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[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE]
Sure, it was a terrible thing to do, but don’t blame me until you’ve heard me out.
I was living alone with my parents. Mom’s old man, as I called him, oddly enough looked like an old man, a 59 year old going on 70. He had long ago lost his hair, a sense of style, or a sense of humor. He ruled over us like ‘lord of the manor’.
It was an unhappy home, and I felt sorry for mom having to endure this just for the concept of marriage and a vow she took. I respected her loyalty, but her husband had made their marriage bitter, unpleasant, devoid of love (in all senses.)
He was no more pleasant with me than he was with my beautiful mother. He chided me for not making as much money as he had at my age.
I reminded him that we were having tough economic times.
He arrogantly said that people are responsible for their own economic fate, regardless of world events.
Because I did not follow every crazy edict he made unto me, he vowed I would never succeed. Being as petty as he was, he actually spoke to some well-placed people in the area, actually ensuring in fact that I would not succeed, at least locally, if I was looking for a good job. As a result of this, I had to limit myself to living off his ‘allowance’ to me. Talk about humbling, it rose to $5 in my teens, but only if I asked him for it in a tone of servility if not defeat.
Meanwhile, my supersexy mother, a bottle dyed blonde with a ‘page boy’ do, big blue eyes, perfect little nose, Hollywood smile, and just enough lipstick to reveal a sexy pout. Her petite five foot one frame and ever so slightly oversized breasts made her look like a bathing suit model; as a matter of fact, her figure belied her 38 years of age, making her look more like 28. She sure didn’t look like the mother of an 18 year old stud (yours truly.)
Now we get to the prank, and it was genius.
TV reality shows took an odd turn with two developments. Premium channels were allowed to show virtually anything unless it was a felony crime or how to make WOMD’s (the infamous ‘weapons of mass destruction.) The other development was micro camera tech; they now could put a probe into a woman’s ‘private place’ and film conception as it occurred. Talk about changing adult films. Whereas before, the pill was de rigueur, now actresses were asked to accept pregnancy as part of the film process.
Into this environment came the Eddie Puss Games. Obviously a play on words for ‘Oedipus Games’, the rules were that actual mothers and sons had to participate. The prizes were cash and gift certificates from Babies r’us and Maternity Outlet. By the second year, they had the prizes further defined.
The winning son and mom got a nice $100,000. Now, in grand TV game show tradition, they could keep the winnings, OR risk it all for the super grand prize, a cool million. But for that, the son would have to make it with all the other seven moms on the show, AND get them pregnant, but do it within a prescribed two day limit.
If by the 48 hour mark the monitor did not indicate anything, then both prizes would be lost. The odds of winning were not good. But the shareholders of the game show wanted people to risk it all for the cool million; the ratings went thru the roof.
The games had several contests, including the machismo ones for the sons (power lifting, penis length, scrotal size, maximum distance for ejacks, and largest volume for ejaculations. For the moms, they would gauge best figure(bust exceeding waist), best endurance (a chamber would measure their up and down motion potential), strongest muscles ‘inside’ (they would have to pick up weights with special ‘fittings’ for the moms to grasp with only their muscles ‘down there’.)
Of course, most fertile would be 90% of the contest for women. The new monitors would allow the audience and the whole world to watch the spectacle. Live and in real time, ova would be monitored with sperm landing and wall affixing activity watched in live and stop action. The exact moment of conception would be known to 1 billion people.
When the producers first pitched the show (called ‘Love Life’), they were turned down; it was not kinky enough with simple married couples to get ratings. Then one of the producers had the ‘twist’ of having sons and mothers. Well, the show took off to become the top ranking show on the air. Weekly winners now could make a cool million.
I watched the show almost religiously. I knew I had an absolute obsession over my gorgeous mother. Seeing this show did not help; more and more I would forego normal pursuits as a high school senior, only thinking about mom…mom…mom. How to get her away from the ‘old man’? How to woo her, win her heart, get into her marital bed, mate with her, breed her, and get her pregnant? This whole obsession was warping me out of recognition. It was almost a 24/7 affair. But how to move forward?
