The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Thur. about 6 P.M.

I was still researching thralls on the internet when I heard Mom cry out, “Daddy!” from the other room.

Okay, so Brad has a house key, so he can come and go as he wants. Not unexpected, I guess ...

I walked over to the main bathroom to find Brad kneading Mom’s naked ass as she bragged on what a good job she had done. “I got them all washed and cleaned, Daddy! And Little Artie’s toothbrush is DISGUSTING! And I just showered and perfumed so that I smell pretty for you!”

“Really? You got ALL the faucets?”

Mom beamed. “I SURE DID, Daddy!”

“Even the showerhead?”

A brief silence opened up that was a little wet and sticky. “The—the what?”

“The showerhead. It’s a faucet too, Punkin.”

“I—I, uh—” Mom squeaked out an ashamed whimper.

The asshole bastard actually gave a mock gasp. “You didn’t forget the showerhead, did you, you stupid little bitch?”

Mom. Is. NOT. Stupid, goddammit!

But Mom just whimpered.

Brad’s voice took a stern note. “Snookums, answer me.”

“I did, Daddy,” she admitted in a small voice, that grew in volume until she was berating herself, “I’m sorry! I’m such an IDIOT!”

What a prick! The only person that lumps the showerhead in as a faucet is him!

Not the time to pick a fight, though.

I’ve seen what he’s capable of doing. Mom is reduced to a groveling, needy tramp at this point; and Dad’s cucked, living in a closet, and whacking off to porn of Mom, the lady he’s been ousted from by Brad.

So, bite your tongue for now, Paul. And walk carefully ...

“I’m just a fucking IDIOT!” Mom continued scolding, “Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!

“You know me, Daddy, I don’t have the brains God gave a bitch dog in heat!

“I’m soo sorry! I’ll fix it right now!

“And I’ll use my tongue to clean it, baby, so that I won’t be so STUPID next time!

“I’m sooooo sorry!”

They BOTH need to STOP SAYING THAT! Mom is NOT stupid! She’s the smartest person I know! She’s smarter than me! She’s NOT an idiot!

“There’s not time to clean it, Punkin. I brought home fast food, and you need to serve me and your son.

“I’mmm ...” he sighed, laying it on thick how put-upon he was, “just going to have to be INCONVENIENCED by your STUPIDITY.”

“Ohgod, I’m sorry, Brad!” Mom actually got more upset after his fake routine, “I’m sorry! I’m so SORRY!”

“Yeah, well,” the stoicism was just laden in his voice, “try to be a LITTLE SMARTER next time.

“Now go get into your serving outfit.”

Mom turned around and saw me standing there. I could see her mind, as she cast her eyes down from mine, traveling back over the things she had just said, the things she just shamed herself in front of her son by saying.

“Hmm?” Brad turned around to see what Mom had stiffened over.

“Oh, hey, sorry, Paul, this must be SOO awkward for you, seeing your mom GROVEL like this after pulling such a BONEHEADED FUCK-UP.”

My fists were clenched, but I managed to not say anything.

“You know, she felt so STUPID that she was going to clean the showerhead with her TONGUE!

“BUT ... I can be a sage and kindly master. Here, watch this.”

He took Mom by the shoulders and faced her directly to him, then looked directly in her eyes. “Terri, Snookums, it’s all right. You’re a GOOD GIRL.”

Ohgod, that was when I DID cringe internally for Mom, as she ... bubbled up with happiness and gratitude that “Daddy” wasn’t mad with her.

“Now you go get dressed, and we’ll deal with your stupidity later.”

Mom gushed in a whisper rancid with love, “I LOVE you, darling! I LOVE you! THANK YOU!”

As Mom left the room, her feet barely touching the ground as she held onto the fact that “Daddy” had called her a “good girl” ...

As she did that, that same “Daddy” sneered, “The bitch is dumb as a rock, but she is a GREAT FUCK!

