hate hearing my mother cry. Thanks to my father, bastard that he was, I was all too familiar with that horrible sound. I needed more than two hands to count the number of times I listened to Mom crying at night due to his decision to abandon our family - to leave her for his secretary, of all things; it was pathetically predictable.
Dad had always been the breadwinner, but my mother, Sharon, remained a very capable woman. When an accidental pregnancy -- you know, me - had altered their life plans, Mom had been faced with a tough decision: to either stay home or hire a full-time nanny. I'm sure plenty of people would argue she'd made the wrong decision, but she never regretted becoming a homemaker. She embraced the role, putting her at the center of all my fondest childhood memories.
Eventually, Dad had grown tired of pretending to be a family man. Not content with the standard version of breaking Mom's heart and screwing up his kid, he'd opted to saddle his ex-wife with a mountain of debt from fraudulently obtained credit cards. Mom had had no idea the debt existed. When she found out that the cards had all been taken out in her name, she discovered that her credit score had been completely ruined. She was devastated twice over.
We had no money and no prospects, and I had just started to attend an expensive university in pursuit of a photography degree. Mom supported me every step of the way, but as time marched on, it became necessary to admit that love and good vibes were not going to pay my tuition.
Mom spent many nights trying to find a way to keep both of our lives afloat without having to sacrifice my future to do so. We moved into a small townhouse in order to save money, but everything she earned with her waitressing job went up in smoke. The only silver lining from the move was that it brought us closer together -- emotionally and physically.
In my new bedroom, I could hear Mom sneeze from the other side of the house. We owned a single television, so "movie" nights on the couch were a common event. We mostly watched her shows, but as long as the night ended with me giving her a backrub, I chalked it up to a win.
On one particular night, I was massaging Mom's shoulders while The Bachelor played in the background. A bowl of sat on the coffee table, empty but for some unpopped kernels. Mom liked to take them and suck on them until the shell was soft enough to bite through. Several empty beer bottles littered the tabletop as a monument to a successful night of drowning our collective woes.
I was perched on the back of the couch, and she on the cushion below me, which gave me the leverage I needed to ease the stress out of her aching muscles. The high ground also gave me an unobstructed view down the front of her loose-fitting t-shirt, which my wandering eyes shamelessly exploited.
Mom was in the middle of venting her misery so that she could fall asleep with an empty mind. "She doesn't listen, she's rude as heck, and the poor thing thought triple sec was a type of deodorant!"
I knew better than to interrupt one of her tirades, so I stayed quiet and redoubled my massaging efforts.
"Girls like Amanda make this job so much harder than it needs to be!" Mom ground her teeth together, annoyed with the trifling behaviour of her younger co-worker.
I dug my palm into a knot behind her left shoulder. "I could slash her tires for you?"
"As much as I want you to, I-- ow!" Mom swatted my hand playfully. "Gentle, honey! I just... I want her to grow up. I've already raised a kid, and you weren't half as bratty as her!"
"So you don't want to set us up on a date?"
She tapped a finger against her chin, mulling over the idea. "Her dad is super rich. Maybe an arranged marriage would solve all our money problems?"
"All of our problems are money problems, Mom," I joked, but she was not amused, so I tried to save face. "I'm kidding! You know I would only marry for love."
She tensed up at the thought. "What good will love do when you have to drop out of school? Love doesn't pay the bills."
Mom had always been good at lifting my spirits, and I hoped some of her trademark magic had rubbed off onto me. "Love doesn't, but we can! We'll find a way. We always have, right?"
"Everyone 'always has' until, one day, they don't! Then they're homeless, and they've ruined their son's future, all because they couldn't keep one shitty husband from running off with a fucking..." She stopped herself and took a breath. "Sorry."
I slid off the back of the couch and wrapped my arms around Mom's torso in a big bear hug. With my legs on either side of her, my crotch was pressed firmly into her backside. I rested my chin on her shoulder and tightened my grip around her tummy. "No, Mom, that's where you're wrong. He couldn't keep you around. I get to have you in my life, which makes me the luckiest guy in the world."
Mom sniffled. "You're the one who gets to hold this old, sobbing bag of bones in their arms."
"I think you mean this beautiful sobbing bag of bones," I insisted. "But also-- you know, you're not a bag of bones. Maybe I should have led with that?"
Mom chortled. "Stop trying to make me laugh. I'm supposed to be pouting!"
"It's just money, Mom. We can always get more, but what we have is irreplaceable."
She sighed, letting her head fall back so it rested on my shoulder. "Any bright ideas?"
I had a few ideas, actually.
Ever since I had learned what a woman truly was, Mom had lingered in my mind as the pinnacle of the female form. I'd often wondered how many of my sexual preferences were based on her image. As time had marched on and circumstances had left us with no one but each other, it had become clear to me that it was basically all of them.
Mom had a head of vivacious blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. The subtle curls that framed the sides of her face, and her windswept bangs, were iconic symbols of the timeless beauty she had radiated for almost two decades.
There were faint wrinkles that formed shallow creases on her forehead, and nights spent dismayed over financial destitution had given her eyes a hollow somberness that I found oddly alluring. Mom wasn't just beautiful, she was intriguing. As soon as men laid their eyes on her, they wanted to know more. She'd always shut them down.
By the time I'd reached adulthood, I'd understood why so many men had approached my mother once her ring had come off. Her breasts - two enormous, wobbling, cream-coloured mountains - rivaled any I had ever seen on the internet. That's the literal truth; I rarely watched porn on the internet, electing instead to simply think of my mom's breasts, and to remember how soft they felt pressed against my chest whenever she hugged me. That was all I needed to bring myself to a brain-melting orgasm.
Unless she chose an outfit that was specifically designed to be modest, her cleavage was nearly impossible to contain. Mom was not a particularly tall woman, so her twin blessings in front stood out even more than would have otherwise. The image of her large, billowing breasts had filled my mind on many lonely nights. The memory of their softness, bulging like enormous pancakes against my chest whenever she hugged me, was all I required to bring about a brain-melting orgasm. Even fewer of her wardrobe options concealed the detail I found most captivating: a small beauty mark on her left breast that looked like a chocolate teardrop.
The same was true in the rear - of it, about it... you get the idea. Mom's ass was fat, and I loved it. Ever since I'd first noticed - really noticed -- how profoundly curvy her body was, I had gone out of my way to catch a glimpse of its spellbinding wobble.
Thanks to her plump rear end, all of her swimsuits met the same fate; swallowed between her bulging ass cheeks like dental floss. Watching her butt jiggle like mud in an earthquake -- each step of her tiny, adorable feet sending shockwaves through her cheeks -- would bring even the most confident man to his knees.
At first, I'd felt guilty about the attraction I felt towards my mother. I'd known it was abnormal, but over time I'd made peace with it. So the story I told myself went: I loved everything about her, so why not her body, too?
As long as I was awake, thoughts such as those constantly ran through my mind. No amount of homework, or corny episodes of The Bachelor, could stop me from obsessing over her. Having her rump pressed into my crotch while we watched said episodes did nothing to alleviate my fixation.
That night on the couch, I was experiencing something like a dream come true. In my dreams, of course, it would be Mom's famously fat and naked bottom pressing directly into my crotch.
She piped up, pulling me out of my daydream. "So, no ideas?"
I blushed, thankful that she was still paying attention to the television. "Uh, I have a couple. People make money doing all kinds of stuff these days."
Mom obliterated a popcorn kernel between her teeth. "Like what?"
I pushed the envelope with a very specific goal in mind. "Like... stuff online."
"Oh, you mean spreading their coochie for the world to see?" She was making a joke, yet still managed to take the words right out of my mouth.
"Uh, yeah. I mean, sometimes you don't even need to spread it." I was prepared for her to swat me for being so crass.
"Don't be gross," Mom instructed with a swift smack on my arm. She slithered out of my grasp, and lay her head on the opposite end of the couch so that her feet rested in my lap. "I will be doing exactly none of that, thank you."
I was fighting a losing battle, but Mom taught me to never give up. "People would pay big money. I know I would!"
