The contining cycle
Neighborhood MILFs
chapter 8
by
copier
· original author:
deadrisen5
"Mom?" James whispers "please wake up".
But it's no use she's out cold. James' body tries to reform, but that only tightens him around Paula's figure. He could hear her snoring lightly as she turned over, pressing him between her and the mattress. The weight was immense, pushing the air out of what little form he had left. The warmth of her body seeped into him, a sickeningly intimate heat that made him scream again. He tried to take in the solace that she was sleeping on her stomach. BUT! FFFPPHHTT A small puff of gas escaped her rear, directly into what was once his face. The stench was horrific, a chemical cocktail of stale beer and something far fouler. Tears, a strange and useless sensation for someone like him, welled up in his flattened eyes. As Paula snored, lost in her drunken dreams, but even in a drunken stir she grumbled and sleepily scratched her butt, her nails scraping against the fabric of her son-panties. "Mmmm... fuck, that feels..." she murmured. Even with her finger on the back of his panty shaped body, it still by sheer luck caught a small percent of the back of head in a twenty to one odd. She let out a little giggle that died in her throat. Paula was digging for gold in her sleep, and James was her mine. Tthe unforuntetluty of having most of his head being right there as the shovel to find her asshole. "mmh" she would grunt again as her finger went back in for more. She moaned "that's it". . She shifted again, a deep, rumbling snore shaking the <u>bed. PFFFFT. Another fart, longer and wetter than the last. James's vision blurred, or what passed for it. The world was a dark, sweaty, and increasingly foul-smelling prison. He felt his consciousness fading, not from sleep, but from sheer exhaustion and overwhelming humiliation. But his mom was really going at it for the night that smeared his mouth cleanly off for the next hour or so.
He could hear the birds chirping outside the window. Morning light was filtering into the room, a stark contrast to the darkness he'd been trapped in. Paula was still snoring, but her breathing was changing, becoming lighter. A long, dramatic sigh escaped her lips as she began to stir. "Mmmmmgh," she groaned, stretching her arms above her head. The movement sent another agonizing ripple through James's flattened form. "God, my head," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep and the lingering effects of alcohol. "What did I even do last night?" She rolled over, finally relieving some of the crushing pressure. The sudden shift made James dizzy. Paula sat up, her massive rear now looming over him like two pale, fleshy mountains. She ran a hand through her messy hair, yawning widely.
The morning light, thin and gray, filtered through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Paula’s alarm blared, a shrill, annoying beep that she slapped at until it went silent. She rolled over, a groggy giant stirring, and sat up, scratching her head. Her head throbbed, a familiar post-binge ache. She looked down at herself, at the simple t-shirt and... her panties. For a moment, she just stared at them, a faint, confusing memory tickling the back of her brain. BLEECH!! A ear ringing belch escaped her lips. "Ugh, my mouth tastes like a dog died in it," she grumbled to the empty room. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the motion sending another wave of jiggling agony through James. "Need coffee. Stat." She stood up and padded to the bathroom, her bare feet sticking slightly to the grubby linoleum floor. James's world was a nauseating sway with each step. The bathroom was a disaster zone, makeup smudged on the mirror, damp towels on the floor, the toilet bowl stained. Paula didn't seem to notice or care. She caught her reflection in the mirror, a disheveled woman with bloodshot eyes.
"Jesus, Paula," she muttered to herself. "You look like hell." She turned sideways, checking out her profile, her hands running down her hips. "Still got it, though." Her eyes drifted downwards, towards her panties. She frowned, tilting her head as she shimmied them to her ankles and took a sqaut. As Paula's massive backside descended onto the toilet seat, James found himself suddenly pulled downwards with her. The cold, unforgiving porcelain of the toilet bowl pressed against what was left of his back, while above him, the world narrowed to the horrifying sight of his mom settling in for her morning business. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled, desperate hum that was immediately swallowed by the echoing acoustics of her piss hitting the bowl. "Ah, sweet relief," Paula sighed, her voice booming in the small, enclosed space. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, in the moment of Boredom looked down at her feet. She caught just the subtle glimpse of a face and eyes on her inner thigh. "What in the ever-living...?"
