The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Friday, afternoon

I spent the afternoon researching out of control emotions, and thralls, and various nonsense about enthralling someone. But I didn’t find anything terribly useful.

Mom DID SING, as promised.

“OHGOD! FUCK THE SHIT OUTTA ME, DADDY!“

And a few minutes later, “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK ME STUPID, BABY!“

A little later still, “OHGODYESSSSSS!”

Friday, 5 P.M.

“Yo, Paul,” Brad called from the other room. “Come on out here, man. We’re going out to dinner—the three of us.”

“We’re going out to dinner?” I asked as I wandered out to the den to find Terri in very short cut-off shorts, and a shoulder-baring, midriff-baring top that looked to me about like a couple kerchiefs tied together. SILK kerchiefs—because it looked almost like it had been spray-painted on over her nipples.

“Yeah, Daddy is pulling on some clothes.

“Hey, sorry about the ... volume—and language—this afternoon.

“But Brad likes it LOUD. And DIRTY. So ...” she shrugged.

I shook my head that I wasn’t upset about it—hey, I’d certainly been forewarned—but gestured toward her skimpy outfit. “Are you ... going to wear that?

“Daddy picked it out for me. So, yeah.”

“You DO realize,” I started to warn her, “that if you run into one of your students—one 18 years or older, anyway—they’re going to ... ehr ...”

“Say it, Paul.”

“They’re going to ... well, cum in their pants, right there on the spot.

“Sorry, I—I don’t mean to be—”

“No, no,” she sighed, “You’re right. I’m dressed ridiculously.”

Another sigh. “I’m ALWAYS dressed ridiculously—or UNDRESSED RIDICULOUSLY—nowadays.”

“I mean, you’re,” I shrugged and continued honestly, “ABSURDLY HOT right now.”

“Paul!” she made what-did-you-just-say-out-loud eyes at me, “You can’t say that to ME! I’m your MMM-MM!

“Hmm?”

“My ‘mmm-mm’?”

“Your MOTHER!”

“Sorry, just telling you the facts ...”

“Well ... thank you,” she gave a sweet smile.

“Also, I think Daddy is up to something. He told me NOT TO PEE again, so I’ve been ... unable to go all afternoon.”

“So, your bladder is—”

“OH, yeah!” she crossed her legs and fidgeted.

Brad wandered in. “You have money to cover dinner, right, Paul? I don’t want you to embarrass us by coming up short at the restaurant.”

God, mind-controlling tormentor AND a freeloading mooch. How did we luck out so?

Instead of that, I sighed, “Yeah, I have dinner covered.”

“Good man.”

Friday, 6 P.M., at the restaurant

Mom was clinging to Brad as we walked into the restaurant. A pretty hostess was dressed in Christmas red and green, her blouse verrrry low hanging.

“Welcome to the Bronze Lion,” she greeted us as she gathered three menus. “And happy holidays! We WILL BE open on Christmas day.

“Party of three?”

“Yes,” Brad nodded, “Three.”

We followed her as she led us to a table.

I sat in one chair, Brad in another, Terri in Brad’s lap.

“You need to pee, snookums?” Brad asked.

“Oh YES, Daddy!” Mom nodded eagerly, “Can I—”

“Nope. But don’t you DARE leak on me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The waitress came by and took out orders, then delivered the meal a few minutes later, which we enjoyed.

Afterward, Mom was still sitting in Brad’s lap. “Dinner was good, Daddy, but I do REALLY REALLY need to pee!”

“Heh, heh, maybe you’d better sit in your own chair, then.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She was obviously, VERY uncomfortable. I wished the bastard would just let her—

“I’ll let you go in a few minutes, snookums.”

Thank God!

“Why don’t you and Paul make out a little bit first.”

WAIT! WHAT?!

Terri turned to look at me, but I shook my head. “Aaahhhhhh ... I can’t. She’s ... my MOM, Brad.”

He just shrugged. “Looks like you just gotta hold it, then, snookums.”

PRICK!

Mom fidgeted after a minute. Then again a minute later, and a little whimper leaked out of her mouth.

She was REALLY uncomfortable.

She fidgeted again.

Goddammit! “Oh, I can’t c’mon, let’s ...”

“I can ... hold it,” she whispered, more bravely than she felt, I suspect, “a little while longer, Paul ...”

“Well, I can’t watch you in agony any longer,” I took charge from her, and slid my chair closer next to hers.