In ataşehir escort bayan our house, my father’s secretary handled our mundane bills for the house, home or car repairs, appointments. I thought, ok, what if I was to get an ‘Eddie Puss’ games contract. I could sign and execute it and then give it to the secretary to have mom sign it and then mail it. So, I did just that. I put it in the pile. The secretary would put the signature lines one after another so a person could sign all the papers at once, but with zero comprehension. That is what happened!
Mom signed the papers in a pile of innocuous license and magazine renewals. I developed a huge boner, realizing that mom would have to go on the show, with me (!) or else forfeit $50,000. I couldn’t take it…watching that signed document enter the final outgoing mail pile, I quietly got up and tiptoed to my room.
Ripping off my clothes, I found that hidden picture of my mom in that hounds tooth Catalina bathing suit. I started keyholing my huge cock, some eleven inches of power and virility. I worried about how we would do in the game, so I tested it right then and there. Feeling that good feeling, I grunted and pulled back on the yoke of my sperm launcher, rocketing a huge puddle of semen across the room; the point was, there was 12 feet between me and the splashdown. I got some of my confidence back.
Well, as was predictable, the show sent a confirmation of the recording date. Mom was shocked and demanded to see the signature on the page. Sure enough, it was hers, in blue ink (her favorite) with no tracing indicated. It had the little stamp that our corporate/personal secretary used, so she knew it was legitimate, period.
She asked to be let out of the contract, to which they said, sure, give us $50,000! Mom was stuck. Not seeing a way out, she saw that it at least was perfectly timed, to coincide with dad’s vacation. Now if she could only figure a way around that fertilization contest! If she couldn’t, she and her strapping 18 year old son would be out shopping at that Maternity Outlet store for baby clothes.
Mom did not know that all of this was my fault; she thought that the application was just mailed to us by mistake and then signed by mistake. She never dreamt that I had planted it there.
There were two more hurdles that I had to cross before I had clear and total access to the goddess that I called ‘mom’. One was the pill. Mom thought of that too. She had some out of date pills, but had stopped taking them years ago. The old man’s ‘penile output’ was never much to worry about, a drop or two. Mom was more likely to be hit by a comet than to get knocked up again. Sure enough, I noted that mom picked up some fresh pills, which were now sold over the counter. Later, she had to drive to a distant mall. What a break for me! I looked at the blister pack, and it was just plastic tucked under other plastic with foil tucked also. I undid it and they all fell out. I memorized the pill design and went to that big department store, poring over the pills for sale, with no matches. Then it hit me: the health food places. Bingo! A supplement of vitamin A was the exact same shape and design as ‘the pill’. I bought a 100 count bottle and replaced the three months supply of the pill by hand; a perfectly done masterpiece of improvisation.
Mom’s fertility would be unaffected by the pill; the only other question would be if her cycle fit with the program dates. It did (I knew because I found her personal diary where she kept those kind of personal facts.) The other contestants were screened for that fact before entering a pool from which the finalists were selected.
The final potential problem was the extraordinary dividend. My parents had nice stock holdings and one of their companies had a special dividend. This arrived in the mail (unknown to father) so that mom could’ve used $50,000 of the $75,000 dividend to get the heck off this program. Fortunately, I intercepted the dividend. The check was good for 180 days so I held it until after we had appeared on the show. Now we’d get our dividend AND I would get mom!!
The show date arrived. Mom was very upset, as upset as I was (secretly) excited. I had specifically not jacked it even once since I did that 12 foot launch of my seed looking at mom’s picture. Of course, mom had had no attention of any kind from that old decaying fossil…lord, what a waste.
When we arrived at the studio in Burbank, CA not far from LA, the sons and moms were split up and prepared for a TV appearance. The sons, including yours truly of course, were compelled to wear this ridiculous outfit, basically a silk T-shirt and pants that had no fly; they did not need any, because there was no material from where one pocket would normally be around to the other pocket.
I was told by the producers that keeping me hard was the image they wanted. Yikes. That’s a 2 hour show. They offered Viagra to all the participants; bostancı escort I was the only one that didn’t take them, though I’m proud to say I was as ‘up’ as any of the sons.
