The Good Son (Part IV)

The dragon lay before Sir Charles’ feet. It looked up at him with one curious eye, its frame animated by its last few breaths. And after those stopped, the color and life of its magnificent eye drained out into some hidden abyss, the nature and extent of which would remain unknown to the living.

Charles sucking in enough breath now for the two of them, turned and looked up at the highest point of the tower, the window within which held those two giants breasts, squeezed tight into a magnificent cleavage, hanging out for help below a desperate, open-mouthed face. Now, no woman, no breasts filled that space. The window sat there, dead and sexless, as dry and colorless as the eye of the dragon below. Sir Charles’ gasped, and he clutched his sword, wet with steaming dragon blood. He shot forward, storming the humid entrance of the stone tower, feeling himself engulfed by its darkness and echo. He leapt up the steps, feeling himself rise rapturously in an intoxicating spiral, sensing a light which glowed downward from above, giving the darkness subtle form, and feeling something, something more perilous than even the greatest wyrm, shadowing him on his way up. Such doom, anticipation, and lustful joy had never been his lot. Yet, here it all was, his greatness embodied in his activity.

The light above grew brighter and brighter, everything nearly visible now, until he found the open doorway to the topmost chamber, its edges framing pure daylight. He was there at last, beyond it, his prize.

He rounded the corner and stopped dead.

The sword he clutched tightly as he earlier pulled it grunting through the dragon’s iron-scales now hung limp from his trembling fingers. Looking back at him, rather than the blonde locks and bright eyes, visible and fresh as any creek, now sat a mess of dark tangles above breasts which hung cradled within a night-blue bodice. Between both surprises sat a face familiar to Good Sir Charles.

She looked at him with those brown eyes. “My sweet,” she said, her voice dripping like bitter honey. “You’ve come for me.”

The sword hanging in Charles’ fingers fell, clanging against the stone floor. “Mom?” That sole syllable barely escaped his lips.

“Don’t fear, my beautiful flower. Your mother’s here for you.” Each word was thick with pillowy comfort, yet edged with something beyond, sinister and dark, which tainted it. Yet still, Charles found himself drawn forward rather than back.

Queen Giannavere, the same but different, or rather exposed in some way, gestured him forward with her soft hand. “Closer, closer. I long to hold you, my sweet.”

He smelled her, salty and sweet, before he felt her in his hands, her form softer than any sword hilt. Then she tugged him close, and he felt her body fill his embrace lusciously, and her breasts press softly, an infinitely large and varying heaven, against his chest.

“Ooh, mommy’s boy is so grown up,” she whispered vulnerably into his ear. “My hero,” she said, her vulnerability now flimsy, the sound of it occurring in both ears. He suddenly felt her fingers, dangling along his thigh, reaching up to the bulge growing in his pants. A sound escaped her throat, one effortless and sudden, almost of shock. “So grown up…” she repeated.

He felt her fingers delicately along the length of his shaft. His mouth was open, his chin resting on her shoulder and neck.

As she scrambled, with intoxicating desperation, to undo his belt and then pull his pants down over the cock she apparently needed so badly, the image of the sword sliding out of the stone, the moment that determined his fate, came back to Sir Charles. He couldn’t believe that it had all lead to this. His cock fell loose and met the embrace of his mother’s warm palm and fingers. His mouth fell open, his eyelids fell closed, as he felt her hand going up and down its length, her fingers direct and skilled, occasionally falling to find his smooth balls, caressing them softly, then going back up to the throbbing up-facing mass above.

“Oh, my boy, my boy. My hero. Mommy needs you.” She placed her other hand on his head and guided it down. He looked down at the giant breasts below and saw them as if they were a distant hills, rapidly approaching, as if he were flung from the tower itself onto the land of Giannavere. The flesh of her breasts met his face before she even moved to release them from their cage.

Out they popped, and her nipples appeared clear and large, to his lips, which parted, his tongue coming poking out, as intuitively felt and acted-upon as his movements at the approach of the dragon. His sword lay on the ground nearby, neglected. A dark shadow suddenly crawled over it, then stopped.

“Taste mommy’s milk,” the queen said. “Taste it. You’ll need it after your long and hard travails. Her chin rested against her son’s skull. She then looked up at something across the room with knowing eyes. She looked back down. Sir Charles was there, his lips clutched to that nipple, sucking from it. “Drink sweetly and be filled, brave prince.” All the while, she played with his dick, massaging it the way she used to massage his temples as he lay in his bed, sick.

Suddenly, she thrust him forward and fell back, moving away from him. Her fingers danced up her thighs and along her flanks as Sir Charles kneeled there, staring at her, feeling her absence in his palms and lips. She pulled her skirt aside, exposed her inner-thighs, her pussy, and a peek at her ass beneath her. “Mother doesn’t just need a hero, my boy,” she said. Then her palms fell flat against the insides of her kneecaps and she tugged them away from each other, opening a place for an entire body to sneak between. “Mommy needs a beast.” Her eyes seemed electric, almost turning from their soft brown to a frightening red. “So come. Be mommy’s beast.”

Sir Charles sat there, shocked, some part of him recognizing the absence of the virginal blonde princess he was promised, yet not missing it. Some part of him, like a shadow which loomed over his form, felt off, almost lost in the deceptive invite of some beckoning nightmare. Yet, seeing his mom there, her smooth skin, her dark locks which fell over her snow-white body, he couldn’t help but lunge forward, his cock bobbing in in anticipation for what was to come, when, suddenly, at the flicker her knowing eye above him, he heard the sound, recognizable, of a sword being tugged from its scabbard.

He ducked and the sword fell against the bed, sending up feathers before Queen Giannavere, whose expression showed no alarm.

Sir Charles rolled, then leapt for his discarded sword, and at finding it, wrapping it firm in his fingers, he rolled backward once more and thrust himself upward. His cock bounced and settled. Standing before him, dividing him from his mother, who still sat, spread-open and near the window, was a large knight, his whole form covered from head-to-toe in black armor. Even still, something in the gait of the strange figure, through that impenetrable ominousness, seemed to grin at him with sickening wideness.

“Your sword,” the voice within echoed. “Up!”

Charles did as he was commanded, his sword lifting to the angle of his penis, and was met with a thrust. He deflected it and leapt back. The Queen watched, her nipples hard on her slow-breathing chest, her eyes alight over her neutral lips, and her pussy wetting the sheets between her still inner-thighs.

The black knight thrust again, and Charles leapt to the side, then he pushed forward, his sword keeping his opponent’s at bay, before rolling forward, between the knight’s legs, his sword at an aggressive angle but its blade only finding heavy plates and chain mail. He thrust himself up behind the knight, the knight turning rapidly to meet him there. Charles smiled, impressed by his opponent’s skill, but with a well-justified fear beginning to show its ugly head within his otherwise brave heart.

His mother, the prize, sat there frozen in her pose, and called to the young hero. “Sir Charles. You must best the knight, if not for your sake, then for mine.” The knight took a few swings which were deflected. “If he takes you in battle, he takes me in love, with or without my liking.” Her body, voluptuous and thick below, sat there to underscore the brutality of her point.

With that, Charles, his cock still hard, thrust forward, screaming with all the rage of sonly love and lust. The black knight, met his sword and guided it off limply, before turning and plunging.

Charles felt the true sting of battle, that for which no one recovers, for this first time then. His world exploded in pain, and as it did, his vision growing red, he saw his mom sitting there, staring at him, her body free and open. He collapsed to the floor. Then as he lay there, a big, black boot fell before him. Then another. And he watched the knight, each piece of armor falling at his feet, before becoming nude. And then once nude, lunging for Charle’s mother, feeling her in his powerful arms, and forcing his cock into her. She screamed. He clutched her wrists and pushed his hips between those thighs, feeling what Charles was promised. His lips below those vague unseeable eyes finding Giannavere’s waiting nipples and sucking from the milk promised only to a hero.

Sir Charles sword lay aside limply, even as his cock throbbed. He watched, unable to stop it as Giannavere, after indignities of every sort, to her pussy, ass, and mouth, was thrust, torso first, toward the window. As her breasts bobbed there, the rest of her being taken from behind, she called out to help. To someone to come and save her from this new beast. To a hero. One who had yet to come. And as Sir Charles was tortured with that thought, his eyes, unable to stay open, slowly fell shut, and everything fell away. Everything except the horror.

