The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

… Jamie’s just spunked on his mother’s belly when the doorbell rings. It’s his Mom’s cougar friends arriving for their boozy pool party. He’s used the shopping app trigger word to control his mother’s mind. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Another few seconds and he would have fucked his own Mom…

What have I done? I can’t believe what’s just happened!

The doorbell’s ringing and I’m supposed to open it. Mom’s friends are arriving for their pool party. How can I open the door after what’s just occurred?

Br-iiing… bri-iiiiiiing…

Five minutes ago—less!— one minute ago I was standing in the living room with my mother giving me a hand-job— and now I’m supposed to answer the freaking door!

Her shorts were around her knees. She was guiding my pulsing spear-head towards her moist pussy. If the doorbell hadn’t rung when it did I would have have fucked my mother.

Instead I came on her belly. I’ve just shot hot spunk all up the silky expanse of my Mom’s chunky belly. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

It wasn’t even Mom’s fault. It’s totally my fault! I used that stupid trigger word, ‘shopping trolley’ that George implanted in my mother’s brain through the shopping app on her phone! I didn’t even believe the trigger word would work, but it did. It worked too well, Mom’s mind instantly went under my control. She was putty in my hands, ready to do anything I asked. And instead of telling her to change her bossy ways, to be less selfish, less domineering and become a better person—I can’t believe it!—I made her stroke my cock!

And she did! She stroked it. She pumped my cock so good I needed to fuck her. I would have fucked my own mother if the doorbell hadn’t rung.

Br-iiing… bri-iiiiiiing… bri-iiiiiiiiiiiiiig…

It’s ringing now, impatiently insistently. I’ve got to answer the doorbell.

Mom’s in the shower, washing my cum off her belly. I ed the trigger word—checkout!— to snap her out of her trance just in time. Mom doesn’t even know what’s just happened. She thinks she just spilled some syrup on her belly from her cooking. But I do . I everything with horrible clarity.

Bri-iiing… bri-iiiiiiiiing… bri-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing…

I’ve got my shorts back on… I check they’re zipped up… but I came so big ‘the girls’—Mom’s friends— are bound to smell my cum and sniff out Mom’s pussy’s tang in the living room, her juice is so sharp and heady.

Mom yells out from the shower:

“Open the door, Jamie. It’s the girls!”

I get my head together and get to the door and open it.

A burst of voices and high spirits crashes in.

“Hi, Jamie!”

“Hello, Jamie!”

“Where’s your Mom?”

That’s it.

Just ‘Hi, Jamie’. No penetrating looks. ‘Where’s your Mom?’ No urgent inquiries. I’m just unpaid staff, the guy who opens the door. I hardly exist. It’s my Mom they’re here to see.

The girls!

There’s six of them, all in their mid to late thirties. In sunglasses and beach wraps and designer shorts, bottles of wine under their arms to add to the ones already in the ice box.

Meg and Meryl and Gracie and Jilly and Chloe and Samantha.

They flash bright, eager smiles at me, looking forward to a boozy afternoon by the pool.

Mom calls out from the bathroom above the noise of the shower:

“Hi, girls! Come in!”

I can’t stand it.

Fortunately, for the next half an hour I’m so busy helping my mother look after her guests there’s no time to worry. I’m freaked. I’m shaken by the whole experience, but I’m kept running, moving sun loungers out onto the poolside, setting up umbrellas and helping Mom serve drinks and snacks to her friends. My cock finally stops tingling in my shorts ing how good it felt with my mother’s hot fist pumping it.

Mom’s friends are a noisy lot.

Meg, Meryl, Gracie, Jilly, Chloe and Samantha. The ‘girls’ are all in their mid to late thirties. They’re all divorcees, some of them two or three times divorced. They pay no attention to me. They’ve seen enough of life to be relaxed and easy-going on social occasions, especially get-togethers in a tight-knit group like this.

They’re soon spread out in the sun sipping drinks and gossiping like crazy.

They take their shorts off and unwind their wraps and start doing their ritual sun-bathing.

You can tell that some of Mom’s friends—especially Jilly and Chloe—must have been quite pretty when they were younger. Meg and Chloe have caesar scars on their bellies but the lines have pretty much smoothed away in their deep tans. They’ve all got children, but most of their kids have left home by now. I’m one of the few unlucky ones still stuck at home.

