom asked, with her finger gliding across his shoulder.


“Just an old friend,” he said.


She smiled at him.


After twenty minutes, there was a knock on the door. Your mom tugged the covers up to her chest and looked over.


“That must be my friend,” he said. Then he stood up and grabbed your mom in his arms, much to his surprise, and hoisted her up. He took her to the front door. It knocked again as he moved toward it.


Your mom sat in his arms, shocked at what was happening, watching the front door approach.


Then he opened it up.


You stood there, looking in with a smile.


“So, wha-“ you stopped speaking.


Your mom sat there, naked in your old friend’s arms, looking at you with her mouth hanging open.


He placed her, nude, in your arms. Nobody said anything as he did.


“There you go,” he said, stepping back. “Right where she belongs. At home with her family. Not out and about, getting deep-dicked by an alpha male.”


She looked at him with pure shock. Just as her expression was about to break into a cry, he shut the door on her face.


You stood there on the stoup with your weeping mom in your arms.


You looked down at her face, feeling angry with her. Feeling ashamed. Feeling sorry.


And most of all, with her beautiful nude body, its weight tangible and real in your arms, you felt excited. She was the biggest star in the world to you. And she finally got the treatment she deserved.




Part II


Your dad found out what your mom had done. This wasn’t the straw which broke the camel’s back just yet. Though it was the first domino, which would tip into what would eventually become their divorce.


You sat in your bedroom, listening to their argument, the last one they’d ever have, every following argument made by lawyers on their behalf.


You watched as your mom’s lawyer’s hand slid down the small of her back, and rested subtly on the curve of her ass. It must have felt so good to be a divorce lawyer who specialized in the wive’s side of the case. Your dad not only had to watch the man argue your mom a larger share of his wealth, but your dad had to watch this, knowing that the greasy, bald, double-chinned snake of a man who was robbing him blind in this way, was also fucking his wife in the quiet darkness of the evening. You had witnessed this yourself. You walked into the house, stepping softly, only to witness the flesh of your mom’s ass being pounded by that greedy pale pelvis.


Your mom turned in place and began sucking his cock, and he smiled from ear to ear, enjoying the head initially meant exclusively for your father.


You watched from the shadows and jerked off your twitching dick as the living personification of your family unit falling apart, that ugly monster laying at its ground zero, absorbing its falling rubble as if it were pieces of your mom’s soft ass flesh.


Your dad tried to fuck his female lawyer, but she wasn’t interested.


It wasn’t long before the divorce proceedings were over, and it was even less time before your mom’s lawyer got bored of using her sweet ass every night. He moved on to the giant tits of a client.


Your dad had kept some of his coworkers informed about his situation, all through the trial and well after, and what he didn’t expect was for those very friends to tell anyone else. But in a short amount of time, everyone at his office knew. And like jackals, they sat there, listening to these stories of familial destruction with their knives and forks scraping together beneath their open, salivating mouths.


All of them wondered at what they were going to do to tax your mom’s ass now that it was free, and you stood on the sidelines, admiring your mom’s ass in her sundress, wondering the same.


Then you heard about your dad’s work party, and about how your dad didn’t want to go, his spirits being low as of late.


You convinced your mom to go, not telling her what the party was for.


She dressed her ass up nice and clean in a perfect dress which accentuated her curves. She wanted to show just how much back on the market she was.


When she got there, she was the most delightful surprise, and every guy there looked on her as if she were a snack.


It didn’t take long before some of the office hotshots began hitting on her.


And then, not long after you saw the first hand come down and squeeze her by her ass.


You wanted to go to the washroom and jerk off right then and there, but you stopped yourself. You needed to watch what would happen next.


The men who were hitting on her were confident, and all of them such pros at dealing with women, that the question was no longer will she go home with one of them. It was which one would she go home with? And then as the hours past, and the hands become more grabby, it became how many would she take home?


Watching your own mom getting spanked in full view of everyone was quite the sight to behold, and you followed the three men, including your dad’s boss, as they escorted your mom to the next room.


You watched from beneath a table, looking into the next room as your mom’s dress was hiked up over her shoulders, exposing her perfect ass to the three men who were eager for it. Not long after, with some palming of her naked body, their cocks came out.


You watched your mom as she sucked on these dicks, sometimes three at a time, and she took them in her various holes. Your mom looked amazing being stuffed in all three holes, and the men loved the sounds their bodies made against hers as much as you did.


You watched as she ate their asses as if they were treats. Each men loved it, especially because they were thinking of your father as it all happened. You were pantless, jerking off beneath the table now. You were loving that your entire family was being made into a colossal joke. But when you heard something behind you, your heart-rate rose even higher.


It was your dad’s voice.


He had gained the courage to come after all.


He asked where everyone was, and after some conversation, he was pointed in the direction of the room.


You sat under the table, hiding, your cock still hard, watching his shoes step passed you.


When he got to the doorway, his shoes stopped in place.


He stared in astonishment, watching his wife’s familiar fat ass being pummelled by all three men.


Your dad’s boss called his name, even as he was being sucked off by your mom. “If you really want to keep your job,” he said. “You’ll turn around and call the rest of the office in to see this.”


Your dad stood there, his face blank, but with horror visible in his eyes, and a single bead of sweat falling down from his hairline.


His boss repeated his name in a chastising tone. “Do you understand me? You did this, or you're fired.”


Your dad stood there for a few moments longer. But his boss didn’t have to say anything again. He could see in his eyes that he was serious. Your mom just looked up at him as her mouth was filled with thrusting cock, waiting to see what he would do.


Suddenly, as if being puppetted, your dad turned in place, looked out at his coworkers, and then said “hey guys!” dryly. “Come and see this.”


Your dad stood there, looking into the room, with his coworkers next to him, watching with wide eyes as your mom’s giant ass got absolutely destroyed by their boss and two of their coworkers. You watched the action through the forest of their legs, still hiding beneath the table.


The crowd only watched, until finally, one of them pushed forward. He went into the room, and you could see his coat fall, and then his pants drop to his ankles. More followed him, each one getting more and more naked with each passing second, until finally, everybody there was in the room and naked, fucking your mom, or in line to fuck her, in one of her three open holes.


The only one who wasn’t, still stood in the doorway, looking on with eyes of terror, a forehead of sweat, and a neutral mouth.


That man was your dad.


And he stood there knowing that the ass he saw before him was meant for everybody now. Everybody except for him.

 

America Part VI: Charity


Evelyn’s blonde bangs rocked back and forth. A few of their golden strands spilled loose, falling over her shut eyelids. Her lips pouted outward with her mouth open. The blackness within was infinite, its purity only being broken by the curved flat of her tongue.


The man behind her had to resist choking her, a thought which came surprisingly natural to him. If anything, it was lucky she was pregnant, otherwise he may have made the mistake of going through with it. Her giant breasts swayed about, their undersides smacking against her protruding belly as he thrusted. He knew that drugging her was dangerous, beyond just the danger to himself, but also that it could have unforeseen consequences on the two children she carried within that hump. “One boy, one girl,” she had bragged earlier to her friend on the phone as he kneeled down, hard at work on her floor.


“Poor kids,” he mumbled between sweaty thrusts. “Born to a snooty bitch. A snooty, cheap bitch. What a combination.”


Evelyn’s husband had warned her that it wasn’t wise to cheap out on the help. Especially not after already signing the contract. He told her that if she kept finding fault with their performance, and kept using that as a pretext to cough-up less money, then people would start to notic- She cut him off, her porcelain face turning a healthy red, her eyes like demon eyes, as she snarled out a rebuttal, one that was inane and driven by an undiagnosed (and beyond the possibility of being recognized by herself) narcissism.


He never brought it up again.


It would have especially been a bad idea now that she was carrying two lifeforms which relied on her mental and emotional stability. “They’re uneven,” she said, chewing on a banana, craving the red wine that had been off-limits to her for 8 months. “You’re- It’s- I’m not paying for this.”


The worker looked up, incredulous, not believing that the worst of the stories about her had been this prophetic. When she spun around, obscuring her irritating face, along with her gigantic cleavage, the only thing about her that was tolerable, he stared at the back of her head, it full of the residual motion of her chewing.


“Ma’am,” he said, sounding more like a beggar than a hired laborer. “I’ve been working on your floors for a week. You can’t just pay me nothing. My wife is as pregnant as you are.”


She turned around, snapping into place on instinct. But then she caught herself by the barest thread of an unwarranted self-image, that of the magnanimous saint. She looked up into the corner of her eye as she chewed, searching for an answer. “Half,” she said, looking back at him.


“Half?”


“Yeah,” she said. “It’s almost worthless – because of the mistake I mean, I’m not calling your work worthless in general – but I’m glad to pay you just because I know times are tough for people. They’re tough for everyone now…” She continued chewing, staring at him with blank eyes.


He stared at her back, rage howling through his muted features. This was invisible to her.


“I wanted a new veranda this summer. But my husband had to inform me that there’s only so much we can afford in one year.” She paused to swallow. “It was tough to choose but I chose. It doesn’t make me happy that the floors are problematic now, given that it was one of only a few things I was able to see get done this season. But like I said, you just made a mistake. No reason you shouldn’t be able to feed your family because of it. Matter fact, I’ll go write you the check now.”


When she came back with the check, its relevant line bearing a number truncated into nothing, he only stared at her face, its expression humorless but for the unintentional madcap of her chewing. Her giant cleavage below had become invisible, for the first time ever, beneath that flat expression which drove him to mad fascination.


When he came back the next day, he did so with a fraction of her already small payment already spent. The product it bought sat within his pocket, and while she chatted on the phone in her luscious backyard patio, he unloaded that product within the embrace of her banana smoothie which sat waiting for her in the kitchen.


