All characers are at least 18 years old according to United States federal law, and the white man’s Bible.
“Oh, baby… The sin just won’t come out of you.”
The voice of our mother seeped through the door, from the room next to mine. Slippery jerks mixed with heavy breaths of restrained excitement. I couldn’t close my ears from it, from the constant pumping, like her hips were hungrily grinding a rock-hard pole of soft meat. But it wasn’t her pussy that was doing devil’s work…
The muffled moans of my twin brother pierced the door to my room. I listened, unable to plug my ears. The tight rugged rope tying my hands behind my back, and the rope around my ankles, kept me helplessly locked into this moment of torment. The fist-pumping sound was so loud, I couldn’t help but imagine her her sex-ripened pussy lips spread wide munching on the young cock to the root, only his cum-filled balls escaping the intercourse.
She was being rough with him tonight. Her chirping voice was cut into pieces by sighs, flowing out unrestrained, like a sun-warmed breeze on an open grass field. As her milking motions got louder and more intense, I felt the bulge in my pants twitch.
A sudden stint of jealousy flushed over my constrained body. The venomous emotion was followed by dark biting guilt. As my brother orgasmed and gasped, for a flash of a moment, I remembered just how long this had been going on.
Alone in my unlit room, I laid in bed staring at the shape of the door, an unvited tear on my cheek. I missed his touch, his soft skin, the feel of his little testicles in my mouth, I missed it so much…
It was two weeks ago that my mother found me and my brother in the bath together. She interrupted us while I was sucking my brother’s dick. I had been throating him so deep, my cheek was bulging like a frog’s chin. I had serviced his penis with my tongue for maybe ten minutes straight, I could taste his precum. She freaked out, screaming at us that we were sinning, that our souls would burn, our family name would be ruined, and the sky was days from falling on our heads. She broke us off, grabbed my twin brother and dragged him out of the bathing room.
That night, she tied us up. With rope and handcuffs, she tied us like Christmas packages, keeping our rooms separate by locking the doors. I remember how furious her steps sounded, as she went to our dad’s room downstairs. She went through his belongings, and brought with her his brown leather belt. That night, she beat us. Belt and hand, she beat us till we were bruised and blue.
She called the school next morning. She told them we were sick with influenza – a bad, antibiotic-resistant case of influenza, the swine flu with a rape-fetish. She cried crocodile tears on the phone, telling our teachers it would take weeks to heal us. Weeks.
There was no beating that night. Instead, she prayed, in the corridor between mine and my brother’s rooms. She prayed to God and Jesus and Mary loudly, crying between her chants. It was as if she was calling for lighting to strike on our house. Our doors were locked, but I know my brother heard it too.
The next morning, she came to my room with an onahole.
The rubber pussy had inverted lips and a tiny clit for aesthetics. It was the shape of a torso, with little tits and nipples and even a belly bottom. It looked like a decapitated carcass of a girl that died too young. I could only guess where she had dug it from, because she didn’t say. Neither me or my brother owned a pocket pussy, and it had arrived so fast, it couldn’t have been mail-ordered from JLIST.
I heard my twin brother yell, his lungs busting a sound as hard as his nuts exploded. I could literally hear a thud as his cum load, no doubt massive from days of building up, was spat from his urethra. The slosh sounds had subsided a moment before, and in the silence of the night, the grizzly headless onahole drank every last drop of his boy juice
I heard our mother whispering something to my brother before getting up. A mixed feeling of dread and excitement flushed over me. Her step was heavy. As she walked to my door and unlocked it, my throat went dry the same time with the chink sound, and I instinctively wriggled in my binds, like a live fish on a hot cooking pan.
The wooden door creaked open, she said not a word in introductions as her saggy breasts crossed the threshold, the rest of her body followig suit like a sledge of flesh dragged by two eyeless, lidless, horned beasts.
She was wearing her old cheerleader costume from her high school days. It had gotten tight for her in the chest area; the underside of her milk bags jiggled freely in view. Her belly, fattened from eating pizzas and glucose-fructose-syrup candy, was fully exposed. She had evident stretch marks from giving birth to two boys at once, as well as years worth of accumulated cellulite raping her once slender girly form into the deformed piece of meat she now was. And below her belly, she wore the skirt that in her teenage years, had actually hidden her genital area. Now, her white panties bulged out between her fat thighs, where her motherly slit was oozing a stain of piss and juices on to the thin fabric. She had sports socks, but no shoes.
She stood there, staring at me, the only light in the room coming from the grey corridor behind her. Her red curly locks framed her white smirking face, as if she was a ghost in an old, faded black and white picture.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, honey…”
She hissed her words through her wet red lips. With a smack of her tongue, she let out a pop, like the church bell ringing. She budged forward, and the air budged with her. A flood of odors rushed into my two defenseless nostrils; smells that a son should never smell from her mother. They were the musky reeks of sweat, menstrual piss, pussy juice, and fresh cum.
My soft bed suddenly felt like a pool of quicksand; soft and sinking, impossible to get up. The big woman towered over me, the onahole in her right hand. She squeezed and shook it suggestively, its insides stirred and the smell filled the room.
