The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I wake the next morning to the sound of gentle thuds on the living room carpet outside my bedroom door.

The thuds are immediately recognizable— my mother doing some preparatory star jumps and push-ups before she leaves the house for her morning jog.

The morning jog that her creepy boyfriend Howard Montgomery insists on her taking to lose weight. My mother doesn’t need to lose weight. Her chunky body is voluptuously perfect.

Last night I nearly fucked her.

The terrible details come flooding back.

I came within seconds of possessing my mother’s succulent pussy. If fear and dread hadn’t gripped me and made me ejaculate twice at the last moment—on her silky belly and all up her shapely back— I would have committed the ultimate crime, ‘carnal knowledge of my mother’s body’.

Even worse…

My Mom wanted me to have carnal knowledge of her body. Her pussy was sopping wet. Her hot cunt pulsed helplessly on my cock’s swollen spear-head, begging my big cock to sink into her ultimate surrender.

Surely she didn’t really mean it. It’s impossible my mother could have actually intended to fuck me. She was hypnotized. My Mom was in a hypnotic trance, not in her real mind. I was hypnotized too. I hypnotized myself!

It was all my fault, doctoring Howard’s self-help video, hypnotizing my mother as she eagerly watched her boyfriend’s video blog with spiraling pixels and the lulling of my remastered sound-track. Last night I did the unthinkable— I hypnotized my own mother. I gained access to her subconscious mind and planted trigger words— ‘easy’ to put her under, and ‘hard’ to snap her out of it— into the limbic regions of her neural cortex, where survival instinct and sex drive are at their strongest.

It’s unforgivable. I don’t know what I was thinking of. It was only her dopey worship of her creepy boyfriend that drove me to do it.

‘Doctor’ Howard Montgomery is so freaking pompous and uptight. The guy’s such a moralistic prude. He’s got my mother totally under his thumb, lecturing her on how to be the demure, sweetly-spoken, ideal future wife he may or may no choose to marry, making her watch his stupid video blogs on losing weight and dressing ‘becomingly’.

That’s no excuse. It doesn’t excuse me hypnotizing my own Mom, putting her in a hypnotic trance last night with ‘easy’… in the kitchen, helping her do the washing up!… and making her unzip my pants and touch my cock. It doesn’t absolve me of guilt for taking advantage of my own mother sexually. Instead of suggesting she free herself of her infatuation with Howard, instead of commanding her to dump Doctor Howard Montgomery and get back to being my real Mom, making her pump my cock… so hot and sweetly I unloaded on her stomach.

… da thud… da thud… da THUD…

… Star jump one… star jump two… star jump THREE…

My mother’s a chunky woman. She’s curvaceous, especially in the lycra cycling shorts and the stretchy sports bra she wears to go jogging in.

Even curled up in my bed, my bedroom curtains drawn, I can see her bootylicious butt juddering every time her bare feet hit the carpet. I can see her huge tits wobbling voluptuously as she claps her hands high above her head.

I nearly fucked her.

… Even worse…

… She thought I was Howard…

… She thought I was Howard Montgomery…

… Even looking straight at me, pumping my rock-hard cock, my mother thought I was her creepy boyfriend…

… It was Howard she was hot and wet for…

… da thud… da thud… da THUD…

I want to forget the whole thing ever happened. If there was any way I could erase ‘easy’ and ‘hard’ from my memory I would, but I can’t.

A knock on my door.

“… Matty…?”

I roll over and stuff my head under the pillow.

“… Matty…?”

I shout:

“… I’m asleep…”

“… Asleep…?”

“… I’m tired, Mom. I need some more shut-eye…”

The door swings open.

I should have locked it.

She comes into my room. She’s leaning over the bed, shaking my hip through the sheet.

“… You promised you’d come jogging with me…”

I can smell her perspiration, fresh and tangy, from her star jumps and press-ups. I can feel the moisture marinating sweetly between skin-tight lycra and my mother’s silky skin.

She shakes my shoulder harder:

“… Come on, Matty. Get up…!… you said you’d come jogging with me this morning…”

I mutter from under the sheet:

“… I said no such thing…!”

She said it, not me. Last night, after I spunked up her back in the shower… ‘… it’s so nice doing things together, Matty, just you n me…’ Okay! She didn’t realize what ‘nice thing’ had just happened—my fingers in her wet pussy bringing her off— alright! I’d already snapped her out of her trance. She was oblivious to what had just occurred, but she’d known—I could hear it in her voice—that something had occurred, something ‘nice’ was still purring through her steamy, satisfied body, even if she had no actual recollection of my fingers stabbing into her succulent pussy, sending her slippery, voluptuous body into spasm. ‘… It’s so nice doing things together, just you n me…’? I never want to do another thing together with her ever again! I don’t even want to be on my own with her ever again!

Her voice grows stern, no-nonsense, maternal:

“Come on, Matty! Get up!”

I groan:

“… No, Mom… please…”

She pulls the sheet off.

“Matty!”

I slide out of bed.

My pajamas are poking way out at the front. She knows I’ve got a big cock… but can’t she see it’s bigger than usual? Tenting out the front of my summer pajamas? The tingle already turning to a throb, remembering last night and how wet her pussy was in the shower, rutting on my slippery knuckles.

“… Hell, Mom…”

“Come along! Snip snap! Fresh air, that’s what you need, young man! Howard says fresh air is the best medicine for a sleepy head!”

Fucking Howard, I could kill him.

I pull a singlet on over my head. I turn my back on my Mom and hurry into a pair of running shorts, hoping she hasn’t registered my erection.

“That’s better!”

She gazes placidly at my preparations like she used to gaze when I was a toddler splashing in the bath.

I put my trainers on.

She beams:

“A mother and her son going for a health-giving jog together! I wish Howard were here to see us. I’m sure he’d be delighted!”

