The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Twenty four hours have passed and I can still taste my Mom’s pussy juice, the pulsing cream my mother’s hot gash anointed my lips with when I ate her out in the woods.

And nearly got caught.

My sister Sandra’s friends, Ramona, Heidi and Jenny, a gang of foul-mouth brats, trooped past at the critical moment while Mom and I were still straightening our clothes against the tree!

I don’t know how I could have been so stupid, using the trigger word in public, hypnotizing my mother in the park, feasting on her succulent pussy in the woods, bringing my own mother off with my tongue when there were people around.

Luckily my little sister’s friends don’t appear to have identified Mom and me. I kept my back turned to them and shielded my Mom with my body while she got her cycling shorts back on. At least Ramona, Heidi and Jenny don’t seem to have spoken to Sandra yet, my little sis hasn’t said anything further about the incident except that for a second her mates ‘thought it was Mom with some guy in the woods’.

I should never have hypnotized my mother in the first place. I was crazy ever planting the trigger words in her brain, ‘easy’ to put her in a deep hypnotic trance and ‘hard’ to snap her out of it, both spoken with my private intonation. Instead of putting a stop to my Mom’s infatuation with creepy Doctor Howard Montgomery and getting my old, happy, feminist Mom back, I’m turning her into my sex slave. My mother’s irresistible when she’s in the trance state. She’s drop dead gorgeous when she’s hypnotized, one hundred percent alluring. I need to fuck her so bad it scares me.

Even worse, my power over my mother’s subconscious mind is tempting me into doing dangerous things with her, flirting with getting caught, nearly letting slip the hold I have over my mother’s mind and her chunky, bootylicious body too!

In the living room last night. Mom and her uptight, puritanical boyfriend Howard just setting off for the movies. Mom in her throat-to-ankle rainbow-hued robe and out of sheer cussedness I thought a command straight into her head— ‘rub your body against Howard’— and she did, Mom squashed her beautiful big wobbly tits against Howard’s shoulder… she jiggled her sumptuous cleavage hard and hot on her boyfriend’s scrawny shoulder… her chunky body crushed tight against him, her toned legs enveloped his lean leg, her juicy cunt rubbing against his bony thigh in the middle of the living room, letting him know how wet and ready to fuck she was… for a couple of horrifying seconds my Mom was hitting on her prudish boyfriend like the sex slave she really is, before I said the trigger word to snap her out of it and made some dumb excuse—tripping on the rug—for her shocking behavior.

Howard looked really put out. Her uptight, moralistic boyfriend was extra pissed. No doubt, once they left, Howard made sure Mom had a miserable evening, lecturing her about self-control and ladylike behavior and passing nasty comments about her clothes and her weight.

I couldn’t sleep. I was still awake when Howard dropped Mom home. I looked through my bedroom window. I could see them out on the doorstep, Howard’s prim and proper goodnight peck on the lips, my mother dying to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him properly, pleading with him to come in for an orange juice nightcap and maybe go to bed with her, Howard shaking his head adamantly, Mister Holier-Than-Thou, the Moral Tutor at my college.

Thank God Mom doesn’t remember the moments when she’s my sex slave. All memory’s wiped from her mind. She doesn’t recall a single detail of how I fingered her sopping pussy in the shower and ate her out in the woods, but I’m scared something’s changed inside her. Her chunky, voluptuous body hasn’t forgotten the pleasure I gave her, even if her mind knows nothing about it.

She thinks I’m Howard when I hypnotize her. She thinks it’s her prudish boyfriend who’s licking her molten pussy and spunking on her silky belly and giving her strange new feelings she’s never had before!

The only thing I know is— things can’t go on like this.

Howard drops her at the front door last night and drives off in his classic Studebaker.

I lie in bed listening to Mom tidying up in the kitchen, slipping into her nightie, turning off the light and climbing into bed, her voluptuous body totally unsatisfied.

It’s a struggle not to go into her bedroom and say the trigger word and fuck her stupid.

I finally doze off around dawn.

I fall into a fitful sleep.

I’m woken around lunchtime by a hubbub of voices coming from the kitchen.

Chatty voices.

Catty voices.

Brash, brazen, feminist voices:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Teresa! Men are useless!”

“Load of freaking bastards.”

“Lazy, no good sexist pigs!”

I groan. Mom’s friends have come around for lunch. My mother’s cougar, mid-thirties mates have turned up for a feminist moan-fest, tearing a strip off the male sex over salad and a glass of white wine.

Mom’s standing up for men, or at least one man in particular. She’s the only one of her divorcee mates who currently has a boyfriend.

“They’re not all sexist pigs, Gracie. Howard isn’t. Howard’s very strict when it comes to sexism.”

Hoots of laughter. Shrieks of derision.

“Pompous, stuck-up morons, the lot of them!”

“You can’t trust men, Teresa!”

“They don’t want a partner. All men want is a slave!”

My scalp prickles. It’s boiling hot in my bedroom but a shiver runs through me.

A slave?

Is that what I want?

Not a mother, a sex slave?

Is that why I hypnotized her? Is that the reason I remastered Howard’s video blog and planted the trigger words deep in my Mom’s subconscious mind…?

So I could have a sex slave obeying my every command?

A sex slave as drop dead gorgeous as my mother?

It’s not my fault my Mom’s irresistible, but is that what I’ve really been wanting all along? A chunky, fuck-doll Mom I can bend over the kitchen table any time I like? A sizzling hot mother I can take from behind while she’s washing up? A cumslut housewife I can relieve of her hoover and nail on the living room carpet? Shove my big cock into her—it’s getting bigger by the second just thinking about it— while she’s cooking dinner in nothing but a frilly apron?

The tingle gets unbearable. The ache starts turning to a definite throb.

Masturbation’s out of the question. Bust my nut with thoughts like these in my head?

It’s half an hour before I get my body under control, put on the baggiest pair of board shorts I’ve got and head for the kitchen, starving hungry.

I was right. Mom and her friends are all sitting round the kitchen table chattering over a couscous salad. Her friends are all drinking wine. Mom’s loyally sticking to orange juice in obedience to Howard’s video blog on ‘The Dangers Of Alcohol’.

Mom’s friends are all feminists. They think men are pompous stuck-up morons. They don’t mind letting you know their beliefs about sexist pigs, but… I can’t help it. I like them. I like them all. Mom’s mates are okay. They’re laid-back, relaxed and confident. Gracie and Chantelle and Chloe and Sureya and Jilly are nice. You can’t help liking them.

Gracie’s survived three divorces and she’s still slim and perky, her toned body just made for skinny gold lamé jeans and a black fishnet singlet.

Chantelle’s ex was a notorious rapper but Chantelle’s still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not afraid of sporting a pair of short shorts nearly as skimpy as Sandra’s.

Chloe’s always in work boots, but you can tell how toned her petite ass is, even through a pair of overalls.

Sureya’s more conservatively dressed, still recovering from her tyrant ex’s fashion demands, but the low-cut sundress lets you know how full and sumptuous her tits must be.