“I mean, look at that ASS! When you’re sandwiching your sausage in between those ass cheeks—mmm-mm!”

I think I drew blood, biting my tongue. Breathe. Just breathe. Mom IS right about THAT point. Don’t react. Don’t provoke him. Not yet ...

“Am I right?” Brad prodded, “Hmm?”

My voice actually held steady—I wasn’t sure it would, I was so mad—as I gave a bland, “Mom DOES have a nice ass. About her being a great fuck, I can’t say.”

“Youuuu’re gonna work out okay, kid,” he wagged a finger at me. “You have just the RIGHT AMOUNT of brains—not too few, not too many, but just right.

“Okay, we give Terri 15 minutes to get into uniform, and meet together in the kitchen for dinner then.

15 minutes later

Mom was dressed in a pervert’s wet-dream version of a servant’s outfit. She had a token little maid’s headpiece on top of her head, a black choker on her neck, a little more than a black bra with white lace on as a top, little frilly black and white fingerless lace cuffs at her wrists, and a tiny white apron. No panties—nothing under the tiny apron—as far as I could I see.

She was holding two beer bottles. “Your drink, Daddy,” she handed him his.

“Thanks, Snookums.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“And your drink, Mr. Simpson,” she handed me mine. Still referring to me as “Mr. Simpson.”

“Uh, thanks, Mom.”

“Please, sir,” she corrected me, “call me ‘Snookums’ or ‘Terri.’”

“Thank you, uhm ... Terri.”

“Yes, sir.” Yeah, I don’t even need to mention the weirdness of Mom calling me “sir.”

“And your burger and fries, sir,” she handed Brad a plate she’d prepared from the fast food take-out bag.

“Thanks, sugartits.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Hey, do me a favor, snookums.”

“Certainly, sir! What would you like?”

“Our guest seems to still feel a little uncomfortable. Find some way to get him to start calling you ‘sugartits’ too.”

I could see Mom stiffen from across the room. “Y-yes, sir.”

She went back to the serving cart and fiddled a minute, presumably trying to think of some way to coax me into calling her “Sugartits” the rest of the night ...

Finally, she brought me my plate. “Your ... burger and fries, Mr. Simpson.”

“Thanks, Terri,” I said, as sympathetically as I could.

“Okay, mister,” Mom dropped her voice and took a no-nonsense tone, “YOU’RE the one that insisted on remaining here when I told you to go.

“I need you to do something for me.”

I raised my brows and waited.

Breathing hard, visibly nervous, she whispered quickly, “I need you to call me ‘Sugartits.’ Now, and for the rest of the night.”

Mom ... wanted to be referred to as ... sugartits ...

“Thank you, Sugartits,” I said clearly, not making her wait in anxiety.

“Thank you!” she whispered gratefully.

Brad raised a burger in salute, “Well, dig in.”

Mom retired to a servant’s place in front of the serving cart, out of the way, but ready to wait on us.

But ... was she going to just not eat? “Uhm, aren’t you going to have something to eat too ... ‘Sugartits’?”

She curtsied, lifting the bottom of her tiny apron to reveal that—OHYES! She wore NOTHING underneath that tiny white cover. And she was ... uhm ... shaved bald as—

I’m just going to stop there. “Shaved bald as a sex slave” is NOT something any son should know about his mother.

Anyway, she was speaking while she held the curtsy, pussy exposed, “No sir, Mr. Simpson. I’ll eat later. Daddy will ... feed me.”

Then she dropped the apron back into place and stood at semi-formal attention there again.

A couple minutes later, Brad wagged a finger at her. “Hey, honeytwat, there’s ... something about that outfit. Something that I’m not remembering. What is it?”

She curtsied, baring puss again. “That was the outfit I was wearing the first time I got FUCKED SILLY, sir.

“You bent me over that table there and shagged me until I CAME SO HARD that I PASSED OUT for a minute or two.” Apron dropped, back at attention.

