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I sat huddled in the cramped, dark storage room, the photo of my own birth still clenched tightly in my fingers. My heart was pounding, tears streaming down my face. The humiliation had broken me long ago—and then I heard Jeremy’s footsteps coming back.

“Well, loser,” he said through the door, his voice dripping with schadenfreude. “I have to run out for a bit. You stay right there in the closet. But don’t worry… I’ll leave you some entertainment.”

I heard him place the laptop right in front of the door. Then he clicked a few times. Suddenly, my mother’s voice came through the crack loud and clear—a deep, lustful moan that I recognized immediately. Then the slurping sound of a wet pussy being fucked. He’d grouped all her videos into a single, endless loop. Volume cranked all the way up. The sound was so loud that the walls vibrated slightly.

“Enjoy the show, you little pervert,” he laughed again, then disappeared from my view.

I was trapped. The only light came through the tiny keyhole—a thin, glaring strip that blinded me. And the sounds… the sounds were everywhere. Every slurping sound of her pussy, every lustful moan, every “Yes… deeper… fuck me harder…” she’d recorded for strange men. It was ****. Pure, merciless ****.

I sat there, hands over my ears, but it didn’t help. The sounds still penetrated. My cock was rock-hard, throbbing painfully, and I hated myself for it. That’s my mother… my own mother… and it’s turning me on… Devastated. Horny. Helpless. Tears ran down my cheeks as the loop started over and over again—her voice, her moans, the wet sounds, the names of men I knew.

I didn’t know what Jeremy was doing in the background. I only heard muffled sounds: drawers being quietly closed, paper rustling, footsteps moving methodically through the apartment. He was cleaning everything up. Perfect. Not a trace of the devastation remained. The shoe box with the old photos, the garters, the silk scarf with the virgin’s blood—everything vanished. He hid the wedding box in my room, way in the back of the closet, under my things. (I would never find out: When Mom found the box while cleaning, she turned pale as a sheet. The photos were all defiled with fresh, thick semen stains—white, dried splatters on her face, her tits, her open cunt. She stared at the pictures, her hands trembling… and never mentioned it to me. Never.)

Meanwhile, an upload was running in the background on the laptop. Jeremy was a guest on a major porn upload site. With our lightning-fast internet connection, it took less than ten minutes—all the videos, all the photos, my mother’s entire chronicle was uploaded. Title: “Japanese Housewife – Secret Creampie Collection 2008–2025.”

He threw all the windows facing the street wide open. Fresh air poured in—and with it, the wind carried my mother’s loud, horny moans outside. Then I heard the front door.

Jeremy went down the stairs. When he stood down on the street, he heard it himself: loud and clear, my mother’s rhythmic moans came from the open window on the first floor. “Yes… fuck me… I’m your slut…” Neighbors stopped in their tracks. Two older ladies from the house across the street whispered to each other; a man on the balcony opposite looked up and grinned. A few teenagers were already pulling out their cell phones.

Jeremy just grinned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled away as if nothing had happened.

I remained sitting in the dark. The loop played on. My mother moaned. The neighbors were listening. And I was horny and shattered at the same time—trapped in my own hell.

I was still sitting huddled in the pitch-black storage room, knees pulled up to my chest, the photo of my own birth clenched tightly in my sweat-soaked fingers. The endless loop of my mother’s voice kept playing—loud, relentless, at full volume. Every squelching sound from her wet cunt, every deep, horny moan (“Yes… fuck me harder… I’m your slut…”), every “Deeper… give me your cock…” drilled into my head like a red-hot iron. I was already broken. My cock had been rock-hard the whole time, throbbing painfully, and I hated myself for it.

I didn’t know what Jeremy was doing in the background. But the reader should know—I’m telling it exactly as it happened while I was trapped in the closet and didn’t notice a thing.

Jeremy had come back and gotten right to work. First, he replaced the smoke detectors in every room. He unscrewed the old ones and installed new, identical-looking models—except that each one contained a tiny high-definition camera stick that streamed live and recorded. One in the hallway, one in the living room, one in the kitchen, one in my mother’s bedroom and bathroom (one directly above her bed, and one above the bathtub). Then he placed additional strategically hidden mini-cameras: a tiny one in the lamp above the dining table, one in the bathroom outlet (perfectly aimed at the shower), one behind the large mirror in the bedroom, one in the bookshelf in the living room, even one in my room, pointing directly at my bed. Each camera had night vision, a motion sensor, and was connected to the laptop. It took hours. Meanwhile, the continuous loop of my mother’s voice kept playing—her voice echoed throughout the entire apartment and even carried out through the open windows onto the street.