We hit the street.

We jog down the sidewalk.

We pick up pace when we reach the park.

Mom’s right. The morning air is nice and fresh and invigorating. The sun is deliciously warm.

I can’t help noticing how fit my mother looks in cycling shorts and a stretchy sports bra.

Howard’s always urging her to lose weight. Howard insists the perfect, demure, sweetly-spoken ideal future wife must be stick thin and basically curve-less.

That’s not my Mom. Her big butt was made for cycling pants. Her ass jellies lusciously in the skin-tight lycra as she runs. The jogging rhythm does heart-stopping things to the curvaceous softness of my mother’s ass-cheeks. The elasticated fabric follows the breath-taking give and take of her butt’s toned cleft as she picks up speed.

Her luscious tits swing freely in her stretchy sports bra, two big soft wrecking balls lurching to the heavy beating of her heart, doing their best to attain the size zero specifications laid out by Howard.

I’m panting hard myself.

“… Slow down, Mom… gotta pace yourself…”

“Oo! That’s exactly what Howard says, Matty! Pace yourself in all things. Rome wasn’t built in a day!”

My scalp prickles. That’s exactly what Howard says? She’s turning me into freaking Howard. Last night in the shower, looking straight at me, she thought it was her creepy boyfriend who was stabbing three fingers in and out of her wet cunt, bringing her off again and again.

She sprints ahead down the leafy shade of the woodland path.

I can still feel how wet her pussy was.

… Nearly nine hours have passed and her luscious heat’s still tingling on my fingertips… my knuckles are still aching with the voluptuous wetness her hot gash made for Howard, rutting on my fingertips for Howard, ’Howard’ ejaculating all up her supple spine and spraying her bootylicious butt in helpless semen.

“… Mom… slow down… it’s not the freaking Olympics…”

She throws a delighted laugh over her sweaty shoulder.

“… Oh, but it is the Olympics, Matty… that’s what Howard says… one must always strive to be better… rise to every challenge… make every moment an Olympic event…”

Fucking Howard. I want to kill the guy.

The woodland path grows shadier. The tree-lined path grows narrower, shaded by a canopy of summer leaves. I drop back.

Directly in front of me, her elbows pump vigorously. Her blonde hair adheres darkly to her glistening shoulders. Her bootylicious butt strains at skin-tight lycra.

Her pussy’s shaved.

Last night, when I touched her clit, when I massaged shower gel into her molten clit, I realized for the first time in my life, I touched the fact for the first time ever that my mother shaves her pussy. Besides from being juicy and red hot my Mom’s mound was baby bottom smooth.

Even right now, straining athletically in her sumptuous slit, my Mom’s pussy is completely hairless, not even a shadow of black bristles to disturb the voluptuous texture of her plump mound’s silky skin.

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Who’d she shave for? For Howard? Does Howard issue instructions on how the ideal woman grooms her cunt? Is there a ‘Shaved Pussy’ blog for her to watch?

That skimpy thong she wore under her virginal white slacks last night!

A hot shiver runs through my body. My cock tingles. A heavy throb aches in the big spear swinging between my legs.

My mother wants Howard to fuck her. My Mom’s dying to get Howard Montgomery’s puritanical cock inside her. She preens and pouts and listens dutifully to all his sermons and instructions on ‘a healthy mind in a healthy body’ but between her legs— between those heavy sumptuous thighs straining to keep up the pace—my mother’s wet gash is yearning for her dopey boyfriend to impale it.

The tingle turns to a helpless shudder. The throb turns to a sudden stiffening, a heavy weight gathering in my shorts.

I need to know.

I have to know right now.

Does she shave for Howard? Is her pussy baby bottom smooth for her creepy boyfriend?

I swore last night I’d never use the trigger words again. I promised myself last night I’d never touch my mother that way again. But the question’s burning me up. Her pussy felt so toned and smooth—does she shave it specially for Howard?

I’m going to die if I don’t find out.

The path opens out to a wide clearing. There’s some sheltered trees on the far side, a distance from the path.

“… This way, Mom…”

I shepherd her across the clearing into the sheltered coppice.

I pant the trigger word, in the special tone I use for the trigger word, at the damp blonde hair tangling the back of her head:

“… Easy does it, Mom… easy…”

Her shoulders jerk. Her butt muscles tighten under glistening lycra. Her jogging stride falters. She slows down:

“… Oo… yes… we have been rather pushing ourselves… I do feel rather puffed…”

Her large breasts rise and fall in her moist sports bra. Her nipples prong the elasticated material.

She slows down. She stops running altogether.

I stop running too.

Her big blue doe eyes gaze into my eyes, already hypnotized. The trance state takes full possession of her voluptuous body. Even her panting breath is hypnotized:

“… Oo… yes… yes, Howard… moderation in all things…”

Fuck moderation.

I raise my voice:

“Tell me, Teresa. I need to know…”

The need is irresistible. I have to know, even if I’ve got to be Howard to do it!

I remember just in time:

“… Do you shave your pussy…?”

The real Howard’s never seen her pussy. The real Howard never will see her pussy if I have anything to do with it.

She leans backwards against a tree trunk. She moues dreamily:

“… My pussy, Howard…?”

“… Yes… do you shave it…?”

Her legs spread. Her thighs part. Her pussy lifts, a glossy hill of skin-tight lycra thrusting at my eyes.

“… Why… yes… of course I do, Howard…”

I groan:

“… Why…?… who told you to shave it…?”

She pouts:

“… Who…?… why… no one… no one told me, Howard… I just thought…”

She gently stokes it. Her fingertip finds the dark furrow in the swollen lycra that’s more than just perspiration.

I groan:

“Just thought what?”

Her thighs part. Her swollen mound glistens. A dreamy fingertip deepens the dent where her hot slit pulses under skin-tight elastane.