Mom gave me her full attention, her eyes snapping to me like targeted missiles. "Excuse me?"
"In theory, I mean. You're gorgeous, Mom! Smart people would pay good money to see you naked, and I'm no idiot!" There was no correct way to approach the topic of paying to see my mother's naked body, but I still tried to tread as lightly as I could.
Mom shook her head disapprovingly. "I can't even believe we're having this conversation! It's a no, if you still aren't sure." She refused to speak on the subject any further, but I saw the gears turning behind her eyes long after the topic had been dropped.
I had simply wanted to float the idea, and considered that mission to be accomplished. I knew that it would take more than one night for it to stick. I had planted a seed, hoping it would grow into a source of hope -- a lifeline that would constantly be swaying at the periphery of her attention.
Mom passed out a few minutes later. It shouldn't surprise you to learn that I was incapable of focusing on the remainder of The Bachelor. Instead, I was replaying every detail of our short and not-very-hopeful conversation. Never before had we spoken so openly about anything sexual. I could feel how uncomfortable the subject had made her, but I knew her well enough to read that telltale glimmer in her eye. Whether it was the prospect that random men would pay to see her naked, or the easy avenue to quick cash that intrigued her, I was not sure. What I did know was that my mom was a firecracker. If I could only get her to accept that tiny, awkward little idea, I would be able to solve two problems at once:
One, obviously, was our near-destitution.
The other was that I was still a virgin, and I wanted Mom to be my first.
I walked into the kitchen the next morning to see Mom in the midst of breakfast preparations. The room was bathed in decadent morning light, with an abundance of warm smells to match its nostalgic comfort. She was backlit by the sun, its rays beaming through the window over the stove in a way that tied the whole beautiful scene together.
I had just immortalized the snapshot in my memory when a little voice whispered to me. It filled me with the confidence to broach the subject she had rebelled against so vilely the night before. I'd hoped that sleeping on the thought would make her more receptive to the new career prospect. I was horribly mistaken.
"N. O," she asserted with a stomp, her bare feet slapping against the kitchen tile. "What does that spell, honey?"
"Mom, be reasonable," I pleaded.
She spun on her heels and pointed a spatula at me, ignoring the chunk of runny egg that fell from the end. "Be reasonable, or be naked?"
"Both! Just let me prove it to you."
Mom arched her eyebrow. "Prove that men are horndogs? I don't need any more evidence!"
I held a hand over my heart like she had just shot me with an arrow. "First, on behalf of my fellow men, ouch. Second, yes! You don't even have to be naked! Let me take a flattering photo of you, and I'll prove we can make money with it."
Mom threw her hands in the air. "Then what? Hmm? You take a couple with my boobs out, too?"
I did not have a right to be annoyed. I was asking something insane, and she was right to react that way. That said, my education was on the line, so I was frustrated that she would not do everything in her power to stop that from falling through.
"No, actually. Then I drop out of school because we don't have any money and my life falls to pieces!"
That was a huge mistake.
Mom shut down, receding into her shell. She threw the spatula into the sink and folded her arms over her chest. "Don't do that; that isn't fair."
The colour drained from my face. I felt like a monster. No matter how genuine my frustration - even desperation - was, it had been cruel to use them as ammunition on her--the one person whose support I should never have questioned.
"I'm sorry. That was mean. I'm just under a lot of stress." I knew it was no excuse, but I fell over myself trying to explain my bad behaviour. "I have to keep doing my assignments just in case I don't drop out, but I'm doing a half-assed job because I don't feel like I'm going to be around next year. What's the point?"
I swear that I wasn't trying to guilt her into anything, or manipulate her, but something about what I'd said or how I'd said it must have tipped the scales in my favour. Moments after I'd given up on the pipe dream of seeing her naked, Mom breathed new hope into me.
"You really think men would pay to see me... you know?" She squirmed, her toes wiggling about like frenzied worms. Her arms, crossed over her chest, were a protective shield that she hid behind.
I chose my words carefully. "I was just thinking with my dick, and trying to make a quick buck off of a bunch of other idiots doing the same thing."
"How quick?"
"With a body like yours? Probably overnight." I had no need to lie about that.
Mom pouted, trying to suss out the truth. "Do you really mean that? I'm always going to tell you how handsome you are, even if you'd just been in a car accident!"
"This is different. I think you're gorgeous, Mom. A lot of my friends thought so when we were growing up, too. Do you know what the term 'MILF' means?"
She grinned sheepishly and shook her head.
"Well, it's an acronym... for "Mom I'd Like to Fuck."
Her jaw dropped; she was struck dumb. "Your friends called me that?" I only nodded, and let her sit with it. For several moments, her eyes darted wildly around the room without actually focusing on anything, so I knew she was deep in thought. She finally refocused me, though I could tell she was having a hard time holding my gaze. "So... how do we do this?"
No matter how obvious the implication was, I didn't want to stick my neck out. "Do what?" I asked.
Mom rolled her eyes, annoyed that she had to explain herself. "Take a photo, dummy!"
I gestured to the back porch. "The lighting on the deck is pretty good. We could do it right now."
Mom bit her bottom lip pensively. "What if someone sees?"
"This is just a normal photo. You can wear what you have on now -- no change."
Mom was right to feel strange about the experience. I shared in her trepidation as we stepped onto the back porch.
The trees at the back of our property gave us a good amount of privacy from our neighbors. With the exception of a small crack between the great pines, we were hidden from the street as well. Still, Mom shuffled out of the house behind me as if there were drones watching her every move.
I chuckled while Mom nervously scanned the neighbouring windows for voyeurs. "The coast is clear," I said.
She sighed and stepped into the sun. "Fine, fine."
She looked like a figure from heaven. The rich, yellow cloak of the morning sun that draped over her shoulders was surpassed only by the vibrancy of her magnificent blonde hair. I desperately wanted to embrace her and channel my love into a kiss so passionate that it would leave her gobsmacked, but I shook the lively fantasy from my head.
As she usually did, Mom wore a thin cotton shirt with no bra underneath. I prayed for a brisk chill that would bring her nipples to attention. She was also wearing a pair of high-rise booty shorts that, when paired with her tight-fitting shirt, accented her curves suspiciously well. It was not an uncommon outfit for her, but the context of the photo I was about to take made it feel deeply lecherous.
When Mom asked what pose she should strike, I drew a blank. I thought the process would be easy, but conjuring the perfect shot did not come as naturally to me as I anticipated.
"Maybe, like, put your leg up on the chair?" I offered. "Yeah, arch your foot like that. That looks good."
Mom raised an eyebrow. "It does?"
"Gotta start somewhere," I said with a shrug. "What if you put your hands on the back of your head? Now, give me a look that says 'I know how good I look.' Does that make sense?"
Mom tried to follow the instructions, but she looked too uncomfortable for the photo to read as anything other than an amateurish attempt at eroticism.
An ear-piercing whistle, fired like a sniper bullet from between the pine trees that lead to the street, broke the silence. The shooter was a man about Mom's age, walking his dog on the other side of the street. A serendipitous glance between the needles had given him the perfect angle at which to see her posing. Given how good Mom looked from behind, I was not surprised that he'd chosen to extend his heartfelt appreciation.
Mom squealed and crouched down to her knees. "I told you people would see!"
I hoped my smile would disguise the jackhammer thumping in my chest. "Who cares? You're fully clothed!"
"I mean, I guess so. Is he gone?"
The man had left as quickly as he'd appeared, and once I confirmed that to Mom, she started grinning uncontrollably. Seconds later, she fell headfirst into a fit of euphoric giggles with such enthusiasm that I could not help but join in. We had been caught in the middle of a bank heist by a passing guard, only for him to walk away as though nothing had happened.
Mom cackled, her face beaming with relief. "My friggin' heart just about burst through my ribcage!"
She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. Her breasts fell on either side of her legs, barely contained by the thin t-shirt and begging for me to stare at them.
"I feel like I'm in high school again," Mom cooed, "sneaking around behind Grandma's back to go see a boy."chuckled. "I thought he was going to come and ask for your number! All he did was see you from behind, and he was ready to propose!"
