The sun was brighter, the air more crisp, and the horizon wider, ever since that fateful day last year. Your mom stepped with a renewed vigor. It probably didn’t feel that way to her. In fact, it was likely all in your mind, but each step of hers was like magic. Like a honeybee dancing in the language of joy and newfound possibility. Each step that of a barefoot angel on fresh sandalwood.
And was it just you, or was her butt jiggling extra nice since the incident? Her thighs looked more scrumptious underneath jean shorts and her skin more healthy. Men were giving her the look more often. You could swear it. The creeps in bookstores and markets followed her around a little more often and for longer, still invisible to her, but hyper-visible to any man who knew how other men thought.
Teenagers at the till after a day of shopping was almost through, blushed harder and stammered through more words. Cars slowed down more as she walked down the street, or stayed at the same pace, only to brake hard at noticing the car stopped before them. You heard furrowed whisperings more and bees seemed to be more numerous and more busy, feeling the air for that slight hint of honey that it had been infected with. You could swear this was all real. As if the earth, the green and the blue of it, all knew.
Needless to say, having your steps intermingle with your mothers down the sidewalk or mall linoleum was a treat more now than ever. You were a milf’s son, and as a milf’s son, you received sympathy and contempt in equal scale. The most uncomfortable place to be, underneath the crushing weight of your mom’s massive cheeks. Trying your best to keep them from falling on top of you, only for your arms to give, and the two cheeks falling mercifully to either side of you, engulfing you in the area known affectionately by all men as the buttcrack. Unable to breathe. Unable to be.
But this was the fate of lesser sons. Yours was to snuggle in between those giant walls of flesh and live in unopposed bliss, peaking out at the thin strip of light with blurry figures living their blurry lives, devoid of meaning or direction. You knew where you were, and where it was you were supposed to be. And you wanted to rest snugly there, naked from the waist down, forever.
You watched your mom breathing slowly, dreaming, alone in her bed in the twilight this early morning.
“Give,” you whispered to yourself. That was all you had left to do. To “give.”
The female ass was a wondrous thing. For one, it was the most valuable thing there ever was. Yet still, all of mankind had to agree that it didn’t exist. At least until the men could get together and talk. Talk impotently. Impotence disguised as strength, as if every ass was there’s. Where in reality, they were to only taste a drop, if any, and would be as unsatisfied as a rich man in hell, surrounded by flat, hard surfaces and bones. Give me an ass to see, he’d cry to Lazarus above. Just so I could remember what ass looked like.
And Lazarus would just look down, disdainfully, and he would say “no.”
That was the world for almost every man. It was even worse for the younger generation. Studies, like daggers to flesh, had shown you, and many others unlucky enough to see them, that 80% of women on Tinder, the primary tool for dating, were flocking to the top 20% of men, an audience they would be crowd surfed on, from cock to cock, in a circle, before aging out of grace and falling to the ground, falling through it, into the hell where the rich man sat waiting. An aged and useless ass falling into and filling Lazarus’s scorched loins.
Oh, how you longed for his sake, that a perfect ass, still in its eager prime and freshness, would slip through that sea of hands and into that infinite sea of wailing men, eager to get their hold of but a single butt cheek. And now with their chance and their eternity, deep below the barrier where God can’t reach, their new plaything, eternal now and eternally there, could be passed around among them. The bottom 80%. Screaming wouldn’t help her, no matter how innocent, just as no degree of debauchery against her would be grounds for taking her away from them. And there was nowhere lower than hell. What was once a trembling mass of wailing limbs would become an orange-lit vibration of gyrating and thrusting hips. And that body, that glorious, sinless body, swimming through that fleshy, hairy mass, from one end to the other. Getting used by every single cock, of ever single man, of every single height, and attractiveness and race. millions of miles in every direction. Meeting old partners from eons before, and knowing when they finished inside her, that the only thing that was sure was she’d see him again in eons to come. An eternity, long enough to learn and remember every single name, even as the list grew inexorably.
How was this not God? The scoundrel. If he truly were God, this would be part of his plan. The purest and most innocent of his creatures. Tempered in the woes of life through sudden hardship. And well-built. So well-built that love stories in page and film reel avoided her. Her butt, her thighs, the soles of her feet too distracting. Too evocative of sex and jiggling. Though she was loved once. She had to be. Just so it would be perfect. Depriving her of the heaven her husband haplessly waited in for her.
She would run to him, shining as if wet, eyes overjoyed and teary, until one false step pulled her through the cloud, and he lunged for her as her terror stricken visage reached for him. Her naked ass, loved by all the angels, who were therefore eager to see her fall, among the last things he sees, only next to the golden top of her head and her right foot, which he grabs onto.
Her horrifying screams, evoking unseen phantasms below in his furied mind.