She came back inside and grabbed it. Just as she was about to take a sip, she paused with the drink against her bottom lips. “Oh, oh,” she said, pointing to the floor. “Can you just do that tile over again. It doesn’t look right to me.”


“Sure,” he said, burying his rage beneath the weight of a rising hope, a fluttery anticipation.


She smiled. “Great.”


She tipped her glass up to her lips.




He thrusted from between her legs, looking down at her smug face, its nature not so irritating when she slept, as if her consciousness were like a parasite which seized command of her body during its waking hours. His thrusts picked up in speed and the strength of his rotating rhythm, but he’d slow down every few moments, worried about the giant factory for incubation which protruded from her stomach, its size comparable to the size of each of her individual breasts.


He leaned down softly, feeling her belly give harmlessly, and he began to kiss her face. It was a pretty face, gorgeous even, and under any normal circumstance, he could have grown to adore it. Like all men who understood women, he didn’t hate her. He couldn’t. To do so would be to stick her with an agency she didn’t really possess. If anything, he hated her husband, whose cowardice allowed her to balloon into what she was now. And this society, which placed such a social premium on wealth that from her merely having contact with a mountain of it, her ego could throb outward in all directions, not quite unlike her belly did now. A miracle of life and creation attached to such a pretty, blonde monster.


He kissed her blonde eyebrows and her forehead, then he pulled his head down, and began to kiss from under her chin, down her elegant throat, over her upper chest, then up the mountainous incline of her breasts, before finding their nipples, and beginning to tongue them, his snake eyes opened completely as he stared her in her face, daring her to wake up and stop him.


As he sucked on those nipples, loving them more than he loved his own wife’s, he thought about that little bundle of huddled life inside her belly, the male half of it. He thought about the gift/curse of being born beneath the shadow of those giant breasts, their shape a beautiful sight, though a beautiful sight which threatened to block out the sun. He took pride in the fact that he was tonguing the nipple that that little boy would one day tongue. Not only would this boy be born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’d be sucking from silver chalices, drinking from them both milk and honey as one.


The man remembered his mother, remembered her changing in the next room of his childhood apartment. Her clothes were strewn across the stained mattress of her bed. She grabbed her bra, A-cups and turned to face the mirror while pulling them to her meagre breasts. At the time, peeking through that door like a shadow, he thought that no sight could be more beautiful. Even now, sucking on that giant white tit, manipulating its nipple any which way he wanted with his tongue, he wished he could get back to that old naivete. Because of this, a jealousy began to burn in him, one for the adventures her newborn son would be born into as his birthright. The excitement he’d experience as he peered through that crack, into that flawless room, its furnishings and accoutrements like something out of a fairytale, with his mom’s giant tits swaying within it all, her porcelain face staring at itself in the mirror blindly as she pulled those giant cups over her giant tits.


He knew, in his inarticulate way, that all men were formed sexually through contact with their mother. That men’s desires, their worth as men, shared the shape of their mothers’ silhouettes. That a man’s sense of home wore the blessing of the soles of their mothers’ feet against its floorboards, carpets, and tiles, and that his dreams glided along more peacefully when riding the fabric of his mom’s underwear. He knew that every man, when chasing love, is only ever chasing the love of his mother and all the comforts she gave, and that the only reason why men ever grew up at all was to ensure that they could attract a woman at least half as good as their own mothers, and doing so with the hope that the love could be half as unconditional.


That’s why when his dick plunged through this particular mother-to-be, it did so with such force. It was to spite that little half-human thing which existed within her, just waiting for its moment to be let out, and its years worth of time necessary to pass in order to even have a say in this world. And when the voice he spoke with grew deep enough, his say would be worth a lot more than the say of most others, wealth buying ears to listen better than even eloquence and a megaphone.


This is why when he felt his balls begin to tighten, he removed himself from her, slowly hovered over her giant bump, letting his ass rest against it, and straddled her chest, letting thick ropes, each one connected to the last, eject onto her gorgeous, peaceful, and deceptively innocent face, coating it, the cum falling to her face being the source and result of his joy simultaneously, like mirrors opposing mirrors, their reflections unending off into eternity.


When he was done, he kneeled over her, his testicles drained, knowing that his work on the floor wasn’t the only thing he’d have to clean up before he left today. He felt a worry come over him. He looked down at her protruding belly, it fascinating him - now that his arousal was temporarily defeated - more than her giant tits.


He put his palm down against the belly. “I hope you two turn out alright. In some ways, I’m more afraid for you than I am for my own child. My boy will have an angel for a mother. You two…” he sucked back a sombre breath. “Just promise me one thing, if you can hear me at all. Don’t become like your mother.”


He stood there for a sombre second, looking into her pretty face, seeing how innocent of all her flaws she was when sleeping. Innocent as a newborn babe. He looked back at the bulge.


“But if you do become like her. Then I hope you - little girl - grow to have breasts just as big as hers, so you never have a night’s rest that isn’t ruined by splitting backpain. And little boy, I hope that I’m not the last one to do what I did to your mom’s face. And I hope you’re forced to witness it one day. I’m a god-fearing man, and I believe that God has his punishments and awards for all of us. Don’t do anything to earn the scenario I’ve just mentioned. Because if you do, it’s coming.”


His hand glided up and down the belly as if he were petting a dog.


He then let his hand fall from the lump slowly.


He cleaned up for the day (both messes) and he gathered his equipment and headed for the front door. But just as he grabbed the handle, he stopped. Something had occurred to him. He turned quickly, seeing Evelyn lying there on the couch, her giant tits covered up as if they were never molested at all. He looked down at her bulge, the only part of her, other than her feet or her face, which was still bare.


“And one last thing, the two of you.” He pointed at the bulge as if it were one of his workers. “When she’s breastfeeding you guys, and you have those nipples vulnerable in your little mouths, please just give her a little bite. One bite from each of you.” He gave the bulge a little grin. “Do it for me.”






When Tom pulled up in front of the school in a new convertible, all eyes were on him. For the first time in his life, he had drawn as much attention to himself as his mom and sister did on the average day. He thanked god that he had a wide-open space to park in, embarrassed by the fact that he had yet to master parallel parking. So when he pulled in along the curb, he did so smoothly, both in execution and demeanor, making the best impression he could on those who watched.


John stood there under the shade of the school’s archway, staring dumbstruck at the car. He wasn’t the only one. He saw Maddison’s blonde hair and flat body come into his peripheral, as if floating through in a haze. She stared at the lipstick-red car. “Nice ride,” she crooned to no one in particular.


John stared at her for a second, not sure of what to make of it, or how he should feel. Then he felt a gust of wind on his left, and he saw another figure, this one taking up much more space horizontally, appearing in his opposite peripheral. He turned his head to see a head full of brunette hair streaming down toward a perfectly-shaped ass, one which gyrated as she walked and then jiggled after she stopped walking.


“Nice ride,” the girl said, as if backing-up Maddison.


Tom approached, a grin beneath his sunglasses. “You like it?”


The girl turned her head and smiled at him. It was Danielle. John had known it was before even seeing her face.


His cheeks began to burn with such intensity that he became even more embarrassed assuming everyone had already noticed. In actuality, he stood within his own private world, trembling with his own private jealousies, watching Danielle’s astonished face as she admired the car and its candy-red paint job, letting her fingers, their nails also a candy red, glide softly across its sheen. John’s gaze lingered on that smile, and those bright eyes, before his gaze dragged down her back, her ass preceding itself through the expanding line of her hips. He rested his gaze on that ass, and a pit of terror throbbed in his stomach as he thought about it in relation to that smile. He didn’t know much about women. But he knew that a woman’s ass usually followed her toward the direction her smile was aimed at, and if she wasn’t smiling, then in the direction she kept looking at subtly through the corner of her eye.


She ran her hand through her hair. She shifted in place and her ass jiggled.


As she and Tom spoke, their words to each other flirty and dangerous as far as John’s gut understood them, John imagined Danielle naked, knowing her every inch like the back of his hand, yet still feeling like he had no upper-hand against her. Her nudity, the visual of it at least, was his to hold, yet his hold over her, in the sense that one mounts the head of prey as symbol of victory against it, was as reasonable to John as holding fog. Danielle’s body may have been subdued in digital mesh, and then re-subdued in memory, yet there was more to a woman than the sight and memory of her nude body alone. John had learned that. John had learned it, thrusting his naked and throbbing self against the unguarded flesh of his own mother, yet still fearing her since, even knowing that the mouth she chastised him with held within it the taste of his very own cock. It meant so much, that beautiful night alone with her on the couch, exploring every inch of her body with every inch of his; yet, at the same time, it meant nothing at all. His mother, whatever it was that made her up as a woman, was still beyond that, ahead in some hidden spot beneath root or bramble.


John glared at Danielle’s ass, seeing both what it was now, and what it was in the privacy of her own bathroom simultaneously. He saw his mom’s ass with it. And Sofia’s. And Evelyn’s. And Gianna’s. And Autumn Jones’. And the girl in the bathroom across from his back in China. All of them, all those faces, names, and beings, clothed and unclothed, yet still, not one of them was conquered. Each drove him mad now as easily as they did his first day knowing them.


The bell rang.


Danielle turned around to head in. John averted his gaze and did the same.






The bodies of some of the town’s most and least attractive wives and mothers danced in imitation of Sophia, who stood at the front of the studio, the image of her moving ass reflected behind itself in the wall of mirrors at the room’s north end. She put on a serious face as her body moved, the seriousness in it being appropriate for the situation. For Sophia, dancing was the easiest thing in the world. Teaching middle-aged white women to dance though, that took a masterful touch, a lifetime of experience, a little bit of genius, and, if she was being honest, a whole lot of luck.


