The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jeremy pulled up short in the doorway of their little kitchen. His mother was standing by the sink, cracking open a half-litre bottle of water. He licked his lips and held his breath. She was about to give another show, and she didn’t even realise it.

Her thick lips formed a perfect seal around the bottle’s screw-top. She threw back her head, upending the bottle so that the water drained straight down her throat. Her sleek black hair slid off her shoulders, exposing the muscles bulging in her neck as she swallowed the entire load without a breath. Her demure sundress was made obscene by the way it stretched over her giant fake outthrust tits.

The bottle emptied, she put it back on the countertop with a satisfied “Aaah!” A single droplet rolled off her thick lips and down her chin. It looked like an accident, but Jeremy knew that she never spilled a drop unintentionally. This was just practice. Sure enough, her long tongue snaked out from between her lips and deftly snatched the droplet off her chin. Jeremy gave an involuntary groan from the back of the throat.

She didn’t mean to titillate. She didn’t even realise she was doing it. Being sexy was just second nature to her, and the people she worked with were so inured to sexiness that it never crossed her mind that anyone else might find the things she did so damn arousing. Take the dress, for instance. She’d picked it because it looked mumsy, but the second she put it on it had been transformed into, well, into a porn star’s slut-wear. Even something as innocuous as drinking some water became a sex act when she was the one doing it. She was his mother, and all his life she’d done her best to have a nice, normal home life. She left work at work, and at home she was nothing but a doting mother. A doting drop-dead gorgeous MILF, with a body built for a sex and a face that defied the aging process. And that tongue. Fuck! That tongue!

Jeremy was in Hell. The sexiest woman on the planet lived with him in a terraced house so small that they shared a bathroom (not at the same time, of course) and they rubbed against each other when they passed on the narrow stairs… but because she was his mother she didn’t even think of him as a sexual being. He was her baby boy, and would be until he was old and grey and she was still an ageless sex goddess who fucked other people on camera for money.

At the sound of his groan, she looked up and her face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Hi sweetie!” she said, flouncing over and wrapping him in a cuddle, pecking him on the cheek. Her firm tits pressed hard against his chest (she was wearing high heels), bulging like the overfilled balloons they were.

“Moooom, stop it, leggo!” he said, twisting away so his raging hard-on wouldn’t poke her. It was easier to play the part of an uncomfortable teenage son embarrassed by his mother’s antics. She broke away, clearly disappointed that her only son did not return her affection. He felt a stab of guilt for that. He wanted to throw himself at her feet, declare his undying love, and beg her forgiveness for seeming so uncaring. Instead, he said “You look great, Mom. Going out?” She smiled again, just as brightly as before. Phew!

“Just going out for a late lunch with the girls,” she said. By ‘the girls’, she meant other porn stars.

“Not working?”

“Not sure. Either way, I’m probably not going to be back before you’re in bed. I’ve made you some sandwiches; they’re in the breadbin. There’s also some cash in the drawer if you’d rather get takeout. Please put the dishwasher on when you’ve eaten. Have a good evening! Don’t wait up!” She kissed his cheek again and bounced away with a swish of the hips.

“Mom!” he called after her down the hall. When she turned back, he stuck out his tongue at her. She grinned, then stuck out her own tongue at him. Like most people, Jeremy’s tongue could only reach an inch or so out of his mouth, not even enough to touch his nose; his mother’s tongue slithered out three inches past her glossy lips. Three inches of pink, wet, sinuous muscle, not even counting the length of it still in her mouth. Three. Fucking. Inches.

The front door closed and she was gone. He immediately pushed down his pants and freed his strained dick, started stroking and squeezing. She had no idea how badly her tongue—or the rest of her—affected him. To her, it was just an adorable tradition they’d shared for years, to stick out their tongues at each other when they said goodbye. To him, well, he needed to jack off as soon as possible every time they parted. She was right when she said he’d be in bed before she got home, because he was going to go to bed right now—never mind that it was still sunny outside—to watch porn and masturbate for the rest of the afternoon.

The laptop in his room was full to bursting with pornos in which his mother had a starring role. They were just so easy to find. Her real name was Debby Jones, but in the porn world she went by Debby Debris.

Jeremy was her biggest fan.

He punched up an old favourite of his, World’s Sluttiest Mom. It was recent enough that she had her implants, but long enough ago that she hadn’t yet stopped doing her mom-son incest stuff. It was so hot hearing his mom begging for her own son to fuck her, even if it was acting. Even if the “son” she was talking to wasn’t him.

He skipped to the middle.

“Oh, son! Fuck me! Yeah, you fuck me so good! Don’t spurt yet. I want to feel your hot cum on my tongue.” Oh God, there was her tongue too…

The actors disengaged, Debby turned, and now she was jacking him off, aiming at her face. Jeremy knew that, any second, the guy would spurt all over her face (largely missing her tongue, because he was a moron), but he didn’t see it because he’d spotted something that jogged his memory and made him pause the video.

The camera had panned out, and the guy’s legs and ass moved into frame. Jeremy could see the tattoo of a blue-scaled snake on the guy’s thigh. Jeremy had one exactly like it in the same place, modelled on this actor who had fucked his, Jeremy’s, mom. If Debby had ever noticed the similarity, she’d never mentioned it, but she’d claimed at the time to love the way it looked.

Debby loved tattoos, but didn’t have any of her own. Jeremy assumed she was afraid of needles or something, because her implants and blowjob lips proved she had no problem with body modification of other sorts.

Soon, he’d got another one: a red heart with the word ‘MOM’ picked out in black calligraphy, under his ribs. She’d thought that was sweet, but probably hadn’t realised just how deep his love for her went. He’d continued to get more ink, and now had tattoos on his back, his right shoulder, both thighs and both biceps. Every time he got something new she gushed and stroked his skin and took a photo, even if she didn’t particularly understand what they meant. Most of them referred in some oblique way to Debby, like the interlocking Ds on his left bicep. It was the logo of a comic hero named Daredevil, but of course he’d picked it as an homage to Debby Debris, his one true love.

And Jeremy had nearly forgotten his latest appointment at the tattoo parlour! He needed to finish off his latest tattoo! If he ran all the way to the bus stop, and if he was lucky enough to not miss a bus, he could just make it!

He just made it, although he was sweaty when he arrived and the tattoo artist (a rotund twenty-something named Rob) made him wash himself thoroughly in the backroom before getting started.

“Alright, Jerr,” said Rob once Jeremy was back and sitting in the chair. “Any problems with the ink so far?”

Jeremy looked down at the half-finished tattoo on his chest. Three cherubic faces with angel wings in place of ears, arranged in a circle, took up the whole of his right pectoral. For the moment they were mostly outlines. The details were going to be penned in today.

“It’s been good. Kinda itchy at first.”

“As usual.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t scratch it, so it’s fine. Ready to be finished.”

“Excellent. I’ve booked out the rest of the day for this.”

