The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I can’t relax, not for a moment. My mother’s out of control.

One minute she’s my normal prudish, uptight Mom, the next minute she’s ‘Seraphine’, the GrandTheft Auto cumslut.

I think she’s in the kitchen in her dowdy cheesecloth blouse and boxy denim skirt nagging me to clean up my room, and suddenly she’s prowling the house in a tank-top and split-crotch hotpants begging me to fuck her.

She used to always moan about my friends and boot them out of the house, now Alphonso, Greg and Howard are round here all the time and Mom’s doing her best to lure them into her bedroom.

I never realized I’d yearn so badly to have my old uptight, prudish mother back permanently, and not just for a few hours here and there, a half a day at the most.

My friends aren’t even real friends any more. Even Alphonso and Greg and Howard have changed. They say they’ve come over to my house to play Grand Theft auto on the multi-player but all they’re interested in is my Mom, sashaying round the house in her low-cut short shorts and fuck-me tube skirts drinking vodka at nine a.m. in the morning. My so called mates don’t really care that my mother’s swinging between two different personalities. They’re only interested in ‘Seraphine’, her cumslut side. The way Mom’s carrying on it’s only a matter of time before I see Alphonso or Greg or Howard, or even all four of them, emerging from her bedroom with blissed-out smiles on their faces.

When my mother turns into Seraphine she’ll fuck anything that moves. She’s already slept with my college tutor, Doctor Sawyer, multiple times, but it’s me she’s really after. When she’s in cumslut mode she forgets I’m her son, her main aim in life is to get ‘Niko’, as she calls me, to fuck her pussy. She forgets I’m her son and wants full-on sex. I’m lucky it’s only been blow-jobs and hand relief so far. When she’s too hot to handle I take her for cruises round the city in my stolen Ferrari and she sucks my cock at three hundred ks an hour, or else I satisfy her parked up in the garage letting her pump my cock. Anything satisfies Seraphine, as long as a dude spunks for her. It’s been a battle but so far I’ve been able to fight her off when she insists I take her pussy, though it’s been a close call on a couple of occasions when she’s demanded I fuck her voluptuous butt. I may turn into Niko Bellic, the GTA gangster, when I’m with her but I still haven’t sunk so low as to shoot my seed into my own mother, even into her ass and her ass is breathtaking.

Mind you, I’ve already raped my sister. You can’t get much lower than that. I’m capable of anything when I’m ‘Niko’. My big sister’s locked in a cage in the cellar. When she came back from LA she caught Mom giving me a blowjob and threatened to report me to the cops. It wasn’t my fault. I had to rape her. And after I fucked my big sis I’ve had no alternative but to keep her locked up in the cellar.

I don’t know what to do. I’m at my wits’ end. Sorting out my sister’s even more important than straightening out my mother.

I’ve tried talking to Mom when she’s in her normal state. I’ve tried speaking to her, telling her what’s going on, that we’re in Grand Theft Auto reality, that we go out on missions together, that she and I pull off heists, that there’s a stolen Ferrari parked in the garage with a load of guns in the trunk, and that that’s why her Kia’s now permanently parked in the drive, but she just doesn’t listen. She thinks it’s only me being a teenage gamer obsessed with a stupid video game.

Maybe I am stupid. Perhaps I am obsessed. The game’s taken over my mind. It’s my reality now. I’m trapped in my favorite video game.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m caught in a higher level version of Grand Theft Auto V and an all powerful, super skillful gamer is playing me.

Perhaps, MaestroX111.

My scalp prickles. Cold dread clutches at my stomach.

MaestroX111 is the top Grand Theft Auto gamer in the world. MaestroX111 is the only gamer who’s ever completed sixty seven missions and reached eight thousand points, an almost impossible achievement for a mere mortal. He/she—no one even knows if MaestroX111’s a man or a woman— has a garage filled with the most expensive cars on the GTA market. His/her in-game wealth is fabulous. MaestroX111 has pulled off some of the most celebrated heists in Grand Theft Auto folklore. It was MaestroX111 who got me into this fix in the first place. It was MaestroX111 who messaged me and showed me how to hook my GTA console up to my mother’s subliminal meditation tape recordings and brainwash her mind with the Grand Theft Auto codes.

One night Mom plies me with vodka and I only just pull back from the brink in time. I’m seconds from fucking my own mother before I regain my self control and spunk on her belly again for the thousandth time.

I can’t take any more. I feel desperate. I need to get in touch with MaestroX111, make him tell me how to decode my mother’s brain, undo the Grand Theft Auto brainwashing, make her my normal uptight, prudish Mom again.

It isn’t so easy. MaestroX111’s a celebrity on the dark web. You don’t just message him/her. You just have to wait. MaestroX111 contacts you, you don’t contact the world’s number one gamer.

I’m at the end of my tether.

One night, I’ve just dragged my mother home from getting mauled by a three-hundred-pound dock worker in a meat-market nightclub, when my blank screen lights up and a message comes through on my dark web message board. It’s from MaestroX111!

Graham O’Grady! Greetings! Howz Mom?

I go cold all over. MaestroX111’s tone scares me. It’s so familiar and easy-going when he/she talks about my Mom.