“Oh yeah,” Brad wagged a finger snidely, “that’s right, isn’t it?” Mom properly humiliated, he went back to feeding on his burger.

Maybe ... I could use this to uncover a clue or two, it occurred to me a couple minutes later. “Hey, uhm ... honeytwat ... how long have you been ... like this? DOING your student Brad and CUCKING Dad?”

Mom looked at me and blushed deeply. Then strengthened her resolve, curtsied, baring twat, and spoke, looking me directly in the eye, “I was REMINTED as a FUCKTOY on Thanksgiving, sir.

“I’ve been WHORE ever since.” She dropped apron and went back to attention.

“Hey, love-melons,” Brad joined in, “how much CUM had you SWALLOWED before becoming a FUCKTOY?”

Mom curtsied, showing puss, and looked at him as she answered. “None, sir. I ... DID NOT SWALLOW, back then.” Back to attention, crotch covered again. Barely.

So ... Mom didn’t used to DO oral sex, I guess then ...?

“And how much CUM have you GUZZLED since then?” Brad asked, pleased with himself.

Mom curtsied. “That would ... measure in the GALLONS, sir. Literally.

“I have swallowed GALLONS of sperm since then.” Apron dropped as she uncurtsied and went back to attention.

I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but this was an opportunity to uncover clues. “How many times had you ... CHEATED ... on Dad, before you became ... a FUCKTOY?”

Mom flicked her eyes to me, not blushing this time, just curious, it seemed, before flicking them back. Then she curtsied and looked me in the eyed. “I had NEVER CHEATED on your father before I turned WHORE. Mr. Simpson, sir.” Back to attention.

Was that a chastisement in her voice, that I deserved the answer I got after having the gall to ask that question? If so, I ... certainly deserved it. But ... I needed to know.

“Good game,” Brad gave me a compliment that almost made me feel physically ill. “This is fun. How many other guys did you SPREAD for before Little Artie?”

Mom showed shaved puss as she curtsied again. “I just SPREAD AND TOOK DICK from ONE OTHER man before Artie.” Back to attention.

“Did you love him?” I blurted.

Brad chuckled as he “translated” for me, “Was this guy a BETTER LAY than Little Artie?”

Mom flicked her eyes to me again and flicked them away. I don’t know what she was thinking. I do know I should probably have been more deliberate with my questions—but I just—I just—some things I just ... needed to know.

Mom curtsied and stared at Brad as she answered—easier than answering this question to her son. “Charles was a MUCH BETTER lover than Artie, Daddy.”

Then she shifted her gaze to meet MY eyes. “But I LOVED your father more, Mr. Simpson, sir.

“Or ... at least I THOUGHT I did at the time.

“I’ve since LEARNED BETTER.” Back to attention.

What the hell HAPPENED between her and Dad?! She—had—only contempt for him now ...

“And how many guys have DICKED YOU,” Brad chuckled, “since you became nothing but a SEX PET?”

Mom’s eyes flicked to me, instead of Brad’s, and she ... blushed deeply again. Then stiffened her resolve again and answered her “Daddy”: “That depends, Mr. Newirth, sir.

“Does SUCKING THE JUICE out of a guy’s cock until his eyes roll back in his head count, sir?”

“No, it does not.”

“In that case, ONLY ONE guy has DICKED ME since I became nothing but a SEX PET. That would be YOU, sir.” Back to attention.

I was STUNNED! And blurted, “REALLY?! Just ONE?! That’s gr—” I halted before I said “great” and let my emotions show less—though, she had NOT screwed a train of guys! that was—ohgod, that was—WONDERFUL. Not that being a sex slave was wonderful. But she’d only been compromised with ONE GUY! Wow!

Back to reserved: “I mean, really, Fucktoy? You’ve just been ... ‘dicked’ by ONLY ONE other guy? Since you ... ‘TURNED WHORE’ and all?”