That seemed a bit much, especially for such a small tattoo. “Really? I thought you were only adding definition and stuff.”

“Yeah, but this tat has a lot of definition. It’ll take as long as it takes. Now put your headphones in and shut up, you’re bothering me.”

Jeremy didn’t complain. The person holding the needle was usually in a better position to estimate such things than the one in the chair. He spent the next few hours listening to music, not even being aware of the pain. It was a bit amusing to see how intense Rob could get while tattooing, but Jeremy had seen it before and learned that it was best to just leave Rob to do his thing and focus on something else.

When it was done, Rob carefully taped a white gauze bandage over it and reminded Jeremy how to take care of it. “And, seriously, be careful, because that text was goddam fiddly.”

“What text?”

“What do you mean, ‘what text’? The text I’ve spent the last two hours inking on you. The circle on the outside? Please don’t tell me I’ve just done all that for nothing!“

Rob handed Jeremy the print-out that he’d been copying. When he’d picked it out of Rob’s file, Jeremy had been so focused on the main part of the tattoo that he hadn’t realised that the outline was anything more than an outline. But sure enough, it was a spiral of delicate, curving text. It wasn’t English, or even the English alphabet. He guessed it was Greek. It said:

οἱ δὲ διὰ ξεστῶν κεράων ἔλθωσι θύραζε, οἵ ῥ’ ἔτυμα κραίνουσι, βροτῶν ὅτε κέν τις ἴδηται.

“I don’t suppose you know what the text says?” Jeremy asked.

“Fuck if I know. I don’t speak Russian.”

“I think it’s Greek.”

“Then you know more about it than I do. Jerr, please for the love of God tell me this is what you wanted.”

“No, I mean yes! It’s great. Really! I love it. Thanks, Rob.”

Jeremy made sure to tip extra generously when he paid, and promised to come back when he got the urge to get something new.

As soon as he got home, he was back on the computer, loading up Debby Debris porn videos. He spent the rest of the evening masturbating, thinking about fucking his mom.

And later, after he went to bed (earlier than usual since getting inked was somewhat exhausting), he spent the night dreaming about it too.

Jeremy realised that he was awake before opening his eyes. He was submerged up to his belly in water and there was a heavy weight on his hips and his left leg. He had the lingering traces of an erection from his dream, which he could now barely remember. He wondered if the house was flooded, but if so it would have to be a flood of Biblical proportions to reach his upstairs bedroom.

Besides, it didn’t feel like he was in bed. It felt like… he was in a bath? He didn’t remember getting up in the night, let alone deciding to take a midnight soak.

Tentatively, he opened his eyes. Instantly, his cock sprang to full mast, rippling the surface of the water.

His mom, Debby Jones—Debby Debris, the famous porn star—was straddling his left knee, hands on his hips, leaning forward so that her super-fake volleyball tits were barely a foot from his face. She was completely naked with her glossy raven hair clinging wetly to her back, breathing huskily through plump red lips, staring at him with unconcealed lust in her eyes.

“Mom!? What the hell? Get off!”

Jeremy tried to wriggle free, but she pressed her weight forward, holding his hips down. He became aware that his left knee was pressed up directly against the soft flesh of his mother’s pussy lips, and he stopped struggling.

“Oh, baby,” Debby purred. “I’m so happy you’re awake.”

Jeremy realised that he was staring at his mother’s giant tits. He hadn’t seen them in real life before. At least, not since he was a baby.

She’d never brought her work home with her, so to speak. It wasn’t a secret that she had sex on camera for a living—she’d been weirdly open about that for Jeremy’s whole life—but she’d never worn anything revealing around the house, or flirted even in jest. She’d never shown any interest in Jeremy except wholesome motherly love. Now she had him pinned beneath her. It was simultaneously the most arousing and most frightening thing he’d ever experienced.

Jeremy realised that he was still staring at his mother’s giant tits, and forced himself to look her in the face. It didn’t help. She stuck out three and a half inches of tongue and flicked it suggestively.

He pulled his gaze away completely and stared across the room. They were in their shared bathroom, in the oversized bathtub that Debby had bought despite it taking up more than half of the floor space.

“Mom,” he said, using all of his self control to keep his voice low and steady, “what’s going on?”

“Don’t you remember, hun? Last night, after I got back, you came into my room. You were such a man! You made me yours…“

She leaned down, kissed him gently on the mouth. He kept his teeth clenched together, but she wasn’t put off, and ran her tongue over his lips before pulling back.

“So… we… slept together?”

Debby laughed, high-pitched like a jingling bell. “Oh, baby, no! We fucked all night, everywhere, in every… possible… way…” She punctuated her words by twisting her body slightly, rubbing herself side-to-side on his knee, biting her lower lip to signal the pleasure she was receiving. Jeremy cocked his knee instinctively—accidentally—and saw her eyelids flutter. “Mmm… You said you were going to ruin me for other men, and you did baby, you did. I’ve been with a lot of men, but none of them hold a candle to you.“

This story was starting to feel familiar. It sounded very much like a dream that Jeremy sometimes had. And, by ‘sometimes’, he meant it was exactly the same dream he had every single night. His mother was the only woman in his eyes, and he’d fantasised not only about fucking her, but fucking her so utterly that she never wanted to fuck anyone but him ever again.

Had it actually happened? And he couldn’t remember?! That didn’t seem fair.

Debby’s eyes shone like fire. Her hands slid off his hips and curled around his bulging cock.

“Now that you’re up,” she said, “and Jeremy Jr is up—” She squeezed with both hands, harder than expected, and Jeremy shivered involuntarily. “—what do you want to do now?”

Until his dying day, Jeremy would never know how he managed to say what he said next.

“Can you let me up?”

Debby seemed disappointed, but she pushed herself up, rising out of the water like a goddess, sudsy rivulets running across her massive breasts and her taut belly and down to the bare mound of her pussy. It was red-brown and swollen, the lips pushed outward invitingly, exposing the pale pinkness within. Then she stepped out of the bath and covered herself in a black bathrobe. Well, ‘covered’ was a bit strong. She draped it over her shoulders and breasts, but she didn’t tie it and it hung so loose over her shelf of a chest that Jeremy could see the inner edges of her brown areolas and her deep cleavage, and that gorgeous gaping pussy. Jeremy couldn’t tell whether the drops from her puffy pussy lips were bathwater or her own excitement.

That left Jeremy alone in the bath, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. There was his mother, his goddess, posing half-naked for him in a bathrobe, hands on her ass, lips pursed, head back. He was too shy even to stand up and display his massive hard-on.

“Could you please turn around?” he asked nervously.

She did so, but she laughed her tinker-bell laugh. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve got nothing I haven’t already seen… or tasted…” Glancing over her shoulder, she stuck out her snakelike tongue again and flicked it. God, that tongue…

It became clear that his erection was not going to subside any time soon, especially when Debby started to stretch her arms over her head and bend over the bathroom sink, exposing her moon-like ass to him.