Slowly, with the horrifying dawning comprehension of a person discovering a spider in their shoe, Paula looked down between her legs. Her gaze fell upon the crumpled, stained, and distinctly facial-patterned fabric of her panties, which had been pressed against her skin. If James had his mouth reformed he would be screaming. James's wide, terrified eyes stared back up at her. Her hands were just with reach of inspection when.~
SPLASH James disgustingly knew what that meant, and watched his mom attention slip away from him and back to her business. As Paula finished, James braced himself for the inevitable. He heard the crinkle of toilet paper being unwrapped. But Paula blew her nose and tossed the paper behind her then. ***FLUSH*** The sound of the toilet was like a waterfall in his ears, a roaring torrent that signaled the end of one humiliation and the beginning of the next. He realized! "She's seriously not gonna wipe," he thought in horror. "She's seriously gonna pull me right back up."
"Whatever," she mumbled, her hangover fogging her brain and erasing any fleeting concern. She reached down, not with gentleness, but with the careless grip of a person grabbing a dirty rag. Her fingers pinched what was once his shoulder, and she pulled. James's world became a nauseating, upward rush. The damp, unwashed flesh of her inner thighs scraped against him as she dragged him back into place. The journey was short but felt like an eternity. He was pulled up, up, up, until once again, his face was pressed flush against the warm, slightly damp skin of her rear. She shimmied him back up her legs, the fabric stretching and groaning around her thighs. With a final, graceless heave, she snapped the waistband into place. The elastic bit into what was left of his waist, sealing him in darkness. He was back. A prisoner in the sweaty, unwashed canyon of his mother's ass. Only then did she scratch her butt with vigor right on him. "Mmm," She moaned with relief, using her son as toilet paper and scratching post. "That's better. My ass is SO itchy." She continued her scratching, but spoke in the most motherly tone that James hadn't ever hear. But he was already reeling from the scratch and contact of her unwashed behind. That was leaving a new layer of grime and shame on him. "You must have been so worried about me sweetie," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "I know I would be if I wasn't so hungover. But don't worry, Mommy's got you. Right where you belong." She padded out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, her movements sending a fresh wave of jiggles through James's flattened form. The smell of stale coffee and something greasy filled the air. She opened the fridge, the light momentarily illuminating his dark prison. She grabbed a carton of orange juice and drank straight from the container, a loud gulping sound echoing in the small kitchen.
"Ahhh," she sighed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "That's the stuff." She leaned against the counter, her weight shifting. The pressure increased on James, forcing him deeper into the unwashed crevice. "God, what a night. Can't remember a thing." She paused, tapping her chin. "Except... I think I had a dream. I was wearing these... really comfortable panties. Like, super comfortable." She chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through him. "Weird?" She spent the rest of the morning in a haze, moving from the kitchen to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa with a bag of chips. Each crunch of her teeth was a punctuation mark in his ongoing nightmare. The TV blared, some daytime talk show with a screeching audience. She occasionally shifted, resettling her weight, oblivious to the son-shaped fabric clinging to her skin. By mid-afternoon, her phone buzzed. She fumbled for it, her movements clumsy.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice still raspy. "Where are you I'm at the gym! I was supposed to meet you!" Abigail's voice crackled through the phone, sharp and annoyed. "Oh my god, sorry! Ugh, I was waiting for James. The little shit hasn't been home for a few days. He's probably off doing... whatever it is he does. Honestly, I'm glad for the peace and quiet. I'll be there soon. Let me just change." She hung up and stood up. "Time to get my sweat on, I guess," she muttered, heading back to her room. She stood in front of her closet, surveying her workout clothes. She grabbed a pair of tight, black yoga pants. "These'll do," she said, stepping into them. The struggle was real. She grunted, tugging and pulling, the unforgiving fabric fighting to slide over her ample hips. And over James.
The fabric of the yoga pants was thin, almost like a second skin. As she pulled them up, they pressed against him, flattening him even further. But leaving a panty outline for all to see. It was a new kind of suffocation, a tight, constricting pressure that made him feel like he was being vacuum-sealed to his mother.