I type words onto the screen before I can think up a proper reply:

Not good. She’s out of control. I can’t stand it. I don’t want her to be a cumslut any more.

A laughing clown emoji:

I thought she sucked cock real good.

I stop breathing. MaestroX111 seems to have a lot of intimate knowledge about my mother.

I type.

She’s my mother!!!

Three laughing clown emojis:

I thought you wanted to fuck her. Your mother’s a sensational fuck.

It’s dangerous getting on the wrong side of MaestroX111. He/she can make or break your career as a Grand Theft Auto gamer. I hold my breath and type:

How do YOU know?

A shooting stars emoji:

I know everything.

I type, hoping MaestroX111 can see the desperation in the words scrolling across the screen.

I don’t want Mom to be a cumslut any more. I can’t stand it. How do I change her back to her real self again?

A row of mocking question marks:

????????? Good question. I’m afraid you can’t. Not till you reach sixty seven missions and accumulate 8,000 points.

Sixty-seven missions? Only the world’s top gamers achieve sixty-seven missions. 8,000 points? 8,000 points is impossible. You’d have to play Grand Theft Auto V twenty-four hours a day for two hundred years to amass that number of points.

I’ve barely the strength to type:

That’s impossible.

The reply is instantaneous:

Not when you’re playing in the real world, son.

I freeze.

Son? Why do you call me ‘son’?

A whole row of laughing clown emojis:

Only joking. ‘Son’ like you’d say ‘buddy’ or ‘mate.’ Calm down, Graham.

Calm down? MaestroX111’s taking the piss. He/she’s laughing at me. I’m so freaked I only just remember my sister. I need help with my big sis too. She’s locked in a cage in the basement. Out of her mind with rage and recrimination against me. She’s threatening to go to the police the instant she’s let out.

I type:

What about Sasha?

A pause. Even MaestroX111 sees the size of the problem:

Your sister? You’ll just have to speak to her.

SPEAK TO HER? I’ve just raped her!

The reply scrolls back slowly, relentlessly:

Speak to her, Graham. You’re going to have to make it up to her some way or other. She’ll let you off if you pay her back.

PAY HER BACK?

Yeah. Everyone’s got their price.

I stare at meaningless blackness, at the blank void of the interweb. The screen’s gone dead. MaestroX111 called me ‘son’, but he/she is no freaking use at all.

It’s late. About eleven or twelve that night.

I climb into bed. I finally get some sleep. Streetlight filters in through the curtains, paling the musty darkness of my bedroom.

I’m asleep, but there’s a warm presence in my bed with me. A breathing softness rubs its silky smoothness against my body. Sometimes the silky smoothness grows firm and curvaceous and nestles backwards into my crotch. What feel like the wings of voluptuous shoulder-blades press against my chest, quivering as if they’re taking flight. I’m dreaming, but the dream turns into prickly hair finding its way up my nostrils, smothering my lips with silky wisps. A sumptuous body is undulating against me. The curvaceous firmness of a gorgeous ass grinds backwards against my stiff cock. I’m sound asleep but my penis is rock-hard because the voluptuous weight grinding backwards against me is unbearably lovely. Its hot, chunky ass is pushing urgently backwards into me. A succulent breast jellies in my hand as I embrace her from behind. A hand reaches round and grasps my aching shaft. She rubs it up and down an ass-cleft so toned and tight it can only be my mother’s and guides my throbbing spear-head towards a pulsing heat that can only be her ring.

A murmur.

A voice in the darkness.

My mother’s voice:

“… Want fuck my ass, Niko…?”

Ey?

Mom!

It’s my Mom!

My mother’s in bed with me!

“… I need a fuck, Niko… I need a fuck so bad…”

“Mom?”

I try to roll away.

She whispers:

“… You don’t wanta fuck my pussy, Niko… at least you can fuck my ass, ey…?”

Her fist’s hot. Her grip on my thick shaft is strong. I try to unpick her fingers. Her big ass jellies. My swollen tip slips and slithers on her quaking ring.

“… Yer gotta fuck me, Niko…”

“Mom!”

“… Up the ass’ll do… if you don’t fuck take my pussy…”

“Mom!”

I reach out and switch on the light.

I kick the covers off.

She’s butt naked.

Her voluptuous body’s in the throes of climax. Her big tits wobble. Her sumptuous ass jerks and bucks trying to fit my throbbing spear-head into her rear hole.

“… I need a fuck…”

There’s a horrible moment when her cleft closes round my swollen tip and her sumptuous ring is mouthing at my throbbing spear-head and I almost ram it into her hard and fast and deep, totally out of control except…

… It’s my Mom…

… She’s my mother…

… I remember who she is…

“Stop it, Mom! Cut it out!”

I manage to get out of bed, holding onto my cock, gripping my pounding piston tight so I don’t spunk all over the sheets.

She coos:

“… Oo… Niko… you’re so cruel…”

“I’m not Niko! I’m Graham! I’m your son!”

She rolls over and perches on the edge of the bed. Her luscious mouth pouts:

“… Why won’t you ever do what I ask, Niko…?”

I point at the rucked up sheets.

“Ask? You climbed in my freaking bed!”

Her hand’s between her legs, churning her clit. Hot juice runs down her silky thigh. Her pussy jerks. Her big ass kicks.

