The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My mother’s being her usual irritating, bossy self… at a particularly critical time…

I’m in my bedroom with my mates, Alfonso, Greg and Howard, playing Grand Theft Auto V. We’re in multi-player mode on PC, gearing up for a four-man heist blasting a Knight Rider V6 from a rival gang’s yard and we’re all feeling edgy.

It’s dark in my bedroom. The lights are off. The flickering glimmer from the screen has our full attention.

We’ve chosen the weapons we’re going to use and the cars we’re going to drive to pull off the heist: I’ve chosen a SlamVan 2000 and a pump-action shotgun. Alfonso’s decided on a Turismo R and a baseball bat. You never know when some dumb desk clerk might put up a fight. Greg’s gone for a Cheetah XF and a Bullpup shotgun. And Howard’s chosen an Off-Road Land-Stalker and a stun gun. We don’t want to kill more people than we have to. It’s an hour till kick-off. To preserve our strength we’ve picked up a cumslut called Seraphine in a Los Santos Bar and the four of us are gangbanging her to get the gremlins out of our systems.

A shrill voice pierces the air:

“Graham? Have you been taking food into your bedroom again?”

It’s my mother’s voice, yelling from the kitchen.

I try to block it out. I’m playing Niko Belic, the leader of our team for the heist, and as leader it’s me who’s fucking Seraphine first. I/Nico am/is bending the cumslut over the hood of my SlamVan 2000 and pumping my big cock into her tight pussy from behind.

“Graham?!”

I try not to listen. I’m building up my strength and improving my reputation with Seraphine’s every love-cry and scream but my mother’s voice has an irritatingly penetrating quality:

“Graham? Have been taking food into your room again?”

I shout back:

“No, Mom.”

Alfonso, Greg, Howard and I often play Grand Theft Auto for eight or nine hours at a time. GTA is our number one favorite video game. Of course we take food into my bedroom. We have to eat, don’t we?

“You know I don’t like you eating in your bedroom.”

“We’re busy, Mom.”

Alfonso switches the sound down.

Seraphine’s bootylicious ass-cheeks shiver in the neon light from the alleyway sign as I slam pile-driver after pile-driver into her hot cunt.

“Why can’t you boys eat in the kitchen?”

Jesus Christ. We’ve been in here all morning lining up our weapons and choosing our vehicles. We’re growing young men. We need to eat. It’s just some hamburgers and a few French fries and a couple of Jumbo Cokes. I don’t know what she’s complaining about. It’s my bedroom.

“It smells the place out when you take your food in there!”

I’m playing on a dual controller and keyboard/mouse. Alfonso, Greg and Howard are hooked up on their steam controllers.

I work my thumb-stick and Niko’s stallion buttocks go into rut. Seraphine’s already screaming and moaning, having her third or fourth on screen orgasm, but silently now. The graphics are cutting edge. It’s no surprise my balls are aching like fuck. There’s this delicious tingling sensation running up and down my stiffening my cock.

If we pull off the heist I’ll move up to Mission Sixty Nine and take my Reputation Points total to 4,987 making me one of the top Grand Theft Auto gamers in the country.

The door bursts open!

I’ve forgotten to lock the door!

The light comes on!

My mother’s switched on the light! For a second the screen’s a blur of colors.

Mom stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a pissed-off look on her face.

“I thought so! French fries! And what’s that smell? Burgers?”

She’s got her apron on over her hippy-style cheesecloth blouse and the shapeless denim skirt she always wears. Her large breasts strain at the apron straps. Her full hips and big bottom thrust the denim out at the back. Strands of blonde hair are stuck to her high cheekbones by kitchen perspiration or angry heat, it’s impossible to say. Her broad, plump lips purse accusingly:

“What are all these dirty plates doing in here?”

“Mo-ooom!”

She’s right. There’s ketchup-smeared plates and greasy French fry wraps scattered over the carpet. One of the takeaway Coke containers has got kicked over in the dark.

“My carpet! You’ve spilled Coke on my carpet!”

She glances at the screen. Her voice goes up several decibels:

“What the hell’s this?”

My mother doesn’t know much about Grand Theft Auto V. She doesn’t realize that the game’s based on thefts and murder and car chases and hardcore sex. Nico Belic has just pulled out for a bukkake climax. His buttocks are jerking like crazy, hosing down Seraphine’s big booty with hot cum like a fireman putting out a curvaceous fire.

Mom shrieks:

“Graham?”