But it's no use she's out cold. James' body tries to reform, but that only tightens him around Paula's figure. He could hear her snoring lightly as she turned over, pressing him between her and the mattress. The weight was immense, pushing the air out of what little form he had left. The warmth of her body seeped into him, a sickeningly intimate heat that made him scream again. He tried to take in the solace that she was sleeping on her stomach. BUT! FFFPPHHTT A small puff of gas escaped her rear, directly into what was once his face. The stench was horrific, a chemical cocktail of stale beer and something far fouler. Tears, a strange and useless sensation for someone like him, welled up in his flattened eyes. As Paula snored, lost in her drunken dreams, but even in a drunken stir she grumbled and sleepily scratched her butt, her nails scraping against the fabric of her son-panties. "Mmmm... fuck, that feels..." she murmured. Even with her finger on the back of his panty shaped body, it still by sheer luck caught a small percent of the back of head in a twenty to one odd. She let out a little giggle that died in her throat. Paula was digging for gold in her sleep, and James was her mine. Tthe unforuntetluty of having most of his head being right there as the shovel to find her asshole. "mmh" she would grunt again as her finger went back in for more. She moaned "that's it". . She shifted again, a deep, rumbling snore shaking the <u>bed. PFFFFT. Another fart, longer and wetter than the last. James's vision blurred, or what passed for it. The world was a dark, sweaty, and increasingly foul-smelling prison. He felt his consciousness fading, not from sleep, but from sheer exhaustion and overwhelming humiliation. But his mom was really going at it for the night that smeared his mouth cleanly off for the next hour or so.
He could hear the birds chirping outside the window. Morning light was filtering into the room, a stark contrast to the darkness he'd been trapped in. Paula was still snoring, but her breathing was changing, becoming lighter. A long, dramatic sigh escaped her lips as she began to stir. "Mmmmmgh," she groaned, stretching her arms above her head. The movement sent another agonizing ripple through James's flattened form. "God, my head," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep and the lingering effects of alcohol. "What did I even do last night?" She rolled over, finally relieving some of the crushing pressure. The sudden shift made James dizzy. Paula sat up, her massive rear now looming over him like two pale, fleshy mountains. She ran a hand through her messy hair, yawning widely.
The morning light, thin and gray, filtered through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Paula’s alarm blared, a shrill, annoying beep that she slapped at until it went silent. She rolled over, a groggy giant stirring, and sat up, scratching her head. Her head throbbed, a familiar post-binge ache. She looked down at herself, at the simple t-shirt and... her panties. For a moment, she just stared at them, a faint, confusing memory tickling the back of her brain. BLEECH!! A ear ringing belch escaped her lips. "Ugh, my mouth tastes like a dog died in it," she grumbled to the empty room. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the motion sending another wave of jiggling agony through James. "Need coffee. Stat." She stood up and padded to the bathroom, her bare feet sticking slightly to the grubby linoleum floor. James's world was a nauseating sway with each step. The bathroom was a disaster zone, makeup smudged on the mirror, damp towels on the floor, the toilet bowl stained. Paula didn't seem to notice or care. She caught her reflection in the mirror, a disheveled woman with bloodshot eyes.
"Jesus, Paula," she muttered to herself. "You look like hell." She turned sideways, checking out her profile, her hands running down her hips. "Still got it, though." Her eyes drifted downwards, towards her panties. She frowned, tilting her head as she shimmied them to her ankles and took a sqaut. As Paula's massive backside descended onto the toilet seat, James found himself suddenly pulled downwards with her. The cold, unforgiving porcelain of the toilet bowl pressed against what was left of his back, while above him, the world narrowed to the horrifying sight of his mom settling in for her morning business. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled, desperate hum that was immediately swallowed by the echoing acoustics of her piss hitting the bowl. "Ah, sweet relief," Paula sighed, her voice booming in the small, enclosed space. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, in the moment of Boredom looked down at her feet. She caught just the subtle glimpse of a face and eyes on her inner thigh. "What in the ever-living...?"