Mom gave an ugly little snort as she pondered the idea. "Oh, yeah. I just shake my ass and they come running with the rings."
"Not rings," I corrected her. "Money. That was a potential customer right there. I told you they'd be interested!"
Mom had yet to acknowledge the simple truth held by everyone, from strangers on the street, to her own son: she was hot.
Her eyes sparkled with a familiar glimmer. It was the same one I had seen in the living room the night before. The faint peach fuzz on her forearm stood on end, abuzz with electricity. Whatever idea had passed through her brain had elicited a rush of goosebumps. Their tingly surge granted my wish, and successfully made her nipples hard enough to poke through her shirt.
That was the photo I had been looking for: the sincere happiness brightening her aura, the light pouring through her luscious hair, and the hint of nipple to provide that extra "special something." I knew I might only have a moment before she came back to reality, so I acted fast. I raised the camera, racing to capture her. "Smile, Mom."
In a flash, she cast her gaze at me with a subtle tilt of her head, sending a coil of golden hair over her forehead. Her smile contained a thousand words. There was an enchanting comfort to the photo that made me want to live in its frame forever. I felt as though I was nostalgic for an era I had never lived through; Mom's beauty was truly without equal.
I snapped a few dozen shots, as photographers do, but the first one had been perfect. I should have told her about her nipples poking through her shirt, but I couldn't risk her demanding that I delete my prize - and our moneymaker. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
"Can I see it?" Mom asked cheerfully. "Maybe I'll finally see what you see."
I had to make up a lie. "I need to edit it first; otherwise it'll look too amateur."
"I thought the whole point was that I am an amateur?"
"Yes and no. It still has to look clean enough so that people will want to keep coming back." I winced at the mealy-mouthed half-truth and hoped she would not press any further. Thankfully, her high spirits did not put her in an investigative mood.
Mom jumped to her feet. She was no longer checking around her for peeping Toms. If they were watching, she was keen to let them. "Whatever you say, honey. Just tell me before you post it."
I knew right away that I would break that promise; Mom was too shy to let a photo like that go online. Later that afternoon, as I stared at the photo on my computer screen, I told myself that once she'd experienced the thrill of knowing that people had paid to see it, she would surely see things my way.
I hadn't been lying that I was going to edit the photo. I wanted to spruce it up, change the contrast to match the sunlight better, and ensure it wasn't overexposed -- all the normal photography stuff, except for the fact that every change I made was done in service of highlighting Mom's breasts.
Her nipples did most of the heavy lifting by drawing the eye immediately to her ample bosom. That would ensure that plenty of viewers would spend an extra couple of seconds analysing the photo instead of swiping to the next one. We needed a hook, and her nipples were it.
The whole process was finished within an hour, and it went off without a hitch. Unfortunately, the guilt I'd temporarily set aside came flooding back in as I took step after methodical step towards posting the picture online without Mom's permission.
I made a new account on reddit for us to use with the name "CallMeMommy." For the first post, I found several mature- and MILF-themed subreddits and posted the photo to all of them. Against my better judgement, I went with a title that was sure to earn me a stern scolding.
"This newly single Mommy just started selling her body for money. DM for info!"
Nothing was going to come of it while I stared at the screen. The wheels were in motion and all I had to do now was let them spin until they found traction. I closed my laptop triumphantly, and planned to hit the shower rather than waste my time waiting for results. As luck would have it, I did not have to wait long.
DING!
My phone pinged, alerting me to a new message. I opened it, expecting to see something horrible making front page news, but was taken aback to see that it was from Reddit. Mom already had a hit.
The message read,
I began typing out a message to send:
Just before I hit 'send,' though, I realized that we were missing something crucial. I rushed to create a profile for Mom on OnlyFans so that I could include the link in the message. I did the bare minimum so that we'd have some way of getting money into our pockets ASAP; I knew I could spend more time on it later.
With all that taken care of, I sent off the first text message of Mom's new career.
I went to take a shower before I confronted Mom with the truth of the photo. I tiptoed to the bathroom, hoping that she would not surprise me on the way. The house was quiet, with nothing more than the musings of daytime soap operas echoing from the den to mask the creaking floorboards under my feet.
I waited for the waer to get warm, resting my head against the shower wall as I did. I fell into a potent daydream wherein Mom chastised me for the lewd photograph, kicking me out of the house as punishment for overstepping so distastefully. I say 'daydream,' but it was more like a nightmare!
I suddenly found it very difficult to focus on the positive potential outcomes of my experiment. My brain was swimming in a simmering stew of anxiety. I considered taking the photo down. It was just one photo, with no real name attached, so I figured it would still be a case of no harm, no foul, and no admitting anything to Mom. I imagined us laughing it off a few days later as a crazy idea that neither of us had been reckless enough to go through with.
By the time I stepped out of the shower, I felt dirtier than when I'd gone in. I toweled off and trudged to my room, ready to delete the accounts and apologize to Mom for dragging her into something so foolish.
I was going to do the right thing. I really was, but then I saw it: ten dollars. It was sitting in the account wallet, waiting to be scooped up. I had only been gone for a few minutes, but that was all it had taken for some hungry user to humbly donate the funds to secure access to whatever content we made next.
It felt gross to solicit money from some random stranger, but since there was no chance Mom would do it in my place, I was forced to brush off the ick. I knew men. I knew my plan would work. I wanted to strike while the iron was still hot, so the next step was getting Mom to pose for a second photo.
I threw on a pair of shorts and raced around the house with my phone in hand, eagerly searching for my illustrious model. I was still a bit apprehensive to show her the photo, but I told myself that the money in our account would make everything easier for her to stomach.
Mom was out in the garden, toiling in the soil under the cover of pillowy clouds. She was wearing a picturesque straw hat, like a farmer on the front page of a magazine supporting healthy agricultural practices. Considering that she was still braless, I imagined any issue with her on the cover would sell like hotcakes.
"You just made ten dollars," I announced with pride.
Mom gestured to the rows of leafy greens around the garden. "Are you coming to buy some of my delicious, homegrown cabbage?"
I unlocked my phone and handed it to her, watching her reaction morph from confusion to elation to mild panic.
"Wait, is that the photo from this morning?" Mom pinched the screen, accidentally shrinking the image down a few times before she figured out the zoom feature. I'd taught her the ins and outs of modern technology a couple of years ago, but apparently the information hadn't quite stuck.
Her tone rose sharply. "Uh, honey? Why can you see my nipples through my shirt?"
Mom handed the phone back to me, her teeth digging into her tongue. I knew she wanted to scold me, but instead, she was letting me dig my grave a little deeper.
"You wanted hits," I offered meekly.
Mom slapped my shoulder. "You wanted hits! I wanted-- wait, we got a hit?"
"Someone saw the photo, and before I got out of the shower they had already subscribed to your OnlyFans." Maybe I should have been gentler with the delivery of the news that she was officially - technically - selling her body.
Her eyes widened in horror. "Jesus. I'm a forty-six year old woman with an OnlyFans account. So this is, like, really happening? I'm posing for the internet?"
"You can do whatever you want; you're the one in control, but..."
Mom froze, bracing for the worst. "But?"
"Well, that's the thing about the internet. They always want more. The more you do, the more interested your fans will be." Listening to myself talk about my mother like a commodity made me cringe, but I could not deny that it was almost giving me a thrill.
Mom waved me away like a pesky housefly. "Okay, now you're just being gross. Can you finish watering the veranda for me, please?"
"Yes, ma'am!" I sung happily.
I showered the potted plants until they overflowed, my mind adrift as I moved from fern to fern. I worried I had come on too strong.
I decided that I would not bring it up again - that I'd let her set the pace from then on. There had been no mistaking her fascination with the new world we were entering into, and her role in it, but I worried that intrigue alone would not be enough to convince her. Destiny needed to intervene in spectacular fashion if everything was to go to plan.
A few days later, on an otherwise peaceful Saturday afternoon, the hands of fate took the wheel and steered us in the right direction. Mom came crashing through the front door like a battering ram. "God dammit! God fucking dammit!"