I always knew my mother was a prudish person but I’ve never seen her as uptight as this before. Mom’s particularly puritanical when it comes to sex… and the male gender too. My father dumped her when me and my sister were little. My Dad ran away with a nineteen-year-old bimbo. It turned my Mom into a feminist. She’s become moralistic and nagging, forever moaning about what selfish bastards men are and how men always take advantage of women.

Like Nico’s just taken advantage of Seraphine. Franklin/Alfonso is moving in now, thumbing his swollen tip, getting his thick cock ready to take advantage of her again.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” She strides to the PC and switches it off. She’s shouting at Alfonso, Greg and Howard. “Out! You slobs can get out of here right now!”

“Mo-ooooooooom!”

If we pull off the heist we can sell the White Knight 2000 for five and a half million game-dollars on a four-way split, me getting the largest share on account of I’m leading the mission.

“Out! OUT!”

Alfonso, Greg and Howard are gathering up their controllers. They’re heading sheepishly for the door.

Mom glares at me:

“And when you’ve finished the dishes you can shampoo that carpet!”

All through the afternoon my resentment mounts. I get angrier and angrier about the way Mom just busted into my room and interrupted our game, and rudely threw my friends out of the house. I’m nineteen years old. She can’t treat me like that.

My lifetime ambition is to become a pro gamer, a full-time Grand Theft Auto professional, but Mom keeps standing in my way. She says I’m wasting my life ‘locking myself away in a darkened bedroom with a dumb game.’

My mother wants me to be an accountant. She insisted on me taking an accountancy course at my stupid college. She says being an accountant will make me financially secure and ‘give me some much needed self respect.’

Self respect? I’ve got plenty of self respect.

Mom doesn’t realize you can make good money out of Great Theft Auto. My online mentor, Maestro X111, one of the top gamers in the world, has turned me on to some glitches in the code that can be turned to hard cash selling shark cards at a discount on the black market. Basically, you have to earn enough game-dollars to be able to arrange a few dark web hits from gamers lower down the pecking order in return for hard cash and not have it affect your online reputation too much. I’ve only made a couple of hundred real dollars so far, but Maestro X111 says a gamer with my talent’ll only need a couple of years to scam himself into never having to work again.

Anyway, I’m well pissed off with Mom and she pisses me off even more during the course of the afternoon finding jobs for me to do around the house while she’s ‘rolling her sleeves up’ and ‘giving the place the once over.’ It’s spring and Mom goes into full-on spring cleaning mode washing the curtains and cleaning the fridge and making me go out in the yard in the spring heat and cut the grass and clean the pool.

She thinks that by bossing me around she’s showing me how to ‘have some backbone’ and not waste my life. She even puts on the irritating feminist music she’s always listening to and I have to mow the lawn and drag soggy leaves out of the pool with Destiny’s Child and Alicia Keys belting out of the house.

My Dad really gave the feminist movement a shot in the arm when he ran off with his bimbo. Mom’s been a card-carrying feminist ever since. She’s in this women’s group that comes round the house for aerobics workouts and to moan about what bastards men are. There’s dopey ‘words of wisdom’ in picture frames all around our house— ‘Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life’, ‘A Journey Of A Thousand Miles Begins With A Single Step’, ‘A Woman Needs A Man Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle.’ I’m sure there’d be one saying ‘All Men Are Rapists’ if Mom weren’t so concerned about appearances and what people might think. The way she freaked when she saw Niko Belic and Seraphine in action, ‘All Men Are Rapists’ is certainly what she thinks.

Mom spoils my big sister and always comes down on me hard. I know she loves me, even though I’m a male she’s got a bossy way of showing it.

I guess Dad must have hurt her pretty bad. Mom never remarried. She’s never even had another boyfriend since Dad walked out even though, when I come to think of it, my mother’s really quite attractive. With her nice blonde hair and full lips, you could even say she’s sort of beautiful. She’s curvaceous. Her body’s toned and shapely. If she didn’t wear cheese-cloth blouses and boxy denim skirts all the time she could be quite alluring.

The nicest thing about her is her meditation tapes. My mother’s into Transcendental Meditation. As well as Destiny’s Child and Alicia Keys she’s got these tapes of cool, tranquil music and enlightened women talking about how to become liberated. She even plays the enlightenment ones while she’s asleep, her brain soaking up the words of wisdom subliminally.

She’s even bought this specialist tape machine with designer ear-pods she can put in her ears without them disturbing her sleep. The ear pods are remote control and leave her free to roll over and get her head comfortable on the pillow. Once or twice I’ve ventured into her bedroom at night, and there she is smiling blissfully, with her ear-pods in, and the tape turning silently transmitting words of wisdom into her brain. You could almost say my mother’s at her best when she’s asleep

It’s late the same night and I can’t get to sleep.

