It's been three years since my mother disappeared from our lives. I was the last person to speak to her; she called my cell phone to let me know she'd be running late. She was getting her nails done in preparation for the annual Christmas party, given at the company where my dad worked at. My mom, as always, wanted to look her best. After she got her manicure, she was supposed to pick up a new dress. Well ... it didn't happen that way.

Mom never came home that night and repeated calls to her cell phone proved fruitless. When she hadn't shown by midnight, we really began to worry. My dad phoned the police but they told us we had to wait a minimum of forty-eight hours before they could declare my mother as a missing person. After several months had passed, the authorities suspected someone had either kidnapped my mother or she had gotten herself into a situation where she become injured and couldn't ask for help.

Naturally, such news did nothing to allay our fears. We did everything we possibly could to find her. My dad even hired a private investigator but he came up empty. When that didn't pan out, we asked our local television station to run her picture; this caught the attention of dad's old college buddy who happened to be watching the news when they ran my mother's picture. He recognized my mom and immediately called dad. He worked for the F.B.I. and offered to do a few checks as a favor for us. But when he came up empty, we lost hope of ever seeing her again. Then ... a miracle of all miracles happened:

I found her...

And I found her purely by chance when I surfed for porn one night. I clicked on a link promising pictures of women with large, round asses because that's what I like, especially the mature kind; that's when several windows popped up covering the screen. I hated when that happened but that was the price one had to pay for downloading free material. It wasn't until I closed the second to last window when my eyes widened in interest.

There was a picture of a M.I.L.F. wearing a black thong, thrusting her ass toward the camera. Her cheeks were round and inviting, making me wish I had the ability to transport myself to the time and place when the picture was taken so I could fuck the shit out of her. My dick swelled and became engorged with blood at the very idea of such a fantasy. The tent in my pants yearned to be released from its cramped space. I saved the picture and went in search of some more. This time I found one of her face, and that's when my world turned upside down.

It was my mom! I was sure of it. Her face looked worn and vacant and there were a few extra wrinkles around her eyes, but it was definitely her. She was sitting on a red settee with her long, shapely legs crossed at the knees, wearing a see-through negligee. The caption below the pic read Lenora but the rest of the words were in a foreign language I couldn't read. I felt excited and confused; I didn't know whether to jump for joy and inform my dad or wait and see until I found out more. Since I didn't want to raise any false hopes, I decided I needed to gather more information. I was ninety-nine percent sure it was mom, but I needed to be certain. I think what was throwing me off was the fact that the woman in these photos looked to be about thirty pounds less than the weight my mom was carrying the time she disappeared.

The first thing I needed to do was get the website translated. Luckily for me, I knew the king of gearheads at my college; his name is Harold; we met one day in the school cafe. He sat alone at the only empty table available. I parked myself across from him and struck up a conversation; I think he was surprised someone other than a geek wanted to talk to him. I could tell Harold was self-conscious about his face, which was severely covered in acne. I pretended I didn't notice and kept my gaze only on the area between his eyes when we talked.

During our lunch that afternoon, I explained the fundamentals of good nutrition, educating him on the proper way to eat. I guaranteed Harold that if he removed dairy, greasy foods, and sugar from his diet, his face would clear up in no time. He listened but I didn't think he would follow my advice, which is not surprising. Most people are slaves to their palates and a radical change to their diet can be very difficult for them. So, you can imagine my surprise when I ran into Harold two weeks later. His acne was all but gone save for some small patches here and there. To say he was elated was an understatement. Harold couldn't contain his excitement. I felt happy for him. The poor guy deserved a break.

That's when Harold mentioned if there was anything I needed in terms of computer help, free software, hacking--whatever. I was to come to him. Ever since then, I've run into Harold a few times around campus. His acne is now gone and he seems more confident as well.