“… I just thought you might like me to shave my pussy, Howard… I know what a stickler you are for all things neat and tidy…”

She’s shaved it of her own free will.

I glance round.

The clearing’s deserted. The woodland path on the far side is deserted.

We’re alone. This part of the council parkland is always unfrequented.

I murmur:

“… Show me…”

She preens:

“… Show you… ?… why, of course I’ll show you, Howard…”

She arches her back. She leans back more firmly against the tree trunk and slips her fingers under the elasticated waistband.

She peels her cycling shorts down over her chunky hips. Skin-tight lycra unglues itself from her glistening groin. She rolls the stretchy fabric down her silky thighs.

“… Okay, Howard…?”

Okay? Okay, Howard? Howard’s never seen anything so beautiful in his nineteen years on this earth.

Her voluptuous camel’s-toe mound is completely hairless, a gently pulsing hill in paradise. She’s been thinking about Howard. My Mom’s been dreaming of her creepy boyfriend. Her wet slit glistens coyly. Her hot gash is already unfurling its succulent lips for Howard’s delectation.

I glance round.

Trees and leafy shadows.

The clearing still deserted.

I sink to me knees. I drop to my knees between her legs. My kneecaps sink into warm woodland mulch.

I groan:

“… Part them… your… your lips… I wanta see what your pussy looks like when it’s open…”

Just one look. I only want a glimpse. Half a second then I’ll say the trigger word… ‘hard’… I’ll snap her out of her trance.

“… Why, of course, Howard… anything for you…”

Manicured nails sink into pink, wet gash, draw her swollen pussy lips apart. Creamy strings in her sopping wetness hang on for dear life as my mother’s hot cunt opens.

“… You like it, Howard…?”

I can’t breathe.

“… Yes… I like it…”

She pouts:

“… You wanta taste it, Howard…?… you wanta taste your girlfriend’s wet cunt…?”

It’s not how she speaks at the dinner table with the real Howard.

I groan.

“… No… no I don’t… look, you’re not my freaking girlfriend, alright? ”

My cock’s rock-hard. My big thing’s throbbing like crazy. My stiff cock’s hammering to get out of my shorts.

She giggles:

“… Tastes even better than her beef bourguignon, Howie…”

Her pink furrow parts its glue-y welcome. Her split lifts. A trickle of creamy juice makes its way down her curvaceous ass-cheeks.

“… Come on, Howard… eat me out… lick your girlfriend’s hot pussy…”

I don’t want to be Howard. I loathe Howard. I hate Howard being her ‘boyfriend’. I only hypnotized her so I could get rid of Howard.

I sink to my knees between her legs. I don’t even check if anyone’s coming. I’m as hypnotized as she is, hypnotized by my mother’s throbbing slit’s sopping perfection.

I palm her chunky hips. I hold her hips still and apply my tongue to my mother’s succulent gash.

“… Oh… oh…”

Her pussy spasms instantly. One tongue-tip flick and her sopping cunt kicks off.

“… Oh… oh… oh… oh fuck…”

The dreaded f-word slips from her lips in all its delicious rapture.

Her fingers run through my hair, sieving her son’s wavy locks, gripping two handfuls, holding my mouth where the pleasure is sweetest.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

Her tail-bone kicks. Her pussy jerks and bucks on my strong mouth-meat.

Shi-iiiiiiit.

She’s cumming.

Her naked butt quakes against the tree trunk.

My mother’s climaxing.

“… Yes… yes…”

Her wet gash ruts helplessly on my lips, my teeth, my tongue.

She holds on tight to my hair and throbs juicy pleasure into my grateful mouth.

“… Ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

I tongue her juicy slit wide open. I lick up spasm after spasm of pulsing juice. I feast on the heady tang of my mother’s heat. I batten on the sharp sweet taste of her throbbing cunt.

“… Oh fuck, Howard… yes… yes… I love you… I love you so much…”

I love her too, but I still feel terrible. This isn’t right. I’m doing something terribly wrong. On a public path. Anyone could be watching.

My teeth close round her clit. Her love nub’s tight and engorged, tight and engorged for Howard’s teeth, pulsing for Howard’s yearning love-bite.

“… Oh… oh… oh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhh…!”

She spasms instantly. I clamp her taut clit firmly between my teeth. My incisors refuse to let go. She tastes too good. My mother’s juice is too sweet. I nuzzle her slippery mound. She jerks and bucks. She goes into meltdown again and again, her engorged clit nipped between my teeth slithering in a mess of helpless ecstasy.

“… Oh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…!”

I’m climbing up her body. My shorts are slipping from around my muscular buttocks. My mother’s pulling my shorts down as I rise to my feet. She’s treading her cycling shorts into the woodland mulch.

My cock’s rock-hard. My big thing’s tall and stiff and slippery slithering between her legs, up over her shaved mound, pumping urgently against her chunky belly.

“… Gonna fuck me, Howard… you wanta fuck your hot girlfriend…?”

It’s the second time she’s asked me in less than twenty-four hours.

I resisted the first time. I managed to fight back against this impossible desire. This second time I don’t feel so sure. I can feel my resistance is weakening.

I pin her to the tree:

“… Yeah… I’m gonna fuck you, Teresa…”

I get her sports bra up around her neck. I stuff her big, toned, jellying tit in my mouth. There’s too much of it. I can’t get all of my mother’s succulent softness into my mouth. It never felt so big and full when I was a baby.

“… Yes… yes… please… ple-eeeeeeease, Howard…”

I suck and gobble. Her engorged nipple gouges the back of my throat.

“… Argh… argh…”

She goes up on tiptoe. Her hot fist guides my throbbing spear-head towards her pulsing fuck-hole.