Charles woke up, his cock throbbing beneath his sheet. He brought the back of his hand to his eyes in the morning light. After a moment, he leaned up. His throat was still bitter from his nightmare, the content of which faded slowly from him, leaving only traces of some voluptuous body, thick, white, and enticing, imprinted in his memory.

He looked down. His dick sat hard in his underwear, but his heart raced above it.

He slowly got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He opened the door to a giant pair of tits.

Gianna looked up at him, squatting on the bowl, spreading her pussy lips and pissing. “Charlie!” she said, as if it was his fault the door was unlocked. As she said it, she was accompanied by the sound and sight of her piss spraying into the bowl. “Can you knock before coming in here? I’m trying to piss, please.” Her voice became softer with each word, more explanatory in tone.

Charlie looked to her giant breasts, astonished. Then he looked over to see her phone on the sink. He looked back at her, lewd and absurd there squatting on the bowl like an animal.

She blushed a little, but barely (it was surprising she blushed at all). “Mommy’s working,” she said, her tune changing. She looked back at her phone, poked her chest forward, and shook her breasts at it.

Charlie’s face suddenly burned at realizing he might be in the shot right now. He backed out and pulled the door shut quickly. Then he stood there, staring at the door, his mind rich with the imagery inside. He turned and as he passed down the hall, Dylan passed him coming the other way, leaning toward the bathroom door. “Mom’s in there,” Charlie said.

Dylan, as if he heard nothing at all, only continued. The bathroom door was pulled open, and by the violence of Gianna’s shriek, Charlie could almost imagine her tits shake and jiggle. Dylan, seemingly unperturbed, just moved in, and slammed the door shut behind himself. Charlie stared with astonishment.

“What are you—Dyl!” he heard inside.

“Shut up,” Dylan said.

“Dylan! Dylan, I’m working. Stop! Sto—” Her screaming stopped dead.

Then all Charlie heard was muffled protest. And soon, large, fleshy slapping.

Charlie stood there, in shock, listening. Soon the sounds became less frantic and muffled, and more silent, almost compliant, almost lower, as if coming up from the ground. Given the size of his mom, especially in regards to her tits and ass, he had trouble imagining the logistics of what could be happening, how two bodies could coexist and mingle in there in the ways Dylan obviously wanted.

After a time of strange silence, the door slowly cracked open. Dylan stood there, looking satisfied. He passed his brother in the dark morning hallway. Charlie could see into the bathroom, the door only covering half his line of sight. He could see his mom there, bent over the bathtub, her giant ass displaying itself to him. A string of cum hung from it, draped down the back of her thigh, little consistent droplets, as if there to keep time, fell to the floor. Drop—drop—drop.

The sexual energy in the house had become so extreme, what with Gianna’s new “job.” Charlie found himself in a strange miasma of constant excitement and frustration, having caught her in so many different places, objects mailed to her from across the world by fans being shoved in her orifices. Sometimes he’d come across in the privacy of her own room or the bathroom, and she would be appalled by the intrusion, appalled by her body being exposed to his eyes, even as the camera filmed her without cover. Other times, he’d catch her without her awareness, and he’d either duck and leave horrified out of shame and disappointment, or he’d stay and watch silently, the curves of his mother’s body being an extreme joy to him, and the strange thought that thousands were seeing it with him somehow adding to that joy. Strangest of all though were the times when she wasn’t hiding, and the times when he’d come upon her, like when she was in the living room, her ass to her camera as her pussy was penetrated with an obscenely thick and long black dildo.

“Oh, sweety,” she said, her voice still waving in the air like sheet metal, the tri-state wop never leaving her. “Can you grab mommy a water?” She didn’t even stop, her giant ass plopping up and down on their hardwood floor, large titties shaking, never keeping consistent form, never bouncing in the same way. “Pretty please?”

Charlie stood there, just watching her.

“What’s a matter, Charles? You look like you’ve seen or ghost or somethin’” The question felt absurd as it was asked by her curious face, while underneath her, the raw strength of her sexuality showed itself through her olive-colored skin.

Charlie literally shook his head. Then he turned, headed to the kitchen, and came back with the water. His mom was turned away, and he stood there staring at her big ass go. Her giant tits shook and jiggled in front of her. Suddenly, she turned, again, the rest of her still in motion. “Oh, you’re the sweetest,” she said, and held out her hand.

He slowly walked up and handed her the bottle.

She twisted open its cap and lifted it, and just as Charlie expected it to meet her mouth, she leaned back, holding the bottle over her working ass, and then tipped it, letting the water fall over it in a stream.

She smiled to her son. “They like the water on my butt.” Charlie just stared at her. “Makes me a fortune every time. Your mom’s gonna be a rich woman.”

She smiled up at him as if it was any other conversation, the rest of her still performing, giant tits and ass and all.

There was a slight hiccup in her throat, it always being a joy to see him. Then she said: “mommy’s gotta get back to work now,” and she turned, putting her palms to the ground and putting her back into the dildo riding now.

Charlie somehow found the will to turn and walk off. He then stood by the hallway, and just as he found more will to walk to his room, his mom, in her last moment before him, popped up and onto her feet and began shaking her fat ass for that camera.

He got to his room and opened up his computer. Onlyfans was already on, his account already logged on, and the only subscription he had was on the screen, live. His mom stood there, dancing, her tits shaking like a whirlwind. The rest of her catching up.

He pulled his cock out, listening to his mom’s steps on from his computer and also the same steps echoing down his hallway and toward him.

His face burned at the livechat which zoomed past, all comments about her big Italian tits, and pawg ass, flashing past him, a peanut gallery of busy cocks, each as busy as his own. He knew he had friends and teachers within that audience, their cocks as throbbing and pleading as his was out there, and he burned with that shame, it leaking from one compartment in his soul to another, that of his burgeoning, uncontrollable sexuality, his hormones nearly exploding within him. Part of him knew this wasn’t right, that there was a reason why others didn’t grow up this way. He knew, even with the other attractive mothers in town--he could name a dozen before even getting to the mothers of all of Dylan’s friends—that his mother was different. That the way she acted, the things she did, and the moments she called upon herself, were not only unique, but beyond the pale. And as he sat there, dying within the bliss of that realization, he could only wonder: “why me?”

And just as he did, he saw the old familiar chant building in the chat. “Ride A Real One.” “Ride A Real One.” “Ride a Real One.”

He could hear them as if they were live voices, all in synchronous union in a public square. His mom at the town center twerking for their ravenous mouths and genitals, all while they demanded even more. “No more dildoes,” a comment flashed past, and Charlie could feel it in his ear drum. “Fuck and suck a real man,” another said, and Charlie heard it in the same voice.

And as Charlie saw that, at the height of his shame and arousal, a visual flashed in his mind, that of his brother, as he saw him a week ago, dragging their mother by her hair down the hallway as she kicked and gave resistance, shrieking even a little, until he got her into his bedroom, threw her in, and slammed his door shut. He could hear the crowd screaming for her, so loudly now that it almost covered what he had heard that day(almost), the sounds of slapping, flesh against flesh, as Gianna’s voice slowly quieted into an accepting moan.

Charlie couldn’t take it any more. He right then and there, onto his floor.

Charlie sat in his bed, looking at his bedroom door, hearing the soft thuds against it.

“Dyla—you’re.” It was his mom’s voice beyond the door.

“Shut up,” Dylan responded in a sharp whisper.

There was the sound of soft moaning and grunting. Charlie couldn’t help but consider what part of his mom’s body was thudding against his door. It was something soft. He imagined her tits, rocking back and forth as Dylan took her from behind, pendulously hitting the wooden surface as she held herself against the door frame.

“You’re hurti—”

“Good!”

Dylan was making the noises he usually made when he was nearing the end of his sessions with Gianna. Charlie had become well acquainted with those sounds, all their nuances, and could almost time it perfectly to know exactly when the “rough-housing” would stop and he could finally exit his room.

“Oh yes!” Dylan began to exclaim in a loud hush. “Oh, fuck yes! Mom! You whore!”

