A Mother’s Photo Wall

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I love my bedroom. It’s my quiet place.

It’s decorated in a collage of family photos, important milestones and inspirational quotes that remind me of all the joy in my life. I’ve arranged the mementos meticulously, so they can inspire me on a daily basis.

But now…

Those beautifully framed moments rattled above my head as my son entered me. The impact of his thrust catching me off guard.

It was a welcoming feeling, but stunning nonetheless.

I reached out for my bed’s tall linen headboard and somehow managed to grab the side of its frame. I regained stability, but the jarring movement of his insertion into my clenched asshole forced me and the entire structure forward.

“Whah-” I grunted, as a shockwave coursed through me, reverberating into the bed and wall.

He grabbed a clump of my curly dark brown hair with both hands, and pounded at the gate once again. It was a fast thrust, and his balls slapped against my pussy with a twack-slop sound as he bottomed out.

I yelped again, scrunched up my face and curled my toes.

The bed rattled. And my forehead hit the headboard.

Upon impact one of my most precious mementos fell from its hook and clattered to the floor.

It was a photo of my baby-boy and I at the beach, which had been taken almost two decades ago. In it, my little toddler had covered me up in sand. Only my head was poking out of the hole we had dug together. My mouth was open wide in mock terror, as the cheeky bugger stood triumphantly above me – wearing a prideful grin. He had already soaked me with one bucket of sea water, as was evidenced from the dribbles making their way down my face. My usually bouncy hair was saturated, matted down to one side. The little trouble-maker held a bright yellow bucket over his head, and a stream of water was caught mid-splosh, in a picture-perfect moment. It was about to come down on me again.

I imagined I looked something akin to that photo now. My eyes were wide and mouth agape as my sphincter clamped down in retaliation at my son’s veiny intruder. It seared in blissful agony.

“Heeingh-” I grimaced as he entrenched himself.

He gathered a larger bundle of my hair in his powerful hands, enough to keep my head from bobbing, but a little tuft of fluffy curls fell loose, and bounced widely as we shook.

My body was rigid, and my bowels were trying to reject the foriegn object, but it felt so good to have the rascals dick in me. I gripped the headboard tighter, imagining the smirk he must be wearing. No doubt it was as triumphantly prideful as that day so long agon on the beach.

He was grunting and thrusting, twirling his manly hands over in my hair, grabbing tighter fistfuls with each vigorous pump. I was forced to arch my back at the waist, and my breasts started flopping around wildly, slapping against me as he stroked in and out with short fast pulses. Each time his length withdrew from me, his balls clung to my skin for a brief moment, and then flopped back when he pushed back in. My breasts did the same.

“Ungh-” my man-boy moaned in defeat when he pulled out a bit too far, accidentally allowing his entire member to slip out from my well. My pipe made a beautiful “pwop-pop” sound as it expelled his hard flesh, and I knew my gape had contracted immediately.

He let go of my head, and it flopped downward.

“No. no. n-” He fumbled and whined, still bucking into me.

He reached down to guide himself back in, failing to penetrate me with each unsuccessful thrust. His pole rebounded off my skin, and slid up my deep ass crack, until his swinging pelvis stopped its automatic movement.

I looked over my shoulder. His face was beet red. Whether from embarrassment or exertion I could not tell, but regardless he looked so adorable. Flustered.

I smiled, and we locked eyes.

For an instant, I began to second guess myself. Wondering if I should let my son back into my ass.

I’m his mother. He’s my son. What the hell was I thinking – allowing him to fulfill his long-time fantasy with me.

This was wrong on so many levels, I was probably going to hell, but I wanted this as bad as he did.

I managed to offer some words of encouragement, that’s what good mothers do right? köle escort I was still a good mom wasn’t I?

“Don’t you stop now you little scamp. You got this.”

He pursed his lips, and nodded his head.

I perched myself on my forearms, and wiggled my ass.

“Well? Don’t keep your mother waiting…”

He buried a thumb on either side of my crack, and splayed my weighty cheeks apart with his palms. He struggled to keep my hefty rump open as piles of my fat ass kept spilling inward, almost as if in determination to protect my tender little hole.

But he dug in again, and heaved two mountains of ass aside. I was a little ashamed at the effort it took to hold the widened channel open and looked round the room, as my son teased the little wrinkle with the tip of his throbbing cock.

I had put on weight over the years and looked quite different from the way I presented myself on my beautifully curated wall of photos. Especially the one of me and boy-o at a community mommy & son dance I had taken him too once.

Damn my ass looked good in that pink sparkly mini cut dress. My tits too. It had a plunging neckline which was way too risque, but that’s the way I rolled back then. And so there I was cleavage, ass and all dancing the macarena with a dozen other thirty-something mommies and their cute baby boys.

I was a great fuking mom. What happened to me?