“… Please, Howard… ple-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese… fuck me… fuck me hard…”

“Oo! Ramona! Look!”

Voices.

“Oh my days!”

On the far side of the clearing.

“Holy moly!”

Girly teenage voices, somewhere behind us… coming along the path… on the far side of the clearing…

“Oh my God! Lo-oook! Those people! What are they doing?”

I freeze.

“Heidi! Ramona! Come back! Those people! Come see what they’re doing!”

I’m pulling my shorts up. My mother’s struggling into her cycling shorts, tugging her bra down over her breasts.

“Jenny! Don’t!”

“Is that Sandra’s Mom?”

My scalp prickles. My body goes hot all over.

Ramona?

My little sister’s got a friend called Ramona! A precocious little brat, even brattier than my little sis!

I press my mother tight against the tree. I cover her with my body. They’re thirty or forty meters away. They can’t identify me from my back.

“Oo! Ooooo! A courting couple!”

A shriek:

“I’m sure that Sandra’s mother!”

“With a man?”

“Kissing a man?”

Our faces are pressed together, but not to kiss. I cover my mother’s face with my lips, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead.

“Oo! Oo! Look! They’re more than kissing!”

Thank God my little sister doesn’t seem to be among them. Sandra’s not due home from Florida till tonight. My little sis is still on her way back from Florida with… Ramona… and Heidi… and Jenny…

They’ve caught an earlier flight. Sandra’s caught an earlier flight.

The group of girls goes giggling by.

Once they’re a safe distance their giggles turn suggestive:

“Oo! Yu-uuuk!”

“That’s gross!”

“How disgusting!”

I grind my teeth. Disgusting? My sister’s friends are a load of vicious little sluts, capable of the most disgusting behavior you can think of.

“Rape!”

“Flashers!”

“Dry humping against a tree! Whatever next!”

The ribald voices fade away. Their cries and laughter dwindle off down the path.

Mom and I are left alone.

I quickly mutter the trigger word, in my trigger word voice:

“… Hard…”

Mom’s still pulling up her cycling shorts. She gets her bra straight.

She looks at me. She recognizes me. She knows who I am.

“… Oh… oh… Matty… what… what’s going on…?”

I only just get my cock tucked in in time:

“… Nothing, Mom… we were just jogging… and you… we… felt a bit… overheated and… and stopped for a rest… against this tree…”

“… Yes… I… I do feel a little…” She glances at the glossy lycra straining on her sumptuous split. She blushes crimson. “… Hot…”

My lips and chin are still sticky from her pussy’s succulent wetness. I blurt:

“… We stopped… for… for a breather…”

“… Oh… oh… I see… but I thought I heard voices… very… rude voices…”

“… Yeah, Mom… it’s nothing… just some giggling girls going by…”

She sucks in a deep breath:

“… Oh… oh… that’s alright then… I guess we’d better carry on with our run…”

As soon as we reach home we both take a shower.

Mom showers first. She still looks disoriented, bemused by the mysterious pause in our jog, but still oblivious of what really happened, thank God.

She emerges from the shower, the wondering look still on her face. She disappears into her bedroom, a towel tucked between her breasts, warm and steamy from her shower.

I hear one of Howard’s ‘Patterns For a Perfect Life’ videos go on in her room, Mom settling down in bed to regain her peace of mind with one of her boyfriend’s blogs.

Me, I’m shitting myself.

My sister’s friends!

My bratty little sister’s slutty friends!

‘… Oo! Ramona! Is that Sandra’s Mom?’

They couldn’t have seen our faces. They were on the other side of the clearing. Forty meters away. It’s impossible they could have recognized us from that distance before I managed to shield my mother with my body. It’s lucky I’m tall and broad-shouldered. They might have recognized Mom’s cycling shorts, or her sports bra, or her chunky, voluptuous body if I hadn’t covered her completely. Fortunately my shorts and T-shirt were nothing out of the ordinary. They can’t have known it was me and Mom, but hot dread is still coursing through my body. In public? How could I have been so stupid?

Their smart-ass, jeering, know-all voices:

‘… Oo! A courting couple…!’

‘… I’m sure that’s Sandra’s mother…!’

‘…With a man…?’

‘… Kissing a man…?’

‘… Oo! Oo-ooo! They’re more than kissing… !’

I must have been out of my mind. I was hypnotized too. Hypnotized by my mother’s curvaceous butt and gorgeous big breasts! The trigger words work. Easy puts my mother into an immediate deep hypnotic trance. Her entranced body and beautiful blue hypnotized eyes are irresistible. They hypnotize me too. She thinks I’m Howard Montgomery. She thinks I’m her creepy boyfriend. I even start talking like Howard, bossing her about like Howard, like I’m really her creepy boyfriend, minus the squeaky clean blogs and prudish sermons, I’m Howard and I want to fuck her stupid.

I turn the shower way up hot.

I stand under a torrent of scalding water, trying to wash myself squeaky clean, trying to wash these scary thoughts from my mind.

I switch the water to cold. I stand under a jet of freezing water, attempting to get rid of the crazy feelings that are possessing me.

My cock’s still stiff. My penis is still rock-hard. It won’t go down. I haven’t even climaxed. I should have spunked on Mom’s belly again as I pressed her against the tree trunk. Even with Sandra’s friends cheeking us in the woods my cock hasn’t relaxed. It feels rawer and thicker and taller than ever. I can still taste my mother’s heady tang on my lips. I’m still savoring the sharp heat of my Mom’s wet pussy grinding its melting feast into my mouth. My tongue’s still tingling with the luscious heat of my mother’s spasming depths. I can still feel the jolt in my teeth when she came. My mother climaxed! When my teeth closed round her clit my Mom went into full on rut. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

I need to masturbate.

The shower’s not helping.

I need to get rid of this aching need in my rock-hard cock.