“Are you going to sit in there all day?” his mom asked, still arching her back to give him the best possible view of her ass. “We’re missing valuable fucking time!“

“Hey, Mom, can you please get me some breakfast?”

“Of course, love! What would you like? Waffles? Or does my growing boy want some real meat?“

“Uh… cereal will be fine. Thanks, Mom.”

Debby bustled off, still dripping bath water where she hadn’t dried herself, swinging her hips more than most people would have believed possible.

Jeremy finally pushed himself out of the bath, dried himself off on a hand towel (which was all that was left) and drained the bath.

What the fuck was going on?

Jeremy ate his cereal with his mother sitting on a chair opposite him, watching him intently, rubbing his calf with her foot and teasing her red blowjob lips with her long fingers. Although he tried to keep his eyes on his food, he couldn’t help but flick his eyes to her face every so often. Every time he did, she graced him with a smile, soundlessly expressing everything from motherly pride to deep carnal longing.

When he finished eating, he was about to clear away the bowl himself (and hell to her seeing his erection, now that he was fully clothed in t-shirt and jeans), but she stopped him.

“No, sweetie, don’t worry about that. Momma will take care of it. Momma will take care of everything!“

Oh, God, he wasn’t sure he could handle this. The woman he wanted more than anything else in the whole world was throwing herself at him, and he felt so uncomfortable about it that he didn’t know what to do.

They had apparently already had sex. A lot. He didn’t remember that, so maybe it was some horrible joke. If it was a joke, it was like no joke his mother had ever told. It just wasn’t like her. This was porn star Debby Debris, not housewife Debby Jones. The same person but, at the same time, not the mother he knew.

And she seemed so desperate for sex that he almost felt like he’d be taking advantage of her to give in. Which was ridiculous, and yet something bugged him…

“Oh Jerrr-emyyy!” trilled Debby, stepping back in the room.

Jeremy’s jaw hit the floor.

Debby had changed out of the bathrobe and now wore the red skin-tight lace-and-lycra costume of the Scarlet Sovereign, Princess of Carnyleon.

“You like this costume, don’t you baby? You liked it last night, that’s for sure!”

Jeremy couldn’t help but nod. His mother, the most gorgeous and sexy woman in the world, was dressed to perfection like his favourite fictional heroine. Real or not, he’d dreamed of pounding her princess pussy almost as much as he dreamed of fucking his mom. Now, rolled up into one package, his two most intense wet dreams were waltzing towards him… now dropping to her knees and crawling, like a slut… a hungry… horny… whore…

“You won’t say no to me now, will you baby?”

Jeremy shook his head. Debby grinned and unzipped his fly, reaching in with soft cool hands to pull out his painfully straining cock.

“Good baby,” she cooed between fat glossy lips. “Because I need my breakfast too…”

He gave in, and went to heaven. His sense of time and decorum and rationality were lost in a tidal wave of pleasure.

Oh God, those lips… Oh God, those tits… Oh God, that tongue…

It was even harder to say no afterwards, knowing what he was turning down, but he managed it somehow.

“You want me, Jeremy, I know you do. I know my special boy.”

“I, but—yes, but—delayed gratification!”

She laughed her tinkling laugh. “What?”

“Delayed gratification!” he said again, thankful to have come up with something—anything—that he could use to keep her at bay. “It’ll be even more special if we wait a while.”

Debby pouted. “Is that what you really want?”

No, of course not, he thought, but I just can’t do this right now!

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay then!” she said brightly and started to walk away.

“That’s it? No argument?”

“No, silly! You’re the boss! If you want to wait, we’ll wait.”

“Right… uh, good.”

“If you’re not doing anything else, you should probably take that bandage off and wash your tattoo. I hope our adventures last night didn’t damage it. I want to make sure I get a picture.”

The tattoo! With everything that had happened this morning, he’d completely forgotten all about it.

The gauze bandage was barely damp despite his sitting in the bath nearly up to that level. In the bathroom he peeled off the tape and examined himself in the mirror. The ring of angel heads (as he thought of them) took up the whole of his right pectoral. They looked great. Fantastic, actually. Before, they’d been blue-black lines against his pale skin. Now that the detail and the shading had been added, they looked like marble statues. In fact, it almost… almost seemed as if the shadows moved across them like they were real.

Jeremy found himself prodding his pec to make sure the angel heads weren’t raised. Of course they weren’t. That was stupid.

But they looked so real…

His eyes were drawn back to the spiral of text around the outside.

οἱ δὲ διὰ ξεστῶν κεράων ἔλθωσι θύραζε, οἵ ῥ’ ἔτυμα κραίνουσι, βροτῶν ὅτε κέν τις ἴδηται.

A crazy idea occurred to him. He dismissed it.

And yet it would not be denied. There was no possible reason for his mother to turn into his living wet dream overnight. Nothing had happened since he’d last seen her. Nothing had happened, that is, except this new tattoo. Could the tattoo be the reason for it?

Crazy, right? Illogical. Stupid. Insane.

But there was nothing else. Nothing on the news. No mail. No other changes, but this tattoo and his mother’s personality. He had to check it out, if only to prove to himself that it was a coincidence.

With a sudden turnaround, Debby was back to her old self. She put on her mumsy clothes (although her mumsy clothes now consisted of a pair of short shorts and a low-cut tank top that exposed her cavernous cleavage), prepared a nutritious lunch, put together a shopping list, and generally went about her day as she always had. The transformation from sex maniac to mother was as sudden as the reverse transformation had been earlier in the day.

Jeremy needed to get out of that house. More importantly, he needed answers, so he went to the only place he could think of that might have some.

Rob was the only employee at the tattoo parlour. He had no staff, not even a receptionist, so when Jeremy arrived he found Rob behind the front desk, engrossed in his computer. Probably watching porn, Jeremy thought.

“Heya, Jerr,” he said, when he realised he had company, immediately shutting down whatever he’d been doing. “Back already? Any problems?”

“No, it’s looking good.” Jeremy pulled up his shirt.

“Yeah, damn, that’s fine work, if I say so myself. My God, those colours are amazing. How did I even do that? I was in the fucking zone yesterday.” Jeremy lowered the shirt again. “So what can I do for you?” asked Rob. “Want another one already? You really should wait a month or two.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s about this one. I was wondering, um… where did you get the design?”

Rob shrugged. “From the internet. Don’t know where. Saved all the images in my file from the internet years ago, if they looked cool and were doable as ink.”

“You still have the original file? Could we do a quick search for it?”

“But we don’t know what it’s called or where it’s from.”

“Doesn’t matter. Go to Google Images and you can just drag and drop the image into the search bar. Pulls up other versions of the same image in the results. See?”

“I did not know you could do that. Oh, the possibilities…”

“Focus, Rob. Is this the site?”

“Could be. It was a long time ago.”

The site they’d found was an amateur affair, clearly bashed together with some free web-design software and using nothing but the default templates. The site was a shrine, in the truest sense of the word, to the pantheon of ancient Greek gods. The main page was titled ‘Worship of the Ancient Olympians, and Why They Still Matter in the Modern World’.

