The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Thursday afternoon

“We’ve developed an orientation program for you, Paul, to help you adjust to the choices our little Terri here makes. We’ll start with an orientation video, and then we have several engaging activities planned for the next few days.”

Are you kidding me?! An “orientation program” to explain how he’s fucked with my Mom?!

What an asinine ass!

Still, though ... Mom warned me to humor him. “Thank you, Brad,” I acknowledged.

“No prob,” Brad grinned. “For the video, we’ll make a quick stop over here first.”

At the hall closet?

Brad knocked on the door, and a muffled crash came from behind the door. “Uh, just a second! Let me just—” Dad’s muffled voice wafted out from the closet. “Uhm—be right there—Just give me a moment—”

Brad chuckled. “Knocking on the door first is a LOT safer on the eyes.”

Finally, the closet door opened from the inside, where Dad was sitting on the floor with a computer tablet.

“Yeah, Little Artie, gonna need that tablet. Cough it up, man.”

Dad? Just ... sitting there alone in the closet?!

“Uh, yes, sir. Ehr ... here.” Dad handed the tablet over to Brad.

“Uh ... hi, Dad?” What the hell?! What was he doing on the closet floor?

“Oh, uh ... hi, son,” Dad gave a little wave to me, then looked back to Brad.

Dad, literally just ... sitting alone in the closet ...

It was just ... surreal ...

“You’ll need to just use your imagination”, Brad told Dad, “for meat-beat material for a few hours, Artie, until we’re done with the tablet.”

Dad’s eyes flicked to me at Brad’s open talk of Dad’s masturbation, then flicked back to Brad. “Uh ... okay ... ehr, yes, sir.”

As Brad, Mom and I left Dad and walked to the den, I just asked, “Uhm, any reason why Dad is just ... sitting on the floor in the closet?”

“That’s where the little toad lives now,” Mom answered.

“Ehr, okay then, any reason why Dad is living on the floor in the closet?”

“It’s better than the little bitch deserves,” Mom muttered.

“Terri.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Brad shrugged and gave his thinking then. “Well, after I kicked him out of the master bedroom—Little Artie SURE doesn’t have voyeur privileges to peep on my bitch Terri and me!—I don’t know, it just seemed kind of cruel to make him live in the crawlspace under the house.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Paul?”

“Uh, yeah,” I nodded, “that ... makes sense.”

“So here, you take the seat of honor, college boy,” Brad gestured to the sofa. “Terri and I will snuggle up over there.” They sat in front of the love seat, Mom settling in between Brad’s legs for him to nibble her neck from behind while his hands wandered about her ... well ...

Brad paused in licking Mom’s neck to look at me. “So yeah, it should be all queued up. Just start the video.”

I ... clicked the play button ...

Video “Terri’s New World”

Mom appeared in the video, dressed in a tight pink halter that was cropped just under her breasts, thigh-high corset-laced red leather boots, and a little orange thong. Along with a black bob-cut wig and a microphone, she smiled and announced that she was “Dora the Reporter!”

“I’m on the spot,” she shared, “with a breaking news story!

“An EPIDEMIC of breakout sexuality is SWEEPING through the population,” she warned, “SLUTTIFYING our educational workforce! It seems to be happening again and again, all across the country ...”

The scene cut to Mom in a shoulder-length blond wig, dressed in a black skirt and jacket with a red undershirt, while “Dora’s” voice continued with her news story. “A previously proper, stern, strict, tight-assed teacher is mysteriously ... loosened up ...

Brad appeared suddenly in the video, waving his hands mystically and pointing them at blond-Mom.

“Her mind lubricated ...

“Her hot little brain lit up lustily ...”

“She herself bewildered WHY THE FUCK her libido is running amok ...”

Blond-wigged Mom plucked at her clothes, like she was finding them uncomfortable, until she removed her jacket, tugged at her skirt, then—

Holy crap! She slid the little undershirt down to nearly expose NIPPLE!

“She knows she is SUPPOSED to be prim,” Dora’s voice continued describing events, “but her will is just COMING APART on her, like wet toilet paper ...

“Until the poor little slut just falls TITS OVER TWAT in lust with the hunky student from her English lit class”—blond-Mom hopped up into Brad’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, her top slipping down to reveal naked side-boob—“that somehow makes her just WETTER THAN FUCK!”

