Work Text:
(1)
The gloomy weather once again enveloped Tennessee, with rumbling thunder and dark clouds covering the entire sky. Swear to God, just this morning the radio forecast was confidently announcing that today would be a beautiful day, perfect for good business. Yet, by 7 PM, Cocoa Bean had already reluctantly begun stacking up the tables and chairs to close the shop. Moments like this made him pull at his hair and regret ever boasting to old man Bernard back home that he would start a successful business, to prove he didn’t need to depend on anyone.
Truth be told, ever since he drained his last savings to open this restaurant, not a single day had gone by without some kind of incident. If it wasn’t the run-down facilities of the old restaurant he bought, then it would be crime-related troubles. Frankly enough, it all makes sense, since this state was in the top ten for highest crime rates in the US. Most ordinary people wouldn’t want to linger in a place where you could hear yelling, fights, or even gunfire like daily background noise. But the young man believed that taking risks, stepping out of his comfort zone, would be the best way to stand out and increase his chances of success.
After wiping down the tables which hadn’t been getting a single stain all day, Cocoa Bean headed into the kitchen to double-check his supplies, gathering expired ingredients into a large black trash bag. He let out a long sigh, muttering complaints to the heavens as thoughts of taxes and money woes tangled in his mind. His hands, meanwhile, swiftly tied up the trash bags and headed toward the back kitchen door.
The old iron door, now rusted, barely functioned as a door anymore. Opening it required a lot of strength, a whole lot of strength, and it always let out a deafening screech loud enough to be heard even from the restaurant’s front entrance. Cocoa Bean usually had to throw his whole body into it three times before it would finally burst open. He’d grown so used to this obstacle that it became more of a daily workout than a real annoyance.
Today, with the wind howling - an ominous sign of the coming storm, it made opening the door even harder. Balancing the trash bags on one arm and bracing himself, Cocoa Bean had to summon all his strength, clenching his teeth, before he finally managed to force the door open and step outside after nearly five minutes of struggle. He hurried toward the large iron dumpster and tossed in the foul-smelling bags, but just as he turned to head back inside, his eyes caught sight of a strange figure.
A man, dressed in a striped sea-blue outfit, had a spaghetti pot overturned on his head, noodles and tomato sauce still clinging to his black hair. He was crouched down, hugging his head tightly, gripping the pot like it was the only armor protecting his brain from danger, trembling in the corner next to the trash bin. His mouth was moving, trying to say something, but the wind was too loud for Cocoa to make out a word.
From the looks of him, the guy didn’t seem like a homeless person rummaging for leftovers. If anything… he looked like… a patient ? A mental patient even...? Cocoa guessed. But why would a mental patient be here? The psychiatric hospital was more than ten kilometers away- Perhaps this guy escaped?
The young chef watched him cautiously, tilting his head in curiosity. Then he slowly took small, careful steps, trying not to alarm the man as he approached. But the stealth didn’t work. When the man noticed Cocoa’s shadow stretching across the ground, he flinched violently. Cocoa also flinched in reflex. The man, still gripping the pot on his head, tried to move farther back, as if defending himself from the chef staring at him in confusion.
“Please don’t kill me… please don’t kill me…” Cocoa finally heard him mutter. “It hurts… it hurts so much… please don’t kill me…”
“I-I’m not going to hurt you! Don’t be scared!” Cocoa replied, trying to use the gentlest voice he could manage, hoping to calm him down. “There’s a storm coming, why are you sitting out here all alone? Are you lost?”
Hearing those words, the pot-wearing man cautiously looked up at the pink-haired young man, still clutching the spaghetti pot to his head. He seemed… slightly less tense? Cocoa bent down, hands on knees, tilted his head and gave him a friendly smile.
“Lost...? Am I lost…? I’m not lost…” the man in stripes said, staring into Cocoa’s eyes. His deep black gaze sent a chill down Cocoa’s spine. “They’ll kill me if I stay, so I had to run…”
“Wh-who? Someone’s trying to kill you?”
“The ones in white. They have needles… they will tie me down, knock me out, stick them into me,… then rummage through every single part of my stomach…”
That was more than enough for Cocoa to conclude: This guy’s definitely an escaped mental patient.