“So my tattoo came from the page of some neo-pagan nutjob?”

“Harsh, dude. Some of my best friends are neo-pagans.”

“You’re such a liar, Rob. There’s the tattoo image!”

The caption below the image said ‘The Oneiroi (Morpheus, Phantasos, and Phobetor) are the three-in-one gods of dreams. This sigil, depicting the Oneiroi as heraldic cherubim, represents the Gate of Horn and is said to make dreams come true.’

“Dreams come true…”

“Horny Gate, ha!” laughed Rob. “Get it, Jerr? Horny gate?”

Dreams come true… Isn’t that exactly what had happened? His deepest, fondest dream had become reality, just one sleep after the tattoo was completed.

“Jerr? Oh never mind. But that doesn’t look like Morpheus. It’s just a baby head with wings. Morpheus should be a gaunt pale dude with black hair. Or a black dude with kickass shades. What do you think, Jerr? Jerr?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry. I was thinking. Can you send me the link to that page? Thanks. I’ve got to run, Rob. Talk to you later!”

When Jeremy got home, having found more questions than answers, Debby was bubbly with excitement. She bounded over to him, wrapped him in a boob-squashing hug, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek

“I got the job!” she said. “I’ve been cast in a new film! I’m so excited! Will you help me practice my lines?”

Jeremy said he would before thinking about it. She’d never wanted his help before… and then he remembered why she had never wanted his help before. She sat him down in a chair and pressed a thin sheaf of paper into his hands. It had the words ‘SIZZLING MOM FUCKS SON’S TROUBLES AWAY’ printed in the middle of the cover.

“You be the son, and I’ll be the sizzling mom, okay?” Debby cleared her throat. “Scene 1. I come in to find you sad and depressed, and I say ‘What’s the matter, Son?’ Then you say…”

“Oh, right. ‘Gee, Mom. Suzie just dumped me over the phone. I was going to propose to her on our date this evening.’”

“’That’s awful. But, you know, that hussy wasn’t good enough for you anyway. What you need is to take your mind off it. I know! Why don’t we go on a date tonight instead?’”

“’Shucks, Mom, I’m not sure. I don’t think I feel up to going out right now.’”

Debby sidled up to Jeremy’s side. He pretended not to notice. “’Well, maybe we could have a little fun at home instead?’”

“’What do you mean, Mom?’”

“I say ‘How about this?’ Then I take your hand, like this, and press it against my big firm boob, like this.” Jeremy would have recoiled, but she held his hand against her. “Don’t be shy, Jeremy. Rub it a little. There we go. Ahem. ‘You like that, baby? I bet your ugly old girlfriend didn’t have tits like these.’ ”

Jeremy just stared as he fondled his mother’s breast.

“Jeremy, your line is ‘No, Mom. Your tits are amazing.’ ”

Jeremy looked his mother straight in the eyes. “Mom, your tits are really fucking amazing. They are the best tits in the whole wide world.”

Then she was on him, devouring his face with her kisses, straddling him and tearing his clothes off. Jeremy offered no resistance. He’d wanted it for so long and he’d been resisting all day. He wasn’t sure he had any resistance left.

During a break in the activity, they lay in each other’s arms in the middle of the floor. Debby stroked her son’s chest.

“Your new tattoo came out really well,” she said. Jeremy was reminded that this wasn’t real. It was some fantastic dream. More importantly, it was Jeremy’s dream, not his mother’s. This was what he’d dreamed of, but what about what she wanted?

“Why do you want to be with me, Mom? You could have anyone.”

She laughed that tinker-bell laugh. “Oh, honey, I don’t think you understand. I love you. You’re my dream lover and my darling boy. But more than that, I’m completely and utterly yours. You own me, mind, body and soul. There is nothing on this planet that I want more than to love you and be loved by you. Now lie back. Let Momma make you feel good.”

And she did. Jeremy spent the whole night in heaven, his body and soul merged with his mother, his sexual goddess. He wanted the moment to never end, and so did she.

When their bodies finally gave up, exhausted as thoroughly as either of them ever had been, they finally drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, and in each other’s dreams.

Jeremy woke up in bed alone, with sunlight streaming in through open windows. Was the fantasy over? Was he to go back to the humdrum life he’d known before? Oddly, he was okay with that. He’d had a day for his dreams, a very nearly perfect day, if only he’d made the most of it earlier. If he took nothing else from it, he’d have the memories of that day.

A rustling at the foot of the bed made him sit bolt upright.

“Master? Are you awake now? What do you desire?”

Debby was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, naked but for a leather collar and a nylon-rope bondage harness that pinioned her arms and legs behind her back and squeezed and displayed her tits and cunt… yes, it was a cunt now, not a pussy. Yesterday, she’d owned her sexuality. Now, she—and her cunt—had become degraded to the point where she had become an actual sex object. Her face was plastered with thick whorish makeup. Everything was smudged, from the sapphire eye shadow to the ruby lipstick. She was completely immobile, and her leather collar was attached by a short chain to the bedpost. Helpless.

Jeremy nearly threw up at the horror of it, and immediately jumped to free her. He tried to ignore his bulging erection, but when he approached Debby meekly opened her mouth and rolled out her tongue like a four-inch-long red carpet, demurely glancing up at him, ready to receive his seed.

Last night, she’d been so passionate! What had happened?!

Oh God… Oh God no… What had he dreamed last night? She’d said he owned her, and…

His mind conjured images of a Conan-esque world where he was king and his mother-slut his private sex slave. Had he done this? Had he accidentally destroyed her personality with his dreaming? Oh God…

He finally managed to untie her harness, and he could see the blood flowing back into her limbs. She didn’t seem to care about it, but knelt in front of him, her bright round eyes downcast.

“May this slave serve you, Master?”

“Um… no, thanks. What happened?”

“I do not understand, Master.”

“How did you end up like this?”

“You wished to have me at hand to serve you when you woke.”

“I did this?”

“This slave is happy to be used as my Master wishes.”

“This is just wrong.”

“How may I serve you, Master?”

“No, nothing. Please don’t…”

She fell towards him, prostrating herself, and he recoiled. “But I must serve you, Master! I have no other purpose! Command me. Command me! Please!“

She crawled forward, dragging her giant spherical tits and pressing her face against the floor. Jeremy stepped back to the wall, unable to tear his eyes away from the pitiful spectacle. Suddenly, she was pulled up short by the leash about her neck. He tried to dart out of the room, but she caught him by the leg.

“Command me!” she called after him. Her mascara was leaking in thick black streams down her face as she rolled obscenely on the carpet. “Oh please! Command me! Order me! Direct, instruct, compel me! Please!“

“Shut up!”