I pump my stiff cock under the deluge of freezing water.

Masturbate?

Bust my nut dreaming about my own mother?

What the hell’s become of me?

My body clenches. I grit my teeth. I hold myself back from the brink. If I shoot my load now I’ll never be the same person again.

I quickly step out of the shower and dry myself off.

Even sawing the towel across my shoulder-blades my erection’s swinging around way out in front of me. Thank God Mom’s in her bedroom and there’s no one else home. Even with the towel wrapped tightly around my waist my big prong’s tenting the terylene a mile out in front of me.

I hurry to my bedroom.

“Hi, Matty.”

A bratty voice.

Hi, Matty?

“I’m back.”

My little sis?

Back?

“Florida’s so cool!”

She’s back early. She and those friends of hers are back from Florida early.

Sandra’s perched on my desk with my computer open, scrolling through stuff on my computer!

She glances at my crotch. Her rude blue eyes sparkle:

“Had a shower?”

Her eyes are instantly sparkling at the big tent in the towel wrapped around my waist.

I try to turn away, but I’m too late.

I growl:

“Who said you could come in my bedroom?”

Sandra’s always coming in my bedroom uninvited. She’s always lounging into my bedroom at odd hours of the night and day, times when I don’t want her in my bedroom.

Her blue eyes widen with fake hurt.

“Don’t you want to welcome your little sister back from Florida?”

She’s my little sister, but ever since she turned eighteen it’s been more like having a porn starlet in the house than a little sister. I don’t know how my little sister got to be so smoking hot when she turned eighteen… so smoking hot and obnoxious…

… For a start… she’s too petite to be my little sister… I’m six three. Mom’s nearly as tall as I am. Apparently our Dad—that’s Sandra’s Dad and mine—was also over six foot and heavily built like I am.

How I came to have a short, slim wasp of a little sister is beyond me. Even at eighteen Sandra’s pint size, a pint of hot tanned flesh poured into pink short shorts and a cute white tank-top that does nothing to hide her size zero breasts.

I say:

“Get off my computer! What you looking at?”

She grins at the bulge in my towel. It’s still as tall and thick and raw-feeling as it was when I left the shower.

“… Oh… nothing… I was just checking to see if you’ve got any photos of your latest girlfriend…”

I blurt:

“I haven’t got a latest girlfriend! And it’s none of your business if I do!”

It’s a fact. I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m under no obligation to date dopey girls am I? I don’t have to have a girlfriend if I don’t want to. There’s plenty of chicks at my college willing to put out for me. I just haven’t chosen which one yet. It’s got nothing to do with my feelings for my mother. I’m simply too busy at the moment to bother about girls. Sandra thinks a girl having a boyfriend and a boy having a girlfriend is the most important thing in the universe. ‘Your latest girlfriend’ is my little sis’s way of teasing me. She thinks she’s funny.

Spiky blonde hair. Her pixie cut suits her. Blue eyes like my Mom, but where my mother’s blue eyes are placid and trusting, Sandra’s are quick and penetrating, a little know-all’s darting glance dwelling at the moment on the fact that I’ve got a throbbing erection. If my little sis knows as much about boys as she says she does her twinkling gaze shouldn’t be so interested.

I growl:

“Look! Get outta here, will you? I need to get dressed.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. At least she doesn’t know about her friends nearly catching Mom and me making out in the woods. It’s a miracle she wasn’t with them, larking around in the park with Ramona, Heidi and Jenny, back from Florida early and already on the prowl for boys.

Her plump, cupid’s-bow lips moue:

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how Florida was?”

Her damson lip gloss suits her sunburned face, the glossy embers of a midnight fire pouting on a party beach.

I grumble:

“How was Florida?”

“… Oo… Florida was fine… you know… all these guys kept hitting on me…”

“I’ll bet.”

It’s par for the course. In fact, it’s not a surprise. Sandra’s pretty hot. The slashed denim’s cut so high up her cute split you can see where the hollows of her thighs have caught the sun. Her breasts are size zero but they’re still breasts.

She preens:

“… There was this guy called Mario… he was pretty hunky… yes… I guess Mario was the cutest…” She pouts: “… You wanna see my tattoo…?”

“Your what?”

“… My tattoo… I had a tat done specially for Mario… at Hollywood Beach… but I never got time to show him…”

Her shoulders and upper chest are bare. Her silky belly’s naked from her low-rise short shorts up to her pronged tank-top. There’s not a mark on her. No sign of a tattoo anywhere.

“No. I don’t want to see. Get outta here.”

She swings round to face me on the edge of my desk. She spreads her legs.

She unzips her shorts.

She moues:

“… Look…”

I don’t want to look.

She unbuttons her waistband.

Her short shorts are tight—Sandra’s short shorts are always tight—they peel reluctantly down the brief descent of her groin, over her shaved mound’s pert swell.

“Like it? Cool, ey?”

A scorpion.

A blue scorpion with purple claws and a gold sting. Purple claws climbing her toned groin. The sting’s gold tip darting for her tight teenage slit.

I growl:

“Yeah. Cool. Now cover yourself up, will you. N get outta here.”

She pouts:

“… Oo… he feels so nice… my little Scorpio feels so cool… scuttling down my silky skin…”

She strokes the vicious claws flexing in her silky groin… gazing wide-eyed at the throbbing lump in my towel… her fingertip slips, skids on her flushed mound— even her shaved mound’s sunburned, smooth as a baby’s bottom and lightly burned, my little sister’s been sunbathing in the raw— a cute fingertip rubs the pert swell of her teenage mound… for a heart-stopping instant her manicured nail, the same damson red as her lips, hovers on the tiny, taut, tight nub pulsing from her clit hood’s succulent moisture.

“… Oo… oo-ooooooo… my pet scorpion feels so hot and stingy…”

I yell:

“Stop it, Sandra! Get outta here!”