“… Oh… oh…” She’s bringing herself off again. She’s nagging me! “… Just a butt-fuck, Niko… only my ass… is fucking your mother’s ass too much to ask…?”

She knows she’s my mother! In some part of her scrambled brain she’s aware that I’m her son and she still wants me to take her.

“Mom. No. I can’t. It’s not right!”

She thrusts her bottom lip out:

“Well then!” Her old, bossy, uptight tone of voice. “If you don’t want to fuck me I’ll find someone who does!”

She’s climbing into a pair of skin-tight, slashed jeans. She picks up her halter from the floor and pulls it on over her head. She adjusts her large breasts in the skimpy lurex.

She jabs her finger at the widnow, at the wide world outside. Her eyes flash:

“There’s plenty of hunky dudes out there’d give their right arm for a night with Seraphine!”

The front door slams. Before I know what’s happening the front door’s slammed and all I can hear is the sound of her car starting up.

I get some clothes on.

I hurry into the garage.

The Ferrari glimmers in the dimness.

The garage doors roll up. I switch on the ignition, hear that awesome V12, 6.3 liter rumble.

It’s well past midnight. The streets and boulevards are quiet.

Late-nite taxis cruising without hope.

A whore under a streetlamp.

Liquor stores with wire mesh on the windows.

There’s only a few bars that stay open this late at night.

Mom’s Kia’s parked outside ‘Jimmy’s Place.’ Her need is so powerful she can drive her clunky little Kia and still forget that she’s a mother and a housewife.

Jimmy’s neon sign’s still on. A champagne glass ejaculating spurts of gold and silver fizz.

I park my Ferrari across the road and get out.

I open the trunk. There’s a range of weapons, but my SlamVan 2000 pump-action sawn-off shotgun’s the one for an occasion like this. If Jimmy’s lighting inside is as meager as his neon sign no one’ll notice eighteen inches of pump-action 28 caliber shotgun on the inside of my arm.

Inside the vibe’s deliberately murky or else Jimmy’s saving on electricity. There’s a pole-dancing stage, but this late the stage is empty.

Mom’s over by the bar with three guys. She’s angry with me and her anger’s making her reckless. My big sexy cumslut wants to get ganged.

A bottle of vodka and four shot glasses stand on the counter.

Her eyes are glazed. Her face is extra glossy. She can’t have been here more than half an hour and she already looks hammered.

A spivvy looking guy in a sharkskin suit is leaning against the bar with his arm around her shoulder. She’s got no objection to his hand slipping down off her shoulder and onto a breast, fondling the sumptuous fullness inside her halter.

She’s perched on a high stool with her legs spread giving the other two guys— bruisers in bouncer’s overcoats, the spivvy guy’s security— a good look at her swollen mound bulking out the skin-tight denim, a tight zip running all the way from her waistband button down between the legs and up her voluptuous ass, the toothed metal following the line of her hot slit.

She pouts:

“… Oo… look who’s here… it’s Niko…!”

Her jeans are so heavily slashed there’s more tanned thigh than denim, her fingertips idly stroking the higher slashes, up near her pussy, letting the threesome know that her juicy gash is ready for action.

I say:

“Yeah, Seraphine. It’s me.”

She pouts:

“… Don’t scowl like that, Niko… it doesn’t suit you…”

I growl:

“And whoring yourself in a scuzzy dive like this doesn’t suit you!”

“Careful, bro,” says the spivvy guy. “Me n this lady’s just gettin’ familiar, like.”

He cups her tit in his big mitt and juggles the soft jelly filling out her skimpy halter. He grins:

“You got a problem.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I got a problem. She’s comin’ home with me.”

I grab my mother’s hand and drag her off her stool.

The stool falls over.

There’s a clatter of high heels on tiles as she loses her balance.

“… Niko…!”

The guy’s security are reaching inside their coats.

The trigger ring swings on my finger. I flip the sawn-off round and pump two shots into where the bruisers were just standing.

“… Niko…!”

They’re not standing there any more. They’re lying on the floor spread out like shock shadows after a nuclear blast.

Soft, wobbly breasts crash into my chest.

“… Niko, stop it…!”

I yell:

“You’re coming home with me!”

She regains her balance.

I drag her towards the exit, thrashing and screaming:

“… Fuck off…!… leave me alone…!… I’m stayin’ here…!”

I slap her across the face and get her voluptuous body to the door.

The spiv’s behind the bar aiming over the counter with his Glock, firing randomly.

I pump a couple of shells in his direction.

Bottles explode. The mirror shatters and cascades down the wall. The spiv’s nowhere to be seen.

“… Get off me…!”

She’s still struggling. She still fancies his spivvy cock in her hot cunt, and some afters from his bodyguards.

By the time we hit the sidewalk sirens are already wailing.

I pump a few shots in the direction of the speeding red and blue lights and throw her into the Ferrari and burn rubber.

I jump the median strip and put my foot down into oncoming headlights. The oncoming headlights make themselves scarce.

The Ferrari’s got a top speed of 340 km/hour. We hit the freeway and the speedometer starts telling lies.

Ten minutes, both our lives on the edge, and the pursuit falls way behind.