Mom’s eyes flicked to me, and I saw a flash of anger behind them. And ... she was right. Cut the “judging,” Paul—just cut that shit out!

She curtsied and answered, “Yes ... JUST ONE other guy has DICKED ME, Mr. Simpson—Daddy here.” And she uncurtsied back to attention.

But ... she was still mildly shaking her head slowly. She resumed her puss-baring curtsy on her own. “Full disclosure, Mr. Simpson ... if you DO include sucking the juice out of a guy’s pecker ...

“... then I have ALSO been DICKED by my former boss, Principal Minsky.”

“You blew Fatman Minsky?!” I almost sprayed a bite of burger on the table. “Your OWN BOSS?!”

Mom scowled at me before resuming her submissive servant attitude. “Yes, I ... sucked off Robert Minsky. Until he became a blathering idiot in my sweet mouth.

“And I (sigh) ... DID swallow down what his cock spat into my mouth.” The question more fully answered now, she settled back to attention.

But—I couldn’t wrap my mind around—“Mom?! You—”

“Fucktoy, Paul,” Brad corrected my address, “Call her Fucktoy.”

Asshole.

“Okay ... Fucktoy ... you REALLY blew your own BOSS?!”

Mom kept her submissive demeanor, without any flares of anger, as she curtsied and showed me her puss again. “Yes. I did, sir.

“I would be ... careful, passing judgment, if I were in your place, Mr. Simpson, sir.” Back to attention.

But Brad jumped on that. “SERVANT! Are you being INSOLENT to my guest?!”

“I—I—what?!” Mom panicked at “Daddy’s” anger.

“Bad!” he grinned cruelly at her, “BAD GIRL!”

His mean grin didn’t lessen the impact on Mom. She turned to him, looking ready to bawl. “I—I’m SORRY, Daddy!”

“Not me. You’ve been RUDE to your SON!”

Mom flicked her gaze to me, still just as ready to bawl. “I—I’m SORRY, Mr. Simpson! I’m SOOO sorry!”

“It’s okay, Mom! Terri! It’s OKAY!” I immediately reflexively tried to soothe her.

“No, it’s not,” Brad grinned, even nastier. “Snookums, you’ve spent the last month being just a TOTAL WHORE! CUCKING the poor boy’s father at every turn!

“You’ve been a ... slutty little MONSTER!”

Mom broke out into actual sobbing. “I’M SOOOO SORRY, DADDY!

“OHGOD! OHGOD! I’M SORRY, PAUL! MR. SIMPSON!

“OHGOD! I’M SOOO STUPID! I’M SOOO SORRY!”

It was like she couldn’t control her emotions—like they simply controlled HER.

I made note to read up on pseudobulbar affect later—it might give some clues to her runaway emotions.

Brad sighed. “And, I still need to spank you for being SO STUPID with the showerhead earlier, snookums”

“OH, I AM,” Mom wholeheartedly agreed between sobs. “I AM SOOO STUPID!”

“C’mon, back the heinie up here. I need to give it a couple swats.”

Mom ... backed ass up to Brad. It was already bared, pantiless and all.

“You know this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, snookums.”

“I know, Daddy! And I am sorrrry for being SUCH a fucking idiot!”

He smacked his hand on her ass cheek.

“Ow!” she squeaked, “Thank you, Daddy! Please, swat my naawwwty ass some more!”

Brad did.

“Ow!” she squeaked, “Thank you, Daddy! Please, swat my naawwwty ass some more!”

They repeated that cycle through three or four more swats.

“Okay,” Brad asked finally, “think you’ve learned your lesson about being SO STUPID with the showerhead, snookums?

“Yes, Daddy!” she sniffed. “I am SO sorry about that. I’ll TRY not to be STUPID again!”

“Okay, we’re good, then. Now waddle over there and get PAUL to swat you a few times for being insolent.”

“Uh, no!” I snapped my hands up, “No, that’s okay! I’m good!” I did NOT need to be swatting my sex slave mother’s naughty ass!