“Dylan!” she whispered back. “Don’t talk to your mother like that, or you’ll get it!”

He didn’t seem to feel threatened.

Gianna’s breasts (presumably) began to hit the door at a slower rate, before they just stopped altogether.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Dylan said. “Before you go. Suck the tip. It’s dripping.”

Charlie could see that vividly in his mind, having seen it in person once. Dylan sticking out his cock with an entitled hip movement, a dropping string of cum hanging there, as if waiting to be cleaned. Charlie could see his mother thrust her open mouth forward without complaint, and not only taking the drop, but sucking the cock-tip for anything more.

He heard Dylan getting up. “Thanks for breakfast,” Dylan said. And Charlie heard him moving down the hall.

When Charlie came out his room, his mom was standing there, one tit still out, in the process of making herself decent.

She looked up at him, and a genuine smile formed on her face. “Charlie! Good morning.” She yawned with her fist to her mouth. “Did you have a good sleep?”

Charlie stared at her. His throat began to tremble. “Y—” he started. Then he stopped. Suddenly, it just came out of him. “Why do you let him—”

“Why do I let who, Charlie?” she asked suddenly, stopping him dead.

Charlie stared at her, his throat getting heavy. He knew that if he said another word, it might come with tears, so no word came.

“Oh,” she said. “I made breakfast. Come. Come.” She grabbed his hand. He looked down at it as she took him down the hall and toward the kitchen.

Gianna was gone for the day, and Charlie sat there on the couch, his mind heavy with thoughts of where she could be.

He sat at the kitchen table, looking at the re-warmed sausage on his plate. Its tip dripped with cheese.

He then heard someone trying for the front door and leaned over to get a look. The door clicked and then fell open. Charlie’s heart sank.

Dylan stood there, a grin on his face, smiling at his brother. “What’s up, Charlie?” He walked into the kitchen. “Breakfast for dinner, I see. Weird. It’s almost like we don’t have a mom here.”

Charlie suddenly burst: “Maybe she would be here if her son wasn’t ra—forcing himself on her.”

Dylan was facing away when he heard it. He stopped. Charlie only stared at the back of his head. The silence of it, his brother’s lack of motion, built upon his growing unease. Then Dylan turned around, a look of astonishment on his face. “I thought I cured you,” he said. He sounded genuinely shocked. “You… you really still don’t get it?”

“She’s your mom,” Charlie said, this time with less authority.

“And she’s yours too. Yet you still don’t understand her yet…” Dylan said it like it was a question to himself. He then kneeled over, grabbing his thighs, and began laughing.

Charlie only stared at him, slowing backing up in his chair.

Dylan’s gaze shot up. “Do you think it was an accident we ended up in front of your door?”

Charlie’s mouth had fallen open.

“I forced her there. With every thrust, I pushed her, by the back of her neck, in that direction. Down the hallway, all the way to your doo. You wanna know why?”

Charlie tried to open his mouth with a smart-alleckey remark, but nothing came.

“It was because I wanted you to hear her. Not me. Not the sound of us fucking. Her. I wanted you to hear her moans.” Dylan leaned, still standing sturdy though, looking down at his brother, casting a shadow over his bothered face. “I hear them every time I give it to her. I hear her complaining, I hear the screaming, and the shouting for me to stop. And I continue. I push past it. And guess what I find! Pleasure. At the end of it all, at the end of her existence, is pleasure.” He began to lean in, slowly getting closer to his brother’s face with each word. “At the end of everything she does, for any reason she says she’s doing it, is just pleasure. Inside her. Inside that sweet pussy of hers. Pleasure. That’s all she’s looking for, Charlie. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”

Dylan then went over to the sink and began to pour himself a glass of water. Charlie stared at the back of Dylan’s head as he spoke.

“My cock is still sore from the way her pussy gripped tight on it. She had it wrapped perfectly around me, her son’s, dick.” He took a breath. “And it’s still wet. My cock, I mean. If you go back down the hall and check, I promise you, man, you’ll find a marsh there waiting for you. You probably almost slipped in it then blocked it out of your naïve little head. I wouldn’t put it past you.” Dylan then spun around. Put his drink to his lips and took a sip. “And besides, what do you think she’s above what I do to her? She sells her sweet ass and big tits online. Her pussy has a price tag. Those losers pay her, and decide—for her—exactly what she’s going to shove inside herself. You think that if they paid her to fuck her sons, she wouldn’t?”

He leaned forward as he said the last sentence, and at saying it, he saw the sudden imagery coming to Charlie’s mind through the flutter of his eyes. Then Charlie looked back at him stunned. Dylan only smiled at him, the two of them knowing now just what imagery and thoughts the word “son” with that extra plural ‘S’ had conjured in Charlie’s growingly perverse mind.

Dylan slowly pulled himself into upright position. He took another sip, still staring at his brother. When the glass lip came down, he continued. “Don’t fight it, brother. I already broke the seal for you.” Charlie had no clue what he was talking about, only a growing estimation, one which made him uneasy. “She’ll put up a fight at first. But get past that…”

Charlie shot up off the chair.

Dylan just stood there, frozen. When he spoke, it was soft and deliberate. “Think of how many guys she has paying just to see her get fucked with that plastic BBC, Charlie. Now, think how lucky we must be to have her in the house with us. Think how lucky it is that she’s here for us to do that to. Think how lucky we are that she doesn’t do anything—anything real—to stop us.” He took another breath, his smile unmoving, yet still, somehow, becoming more joyful. “Think how lucky we are, Charlie, that she enjoys it.”

Charlie fell back over the chair. He looked up at his brother’s smiling face. He spun around, got up and ran to his bedroom, his thoughts clogged with Dylan’s words.

As he got into his bedroom, and slammed shut the door, he leaned against it, breathing hard. Then as his breath came back, he slowly looked down. Sitting there, conspicuous in his shorts, was a throbbing erection. As he stared at it, mortified, he only had two questions for himself. How long did he have it for, and, more importantly, did Dylan see it when he did?

Charlie sat there, his eyes wide, as Gianna tugged him close to her soft body. They both lay below the covers on the reclining sofa with a movie playing on the screen. She laughed hard, her thick, soft body falling against Cherlie’s chest. “Fill Werrel—Uh, pfft—Fill Werrel? What the hell am I saying, Gi, get ahold of yourself, sweetheart. Will Ferrel, he always cracks me up.” Her every gesticulation, exaggerated and wide, was a gift to Charlie’s quivering body as she held him there.

Charlie slowly gathered himself. Then he nodded. “He makes me laugh…” He began to think, his mind filling with images from films, dragging him away, mercifully, from the intrusive thoughts which filled him as of late. “He’s really funny in Step Brothers. I love that movie.” He began to feel a warmth building in his chest. His gaze became distant and smile formed on his mouth. “Remember when you took me and Dylan to see it, even though it had swearing in it. And then after, me and Dylan used to say the lines, but we’d bleep out the bad words so you wouldn’t get mad at us?”

He sat there, feeling aglow in that memory. Then the feeling began to fade, receding to the realization that there was no answer.

He looked over to see his mom there, her gaze fixed on her phone screen. She took her other hand out of Charlie’s and began texting.

Charlie waited patiently. After she was finished, “Mom?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Remember whe—”

“Just wait, Charlie. Mommy’s working.”

That word, ‘working,’ shot a chill through Charlie’s core.

Charlie stared at her, the little phone screen, just inches above her giant breasts and her beautiful gaze. Her eyes were affixed to the phone, so much so that it looked like any attempt to pull them away would be an act of violence.

Charlie looked down at her chest, her giant tits lifted and falling with every breath. He remembered them, placing them there visually, as nude. How easy it would be, just a simple pull, to make them that way. Yet… here they were, clothed.

He looked up from her, to the phone, then to her eyes, which reflected a little orb of the phone’s light. “Mom?” he said again.

“Charlie, please!” she said, short, her accent extra Jersey now. “I’m with a customer.”

She lay there in his arms, thick and real there, yet a million miles away. He tugged her closer and her head bobbed, but she didn’t react. He then reached down, pulling his phone from his pocket (which was tight, as his hard cock dragged on the fabric of his shorts) and he lifted it to his eyes.