I was about to ... make out with my mother. “Brad, you REALLY want us—to—do this?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “G’head. And she can go pee after.”

She and I were sitting close together now. Deep breath. “Okay ... let’s just do this.” we both leaned toward each other.

“You don’t have to do this, Paul,” she whispered, “I can—”

I gave a tight chuckle and whispered back, “I’m not going to let you just spring a leak here.”

My face was ... just an inch or two from hers.

She swallowed. Nervously, and loudly in the sudden silence.

I tilted my head to—

And she tilted her head in the same direction, and we both gave a nervous chuckle.

She was breathing heavily, nervously, just like I was.

I tilted my head in the other direction and ... kissed her.

Even her lips were tense and nervous at first. But ... over a few seconds, they ... softened.

And we kissed.

She was ... a surprisingly good, uhm ... kisser.

My lips were relaxed, like hers, but ... I was still breathing heavily ...

She was ... okay, she was a REALLY good kisser ...

She was ... breathing kind of heavily too ...

I felt her fingertip touch my cheek, then slowly ... caress there, just ... lazily tracing slow circles there ...

Damn, the woman could REALLY kiss well ...

We ... continued to ... make out ...

I even ... well, licked her lips lightly, like ... ladies seem to love ...

Finally ... after three or four minutes of ... “making out,” we ... eased back from each other.

Wow.

Wow!

Slowly, she eased her eyes open ... and smiled at me. “Thank you,” she whispered soundlessly.

Wow ...

We were both still breathing heavily.

But she had more urgency than I did to recover. “Okay, Daddy,” she turned to him, “we made out for you.”

“With your SON, snookums?” He was going to make her say it. His whole point to it was to enjoy making her say it.

But she had to pee. “Yes, WITH MY SON. I MADE OUT with my OWN SON. Now can I pleeeeeease go the bathro—”

“Was there TONGUE involved?”

Asshole, just let her go PEE!

“No, Daddy, we didn’t use tongue. Can I pleeeeeassse—”

“It’s not making out if there’s no tongue involved.” More of Brad’s made-up rules.

Terri looked at me, but I had to whisper, “I—I’m sorry ... I can’t ...”

She fidgeted. “I know,” she whispered back. “’t’s ’kay ...”

“I’m sorry. I—” I turned to Brad—there had to be SOME human compassion in there somewhere. “I can’t ... FRENCH KISS my own MOTHER!

“I just ... can’t ...”

But she was in agony. She needed to pee!

“Hey, snookums, why don’t you try this,” and he whispered in her ear.

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh—I—

“I CAN’T—do ... that ...”

“Hey,” Brad taunted, just like he had with the running water sounds in the kitchen this afternoon, “it’s not MY bladder ... that’s alllll TAUT, like an OVER-FILLED balloon ... almost ready to just ... BURST, trying DESSSSPERATELY to hold back ... all that ... GUSHING LIQUID!” Then he started making bursting sounds with his lips, “Splooooosh ...”

Terri chewed her lip while he continued with the sound effects, “Squish ... squish ... splaaaaaashshshs ...”

Asshole!

Mom’s eyes drifted toward me, and she gulped.

“Paul, baby ...”

She stood up, pushed me back in my chair, sat down on my left thigh, her legs straddling it, and leaned in close to my ear. “I am ... SOOOOOO sorry, Paul ...”

I just ... stayed still ...

“But you WERE the one that insisted on staying ... when I warned you to leave here ...” she whispered quietly, reminding me.

Then she ... licked my cheek.

And ... licked it again.

I opened my mouth to say something—but I didn’t really have anything that I COULD say—so I shut it again ...

I guessed this was where tongue got involved. If she wouldn’t kiss with tongue, Brad was okay with her tonguing my cheek ...

And she licked some more. My cheek had to be getting shiny with saliva by now.

And she started licking and nibbling my ear lobe.

I just ... let her. The woman needed to pee, and if this would appease His Jackass enough to let her go, it was worth it.

“Good enough, punkin,” Brad chuckled finally.

“I am really SOOOOOOO sorry, Paul,” she whispered in my ear there.

“It’s okay,” I sighed. “It’s a little weird, you licking my neck like that, but it’s not something that will emotionally scar me for—”

“Not about that, sweetie.”

“About what, then?”

She chewed her bottom lip without answering.

“What’s—”

That’s odd. My thigh was ... “Why is—my ... thigh is ... all warm?”

It hit me! “Oh!

“Oh, no!

