The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The morning after my interview at college I wake with a sense of foreboding.

The house is quiet. Everything seems normal. My mother’s in the kitchen doing the washing up, singing along to Destiny’s Child and yelling at me to bring out any dirty plates that I’ve got in my bedroom.

She’s wearing her usual old dowdy cheesecloth blouse and boxy denim skirt and she’s nagging me as irritatingly as she always does.

But then details of yesterday’s interview start coming back to me…

… Mom with the letter from Doctor Sawyer saying I’ve failed all my exams and flunked out of college…

… My mother dragging me off to the interview to get lectured and nagged at by her and my tutor…

… On the way to the interview my Mom disappears into a chic boutique in her cheesecloth blouse and denim skirt and comes out wearing a fuck-me bodycon tube skirt. She’s turned into Seraphine, the Grand Theft Auto cumslut! At the interview she tries to seduce Doctor Sawyer. She hits on my tutor. She wants to fuck him, there and then, in his office, in front of me. She says she’ll suck his cock if he changes my grades to straight A-s. In front of her own son. Cumsluts don’t mind fucking total strangers. They don’t care who’s watching, as long as they get a load of hot spunk pumped into their tight pussy…

I listen to my mother, out in the kitchen, singing as she does the washing up, nagging me about dirty plates in my room, back to her normal prudish, uptight self. Perhaps I’m going insane. My mind’s not working right. Fuck-me tube skirts? Seducing Doctor Sawyer? Surely nothing like that can have happened. I must be imagining it. It’s all a dream, except…

… Doctor Sawyer doesn’t pump a load of hot spunk into her tight pussy. He freaks. He’s furious. He drives us out of his office. He sets the cops on us. We’re fleeing through the shopping mall car park and there’s a red Ferrari 812 V7 Spider standing parked among the everyday cars and Mom and I steal it…

No.

It can’t be real.

It’s impossible, except…

… Mom knows how to override the anti-theft system! We bust the Ferrari. I’m at the wheel. We speed off. I side-swipe a white Lexus careening out of the car-park. The cops are after us. We’re pursued by wailing sirens. Helicopters batter above us. Motorbike cops are flipping off their bikes and pedestrians are flying through the air. I’m smashing through market stalls and tearing the wrong way down one-way streets. Mom and me get the Ferrari back to the safety of our garage…

Mom’s still yelling at me from the kitchen:

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

She’s her usual uptight, nagging self.

“It stinks your room out!”

She doesn’t remember a thing.

I slip down the side passageway and let myself into the garage.

A red Ferrari 812 Superfast V7 Spider stands in the cool dimness of our family garage.

6.3 liter engine. 7-speed dual-clutch transmission. 20 inch Pirelli tyres. 2-door Berlinetta body and retractable hardtop.

I’m sweating. My body feels cold all over but perspiration is trickling down my forehead.

There’s a long scratch down the right side. The right door’s badly dented where I side-swiped the Lexus.

It’s real. It all really happened. Grand Theft Auto took over. My Mom and I were in a computer game. Mom became Seraphine. I became Niko Bellic and…

When we were parked in the garage and the rolla door rolled down…

… My mother sucked my cock…

… Here in the cool dimness of the garage. After we’d parked up the Ferrari. In the front seat. It’s real. It really happened…

… My Mom gave me a blowjob…

… I can still feel her plump lips closing round the tip of my cock. I’m getting a tingle just thinking about it. I can still feel her taking my throbbing spear-head deep in her luscious wind-pipe. I can still hear the sucking, gobbling noises her sweet throat made as I impaled her gullet again and again and…

… I unloaded in my mother’s mouth…

… I spunked bigtime down my mother’s throat…

… And Mom swallowed everything I had to give her…!

I decide to call Alphonso, Greg and Howard. I need to get them over here. I was playing Grand Theft Auto on the online multi-player when this thing started. Perhaps they’ll know what’s going on. Alphonso plays Michael de Santa in the game. Greg plays Franklin Clinton. Howard plays Trevor Philips. My mates are top GTA gamers. Maybe they’ll understand what’s happening.

They’re good friends. Alphonso, Greg and Howard are proper mates.

They drop what they’re doing and come straight round.

I let them into the garage through the side entrance so Mom doesn’t see. She’s still in the kitchen talking on the phone to one of her mates.

“… I’m so-ooo excited… Sasha’s due back any time now…”

Shi-iiit!

Sasha!

My big sister!

“… Yes, Sasha’s been in LA… a fashion shoot for Elle… she’s coming back to see us… some time today I think…”

Fuck! My stuck-up, fashion-model sister, Sasha. Some time today? She’s so nosy and bossy! Sasha’s completely full of herself My bossy big sis is the last thing I need around the house at a time like this.

