The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Graham’s playing Grand Theft Auto V in his bedroom on the multiplayer with his mates, Alphonso, Greg and Howard. They’re about to embark on an important mission, to blast five and a half million game-dollars’ worth of White Knight 2000 Supercar. They’re increasing their power and reputation by gangbanging the hot Los Santos cumslut Seraphine, when Graham’s Mom bursts in on them.

Uptight, bossy, prudish Graham’s mother is appalled at the on-screen sex act. She switches the console off and kicks his friends out, ruining their heist.

Graham takes his revenge. A mysterious celebrity gamer, MaestroX111, reveals a way Graham can hook up his mother’s tape machine, on which she plays subliminal meditation recordings while she’s asleep, to his gaming console and program her brain with the Grand Theft Auto data.

Graham takes his revenge, but he’s horrified by the results. Mom slips into the character of Seraphine, the horny GTA cumslut. She sashays round the house in split-crotch hot pants. Her voluptuous body is no longer hidden by dowdy middle-aged clothes. She mistakes Graham for Nico Belic, the gangster star of Great Theft Auto. She’s desperate to fuck him. She makes Graham shave her pussy and bring her off with his fingers. He’s on the verge of doing the unspeakable and fucking his own mother. He only just manages to save himself and satisfy his Mom for the time being by spunking on her belly instead. He’s had a narrow escape, except now he’s not sure if there’s any way to bring himself and his mother back from the Grand Theft Auto underworld.

… I stand gaping, appalled at what I’ve just done.

My mother naked. My hot cum trickling down the silky contours of her belly, her big breasts lasso-d in skeins of semen. My semen.

MaestroX111 wasn’t joking. My mother’s brain’s been washed clean and replaced with the Grand Theft Auto map. I should never have hooked my console up to her tape machine last night. There can be no doubt. I’ve transformed my Mom into Seraphine, the Los Santos cumslut.

She gazes dreamily at the spunk dribbling down her cleavage. She grins:

“… Hey… not bad, big fella…”

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 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…?”

My name’s Graham, not Niko!Niko’s only my Grand Theft Auto name when I’m playing Nico Belic on the crime-ridden streets of Los Santos. My mother thinks she’s Seraphine, the gangster whore. Maybe she is. Maybe I’m not me any more. Perhaps I really am Nico! But…

… I glance round…

… the rim of the bath she’s balanced on…

… The shower stall…

… The tube of shaving cream I used to shave her pussy…

… It’s our bathroom. We’re in the bathroom in our house. The same old bathroom we’ve always used all my life. I feel like I’m going crazy…

Mom licks my spunk off her fingertips:

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” She nods at my cock. “… Any more where that came from, tough guy…?”

My penis is rock-hard. My cock’s standing up stiff and tall. I want to fuck my Mom. I’m yearning to bang my mother! I’ve got to stop this before something terrible happens. I mumble:

“… Let’s chill for a while, Momma…”

Momma?

I called her ‘Momma!’ I never call my mother ‘Momma!’ It’s always ‘Mom’, or sometimes ‘mother.’ ‘Momma’s what Nico calls smoking hot whores in Los Santos dives.

She shrugs.

“… Sure thing, Nico… let’s chill…”

The next thing I know my Mom’s strolling around the living room with a bottle of vodka in her hand. It’s a full bottle, unopened till a moment ago. A fifth of vodka that an acquaintance who doesn’t know my mother’s puritanical ways, gave her for Christmas.

She’s drinking straight from the bottle!

Her large, voluptuous breasts glisten. Her meaty hips sway with a graceful lack of balance. Her big curvaceous butt jellies with every step. Her plump, broad lips smile sinfully. She hasn’t even washed my cum off her body and she’s swilling from the bottle. She’s already swaying a little unsteadily.

“You’re all messy, Mom. Go and have a shower.”

She doesn’t listen. She offers me the bottle:

“… Take it easy, big fella… you know I always like a drink before a job…”

A job?

Fu-uuuuuuuck.

I take a swig.

“There’s no job, Mamma. We’re in our house.”

She’s not listening. She doesn’t even seem to know where she is. She waves the bottle around. She starts singing:

“… It must be the night feev… aaah…”

“Stop it, Mom. The neighbors will hear.”

She’s dancing round the living room, waving the bottle around above her head as she boogies.

“… We know how to do it…”

I stop breathing.