And ... she stuck her tongue down Brad’s throat to just sloppily made out with him, right there on-camera.

Jesus, Mom! A little less enthusiastic acting, hmm?

“Ma’am,” Dora’s narrating voice asked, “please tell us what is wrong with you, you SLUTTY BITCH?”

Blond-Mom answered, panting a little in lust, “Oh lord! I just can’t stop thinking about him! I mean, I’m MARRIED! I have a loving family! But I will WHORE for this man every minute of the day!

“God help me! He’s the only thing in the world that matters to me now!”

Even if she was in a blond wig and playing a character in a video, it was disturbing to hear Mom say that line.

The video cut to Dora the Reporter again. “And she will leave her husband, betray her family, to become the hunky student’s slutty little FUCKTOY.

“What could be making these otherwise prim, tight-assed women ... turn whore?!”

The video cut to Mom without a wig, dressed in lingerie, while Dora’s voice continued, “Let’s talk to another of these FALLEN PUSSIES.”

Mom-with-no-wig began her story, “Yes, my name is Theresa Simpson. Or just ... Slutty Fucktoy to the young man that I just can’t stop thinking about. Or ... wantonly fucking every chance I get ...”

Whew! Mom never used to just talk openly about “fucking” anyone!

“I ... can’t get it to make sense. There’s no sense to be made from it. The more he disrespects me, the more he humiliates me and demeans me ... the WETTER I FUCKING GET!”

Mom sure never used to describe how well lubricated she was, either ...

“For Paul, my son, I’m ... so sorry, sweetie ... Please forgive me ... if you ever can ... And if you can’t ... I DO understand ...

“I’m ... well, there’s something WRONG with me now ...”

The video cut back from Mom-without-a-wig to Dora. “Well, THAT was a touching performance by a pathetic, fallen whore. Do you think her son bought it?

“Or does he know his Mom is actually nothing but a weak-willed, perma-wet pussy these days? Nothing but this other hard cock’s slutty fucktoy?”

Dora gave a sympathetic expression. “Don’t blame her, son. Her will has been simply dissolved and rinsed away, like so much useless garbage by the rock-hard cock that OWNS her now.

“Because, c’mon, what’s the bitch gonna do with a will? Besides be a pain in the ass? A will is as useful to her as a satellite receiver is to a dog in heat! She’s SO MUCH BETTER OFF without one. SO MUCH MORE PLEASANT to be around now.”

This was ... black-wigged reporter Mom bitchily lighting into ... poor without-a-wig Mom. What the hell?

“Mom just takes it RIGHT UP THE ASS nowadays, son,” Dora informed me, “and she FUCKING LOVES IT! She craves the humiliation and domination! She craves being demeaned! She cums like an earthquake when she’s defiled now!

“What a FUCKING IMPROVEMENT! Am I right?”

The video cut back to without-a-wig Mom. “I ... I do,” she admitted. “I cum like an earthquake when I’m defiled now. And ... godhelpme! ... I just LOVE it!”

I couldn’t tell how much without-a-wig Mom was playing a role, or how much she was being sincere. But ... I couldn’t believe she really likes this new life ... as Brad’s bitch ... better ...

Cut back to Dora. “Shh, don’t tell anyone, but if you want to know Dora’s opinion ... My theory is that Swiper the Fox is swiping their wills! Because wills are shiny and pretty, and that little shit Swiper is, well ... a little shit.”

A fox stuffed-animal toy leaped in slow motion over Dora’s head.

“What ... was that?” Dora pointed above her head, where the fox had “leaped”. “What just happened, you guys?! That wasn’t—that wasn’t a fox, or anything ... was it?!” Dora gave a large, nervous swallow. “I mean, I’ve still got my will, right?!

“I DO, right?!

“I mean, no one would swipe Dora the Reporter’s will, right?! Not even that dastardly shit, Swiper, right?!”

Brad flashed into the scene. “Hi, baby.”

Dora gushed, “Oh HI, Daddy!”

Suddenly, she held her hand over her mouth and looked at the camera, squeaking. “Ohgodno! It’s like I responded automatically! Without any will!”