She was instantly silent. Her eyes rolled and she emitted a soft contented sigh as a small shiver rippled through her. Jeremy pulled his leg free and escaped.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He hadn’t even considered the possibility that the tattoo might continue to change things. Yesterday had been so wonderful, and now… He wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. Sure he had fantasies, but he hadn’t wanted this.

So what did he do now? He needed to get in touch with the owner of that website. That was the only place he might find answers.

But what to do about his mother? He had to make it right. And that meant going back into that room.

He entered the room carrying a tray, on which he’d prepared a breakfast for her. Waffles with blueberry syrup. She liked waffles. Or she had, before this.

She was bent over the edge of the bed, ass and cunt facing the door. Her right thumb was stuck in her ass, pumping gently, and her other hand was pinching and pulling at her labia to expose her dripping hole. She was moaning lewdly, begging for Master to use his slut slave, abuse her, command her, punish her. His cock pressed painfully against the jeans he’d pulled on.

“Mom, stop that!” She stopped instantly, spinning around and dropping to her knees. Her skin was flushed, and he was sure the simple act of obedience was pleasurable to her. He’d have imagined it that way. “I’ve brought you some food.”

“Your lowly cunt slave needs only your discipline, Master.”

“Stop talking, please, and just eat it.”

She nodded, and waited for him to place the tray in front of her. Then she lowered her head to ground level and started snuffling at the plate like a dog.

“No! Use the cutlery! Or your hands, or something!”

“I am not worthy to—”

“Stop it! I order you to eat it properly.”

“As you desire, Master.”

He stayed to watch her to make sure she did as she was told, but he knew he didn’t need to bother. She’d obey him, no matter how ludicrous his orders were.

Her eyes fixed on his as she ate. She put little squares of waffle onto her fork, held it inches from her face and licked the syrup off with her serpentine tongue. Then she put the waffle between her blowjob lips and sucked it until it disintegrated. Jeremy watched it all in silence, heart thumping and cock straining. It took the best part of an hour for her to finish eating that way.

When she was finally done, she set down the knife and fork and faced forward, still kneeling, hands by her sides, waiting robot-like for further orders. Jeremy picked up the tray and took it downstairs, then returned. She hadn’t moved.

“Will Master use his slave now?” she asked hopefully.

“Mom, I have a very important job for you.” She bounced eagerly on her knees, eyes coming alive. “I want you to get on the bed.” She leapt onto the covers, face down, ass in the air. “Other way up, please.” She rolled over, spreading her legs. “No, just… just lie there. I’m going to undo the leash. I have to make some calls. So, please, until I come back, stay put, be quiet, and don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. I won’t let you down, Master.”

He left her lying there, legs together, arms pressed to her side, staring intently at the ceiling. Every joint was completely rigid. Save for the slow and steady breathing that wobbled her big fake tits, she could have been mistaken for a lifeless doll. Jeremy shook his head. It would have to do for now.

Getting contact details for the administrator of a years-old web page proved to be harder than Jeremy had hoped, but easier than it probably should have been. By lunchtime he had a name and a phone number.

It rang three times.

“Hi, is this Andrei Winters?”

“Speaking,” confirmed the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Great! I’m glad I could reach you. I have some questions about a website you set up. ‘Worship of the Ancient Olympians’?”

“Strewth. Is that webpage still running? I haven’t looked at that old thing in years.”

“But it is your website, isn’t it?“

“I suppose so. I set it up back in college. I got big into new age religions. It seems a bit daft in retrospect.”

Jeremy began to suspect that this wouldn’t go anywhere, but he pressed on. “Do you have time to answer some questions?”

Andrei laughed. “I suppose so! Everyone needs an opportunity to experiment at some time in their life.”

“It’s about that, uh, sigil. For the dream deities?”

“The Oneiroi. Sure. What about it?”

“It’s called the Gate of Horn.”

“That’s a reference to Homer’s Odyssey. There are two gates through which dreams can reach the minds of mortals, one of ivory and one of horn. Dreams from the ivory gate are just fiction, but dreams from the horn gate represent truth. I just liked the idea of making a sigil that would make dreams come true.”

Jeremy’s hopes fell. “What do you mean ‘making a sigil’?”

“I designed it myself. Took a quote, combined it with some cherub heads, and voilà.”

“So it’s not an ancient magical symbol?”

“Haha! No. Looks the part, though doesn’t it?”

“So, if someone was to, say, get a tattoo of that symbol on their chest, there’s no way it could start bringing dreams into the real world?”

“This conversation has taken an odd turn… Look, a purely rational person would say that there’s no way, but we’re talking about religion here. If I remember, any old picture can be a sigil. If it’s got meaning to a practitioner, then the practitioner can imbue the sigil with their will and desire. Maybe the Oneiroi will take notice. Or maybe it’s just a placebo. Believe in yourself and anything is possible.”

“Okay, last question. Say that someone did get a tattoo, and it did start bringing their dreams to life, but it turned out that those dreams weren’t so great. How would they go about stopping it?“

“I don’t know. The whole thing is nonsense. I guess they just have to destroy the imbued sigil.”

“And that will make everything go back the way it was?”

“I’m a little worried about you, kid. No, you don’t go back. Magic can change the world, but once a change is made, the world is different. That’s ontological inertia. Destroy the sigil, and all that will happen is you’re stuck with whatever you’ve got.”

When Jeremy returned to the bedroom, mind still reeling, he was devastated to find that his mother was shaking from head to foot, as if having a seizure. A flood of tears had nearly washed away what was left of her makeup.

“Mom! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Guh—ggkk—guh—I c-couldnnn—guh—” She was wracked with another sob, so strong that the muscles in her belly and arms and legs visibly clenched. Jeremy gathered her in his arms and laid her head on his shoulder, stroking her black matted hair.

When she finally regained control enough to stifle the choking sobs, Jeremy dried her eyes with a tissue.

“There now,” he said. “That’s better. Now, tell me what happened.”

She immediately welled up again, and Jeremy prepared for another round of tears, but none came.

“I tried so hard, Master, I did, really I did, but after you’d gone I saw the end of my leash was on your chair and you said not to touch anything and I didn’t want to but I couldn’t help it, the leash was there and touching it and that’s like I’m touching it, and I knew you’d be so mad, Master, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, and I wanted to move it but you said I couldn’t move, so I couldn’t move, and if I moved then I’d be disobeying and if I left it there I’d also be disobeying, and I’m so so sorry, Master.“

Debby stopped for a breath. Jeremy tried to make sense of it all, but before he could do so she took launched into the rest of the tale. “I tried just tugging it by twitching my neck, which is moving but not really moving, and I knew it wasn’t right but I couldn’t think of anything else, and I had to do something, but it didn’t work and the leash stayed there and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything! I couldn’t even punish myself for you! I failed you!“

“It’s okay, it’s okay! Please don’t cry again! See, I’m taking the leash off the chair now. In fact, why don’t we unclip it from the collar?”

“Nooo!“

“Or we’ll leave it on, that’s okay. The leash is not a part of you, Mom. It’s just a thing.”

