The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dear Clubhouse Letters: Lac-cidental Incest

This is a work of fiction, intended for mature adults who enjoy hypnoerotic fantasy. This story contains adult language and themes, including hypnosis, masturbation and sex, all of which (as you know) will rot your mind and cause hair to grow in unlikely places. Proceed at your own risk. If you’re under the age of consent for your area, we’ll all just assume that you’re here by accident. Just keep hitting the back button on your browser; I’ll let you know when it’s okay to stop.

Permission granted to copy this story for personal use, or to re-post it on any non-commercial adult site, in its unaltered form, including my pen name and e-mail address, and this full disclaimer. If you are planning to post this, please drop me a line; I’d love to visit your site.

Dear Clubhouse Letters,

Never in a million years did I think something like this could ever happen. Totally by accident I became obsessed with seducing my own son, and I ended up becoming his lactating fuck toy.

Let me start at the beginning. My husband Ethan is currently serving a two-year tour of duty overseas. And just before he shipped out, he left me the most wonderful present: the kind that takes nine months to make.

Having a baby at 37 was a little scary, especially when your first child was already in high school. But E. J. was a real trooper; I guess we both saw this new addition as a way to keep ourselves busy and distracted while Ethan was gone.

There was one way that E. J. couldn’t help me much, and that was at feeding time. I’d breastfed my first son, and I wanted to do the same for my second. The problem was, for some reason this time around my C-cup breasts didn’t seem to want to produce quite as much milk, and I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with my baby’s needs.

So I spoke to my doctor, and she gave me a clean bill of health. She said it was probably just nerves, and she told me to have a subliminal MP3 made. I could listen to it while I slept, and the hidden messages would help me to relax and deal with the stress.

I called the company she recommended, and told them exactly what I wanted. They helped me put together my personal mantra, and said I should play it every single night. It worked just like they promised; in fact, the problem was that it worked too well.

Looking back now, I probably should have made it clearer that when I “desired to breastfeed my son,” I meant just my newborn son. And that when I found breastfeeding to be a “pleasurable experience,” I certainly didn’t mean sexually. But as it turned out, my husband had been gone for a very long time, and E. J. was the closest thing to him, and one thing led to another.

It started slowly. I began to notice that my breasts were still tingly, even after the baby had fed. I figured it was because of the extra milk I was starting to produce, so I took to wearing cotton nipple pads just in case.

I also noticed another ‘tingling’ lower down, but put that down to missing my husband. I began taking care of my needs after everyone else had gone to bed. But I really surprised myself when I started picturing E. J. in my fantasies instead of Ethan. At first it happened once, but as time went on it happened more and more, and for longer and longer each time.

Then came the moment of truth. I actually made myself come, while thinking about my son instead of my husband! And when I was done, my nipple pads were soaked through and I needed a shower. It was in the shower that it occurred to me to try and see if I really could seduce my own son.

The very next day I stopped wearing the pads—or a bra—and switched to thinner, lighter-colored blouses. E. J. definitely noticed, and when he asked me about it I told him it was because my breasts felt sore. Which was true, but not for the reason I said.

Every so often I caught him staring at my chest, especially when some of the milk leaked out, wetting the fabric and making it more see-through. Whenever that happened, I couldn’t help but smile to myself, because my plan was working.

Step two was to start to feed the baby in front of him. The first time it happened, I wanted it to look unplanned, so I pretended I was too tired to get up off the couch. In reality, I was leaking like a sieve, and not just on top. I’m sure E. J. could smell my arousal, even if he didn’t know what it was.

I unbuttoned my blouse, and my older son turned his head away in embarrassment. It was so adorable! The baby latched onto my nipple, and I sighed with a mix of relief and arousal. The noise startled E. J. into looking over; then his face flamed red and he dropped his eyes.

I couldn’t have asked for a better opening. I said, “It’s okay to look if you’re curious, E. J. He’s your brother, and breastfeeding is the most natural thing in the world.”

His face was still bright red, but my permission seemed to help him relax. I invited him to sit down on the sofa next to me and even to ask me questions. Which he did, questions like how did it make me feel, and what happened to the leftover milk when his brother was done. I have to admit that even though I wanted to encourage him, his interest still managed to make me blush a little.

Even so, when I switched his baby brother over to the other side, I ‘forgot’ to tuck the first breast back inside my blouse right away, which gave E. J. plenty of time to gaze at the dark, wet and swollen nipple. When I saw him squirm on the couch and shift his leg over, I knew I was making the kind of progress I was hoping for.