Dora’s expression grew determined, though. “No, I shall not PERMIT my will to be stolen! There is just no way! I’ve GOT to still have my will! No one would DARE steal the will of Dora the Reporter! Why, if someone even TRIED to swipe it, I would make the pay so very dearly that—”

“Let’s sit on the ground, doll,” Brad interrupted to suggest.

“Yes, sir! I mean, Daddy.” And dark-wigged Mom, skimpily dressed and playing Dora the Reporter, sat down on the ground and spread her thighs wide as Brad snuggled up behind her. “Okay, Daddy, I’m sitting, but I’m not real comfortable with all this.”

Two of Brad’s fingers slipped under her tight pink top to play with a nipple. “Hey! Hey! What are you doing?!” she demanded.

“You don’t mind if I do this,” Brad informed her.

“I—but—but I do have a will—and I—” Then she gave a whimper and blurted, “No, you’re right, Daddy. I don’t mind this AT ALL!”

Then she started to waver. “But—but I don’ ... WANNA ... not have a will.”

“Yeah ... that doesn’t really matter, now does it? C’mon, babe, on your hands and knees.”

“Damn you, Swiper,” she complained as she got into position on all fours, “You’d just BETTER give me my fucking will back!”

“This is Dora,” dark-wigged Mom whimpered with heavy breathing as Brad ground his bulge (he was still in pants) at her crotch from behind, “the SLUTTY Reporter. Just FUCKING HUMILIATED ... but strangely ... FURIOUSLY TURNED ON too! Ohgod, I’m like melted butter between my thighs right now! And every time Daddy swats my SLUTTY LITTLE ASS, it just splatters all the thoughts right outta my HORNY LITTLE MIND!”

As if to demonstrate, Brad swatted Mom’s ass, and her eyes unfocussed and rolled up a little a several drops of lube splatted out of her and onto the ground. “Yeah,” she sighed, “exactly like that ...”

“This has been ‘Terri’s New World’,” Brad said from behind dark-wigged Mom on all fours, grinding his crotch to hers, while her ... bare nipple jiggled about for the camera, “brought to you by Slutty New Terri.”

The video finished, and I looked over at a grinning Brad. “Pretty cool, hungh? I’ll bet we could produce videos professionally.”

Mom was just ... clinging to him ... there on the love seat, like she was in love with him!

C’mon, Mom, he’s the one HUMILIATING you!

“Your Mom really helped out, with all the gratuitous nudity,” Brad stared at me, challenging.

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, I told myself ...

“I guess ... it wasn’t really gratuitous if you’re ... documenting sex slaves.”

“Eh?” Brad slowly nodded, surprised, “Good point.”

Brad’s fingers tugged at Terri’s bra cup until ... it popped up to expose nipple.

Mom ... godhelpher ... sighed luxuriantly.

“Happy, snookums?”

With a sigh and a smile, Mom confirmed, “Yes, Daddy ...”

She seemed, I noted, to just ... crave his attention ...

“Even with your boobie all exposed, with your SON right over there, watching?”

Mom stiffened, apparently as she was called on her choice to be oblivious to me there. “I’m ... pretending that he’s not here ...”

“Terri ... look at him.”

Mom ... dragged her eyes up and over to ... meet mine.

“See, my Mom,” Brad started, and Mom gratefully flicked her eyes from mine to his, “—no, no, keep looking at him.” Mom ... forced her eyes back to mine. “My mom did that, to my dad and me—pretended we weren’t there. That wasn’t very nice of her.”

“I’m—I’m sorry ...” Mom apologized for the woman.

“Hey, not your fault. But always—ALWAYS!—remember that your son is in the room when he’s watching you humiliate yourself.”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“You’ve been rude to him, deliberately ignoring him here. I think you should make it up to him.”

Mom ... chewed her lip anxiously.

“Why don’t you start by calling him ‘Mr. Simpson,’ or ‘sir’ for the time being.”

“Yes—yes, Daddy.”

“Go ahead, apologize.”

“I’m—I’m sorry, Mr. Simpson ... for pretending that you weren’t there, watching me while I ... humiliated myself ...”

I wasn’t sure yet where he was taking this ...

“It’s okay, Snookums. Paul forgives you. Don’t you, Paul?”

“Yes, of course, I forgive you, Mom,” I said reflexively.

“Hmm, with her calling you ‘Mr. Simpson,’ I don’t know ... ‘Mom’ just sounds awkward. What do you think, Terri? Shouldn’t Paul call you ‘Terri’ or ‘Snookums’ instead?”

