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I knew the routine by heart; in truth, the settings were automatic, no decisions needed. The printer hummed and whirred, the colored inks mixed and sorted themselves out, and the paper slid out in front of me. I bent to examine the picture; it looked phony. There was too much of the creamy white spread over the skin tones. It looked like someone had spread watered-down paste. The only thing that convinced me it wasn't faked was the thick glob suspended in mid-air in the six inch space between the small slit of the cock and the pink tongue extended toward it, surrounded by whorish red lipstick. They wouldn't have bothered to dummy up a picture that I could download for free.

The cock was beautiful, though that's not what interested me; I looked down at my own and saw that it suffered in comparison, both in length and girth. Well, maybe when I get a little older.

My eyes shifted to study the slut's face; except for the garish lipstick, she was beautiful. She could have modeled face creams, which I guess is what she was doing anyway. But what made me download her was the look of pure ecstasy as the cum shot toward her face and mouth while she pulled the cock; this was a cunt who really liked it.

I was naked, as usual in the house. My mother Mabel didn't give a shit what I did in my room; she wasn't sober often enough to notice. We both walked around naked most of the time. Don't jump to conclusions; I had long since stopped having a hard-on around my mother when I realized that her tits sagged like a cow and that her pussy was covered with a heavy dark bush. If her body was the only thing I could imagine when I jerked off, I would never cum.

The picture in my hand, I walked to my bed, pushed the pillows aside and sat with my back against the headboard. I raised my knees, spread them apart like a whore and placed the photo between them. From that angle, my own cock was larger than the one in the picture, but I knew that the picture was not life-sized. There was no rush, less than an hour's worth of cum had accumulated in my balls since my last orgasm.

So I lazily stroked my meat, my eyes drifting back and forth; the cock, the cum on her face, the pointed nipples which happened to be in the shot, her tongue, my own cock, the glob of cum in mid-air, the pleasure on her face. I had never shot that much cum on my own, so it probably was a matter of age. The clock on my night table blinked the minutes, and I knew that by taking my time, I could get a good fifteen minutes of jerking off before I had to cum. Of course, I was afraid that my arm would begin to look like Popeye's, what with all the action it got, but the only alternative was a real girl, and I didn't yet know how to arrange that. The guys in school talked about it, but I think it was mostly bullshit. Meanwhile, my eyes feasted, sending the message of pleasure down to my groin.

Soon it was time. My left hand went to fondle my balls, squeezing them separately and together; my right hand pulled hard, fingers rubbing against my mushroom shaped head. My back came off the headboard as I leaned forward and, after one last look, my eyes closed. My breath gasped as my hand raced, coaxing my sperm cells up the dark tunnel to daylight. Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES. My eyes popped open as my cream shot out, splashing on the slut's face, mixing image with reality. I fell back and, after a moment, reached a finger down to move the leftovers from my piss slit to my tongue.

I drank in the sight of my cum on her face and silently congratulated myself on a job well done. Yet I was not finished; I had to pick up the picture and lick my sauce off her face before it dried. A little had dripped onto the cock and I licked that also, briefly recognizing what it was but paying it no attention. Not much, anyway.

Enough jerking off already. I got up, used a three-hole punch on the side of the picture and put it into my private notebook. Well, not too private, I guess. One day I had come home from school and found my mother sitting on my bed, wearing just her baggy pink panties, slowly turning the pages. She said nothing, continuing to turn pages, sometimes running her finger over the crinkled areas where cum had dried. Finally, she stood up, put the notebook on my desk and walked out. Her only communication was to smile as she passed me, bending down to kiss the top of my head.

The only time I ever saw my mother fully dressed was after dinner, when she would go to one of the local bars. If she was lucky, some guy would pick up her tab, and all it would cost her would be a blow job or a fuck. Most of the time, she would close her door, but once in a while, she would be so drunk that she would forget. Then I would stand in the doorway and watch; if the guys saw me, they didn't give a shit.

One Friday night, she was just that drunk. I heard her take the guy into her room, heard them talking without the usual slammed door.

"Suck, bitch."

Nothing new. After a while I went into the hall, wearing just my pajama bottoms. I stood by her door, seeing a scene I had often seen, in one variation or another. This time they were sideways to me, my mother on the left, naked tits hanging down, sitting facing the guy, her bush barely visible in profile. He was kneeling on the bed facing her, feeding his cock deep into her mouth. I watched, rubbing my cock through the material of my pj's. She saw me out of the corner of her eye and turned to look at me, his cock dropping out of her mouth as she did so. Her eyes were glassy and she couldn't focus on me. I on the other hand was focused, not on her but on the massive cock in front of her. The guy turned his head to see what she was looking at, and saw what I was looking at.