My heart hammers in my chest.

Mom dances real good. Not just real good. She’s smoking hot. Her hips jerk and shimmy. Her tits wobble voluptuously. She twerks her bootylicious butt as if she’s in the hottest club in town.

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

“M-ooom! Please! Stop it!”

She crashes into the table. She rights herself and lurches drunkenly against me. She’s getting hammered. My teetotal mother’s out of her brain.

She grabs hold of my shoulder to hold herself up, her other hand groping for my crotch. Her knuckles graze the big lump in my pants. My cock’s erect. Her warm palm registers that I’m rock-hard through my shorts.

“… He-eeey… Nico, baby…” Her head slumps. “… Where’s my tattoo…?”

“Tattoo?”

“… You heard me… where’s my freaking tat…?… it’s gone…!”

She’s staring hard at the glossy skin above her left breast. She frowns drunkenly at the bare silky skin where her big boob swells and wobbles. She yells:

“… Someone’s stolen my freaking tat…!”

The shock hits me full on.

Seraphine’s scorpion tattoo.

In Grand Theft Auto Seraphine’s got a tattoo of a scorpion above her left breast. Mom thinks she’s Seraphine and she can’t understand where her tattoo’s gone! She’s plastered. She’s ballooned out of her brain.

“No one’s stolen your tat, Mom. You haven’t got a tat.”

“… Yes I have… some cunt’s stolen it…”

I manage to sit her down on the couch. She’s still singing ‘Saturday Night Fever’ but more hazily now, worried about her tattoo, getting the lyrics mixed up.

“… Here I am… that sweet city woman… controlling my mind and my soul…”

The mixed-up lyrics are directly stating what’s actually happening!

I need to get the crazy song out of her brain.

Desperation brings me a sudden inspiration:

Meditation music. The tranquil mindfulness music Mom sometimes plays while she’s doing the housework, when it’s not Alicia Keys and Destiny’s Child.

I go over to the sound system and sure enough, there’s one of Mom’s CDs titled ‘Music For The Enlightened Mind’ slotted into the player.

Enlightened mind? Jesus Christ, she’s drunk out of her brain. I’m desperate. I press PLAY…

… Gongs…

… Wind chimes…

… A bass note too deep to even hear what instrument’s making the sound…

… A flute somewhere high up in the top of the music…

… Voices chanting softly…

Mom’s head nods in time to the mystic beat. Her glazed eyes focus a fraction. It’s working! ‘Music For The enlightened Mind’ is calming her down, dispelling the illusions in her mind.

She gazes at me as if she remembers who I am, her son not Nico Belic. She murmurs:

“… Graham…?”

“Yeah. It’s me, Mom.”

She looks down at her sticky breasts. She surveys her belly festooned in my cooling semen.

“… I haven’t got any clothes on…”

“No, Mom. Don’t worry. It’s alright.”

She doesn’t seem to realize that the stickiness on her stomach is my spunk. She’s forgotten what happened, thank God. All memory of my fingers exploring her pussy and her fist pumping my hot spunk up her voluptuous belly seems to have been erased from her mind.

“… What happened to my clothes…?”

She’s still drunk enough not to seem to be worried too much by her nakedness but her mind is definitely clearing.

“Nothing, Mom. Let’s get you in the shower.”

I drag her to her feet. She drapes her arm over my shoulder. I get my arm round her waist. She half staggers, I half carry her, into the bathroom. By the time I feel the cool tiles under my feet my hand’s slipped up her silky flank and I’m squeezing a big voluptuous tit. My shorts feel like they’re tented out a mile in front of me.

“… Graham…?” Her voice lilts in time to her staggering feet. “… Why’s your cock stiff…?”

She seems curious more than shocked.

“Nothing, Mom. No reason.”

I get her into the shower stall and sit her down on the tiles. She slumps backwards against the wall and spreads her legs. She looks up inquiringly into the warm water jetting down onto her face. She splutters and spits. Her blonde mane’s suddenly dark and wet and heavy. Her head slides into the corner of the two walls.

“… Whatya doin’, Graham…?”

“Just getting you cleaned up, Mom.”

I find a tube of shower gel and squirt fragrant soap on her breasts and belly. I squirt some between her legs. There’s no helping it, my semen’s sticky. I massage her voluptuous tits. I squeeze and knead her sumptuous softness. I palm her taut, tight nipples. They’re still engorged.