Bodies, some pleasant and ideal, others unfortunate and misshapen, moved before her, an army without discipline, without protocol, but still, somehow, an army with morale. A whole lot of morale.


Among the crowd of moving bodies, one which once started at the lowest rung of talent - so deep within its own pit of arhythmic gyrations to a beat nobody could hear but herself - that Sophia, at least for a short moment in time, almost failed to see the potential in it. The woman in question, the muscles and bones beneath her soft, comforting flesh untrained for the current task by her native habitat, had somehow, through sheer will and focus alone, managed to pull herself up that creaky ladder, rung by rung, and had now found herself, standing 6 or 7 bodies from the top in a line upwards of 20. The bodies above her, all black and Hispanic (except for the one Portuguese single mother), their advantage, it being part of their very being, was nothing to be ashamed of, yet this special person, this achiever beyond achievers, looked up at them. She looked passed them. Focused on that rung above. The one at the top, unoccupied by hand or foot. And the bodies between her and it, she saw them as nothing but way-stones on that journey there. Her eyes narrowed.


Amy saw past the bodies of everyone else in the room. Past Evelyn. Past Cathy with the wild hair. Past Susan. Past the boombox. Past the towel. Past the bottle of water which sat on Sophia’s stool. Past Sophia herself. And what she saw beyond all those bodies and beings was the mirror with her image inside it, looking back at herself with the same intensity, mirroring and challenging her, both as one, as their mutual bodies were locked, eternal dance partners on their way to the top. Amy grinned at her own face, just from the corner of her mouth. It grinned back the same way. Her eyes were on nothing else, not even the mirror image of her own giant tits, which shook aggressively below to the adept rhythm of her steps.





Amy was a sweating mess by the time class was over. Everyone was. Her skin glistened and a middle-aged man took subtle peeks at her as he handed a towel to his wife.


As Amy knelt to grab her gym bag, she felt a shadow suddenly cast itself over her. She looked up.


There, looking down at her, haloed by a circle of light above, a dim face smiled downward, its fringes decorated by bright blonde hair.


“Jeeze loo-eeze, Amy!” Evelyn said. “You’re really putting us lame white gals to shame.”


Amy pulled her gym bag up onto her shoulder and stood up.


Evelyn backed up. Not far enough.


“There’s just something about people who have an actual culture - not just a plain and regular one like we have in this country – you people are like a machine. I know I say this all the time, but it’s so great having you living with us.” She laughed to herself, took a breath, and flicked her damp bangs. “Welcome aboard. I just wish I could elect you captain. One day. Fingers crossed.” She looked off into the distance, as if seeing a great vision, one she assumed was unique to the purity of her own heart. “A woman president,” she said wistfully. She looked back at Amy and lifted her hand, her index finger extended slightly, as if she were pointing it directly into Amy’s chest. “A Chinese woman president. Could you imagine? Women’s intuition AND ancient Asian wisdom… we’d change the world.”


Amy smiled. She backed up a little bit, feeling the tip of Evelyn’s finger brush along her cleavage. “The president has to be born here,” she replied.


“You already read up on it, I see. I’m not surprised. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re studious.” By ‘you’ she wasn’t referring to Amy in particular. Evelyn’s ‘you’ cast a much wider net than that, trapping beneath it the entire land mass of East Asia, including Japan and the Philippines.


“Thank you,” Amy said, bowing slightly without realizing she was doing it.


“Oh,” Evelyn said and stepped forward, her breasts pressing directly against Amy’s.


The man with his wife stood there, his neck craned to the side, staring at the sight. His wife handed him her towel without looking, pressing it against his chest. When she let go of it, it fell to his feet below. She looked up and stared into her husband’s face, followed his gaze to his point of distraction, and then followed it back to his awestruck eyes. Her cheeks burned as she grit her teeth.


Amy’s cheeks burned as well, not feeling comfortable with the contact against her breasts.


“Since I’m talking to one now, I wanted to let you know about a little thing me and Avery have cooking. We know that we’re on the… how should I say this… that we’re in a…” she put her hand up in the air as if to visualize and place herself on some invisible hierarchy, one she seemed to assume others perceived as well as she did. “… a higher tax bracket, I’ll just put it that way. So… we were thinking about ways we could sort of give back to the community, especially those who are… um… less fortunate than we’ve been in life. We usually do something to be charitable like this once a year. But, looking over it, I noticed that a lot of the people we’ve helped thus far, a disproportionate amount, have been white families. I know, I know, when I realized it, I almost passed out myself. I guess you don’t notice your own biases until you do. That’s what privilege is. So, I suggested to my husband, nervously at first, that we maybe try to target minority businesses. There are more than enough of them in this town, and no matter what color you are, we all need green in life, that’s the way I see it. And my husband, being the kind man that he is, agreed.” She seemed to suck back breath, as if readying herself to say more. But instead she just stood there, looking at Amy with a smile. “Well, I just thought I’d share that,” she said. “Goodbye beautiful.” She turned around and walked toward the door with a smile.


Amy stared at the back of her blonde head as she left.


After standing there for moment, with Evelyn long gone through the doorway, her blank expression slowly changed, doing so twice over at once because of her reflection on the other end of the room, from that of someone not knowing what to say to that of someone suddenly having a thought to chew over. Her brows narrowed.


“Evelyn, wait,” Amy said to no one in particular. She rushed to the door and called the blonde mother. Evelyn turned around. Amy exited the building and continued toward her. The man inside, whose wife was distracted with a phone call from her office, stared at the two women, their luscious bodies glowing in the magic-hour sun, as they talked.

The Asian woman’s hand swayed through the air with specificity as she spoke, explaining something to the blonde, who seemed to listen intently.


The blonde’s face lit up with realization, but in a way that appeared as if she was trying to hide it. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. Her reaction to what was being said to her was enthusiastic and pleased. As she nodded, her breasts shook, shaking opposite the large Asian breasts which almost jabbed against them. The Asian lady’s face was stoic and direct, only looking for the blonde’s response to her request.


Suddenly, the blonde shot out her open palm, it brushing past her own tit as it rose to chest level. The Asian lady didn’t back up, not even to avoid the fingers which brushed against the underside of her tit. She just extended her own hand. Both hands met, and as they shook, the tits of each woman shook with them.


The man watched enthralled, knowing that there was nowhere else he wanted to be except between those two giant sets of tits.


*Pap*


The backs of a few pudgy fingers slapped against his chest. He leaned forward against the sudden shock.


“Let’s go, Dave,” his wife said, her voice heavy with testosterone and stringy with irritation. “Unless you have something you want to stay to watch. Instead of going home, I mean.”


He looked down into his wife’s furious face, terrified. “No,” he said. “Let’s go.”


“Let’s,” she said, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward. When they got outside, the two women on the sidewalk were still talking. He wanted to turn to get a better sense of what they were talking about, but he knew that it was a bad decision. He could feel his wife’s eyes on him, twisted to their outer rim to catch him in a mistake. He had to walk on eggshells, his life depended on it.





“They’re loaded!” Tony said in Mandarin, his eyes glimmering gold at the thought of it.


“And they’ll bring us business,” Amy said, trying to bring him back down to more practical prospects.


“Yes, yes,” Tony said, embarrassed. This had been one of countless times recently where his sister’s (his employee’s) mind regarding business seemed to be more iron-plated and sharp than his own. “That’s what I meant…” he said, saving face. “They’re an influential family in town. They’ll bring us a lot of business, just based on name recognition alone.”


“Yes,” she said. “I think we’re going to make a lot of money.”


Tony’s eyes glowed, and Amy could almost see the leafy wads of American bills falling delicately though the wild atmosphere of his imagination. At that moment, she couldn’t help but seize the opportunity by extending a basket into that storm of paper and presidents.


“So since we’re going to be making all that money, how much of it will I see?”


The look on Tony’s face was one of somebody who had just been pulled down his bed by a force gripping him at his ankle. “How much of what will you see?” he asked apprehensively.


“The money. How much will I make?”


“You’ll make a lot in tips,” he said, trying, but failing, to keep cool in his answer. “A lot of money.”


“I know I will. But how much will I make for a commission?”


“A commission?!”


“Yes,” she said dryly. “For setting this up. For making us a lot of money.”


“What commission?”


Amy stared at her brother. “You’re going to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about?” She said it less a rhetorical statement, and more as a dry diagnosis of the situation she was in.


Tony looked down at his hands, wiping them on his apron.


“I’m not asking for anything except a portion of the extra money I’m making this business.”


My business,” Tony said in a low voice, not looking Amy in the eye.


“Yes, your business. The business I’m making money for.”


“It’s not the money I’m worried about, Amy. It’s the amount.”


“It won’t be more than half.”


Tony snorted and looked up at the roof, doing so in place of looking his sister in her eyes, not being able to.


“Forty-five percent then.”


“You know I have employees to pay?” He responded.


“Pay them then. I’m talking about the money we make extra and only the money we make extra. Take the average of what we’d usually make on a day like this and subtract it from what we’re making on this day because of me.”


“Twenty percent.”


Amy stood there, her gaze burning in his peripherals as he watched the back of his wife’s head, the black hair of which shook while she cleaned dishes with a rag. “I’m your older sister, Tony.”


Tony didn’t respond.


“Your older sister.”


“This is America,” he shot back with an artificial calmness. “Nobody cares about age or who was born first.” And then in English: ‘All Men Are Created Equal.’”


Amy’s fist was clenched. Her gaze was still direct and dripping with smouldering heat. A solitary black bang hung over her right eye. “You seem to care a lot about Chinese customs when it comes to you and your wife though, Tony.”


