Stacy's Mom
>(shota, snuff, noncon, decap)


My name is Max Carter, freshman student at Winora Falls Secondary. Mini Max, my classmates call me. I'm 4'3", 56lbs, I've got glossy raven hair, and a feminine face that has confused teachers and kids more than once. I've just turned 14 last week, but I'm afraid I won't live to see another hour.

The woman above me, with the knife and the completely empty look in her eyes is the mother of my girlfriend. She didn't know about the relationship until Stacy was 3 months pregnant. One thing led to another, and now I'm tied up and in the basement of Stacy''s home. I doubt Stacy knows about this, and I'm sure after I've disappeared, the world will write me off as another runaway teen father. That is, unless I can escape.

With a wriggle, I try to break the rope tied around my hands and feet, but there's no give. The ball gag in my mouth is slobbery with saliva as I attempt to plead for mercy, tears running down my cheeks. She kneels, her knee digging into my abdomen, her left hand pushing down on my right shoulder.

"Sex before marriage is a sin, kid."

Her knife cuts open my shirt and shorts, and I close my eyes tightly as the tip of the blade pricks my soft flesh. I feel hands grasping my undies, dragging them down my legs.

"Cute little thing. A shame you had to end up down here, but you'll make a nice addition to my collection".

Her hands grasp my dick and start stroking it. The sensation of hot breath wafts across my cockhead, then the warmth and wetness of her mouth sucking on the erect member. I gasp past my gag in pleasure, my face flushed and hot. Stacy's mom was an expert, carefully keeping her teeth clear of the penis, her tongue massaging the shaft and head sensuously. There was the familiar feeling of buildup, my heart beat faster, then the final push past my limits. I came into her mouth with a thick load, semen squirting out like ketchup out of a squeeze bottle.

I open my eyes, and see her wiping her lips with the hem of her shirt sleeve. Her nipples tent the grey sweater she's wearing. Primly, she undoes the button on her pencil skirt, and lets it drop. She's wearing pink panties, and I see the faint outline of a well manicured bush printing against its crotch. That too, is lowered.

My half turgid penis begins to regain a bit of blood at the sight. Stacy's mom lowers her naked bottom, delicately manoeuvring my stiff dick into her pussy. The sensation of her hot folds grasping my penis is wonderful, and as she begins to ride me cowboy style, I briefly forget her real intentions, losing myself in the intensity of raw, unprotected sex.

My penis twitches, and I feel a blissful euphoria as my balls empty themselves into the same womb Stacy came out of, exhaling in pleasure. My cock, now flaccid, droops as she stands up, droplets of cum dripping from her slit. Her skin shines under the harsh light of the basement. Reality comes crashing back for me.

The knife is back in her hand. It looks expensive, and sharp.

She kicks me over, rolling my body until I'm on my stomach. Something drags across the concrete, then I see a steel pail placed before me. My stomach churns.

Her hand grabs my hair and yanks it back. There's a mirror in front of me, and I see Stacy's mom, my face, and the knife. I feel warm piss seep down my pant leg as the knife pulls against my skin.

The first cut almost doesn't hurt, until I try to breathe. Blood bursts forth from the gash, and it begins to spill into my lungs and pours down my exposed chest. I heave, nausea roiling inside, vomit squirting from my exposed throat pipe. She continues to saw away at my neck, each slash slicing through my mind with searing white pain. The taste of blood fills my mouth, coppery and bitter. Blood flows from my nose, covers my chin, drips into the metal pail.

My young heart beats like a jackhammer, and I see my blood spray across the floor of the basement. Slowly, my view creeps up as her knife cuts through muscle and blood vessel.

I don't feel much as her knife scrapes against my C3 vertebrae. Blood has pooled around my chest and the metal bucket, and I've lost so much of it that I feel numb and cold.
Feebly, my legs still kick, although its mostly an autonomous reaction. The world begins to turn grey and dark. I hear Stacy's mom drop the knife with a curse, then both hands grasping my head. She twists, and I feel the cracking. Another twist, pulling back. The last thing I see as my heart slowly stops is my butt, as my killer wrenches my head around. The world goes black, and I feel myself falling.


The woman finally separates the head. His crimson eyes are dark and empty, pupils dilated. She pries open his mouth, leans forward and sticks her tongue deep into his bloody mouth. The sensation of his limp tongue, still hot and wet, along with the unique melange of puke, saliva and blood is enough to make her reach down and rub her crotch.

She disengages from Max's mouth, closes his staring eyes, and places the head on his chest. She turns and looks at the display case covering the entire east side wall. There are 14 heads on display, each one a different teenage boy, all of them from across the country. Stacy's mom is discerning, only picking up runaways, drug addicts, the homeless boys hitch hiking across the country on deserted back roads and highways. Max will be the first from her own town, but she's certain that no one will suspect her. After all, she's just a concerned mother.