Playground

Geraldine lay alone on her silky gold sheets, the ecstasy slithering through her wrinkled system a fleeting one. Upon being penetrated with the smarting sting of boredom again, she crawled her way back out of bed.

She hadn’t bothered to put her teeth back in or wipe her slimy vaginal leakage dry. She was too focused on the door at the far end of her bedroom. Her cunt dribbled onto the hardwoods as she closed in on the knob.

She’d found her enthusiasm again.

As Geraldine twisted her wet, liver-spotted hand and pulled the door open, a different world presented itself. One that often preoccupied her wicked mind. A place that no one else but her could possibly understand.

The reflective surfaces stretched from the floors to the walls to the ceiling. Not an inch was left uncovered. Light fixtures dangled from the reflective ceiling in the narrow, rat maze of mirrors.

Parts of it felt like a funhouse, the architecture of the room having so many numerous paths that crossed over each other. But the images the room projected didn’t stretch Geraldine’s physique in childish or exaggerated manners. She’d designed the area so she could gaze upon the most granular, ornate details of the body she was obsessed with. The only vessel that could propel her heart to race and bring back the legendary memories.

Geraldine was the oyster of her own eye.

Having a perpetually unsatisfied sex drive took work, but however unorthodox the measures, she aimed to quench her thirst. Geraldine knew she’d never be able to have herself the way she craved, but she’d done everything to make the experience as close to her unusual fantasies as possible.

The shiny hallways looked like the exterior of a diseased cactus. The countless, multicolored pricks of pleasure extended outward, calling to her.

Some were long.

Some were wide.

Some were soft.

Some were hard.

The dildos were suctioned to the glass mirrors within the hallways. She could slow her haggard frame in front of whichever one struck her fancy and adjust it to the appropriate height and angle.

She turned her back to the wall and looked at her slender, worn reflection.

“Just the girl I was looking for,” she said with a smirk.

The orange rubber cock littered with stout veins of nightcrawler-sized dimensions immediately made her lips pucker. A crusted, hormonal residue still hung in gunky flakes on the pumpkin-toned shaft from one of her previous sessions. She was ready to reintroduce the dried remains into her soggy cavern.

The dildo drew closer to her slobbering slit and Geraldine’s stretchy parts quivered with hunger. Her pruned gash was ready. Just being inside the room of her ultimate obsession made her heart pump, and the feeling of the rod reconnecting with her hole left her knees weak.

In the room, she was blind to the typical surroundings that saddened her. The dark reality that she was doomed to remain alone. Within the hall of mirrors, she was able to lose herself in her anatomy, and also immerse herself enough to reminisce about the origin of those feelings.

The sound of her moist meat conforming and stretching to accommodate the object filled her eardrums. Geraldine firmed her body and pressed her lined palms against the glass in front of her. She rode the rubber like an eager porn star as saliva seeped from her mouth.

She looked at her own leathery leer, relishing in her reflection. But it still wasn’t enough.

Geraldine closed her eyes.

She traveled back to a time when there was still hope, when the outlook wasn’t so dreary. When she was focused on finding satisfaction, and not robbing others of it.

The intense images played like a secret movie in her skull.

Seven-year-old Geraldine sat in the closet. The slivers of blinds in front of her nose offered an obscure but satisfactory view. She spied her mother’s smooth, bare ass on the bed. It was the first time she’d gotten to see it, but far from the first time she’d thought about it. She had no idea where the feelings had come from, but, as far back as she could remember, Mildred Borden’s backside was a daily thought.

It had become an obsession.

Seeing her mother’s ass sitting atop another man’s face stirred a strange, warm, yet welcome feeling inside Geraldine, but along with the elation came anger. Geraldine wasn’t upset her mother wasn’t riding her father’s face. She was upset she wasn’t riding hers.

Geraldine rarely got an opportunity to play-wrestle with her mom, but whenever she did, she always let her mother get on top. Each time she tried to worm her way closer to her hips, closer to having that thick, voluptuous backside suffocating her.

Geraldine’s mother always realized the awkwardness when it arose. Like any logical parent, Mildred pulled away from the inappropriate positions. She wasn’t quite sure if her daughter was aware of the inappropriateness of such horseplay, but as time went on, the sparkle of suspicion in Mildred’s eye only widened.