There’s the usual raucous greetings— ‘Hi, Jamie! Howzit goin’?’— but by the time they’ve had a couple of glasses of wine and are into what rats their ex husbands were, I’m pretty much invisible. Moving umbrellas, fetching more ice, totally forgotten.

The full horror of what happened in the living room hits me head-on. I took control of my mother’s mind! I used the subliminal trigger words George taught me—after I’d vowed I’d never even think about them again— and controlled my mother’s brain. Even worse, I used my control over her mind to make her perform a sex act on me!

“Jamie! Will you just run and fetch that lotion out of the bathroom. Chloe’s getting burnt!”

I only did it as a joke because I didn’t think the Must/Have! app George installed in my mother’s cerebellum would work. I didn’t believe it was real till I saw the effect the simple words ‘shopping trolley’ had on my mother’s mind. The effect it had on the whole of her!

But once I realized that my power was real… I went and used it to take my pleasure with my mother! I didn’t use it to make her change her ways, or make her a more reasonable person, or even to make her treat me nicely, like a proper mother should treat her son. No. Instead, I… I don’t even want to think about it… the pleasure and the dread are still throbbing through me. My mother’s hand pumping my cock bareback—not even just stroking me through my shorts— she fished it out of my shorts and gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced!

A burst of drunken laughter.

“Jamie! Pour Meryl another glass, will you? She’s bladdered already!”

Meryl’s spilled some wine on the plate of sandwiches. The sandwiches are floating in Chablis. Another job for me.

Meryl mumbles:

“I am not bladdered! Meg jogged me on purpose!”

Luckily Mom doesn’t seem to a thing. Not the slightest detail of the incident has remained in her consciousness The instant I whispered the second trigger word—‘checkout’— she snapped back into being her old bossy self. Even while she was wiping my cum off her hand on her shorts complaining about ‘something sticky’ she was back issuing orders and nagging me about everything. She showed no sign of ing the slightest detail of what had just happened which…

… In a way…

… Makes it even worse. The whole time she was fishing my penis out of my shorts and pumping my erection to climax she showed no sign of even knowing what she was doing! She was still issuing orders even while her skillful fingertips were stroking my balls and her hot palm was plastering pre-cum around on my throbbing spear-head! If we were going to perform a sex act together she could at least have shown me that she was enjoying it. But no. Nothing. Just ‘Jamie, do this…’ and ‘Jamie, do that…’ while she was bringing me off! Maybe she did enjoy it, subliminally. Her pussy certainly smelled sharp and tangy when she pulled her shorts down for me to fuck her—thank Christ the doorbell rang in time—hot juice sizzling in her lustrous pubes, strings of cream cat’s-cradling her engorged cunt lips. Her fingertip pushed through a mess of hot desire and churning her clit, getting herself ready for me. Perhaps deep down she did get off on preying on her son’s teenage hangups, it would have been nice, but, if she could have shown more response to me busting my nut.

Splash!

Boom!

Giggles.

There’s water everywhere.

Meryl’s dived in the pool. A big, sunburned belly flop. Meryl looks a bit too drunk to be swimming, but she makes it down to the shallow end no problem and wallows around laughing and splashing her friends up on the poolside with water.

“Meryl!”

“Meryl, don’t!”

The girls are all laughing like crazy.

They eventually all go in for a swim, Mom included, in her yellow string bikini, the skimpy nylon cups far too small for her large breasts, her butt a bit too broad for a T-back. I keep waiting for the strings knotted on her hips to come undone and give me even more problems than I’ve got already, but her bikini clings on, thank God.

After their swim the ‘girls’ all stretch out on their loungers and enjoy the sun.

I shouldn’t be looking, but Chloe and Gracie’s bikinis are brief enough to make it obvious that they shave their pussies. Meg’s one-piece is too modest to tell. Meryl and Jilly aren’t shaved.

Neither is Mom. A load of cute black curls peep out from under drenched, pussy-tight nylon, whole strands of bush plastered to her inner thighs.

“Munchies time! Who’s hungry? Jamie, will you fetch those celery sticks from the fridge?”