Mom’s snoring in the next bedroom.

I’m on my computer trying to get back to where I was in Grand Theft Auto— a bar in Los Santos, Nico, Michael, Trevor and Franklin banging a cumslut called Seraphine— before Mom so rudely interrupted us.

I’ve lost a load of money and weapons. My reputation’s taken a severe hit. My ranking’s sunk way way down.

I’m logged into the game, desperately searching the map trying to remember the exact locale in Los Santos where the four of us picked Seraphine up. I need to connect with Seraphine again and at least fuck her solo one time to regain some of my lost reputation except every time I come near to tracking her down I hear a shriek “I thought so! French fries! And what’s that smell? Burgers?” and this afternoon comes flooding back, Mom standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and aa pissed-off look on her face. ‘What the hell’s this?’ when she sees my online activities. ‘Graham?’ The more I think about it the more it pisses me off.

It’s nearly four a.m.

I can feel the summer dawn already on its way and I still can’t get to sleep.

I’m surfing through some Los Santos locations, trying to track down Seraphine, conserving my strength for my next mission, when a call comes through from Maestro X111 on my GTA dark web message board.

Graham O’Grady! Greetngs! Pity about your aborted heist.

I freeze.

‘Pity about my aborted heist?’

How on God’s earth does MaestroX111 know about my failed mission with Alfonso, Greg and Howard this afternoon? I thought we’d covered our tracks pretty successfully, but apparently not.

Maestro X111’s a legendary gamer. In the Grand Theft Auto universe he… or she… Maestro X111’s identity has never been revealed… is a celebrity. Maestro X111 is believed to be the top-ranked GTA gamer in the world. His/her online wealth is fabulous. He/she has a garage filled with the most expensive cars on the market. Maestro X111 has pulled off some of the most celebrated heists in Grand Theft Auto folklore.

I feel awed and a little apprehensive being contacted by such a top-ranked gamer. I type:

Greetings, Maestro X111. No probs. We live to fight another day

I’m burning to ask him, or her, how they know about my disastrous afternoon on Grand Theft Auto V but Maestro X111 is one of those presences in the gamer world whose methods you simply don’t question.

Words scroll across my screen:

Problems with your Mom?

Ey?

Maestro X111 knows about Mom interrupting our mission?

I type:

No. not at all

The reply comes back almost instantaneously. Maestro X111’s a speed-of-light typist.

Don’t juice me, man. I felt the vibe from here

The ‘vibe?’

From ‘here’?

What’s the ‘vibe?’

Where’s ‘here’? America? Europe? Asia? The Middle East? Russia? The truth is Maestro X111 could be in the house next door right now. I type:

No, man. It’s cool. My Mom’s cool

The reply comes back almost at the speed of light:

Come on, bro. You wanta fuck her

The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body. What’s he talking about? Fuck my mother? No way. Not in a million years.

Words scroll across my screen:

I can fix that for you if you want

My heart stops beating.

‘Fix that for me’? I’m messaging a madman. Maestro X111’s out of his/her mind. He/she doesn’t know what they’re talking about. He/she doesn’t know my Mom, how uptight and prudish she is. I type:

Tell me you’re joking

He/she types:

She fucked up your heist. Bitch is getting too big for her boots. She needs a good fuck

I’ve got to delete. I need to get these words off my screen, these ideas out of my brain. They’re monstrous. Unthinkable. My mother might be ultra irritating, she may have frustrated my most cherished plans but that doesn’t mean I want to rape her.

Not rape, man. Just a good fuck. You’re Mom’s hot

I need to end this conversation right now. Some person I don’t know from out in the blackness of the dark web is putting monstrous thoughts into my brain.

No. No way. I don’t want to

Maestro X111’s only joking. He/she is making fun of me. My mother’s the most prudish uptight person imaginable. She doesn’t even like men. She’s happy getting on with her own life behind a cheese-cloth blouse and boxy denim skirt.

Of course you want to. All you need to do is make her part of the GTA world

I laugh out loud as I type my reply. Now I know he/she is joking. Make my Mom a part of the Grand Theft Auto World? Introduce my mother to Nico Belic and Franklin and Trevor and Michael? Show her around the dives of Los Santos? Teach her how to use a pump-action shotgun and drive a SlamVan at a hundred and ninety ks an hour through a brick wall? Mom?

My mother hates Grand Theft Auto. She wants me to be an accountant

Maestro X111 types back:

I know. But this is how we’re gonna do it

Maestro X111 isn’t joking at all. There follows a long list of complex electronic and software instructions, something to do with binary codes and subliminal portals.