The day after discovering mom's pics, I went in search of Harold; I eventually found him sitting under a tree, studying his notes. I asked if he could meet me at the library later this evening. I thought if anyone could help me find my mom, it would be him. Harold readily agreed and said he would swing by. I never told Harold about the disappearance of my mother before, but when we met that day, I clued him in on all the particulars including my suspicions.

"No problem Rick. I have a program that can translate any modern language into English. However, finding the location of the computer that is uploading data into the server which houses the pics of the woman--I mean your mom--will take a little more time."

"Do you think you'll be able to pull it off?

"Don't worry, Rick. I can do it. You'll see."

For the next hour, Harold explained what he planned to do. After the words "IP address" and "router" left his mouth, I pretty much lost him after that. Again, he gave me his assurances and that was good enough for me. I took my leave and headed home.

On my way home, I cut across the park admiring the lush trees and soft grass. I thought a change in scenery would help me clear my mind. The wind blew strong and its sound filled the hollow of my ears. I watched the sky slowly dim as the people in the park began making their way home. The footpath I was on led me to a still lake lined with blue benches. I sat down and stretched my arms out to the sides, enjoying the solitude afforded by this area of the park.

I began to think about mom and how she mysteriously vanished three years ago. I thought about the pain it brought us as a family, especially my sister, Tracy, who couldn't stop crying for days afterwards. I also thought about my dad who often hid his emotions whenever Tracy or I was around. He assumed he was fooling us, but I knew he suffered in silence. How could he not. Mom and dad started their relationship as high school sweethearts. Not many couples can say the same thing.

I remember when I was younger how he would tell me that mom was a one-in-a-million lady and that's what I needed to find one day for my bride. The honk of a Canadian goose scavenging for food pulled me from my reverie. The sun had set and it was getting nearer to the time when dad would have dinner ready. I stood up and made my way out of the park. I walked with my hands in my pockets, brooding over the string of events that brought me to ask Harold for help.

Thinking about Harold triggered the memory of a classmate who wrote an essay on human trafficking. At the time, I thought the topic interesting and asked if I could read his paper. To be honest, I was totally unprepared by the data: human trafficking is a multibillion-dollar business that exploits mostly woman and children for the purposes of slavery or sexual servitude. Victims are either lured by false promises or by physical force with no hope of escape.

The reason I mention this is because I believe my mom was taken by force the day she contacted me from the nail salon. She was 45 at the time but her body appeared to be that of a 30-year-old woman. Mom regularly visited the gym and ate a healthy vegetarian diet. It also helped that her parents passed on the right sequence of genes, which gave her an ass any buttman would want to mount. And, when she wears her form-fitting leggings, there isn't a straight man on the street who doesn't sport wood when she walks on by.

The traffickers must've taken one look at mom and decided she would be a cash cow, not to mention a nice piece of tail on the side. My stomach churned at the thought of so many men taking out their sexual frustrations on my mom. I can't imagine what she must've gone through for the past three years. And if it weren't for my classmate's insightful paper, I never would've connected the dots. It's the only explanation that makes any real sense. I gotta hand it to those bastards, whoever they were. They had balls.

That night I locked myself in my room and went back to the site which displayed my mother's pics. I stayed up well into the night wondering what they were doing to her. Was she beaten? Was she forced to starve on the days she was uncooperative? Did the men use condoms? Was she even alive?

I hated thinking about such things but someone in my family had to ask the tough questions. I know Tracy and my dad weren't going to. Sadly, they gave up all hope of her ever being alive. But not me. I needed proof of her death.

I feel ashamed to admit this but as an admirer of older women, I've often dreamed about mom's fleshy cheeks, particularly how they would feel against my hands and how her sphincter would taste the second my tongue made contact with it. But most of all, I, dare I think it, wanted to know what it would feel like to slide my dick into her ass. I've thought about it even since I was twelve. Now, I desired mom even more after seeing those erotic pictures.

Harold didn't get back to me until two days later. I ran into him heading to my Biochem class. He was waiting in the hall outside the classroom. "Hey Rick. I have that information you wanted." he said in a conspiratorial tone. Fuck it. My mom was more important to me than Biochemistry.