We’re home. I back the Ferrari fast up the drive and into the garage and the rolla doors come down.

I drag my mother into the house. She’s still protesting:

“… I was just having a bit of fun, Niko…”

“Shuddup!”

I’m furious. I’ve just killed two people, maybe three. Any time now the cops are going to come round and cart me off to prison. All because my Mom’s a cumslut and can’t live without hot cock 24/7.

I slap her face.

“Fun? You get me into fucking trouble all the time, bitch!”

I throw her down on the couch.

“… You never let me have any fun, Niko…”

I mutter:

“With that punk and his goons?”

She doesn’t seem to understand. I’ve just killed two men, maybe three. They’re going to lock me up and throw away the key and all she can think about is how much spivvy cum and throbbing goon spunk her hot hole’s missed tonight!

Her halter’s white, and very tight, the stretchy lurex dark under her armpits, dark stains clutching at her wobbly fullness, at the perky nipples pronging her slutty halter. Her nipples are evn more engorged than when she was coming on to the spiv in the bar.

She reaches out.

Her fingers touch my cock.

She moues:

“… I want to fuck, Niko… I need a fuck so bad…”

Her jeans are skin-tight. The glossy flesh pouring out of the slashes high up near her pussy breathes tanned, toned promises to me, luscious secrets about her shaved cunt.

Her fingertips slide up and down the big weight pulsing in the front of my pants. I groan:

“… Yeah, well…”

She’s my mother. This stacked, voluptuous body carried me inside it when I was still a glint in my father’s eye.

She simpers:

“… It’s your fault I was naughty tonight, Niko…”

Naughty? Fucking three strangers in a seedy bar? Getting me put in jail for murder? Naughty?

Her fingers close round my cock. Her fingertips stroke softly, breathlessly. She’s my mother. She knows every inch of my throbbing manhood. She touches it like she owns it. She pouts:

“… I would never have gone to town if my Niko hadn’t rejected me so cruelly…”

The eye shadow she’s wearing—blue with metallic glints—the weight of the mascara fluttering on her springy lashes, the bronze blusher and the glossy slash of her lipstick ought to make her look cheap and whore-ish. It doesn’t. My mother’s face can take any amount of make-up. Her allure is natural. Her breathtaking beauty is wholly her own.

“… No, Mom… no…” She doesn’t even hear me call her ‘Mom’. She’s unzipping my pants. “… No… no way…”

I need to resist. I have to make a stand. Stand up to the hold she’s got over me. Starting right now, right here and now tonight.

She slips my cock out. She runs her fingertips up and down my throbbing shaft. I’ve just killed two, maybe three, people and I’ve got a rock-hard, throbbing erection.

She licks my swollen tip.

“… Oo, Niko… you’re so cruel… just a blowjob then, alright… ?… just some head for my big, tough boyfriend…” I’m not her boyfriend! I’m her son. She smiles at me: “… I suck cock good, don’t I…?”

It’s true. She does. My mother gives head like an expert. She sucks cock like a sinning angel come down to earth.

“… Yeah, well… okay… just a blowjob, ey…?” I’m losing my resolve. “… One last blowjob…”

I’ll change my ways tomorrow. Life will get better tomorrow. In the morning. At least she’s only given me head and loads of hand relief. I won’t have ventured into the unforgivable. At least I won’t have taken the unpardonable step and fucked the woman who gave me life.

I settle down on the couch and let her take my pants off. My shirt too. She keeps her jeans and halter on, thank God.

She stretches out along the couch beside me, her sumptuous ass jellying under tight denim, the zip between her legs skin-tight, all the way up to her tail-bone.

She takes my cock in her mouth. It’s true, my Mom’s sucked me off dozens of times since I first programmed her brain with the Grand Theft Auto code. She’s right. She does it good. She gives head like an expert. I relax. I let her suck the thrill of the car chase out of my big cock. I allow her plump lips to thank me for saving her from the spiv and his goons. I let her luscious tongue lick up the buzz of shooting men dead. She takes me deep in the back of her throat.

“… Argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllll…”

I run my fingers through my mother’s lustrous blonde hair. I massage the sinful thoughts pulsing in her hot scalp and ease her mouth up and down on my throbbing need to fuck her.

No. No way. She’s my mother. Not tonight. Not ever.

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

Her teeth close round my shaft way down at my root. Urgent incisors clamp my pounding piston in a tender love-bite. Her luscious gullet gargles my throbbing spear-head in a deluge of spittle and sweet gag.

“… Glu-uuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”

I push the thought that this is mouth mother’s mouth out of my mind, that these are my Mom’s plump lips that are always nagging me and moaning at me and issuing bossy demands at me, that are sliding up and down my pounding piston. I push all thought entirely it out of my mind and let the delicious spasms take hold.

“… Argh… argh…”

At least I’m only going to cum in her gullet. At least I’m only going to shoot my load into her luscious wind-pipe, not the place where my father’s cock slammed into her nineteen years ago and conceived me.

“… Argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllllllllllllllllll…”

My father? Why am I thinking about my Dad? I don’t want to think about my father, but suddenly wild thoughts about him are tumbling through my brain.

Why did MaestroX111 called me ‘son’?