Subliminal?

It’s the same word Mom uses about the meditation tapes she listens to while she’s asleep. She says the soothing messages reach her subconscious mind subliminally.

Maestro X111’s next reply is long and detailed:

It’s easy, bro. She’s listening to her soothing meditation messages right now. IN HER SLEEP. Just hook her tape machine up to your console and open Grand Theft Auto and follow these few simple instructions. Turn your mother into Seraphine. Hotter than Seraphine if you can handle it. JUST DO IT

A drop box opens and there are Maestro X111’s instructions. They’re pretty simple as it goes.

Fuck my mother?

He/she must be joking.

Turn my mother into Seraphine? In real life?

It’d sure teach her a lesson. It’d certainly teach her not to come busting into my bedroom when I’m in the middle of a heist again. She’d know not to kick my friends out when we’re in the middle of something big.

But fuck her? My own mother? Never. No way. It’s unthinkable. Not even Nico Belic fucks his own mother. I can’t. It’s impossible. It’s criminal. Electronically turn my mother into a cumslut? Re-program my mother’s brain? Code my own Mom’s mind to Los Santos level of corruption? Grand Theft Auto’s a game for criminals, but not in real life. I’m better off just carrying on with my own nerdy life, gaming hard, putting in the hours, working my way slowly up the GTA hierarchy.

Letters glimmer on my screen:

YOU’LL GO STRAIGHT TO MISSION 69. The highest GTA level there is! Getting to Mission 69’s been my lifetime ambition! You can take your drop dead gorgeous mother with you

I type:

Yeah. Okay

I unplug my console. I pick up my controller.

I feel terrible.

My heart’s thumping like a sledgehammer in my chest.

I creep into Mom’s darkened room.

I can smell the musky perfume of her hair as I move closer to her bed.

She’s breathing lightly in her sleep…

… And there they are…

… Her meditation pods nestled in her ear, their light-weight flexes connecting her to the tape machine, the spools revolving silently in the dimness…

The fact that my mother’s into meditation is the thing I like most about her.

When I press OFF she stirs slightly. Her head shifts on the pillow. Her face turns directly towards me, her eyes thankfully closed.

Her negligee’s come unbuttoned. A patch of moonlight slants down the glossy cleft of her cleavage.

It’s the work of a few seconds to plug in my console and connect the port in her tape machine to my XboxOneX gaming console and all the Grand Theft Auto data stored inside it.

I stand next to her bed for what feels like hours as the Grand Theft Auto data is transferred into her brain.

I dare not sit on even the edge of the mattress for fear of waking her.

Maestro X111 said that the dark web programming doesn’t use words or software coding. It’s implanted through a spectrum of high-pitched sounds beyond the normal range of the human ear. The information’s coded into high frequency signals only insects buzzing on the Siberian tundra and whales wallowing in the Arctic deep can hear.

When the subliminal transformation has finally taken place I unplug my console, gather up my controller and creep back to my bedroom praying to high heaven that Maestro X111 was only joking.

I sleep late the next day. I’m woken around ten by my mother’s voice at my bedroom door.

“Graham! Get up! You’re running late for college!”

“Mom!”

I roll over and try to go back to sleep. I refuse to wake up. Horrible memories of yesterday afternoon and last night assail my semi-conscious mind. Surely all that stuff in Mom’s bedroom with my console and her tape machine was merely a bad joke. A nightmare piss-take at my expense. I can’t possibly have brainwashed my mother into being a Grand Theft Auto cumslut. It was just one of Maestro X111’s weird fantasies. I’ve no idea what got into me last night. The more I think about it the more shocking it becomes.

I screw my eyes shut but sleeping is no longer possible.

“Jamie! I’m warning you! If you don’t get up this instant!”

Relief floods through me. It’s my same old bossy Mom, her same old fussy, irritating tone. She hasn’t changed in the slightest. I never realized I could feel so glad to know that my mother hasn’t changed in the slightest.

“Mo-ooom! It’s a study day! I don’t have to go in today!”

“Well get up and study then!”

Yes. The same old Mom. Nothing has changed in the slightest, thankfully.

I go back to sleep.

At eleven I’m woken by a disco beat thudding through my bedroom wall.

‘Saturday Night Fever.’

I drag my pillow over my head but the disco thud is too relentless to ignore.