Now, as Geraldine thought about her mother, she feverishly gnashed her purple, slimy gums. Her racing heart told her she’d found the closest thing to love she could manufacture.

Memories.

From that closet in her mind, more important moments in Geraldine’s deranged timeline triggered.

As a teenager, she’d happened upon the panties in the trash. They were there for the taking, bonded to the pad by a patch of congealed blood. Mildred’s flow had gotten a little too heavy. Geraldine had stared down at them, biting her bottom lip. The red cloth had been so close to her mother’s beautiful ass, as close as she wanted to be. Geraldine couldn’t just let them go to waste, so she’d plucked the ghastly underwear from the can and lifted them to her face. Burying her nose inside them, the irony, Filet-O-Fish scent made Geraldine quiver with exhilaration. She was so enthralled after her sniff that she forgot to clean the blood away from her face. After that groundbreaking day, Mildred always believed Geraldine got random bloody noses because of the spontaneous excuse she had to give.

While the penetration deep inside Geraldine’s pussy continued, she continued to reminisce. She took a slobber of drool and slapped it between her legs. With the saliva on her clit, she rubbed it, attempting to escalate her erotic trip down memory lane.

“I miss you, Momma,” she hissed, her tone bordering on demonic.

The obscene imagery in her head transitioned from the trash to the toilet.

In her mind, she stood inside the spacious bathroom connected directly to her mother’s bedroom. In a mansion as grand as Geraldine’s childhood home, the luxury alone would’ve been enough to distract most. But bottomless money and elegant accommodations had done little to entertain her. Snooping through her mother’s belongings, however…

On that particularly twisted morning, Mildred had left in a hurry. There’d been some kind of emergency. While Geraldine couldn’t remember exactly what the commotion was, it was of little relevance. The floating mass that lay in the mustardy water in front of Geraldine was all she needed to remember.

Her mother had left in such a flash she’d forgotten to flush. The log of excrement wasn’t particularly large; it appeared that her mother had been interrupted and unable to finish her business.

Geraldine’s eyes had been glued to the modest movement drifting in the tainted liquid.

It beckoned her.

Even though it was shit, it had slid out from between the two heavenly hams that made up Mom’s posterior.

It couldn’t be overlooked.

At the time, it might’ve been the closest Geraldine would ever get to tasting her infatuation, so she’d plucked the putrid purge from the bowl and laid her body down on the floor. As Geraldine slipped off her pants and underwear, she stared at the lurid lump with an irresistible inner lust.

Geraldine had only nibbled on it in the beginning, cherishing each experimental gnaw along with the pungent stench that clung to it. But her enthusiasm rapidly escalated. Geraldine’s hot lady parts shuddered as her perverse inner spirit took a crushing hold over her. Her teeth soon parted, and she inserted the soggy mass into her mouth, all but for half an inch on the tail end.

Imagining her mother perched over her face, Geraldine chewed into the slimy secretion. She visualized that it might taste the same as her mother if only Geraldine had been able to pounce on her unwashed backside that morning.

Geraldine hadn’t swallowed it—she’d savored it.

She had taken the remaining wad of waste between her fingers and positioned it upon her pleading clit, smearing the shit in a circular fashion. She’d never cum so hard as the day she’d happened upon that bowel movement—not until the last time, she saw her mother.

The gush of liquid that had left Geraldine that morning on the Spanish-tiled floor of her mother’s bathroom, pulled her closer to a current climax. She held her eyes shut, reliving the rancid memory down to the finest details, knowing the best was yet to come.

The twisted slideshow moved forward in Geraldine’s mind. A mid-forties version of Geraldine stood over her sick mother’s bedside. For such a grim situation, the wide grin frozen on Geraldine’s face certainly seemed out of place.

The oxygen mask fixed upon Mildred’s mouth spelled doom. She was scrawny and hardly able to move. Speaking was no longer an option. In her bedridden state, it looked like death was looming over her, and in a way, he was. But the vehicle he’d assumed to collect the aristocrat was one Mildred would’ve never predicted.

When Geraldine’s pants and panties had come off, so had Mildred’s oxygen mask. She’d struggled to breathe without the assistance of the device, but her fight had become far more extreme when Geraldine plopped down on top of her face with her sagging snatch.