Why is there a photo of a man on my mother’s nightstand, with all the family snaps of me and Mom and Sasha, of a man with his back turned to the camera and a big 13 on the back of his football shirt? I’ve never seen my father. I don’t even know who my Dad is. Why is he haunting me like this? Why can’t I stop thinking about MaestroX111 maybe fucking my mother?

“… Argh… argh…”

She lifts her mouth away from my cock. Strings of gag trail from her juicy lips to my throbbing spear-head. Her tongue’s luscious tip flicks at the tight slit where my load’s getting ready to explode.

“… I need a fuck, Niko… I need a fuck so bad…”

She lifts herself onto her knees. She cocks her butt. The crotch zip tugs in her sensational crease. The skin-tight denim’s glued to her taut tight cleft. Toothed metal kicks and bucks on my Mom’s sensational tail-bone.

Words scroll across the dark screen of my mind:

I thought you wanted to fuck her. Your mother’s a sensational fuck.

MaestroX111’s message scrolling across my screen. He’s right. I can tell that he’s right. My Mom’s a sensational fuck. That doesn’t mean I have to fuck her.

She lifts her belly off the couch. I reach under her.

My fingers find the toggle.

Her zip’s tight but I tug the toothed metal open down over her mound, over her wet heat and between her legs.

“… Argh… argh…”

The zip reaches the smooth ridge separating her pussy from her sumptuous ass cleft.

“… Argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllll…”

Her throat still impaled on my cock, she gropes round behind her. Her fingers find the toggle and take over. Skin-tight denim parts all the way up her ass to her breath-taking tail-bone.

“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”

I reach out.

Her ring’s wet and slippery. Juice from her succulent pussy has worked its way around between her legs. It’s lubing the tight muscle where her tight ring’s quaking for my big cock.

“… Argh… argh… argh-lllllllllllllllllllllllll…”

I’m cumming. Her urgent tongue’s doing intolerable things to my pounding piston. I’m going to cum, except…

… I can’t…

… I won’t…

… Not now…

… Her butt is too hot…

… Her ass-cheeks are too full and curvaceous…

… Her sweet ring mouths helplessly where my finger’s sliding in…

… Her big ass quakes and kicks where my finger’s knuckle deep in my mother’s rear entrance…

… The feeling’s too good… MaestroX111 said it:

… Your mother’s a sensational fuck…

… It’s only her ass. It isn’t her pussy. It’s not the succulent place where I was made. Fucking her up the ass isn’t a crime…

Her lips let go of my throbbing spearhead. She cocks her butt higher:

“… Please, Niko… please…”

I climb up on the couch and straddle her from behind. The sweet gape my finger has left behind tightens into a pert moue.

“… Please, Niko… ple-eeeeeeease… fuck my ass…”

I spread her voluptuous ass-cheeks with both hands. Her tail-bone lifts like a tanned submarine rising from the depths of a glossy ocean.

“… Please… I need your to fuck my ass…”

Her ring’s a gorgeous dark brown purple-y color. Her hot crater’s lubed with sweat and pussy juice. I drizzle some spittle into slippery muscle. My saliva froths where her urgent ass-hole’s begging to be pierced.

“… Please… ple-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese…”

I fit my throbbing spear-head into her slippery hole.

She catches her breath.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck you’re big…”

I know I am. I’m extra big. My swollen tip is thick and tight as a drum. I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t hurt my own mother.

A burning vice clamps my pounding spear-head. She groans:

“… Yes… yes… stick it in… it’s so nice and big, Niko… give it to me…”

Her chunky hips slip and slide in my hands. Her voluptuous ass quakes.

“… Stick your big cock into me, Niko… I love you… I love you so much… I need your cock so bad…”

I’m not Niko. I’m Graham. I’m her son Graham O’Grady. She doesn’t love me. My mother doesn’t want me. She only wants a hit man. A killer. The Grand Theft Auto hit man animal.

A little flinch. A voluptuous spasm. The burning vice relaxes its grip. I slide my rock-hard cock into her real hole hard and fast and deep.

“… Ow… ow-www… ow-wwwwwwwww…”

I press my lips to her ear. I murmur through a tangle of silky blonde hair.

“You like that do you, Seraphine?”

“… Yes… yes… fuck… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuck…”

Her butt kicks backwards. Her luscious ass-cheeks jelly on my big prong. The thrill from her gorgeous butt runs all the way up my throbbing length and I slam it into her again and again.

“… Yes… yes… fuck me… fuck my tight little butt…”

Little? The biggest, most bootylicious, hottest, most succulent butt ever quakes and jerks on my pulsing spear. I impale my mother’s ass again and again.

“… Ouch… ow-www… yes… oh yes…”

My groin slams into skin-tight denim where her rear zip parts on her ass’s toned perfection.

She sticks her hand between her legs. Her fingers disappear into her melting cunt. Her knuckles are slippery pumping extra juice into the hot throbs undulating her luscious ass.

“… Give it to me, Niko… give it to me… I want your hot cum in my ass…”

I love her. She’s beautiful. My mother’s drop dead gorgeous. My Mom’s the hottest cumslut in all of Los Santos city.

“… Give it to me, Niko… give it to me…”

A tsunami of delight hits me from behind. A juggernaut of ecstasy rams into. My stallion buttocks kick.