“You’re—”

She gave a tiny, embarrassed nod.

“You PEEING?!” I demanded, “Now?! On my LEG?!”

“I’m so SORRRRY, baby!”

Ohgod! She’d ... unloaded urine onto my pants leg.

“I’m so sorry, but—baby, I gotta PEE!”

“Wait! You’re STILL—”

She gave another tiny little shameful nod. “There’s a LOT in there, sweetie ...”

She looked ... VERY apologetic ...

“G’head,” I sighed, “finish ...

“You might as well now ...”

Her eyes fluttered, and shivers rippled through her, and she gave a couple shudders as she released the “flood control gates,” and the trickle became a long yellow stream ... drenching my thigh and leg ...

“Are you okay?” I asked after some seconds.

She gave a little squeak. I guessed she was still in the throes of going.

I waited ...

“Done yet?”

“Hungh-ungh ...” she gave a tiny squeak.

I waited some more ...

“Still going?

“Ungh-hungh ...” she squeaked.

I waited some more ...

“Jesus, woman,” I said finally, “Did you TRAIN for this?! Like some perverse Olympic sport or something?!”

“Almost—” she squeaked, “almost done ...”

After some more seconds, she sighed, “Aaaaaaaaaaaand done.

“OHSWEETMOTHEROFGOD, I had to GO!”

She sagged forward, laying her head on my shoulder. “Thank you, Paul,” she sighed, “Thank you, baby ...

“I’m sorry about your pants leg ...”

“Hey, snookums,” Brad called, “show us what it looked like, your bladder—like you did earlier for me!”

Mom nodded enthusiastically, “It did! My bladder had to be HUUUUUUGE in there! It had to look like—” She puffed her cheeks out and gestured with her hands like her cheeks were puffed out even more.

Jesus, Brad! Don’t taunt her into making faces like a child!

But I didn’t say anything. We needed to be better positioned before we beat the bastard to a pulp. And maybe Mom can tell HIM not to pee, then just go to bed—or for a week-long trip—and let him stew in his own yellow juices.

Anyway, that comes later ... We’re not there yet ...

“THAT had to be what my bladder looked like!” she ended her impersonation and nodded enthusiastically, then looked at me.

“Yeah, Mom,” I gave her the attention she was looking for, “That’s ... probably ... what it looked like.”

“Ha, ha!” Brad encouraged her childish behavior, “GREAT bladder impersonation, snookums!”

Mom just BEAMED at the praise.

“Of course,” Brad pointed out, “all these people are going to be just IN AWE of that awesome puddle you made on the floor, punkin.”

“Oh boy ...” Mom deflated instantly, knowing she’d made a boo boo on the carpet.

“No, no,” Brad continued messing with her, “I say: wear it PROUDLY! Stride out of here, SOAKED in urine, leaving squishy little footsteps in your wake.”

“I—I don’t know about that ...”

Hmm, even Mom wasn’t going to fall for that one ...?

“C’mon, let’s go pay, and get your wet selves home,” Brad stood, then muttered, “Hmm, I hope we have a drop cloth to protect the car ...”

Terri stood, and I saw the wet devastation she’d done to my pants leg. “Ohgod! You REALLY SOAKED me, Terri! My lap and thigh are just saturated.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Then she lit up, “Oh, wait! I have an IDEA!”

She pulled on her winter coat, and explained, “My coat covers my little wet spot. You should walk out behind me, so no one can see your big wet spot. Not unless they’re staring at your ass, and then BOY, are they in for a SURPRISE!”

I ... took her up on her offer to let me hide behind her. Not real brave, but you only care so much about bravery when your pants are soaked ...

As we walked out, Brad muttered loudly, to embarrass us in front of the other diners, “I swear! I can’t take you two anywhere! I take them out to dinner, and these two got so excited, the PEED themselves!”

No one was manning the cash register when we got to it, but the hostess stepped to there a few moments later, apologizing, “Here, I’ll check you out.

“The cashier is getting someone to clean up some type of BIOHAZARD SPILL back in the dining area.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal.”

“She REALLY enjoyed it,” Brad indicated Terri.

“Yes, thank you,” she agreed.

“Actually, she found an almost orgasmic release during the meal.

“Now him,” Brad indicated me, “Less so.”

“I can’t believe I’m soggy with—” I muttered, “I just ... can’t believe I’m soggy.”

“Well, come again,” the hostess welcomed us for next time.

Friday, 7:30 P.M., back home

“Uhm ... fuck? Daddy?” snookums prompted when we got back home.