Jilly’s the chunkiest of Mom’s friends. Jilly’s nearly as voluptuous as Mom herself. Unlike Mom, Jilly’s a Fat-Is-Beautiful advocate, and pretty curvaceous with it.

My mother’s the only one in the kitchen who isn’t relaxed and laid-back any more. My Mom’s the only one who isn’t totally at home in her body. Her long-sleeved blouse is buttoned up to her throat. She’s wearing the boxiest pair of jeans she could find, to mask her weight. She’s arguing with her friends, insisting not all men are sexist pigs. Howard isn’t. Howard’s wise and noble. My Mom’s always standing up for ‘Doctor’ Howard Montgomery.

It’s a tragedy the way my mother’s changed. She was more fun back when she agreed with all her feminist friends.

“Oo! Look who’s here! It’s Matty!”

My mother’s mates greet me with their usual friendly mockery. Friendly, because I’m their friend’s son. Mocking because, though I’m only nineteen and a bit of a doink, I’m still a man.

“God’s gift to woman!”

“The he man himself!”

I’m tall and quite well built. People say I’m good looking. But that doesn’t make up for me being a male. Mom’s friends have made fun of me ever since I was little.

I need to grab some breakfast and get out of here as soon as possible.

Jilly chortles:

“The man of the house!”

‘The man of the house’ is another sarcastic piece of banter in their repertoire.

“No doubt Matty’s got some poor girl at college under his thumb.”

They know I haven’t got a girlfriend. They’re fully aware no poor girl’s under my thumb. But it doesn’t stop them pretending I use my height and weight and size to make some helpless female my slave.

My face burns.

Maybe that’s why I’ve hypnotized my mother. Because I’m a male chauvinist ‘he man’. I want a slave, not a mother. A fuck doll, not a Mom. I’m a sexist pig. Maybe all men are bastards.

I blurt:

“I haven’t got a girlfriend!”

Gracie sneers:

“Oh come now, Matty. A strapping big domineering he man like you! I’m sure you’ve got a whole hareem of helpless women under your thumb!”

They’ve been drinking white wine. Except for my Mom, the ‘girls’ are all a bit plastered, particularly Gracie.

“A bevy of slave girls!”

I wish they’d change the record. I’m starting to get a horrible feeling that hypnotizing Mom has changed me. Planting trigger words in my mother’s brain has somehow made me more desirable as a man. That’s why they’re teasing me so mercilessly.

I go hot all over. I should never have meddled with the hypnotic state. Turning my Mom into a sex slave is changing me, as a male human being. I’m more desirable than I used to be. I’m more attractive than I was before. I’m the predatory abuser and rapist Mom’s feminist friends rightly abhor. I’ve nearly fucked my own mother twice already, in the shower and in the woods. My little sister showed me her scorpion tattoo, so close to her shaved pussy, when I touched the tattoo I could feel how wet her tight little cunt was. Sandra’s video love letter wasn’t for Mario. It was for me, her hunky big brother. It doesn’t bear thinking about. My family’s gone kinky. My little sister wants me to fuck her too. My family’s perverted and—these thoughts whirring round in my head—I’m the most perverted of all!

I blurt:

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

Gracie sneers:

“Oh, yeah. We know. Don’t lie. You enjoy knocking a girl around don’t you, Matty?”

“No I don’t!”

Sureya laughs:

“Like putting the boot in ey, Matty?”

They’re drunk. They’re more blitzed than I realized.

“… No… no really… I…”

Mom, the only one sober, wails:

“He never listens to a word Howard says!” She’s still standing up for Howard’s reputation as a man. “Howard isn’t a sexist. Howard respects women. Howard treats a girlfriend with the noble devotion a woman deserves.”

Mom’s loyally standing up for Howard, but she sounds a little dubious and defeated. Her date last night wasn’t a success. Howard hectored her and bullied her and read her the riot act for daring to be ‘familiar’.

Chloe guffaws:

“Oh! Men are all the same! You wait, Teresa! You’ll see! You’ll be Howard’s slavey too, if you’re ever stupid enough to end up married to him!”

“… Oh…” says Mom.

Being married to Howard’s the thing she wants most in the world.

I wolf my breakfast down and head for the door. I can’t take any more. Mom calls out after me, reasserting her authority, showing her fiends she’s in control of the ‘man of the house’:

“Matty. Can you go fetch some more ice from the garage for me please?”

With my father having left so many years ago I’ve become my mother’s home help. I don’t mind. I like to be helpful. I don’t mind running errands or doing a bit of heavy lifting. She preens:

“The girls need some more ice for their wine.”

“Yeah. Sure, Mom. Won’t be a sec.”

I hurry to do her bidding.

The freezer’s in the garage.

You have to squeeze round the front of the car to get to it.

I pull the lid up.

A gust of deliciously frozen air breathes out at me.

There’s a twenty-five kilo sack of ice— more than enough for the girls’ wine—but the temperature’s so cold in the freezer the sack of ice cubes is glued by ice to the bottom.

I reach in and try to get my hands under the edge of the rock-hard sack. My fingers immediately tingle, frost-bitten already.

As I struggle with the bag of ice I notice there’s a couple of bottles of Asti Spumante in the freezer too. Two bottles my dopey Mom must have have forgotten to chill and stuck in the freezer when her friends arrived, then forgot all about. The wine’s frozen solid, tentacles of frost growing down from the cork. I can’t help smiling. My mother’s such a lovably dozy dope. Doesn’t she know sparkling wine can explode if it’s left in a freezer too long?

I’m just freeing the first bottle from the freezer’s grip when I hear a voice behind me:

“… Oh… hiyya, Matty… need some help…?”

Gracie.

“… With the ice…?”

Mom’s divorcee mate, with the slinky, bud-like breasts breathing easy in a black lace bra through black fishnet, her pert ass encased in skin-tight gold lamé.

“… Your Mom said you might need some help…”

I get the strong feeling my Mom’s said no such thing at all.

She squeezes between the car and the freezer.

“… Oo… don’t you people ever wash your car… ?… these jeans are new… I don’t wanta get dust on them…”

There’s already a smear of dust where the metallic gold denim clings to her butt-cleft’s toned crease.

“… Oo… it’s a bit tight in here, isn’t it…?”

Gracie’s the heaviest drinker of my Mom’s cougar friends. She’s still on her feet, she’s even swaying voluptuously without really toppling, still making sense when she talks, but she’s well hammered.

I mutter:

“Yeah, well. It’s okay. Thanks. I can manage by myself.”

I’m suddenly getting strange, unsettling vibes from Gracie, strange unsettling vibes that I’ve never felt before.

She’s got nice blue eyes, slightly blurry from the amount of wine she’s drunk. A cute retroussé nose a bit like Sandra, only more flared and voracious, probably from all the various husbands she’s attracted. Her lips are broad and supple, swampy with Asti Spumanti at the corners.

I’m wedged between the car and the freezer.

I need to get out of here immediately if not sooner.

Something strange is happening. Something terrible. My mother’s friends have always made fun of me. All my life, they’ve treated me with friendly mockery. Friendly mockery’s what I want. This suddenly feels more than friendly.