Nag nag nag. She never stops issuing orders. Even stretched out on her lounger with her legs spread wide enough apart for me to see how she doesn’t shave her pussy Mom won’t stop nagging.

“And the sausage rolls! Don’t forget the sausage rolls!”

Everything goes black.

There’s a sudden rush of blood to my head.

A spasm of irritation turns to full-on, raging anger.

I say: “Shopping trolley!”

I only say it out of devilry. I only say it because my mother’s so impossible. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not even thinking about doing anything bad. I just need to show her once and for all who’s boss.

In an instant, her eyes forget all about sausage rolls. The celery sticks fade into thin air. Her bossy frown smooths away into a look of helpless bafflement, waiting for further instructions.

I whisper.

“Take your top off!”

I only do it out of impatience and frustration. I don’t mean any harm.

She murmurs.

“What a good idea. This bikini’s so uncomfortable.”

I hiss:

“Just the top!”

I only want to embarrass her a bit. Make her friends laugh at her. I don’t want to cause a full-on catastrophe.

“What’s a good idea, girl?” asks Meryl.

My mother leans forward. She reaches round behind her, her large breasts wobbling in their skimpy cups. She fiddles with the knot at the back. She laughs:

“Getting his top off, Meryl. It’s still wet and…” A bright smile. “… My tan’s not quite all over yet!”

Meryl’s mouth falls open.

Yellow nylon slips away. My mother’s full, shapely breasts come jiggling free, her perky nipples quivering above their large pink areolae.

There’s gasps. And cries.

“Dolores!”

“What are you…?”

“Don’t. There’s…”

Our back garden’s overlooked by apartment block windows. My Mom’s mates are all experienced thirty-somethings, but they’re still prudish when it comes to nudity.

“Dolores!”

My mother laughs. She pulls the tangle of strings and skimpy nylon v-s off her voluptuous fullness and throws her bikini top down on the tiles.

“There! That’s better! Get some sun on these babies!”

“Dolores!”

My mother takes ‘these babies’ in both hands and juggles her heavy, shapely softness. She holds her nipples up to the sun.

“See! Bikini line!”

She’s right. There’s a color switch where her tanned cleavage meets the slightly paler curves of her luscious tits.

Her friends giggle awkwardly. My plan’s working. I’m humiliating my mother in front of her mates. I’m embarrassing her bigtime except… my mother shows no sign of awkwardness! She’s perfectly happy! Totally relaxed! She lies back on her lounger and her breasts spread out on her upper chest like tanned jelly with pink toppings. She’s impossible!

“Jamie! Those sausage rolls!”

She’s worse than impossible. She makes me more irritated than ever. Bugger her. I decide to leave her like that. She can lie there semi-naked for all I care. I’d only meant to cause her a moment’s embarrassment then say the trigger word to snap her out of her trance but fuck her. She can stay like that with her big tits soaking up the sun. Her friends’ smirks and giggles and shocked comments will be all the more painful for her to face when I do say ‘checkout’ and snap her out of it. I leave her to sunbathing and hurry into the house to fetch the sausage rolls.

The girls are ravenous after their swim. I’m kept busy serving sausage rolls and pineapple sticks and going around topping off their drinks.

What I really need is to be alone, get back to my bedroom and have some time alone to try and work out what’s going on. I need to understand what’s happening to me. Quickly, before something even more terrible happens. I love my Mom. She’s mean and bossy but she’s still my mother. Why am I doing these things to her? I wish to high heavens George had never rung our doorbell.

Even more important— what’s troubling me even more is— just a couple of hours ago. In the living room. Before our guests arrived: did my mother feel any pleasure while she was pumping my cock? I need to know. The question’s driving me insane. Did Mom feel anything at all? While she was stroking my penis? While she was getting me rock-hard? Preparing to fuck me before the doorbell rang? Or was it only her mind I was controlling and not her body?

I don’t necessarily want her to have been as horny as I was. In fact, the thought that she might have got as hot as me, might even have climaxed herself, is too ghastly to face. My own mother? Cumming in sync with me as I spunked my load up her belly? I don’t want her to have cum. I hope she didn’t. Everything’s fucked up, but it’s less fucked up if my mother didn’t go over the brink with me. I just need to know one way or the other, that’s all.