“Yes,” Mom sighed, not meeting my eyes. “Paul, please start calling me ‘Snookums’ or ‘Terri’. Please, son.”

I gave a vague shrug. “I can ... do that ...”

“Excellent,” Brad clapped his hands. “Here, stand up for me, Punkin

“Look at this ass!” Brad fondled it. “Y’gotta love this awesome ass! This is a supermodel’s ass, but in disguise, undercover as a dull teacher’s ass, no less

“But WE know this ass, this body, are for FUCKING, not for teaching ...”

He gave said ass a few more squeezes. In front of her son.

“Hey, you and I went to the same high school, Paul, so you’ll know who I’m talking about. there was that one Literature teacher—the woman was just a SEXPOT oozing fuckability. What was the name of that cocktease, hmm?” He looked pensive, trying to remember.

“That slut, disguised as a teacher, droned on and on about literature crap. But every cock in the room saw through her pretense: she was no drab boner-killer, but a tease!”

(Editor’s Note: all cocks under discussion in the previous sentence were age 18 or older.)

He was trying to taunt Mom and me. He was obviously talking about Mom now, when she was his literature teacher—and in his sick little mind, maybe Mom DID need a good hard fucking.

But if Mom was right, we needed to play along for now, and NOT piss Brad off, not until we knew how to defeat him.

“You KNOW that all the cocks saw through her fake stodginess. Because all you wanted to do was to just BEND THAT BITCH over a desk and make her BEG to get fucked!

“Hmm, what WAS that little sex bunny’s name?”

Brad gave Mom’s ass a little slap. “Hey, Punkin, kneel down here beside me—no, no, FACING your son.”

She ... complied. Touching him. The more she got anxious, as her submission and obedience was shown off to me, the more she ... clung to him. She was lightly holding his knee with both hands now—just trying to maintain contact with him, like he was a security blanket or something for her.

“Hey Snookums, are you making eye contact with your son?”

Mom dragged her eyes to meet mine, cheeks pink, and took a deep breath. “I ... am now, Daddy.”

“Good, good. Direct eye contact with your OWN SON?”

“Staring right into ... my own son’s eyes ...”

“With your BOOB just out ... BARED NAKED?”

“With my ... boob just ... bared naked ...”

“But your honeypot it still covered, right?

“Barely ... my pussy ... is still covered ... barely ...”

“Hey, ask him if he remembers the name of that hot fucking sexpot teacher.”

Mom took a deep breath. “Mr. Simpson ... do you remember the name of that hot fucking sexpot teacher?”

Ohgodhelpher! He had mom referring to HERSELF that way ... as a “hot fucking sexpot teacher.”

Keep a poker face, I told myself, and play this cool. One day soon, I will DESTROY this little prick, but ... Mom and I need to WIN first.

Mom’s other bra cup gave way with Brad’s tugging on it, and her other nipple popped into view. “Oh!” she looked down at the exposed boob and sighed in a tiny voice, “And ... there goes another nipple into view ...” She looked back up to meet my eyes, as she’d been told to, her cheeks flaming red, and gnawing furiously on her own bottom lip.

I was expected to answer. And my voice held more firmly than I expected it to. “I think ... you’re thinking about my mother—snookums, here.

“And Mom IS kinda hot. But I’m ... you know ... her son. So ... I can’t think of her like that.”

Brad snapped his fingers. “That’s right! YOU were that HOT SLUTTY BITCH, snookums! Weren’t you?”

“I,” Mom sighed, “I was that hot slutty—”

“No, no,” Brad interrupted her, “Not to me. Say it to your SON over there.”

Maintaining eye contact with me, Mom obeyed. “Mr. Simpson, I was that HOT SLUTTY TEACHER that needed to be BENT OVER a desk and FUCKED UNTIL SHE BEGGED FOR IT.“

“Excellent, punkin.”

Mom ... Godhelpher ... a pleased smile splashed up on her face at Brad’s praise. My stomach ... flopped over on its side. “Thank you, Daddy!” she gushed.

Don’t ... please don’t get SO PLEASED over that little bit of praise, Mom! Her face was actually lit up.

“You’re right, Paul,” Brad nodded, “It was our little Terri-sexpot here. Your Mom.