“… Fuck… fuck… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

My whole body jolts. I’ve let myself down. I’ve broken my promise. I’m pumping surge after surge of hot cum into my mother’s rear fuck-hole.

I wake up next morning in a cold sweat.

The cops haven’t come knocking at our door yet but it’s only a matter of time.

Mom’s still asleep in her bedroom, her ear-pods plugged into her ears, the spools of subliminal enlightenment message revolving in her tape machine. I hope like hell that ‘… You… And… I… Are… One…’ will bring her back to her real self.

I go into the kitchen and switch on the TV.

A news program comes on.

‘… A gunfight in a bar in East Jonesville…’

A shattered mirror. Smashed bottles. Bullet holes in glitzy wallpaper.

It’s real. It’s actual. It really happened. It’s on the news.

‘… Two men wounded in the exchange of gunfire are recovering in hospital. A third man is being interviewed by the police… passers bye report a man and woman speeding off in a red Ferrari…’

A wave of relief floods through me. Thank God. At least I haven’t killed anybody. Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. Hopefully the cops will come soon and throw me in prison before I do something even more unforgivable.

Unforgivable? I’ve done loads of unforgivable things already. It all comes flooding back…

… My mother fucked up the ass…

… My supermodel sister locked in a cage in the basement. My big sis has been down in the cellar for three days now, and I still haven’t spoken to her properly...

MaestroX111 said I had to talk to my sister. He/she told me I could straighten things out with my big sis after I’ve raped her. MaestroX111 said there might be something I could do to make Sasha forgive me. I’m still wondering if MaestroX111’s my father, but if he/she is my father, my father’s totally insane. It’s impossible Sasha can ever forgive me after what I’ve done to her. It’s out of the question. There’s nothing I can do that will ever stop her from hating me, and reporting me to the cops. Even looking her in the face impossible, let alone speaking to her. So far I’ve barely been able to take her her food, and to the toilet and to the bathroom down in the cellar. Talking to her straight, making it up to her, is beyond me.

I don’t know what to do. I wander around the house like a zombie.

Alphonso and Greg and Howard are in the garage, working on the Ferrari.

Alphonso’s training to be a panel-beater and spray-painter. He’s repairing the damage to the side of the Ferrari where I side-swiped the Lexus when I stole it.

Surprisingly, I’ve got enough money to buy a replacement door and pay for the specialist Ferrari colors and spare parts. Doctor Sawyer has been as good as his word. Not only has he changed my grades to straight A-s, he’s awarded me the University Prize for Outstanding Scholarship. I’ve now got twenty thousand dollars to spend on my stolen car. Doctor Sawyer has been adroitly fielding all the awkward questions that have arisen concerning my sudden change of results. He’s also been round the house a number of times since his first visit.

I need to go downstairs to the cellar and talk to my sister. It’s one p.m. and she hasn’t even been to the bathroom or had any breakfast yet. I keep putting off unlocking the padlock on the door to the cellar steps.

Mom emerges from her bedroom around two o’clock in her dowdy cheesecloth blouse and boxy denim skirt. She sets straight into nagging me about the state of my bedroom. She fusses and frets, tidying up the mess in the living room, clattering pots and pans in the kitchen, moaning about everybody dumping all the chores on her, letting her down, making her life difficult. She snaps:

“Your sister was supposed to be home three days ago, and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of her!”

The sweat freezes on my forehead. I go cold all over.

“… Well… I guess she just must’ve got held up somewhere, Mom…”

My Mom’s washed all her make-up off but the alluring curves and dips of her face are still in evidence. Even with her lustrous blonde hair tied up in a tight, prudish bun she’s stunningly beautiful. She won’t nagging:

“Well she’s very rude not phoning and telling me! Why do people always leave everything up to me?”

In the afternoon Mom’s friends come for aerobics practice. Jodie, the tanned, stringy blonde. Sabrina, the chubby brunette. Dolores who’s almost as stacked as Mom. Geraldine, the vivacious redhead. Cheryl, a dumpy little short-ass and Celeste, a dusky six-footer. And Mom of course, in her black and gold leotard with a bandana tied around her dripping forehead.

The furniture shakes. The cut glass is rattling in the cabinet.

‘Saturday Night Fever’ throbs through the house.

Mom’s got her usual dopey ‘look-how-healthy-I-am’ expression on her face. 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.

If I don’t stop looking at her she’s going to turn into the Grand Theft Auto cumslut Seraphine!

Before I programmed her brain with the Grand Theft Auto codes I had no idea my mother could make an aerobic workout look so sexy. Mom’s friends are fit and athletic for their mid-thirties, but the way my mother moves is something else again.

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

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.

‘… When you reach out for me… n the feeling is right…’

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 go thrilling up her spine. She arches her back and jerks her leotard’s black and gold crotch in time to a beat heavier than any disco rhythm.

Her large breasts are wobbling her halter’s 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— as if I’m Niko in a Los Santos pick-up joint— the hottest cumslut in Los Santos.

“… 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 my mother is. Just watching her do aerobics in our living room’s bringing me off.

I head for the door before she turns into Seraphine there and then, in the middle of our living room, in front of all her mid-thirty-something friends. I get to my bedroom just in time!