I switch on the light in the garage.

“Oh my days!”

Alphonso’s eyes pop out of his head.

Greg gapes.

“Hell’s bells!”

Howard blinks like his eyes are deceiving him:

“A Ferrari 812, man! What the fuck?”

I mumble:

“I blasted it.”

They all look at me.

“Blasted it?!”

“Waddya mean blasted it?”

I say:

“I stole it.”

Alphonso thrusts his cap back on his head.

“No, man. No way. That’s impossible.” He runs his eyes over the Ferrari’s glimmering paintwork and aerodynamic lines. “These things have state-of-the-art anti-theft systems. You don’t just break some glass and drive off.”

“Mom knew the code. To the anti-theft system. I don’t know how. She just knew it.”

“Your Mom?”

“… Yeah… she n me… we like… blasted it together…”

I’ve no alternative but to tell my mates how I programmed my mother’s brain with the Grand Theft Auto data from my gaming console. I confess everything. The message from the legendary gamer Maestro X111 showing me how to hook my console into the tape machine my mother uses to play ‘… I… And… You… Are… One…’ meditation tapes for her brain to listen to subliminally while she’s asleep. I explain how she’s slipped out of her normal self into Seraphine, the Grand Theft Auto cumslut twice now. Once when she found an old pair of split-crotch hot pants and I shaved her pussy…

“You shaved your mother’s pussy?”

I go hot all over.

“… She… erm… let me finger her… you know… erm… pussy too and I… like… spunked all over her belly…”

They’re incredulous.

“Spunked all over your Mom’s belly? No, man. No way. I don’t believe you!”

“Come on, bro. We weren’t born yesterday.”

“Stop taking the piss, Graham man.”

I feel myself blush bright crimson.

“No. It’s all true. It’s real. The second time was at this interview I had with my college tutor.”

I tell them about Mom’s slutty behavior with Doctor Sawyer. How she said she’d fuck him if he changed my grades to straight A-s.

“Your, Mom?”

“Never!”

“No way!”

They all know how uptight and prudish my mother is.

I shrug.

I nod at the Ferrari.

“This is real, isn’t it?”

They can’t deny it. It’s a real Ferrari 812.

I lift the hood and we marvel at the sheer beauty of the 6.3 liter V7 engine.

The 20 inch Pirellis are brand new

I press a button on the dashboard and the hardtop noiselessly retracts.

“Oh, man! What a car!

I open the trunk and go cold all over.

The beads of sweat turn icy on my forehead…

Guns.

Three guns.

Three real, live, actual guns.

And a baseball bat.

A SlamVan 2000 pump-action shotgun.

A Bullpup shotgun.

A stun gun.

And a Red Sox baseball bat.

The guns we each of us chose for the heist Mom interrupted, for the mission my mother spoiled and set this whole chain of events in action.

I pick up the pump-action shot gun.

I don’t have a gun license. I’ve never even owned a firearm. I’ve only ever shot guns in a computer game playing Grand Theft Auto. This gun feels realer than real. Its stock is thick and heavy. The muzzle’s huge, designed to blast out high caliber rounds. The trigger’s big and scary. I can tell just by touching it that the lightest of squeezes will put a 28-gauge shell through the garage wall.

“Fuck, man,” says Alphonso. “What are you going to do?”

I shake my head.

“I don’t know.”

I put the gun back in the trunk and slam the trunk shut before something terrible happens.

My mother’s stopped singing in the kitchen.

There’s no more clash and splash of plates being washed up.

She’s off the phone. She’s no longer calling her friends one after the other excitedly telling them about my big sis coming home. Sasha’s her favorite. My mother’s always spoiled Sasha and come down heavy on me.

I start to get worried. I suddenly feel anxious. The silence coming from the house is ominous. My mother’s not vacuuming or doing aerobics or yelling and nagging me to do something like she usually is.

I feel a growing sense of dread as we head back into the house. The hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle as we hit the living room.

Mom’s finished her housework.

She’s reclining on the couch.

She’s reclining on the couch in a red kimono, sipping vodka from a breakfast tumbler.

The red silk clings voluptuously to her large breasts.

She draws her foot up under her and a slit up one side of the kimono from her high heel strappy sandal to her silky hip slides open on a mile of toned, shapely leg.

She smiles.

“Hi, boys. Howz it goin’?”

There’s none of her usual uptight, bossy attitude towards my friends, always criticizing them and driving them out of the house.

She nods at the vodka bottle standing on the coffee table.

“You guys had your breakfast?”