“Well,” Brad continued, “as soon as I heard that news story from ‘Dora the Slutty Reporter’ that our respected educators were just ... turning whore ... for students that SEXUALLY DOMINATED them ...”

(Editor?s Note: The students referenced in the previous sentence were, of course, only students age 18 or older.)

“... well, I knew immediately who I was gonna do! The teacher I was going to MAKE MY BITCH was THIS SEXY LITTLE COCKSCUKER RIGHT HERE!“

Mom’s face contorted, not sure whether to smile, pleased at the praise, or to grimace that she was confirmed as a cocksucker in front of her son ...

“And make her my bitch, I DID! And life has been even BETTER than perfect for BOTH of us, for a month now! Hasn’t it, punkin?”

Mom hesitated only briefly as she looked at me, then gushed as she hugged him, “I LOVE YOU, Daddy!”

I ... forced my face to not show the disgust I felt. At Mom’s ... groveling ...

That was NOT Mom. She ... NEVER ... acted that ... weak or ... pathetic! Not EVER! And she WOULDN’T! Ever!

Not under ordinary circumstances, anyway.

She had to be putting on an act. That had to be it. She was trying to PLAY Brad. He must be able to do such horrible things to her or to me, that she was trying to PLAY him, to MANIPULATE him, until we could DEFEAT him.

That HAD to be it ...

“Hey, Babe,” Brad suggested to her, “why don’t you just lose that fucking top.”

Mom swallowed. “And the ... bikini, uhm ... bottoms?”

“Naw, pull them back up. Otherwise you’ll mess the furniture with your leaked juices.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Well, anyway, Paul,” Brad stood up as Mom stepped to the side to remove her useless top, “we have several engaging activities planned over the next couple days to continue the orientation process.”

“Uh ... good?” I nodded, not sure how to respond.

Mom stepped back to Brad, boobs bared brazenly, and gazed lovingly at him.

“See,” he ignored her, “I like to think of this whole ‘whorification’ thing as me walking ‘Sugar-Twat’ here down a fun spiral staircase. She and I have already traveled aaalllll the way to the bottom. And THEN some, haven’t we, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“But we’ve decided to have her descend ALL OVER AGAIN, this time in a PERFORMANCE for her SON.”

Mom was too busy gazing adoringly at him, but my stomach clenched. He meant to use me as a tool to further degrade and embarrass her. To the extent that Mom COULD still be shamed and embarrassed.

“But now, it’s time that I have to leave for a little while,” he said, and Mom’s face crashed, her mouth dropping open in horror.

Without looking at her, he continued sternly, “And no, you can’t come with me, punkin.”

Mom’s face drew up to just sob, but Brad turned to face her finally. “Don’t you DARE bawl.”

Mom ... forcefully pushed her sob back down.

While Mom was fighting to keep her tears from erupting, Brad turned to me. “C’mon, Paul, I’ll show you the care and tending of our pets before I go.

“You too, punkin,” he turned to look at Mom as she sniveled, “You’re the pet.”

We went to the main bathroom. Mom was wavering on the edge of bawling, but kept swallowing her sobs back down.

“Okay, Terri?” Brad asked her. No reply. “Terri!” more firmly.

“Yes, Daddy ...?”

“I have some tasks for you to do while I’m gone. I want you to get Little Artie’s toothbrush—you know where it’s at, right? Good. I want you to take his toothbrush and use it to clean the sink and faucets in this bathroom.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she sighed, still deeply saddened.

“Make sure they’re all shiny and polished. Also, I want you to be clean and smell good for me when I get back.”

Mom visibly perked slightly at his promise to be back. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Finally, I want you to do all this naked. Have you got all that?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Are you sure? You’re ... NOT REAL BRIGHT, Terri. Especially when your pussy drools excitement, and it backs up into your brain. So ... you’re really sure?”

“I’m sure, Daddy. Clean the sink and faucets with Asshole Artie’s toothbrush, be pretty for you when you get back, and do it all naked.”

“Okay.”

“Whenever I leave,” Brad turned and talked to me while Mom stripped naked, “she worries like a sonofabitch. She’s terrified that I might not come back, and she would have to live without me for the rest of her life.

“In order to keep her from blowing out every worry fuse she has, we need to give her something busy to do.

