You're ensnared in my abyss, something sick, sinister, a horrid enchantment quickening the heart. I am the detail. The salacious Satan, the ugly truth of broken taboos like the tightest virgin cunt split open as it gushes slick submission.
When these sweet slit morals are shattered-honey satiety flows free. That's right. I am the universal entity of transgression and forbidden madness. Follow me...I will show you my work, how it's all connected. All that you know is never all that it seems. I will confirm this perversity-reality, ejaculated from dreams...
Susan is one of my conductors. She's the lean big breasted mother of two, who works out religiously projecting sleek lusty energy. Her ice blonde hair is short, tossed around her perspiring head as she dreams. Susan moans, trembling, body twisting.
It's a shame she doesn't sleep with her polar sky blue eyes open, that she doesn't witness her own hands running up and down her thighs. Anyone could tell by her curling toes or arching hips that she twitched carnal excitement. Susan is captured by elegant filth.
What restless adventures is this woman in her late forties a slave to? Why is this searing Milf slit-wet like boiling vanilla? She's so helpless in her sticky crotch kissed sheets...Susan sees, spies rather, a young erotically cruel son spanking his mother's gentle ass.
The son Stephen is approaching his twenty-first birthday. He's tall and athletic with pale skin, brown eyes, and broad shoulders. He towers over his prostrate mom on her knees like a trained bitch. Becca whimpers underneath her own child's hand to butt punishment.
Stephen is naked except for combat boots and a military captain's hat that says "Motherfucker." Susan cannot take her dream gaze away from Stephen's nine inch cock, jabbing up proudly into the air like a bulbous symbolism of phallic dominance.
Becca's whole body is clad in black S&M leather and metal loops, which aesthetically end at tall black high heels exposing black painted toes. Her face is covered with a puppy-play dog mask. Through the masks Doberman Pinscher-style, Becca's frantic blue eyes peer out unfurling dark enjoyment in her forbidden humiliation.
The thick rubbery mask's pointed dog ears stick up realistic and attentive. Her suit is also crotchless, crafted to leave her rear end bare and her taut nipple tits, those generous motherly suckers, totally unclothed. Susan took it all in. The posh scenery where it all played out. A vast pearl carpeted living room near a black marble fireplace roaring split tongues.
Susan swore she could feel each hiss of flame popping earthy wood chunks. A Christmas tree stood in the living room corner. There were decoration balls hanging off branches, but more panties, thongs, high heels, and pantyhose than anything else.
Below the tree sat presents fit for an aroused sin Angel. Whips, leashes, ball gags, dildos, vibrators, cuffs, and more glittering high heels. On a mantle above the fireplace was a picture of mother and son smiling together like any other family.
Even so, what my kink-drinking Susan writhed prey to wasn't regular family relations. She knew this and encouraged more vulgar mingling, more lewd coupling to advance her scathing appetite, usually tame and moral in waking hours.
Oh how I love debauching the prim ones! Making them lick the feet of their evil concept...
"Merry Christmas, Mom. What is my present since you've been more naughty than nice? How about I take a paddle to your sluttish ass while your nipples are clamped," Stephen said.
"I'm...your...Stephen I'm your Mother. You shouldn't talk to me like that," Becca said in abashment. Stephen stood behind his mother, commanding a model view of her ass cheeks. He could trace her bald pussy and the tight pink panther contours of her starfish.
Susan found herself quivering at this sensitive view. She imagined how hot it would make her clit if she ran her long tongue along both holes, as Stephen used his hand pecker to fuck his mother.
"I shouldn't, but I will. I think you forgot your place in this aberration here," Stephen lectured. He picked up a small riding crop. "Growing up you disciplined me, now I'm grown. I feel it's only fair if I teach you some discipline. Freudian discipline."
Stephen tickled his mother's pussy hole with the riding crop. He lifted it over his head, bringing it whizzing down on Becca's buttocks. She gasped moans, taking the abuse. "I'm the principle...and here's my pleasure," he said flogging her in rough succession. "That's for every time you spanked me over your lap." Susan moaned with Becca as if she too took a thrashing.
Mesmerized, Susan began fingering her pouting snatch lips, pinching her tingling nipples. The shady mystery playing a devil's part in her lust was how Becca got her sexualized position in the first place. Susan kept thinking it was half force, half seduction.
She imagined Stephen's father (who had somehow taken her own daddy's visage) wanted his wife Becca to labor under their son's illicit libido. Having her fucked and objectified this way completed his fervent masturbatory fantasies.
Susan became increasingly volcanic, like she was sitting naked on the smooth fireplace hearth. Contempt for ethics, for respecting rules baked her cunt to an approaching sizzle. She creamed like a hellish cunt, and thought being called one would only bolster her discharge.
Stephen made his mother sit on her knees. Becca's puckered tits shifted up and down with her ragged breathing, causing her nipples to appear pointed further. Rudely, he cupped those knockers twisting her whole breasts. He assaulted her nipples by alternating from hand pinches between thumbs, to light condescending strokes.
Becca panted for more of her son's incestual degradation. Her own twat burned an unholy tapestry of ravaged virtues. The very fuck box that gave birth to Stephen, that same dewy beaver, creamed and jerked before his big hands molesting her bosom. She couldn't tear her glance from his erect pole waving before her face.