The way she says it, ‘breakfast’ means more than breakfast. ‘Breakfast’ means anything four spunky young dudes might want it to mean. A shot of vodka. A fling with a hot chick. Mom’s slipped her kimono open especially for Alphonso and Greg and Howard to see how nice her legs are.

“Go on, boys. There’s some glasses in the kitchen. Help yourselves.”

My friends are mumbling and stuttering, totally embarrassed. They’re used to gangbanging cumsluts on Grand Theft Auto. This is the first time they’ve ever seen a cumslut in real life.

She palms the silky contour of her naked hip.

“Have you had a look at the Ferrari? Some car, ey? Me n Niko blasted it!”

I only play Niko on Grand Theft Auto. I’m not really Niko. Not now. Not standing here in my own living room.

My friends don’t know what to say.

“Sure is, Mrs Thornton…”

“Certainly is a beautiful car, Mrs T…”

Mom takes a big slug from her tumbler:

“Me n Niko sure had a gas stealing it. The cops were after us. It was so-ooo exciting.” She beams at me. “I had to give this big spunky dude a blowjob in the garage when we got home.”

“Mo-ooom!”

I’ve never heard my mother laugh so liltingly before.

“… I aint never sucked off a dude in a Ferrari before…”

I don’t know what to do. She’s embarrassing me in front of my friends. I feel totally helpless. Maestro X111 only showed me how to switch the Grand Theft Auto reality on. He never told me how to turn it off.

Mom pouts:

“… You sure you guyz don’t wanta drink…?” It’s ten in the morning and she’s already hammered. “… I feel like letting my hair down…”

Her hair’s already letting itself down. Silky curls stray across her face. Lustrous waves of blonde mane flirt with her throat.

My mother’s beautiful when she’s not frowning and nagging. She’s gorgeous when she’s not hiding away in her frowzy cheesecloth blouse and frumpy denim skirt. I remember how nice her lips felt yesterday breathing on my cock.

“… Erm… yeah… okay…” says Alphonso. “… Just a small one for me thanks, Mrs Thornton…”

Alphonso’s accepting a shot of vodka from my mother!

Greg grins:

“… Yeah… just a snifter for me thanks, Mrs Thornton…”

I say:

“Hey! Stop it. It’s ten o’clock in the morning!”

Howard smirks:

“… Never too early to have a party, bro…”

Mom’s slopping vodka into glasses, her big tits wobbling under her kimono. I know exactly what sort of party Howard means.

“Mom! Stop it!”

She’s changed into Seraphine. My mother slipped into her Grand Theft Auto role while we were in the garage!

My heart’s thumping in my chest. She’s driving me crazy.

Her plump lips pout. Her lipstick’s moist and glossy. It won’t stop reminding me how good her lips felt, closing round my throbbing spear-head, how juicy her tongue was flicking at my cock’s swollen tip, the dewy promises her warm mouth breathed all the way down my rock-hard shaft, how she impaled her luscious gullet on my full aching length, the way she swallowed the big load I pumped down her throat.

Her messed-up blonde hair. Her big blue eyes. Her bronzed cheekbones. Her cute retroussé nostrils flaring sexily. The tingle in my cock is turning to a helpless throbbing. My Mom’s a knockout. My mother’s one hundred percent totally gorgeous and I…

Briiing briiing

The doorbell.

Briiing briiing briiiiiiing

The doorbell’s ringing.

Briiing briiing briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Mom purrs:

“Oo! I wonder who that can be? At this time of the morning!”

It can’t be Sasha. My big sister has her own key.

Briiing briiing briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

I mutter:

“I’ll get it.”

I hurry to the front door and open it.

Doctor Sawyer is standing on the doorstep. My college tutor stands beaming on the doorstep.

“Graham! Hi!” His smile full of man-to-man friendliness. “Is your mother in?”

“… Erm… well…”

He claps me on the shoulder.

“Sorry about yesterday, mate. A little misunderstanding about your grades. Words spoken in anger, not really meant, ey?”

He called me a waste of space. He said I was hopeless slob. He moaned about my bad attitude and unacceptable behavior.

“… Yeah, well…”

He gives my shoulder a fatherly squeeze.

“I’m sure we can do something about those grades of yours, ey? How do you like the sound of straight A-s, Graham?”

“… But… but… I failed… I failed all my exams…”

“Poof! Let’s not worry about a little like a few failed exams. There’s a prize for the top grade A, you know. Twenty thousand dollars. Is your mother in?”

He pushes past me and rushes down the hallway. I follow him into the living room.

“… Mrs Thornton… !… Seraphine…!”

He stops dead.

His eyes go big and wide.

Splayed on the couch with her kimono slipping open my mother’s even hotter this morning than she was yesterday in her bodycon tube skirt, legs wide open on his desk inviting him to eat her out.