“It was a little rough until I figured that part out.

“Shortly after I MADE HER MY BITCH, I came back one time and found her, curled up on the floor of the bathroom, trembling, terrified that she’d never see me again.

“So, we need to keep her too busy for those fears to obsess her.”

“How long will you be—” I started, but dropped my eyes with a little startled sound when mom just flashed twat as she walked back to Brad.

“Hmm?”

“Ehr ... how long will you be gone?”

Brad chuckled. “No, no, I don’t want her THAT MUCH at ease.”

Mom stepped in to him, closer than she should have. Even ... lovers ... don’t slide up that close in each other’s personal space. She brought her face so close to his that—well, she couldn’t actually be gazing at him, she’d be cross-eyed if she tried, from that close.

It was ... a little creepy, how much she was ... adoring? ... him.

She acted like she was trying to drink in every last bit of him while she was still in his presence, memorizing his features, his smell, his every detail.

To ... last her through his absence ...?

Something was ... off ... with her, getting that close to him. People don’t ordinarily ... invade each other’s space like that. She acted like she NEEDED him somehow.

Was this part of what he’d DONE to her? Or a side effect, maybe? I needed to find out.

“Terri,” he held her hips and looked into her eyes, “if you’re a good girl, I’ll be back.”

“I WILL, Daddy!” Mom swore. “I WILL! I’ll be a GOOD girl! I WILL! I PROMISE!

“Just ... come back ...

“Pleeeeeease don’t leave me!”

Mom gazed after him until he disappeared from view. Like a ... desperate puppy, or something.

Then she got down to business. She removed her high heels and set them on the counter. She did ... line them and a towel up orderly when she set them on the bathroom counter. I’ve seen people with OCD, obsessive-compulsive disorder, line things up on their desks that way. Everything perfectly parallel with the desk and laid out orderly, for no other reason than to just do it.

But Mom had never suffered from OCD before.

Was this a clue?

She grabbed Dad’s toothbrush and—eeeeeee!—started scrubbing any mildew or mold films off the sink faucet.

Aggressively.

She’d break a slight sweat soon if she kept that activity up.

I also needed to figure what part of her behavior was real—did she REALLY want to sob every time Brad left the room? let alone the house?—and how much was a performance in order to survive, to keep Brad appeased.

PART of the ... GROVELING ... just HAD to be an act. Mom just ... never ...

“You ARE quite aware, I hope,” she interrupted my thoughts, “that I can FEEL you studying me, Mr. Simpson.”

“I’m ... trying to figure out some way to fix this.”

“I already TOLD you,” she spun around to flash twat, and I flicked my eyes down and away, “this is NOT FIXABLE.

“And you ... SHOULD. NOT. BE. HERE. You need to be GONE, never to return!”

She wagged her finger at me. “I WOULD try to pretend that you’re not here, except that Daddy told me to NEVER IGNORE that you are watching me, seeing me just ... humiliate myself!”

She sighed. “You are going to loathe me when you see the things I’m willing to DO now.

“So, have you yet? Have you had your fill yet? Of gaping at me?! Watching me grovel? Humiliate myself?

“And do things that NO MOM should EVER do in front of her son?!

“Tell me!” she demanded “Tell me that you’re disgusted. And that you’re leaving and never coming back.

“No, seriously, tell me that, Paul! PLEASE! It’s not safe here. You need to get away. Now.”

“I—” How could she ask me to do that? How could she ask me to do that to her?! “I can’t ...”

“And I have a FOOL for a son,” she threw her hands up, exasperated. “Not just ANY fool, an OBSTINATE fool, that won’t listen to me ... trying to save you from SHEER HELL!

“Do you want to become a pathetic, reviled THING like your father?! He tried to be a hero TOO, you know. You think you’re SMART enough and TOUGH enough to do BETTER than him?! I’m sorry, Paul—I don’t THINK so!”

“I can’t—I can’t leave yet,” I sighed, “Not if there’s ... any hope ...” I still had my eyes averted from her carelessly bared pussy. Bared and ... bare. I did avert my eyes, but not before catching that she was totally shaven smooth down there. I had no idea if she had ever shaved it before—I rather thought not—but she sure kept it smooth and hairless now ...