“Yeah, let’s go fuck, you horny bitch!” Brad agreed.

“YESSSSS!” she clapped her hands, delighted.

“I’m GETTING NAKED! Now, Daddy!” she called as she ran up the hallway to the master bedroom.

“Here,” Brad handed me the leftover bag he’d gotten at the restaurant, “Why don’t you drop the doggy bag off with the dog in the closet.

“You MIGHT want to shower first, though,” he warned, “seeing as how you have HIS WIFE’S PISS all over you.

“He MIGHT be able to sniff that out, hmm?” Then he went to join Terri.

I DID feed Dad in the closet, AFTER I washed thoroughly in the shower. I guess I ... WAS sprayed and MARKED as his WIFE’S, and I didn’t want to rile up any primal aggressions on his side.

Hell, I didn’t even know if Dad HAD any primal aggressions anymore, after whatever Brad had done to him. But for now, it was better if Dad just stayed calm and docile.

I continued searching around on the internet while I rolled the few clues I’d gathered over and over in my head.

Mom’s voice played in the background as I did this, “OhGAAAWWWWWWD, DADDY! BEND ME OVER AND FUCK ME, BABY!”

Not every suggestion seems to “take” on Mom.

No, no, hear me out. He tells her to fuck him, and ... well, you can hear the chorus.

“DADDY! I’M—I’M—OH FUCK! I’M CUMMMMIKNG! DAAAAAADDY!” Mom’s voice came from the other room on cue.

But he tells her to pee on me, and she resists. Sure, it was just a minute and a half. But she TRIED to resist. And very briefly DID.

Then ... he tells her to wear the urine proudly. And she ... doesn’t. Now, he didn’t push that very hard, but ... was she able to resist him some?

I don’t know. Is it a clue? A faintest chance? Or am I just desperately grabbing at straws?

I just ... don’t ... know ...

On cue, Mom sang lustily in the background again, “OHH FUUUUUCK, DADDY! IF YOU DO THAT I’M GONNA CUMMMM AGAIN!“

I kept following leads on the internet while Mom’s “Greatest Orgasmic Hits” played on in the background, like some really perverse muzak.

I finally powered down and went to bed around midnight.

1 A.M. late Friday night

Terri padded in quietly, but I wasn’t asleep.

“Hi, Mom. I’m awake. You don’t have to tip-toe.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered back. “Sorry I’m so late, but I was ...”

“... getting ‘fucked silly?’” I guessed.

“Yes,” she sighed as she laid down, nude, next to me, “getting fucked silly.”

“Good sex?” I asked.

“OHGOD,” she gushed, “the BEST I’ve ever HAD!” After a minute, she guiltily added, “Which I really SHOULDN’T be telling my SON ...”

“But he won’t let you hang around afterward?”

“Well ... I adore him SO MUCH that ... I CAN get a little creepy.” The bed wiggled slightly as she shrugged her shoulders behind me. “I can’t help it.

“I warned you that you would come to LOATHE and HATE me. I loathe and hate MYSELF. You will too ...”

I didn’t reply. We’d covered this ground too many times already.

“Thank you again for making out with me at dinner,” she added after a minute, “so that I could—”

“—PEE on me? No problem.”

“I’m REALLY, REALLY sorry about that, sweetie. I didn’t mean to shame you by making you walk out of the restaurant all covered in my urine.”

“Yeahhhh ...” I sighed.

She giggled. “It was a full bladder’s worth! I can vouch for that!”

She was quiet a minute, then continued. “Speaking of which ... Daddy said I, uh ... need to take you with me when I go pee.”

What the fuck?! “I’m sorry—what?!”

“I ... need to be hugging you when I go pee. Like we did this afternoon. When I go from now on ...”

I just ... kept silent.

“He DID say to save it up until I’m ready to burst, so that I don’t pester you. Of course, I’d already figured to do that.”

After another couple minutes, I asked her in the dark, lying next to each other, “Terri?”

“Hmm, sweetie?”

“Brad said something this morning ... that ... I don’t know ...”

“Just ask, darling.”

“If I were to ... take you somewhere ... away from here ... if I took you someplace safe, someplace AWAY from Brad ... would you HARM ME to get back here?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

“I would.

“I would, Paul—I really would.

“You ... haven’t been listening to my warnings.

“I ... DON’T WANT ... to be ‘saved.’ I CAN’T BEAR the thought of being away from Brad—what you’re calling ‘rescuing’ me.