She purrs:

“Oh hi, Marvin.” She pats the couch beside her. “Take a weight off your feet. Would you like a drink?”

Doctor Sawyer sniffs at the heavy smell of alcohol in the air.

“A drink? Is that vodka? Why yes. A drink. Why not?”

Mom slops vodka into a tumbler. She hands him the tumbler like a priestess in a rush to get to the main part of a ritual.

My tutor perches on the couch right next to her naked hip. He breathes in the sharp smell of vodka and the musky tang my mother gives off when she’s in heat.

She strokes the front of his shirt.

“Did I hear you say you wanted to talk to me about Niko’s grades, Marvin?”

“… Yes… quite right… a little misunderstanding… I never slept a wink last night… I never realized how brilliant your son is, Seraphine, till I went back through his exam papers last night…” He’s got them in his lap. My exam papers, with red ink all over them. “Brilliant! Quite extraordinarily brilliant. A grade A every time!”

Mom fondles his hair. She coos:

“Oh Marvin! I’m so pleased to hear you say that! Niko’s topped the year, you say? He’s won the University Prize?”

“Yes! Quite right! That too! One hundred percent right, Seraphine! Your son’s a quite outstanding student! The prize is his!”

Mom strokes his knee.

“… Why…!… Marvin… that’s wonderful… you don’t know how relieved you make me feel… how… how can I possibly thank you…?”

She strokes the lean, stringy length of his inner thigh. Her lips graze his ear:

“… Come… please…”

She slides off the couch and draws him to his feet.

“… This way… please…”

She’s taking Doctor Sawyer by the hand! My mother’s leading my tutor towards her bedroom door!

“… I don’t know how to thank you…”

The door closes softly behind them.

The living room falls silent.

The silence is so deep I can hear the luscious susurration of their kiss, the rustle of her kimono slipping to her ankles, the cluck and gurgle of her pussy as she gets him to finger fuck her, the little flinches and cries as she draws him down onto the bed, the succulent squelch of his cock in her mouth, the bed’s protest as she spreads her legs, her clear and obvious delight as Doctor Sawyer slams his stiff cock into her sumptuous pussy hard and fast and deep.

“… Yes… yes… oh fuck… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

I look at Alphonso, Greg and Howard.

Alphonso, Greg and Howard look at me.

They’ve never seen a cumslut in action before. They’ve never heard a cumslut in action ever, but the glint in their eyes says it’s an idea they could easily get used to.

I say:

“Just don’t tell anyone. Alright?” I need to do something. This can’t go on. “I’ll message Maestro X111, find out how to stop this happening. Okay?”

The glint in my friends’ eyes says they don’t want to stop this happening. They’re quite at home in this new Grand Theft Auto reality.

After a long while the bedroom door opens.

Doctor Sawyer comes out. He looks pleased with himself.

He salutes me:

“Well done, Graham! You’ve topped the year. Straight A-s. The University Prize!”

A while later Mom comes out buttoning up the front of her kimono.

She purrs:

“These tutors, Graham! They’re quite spunky when you get to know them!”

I mumble:

“Look. Mom. This has got to stop!”

“What’s gotta stop, darling?” Her kimono gapes voluptuously. She nods from me, Alphonso, Greg and Howard to her pussy. “You boys fancy a bit of this?”

Alphonso mumbles.

Greg looks at the floor.

Howard rubs his mouth.

She smiles at the blatant lump bulking out Greg’s shorts. The tall long bulge in Howard’s pants. Alphonso’s obvious excitement. My throbbing cock.

“Wanta gang me?”

Alphonso and Greg and Howard aren’t her sons. They’re not blood relations. Their minds are turning over. They’re giving her offer their full consideration.

“Mo-ooom!”

She shrugs.

“Whatever.”

I guess that’s the only nice thing about a cumslut. She’s not insulted when you refuse her advances. She’ll take guy’s full load wherever and whenever and which ever way he wants to give it to her. In whatever hole he chooses. Up her belly if needs be She’s not fussy. She’s prepared to wait for however long it takes. It’s nice, but it still doesn’t mean I’m not in a desperate position.

When Alphonso, Greg and Howard go I put some meditation music on the sound system.

‘Music For The Enlightened Mind’

… 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 registers… voices softly chanting mystical words…

The music drifts round the house. It starts to have its desired effect.

The hectic glint in my mother’s eyes fades to a lustrous glow. The urgent panting, a bitch in heat, gives way to a calm relaxed inhalation and exhalation.

She’s exhausted after her long session with Doctor Sawyer and all the vodka she’s drunk. She gets sleepy.

I take her into her bedroom and lie her down on the bed.