The thunder was getting louder, the wind was getting more violent, making Cocoa’s thoughts raced. The storm was almost here. Even though he didn’t know this man, he couldn’t just leave him curled up beside a dumpster. But… this man is a mental patient and probably is mentally unstable. What if Cocoa brings him inside and the guy goes berserk then destroys every of his restaurant’s belongings ? Two thoughts warred in Cocoa’s mind. He covered his face with both hands, trying to steady himself, then finally rushed forward, grabbed the man’s left arm, and pulled him back into the restaurant kitchen. The patient staggered, almost hitting the ground from the sudden force of Cocoa’s pull.
The moment the two stepped into the kitchen, the rain began to pour down. Cocoa locked the door, then turned to see the man with the pot on his head already hiding under the nearby kitchen table. With each clap of thunder, he'd cover his ears with both hands, muttering continuously, eyes squeezed shut. The chef-boy once again had to kneel down, reach out a hand, and speak sweet words to help the other feel safe.
"It's okay," Cocoa said, thinking to himself that the current scene was like talking to a child afraid of thunder, not a fully grown man. "You’re safe here. No thunder, no people in white coats will get in."
"Really...?" The striped-clad man questioned, his voice trembling, accompanied by uncontrollable gasps of fear. "No one will kill me...? You won't kill me...?"
Cocoa burst out laughing at his words. The unexpected action made the other awkward. "I can confidently say that I'm the kindest person in all of Tennessee!" The pink-haired boy chuckled, his shoulders shaking, then spread his arms towards the pot-headed man. "Come out here, no one or nothing can harm you."
The pink-haired boy's voice and gestures were so gentle. They weren't cold or harsh like the sounds that constantly echoed in the madman's head. Maybe this is a good person, he thought, then slowly crawled out from under the table and stood up. Only then did Cocoa realize that the man in the striped suit was a head taller than him, and undeniably handsome - though a large burn scar was etched around his left eye. The two scrutinized each other's appearance for quite a while, stopping only when a gurgling sound echoed: it seemed the tall man was now hungry. Cocoa Beans' culinary instinct made his hands and feet immediately move towards the refrigerator, quickly gathering enough carrots, potatoes, leeks, and a few brown pellets that looked like chocolate drops.
"I haven't gotten your name yet, have I?" Cocoa's hands swiftly chose kitchen utensils and laid them out on the table like a trained reflex, then began to cook.
"They call me Jarhead..."
"Jarhead, huh? I'm Cocoa Beans." After peeling and washing the potatoes and carrots, he continued to slice them and put them into the boiling water. "Jarhead, do you know what curry is?"
"Car...ree...?"
"Cur.ry. It's delicious. Sit in that chair and wait for me to finish cooking, then try it."
Jarhead shuffled in the direction Cocoa pointed, pulling out a chair very slowly as if afraid it would make a loud creaking sound, then settled down. He surveyed his surroundings, from the restaurant's main door to the decorative plant in the corner, then from the flickering yellow lamp amidst the storm to the open kitchen where the other man was cooking. This place was so quiet. The atmosphere was so warm. And Cocoa... so gentle, so kind. Had he finally found salvation? Jarhead mumbled, then clasped his hands and prayed to an unnamed god. Witnessing these gestures, Cocoa could only laugh helplessly as he scooped curry onto a plate of rice and brought it out to his only customer of the day.
(2)
Cocoa Bean’s slender fingers traced the rows of numbers in the old, crumpled, dust-covered Yellow Pages, murmuring to himself, “Health… Hospital… There we go, White Sand Street Asylum.” With his left hand, he reached for the red landline telephone nearby and began dialing the number listed on the page. The beeping tone coming from the device seemed oddly fascinating to Jarhead, who was standing right next to him. He reached out, trying to mimic Cocoa’s actions, only to have his wrist quickly caught by the other.
“Now, now, be good and keep your hands off.” Cocoa said, then leaned on the table and pressed the phone against his right ear, waiting for someone to answer on the other end.