Lacy bra, snagged on fishnet, grazes my elbow, lets me feel how perky her tits are, how fast her heart is beating.

She pouts:

“… Actually… your Mom never said you needed any help…” Her pile of blonde, salon-tangled hair lurches seductively. “… I just wanted to say…” She breathes Asti Spumanti and pink lipstick at my ear. “… I didn’t mean it when I said you was a sexist pig, Matty…”

“Yeah. Well…” I mutter. “… I’m a man. All men are sexist pigs!”

She sways against me. Her glossy cleavage hammers her beating heart at my pecs through fishnet and black lace.

“… Don’t be like that, Matty…!”

I blurt:

“… ‘… Mister he man…!’’… God’s gift to woman…’!”

She’s in high-heel strappy sandals. They make her taller than she really is. Her split’s up by my upper thigh. Her hot pussy rubs skin-tight gold lamé into my muscular leg.

She pouts:

“… Oo… don’t be like that, Matty… it’s not your fault you’re so-ooo hunky…”

I panic. I need to get out of here.

I’m trapped.

Between the freezer and the car.

Something dreadful’s happening. I’m so-ooo hunky? I’ve never been so-ooo hunky before…

… Not until I hypnotized my Mom and planted the trigger words in my mother’s subconscious mind…

Her pussy presses more firmly against my upper thigh. Her hand slides round and finds my cock. Her supple fingers stroke my cock through my pants, register how tall and thick it is, how rock-hard and throbbing like crazy my penis already is.

She breathes on my mouth:

“… It’s not your fault you’re a hot stud, Matty… us girls just can’t resist you…”

I’m not a hot stud. I don’t mind if girls resist me. I was never a hot stud before, not till I spoke the trigger word, ‘easy’, and my Mom gave me hand relief in the kitchen and I fingered her pussy in the shower… not until I ate my mother out against a tree in the woods…

Gracie moues drunken warmth all over my mouth. Asti Spumanti and pink lipstick slither on my lips. Her hand slides up and down my zip, palming sizzling heat into my aching cock.

“… I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Matty…”

She never hurt my feelings. I’m used to having my feelings hurt.

My hips are wedged between the freezer and the car. Her fingertips find my zip toggle. She tugs my zip down and reaches in my pants. Hot fingers twine round my throbbing cock.

“… Mm-mmm… you’re nice n hard, Matty… I bet all the girls at college like it when you get nice n hard for them…”

“… No they don’t…”

“… When you bend them over a desk and fuck them stupid…”

I mumble:

“… No… not really…”

Maybe it’s only because I have fucked-up feelings for my mother, but I’ve managed to reach the ripe old age of nineteen and remain a virgin.

Gracie has to unbutton my waistband and pull my shorts down completely to get my cock free.

My big thing aches and pulses in her hand. My rock-hard shaft feels raw and irresistible throbbing in Gracie’s fist.

She drops to her knees between the freezer and the fender.

“… Mm-mmm… I bet those lucky college girls love it when you force yourself on them…”

I groan:

“… I don’t… I never… I’ve never forced myself on anyone…”

Her succulent tongue-tip flicks at the pre-cum pulsing from my cock’s swollen tip.

“… Mm-mmmmmmm… you taste nice, Matty… got a big load to force down this lucky girl’s throat…?”

“… No… look…”

She takes my swollen spear-head in my mouth. A moist cavern of wine and lipstick closes round my pounding spear-head. I can tell how experienced Gracie is from the way her slippery tongue slips so easily from juicy words to lavish fluttering and twining round my aching shaft.

“… Argh… argh…”

“… Look… Mrs Forbes…”

I’ve always called Mom’s friends by their married names.

“… Argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllll…”

Her teeth nip the ridge of my glans, promise a world of pain if I don’t dedicate my throbbing cock to her cougar pleasure. She pincers my drumming tip between her teeth and her sumptuous tongue goes crazy, battering hot need into my tight piss-slit.

“… Argh… argh… argh… argh… argh-lllllllllllllllllllll…”

My fingers are running through salon-styled blonde hair, riding the lustrous curls as her head begins to bob.

“… Argh-hhhhhhhhh…”

Her teeth tighten a frantic love-bite where the explosion’s building up. Lips, teeth, tongue a hot dew of wine and lipstick, slide down my pulsing shaft, spasm by spasm, inch by inch. She impales her succulent gullet on my pounding piston.

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

I hold her there with both hands, feel her gag reflex turn to voluptuous throat honey, her wind-pipe clasping and letting go, clasping and letting go, her willowy body undulating, her tail-bone kicking, her pert butt lifting, her pussy jerking and bucking…

Fu-uuuuuuuuuck.

Mom’s MILF friend is climaxing. Gracie’s cumming.

“… Glu-uuuuuuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg… argh-llllllllllllllllllllllllllll…!”

Her willowy body spasms, her throat plugged on my throbbing thickness. The jolt goes through me. My big cock clenches. I pump surge after surge of hot cum down my mother’s best friend’s spasming throat.

“Gracie?”

My mother’s voice.

“Gracie? Where are you?”

My Mom, coming down the corridor towards the garage!

“Where’s Matty? Have you seen Matty?”

I drag my cock out of Gracie’s mouth.

I stagger backward.

I yell:

“Here, Mom! I’m here! Just getting the ice!”

Gracie’s jumping to her feet, swallowing hard, cum running down her chin.

She yelps:

“… In here, Teresa… just helping Matty with the ice…”

Luckily, Gracie and I are not immediately visible, wedged between the car and the freezer. By the time Mom sees us we’re both pretty much respectable again, the freezer lid open, me wrenching a bag of ice cubes out of the bottom, Gracie freeing the bottles of wine from the icicles.

I’ve had another narrow escape, except… the narrow escapes are getting narrower.

All that day and the following days I keep my head down. I spend as much time in my bedroom as I can doing my best to avoid Sandra and Mom, particularly Sandra.

Sandra’s bratty friends have forgotten all about the ‘courting couple’ they saw in the woods the day they got home from Florida, but it’s clear that Sandra still has her suspicions that the courting couple were Mom and me. She can’t prove anything. I’m sort of safe. Except my little sis keeps wondering out loud about the ‘hunky dude and the older woman’ who were observed in the woodland clearing.

Sandra keeps lounging into my bedroom in skimpy outfits asking me leading questions.

I try to brush her off:

“How’s Mario? Did you send Mario your video love letter?”

Mario’s her new boyfriend she met on her holiday down in Florida. He’s so-ooo hunky. Mario’s such a totally fit specimen of pure male eye candy.

She shrugs.

“Nah. I decided not to. It was a bit you know… hot…”

“I thought Mario liked, ‘you know’, hot.”

She’s perched on the edge of my desk again.

“Yeah. He does. I guess. It’s just I don’t wanta… you know… get a bad name down in Florida…”

Less than a week and it’s clear that Mario’s been forgotten.

I’m six foot two. Broad across the shoulders. Mom’s tall and chunky. I’m still not sure how I came to have such a short, slim wasp of a little sister. Sandra’s a pint size little air-head, a pint of hot tanned flesh poured into white short shorts today and a cute white halter that does even less to hide her size zero breasts than her tank-top.