“Jamie! Is Chloe’s wine chilled yet?”

I’m too rushed off my feet to even think straight.

With the girls’ bellies full, and the sun and the booze taking effect, the conversation at the poolside turns to ex husbands and ex boyfriends and how men are okay but you can’t trust them in a committed relationship, a girl’s better off just sticking with her mates and having fun with the gang.

They’re all thumbing through Facebook while they natter, checking their emails, keeping their on-line lives on track while they enjoy the sun and wine.

“Oo! Look!” says Mom. “Ramona’s sent some selfies!”

Ramona’s my sister. She’s my older sister. Ramona’s twenty, while I’ve only just turned eighteen. Two years difference— it can feel like a lifetime.

I have to it it, I’m jealous of Ramona. Out in California at Berkeley. Studying for a law degree. Super smart and independent. Ramona’s got everything that I haven’t got. She’s even really pretty. Tall and slim. A svelte figure. Raven black hair. A cute retroussé nose and broad, sexy lips. Free as a bird, while I’m stuck here at home with Mom.

“Oo! Oo! Look, Meg! Look Chloe! A message from Ramona! Her boyfriend’s coming to stay us! He’s on his way already! Ramona says to expect her boyfriend—Alfie. His name’s Alfie—to pop in at any time! Maybe even this afternoon!”

Great! Just what I need! I’ve never met Alfie. Mom and I have even never seen Ramona’s boyfriend, but he’s sure to outclass me in every department. He’s probably at least twenty-five or twenty-six, no doubt a business guy making big money, or else some celebrity professor on Ramona’s faculty, a success in every way where I’m a failure in every way.

Mom’s excited already:

“He left California early this morning! He’s driving all the way! He might even be here later on!”

Mom’s friends all start clucking and fussing. Men are a drag. Males can’t be trusted, but the girls are all looking forward to getting a look at my sister’s trendy boyfriend.

And sure enough… half an hour later there’s a ring at the doorbell.

Mom starts preening like she’s personal assistant to her major film star daughter.

“Jamie. Will you get that, please?”

My day’s going from bad to worse.

“Hurry up, Jamie. It must be Alfie.”

I go to the front door and open it.

My mouth drops open.

“Alfie?”

“Hi, man.”

The shock rocks me on my feet.

“Ramona’s…?”

He grins.

“That’s me, brother.”

It just goes to show how you never really know people. Not even your own sister. Not deep down. Ramona’s so chic and sophisticated and her boyfriend’s…

… Chains dangling from biker’s leathers…

… A leather jerkin open on a tanned muscular chest…

… A big skull n cross bones belt buckle… cowboy boots…

… A bushy ginger beard showcasing a bandit’s smile on broad, meaty lips…

Ramona’s boyfriend’s a biker!

He knocks the wind out of my sails just standing there looking at me. I mumble:

“… Erm… hello… welcome… do come in…”

“Thanks, man. You must be Jamie.”

“… Yes.. right… that’s me, Jamie…”

We shake. He’s got a grip like a grizzly bear, but his smile’s super friendly. Sun-bleached merriment dances in his blue eyes. Ramona’s found herself a stud.

I stammer:

“… Come and meet my Mom… and… and her guests… they’re out the back… round the pool…”

I’ve never met someone who drives halfway across the country bare-chested before.

I lead Alfie out to the poolside and introduce him to Mom and the girls.

His impact on the girls is even bigger than his impact on me.

There’s a lot of furtive adjusting of thongs and straightening of bikini tops. A load of faltering smiles and suppressed gapes.

Mom’s tits are still exposed. She’s lifting herself out of her lounger with her nipples wobbling on two tanned jellies.

“Alfie! So nice to meet you!”

Shi-iiit! I forgot to say the trigger word before I went to open the door. I haven’t snapped her out of her trance! She’s blissfully unconscious that her breasts are exposed. She gushes:

“Ramona said you were coming! Would you like a glass of wine?” Her massive boobs sway and dangle. “Jamie! Pour a glass of wine for Alfie!”

Her friends are all tittering and smirking and looking embarrassed at Mom’s semi-nudity, my mother offering Alfie her hand and modeling her full, luscious breasts for his eyes.

Alfie doesn’t bat an eyelid. His smile is broad and relaxed enough to knock all six women out, not just Mom.