‘… It must be the night fee-vaaah…’

I finally get up and wander into the living room rubbing my eyes and… yes… of course… it’s Thursday…

… Six mid-thirty-something women in leotards and gym shorts are jumping up and down to the pounding disco beat in our living room…

… Jodie, a stringy tanned blonde…

… Sabrina, a chubby brunette…

… Dolores, almost as stacked as Mom…

… Geraldine, a vivacious redhead…

… Cheryl, a dumpy little short-ass…

… Celeste, a dusky six-footer…

… and Mom of course, in a black and gold leotard with a bandana tied around her dripping forehead.

The furniture shakes. The cut glass is rattling in the cabinet. It’s Mom’s aerobic class’s weekly practice session with her friends, the ‘girls’.

‘… It must be the night fee-vaaah… we know how to do it…!’

The music’s irritating but I can’t help smiling. It’s disgusting watching all these mid-thirty-something boobs bouncing up and down and mid-thirty-something butts wiggling ostentatiously but at least the world’s carrying on as usual. Nothing has changed as a result of my last night’s escapade with Maestro X111. Mom’s got the same dopey ‘look-how-healthy-I-am’ expression on her face as she knee-lifts and split-kicks and jacks and lunges.

‘… It Must Be The Night Fev-aah…!’

Mom’s pretty hot when it comes to aerobics. Her friends are all fit, but my mother’s extra fit. She rolls her chunky shoulders and pumps her big booty with a vigor the other girls lack. She step points her toes with an extra perky stretch. Her jacks are swift and poised. She looks nice in her black and gold leotard. The bandana looks cute tied round her sweating forehead, tying back her damp blonde hair as if she’s a bandit in training for a job.

A tingle stirs in my cock.

I never even realized my Mom could make an aerobic workout look so sexy. Mom’s friends are fit and athletic for mid-thirties, but the way my mother moves is something else again.

The tingle turns to a throb. What the hell’s happening? My big cock’s getting heavy just watching my mother move!

‘… Night feev-ah… night feev-aaah… we know how to do it…”

There’s a delicious ache in my balls!

“… When you reach out for me… n the feeling is right…”

The other girls are all doing jacks and knee-lifts and lunges, but my mother isn’t dancing aerobics steps any more.

Her body undulates.

Her meaty hips jerk.

Her perky tail-bone bucks.

She’s smiling at me and pumping her pussy. She’s pumping her pussy for me and me alone.

Voluptuous ripples shimmy her ass and thrill up her spine as she arches her back and jerks her leotard’s black and gold crotch in time to a beat that’s heavier than any disco rhythm.

Her large breasts wobble skin-tight lurex to the rhythm of a big cock slamming into her juicy pussy.

She smiles at me, getting on down and dirty, strutting her stuff for me— like I’m Nico in a Los Santos pick-up joint— way way hotter than any Los Santos cumslut.

“… It must be the night feev-aaah…!”

Fuck.

I’m touching myself!

My cock’s rock-hard!

I’m stroking it through my board shorts, smiling back at her.

‘… We know how to do it…’

Shi-iiiiiiit!

I’m cumming.

My throbbing spear-head’s pumping in response. That’s how hot she is. Just watching my mother do aerobics in our living room’s bringing me off.

I head for the door. I get to my bedroom just in time!

When I’ve finished spunking I sit in my bedroom panting hard and listening to the sounds from the living room.

The music finally switches off.

I hear Mom and her friends chilling in the kitchen, mineral water fizzing, sharing the light salad my mother’s prepared.

At long last the ‘girls’ go home.

I still don’t leave my room.

I have this weird feeling, weird and disturbed. This thing that’s just happened with my mother is more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt for any of the college girls I know. Surely last night in her bedroom, my console plugged into her tape machine, Grand Theft Auto programming my mother’s brain can’t have worked!

I keep to my room.

I can’t think straight.

My concentration’s shot. I can’t even focus on the game on my screen any more. The mean streets of Los Santos feel too real.

Mid afternoon I hear a series of bangs.

Something heavy’s being dragged down the ladder from the loft.

I don’t want to leave my room but not investigating the cause of the noise isn’t an option.

It’s my mother. She’s dragging a large trunk down from the loft.

“What’s that?”

She lets out a light, girlish laugh.

“This? Oh, it’s nothing. Just some old clothes I thought I’d have a look through.”

“Clothes?”

“That’s right.” A coy smile. “Probably out of fashion by now. Probably won’t fit me any more.”

“Fashion?”

She giggles.

“Yes. A blast from the past! Stuff I haven’t worn since you were… oh... a baby… well… actually… since I guess… your father left…”

“My father?”

I’m genuinely shocked. My mother never talks about my father. She never even mentions his name. I’ve never even seen my father and he’s certainly off limits when it comes to conversation.