"Let's go sit on the benches outside where we can talk." He shook his head and followed me out of the East Building. When we sat down, Harold opened his laptop and waited for it to come out of hibernation; when the Desktop appeared, he clicked on a file which opened the Firefox browser. It was the website I couldn't read before. He had some how managed to translate the whole site in English.

Harold pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose before he explained what he came up with: "Okay, you may find this strange but the language used for the website you told me to translate is not one commonly spoken. It's what linguists call a constructed international auxiliary language." Harold noticed the confusion written on my face before continuing. "We don't have to get into that. Suffice it to say the people behind this website wanted it to be cryptic. That's why they, whoever they are, used Esperanto, the language the website was originally written in. They must've figured the average Joe wouldn't be able to understand what was written. And they'd be correct in that assumption. My guess, the website was made for wealthy executives and politicians.

Harold's explanation only confirmed my previous suspicion of human trafficking for the purposes of sexual slavery. Just the thought of my mom being used as a piece of meat by some dirty bastards made me ball my hands into fists.

"Now, I did a check on the server that stores the website and traced its location back to a small town in Germany. But that's not the interesting part. What's interesting is the pics and web pages didn't originate from Germany. They came from a computer in Rovno which is located in the Ukraine. So ... I'm guessing that's where she's being held."

Harold paused to clear his throat several times and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "Well ... I ... uh ... found some more pictures of your mother," he added sheepishly. "I swear I didn't look at them very long." His eyes shifted aimlessly in an attempt to avoid my gaze. "I ... uh ... just wanted to make sure you got everything."

"Don't sweat it. You did what I asked you to do." He gave me a sidelong glance; his face wary, unsure of my reaction. "Harold, me and my family are eternally grateful for your help. I won't forget it." I gave him a reassuring smile. He then rummaged through his bag, taking out a silver thumb drive. It contained all the files he dug up including the new pictures. "Thanks." We shook hands and parted ways.

Later that evening, I read through the web pages and discovered my mom was one of several women who specialized in anal sex. She was advertised as the "American Anal Princess." Her services included (anal, blowjobs, gaping, toy play, creampies, double penetration, and enemas). Lenora, as she was called, was available for parties and business functions in addition to one-on-one fucking. The charge for her talents was 150 euros which comes out to $200 American dollars, roughly speaking. I'm sure her being an American allowed them to charge a lot more, considering the difficulty in acquiring an American girl to begin with. The risk of reprisal and the attention brought on by such a brazen act would be bad for business, except if you happen to be one these guys.

The real shock, however, was not in the description of her services but in the new pictures themselves and the captions that accompanied each one. The first one showed my mom spreading her cheeks apart, revealing her tight asshole and pink pussy. Her nails had been meticulously decorated in a red, white, and blue pattern, signifying her country of origin. The caption underneath read, "Whichever hole you choose, they are both delicious!"

Okay, I'm not going to deny that my mouth didn't flood with saliva, because it did. I'm still a man even though I'm her son.

The next pic displayed my mom resting on her back, pulling her cheeks apart, while some guy slid his dick into her ass. Her meaty thighs had been previously oiled to give her skin an erotic sheen. No doubt a marketing tactic. I really wanted to click to the next shot but I found it hard to move my hand. I mean, it's not everyday I get to see a picture of my mom getting fucked in the ass. The caption for this one read, "It's so tight you won't be able to cum in her ass!"

The third one was another anal shot, except this time mom was on her knees spreading her round mounds apart. I don't know if it was the same man from the picture before, but whoever it was, he had half his prick stuffed into her tight anal ring. The caption of this one read, "Our goal is to please."

The fourth one was a bit bizarre in that it showed mom spreading her ass with a travel-sized bottle of vodka lodged in her anus. Despite their bad taste in humor, mom's ass looked even better in this shot than the previous two. Her skin was extra smooth and tanned, which is odd when you consider the Ukraine is not a destination for tourists in search of sun. They must've bought their own personal tanning bed. The caption for that one read, "Drink right from the source!"