I spunk bigtime. I shoot my load like it’s my heart and soul I’m pumping into the sheet.

Things can’t go on like this.

I can’t take it any more.

It’s six o’clock in the evening.

My sister!

Sasha!

MaestroX111 said I needed to speak to her! Straighten things out. Repay her for what I’ve done to her. Make Sasha forgive me!

It’s impossible. I’m a fiend. I’m a monster. A total brute.

My sister hasn’t eaten all day. She’s down in the cellar in a cage. She hasn’t been to the bathroom since last night!

I’ve kept the door to the cellar locked since my sister’s been down there. When my mother’s her real self she’s too busy nagging and moaning to notice the padlock on the door. When Mom’s Seraphine she remembers that her daughter’s locked up in the cellar, but she thinks ‘it’s no more than the stuck-up bitch deserves.’

I wait till hear Mom go out shopping.

I hastily heat up one of the readi-meals I keep hidden in my bedroom. My mother’s such a ‘ship-shape’ housekeeper she’d notice at once if I stole any of her food from the fridge for Sasha.

The microwave pings.

Cauliflower cheese.

Yuk.

My sister’s a successful model. She’s used to a high protein health diet to maintain her figure and flawless complexion.

I unlock the cellar door and creep down the rickety stairs with the tray of food.

My sister’s cage stands in a pool of fluorescent light in one corner of the cramped, mildew-smelling space.

A tall pen with thick bars my father once used to keep rottweilers in. She’s lying on the bedding I smuggled down from her room.

“I’ve brought you some food.”

She sits up. My sister rears up out of the pile of sheets and bedspreads.

“You bastard!”

MaestroX111 said I had to speak to her, reason with her, come to some arrangement, but that’s impossible.

I open the door of the cage and take her food in to her.

“… Look, Sasha… I’m sorry… I really am… I never meant things to turn out like this…”

“You son of a bitch!”

Dark lustrous eyes. High cheekbones. Refined, aquiline nose. Her salon-styled tangle of wavy black hair still silky even after days of captivity. The broad sensuous lips that look good smiling in lingerie and swimwear shoots snap at me:

“You raped me!”

“… I know, but…”

Her eyes narrow:

“Look, Graham. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to let me out of here.” Even locked up in a dog cage my big sister’s as high-powered and bossy as ever. “And when you do I’m going straight to the police and they’re going to lock you up and throw away the key.”

“… Yeah, but… I didn’t mean to rape you…”

I can’t help wondering if perhaps I did mean to. Even down here in the cellar my big sister’s stunningly beautiful, and as immaculately dressed as ever.

I’ve brought her her clothes and make-up down from her bedroom and the suitcase she arrived from California with.

Even living in a cage her white Versace jeans are spotless. The pristine denim clings to every inch of her long slim legs. Her black Marc Jacobs singlet is as chic as ever, her small pert breasts breathing angrily through the meager, expensive cotton, her nipples erect and furious. Even on a diet of hamburgers and fries Sasha’s slinky fashion-model body has maintained its size zero perfection.

She won’t let up:

“And what have you done to Mom? A freaking blowjob? What are you doing to my mother?”

“… Nothing… I just…”

“You’ve drugged her haven’t you? You’ve doped her up so she’ll suck your cock, you sick bastard!”

“… No… no… it’s not like that…”

“Our mother? Blowing you? In the hallway? You’ve hooked her on heroin, haven’t you? You’ve turned my mother into a junkie so you can have your sick way with her!”

Sasha’s stunning when she’s angry.

My cock’s already tingling.

I remember how I pinned her against the wall and forced her legs apart. I could still do it. My big sis is tall and fit but I had no trouble overpowering her in the hallway and ramming my cock into her tight pussy. I could ram my cock into her tight pussy now. She’s on the chain. Her swan-like throat’s pulsing in the rottweiler collar I use when I take her to the cellar bathroom. I could easily…

… No…

… No way…

… I need to explain…

“… Look… Sasha… it’s not like that… the truth is even worse than that…”

“Ey?!”

At least I’ve got her attention. At least she’s stopped shouting and is listening to me. It’s the only chance I’ll get to tell her the truth:

“… You know how I’m a gamer… how I’m into Grand Theft Auto…”

“That crap!”

“… It’s not crap, Sasha… you see, there’s this celebrity gamer called MaestroX111 and he…”

I tell her everything. I explain how I was angry with Mom for kicking my friends out of the house and MaestroX111 tempted me to program Mom’s brain with the Grand Theft Auto codes by hooking my console up to her subliminal tape machine. How it worked. How our mother turns into Seraphine, the Grand Theft Auto cumslut, day and night, whenever you least expect it. Sometimes she’s her real self. The next minute she’s a cum-hungry slut. I tell my sister how Mom’s constantly trying to get me to fuck her. How I fucked her butt last night after I shot up the bar. I tell Sasha about Mom seducing Doctor Sawyer. Stealing the Ferrari. Mom and me blasting the diamond ear rings from the Cartier store.

Sasha’s dark eyes flash:

“You expect me to believe this shit? You’re insane, Graham. You’re out of your pathetic freaking little nerdy mind!”