Tony shot his gaze toward his wife, who was now standing there, facing away from the two of them, her head no longer bobbing, her hands no longer busy scrubbing dishes. She only looked down in the sea of soap, water, and glass.


“Please stop,” Tony said, harshly but quietly.


“Please pay me forty-five percent.”


“Stop,” he repeated.


“Pay me.”


Tony looked down at his apron. His expression was flat, but internally he tore at that apron, tore at the moment, tore his sister’s bratty expression off her face and kicked it to the stars. He could have sworn she wasn’t always like this. When she was younger. When they were kids. She was unremarkable, a bit pretty when she smiled, but most kids were a joy when they smiled. It was around the time of puberty, when she metamorphosized, almost freakishly, into something that was barely Chinese, her dimensions expanding out like the crest of dreams, toward vistas undreamt of by the most ambitious fantasies of young Chinese men, and doing it all while still maintaining – and more, creating - shape. It had happened when she was too young, so young she had forgot what it was like to look anything other than what she looked like now. She had no idea what it was like for others, even other females, when a mistake was made. Tony knew. He had received enough bouts of demeaning shouting from his superiors to fill a cable-drama. China was full of them. Amy never received this sort of treatment. The mere thought in their heads of her impossibly shapely and smooth body against theirs, no matter how much of a pipedream it all was for them, had shielded her from all criticisms except for only those of the most constructive kind. Her body lifted her chin as she walked, because it was her body which removed all the social slings and arrows which humbled others. She would blush, and the sky would blush with her. She would giggle, and find partners to laugh with, no matter how little they understood the joke. When her tits jiggled, eyes watched them with sickly longing, and when she bent over to retrieve something dopped, she stopped the world in a unifying moment of admiration.


She stood there now, the aggravating resolve in her face the product of this life, of this body which Tony ignored the existence of beneath her upturned chin. Even her face, which was making Tony sick now with its smug arrogance, was finely carved to destroy all objection to any path her toes would choose to step toward.


As Tony stood there, almost a foot taller than her, he failed to notice the subtle trick of his mind, the one which stretched her upward, until her up-looking gaze, with the depth behind her eyes a distant fire, became a chastising gaze downward at her insubordinate younger brother, the fire in her eyes gaining in perceived heat because they burned downward like two suns or a rapidly-falling pair of meteorites.


Tony looked at his wife, who still stood there, saying nothing.


“Well…” Amy said. “…will it be forty-five percent?”


Tony looked at his sister. Her eyes burned against his. He took a breath. He began to nod.


“Good,” she said.


Tony’s wife stood there motionlessly for a second longer. Then she looked back down. The black hairs on the back of her head began bobbing again as she scrubbed the plate in her soap-submerged fingers.






Amy stared at the qibao dress, its hollowed being clinging from a hanger, the hook of which resting on her brother’s index finger, giving it the appearance of a burning red flame manifesting in thin air.


“I’m supposed to fit in that?” she asked in a jabbing mandarin burst.


“It’s the best they had,” Tony said, lying to his sister’s face.


“Why are we dressing like this?” she asked.


“Your friend suggested it,” he said, concealing a smile. Then in English: “She ‘insists.’”


“Friend or foe?” Amy asked rhetorically.


Tony shook the qibao in his hand with one solid motion. Its fiery-red shape fluttered in the air. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” he said, again in English. “But she’s right. We should be dressing more traditionally. We have a proud culture.”


Amy let her fingers run over the tiny piece of fabric, imagining crawling within it like an animal within its hole rather than putting it on like a human woman.


The dress jerked again and she pulled her hand back to her chest, her forearm pressing against her breast the way it often did.


“Well,” Tony said, impatient to see his sister’s body inside that form-crushing red, anticipating it all day. “Let’s see if it fits.”


Moments later, she stood in the backroom, nude, looking down at the wad of fabric which didn’t seem to be enough for even a scarf.


Tony’s wife looked over at her husband, seeing him standing by the door to the backrooms, looking in. She kept an eye on him for a moment, studying his intense gaze. She then looked away and continued drying the dishes.


Flashes of Amy’s bare skin appeared to Tony in bursts through the mirror on the wall. For a while he saw nothing of note, and it made him feel as if he would see nothing of note at all this time around, until Amy appeared before the mirror, both her giant tits bare for a moment, before pulling up the qibao over top of them, hiding them as if they were never bare to begin with, yet somehow still making herself more vulgar and sultry through the suggestive red which seemed to burn against her pale flesh.


What a brat, he thought, subtly shaking his head. With those two things, she could conquer the world. Instead, all she wants to do is squeeze-out her brother for a few dimes.


Before he knew it, she was looking at him through the reflection, her expression annoyed but not out of any awareness that she was being ogled.


“What?” he said, whispering it, hoping that she could tell what he was expressing through pantomime alone.


“How am I supposed to-“ she replied, her voice also hushed but echoing audibly toward him.


“Can I see?”


He walked into the backroom. His wife stopped scrubbing, though she didn’t turn around. She just watched her husband’s shadowy reflection disappear from the white surface of her plate.


Tony came in, and what he saw almost made him double over, but he instead kept his composure, knowing he would need to if he was at all going to convince her to wear what she was currently wearing.


Her excess shape was not only accentuated by the dress, but seemed to be hugged so tightly by it that a more neurotic person than Tony might worry she’d be asphyxiated. Instead he just said. “It looks good.”


Her breasts poked out, their cleavage bursting over its top in a bid for escape, and the shape of it managed to hug tightly against her waist, making it even thinner than usual, while still somehow failing to keep the softness of her ass and the width of her hips similarly constrained.


“Good!?” she responded. She looked down with the indignancy of one witnessing a crime. “Good!? This thing is going to explode on me the first dumpling I eat.”


“Then don’t eat a dumpling.”


She grabbed the hem of the slit, letting her fingers guide themselves upward to where the two sides of the dress met, the place where the slit closed. That’s when she realized, the slit rode up so high that her panty line was all but visible.


She grabbed the waist of her white panties, their visible portion a hint at the string which ran between the cheeks of her ass, and she tugged. “Look at this!”


Tony looked at her pulling on her own panties with her index finger and thumb.


“Look at it!”


He felt a fluttering within various points of his person, yet he managed to keep enough composure to grab the panty-waist from her with his own trembling fingers. “Here,” he said, undoing it to her dismay. “Don’t wear it if people can see it, that’s just embarrassing.”


Amy watched as her panties, now undone, were pulled from her waist and ass, feeling herself become even more nude as the string thong ran between her butt-cheeks on its way out. She looked at herself in the mirror, now one piece closer to nudity, yet appearing less nude somehow without it. Her thigh bare and uninterrupted by forbidden garments.


“This is ridiculous, Tony.”


“Your friend suggested it. ‘Insisted.’”


“She ‘insists’ a lot of things. I’m starting to think others see it as a character flaw as well. I thought it was just me.”


Tony looked up and pointed at the way to the kitchen with Amy’s panties still in the remaining three-fingers of his fist. “Walk around with it a bit. Test it out before you complain.”


Amy looked up. “Fine,” she said, and began to walk forward.


Tony followed behind her, her panties still in both his hands as he thumbed them unconsciously. The ass they belonged to jerked back and forth before him in the qibao’s eye-catching red, the slit in it riding dangerously close to the parts of a woman’s ass that nobody sees, not even on the sands and waters of a beach.


Tony’s wife saw Amy emerge from out the backrooms through the reflection in the bowl she washed. Amy moved past, her shape seeming distorted by the bowl’s curvature, but in reality it was representing her and her body accurately. Then Tony’s wife saw Tony appear in the same doorway Amy emerged from. He stood there, watching his sister as she walked up and down the kitchen. He held women’s underwear in his hands. He then pulled his shoulders back, standing up straight, while placing the pair of panties into his pocket. His gaze still seemed to follow his sister.


Tony’s wife looked at her husband in the reflection, his image nearly dulled into a silhouette. She then obscured his image beneath the scrubbing of soap and sponge, all while she thought about the panties in his pocket, and how, later this night, he would insist she put them on.





Amy moved, her pale skin growing pink-red, a product of a humiliating realization that the dress was much more tightly fitting than Tony insisted it would be. It was as if every step she took wrapped within it, the dress became an inch tighter, as if it were a fabric from myth, an allegory to express vanity, identity, or position.


The staring eyes came in so thick, from everywhere around her, that she felt as if she could crowd surf atop their gazes. Even if she could, she wouldn’t dare try with a qibao like this. She consistently had to pull it back in place by its slit, lest it slide over enough to expose her ass to patrons. And she did this while taking orders at the tables. Maybe this was why she was so effectively focused on the orders she was receiving. Because to be focused on that would be a break from the thought of her humiliation, the reality of which seemed to still be creeping up on her, even as it seemed she had felt the full burst of it up front.


As Amy moved, she saw a brilliant bright glimmer hanging down between what she realized was a large line of cleavage. Then she realized she had recognized the cleavage.

“You look fabulous, Amy,” Evelyn said as Amy passed her in a flash in a hurry toward the kitchen. “It’s like I’m in China now.”


Amy put up her hand behind to signal thankfulness without diverting herself from her cause.


Evelyn stood there, her necklace still gleaming as it hung over the fissure between her two tits, staring at her friend from behind, her own dress a form-fitting silver, its surface sparkling, its nature illustrious around her, spilling over her lackadaisically rather than forcing her into shape like Amy’s qibao. Her giant breasts bulged in their flowery cleavage before her, their size impossible to ignore any more than a nude female ass of great size and perfect shape would have been.