I say:

“I thought you had your tattoo done specially for Mario.”

I can still see the freaking thing, a blue and purple scorpion with a gold sting flexing in the silky hollow of her groin when she unzipped her shorts to show me. When she unzipped her shorts to show me and I was stupid enough to touch it. When she asked me to feel her tattoo, and the scorpion felt so good pulsing so near her shaved little mound I touched her shaved little mound too, then her cute little clit, and by that time she was so hot and wet my fingertips slipped easy into her succulent little gash, three of them knuckle-deep stabbing into my little sis’s throbbing pussy, bringing her off biftime.

Never again. I feel bad enough already with the things I’ve been doing with my Mom, let alone getting myself involved in my little sister’s air-head dreams.

She pouts:

“… Yeah… well… not just for Mario…”

I experience an unaccountable twinge of dread. Gracie’s words in the garage still haunt me, while she stroked my cock:

‘… Oo, Matty… it’s not your fault you’re so-ooo hunky…’

Something dreadful’s happening.

I’m so-ooo hunky?

I’ve never been so-ooo hunky before!

Not until I hypnotized my Mom and planted the trigger words in my mother’s subconscious mind!

My Mom’s best friend palming my cock through my zip:

‘… It’s not your fault you’re a hot stud, Matty… us girls just can’t resist you…’

I’m not a hot stud. I don’t mind if girls resist me. I was never a hot stud before, not till I spoke the trigger word, ‘easy’, and my Mom gave me hand relief in the kitchen and I fingered her pussy in the shower, not until I ate my mother out against a tree in the woods. My incestuous feelings for my mother are making me desirable to women, desirable to women in a way I was never desirable before. It’s not just my little sister’s know-all eyes and bratty curiosity that’s fixed on me. It’s her hot little eighteen-year-old pussy and its unmistakable desires.

Sandra had her tattoo done for me.

It’s all Mom’s boyfriend’s fault. If it hadn’t been for my mother’s infatuation with ‘Doctor’ Howard Montgomery and his stupid video blogs and his pompous moralizing about clean living and weight loss none of this would have happened.

I need to break my Mom and her creepy boyfriend up.

Ending ‘Doctor’ Howard Montgomery’s courtship of my mother is the only way out of all my problems, and there’s a way I can arrange it!

There’s a way I can arrange it, but I’m not sure if I’ve got the courage.

I can put my Mom in a deep hypnotic trance with ‘easy’… and turn her into a total slut… when she’s in the trance state she obeys my every command even when I simply think it… Howard was shocked to his core by even a split second of my Mom ‘stumbling on the rug’ and instantaneously embracing him… it was hard talking him out of his sense of moral outrage even after the merest touch of her tits on his elbow and a micro-second’s hot pussy on his leg…

A plan takes shape in my mind.

What if I command my mother to come on to Howard bigtime, in full cumslut mode? Hit on him in a way that’s unmistakable? Stroke his cock? Flash her tits? Beg him to fuck her?

It’s what she wants anyway, in her subconscious mind.

It’s what she needs when I hypnotize her and she thinks it’s Howard that’s fingering her pussy and eating out her juicy cunt.

Doctor Montgomery will be so outraged, Howard will be so horrified, he’ll be so scared, he’ll run a mile, he’ll run a million miles, he’ll want to have nothing further to do with my mother ever again. The mere sight of her face will become unbearable to him. I can get Howard out of my hair and life will return to normal.

Wild plans take shape in my mind.

My mother’s irresistible. When my Mom’s turned on she’s unstoppably alluring. I can make her fuck Howard. It won’t be hard. With the power I exert over her subconscious mind it won’t be difficult at all. I can make sure my Mom seduces her boyfriend so full-on even Howard can’t resist fucking her. I can film it. I’ve got all the necessary camera equipment. I can arrange it so I can shoot a video of Doctor Howard Montgomery taking my mother’s luscious cunt— it’s what she wants anyway— and post it on the internet, upload it to porn sites, Howard’s reputation will be shot. He’ll lose his job, sleeping with a student’s mother. He’ll never get a job as a Moral Tutor again.

I feel giddy.

I’m suddenly sick to my stomach.

My head spins. There’s something wrong with me.

What the hell’s got into me?

It’s impossible. Unthinkable.

Howard fucking my Mom? My mother, who carried me in her body? Who gave birth to me? Who’s reared me to the ripe old age of nineteen? I love my Mom. The jealousy would be more than I could bear.

A heatwave hits town. The weather turns scorching hot.

The temperature’s a hundred and three in the shade the morning Howard calls Mom and suggests a day at the beach. A family day at the beach. To ‘soak in some health-giving sea air’ and ‘brace the body with the roar and buffet of the surf’.

Mom’s disappointed that it’s a family day Howard suggests. She’d much rather be alone with him at the beach. She looks extra good in a swimsuit.

Howard drives a classic 66 Studebaker Cruiser Sedan.

We all pile in.

“Be careful with your feet, Sandra!” Howard’s already wound up. “That upholstery is the original 66 vinyl.”

Howard’s already read my little sister the riot act about her bikini. Mom insisted Sandra wear a wrap, but the micro top alone is enough to set Howard off. He’s yet to see the thong. Or the tattoo.

My little sis pouts:

“Gee! A classic Cruiser! Do you go cruising in this thing, Howard?”

“Sandra!” scolds Mom from the front seat.

Mom’s in one of her flowing robes, completely covering her chunky, curvaceous body.

Howard crows:

“A good three kilometer swim out to the reef, ey Matty? We can sit on the coral and discuss the meaning of life!”

I keep wondering if Howard’s marriage proposal to my Mom is picking up pace as it approaches, the creep’s talking more and more like he’s my father or something.

A three kilometer swim? Howard’s got a pigeon chest and thin, weedy body but he’s a fitness fanatic.

Mom coos:

“… Oo… Howard… three kilometers… the reef… isn’t the reef dangerous…?”

“Not when a man’s master of both mind and body, Teresa.”

It’s a long drive.

When we get to the beach the sand’s packed. The whole town’s come down to the seaside to get away from the heat. The sand’s packed out. The water’s crowded with swimmers too.

The heatwave sizzles in the shimmer off the hot sand.

Big waves thud on the shore, toss up the yells of surfers and the laughter of children to mingle with the scraping cries of seagulls.

We find a patch of vacant sand and Howard erects his beach umbrella. He hammers the stakes for his wind break into the sand and sets out hampers and freeze boxes.

He announces:

“You won’t need ice creams, children…”

I’m nineteen. Sandra’s just turned eighteen. How dare he call us children!

“… Dairy products clog the arteries. I’ve brought some lactose free confectionery.”

Sandra sticks her tongue out:

“Yu-uuuk!”

Mom wails:

“… Sandra…!” Sandra’s stripped off her wrap. “… What’s that you’re wearing…?”

Howard’s brow darkens. He scowls at the unwrapped spectacle of Sandra’s new bikini:

“One’s not sure what it is. But it’s obvious what it’s for!”

Sandra pouts:

“Oh? And what’s that, Howard? What’s my bikini for?”