“… Mm-mmmmmmm… that feels nice, Graham…”

I don’t want it to feel nice. I just need to get her clean.

My hand slides down the glossy contours of her stomach. I palm the soft give of her luscious belly. My gently probing fingers erase all trace of my orgasm from her slippery, silky skin.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

Her bush is sopping wet but… who knows?… there may be some stubborn spunk hanging on in in the black curls plastered to her mound. I lather gel into the sumptuous thicket between legs. My fingers probe her drenched bush. My fingertips skirt her clit’s pulsing nub and sink into the wet warmth of my mother’s slit.

“… Mm-mmm… mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

Her pussy throbs like melting ferns on my fingertips. Her hot gash opens for me to lather it. I stroke and probe, getting her succulent gash clean.

My clothes are drenched. It’s not a problem. Our lips are battening. Our hot mouths are feasting on each other. Our tongues are twining and grappling in a long sweet passionate kiss.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm… “

I only just manage to pull my hand away an instant before the hot spasms take control.

I switch the shower off.

“Let’s get you dry, Mom.”

She doesn’t try to keep the pleasure going. The shower has sobered her up a little. She seems sleepy as much as drunk.

She holds onto me while I dry her with a towel.

She obediently lets me guide her to her room.

“… You’re good to me, Graham… you’re such a good son…”

It’s the first time Mom’s ever said that to me.

I manage to get her long, comfortable nightie on over her head.

She sits on the edge of the bed while I chafe her soaked blonde mane with the towel. I get her silky hair a little dry. She’s falling asleep before I get her hair wholly dry but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

I have another inspiration.

Mom seems to have drifted out of the Grand Theft Auto cumslut state she was in, but it’s hard to tell. I can’t be sure the GTA coding’s been put to sleep in her brain. When MaestroX111 showed me how to brainwash my Mom with Seraphine’s neural structure he didn’t tell me how to snap her out of the Grand Theft Auto trance. I’ve no way of switching her back to her normal self.

Her meditation tape!

The subliminal enlightenment tape-recording she listens to on her ear-pods while she’s sleeping.

The tape machine’s sitting on her nightstand, the cassette spools patiently waiting to play whatever message it is that awakens her tranquil mindfulness through the night… music, words, whatever…

I’d best have a listen first.

She’s already flat on her back on the bed, her hair spread out on the pillow, her eyes slowly closing.

I push the pods into my ears and press PLAY.

Nothing.

Silence.

The faint buzz of interstellar distances.

No music.

No gongs or flutes.

After a long while… a voice… a man’s voice, far away yet somehow also intimate…

“… When… I… And… You… Are… One…” He speaks very slowly. “… When… There… Is… No… I… Or… You…”

It’s the typical sort of pompous crap my mother goes for, but who cares, if it frees Mom from her hypnotized state?

She stirs when I press the pods into her ears. Her head shifts on the pillow but her eyes don’t open.

I turn off the light and leave her to her slumber, hoping like hell that ‘… When… You… And… I… Are… One…’ will work it’s magic.

The next morning I’m woken by a nagging voice at my bedroom door:

“Graham! What the hell’s this?”

“Mo-ooom!”

I’m so tired I can barely get my eyes open.

Mom’s standing in the doorway with an official-looking piece of paper in her hand.

“This letter says you’ve just flunked college! You didn’t even tell me! You promised me you’d work hard. You said you were studying.” She waves the piece of paper angrily. “Your tutor says you’ve been bunking off class!”

Her voice is so irritating there’s no time for me to enjoy the relief of seeing my mother back in her old cheese-cloth blouse and boxy denim skirt. The meditation tape has worked. The tranquil subliminal messaging has returned my mother to her old bossy, irritating self. The Grand Theft Auto brainwash has vanished, thank God, except now I’ve got to deal with the old, familiar impossible person who is my mother.

I mumble:

“… Well yeah… I… erm…”

In fact Mom’s dead right. I have flunked out of college. I should have told her days ago. I don’t want to be an accountant. I’ve been bunking off classes so I can concentrate on my career as a pro gamer.

“Doctor Sawyer says you’re miles behind with your assignments and you’re rude and uncooperative too. Your attitude is terrible.”

Both accusations are true. Being polite to a pompous old stuffed-shirt like Doctor Sawyer is beyond my endurance. His assignments are so dull I just can’t be assed even looking at them.