Her thong, abandoned on the carpet, gives off a heady tang.

“… What’s that, Niko… what’s that doing there…?”

“It’s okay, Mom. It’s nothing. Never you mind.”

Her full, voluptuous limbs and luscious weighty curves relax into the bed. I manage to get her kimono off without rousing her.

A good deep sleep. That’s what she needs. I struggle her into her nightie.

Her tape machine’s still sitting on the nightstand, her enlightenment tape still slotted in the machine.

I stick an ear-pod in my ear 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…”

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

I feel exhausted by the morning’s events.

I lie down on my bed and try to work out how I can get in touch with Maestro X111 again.

I wonder who Maestro X111 actually is, and where he is.

The world’s top Grand Theft Auto gamer. He could be anywhere. Russia. The US. The Far East. Next door. It’s impossible to say. All I know is, I need his help. I’m in urgent need of MaestroX111’s assistance to stop this real-world Grand Theft Auto switching on and off and keep my mother from turning into Seraphine at the most unexpected times…

… I fall asleep…

Afternoon sunlight is slanting through my bedroom window when I’m woken by a hand violently shaking my shoulder, and the sound of my mother’s voice:

“Ear rings! I need those freaking ear rings, Niko!”

It’s a struggle to get my eyes open.

“Diamond ear rings! Now, Niko! They’ve got them in Cartier’s!”

I mumble:

“What ear rings?”

“Cartier. Diamond ear rings. Two million bucks. Real dollars, Niko. Not game-dollars!”

“Mo-ooom!”

“We’ve got the guns. We’ve got all the reputation we need. Let’s do this, Niko!”

She seems to be talking about a heist. A mission or something.

“I want to wear those ear rings tonight, Niko baby!”

Her sumptuous thighs pour out of a pair of high-crotch short shorts. A V of frayed white denim cuts into her big, toned booty. Her extra large tits thrust out her skimpy white tank-top so perkily the luscious place where her breasts lift off from her silky belly is fully on show.

“C’m on, Niko! Quickly! Quickly. Let’s get that Ferrari rolling, big fella!”

“Ferrari?”

“The 812, man. The V7 Spider we blasted yesterday. The guns are in the trunk!”

I groan:

“We haven’t got time. Sasha’s coming back this evening. My big sis is due back from LA.”

Mom usually drops everything for Sasha. My big sister’s the apple of my mother’s eyes.

“Your sister? Fuck her! I’m not hangin’ around for Sasha. I need those ear rings, Niko!”

The next thing I know I’m at the wheel of the Ferrari gunning the 6.3 liter engine waiting for the garage doors to roll up.

“C’m on! C’m on!”

It’s a beautiful ride into town.

Twenty minutes later we’re downtown.

Cartier’s boasts a two-floor glass frontage, its wide glass doors topped by the wedding-cake dormers of the original nineteenth-century building.

I park directly outside where it says NO PARKING.

Two doormen in greatcoats and top hats stand guard at the entrance.

We walk straight past them, me with the pump-action shotgun hanging on loops sewn into the lining of my puffa jacket, Mom with the stun gun in her Dior shoulder purse.

She takes me to the display cabinet where the ear rings she particularly desires are on show. Scallop-shaped clasps of clustered diamonds. Two million three hundred thousand nine hundred and ninety nine dollars.

An assistant comes to serve us.

Mom floors him with the stun gun.

I smash the display cabinet with the butt of my shotgun and retrieve the ear rings from the broken glass.

Alarms are ringing. A steel portcullis is descending the glass doors.

It’s not descending fast enough. I blow out the locks with a single shotgun shell. My aim’s perfect. The pump-action shotgun fits my hand like an old and cherished acquaintance.

I kick the shattered door down and Mom and I step through.

Outside people are running. Others are lying face down on the footpath.

I’m suddenly sweating.

Most of the people running are fleeing, but a few are wearing uniforms and heading for us with guns in their hands.

I pump a few rounds into the evening sky and they disappear.

We’re in the Ferrari careening through narrow streets, jumping red lights.

The cops in pursuit.

A wild frisson thrills through me. I’m getting used to this.

I blast down a one-way street, head-on cars swerving for the sidewalk. Motorcycle cops appear and disappear. Shots ring out. None of them hits us.

A helicopter’s battering somewhere overhead but by the time I reach our street the pursuit has fallen far behind us.

I back the Ferrari fast up the front drive, into the garage and the doors come rolling down.

“Yahay!”

Mom’s face is radiant.

She’s getting more and more gorgeous by the second.

Her lustrous blue eyes thrill through me. Her silky blonde hair’s a mess. A V of slashed denim tugs at her toned split. Her tank-top lifts rapturously on two engorged prongs. Her mouth’s a crimson slash of moist excitement:

“Quick! Quick! Let’s see how they look!”