My little sister can be pretty tough when she’s angry.

Howard blusters:

“For getting young ladies into trouble, young lady, missy!”

Sandra’s thong is pretty revealing. A tiny triangle of yellow nylon already seaming darkly on my sister’s moist, shaved pussy, the strings knotted perilously high on her winged hips, the thong so skimpy the scorpion’s totally visible from claws to sting trapped under a yellow string.

Luckily, just then, Sandra’s friends Ramona, Heidi and Jenny troop past with a gang of boys and Sandra rushes off to join them.

“Oo! Look!” says Mom in a slightly unnatural voice. She points further along the beach. “There’s the girls!”

And there they are indeed, her MILF divorcee mates, stretched out on the sand in their bikinis, Gracie, Chantelle, Chloe, Sureya and Jilly, soaking up the sun, drinking beer, Jilly already face down, her bikini top undone, suckling the sand.

Mom waves and her friends wave back, but their greetings are unusually restrained. It’s immediately obvious that my mother knew the girls were going to be here, and the girls knew that Mom was going to be here, and Mom doesn’t want any trouble, she’s warned her friends to keep away from our ‘family’ umbrella and wind break when she’s here with Howard.

Howard’s already huffing and puffing, scattering judgments right, left and center.

“… Yes… well… if they think drinking beer in the sun’s good for their constitution they can think again…”

We’ve only just got here and Howard’s starting to get on top of me already.

I jump up.

“I’m gonna have a walk.”

I set off for a stroll along the beach, in the opposite direction to Mom’s cougar girlfriends and to the direction Sandra and her bratty friends took.

A couple of hundred meters along the shore-wash I’m woken from my thoughts by a loud voice:

“Hey! Matty! How’s it goin’, man?”

It’s Bernard Forsythe, a Third Year guy I’ve seen around my college, a Third Year guy and Gracie’s son!

I try to hurry past:

“… Yeah. Not bad…”

“How’s things, bro?”

Bernard’s mother is my Mom’s best friend, Gracie Forsythe!

“… Yeah… not bad… I’m down here with my Mom and Howard…”

Bernard’s forehead knits:

“Howard? That creep?”

“… Yeah… ”

I’m slightly startled. Everyone knows Doctor Howard Montgomery’s a creep, but Bernard pronounces ‘creep’ with particular bitterness. I’m a bit surprised. Bernard hates my mother’s boyfriend as much as I do.

Bernard’s short and slightly built like his mother, his blonde hair much lighter than hers on account of all the peroxide he uses and the amount of time he spends in the sun.

He shakes his head:

“What an ass-hole! I wish he’d get off my case!”

“… Off your case…?”

Bernard sighs:

“Yeah. He’s always round our house lately. You can’t get rid of him. ‘Doctor’ Montgomery’s down on me all day long at college, and now he’s down on me at home too!”

“… At home…?”

“Yes. He keeps dropping in. For dinner and stuff. And to lecture Mom about how she shouldn’t drink so much. My Mom’s been hitting the bottle hard lately.”

I go hot all over.

A gust of Asti Spumante and lipstick breathing into my mouth. A pile of salon-tangled blonde hair lurching seductively. Lacy bra, snagged on fishnet, grazing my elbow, letting me feel how perky her tits are, how fast her heart is beating. Swaying against me, her glossy cleavage hammering at my pecs through fishnet and black lace.

I mumble:

“… Yeah… well… I’d be hitting the bottle too if I had Howard dropping in to see me…”

Hang on.

Dropping in to see her?

Dropping in to see Bernard’s Mom?

Doctor Montgomery’s my Mom’s boyfriend… he isn’t hitting on Bernard’s mother too, is he?

Surely Howard can’t be ‘courting’ Gracie too?

Bernard shrugs:

“Yeah. He’s always dropping in at odd hours. Leaving video blogs for Mom to watch. Lecturing her about having had so many husbands and hanging out at your place with her feminist friends. Telling her she shouldn’t fritter her life away when God’s given her such a perfect body.”

“Perfect body?”

My face is burning hot, and it isn’t the sun beatéing down on my head.

Slinky, bud-like breasts breathing easy in a black lace bra through black fishnet, her pert ass encased in skin-tight gold lamé. In high-heel strappy sandals, her split up by my upper thigh, her hot pussy rubbing skin-tight gold lamé into my muscular leg.

“Yeah. That’s how he puts it.”

Her hand sliding round, finding my cock. Her supple fingers stroking my cock through my pants, registering how tall and thick it was, how rock-hard and throbbing like crazy my penis is.

I blush to the roots of my hair:

“… Yeah… well… your Mom… is pretty sexy…”

Her hot fingers twining round my throbbing cock. Her succulent tongue-tip flicking at the pre-cum pulsing from my cock’s swollen tip. Her teeth tightening a frantic love-bite where the explosion’s building up. Lips, teeth, tongue a hot dew of wine and lipstick sliding down my pulsing shaft, spasm by spasm, inch by inch, impaling her succulent gullet on my pounding piston.

Bernard shakes his head:

“Yeah. If she only gave up drinking she’d make the ideal wife.”

Her willowy body undulating, her tail-bone kicking, her pert butt lifting, her pussy jerking and bucking. The jolt going through me, pumping surge after surge of hot cum down Gracie’s throat.

I mumble:

“… Yeah… well…”

My body’s burning. I can’t look my friend in the face. His mother sucked my cock. I unloaded bigtime in Bernard’s mother’s mouth.

My mouth drops open. I look at him:

“… Did you say ‘wife’…?”

Bernard’s lips purse:

“That’s what he said.”

“… To your mother…?”

“That’s right.”

“… She’d make an ideal wife…?”

“Yep.”

I see red.

Everything goes black.

My teeth grind::

“… Fucking bastard…!… I’ll kill him…!… he’s cheating on my Mom…!”

When I get back to our beach umbrella Howard’s already stripped off, ostentatiously doing a few star jumps and press-ups to show the other beach goers what a manly physique he has.

I want to hit the cunt. I decide to smash his manly teeth down his manly throat.

Mom’s coyly disrobing.

It’s taken her a long time to dare show off her swimsuit to the crowded beach.

The most modest one-piece swimsuit in the shop.

Blue, double-thickness nylon. Broad, demure crotch to rein in her sensational split. Wide shoulder straps. High neckline. None of her sumptuous cleavage managing to peep out at the top. My mother’s chosen her swimwear specially for Howard.

She looks so shy and nervous, so adoring of her ‘boyfriend’, I dare not smash his face in.

Howard looks her up and down:

“Very nice, my dear, but those, erm, pounds are still waiting to go missing.”

Her eyes go wobbly.

“… Oh… Howard… I’m doing my best…”

It’s time to hit him. It’s time to acquaint my mother with his treachery and deck him.

He smirks:

“Well. Sometimes one’s ‘best’ isn’t quite ‘best’ enough. One needs to go one better than ‘best’, my dear.”