He was shocked to see he was already on his Onlyfans account. He tilted his phone away from his mother. He then clicked on her profile, built courage, and then began to text. “Tell me, princess,” he said, the pet name coming to him suddenly. “Do you like rough sex? I mean like spanking, choking, getting your hair pulled, slapped around, spit on, deep throated, gagged, degraded, humiliated and all that stuff.” With each thing he listed, his teeth grit harder, his cock getting harder in his shorts. The body that he was referring to lay next to his, heavy. He knew he was being aggressive, threatening even, but he didn’t care. If anything, it felt good to have an outlet.

Gianna stopped, and she lay there, staring at a message. Slowly she began to type.

Suddenly, Charlie got a text. “Yes, yes, yes!” it started. Charlie’s eyes went wide with shock. “I like when a man is a man and he puts a dirty little number like me in my place. The more aggressive he gets the better.”

Charlie stared at the message, aghast, feeling himself falling from his comforting carriage into some true but sickening world which existed, which had always existed, underneath himself. He broke character, not being able to help himself, with the next one. “But, isn’t that assault?”

Gianna’s phone dinged. She looked down at the message. She began texting.

Charlie sat there, on the edge of his seat. His phone dinged, the message was birthed into being. “If that’s what it’s called, sweetheart, then sign me up!”

Charlie felt her weight against him, the soft-smooth skin underneath, her curves, even the shape of her feet and toes, all becoming something foreign to him now, something monstrous wearing the garb of beauty, or… had it always been this way? Beauty being monstrousness incarnate? He was young enough to not know the answer and it shook him to realize that.

“You have quite the imagination,” was her next text. “Y’know, if you pay for a video, I can make any fantasy you wish into a reality. To be honest, I’d be mad if you didn’t. You got me all hot and bothered here.” Charlie now could feel a moistness, a humidity beneath the sheets. He knew that if he had only reached over and let his fingers brush past his mom’s crotch, he would feel her arousal incarnate there, wet and sticky, eager for the very cock he planted in her imagination. She happily continued typing. “I want to be your wet, choking, screaming slut.”

The real sounds of choking and screaming came to Charlie, having heard them and regretted hearing it. He lay there, elevated to a soft cloud, while also being plunged to a place of unbearable flame. And still, he was sitting there with his mother pressed firmly against him, as wet as he was hard, and with every other conflicting emotion, yet, somehow, inverted from his own.

He looked down at his phone now, the sides of his mouth in pain from his clenching molars. “Okay then, how about this? You present your ass to the camera, nice and close, and you spread those cheeks. But don’t just stop there. Be good and open up your holes for me too, both of them.” He stared at the message, feeling terrified by it, though thrilled just the same. He continued. “And I want you to talk dirty. And…” he couldn’t believe himself. It was as if his fingers were working faster than his mind, faster than his very consciousness. “…talk to me like I’m your son. I mean really. Make me feel like I’m your baby boy. Don’t just say it. Make me believe it. And when you do, beg me to give it to you.”

He hit send, regretting it the second he did.

He sat there, waiting for her disgust next to him, waiting for the shame, not blunted even a little by his anonymity.

His phone buzzed on his chest, and it took him a second to build the courage to look down at it, though it was easier than looking over at her. Just as he did, he felt his mom getting off the couch, feeling the sting of his avatar’s rejection. But when he saw what was waiting for him on screen, he just stared, even as his mom rushed to her bedroom.

“Not only will you get it,” her message read. “I’ll give it to you right this minute.”

Charlie looked over to see his mom’s bedroom door slam shut.

Charlie lay there, burning up beneath the sheets, even with one-half of the body warmth missing (and quite a prodigious half). He felt her absence, just as much as he could feel the tickling fever of what was happening behind that shut door. He heard the vague sound, the vague hiccup of her voice, the vague scrubbing of her flesh against the hardwood floor, or the rocking of her bed.

Various scenes moved past in the movie, moving faster and slower than he had ever remembered them. Suddenly, the knob of her door rattled, and soon she was out.

She came out, fully-clothed, as if nothing had happened, though she wore a look of satisfaction on her face, one Charlie often saw in her expression, usually after similar disappearances, both within the home and outside of it. She lifted her corner of the covers. “Coming in hot,” she said playfully, scooting in next to him, filling her absence, her body knocking an electrical surge through Charlie’s.

She hit something on her phone, and soon Charlie got a text. When he did, he just lay there, wanting nothing other than to take a peek. But just as the courage to do so built, Gianna’s arms, like a mother bear’s, came in, tugging his body to hers. She kissed him on his head. “My baby boy,” she said softly.

When Charlie got to his room, after just finishing the longest movie he had ever seen in his life, prying himself from Gianna’s sleeping arms (being completely uninterested in her body and breasts, not noting the paradox of it), he rushed to his room and opened up the message.

There it was, his mother, her ass open, being spread for the camera. Soon her butthole and pussy were spread open as well, all with her usual lack of subtlety or classiness. He slowly turned up the volume. “…that my baby boy. You like it. You like when mommy shows you her holes? Fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck me with your delicious cock. Please! Show mommy a good time!”

Her pussy dripped wet, and her fingers invaded, sliding in easily, nicely. Her butthole puckered beautifully for him, except when she lost control of her ass cheek and it slapped back into place with a jiggle. A horrible thought came to Charlie. The possibility that his brother was right, that their mom loves incest, as her slutty performance was genuine and raw.

She turned around and shook her tits for him free of charge.

“And if you want more,” she said, leaning in close, her smile looking as vulgar somehow as the sight of her opened and spread opposite end. “Feel free to order. I loved this. Love being your sexy mommy. Such a sweet naughty taboo. It felt good breaking it with you.” He could see her putting her clothes back on, that grin on her face, the one he never knew the source of, not until now. The video ended.

As the days passed then, Charlie’s allowance money from Gianna ended up again in Gianna’s already-strained back pocket, as he couldn’t help but order more videos. Her cup had been running over its edges with dollar bills, having so much money now, she didn’t even know what to do with it. Even still though, Charlie felt as if he didn’t have enough. Having his mother do this for him, being able to hide behind a screen, her being none-the-wiser, yet her participation in it feeling so real.

He would wait outside of the bathroom, listening to her making her “bathtime video,” her voice high-pitched and motherly, only to lower into an erotic, naughty growl, as if she was doing something truly wrong, something she took pride and arousal in doing. He’d get the video, and see his mother from above, the phone having been placed in the dry tub. Her tits spilling in, giving him “a bath,” tugging on a flesh-colored dildo as if it was his, his rubber ducky from youth sitting there for the worldbuilding of it.

All the things she had said to them once, playful little jokes and jabs were used now, in her strange arsenal, to bring realism to the fetish of this mystery buyer. Charlie, being said buyer, was in a strange and sickening heaven every time. No part of his childhood was safe, and the added realization that his whole life, chopped and screwed, was ripe for being pillaged for other videos, even for buyers who weren’t him, added such a strange spice to the thing.

She took his virginity, virtually that is, describing the act, describing him as both the real and play-virgin, by describing a young and shy man not too dissimilar from himself. And when she “took that virginity,” riding that flesh-colored dildo, an extension of himself, he felt as if he had actually crossed over into adulthood, at least until the video ended, and he sat there, staring at a black screen. He watched another, where the video aimed at a naked Gianna, who was changing as if she had no idea she was being filmed. His mother, who had no apparent talent for acting, suddenly did now, as she conjured the look of pure unawareness, rubbing lotion on her tits before putting on a bra, staring ahead, never looking at the camera even once.

Charlie watched beads appear one day, being tugged from out the tight confine of her asshole, not believing how many she could fit up there, paying for her to not remove them all day. There would have been no way to ensure that she did, had he not lived in the same house as her. But sitting with her at the kitchen table, her smiling warmly at him, and then looking down at her food, he knew, through the basic timeline of it all, that she was sitting there, her ass stuffed full of those plastic beads.

Giant dildos Dylan had shown Charlie to prove a point were now objects he seen being shoved up his mom’s pussy, probing deep, unbelievably so. All while she called out to her “baby boy.” “Fuck me, sweety! Fuck me!” She screamed this, believing she was home alone, Charlie having double-backed after leaving, sneaking back into the house to hear his order through the walls before receiving it unobscured on his phone. He loved this, the sense of continuity between what was real and what ended up on screen, and the disturbing thought of all the other countless videos she made for other men, all of them in this very space.