Debby did not look convinced of that.

“Punish me, Master,” she said. “You have to! I deserve it! I need it!” Another painful contraction of her stomach muscles made Jeremy wonder if that was literally true.

“Okay,” he said. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll punish you.”

“Thank you, Master! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She immediately positioned herself over his lap, ass hiked up perfect for a spanking. Jeremy had been hoping that a timeout on the naughty step might suffice for punishment, but apparently not. He took a deep breath.

“You ready, Mom?”

“Yes, Master. Please spank your naughty slave!”

He did.

“Was that a spank, Master?”

“Yes. Of course it was.”

“But it didn’t hurt, Master. It has to hurt or it’s not a punishment.”

“I guess…”

“Spank me, Master. I will count for you.”

He had to bring his hand down on her buttcheek three more times before she agreed it was hard enough to count “One.”

After every slap, she moaned in obvious pleasure, and grunted “Thank you, Master. May I have another?” The harder he slapped, the louder and more guttural her moans, and the more insistent her begging for more. Jeremy’s cock took over for his brain while he was slapping, and when his brain re-asserted itself he realised that he’d reached forty-four slaps and her ass cheeks were both red raw. Her pussy was also leaking arousal all over his lap.

“I, uh, I think that’s enough,” he said, with some embarrassment. For her part, Debby seemed quite delighted. She rubbed herself sinuously against the bulge in his trousers when she pushed herself up.

“As you wish, Master. What else can I do for you?”

“No, nothing, that’s all.”

Debby’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of anguish. “Wh-what did I do wrong?” she stammered. “Whatever it is, I’ll do better! Don’t leave me, Master! Please don’t leave me again!”

“No, no! I just meant… that… I didn’t need you… to… be punished. Any more. That’s enough of that. But… what I’d really like now… is…” Jeremy wracked his brains. He hated taking advantage of her, but she’d get into less trouble if she was occupied, and she’d certainly be happier about it.

“What I’d really like now is a glass of lemonade. Will you get me some lemonade?”

“Yes! Oh, thank you!”

She ran to the kitchen, still nude apart from the collar, her tits and ass jiggling and her black hair clinging to her shoulders.

Jeremy daren’t leave her alone again, in case any instructions he gave in his absence led to her hurting herself. He gave her easy tasks, but time consuming. She tidied and dusted and vacuum cleaned the whole house, totally nude and with a grin. She changed and laundered all of the bed sheets. She shelled nuts and peeled grapes, then fed them to Jeremy one at a time, letting him suck on her fingers. She rubbed his feet and shoulders. She knelt attentively at his side while he watched TV. Every achievable instruction, given or accomplished, gave her a quiver of pleasure; every word of appreciation from Jeremy made her squirm.

To be honest, he started to realise, the whole situation was transient. She was a slave today, sure, but after a good night’s sleep—and, more importantly, a new dream—she’d be something else. And, loath as he was to admit it to himself, he did have a bit of a slave fetish. Who knew if this would ever happen again? Once he got her back to his perfect wet dream, or some other reasonable facsimile, he’d get the tattoo removed and everything would go back to normal.

Yes, he decided, running his hand through her hair while her head bobbed up and down on his cock, he might as well enjoy this while it lasted.

Jeremy woke up alone again, and panicked that perhaps his mother was still a slave, chained to the foot of the bed, stuck that way perhaps forever. These fears were instantly quelled when he heard her high-pitched yelling from across the room.

“Master’s awake! Master, master! Hooray!”

Well, she was still calling him ‘Master’, but now she sounded so happy and so alive, nothing like that timid woman she’d been yesterday. She charged at the bed, her overblown titties bouncing obscenely on her naked chest, and jumped on the bed, landing so heavily that Jeremy could actually feel himself bounced upwards by the mattress springs.

She was still naked, still wore a collar about her neck with a metal chain dangling from it, but now she beamed with unashamed joy to see him. He couldn’t help but laugh, partly from a sort of infectious glee, partly from relief that she was no longer terrified of him.

Then she started to lick his face with her long tongue.

Well, okay. That’s a bit kinky, he thought, but okay. She licked his eyelids and nose and cheeks and lips and forehead and chin, slobbering on him everywhere. Keeping his eyes and mouth tightly shut, he giggled a little, but already a private fear was gnawing at him.

She pulled back, sitting up on her haunches just a foot away from him, panting with the full length of her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “I love you, Master! Play with Debby! Play?”

“Um, Mom…?”

“Debby’s a good girl!” she seemed enthusiastic. “Play with Debby?”

“Maybe later…”

“Play later! Debby’s a good girl! Play later, okay?” She dropped off the bed, and landed on her hands and knees. She was crawling around in circles on the carpet, tongue still lolling out, dripping saliva everywhere. The chain attached to her collar trailed between her legs. “What now, Master? I know! Play with Debby! Play!”

That private fear was chilling Jeremy’s blood. “Mom... p-play dead…”

“Yay!” She threw herself onto her back, closed her eyes and lay still for several seconds. Then she rolled onto her knees again and gazed adoringly up at him. “Did I play good, Master? Debby’s a good girl! Treat?”

“M-m-mom… roll over…”

She complied instantly and enthusiastically, turning onto her back with hands curled into paws over her shoulders and knees and feet elevated, then rolling from side to side.

Jeremy’s mother had become a dog…

Debby proved incapable of sitting in a chair for breakfast, so Jeremy put a plate of scrambled eggs and a bowl of water on the floor for her. Watching her eat by pressing her face into the food and working her tongue was... an uncomfortable if interesting experience. If not for the length of her tongue, which seemed if anything even longer now that it was hanging out all the time, she probably wouldn’t have managed it. When she was done, there was egg stuck to her face, and not just around her mouth, but on her nose and cheeks and even crumbs on her forehead. She looked so happy with herself, beaming with pride and grinning, and wiggling her ass as if she had a tail to wag. Jeremy cleaned her face with a cloth as gently as he could.

This was even worse than having to look after a slave! While he sat, desperately trying to work out what he was going to do, she gambolled and cavorted in front of him, on her knees.

Mid-morning, she crawled over to Jeremy with her leash in her mouth and dropped it at his feet.

“Walkies!” she said, long tongue lolling. “Walkies, Master!”

“What? No, I’m not taking you outside like this.”

“But walkies! Debby must go walkies!”

He sighed. “Why?”

“Debby needs to go potty!”

“Then use the toilet!”

“Debby needs to go potty outside!“

She would not be swayed from this conviction. No matter what he tried, he could not make her try to use the toilet. Finally, realising that she was liable to go on the carpet if he didn’t take her out, he agreed.

“But,” he said, “there’s no way I’m letting you outside naked. You’re going to have to wear something.” She growled apprehensively. “Clothes or no walkies!”

It was a struggle. He managed to get her in a baggy knitted sweater and a pleated skirt that covered her rear end even on all fours. Then, leash firmly in hand, he led her into the outside.