Jarhead, like a curious child being shooed away, shuffled over to a nearby dining table and crawled underneath. He hugged his knees tightly with both arms, occasionally reaching up to pat the spaghetti pot still perched on his head - now cleaned of noodles and tomato sauce by Cocoa, as if to comfort himself.
Not long after, a loud curse burst from above the table, making Jarhead flinch in fear. He timidly crawled out on all fours and saw Cocoa slamming the phone down hard onto the table, rubbing his temples in frustration.
“Goddamn bastards… Leaving a patient like this behind…” the pink-haired chef growled.
Apparently, the conversation between him and the asylum- who should have been fully responsible for Jarhead’s presence here, had not gone well. From the very beginning, the slurred voice of the old man on the other end reeked of alcohol and made it clear how unserious the hospital was in its operations. Then came the response: “Just keep the pot guy there. We’ll figure something out… someday.”
That was enough for Cocoa to conclude that these quacks had really let a patient loose to wander around with no shelter, and if anything happened, all responsibility could be shifted onto him, the unfortunate soul who had given him refuge. He let out a deep sigh of frustration, then looked up at the towering figure across from him. Jarhead stood there awkwardly, fingers twisting together, glancing at Cocoa then quickly looking away, unsure whether he was feeling shy or afraid after the outburst.
Thinking back, Jarhead did say that his life in the asylum had been miserable. Perhaps being thrown out was more like being freed from hell. Besides, Cocoa Bean was a deeply compassionate person, some would say too compassionate. No matter who was in trouble, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy and offer help. Those close to him often teased that Cocoa was like a mom, and someday he’d probably start a shelter for every poor soul he came across. Such comments always annoyed him, especially when his kindness was turned into a joke.
“Good news for you, Jarhead,” the pink-haired chef said, planting his hands on his hips as he slowly walked over. He reached up and gave the taller man a gentle tap on the cheek to get his attention. “From now on, you’ll stay here with me. No more people in white coats will come looking for you, alright? You okay with that?”
Jarhead’s face softened slightly at the silky gentleness of Cocoa’s touch. “I… stay here?” he stammered, clasping his hands together and looking into Cocoa’s sky-blue eyes before lowering his head timidly. “But… Cocoa will find me a burden… Everyone always finds me a burden…”
The young chef raised his other hand and cupped both of Jarhead’s cheeks like a sandwich. “Then work for me! That way I won’t be annoyed, I’ll even be grateful!” he said, beaming a huge, dazzling smile.
So bright. So beautiful. That smile made Jarhead’s chest pound so hard he could hear it in his ears. He nodded silently, then took the pot off his head and used it to hide his face, which had turned visibly red from embarrassment. Just like a child, Cocoa thought, letting his hands drop gently from Jarhead’s face.
“Cocoa… needs me?” Jarhead’s muffled voice came from behind the pot.
“Yup, I do. A restaurant this big with only me in it? Way too lonely.”
“…Maybe… I need Cocoa too…”
The pink-haired boy felt the man’s large, awkward hand reach out to tug gently at his navy-blue apron. Cocoa couldn’t even imagine what Jarhead’s life must’ve been like back at the asylum, or even before he became what he was, to end up so broken like this.
* * *
In the days that followed, Cocoa Bean’s carefully structured daily schedule was completely thrown off by the time he now spent training Jarhead to work. He noted in his head that the man was surprisingly competent when it came to physical tasks, especially heavy lifting, thanks to his strong, muscular build, but on the flip side, he was incredibly clumsy and even terrified of sharp objects like kitchen knives while washing dishes. Because of that, Jarhead was almost entirely “quarantined” from the cooking area unless under the direct supervision of the young chef. During those times, he would quietly sit in the corner of the restaurant near the decorative potted plant, whispering to the green leaves as if speaking with them, while waiting for Cocoa’s next instruction.
Jarhead was also exempt from any duties that required interaction with people like serving food, since to him, everyone apart from Cocoa were all his enemies. Whenever someone entered his line of sight, he would immediately seek cover - usually behind the young chef - and begin mumbling anxiously about how those people might suddenly pull out all sorts of sharp syringes and scramble his brain into mush.
