You grew up fast. By sixteen the girls at school already noticed the way your cock filled out your jeans. By eighteen you were fucking regularly—tight cheerleaders, thick-hipped party girls, anyone who spread for you. Your mother watched it all with that cold, sharp stare. Every time you came home smelling like pussy she would corner you in the kitchen, voice low and venomous.
“Stay away from whores,” she said. “Those cum-dumpsters will ruin you. If I ever catch you with one of those dirty bitches I’ll cut that dick clean off myself. You understand me?”
You laughed it off. You were young, hard, and stupid. You thought she was just being dramatic.
Then you met the two of them.
The first one had an ass that didn’t belong on a human body—two massive, soft, jiggling globes that swallowed a thong completely. When she bent over the leather couch the cheeks parted just enough to show the thin strip of fabric disappearing between them, the puffy outer lips of her cunt already shiny. Her waist was tiny by comparison, making the whole lower half look like a perfect fuck-toy engineered for grinding. She rode reverse, bouncing those heavy cheeks up and down your shaft so the fat slapped wetly against your thighs every time she dropped. You could feel the heat of her hole clamping, the way her juices ran down your balls and soaked the couch.
The second one was all long dark hair, full tits, and that hungry open-mouthed expression. She stayed right beside the bouncing ass, tongue out, licking the sweat from the first girl’s lower back, then lower, dragging the flat of her tongue across the spreading cheeks, tasting the mixture of your precum and the other girl’s cream. She would pause with her tongue fully extended, eyes half-lidded, making sure you saw how wet and eager she was. Then she would lean in and suck one fat cheek into her mouth while the first girl kept riding, the wet sounds of cock sliding in and out of a dripping cunt mixed with the wetter sounds of a tongue working over ass.
They took turns. One would sit on your face and grind her soaked pussy across your mouth while the other stroked and sucked your cock. Then they would switch—both of them on their knees, thick asses up, faces buried in each other’s holes while you fucked whichever one presented herself. They moaned like porn stars, called you daddy, begged for more cum, and never stopped touching each other. You came so hard the first night your vision went white. They just laughed, licked it up, and kept going.
Your mother found out. She walked in on the three of you one afternoon—your cock buried balls-deep in the massive ass while the dark-haired one licked around the stretch, tongue flicking at the place where your shaft disappeared into that fat hole. The two of them didn’t even stop when she opened the door. They just looked over their shoulders with those glazed, slutty expressions and kept moving.
Your mother didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just stared at your cock disappearing into that whore’s body, then at the second whore’s tongue, and something cold and final settled behind her eyes.
That night the texts started arriving from a number you didn’t recognize.
“We’re coming back tonight, baby. We’re gonna drain those heavy balls until you can’t walk. Be a good boy for us. Tie yourself to the bed. Blindfold on. Legs spread. We want you completely helpless when we walk in and start riding that fat cock. Don’t make a sound until we take the blindfold off. We’re gonna use you all night.”
You were so hard it hurt. You did exactly what they said. Soft rope around your wrists and ankles, secured to the bedposts. Thick black blindfold tight across your eyes. Cock already leaking against your stomach. You waited, breathing fast, replaying the way those two thick asses had bounced, the way the dark-haired one’s tongue had looked when it was stretched out, wet and pink.
The door opened. Soft footsteps. The mattress dipped. A hand—warm, familiar in a way that made the hair on your neck stand up—wrapped around your shaft and stroked once, slowly.
You smiled under the blindfold. “Fuck yes… take it. Ride it. Both of you—”
The steel was cold.
It pressed against the base of your cock, right where the shaft met the body, and then it began to move. Not a cut at first—just the flat of a blade sliding back and forth, measuring, testing the give of the skin. You felt the edge bite. A sharp, impossible pressure. Then the wet, meaty resistance as it went deeper.
You thrashed. The ropes held. You screamed, but the sound came out broken, high, animal. The blade kept working—slow, deliberate, back and forth, sawing through flesh and vessels and the thick root of the thing you had lived for. Hot blood poured down your thighs, soaking the sheets, running between your ass cheeks. You sobbed, pleaded, begged her to stop, promised anything, everything. Your hips bucked uselessly against the air where your cock used to be.
She finished the job with one final, firm stroke. Something heavy and warm dropped onto the mattress between your legs. Your favorite toy. The thing that had made those two thick bimbos moan and bounce and drip. Gone.
You kept crying long after the steel left your skin. The blindfold stayed on. The ropes stayed tight. Somewhere above you your mother’s voice was quiet and satisfied.
“I warned you about whores.”
The last thing you felt before the pain swallowed everything was the soft, wet sound of her wiping the blade clean on the sheets right next to what used to be yours.