Their yard was two square feet of grass, which Jeremy thought was more than sufficient but which Debby didn’t even glance at. She crawled away, tugging him behind her. It was a work-day, so nobody was out much at this time, but still he couldn’t look anyone in the eye as his mother, wide eyed and with her lolling tongue dripping saliva down her front, crawled down the sidewalk through the middle of their home town. He looked at his feet instead, trusting Debby to guide him.

All the way along, she tried chewing the shoulders of the sweater, trying ineffectually to pull it off, and he kept telling her to stop. Abashed, she let it be, but seconds later, she was at it again.

They reached the park, and Jeremy decided it was safe to look up. His jaw dropped. There were three other people in the park—no, six other people, but three of them were naked and on all fours. Other people besides Debby had turned into dogs. Jeremy had dreamed, and now he’d made the whole town go crazy. A man in a business suit walked a scrawny naked dog-man; another man, a fat waddler with a receding hairline, walked a redheaded dog-woman whose hair was so long and bushy that it effectively concealed her whole body; a woman in running gear jogged on the spot while her blond pet relieved itself against a tree.

Debby strained against her leash, and Jeremy finally let her loose. She bounded over to the redhead and sniffed at the girl’s pale and freckled backside. The girl returned the compliment. Jeremy found himself making eye contact with the redhead’s owner, the waddler, who sneered at him.

“Is this yours?” the man asked.

“Uh… yes…”

“I will have you know that I think people who dress their bitches up in human clothes are disgraceful! Those clothes aren’t designed for them. Your animal should be taken away from you!”

Jeremy didn’t know what to say. He settled for, “I see. Mom, heel!”

She crawled beside him as he wondered through the park, nuzzling her head against his hand. He stroked her absent-mindedly. Despite the time of day, the park was busy enough. Not a single person stared at any of the dog-people, naked or otherwise.

“Ooh, tree, Master! That one!”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” He unzipped her skirt and averted his eyes as she did her business. When she was done, he didn’t bother putting the skirt back on.

Back at the house, it was apparently bath time, and Debby enjoyed it more than any dog Jeremy had ever heard of.

Later, he laid out more food, and then, because it was nearly the end of the day and he decided that he’d earned it, he fucked his mother doggy style and savoured her howling as she came. She insisted on sleeping on a blanket on the floor of his room, curled up. He placed a blanket over her as well for warmth. He lay awake, listening to her breathing, dreading what changes the next day would bring.

Jeremy dreamed that he was flying. It was night-time, and the moon was out, and he was looking for his mother, who had run away. The sky was full of thunderclouds, but rather than lightning they sent out the sharp and leafless branches of twisted trees, which crowded around Jeremy thicker and thicker until he was flying through an upside-down forest. There was a sneering, waddling man sitting on one of the branches, telling him he was a disgrace. Then he saw his mother, the dog, just ahead, her leash tied up in a branch. He tried to reach her, but the branches gathered closer and closer and he couldn’t get through. The waddler got to her instead, and taking her hand she stepped out of her leash and out of her skin—still just her beautiful self underneath, but now wearing a hideous sneer just like the man’s. She looked at Jeremy, separated by the prison-bar branches, and laughed at him like a harpy. “Little boy wants his momma?” she screeched. “You’re nothing but a pitiful, selfish, ghastly little pimple!”

Jeremy felt himself falling, his mother’s mocking laughter ringing in his ears. No tinker-bell laughter now, but sharp and painful. Branches cut his arms as he fell, and he flailed to escape the branches and his mother’s barbed insults. Then he was in the open, and still falling… falling…

Jeremy woke up. Still falling.

He landed in the middle of the road. He heard his leg bone snap.

Jeremy was taken to hospital by the driver of a car that had to swerve to avoid hitting him. Jeremy was covered in lacerations, with a broken leg, and wearing nothing but pyjamas. The police had questions for him, but he gave them no answers. His leg was set quickly—it was only a hairline fracture, they told him, with no real damage to surrounding tissue—but they put a cast on it and told him to take it easy for about two months.

They asked him if they should call anyone, and he gave them his home phone number. There was no answer, so he gave them his mom’s cell phone number.

“Miss Jones? We’re calling about your son. … Your son. … Your son, Jeremy. … No, he’s in hospital. He gave us this number.” The nurse, confused, held the receiver out to Jeremy. “Mr Jones, she’d like to speak with you.”

Apprehensive, Jeremy held the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Who the fuck is this!?” It was, without a doubt, his mother’s voice.

“Mom, it’s me. It’s Jeremy.”

“I don’t have a son and I don’t know any Jeremy. Unless you’re Ron Jeremy, that is.”

“Mom, please…” He knew there were tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t call me that, weirdo! And don’t call this number again, or I’ll get my boyfriend to mess you up!”

The line went dead. The nurse took the phone away.

“Is there anyone else?” she asked.

Jeremy shook his head. “Could you call me a cab, please?”

Jeremy went home with an armload of painkillers and a pair of crutches. The cab driver was nice enough to help him get to the front door without dropping anything. The place was quiet. His key still fit in the lock. It was still his home, but all trace of his mother had vanished. No pictures, no belongings. He spent his days moving between his bed, his computer, his TV and the bathroom. He was inconsolable. That damned dream tattoo mocked him in the mirror, but he didn’t dare touch it in case he was stuck in this bleak reality forever.

Jeremy’s dreams were a surreal whirlwind, and the world around him became surreal too. He watched a gritty police drama in which everyone wore clown makeup. A talking zebra delivered his mail in the mornings. When the news reported on fighting in the Middle East, nobody seemed to think it was weird that the combatants were elves and dwarves. Jeremy accepted the weirdness and tried to ignore it. It would change again soon enough. All he cared about was the great void in the house and in his heart that his mother’s absence had created. Every night, he went to bed, praying for a miracle, but every morning he was disappointed.

Jeremy tried to ignore the strangeness. It would go back to normal after he slept again, which he did often, or maybe it would just change to something else. He didn’t care. Every day he called his mom, and every day she still didn’t know who he was. Every time he called, he was subject to horrific verbal abuse down the phone. But she was still his mom, and he treasured what little contact they had left.

With nothing else to do, Jeremy researched dreams. He didn’t care what they meant; symbolism was for people whose dreams did not become real when they woke up. He wanted to know how to control them.

He read about dream incubation, the waking ability to influence what you dream about later; he read about lucid dreaming, the ability within dreams to recognise that you are dreaming and control your surroundings.

He surrounded himself with images of his mom, especially before bed. During the day, he watched her porn videos, focussing on ones where she was happy and the sex was consensual and vanilla. No freaky roleplays, no slavery, no bondage, nothing that might influence his imagination. MILF videos were good, but mom/son incest videos were best of all.