For the rest of the week, he kept looking over at me whenever I picked up the baby, and I could tell that he was hoping for a repeat of the experience. But I kept him waiting all the way till Friday, because I had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen when we did. It turned out I was right.

This whole time I was faithfully listening to my subliminal MP3, usually while fingering myself to a climax, not realizing how much it was feeding my desires. Getting all the way to the end of the week was hard enough; I honestly don’t think I could have held off any longer anyway.

That evening I showered right after dinner, and put on a fresh outfit: my thinnest white blouse and a nice skirt. I also added just a hint of makeup, because I didn’t want to make my son too suspicious. The stage was set; now to spring the trap.

This time I made sure to sit on the couch right next to E. J. while he was playing a videogame. After a few minutes the baby began to fuss, and I could feel my nipples harden and start to leak. With a polite “Excuse me,” I unbuttoned my blouse and let my son—both my sons—have what they were waiting for.

E. J. was trying to be casual; he kept stealing glances as he pretended to be playing his game. When the game was over, instead of starting a new one, he shyly asked me, “Is... is it okay if I watch you again, mom?”

I nodded and leaned back, stretching the gap in my blouse wide and causing my other breast to pop out. I felt so shameless, so free! This was what the past four weeks had been building up to, and I was ready.

So was E. J., I could tell. When I exposed my breast, his eyes went wide, and I felt his gaze like a physical thing. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and the rhythm of his breathing changed. This time he didn’t squirm; he just spread his legs slightly, making room for the lump I could clearly see forming. I hummed softly, trying to disguise my moaning.

And again, when I switched his brother to the other side, I didn’t bother to tuck my breast away. I could feel my nether region leaking again, and this time I was pretty sure that E. J. had figured out what that odor meant. And it didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“I want to breastfeed my son. I desire to breastfeed my son. I enjoy breastfeeding my son. I will produce more than enough milk to breastfeed my son. Breastfeeding my son will be a relaxing experience. Breastfeeding will help my son bond with me. I will feel pleasure from breastfeeding my son. I will have no concerns about breastfeeding my son. If I have to, I can breastfeed in public. I can even breastfeed while others are watching. Breastfeeding is natural. Breastfeeding is enjoyable....”

E. J. told me later on that I was whispering my mantra over and over without even realizing it, and loud enough for him to make out some of the words. That was the key that helped me figure out what happened to me. But by then, of course, it was much too late.

This time, as the baby finished, I made no move to button up or even cover up. Instead, while I finished burping him, E.J. said, “Mom, you look so beautiful.”

I smiled. “Thank you, dear. That’s so sweet of you.”

He smiled back, then looked away. I knew he was working up the courage to ask me something, and I was pretty sure what it was. So to encourage him, I said, “Yes?”

“Mom, um....”

“What is it, E. J.?”

“Um, uhn. Can I, can I find out what it tastes like?”

The trap was sprung. My smile grew bigger. “Of course. Let’s just put your brother to bed.”

He turned off the TV and followed me into my bedroom. I’m sure he tried to stay behind me to hide his erection, and that it was making him walk a little funny. Whereas I had nothing left to hide; as soon as I laid the little one down in his crib I took my top off completely.

“There. That’ll just get in the way,” I said as I leaned against the headboard, propping a pillow behind my bare back for comfort.

E. J. was still staring at my naked chest, but he hadn’t come any closer. I knew he was probably having second thoughts, so I said, “Do you still want to do this, baby?”

“Yeah, but,” he muttered, looking down at the floor, “only if it’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay with me, my darling son. You know how much I love you, and your baby brother hasn’t changed that. Now come here, and get that taste I promised you.”

That seemed to convince him. He crawled onto the bed, into my lap, and put his mouth over my nipple. At last! The moment he began to suck, I felt fresh milk start to flow. And fresh juices elsewhere. I didn’t even try to stifle my moan.

“Ahnnnnn. That’s it, E. J. Don’t stop. Please.”

“It tastes so good, mom! Warm and sweet.” He went back to suckling, and I pulled his head hard against my breast with both my hands.

As E. J. continued to suck, my nether region began to throb. The harder he pulled, the better it felt. “I will feel pleasure from breastfeeding my son,” I whispered to myself, and it was true. My hips started rocking, and my panties under my skirt were totally soaked.

“Ohh!” I said. “Suck harder, E. J., just like that. Now bite it gently, ahh!” I heard him hum his agreement. “Yes, baby, I’m almost there... pull harder, drain me dry, if you love your mommy keep going!”

And just when I felt the thick sluggishness that meant the breast was running dry, the combination of his suction and my built-up sexual needs were finally enough to push me over the edge. My lower half contracted, then exploded! I felt thick liquid flow right through my already-soaked panties and onto the hem of my skirt, which had somehow gotten hiked up in all the excitement.