But Mom listened to “Daddy” instead of me and backed bare ass up to me. “C’mon, Mr. Simpson. I NEED it,” she weirdly tried to entice me. To ... smack her ass ...

“I—I—I—can’t—”

“I was INSOLENT,” Mom argued with me. “C’mon, baby, SWAT IT. Swat my naawwwwty ass! I NEED it!”

“Paul, DO her,” Brad piled on, “Swat it. She NEEDS it.”

“Dude, I can’t—I CAN’T spank—my own MOTHER—”

“Paaauuuu-uul,” Mom whined, “SWAT it!”

“She needs her naughty ass punished,” Brad said firmly. “Either you swat it a few times now, Paul, or I have to take it out of her with ROUGH ANAL SEX later.”

“Wh-what?!” I blurted with a squeak. This was ALL—just—INSANE!

“Y’know, if were ME,” Brad went into further detail, “I’d prefer a couple swats to the ass over getting PISTONED UP THE BUTT for hours on end.

“But, hey, that’s just me.”

Pistoned?! Up the butt?! Mom?!

“Okay,” I cut that whole line of discussion off—NO pistoning Mom up the butt!—“Okay, here it comes.” I ... brought my hand close to Mom’s bare ass and ... lightly—okay, yeah, it was so light that it probably looked like I just briefly touched her ass. But it WAS a swat. Just a ... very, very light one.

Brad just started laughing at my swat. “What was THAT?!

“That wasn’t a SWAT, Paul! That was you COPPING A FEEL of her ass!

“Try again, man!”

I ... did. Though it was ... still a pretty soft swat.

Brad belted out more laughter. “How does it feel to be FELT UP BY YOUR SON, sexpet?”

“Come on, Mr. Simpson, swat it!” Mom encouraged. “I need my naughty ass spanked!”

“Well,” Brad’s laughter died down, “looks like I need to PISTON THE BUTT for a while tonight, snookums. Better loosen that sphincter up!”

“No! No! Wait—I—” I ... hauled off and gave Mom’s ass a swat. It was better than sphincter-pistoning! I swatted it again! And again!

“Ow!” Mom recited, “Thank you, Mr. Simpson! Please, swat my naawwwty ass some more!”

I ... did.

A couple more times.

“Think she’s learned her lesson?” Brad asked finally.

“OH yeah!” I instantly agreed. “I think she’s learned plenty enough!”

“How about you, snookums? Learned your lesson?”

“I won’t be insolent again, Daddy! I PROMISE!”

“Then let’s go fuck, honeytwat.”

Mom insta-brightened. “OHGOD, DADDY! YESSS!”

“Well, Paul, I’m going to go FUCK YOUR MOM STUPID for a while.

“Entertain yourself. If you get bored, go ask Little Artie for some TERRI PORN—Ha! Guess that would be MOM PORN for YOU, wouldn’t it?”

Mom was all grins and smiles at the prospect of getting fucked. “C’mon Daddy—let’s go! Let’s go! C’mon, Daddy! Let’s go and GET FUCKED!”

Brad chuckled to me. “It’s like a dog, all excited about going for walkies.”

I managed to keep my fist from caving in the front of his face. Which kept Mom from killing me in turn for murdering her “Daddy.”

Brad looked at Mom and sighed. “What did you forget, snookums?”

Mom looked puzzled. “Forget? I—uhm—ehr—”

“If we’re going to keep other pets,” Brad prompted her, “we need to ...” He gestured for her to finish the statement.

“Oh yeah! Paul, could you put the dinner scraps into a bowl for the DOG IN THE CLOSET?

“THANKS, sweetie!”

Then Mom started prancing toward the hallway to the master bedroom. “C’MON DADDY! LET’S GO FUCK!”

“Yeah, let’s go, sugartits.

“Let’s go stick my cock so far down your throat that it pokes out your ass.”