Finally, he got the hang of it. He dreamed of a gigantic wardrobe, and inside a vast ballroom filled with women… no, he checked himself, filled with copies of his mom. Every type of Debby he could wish for, all absolutely naked. The slutty, the slaves, the dogs, the abusive strangers, and others he hadn’t met in person… They all paraded in front of him, their expressions ranging from disinterest to curiosity to heated arousal. He moved from one to another, feeling their asses and squeezing their giant tits. Only as he passed between them, when he fondled their bodies, did they finally speak.

“Hey, stud,” said one. “Wanna fuck for a dollar?”

Whore Debby. No. He moved on.

“That’s it! Detention, young man!”

Teacher Debby. No. He moved on.

“Arf arf!”

Dog Debby. No. He moved on.

“My love, come back with me, and we will rule Planet Carnyleon together!”

Huh. An actual Scarlet Sovereign Debby. Interesting, but no. He moved on.

“How may I debase myself for you?”

No. He moved on.

“Not right now, honey. Your father will be back soon.”

No. He moved on.

“Hey, what are you doing!? Back off, jerk.”

He moved on.

Then, at last…

“Oh, sweetie, you look lost.”

“Mom?”

“Of course, who else would I be? Come and give me a hug.”

He did, dream tears in his eyes. “I missed you so much.”

“Shush, stop that, dry those eyes.” She kissed him on the lips, deep and loving and lingering. “I’ll take care of you.”

“This one!” shouted Jeremy to the dream at large. “This is the one I want!” He grabbed his mom by the wrist, and ran back to the wardrobe entrance, dragging her all the way. The wardrobe gave way to a hospital corridor, which became a street, which turned into Jeremy’s bedroom at home.

He turned round to make sure that his mom had come with him.

And woke up.

In his own bed.

Alone.

Jeremy was devastated, and started sobbing. He’d never get her back…

Then the door opened, and she walked in, wearing short shorts and a tank top, carrying a tray.

“Good morning!” she chirped. “I thought you’d like breakfast in bed today!”

He stared at her, agape.

“M-mom? Is it you?”

“Of course, hun! …Jeremy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I’m looking at one.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, putting the tray on the bedside table. “Could a ghost do this?” And she leaned down, planting a kiss on his lips that made him swoon.

She was back. She was really back! His mother, his lover, his goddess… Really, truly back!

“Jeremy, you’re crying! Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom. Nothing’s wrong. I’m so happy.”

He burst into floods of tears.

“Shh… shh… I know what’ll make you feel better.” She pulled him to her, nursing him against her firm round tits. “Oh, Jeremy! You like Momma’s titties, don’t you? Yeah, just suck them, baby. Yeah…” She held him to her with one arm, and the other slipped beneath the bedsheets and gripped his cock.

Jeremy didn’t eat his breakfast for another two hours. Debby got up to do mom stuff, probably, leaving Jeremy in bed, quietly dosing in post-coital bliss. So perfect. He could just fall back asleep right now…

No! Fuck! He couldn’t go to sleep! He’d lose it—he’d lose her again! No, he had to get rid of this tattoo. He had to get rid of the tattoo right now!

He dialled the tattoo parlour on his cell phone. It went through to answering machine. “Yo, this is Rob. I’m out for, like, two weeks on vacation. I’ll ink you when I get back.”

Jeremy swore. Rob’s was the only place in town, and he was in no shape at the moment to go into the city.

He swung out of bed, cursed his luck at still being in a leg cast, and limped downstairs. His mom was in the kitchen, washing dishes in the sink. He walked up behind her, pinched her butt and pecked her on the cheek.

“Mmm, so frisky today,” she cooed.

Then he surreptitiously slipped a cheese grater off the rack and limped away to the bathroom.

Jeremy stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He stared at the little tattoo of the Oneiroi, three ageless little faces with wings. Then he stared, long and hard, at the gleaming steel cheese grater. It would hurt. But the pain would pass, he told himself, and it was better than losing her again.

He held the grater against his chest muscle, over the tattoo. Two scrapes would do it, right? Three, perhaps, to be safe? That wasn’t many, after all. Just three swathes of screaming agony to preserve his perfect life.

His hand was shaking, and he was close to hyperventilating. Don’t think about it. Slice first…

Jeremy collapsed before he’d made the first stroke of the grater. Screaming agony didn’t cover it. His hands were covered in blood. He lay twitching on the floor of the bathroom, his own agonised scream ringing in his ears. He could hear his mother’s panicked cries, and her footsteps as she ran towards him.

The hardest part was over now… the second slice couldn’t be nearly that painful…

When Jeremy regained consciousness, he was laid out on the floor with a cold compress on his chest. Debby was sitting next to him, head in her hands, gently weeping. When she realised he was awake, she dropped to her knees and clutched his hand in her own. Her hands were bloody where she must have been putting pressure on his wound.

“Oh God, Jeremy, what happened? No, don’t talk. The ambulance is on its way. You’ll be okay. You will. Everything will be okay. I love you so much.”

Jeremy smiled, and nodded. “I know, Mom. I love you too.”

The doorbell rang. “That’ll be the ambulance,” she said, unnecessarily, and bustled off to answer the door.

A minute later, Debby walked back in, now dressed in the uniform of a paramedic. She knelt down next to him, removed the compress.

“It’s okay, Jeremy. Let me have a look.”

“Mom?”

“She’s downstairs, explaining what happened to my partner.”

Perhaps it was the constant pain, or the blood loss, but Jeremy couldn’t understand what she’d just said.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

Now it was Debby’s turn to look confused.

“This is my uniform. All paramedics wear this. Quiet, now, Jeremy. We’re going to get you to the hospital.”

Jeremy would have asked more questions, but at that point two more Debbies entered the room. One was his mother, the other was another paramedic. Except for their clothes and hairstyles, they were completely identical.

Jeremy was moved onto a stretcher and carried outside. He was still groggy, but even so his eyes boggled. Every woman he could see on the street was Debby Debris. There were men too, as varied as they had ever been, but every woman was the spitting image of his mother. Raven hair, beestung lips, big bouncing boobs… There was a postal service Debby, a jogging Debby, a business Debby. Others wore bondage gear or nothing at all. One man had five naked Debbies on leashes, crawling along in front of him.

Jeremy’s vision swam and he lowered his head onto the stretcher pillow. His mom and one of the paramedics climbed into the back of the ambulance with him; the other went to the driver’s seat.

“We need to reduce the blood flow to his chest,” said the paramedic in the back, unbuttoning her shirt and peeling it away from her glorious melons. “Perhaps you should take your clothes off, Mrs Jones.”

“Of course,” she said, instantly doing as instructed. “I’ll help however I can.”

Oh God, groaned Jeremy, four perfect titties…

Then one of them—he honestly couldn’t tell which—hoovered his cock into her mouth. The other kissed him on the mouth, guiding his hand to her chest and forcing her five-inch tongue to the back of his throat.

Oh God, those lips… Oh God, those tits… Oh God, those tongues…

A whole world of Debby Debris… Jeremy could die happy now. Or perhaps he was dead already, and this was Heaven.

Either way, he lived in this world now. He might as well enjoy it.