I leapt from the couch in terror. With the rage in her tone, I half expected that she would soon be punching holes in the drywall. Instead, she had collapsed on the floor after taking her shoes off and was using one of them as a stress ball. She kneaded the shoe with both hands, trying with all her might to rip it in two.
I poked my head outside to see if she was being followed. Perhaps I had seen too many movies, but an outburst of that magnitude was unprecedented, so I assumed the worst. I wondered if she'd taken out a loan she could not pay back, and some shark's goons were finally coming to collect. It turned out that reality was stranger than my foray into fiction.
"What's going on?" I asked nervously. "Are you okay?"
She tightened her grip around the shoe. "He just grabbed me."
"Who did?"
Mom threw the shoe at the closet door; it left a dark, black skid mark on impact. "Some guy. Some fucking guy just grabs my ass and that's okay? They're fine with it?"
I begged her to calm down and explain what she was talking about. She was irate, but seeing the worry on my face brought her down from her perch on Mount Rage. She breathed deeply through her nose a few times to settle down.
"Some guy at work today grabbed my ass," Mom choked out. "I was bending over to clean up a coffee spill, and before I knew it I felt him pinch my butt." She hung her head, speaking directly to the floor. "He was laughing like a fucking maniac, too. Thought it was the funniest thing."
The colour drained from my face. I hated that she'd had to experience something like that, and hated more that I could do nothing about it. "I'm so sorry, Mom. Did they at least rough him up when they kicked him out?"
Mom cackled. It was not a true laugh-- far too lifeless. "They didn't kick him out; they kicked me out."
"I don't understand. You didn't do anything."
She refused to hide her gleeful smirk when she confessed. "I may or may not have spun around and slapped a handprint into his cheek."
"Jesus..."
"They said I 'can't hit customers,' no matter what, so they fired me."
The veins in my temple throbbed. "For defending yourself? They can't do that, they can't just--"
"But they did." Mom looked up at me, then patted the floor for me to sit down next to her. She leaned her head on my shoulder and took my hand in hers, brushing her thumb over my knuckles.
As I took on the burden of Mom's rage, her instinct to comfort me outweighed her own pain. Her energy simmered, encouraging mine to do the same, until we both reached a calmer place.
Mom kissed the back of my hand. "You know, I think this might be a good thing."
I subtly inhaled the intoxicating aroma of her coconut shampoo. "How do you figure?"
"Well, it means you were right; guys really do want their hands all over me." She gave a bittersweet chuckle. "I should be sad, shouldn't I?"
"I'm not sure. What do you feel?"
"I'm angry. I want what's mine. I'm tired of being poor. Working a miserable job, just to have it blow up in my face when something goes wrong, is not what I planned for my life."
Anger bubbled within her. "No, not anymore. I'm done, Eric. I want more."
My heart was ready to explode in my chest. "So... what are you saying?"
Mom chewed on her lip. "I... don't really know." Her temper was mighty, but the waters ahead were vast and unexplored. No matter how courageous she was, it was difficult to accept the strange future that lay ahead of her.
"Just as a hypothetical..." Mom trailed off.
"Go on," I begged.
"Do people really make a living off this 'EveryFan' thing?"
I squeezed her hand reassuringly. "They do. It can be as easy as putting on a bathing suit, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"Well, I do own a bathing suit," Mom squeaked. "The pool is warm, and the sun is still out, so..."
I was stunned.
"You want to take photos now?" I clenched my jaw so she would not hear my teeth chattering.
Mom pointed a finger at me. "No nudity."
"No nudity!" I confirmed with unabashed enthusiasm.
"Pinkie promise?"
I locked fingers with her. "No tricks this time." I really meant, it too. I needed, and wanted, to be as open and honest with her as possible. I wanted to reward her leap of faith in any and every way I could.
We got up off of the floor, and Mom made for her bedroom. It had been a while since anyone had used our pool, and even when it did get used it was usually by me and my friends. I had not seen her in a bathing suit in a long time; I only realized or remembered that as I reflected on what outfit she might be wearing when she came downstairs.
Outside, I laid a large white towel over a lounge chair and reclined the backrest. I put a bottle of tanning oil on the small, glass table beside the chair with the label facing the camera. Heh, maybe we'll get a sponsorship deal with Coppertone.
I picked out a few spots to shoot from, imagining how to best capture the poses Mom would take. When the screen door opened, however, my directorial sensibilities vanished in an instant.
Mom stepped confidently into the afternoon sun. The walk to the pool was short, which gave me a few agonizingly brief seconds to stare at her while she strode down the concrete runway.
I did not recognize the swimsuit she'd chosen, and that was for the best. If I had possessed a single memory of her wearing it throughout my youth, I would have spent so many hours reliving it that I probably would've failed out of school. It was a bikini; I had never once seen her wear one.
The tightly fitting garment was a bikini; I had never see her wear one before. It was a rich, ruby red that put the aforementioned gemstone to shame, and exponentially more enchanting when juxtaposed against her fair skin. She had stuffed as much into the top as she could, but it was too tight to stop her boobs from oozing out of the sides - that, despite the cups being massive. Their edges dug into her pliable flesh with such intensity that I was sure there would be long, red lines left behind in her skin when she stripped nude.
Her nipples were absolutely captivating. The tiny nubs jutting against the inside of the top formed peaks in the cloth. They were aimed at me, staring straight into my eyes and daring me to look away.
A large, gold ring affixed between the red cups was all that held them in place. If that fastener were to break, one wrong move would have Mom's breasts pushing their former prison right off of her body. With every step she took, I was amazed all over again that it hadn't happened already.
Her bottoms were glued to the curvature of her body. The red cloth between her legs covered her chubby mound, but did nothing to obscure its puffiness. The way it bulged outward made my mouth water like an open faucet. I longed desperately to peel off the bathing suit and bear witness to my birthplace in all its naked glory.
Mom struck a dramatic pose against the fence. "How do I look?"
I almost gagged when I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "R-really good. How are you feeling?"
She shrugged. "A bit nervous... but, honestly, a little excited, too! It feels like we're doing something dangerous."
I gestured to the brown bottle beside her. "It's only dangerous if you don't use sunscreen."
My ignorance made her chuckle. "Honey, that's tanning oil."
"There's a difference?"
She scoffed in disbelief. "Oh, don't play dumb. I suppose you want to help me put it on, too?"
"Yes!" I blurted out, the word flying from my mouth like a cannonball.
The outburst caught her off guard. "You actually... want to put tanning oil on me?"
"Please, brain, say something smart," I thought. "For the photo. For the reflections in the photo. They look better that way."
Mom looked unconvinced. "I think I can handle it this time. But thank you, honey."
Thanks to some very particularly placed trees, the entirety of our pool was sheltered from view. The only way anyone would have been able to peep on us would have been from some place in our own backyard. I believed that that privacy gave Mom some extra confidence that she'd lacked during our first photo session.
She spritzed the tanning oil over her arms and legs, then spread it around until her skin glistened in the sun. I watched with bated breath, astonished by the display. Her hands slowly glided down her plump thighs, cascading down her legs until she reached the ten adorable little toes at the bottom. Given how secluded we were, it was hard to imagine that the provocative display was intended for anyone but me.
Mom doused her hands with oil, then rubbed them together to evenly coat her fingers so she could smear the shiny substance over her tits. The oil soaked into her porcelain skin, making her look soft and inviting. Then she delicately painted her enormous breasts, one a time, carefully avoiding the edge of her bikini so it would not stain.
"Save some for the camera," I quipped. It was a lame joke, but my racing pulse was doing a number on my ability to think clearly.
Mom tucked her chin to her chest, then pointed her finger at the greasy crevasse formed by her cleavage. "Oh, this?"
I nodded, my jaw tightly clenched.
"Maybe we make them pay extra to watch me get all oiled up first," she said, "like a VIP bonus." She sounded proud of herself - that she was picking up on the business plan so quickly, perhaps. "Can you get my back?"
She laid face down on the lounge chair. With a flick of her hair, she untied the back of her suit. Her entire back was exposed, allowing me to soak in more of her naked body than I had ever seen.