Emulating her mother’s actions from years past, Geraldine muscled her malicious meat over Mildred’s mouth and nostrils. An oily trail of clear and off-white fluids blanketed Mildred’s horrified face. As Geraldine’s legs quaked with a pleasure she’d never imagined, the sniffles and gasps her mother emitted vibrated against her lips and hood.

Mildred’s perverse struggle continued to tickle Geraldine until a newfound elation championed her to the pinnacle before finally dying out altogether.

The flashback of her mother sucking at her clit for dear life always brought Geraldine to The Promised Land. As she smashed her ass vigorously against the mirror, her arousal peaked. The scream of pleasure that roared from her throat was accompanied by an expulsion of creamy leakage.

The force of her thrusts rattled the mirror, but she wasn’t worried about it breaking. When the hall of mirrors was constructed, she’d used extra thick panes. It would take a tremendous amount of force for these to buckle.

She grinned with glee as she ramped up her revolutions, thrashing wildly against the wall like a woman who’d been caged for years. The vision didn’t fixate upon any particular detail. Geraldine consumed the scene as a whole. As she slithered closer to climax, she opened her eyes and gawked at the woman in the glass.

She wasn’t sure if her mother’s murder was the reason she’d become attracted to her own physique, but it seemed like the only logical deduction.

The two of them looked so much alike. During her twenties, Geraldine and Mildred had often been mistaken for sisters. But just as Geraldine slid her cunt off the stiff plastic, another recollection wormed its way into her brain. One she’d rather not ponder, but always seemed to be confronted by.

Geraldine had no one left to chase.

She looked into the mirror, wiping the drool from her mouth, a wrinkle of disgust overtaking her expression.

The shift in her psychosexual philosophy was a difficult one. Geraldine’s self-lust was enjoyable at first, but it wasn’t the same as the other mountains she’d climbed. The summary of sensations wasn’t even a blip on the erotic radar compared to the incestual instances with her mother. It was like going from caviar to catfish.

Her fatal flaw was obvious: she hadn’t thought ahead.

Even when the solution came to her, it was too late. She remembered the thought quite vividly, but it was a concept she’d rather have forgotten.

As far back as Geraldine could remember, she’d always hated people. But a short time after Mildred’s funeral, when she’d been depressed as ever, she’d decided she couldn’t be alone. She hadn’t been seeking to communicate with anyone, but just to quell her lonesomeness.

The playground was a random choice—a place her mother had taken her before their wealth had ballooned, a place Geraldine remembered dallying around in with a nostalgic fondness.

That day when Geraldine took her place on the park bench, she saw a mother and daughter playing together. She couldn’t help but realize just how similar they looked. It was nearly the same level of replication Geraldine had seen between her and Mildred. Then suddenly, it struck her.

A child! She’d thought.

Her playground epiphany had the potential to replace the darkness she yearned for. In theory, it made sense, but an unnoticed truth confronted her.

Geraldine had over-ripened.

During the decades of blindness, where her incestuous craze had all but consumed her, Geraldine’s reproductive pieces had grown stagnant. She’d slowly dried away into irreversible infertility. It was as if God knew the infernal escapades that might ensue and had given his stamp of approval.

Geraldine stared at herself in the mirror and reflected on the past. In thinking about what brought her to this moment, her expression held a measure of anger. But beyond the hatred, she was making room for another emotion. Her pupils flared, a twinkle of joy eclipsing the rotten recollections.

“You’re somethin’ else,” she whispered.

Since finding out children weren’t in her future, Geraldine had returned to the playground countless times. Ideas on how to best placate her demons had progressed, as had how she perceived the more fortunate families playing in the space.

Geraldine’s gummy grin now stared back at her in the mirror. What had begun as a simple idea was finally ready to be revealed. The structures the peasants deserved would finally be given to them, structures only an era of vindictiveness could’ve conjured.

The charity she’d built; the millions of dollars that she’d spent; the countless test runs she’d orchestrated; the precious years that had passed her by. It all had been building towards this moment, the impending climax of a wretched lifetime.

The privileged peasants would soon understand what peril truly was. She would bring balance back into the world around her and show them all she’d been robbed of.

Exiting the hall of mirrors, Geraldine looked at the grandfather clock near the fireplace.

“I’d better hurry.”