Evelyn smiled at Amy, not seeing her friend’s frustration, and having no chance of getting it even if she did see. She turned around, and progressed to her table, where Tom, Avery, and Mia sat. As she did, she received many passing comments, either about the impressive formality of the event, the wonderful cause which it was in service of, or the dress or necklace which anointed her while she was acting at the head of it all. She took it with stride, occasionally shifting merit onto the venue itself, privately musing on how impressive her humility would look. When she found her way back to her seat, her tits jiggled when her ass met her chair. The necklace’s shining piece bounced off her right breast. “Whoo,” she said, looking underneath herself. “Hard chairs.”


Her husband Avery stared off at the other tables. “Very true, honey. That’s what I always say.”


Tom looked at his dad through the corner of his eye and with the corner of his mouth tilted up into a smile. He was so filled with private mirth at the moment that he almost didn’t even notice John pass again with the pitcher of water. Before John could make it, Tom reached out and grabbed his arm. A bit of water splashed forth and onto the carpet.


Tom looked down at the wet spot. “Can’t say it’s the first time I’ve seen you do that.” He looked up into John’s embarrassed eyes.


John said “sorry Tom,” and he stepped forward to continue on his way, only to find himself being grabbed again by Tom’s hand.


“Wait just a minute,” Tom said. “I need water. This guy…” he said smiling his devilish smile, looking over at his family.


“Hello John,” Evelyn said, her blues eyes glimmering over her giant cleavage, as beautiful a mirage as stars shining over a mountain range. “I gotta say, you look so handsome when you’re dressed in the garb of your people.”


“You hear that, John?” Tom said, looking up at his friend’s reddening face. “You look handsome dressed all Chinaman-like.”


“It looks like it fits. Like it was meant to be.” Evelyn said. “Doesn’t it guys?”


Mia looked off in the distance, uninterested, bored, and wordless, her expression at odds with the beauty of her dress, which hugged her buxom body, shining against it, accentuating its shape. Avery, dressed much more conservatively than his wife or daughter (more so than even John), said “Yes he does. He almost looks like Bruce Lee or something.”


John heard Tom holding in a snicker.


“It was my suggestion,” Evelyn said, her face contorted from pride. “I just figured you should get a chance to dress the way you dressed back home. I thought it would make you more comfortable that way.”


“You hear that, John?” Tom said, it now becoming a new catchphrase. “Nice and cozy. At home. Like your mom over there.” He nodded in the opposite direction of where John was headed.


John turned. He saw his mom rushing through two tightly-packed tables to get to a raised hand and finger, continually adjusting her clothing as she moved, as irritably as a dog scratching fleas. Suddenly, a liver-spotted hand reached out and tugged at the hem of her dress.


Her eyes went wide, her enormous tits jiggling, as she spun in place, as if predicting the slit would tug toward her bare-naked ass, and moving to stop it from being exposed through that ridiculous slit, especially to that old man who had been haranguing her all night.


She grabbed the slit from him forcefully, tugging it around herself to try to get the skirt straight, and then she tugged more downward, as if it wasn’t straight enough, not being able to feel intuitively when it was because the dress itself never felt right or like it covered as much as it should have.


“I apologize,” the man said, his smile slithery, off-putting. He pointed towards his table. “I just was wondering if I could have more dumplings.” He looked back down at the fringes of your mom’s qibao. “That dress,” he said. “What fabric is that?” He clinched it in his forefinger and thumb and John’s mom reflexively tugged it away from him. “Stop!” she demanded in Mandarin, drawing more eyes to what was becoming a rapidly accumulating spectacle. “Please don’t touch my clothes. Be patient,” she said in English, her demeanor a put-on calm.


“Of course, of course,” he said. He leaned back and looked at his table, his smile still slithery. “It’s a busy day I can see. So I understand why there would be less than stellar service.” He said this loud enough, probably hoping that whoever ran this place would hear it.


“Ah,” Tom said, drawing John’s gaze. “Mr. Allister is frisky again. He’s always like this. Maybe a little more so tonight. Because your mom’s oriental and all that. He has a taste for the…” Tom’s smile went wider. “Exotic. Men with that much money usually do.” He seemed to stop to consider whether to continue filling in blanks for John. “He used to be the way with my…” he tilted his head toward his mom. “And then my…” toward his dad. “…put a stop to that.”


There was a silence between the two of them. John only stood there, still half-leaning down toward his seated friend, a pit in his stomach as he watched his mother near the decrepit old man.


“As you can see,” Tom said, softening his voice even further. “He has a type.” He tilted his head slightly toward his mom, but John could tell that the subject of his head tipping was much more specific than his mother’s general person.


John looked down at her cleavage, the way it all but spilled over the table like syrup over crepe, the necklace piece being its decorative strawberry.


John looked back at his mom, seeing her similarly-large tits, sans necklace, burst forth as she bent over to record on her pad what a six year-old boy wanted to drink. The creepy man leered at her giant bent-over backside shamelessly.


“You know,” Tom said. “As much as I’m enjoying this, if you want to get Tony to kick him out, I wouldn’t blame you.”


“If he’s rich like you say,” John replied. “Uncle Tony won’t kick him no matter what.”


Tom looked up at his friend with that same exploratory fascination that accompanied all juicy tidbits of data and gossip in town. “Good old Tony. Putting dead presidents before his own family.”


As he said this, Evelyn pushed her chair out with her ass and said “I think it’s about time I give my speech. It’s quiet enough.”


John and Tom looked over at her as she rose up, her big tits jiggling into her new position and then settling. She held a glass in one hand and a fork in the other.


“Oh shit…” Tom whispered, it only being audible to John.


*ding ding ding ding*


The hustle and bustle of the place stopped as if somebody had hit pause. All eyes looked up at the source of the sound, all mouths closed. The only sound which persisted came from the kitchen.


*ding ding ding ding*


“Hello! In the back too,” she said, projecting her voice so it could be heard beyond the counter, failing to disguise her air of annoyance. “I still hear you back there.”


Mia’s hand went up to her face so quickly that her giant breasts shook. She pressed her thumb and forefinger against either side of her eyes, shielding her face from the moment.


Evelyn put down her glass and fork. “Okay, okay. So you all know who I am, I guess,” she said with affected shyness with her hands rubbing flat against her hips. She brought them up and cupped them together beneath her gigantic breasts. “But for those who’ve forgotten, I’m Evelyn, your host for the night. Me and my husband Avery throw these every year, and I’m glad to see all of you out here for this one. It’s for a good cause, I assure you.”


Amy stood there, still adjusting her qibao, almost doing it now as a nervous tick. She looked behind herself to see if she was standing in anyone’s way.


“Before anything else, I’d just like to thank the staff, Tony, and his sister – and my dearest of friends – Amy.”


Amy turned around to see Evelyn looking at her, her blue eyes crinkled up in a warm smile.


“If it weren’t for this venue, its food, and all the culture – that special Chinese brand of class – we wouldn’t be having the night we’re having, would we?”


A few claps started.


Evelyn was about to continue, but she stopped. “Clap, clap! Come on everyone. Everyone. Let’s clap for those who really deserve it. It’s one thing to organize and put up the money. But it’s truly the small things which make up these events. The food and the service and the hospitality. I’ve learned that well.” She began segueing into what she was intending to say. “Charity. That’s why we’re here, charity.”


John could feel without seeing Tom’s discomfort through whatever subtle visual cue could be given off. Just from some twitch or bracing within his peripherals he knew Tom was anticipating familial embarrassment as if it were the dark clouds which foretold a coming storm.


“As usual, the charity I’ve chosen is one that really does matter. Helping the misfortunate. Though much more than misfortunate. In America, often feeding the poor is seen as a waste. A sucker’s activity. ‘Why don’t they just get a job?’ some might say, or ‘pull themselves up by their bootstraps.’ Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen my share of people that this line of thinking applies to. In fact, I saw one of those outside begging me for change as I came in.”


She paused for laughter, and instead only got overly-enthusiastic applause from Tony, which stopped immediately as he realized nobody would be joining him. Tom’s face was throbbing red, as he stared down at the table. His sister did the same, her cleavage burning with shame. Avery just looked up at his wife, seeing her, feeling pride in her, but not hearing her, as usual. And because of that, he was the only one there enjoying the speech.


“Yes, yes,” Evelyn continued. “I know, I know. Not everyone who asks for a handout needs one, or even deserves one. But, as we’re learning as a country, poverty doesn’t just affect the lazy, the indolent, or the dull. I’ve known this for years. I’ve tried to tell others this, always feeling like a bleeding heart for doing so. I’m embarrassed to say now that I was embarrassed saying it back then. Because now… after all we’ve seen in the past few years, it has turned out… that I was right.” She looked around at the silent crowd, her blue eyes wide with an attempt at dramatic weight.


Avery nodded his head with approval. He was the only one who did.


“I’m just glad that many are coming around to my side of this, no matter how long it took. Any cavalry that rides in at this crucial hour is a blessing, no matter how late it took for them to get here.” She couldn’t disguise her pride at that metaphor. She turned and scanned the room from left to right, with giant breasts swaying beneath her, and her hands clasped together beneath them. Amy noticed the glimmering necklace again, her eyes drawn to its lustre.


Evelyn collected herself and continued. “So… all proceeds, the money you’ve spent on tickets, and that which I hope you’re interested in investing in our little raffle for later – do it if you haven’t already, trust me - will go to a charity I’ve handpicked this year, one which is very near and dear to my heart. It’s called…uh… Clacks…” she lifted a note to her squinting eyes. “….that’s right. It’s called Click-Clacks, and their mission is to help teach coding to kids in inner-city communities. Very, very important stuff. The economy is changing fast, and everything is going digital. So nothing could be more important than helping bring young people kicking and screaming into the 21st century. It means a lot to me, and I hope a lot to all of you too, that we’re involved with this process. Often the future of a society is determined by its outsiders, so it brings me no slight pleasure to give those often overlooked by stuffy old white men in suits the skills needed to compete and contribute to this wonderful country. It’s meant for all of us. It really is. Even for the guy who asked me for a dollar outside.”