Doctor Sawyer’s my Accountancy Tutor. He’s a dry, stringy old guy of forty-five who can make even the most interesting subject one hundred percent boring. When he gets onto spread-sheets and cash-flows his dullness is brain-numbing. Now he’s written a letter to my Mom complaining about me in his usual crabby manner.

Mom’s eyes flash.

She’s back to her bossy, prudish self again.

I feel a momentary pang of regret. For an instant I regret she’s not the drunk woman who danced naked around the living room last night, who let me touch between her… but… no… no way… I don’t even want to think about it… I should be grateful that the nightmare’s over… I need to be thankful for the way she’s nagging me. I mutter:

“I don’t like Doctor Swayer, Mom. And he doesn’t like me.”

“Well. I can tell you straight. We’re seeing him this afternoon!”

“Ey?”

“You heard me. Six o’clock this evening, after college. I’ve arranged an interview.”

I nearly jump out of my skin.

“An interview? I can talk to him on my own. In class!”

Her lips purse.

“There’s not going to be any more classes! You’ve flunked out!”

Being flunked out’s fine by me. If they’ve kicked me out of college, good, I’m glad. There’s no point in Mom and me dragging ourselves over to college this afternoon and having a tedious ‘interview’ with boring Doctor Sawyer.

“Mom! There’s no point!”

“There certainly is a point, Graham. We’re going together. You and I. I want to hear from Doctor Sawyer’s own lips how you’ve been getting on at college. You’ve been lying to me. I don’t trust you any more.”

She goes storming back to the kitchen.

Shit. That’s my day ruined. I’ve got eight hours ahead of me worrying about my stupid interview and Mom and Doctor Sawyer getting their heads together, and my tutor filling my mother in on what a lackadaisical student I’ve been.

I switch on my console and log into Grand Theft Auto V, but it’s no use. I can’t even concentrate on the most exciting game in the world.

I wander into the living room.

Something glitters under the couch.

It’s an empty vodka bottle.

Mom drank a whole fifth of Smirnoff last night, yet now she’s back to her most bossy, motherly self.

I take the empty bottle out from under the couch and hurry back into my room. I hide the incriminating evidence of last night’s escapade under my bed.

My body burns.

I suddenly go hot all over.

Her hotpants!

The red-leather, split-crotch hot pants she wore last night!

I dash past the trunk filled with her old sexy clothes that she humped down from the loft. The chest is shut, luckily. Mom can’t have noticed it or wondered what it’s doing here at the bottom of the loft ladder.

In the bathroom there’s no sign of the hot pants. The razor she shaved her pussy with is lying in a basin. Mom doesn’t seem to have noticed the black pubic hair clogging the razor.

What the hell did she think when she woke up this morning and found her pussy shaved? She appears to believe her pussy’s always been shaved.

Hot flushes run up and down my body. I start sweating.

Something red and glossy glimmers on the tiles underneath the bath.

By some stroke of almost miraculous luck the offending article of clothing has been kicked out of sight beneath the bath, probably when Mom and I were masturbating each other. Thankfully Mom doesn’t seem to have seen it.

I grab her hot pants and stuff them under my T-shirt and retreat to my room.

I hide the incriminating evidence in the bottom of my socks drawer. Now there’s nothing for me to do but wait till it’s time for us to set out on our interview.

Mom drives a second-hand, 2004 Kia. The gears are jumpy and there’s something wrong with the distributor. It’s typical of Mom to drive a clunky, economy vehicle. It goes with her self-sacrificing image of herself as a martyr who’s saving the planet.

The college is in the center of town, on the other side of the shopping mall.

Instead of driving straight to the interview, Mom pulls into the car park of the mall.

“I just need to do some shopping first, Nico.”

Ey?

Nico?

She’s nervous. She’s as apprehensive about the interview as I am. It’s been Graham all day, but suddenly she’s back to the dude I play in Grand Theft Auto.

I can’t understand it. She’s keyed up. Mom’s on edge about the interview but she’s still in her frumpy cheese-cloth blouse and boxy denim skirt. There’s no sign of Seraphine, but she called me Nico.

We walk through spacious hallways and the din of canned music.

“I’ll just pop in here for a second, Nico.” She nods at a shop selling clubbing gear for teenagers. “Chill, baby.”

She never calls me ‘baby.’