“Don’t let them take me,” she screams in place of “I love you!” her concern only being to escape what was before and below her now. “Aaagghhhhh.” She’s unable to take the site of what it was she had been off limits to her entire life. The mediocre mass of men below, tinged in bright orange, red, and endless black, well below the beauty of that 20%. The miserableness of what she made them made bare to her. That’ s why God chose her, his Lust incarnate. That’s why he made her as pure as a dove. To make this moment only perfect and perfect only.
Your dad was well-built. But not enough to compete with millions of lusty grips pulling at your mom’s forearms, strands of hair, tits, and even by her finger-hooked mouth, pussy, and asshole. She’s torn from his grip, through the floor and into the depths below his paradise guaranteed.
Forever.
You looked at your mom resting peacefully as the sun slowly rose from behind its cover, illuminating her big ass. In a few hours it would be in a bathing suit.
“Today’s the day, mom,” you said, a little too loudly. She snorted and lifted her head. She looked over to see her door open just a crack. With nobody standing there. Just empty air.
------------------------------------------------
You and your mom changed in the bathroom together. You looked around inconspicuously, wondering if any enterprising spirit may have placed a camera. If they had, there was no sign of one. Your mom bent over to pull up her bikini bottoms. You pulled your swimming trunks over your hardening cock. The sounds of the party came through the little window. You wondered if someone could have filmed the two of you changing from that window, but when you came back outside, you saw that it was too high, and in full view of everyone else. There was always some white knight. A male Karen who would ruin a great thing.
Your mom’s ass drew the attention of every husband there, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His wife, every wife there, would grow to hate that ass, which strategically was ideal. Your mom could have no allies. And given that her ass, quite without her permission, had burned that bridge, there was no guardian angel to guard it for what was coming next.
“Have a shot!” her boss insisted. She denied him. But her enemies, of which everyone there was, spurred her on. The female enemies were the most cavalier. “Yeah, drink it.” She took her shot. Then another. Then a third, just to catch up with everyone else, or so she was told. And then you convinced her to take a fourth.
Then Steve from accounting convinced her to take a 5th. Then Suzan, Jimbo’s husband got her to down her 6th. You came back again for the 7th. These shots were interludes in between her beers, which were always kept cool in her hand. Your mom had no idea what was happening. But everyone there was on the same page. And they all knew it. They even picked you out as an ally once their drunken minds could entertain the thought. Something about the way you bit your bottom lip as your mom was handed off another cold one. Then after a few more drinks, it was your raging hard-on that was their smoking gun, no pun intended.
Guys would stumble up to you drunkenly. “You think her ass is ready?” they’d ask, relying on your wisdom as her son.
You just said “we’ll get her there,” which was the best wisdom you could give. You were like a sage. A Buddha of booty. A Zoroaster of ass. A Solomon offering to split your mom’s butt cheeks in two. A Moses praying to part them so that Pharaoh could drown in them. A solitary voice of reason in a desert of ignorance calling for jihad against your mom’s ass.
Your mom was a stumbling wreck by the end of it. The crowd like jackals around her ever traveling circle. She’d stumble head first into it, and strangely, everyone would back up. Now that their moment had come, they realized they didn’t know what to do.
It was your mom’s third cousin, Jeffrey of all people, who sounded the alarm for attack. “Get her!” he screamed, and she was set upon with a fury. She was now invisible to you. The crowd had swallowed her, and spit out her bikini bottoms from its mouth, which landed on the wet pavement next to you.
Occasionally her jiggling ass would appear to you in flashes between the naked male flesh. Her cries of pain would occasional raise above the cries of excitement from the crowd. Sometimes you’d see her face as she cried. Most of them time when you saw her face it was too stuffed with swollen genitals for her to cry properly. Her cheek protruded in the rough shape of various cockheads.
She disappeared completely again within the gyrating, pink cloud. And then the only part of her to appear to you again was her bare, white foot. You looked at it, amused. But then you became sad. It twitched and the toes curled in, or they stretched backward, speaking in a language with a dialogue being had with the rest of her. Speaking its poetry of sensation and woe.
You slowly approached. And then it was only a foot away from your face. You watched it bob up and down and twitch.
And then you suddenly heard, from the exact center, the eye, of the hurricane before you. “Ohhhh goooodd!” Your eyes went wide. “Somebody help mmeee!”
You instinctively grabbed your mom’s foot, it felt soft and frantic in your clutch. You pulled at it as she screamed harder. “Aaaghhhhh!” She slipped from your grip and you manage to just grab her by the palm of her foot. And then another jolt.
And just like that... she was gone.
The crowd, now in a momentum, vibrated further away from you until something, something you could just trace audibly and vaguely through visuals, happened.
The latter half of the crowd, those furthest away from you, disappeared within a blue splash. The rest of the crowd followed. There were standing in the blue at waist level, you could see them all, every face, from above on the poolside now. Every face except one.