Nobody laughed.


“He called me beautiful by the way.” She ran her hand through her blonde hair in performative coyness. Her tits jiggled in her gleaming dress as she did. “And speaking of outsiders, it’s my regard for exactly that which lead to the idea to select Tony here’s restaurant as our venue.” She pointed at Tony with an upturned palm. “The Chinese have done a lot for this country. If you don’t think so then the next time you ride a train, imagine how smooth the journey would feel if it didn’t have tracks. Imagine how boring it would get ordering pizza for every family get-together and business meeting. And most of all, imagine movie night without Jackie Chan beating up a room full of evil-doers.” She began to shake her head. “No, that’s not the version of America I’d like to live in. And I hope I’m not alone in that.”


There were a few claps from the audience, Tony’s among them, much louder than everyone else’s. Amy looked back at him while clapping. As the clapping slowed down, she grabbed at her qibao and continued adjusting it. The old man behind her clapped as he watched the fabric run past her gigantic ass. Evelyn was but a blur in the background of his tired sight.


“So, because of that – and because I believe in the strength of the cuisine here – I wanted to shine a big spotlight, the biggest one my privileged hands could muster – toward this beautiful little place. The food’s great. The décor is great. And the service… right Amy?”


Amy stopped adjusting herself, nervously. She looked up from the shining silver of the necklace, the light it reflected being the light which shone on it from above, up to her friend’s blue eyes. Evelyn winked at her.


“The service is great. Hopefully you’ll all be thinking of Tony the next time you’re thinking of breaded shrimp, chicken balls, or rice. I know I will.”


Tom’s eyes, clumped tight in hopes he’d disappear, shot open wide.


“It’s like I always say: the world is full of many colors, but green is what makes it go round.” She smiled to herself, and then said “Enjoy.”


She readied herself to sit down. As she did, the old man, salivating at Amy’s thigh suddenly thought of a reason to bother her again. He reached out, only calling out “ma’am,” not loudly enough to be heard over the resounding ambience.


Amy felt his cold, wrinkled hand against her thigh, and at its touch she jumped away, while still trying to adjust her clothes, the instinct for it becoming so strong, and she felt herself losing balance. She stumbled across the carpet, through a path cleared before her.


Evelyn pulled her chair out, her husband looking up at her with a smile.


Suddenly, she felt a hand grab at the top of her dress. The lights which glimmered off it were replaced by nothing. Evelyn could feel a violent tug happening around her entire body, all at once, then she felt the cool air against her torso, hips, thighs, and calves. She stood there, not reacting, not knowing she needed to. It wasn’t until she saw Avery’s smiling eyes fall to her torso and waist, his expression warping into something that sent her soul on edge, that she suddenly felt the compulsion to bring her hands up to her body.


By that time, almost everyone there had seen them. Her giant breasts, their nudity longed after with throbbing angst, their shape only guessed at and dreamed of. Her nipples were pink. Everyone knew that now, as her hands leapt over their cool hardness a second too late.


She stood there, her thighs bending inward, her left hand lowering to cover the crotch of her panties, which glimmered a shiny silver, their thong running up between the cheeks of her ass, shining as brightly as the necklace which now drooped between her exposed tits. Amy looked up at her from below, with the beautiful dress still clutched in her fingers. Tom looked at his mother, his expression flat, his face bloodless and blank. Mia looked up, horrified, seeing in her mother her own nudity, decades in the future, reflected back at her, feeling exposed herself through witnessing it, so much so that she drew up her frantic arm over her own cleavage with terrible apprehension.


Evelyn’s left tit spilled out from beneath her pushing arm, the pink nipple becoming visible to onlookers again.


John, having seen it digitally, felt a new thrill seeing it in person, just across the table from where he stood. The electricity of familial nudity, its shame and its glory, ran through him vicariously.


The old man scooted in his seat to get a better look.


Evelyn looked down at her friend, the one she had only felt so warmly toward seconds earlier. “How….”


Amy looked up without an answer.


Before Evelyn could produce another question, she looked back up at her viewers, the mass of humanity that she herself had accrued, now all sitting as one, witnessing her lowest moment. Her smooth, pale flesh burned pink, her embarrassment showing on the very nude chest they ogled.


She turned around suddenly and ran off in the direction of the bathroom. Tony stood there, in awe as her naked wide body jiggled past him. After watching her be-thonged ass jiggle its way into the men’s bathroom by accident, his awe subsided, and a thought occurred to him. He turned to see his sister lying, as shocked as she was, on the floor, the dress still in her hand, gripped within its rigidity.


As he looked down at her, his mind began to throb with fire, and it didn’t take long for that to be reflected on his face. She looked back at him, her expression fallen, the every muscle of her features caught before taking shape. In that moment, she knew that she had no leverage over him anymore. And she would fail to regain any for a long time. Overlayed over her brother’s twisting features, she thought she could see a transparent mound of green paper burning in a rising orange hell, whatever was left of it rising up into the air as embers and snuffing itself out of being. And all while a fabric of shining silver, like something out of a myth, gleamed in her blushing hand.






It was only because of American movies that John knew that phones sharing the same landline could be used to eavesdrop.


“Sue you? For what?”


“I don’t know, Amy. For bad service. For overcharging. Maybe for sexual assault!” His uncle’s voice rose on the phone at that last one, doing so to underline its obviousness.


“I wasn’t sexually assaulting her!” John could hear his mom’s voice on the line while also coming from down the hall simultaneously.


“You did. The whole town saw it.”


“I didn’t sexually assault her. It was an accident. I didn’t want to do that.”


“Yeah, something tells me that they’re aware of that. They’re not mad at you for your intention, Amy. They’re mad because of the end-result.”


“This… this isn’t fair…” she said in English.


“Amy,” Tony said. John could almost hear him shaking his head on the other end of the line. “Fair, Amy? Fair? Your entire person is the product of things not being fair.”


John’s mom didn’t say anything. John listened to the silence, hearing within it many infinities of thought, of half-emerged reckonings which his mom was just now feeling out the shape of, and only because necessity forced her to it.


“Do you understand?” Tony continued. “What you’ve done has gone beyond anything that can be patched over with the charms of your smile, or the look of your…” He seemed to catch himself before finishing that thought. “Some humiliations call for consequences that your privileges can’t guard you against.”


Somehow John could see his mom’s lips mouthing that word: ‘privileges.’


“Beauty has guarded you against much, sister. I think it was only a matter of time before it would work against you. That time is now.”


Amy was silent for a moment, and then as if catching a second wind said: “But he can’t actually sue me, can he? Or the restaurant? It was a mistake. Everyone saw that it was. And it wasn’t the restaurant’s fault, it was only mine.”


“I think you’re right, Amy. But he doesn’t need to actually win the lawsuit in order to get revenge, does he? Giving us a headache will be its own reward. He obviously doesn’t need the money. And he’ll probably make our lives hell in other ways too. He mentioned something about a health inspector. Do you have the money to make a health inspector look the other way when Avery’ll be paying him to find health code violations where there aren’t any? He could have us shut down. For me that means my livelihood is ruined. For you that means…” He stopped to exhale. “It means going home…”


John sucked in air so quickly, and in such a sharp motion, he was terrified they had heard him. His uncle had, but assumed it was Amy sucking back air. Amy thought the sound came from within herself. “Going… home?” she repeated, stumbling over herself.


“…maybe,” Tony said. “Or… maybe…. If he’s nice… he’ll just get the guy to fine us or something…. Maybe… If enough of his anger passes…”


John could hear his mom pressing the phone against the side of her face, the tiny holes in the receiver scraping gently against her waiting, and almost certainly blushing, flesh. “What can be done then?”


“I already told you,” Tony said.


“Not that! I’ll do anything. But I won’t do that thing.”


John furrowed his brow.


“Do you think he’s going to settle for less? When he has you under his thumb like this? After what you did to his wife.”


“It was an accident!” She almost screamed.


“It was. Do you think his anger cares whether it was an accident or not? Do you think that makes him any less interested in what he wants to do with you?”


John gripped the phone.


“I’m not doing it,” Amy said. “I can’t.”


“You did it before. Back home. Just close your eyes and pretend you still work at the karaoke bar.”


John furrowed his brows, not understanding. Then his mom’s voice broke in. “Don’t ever bring that up again! I told you Tony!”


Tony took in breath, calming himself for what needed to be said. “Listen Amy. You can get mad at me all you want. I’m not mad at you, even though, when all’s said and done, you’re the one who has gotten us into this mess. I already told you, this is a nightmare for me, but it has the potential to be much, much worse for you. Not just for you, but for your son, who it’s your duty to protect. At the end of the day, I can’t tell you what to do, especially not in this regard. I’m just letting you know what your options are. I only bring up the… your past because I want to let you know that the only thing you’re being asked to do to fix all of this is something that you’ve done before. That’s all. All you have to do is do it one last time.”


“But…” she said. “It’s my friend’s husband.”


John clutched the phone.


Tony sighed and then he spoke: “If it’s any consolation, Amy, I don’t think she’s your friend anymore.”


Amy was silent. John was silent.


“So, Amy….” Tony said, his voice sombre. “Can you… do it… One last time? It will just be like it was back then.”


Before his sister could confirm, Tony sat there, his phone to his ear with his wife nearby scrubbing the grill, knowing that what he said was a lie.


“Okay,” she said, her voice soft, defeated. “I’ll do it.”