She disappears into the hip hop din inside.

I wait by the entrance feeling more and more anxious. Was that Seraphine’s glint in her eye? Did I hear the hint of a husky purr in her voice? The Grand Theft Auto cumslut’s slinky accents?

She’s a long time inside the shop. My anxiety grows. The meditation ear-pods and ‘… When… I… And… You… Are… One…’ tape might have a calming effect on her. ‘Music For The Enlightened Mind’ might reactivate her normal self, but MaestroX111 didn’t show me any way I can switch the GTA reality on and off at will. I need a controller, but I haven’t got one. With a growing sense of dread I realize that my mother’s capable of slipping in and out of the Seraphine mind-set at will.

She comes sashaying out of the shop.

“What do you think?”

I nearly jump out of my skin.

She’s not my mother any more. She’s carrying her cheese-cloth blouse and denim skirt in a carrier bag. She’s worn her purchase to go. For our interview with Doctor Sawyer!

“You like it, Nico?”

“No, Mom. No. No way. Say you want your money back!”

A bright yellow bodycon tube skirt.

People are already looking.

There’s loads of teenagers hanging round in all sorts of revealing clothes but all eyes are suddenly on my Mom.

She preens:

“Oo! Don’t be so mean! It suits me, don’t you think?”

“No. I don’t think.”

Doctor Sawyer will have a heart attack. She’ll embarrass me in front of all my college friends.

The skirt stops halfway up her butt. The stretchy top only just hides her nipples. She’s bought some high heels. She models the dress for me. The glittery six-inch stilettos do heart-stopping things to the backs of her legs and her big, luscious butt. She’s purchased a thong too. She keeps giving the mall glimpses of the red elastic cutting into her split every step she takes.

“Gonna give this Doctor Sawyer dude something to think about, ey Nico?”

Her lovely blue eyes shimmer under blue shadow. Her lashes flutter helplessly, trapped in a weight of mascara. Her normal prudish gaze is come-to-bed sleepy. Bronze blusher glitters on her sensational cheekbones. Her plump, moist lips are swathed in a crimson slash.

“No, Mom. We’re not going to college. Not like this. Alright? Please. We’re going home.”

Her curvaceous ass takes my breath away, slipping in and out of its skin-tight lurex sheathe as she sways through the mall, her high heels clicking on the ceramic flooring.

I have no alternative but to follow her.

Doctor Sawyer’s office is at the far end of a long corridor.

I knock.

“Come in.”

I hold my breath and push the door open.

“… Ah… yes… Graham… oh… oh Mrs… Mrs Thornton…” His mouth drops open. He adjusts his glasses on his nose, as if they’re maybe deceiving him. “… I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“That’s right, honey.”

Mom’s not talking with her own voice! Her words come out in a slutty purr, a whore chatting up a client in a meat market. She pouts:

“The pleasure’s all mine, Doctor…?”

“Marvin.”

“… Marvin…” She takes my arm. A soft tit grazes my elbow. “...I believe you’ve got a problem with this big, hunky dude of mine…?”

Doctor Sawyer pushes his glasses further up his nose.

“… Well… not exactly a problem… not really…”

Mom purrs:

“… You got a problem with Nico, Marvin, you talk to me okay… ?”

“… Yes… yes… of course, Mrs Thornton…”

Mrs Thornton? She’s not Mrs Thornton any more. She’s Seraphine. My mother’s the Grand Theft Auto cumslut and Seraphine’s tough. Seraphine doesn’t put up with weedy accountancy professors giving her Nico bad grades. She’s been in some epic cat fights on GTA V. She’s quite capable of ripping Doctor Sawyer’s face to pieces with her nails for writing complaining letters about her ‘dude.’

I’m shitting myself.

Mom sashays towards the desk where Doctor Sawyer’s sitting:

“… Look… Marvin… when we got a problem in Los Santos… we find a way to deal with it… okay…?”

Doctor Sawyer’s shaking. Mom’s scaring the shit out of him. Her lustrous eyes, her sumptuous tits, her big ass rocking on glittery stilettos, I don’t blame him for being scared.

“Mo-ooom!”

She’s my Mom, but she’s my Mom who danced naked in the living room swilling from a vodka bottle. She’s my Mom who made me unzip her hot pants and touch her succulent pussy. She’s my Mom who made me shave her sopping wetness and finger her it. She’s the mother who pumped my cock till I unloaded on her belly!