My mother’s bottom lip quavers:

“… Oh Howard… I’m trying… I’m really trying… I’ll… I’ll… I’ll give that raw fiber diet another go…”

Howard’s got my Mom on all sorts of fanatical weight-loss regimes and he’s ducking round to Gracie’s house behind her back! The bastard’s toying with my mother’s feelings!

He preens:

“Yes. Yes. Well. We’ll discuss it some more when we’ve had our swim, Teresa.”

Discuss it some more? My mother looks sensational. Her broad hips are goddess-chunky under the skin-tight nylon. Her bootylicious butt overflows even the chastest swimsuit in all the right places. The wide blue crotch can’t handle the smooth-shaven width of her breath-taking split. Blue nylon can’t rein in the wobbly fullness of her breasts. My mother’s curvaceous body is the hottest on the whole beach.

She and Howard walk side by side down to the water’s edge.

You can see my mother’s hip yearning to graze Howard’s hip, a loving bump as they walk into the water. You can see her hand dangling at her side, waiting to be taken by his hand, maybe even squeeze his knuckles against her her full, silky thighs. But Howard walks rigidly, keeping his distance, the perfect, morally pure man maintaining his personal space.

They dive into the first wave. No doubt my Mom’ll be getting some how-to-swim lessons too.

I turn my head away.

I’m pissed.

I don’t know what to do with myself.

I feel all churned up with emotion.

I can’t sit still.

I don’t feel like a swim. Sunbathing’s out of the question.

I go for a stroll along the esplanade for a while.

I chat to some lifesavers. I buy myself an ice-cream.

When I return to our umbrella my Mom is sitting on her towel alone, her bathing suit still wet… crying… surrounded by umbrellas, wind break, ice box, towels, boogie board… sobbing her heart out.

“Mom! What is it?”

She doesn’t answer. She just nods with tear-swollen eyes—

Three beach umbrellas along, where Mom’s group of cougar friends are drinking beer and sunbathing and saying nasty things about men, Howard is sitting on a towel talking to Gracie.

Mom sobs:

“… He said she had the perfect body…”

It’s the sort of thing Howard would say in his pompous know-all way.

“… N… n… nicer than mine…”

I feel my face go hot. Gracie’s body sure felt nice in the garage. I don’t know what to say.

I mutter:

“… Yeah but… you’re a nicer person, Mom… you’ve got a nicer personality…” It’s true, but she’s not listening. “… Gracie’s a nasty piece of work…”

She snaps:

“… Don’t you dare talk about my friends like that, Matty… it’s… it’s… very rude…”

I put my arm around her.

She shrugs it off.

I mumble:

“… I’m sure he’s just explaining something everyday to Gracie, Mom… about Bernard… or college or something… you know how Howard’s always lecturing people and advising them what to do…”

It’s true. Howard towers above Gracie. Even skinny and pigeon-chested, Howard looms above Mom’s slim petite friend. He’s waving his hands around, demonstrating this, explaining that, no doubt insisting Gracie watches one of his blogs. He’s not chatting her up. There’s nothing in the bastard’s demeanor to suggest anything as imperfect or ignoble as sexual interest in Gracie.

I’m not used to comforting people. I say:

“It’s only Howard doing his usual thing, Mom. Preaching. Lecturing. Bossing people around. He isn’t hitting on Gracie or anything.”

She snivels:

“… Yes he is…”

It’s my chance. It’s the perfect opportunity to call Howard a two-timer, a cheat and a hypocrite, to tell Mom she’s better off without him… but I can’t… she’s too upset, I don’t want to hurt her any more than she’s already hurting and, besides, she wouldn’t listen to me anyway. I’m left with muttering:

“Don’t be silly, Mom. You’re just being silly.”

She blurts:

“… No I’m not… I’m not being silly at all… he thinks I’m too fat… and Gracie’s got the perfect body…!”

She jumps up.

She stalks off.

For a second I think my mother’s marching over to her friends’ group to tear a strip off Gracie, but no…

… She sets off in the opposite direction… where the beach peters out into sand hills and there’s no swimming because of the rocks…

I call out after her:

“… Mom…!”

I’m hurrying after her.

“Go away, Matty! Leave me alone! Can’t I have a moment to myself?”

She storms away between the swimmers and the sunbathers, her big, curvaceous butt jellying voluptuously in the one-piece swimsuit Howard made her wear.

She passes the lifeguard tower and the ice-cream vendor.

She passes the sign that says: DANGER. RIP TIDE. NO SWIMMING.

She marches angrily into a scorching shimmer where the sand hills take over from the beach like the dunes in Lawrence of Arabia.

The crowds thin out.

The sand hills have a bad reputation. The dunes are where people go to do bad things.

Soon my Mom and I are totally alone, walking on burning sand, in the lea of a large sandy slope.

She plonks down on her knees in the sand. She hasn’t even brought a towel to sit on. She starts sobbing her heart out again.

I put my arm around her.

“… Please, Mom… don’t cry… you’re… you’re not fat… you’re… you’re beautiful…”

She is too. Her chunky shoulder wobbles under its one-piece strap. She’s the most beautiful creature in the world.

She allows me to comfort her. Her swimsuit’s still wet from her swim. Her sumptuous weight nestles damply under my arm.

“… No I’m not… I’m not… perfect…”

It’s my chance to get rid of her infatuation with Howard. I’ll never get another opportunity like this. We’re totally alone. I can put her in a trance without anyone seeing. I can place her in a deep hypnotic trance and plant the suggestions and commands in her subconscious mind, in the limbic regions of her brain, that she’s too good for Howard, Howard doesn’t deserve her—he doesn’t!—and that she should dump Howard straight away.

I whisper:

“… Yes you are… you’re perfect, Mom…”

She is too. Her blue eyes blurry with tears. A strand of blonde hair stuck to her cheek-bone. She’s more than perfect.

I whisper:

“… I’ll show you, it’s easy…”

Her blue eyes empty out. Her shoulder relaxes. The trigger word goes through her with a long, voluptuous shudder. Her voice goes suddenly warm and girlish and confiding.

“… ‘Easy’, Howard… what do you mean ‘easy’…?”

She thinks I’m Howard. Howard Montgomery’s the last person on earth I want to be, but I push on:

“… Look… I’ll show you, Teresa… I’ll show you how perfect you are… ”

I can’t breathe.

“… For instance… your breasts…”

She snuggles closer under my arm.

“… My breasts, Howard…?”

“… Yes… your breasts…”

My heart thunders in my chest. I glance around. There’s not a person in sight. I whisper:

“… Pull your swimsuit down…”

Her voice goes light and breathy:

“… Down…?”

“… Yes… down…”

She shivers:

“… If you say so, Howard…”

I groan:

“… I say so…”

She slides a finger under a wide, wet strap and frees it from her shoulder. She tugs damp nylon down around her elbow. A big, wobbly breast slips free.

I whisper:

“… The other one…”

Her sumptuous fullness frees itself from her swimsuit, two toned landslides of luscious, tanned flesh—my mother’s breasts are more tanned than Sandra’s! My Mom’s been down the tanning salon, hoping that Howard might one day wish to examine her ‘overweight’ perfection— sumptuous, wobbly tits slip free, quaking expectantly, her thick pink nipples already taut and tight.