The knowledge sinks in slow and deep, the realization that’s been growing on me ever since she turned eighteen, the understanding that I can no longer deny…that she’s making glaringly obvious…

… My little sister fancies me…

… I’ve known it all along, I’ve felt it coming for months now, ever since she turned eighteen…

… My little sis wants me to fuck her…

… And she’s eighteen now…

She tugs her zip up. She jumps to her feet, buttoning her waistband:

“Piss off! I was just showing you my tat! There’s no need to shout n yell! What’s wrong with you, Matty? You got a problem or something?”

The door slams.

She’s gone.

I stand there shaking. With anger or dread, I can’t tell. My little sister’s always been a problem, and the problem’s only got worse since she turned eighteen. Sandra’s driving me crazy as much as my Mom… but at least she didn’t say anything about Mom and me in the woods… at least her friends can’t have told her about seeing a ‘courting couple’ in the woodland section of the park… her friends have got so many more important things on their minds, like clothes and boys and Florida, they must have forgotten about the lovers ‘more than kissing’ in the woods, thank God.

It’s the second narrow escape I’ve had today.

… Bri-iiiiiiing…

That evening, around eight, there’s a ring at the doorbell.

… Bri-iiiiiiiiiiiiiing… bri-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing…

I know at once it’s Howard Montgomery. His ring is unmistakable. Howard and my Mom are spending more and more time together.

Mom calls out from her bedroom:

“Answer that for me will you, Matty? It’s Howard. Howard’s come to pick me up!”

It’s always me who’s the freaking doorman when Howard’s at the front door.

I take as long as I possibly can getting to the front door and opening it.

It’s Howard alright, in a tan suit, smirking through his stare-y glasses as usual:

“Ah! Matty! Is the lady of the house available?” His pigeon chest sucks in a deep breath of pompous expectation. “Mm-mmm! That fragrance! That odor of chaste perfection!” Mom’s doused herself in ‘Nuit en Paris’ for her evening out with Howard. You can smell it from the front door. “I do believe milady smells ready!”

It’s my mother he’s talking about. It’s my chunky Mom, not some saint in a religious romance.

I take him into the living room.

Sandra’s curled up in an armchair watching TV. She doesn’t look up or greet Howard. My little sis dislikes Mom’s boyfriend as much as I do.

My Mom’s given me instructions to invite Howard in and sit him down in the living room and offer him a glass of orange juice till she’s finished getting ready. Her stratagems are heart-breakingly innocent.

I mutter:

“Sit down will you. Mom’s nearly ready.”

He can go fuck himself as far the orange juice is concerned.

Howard beams at me:

“Did your mother watch the blog I sent her yesterday?”

Howard’s always very strict on my Mom keeping up with the video blogs he sends her. ‘Self Discipline’. ‘The Attractions Of Modesty’. ‘Restraint In All Things’. ‘Weight Loss’. ‘Modest Clothing’. ‘Sublimation Of The Sex Drive’. He’s preparing my Mom to be the ideal, demure, thin, perfect woman he may or may not choose to marry. I get the sinking feeling that, even with my mother’s ‘overweight’ body, a proposal is in the offing. Her swooning hero-worship of this creep, her obedience to his every criticism and demand, is getting the better of him.

I mumble:

“… Erm… yes… I think she did… I think she watched it… last night… after you went home…”

Mom certainly watched it. It was the remastered video blog that hypnotized her and gave me access to her subconscious mind. It’s the video I doctored to put her into a deep Theta brainwave trance whenever I say the trigger word, ‘easy’, and snap her out of it with the trigger word, ‘hard’. It was yesterday’s ‘Thought For Today’, ‘Living With Sex’, that hypnotized my mother.

“Good! Excellent! I believe my ‘Thought For Today’, erm, yesterday, is among my best!”

It certainly worked on my mother. Our escapade in the woods was ghastly. We nearly got caught! The kitchen was unforgivable, but at least in the kitchen it was only hand relief. It must never happen again. It will never happen again. Easy will never pass my lips again in my special, trigger-word voice. It’s over. But it still feels good using this pompous ass-hole’s videos for my own purposes.

His face lights up:

“Ah! Here we are! La Belle Dame Sans Merci!”

Mom emerges from her bedroom.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci has outdone herself tonight!

Howard’s criticisms of her figure at the dinner table last night must have cut her to the quick. Her white trouser suit and flounce-y blouse failed her. Howard approves of white, but last night’s outfit was too ‘suggestive’ for Howard’s liking. He’s wounded her too deeply for her to risk flounces or a pants suit again.

She looks magnificent.

A throat-to-ankle rainbow-silk robe, so billowy and loose-fitting her beautiful thick legs are totally obliterated. Her bootylicious butt is masked in a voluminous swish of pink and green and purple and blue. Even her large, sumptuous breasts bulking out the gown at the top are breathlessly chaste, a modest priestess’s wobbly chest patiently bearing the weight of her womanhood at a demure rite.

Tonight’s outfit can’t fail to hit the mark.

Howard looks her up and down. His lips rub dryly together:

“Mm-mmm. Lovely. Quite lovely, my dear. Though… the colors are somewhat gaudy…” My mother blushes crimson. “… You’re not eighteen any more, Teresa!”

I see red.

I shut my eyes.

Everything goes black.

Black and then boiling red.

Fuck him.

I’ve had enough of ‘Doctor’ Howard Montgomery. Before I can stop myself I mutter, in my trigger word voice:

“… That’s easy for you to say, Howard…”

Mom’s body jolts. Her body jerks like a chunky freight train changing track. She catches her breath. Her hand flies to a wisp of blonde hair dangling on her forehead. Her big doe eyes are startled. For an instant she’s confused… then the tranquil emptiness of deep hypnosis takes over…

She murmurs:

“… Don’t speak like that to Howard, Matty. He’s my…”

She stops dead, horrified. She almost said ‘fiancé’. Howard forbids even ‘boyfriend’ yet, and she almost said ‘betrothed’.