She climbs onto Doctor Sawyer’s desk. Her curvaceous butt slides across polished rosewood. Skin-tight lurex hikes further up her chunky hips. My mother crosses her legs, makes sure Doctor Sawyer gets a good long look at the moist elastic cutting into her juicy gash.

“… Spunky guy like you, Marvin, I’m sure wouldn’t mind changing Nico’s Grades to straight A-s for a sip of sweet juice…” She spreads her legs. “… Wanta eat me out, professor?”

Marvin springs to his feet.

“No! No I don’t! Get outta here! And take that waste of space son of yours with you?”

My mother’s eyes blaze:

“Waste of space? Believe me. Nico’s hung like a donkey, bro! I should know! I’m his cumslut!”

Doctor Sawyer’s at the door. He’s fleeing for his life. He yells:

“Security! Where’s security? This woman’s attacking me!”

I yell:

“Come on, Mom! Quick!”

Her heavy, blue-shadowed eyes stare back at me. She doesn’t understand.

I shout:

“Quick, Seraphine! Gotta get outta here!”

Her eyes fill with understanding.

We’re dashing down a corridor. Her heels are too high. He ankle keeps twisting.

We reach the mall car park.

I head for the Kia.

“Quickly, Seraphine! Quickly!”

We’ve alerted all sorts of uniformed staff and security officers.

She stops dead.

She refuses to get in the car.

She’s standing next to a red Ferrari 812.

She’s stopped dead in her tracks. She’s staring at a beautiful red, brand-new sports car, its crimson paintwork glittering among the everyday Fords and Toyotas. It’s the latest Ferrari Superfast V12 Spider. 6.3 liter engine. 7-speed dual-clutch transmission. 20 inch Pirelli tyres. A top speed of 340 km/hour. 2-door Berlinetta body and retractable hardtop. The most beautiful car I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Some lucky shopper browsing in the mall sure knows how to travel.

“Mo-ooooooom! No!”

She’s got a brick in her hand.

Before I know what’s happening there’s the sound of glass smashing, the door opening and I’m sitting behind the steering wheel with my mother in the passenger seat beside me.

She leans across to the steering wheel. Her crimson nails click frantically on the IGLA code button set into the steering wheel. I’m appalled. There’s no way on God’s earth my mother knows how to override a Ferrari anti-theft system.

She clicks a series of numbers. A confirmation beeps somewhere on the dashboard. She thumbs a red button and the engine roars into life.

She laughs:

“Quickly, Nico! Gun it!”

I’m helpless to do anything but put my foot down on the accelerator.

We fly forward and sideswipe a white Lexus.

I wrench at the wheel and put my foot down again. It’s hard getting used to so much speed and power.

Seraphine’s exultant. She cries:

“Yahay! Let’s do this!”

The next twenty minutes are a nightmare vision of walls rushing towards us, pedestrians leaping for their lives, market stalls exploding and sirens. Sirens behind us. Sirens in front of us. Flashing lights drawing alongside. Motorbike cops being flung aside as we swerve and veer through the streets of Los Santos.

I’m driving like a Formula One champion. I never realized I could keep seven hundred and ninety horsepower of muscle car on the road at three hundred ks an hour.

I skid round a corner and we’re in out street.

I brake outside our house. We’re nearly flung through the windscreen.

I find reverse and we shoot up the drive backwards into our garage, the rolla door opening just in time.

I turn the engine off.

The rolla door rolls down.

We’re alone, my mother and I in the sultry dimness of our garage, sitting in four hundred grand’s worth of Ferrari 812 Superfast V8.

I’m trembling all over. I can’t believe what’s just happened. It’s impossible to get my mind around what my mother and I have just done. We’re sitting in our dimly-lit garage in a stolen Ferrari, but our dimly-lit garage is part of a larger Grand Theft Auto universe.

Something soft and warm presses against my elbow. It’s my mother’s breast. Her nipple has escaped from its lurex sheath. It softly grazes urgent messages into my pumped biceps.

“What a buzz ey, Nico?”

A buzz?

We could have been killed.

There’s a good chance innocent people lie slaughtered in our tracks.

“… Mo-ooom…!”

A warm breath caresses my ear.

“Hey! What’s with all this ‘Mo-ooom’ stuff, Nico? I’m your Momma now, big fella.”