The moms were decked out in peignoirs with frilly modesty covers. Under the bright studio lights, the peignoirs didn’t offer much modesty; the assets of these sexy mothers were pretty clear to see and enjoy. Just the generous breasts with erect nipples on some of these moms were enough reason for most of the male viewers to tune in.
Like a three ring circus, there was constant action, what with 8 couples pursuing their goals. The oddest pair on the show was the two of us, since we had not had any affair going on whatever, though I had had a thing for mom for years.
To mom, all of this was new. She hadn’t even noticed her little Jimmy had grown up. But she would notice…it was inescapable now.
The first contest for the roving cameras to record was maximum lift for the sons. The best combined total for 3 lifts (bench press, curling, and separate dumbbells) was 500 total.
I was the last contestant. Mom told me that she wouldn’t blame me if I lost this. 500, after all. Thinking of my beautiful mom watching me, and putting a huge audience out of mind, I did dumbbells of 125 pounds each, then I curled 250 pounds, (tying their 500) and then cemented the win with a bench press of another 500, or doubling them at 1,000 total. Mom was jumping for joy. I was holding her to feel those big tits of hers bounce against my chest. Only problem was 240 million people saw my white mamba rise to full salute, an eleven inch snake paying tribute to her sex appeal. I hoped the ‘old man’ was watching.
That was a perfect moment to measure my manhood; they did and generously found 11 and one half inches (I was longer by 4 inches than the next son). The testes that made up my heavy scrotum were the size of large navel oranges. I had saved up so much sperm that my balls must have been filled to overflowing with potent seed.
Man, I couldn’t WAIT to have a chance to knock up mom. Look at what I had done so far: slipping the application in an innocuous pile of documents to sign. We had taken a dividend check that would’ve allowed mom to escape the show. And finally, and perhaps lowest of all, I had substituted vitamin A for her birth control pills. Mom was at her peak of fertility. We had that $100,000 in the bag. The million was a sucker bait; no sane person would offer to knock up 7 women in one two hour period, then expect conception to occur in 2 days for all of them.
No, we would take the $100,000 purse and run. Mom could even abort the fetus, if any, though I would raise heaven and hell to talk her out of it.
The last contests for guys were the ejaculatory ballistic shots and the scrotal contents volume measure. This is where my reading of the rules really came in. It said that you could compete in any contest at any time. So, the first thing we did was the ballistic shot (i.e. see how far you could shoot), which was then added to the total volume of my spend taken ten minutes later.
The son’s ballistic challenge was the 3rd most popular event to be gambled on. The over/under said that three feet would be the average. It wasn’t the average; it was the best for all the OTHER competitors. As for me, mom racked her brain for inspirational words to get my stuff flying.
Mom said that had this event not happened–had I not taken the initiative to have her, she would probably have gone the way of her friend, white, married, comfortable, but now gone black. Whether it was true or not, I never knew. That was so unexpected, so kinky, that with a manly grunt my eleven plus inch pleasure tube rose to a 45 degree angle like a field howitzer, swelled and expelled a huge spend almost 16 yards (47 feet) down range, over 15 times as far as the runner-up.
The brilliance of getting this done first and fast, of course, was to allow me to re-charge my batteries and baby batter reservoir. It helped, a lot, when mom got into the spirit of the show and hand cranked me to erection. With a gentle keyhole up/down stroke of her gentle hand, she gave me a gentle kiss and “I love you”.
After this development, I got rock hard and I pulled mom roughly to me, kissing her with pent-up passion. Now remember, the world, including neighbors, family members, church members, and even (God help us!) the old man in his business suite hotel room were watching this in living color. Anyway, mom succeeded, with her loving words and skillful hands, to get me back to eleven inches of steel hard manhood with re-charged testes the size of tangerines–almost back to normal.
I did not expect to win a single one, let alone all, of the son machismo contests, but I did win them all. Mom again was thrilled. When she saw that I was a magnificent 11 ½ inches, she confessed that I was almost three times the old man in length, twice his girth, and perhaps tenfold his testes’ bostancı escort volume.
One fact really stunned her. I could shoot my gun off and then with just a few strokes of her soft hands and gentle words from her soft lips, regain my cock power and scrotal volume. She said the old man would let loose his pathetic salvo of 2 or 3 droplets and then fall asleep.