Well, I used a plate instead of a bowl, but I DID take the leftovers to Little Artie.

And I DID knock before opening the closet door. Catching Dad whacking off—would be just—well ... no! Just ... NO!

Paul’s bedroom

I went back to my room to research pseudobulbar affect on the net.

It wasn’t what Mom had, but there were similarities

Besides the OCD-like behavior that I’d noted earlier, Mom was like one of those heroines in the old movies, that got caught on a runaway horse until the hero and his horse caught up and rescued her.

Mom’s emotions seemed to sometimes just bolt and run away on her, and she had to just cling to them for dear life, while they whisked her across the landscape.

Was there some way to “calm her horse down,” so to speak?

So that it didn’t run away with her so easily?

Paul’s bedroom, a little before 8 P.M.

Mom’s voice pulled me away from the web page I was going through. “Paul ... tell me that you hate me.

“Please.”

“No.” How could she think THAT?! “OF COURSE, I don’t hate you ...”

She let out a depressed sigh.

“Are you two,” I ventured, “... done?”

“Fucking?” she gave a sour grin with an upraised brow. “Naw, there are HOURS more of FUCKING—of GETTING FUCKED—ahead.

“We just reached a pausing point, and Daddy let me come in here to prepare you for ... what’s to come.”

She pursed her lips and slowly shook her head, eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t know whether to make you angry ... or disgusted ... or to try to reason with you ... to get you to ...”

She walked over and sat on my bed. “What can I do to get you to leave, Paul?”

“I—I can’t.” Jesus, how could she ask me something like that? I wasn’t going to just—LEAVE her! “I can’t. I’m ... sorry ... but—”

“Do I REASON with you”

“If YOU get away, Paul, then AT LEAST ONE of the three of us—you, me, your father—survives. That’s better than ALL THREE OF US DESTROYED, isn’t it? You DO see that, right?”

“I—yeah ...” I shrugged, “I still ... can’t—just—”

“Stubborn,” Mom sighed.

“I KNOW I can disgust you.

“You just watched me demean myself, like some child playing in her own poop, smearing it all over herself, giggling as she dirtied herself.

“That’s ME. I am broken now. There is something profoundly wrong with me now.”

I just shrugged. I wasn’t leaving her.

“Nothing, hmm? I never thought you were the kind of boy to play in poop, Paul. And that’s what I am now—a big, fat, stinking turd!“

We just stared at each other, until she gave another sigh. “I can certainly ‘guilt’ you. I didn’t want to, but—

“Do you LIKE watching your mother WHORE herself?!

“Do you GET OFF on PEEPING at me FUCKING another man?!

“Hey, the very thing I’m in here to warn you about! Things are about to get LOUD. And FILTHY.

“The only reason things have been so quiet so far ... is because I’ve had a COCK stuffed cown my throat, which sorta muffles my sex screams.

“Does knowing that ... get. You. Off. Paul?” She gave me a challenging look, which raised my hackles a little.

“Are you going to sit in here and PLAY WITH YOURSELF while you listen to Mommy while she FUCKS one of her STUDENTS?!”

“Nope!” I snapped back, “Because you won’t be FUCKING him. You’ll be GETTING FUCKED.

“He’ll be DICKING you. YOU’LL just be TAKING it.”

Crap! I didn’t mean to let my anger get away from me. But sitting here, talking badly about herself was NOT going to chase me off!

“Fair enough point,” she nodded.

“I’m sorry!” I whispered. Why did she want to fight?! With ME?!

“No, no, you’re right. And now we’re back to disgusting you into leaving if I can.

“If you stay, you WILL come to LOATHE and DESPISE and HATE me.

“The same way that I loathe and despise and hate your father.”

She sighed and fidgeted on the bed, worked up. “Your ... illusion ... of me is the ONLY THING I HAVE LEFT, Paul.