In the next shot, mom was on her knees spreading her cheeks again but this time after having been fucked in the ass. Her shiny anus was gaping with cum in and around her raw asshole. The man who fucked her must've pulled out at the last second before shooting his wad. The caption read, "Another satisfied customer."

I don't know what compelled me to do this but I opened up the pic in an image editor and zoomed in on her stretched hole. I could just make out the thick fibrous tissue that made up her sphincter and the damp bottom of her rectum. I quickly closed the program, disgusted with myself for lusting after my mom's ass. Fuck! Why did she have to look so damn sexy?

The next pic caught me totally off guard; my mom was in the doggy-style position with a latex-gloved fist in her ass! I could only imagine the pain and humiliation she went through for that shot. The caption for this read, "For those who need something special." It's obvious their business catered to all types.

Even though I couldn't stop my cock from rising, I almost shed a tear knowing this had been her fate for the last three years. And if someone didn't save her, it would continue being her fate. I wasn't about to let that happen.

Finally, the last shot was a close up of mom sucking a large cock. She was leaning over a guy with her lips tightly sealed around his cock-head. The tits she once used to feed me and Tracy hung invitingly below, capped by half-inch nipples waiting to be sucked. The caption read, "Look at those lips. She's ready to drain you dry."

If my dad ever saw these pics, he'd be crushed. That's why I hid them in an encrypted folder buried in my C: drive. I shut off my computer and hit the sack. I needed time to strategize and the best way for me to do that was to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Believe it or not, I did some of my best thinking that way.

I went through different scenarios in my mind; they all had their relative degree of success and failure, but only one would involve minimal bodily harm to me and to my mother. At least I hoped it would. After all, this is a criminal organization I'm going to deal with and I prefer it if we came out of the situation unscathed.

When I hammered out all the details, I fell into a fitful slumber. I tossed and turned for the better part of the night until I finally awoke in a cold sweat. The clock read 3:18 and the only creatures up were the crickets. Lucky for me it was Friday or I'd have to be up in another four hours preparing for class. Going back to sleep was pointless. I couldn't even if I tried. There was too much on my mind, not to mention too much at stake.

I decided to prepare for my plan...

The first thing on my To Do list was getting all the cash I could get my hands on. I needed it for the plane tickets, the hotel room, and for any unforeseeable expenses. I had a little over three grand tucked away in my savings account. I had planned on buying a new car with it, but now I needed the money to save a life. When the bank opened its doors at eight in the morning, I had them clear out my account.

An hour later, I exited Pike's Used Cars with two grand in my pocket. The car I used to shuttle myself to and from school was now sitting in the back portion of the lot. I now had a total of five grand in my pocket. Not bad but still not enough. If I was going to grease someone's palm, I better have the funds to back me up. At the risk of incurring outrageous fess, I withdrew cash on two of my credit cards; ouch! That brought my total to eight thousand dollars. I prayed that would be enough to see us safely home.

The next stop on my list was the university. I made arrangements to drop out from all my classes, opting for no credit so my GPA wouldn't be affected. I think that was harder to do than selling my own car. Now the only thing left for me to do was to visit the local travel agency and book my flight. I bought a one-way ticket to the Ukraine. The agent, a bubbly blonde, suggested a cheap hotel where I could stay with decent food.

Upon my return home, I wrote a letter to my dad and my sister. Without going into details, I explained there was a possible lead I needed to pursue concerning mom's whereabouts. I mentioned my flight to Europe and told them not to worry about me. And, that I would be in touch. I printed out two copies of the letter and mailed them out. I figure by the time they received it, I'd already be in the air. Once I was done with that, I went online and did a search for addresses and phone numbers integral to my plan.

