chain carousel

The cameraman’s feed was crystal clear—Jeremy had positioned him specifically so he always had the perfect angle. Just then, the camera zoomed in on the chain carousel, which was already starting to move. Fast. Way too fast. The chains swung wide, the gondolas spun around like crazy, and the wind whipped even harder than before.

My mother was sitting in one of the outer gondolas, right next to Jeremy. Her short, pale yellow summer dress had already ridden up just from sitting there. As the carousel started moving and picked up speed, the thin fabric flew up—completely. The wind and centrifugal **** pulled it up to her waist as if it weren’t even there. The camera captured everything, crystal clear, from a low angle: her smoothly shaved, bare thighs, spread wide because she had to instinctively hold on. Her plump labia, pink and swollen, glistened wet in the sunlight. Her clit protruded slightly, throbbing. Everyone standing below—and there were dozens of people, families, teenagers, men of all ages—could stare right between her legs. Right into her dripping, smooth Japanese pussy.

She didn’t notice. Or didn’t want to notice. Her face was red, her eyes half-closed, her lips slightly parted. She clung to Jeremy’s arm, laughing nervously as the carousel spun her higher and faster. “Jeremy… this is… so fast…,” she called out over the noise, her voice high and breathless. But she kissed him again, deeply, hungrily, while her legs dangled in the air and her bare pussy was visible to everyone. The camera zoomed in closer: a thin trail of her wetness ran down from her slit, blown away by the wind. Her inner thighs were already glistening.

I saw men down below stop in their tracks, lift their heads, grin, and film with their cell phones. No one said a word. No one shouted. They just stood there and gawked at my mother’s plump, naked labia as she spun in circles like a cheap carnival attraction.

Jeremy sat there like the perfect gentleman, one arm around her shoulders, kissing her tenderly on the temple, while his other hand disappeared under her flying dress and kneaded her bare buttock. “You’re so brave, Mrs. Tachibana,” he whispered in her ear, loud enough for the camera. “I’m so proud of you.”

Then Jeremy’s message to me popped up on my second screen:

Jeremy: Check this out, you little prick. Your hot MILF mom is showing her dripping pussy to the whole fair crowd like a cheap whore. Those perky tits jiggle with every turn, her nipples rock hard under that rag. In a few minutes, she’ll be sitting on that stool and look like she’s riding my cock. And you’re just allowed to watch.

The carousel finally stopped. Mom got off, her legs trembling; her dress only slid back down when Jeremy “helpfully” smoothed it out—of course, only after he’d briefly caressed her bare ass one last time. They kissed again, long and deeply, right in the middle of the square, while she was still completely dazed. Then they went to the next stand. Sausage, fries, bar stools. Tall, narrow stools without backs. Jeremy gallantly helped her up, his hands on her waist. She sat down—and the guy’s camera was perfectly positioned, from diagonally below and to the front.

It looked obscene. Disgustingly obscene.

The short hem of the dress immediately slid back up to her hips. Because the stool was so narrow, her thighs automatically spread wide apart. Her smooth-shaven, bare pussy pressed directly against the smooth, round seat of the stool. The camera zoomed in mercilessly close: her swollen, glistening labia parted slightly, wrapping around the edge of the stool as if it were a thick, hard dildo. Her clit rubbed against the wood with every little movement. A thin streak of her wetness remained on the seat as she shifted back and forth a bit to sit “more comfortably.”

She looked as if she were squatting on a cock. As if she were slowly taking it inside her. Her plump breasts jiggled beneath the nearly transparent fabric, her nipples poking through like little pebbles. Her face was a total wreck: cheeks flushed, lips moist from kissing, eyes glazed over with shame and lust. She bit her lower lip, tried to pull the dress down—but it wasn’t enough. The fabric stretched only over her thighs, leaving her bare, dripping slit exposed to the camera (and to anyone walking by).

Jeremy stood right in front of her, feeding her fries, kissing her tenderly on the mouth between every bite. “You look so happy, Ms. Tachibana,” he said softly, lovingly. His hand rested on her knee, slowly sliding higher until his fingers disappeared between her legs again—right onto the wet, open pussy that was pressed against the stool.

She whimpered softly into the kiss. “Jeremy… here… everyone can… I… I feel so… exposed… this isn’t… oh God…” Her hips moved very slightly, almost imperceptibly, back and forth. As if she were really fucking the stool. The camera captured every detail: how her labia opened and closed with every little movement, how her wetness made the wooden seat increasingly slippery, how her thighs trembled.

I pounded my fist against the wall until my knuckles bled. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt. Tears streamed down my face.

And I couldn’t do anything. Just watch. As my own mother sat on a barstool as if it were a public dildo, while Jeremy kissed her like his tender, romantic girlfriend—and the whole world could see her dripping, smooth-shaven MILF pussy.

I was still crouched in that damn storage room, the monitor in front of me now flickering with a new feed. Jeremy had sent me a message ten minutes ago: “Final stop: the hotel, loser. I rigged the suite with hidden cameras last week—four of them, every corner, 4K, audio. You’ll see everything. Every moan. Every drop. And you’re not to lift a finger.” Then the link. And I’d been staring at it, paralyzed, ever since.