The townspeople, long accustomed to all sorts of oddities (including madmen), didn’t find the presence of a pot-wearing man in Cocoa Bean’s restaurant to be particularly strange. Customers would only murmur among themselves, raising mild suspicion about the escaped mental patient being taken in and put to work, then swiftly move on to another topic. Cocoa felt quietly relieved that at least no one showed open hostility toward his new, “slightly” odd employee.
But it wasn’t just his time that was being restructured - Cocoa Bean’s already unstable finances were stretched even thinner, now that the list of essential expenses for work and life had grown to include provisions for the pot-wearing man as well. His budget now had to cover items like clothes, shoes, personal hygiene products, and a separate set of blankets and pillows for Jarhead.
The small car that used to carry only Cocoa from his apartment to the restaurant and back now had a new, curious passenger sitting in the front seat, keeping him company while constantly looking around like a child being picked up by his parents for vacation, muttering things Cocoa could still never quite make out. Jarhead was assigned to sleep on the living room couch. It wasn’t big enough for someone his size to stretch out fully, but since he always curled up in a self-protective ball anyway, it became a decent sleeping posture that saved space. Cocoa had once offered to let Jarhead sleep on the bed while he himself would take the couch, but the pot-wearer had immediately shaken his head in violent protest. He insisted that if his skin touched the fabric of Cocoa’s mattress, it would contaminate the bed and spread illness. What illness, the madman didn’t say. Knowing there was no way to reason with a mind that was no longer entirely stable, Cocoa simply brushed off the matter and never brought it up again.
Surprisingly, Jarhead slept more soundly than Cocoa had anticipated. The chef had expected someone plagued by hallucinations and paranoia to be restless at night due to overwhelming anxiety, but Jarhead made no noise at all when he slept. And in the morning, he would neatly fold his blanket, at least ever since the day Cocoa brought him home. This unexpectedly thoughtful behavior from the pot-wearing man often made Cocoa unable to resist ruffling his hair with praise, muttering admiringly, “Good boy.”
Cocoa Bean's efforts had not been in vain. Jarhead was gradually becoming familiar with the space, the work, and the people at the restaurant. Though he still had to regularly gulp down the little white pills from the bottle he always kept tucked in the pocket at his hip, seeking something to calm his nerves, it seemed that now there was something else helping the rhythm of his heart beat with less anxious pounding, something that made it lighter, more relaxed than ever before: It was Cocoa.
Whenever he did a good job, Cocoa would flash him a bright smile and mess up his black hair with a playful ruffle. “You did so great!” Cocoa would say, and reward him with a delicious meal that Jarhead would devour to the very last crumb. When he messed up, Cocoa never scolded or hit him - he would gently remind him instead, partly because the pot-wearing man would sniffle and tremble like an abandoned puppy left in a cardboard box in the rain, making it impossible for Cocoa to raise his voice at all. Then he'd smile softly, pat Jarhead’s cheek, and say, “It’s okay.”
“It’s okay.”
No one, never anyone in his life, or at least in what was left of Jarhead’s memory from when his mind was still clear, had ever said those words to him. The words spoken to him had always been loud, angry screams that cursed his very right to exist in this world.
But not Cocoa Bean.
Cocoa Bean never blames him.
Cocoa Bean is so gentle, so kind, so tender.
Cocoa Bean gives him food, gives him clothes, and more than anything, gives him love.
Such mercy.
Could it be that Cocoa Bean...is his mother?
In this world, only a "mother" could love and need someone so broken.
Cocoa needs him.
Cocoa loves him.
Cocoa... is his mother.
(3)
Countless thunderclaps reverberated through the pitch-black night. The man lay huddled miserably on the sofa, his body trembling beneath the blanket, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He darted his eyes around. The bare tree branches outside the window loomed into view with each flash of lightning, resembling the sharp claws like some evil demons. Thunder and wind howled unspeakable words into his ears. The dense darkness seemed to want to swallow him whole. So terrifying. So suffocating. The small white pills he had always gulped down to get a good night's sleep and praise from Cocoa Bean - the one he considered "mother"- were gradually losing their effect. His rough hands reached up to his own face, his fingernails digging in so hard it seemed they would tear his skin. His heart pounded again with anxious, terrified beats. So terrifying. So suffocating. He felt as if he was about to be killed by the ghosts lurking in the dark corners of the room. Each of his gasps grew louder, and two streams of tears welled up from his dark, fear-filled eyes. Help me. Help me. Cocoa... Cocoa... Mother...