Howard rises to his feet. He snaps:

“Well. Erm. Yes. Whatever. No worries. Come Teresa. We’d best be getting along. The cinema waits for no man.”

Mom wavers. She fluctuates helplessly in her hypnotized trance.

She steps towards him, eager to obey.

She takes his elbow, anxious to be ‘getting along’. The cinema waits for no man. She clasps Howard’s elbow.

A horrible thought occurs to me.

I’m thinking something impossible…

… Totally wrong…

… I could end this stupid ‘love affair’ right now!

… I could make Howard dump my Mom on the spot!

… Three seconds and I could have Howard storming out the door in a fury and never come back!

My Mom’s hypnotized. Her subconscious mind is totally at my disposal. She’ll follow whatever suggestion I place in the limbic regions of her brain. She’ll obey my every instruction if I dare to speak it out loud.

… If I have the courage to tell her to…

… Rub her tits ‘suggestively’ on Howard’s shoulder…

… Sway her body unchastely against him…

… Lay some chunky leg on his leg through her rainbow gown…

… Let him feel how hot her pussy is rubbing lecherously against his hip…

No.

Impossible.

I can’t.

If I utter a single word of instruction, the whole world will know I’ve hypnotized her!

If I say it out loud, even a single word, Sandra will see, and Howard will realize, everybody will know that my Mom’s hypnotized, that I’ve put my mother in a trance state.

I’m weak and powerless, at a dead loss. I keep my mouth shut. I don’t utter a single word of either suggestion or command and…

… My Mom is squashing her wobbly tits against Howard’s shoulder…

… My mother’s jiggling her sumptuous cleavage hard and hot on her boyfriend’s scrawny shoulder…

… Her chunky body’s crushed tight against him, her toned legs enveloping his lean leg, her juicy cunt rubbing against his bony thigh in the middle of the living room, letting him know how wet she is…!

I’ve done it by just thinking it!

I didn’t need to speak!

There was no need to say the command out loud!

Just thinking it has put the suggestion into her subconscious mind, merely thinking it in my head has sunk the command deep into the limbic regions of her neural cortex!

Howard recoils from her embrace.

His eyes pop out of his head through his stare-y glasses.

“… Teresa…?”

Mom purrs in his ear. Her pussy quakes against his thigh:

“… Oo… Howard… I’ve been so-ooo looking forward to this evening…!”

Her boyfriend’s face aghast.

He struggles to get free of my Mom’s voluptuous embrace. He totters backwards, his face a rictus of shock and horror:

“Teresa! Really! What’s got into you? Stop it now!”

The whole world will know I’ve hypnotized my mother.

I think—I think it deep into my mother’s dewy, blue doe-eyes—

‘Hard.’

In a split second she’s out of her trance. In the blink of an eye my mother’s completely snapped out of her hypnotic state, still clinging onto Howard’s arm, more shocked and confused than I’ve ever seen her in her whole life.

I blurt:

“Mom! Are you okay? Your tripped! She tripped! That freaking rug! My mother ripped over it! Thank God you caught her, Howard!”

Howard huffs and puffs:

“… Yes… well…”

My mother lets go of Howard’s arm. She swipes at her gown, blushing to the roots of her hair:

“Yes! Good gracious! I must have tripped…” She gazes mistily into Howard’s eyes. “… Thank heavens you were there to catch me, Howard…”

Howard straightens his jacket.

“… Yes… well…”

He’s still disturbed. He felt her heat. He smiles thinly. A perfect gentleman’s pleasure in helping a lady at a distressful moment takes over:

“… Quite right… you’re okay now, Teresa…” He glances at his watch. “… Oh dear… we’re going to be late for our movie if we don’t stir a leg…”

It’s my third lucky escape in one day.

I need to calm down. I’ve got to get a grip on myself. Things are getting out of control.

Howard and Mom depart. I leave Sandra watching TV in the living room and hurry into my bedroom and shut the door.

I can’t relax.

I’ve got to stop pacing up and down, Sandra will hear my discomfort from the living room.

I sit down at my computer, but my screen keeps slipping away. Nothing on my computer interests me.

Eleven o’clock strikes. Mom and Howard still aren’t back from their movie.

It’s nearly midnight and I still can’t face getting undressed and climbing into bed.

My door opens.

No knock.

No wondering if I’m asleep, asking for permission.

“Matty?”

It’s my little sister, my grown-up, eighteen-year-old little sister.

The same cute, damson lipstick and damson fingernails. The same blonde spikes. The same size zero tits, her nipples pronging a couple of inches of tank-top. The same slashed denim cut high up her perky split.

“Go away.”

She sidles over to where I’m sitting. She perches her petite butt on the edge of my desk, the scorpion tattoo beneath her zip just inches from my elbow.

She murmurs:

“… Matty… what happened there… out in the living room… when Howard came to pick Mom up…?”

I blurt:

“What do you mean ‘what happened’?”

Her slim, toned thigh shifts closer to my elbow. She purrs:

“You know full well what I mean… Mom rubbing herself against Howard like that… coming on to him… what happened?”

I shrug:

“I don’t know! Do I?”

Silky skin grazes my elbow.

“… I think you do, Matty…” Her plump damson lips give me their most knowing smile ever. “… That video on your computer…”

I nearly jump out of my skin.

“What video?”

“… On your computer… this morning… one of Howard’s blogs… I watched a bit of it… it made me feel sort of… funny…”

“Funny?”

Her hip, a couple of inches of white denim, grazes my arm.