Slowly, with the horrifying dawning comprehension of a person discovering a spider in their shoe, Paula looked down between her legs. Her gaze fell upon the crumpled, stained, and distinctly facial-patterned fabric of her panties, which had been pressed against her skin. If James had his mouth reformed he would be screaming. James's wide, terrified eyes stared back up at her. Her hands were just with reach of inspection when.~
SPLASH James disgustingly knew what that meant, and watched his mom attention slip away from him and back to her business. As Paula finished, James braced himself for the inevitable. He heard the crinkle of toilet paper being unwrapped. But Paula blew her nose and tossed the paper behind her then. ***FLUSH*** The sound of the toilet was like a waterfall in his ears, a roaring torrent that signaled the end of one humiliation and the beginning of the next. He realized! "She's seriously not gonna wipe," he thought in horror. "She's seriously gonna pull me right back up."
"Whatever," she mumbled, her hangover fogging her brain and erasing any fleeting concern. She reached down, not with gentleness, but with the careless grip of a person grabbing a dirty rag. Her fingers pinched what was once his shoulder, and she pulled. James's world became a nauseating, upward rush. The damp, unwashed flesh of her inner thighs scraped against him as she dragged him back into place. The journey was short but felt like an eternity. He was pulled up, up, up, until once again, his face was pressed flush against the warm, slightly damp skin of her rear. She shimmied him back up her legs, the fabric stretching and groaning around her thighs. With a final, graceless heave, she snapped the waistband into place. The elastic bit into what was left of his waist, sealing him in darkness. He was back. A prisoner in the sweaty, unwashed canyon of his mother's ass. Only then did she scratch her butt with vigor right on him. "Mmm," She moaned with relief, using her son as toilet paper and scratching post. "That's better. My ass is SO itchy." She continued her scratching, but spoke in the most motherly tone that James hadn't ever hear. But he was already reeling from the scratch and contact of her unwashed behind. That was leaving a new layer of grime and shame on him. "You must have been so worried about me sweetie," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "I know I would be if I wasn't so hungover. But don't worry, Mommy's got you. Right where you belong." She padded out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, her movements sending a fresh wave of jiggles through James's flattened form. The smell of stale coffee and something greasy filled the air. She opened the fridge, the light momentarily illuminating his dark prison. She grabbed a carton of orange juice and drank straight from the container, a loud gulping sound echoing in the small kitchen.
"Ahhh," she sighed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "That's the stuff." She leaned against the counter, her weight shifting. The pressure increased on James, forcing him deeper into the unwashed crevice. "God, what a night. Can't remember a thing." She paused, tapping her chin. "Except... I think I had a dream. I was wearing these... really comfortable panties. Like, super comfortable." She chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through him. "Weird?" She spent the rest of the morning in a haze, moving from the kitchen to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa with a bag of chips. Each crunch of her teeth was a punctuation mark in his ongoing nightmare. The TV blared, some daytime talk show with a screeching audience. She occasionally shifted, resettling her weight, oblivious to the son-shaped fabric clinging to her skin. By mid-afternoon, her phone buzzed. She fumbled for it, her movements clumsy.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice still raspy. "Where are you I'm at the gym! I was supposed to meet you!" Abigail's voice crackled through the phone, sharp and annoyed. "Oh my god, sorry! Ugh, I was waiting for James. The little shit hasn't been home for a few days. He's probably off doing... whatever it is he does. Honestly, I'm glad for the peace and quiet. I'll be there soon. Let me just change." She hung up and stood up. "Time to get my sweat on, I guess," she muttered, heading back to her room. She stood in front of her closet, surveying her workout clothes. She grabbed a pair of tight, black yoga pants. "These'll do," she said, stepping into them. The struggle was real. She grunted, tugging and pulling, the unforgiving fabric fighting to slide over her ample hips. And over James.
The fabric of the yoga pants was thin, almost like a second skin. As she pulled them up, they pressed against him, flattening him even further. But leaving a panty outline for all to see. It was a new kind of suffocation, a tight, constricting pressure that made him feel like he was being vacuum-sealed to his mother.
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June 1
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