Charlie would have been in heaven, and never would have wanted to grow up and leave, had it not been for two factors, two facts which nearly sullied all of it. The first was Dylan’s perversions, which weren’t harmless like Charlie was soon believing his own to be. Dylan stalked the house, a horny barbarian, often dragging their mutual mother by her hair or bare breast as she screamed, into whatever the closest room was, slamming the door shut to have his fun. Once, Charlie had heard his mom’s voice, and he came out of his bedroom, happy to see her, only for Dylan to emerge from his own behind her, completely nude and hard, grabbing her, holding her mouth, and dragging her into his bedroom right before Charlie’s eyes. He gave Charlie a wink just before he shut the door on the festivities.

Gianna herself didn’t help either, often walking around with little in the way of clothing, telling Dylan, after he screamed at her once, that it was important for advertising. “You look like a rapper’s baby mama,” Dylan said once from the passenger seat in disgust. Gianna’s newfound wealth had not made her dress better, only dress less, carrying expensive handbags, necklaces, and other trinkets as if to make up for the fewer articles of clothing. She didn’t respond, but Charlie could see, even by the back of her head, the way she imagined being exactly that, her soul filling with a quiet listlessness. Dylan looked back at his brother, wanting him to see exactly that in her. He cocked his eyebrow at him, as if the moment spoke for itself. And when she got out of the car, she did so, her ass jiggling in her skintight bodysuit.

They both watched from the car, seeing through the glass windows of the 7-11, her grabbing her things. The heads of men twisted, predictably, as she passed. “Four more customers,” Dylan said. Gianna, putting on the look she usually gave when flattered, handed her ‘card’ to the fat, balding cashier. “Looks like our allowance is going up.” He said it with enough mirth to match his disgust, enough hate to disguise his pleasure, or, in his weirdly artful Dylan way, of showing his younger brother just how closely those fish swam as one. He looked into the back seat, that grin in his mouth. He turned back. Three other men stood behind her as she held up the line with her giant ass. All of them had their eyes on her. “Wouldn’t be surprised if one of them takes her home and she forgets us here.” Then “if you need to whip it out and jerkoff to it, go ahead, Charlie.” His fingers were propping him up by his forehead. “But me, I’m letting my horniness build for later.” Then Dylan turned around again, looking at Charlie, staring into his soul as if to dare him to do something. “So I can pay her back. As we both can see, she deserves it… right…?”

Charlie said nothing.

The references Dylan would make to Charlie’s arousal, usually using Gianna’s body as a catalyst to build that arousal, knocked Charlie completely off balance, making him feel so vulnerable, he had no strength whatsoever to defend his mom from his brother’s demeaning words, never mind his brother’s hands and cock later in the day.

“You think those guys are thinking of fucking her? No, Charlie they’re thinking of taking her there. Right there in those aisles. To them, these windows are walls. Or at least that’s what they want to believe. But back home, Charlie, we have walls. Walls that nobody can see through.” Gianna was coming back to the car. “You have no idea how lucky—” The car door rocketed open.

Gianna’s body, thick, full, and fated for a forceful evening sat down in the driver seat, happy to hand out licorice.

Just before Gianna put the car in reverse to drive off, and just as she was waving to the blushing cahier inside, Dylan’s hand shot over, grabbing her tit and squeezing it, so that even the men inside could see. Gianna looked down. “Hey!” she said, slapping away his hand.

“Hey nothing,” he said, and his hand was back. “Give me that real candy,” he said with a growl.

Dylan’s barbarism could no longer be kept at home. Many in the town had witnessed her buttcheek being compressed by his squeezing palm, and the neighbors could soon hear her screaming behind the walls of their home, as Dylan forced her body into more and more uncomfortable positions as he thrust his nude sweating body into hers. They could even hear his words, which, beyond their anger, were tinged further by their schoolyard playfulness. “Mommy’s mine,” he’d say. “What’s that, mom? You don’t like when I use this ass the same way everyone else does?” Smack

The neighbors, those who didn’t listen in for their own pleasure, only shut their windows, uninterested in risking anything to step in and save such a dysfunctional family, implicitly sharing Dylan’s lack of empathy for his mother, seeing in her someone who truly did deserve some punishment, even if not that exact kind. Charlie on the other hand, lay there, staring up at the ceiling, or he’d stand in place, staring at her bedroom door, not able to understand why he couldn’t bring himself to stop this.

Maybe part of the issue was the videos Charlie was getting, these ones free of charge, as they came from Dylan himself, sending his younger brother videos of Gianna’s holes being stuffed by his angry cock. Charlie had various moments realizing he could never look at his mom the same way again, but he felt, perhaps wrongly, like seeing Dylan’s cock and balls rubbed up and down her face, it happening with all the same rubberiness in texture that the flesh-colored dildo displayed. Her eyes would fall shut instinctually, and she’d go “oh, Dylan! Come on! That’s di—” before her mouth would be stuffed shut by Dylan’s cock, or here words would vibrate comically against his dragging testicles.

The sight of it tarnished Charlie’s own custom-made videos, which he was now growing bitter for having to pay for them, especially when Dylan’s videos, which were free, were so much hotter. Once Charlie walked past his mom’s bedroom, only to find her clothes in tatters, barely hanging onto her, as she kneeled down, wiping a yellowish liquid from the floor. Soon he got a text from his brother, a video of their mom’s face being pissed on. Charlie watched in disbelief as his mother’s features squinted against Dylan’s rancid, dehydrated stream, some of it spilling in her mouth as she opened it in useless protest.

Later that day, Charlie and Gianna lay on the couch, their usual ritual, and Charlie ill at ease when she brought her face against his warmly, that very face being the playground for Dylan’s every fancy. One day he thought to himself: No son should have to see his mother’s face disappear into his brother’s ass, and then he froze, despondent at realizing the sentence he just constructed and the sorry reality of its existence.

Charlie looked down at his phone, his mom talking to who she only assumed to be a generously-paying stranger, yet she treated him, ironically, as if he were a member of the household, keeping him hip to the family horrors. “You’re like my real son,” Gianna let slip once in a text message.

 Charlie cringed, his mom heavy next to him on the couch, knowing the ‘son’ she was talking to wasn’t him. Or at least she thought it wasn’t.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You get really aggressive. Sometimes.”

“Do you like it?” Charlie asked, the question forming slowly in his mind, slower than his thumbs could type.

“I love it!” she said, and Charlie felt like he could die.

Wanting to find out just how unsacred their family life was to his mother, he pushed for information he knew very well. “How many sons do you have?” Gianna answered truthfully. “Tell me about them?” he asked.

Charlie was shocked, sitting there, seeing his whole life story come to life in text before him. Likewise, facts about Dylan, moment from when Charlie had yet to be born, or was too young to remember, were revealed to him now, even in the guise of a common stranger.

“It must be hard for them living with such a sexy mom.”

“Haha, they’re used to it. I’m very open about my body with them.”

“What do you usually wear at home?”

“just a t-shirt with underwear”

“All that flesh out in front of yours sons? That’s crazy! My mom would never” Charlie lied.

“I guess I’m a bad mommy. I sometimes put on a show and give my ass an extra wiggle for them.”

“Does it turn you on? Teasing your sons?”

“Honestly yes. My pussy gets so wet when I see them staring.”

“How big are their cocks?” Charlie asked, again not believing himself when he did. He added an addendum. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh no,” his mom replied, no shame to speak of. “Not at all. They’re both nice and big. The older one is bigger though.”

“How big?”

“Big enough to hurt mommy. But in all the right ways.”

Charlie couldn’t even convince himself that his mom was just putting on a show for her customer. He could see the grin in her mouth forming in his peripheral.

“You’re lucky,” he wrote, his thumbs trembling. “Two nice cocks at home. You fuck both of them?”

“No,” she said. Charlie stared at the message. “Not my little Chuck. He’s too sweet.”

Charlie just stared there, but his mom continued.

“Dylan, the older one, doesn’t take no for an answer. A lot of girls are going to find out the hard way. Lol”

“Are you saying he forces himself on you?”