"...Jarhead?"
The gentle voice spoke, bringing the madman's breathing back to a steady rhythm. He lifted his head. Cocoa is here. Mother is here. Cocoa bent down towards his sofa, a slender, soft hand reaching out to touch Jarhead's sweaty forehead, his blue eyes clearly showing worry.
"Scared of thunder?" Cocoa said, using the wrist of his shirt to wipe away the sweat and tears from the madman's pathetic face. His right hand reached up to stroke his dry black hair, a gesture to say that it was okay, that "I'm here."
Jarhead didn't answer. His hands slowly reached for Cocoa's waist, then embraced him tightly.
"J-Jarhead?! What's wrong?!"
So warm. So soft. So fragrant. He felt like he was being saved. His arms wrapped tightly around Cocoa. His face rested on Cocoa's lap. His breath fanned Cocoa's stomach, making Cocoa a little ticklish. Cocoa didn't understand Jarhead's actions, so he could only return the hug by wrapping his arms around Jarhead's shoulders and stroking his head again. "It'll be alright." The clear, gentle voice spoke, reassuring his heart.
Mother. I love you so much, Mother. Jarhead wanted to blurt out these words, but something caught in his throat. He loved Cocoa Bean. Cocoa Bean loved him dearly too. He wanted to stay forever in Cocoa's warm embrace. He wanted to forever feel Cocoa's love. He wanted to forever belong to Mother. He wanted to become one with Mother. How to become one with Mother? Maybe he would try to put Mother in his mouth. Maybe he would go inside Cocoa's warm flesh and blood and organs and sleep deeply there until the day he died.
Thinking this, Jarhead hugged Cocoa tightly and pushed him hard onto the floor. The pink-haired boy had no time to react, his head hitting the floor with a thud.
"That hurts!" Cocoa exclaimed, quickly hugging his head in pain. "Jarhead, what's wrong with you--" Cocoa's words were cut off as the large man's dry lips lunged at his pink ones. Jarhead sucked and gnawed at the poor, soft lips, not letting the person underneath catch their breath. Cocoa tried to push him away with his arms, but Jarhead stubbornly wrapped his arms around Cocoa's shoulders and slender waist to pull him closer. Jarhead's tongue began to delve deep into Cocoa's mouth, prying open his teeth and then licking every sweet flavor within. Jarhead was no expert at kissing. He just wanted to swallow "Mother" whole, nothing more.
Cocoa's physiological tears welled up, streaming down his already flushed cheeks. With his last bit of reason, Cocoa clenched his fist and hit the madman hard on the back. Only then did Jarhead release his swollen lips. A long silver thread appeared between their tongues as Cocoa pushed him away.
"What the hell, Jarhead?!" The pink-haired boy shouted, using his sleeve to roughly wipe away the sticky saliva still on his mouth, then looked up at the man above him with an angry gaze. "That's enough!"
Witnessing Cocoa's gaze and words, the madman's heart suddenly twisted. His nose stung. Mother scolded him. Mother didn't love him anymore. Mother hated him. Jarhead's dark eyes filled with tears again.
"I... I'm sorry... Mother..." Jarhead's large hands reached for the pink-haired boy's small shoulders. "Don't scold me... don't hate me..." Each of his words was accompanied by a hiccup and a heavy breath.
"'M-mother'? Why are you calling me your mother?" Cocoa was too confused by the madman's actions and words to know what to do when he suddenly started crying like a child.
"Cocoa... said he needed me... Cocoa... said he loved me..." Jarhead struggled to find his voice between sobs. "Cocoa... is my mother, right...?"
The logic of a madman, truly only a madman could conceive of such a thing.