“That’s right. He was a total bastard, Graham. He treated me so bad. But still… some of these old clothes I used to wear for him might come in handy.”

“You wore them for him?”

A bright smile:

“That’s right.”

She opens the trunk and rummages around inside.

I’m nineteen. My Dad disappeared when I was a baby. If these clothes are from the time him and Mom were together I expect to see pleated skirts, sweater dresses, 2fer leggings and skirt combos. She beams:

“What do you think?”

What do I think?

I can’t think.

My jaw’s hanging open. Thinking’s impossible.

She holds them up in front of her. She parades in front to the mirror.

Red leather hot pants.

The leather’s cut way too short for so many zips! It’s impossible. I can’t believe what my eyes are telling me. Shorter than any hot pants I’ve ever seen! One of the zips goes all the way from the waistband button, under the crotch, and only stops halfway up the back. Red leather split crotch hot pants!

She pouts:

“Cute, ey?”

This isn’t my mother talking. It’s the same face, the same body, the same plump, moist mouth that’s smiling but it’s not my Mom any more. She giggles:

“I expect they won’t fit me any more.”

I pray to God they don’t.

A cold dread snatches at my heart.

I don’t want to see my mother wearing hot pants. Something’s got into her. Something strange and terrible. They’re Seraphine-style hot pants. The lewd shorts are straight out of Grand Theft Auto. I’ll die if she puts them on. I mumble.

“Yeah. They probably won’t fit.”

She’s pulling her dress off over her head! The dowdy floral cotton gets tangled in her hair!

She throws her dress down on the floor. She stands there looking at me in only a pair of white practical panties and a white sensible bra.

Her eyes flash mischievously:

“Well… here goes!”

“Mom! No! It’s not right! They won’t fit. Don’t!”

She preens:

“Oh Graham! Don’t be so stuffy! You never know.”

She pulls her panties down. She steps out of her capacious white, sensible panties.

I go hot all over.

My mother doesn’t shave her bush.

Thick luxuriant black hair nestles between her legs.

I can feel myself blushing crimson. I want to die.

At least her bush conceals her pussy. That’s the one good thing about it. At least the black thicket between her legs is hiding most of the hot moisture glistening in her curly black hairs.

“No, Mom. Please. I don’t think this is a very good idea.”

She’s stepping into the hot pants.

She doesn’t even bother to put some new panties on.

She drags the hot pants up around her knees.

She’s tugging skin-tight red leather up her large curvaceous butt.

She breathes in and slips the low rise button through its waistband button hole.

“There we go! What do you think?”

“They’re… they’re…”

Skin-tight, but a perfect fit. Clinging to very inch of her sumptuous mound and big lavish booty. The hot pants fit her perfectly.

She preens:

“Well I never! Who would have thought it? They were always tight, even when I was nineteen. I can’t have put on a single extra ounce since I was… what… nineteen… ?… the same age as you, Graham!”

Her large breasts wobble as she spins round, modeling the hot pants for me, showing me how perfectly they fit her big ass. The red leather cuts into her sumptuous ass-cheeks. The glossy hot pants cut a steep V up the voluptuous fullness of her booty. Toned ass-cheek spills out on either side.

She pirouettes back round to face me.

A coy fingertip flirts with the toggle of the silver teeth going all the way down her crotch and disappearing between her legs.

“Your father used to like these, Graham…”

“… Look…. Mom…”

“… Your Dad used liked to see me in these hot pants…” I don’t even want to think about it. “… I remember how he used to like unzipping me…” She jiggles the zip-toggle. The hot pants are so tight they’ll never unzip. She pouts: “… Graham?”

Her breath is suddenly warm on my face.

Her large breasts brush against my chest. Her nipples are tight and engorged. They flirt with the front of my shirt.

“… Mom… no…”

My hand’s between her legs. She spreads her legs a little wider. My hand is between my own mother’s legs.

My fingertips stroke the smooth heat pulsing through the skin-tight leather.

She sways closer and my fingertip traces the metal teeth’s descent to where her pussy gently jerks, upping the temperature.

Her breasts squash flat against my shirt:

“… Mm-mmm… that feels nice, Graham… be careful not to catch any hairs when you unzip me…”

“… Mom, I’m not going to…”

The toggle’s slippery.

I tug.

The leather’s so tight the zip barely moves.

It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

I tug again.

The zip slides down an inch and snags again.

Juicy black hair tickles my knuckles.

“… Ow…!”

I freeze. A hair’s got caught in the teeth.

Her lips graze mine:

“… Keep going… don’t stop…!”

She goes up on tip toes. Her silky thighs part even wider.