"Like what you see, kid?"

I didn't answer. With that, he pushed her face down and twisted her so that her asshole was presented to him. He pushed up against it and she screamed.

"Not my asshole, no!"

"Shut the fuck up, you drunken cunt." He shoved again.

I lost it; I raced across the room and jumped on his back. Brilliant idea! He swatted me off like a fly, pushed my mother to the side and began to slap me silly. He pushed me down onto my face, the way he had pushed my mother.

"I said, 'did you like what you saw?'" I didn't answer.

"How old are you, kid?"

"F... f... fourteen."

"It's time for you to learn." With that, he tore my pajama bottoms along the rear seam, the tattered pieces falling to each side of my ass. I knew what was going to happen without even having to feel his cock pressing me.

I looked to my mother for help but she was lying there in a drunken stupor. I screamed, and the guy slapped me hard along both sides of my head. I began to whimper.

I read enough porn to know that an ass-fuck is supposed to be accompanied by lubrication, by fingers spreading open the sphincter. No such luck; the bastard just shoved his cock in as far as it would go. I felt the skin tearing and the blood oozing, leaking down the back of my leg. I screamed again but the house was set back too far from the street for anyone to hear. I felt his cock sliding rapidly back and forth inside my ass. It didn't take long; I was whimpering again when I felt his cock throb, heard his grunt and knew that his cum was splashing around my insides.

He pulled out with an audible pop, pushed me onto my back and presented his cock to my face. I looked up at him in horror, knowing what I was about to hear.

"Suck it clean, you little prick."

It took but a fraction of a second for me to realize that I had no choice, but I nevertheless pressed my lips together and shook my head. His response was more slaps to the head, and my mouth fell open.

As his cock went in, my lips involuntarily grasped it, my tongue running along the bottom. For a second, the firm piece of meat aroused me. Then I realized the smell, the stickiness, the reality of it all, and I threw up. He slapped me again, wiped his cock on my mother's blouse, dressed and left. I watched him go, trying to figure out how to kill him. His cum oozed out of my ass but gave me no pleasure.

I curled up against my mother's naked body, sobbing. She lay there breathing through an open mouth, her eyes moving rapidly but unable to get up the energy to move. We slept.

It was starting to get light when I felt her body roll over mine and I awoke.

"We have to call the police, Benji."

"We can't, Mom. Dad said that if the police ever had to come here again, he would take custody of me."

It didn't take much convincing; she knew I was right. Ours was a typical story. Mom had worked her ass off putting Dad through medical school. He became an OB-GYN, and I used to marvel at the idea that women paid him money to stick his fingers inside their cunts. That must be heaven. Only once he made a lot of money, he stuck his fingers into one woman, at least one woman, for free; that was the nursing supervisor at one of the hospitals he used. I never met her but I heard that she was a nice looking piece of ass, and though I hated him, and her, I was old enough to understand what he did. I fantasized fucking her myself. So he divorced us and began to play house with her.

It was a situation where she might be considered a Trophy Wife, but since he hadn't married her yet, Mom referred to her as his Trophy Cunt.

My asshole still hurt like a son of a bitch. I went into the master bath and began to fill the huge tub, as hot as I could stand it. I carried, dragged, guided Mom into the bathtub and sat her with her back to me, leaning back against my chest so that she wouldn't drown. We sat there quietly; it was a good thing we had a good hot water heater, for I constantly had to re-warm the water. When she was finally 'only' hung-over, she turned around and we sat facing each other, her legs atop mine. Her eyes searched my face for a long time.

"I'm going to call AA."

"Good." I said it a little too sharply, but she took no offense. It was long past due.

We sat quietly again, and finally I decided to let the water cool.

"How's your bottom?"

"Better."

"I could kill that son of a bitch."

"Do you know his name?"

She began to cry. "No."

After a while, "Let me take a look."

I stood up and turned around. She spread my ass cheeks and looked. "It's not bad. I'll put some salve on; it'll heal quickly."

Then she turned me around again to face her, bent forward and softly kissed the head of my cock, once. The kiss was maternal, not sexual, and we dressed.

After coffee, she made the call, and by early afternoon was at a meeting, where I presumed, and she later confirmed through her tears, that she had uttered those famous first words of confession and hope.