The pink-haired boy had long thought he could understand the big madman's childish way of thinking, but this level made him realize he was greatly mistaken. Yet, in Cocoa's chest, there was a complex feeling: he felt his heart quicken when he heard the pathetic words begging for his attention and love. There was a Jarhead who longed to be saved by him, and he was fundamentally too humane to refuse that wish. Cocoa loved the feeling of being seen by everyone as the kindest person in the world. Had he also begun to feel a little fondness when Jarhead saw him as a mother?
Jarhead wanted Cocoa to save him. Cocoa wanted to save Jarhead.
If it was love and care, Cocoa could certainly do it. He could do it. He could save this "child" of him who had lost his mind.
Cocoa's hands reached up to Jarhead's cheeks, wiping away his tears and leading him to look at his face.
"Mother..."
"Jarhead..." Cocoa said, pulling his face close to him, inviting a deep kiss. Jarhead obediently followed Cocoa's gesture. A sticky, transparent liquid filled both their mouths. The madman's muscular arms wrapped around the slender waist of the one he called "Mother," hugging tightly as if afraid he would slip away. While kissing, Cocoa also reached behind his head and stroked his dry black hair again. So gentle. Did Mother not hate him anymore? Jarhead thought.
Breaking away from the kiss, Cocoa leaned back and began to unbutton his pajamas, but didn't completely take off the shirt, letting it fall suggestively below his shoulders - though he didn't know if Jarhead understood the definition of suggestive. Beneath the shirt, his flat, pale chest was revealed, his nipples pink but not yet fully erect. Cocoa sat up, gently pushed Jarhead back, and crawled on top, sitting on his lap. He arched his chest, simultaneously bringing Jarhead's face closer with his hand.
"...Do you want to?"
Jarhead nodded silently.
"Then do what you want with this body, okay?"
Those words were enough for Jarhead, like a hungry tiger unleashed, to pounce on Cocoa and devour him. He opened his mouth wide, revealing sharp teeth, and eagerly took Cocoa's nipple into his mouth. Jarhead's tongue swirled around the pink skin of the nipple, then sucked hard as if expecting a stream of sweet mother's milk to flow out for him to drink his fill. His hasty, urgent movements reaching his pleasure stimulated Cocoa to the extreme. His body temperature rose rapidly, his breath gradually becoming more hurried. His two pink nipples were now swollen, red, and sticky with saliva. Mother is in his mouth. He is putting Mother in his mouth. Jarhead inwardly rejoiced as his teeth began to bite the soft skin at Cocoa's hollow throat.
"Ah...!" Cocoa let out a soft cry, which made the madman shiver and recoil, looking at him with fright. Mother is hurt. He hurted Mother. He didn't want to hurt Mother. Realizing Jarhead's anxiety, Cocoa gently lifted himself, kissed his forehead, and told him to continue. Jarhead shook his head, trying to lick the bite mark he had just given him repeatedly, hoping to soothe the wound, then raised his left arm and bit himself hard. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He hurted Mother. He has to hurt himself back. He knew he was wrong. Would Mother forgive him?
Cocoa Bean patted his head and smiled softly. "That's a good boy." He whispered sweet, calming words into his ear, his hands beginning to undo his pajama bottoms, revealing a pair of pale white thighs and a wet crotch behind the thin fabric of his underwear.
"My Jarhead," Cocoa's lower body rubbed against the hard bulge behind the madman's pants. "Do you want to know how to get inside?"
Will I be saved? Will I get to enter Mother's belly and stay inside Mother forever? Thinking this, Jarhead nodded frantically, looking at Cocoa with an innocent smile, as if about to be given candy.
"Then take off your pants." Cocoa's slender finger trailed to his lower body, pulling the thin white fabric to one side of his thigh, clearly revealing a pink vagina dripping with clear wetness and pulsating invitingly. "Then put it in here." His right hand lightly touched the crotch of Jarhead's hardening lower body.
The madman was very understanding and obedient. He quickly took off his shorts and underwear. What was revealed beneath the layers of fabric was a large, twitching penis. Cocoa lightly licked his lips, his heart thumping with each beat. He never expected it to be so big. He arched up, wrapped his hands around Jarhead's shoulders, brought his wet lower body over the stiff shaft, and began to gently thrust. His soaked lower lips slid up and down the penis but did not fully allow it in, as if wanting to tease the poor, large man. Jarhead's chest emitted muffled thumps from the strange sensations Mother was giving him beneath his pants. His face and ears, flushed red, nestled into Cocoa's warm embrace. Jarhead let out a few soft gasps as he clenched Cocoa's hips.