She took support from my bedside and kneeled down. My body was inches away from her touch. Her gentle breath caressed my face, she stared into my eyes. Her piercing gaze was unblinking for many long seconds while she played with my hair with her left hand. She had tints of sadness in those pearly mirrors of her soul. The odor of fresh cum reeked between us; the onahole was filled to the brim with my brother’s cum. Despite the darkness, I knew from before that the little rubber clit had peeled off in her hard use. The toy was glistening with lube, and seminal fluids, which had lost their white plump texture to be replaced by a layer that looked like water spills.
“Mommy is gonna milk you dry tonight, hun. Mommy is gonna suck the poison out.”
She moved her hand from my hair and grabbed my underpants and peeled them off. My hard throbbing cock sprung out like jack in a box. Her breath was on my skin, as she sized up my mother-maker.
“Have you grown since last time?”
She asked that rhetorically, knowing fully well I couldn’t answer while gagged. She suddenly grabbed me by the throat while letting out a heavy sigh. I imagined a volcano spewing out ash, filling my lungs before lunging a wave of lava to melt my body. A droplet of cum glazed my sausage, like ketchup from a bottle, followed by a drool. It was still warm.
The soft rubber lips enveloped my cock tip, and then ate my shaft in whole. The mixture of lube and cock juice made penetration a non-issue. Mother gave my cock a squeeze, through the onahole, and it felt like an invitation.
“I will drain the fucking faggot out of your bitch stick.”
She growled and withdrew the hole before bringing it down. Every rib and bump slid over my sensitive glans and my throbbing veins. She brought it up, then down again. Up, and down to the end until I hit the slobbering pocket of cum at the end of the hole. Down and down, she whacked the toys at my penis like a judge swings his hammer in a restless courtroom.
I writhed and gasped helplessly, the pan was hot, I was a fish in a grill, my dick was being roasted. She leaned forward, so my vision was blocked by her sweaty tit crack, her nipples were attacking me. She lifted her shirt up and the twins jiggled from being released into open air, that air barely separating us, and then she hopped on the bed with me.
The weight of her flesh bags rested on my chest, their pointy ends grazed my pale husk, as well as the ropes that kept me bound. She rubbed both of her baggy boobs in my face while continuing the milking motions. She was on the bed, on me, I was completely helpless to resist her. I was controlled by my religious mother exorcising the gayness from my sinful body through a ritual of forced masturbation.
“Fucking bitch, cum already, cum, CUM!!! Fucking cum like your faggot brother did!! The power of Jesus Christ compels your godless penis!!!”
The tickling in my shaft, and the churning in my balls, were signs of my body caving in to the prayer. The cum load, three days worth of sperm, stirred in excitement at the skin of my nut sack, like flesh-eating worms that smelled a fresh rot-ridden corpse juiced in its own blood. She was milking me, and I belonged to her, I was born of her and I was her son. I was her property to be used and abused, and to be fucked when she wanted it.
Seeing my tear-filled eyes, she snickered softly and bent closer to lick the salt drops. She gave both my cheeks a wet kiss while my cock was ready to burst in her pussy.
“Imagine it’s my cunt that you and that fag crawled out of, and cum in it.”
The jet fuel lit up, and it was takeoff. I howled through my mouth gag with my back arching violently, like a bomb exploded under my bed. She plunged my cock into the onahole, locked my flesh inside the makeshift pussy, and I erupted. My mother’s kisses on my face and my neck accompanied the explosion, like carpet bomb shrapnel ripping my head into shreds. My orgasm gave no fucks about the Geneva convention.
I came in a long singular shot that was like a geysir, it was white boy Americans flooding the shores of Normandy, getting bullet raped by Germans in their bunkers. Her tits were on my face, blocking me from breathing anything but her horny odors. She fucked my cock until I was clean of any more sinful seed, until the factory closed down and the workers fired into early retirement, some into male prostitution to pay their student loans.
My eyes had no vision, my body was limp. The gag disappeared somewhere, and I felt something soft force its way through my drooling lips; the feel and taste of a hard nipple grazed my tongue. I was being breast-fed. I heard a sigh, or was it the wind outside my window?
She said not one word, her body did the talking. I gave her nipple a nibble as revenge. I could hear the wicked smile in her breathing, while her heart beat reverberated in my body.
My creamed little dick plopped out of the onahole, while an ominous drool stained my belly, then my chest, and my cheek. My senses were dulled, and I could barely move a muscle with my mother’s body weighing down on me.
“You are not gay. You are normal. You’re a good boy. You’re good.”
She whispered those words while staring into me. The jizz reeked like last week’s garbage bags while she slid the moist hole on my lips. I looked up at her, and she nodded. I had her love, and her approval. She put the hole on my lips, it was like kissing a doll, and she tipped it up. The juice poured out, and in, it oozed on to my tongue, and the taste enveloped my mouth. The taste of cum, my brother’s and my own, and there was so much of it. The cream glazed my taste buds and I had to swallow to dodge gagging. Lump after lump after lump, I drank, my mind blank from being absolutely fucked by my mother who loved my soul like she loved Jesus.
She gave my glazed cheek a kiss, licking off the runaway drops before heaving up from the bed. She gave my head a light pat, and turned her back on me. She locked the room after she had exited. And so I was left alone in my room, in peace, in prayer, my punishment complete.