“I’m SHIT in my own eyes. I’m CERTAINLY SHIT in Brad’s and Little Artie’s eyes.

“YOU are the ONLY ONE that still remembers me as a HUMAN BEING, Paul.

“And you ... want to stay here and dirty and erase that ...

“To erase the ONLY THING STILL LEFT OF ME from back when I was WHOLE, instead of just a DESPERATE FUCKING WHORE ...”

“Mom, I ...” I started to whisper.

“Yeah, and why should I deserve some part of me UNDEFILED?!” she snapped at me. “I’m whore THROUGH AND THROUGH now ...

“And when YOUR opinion of me sinks, there will be NOTHING ... unsullied ... LEFT of me ...”

She ran out of steam then, and just looked blankly at the distance.

“I am ... very ... sorry,” I hesitantly wrung words out of—well, out of myself, “but I am NOT going to abandon you ...

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I really, really AM. But ... I WON’T. I simply WON’T. I will NOT abandon you ...” I didn’t want to fight with her or stress her, but I was not leaving. Not here, not now. With no more words to wring out, I just shrugged ...

We just looked at each other a minute.

“Okay,” she finally sighed. “But PLEASE WISE UP, Paul, and LEAVE HERE the MOMENT you are smart enough to think straight.

“You’re a smart boy, Paul. When you’re thinking clearly, you’ll see that it’s the only thing to do.

“And I will be OVERJOYED the moment you do, Paul.

“Please ... wise up ...”

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Okay, what I came in here to tell you ...

“Your mother is QUITE THE SCREAMER during sex now.

“Daddy’s cum down my throat three times in the last hour. But I’m about to start YODELING sex. LOUDLY.

“Daddy LIKES loud sex.

“And I CUM ALL OVER MYSELF anytime that Daddy’s happy.

“So ...” she shrugged.

“I’m going to sound like the QUEEN OF WHORES for the next few hours ...” She gave a bitter chuckle and amended that, “Like the OPERATIC queen of whores ...

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

“AND—you can LEAVE ANY TIME YOU WANT. Just go anywhere, and never come back.”

She stood. “Please ... wise up, Paul. And leave here the MOMENT that you do.

“Before it’s too late ...

“Because SOON ENOUGH, you’ll LOSE THE CHOICE, and be STUCK here, as SHIT-SMEARED as me ...”

And ... she walked back to the master bedroom to fuck her student some more ...

Paul’s bedroom, 11 P.M.

Mom’s yells were loud, despite being muffled from the other room, “OHGOD, DADDY! PLEEEEEASE LET ME SUCK YOUR DICK!

“PLEEEEASE! I NEED IT!

“OHSWEETJESUSNO!

“ME FROM TWO MONTHS AGO COULD NEVER HAVE IMAGINED I’D BE BEGGING YOU SO PATHETICALLY!

“IT WOULD HAVE JUST BLOWN THAT TIGHT-ASSED LITTLE BITCH’S PRIM LITTLE MIND,” Mom rambled on about her earlier self, “TO THINK THAT I’D WHORE LIKE THIS FOR YOU, BABY!

“AND I DON’T MEAN ‘BLOWN’ IN A GOOD WAY, LIKE WHEN I BLOW YOU, DADDY!”

God, this was getting thick, even for sex.

“BUT ... HERE I AM! JUST A DESPERATE LITTLE TWAT! YOUR DESPERATE LITTLE TWAT, DADDY!“

Brad said something, but it was muffled, unintelligible.

“THEN DICK ME INSTEAD! PLEEEEEEASE! FUCK ME SILLY! LIKE ONLY YOU CAN DO, DADDY!”

Well, she was right—she DID sound like quite the excited whore for him.

She’d never been a screamer during sex before—I assumed she and Dad had sex when I was growing up, but I never heard them.

She sure as fuck was a loud sex-screamer—and openly slutty—now!

Paul’s bedroom, 1 A.M.