“… You know what I mean… sort of giddy…” Her blue eyes glint. “… Like Mom got giddy, rubbing herself against Howard… sort of giddy and… and hypnotized…”

My body stiffens:

“Hypnotized? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She can’t prove anything. I never said the keywords out loud. There’s no proof my mother was under hypnosis.

She moues:

“… Keep your hair on… I’m only asking…”

She sighs. A deep sigh, dropping the subject. An interesting subject, but if I’m refusing to discuss it, there’s an end to the issue. She pouts:

“… Anyway… since you’re such a wizard with cinematography and all that stuff…” It’s a threat. My little sis is threatening me. “… I need to send a video to Mario…”

“Who?”

She scowls:

“… To Mario… the guy I met in Florida… he asked me to send him a video love letter… isn’t that nice…!”

“Video love letter?”

“… Mm-mmm… Mario’s so hot.. and I do sort of love him…”

It’s the typical bratty sort of playing with people’s feelings—if Mario’s got any feelings at all—that my little sister loves indulging in.

She nods at my video camera:

“… You’ve got your camcorder… n you’re so magic with video, Matty…”

Even when she’s at her most kittenish, purring at her most guileless, there’s always a hint of unsheathed claws in my sister’s voice.

I growl:

“What the fuck’s a video love letter got to do with it?”

She pouts:

“… To show him I still love him…” She’s only been away from Mario less than twenty four hours. “… To show him how much I miss him…”

I sigh. I stand up. I pick up the camera. Little sisters can be so boring.

“Okay! Where do you want to do this.”

“… Here’ll do…” She stays perched on the edge of my desk. “… Right here,ll be fine, Matty…”

I get the camera rolling. Five minutes. I’ll give her video love letter five minutes, then she’s out of here.

“What do you want to say?”

“… I wanta say… ’… Hi, Mario. It’s me…’…”

She waves at the lens.

“… ‘… I’m back home. Got an early flight. How ya doin...?’… ”

She blows a kiss at the lens.

“… ‘… Miss you, Mario… miss you loads… how’s Dave and Ronan doin… ?’…”

Typical Sandra. Mario had plenty of competition.

“… ‘… Oh. I forgot to tell you, Mario. I got the tat done. At Hollywood Beach. Yeah, a scorpion… wanta see…?’”

I stop breathing. My body stiffens.

“‘… Yeah… a real Scorpio tattoo… just like I promised…’…”

I feel like I know Mario already.

“‘… Yeah… Exactly where I said…’”

I say:

“Okay! That’s enough!”

I go to turn the camera off.

She slips her waistband button out of its hole. She leans back on one arm and tugs. Her zip makes the short journey down to her crotch.

The scorpion’s still there, its purple claws climbing her supple groin, its gold sting twitching at her moist slit.

I stop breathing altogether.

Hot moisture’s unfurling my little sister’s tight gash.

I’m a year older than her. I shouldn’t be feeling as if I’m in Sandra’s power like this. Like I’m hypnotized.

“… ‘… You like it, Mario…?… isn’t it cool…?… Scorpio… it stands for creation and destruction…’…”

No it doesn’t. It stands for my bratty little sister messing with my head.

“… ‘… Mm-mmmmmmm… it feels so nice when I stroke it, Mario…’…”

Her finger traces the purple pincers in her silky skin. A fingertip strokes the vicious sting in the tanned softness down by her sun-burned mound. She giggles:

“… ‘… Like the scorpion’s gonna bite me or somethin’…”

She slips her short shorts off. My little sis eases her pert butt out of pink, skin-tight denim. Her shorts dangle from her damson toe-nails a second, and drop o the floor.

“… ‘… God I love you, Mario…’”

She spreads her legs. The scorpion flexes blue and purple and gold in her sun-burned groin. She strokes her tattoo like her silky skin’s got a new pet.

“… I miss you so-ooo much…”

And no doubt Dave and Ronan too.

Her fingertip slips accidentally-on-purpose from the sting’s golden tip to her pert little clit, standing up taut and tight in its moist hood. She rubs gently, dreamily, waking sweet wetness from the juicy cowl shielding her perky nub.

“… ‘… Oh… oh… that feels so good, Mario…’…” Her fingernail’s wet already, damson polish churning in a little wet earthquake. “… ‘… Remember that time you took me out on your jet-ski…?’…”

Her fingernail disappears in her juicy fuck-hole. The hot envelope between my little sister’s legs opens. She jams her supple finger knuckle deep in her molten teenage tightness.

“… Oh… oh…”

“Sandra! Stop it!”

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck… ‘… Remember when you said I was getting burned and you massage suntan oil all over me…?’… ”

Her finger slithers in and out of her tight, succulent gash. I keep on filming.

“… ‘… And some oil got in my pussy…?’… oh fuck… fu-u-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”

She tongues her size zero tits through her tank-top. She goes over the brink, perched on slippery rosewood. Her tail-bone kicks. Her hot gash quakes helplessly, rutting on her slippery knuckle.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

When it’s over she zips her shorts up. The little slut doesn’t even bother to zip herself up. She fastens her waistband button.

She slides off my desk.

I mutter, too shocked to make sense.

I nod at the camera, still trembling in my hand.

“… You want me to send this to your computer… or your phone… a memory stick…?” I’ve never filmed a video love letter before. “… To… to send to Mario…?”

She shrugs:

“Oh. My phone’ll do I guess… I may not even send it…” She grins. “…Mario’s such a drag…”

She’s sent a video love letter to me.

She reaches out.

I can’t stop her reaching out.

She strokes my cock through my shorts, feels how rock-hard and thick it is, checks that I’m fully erect.

“… Oh… by the way... Ramona just phoned me… she n Heidi an Jenny were in the park… in the woods… she said they saw some lovers making out… they thought it was Mom with some guy for a second…”