I pull the zip down till the toggle’s in between her legs. More luscious black hair uncurls through the gaping teeth.

The thick black curls are warm and moist.

My mother’s lubricating. Without even touching—without even looking— I can feel feel how hot and wet her pussy is!

“… All the way round, Graham… don’t be shy…”

Shy? I’m not shy. I’m shitting myself. My heart hammers in my chest.

She leans full-on and heavy against me. I reach through and pull the zip up her tight ass-crease. The metal teeth don’t stop parting till they’re way up near her tail-bone.

“… Okay, Mom… that’s it…”

She’s not listening to me.

She leans back against the table and spreads her legs even wider apart. She gazes down and studies the impression her gaping hot pants make. She titters:

“… God… I’m so hairy… do you want me to shave for you, Graham…?”

“Shave?”

“… Yes… or do you prefer fucking hairy pussy…?”

“Mo-ooom! No way! Stop it! Never! That’s enough now!”

My cock’s stiff. It’s ticking like a time bomb waiting to go off but that doesn’t mean I want to have sex with my own mother!

She strokes between her legs where her crotch gapes open. A manicured fingernail disappears into her dewy thicket. Her knuckle jerks up and down. She’s stroking her clit!

“… Mm-mmm… yes-eeeeeees… your father always used to say what a cute little puss I have, Graham…” She gives me a little-girly smile. “… There’s no point hiding it from my big hunky son with all this hair…!”

I can’t believe what I’m looking at. I can’t comprehend what’s happening. My mother slips off the table. She takes my hand. She’s leading me into the bathroom!

In the bathroom she slips her hot pants off completely. She treads red leather into the cools tiles. She’s fully naked again.

She sits down on the edge of the bath and her silky thighs part. My mother spreads her legs as easily as a butterfly drying its exquisite wings in the sun.

“Gonna watch me shave my pussy, Graham?”

“No. No I’m not.”

She pouts:

“Why don’t you take those nasty board shorts off? That grungy T-shirt too. Let me see what a big, spunky son I’ve got while I get my pussy nice and ready for him to fuck me.”

“… No, Mom… no… I’m not going to…”

My shorts drop around my ankles. I pull my T-shirt off over my head.

She looks me up and down. She grins at my erect cock. She purrs:

“… Oh my… !… what fun we’re going to have…!”

I’ve always thought of myself as a bit of a nerd, locked up in my darkened room playing computer games all day, but actually, when I come to think of it, my chest is pretty broad and hunky. I’m six foot two. I’m sort of well built. My legs are thick and muscular. Like she says, I’ve got a big cock. Right now it’s standing up embarrassingly tall and excruciatingly stiff but no way does that mean I’m going to have sexual intercourse with the woman who gave me life.

She reaches behind her and takes down a tube of shaving cream from the shelf.

She squirts some on her bush. She squeezes the tube and runs lassos of white cream up and down the prickly black thicket between her legs.

Her smile grows sinful:

“… Gonna lather me up, big boy…?”

“… No, Mom…”

I regret ever listening to Maestro X111.

The shaving cream feels cold. I rub it into her juicy heat. Only one fingertip circling on her voluptuous mound and the cream starts melting and lathering up. I work it in, one fingertip, two, three, churning the cream into her toned mound. A fingertip snags on something small and hard. It’s her clit, my mother’s clitoris pulsing in its slippery hood adding its succulent juice to the lather.

She groans:

“… Mm-mmm… oh fuck…. that feels nice, Graham… keep going… don’t stop… you’re lathering me up real nice…”

Her butt jerks on the edge of the bath. My fingertip slips off her hot nub and rides up and down the sweet pulsations of the wide-open, juicy envelope between my mother’s legs.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

Her pussy kicks. Her wet slick guides my fingertip through creamy hair to her molten fuck-hole. I’m slipping my finger into my mother’s pussy!

“… Fuck… fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”

She’s cumming. My mother’s climaxing! Her tail-bone bucks on slippery enamel. Hot spasms drown my finger. Her legs close helplessly, clamping my hand between her silky thighs as her pleasure explodes.

“… Yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

It’s the first time I’ve ever touched a woman like this, let alone feel a woman cum, but my mother’s cumming hotter and harder than Seraphine ever climaxes for Niko Belic.

I don’t know what’s going on. Something terrible is occurring and I can’t stop it.

I pull my finger out of her slippery entrance, but before I can get my shorts up Mom grabs my wrist.

She lifts my hand to her mouth. Her meaty tongue is urgent, licking her pussy juice off my fingertip, sucking at my knuckle.