She clips the ear rings on. She cocks her head in the rear view mirror. Jeweled clasps glitter in the pink seashells of her ears.

Cartier. Two million dollars worth of genuine Cartier diamonds.

“Oh! Niko! They’re lovely!”

She’s Seraphine on steroids. My mother’s hotter than the Grand Theft Auto cumslut any day.

We hurry into the house.

She stops by the hallway mirror next to the front door to have another look at her new acquisitions.

“Oh, Niko! They’re beautiful! Thank you! Thank you so much!” She throws her arms round my neck. “How can on earth can I thank you?”

Her lips meet mine. Her moist cupid’s-bow plasters my mouth with the luscious taste of hot lipstick.

Our mouths batten hungrily.

I drag her tight against me, her pussy pulsing against my rock-hard cock, our tongues grappling deliciously, Seraphine’s tongue as meaty and as eager as mine, my strong mouth meat searching the depths of her throat.

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

She slides down my body, unzipping my pants as she goes, her mouth heading for my cock, her jaws already working overtime as she takes my throbbing weapon in her mouth.

“… Argh… argh…”

I can feel all the hundreds of dude’s Serpahine’s blown, all the big cocks she’s sucked in Los Santos, but right now mine’s the one she’s hungry for.

“… Glurg… gla-aaarg…”

I lean back against the wall and run my fingers through her lustrous hair and let her get to work doing the work she knows best. I cup her face in a tangle of silky blonde hair and savor her lips’ expertise, her tongue’s quick skill, her mouth a juicy massage parlor servicing my big cock.

“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaarg… argh-llllllllllllll…”

She takes her time. She knows a dude doesn’t like to be hurried when his whalebone’s bathing in hot throat honey. She knows when she’s got an elite cock in her mouth and her tongue’s appropriately grateful, twining my pulsing gristle with little girl licks and dabs and wrapping it in full-on whore saliva.

“… Argh… argh…”

I ram her head down hard on my throbbing spear and let her choke for a few voluptuous seconds on her need to swallow me whole.

“… Gla-aaaaaaaaarg…”

I pump some hot thrusts down her luscious wind-pipe. I never fully realized before how gorgeous my mother is, what a perfect mouth she has for giving head. All her nagging and moaning and bossy ways dissolve in the voluptuous spritz bath she’s giving my pulsing piston, her hot gullet telling me how badly she wants to swallow my big load.

“… Argh… argh… argh-lllllllllllllllll…”

Her back arches. Her big butt quakes in its skin-tight short shorts. Her chunky body undulates as the orgasm throbs through her.

“… Argh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…!””

Her teeth sink in round my root and hold me there in a drowning love-bite.

I lean back against the wall and let the ecstasy take hold.

Fuck! How stupid I was yesterday in the car, when she sucked me off in the Ferrari after we stole it. How dumb I was cumming in her mouth like she wanted. I’m Niko Bellic. Gangster and gangbanger. I don’t give a slut my cum just because she’s gagging on my cock. I don’t grant a whore my hot spunk just because she’s my mother.

“… Argh… argh… argh-hhhhhhhhh….”

Her teeth rake slowly upwards, combing sweet ecstasy out of my rock-hard stake. Her tongue goes crazy, licking and choking like a trapped fish leaping on my throbbing spear-head.

“… Argh… argh-lllllllll…”

She’s got a couple of fingers round the base of my cock slipping up and down, starting to pump, begging me to unload in her throat…

“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”

… And her short shorts unzipped, her knuckles bubbling frayed denim, her pussy churning on her wet fingertips, begging for a big load in her hot gash too… these cumsluts, man, they want it in every hole…

She lifts her mouth away, her lips overflowing, gag running down her chin. She offers me a crazy smile:

“… Wanta fuck me, Niko…?”

Yes. Niko wants to fuck her.

I go to lift her to her feet. She takes one last lick at my raw, slippery spear-head.

A rattling sound.

A key.

A key scrabbling in the door.

The front door’s opening.

Rayban shades. Skin-tight black Gucci jeans. The sort of skimpy singlet that costs five hundred dollars in Marc Jacobs. Five-inch strappy sandals. A salon-styled tangle of wavy black hair. The kind of broad, sensuous lips that look good smiling in lingerie and swimwear fashion shoots.

She stops dead, gaping at my Mom, at our mother, licking my stiff cock.

Sasha.

My big sister!

She’s home.

She screams:

“Rapist!”

She’s never liked me. Me and Sasha have never got on. My big sis thinks because she’s a successful model and I’m just a lowly gamer she can call me anything she likes. She screams:

“Leave her alone! Get off her!”