Something jabbed me. And I came back to the moment. The kid had once again found my butthole. He shoved my head down, pinned me to the bed at the waist, and slid every inch of himself down my tunnel, with one ferocious thrust.

One of my legs slipped off the bed, and I was forced to drive my foot into the floor. I straightened my leg like a kick-stand, to keep from falling prone. My other leg was still bent at the knee so I was able to keep my butt raised in a three quarter position.

I felt every fleshy inch as my son’s incestous girth nearly split me in two. He reamed me, and my tenderized opening felt the heat of friction.

“yaahhhhaaahaaaiiiieee-” I cried as my kick-stand slipped out from under me. One of my arms swatted back to slow his burning assault, but it swung wildly and I knocked another picture from the wall.

It slid down with a squeak, but I managed to stop it mid-fall. I spread my fingers both in pain, and to hold it up. But another searing thrust forced my hand to slide down with the frame as gravity willed it so.

It held a polaroid of my little champ dressed neatly in his cub-scout uniform. I was squatting by his side, wearing my well-worn den-mother’s uniform. It was littered with wrinkles and covered with suspicious stains that came from god-knows-where. Each of us had a firm grip on a cheaply-made second place trophy that “we” had won together. My little-tike was forcing his “punisher” into my cheek, while I waved a certificate that said “Pinewood Derby Champs 1998” in the air. The polished block of wood pressing against my cheek was aptly named “The Punisher”, had been shaped into a god-damned speeding bullet by my own hands. Sure, kiddo had painted it, slapped on some wheels, and pushed it down the track, but it was my block of wood. It was my didlo-on-wheels that had won the junior level tournament, and I wasn’t ashamed to revel in the glory alongside my little tiger.

We won many tournaments throughout his scouting career, but the punisher had given me my first taste of victory.

My little scout hoisted my kick-stand leg back onto the bed without missing a beat, and drove his new and improved punisher down my track, racing into me as fast as I remembered the miniature car had gone. But this massive block of wood was nothing like that little derby racer. Oh no, this was a stock car, a muscle car, a crowd pleasing, indestructible monster truck that obliterated anything in its path.

It hurt. But God did it feel so damn good.

I was only a passenger on tonight’s first ever anal test-run, and this victory lap was all his.

“Hungh, hungh, huunlghm huuuunnn-” I could do little more then grunt as as he pounded into me like a champion, claiming that fucking gold trophy that was rightfully his.

I clenched fistfuls of my queen-size köle escort bayan bed blanket, and chewed onto a wad with my teeth until it became saturated with my drool. I wanted, needed every moment of this blissful incest.

He grabbed my hips at the pelvis, and tried to recenter our rutting bodies back into the middle of the bed, reluctantly stopping his thrusting long enough to lift my lower half off the bed.

We both refused to let any slippage happen again. He was in me now, and he was not coming out until the job was done. I shoved my ass back, bearing fully into the blanket with my hands and teeth, as he jammed into me hard. Some strange anti-physics equation kept our bodies melded together, as we managed to shimmy across my bed.

The shifting movement however, rattled the walls and knocked down yet another picture from its rightful place in my shrine.

It was one of my favorites.

My tween and I were posed like warriors, garbed in tattered judo gis, proudly tugging downward on the lengths of our black-belts. He had worked hard for his first judo dan, as many scrapes and bruises confirmed.

“Fuck I used to be so fit,” I thought, as the picture tumbled to the ground, “and I used to be one of the best instructors this state knew. Now look at me-“

My huge jiggling ass was high in the air, my white knuckles and gritted teeth clenched tightly around the quilt my grandmother had made as a gift for opening my own judo studio. It was camp, but I loved it. Words like kapow, wham and Kiai were written all over it.

“eeeeSahw. eeesh-haaaa”

My student railed into me with the force of a well trained fighter making his own unique kaia sounds as he forcefully expelled air from his lungs, penetrating me with his staff.

I needed more.

I wanted to feel alive like I did when I taught him to properly grapple all those years ago. I wanted to feel his balls clap into my taint and pussy. I wanted him to own my entire body. I wanted to submit to whatever maneuver he wanted to throw at me.

I spat out the soaked blanket, and flicked my head round.

“Mount me!” I screamed.

“Push that cock deeper into that hole!”

“Cum. in. me. Now.” I commanded.

“Mount. Me. And. Cum” Each word was a sentence.

Without withdrawing his cock, He clapped my thighs together and then brought each of his powerful legs – one by one – up and over my huge backside, getting into a complete mount.

As he wriggled into position he pushed off the small of my back, grabbed a tuft of my messy hair, and shoved my head into the mattress.

I prayed to some God – who I didn’t believe in – that his cock wouldn’t slip out. I rotated my arms backward and grasped for his ankles.

Both of his hands were on the back of my head now, grasping hair in white knuckled ferver. He ground his sack into me, sliding the swollen balls from side to side, smearing our butter-churned juices all over my perineum.