“I NEED him.

“I would ... KILL YOU ... to get back to him if I had to.

“I’d—I would—

“I don’t—” she gave a large, dry swallow, “I don’t know how I could LIVE with myself if I did that.

“But ... I WOULD do it.

“I’m sorry, but ... I WOULD.”

She was quiet a minute, then continued. “Paul, if I ... rescued you from AIR, if I FREED YOU from BREATHING, I certainly haven’t done you any favor. You’d lay there, a plastic bag of freedom stretched tightly over your face, and you’d struggle—even HURT ME if you had to—to get back to air.

“It’s like that for me, with Brad,” she whispered.

“Darling, I think I would KILL YOU, WITHOUT HESITATION if you got in the way of me getting back to Brad.”

After another minute, she gave feebly, barely audibly, “I’m sorry ...”

We both fell asleep sometime after that.

3:30 A.M. middle of Friday night

Something brought me awake in the middle of the night. “Mrkhblat izvngut ombleging?” I asked.

Have I mentioned that it takes me a few minutes to wake up fully?

“Shshshs,” Terri whispered, “just go back to sleep, darling.”

“Are you okay?” I surprised myself slightly, becoming coherent by my second sentence after I woke up.

“I’m fine.”

But something was wrong. “Hey, what’s the—” I rolled over toward her

“Are you—crying?” I whispered.

“Yeah ... a little.”

I ... I laid my hand on her back: she wasn’t alone against whatever she was talking about.

After a minute, she reached over and clasped my hand.

I just held her hand. She’d speak when she was ready.

“I’m just remembering,” she whispered finally, " that ... this isn’t me.”

Her hand tightened slightly as it held mine. Though I don’t think she realized that. “I’m remembering who I am. And it’s not this.”

She went quiet again for another minute. I just stayed there quietly with her. She was driving where, and how fast, we talked.

“It’s important—somehow—to remember what I was,” she spoke again, “and what I’m not, not any longer.

“Even ... if it hurts to.”

She went quiet another minute, and I just stayed there with her. I think I may have squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Here I am, sleeping naked in my son’s bed ...

“... while I wait ... desperate ...

“desperate ... to crawl right back into the bed of the bastard that kicked me out of my own bedroom ...

“And he rejected me since I would cling desperately to him if I were in there WITH him like I SOOOOO want to be.

“GOD, I hate NEEDING him so DESPERATELY!”

I stayed with her, quietly, and she continued on.

“I hate being an eager whore, just to get a wisp of his attention.

“And now my own son knows what a whore I’ll be for this BASTARD SHITHEEL that has taken over my home.

“Hell, I’ve treated you once again to a night-long concert performance of the slut-sounds that I make for him ...

“My OWN SON has heard me BRAZENLY DEMEAN myself.”

A bitter chuckle crept out of her. “Mom’s a WHORE now, Paul.

“BUT ... I didn’t used to be.

“And I need to KEEP REMEMBERING that, no matter how much it HURTS to.”

We just sat there quietly a couple minutes.

Some moments are not about words.

“Did I actually do an eager impersonation of a full bladder earlier?!” Her tone was awe, that such a thing could happen. “Right after I pissed all over both of us?! In public?!”

“Well ... it ... actually ... (chuckle) was a PRETTY GOOD IMPERSONATION—” I was rewarded with a small, but real, chuckle bubbling up out of her, and a smile briefly on her face, “—of a full bladder.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tiny, “for the chuckle ... those really don’t come around very often anymore.

Then her whisper took on full strength again, “But do you see what I’ve become? I’m a gullible four-year-old now, willing to do any filthy thing for this bastard shitheel.”

Her hand tightened slightly on mine, like she was trying subconsciously, to hang on.

This was a moment where words COULD make a different. Truth, by the way—I spoke truth. “You’re not an idiot, you’re just desperate.

“REMEMBER that.

“I’ve been studying you since I got here. And you’re STILL AS SMART AS EVER. You plan things AS SHARP AS EVER.

“You’re just ... desperate.”

Her hand tightened on mine, then she let go, spun around, “OHGOD, PAUL!” She climbed on top of me and laid there, hugging me tightly, crying on my shoulder. “I have been ALL ALONE since ALL THIS STARTED!

“I don’t—I don’t want you to be here—you’re in danger.

“But ... but THANK YOU for TALKING TO ME!”