Tony nodded. He said goodbye and hung up the phone and then he sat there, facing away from his wife. He knew that he had lied to his sister. A lie by omission. Because though Amy had done this before, what needed to be done, there were two factors here that made all the difference this time around.


Those factors were size and girth.






Though business had picked up over its usual volume since the event, the day was a quiet one. The patrons who came in did so near-wordlessly, as if picking up on the sombre aura of the place, and the ghosts of what had happened there just days earlier. The staff were the same, though much more so. Amy most of all. John only watched, seeing her move around, still in her red qibao, it draped over her, squeezing the life from her like the myth of the albatross. John had overheard his uncle ordering more on the phone, and he somehow knew that their sizes would all be too small. John moved around that day within that notion, feeling as if some strange and exciting vista had been opened within his life because of it.


His mom’s massive tits swayed in a circular motion as she rubbed a table clean.

Tony’s wife looked at Tony, as if demanding him psychically to make sure that his sister do what she had to do. Tony didn’t even look at her, but the expression on his face as he counted the day’s money in the till expressed his quiet confidence.


Then John saw him look up and out the glass front. His wife did the same. John turned to see his mom, looking up from the table, her giant tits hanging from her undersized clothing. Her features blank, anticipatory, fearful.


John turned just as the door jingled open.


He stood there.


His features reflected many, some of the most irritating in fact, of Tom’s face. He was heavier in various places, balding, and tire-eyed, his life of nickel-and-diming his way to success taking a toll on him. Even still, a smile-without-a-smile could be seen in the nuances of his features, as if his wife’s recent violation was only bobbing at the surface of his thoughts with a gigantic sea monster, long and fat, existing deeper down below as a real but barely-seen shimmer.


“I’m here for my takeout,” he said, standing in the middle of the restaurant floor.


Those who recognized or recalled him only stared up from their plates, terrified that something bad would come of his presence.


“Sure,” said Tony, his voice strained. “Of course. Amy.” He called to his sister. She turned to look at him. “Could you please bring this gentleman to the back for his order?”


Amy stood there for a second, only looking at her brother. She nodded. And without looking Avery in his eye, she lead him past the kitchen toward the backroom. Her butt-jiggled as Avery followed her, the slit in her qibao riding closely, now almost exposing the underside of her ass. She did nothing to stop it.


After the two figures, them sharing nothing in common physically, disappeared beyond the corner, the mirror on the wall reflecting them for a moment before they disappeared further, John approached Tony, quietly trembling, and requested to go on his break. He saw the relief in his uncle’s face when he told him that he planned to eat out this time rather than have his lunch in the back room as per usual.


John came out into the alley. He looked along the side of the building. It was unbroken. Only solid wall. He stood there.


“My main man!” Frank called, laying there amongst trash. “You out here to offer me a job?”


John said nothing, he just stood in place.


“I saw that rich prick go in. The one whose wife everyone is talking about. Damn, I wish I could have seen that. I hope he isn’t raising hell in there now…”


“He’s in the back,” John said. He swallowed saliva down his trembling throat. “He’s with my mom…”


Frank stared at him, saying nothing. Then after a moment, his lips moved: “Doing what?”






Frank lead John to the back of the building. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said in a low voice. “I have to get my kicks somehow. Otherwise I’d have ended it years ago.”


He neared up to an old rusty shipping cart against the wall. He grabbed it and slowly pushed it further along.


The cart moved and John’s eyes opened wide at seeing plywood with a chipped hole eaten into it appear from behind it.


Frank looked at him, the whites of his eyes looking expansive surrounded by his dark mountain of flesh. He seemed to be apologizing in advance for the things he had seen in there, while at the same-time articulating non-verbally just how much those private moments, with John’s mom in false-privacy on the other end, meant the world to him. “It used to be a fastfood place,” Frank whispered. “Before your uncle bought it.” He pointed at the plywood. “This is where the drivethru was. I used to work here as a kid.”


John’s cock stirred as he past the old black man whose eyes, he had now realized, had scanned over all the various curves and precipices of his mom’s pale body at least a few times now.


Slowly, John pressed his open eye against the hole. His fingers trembled against the brickwork.


A vision appeared within the little cylinder of being. Avery sat there on the bench, Amy beside him. His arm wrapped around her body, leaning into her as she leaned back. His hand groped at her breasts. “I love Asian whores,” he said, his voice husky and deep, with his hands crawling along her body, feeling her curves in his clutching grasp.


Amy’s expression was flat, as if her mind were shut down, until his hand went for her crotch. She then reflexively put her hands against it while squirming in place. “Relax, relax, relax,” he said, as if taming a horse, slowly grabbing her dainty hand in his and pulling it aside.


His hand came down, feeling at her crotch. He exhaled breathily.


“Yeah,” he said, speaking from his throat. “I had my run of you girls when I’ve visited Hong Kong and Singapore.” His other hand came up under her breast, pulling it from its cup, exposing it to his sight. “But none of them were as beautiful as you are.” He shook her breast up and down, it spilling over and between his fingers. “And none of them had what you have here.” He caressed her nipple with his index finger.


Frank heard what was being said. John felt a hand against his shoulder and, taking the hint, he stepped aside slightly, letting Frank share in the view.


Frank’s eyes went wide. “Oh fuck yes,” he mouthed, thrilled to see the prick white man groping at his favorite subject of voyeurism. He looked over at you, seeing your ambivalent expression. Then he looked down at your crotch to see it throbbing. He nodded his head, as if he knew that it made sense, and he looked back up and into the building, the light from within shining on his eye from cheek to eyebrow. That light was shared by the opposite side of John’s face.


“You ever suck a white cock?” Avery asked. He motioned her hands down toward his throbbing crotch, encouraging her to take off his belt. He continued groping her, molesting her every soft, curvy inch with his rough hands. “Or have you only gotten little, tiny peckers for this big, big body?” As Amy slowly took his belt off, he smiled. “Cuz you’re about to meet your match.”


His cock fell out of his pants.


John’s mouth fell open.


“Look how big and thick it is for you, China Girl.”


It throbbed.


John’s eyes were wide now. This was likely why he could see Frank beside him, going for his own zipper, pulling his own cock out and massaging it in his hand.


Frank looked up at him, his eyes wild, still tugging himself. He nodded to John, almost as if they were partners now.


John looked down at his throbbing black cock, its texture and hue much darker and wilder than Leo’s, even though it was of comparable size. On the side of the building, at the exact elevation of Frank’s cock, the burgundy brickwork seemed to be stained with an off-color white. At seeing that, knowing its implications, and at looking back and seeing what was now happening within, John pulled down at his new work clothes, exposing his much-smaller cock to the same rats and grime of Frank’s alley.


Both Amy’s tits were out now, being groped and sucked on by Avery’s greedy mouth and lips. His tongue danced around her areolas and she looked down at her hard nipples, occasionally giving into an embarrassing moan or pant. She jerked off his cock as he directed her too by pulling on her wrist. It throbbed in her hands, snake-like, as his balls bobbed up and down with each jerk.


“Here,” he said, removing her hand. “Come down here. It wants to say something to you.”


Amy, as if in a daze, looked down at it, confused.


“Here, ancient Chinese wisdom,” he said.


She looked down at the head of the cock, noticing in it a strange personality.


All of a sudden, she felt two large hands fall, one on top of the other, against the back of her head and plunge her open mouth over the cock.


He began thrusting brutally within her mouth, until she gave enough resistance to save herself from choking. She lifted her head off it, and then came back down to begin licking and sucking the throbbing thing on her own terms.


“Oh, fuck yes,” he said, not even whispering any longer. “Suck that thing. Suck it!”


John watched his mom’s tongue and lips dance along the cock’s gigantic surface area. He felt as if he were with fever, his limbs trembling, his mouth dry, and his body red-hot and tingling. He tugged himself ecstatically, all while his partner in crime did the same next to him. Pre-cum dripped from Frank’s cock.


“This is too good to be true,” Frank whispered, almost plucking the words out of John’s head.


Avery’s cock fell against Amy’s face as she sucked his testicles like eggs. John saw Tom’s features in his father’s ecstasy-filled visage. His mouth hung open. “Yes, suck it!” he said. “Suck it! This is what you get!”


John couldn’t believe how good it all looked, beyond just the obvious, there was an expertise in the way his mom serviced the grunting white man, as if she had acquired skill in this domain. He felt as if he were seeing beyond the curtain, within the hidden places in his mom’s life, the space and time in the universe where he was nothing but empty air, even as she gallivanted through the world as real as she was now, not even aware that there was something missing in his shape yet.


Avery lifted Amy’s face up by her chin with his index finger and began to kiss her lips passionately, which she gave into. He began kissing down her neck, down her upper-chest, down to her tits and then began to suck them again. All the while, Amy sat there, cradled in his arm, her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open. She panted once or twice.


John had to let go off his cock, terrified he’d cum too early. Just when it was all starting. Frank looked down, seeing John’s pecker throb red. He then looked back up.


Avery took Amy’s head and brought it down again. She opened her mouth, ready to continue paying her restitution with her proficient tongue and glistening saliva. Suddenly, she was plunged again over his cock, this time with twice the force, and Avery began thrusting into her mouth so hard that his balls, still-wet with her spit, rose to slap against her flinching eye and cheek.


Amy didn’t fight against this violation. She only clung onto the white man’s thigh for dear life.


John was in ecstasy, seeing how the white cock, in its giant entirety, disappeared within his mom’s mouth as if it were nothing, doing so within flashing seconds, and his mom, the one he had known his entire life, only took it.


“Your humiliation is almost here,” the man grunted, it forcing itself out of his throat as if he weren’t the one saying it. “Now you’re going to know what Evelyn felt that night.”