That one face splashed and jerked about below the blue surface. When you saw the terror in her eyes, you did something strange. You grinned. The wives all crept up as a group behind you, grinning as well, watching their husbands literally fuck their newly discovered sworn enemy to... well. As long as nobody dared to vocalize it, everyone would continue to want it.
Your mom’s blue and white-tinged face screamed silently under the glasslike sheet of liquid, before a giant white foot slowly rose over it and stepped on it, submerging it further in a fury of bubbles, until you could no longer see her face among the crowd. The final cock pulled out from inside her and shot a water-borne jet of cum which slowly rose to the top and then evaporated at the angry thrashing of male limbs. Each limb pushed down on their coworkers terrified form. Hands on her back, her heels, her shoulders, her blonde head, and yes, even her ass. All eager to keep her down there. All eager to submerge her body, which they now knew better than they ever thought they would, and her pearl-white soul. The woman they knew for ten years and dreamt about for twenty. They were ready to see her leave, swallowed up beneath the earth just below them.
And eventually, they got their wish. She made her last movement with the twitch of her right butt cheek, and then there was no more.
The wives behind you cheered. The temptress was destroyed. Her Black Magic destroyed with her.
The men, recognizing their accomplishments, jumped out of the pool with a masculine gait.
The only remaining figure after the last body emerged was your mom, motionless beneath the water. You grinned down at her, as her entire office block celebrated behind you.
Suddenly, as if some spirit could not leave you with your joy, the bubble was burst by a familiar voice. You turned around to see him. It was the office janitor. He was late. “Oh god!” he screamed, terrifying everyone else out of their delirium. “She’s in the pool!” he yelled.
Everyone scattered. Moving in every direction. And as the janitor brought your mom back to the surface, her naked, him fully clothed, you heard cars peel off in all directions, accelerators pressed by bare and startled feet. All pressing with the same intensity used to press on your mom’s form. As you stood there watching, you saw him leaning over top of her. You thought he was about to fuck her, but instead he began pumping her chest and giving her mouth to mouth.
“Get her clothes,” he said, as he pressed his palms between her massive breasts and pumped. “She’s going to make it.”
You just stood there and stared. The indignity of her nakedness in this moment was sublime. The janitor, a meek and mild man who always said “hi” with a big smile, a man who knew his station in life, knew his low IQ and his occupation, sat over your mom trying his best, with his cock hard in his trousers. Visibly so. He couldn’t believe he had this most beautiful woman he had ever known naked before him now, just as much as he couldn’t believe he had come to the party at this exact moment in order to be the one who had to save her.
Yet still he never groped at her tits as he plunged his palms between them, nor did he overextend his tongue to touch hers as he gave her mouth to mouth. He wanted to do what was right, and cover her the second she coughed up the swallowed chlorinated water, even if it meant never seeing that glorious ass.
You admired him from above, like God over the earth. His simplicity. His humble sense of place and worth. His selflessness. And his ability to take the little joys wherever they came without needing to ask for more.
He was an angel. And angel your mom, the demon below him, would never let fuck her in a million years. Though he never would have taken the opportunity to ravage her, like all her other coworkers did, and he was the only one who stayed to save her, he’d still be the last one your mom ever considered let between her legs, or behind her thrusting. And now he was closer than he ever would be. And it looked like he would never get his chance.
But then... something miraculous happened.
*cough cough cough*
Your mom coughed up clear water and cum. Her buddy at the office stood up, his eyes lighting up as he looked down on what he had done. You just grinned, happy to see him so excited. This had been the best thing he had ever done. You could see it in his face.
Your mom’s breasts heaved and she looked up at him dead-eyed. He was aroused beyond anything. He had never even felt the joys of a women before, not in his 48 years of life. Yet still he looked up at you. “Get her clothes,” he said, innocently.
You just said “no.”
His brows furrowed.
“We’ll take her inside,” you said. “It’s okay if you touch her naked.”
“Huh!?” he said.
You grabbed her by her wrist and guided her up. Her naked ass passed his face. He tried to look away.
“It’s okay if you look,” you said. “Look and touch.”
“I...” he struggled for the words as well as the sense. “I don’t know that it’s right. She’s still recovering.”
“She’s drunk,” you said. “She’ll be like this for hours. You saved her life. It’s okay if you cop a feel. Trust me, I’m her son.”
“Okay...” he said, and stood up.
As you headed inside the house, hoping the owner had kept it unlocked before he fled to wherever it was he fled to, you looked behind you to see the janitor running his fingers awkwardly around your mom’s waist. You stopped and he bumped into her from behind. He almost opened his mouth to apologize to her, but stopped himself. You suddenly grabbed his hand and placed it firmly against her right ass cheek. “Now squeeze” you said.