I stayed up until 1:00 A.M., researching pseudobulbar affect—emotional incontinence—on the web. But I didn’t really find anything immediately helpful, so I finally shut the computer down and laid down to sleep.

My world had ... changed bizarrely in just a day. When I woke this morning, I thought Mom in sexy lingerie was just some weird Freudian dream.

By this evening, it’s clear that she’s desperately whoring herself for one of my old classmates, who has some type of bizarre hold on her.

I sure hoped that tomorrow would be a lot less strange than today!

A few minutes later, Mom tip-toed in, carrying her stiletto heels to be quieter. “Paul,” she whispered, “are you awake, darling?”

“Yeah,” I leaned partway up, “I just laid down. What’s up?”

“Can I ... sleep with you?” she asked in a whisper.

“What?”

“Daddy always kicks me out after sex. He says I’m ‘clingy’ and follow him around the bed.

She made a little pout-face that I could see even in the dim light, “Just because I like to touch him doesn’t mean I—”

“Yes, you can sleep with me,” I cut her off. I ... really didn’t need to hear more today about her and “Daddy”.

“Oh, THANK YOU, darling!” she whispered. “You are SO GOOD to me.

“I’ve been sleeping in here the last month. I didn’t think you’d mind. And I figured that YOU’D let me sleep with you naked.”

“Naked?” Why would she need to—?

“Yes, so that I’m ready, just in case Daddy wakes up hard, or gets an urge in the middle of the night.

“If it bothers you too much, I can sleep on the floor,” she offered, though.

I was NOT going to make my mother sleep on the floor. Good God! “No, no, sleep here on the bed. It’s no problem.”

“Thank you, baby. Or ... Mr. Simpson, sir. I guess I should still be calling you ‘Mr. Simpson.’

“I’ll check with Daddy tomorrow, if it’s okay to call you ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie.’

“And don’t worry about me leaking JISM out onto your bedsheets.

“Your father has already lapped almost all of it out of me.”

JISM?! On my sheets?! That’s a thing?! That’s something I should WORRY about?! Ohgod, I had not even THOUGHT about that! I was NOT PREPARED for all this!

“Thank you so much, sweetie. I really appreciate it,” she whispered as she laid down on the other side of the bed behind me.

“I’ve kinda come to terms with Daddy kicking me out after sex, but it’s a little lonely, being HOMELESS in the middle of the night, without a bed to sleep in.”

We were quiet a couple minutes before I observed, “You seem ... really mellow at the moment, Mom.” The horse of her emotions was NOT racing across the landscape with her, so to speak.

“’Snookums,’ sweetie,” she corrected me. “Call me ‘snookums’ or ‘Terri.’”

“You, uhm ... seem really mellow at the moment, snookums.”

“Well, I’m really WELL-FUCKED by Daddy right now, so everything is good with the world.

“At least ... as much as I ever feel that way anymore.

“I mean, I’d still break an ankle, scrambling to get back in there with him now, if he’d just let me BE with him. But ... he doesn’t. So, I ... live with it. Away from him and ... desperately longing to be with him ...”

After another minute, I added, “I’ve noticed that ... your emotions seem wilder ... stronger, snookums.

“I can’t keep up with your feelings, they’re so mercurial, and switch so fast.”

“Ha, you ought to be on the inside here with me!” she muttered a little bitterly. “My emotions leave me dizzy, they jerk me around so much!

“But they just won’t listen to me anymore. They drag me off with them, wherever they go.”

Another minute passed in silence before she asked, “Did you enjoy spanking me this evening?”

“I—” my voice cracked as I rushed to reply, “I HAD to. So that Brad—”

“I know, I know. It’s fine. You HAD to, or Brad would have gone to town on my asshole.

“I was just curious ... if you enjoyed it.”

What ... kind of question was that ...?

“Don’t worry about it, though,” she whispered from behind me. “Just idle curiosity.”

We gradually drifted off to sleep after that ...