Mom smiles up at her, her chin slippery, her lips trailing strings of gag and saliva:

“… It’s alright, darling… Niko and I were just…”

“Who the fuck’s Niko?”

Sasha won’t stop yelling.

“… I was just saying thank you to Niko for the ear-rings…”

Mom tosses her head. Even tangled in silky blonde curls you can tell that the diamonds are real.

Sasha turns on me. Her eyes blaze daggers into me through her shades.

“You fucking bastard!”

“… They’re genuine Cartier, darling…”

Sasha’s yelling at me:

“Is she on drugs? Have you drugged my mother so you can have your way with her?”

“… No… no… I just…”

Mom’s still pumping my cock. Her fist’s still sliding up and down my stiff manhood. My mother thinks we’re still going to fuck.

Sasha screams:

“Raping my mother? You sick bastard. I’m calling the cops.”

She snatches her phone out of her tote. It’s too late to explain about Grand Theft Auto and brainwashing Mom through her tape machine.

“… No… Sasha… don’t…”

I knock the phone out of her hand.

My sister starts screaming:

“Help! Police! Rape!”

She’s heading out the door screaming at the top of her voice.

“Police! Help! Rape!”

I grab her and drag her back into the house. I slam the front door shut. My stiff cock slams against the toned tightness of perky ass. She kicks and thrashes in my arms. I grab a handful of pert tit through her singlet.

“Get off me!”

My big sis has always had a perfect, fashion-model body. It squirms against my rock-hard manhood. She’s always teased me with her size zero perfection. A stiletto heel rakes my shin.

“Rape!”

Rape? I’ll give her fucking rape.

“Leave me alone!”

I slam her against the wall. Her sunglasses fall off. Her Raybans slap against he cheek, snagged in jet-black hair. I grind my cock into her hot split, show her how pumped her little brother is. I crush my thick shaft against the pert little pussy that looks so cute in high-end swimwear and Milan lingerie.

I growl:

“Want some of this do you, bitch?”

Niko Bellic don’t take shit from stuck-up supermodels.

Mom coos:

“That’s right, Niko. Teach the little bitch some manners…” Little bitch? Sasha’s always been her favorite! “… Show her what happens to dirty little sluts who interrupt her Mom and Niko when they’re having a bit of fun.”

“Get off me! Leave me alone! Graham!”

I slap her.

“Name’s not Graham, bitch.”

All the years she’s looked down her nose at me. All the times she’s rubbed my nose in my being stuck here at home with Mom, failing at accountancy, while she’s out in LA, living the high life, swanning round with the VIPs of the fashion world.

And now she’s just six foot nothing of hot flesh poured into skin-tight denim and a skimpy singlet, jammed between my superior weight and the wall.

I can kiss her if I want to.

“Get off m…”

I pin her jaws open with two fingers and get my tongue in the hot, moist cage of her mouth. Her tongue’s sure hot and slippery for such an uptight bitch. Those tight supermodel lips were just made for some muscular meat tasting.

“… Orf… awkh… ooorrrf…”

I work my hand in where our bodies are crushed together and unzip her jeans and get my hand inside her thong, Agent Provocateur or Fleur du Mal no doubt, skimpy as fuck, fingertips are sinking into a mess of hot juice.

Mom purrs:

“She wet, Niko? She want you to fuck her?”

My sister’s pussy quakes and kicks on my fingers knuckle-deep. Her gash is hot and slippery. Fear or lust, what’s the difference? The bitch wants her brother’s big cock inside her.

“Leave me alone! Get off me!”

Mom’s eyes glint:

“She doesn’t mean it, Niko.”

The glint in my mother’s eyes is beautiful. Cumsluts are the best ever, man. They’re totally without jealousy. They don’t need to own you. They don’t want to own you. If you want to fuck a cumslut’s daughter, that’s fine by her, she’s yours.

“… Ee-eeeeeeeeek…!”

The scream does something to my brain. My sister’s scream blows away brain cells I know are essential for survival.

Her jeans are tight. They cling to her petite ass. The skin-tight denim doesn’t want to let go of my sister’s toned ass-cheeks. I peel them down around her thighs. Around her knees. Enough to get her long slim legs apart.

“… Ow…!”

I’m fucking my sister. My throbbing spear-head finds her slippery fuck-hole first go. I launch my rock-hard cock into her wet depths.

“… Ouch… ow-www… oh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

She’s tight but melting nicely. Her tight gash slips and slithers on my big prong. Her jeans stretch tourniquet-tight between her knees. I can’t get her thighs parted as wide as I need them to part, as her melting pussy needs them to part, taking pile-driver after throbbing pile-driver into her molten depths.