I squirted some oil between my hands. Starting at her waist, I pushed my slippery palms over the small of her back. Her skin was smooth as glass, allowing my fingers to slide effortlessly towards her shoulders.
"Oh, honey," she moaned. "That feels amazing!"
What could have read as an innocent massage was sullied by the presence of my throbbing erection. If she had turned around, she would have seen the tent it had made in my shorts, so I thanked my lucky stars that she was too preoccupied to notice. Nervous tremors plagued my hands as they roamed Mom's body. It was different than our usual massages; the stakes were higher.
I cradled the back of her neck with one hand. The other hand rested on the small of her back, then slowly ascended up her spine until it, too, was around her neck. Once they connected, I raked my digits down her body until I reached her waist.
It did not take long to coat every corner of her in a heavy helping of oil. I wanted to take my time, but I knew that if I took too much longer to finish, she would know something was up. Then she might turn around and see exactly what is up.
Not only that, but we had a job to do. I willed myself to stop touching her, then stood back to admire my handiwork from a distance. "I think I'm done."
"Hdwfokillok?" Mom shook her butt back and forth. I don't remember what she actually said-- my brain went completely blank the second her ass started bouncing.
She peeked at me over her shoulder with a quizzical look on her face to see why I had yet to respond. Without uttering a word, she intently studied my wide-eyed enthusiasm. I expected her to stop wagging her tail when she noticed my undue attention. Instead, she gyrated even harder, which made fat waves surge through her skin. She threw her weight behind each vivacious shake of her hips, heaving around the enormous, heavy slab of vanilla pudding.
It was a unique standoff: she knew I was staring, and I knew that she saw me, yet neither of us stopped. Though I wasn't forming complete thoughts, I did feel something - call it an instinct. She's getting off on this. She loves the attention.
She called out to me, but once again failed to successfully rip my head out of the clouds. I neglected to respond for an embarrassingly long time. "W-what was the question?" I finally asked.
"I think I have my answer," Mom cooed, refusing to elaborate. She pointed to her loose bikini string. "Tie your mother up, please."
"Oh God yes!" I had not intended that to be out loud. I still wasn't fully in control of myself.
She held a hand over her mouth. "Oh, honey. Did I turn your brain to soup?"
I was too embarrassed to laugh along with her. I turned a deep shade of red, giving her bathing suit a run for its money. "I didn't mean to stare! I'm sorry, Mom."
"Can I tell you a little secret?" Mom whispered sarcastically. "I think it's kind of sweet."
I arched an eyebrow. "You think it's sweet that I'm fawning over my own mother?"
"I'd say you were drooling, but sure. Either way, it's nice to feel sexy for a change!"
I think she was waiting for me to continue laying on the compliments so she could gauge the depth of my fascination - and, believe me, I could have spent a whole week gushing over her beauty -- but I was already wary. I didn't think she could handle knowing just how much I was attracted to her.
"Are you going to take some pictures," she asked playfully, "or would you rather stand there all day with your dick in your hand?"
It's fair to say that my brain failed me yet again. "M-my what? I-I'm not! I wasn't gonna, like, I mean you--ugh, no. No, I'm not!"
Mom giggled. "Honey, I'm only teasing you. It's just my butt! How are you going to take pictures if you don't look?"
She was right -- and, with the sunlight waning in the presence of a slowly encroaching blanket of clouds, there was not a minute to waste.
I had her start by lying on her back. It was a casual pose, but I wanted to start slow. She practiced her smile until the butterflies wore off and it became more natural for her to stare into the camera. I tried to be as encouraging as I could, and little by little Mom allowed her adventurous side to come out to play.
Next, she moved to her hands and knees. I knew her dangling breasts would catch the attention of any boob lover who laid eyes on them. Gravity did her plenty of favours, pulling on her heavy udders as they swung back and forth below her. Once again, her nipples came out to play, and I drank up the lewd site of them pointing directly towards the ground - just like a cow's udders would.
Next, Mom rolled onto her back and hung her head off the side of the lounge chair. Even when she was upside down, her boobs looked fantastic. Their weight made them flatten against her chest and spill over the sides. I took a few pictures like that, then had her use her forearms to push the heaving mountains together in the center of her chest. She made a "V" with her arms and used the insides of her elbows to smoosh her tits into each other, which in turn made them bulge towards the camera.
After those poses, I moved her around as randomly as I could, searching blindly for the positions that looked the most natural. We were both unpracticed, so despite the high quality of the photos, I knew they would still have a "homemade feel." Mom was surprisingly game for such exploration, and moved into every position without a hint of hesitation. I figured she knew what she'd signed up for that time around, and was committing to it.
I had her kneel on the lounge chair, facing the camera, and wedge one of her hands under the hem of her bottoms so that she was cupping her vulva. Nothing would be revealed, but touching herself in such fashion must have been the line. As soon as I captured the photo, she awkwardly asked me if we were almost done.
"You want to stop?" I asked curiously.
Mom sat on the edge of the chair and put her hands on her knees. "I think so. I know I'm going to have to get used to stuff like that. But, for right now it's still weird."
"Stuff like what?"
Mom sighed and stood up so she could pace back and forth. "I don't know! Stuff like pushing my tits together so they look bigger, or putting a hand down my pants, is kind of weird!"
I stepped in front of her to halt her frantic pacing. I held onto her arms, tethering myself to her to lend some stability to her wavering foundation. "None of these ever have to see the light of day. We don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with."
Mom's eyes darted back and forth. I was not privy to the exact mental math she was performing, but whatever result she came up with was ultimately to my benefit.
"Let's do it," Mom asserted confidently, meeting my eye line. "I trust you, honey."
I hugged her as tightly as I could without snapping her spine. "I love you, Mom."
She planted a warm, tender kiss on my cheek. "I love you, too. Now, don't you have some photos to edit?"
I was a goblin with a comically oversized sack of treasure. I scurried off to my bedroom, eager to plug my new shots into the archive and add to the library of softcore pornography we were cultivating.
It didn't take long to pick the ten or so best shots for a selected album, but editing them to my liking took longer than I'm willing to admit. I had always been a perfectionist, and if any project deserved my undivided attention, it was that one.
I fixed the lighting, shading, sharpness and cropping of each photo in the album. At the end, I was quite satisfied with the work we'd done together. Mom was the body, and I was the brains; we made a pretty good team.
Before I posted the photos, I decided to look through our inbox. I discovered over a dozen new messages directed at Mom, with just as many spelling errors within them. The important part, though, was the enthusiasm they radiated. Men were chomping at the bit to get another glimpse of her. Something about that first photo had spoken to them in the same way it had to me, and they were willing to pay handsomely to get a second look.
I crafted a message informing them of the new content going live on Mom's OnlyFans page, enticing them to subscribe for "whatever tasty treats come next." It was gross, but I felt that Mom and I were on the same page about the many necessary evils our project would require.
I was astonished to find multiple transaction receipts pop up in my inbox before I had even left the bedroom. They were not messing around.
There was a surreal mixture of guilt, jealousy, and pride stewing in my gut. I hated that so many men whose names I would never know were allowed to gaze upon my mother. It made me sick to my stomach, but I immediately wanted more. I took immeasurable pride in the fact that it was my mother they were gawking over. They would never have the relationship with her that I did, either.
When I informed Mom of the boom in our subscribers, she was ecstatic. That sounds like an overstatement, but it's quite the opposite. First her jaw hit the floor, then she screeched like a banshee and literally jumped in the air with joy. I had never seen such cartoonish optimism; she was one step away from having steam blow out of her ears!
"Which one was their favourite? Oh, oh! The one where I'm on my back, I bet. That was such a good angle, honey."
"You've got some dedicated followers, Mom. They're already asking me about the next ones!"
"I've been thinking about that, actually." Mom went on to detail her plan. Apparently, there was a piece of lingerie in her closet that had never been graced with a night out - as in, she'd never even worn it underneath other clothes. Her fear that it was too slutty had held back from even doing that much.
"If I model it for you, would you tell me if it's too much?" she asked earnestly.