I put on Howard’s fastidious, lecturer’s tone of voice:

“… Now, Teresa…!” My heart is beating like crazy. “… I’m going to demonstrate…”

She sighs:

“… Yes, Howard…”

“… With my mouth… I’m going to show you how perfect your tits are…” She catches her breath. ‘Tits’ is the wrong word. “… With my lips…”

“… Yes, Howard… please… if you want…”

“… I want, Teresa…”

There’s so much hot, tanned flesh waiting for my mouth I don’t know where to start.

I flick an engorged nipple with my tongue-tip. The pink nub quivers on its landslide of luscious flesh and stands up even taller.

“… Oh…”

My lips close round her nipple. My strong lips suck her nipple in like its an engorged straw aching to feed me a full milkshake.

“… Oh… oh…”

I nip her juicy nipple between my teeth, feel it get stiffer and tauter. My tongue plasters warm saliva on her pulsing nub.

It’s hard to draw my mouth away:

“… See how perfect that feels, Teresa…?”

“… Yes… yes, Howard… I see it…”

I fill my mouth with my mother’s sumptuous softness.

“… Oh… oh… oh-hhhhhhh…”

Jellying softness pumps in the stretched corners of my mouth. Her toned fullness yearns to feed me. Her nipple quakes in the back of my mouth, aching to satisfy my hunger. Her stiff nipple scratches voluptuously at the back of my throat pulsing her succulent heartbeat into my wind-pipe.

Her fingers run through my hair.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

The magic word. The word Howard likes to hear.

I sink my teeth in deep. There’s plenty to sink my teeth into. There’s enough toned flesh to take the most savage bite.

“… Oh… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

Her body quakes. Her back arches. Her tail-bone gives a helpless kick.

Her hand’s between her legs, a manicured nail plowing moist nylon into her hot cunt.

My mother’s cumming!

She’s having an orgasm.

Already.

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

It’s the pain Howard’s caused her. It’s her grief and sorrow seeking an outlet. The heartbeat throbbing in my mouth picks up speed. Her body spasms. She’s even quicker off the trigger than she was in the woods.

I drag my mouth away from her jellying tits. One’s flushed and slippery, festooned in saliva. The other one’s smooth and sleek.

I grunt:

“… The other one too, Teresa… we must be fair in all things in this life…”

She gives me this big, goofy grin:

“… Yes, Howard…”

My mother thrusts her other tit into my mouth. I suck and gobble. I batten on her succulent fullness. She never fed me this good when I was a baby.

I drag my mouth away. I purse my lips. I pout the fastidious way Howard pouts. I’m going crazy:

“… Now, Teresa… get that swimsuit off…” It’s round her waist already, blue nylon pumping on her voluptuous stomach. “… You’re telling me your bottom isn’t perfect…?”

I experience a stab of sharpest guilt. Her goofy grin is delirious with happiness:

“… No, Howard…”

Howard says:

“… Let’s see, shall we…?”

Perhaps my mother’s practiced. Maybe my Mom’s been preparing for the dreamed-of, distant day when Howard takes her for his wife.

She peels her swimsuit down over her bootylicious butt. I stop breathing altogether.

She drops onto all fours and cocks her sumptuous ass.

“… Okay, Howard…?”

“… Mm-mmm… let’s see…”

When it comes to my mother’s butt I know even less where to start.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

I run my tongue up her curvaceous ass-cheek. I leave juicy snail-tracks up her toned fullness. I lick where her tail-bone’s throbbing like a bitch in heat.

“… Oh… oh…”

I stab my tongue into her butt’s sensational, deep, elastic give. I plow voluptuous her ass-cheeks apart with all the strength in my muscular tongue.

“… Oh fuck…”

Her legs part. Her split glistens a luscious sheen of post-orgasm wetness. Her cunt’s hot tang cuts through the salt smell of the ocean.

I need to concentrate on her ass. It’s her butt’s curvaceous perfection I’m demonstrating.

I dart my tongue at her ring’s succulent moue. I stab some mouth-meat at a tight little crater on the moon. Her ring clenches. Her ass-hole tightens ecstatically. Her butt quakes helplessly, too hot and tight to get even a finger in, never mind my rock-hard, throbbing spear-head. Later. There’s always plenty of time.

I plow hot spittle up her pulsing ass-cleft.

She whimpers:

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuck…”

I groan:

“… See, Teresa… see… ?… your ass is sensational…”

“… Yes, Howard…”

“… It’s more than sensational, your butt’s perfect, baby…”

Baby? Howard never calls her baby.

“… Yes, Howard… yes… it belongs to you, Howard… my body belongs to you…”

It does too. Her eyes, gazing lovingly over her shoulder, are empty. Her voice comes from a million miles away, from beyond the thud of the waves on the wet sand.

I straddle her hips.

My swimsuit’s gone. I didn’t even see myself taking my swimsuit off. My rock-hard cock sways heavily in the salt-laden air.

“… Feel my cock rubbing up and down your sweet ass, Teresa…?”

“… Yes…”

“… Feel how my big cock wants to take your perfect ass…”

“… Yes… yes…”

A crevasse of luscious flesh parts beneath my pounding pressure, the fuck rhythm already surging up my stiff cock, rubbing throbbing need on her perky tail-bone, grinding aching need into her ass-cleft’s silky clasp.

She groans:

“… You wanta fuck me, Howard…?” Her bottom quakes. “… You wanta fuck my hot ass…?”

“… Erm…”

I’m crazy. I’m out of my mind. What am I thinking of? Fuck her ass? She’s my mother. I’m her son. She carried me in this big, beautiful, undulating body, bore me out into this world nineteen years ago, brought me up, a single mother, all on her own. Fuck her hot ass? I only wanted to get rid of Howard, change her back to how she was before.

We’re alone, on our own, in the sand hills. Her ass is more than hot.

She feels me hesitate. She senses the desperation coursing through my body.

She swings round.

My mother’s kneeling before me, her knees sinking into the dry sand, her fist tight and warm around my thick cock, her fist’s hot friction pumping unstoppable weight into my rock-hard shaft.

“… Want me to blow you, Howard… you want me to suck you off…?”

I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what’s happening to me.

“… No…”

“… Wanta cum in my mouth, Howard… you wanta shoot your big load down my throat…?”

“… Yes…”

I remember how good Gracie’s lips felt clasping my swollen tip in her plump cupid’s-bow. I recall the luscious jolt as I pumped my heavy load down Gracie’s succulent throat. But that was Gracie. It was only my mother’s friend. Only my mother’s friend is bad enough. Surely I can’t…

… My mother’s lips are fuller and broader than Gracie’s, her breath much hotter, bedewing my cock’s swollen tip, her luscious moue hungrier than Gracie’s, closing round my cock’s throbbing spear-head, her tongue more slippery and urgent, plastering maternal saliva on my piss-slit, lapping up my luscious pre-cum, her delicious moue sinking slowly down my pulsing shaft, inch by inch, spasm by spasm…

… Fuck…

… Fu-uuuuuuuuuck…

… I’m deep throating my mother…

… My mother’s sucking my cock…

… The woman who bore me is taking my throbbing spear-head deep into her gullet, into her spasming wind-pipe, into the beating of her heart, deeper than Gracie took it in the garage…

“… Argh… argh… argh-lllllllllllllllllllll…”

Only the sucking, squelching noises are the same.

