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Copyright 1998 by E. Z. Riter.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com     

Please! Give me your comments!

This is a repost of a fifty-two chapter mind control, multi person romance.


MY INHERITANCE
    
Chapter 30
     
Mom
    
Mary had just suggested I take Mom in the bedroom and fuck her.
    
As Mary, Mom and I sat, the silence was so strong I could hear the tick of the clock on the wall.
No one was moving.  Mary had that look again, the look she gets when she is inside my mind,
reading my thoughts. She was waiting on me to act as though she already knew what I would do. 
    
Mother was watching me with frightened anticipation, hands folded tightly in her lap, so tightly her
knuckles were white.  She was naked to the waist.  Before Mary's suggestion, I had been playing
with Mom's breasts, suckling her ring punctured nipples, as I had in my infancy.  
    
Mom had moaned when I suckled, one hand holding me snugly to her breast, the other stroking
me in rhythm to the motion of my nursing.  I could smell that faint smell of a woman's need
wafting up from her, and feel the heat she generated.  
    
I could tell Mom wanted to be fucked. That did not mean she wanted me to do it.  
    
I wish I could have been in her mind right then. What was she thinking?  Was she thinking of
taking me, as a woman takes a man, welcoming me between her spread legs for our mutual
pleasure? Once, she had spread her legs in pain to allow me to come into this world. Now, did she
want to spread them again for me, this time sexually?  As if she read my thoughts, a blush rose
from her naked stomach to grow across her upper body, ending where her hair began. Her nipples
were erect, but I did not know if that was from sexual desire, or a simple physical reaction to being
suckled.
    
Mother was only forty, just four years older than Mary.  Thanks to the breast implants Dad gave
her as a Christmas present, her breasts were delightful, high, firm, perfectly balanced. Her nipple
rings were highly sexual to me, indicating a deep awareness by her of the most primordial
relationship between the sexes and her positive desire to participate in it.  
    
She had a nice trim figure, kept that way by her diet and exercise, and a lovely bottom with
shapely legs flowing to trim ankles and pretty feet.  It was easy to see where my three sisters got
their good looks.  She had a pretty face, a lovely, warm smile. Her eyes were expressive, round.  I
had seen them like burnt coals when she was angry with me.  And, I had seen them like soft pools
showing her tenderness and comforting.    
    
She was a very attractive woman.  And, she was a sexual woman.  I had never noticed that before
this trip, not even when Andy and I visited LA not too long ago. She seemed like a Mom then, or a
biochemist.  Asexual.  Sitting before me now, her flesh exposed and hot, the red of the blush on
her pale skin,  her nipples erect and the rings glistening as they moved when she breathed, she was
very much a sexual creature.  I saw now what Dad and Uncle Bert and  probably countless other
men had seen. In my eyes, the woman, the very appealing and sensual woman, had emerged from
the role of mother which she played so well. 
    
My cock saw her, too. He was not concerned with the niceties of life, of incest or taboos or
societal restrictions.  He let the brain worry about those. Slowly, he hardened in my trousers. I
moved to free a constriction and the cock head poked up, tenting the cloth.

Mom saw it. She licked her lips in anticipation, but turned her body slightly away from me, her
head turning further and downward.  Her arms moved to cover her naked breasts, hiding them
from me for the first time. 
    
Cathy cleared her throat, seeking attention, breaking the silence.  I gave her an order just to send
her away from us and she left the room.  Mary had not moved as she watched the interplay
between us.  Almost from habit, my eyes skimmed the room looking for him. For Diablo.  The
devil dog.  He was nowhere to be seen. 
    
Why did I want to fuck her? Was it because she was a woman, representing all of that precious
gender, and like any man I wanted any woman hot, twisting and gasping under me? Was it because
she was a woman special to me, a woman who played a large part in my life, a part I wished to
expand by the most intimate of sharing? Was it Oedipus, leaping from my psyche to take that
which was my father's most treasured possession? For me, that sword had still another side since
my Mother was the wife of the man I called father and the lover of the man whose seed created
me. 
    
Was it power? Power to control she who controlled me for such a large part of my life?  I had the
power, no doubt about that.  A command from me would make her do anything. She would strip
naked and crawl though the snows of Vail until her breasts froze if I commanded it.   She would
fuck every man in town, or every woman or dog or elk.  I had that power over her thanks to the
programming from Uncle Bert.
    
When I was young, she had the power, power to hurt or help, to control or release, to love or hate.
And, she had a power over me I would never have over her: the power to shape and form, the
power to mold and create a human as they grew. I was totally dependent on that power, dependent
on her.  How had she exercised that power?  With love.  With kindness and discipline and strength
and care.  She had done well for me. 
    
She was not programmed to obey now.  If I wished to take her by exercising my power, I would
need to say those magic words,  "Do you prefer sirloin or tube steak?" Unprogrammed, she was
just a woman, a mother, naked to the waist before a man who was her son.  She knew, as I did,
the situation was sexual and highly charged.  
    