I was now completely his. He had literally staked his claim, and now there was only one last thing for him to do.

“Mark me.” I mumbled into grandma’s quilt.

“Shot that hot cum into your mother’s asshole!”

He pulled out slowly, as far as possible, leaving just his tip at my entrance. He remained poised to strike and the anticipation nearly had me squirting.

He slammed down.


He drove his pole into me with the full weight and striking power of a hydraulic pile driver. His testicles slammed into me like dual wrecking balls with a “thwa-twak” upon collision.

I squeezed his ankles and a loud wail muffled into the bed.

He stayed inside me for a moment, rolling his girth round and round in my innards. Grinding his balls, his body, and his weight against me.

And then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Each relentless thrust into my tense asshole brought with it a cry of euphoric pain. My slick bowels closed and opened as the vibrating rod jack hammered its way to my core.

The wild pummeling dislodged his rod outward a few times, and my asshole made that same loud “pwop” each time, but unlike before – this skillful worker had steadied his aim, and he punched back into escort köle me without slowing at all.

He began using my skull as a fulcrum for his construction work, and ground my face further into the mattress using his piston with intense power strokes.

As he pivoted on his newly created focal point blackness started closing in. I was going to pass out. Incoherently I wondered if my body was about to crack open from the demolition work taking place.

The bed, the room, the walls, everything was shaking and rattling.

The worker behind me howled, and growled.

The world was closing in, I was seconds from black out. I needed air.

I let go of his ankles, my arms went numb, and they fell limp by my side. But not before I managed to tap his ankle in acquiescence, a signal every training fighter knew.

The pinching vice loosened, and my head was twisted to the right. Hands brushed my curls away from my face.

I inhaled deeply.


Fresh oxygen filled my lungs, as his relentless cock continued to fill my ass.

My tongue fell out loosely, and I found myself making tiny panting noises in perfect sync with each continued thrust of his weaponized member.

How my kiddo lasted this long I’ll never know. He had stamina that boy-of-mine.

I looked at him with my only exposed eye.

“Do it. I whimpered.

“Do it.”

He was going to cum.

“Fuck that hole.”

“Fuck your mother’s hole.”

I could see the orgasmic moment forming on his beautiful, twisted, beet-red face.

I moaned the dirtiest, filthiest things I could imagine.

“That’s it you little rascal.”

“Fuck your Den-mother’s dirty little asshole.”

“Mark me.”

“Mark my ass baby-boy.”

“Mark your mother.”

“Oh you cheeky motherfucker.”

“You motherfucker.”

“You motherfucker.”

“You motherfucker.”

“You mmmmutha-fuuuuuuu-aaaaaa-“

My son hit me with an awkward ill-timed thrust, the bed hit the wall, and a final waterfall of mementos, pictures, photos and memories came crashing down around us.

A cross stitch I made just a few years ago, which read, “Bad moments don’t make bad moms” landed in front of my face.

My insatiable boy grunted from behind me. He hit me again with more awkward, unmeasured, furious thrusts – hammering the memory of this bad, bad moment into my ass.





“Mah. Ma. Mmm-“


His face contorted in a grimace.

“Oh mom. Oh holy mother of fffwwuuunnngghhhhhhh—“

He yanked his pulsing, quivering cock from my brutalized hole and pumped a jettison of boiling fluid across my back. The thick white rope of cum hit me on the side of my turned face, streaking all the way back across my shoulder, uselessly limp arm, and ass.

But this was just a warning shot.


He moaned again, and a second even thicker cable of spunk hit the headboard. It ricocheted onto the cross stitch – and a pearlescent glob of jizz splattered the word “moments” fully obscuring it from view. The blast’s comet-like tail managed to track across my face, leaving behind a parallel mark alongside its predecessor.


He slammed a palm onto my right ass cheek, as his orgasm and vigorously pumping fist siphon every bit of manhood from his swinging balls. He widened enough of my crack to expose my quickly contracting void. He stutter-stepped, twirled his cock, and painted a criss-crossed pattern with a third, fourth and fifth line of steaming white paint.

His swollen member twitched one last time and a small final blast of warmth shot into my reddened gape.

He arched forward and shook his dick, letting little droplets of cum spitter-spatter on and around my hole. A few globules managed to sneak their way in before it finally sealed itself from the world.

His head dropped, his chest rose and fell, and a tiny string of drool slipped from his lips as he towered over me, admiring his work.

His memento.

His picture worthy masterpiece that never would – but should – be proudly displayed on my wall.

I smiled.

And then, so did he. A cheeky, prideful, motherfucking grin spread across his sweaty face.

I looked at the cum stained cross-stitch and thumbed the wad of jizz aside.

God, I was so naive when I made that thing.

It was true, but not quite right.

Bad moments don’t make bad moms.

Bad moments make us goddamn awesome moms.

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