“Well, if you’re not going to leave,” she threw her hands up, then went back to scrubbing with Dad’s toothbrush, “then this would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to keep interrupting my chores—OR my TIME WITH DADDY!—to keep EXPLAINING ... ‘THINGS’ to you!”

She spun back around to wag her finger at me again. “I wish you’d just go to your room until you wise up and LEAVE! Instead of just hanging around here, and STARING at me NAKED!”

“You,” I said quietly when she spun back around to the sink, “you COULD pull on a pair of panties really quickly, Mom. I won’t tattle to Brad—”

“NO,” she spun back around angrily at me, “No, Mr. Simpson, I CANNOT. Daddy said to do this nude—and THAT’S how I need to DO it!”

“I’m ... sorry. I’m sorry.”

She turned back to the sink again. “You don’t understand how things WORK here, and I am NOT going to LIE to DADDY ...

“If you MEDDLE, Pau—Mr. Simpson, you’ll just make things worse, more painful than they already are.”

Whatever Brad had done to her had obviously had a HUGE impact. Mom would NEVER tell me to just LEAVE and NEVER COME BACK, not unless something just EARTH-SHATTERING had occurred.

And, of course, under ordinary circumstances, Mom never ... flashed twat ...

After a few minutes, she stopped scrubbing the faucet, stepped into the shower, and started washing. She only washed for five minutes. Given her OCD-like behavior earlier, I would have predicted she might spend more time getting just precisely clean for her new daddy, Brad.

When she got out of the shower, she dried off, then went back to scrubbing the sink.

“More scrubbing? I thought you were through.”

“No, not yet.”

“But you just took a shower?”

“Well, ‘Mr. Simpson’,” she spun back around, getting awfully free with that bare twat of hers, “if Daddy came back early, I didn’t want him to find me not smelling pretty.

“So, I did a quick clean of the sink, then washed off, just in case Daddy got back quickly. Now I’m going to go back and do a good cleaning, since I probably still have some time now before Daddy gets back.”

“That’s, uhm ... actually quite smart,” I comment.

“Thank you, ‘sir.’” she tilted her head and pursed her lips sarcastically.

Well, whatever Brad had done to her hadn’t affected her ability to plan things out well.

“Uhm, is that REALLY Dad’s toothbrush that you’re using to clean the mildew and buildup off the sink with.”

“OH, yeah.”

“But you’re gonna throw it away when you’re done, right?”

“Nope.”

“You’re ... going to ... put it back? For him to ... use again?!” Yeep!

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did Dad, uhh ... DO anything to deserve that?”

She spun around, angry. I didn’t even bother averting my eyes—I was just going to need to get used to flashed twat. “He LED ME INTO this new life!

“Mr. Simpson, GODHELPME, I DON’T EVER WANT this ... this ‘new way of life’ for me to end. I can’t even BEAR TO THINK about horrible things like Daddy not,” she acted physically distressed at the thought, “not being here with me!

“But it is also FUCKING HELL! I can’t EXIST without Brad!

“I cannot BEAR to disappoint Daddy! ON ANYTHING!

“My WORLD REVOLVES around Brad now! And it’s SHEER HELL!

“Sheer fucking miserable hell!

“And it is YOUR FATHER’S FAULT!”

“Dad?!” I gasped, “But how?!”

“He’s a miserable weak BITCH! THAT’s how!”

And she went back to angrily scrubbing the sink. With ... Dad’s poor toothbrush.

“So, Brad somehow ... makes you run around naked now?” I was pretty sure of the answer, but was still probing for useful clues.

“Yeeeah, that’s about the LEAST of it. You didn’t believe me last night when I told you that that skimpy lingerie was the most clothes I’ve worn in a month. Well, it was! My natural state now is naked and—”

“Naked and what, Mom?”

“Horny! Okay? Naked and HORNY! I am ALWAYS NAKED and ALWAYS HORNY now! I am always UNBEARABLY HORNY for BRAD now ...

“And maybe YOU should start BELIEVING what I tell you, Pau—Mr. Simpson! It JUST MIGHT save your life, your sanity, and YOUR SOUL!” She spun back around to scrub at the sink.

“Please! Leave now!” she said after a minute. “I don’t want you staring at me while I’m naked!”

I left her in peace, and headed back to my old bedroom, to research “sexual thralls” on the internet. I didn’t find much, though—at least nothing useful ...