Kyle stared into the damp hairy maw of his mother’s crotch, the place he’d emerged from at birth and then, eighteen years later, found himself re-entering and exiting over and over. Roberta insisted that with time he would get used to this drastic change in their relationship following his shrinkage, but if there was one thing Kyle knew for certain, and there were few of those left in his disgusting excuse for a new life, it was that he would never get accustomed to this hellish debauchery. He’d sooner die. Which, statistically, seemed more and more likely, after last week left him stranded upside Roberta’s pussy until her juices nearly replaced Kyle’s air supply. So perhaps he wouldn’t have to worry forever.
“No, Mom. No, Mom. Please, please, please…” he caught himself chanting robotically, even understanding full-well it was useless. Still, it was instinctual, a survival tactic, like an insect trying to flap its wings while submerged in a puddle. “Mom, I’m begging you. Please don’t. Please… don’t…”
“I’ve always loved it when you play hard-to-get, dear. It is SUCH a turn-on,” Roberta huskily declared. Using one hand to keep her cheeks spread well enough to slide the suctioned dick-boy beneath without obstruction, her opposite set of fingers worked to push her curly-haired labia even further open, but it hardly needed the help, loose and drooling as it already was. “Though, a word of advice, sweetie: you might want to translate some of that hard-getting into movement instead of talking, or you’re only going to get tired out before the finale again. Don’t disappoint Mommy, all right? Oh, GOD, I can’t take it longer. Not… having you inside, sweetie. This must be what it’s like withdrawing from heroin, I swear. Okay, enough chit-chat. Here it comes!”
The extended teasing and fanfare indeed ended at last. Kyle watched his mother’s ample cheeks coming at him like a freight train, riding high enough that he was lined up with her monstrous open-mouth pussy and accompanying soaked carpet. The husk of his dildo suit, which seemed so thin now compared to the heavy beast about to swallow it and him up, bumped along Roberta’s taint, until the tip foraged through the messy pubic plain, separating gooey hairs like wheat, before slipping up the canal. Over time, the woman had so aggressively gotten her son acquainted with her womanhood, stretching and fitting it to his form, while also training her hormones to anticipatorily jump into hyper-drive before their scheduled nightly games, popping Kyle into the hole took almost no effort now. There wasn’t so much as a pause when the printed dickhead-hat passed easily astride her sticky petals, and from there, the rest of the shaft, and her boy’s rigid nude form, could shoot quickly within, filling up as much of her spacious cunt as she could force.
On the first pump, as she so often did, Roberta held her position to begin with, just getting comfortable again, with her supple glutes backed into the snug dents she’d rammed into the wall. Only the testicle-disguised attachments over Kyle’s feet remained outside the chute, and just barely so; the rest of him was stuffed completely within her, exactly how she liked. Rather than slide back out immediately, though, she shimmied her ass, massaging it hard into the bowl-indents while shaking her whole full-figured frame, which meant because of Kyle’s fixed position, the cock-pretending boy was shaken like a maraca in his mother’s vaginal tunnel. Then, as the woman eased into the act, the slimy walls within took hold of the rod shape crammed inside, instantly smearing the paltry shell of the dildo, but mostly the exposed shrinker, in stagnant honey. Her cunt pulsated, clenching inward to grievously embrace the boy and his penis-outfit until it felt like a coiled boa had totally consumed him, then relaxed until Kyle had room to wobble again, so there was even room to spare: the ultimate kegel exercise. Roberta seemed to particularly enjoy an unpinched posture in the early going, as it allowed her to feel her shrunken son slapping against the interior walls of her pussy, which in turn only encouraged more sludge to ooze, sopping into Kyle and flowing past him as well, better lubricating the already-slippery entrance.
The boy held onto his air for as long as he could. By necessity, he’d gotten good at making one inhale last a very long time, enough that he probably could’ve put some gearless deep-sea divers to shame, yet even the crushing pressure of the ocean was nothing next to the abuse suffered in and around his mother’s own briny depths. Just as Kyle’s supply was running dry, and an especially hard impact with the squishy tunnel knocked the rest of the wind out of him anyway, he felt relative coolness rising up from his ankles toward his chest, as Roberta retracted her offspring from her vag. Glorious, albeit still-humid and pussy-spiced, fresh air greeted the lad upon his exit. The suction cups held him fast to the wall, and the backboard still kept him straight as an arrow, but a slight wiggle couldn’t be helped in the aftermath, owing to the boy’s own feverish trembling and the residual motion from Roberta’s hefty cheeks wagging around the rubber shaft.
The top of his accessory head, however, didn’t fully part ways with Roberta’s business, acting like an anchor to the point the way inside again so she wouldn’t have to re-find it for the next thrust, which was coming soon even more assuredly than the setting of the sun. This meant Kyle actually had his best look inside the floppy slit yet, since at least while cramped inside the thing, he didn’t have the burden of sight to contribute to his nausea yet more. Speechless, shaking, and still unable to take a full breath of air even when it was readily available, the boy watched in petrified horror as fresh shiny globs of his mom’s cum rolled slowly along the twin flaps of her labia in gummy trickles, collected at the bottom, and united into one dizzying liquid-gem of utterly repugnant middle-aged-womanhood-excretion which then spilled slowly down to the bed as one unbroken train before it landed in a puddle. Almost at the same moment, Roberta sighed with delight, and slammed her ass straight back at the wall, in turn sucking her son once again into the muggy fray of her crotch.