Once sufficiently lubricated, Cocoa's hand went down to hold the huge cock, which was already covered in arousal fluid, placed it towards his own pink, desire-twitching pussy, and slowly inserted it.
"H-hah...!" Jarhead exclaimed, experiencing strange pleasures he had never known in his life. Is he being inside Mother? So strange. His heart rate became chaotic as his penis convulsed inside Mother. It felt slimy, but also incredibly warm and soft, enveloping him. Jarhead looked up at Cocoa: his face was flushed, his eyes welled up with physiological tears, his lips were tightly pressed, but he forced a satisfied smile. Perhaps Mother was also feeling happy, Jarhead thought.
Cocoa's hole convulsed continuously from Jarhead's filling. A slight pain rippled inside, and a thin flow of blood dripped down. Yes, Cocoa was still a virgin, and that pure virginity had just been broken and would be stained by the one calling him "Mother." The complex guilt in Cocoa's mind made his thoughts gradually become muddled. No longer following reason but lust, he started moving his hips. With each up and down thrust of Cocoa's hips, Jarhead's rigid cock would reach the deepest part, touching the climax point inside him. His pink cunt, with each thrust, released trickles of fluid, making the squelching sound created by the flesh colliding in ecstasy clearer than ever. Cocoa’s mind was no longer clear enough to realize that his face now looked incredibly lewd: his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his small tongue stuck out, and drool streamed down. Admiring Mother's beauty, Jarhead brought Cocoa's face towards him and sucked on his lips and sweet tongue. Cocoa came.
A pool of arousal fluid flowed from Cocoa's vagina, drenching both clothes and the floor. He took a long breath to regain his strength, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"But Mother... it's still not enough..."
Immediately after hearing Jarhead's words, Cocoa felt two large arms turn him around, then his entire body was lifted off the floor. Jarhead's arm wrapped around Cocoa's thighs, standing up in a position embracing a Cocoa with wide-spread legs, fully exposing his lustful pink pussy directly to the mirror opposite.
Jarhead panted as he buried his head in Mother's pit of the neck, inhaling the saturated scents and sweat. His member was still very hard and even twitched more strongly than before.
Jarhead hadn't come yet, and at the moment, was incredibly aroused. He adjusted Cocoa's position, then plunged his entire huge cock deep into Mother's hole. Once again filled while being extremely sensitive from having just come, Cocoa trembled in a numb ecstasy that spread throughout his entire body. His hands wrapped behind Jarhead's head, seeking support to maintain balance, his pale chest heaving with each breath, arching forward. Seeing his own lustful appearance in the mirror, along with the image of the hard, long flesh continuously entering the deepest part of his plump pink hole, Cocoa became even more stimulated, the soft flesh inside his vagina sucking harder at the aggressive cock. As for Jarhead, his hands hugged and kneaded the pale white thighs of the one he called "Mother," feeling the cotton-like softness. Mother is so light. So soft. So warm. With each moan of intense pleasure from Cocoa, "Ah... Jarhead... you're doing so good..." he would feel re-energized and thrust more violently into Mother's pink hole. He thrust faster and harder than before, each deep penetration causing Cocoa's lower abdomen to bulge. I love Mother. I love him so much. I want to put everything into Mother. I want to enter Mother whole. Jarhead's gasps and Cocoa's ecstatic moans mingled, as he put his cock deep inside Mother one last time and filled the juicy pink hole with hot white fluid.
All the arousal fluid and semen mixed inside the small vagina, dripping stickily onto the floor. Jarhead slowly set Cocoa down.
The pink-haired boy used his fingers to spread the two fleshy labia of his pussy, checking inside: Jarhead's hot semen overflowed inside him and even seeped out. This is too much. He would probably have to take birth control pills.
"Mother..." The madman, from behind, wrapped his arms around Cocoa's waist, timidly looking at him like a child asking for pocket money.
"...Can we do it one more time...?"