I could hardly believe that I came just from my son suckling at my breast! But as happy as I felt, deep down I knew that we weren’t even close to being done yet. I pulled E. J.’s head away from my breast and up toward my face. His lips were still wet, so I licked them, tasting my own milk for the first time ever.

And I didn’t stop there. Before I knew it, I found my tongue pressed inside his mouth, followed by his tongue inside mine. As we kissed, like lovers instead of mother and son, the last of my reservations fell away and I knew what I was going to do.

At this point some of you must think I’m a terrible mother who can’t even control her own urges! All I can say in my defense is that my confused and lonely body obviously took all those subliminal MP3 messages to mean something more than I thought. And it probably didn’t hurt either that based on our ages, we were both at our sexual peak.

As we squirmed on the bed kissing, I slid my hand down to the front of his jeans. Sure enough, the bulge I felt—and his moan when I felt it—told me that E. J. was ready too. I rolled him away from me and stood up next to the bed. As I unzipped my skirt and slipped off my wet panties, all I said was, “You too.”

He got the message, humping up his hips off the bed and sliding out of his jeans and underwear in one wild motion. As he kicked them onto the floor, I reached over and helped him pull off his shirt. Then I lay back down and pulled my naked son on top of naked me, guiding his mouth to my aching breast.

As he eagerly drained it, I felt the familiar tingle return to my lower half. I hugged E. J.’s shoulders, and felt his other hand reach up to fondle and play with my other breast. I twisted and arched my back, biting my lower lip to keep from moaning too loud. But I couldn’t stop my lower half from rocking and pressing into my son’s hard body, over and over.

I had been without a man for over a year, and nothing could hold me back anymore. “Breastfeeding will help my son bond with me,” I thought to myself. So true!

I pushed my son away from my breast and rolled him onto his back. His manhood stood straight up into the air, a slightly smaller version of my husband’s. I swung myself over his hips and gently guided him inside me, to where I needed him the most.

He yelped and exploded almost immediately, bucking his hips upward. That was no surprise; I was actually a little surprised that he hadn’t already come sooner. Fortunately I went back on the pill to help settle my hormones after childbirth, so there was no danger of an accident.

E. J. stayed hard inside me, which I also expected. Thank goodness for the stamina of youth! I pulled him back up to my waiting nipple to finish the job he started. He did so in record time, sucking and pulling and nibbling and making us both squirm. It was the first time in a month that I was properly drained, and to be honest that felt almost as good as the sex itself.

Speaking of which, when E. J. was finished I rolled us over, putting him on top of me. He took to sex like a duck to water, hitting all the right spots inside me at just the right speed. I came again in record time, screaming into a pillow so as not to wake the baby. He followed soon after, flooding my nether region for the second time in fifteen minutes.

Not that that stopped us, or even slowed us down; we romped merrily away for the rest of the night. And for many more nights after that, believe me!

In fact, within a week, E. J. moved into my bed and began sleeping with me every night. Not that we did much sleeping, especially at first. I stopped listening to my subliminals, since I didn’t need them anymore.

Instead we both made it a point to be open to each other at any time. Now we sleep naked, wear very few clothes around the house, and shower together whenever we can. And whenever E. J. wants a quick snack, or a quick romp, he knows I’m available.

I should be ashamed at how easy I’ve become. I love looking at my man of a son naked, and I know he feels the same way about me. Sometimes we’ll have sex in the living room while the baby is down for his nap. Once or twice we’ve even made it in the kitchen, when E. J. would lay me down on the counter and eat (and drink!) his fill.

But that’s all about to change, for two reasons. The first is that my little one has just passed his first birthday, and he’s ready to switch to more solid food. More importantly, my husband Ethan’s tour of duty is finally up. He’ll be coming home at the beginning of next month.

But as much as I’ve missed my husband, and he’s missed his family, I don’t know if I can give up the deep bond that E. J. and I now share. And I just may have come up with a way where I won’t have to. I’ve already let Ethan know that as a coming-home present, I ordered him a special MP3 to help him deal with any nightmares and lingering combat stress he might have.

What I didn’t tell him was that I also had a few extra subliminals added, to help him get used to the idea of a more relaxed dress code around the house. And not to be jealous or suspicious of how much time E. J. and I are spending together. And to make sure that when he goes to sleep for the night, he stays asleep all the way through the night.

That should give me and my son all the time we need, and help set up the groundwork for letting Ethan in on our special secret someday. Here’s to accidental incest, and the joys of lactation.

Peggy S.
Quad Cities, Iowa