“… Oh… oh… oh… oh fuck…!”

As her melting pussy needs her thighs to part? My sister wants me to fuck her? She’s cumming already? Her sumptuous body’s jerking and bucking in rapturous climax? Her red-hot pussy’s rutting helplessly on my savage thrusts? Her hot cunt’s riding her over the brink with me?

I’ll never know. It’s not important.

“… Oh… oh…”

I’m pumping throb after throb after hot cum into my sister’s helpless surrender.

“… Oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”

A final jolt. A last explosion deep inside her, and I pull out.

A waterfall of yearning cum cascades from her pussy and trickles down her inner thighs.

She slides down the wall and slumps onto her ass.

She looks up at me.

“You bastard!”

It looks like I’ve raped her. She climaxed. Her hot pussy rutted on my savage thrusts but it appears that I forced her after all. Her dark eyes blaze:

“You evil bastard!”

Even Mom seems shocked.

“Don’t say that, darling. He’s your brother.”

My sister’s dark eyes scour me:

“You evil fucking vicious fucking…”

She’s right. I’m evil. She’s totally correct. I’m utterly vicious. I’m far worse than Niko Bellic.

My mind fills with a sudden clarity. My brain’s working at the speed of light.

There’s no way I can let Sasha go to the police. She’ll try to go to the cops but I mustn’t allow her to go to the police. Not with the stolen Ferrari in the garage. And the guns. Not with four hundred grand’s worth of Cartier diamonds clamped to my mother’s ears. Not with what I’ve just done to Sasha herself.

I pick my sister up and carry her into her bedroom. She’s not struggling much any more. She’s not screaming as much but I find a pillow-slip and gag her anyway. I rip up some sheets and tie her hands firmly behind her back.

I make her stand up and lead her to the cellar stairs. All the sassy fight’s gone out of her.

Down in the cellar I switch on the light.

It’s dusty down here. I haven’t been in the cellar for years. Mom never comes down here either.

Dad’s dog cage stands in the corner. A big, tall cage for keeping rottweilers in. I don’t remember a single thing about my Dad. How come I suddenly know he kept rottweilers? I never knew my father. He pissed off when I was little. How come I’m suddenly thinking about my old man, when I’ve just done this unthinkable thing to my sister?

God knows.

I thrust her into the cage and lock the door. I hurry to ascend the stairs. Mom calls me Niko Bellic. Perhaps I am Niko. Maybe I am the Grand Theft Auto evil bastard.

When I get upstairs Mom’s in her bedroom, stretched out on the bed asleep. The events of the day have taken it out of her.

I manage to pull off her short shorts and drag her tank-op off over her head. She still doesn’t wake. I get her into her nightie.

I plug her ear-pods in and turn on the subliminal enlightenment tape she listens to when she’s asleep. I pray that ‘… I… And… You… Are… One…’ will work its magic again and bring my mother back to her real self. I’ve had enough of cumsluts. I’m in big enough trouble as it is without Seraphine coming after me again.

There’s a load of family photographs in ornate frames standing on Mom’s dressing table.

Why did I remember about Dad’s rottweilers, down in the cellar?

Why did I suddenly think of my father and his rottweiler dog cage in the cellar where the sister I’ve just raped is locked up right now? I’ve never missed my Dad. I’ve no idea what my father even looks like.

None of the photos on the dressing table are of him. They’re all snapshots of me and Mom and my sister. My mother stunningly beautiful at nineteen, my age now. My sister and I at various stages of development, as babies, toddlers, schoolkids. Not a single photograph of my father, not even of a man, unless…

… There’s one single picture of a guy… a guy turning away from the camera, only his back and the back of his head visible… and the football shirt he’s wearing… a big number 13 on the back…

I feel terrible. I don’t want to be Niko Bellic any more. I want to be myself again, nerdy old wannabe pro gamer Graham Thornton. I’m not saying I was ever the most honest and upright kid in the world. I enjoyed pulling off heists and gangbanging sluts on GTA but I’ve just raped my sister. My big sister’s at this very moment locked in a cage in the cellar and I’m scared to let her out. I don’t want to be evil. I’m not really vicious. I’m trapped in Grand Theft Auto as much as Mom is, and we’re both of us being played… by whom I’ve no idea… all I know is that if I don’t turn off the cumslut coding soon there’s a good chance I’ll turn into a monster.

I go into me bedroom and turn on my computer. I log on to my Grand Theft Auto account and open the dark web messaging app.

I’ve got to get in touch with MaestroX111. Grand Theft Auto celebrity and top pro gamer in the world. I’ve no idea who, where or what he is, but it was MaestroX111 that got me into all this.