I asked how long that had been the case (apparently always.) I told her, a bit too loud so the mikes picked it up, that impotence was a valid divorce cause of action.
She said she’d look into it. She gave me the biggest kiss yet; it lingered for 2 minutes.
I hoped that ‘he’ was watching on TV somewhere. As it turned out, he WAS watching our every move.
Now came my fun; I got to watch mom and the other moms. First were the measurements. Mom was a bit top heavy. She could barely fit into her 36D big cupped bra, a huge thing to see on a demure five foot one inch framed beauty. Her waist was down to 22 for the contest, yielding a 14 inch variance. The next best mom was 34 and 26 (bust and waist resp.) for an 8 inch variance. Yea, mom!
The next contest was the absolute favorite of all male viewers. More was bet on this than any single event on TV, including the super bowl and the bud bowl! That’s right, the woman’s personal area carry, where the moms had to pickup weighted things that had just the right ‘shape’ for them to lower themselves, pick up the weight, and carry it off the ground for 20 feet.
The moms always objected, while the men went utterly wild. I gave mom a pep talk. I reminded her that she could choose to go first or last…I said last. That way no other mom could attempt to outdo her. The moms were told to lift as much as they could; there were no ‘do over’s’. The first contestant lifted 10 lbs. and got booed! The second did 15 pounds. So on and so on, all of them were in the 10-20 pound range except for one statuesque beauty.
The spitting image of my favorite, Jaclyn Smith (also tall at 6 feet), she started with a 40 lb. weight. I was panicked; could mom do that. No way. This woman had muscles in there, I mean, ouch. What to do?
We were allowed to cheer on anyone. Remember that we guys were ‘hanging out’ with our costumes frontless. I pointed out to her my babymaker currently saluting her in all its 11 ½ inch glory, then I pointed to her tummy. I put my hands together in the traditional baby coddling sign, letting her know I wanted to do her with my champion rod. She went by still carrying that mighty weight in her mighty pussy. All hope was lost, until…one foot, one foot from the end line and victory, the weighted thing came out. No, her muscles did NOT fail her…that thing slid out…I had done it; she was a sloppy mess at the finish line. Yes!
Now it was easy meat. I told mom to pick up the 25 pound weight and walk to win, but close her eyes and don’t look at anyone, especially me! She almost walked into the crowd, but mom won that contest.
The last two things were the endurance contest, and the fertility contest. Since mom had won the first two contests, I told her to elect to go last, and then decline the endurance all together. Then we would have 7 exhausted moms and my mom, fresh as a daisy. Sure enough, it worked. The moms had to outdo each other to win, thus they almost staggered to the beautiful blue velvet lined incline planes that substituted for beds for the last contest, the all important breeding challenge.
Mom took me aside 5 minutes before the last contest and begged me not to get mad if she confessed something. Secluded as much as we could be given the situation, she confessed that she had put herself safely on the pill some 6 weeks ago and thus would not be winning this last contest or the grand prize as a result. My response dismayed her.
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, saying, “oh well, maybe we can try next year.” We returned to those incline love futons, covered in the same velvet sack as the ones on Chivas Regal bottles. We had one hour to knock up our dear moms. Keep in mind that the other moms were exhausted from the endurance contest only 10 minutes before.
We actually were started like a race; drivers (that was us, get it?) into position; ready, set, drive! I looked down at my gorgeous mom; I could not believe that my duplicity, cleverness, and chicanery had gotten me on top of the most desirable lay, the greatest piece of ass that ever lived (to me, at least). I had to, I just HAD TO, tell her. I bent down, kissing her tender lips (relatives, neighbors and the old man watching us be damned), telling her I had something to tell her. But, seeing the other guys in the lead, I realized that I had better get some of my wigglers down there searching for the holy grail, mom’s fertile egg, before I had a discussion about exactly what I did with her pills!
I got up on all fours. My long cock was connected, with its oversized uncut end barely inside the slavering wet lips of mom’s oh-so-fertile vagina. Thinking that I might be “marking my territory” by aggressively breeding mom, and in front of relatives, neighbors, and even the old man (God willing), I slammed down into mom with passion, love and the power of a diesel locomotive.
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