At 1:30p.m. the following day, I checked my bags at the airport. At 3:05, I was in the air heading to the Ukraine. The flight took something like a day, but it gave me a chance to refine my plan. Though I was scared shitless, I knew my cause was just and that gave me the strength to carry on.

The next day, I arrived at Borispol Airport. Those of us traveling to Rovno had to take a connecting flight. I felt like crap when I finally arrived at the Marlen Hotel & Restaurant. After checking in and tipping the bellhop, I took a long, hot shower to clean myself up. At that point, there was nothing I wanted more than to nap for a few hours, but it was already 2:37 in the afternoon, their time, and I needed to make effective use of my day. I got dressed and groomed and headed out in search of a cab. Ten minutes later, I was dropped off at the front gates of the American embassy, where I had an appointment with Consul Karl Stross.

A young woman, who could have been a model, escorted me to a waiting area outside the Consul's office. I spent twenty minutes flipping through the pages of a National Geographic before Consul Stross came out of his office and asked me in. With a gesture of his hand, he indicated I sit in the high-back chair across from his desk.

I explained everything from the discovery the website, that part was embarrassing to admit, to Harold's help in translating the webpages. In addition, I showed Consul Stross copies of the police report, documenting my mother's disappearance, pictures of mom with the family spanning several years, and a pic from the website. I chose only to give him the one where she's sitting on a red settee. You could clearly see her face in that one and she wasn't nude.

After reviewing the evidence, Consul Stross excused himself. A minute later, he returned with another man in tow. His hair was peppered on the sides, fashioned military style. He looked like he had been around the block a few times, so I'm guessing he was ex-military. Consul Stross introduced him as, Mark Bradley, a representative of the Department of Homeland Security: Office of International Affairs. We all sat down and Consul Stross brought him up to speed. He nodded thoughtfully, appearing to digest each detail given to him. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing my case.

Once the facts were given to Mr. Bradley, we discussed my options. They told me about some of the local thugs who may be involved in my mother's kidnapping. Based on what the embassy had been able to gather, these gangs were hard to touch because many corrupt politicians, judges, and high-ranking police officers were on their payroll. Taking any kind of legal action against them would prove futile. Consul Stross felt the only way to handle this situation was for him to use certain channels to put pressure on some of the local politicians.

This would expedite matters and force the hand of the local authorities to take action. A few arrests would be made but that would be only for show. At best, the thugs would spend a night in jail while awaiting a judge to dismiss the charges. In other words, no one would be punished for the crimes committed against my mother.

With great reservation, I reluctantly went along with their plan. What choice did I have? I knew they meant well, but somebody should pay for abducting my mom and forcing her to turn tricks for three straight years! I mean, what the fuck!

Once we were done, Consul Stross advised me to go back to the hotel and wait for his call. He said he needed time to make the arrangements. I took a taxi back to the hotel and collapsed on the bed. I didn't open my eyes until midnight; I got up and went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I started to think about what Consul Stross had said about needing time to take action. By then, it could be too late. For all I knew, my mom could be moved to another location tomorrow, or even worse, to another country! Fuck it! To hell with this bureaucratic bullshit! I'll handle this myself.

I still had the address Harold gave me, so I might as well begin there. My stomach growled right about then. There was no time to eat a proper meal, so I drank down a protein shake I brought along with me. It's quick and nutritious and it comes in handy when I don't have the time to eat solid foods.

With my tummy sated, I exited the hotel and hailed the first available cab. I showed the driver the piece of paper with the address on it. As he read it, a grin pulled at his mouth. He glanced up, looked into the rearview mirror and said, "It is good place." He popped the clutch and poured on the gas.

The cabby pulled in front of a small brick building located in a semi-deserted industrial area. He pointed toward the wooden door and said, "You go." I tipped him, got out of the car, and stood in front of the door. The cabby took off into the night, leaving me to fend for myself. At that moment, Elvis singing "It's now or never..." popped into my mind. Great! My own brain has abandoned me, too.