John held onto his current excitation, steadying to keep himself from jumping the precipice of orgasm just yet, eager to see what was coming. The explicit reference to revenge, and revenge in the form of sexual humiliation as its vehicle, being directed at his own mother felt as blissful as soft fingers running up his thighs and hips. The fact that Avery’s face contorted into a joy identical to Tom’s wasn’t helping. This wasn’t just Avery who would hold this victory on his shelf for the rest of his existence, but his entire clan, Tom, Evelyn, and even Mia who would share in this sweetness whether they knew it or not. The prize would be Amy’s naked voluptuousness as captured in gold. Avery’s cock wasn’t just his own, as John saw it at least, but it was the cock of his clan against John’s, the cock of the white race dipping into the mouth of every townsperson of color, and the cock of the rich violating the open and waiting mouth of the remaining ninety-nine percent.


John and Frank tugged gorgeously to it all, feeling all that and more, without a single conscious articulation of it in words or symbols beyond the words they heard, and the symbol they were seeing, before them now.


Avery pulled his cock from Amy’s mouth, its long rigidity snapping passed her cheek, which *clokked* like a tennis ball meeting the flat surface of a racket.


Its full length dripped with Amy’s spit and its tip trailed with pre-cum, which ran all the way like a spider’s careful web toward Amy’s violated mouth. Her hair and face were dishevelled, but she only looked for the cock after feeling its absence and awaited what was to come without judgement or opinion, her professionalism unviolated, unlike every other part of her.


Avery tugged on his cock with gremlin-like intensity and speed. “Ugh,” he grunted. “Let’s try to glue these tiny eyes shut.”


John saw something in his peripheral, and he looked down to see Frank’s giant black cock already cumming against the stained brickwork of the wall. John looked up, catching a glimpse of his eyes for only a second before turning away, but within that second, he could see what was clearly love for John’s mom, intermixed with the lust that one feels when witnessing that which they loved being violated by that which they couldn’t stand.


John could relate, and as soon as he saw Avery’s white cock gush much the same way as Frank’s, gushing toward his mom’s pristine face, he gushed all the same, beginning his own stain on the side of the building, marking it with his glorious apex, the highest height visited within his life thus far.


Amy took the gushing loads, feeling them fall against her temple, brows, eyes, cheeks, lips, and chin. She held her breath for a moment, before breathing heavily out of necessity. She opened her mouth, letting in more air, and licking cum off her lips to clear the way for it.


Avery’s final gushes, and the final waves of bliss that came with them, came out so loudly it was an impossibility that not everyone in the building, customer or staff, had heard them.


As the pale, white man lay there, his cock still mostly-hard but shrinking ever-so-slightly, he looked at the face of the sticky Chinese woman. “Apology accepted,” he said, and then began laughing softly to himself. He grabbed the back of her hair. “Here, clean me up.” And he directed her mouth toward wet spots on his stomach, pubes, and thighs.


John watched his mom’s mouth lick and slurp up the droplets from Avery’s pale flesh as he smiled above.


“Son of a bitch,” Frank mouthed slowly.


Just when Amy thought she was finished, Avery positioned her head, and pointed down at her foot. Amy kneeled down and licked a drop off his toe.


Everybody sat or kneeled where they had been as Amy’s soft hands ran up and down Avery’s thick thighs at the rich man’s request. “Inner-thigh massage,” he said. “They say the angels do this for you the second you step through St. Peter’s.”


John and Frank stood outside, their thighs in need of an equally thorough massage. John looked at his mom’s neutral face, its features tarnished forever by the ghost of the cum which dripped from it now. He looked down to see two circles of cum plastered against the outer-wall of the building. Below that sight, a dark-brown and yellow-white pair of cocks and thighs stood. Inside, a pale white pair of thighs, with a well-treated cock sitting flaccid between them, sat with yellow-white hands running along their expectant surface.


And that’s when the thought occurred to John: It doesn’t matter what color a man’s skin is, we all cum the same shade of white.






Amy saw John’s careless smile shoot past the window at an alarmingly fast speed before she even had the wherewithal to question what was happening. But at the first thought of it, she rushed forward, groping toward a possible understanding.


As she neared the window, a bicycle revealed itself beneath her son, his single hand on the right handlebar, his other hanging carelessly to the side. He put both hands to handle to pull the breaks and he skidded up and into the driveway.


Amy backed up into her living room, her neutral expression giving way to one of annoyance.


When John came in with a smile, he was startled to see his mom approach him, her body jiggling with each urgent step, with an expression which contorted her pretty face into a scowl. “I thought I told you,” she said, not even greeting him with a hello first. “You’re supposed to be saving your money.”


John stood, looking confused for a moment, in between genuinely being so and playing dumb.


“The bike,” she said. “You don’t even need it.”


John only stood there silently, not saying anything. Not having an argument.


His mom’s brows were furrowed. Her demeanor serious. John felt the place within him where fear should have been, but the image of his mom’s face, in the expression she had now, coated and dripping with the sticky ejaculate of an old white man killed any fear he could muster even if he wanted to.


She looked away and sighed, seeming to search for an answer within herself. She looked back at him. “Can you return it?”


“I guess so…” John said, fishing in his pocket.


“Good,” she said. “Do it today. Okay?”


He didn’t answer, still fishing.


“Okay?” she repeated.


He felt it in his fingers. His expression lit up.


His mom stared at him.


He pulled it out, a little box.


Her lip hung open in wordless interest, wanting to chastise first, but waiting to see if she should.


John opened the box.


The glimmer almost blinded her. And what’s more, it did it in a way which struck her as somehow familiar.


When she could register what she was looking at, her brows narrowed.


“It’s the one Evelyn wears,” John said. “I saw it at the mall.”


His mom said nothing. She only stared at it.


“I saw you eyeing it at the event.”


She stared at it for a moment longer. Then she looked up at John, her eyes soft.


John looked back at her with a smile.





John came back into his room after placing his bike within the garage. His mom told him he could keep it if he cleared room for it. It sat now against the garage wall, resting on its kickstand, glimmering from the ray of orange light which peeked in through the window.


John went down and sat down on the edge of his bed. He took in a deep breath and then he fell backward, looking up at his American roof. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice his phone vibrating the first time. It vibrated again, and he reached down and grabbed it from his pocket.


“How much?” was all the message read.


John smiled. He began typing: “It depends which one.” He got up and headed for his computer.


“Which ones are there,” the next message read. He didn’t look down at it, only placing his phone on his desk and opening up his file, the one which was titled “Shhh.”


Inside it were a long list of files.


He opened up one of them.


His bathroom came into view. Not long after, his mom came onto the screen. She dropped her robe. Her naked voluptuousness, tits, ass, pussy and all came into view.


His phone buzzed again.


He looked down at it.


“Which one is your best?” it said.


John smiled.






Amy examined the necklace against her chest in the mirror. It sat there, overlaid atop her cleavage. She took a step backward, giving the light above a clear route, and, as it shone directly onto the necklace’s silver body, its light was reflected from it in all directions. Amy looked at its reflection, her eyes alight with what she saw.


Amy then thought about Evelyn. A sadness overcame her. Not just a sadness for the bridge burned, but a sadness for what had happened afterward. The image of Avery’s grin flashed before her and her stomach almost turned.


A taste came to her mouth, appearing phantom-like in its suddenness, malevolent in its intensity. She could still feel the every hair of Avery’s cock and balls running against her tongue, and she sometimes wondered if a few loose hairs still clung to the inside of her mouth. She imagined the red head of his penis emerging from out his foreskin, throbbing and hard with the full, and correct, expectation that her mouth would soon be in contact with it.


She felt his palm against her breast, and she was still horrified to find that the thought hadn’t stopped exciting her. She could still see the top of his balding head as he sucked from her nipple, and though repulsed by the visual, the je ne sais quoi of power and confidence still clung to the man and his moment in such a way that Amy still found herself trembling, even now, at the mere recollection of his tongue and hands against her erogenous spots.


As she shut off her light and lay in bed, feeling the necklace rest against the cup of her bra, she stewed in these memories, regrets, and shameful desires with an untarnished happiness in only one thing: that no one was there to see her in that back room.




1,130 views5 comments

Recent Posts

See All

5 Comments


Okay, third reread. its said that John sees the love mixed with lust that Frank has for Amy, the bonding with John behind the restaurant, the descriptors of both Frank and Avery being "giant" in size, then the realization that all men's cum is the same..... are Frank and Amy gonna be a thing eventually or am I reading too much into it?

Sorry if I'm asking too many questions.

Like
bluvelvet99
bluvelvet99
Oct 18, 2023
Replying to

I actually don't know what's coming up any more than you do. I write these based on what the buyer is asking for. I have a general understanding of what his goals are, but not much of the specifics. To be honest, I wish I could credit him with the plots, but he chooses to remain anonymous.

Like

Another thing. You ever think about using AI to make pictures of the milfs in your stories? Just a thought.

Like
bluvelvet99
bluvelvet99
Oct 17, 2023
Replying to

I never have. As of right now, I like working with real models.

Like

FINALLY get to read about Amy in action, though in reality I gotta admit I was disappointed that she didnt drilled and the backshots from her ass could be heard throughout the entire restaurant and further embarrassing herself and her son and send her spiraling into debauchery.

Also, would love to read more about Sophia's mom's escapades in the current day. I know the journey across the the border isn't the only time she was involved in something excessively....... lewd.

Anyway, great story and hope to see Amy become as whorish as some of her friends to the dismay of her son. Maybe an drunken gangbang followed by a pregnancy without knowing the paternity like Gianna.


Like
Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page