“… It’s true… it’s all real…” She has to believe me. I need my big sister to understand. “… Those ear-rings Mom had on in the hallway… they’re real… real diamonds… genuine Cartier… did you see her ear-rings…?”

Sasha frowns. She’s startled. A moment’s confusion crosses her eyes. Sasha knows everything there is to know about fashion and jewelry.

“… Well… yes… I did notice her ear-rings…”

“… They’re genuine Cartier… Mom and I blasted them from the Cartier shop…”

Sasha’s frown deepens.

“… Well… yes.. I heard about that too… on the news… a gunman and his moll shooting the place up…”

“That was Mom and me! Those ear-rings are worth two million dollars, Sasha. And Mom’s wearing them as we speak, down at Walmart’s.”

Sasha’s eyes widen. Even in a cage in a damp cellar under a dim fluorescent light she wears her Raybans up in her mane of coal-black hair. She murmurs:

“… Well… yes… I must say… I did think the ear-rings looked genuine…” She lets out a low whistle. “… Oh man…!”

I push on:

“… Look… Sasha… I’ll make it up to you… for what I did… I’ve got guns… a Ferrari… I’m Niko Bellic when I go out on the streets… I’ll get you anything you want… to make up for what I did… anything… I promise… just name it, Sasha, and it’s yours…”

MaestroX111 was right. Everyone’s got their price. Even my stuck-up big sister.

Her lips moisten. Her sensational lips rub together. Her dark eyes grow even more lustrous. My big sis is into clothes. Fashion’s her whole life. It’s the air she breathes. My sister’s already jealous of my mother’s Cartier ear-rings.

She looks at me:

“… Well… if you put it like that, Graham… erm, Niko… there is something I do really really want…” Her eyes go big and wide. “… Except… it’s so special… so extraordinary… I expect it’ll prove impossible…”

“Try me, Sasha. Tell me. Give me a chance.”

“… Well…”

There’s a dress she wants.

Not just any dress.

One of the three or four most celebrated dresses on earth. She’s dying to own it. She wants to know how the dress will feel on her. She whispers:

“… The Amber Heard Art of Elysium gown…”

“Amber Heard? The actress?”

“… Yes… the Georges Hobeika silver tulle wrap she wore to the Art of Elysium gala…” My big sis gazes into my eyes. “… I’m Amber’s height, Niko. Weight. Cup size. Breasts. Hips. Butt. Her exact measurements… oh God, Niko! If I could only have it! It’d fit me perfectly!”

The way my sister’s gazing at me sets my heart beating. If I can bust two million dollars’ worth of Cartier diamonds I can certainly find a way to get my hands on a ‘silver tulle wrap’ dress.

Sasha touches he breasts. She ripples her hands down her hour-glass hips, already feeling the gown on her svelte body. She reaches out and tousles my hair:

“… I’m sure if anyone can steal it it’s you, Niko…” Her chain creaks. Her collar tugs. She sways towards me. My sister’s as crazy as my mother. “… It’s at this very moment hanging in…”

She breathes the name of New York’s top couture gallery. The gown’s in the gallery, in an exhibition. One of ten million dollars’ worth of high-end dress design under lock and key in the world’s most famous gallery.

“… Except…” Her gorgeous forehead wrinkles. “… I’m afraid the security arrangements are impregnable. It’s all over the news. Twenty-four/seven armed guards. Security grilles everywhere. More steel bars on the doors and windows than Alcatraz…”

I mumble:

“… It’s not a problem…”

Her eyes shine:

“You can get it for me?”

“… Sure. I think so, but… if I do get it for you, you won’t be able to wear it anywhere. The cops will grab you if you wear it outside. You’ll only be able to wear it here, in the house…”

Her voice grows vibrant:

“… I don’t care… !” Her eyes melt into mine. Her fashion-model body sways towards me with a girlish allure I remember from when we were kids. “… Just to have it on…! … simply to feel such exquisite styling on my body, even down here in my cage… I’d be so grateful to you… I wouldn’t care any more about anything you’ve ever done to me… look… … give me your phone…!”

I’ve taken her phone away while I’m keeping her down here.

I feel a bit dubious handing her my phone.

I get ready to snatch it back the instant she starts calling the cops or messaging her friends.

She doesn’t. She’s too intent on showing me the dress.

“… Here… look… isn’t it exquisite…?”

There’s a photo on my screen.

Some actress or other.

Blonde. Extraordinarily beautiful.

Tall and slim, her alluring body extraordinarily like my sister’s.

“… Isn’t it lovely, Niko…?”

Sasha’s forgotten that she’s my sister.

The dress is better than naked. It’s naked plus a shimmer of silvery gauze and crystals. The gauzy straps not wide enough to cover even pert, girlish breasts. Both hips fully visible through a breathless shimmy of beads and silver threads. A slit up one side from ankle to thigh. No bra. No panties. Not even a thong. Just a see-thru dazzle plunging too a V where her pussy is.

I’m getting a tingle just from a picture on my phone. This Amber Heard chick looks sensational in her ‘silver tulle wrap’. My sister will look even more sensational.

Her chain tugs. The collar tightens around her throat. My big sis reaches out and fondles a helpless shirt button on my beating chest.

“… Please, Niko… ple-eeeeeeease… I’d do anything to wear it…”