"Of course." That was half true.
I knew Mom had a different definition of 'too much' than I did. I was already telling myself that she'd need to trust me to push her up to her real line. Still, I didn't want to come off as heedless of her concerns. "Are you sure you want to do lingerie? You don't feel like we're moving a bit fast?"
"Maybe," Mom confessed, "but I'm not slowing down to give myself time to consider that possibility. I trust you. If you say that we will get more money for doing stuff like this, then I believe you."
My heart swelled with pride. "Thank you, Mom."
"Of course, honey. You know I'll do anything for you, even if it scares me."
For the rest of the day, I kept one eye on my phone. The subscriber count rose to ten, then twenty, then fifty! There was barely any content on Mom's page, but the dangling promise of future works was apparently enough to get people interested.
I made sure to respond to each message by hand. It was time consuming, but I knew that cultivating parasocial relationships was a big deal in the business. I did pause to wonder whether she'd ever take over for me, but then dismissed it as a problem for another day.
Later that night, we were curled up in the den watching late night television, but I had not put my phone down a single time. Mom actually got concerned, which was more a commentary on how much attention I usually paid her - if not necessarily whatever was on TV - during our "movie" nights. Between spoonfuls of frozen yogurt, she asked who I was talking to.
"Er, nobody." I am a bad liar when I'm distracted.
She turned down the volume on the blaring television. "Cute girl?"
"No, nothing like that."
"Good, otherwise I'd have to be jealous." The air of mischief in her tone was subtle, but unmistakable. The intrigue was enough to finally rip me away from my tiny screen.
"Why would you be jealous if I met a girl?"
I don't think Mom expected me to actually pay attention to her words, because she froze like a deer in the headlights.
"Did I say jealous?"
"You did."
"Oh, um, that's weird. Ignore me. I guess it's later than I thought. Must be getting soupy brained!" Mom closed the lid on her imitation ice cream and kicked off her blanket. She was in a rush to leave, and refused to stick around even when I asked her to.
She vanished out of the den, but popped her head around the corner a few seconds later. "Um, honey? What time do you think the light in my bedroom would be the best tomorrow?"
"I would guess around ten or eleven, if the sun cooperates. Why?"
"I just want the shoot to look good; that's all. Will you be awake, or should I get you up?"
I could not believe she was in such a rush. "Wait, wait. You want to do it tomorrow?"
"Of course!" She acted like it was the obvious decision, but I was speechless.
In a million years, I would not have predicted that level of eagerness. I was simply astounded, and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I told her to wake me in the morning when she was ready, and then we said goodnight. Despite her hasty departure, she lingered in my mind for hours.
"Psst, honey." Mom whispered into my ear.
I blinked hard to adjust my vision to the morning sun blasting through my open window. "Wuz goin' awn?"
She sat down on the bed beside me and folded her hands in her lap. "I don't know how to say this, but my boobs don't... uh, fit."
With that comment, I was yanked headfirst into the waking world. I sat up with my eyes open at the mere mention of Mom's breasts. "Huh? What? Boobs?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Boobs, you big perv! I need help with the clasp."
When I finally came to my senses, I immediately fixated upon the beautiful woman standing in my bedroom. The lingerie Mom was referring to was a light blue babydoll. It had a loose-fitting curtain that covered her tummy, but the sheer fabric was thin enough for me to see straight through.
A black ribbon, tied in a bow, sat atop the blue veil. It was tucked just below the swell of her breasts, and stretched all the way around her torso. She looked like a present waiting to be torn open.
The bra struggling to contain her mountainous breasts threatened to split at the seams. Unlike the blue curtain of fabric over her tummy, it as opaque. A pattern of white lace had been sewn into both of the large bowls, decorating them like abstract artwork. I imagined the lace would give some wandering hand extra traction, should it wish to grab or squeeze.
Her underwear - so tiny that it hardly looked like she was wearing anything at all - was the same sapphire hue as her bra. A small, white heart had been sewn into the front of them. It laid at top of the round hill made by her pussy mound bulging against the inside of the cotton panties. The thong hugged her curves, riding high on her hips. Around the sides of her waist, where it was pulled the tightest, the floss sunk into her soft, supple flesh so deep that it disappeared entirely.
Just as Mom had said, the clasp that sat between her boobs was unlocked. The unsealed latch was a monument to the futility of trying to contain their tremendous bulk. With just one look, it was clear that she would need assistance getting it closed. We would need to work together; one of us would have to push her boobs together while the other locked the cage.
Mom tugged my hand and pulled me out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts off the floor to stuff into my empty hands. "Hurry, while it's still bright out!"
I got dressed on the way to her bedroom. When we reached her den, she turned to me and said, "I think it'll be a little easier if I brace myself."
Mom stood with her back to the wall for support, anticipating that the battle to trap her breasts would a ferocious one. She cradled her bosom on either side, then pushed the twin mountains together so they met in the middle. Her fingers spread out as wide as they could, acting as claws in order to keep their grip.
She refused to be held back by the ill-fitting wardrobe. "I'll keep them together. You do up the clasp."
I reached for the clasp, my hands atremble. Had I been a skeleton, my rattling bones would have been audible from a block away. I tugged on the small metal fastener, trying to get it to close. I didn't expect it to be easy, but it was even harder than I'd anticipated. Even with some serious elbow grease I could barely make the two ends meet, much less click together.
I grumbled under my breath. "Damn. This is actually really tough."
Mom stomped her foot in petulant rage. "I just want to wear this stupid thing one time! Is that too much to ask?"
"Okay, okay. I have an idea." I got down on my knees, which brought me eye-level with Mom's tits. Since I was taller than her, it was difficult to get a good grip while I was towering over her. My height had forced me to bend my wrists, which had cost me a lot of leverage.
I instructed her to push her breasts together again, buckling down for my second attempt. There was just enough wiggle room that, with a bit of force, we were finally able to lock the golden buckle.
We paused for a second, freezing in place to make sure an avalanche of boobs would not come spilling out. Once we were sure - or rather, as sure as we could be - that the clasp was sealed, we tentatively removed our hands. It was a slow and deliberate process. We were unveiling a house of cards, careful not to jinx the success by celebrating too early.
Mom released the breath she had been holding. "Okay, it feels secure. I think that's enough to-- OH!" In an instant, the metal clasp burst open like a broken dam.
In one fell swoop, the bra was thrown open and her breasts came bouncing into view. When the weight of her tits slapped against her belly, her body lurched forward so hard that she was nearly pulled off of her feet.
I had imagined Mom's boobs many times, but to actually lay eyes on them was a waking dream.
"Oh my god!" Mom cried, turning her back to me. "D-did you see them?"
There was no point lying to her, so I tried to console her instead. "I was going to have to see them at some point, right?"
Mom turned around begrudgingly, but covered her nudity with her arms. Unfortunately for her, having such small arms made it impossible to completely hide her large areolas, much less her gigantic breasts. The circular caps peeked out from around her wrist on either side; too thin to cover anything other than the very middle of her nipples. "Should we just get it over with, then?"
"You mean..."
Mom, annoyed that she had to explain herself, rolled her eyes at my denseness. "Honey, it's a simple question. Do you want to see my boobs?"
I nodded, my mouth drier than the most arid desert.
Mom rolled her shoulders back and summoned all of her courage, though she could not bring herself look at me. She pried open her arms to expose her boobs to my unyielding gaze, fulfilling a fantasy I'd assumed to be a nonstarter years ago. Both of her hands were quivering, but she fought through the nerves.
The gigantic, cream-colored swells were each larger than my head, their heft evinced by creases in her skin where the weight was the most concentrated. Due to their size, they could not help but roll to the sides of her torso as they settled into place just above her belly button.
Mom's areolas were the size of my palm-- too big to wrap my whole mouth around, though the challenge had me salivating. They were a bright pink hue, accented by her equally rosy nipples. They were as firm as diamonds, standing at attention as though a brisk chill had turned the soft nubs into two perfectly pointed peaks.
She winced. "Are they okay?"