“Haha, maybe 😉. It was my fault though. The way I am, he just can’t help himself.”

Charlie got up quickly, startling his mom. “You okay, sweety?” she asked as he rushed to the bathroom.

He didn’t answer, only shutting the door behind him. Soon the waves which possessed him to move the way he did, now moved through his loins, and he felt himself ejaculating, hands free, into his pants. He pulled them down, watching his cock spurt, aiming it for the bathtub with desperation.

After he was finished, he stood there, swamped, feeling dirty, feeling exhausted, and feeling like he wanted to die. He’d wash himself in the bathtub if it wasn’t already full of his own filth.

It wasn’t long before the Onlyfans Industrial Complex that was his wallet was put to use commissioning rape videos. BBC, a fetish Charlie never even knew he had, now became a mainstay, Charlie finding a weird peaceful serenity in the idea of his own racial domination and oblivion, and having his own mom be the model for it was too much. “He’s raping me, Charlie,” she said, shoving the big black dildo within herself, bent over. “This thug’s big black cock is ruining mommy’s pussy!” He had asked her to use her younger son’s name, and she did without a single moment of pushback. “He’s going to give a black baby brother. Ugh! Italy is doomed!” An Indian convenience store owner, one who would be very familiar to Charlie, raped her from behind. She shoved the brown dildo deep within her. “No, don’t stretch me out in front of my son,” she’d say, relishing it too much. Another time, she was getting raped in the club by various enterprising men who had stumbled onto her drunkenness.

One day he got her to tell him Dylan’s friends’ names, not that he didn’t know them, but because he wanted an excuse to ask her to use them. “Ugh, Leo, Leo,” she said, then began swallowing the black dildo. “Tom, don’t!” She said behind herself, aiming her pleas at the beige dildo she rode up and down on. Two dildos sat still but flopping against her gyrating hips, one of them beige and moderate in size, and the other small and yellow (Charlie didn’t feel too guilty about that, as it was her suggestion, claiming that every Asian man she had been with, and she had been with enough to not remember them all, were small down there – She called it being ‘bite-sized,’ and she was aroused by it as she was anything else).

Charlie felt himself falling further and further into his black pit, the more familiar his mother’s whoredom became, the more it felt as if the world itself was closing menacingly in on him, grinning at him malefically as it did. Even still, he couldn’t fight the pleasure, only finding strength to lean into it further.

Dylan walked around the house, when he wasn’t busy with the act of raping its matriarch, looking like a million bucks, his head held high, his back straight and shoulders broad, it seemed to be doing him wonders, all while Charlie, his facial features growing bitter, walked around nearly hunched, not through any physical deformity, but only through the changing shape of his spirit. He couldn’t even beat his cock any longer without thinking of all the pleasure felt by Dylan’s cock, and feeling jealous of his brother. He sometimes just skimmed the videos he would receive from Gianna, only to go straight to the videos Dylan was still sending, occasionally enjoying those more, watching his brother’s long and smooth cock disappearing in and out of his mom’s mouth, asshole, or pussy.

Ending it all would have seemed attractive to Charlie if he wasn’t as consistently turned on as he was. That may have been the only thing to save him in this period of life.

And Dylan, who was rotten to the core, had to have known this, as no matter how twisted he was, he really had no interest in pushing his brother that far. He did love him in his own strange way. He was more like the father Charlie never had, willing to push him out of the comforts of the ‘nest,’ knowing that life brought its dings and bruises, and the only way through them was forward.

That’s probably why he grabbed her that one Saturday, dragging her away from Charlie’s clutches on the couch, stripping her bare right there as Charlie tensed, as if his body knew it needed to do something. Even still, Charles only sat there, staring at his mother screech in her tri-state accent, Dylan make her bare before him. “Everyone’s tasted the milk, Charlie,” he said, as he forced his cock into her pussy right there on the floor. “And we have the cow at home. The real thing.” He began thrusting, the rhythm syncopated with his laughter. Gianna protested as her body jiggled, big tits and all, but Charlie could see it, the small hints of pleasure in her eyes, pleasures she had admitted to. He looked down at Dylan’s thrusting cock, and he saw the truth of it there. Too big that it hurt. He heard her voice in his head. He looked up to his mother’s face. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dylan was never the best gamer, but he let his friends down while playing Fortnite with them, as he did so with Gianna on her knees, sucking his cock. Charlie had come to watch, feeling it a nice distraction from the usual hell of his household, only to find Gianna there on the ground, servicing Dylan as he yelled and made excuses for failing his friends. Leo’s avatar jumped up and down on screen as Tom’s voice, his avatar facing Dylan’s with a look of quiet rage, blared over Dylan’s headset.

“Fuck you,” Dylan said.

Gianna plucked his cock out of her mouth and looked. “Language!” she insisted.

“Shut up and keep sucking, bitch,” Dylan said.

Tom’s voice crackled in the headset.

“What? No, no, not you, idiot.”

Charlie just sat there, watching his mom go, wanting to be nowhere else and anywhere else at once.

“Come on, suck it,” Charlie could hear in his dreams. He could see Dylan begging Gianna to do so. “Come on, I said!” Suddenly Charlie felt something hit his thigh in his dream, he woke up slowly, groggily, to see his mother’s head, a big hand on the back of it, forcing it down, down toward Charlie’s morning wood protruding into a tent in his boxers. “Just suck it, you fuckin’—”

Charlie started up, his knees pulling to his chest in horror.

“Rise and shine, brother,” a nude Dylan said to him. “Mom, show Charlie what you can do.”

“No,” she said.

“Show him. Show him what you did at the concert.”

It took some cajoling, but soon Charlie was sitting there, trying to hide his throbbing erection, as his mom twerked her giant ass in his face.

“A stripper,” Dylan started. “A whore. Even a pal to get us cigarettes at the 7-11.”

“You’re not getting cigarettes, Dyl,” she said, trying to put her foot down even as she twerked in Charlie’s face on Dylan’s command.

“Your cigarettes are in your pants, and those are lying on the living room floor. I’ll take a dart whenever I feel like.” He must have pushed her, because she shrieked, and her big twerking ass shot toward Charlie’s face, meeting it, smothering Charlie in his own shock.

“Keep twerking, keep twerking,” he could hear Dylan saying, and his mom, or at least her ass, obeyed. But eventually she pushed forward and the world, both sound and image, came back.

“No, Dylan. Stop this!”

Dylan shot toward her, grabbing her, thrusting her to Charlie’s bed. Charlie pulled his knees up against himself tighter and watched as Dylan sucked and licked their mother’s giant breasts as he fucked her. As it went on, Dylan, without stopping, only turned to look at Charlie, looking at him deep in the eye. He grabbed Gianna’s breast with a full palm and squeezed. “Farmer gets the first cup of milk,” he said to Charlie. “The customers should be second, shouldn’t they?”

Charlie spent that Sunday laying there, his sheets still dishevelled, soiled by his mother’s slobber and his brother’s cum. His cock was hard, throbbing hard, and his room dark with the light of the dim day, even at 3 in the afternoon. He had yet to eat breakfast, yet to use the bathroom, yet to bathe. His whole house seemed hostile to him, the whole world, so that to even take a step was an adventure, a risk, one which took real heroism to surpass. He wanted to pull out his phone, wanted to commission some more videos, or at least to enjoy the last one. But he looked at his phone sitting dead and black on his bed. “A customer,” he said to himself, as if it was himself he was addressing. “Customer.”

The sheets then brushed aside, and soon, his foot had found the floor.

Gianna’s body filled Charlie’s arms once again as she convinced him to come down and cuddle with her on their favorite couch. His mom was dressed now, but he could tell she hadn’t showered since the morning, before the events which woke him up. He lay there, enjoying that smell, her beautiful flesh, blemished artfully by age, sat close to his nose, her breasts ripe with natural milfy scent, the likes of which was more erotic than any perfume.

They jiggled as he stared down at them. “’Shrak’ is so funny!” she said. On the television Shrek argued with the donkey. “Whenever you’d pick it for movie night, I knew I was in for a blast! I love when the movies can make adults laugh too. Not just you kids.”

Charlie looked up at her.