“Thanks Mrs Delaney. But, hey…!” He glances from drooling female to drooling female. “… Looks like I’ve crashed a ladies-only event!”

His eyes dwell an instant too long on his girlfriend’s mother’s nipples. His gaze pauses, taking in my mother’s tanned, voluptuous fullness. It’s cool. Alfie’s seen plenty of tits in his life, and not just Ramona’s small, girlish ones either.

He grins. He runs his fingers through his beard. He makes himself at home. I realize he’s okay. In fact he’s nice. I like him. I don’t mind him ignoring me at this ‘ladies-only event’. His eyebrows lift in wonder at the bevvy of sunbathing women:

“You girls look like you’re having fun without me.”

“No. No, please!”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s quite alright!”

Mom still doesn’t cover herself. She gives Alfie a dreamy smile.

“Sit down, why don’t you, Alfie? Ramona’s told me all about you! I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you!”

Chloe titters. She points at Alfie’s bronzed chest, under his leather jerkin.

“Come and do a bit of sun-bathing, Alfie!”

She’s drunk, but Alfie doesn’t mind. He grins:

“Yeah. Well. I always like to get some sun on my chest.”

The girls all go off into peels of flustered laughter.

Alfie’s got so much sex appeal he doesn’t need to preen or pose or act tough. All he has to do is walk out of the house and every female at the poolside is eating out of his hand.

Especially Mom. Mom’s face is lit up. She’s smiling a welcome at Alfie that’s more welcoming than meeting your daughter’s boyfriend for the first time strictly demands. She doesn’t even cover her breasts. Well. She can’t till I let her. She can’t put her bikini top back on till I say the trigger word. Her fleshy breasts wobble as she gushes at Alfie’s bronzed physique.

A flash of jealous devilry sparks through me. I decide to give ‘checkout’ a few more minutes. I’m enjoying her making a spectacle of herself. My mother swears she never wants to be ‘let down by another man ever again’ but she looks ready to be let down by her daughter’s boyfriend any time he chooses.

Alfie doesn’t bat an eyelid. He’s so cool I’m already green with envy.

Alfie eases his muscular weight into a lounger and accepts a glass of wine.

He immediately ignores the ladies and turns to me:

“So you’re Jamie! Ramona’s told me all about you!”

It’s a patent lie. Ramona acknowledges my existence even less than Mom does, but it’s nice of him to say so. He’s so used to having women fussing over him, perhaps he finds it a pleasant change to have a conversation with another male, even a male as oppressed as me. He says:

“Ramona says you’re into bikes.”

It’s true! I am into bikes. He must have really interrogated my sister about me to have dug up a piece of information like that. I’d love to own a motorbike. It’s my dream to buy one of the old Harley XR750 classics and hot it up and hit the road and never come back.

Mom muscles into our conversation:

“Jamie! Why don’t you run and get Alfie some of those nice sausage rolls.”

I need to say ‘checkout’. I need to let her back into her right mind ASAP. She’s massaging one of her tits right in front of Alfie, dreamily squeezing a nipple till it stands up taut and tight.

Her friends are squirming and tittering. Their shock has turned to a sort of fascinated horror.

Mom chortles:

“Alfie must be so-ooo hungry after his drive. Jamie!”

Alfie lifts his hands in mock surrender. He grins at me.

“Don’t bother, mate. I’ve already eaten. En route.”

He’s seen already how down-trodden I am.

I really like him. He’s so cool. In fact, I realize I’m hero-worshiping Alfie already. He’s the sort of man I dream of being myself, laid-back, hunky, a walking male powerhouse. He’s only twenty-five but you can tell Alfie makes an impact everywhere he goes, particularly on women.

Mom’s friends keep trying to butt into our conversation—the first really man-to-man conversation I’ve had in my life— Meryl tries to gain his attention by asking stupid questions about California. Chloe’s making a big deal about her sunburn, hoping Alfie’ll notice how hard she works on her legs in the sun lounge. Mom’s fussing the worst of all, plying Alfie with drinks and food like she’s his mother and she wants him to grow up even bigger and stronger than he is already.

It gets so bad eventually Alfie grins at me, man to man, and says:

“Wanta see my bike?”