At the same time, the upload to the porn site continued in the background. Jeremy was logged in as the admin. All the photos, all the videos, my mother’s entire chronicle was being uploaded—title: “Japanese Housewife—Secret Creampie Collection 2008–2025—Full Version.” The files were flying through our fast connection.

Finally—after what felt like an eternity—it went quiet. The loop stopped. Jeremy clicked one last time on the laptop, then I heard the key in the lock of the storage room door.

The door opened. A harsh light blinded me. I squinted, my eyes stuck shut. My pants were wet and sticky. I’d come twice without jerking off even once—just like that, while I’d been listening to my mother’s voice. Shame burned like fire in my face.

Jeremy roughly pulled me out and shoved me in front of the laptop. Two browser tabs were open.

“So, loser,” he said calmly, grinning widely. “Here are two websites. One has lots of photos of your mom—but always without a head, without a face. Just tits, pussy, ass, belly, all nice and anonymous. No one will recognize her. The other has all the photos. With faces. With names. With everything. You’re going to publish one of these two folders right now…”

My thoughts exploded.

No… he can’t ask that of me… That’s my own mother… If I upload the full folder, the whole world will see her. Every jerk will see her wedding pussy, her pregnant creampies, her moaning clips with strange men. She’ll be ruined forever. Her job, the neighbors, everything.

I sat in front of the laptop, my fingers trembling over the mouse, tears already streaming down my face again. Jeremy stood behind me, arms crossed, grinning that disgusting, smug grin.

“But…” he said slowly, almost with relish, “if you take the folder without your mother’s face—the anonymous one where no one will recognize her—then I want you to suck your mother’s vibrator while you do it. Take it deep into your mouth and suck on it like a good little boy. And at the same time, you’ll put the silk handkerchief from your father’s wedding night on your cock. The handkerchief he used to clean her freshly fucked pussy after the wedding night—with her virgin blood and his cum on it. You’ll feel all of that while you press the button.”

My stomach turned. The choice suddenly became a hundred times harder.

God… no…

Thoughts raced through my head like a whirlwind.

If I upload the full folder with her face… then my mother is finished for good. Everyone will recognize her. Her colleagues, the neighbors, her friends. The wedding pussy, the pregnancy creampies, the moaning clips with strange men—all with her face. Her life is over. She’ll never be able to look anyone in the eye again.

But if I take the anonymous folder… then at least she’ll remain anonymous. No one will know those are her tits, her pussy, her ass. She’s “just” some random Japanese slut on the internet. But for that… for that, I have to pay this price. Take my own mother’s vibrator into my mouth. The thing she’d had in her pussy for years. And the cloth from her wedding night on my cock… while Jeremy’s condition is in effect.

Jeremy pulled the vibrator out of the bag—the very one he’d taken from her nightstand earlier. He held it right in front of my face. The thing wasn’t just covered in my mother’s old, dried crust. It was fresh and shiny, wet, slimy. Thick, white strands of cum stuck to it—fresh, not quite dry yet. Jeremy’s cum. He’d used the vibrator while I was sitting in the closet. He’d jerked off on it, cummed on it, maybe even shoved it inside himself for a moment. My mother’s old, dried-up pussy juice was now mixed with his fresh, thick cum. It smelled like him. Like sex. Like humiliation.

“Come on, make up your mind,” he whispered close to my ear. “Ten… nine… eight…”

I broke down inside. The shame, the anger, the despair, and this sick, indelible lust raged inside me. I couldn’t completely destroy my mother. Not with her face. Not like this.

With trembling hands, I clicked on the anonymous folder.

“I… I’ll take the one without the head…,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice almost gone.

Jeremy laughed softly, triumphantly. “Good choice, loser. Go on then. Open your mouth.”

He pressed the wet, cum-smeared vibrator between my lips. The taste was disgustingly sweet, salty, like my mother and like him. I gagged slightly, but I sucked. At the same time, he placed my mother’s stiff, crusty silk handkerchief on my still-hard cock. The handkerchief that had soaked up her virgin blood and my father’s cum.

I pressed “Publish.”

The anonymous folder went live.

As I sucked on my mother’s vibrator, tasted Jeremy’s cum on my tongue, and felt my father’s wedding handkerchief on my cock, my mother’s body was becoming visible to the whole world—faceless, but with everything else.

Jeremy patted me mockingly on the shoulder.

“Good boy. And now… you just wait for your mommy. She should be here any minute.”