You gonna creampie, mommy, replayed in his head, words said by her in one of his commissions. But Shrak’s almost finished, sweetheart. Just wait til—oh! Baby! Baby!?

Charlie felt his mom in his arms, his arousal rising, his rage doing likewise. “I’m not a kid anymore, mom.”

“What?”

That’s when he tugged her in, already holding her, the motion with violence as if to hold twice, for real this time, and to keep her there. She had no idea what was happening, probably why she didn’t scream at first, but soon, Charlie was grabbing at her clothes, causing her to gasp. And then, soon, Charlie was tearing at them, and with his other hand, groping.

“Charlie!” she shrieked. “Don’t!”

Charlie wasn’t listening, overcome with lust and the thrill, a thrill he knew little of, of force. He was being a bad boy. And he began to hear it as soon as he got his mom’s breasts out of her shirt.

“You’re being a bad boy!” she screeched.

The word choice (“boy!”) only angered him further, and he thrust down, sucking on her tits.

“Charlie.” She tried to squirm out from under him, but he straddled her, staying on top of her, ready to hit her if he had to.

They fell to the ground, and in the confusion of the cascading sheets of thick wool she managed to turn around and crawl, getting to her knees. Charlie found her, grabbed at her skirt, and tugging, causing it to pull away like paper. Then he grabbed her panties, pulling back their g-string until he saw her butthole, which only emboldened him more. Soon he was naked, his cock out and throbbing, and ready to shove it in his mom. He tried to force his way in as she shrieked, knowing the sounds were spilling through the window, that the neighbors could hear, yet still he felt no need to stop.

He was almost in, almost about to live up to his proclamation about himself from moments before when suddenly Gianna spun around, and Charlie didn’t even see it, feeling it, a giant smack against his face, following a sheet of black obscuring his eyes, with his sight coming back quickly to the sound of ringing.

He kneeled there, shocked.

His mom backed up. “Charlie!” she said. “What in the hell is wrong with you! I am your mother.”

He kneeled there for a moment, his cock still throbbing. “But—”

“What the hell made you think you could do this!”

Again, he was silent, building strength, maybe even the sanity to talk again. “Dyla—”

“You’re not Dylan!” she said. The words struck him in the heart, dull and painful. “You’re a good boy!”

Soon she was up, leaving Charlie kneeling there in the moment. He heard her bedroom door shut behind him. And when he did, he fell to the floor and wept.

Charlie knew he was in for a rude awakening when he saw his mother’s next post. “Guess I won’t be needing this,” read the caption, with an image of a dildo, a modest beige one, sitting neglected on her bed.

Charlie’s cock was hard, but his heart wasn’t in good shape, his stomach less so. He waited to the countdown, relegated to the comment section filled with other ‘fans’ of his mother. “She’s going to do it,” read some of the messages. “Oh my god! The time has come, hasn’t it?” read another. “The real thing.”

The thought of a mysterious cock, one possibly snuck into his home without his awareness, being used to please his mother, and soon used to entertain her paying audience, it all filled him with a vicious sickness. His entitlement rose though, his anger rose more, his arousal more than anything, when he thought of the hairy masculine body, imagining one her age, maybe a bit older, which would lie beneath her as she rode.

The zero-hour approached, then, all at once, the video was out.

Charlie stared at his phone screen. Within its meagre borders, Gianna appeared, crawling into the frame. She grinned mischievously and then giggled at her audience, her chin falling to the carpet. Charlie recognized the room. It was his living room. And then, just as he expected, the co-star of her new masterpiece walked in on his knees. Charlie recognized the body immediately, its skinny, smooth hairlessness, its tone so similar to his own, so similar to his mother’s, even the soles of the young man’s feet like larger versions of hers.

As the young fresh cock, equipped to the young man whose face was out of frame, was pushed inside Gianna (with her giggling of course), Charlie saw the young man’s lower jaw drop into frame, extended in sweet pleasure. He saw that jaw, saw that mouth, nice and spreading wide with a grin.

“Dylan,” Charlie mumbled. And, as if Dylan heard it, he began thrusting.

Dylan ravaged their mother, doing it with all the force he used when he was doing it without her consent, but now doing it with her as a willing partner to it, in front of thousands of eager eyes and throbbing cocks. Dylan grabbed the back of her head and thrust her face into the carpet, palming the back of it and pushing it down, with Gianna’s eyes filling with lust. It was clear he was trying to expose her as what she was to her adoring fans, as if they didn’t know. But Dylan, having full control of her, mind, body, and soul, enjoyed the physical proof of it.

Charlie shot up, blind with uncharacteristic rage, and he stormed out into the living room. He found it empty, found the carpet disturbed by the previous thrashing of two bodies, and the wet mess they left behind, slobber, sweat and cum.

Charlie checked Gianna’s room, finding nothing there either, except an open closet, and various dresses laid flat on the bed, with one dress conspicuously missing. That’s when he knew, his whore mother was out on the town, and believe it or not, that filled him with more dread than anything else.

He thrashed in his bed, his cock running against his sheets, too angry to jerk off, his rage building, his determination more so, remembering the thought of his brother abusing their darling mother as she lay passed out. It happened after a long night of her drinking, drinking to a stupor, and coming home blind, blind to Dylan’s evil. Charlie felt that smack against his face, and he grimaced with his eyes shut to an empty room. I’ll get you mom, he thought, imagining her coming back drunk. You’ll see. I’ll show you who the bad boy is.

And then, spent from horrid malice, he passed out.

He woke up from strange dream, one which filled his nostrils with the memory of a dark chamber, one with kicking, stumbling steps up spiral stairs, and Queen Giannavere’s dress tearing, and her body, exposed before the whole kingdom, becoming more so in nudity, the black knight grabbing and using her.

Charlie looked at the hallway, light coming in from around the corner. His pulse rose, thinking this was his moment. And then he heard it. The sound of skin running against skin.

Dylan, he thought, filling with rage.

He got up out of bed, and rounded the corner, walking slowly down the hall, hearing the sounds get louder, the unmistakable plapping against his mom’s unmistakable flesh. But… something sounded off.

He stepped around the corner and froze.

Behind his mother, who was facedown wasted on the couch, was smooth, skinny body alright, but not the one he expected. The young man thrust, his thrusts less confident, less bold, less violent.

“Who are—” Charlie said.

The young man turned his head and looked back at Charlie with a shocked expression.

It was an Asian man.

“Keep raping, John,” said another voice. “Give my white whore mom your Asian cock.”

Charlie looked over to see his brother, no pants on, sitting on the couch, stroking himself.

“He’s not going to stop you. If he does, just karate chop him or something.”

Charlie was shocked, appalled even, by his brother’s lack of concern and his utter dismissiveness.

“Keep raping, John,” Dylan said with a careless finger wave, his wrist resting on his kneecap.

John looked at Charlie, and without pulling his gaze away, slowly continued thrusting.

Soon he was thrusting with as much power as if he hadn’t been interrupted, and then, and this could be gauged by the look on his face, began thrusting with the added power of knowing he was humiliating a young, weaker man than himself. John looked down at the perfect Italian body below him, letting its look and feel and even smell fill him, feeling the gaze of Charlie behind him, feeling the thrill of crushing him, and feeling no regret.

Charlie watched, as crestfallen as John suspected, but also aroused beyond belief. John awkwardly kissed and slurped at Gianna’s sleeping formed, pecked at her tits with his chapped mouth and violated every part of her with his tiny penis. All of it while Dylan cheered him on.

Pretty soon, John’s arousal rose, and then Charlie watched haplessly as the young man came inside his mother. When he was finished, he fell aside, and Charlie watched the white semen drip from between her legs.

“Black, Asian,” Dylan started. Charlie looked over to see his brother looking at him, flatly. “Mom is international. There isn’t a single race she hasn’t fucked.”

Before Charlie could even storm off in horror, there was a knock at the front door.

“Come in!” Dylan called without looking away from his brother.

The door opened, three young men came in. Charlie recognized them. Leo, Tom and Liam, their faces electric. It was clear they knew why they were there.

Dylan looked over the edge of the couch at his friends. “Make yourself at home, boys.” It was clear what he meant by ‘at home.’ Gianna lay there, cum leaking from her pussy, ready to take more. John, blushing in face and body, moved away.