“Bike?”

“Yeah.”

Surely not! It feels like a gesture of friendship!

”You came on a bike?”

He shrugs:

“Sure.”

“All that way?”

He smiles.

“Sure thing. Wanta see it, man?”

“Wanta see it?”

I’m nearly jumping out of my skin.

… It’s parked outside.

The most beautifully maintained Harley Davison I’ve ever seen.

Alfie explains how he refurbished the chrome and leather, had re-bored and upped the torque a whole fifteen percent.

“Man!” The bike’s blown me away. “That’s some bike you’ve got there, Alfie.”

“Sure is,” he says. “Wanta have a ride?”

I can’t believe my ears. If I owned a bike like that I wouldn’t let anyone else even touch it.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Sure. Take it for a spin round the block.”

Spinning Alfie’s Harley round the block only takes five minutes but it’s the best five minutes of my entire life. Alfie’s right. There’s more power in that cc engine than even a Harley’s meant to have.

We decide not to re the ladies round the pool. We stay out the front instead. Alfie produces a couple of beers from his saddlebags and we sit chewing the fat.

We get so friendly, eventually I can’t help asking about my sister.

My sister’s the most uptight, self-centered, stuck-up twenty-year-old woman imaginable. I have to it she’s pretty. I even have to it Ramona’s got a nice figure, in fact she’s got a smoking hot figure. But she’s so prim and proper with it, so fussy about her clothes and her appearance! How come she’s ended up with a wild biker-guy like Alfie?

Alfie shrugs.

“She likes a big cock.”

I nearly choke on my beer.

“Ey?”

He rubs his hand across his lips:

“Ramona fucks like a rabbit. None of the Berkeley guys can satisfy her. Your sister needs someone who can fuck her stupid.”

I’m flabbergasted. My whole world is turning upside down.

“… And… and…” I’m already picturing my sister’s slim, svelte body being fucked stupid. “… That’s you…?”

Alfie grins:

“Guess so.”

I tell him how shocked I am to hear it, because, for as long as I’ve known her, Ramona’s always seemed like an uptight, prissy sort of person.

“Bitch is uptight alright,” says Alfie. “Your sister’s a pain in the ass. But she makes up for it in bed.”

The pictures of my sister’s slim shapely body making up for it in bed are getting clearer and clearer by the second. In fact, the way Alfie’s talking about Ramona I start to get this aching sensation in my cock just thinking about her making up for her bitchiness in bed.

I need to change the subject. I need to change the subject fast.

I say: “My Mom’s sure pleased to meet you.”

I don’t know why I say it. Mom’s more than just pleased to meet Alfie. Alfie already knows that my mother’s more than simply pleased to meet her daughter’s boyfriend. My mother’s already made it clear as day that her feelings for Alfie are more than just maternal.

“Yeah. I guess so,” he says. “Does she always go topless in company?”

My face burns. I go hot all over.

“… N… n… no… no… not always…”

It occurs to me that I’ve only raised the subject of my mother because… it suddenly occurs to me… if Alfie did betray my sister and take advantage of my Mom’s obvious infatuation with him… I’m not saying it’s going to happen… but if Alfie did by any chance act upon my mother’s blatant crush on him… I wouldn’t mind. In fact I’d be pleased. It would be a slap in the face for my sister and it would at least save me from my own dangerous fascination with my mother’s body.

I bumble on:

“… She… she… doesn’t always go topless… not in company…”

“I don’t blame her,” says Alfie. “She’s got a nice rack.”

The conversation’s getting a bit too personal. I’m starting to feel paranoid. The discussion’s getting a bit too close to the cause of my mother taking her bikini top off, to why she’s out at the pool right now with her nice rack on display.

I decide to change the subject. say:

“Anyway. What do you do in the way of work, Alfie?”

He’s clearly not the university type. I guess… construction… steel rigger… grease monkey…

“Me?” says Alfie. “I’m a stud.”

I swallow hard.

“A stud?”

I know he’s a lady man. He’s already told me he’s good in bed. With my sister. He doesn’t have to repeat himself.

“Yeah. Nasty vids. I’m in the AV industry. Oral. Anal. Rough. You name it.”

“… But… but… my sister… Ramona… she’s so…”

Alfie grins. He cups the large lump in the crotch of his jeans.