Her hand slips down my chest. Her hand finds where my cock’s throbbing rock-hard in my board shorts. The frantic car chase has turned me on.

“… No, Momma… please…”

We’re kissing. I’m holding on to a state of the art steering wheel and our mouths are battening hungrily on each other. My mother’s plump lips are plastering my mouth with urgent moisture.

She laughs. A husky titter. A cougar fastening on its prey:

“You n me, Nico. Gonna do great things together.”

“… No… no we’re not…”

She slips the full weight of her breast out of its skin-tight sheath.

Her areola is a dusky purple color. Her dark nipple’s erect on sumptuously tanned tit.

“… I’m all yours, Nico… any way you want me…”

“… Please…”

She lifts her breast to my mouth.

“… Mm-mmmmmmm… that’s better…”

I lick her nipple. I flick her taut nub with my tongue. I lavish saliva on her pulsing nip. It wobbles tight and engorged beneath my tongue, the joystick on a sumptuous controller.

“… Oh fuck, Nico… that feels nice, baby…”

She pushes her tit into my mouth. She squeezes her weighty softness between my jaws. I lick and gobble at her sensational jelly-soft fullness.

“… Mm-mmm… mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

I sink my teeth in.

“… Ow…!”

She flinches.

I freeze.

Her voice croons above me:

“… Don’t stop, big boy… you can hurt your Momma as much as you want…”

My mouth goes crazy. I batten on succulent woman jelly. I feast on my woman’s big urgent mouthful. My cumslut’s nipple heads straight for my throat, a ton of pulsing softness packed behind it.

“… Mm-mmmmmmm… mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

I gag on her hot nip. I choke on the my mother’s shapely fullness that won’t stop pushing its way into my mouth.

I sink my teeth in. I devour my mother’s gorgeous tit.

“… Ouch…!”

This time I don’t freeze. She can flinch as much as she likes. She’s my Mom. I want to hurt her for making me love her so much.

My cock’s on the point of exploding.

She finds my zip and fishes my rock-hard piston out of my shorts.

She gasps:

“… Oh fuck, Nico… I love your cock so much… any time, baby… any time you wanta fuck your Momma…”

Her skirt’s up around her belly. Her thong’s sopping wet. Moist elastic strains in her juicy gash. I’m touching my mother’s molten pussy. My fingertips are dabbling in my Mom’s voluptuous meltdown.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck… fu-uuuuuuuck…!”

Her wet pussy quakes knuckle-deep on my wet fingers. Her hot slit goes into spasm, my fingertips riding helplessly inside her. She’s right. She’s all mine, any way I want her.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

I shut my eyes. I clench my teeth. Her hot fist pumps my cock. My mother’s bringing me off.

She swoops her mouth between my legs. Her ass slithers backwards along the upholstery. A stiletto heels clatter into the door. She slobbers kisses on my swollen spear-head.

She laughs out loud:

“… Sure showed that stuffed-shirt professor of yours, ey Nico? ‘Security! Where’s security? This woman’s attacking me!.. a bit of hot tail was too much him!”

My college days are over. I’ll never set foot in university again. I’m not going to be an accountant any more. Or even a pro gamer. It’s over. You can’t be a pro gamer when you’re trapped inside the game. I might never have liked Doctor Sawyer. I might well have hated college but it was the only world I knew. I’ve already flunked, but now Mom’s made sure I’ll never be able to show my face in college again. I’ll lose touch with Alfonso and Greg and Howard. My gaming mates will all stay at college and I’ll be an outcast, a total pariah on the slippery downwards slope, headed for a life of crime.

Mom’s lips feel so good, enveloping my cock in their juicy warmth, it’s impossible to care.

Her plump lips clasp my throbbing spear-head in a voluptuous moue and breathe in all my aching love for her.

“… Argh… argh…”

I run my fingers through my mother’s hair as she sucks my cock long and slow and sweet. Her blonde mane is thick and lustrous and silky. My fingers savor the youthful vigor of her crowning glory. She opens wide and impales her luscious throat on my big prong.

“… Glurg… gla-aaarg… argh-lllllllllllllllllllll…”

She thinks she’s Seraphine.