She did not speak.  She waited.  The waiting itself indicated the base of our relationship at that
very instance. She did not take control as a mother might well have done. She did not leap and flee
as a woman would in a sexual situation she found unacceptable. She did not bill and coo to speed
our coupling.  She waited.  She waited for me to make a decision as a woman would wait for a
man. 
    
I saw a movement from the corner of my eye.  The devil dog had entered the room. He circled
behind the chair Mary was in and crossed in front of Mom as she sat on the couch. He came to
me, his giant head higher from the floor than mine. His expression was neutral as he lay down and
put his head across my foot. 
    
What would I do?  What would you have done?  

I watched as Mom self-consciously wiped away a rivulet of sweat drifting down between her
breasts with a long red-tipped finger.  We all waited in silence until she could stand it no more. She
looked at me with a pleading gaze, silently asking me to decide and remove the crushing
anticipation from us all.
    
"Mom, do you want me to make love to you?"
    
"Yes, I do, Davy."  
    
She shivered.  I could see the goose bumps across her arms and on the high part of her chest
between neck and breasts. Her smile, so tender and loving, flashed at me, gone in an instant,
replaced by a questioning, undecided and pleading look.
    
"You know I would come to you if you asked, Davy."  
    
Her hands separated, their color quickly changing from white to red as circulation returned. Her
arms unfolded, leaving her breasts exposed to my sight again.  She turned slightly, returning to the
position she had originally which was facing me.  
    
"But, please, don't ask.  I do not think we should.  Somehow, it would not seem right."  
    
She gave a quick, wan, smile and looked away. Her arms tensed and relaxed.  She straightened her
back to ease her tension. Subconsciously I presume, the straightening arched her back, moving her
breasts towards me, making them shimmy and the light sparkle from the rings in a sensual twinkle.
Now, her eyes locked onto mine, bright lasers holding me.
    
"It is your decision.  I will happily do whatever you wish." Hers was a woman's voice to a man,
without hint of a mother's natural command presence. 
    
I was sorely confused, as my cock and several parts of my brain warred in desperate silence in me.
I was as confused as she was, but my confusion was evident only to me. Her confusion was
shouted by the juxtaposition of her words and body language, the former saying no, the latter
pleading yes. 
    
Diablo, my now continual companion, raised his head slowly, to look at her.  I could see his eyes
taking her in, measuring her, appraising her. It was the look all you men have given countless
women, the look all you women have received countless times as a man decides whether to
approach you. Then, he turned to me.  His lip twitched in the start of a smile.  Mary was still, her
face neutral, her eyes passive, as she watched us and absorbed all she saw. 
    
"I want you, too, Mom."  
    
Emotions flashed across her face like laser beams at a light show: happiness, sorrow, lust, fear,
need, apprehension, in rapid succession until she looked away. Her right hand went to her hair,
fluffing and straightening it. She sighed audibly.
    
"But, I agree we should not. We should be Mom and Son. I think that is best for us."
    
She looked at me as if she did not understand. Incomprehension slowly morphed to a loving smile
as the tension blew away like dust in a high wind, gone to the great relief of all. We stood
simultaneously, hugging each other. I felt her hand stroking my head as she  had done countless
times and the Mother's kiss of closed lips pressed against my cheek. I also felt her breasts crushed
hotly against my chest but that was of no importance now. 

We whispered our love and she turned to go to where she belonged, to her room, to my father,
Charles.
    
"Mom," I called after her. She stopped and turned, a warm smile on her face.  "Yes, honey?"
    
"Please send Betty into my room.  Tell her to get in bed and I will be there shortly."
    
"Do you want Abby, too?"
    
"No, thanks.  Just Betty for now."
    
"Good night, baby. I love you."
    
"Good night, Mom. I love you, too," I called after her as she walked down the hall. 
    
When I turned to Mary, the devil dog was laying beside her chair but she was unaware of his
presence. 
    
"Bert would be proud of you, Davy.  He might have done it differently, but he would be proud of
the way you did it."
    
"Damn right, he would have done it differently.  He would have fucked her eyes out!"
    
"I don't think so," she replied.  
    
It suddenly occurred to me that Uncle Bert had a father and mother, the same parents as Charles
and all the other Wilson brothers. Like a bolt, a picture of Uncle Bert fucking Grandma flashed
through my head.  She was as she was when I last saw her shortly before her death, with straggly
and thinning gray-blue hair and her teeth out.  It was a picture I did not want to think about, and I
was glad I did not know that answer.   Still, I wondered. 
    
"Well, what do you want me to do now?" 
    
Cathy, looking sullen, stood in the doorway. 
    
"Cathy, baby, let's have a little talk."  
    
I took her hand, leading her towards the basement. Mary followed after me and that damn dog
went back to from wherever he came. 
    
To be continued . . . 
    
Please!  Give me your comments.
    
Email address: ezriter@hotmail.com