The boys came in, Leo looking to Charlie as he did. “Oh, hey Chuck. You joining in too?”

“No,” Dylan answered for him. “He’s just going to watch.”

Charlie might have stormed off, if Leo had only disrobed a second later. Instead, he pulled his pants down, and his big black cock flopped out, half-hard, throbbing big and proud in the living room. Gianna lay there, and Charlie stared, his mouth open, waiting with dread and anticipation at that rod of skin now swaying proudly in his living room.

Those black hands were around Gianna’s thighs. Leo poked his hips forward, and the full length of his delicious cock pushed in. Charlie almost couldn’t believe it, and the other boys joined in, flipping her about to their pleasure. She sat between them being stuffed. “Hell yeah,” Dylan said, stroking himself, before eventually joining.

Cocks and thighs of so many different colors and hues and textures surrounded Gianna’s sleeping face and flesh, and her tits bounced, and her ass wobbled, and her mouth dripped saliva over various cocks. John joined in again when he gained his arousal back. Everyone took turns deriving pleasure from, and pummelling her, John with rabbit-like aggressiveness, as if still in disbelief at his luck, Liam with a romantic class, kissing her beautiful Italian features, the likes of which he knew transcended her lifestyle, Tom fucked her as if she were Dylan’s mother, and he needed to get one over on his rival and friend, and Leo enjoyed her exotic Europeanness, knowing it complimented his black form as well as any body could.

And Dylan, among them, treating Gianna like the lowliest piece of trash, not just knowing it, but wanting it known by the way he abused her, wanting to see it through the help of his friends’ cocks, wanting Charlie to see it most of all. “See Charlie, like I told you, mom likes it rough!” he said as he pulled her hair.

The others picked up on Dylan’s occasional taunt to his brother, and they fucked harder, being aroused at realizing they were destroying him, finding a strange cruelty in knowing they were letting him down hard.

Charlie lost count of the number of times he saw a penis get pulled from his mother’s pussy, tethered to it, even in separation, by a gleaming rope of cum. Even Dylan’s cock did as much.

As some of the boys continued on her, Dylan backed up, informing his brother that Gianna’s birth control “wasn’t what it used to be.” Charlie looked at his brother with shock. Dylan only smiled back. “Not after what I did to it.”

Leo’s cock pulled away from Gianna’s pussy, glistening with cum, cum leaking from her hole, down her inner-thighs and the fat cheeks of her ass, and dripping to the floor.

“We might have a new brother,” Dylan whispered. “What flavor do you think he’ll be?”

After the boys were finished, they all sat on the couch, Dylan directly on his mother’s sleeping ahead.

“Beautiful video today,” Tom said, looking satisfied and pink on the opposite couch. “Your mom was great as usual, but who was her co-star?” He asked ironically. “He couldn’t fuck for shit.”

“She came, didn’t she?” Dylan asked, deliberately.

“She did, I guess. Can’t believe she uploaded it.”

Dylan leaned back. Charlie watched his mom’s face pinned beneath his brother’s naked ass. “She kind of had no choice in the matter.” He said it flatly, but anyone who looked into his eyes as he did, knew the joy he got from saying it.

“Tasty bitch,” Leo said, looking down at her giant, wet tits. He shook his head.

“She’s a star…” Liam said, staring at her, almost with awe.

John sat there, silently, enjoying the image of Dylan sitting on his mother’s head, imagining Dylan sitting on Amy’s head, wanting it badly.

“So,” Tom said, after some silence. “Now that we’re done with Miss G, should we head over to my place?”

“We should,” Leo said, his voice deep and bassy. He stood up, his cock dropping against his thigh, not even hard anymore, but still huge.

They all put on the clothes and all left, but before Dylan shut the door, he only looked to his brother confidently. Then he shook his head. “One of these days… you’re going to learn, Chuck.” He leaned out the doorway and spit. “Just don’t let it be too late.”

He stepped out and shut the door.

Charlie stood there in the silence, saying nothing, hearing nothing, until his ears became so accustomed to nothing that he could pick up his mom’s breathing. He looked to her, seeing her there, dripping inside and out, her face beautiful, her body more so.

He looked down at the robust river of cum falling from her, no separation between one load and another, all five of them uniting as one inside her.

He felt a profound sadness, then he felt it: that sting on his face, the look of rage in his mom’s eye, for the first time perhaps ever.

You’re not a bad boy. Not like…

Charlie felt himself lose control, the rage sucking him in like a violent river current, and he, as if on springs, lunged toward his mother’s naked frame.

Her grabbed her thighs, themselves soiled by the hands of so many before him, so many he knew he could never count, and he felt the weight of them. He pulled his underwear down, and soon his cock was out, and then he poked it forward, feeling the gates which welcomed him, soft and without pushback, not believing it could be so easy. And then, with sudden shock, he simply… pushed.

His mouth fell open, his eyeballs almost rolled into the back of his skull. He was hit with a wave of pleasure. And as soon as he felt it, he froze. He stared down at his mom’s sleeping body. And then, after a moment to adjust, he began to thrust, and he couldn’t believe anything could feel this good.

He leaned down and began kissing her. Her breath smelled and tasted what he assumed cock taste like, and he was shocked how little it bothered him, not now at least. His mother was his mother, and he needed the taste of her tongue. He kissed it, kissed her chin, and her cheeks, all as he thrusted, no longer a virgin, no longer a good boy. He had imagined sweetly losing his virginity to a girl he loved, but instead was losing it now within his own mother.

He sucked on her giant breasts, the expanse of which was like vistas unto itself, doing so half-aware of how infantile it was, but loving it, loving her as whore and mother both. Loving her as lover and victim, and loving himself as beast and hero.

He was so wrapped up in the processes, feeling so powerful by his control over those thick and heavy thighs, putting waves through the flesh of her tits and ass, that he barely noticed her eyes opening.

When they did, after a few moments of closing again, they stared up ahead. Suddenly, they widened with shock. “Charlie!” she screamed.

His arms shot out, grabbing her wrists before she could slap him or push him off. He flattened them against the couch and kept thrusting.

“Charlie, what are you— No!”

“Yes!” Charlie snarled.

“No!” she screamed, more shocked for his fate than her own. “You’re a— a— a good—”

He silenced her with his lips over hers, forcing her into a kiss as she moaned.

Cum fell from her pussy, cum displaced by Charlie, her good boy, as he pumped her himself, needing to cum inside her. He did eventually, after flipping her over to discombobulate her, gripping a fistful of brunette hair, loving the control her had over her stupid head. He nutted with his tongue out and in bliss, feeling the waves wash over him in an electric pulse, a lightshow of the heart, as he emptied inside that warm pocket. She struggled to get him off, screamed for it, but he only pinned her with his wild hips, wanting to finish balls deep inside her. Then he was done. “How could you do this to mommy?” Gianna said. Charlie felt guilt rise in him, waves of it, but they didn’t last long, his arousal calming them, then making them disappear altogether. And, just as his mother tried to silently crawl off, he grabbed her, continuing, not wanting to stop.

She screamed the whole night, and though Charlie knew the neighbors could hear it, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t care even if they knew it was him who was causing her to do this. He knew the neighborhood was filled with men, though he knew not which ones, who had tasted his mother before, so many had, and he knew that even those who hadn’t wouldn’t hold it against him. They couldn’t, not with the way she looked. Dylan was right. He had been right about everything, and Charlie was sick of hiding it from himself.

As he passionately forced his body on and into his mother’s, feeling good doing so, he came and came inside her, wanting, more than anything, to make her his.

As another volley ejected from his balls, and she looked into his eyes, in hopes that he would stop, Charlie thought one last thing: My new brother can’t be any worse than Dylan, and his thrusting began anew.

Early daylight spilled in from the window. The birds were chirping. Two bodies, one skinny and smooth, and the other shapely and gorgeous, lie on top of each other, like lovers, enemies, and family. Just then, interrupting the silence, there was a sound at the front door. It slowly clicked open, followed by a few footsteps. A figure stood there, looking upon the scene. A grin slowly took his mouth.

“Atta boy, bro,” he said. “Atta fuckin’ boy.”