He did as he was told and grunted involuntarily as your mom’s ass spilled through his fingers like jello. “Be creative,” you said. “She’ll never be this drunk again.”
He just grunted in the affirmative and kept palming that same ass cheek as you moved into the house. You sighed. “Do you mind sleeping naked with her?”
“What!?” he asked, startled. “Why!?”
“Can you just stop asking questions?”
He just stared at you as you stood there in the kitchen.
“I’m just going to leave her alone with you, okay? Alone and with no clothes.”
His eyes were wide. But panic wasn’t the right word.
“You’ll both sleep in this room, okay?”
He nodded his head, only half as cautiously as he would have before.
“But before you go in,” you said. “You can’t wear your clothes in there. Deal.”
“.....deal?” he squeaked out.
“And you have to be touching her at all times. If I go in there, and her ass isn’t at the very least jiggling, I’m going to be mad.”
He looked up at you.
“Got it?”
He kept staring.
“Got it!?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Now pull down those trousers. Just to your balls.”
He did as he was told, and out come a stiff erection.
“Wonderful,” you said. “Now take the rest of it off before you go in.”
He did as he was told. He stood there naked, looking surprisingly dignified in spite of himself. Compared to your mom now, he was stoic. You put her entirely in his arms and then you pushed them into the room, slapping them both on a butt cheek before saying “I’ll give you two lovebirds privacy” and shutting the door on them.
You heard the bed squeak second later. When you heard him grunting and spanking noises, your subtle hint of anger subsided. Ten minutes later you decided to check up on them through the crack in the door.
Your mom screamed as the lowly janitor penetrated her. She was still drunk out of her mind, too drunk to know what was happening. But she was enjoying it, whatever it was. Enjoying it the way she always should have.
The salt of the earth spilled over your mom’s elite form and subdued it under his earthiness. Taming her like white horses.
When you saw her bite into the sheets, it only confirmed to you how shallow women were in their sobriety. A janitor with an 83 IQ could make her cum just as well as any doctor or lawyer. It was her mind that made her believe otherwise. So now that her mind was gone, that theory could be proven.
He was all tuckered out and emptied by sundown. You came into the room to stop him from dressing and leaving, instead telling him to lie in the bed with her. That way she’d wake up to see her hero. He sat back and smiled with an awkward pride. You felt a little bad lying to him. You knew that when she woke up the next morning, she’d be horrified at what was clinging to her, naked as a mole. It doesn’t matter how much she liked him as a person, how pure he was, nor did it matter how good of a person she was, how pure she was, she would see him there and gasp, feeling cheapened irreparably at his presence and his nakedness next to hers.
That was the way the cookie had to crumble. But you wanted it to crumble that way. A woman was only as good as her lowliest lover. You wanted your mom so low that only the devil knew where to find her.
You looked at your dream couple one last time, in the morning they would be broken up. You closed the door on her oblivious sleeping face and his awkward smile to himself as she lay breathing next to him.
------------------------------------------------
You walked through the early morning air, still tired from last night. You hadn’t jerked off, and it was bugging you. But here was definitely not the place to change that.
The rising sun shone through the trees at you and you watched, amused as a bluebird perched itself on the top of a concrete angel, which itself sat at the top of a tombstone. You passed more tombstones, one after another, until you had come to two tombstones. It had been exactly a year since this very day. You were supposed to come here with your mom today, but she was still passed out in bed, being used for seconds by the man who cleaned the toilets at her office.
You looked down at your dad and brother’s graves. They went on the same day. It had been less than a year and your mom had almost joined them last night, beneath the glassy surface of that pool.
You were alone, so you felt free to speak out loud.
“I don’t know what happens to you after you die. But I hope you’re out there somewhere and I hope you saw what happened last night. Every second of it. Every inch of it. The both of you. I hope, Dad, that you felt her coming towards you last night. Felt her pulled towards you, or, at the least, falling down to you, only to see her dragged back out again by that chimney sweep. I hope you saw him clean out the cobwebs from her ass.
“I thought I wanted her up there with you guys. At least after I saw her used by all those cocks. But seeing that man breathing down her throat and struggling between her big, white breasts, I knew I was premature to want that. I want her here with me, where she can still be dirtied. I want her nice and dirty and used before she gets to you. I want her holes filled with cocks of many different colors and sizes. I want her as pure as scrap paper in a puddle before she washes up on your shores. I want you to look and see the cock of those 98% of men who had no shot with her, I want you to know they were familiar around and inside her just as much as you were.
“One last thing before I go,” you said. “I just want you to know that life has been so much better without you.” You lifted up your two arms and you flipped off the silent tombstones.
They just sat there, not answering back. Stone cold. Unlike your mom’s ass, which was soft and warm, and was responding to the janitor’s thrusts with a language universally recognized by all red-blooded males. It was jiggling back and forth.