“… Mm-mmm… tastes nice…?” She offers my finger to my mouth. “… Your Mom tastes pretty good ey, Graham…?”

She does. Her tang’s sharp and heady. There’s plenty for me to suck and lick at.

I’ve got a razor in my hand. My mother’s just put a razor in my hand!

“… Oooh… ka-aaay then…”

She wants me to shave between her legs!

She nods at the churn of white lather, the molten snowdrift yearning between her thighs.

“… Don’t cut me now…!”

“Mo-ooom!”

The razor’s sharp.

My hand trembles.

I start high up in her groin, as far away from her pussy as I can but the hot desire pulsing between her legs is too hot to ignore. My Mom’s already cum but she isn’t satisfied. I’ve already given her an orgasm but it’s only making her want a bigger and better climax.

The razor’s so sharp, one stroke and I’ve cut a smooth furrow of pale glossy skin through the frothy lather.

She switches on the hot tap and I wash off the cream and bristles clogging the blade.

“… Mm-mmm… you shave real nice, bro…”

‘Bro?’

She never calls me ‘bro’.

‘Bro’ is Grand Theft Auto speak. She murmurs:

“… Must be all that practice my son gets shaving that eye candy face of his…”

‘Eye candy’s another phrase my mother would never use in a million years.

The second furrow I cut through the lather brings me so close to her clit I stop breathing altogether.

She laughs:

“… Careful, baby… I need you to lick my clit, not cut it off…”

I have to touch her pussy lips and pull her succulent wetness to one side to shave from her groin up to the very edge. Her melting lips turn to sopping cling-film under my fingertips.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

“Stop it, Mom! I’ll cut you!”

Her hot slit’s quaking. Her slippery gash won’t stop jerking. My mother’s on a hair trigger. She’s cumming again, hotter than any cumslut in Grand Theft Auto.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck… fu-uuuuuuuuuck…!”

I have to pause while she climaxes. I have to wait till the after-shocks fade away.

She’s pumping my cock. Her fist’s round my rock-hard shaft pumping spasm after aching spasm out of my helpless erection.

She’s panting heavily:

“… Go on… don’t stop… finish me off…”

For a second I think ‘finish me off’ means ‘fuck me’. She wants me to destroy her hot pussy with my big cock.

But that’s impossible. I don’t even want to think about it. The idea of fucking my own mother shocks me to the core. I hope she means just finish off shaving her pussy.

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes and her swollen mound is smooth as a baby’s bottom. Her groin and the silky skin of her thighs and stretched tendon are all pale and glossy. I’ve shaved every last bristle from the molten rim where her luscious wetness goes in and in.

Her hot slit parts. Her molten lips open. A trickle of hot juice glistens in her juicy gash. Strings of pussy cream cat’s-cradling her sopping depths.

Her fist tightens round my cock. Her hot fingers squeeze burning signals into my pounding piston.

“… Go on, Graham… clean me up, baby…”

I wet my fingers from the tap and wash the last traces of the cream from her succulent pussy. She slips and slides in my hand. I’ve got three fingers inside her newly-denuded cunt. I feel her wetness start to quake again.

“… Yes… yes…”

My cock burns with the heat of her frantic pumping. Her hot fist drives me towards the brink.

We kiss.

“Gonna fuck me, Graham?”

“No… no… I can’t… it’s wrong… no way…”

She shrugs:

“… Whatever…”

Her mouth battens on mine. Her lips’ juicy plumpness plasters my lips in a lavish kiss. She rocks on the rim of the bath cumming again, her hot fist driving me over the edge.

“… Mm-mmm… mm-mmmmmmm… mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…!”

She slumps forward.

I spunk all over her chest. I throb hot cream all over her silky belly. I have the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had in my life. I lasso her voluptuous tits in skeins of pulsing cum. My semen’s trickling from her nipples and pooling in her belly button before I’ve even finished shooting my load.

She grins:

“… Hey… not bad, big fella…”

I guess we must have cum in sync.

I’m appalled.

My fingers are wet and sticky from being inside my mother. I can’t believe what I’ve just done…

… But at least I didn’t fuck her…

… Thank God for that…

… At least I didn’t commit the ultimate sin…

She stretches voluptuously. She swoops her mouth. A meaty tongue-tip gathers my spunk up off a swollen nipple. Her fingertips play cat’s-cradle with the semen trickling down her belly.

She smiles at me, almost lovingly, as if what we’ve just done together really is good and loving, and not totally unforgivable.

Her grin is wholly sinful. She purrs:

“… You n me… we’re gonna have some fun ey, Niko…?”

I nearly jump out of my skin. My name’s not Niko!