I gulped, instinctively reaching my hands towards them without a second thought. "They're fucking amazing."
"Hey!" Mom shrieked, slapping away my outstretched hand. She jumped back to avoid me, causing her boobs to bounce around dramatically.
I recoiled. "Shit. I'm sorry, Mom. I don't know what came over me."
"I do!" Mom scolded me with a righteous fury, but softened once her adrenaline subsided. "It's called being horny, and you're going to have to deal with it if you want these photo shoots to continue!"
"It's hard when you look this good!" I lamented, but I received no sympathy.
Mom fidgeted in place, unwilling to accept the compliment. "But I'm your mother! Doesn't that bother you?"
I heard a tone in her voice that was begging to be argued with, so I did, sort of. "Does it bother you?"
She did not have an answer. Instead, she changed the subject, pleading with me to start the shoot before we lost any more light. I would have admired her dedication to content creation, but I knew it was an attempt to sashay past a difficult question.
I came up with the idea to cut into the sides of her lingerie -- specifically the cups -- with a pair of scissors. It would help the garment to stretch a bit further before hitting its limit. It worked like a charm, and on our second attempt to close the clasp, we actually managed to keep Mom's boobs from exploding out of the front. It was a quick fix, but that was all we needed.
Mom impressed me with how quickly she took to the modelling role. Just like she had by the pool, she struck pose after pose. She gave each one a special flair to make it stand out, flipping through a catalogue of evocative positions that made me wonder if she'd researched her competition for inspiration.
The comfort of being in her own bedroom allowed her to be more confident in her display. She followed each of my directions to the letter, neglecting to challenge me even when I asked her to get on her hands and knees with her ass sticking towards the camera. I had expected her to push back after we had gone through a few dozen poses, but she never did.
I felt the session coming to a close, so I took the chance to ask for something extreme. I figured that, if she was likely to say no anyway, I might as well swing for the fences. The final pose I concocted would place my mom on her back, with her legs spread wide open. It was the most daring position yet, offering a perspective on her body that - until that moment - had been exclusive to the men that had been lucky enough to take her to bed. If she agreed, then it would become available to anybody with a credit card.
Mom scrambled onto her back and parted her thighs for me, patiently presenting the blue-shelled clam between her legs. The rich, pungent musk of her honey drifted towards me, inducing a bout of dizziness as I hungrily lapped at the empty air, hoping to catch a taste of her.
She placed her hands on either side of her vulva, framing the blue underwear between her outstretched fingers. She paid particular attention to the heart that was situated atop her mound. She tugged on the sides of her thong, pulling it tighter to her body so it formed around the bulging hill like a second skin. I reckoned that if she pulled a little harder, the string would disappear entirely between the swell of her plump, meaty lips.
After I had taken a few shots, Mom cleared her throat. "Do you think that's enough for today?"
I flicked through the archive of photos. "It can be, if you want. I just think it's missing something, you know?"
She wagged a finger at me. "If you ask to see me naked, I'm going to maul you."
I assured her it was nothing like that. In fact, it was something I had been pondering all day. "You know, Mom, we'd definitely get more hits if we were taking videos instead of photos. It's just that it would demand more of you. You'd have to really commit to a role and act it out."
Mom tugged on my shirt sleeve, encouraging me to lay down beside her. "Videos of what, exactly?"
I laid on the bed and gave her a shoulder on which to rest her head. "Uh, well... maybe a video of you playing with your tits?"
Mom swatted my chest, then wrapped her arm around my stomach. "Whores have tits: your mother has breasts."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, maybe a video of you playing with your breasts, then?"
"That isn't really something I do, sweetheart. Women don't just walk around playing with their boobs when they get bored!"
I clicked my tongue. "What if there's a horny guy paying them to?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Maybe. But then what?"
If she wanted me to spill, then spill I would. "Okay, so. Maybe we do one where you cover your boobs in oil, then for VIP members we can post a video of you cleaning up afterwards."
"Like in the shower? But... but they'll see my..." Mom cut her volume in half, and leaned in to whisper. "My vagina."
"That's the idea." I kissed the top of her head.
"This is so embarrassing!" Mom groaned, burying her face in my chest, "but God, it's so exciting, too! I don't know what to think!"
"Then let me do the thinking," I insisted, folding my hand over her tiny fist. "As long as part of you wants to keep going, I think we should."
Mom took a deep breath. "I have some in the drawer."
I was not sure what she meant, but my arms were long enough to reach into bedside table and find out. I fumbled around in the drawer for anything that stood out. When my fingers brushed a small, plastic bottle, I knew I had found what I was looking for.
From the drawer, I pulled a clear, squeezable bottle of mineral oil. Unlike the tanning lotion, it was sure to leave a bright, shiny gloss on Mom's skin. I was practically foaming at the mouth just thinking about it.
Mom raked her nails across my chest. "Are you busy today?"
I hoped she would not notice the sweat form on my brow. Things were getting really intense, but I could not back down. "I have time! I mean, like, do you want to do it right now?"
Mom tilted her chin to look up at me. Her mouth was a frighteningly short distance from mine; her hot breath coiled against my lips when she whispered, "Do you want to take a video of Mommy's boobs?"
Surely she felt my heart bludgeoning my ribcage - horse hooves from a stampeding herd.. "W-why are you talking like that?"
My dumbfounded stupor made Mom laugh. She sat up, leaning over me to block out the ceiling light with her head. "I thought you might like that; guys are so easy. It's good practice for the video, too."
I gasped, feigning offence at the insinuation that I could not play hard to get. "You think I'm easy?"
"I'm just trying to get into character. Don't blame me!" Mom rolled off of the bed, then announced that she would be right back.
She scurried off to the bathroom, leaving me alone in her bed with the warmth of her breath still lingering on my lips. I heard shuffling in the bathroom, followed by the door hinges creaking when she exited.
Mom called from the hallway. "Are your eyes closed?"
"Should they be?"
"Yes!"
I obediently held my hands over my eyes so she would not accuse me of peeking. Her tiny footsteps gradually grew closer and closer, but paused when she reached the threshold into the bedroom.
"Oh, good boy, honey! Mommy knew you wouldn't peek."
I had no idea what had come over her, but I loved it. She was getting a rush from making me crumble under the pressure of her seduction techniques. She'd found one that pushed my buttons, and seemed enthusiastic to press them on repeat.
I opened my eyes to see Mom standing in front of me with nothing but a towel tucked under her arms. The makeshift toga obscured most of her body from view, leaving only the vibrant red of her freshly painted toenails peeking out of the bottom. One foot was curled over the other with her heels pointed outward, signifying her trepidation.
Mom chewed pensively on her bottom lip, carefully watching my eyes wander up and down her body. "So, where do you want me?"
I knew the perfect place. In the kitchen, there was a portion of raised countertop that extended off of the island about a foot. It would make the perfect shelf for Mom to rest her boobs on while she slathered them in oil. Thanks to her short stature, she would not even need to bend over to make use of it.
I told her of my amazing idea, and she was immediately on board. Even though she did not seem to understand why the countertop made a better studio than her bedroom, she put her faith in me to make the right decision.
I hurried to clear the various pens, loose pieces of paper, and empty coffee cups from the kitchen counter, leaving only the bottle of baby oil behind. The stools were the next to go, giving Mom a clean stage on which to perform. It was going to be a hell of a show, and I had a front row seat to film the whole thing.
I motioned to the shelf. "Ready when you are."
Mom entered into an intense staring contest with the countertop. Stage fright gripped her, making the short walk to the podium a slow, somber one. Her nails scratched nervously at the towel, making little balls of white cotton rain down onto her feet.
"Okay, Sharon, you got this." Mom whispered those words of affirmation to herself, then took a deep breath to puff out her chest like a fearsome warrior.
She lifted her arms, relinquishing her grip on the towel, which sent it tumbling to the floor. All that remained of her lingerie were the baby blue panties-- no bra. Its absence drew attention to where it was needed most: her massive, swinging breasts. She was short enough that everything from her tummy down to her underwear was hidden behind the raised counter. There was nothing to distract one's focus from where it needed to be.