I run my fingers through her hair. My mother’s blonde mane is sticky from the sea. I grab two handfuls and ram her mouth up and down on my big prong.

“… Glu-uuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaarg…”

Her nose nuzzles my groin, breathes succulent heat into my plastered bush.

Her teeth close a voluptuous love-bite round my aching shaft deep down near my balls, far deeper than Gracie took me.

I grip hold of her hair. I hold her there.

“… Glu-uuuuuuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg… argh-lllllllllllllllllllll…”

She stops breathing. She loves me. She doesn’t need to breathe. Her bite tightens on my pounding piston.

She’s breathing me in. My mother’s gullet opens. Her deep throat’s aching to receive her son’s hot semen. She thinks it’s Howard’s semen, but her throat knows better. Her wind-pipe knows who the throbbing cum belongs to these succulent spasms are milking from my pulsing prong.

“… Glu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuug… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”

The jolt goes through me like a truck’s slammed into me from behind. The strong jolt rams my throbbing spear-head a full inch deeper into her helpless gullet. My cock explodes. I’m pumping surge after surge of hot cum into my mother’s spasming gullet.

“… Gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg… argh-llllllllllllllllllllllllllll…”

The spout shoots up her throat, fills her mouth in an instant and streams out where her broad lips are stretched tight around my thick shaft.

I throb kick after kick of hot semen into my mother’s mouth, far more than I ever gave Gracie.

“Hey! Bro!”

I nearly jump out of my skin.

Mom’s choking and spluttering, swallowing hard.

“He-eeey! Big bro!”

Sandra.

My little sister!

My little sister’s bratty voice coming round the side of the dune.

“… Mo-ooooooooom…?”

Sandra stops dead. Her eyes widen. Her mouth drops open. Even my slutty little sister’s horrified.

She gapes:

“… Matty…?… what the…?”

Mom’s still gobbling my cock. Our mother’s still swallowing my hot cum, completely unembarrassed by her daughter’s sudden appearance.

I yelp:

“… Look… it’s nothing… it isn’t what you think…!”

I drag my cock out of my mother’s mouth. My slippery spear brings up a landslide of hot cum with it, streaming down my mother’s chin.

Sandra’s indignant:

“… Not what I think…?… that’s disgusting…!”

Mom gives her daughter a goofy grin, spunk trailing from her chin onto her wobbly breasts.

“… Hello, darling… Howard’s letting me suck his cock… he says I’ve got a perfect body…”

Sandra shrieks:

“… Howard…?… what the fuck you talking about, Howard…?”

Mom strokes my hip.

“… Here, darling… here… you know Howard…” She gazes up into my eyes. “… Howard wants to fuck me…”

My little sister scowls:

“… Matty…?”

I find my swimsuit. I’m pulling my swimsuit up over my raw, slippery, rock-hard cock. I mumble:

“… Look… I can explain…”

My sister scowls:

“… What’s wrong with Mom… ?… why’s she talking funny… ?… why are her eyes all stare-y like that…?”

Mom’s smiling up at me imploringly, she’s reaching for my cock beguilingly. We’ve said hello to my little sis. She’s greeted her daughter… it’s time for her and me to get back to our love making… any second now she’s going to do something totally stupid…

My secret’s out. My secret’s been discovered anyway. Sandra’s seen my mother’s empty eyes, the hypnotized way she’s talking. Sandra’s a brat, but she’s smart. She’s worked out what’s happened to our mother.

I mumble:

“… Look… Sandra…”

I confess everything. I have to. I have no alternative. I tell my little sister everything from the very beginning. My hatred for Howard.

Sandra pouts:

“Yeah. Howard’s a bastard.”

How I doctored Howard’s video blog.

“Yeah. His freaking blogs. They make me want to throw up too.”

How I hypnotized Mom and planted the trigger words in her brain.

Sandra’s eyes go big and round:

“Really?”

How I meant to use her trance state to make Mom dump Howard and bring her back to her old self…

“Yeah. She was so much nicer when she was a laid back feminist.”

“… But…”

I nod at Mom kneeling naked in the sand, her breasts glistening and sticky.

“… You know… things sorta… got out of hand…”

“You bastard!” Sandra’s eyes are sparkling. “You horny fucking bastard!”

She doesn’t seem as outraged as she was at first.

I say:

“… Yeah… well…” I nod at Mom. “… We better get Mom cleaned up… I can’t… you know… bring her out of her trance with no clothes on…”

My little sister murmurs:

“… Yeah… I guess…”

I put on my Howard voice:

“Alright, Teresa! Enough of this foolishness!” Sandra giggles. I do a pretty good imitation of Howard’s voice. “Get your swimsuit back on now, please. Snip snap.”

Mom smiles:

“… Yes, Howard…”

She climbs back into her swimsuit. She pulls skin-tight nylon up over her chunky hips, gets the wide straps over her shoulders, adjusts her breasts, stands waiting for further instructions.

Sandra looks at me with big, round, wondering eyes:

“… So… what’s the trigger word then…?”

I don’t want to tell her, but I have to.

“… ‘Hard’… when I want to snap her out of it I say ‘hard’… like this… hard…”

Mom straightens up. Her eyes fill with all their old anxious concerns. She tongues at the sticky taste in her mouth. She glances round at the sand hills, the sea, baffled.

She says:

“… Where are we…?… what are we doing here, Matty…?… Howard’s waiting… we must get back to Howard right now…!”

She sets off at full speed towards the crowded end of the beach.

My little sister and I trail along behind her. Mom’s walking so fast it’s hard to keep up with her.

Sandra looks at me, the scorpion flexing in her silky groin:

“Hey! Big bro! You got hidden talents, man!”

I mutter:

“… Not really…”

My little sister’s outrage is gone. It’s been replaced by a flirtatious smile, a knowing look in her eyes.

Her gaze goes all mock astounded:

“Not really? Deep throating our own Mom?” I don’t like the way she says ‘our’. “Giving our Mom a good time? Mom looked pretty happy.”

“… No she didn’t…”

“Yes, she did!” Her hip nudges the side of my leg. “That’s a big cock you got on you, brother!”

“… Not really…”

“Yes. Really.”

The hip knot on her string bikini nestles an instant against my muscular thigh, the tiny yellow triangle shielding her moist cunt so skimpy the scorpion climbing up her groin is full visible.

She preens:

“… So… ‘hard’s the trigger word to snap her out of it… what’s the trigger word to put her under…?”

I don’t want to tell her. It’s dangerous. I mustn’t tell, but…

… Sandra’s a scandal-monger…

… She’s an inveterate gossip…

… Sandra’s quite capable of blurting my secret out all over college, my little sister’s perfectly capable of telling the whole world I hypnotize my Mom and turn her into my sex slave.

I say:

“… ‘Easy’… to put her under, the trigger word is ‘easy’…”