Tears came quietly, and she hugged me more tightly. “Thank you ...” she said, so tiny that I could barely hear her. “I haven’t been able to talk to ANYONE!

“Thank you ...

Tears continued to squeeze out, and she kept repeating that, almost like a chant of ... gratitude.

“Thank you ...

“Thank you ...

“Thank you ...”

No one should EVER be that desperate to talk to someone. Ever.

This was another month of screams that I would rip out of that twisted bastard when the time came.

But for tonight, we were starting her to heal.

We continued on like that—her crying quietly, holding onto me like she was anxious I would slip away—until we drifted to sleep, her laying on top of me.

She’d feel a little guilty tomorrow, that she, in her sad desperation, might have given me a reason to stay—perhaps putting me at risk of getting trapped. But she’d get over that. She’d know, when she thought about it, that she didn’t sway me one way or the other by crying—I’ve already made my decision to stay.

I really hoped I wouldn’t get turned into Dad, but even if that was my fate, I was here until I was done with whatever I needed to do here.

Tonight was part of that.

6 A.M. Saturday

Theresa woke, her eyes opening. “Time to get pretty for Daddy,” she whispered and rose out of bed to go get ready for the day.

8 A.M. Saturday

“Paul, baby,” Terri shook me, “time to get up.”

“Mibwat kalyonda mungar,” I muttered. Again, takes me a couple minutes to wake up all the way.

“Paul, get up, honey.”

She shook me again. “Paul, sweetie, I need you to get up.”

I opened my eyes. “Mmmabsblat?”

“I’ve held it AS LONG AS I CAN,” she spoke more urgently. “I REALLY need to go pee. And before Daddy gets up.”

“I’m ... up,” I pulled myself to a sitting position, “I’m up.”

“Please hurry! I waited until I absolutely HAVE to go!”

“I’m, uhm,” I moved my hands and looked at my crotch. As expected, Mr. Stiffie was there. Mr. Stiffie was never appropriate around Mom—and especially not if she’s naked. “I’m going to need a couple minutes before I can—”

“Sweetie, I DON’T HAVE a couple minutes! I NEED to PEE!

“If you woke up with an ERECTION, darling, I’ll just IGNORE IT!

“That’s what men DO, they wake up with RAGING HARD-ONS.

“Let’s just PRETEND IT’S NOT THERE, and go PEE!”

Mr. Stiffie as an acceptable guest?! Pee desperation ... puts a different emphasis on things, I guessed. “Uhm ... okay?”

She took my hand and marched to the bathroom, pulling me in tow.

She sat on the toilet and looked up at me, her face about a foot from ... (gulp) Mr. Stiffie. “Baby, I don’t CARE if you dick is hard enough to drive NAILS!

“I have to pee WAY too much to GIVE a damn!

“Just step here and let me hug onto you so I can PEE!”

Placing her hands on my lower back and ass, she suddenly pulled me to her!

“YESSSSSSSSSS!” I heard liquid unloading into the bowl.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Ohgawwwwwd! Yesssss, that is GOOOOOD!

She squeezed my hips tight as she shivered a little.

“OHSWEETJESUS!” she gasped, “YESSSSSS!”

Finally, she let go of my hips and relaxed in a sitting position, wrung out with relief. “WHEW! That was GOOD!

“Thank you, Bab—” she looked up to find herself less than a foot from Mr. Stiffie. And after her very obviously enjoyable pee relief, he was ... near-bursting with happiness for her.

I had nothing to do with it, I swear—he was just overjoyed that she had found such wonderful relief.

“That’s, uhm ... that’s still there ...” she averted her eyes from our cheerful guest.

“Uh, well, you ... DID seem to,” I stammered, “REALLY enjoy that pee just now ...

“So, I guess I just—well, uhm, your excitement is a little ... contagious ...”

“Ohgod, there I go!” she looked up at me to meet my gaze. “I’m performing TERRI-PORN, even IN FRONT OF MY SON, aren’t I?”

Was she ... taking blame for Mr. Stiffie’s continued presence? Wow. “Ehr, no—no, not at all.”

“I’m sorry, Paul. I don’t mean to—” she continued her sentence, but dropped to a whisper as she realized what she was saying, “turn you on ...”

She moved on, “And forgive me, but I also need to go be ready for Brad. For when he wakes up.

“You know ... so Daddy doesn’t have to wait on anything.”

“Sure. Uh, call me the next time you need to pee.”

“Oh, I will! Trust me!”

I headed to my room to ... do some more research.