She came back with such speed this time, the giant brunette’s meeting with the wall caused audible feedback, a creak in the surface and even a chip of plaster flying off. Her cunt imbibed Kyle so voraciously at this point, even the teste-booties were almost pulled inside the opening as well. Roberta wasn’t content to take her time waiting seconds on each end of the extreme now, and no sooner had her son been scraped along the ever-wetting canal surfaces, which briefly squeezed around him again like a closed fist, she was lurching forward.
The ride out was even more violent, banging Kyle’s little face with each twitch in her hips as a response to the pleasure, and rather than pull him fully out just yet, Roberta paused with her son’s artificial dickhead still inserted, and began to shake her haunches in circles, which caused the shrunken victim’s face to be swabbed in the same loops round and round the rim of her labia. The matted cum-treated pube forest of course acted as rough cushioning, thankfully not as scratchy as usual thanks to all the natural lubing, but after enough repetitions at such an aggressive pace, they threatened to rug-burn Kyle’s cheeks, if the unthinkably gross textures didn’t just make him upchuck first. Then he was out again, for just a heartbeat while Roberta moaned, and then even more swiftly, they were back in the swing. And now the piston-motion really kicked into gear.
In and out, in and out, Roberta rolled herself forward on her hands and knees, then immediately after launched her ass backward to a chorus of crunched wall dust, squeaking mattress springs, clapping sweat-greased cellulite, and the unholy slorp of her miniature boy rushing up and down the fragrant hair-wreathed track of her pussy. Over and over she whomped her way into the bedroom wall, in time adding her own labored breathing and dramatic but all-too-real cries to the nasty choir. Once she’d hit a consistent rhythm at speed, Roberta added variations, clenching tighter around her son the deeper he was made to venture up her cunt, then wiggling her cheeks into the wall and wrenching the boy’s body about with her hot frothing nethers at their taut-flexed best. She was practically stabbing herself with him, even twisting the blunt “blade” of her dildo-boy at the apex of each thrust and squealing like a stuck pig in abject euphoria, having felt starved for this marvelous feeling for two very long days. But God, was it worth the wait.
Kyle, for his part, did as he always did and only could, by locking his mind in a dissociative state to numb his way through the body-wracking pains and, even more egregious, the mind-bending abomination of what he was being made to do upon his every sense. Unfortunately, his focus was shattered each time the regular sliding motion was interrupted by another squeeze or an especially hard blow to the wall, which in Roberta’s case, meant her son could only hold off the anguish for a few seconds or less at a time before being reminded of exactly where he was and what he was to his parent now. As an undignified byproduct of all the friction and moisture, though, as was becoming habit, Kyle’s actual manhood began to betray him, reluctantly standing to a half-chub by sheer force of sensations.
With sweat dripping down her forehead now, and her body ruddied hot-pink from exertion, Roberta didn’t let up the pace. If anything, she sped up, feeling the oncoming finish in reach, and made a greater effort to stimulate herself with rapidfire impalings, while ensuring to nudge her son’s cockhead along her clit with every other pass. Perspiration painted her lower back and broad jiggly pear-cheeks, eventually trailing down her crack and assisting in lubing the runway along with the already-substantial quantity of cum drooping out.
A consistent slosh from within haunted Kyle with every pump now, and it seemed like a dam was ready to burst. Roberta’s moans reached a crescendo, and just before what would be the ultimatum, she waved her butt back and forth, clobbering her son with her cheeks and almost making the suction cups detach from the wall. Just before he could be liberated, however, the heavy sides of her lunar ass clamped back over the lower half of the dildo and caught it in place, while Kyle’s head was gobbled back inside. A final slide and a deafening smack with the wall brought the boy the deepest he’d yet gone tonight. The walls mercilessly bear-hugged from every angle, until it felt like the oily flesh of his mother’s cunt had molded itself skin-tight to the naked boy and his cock-prison, and Kyle had nothing left to breathe.
And then she released. A wretched throaty sigh punctuated her fun. Like pulling a ripcord, Roberta’s pussy spat a horrendous volume of cum as it slid off its prize, of course leaving the boy in her splash-zone to take the worst of it, while she unstuck her sweaty ass from the wall and bowed herself into the mattress to huff and puff, regaining her strength and savoring the long-lasting wave of her orgasm. As all the tension in the woman’s frame could at last relent, her cheeks swelled and then shuddered when a vocal fart blasted from her asshole, gassing Kyle full in the face when he was already at his most vulnerable, with nowhere to go as an escape from the cloud.
“Oops! So sorry, darling!” Roberta gasped, while withholding a giggle at her own clumsiness. She listened to his cute little cough, and tried not to blush too hard. “Accidents do happen, as we both know. Forgive me.”
Only when the woman had recuperated enough did she turn meekly around, kneeling naked in the damp sheets, and observe her despondent boy still hanging in his awkward perch. At least he’d stopped wheezing at the stench of her toot. His little face was blank, ashen and glazed over with her various liquids, which Roberta took to mean he was just as quietly satisfied in the aftermath as she was. Cooing with adoration, she grasped the dildo and ripped it off the wall, which needed little effort after her butt cheeks and doggy-style loosened it up.
She took great maternal pride in de-clothing Kyle of his wearable tool, humming a soothing lullaby tune to her boy while removing the domed hat, unhooking the ball-boots, and at last relinquishing the spine-straightener. With nothing to keep him forcibly straight now, the shrinker collapsed in a fetal heap in his mother’s palm, quivering as the panic attacks bubbled up like hiccups.