With the side of my fist, I knocked two times. The sliding of a bolt on the other side of the door made me step back. A beefy- bouncer with a scowl across his face said something I didn't understand. I pointed to myself and said, "Me American. Looking for woman." I pantomimed the typical hourglass figure of a woman. He stood back, allowing me to pass into a dimly-lit corridor. The air reeked of boiled cabbage and funky herbs. I followed muscle-head to a small staircase which lead to the main floor. He knocked once on a red door. The guy behind it looked to be an even bigger prick, probably on the verge of having a roid-rage attack. The two fuckheads exchanged a few words in Ukrainian, but the only thing I could make out was "American."

The second bouncer grunted and let us pass into a large, rectangular room, with plastic chairs set about the perimeter. Only few customers had shown up tonight. The johns were a mix of young and old. They all gave me the look. You know, the look that says you're a foreigner and what the fuck are you doing here. I ignored them and found an empty seat in the corner and settled in. I wondered how many of these guys fucked my mother. Probably none. They didn't look like they could afford it.

There was an annoying haze of cigarette smoke, which hung in the air permeating every space in the room. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands, until the sting from the nicotine subsided. I looked around, avoiding the stares from the other men, and spotted a small LCD television bolted to the wall. There was a porn movie playing; the volume was low but who cares about that.

I spied the first bouncer talking to an older woman who looked to be in her fifties. She had dirty blonde hair with light blue eyes. The bouncer pointed at me a couple of times while she frowned. Uh-oh, I've been made. I know it.

She curtly replied to the big oaf and glanced my way; I met her stare with a disarming smile. The lady then dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She got up and glided over to me. When she got within a foot of my shins, she bent at the waist and placed her hands on the tops of her thighs and said, "Ahmeriken zhinka ... ah ... vuman. You come." Could it be she was referring to my mom?

I followed her down a hall lined with rooms on both sides. Thick, heavy curtains served as doors, providing the johns with some measure of privacy. As I made my way down the corridor, I could hear moaning and grunting coming from the other side of each curtain I passed. The walls appeared to be nothing more than painted sheet rock, allowing anyone in one room to hear what was going on in the next.

The madam stopped in front of the last door on the left and opened it. A chime sounded. From what I could tell, it was an anteroom, sparsely furnished with plush red carpeting. She led me to another door in the far corner of the room. The blonde pressed a button on the wall and the door unlocked, opening on its own. I trailed behind her after she swung the door open.

The first thing I spotted was a short middle-aged man, fucking a woman in the ass. She was on her hands and knees with her long, dark hair concealing her face. When the man saw the madam, he slowly slid his long dick out of the woman's shitter. The fucker had to have been ten inches in length. Once his knob cleared her anus, a faint slurping sound shattered the thick silence in the room.

The lady's sphincter remained open and the guy smiled at the madam, while forcing the woman's cheeks apart, increasing her gape to double the size! The madam turned her head to the side and waved her hand in disgust; she angrily spat out something in Ukrainian, which only made the older man laugh at the madam's discomfort. Since fun time was over, he let the woman's cheeks go and padded across the room. His dick, still erect, bobbed in the air. He picked up a robe off of a chair and covered himself. The woman on the bed still had her head hung in shame, never once making a sound.

The madam and the bald guy resumed their talking. It didn't take a brainiac to know I was the topic of conversation. He gave me the once over as though he was making up his mind whether to trust me or not. I looked at the woman and took in her sexy body. My eyes followed a path from her heavy tits, which were resting on the covers, to her mature yet curvy ass and well-toned thighs.

The conversation ended abruptly; the old guy grunted something and left. The madam's mouth went tight; her forehead wrinkled in a frown as she looked over at me and said, "For you. Ahh ... Good American vuman." That's when the lady on the bed decided to reveal her face. She turned her head and locked eyes with me. Time slowed to a crawl as my lids retracted into their sockets; the lady on the bed looked like she'd seen a ghost, such was her shock.