She imagines she’s just a GTA cumslut satisfying her favorite stud but she’s way hotter than that. She’s my drop dead gorgeous Mom. She’s the delicious woman who gave me life. I’m the luckiest stud in the country. My Dad was crazy fleeing a bitch as crazy as Seraphine. Unless maybe her hot mouth scared him off. Her hot mouth’s not scaring me.

“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaaaarg… argh-lllllllllllllllllllll…”

She takes me deep in her throat. She gargles my throbbing spear-head in luscious throat honey.

“… Argh… argh…”

I grab two handfuls of silky curls and ram her mouth down hard and deep onto my pounding piston. I stopper her wind-pipe on my throbbing need of her.

“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaaaarg…”

Skeins of hot gag overflow her stretched lips. Helpless saliva runs down her beautiful chin. Her tongue wraps round my rock-hard stake. All her mouth meat’s years of nagging and issuing orders turn to juicy spasms running up and down my aching gristle.

“… Argh… argh…”

Her teeth sink into my throbbing root. My Mom’s hot incisors clamp my cock in a yearning love-bite. All her maternal feeling, all her motherly pride in her son, turn to an all-devouring bite, tearing off gobbet after gobbet of ecstasy out of her son’s big cock.

She draws her mouth away from its feast. Her head bangs on the steering wheel:

“Gonna fuck your cumslut, Nico?”

“… Look… Mom…”

She purrs:

“Not ‘Mom’. ‘Momma’, baby. Gonna fuck your Momma’s tight pussy, Nico? Gonna spunk your big load in your Serpahine’s hot fuck-hole?”

“… You’re not Seraphine, Mom… you’re my…”

Her hot fuck-hole kicks. Her tight pussy jerks and bucks. She’s fingering it. She’s getting her juicy slit ready for Nico’s big cock. Her body undulates across the seats.

“Come on, tough guy. Fuck me.”

She’s irresistible. Her hot desire overwhelms me. Something terrible is happening. Something unthinkable is taking. I’m going to fuck my mother. I’m about to shoot the hot load of semen aching in my balls into the womb that conceived me. I’m about to drench the molten place from which I entered the world in my throbbing cum.

A dreadful certainty hits me full on…

… I’m a criminal…

… I’ve just blasted a car…

… I’ve maybe even killed innocent pedestrians… that police bike flipped over at two hundred ks an hour…

… And now I’m going to rape my gorgeous mother. She thinks she’s Seraphine. She’s begging for my big cock but that doesn’t mean I’m not raping her. It’s me who programmed her mind with the Grand Theft Auto data. It’s me who brainwashed her into being Seraphine…

… I’ll turn into Nico Belic…

… I’ll never get back to being who I am…

… I’ll be trapped on Nico Belic’s body…

… In his mind…!

Gangster. Rapist. Heartless stud. Thief and murderer. Ruthless exploiter of women.

It’s one thing playing Nico Belic in a video game, it’s another thing entirely being him.

I want my mother to go back to being herself, except…

… Her teeth rake slowly upwards…

… Her hot love-bite combs spasm after ecstatic spasm out of my rock-hard cock…

… My throbbing spear-head turns hot and slippery… my aching tip jumps and twitches between her lips…

She murmurs:

“… I’m all yours, big fella… waddya want…”

I groan:

“… I want to…” The pleasure’s too strong. The right words just won’t come out. “… I wanta cum in your mouth, Momma… gonna make you swallow my big load, bitch…”

She grins. She likes it when I call her bitch:

“… Whatever…”

That’s one thing about having a cumslut mother I’ve noticed already— she doesn’t care how or where you give her your cum, as long as you give it to her.

She drizzles spittle on my throbbing spear-head. Her smile’s too sinful to bear:

“… C’m on then… give it to me, Nico… fuck my throat… fuck my throat hard…”

I hold her head still with two handfuls of silky blonde hair and slam pile-driver after pile-driver of rock-hard cock hard and fast and deep up into her throat.

“… Argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllllllllllllllllll…!”

The jolt goes through me like the Ferrari’s been swiped from behind and I’m pumping surge after surge of hot cum into my mother’s luscious gullet.

I’m saved a second time. This ecstasy feels good, sitting in a pranged Ferrari my big cock jumping and twitching in my Mom’s mouth. At least, for the second time, I’ve kept myself from committing the ultimate crime.

That doesn’t mean I’m not a criminal. Me and Mom both. We’re both of us criminals now, trapped inside a game of Grand Theft Auto, and neither of us knowing who the player is.