"Shouldn't you be filming, honey?" Mom teased, cocking her head to the side.
"Er, yeah. My bad!" I scooted around to the other side of the counter with my camera. I threw open the curtains to let in as much of the light as I could, then gave her the signal to begin. Rather than commencing the routine of rigorous fondling that I had expected, she stared blankly into the lens without a peep.
I peeked around the camera. "Everything okay?"
Mom scrunched up her nose. "I don't really know how to start something like this. Like, should I say my name, and a fun fact about me? Or, should I just be, like, 'Hey, here's my boobs, enjoy!'?"
"There is no should. We get to make our own rules. You don't even have to talk if you don't want to."
"It feels weird with the camera staring at me!"
"Okay, try this." I opened a drawer by my waist and pulled out a long, black tea towel. "Maybe you'll forget about the camera if you can't see it."
I promised to keep her face, and thus the towel, out of the camera frame. She looked like the victim of a kidnapping with the black towel tied to her head, so we both agreed it would be better to crop the video just below her neck.
Once Mom was blindfolded, a visible sense of ease washed over her. I framed her breasts in the center of the screen and whispered, "Go."
Mom lifted one boob in each arm, then dropped them onto the counter with a deafening thud. Her breasts jiggled for three entire seconds when they landed, giving me time to appreciate the litany of ripples fluttering through her tender skin. Their weight threatened to crack right through the wooden shelf. No matter how sturdy it appeared, eventually it would collapse under the burden that weighed on Mom's shoulders every minute of the day.
She repeated the process, and each time they slumped onto the countertop, her creamy white skin rippled like someone had thrown a stone into a bowl of milk. Then, she jostled her low-hanging udders side to side-- bumper cars bouncing against each other in a bid for space.
Mom folded her arms, then tucked them below the swell of her breasts. She used her forearms like a forklift, bracing them against her sternum so they could carry the weight. Her breasts spilled over, a weighted blanket that smothered her entire forearm. I imagined the sweltering heat underneath them to be hotter than the surface of the sun.
"They're so heavy," she whined. "I can barely hold them up."
Dough oozed through Mom's fingers, morphing around her tightly clenched digits. She lightly pinched her nipples, rolling them between her thumb and first finger. Goosebumps peppered the base each pink button in the wake of her electric teasing.
The obscene spectacle had me under her trance, and I expected it would soon do the same to all of her viewers. I was spellbound, watching a female Atlas carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Mom's arms trembled, struggling to stop the dense putty from overflowing her palms.
She clapped her tits together a couple of times, digging her fingers into the sides so she would not lose her grip. The tiny, brown smudge on Mom's left breast tossed around a ship in a storm, tossed around as it rode the waves of heaving breast meat. The sound of skin slapping on skin produced a profound drop in my stomach.
I forgot I was looking through a camera for a second. In that moment, Mom was the only thing that existed on Earth.
She released her breasts, and they fell flat onto the counter. The heated underside made them stick there; even as she began jostling them around again, the bottom of each one remained lightly affixed to the wooden surface.
Mom was capable of doing things with her boobs that I'd only expected to see in porn. She plopped one of her boobs onto the tabletop, laying a foundation. She lifted the other one as well, then carried it over to balance on top of the first to build a wet, oily mountain. The comparison to a stack of pancakes being drizzled with syrup suddenly seemed quite literal.
My mouth was watering; it became harder to stay in control with every passing second. Each manipulation of Mom's remarkable breasts serving to push me deeper into a feral, hormone-induced frenzy.
I did not think she could get any sexier, but the blindfold separating her from the real world gave her the bravado to prove me wrong. Just when I thought I had wrangled the impure thoughts plaguing my brain, Mom decided to crank the dial to eleven.
The masked matriarch, with a voice like honey, serenaded her audience as though she were reading from a script. Whatever character she was playing, she seemed to be more comfortable with it than ever before.
She was calm and collected, methodically pitching her voice so it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Doesn't Mommy have such big, soft titties, baby? I made them all slippery for you; I know you love when Mommy gets her milkers wet."
My heart punched a hole in my chest. "Whoa, Mom. Can we-- yeah, can we pause?"
She lifted the blindfold just enough to peek out of the bottom. "Was that too much?"
"No! No, I mean I-I thought it was perfect." I took a meditative breath through my nose. "I just didn't expect it. You threw me for a bit of a loop -- and you called them 'tits!'"
"I know, I know. I'm trying some stuff! Should I tone it down?"
I refused to hide my enthusiasm. "Hell no! If you're comfortable talking like that, then keep doing it!"
Mom put her blindfold back on with a shrug. "It's actually kind of fun, in a weird way. I want to keep practicing."
For a woman who claimed she "did not play with her breasts," Mom was surprisingly good at it. She found a natural rhythm, kneading and tenderizing her boobs with confident motions. There was a give and take, moving one direction then the other, with no pause between.
Mom fumbled around blindly for the bottle of oil for a few seconds before her fingers bumped into it. She aimed the nozzle at her boobs with the cap open, ready to douse them until they shone. I wondered if her eyes were open under the head wrap, or if she had them shut tight in an attempt to convince herself that the surreal situation was some sort of waking dream.
Mom squeezed the tiny plastic bottle; it looked like she was drizzling drizzled syrup over a stack of fluffy pancakes. She dragged the stream back and forth to get an even coat. A small pool collected within her cleavage; though that valley was deep, it quickly overflowed. The trough between her breasts acted as a spout, sending the oil out onto the countertop, where it spread into a shimmering puddle.
All across the surface of her pearlescent skin ran long, glistening trails of various length. I could practically see myself in the reflective gleam. I could not help but picture my cock sliding between her greasy udders, massaging me with a slippery, careful touch.
"Mommy's back is so sore from carrying these big, sagging udders all day," she moaned, rolling her shoulders in tune with her tender self-massage. "I need my big, strong man to put his hands all over me so I feel better. Can you help me, honey?"
Mom curled her lip into an adorable pout; she was really getting into character. The camera, however, did not pick up on any of her facial expressions. Only I was privy to the way she flicked her tongue across her lips when she whispered, "If you help make Mommy feel better, she'll let you put your cock between her boobies."
My dick assumed she was talking to him, and throbbed excitedly at her offer. I could imagine very few places my dick would rather go. I wanted to fuck her more than anything in the world, but, at that moment, even that desperation took a backseat to the primordial urge to wrap her tits around my cock.
My heart was racing a mile a minute and skipping every other beat. I was one step away from suffering a heart attack, but even that would not have made me stop recording.
Mom slithered an arm under her left breast like she was serving it on a platter, offering it up as a feast for my hungry gaze. With her other hand, she used her middle finger to draw tiny circles around her razor-sharp nipple. Her fingertips nudged the stubby, pink gem as it raced around the course set by her areolas. The smattering of tiny milk ducts were road bumps for her finger to graze over as it traced the outer edge of the wide, rubbery circle.
"Ohhh, that feels so good," Mom whimpered. She was faking it, at least in part, but it was so believable that I did not care. I was willing to be fooled.
Mom plopped her boob back on the counter with a thunderous clap. Then, starting at her nipples, she raked her nails through the oil. Each finger left a distinct path in the slippery gloss as they glided up to her collarbone.
"Are you gonna cum soon, baby boy? I want it all right here." Mom pleaded desperately with the camera and drew a wide circle around the center of her bulky breasts to make her message clear. Her finger carved through the thick, oily glaze, painting a target on her chest onto which her eager viewers could imagine firing ropes of hot, sticky cum.
Mom tucked her arms behind her back and, without lifting her tits off of the oil-soaked countertop, shook them from side to side. Thanks to the slippery surface, there was not a hint of friction; her breasts glided gracefully through the shallow puddle as she jostled in place. They swung back and forth, sending a spattering of oil all over the kitchen cabinets each time she flung them around.
She flung her boobs into each other, tossing the piles back and forth between her palms. Huge, powerful swells exploded through her flesh until it was impossible to tell one breast from the other - at least visually. I could still hear when they violently crashed into each other, and it was music to my ears.
Clap, clap, clap!