“Bitch wants a bit of this, man, she just gotta suck on it.”

I can’t help laughing. Ramona has such tight, pursed lips, my sister’s got such a prim and proper mouth it’s fun imagining it stretched round the big thing in Alfie’s pants… or even stretched around… in fact, I’m pretty big too…

Eventually we go back out to the pool. For Alfie to bid farewell to the ladies. He’s got some business in town needs attending to. He won’t be back till later tonight.

Mom’s still stretched out on her lounger looking pretty drunk and with her breasts still exposed, some pink bikini lines on her tanned fullness where she’s caught the sun.

I quickly whisper: “Checkout.”

For an instant her eyes go baffled. There’s a moment’s confusion in her gaze, but it could easily be mistaken for the amount of wine she’s drunk.

She hauls herself upright and snatches her bikini top off the tiles as if she’s not exactly sure what it’s doing down there. She’s uncertain what’s just happened, she suddenly doesn’t know why she’s showing so much skin.

“Oops…” Like her bikini’s just slipped off by itself a half a second ago and she’s caught it before it even hits the tiles. “Dear me…”

She wraps the bikini top round her chest, under the wobbly overhang of her large breasts, knots it up at the front, gets the strings fastened round her neck and drags the cups around and over her tits, juggling some sumptuous weight into place, getting her voluptuous fullness organized.

She’s still gushing, as if nothing at all’s just happened:

“… Oh… oh… Alfie… do you have to go…? There’s Ramona’s bedroom… I thought you were staying with us…”

Alfie’s all politeness. He’s very chivalrous for a rough biker guy.

“Yeah. I am, Mrs Delaney. Thanks very much for putting me up. I’ll back later. Later on tonight. Okay?”

It’s later on tonight. In fact it’s eleven o’clock, nearly midnight. Alfie’s still not back. Me and Mom are in the living room. I can feel my mother worrying about what’s keeping Alfie out so late.

“I hope he’s alright.”

“Jesus, Mom. Don’t worry about Alfie. Alfie’s alright.”

“He said he was just popping out. I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s a big tough guy, Mom. Alfie’s quite alright.”

It’s me who’s not quite alright. My heart’s in turmoil. I’m racked with doubts about myself. I’m worrying about things that never even occurred to me till today.

I feel bad. I feel really guilty about taking control of my mother’s mind so callously this afternoon out by the pool and making her strip off her bikini top in front of all her friends, in front of Alfie too. After I swore to myself I’d never use George’s trigger words again. I’ve already used George’s trigger words twice in one day

I feel even worse about the things I made my mother do while I had her mind under my control. Having someone’s mind, anyone’s mind, let alone your mother’s, under your total control isn’t right. I could have instructed her to do something sensible, like stop bossing me around. I could even have forced her to give me money or buy me a motorbike but instead, on both occasions, my instructions were unforgivable. I still can’t believe I made my mother stroke my penis. Making her take her top off in public was even worse for someone as image conscious as my Mom.

But worse even than all that, far worse, is my nagging uncertainty about whether my mother enjoyed bringing me off or not. I need to know. It’s impossible to relax till I know for sure. She pumped my cock real good, like she knows how to make a man feel good, but did she get a thrill out of doing it the same as I did? She brought me off big-time with her supple fingers and skilled fist, but did she feel anything herself? Anything for me myself? Or was she just helpless putty in my hands, going through the motions because she had to, not responding to my longing for her at all?

She gazes at the blackness outside the front window.

“I do wish he wouldn’t stay out so late.”

Whether she enjoyed herself with me or not, she’s certainly responding bigtime to meeting Alfie.

She’s put on a short, white, skin-tight bandage skirt for when he comes back. The dress is strapless. It’s cut low at the front. Her sunburned bikini lines are showing pink and wobbly where her large breasts pour out of her bandeau bodice. The white hem’s halfway up her broad, curvaceous butt. She wants Alfie to see what a luscious booty she’s got.

It’s unbearable.

I can feel how excited my mother is, just sitting next to me on the couch, how eagerly she’s waiting for her daughter’s boyfriend to get back… and… most likely she felt nothing at all when she was masturbating me, she wasn’t even concentrating when she was on the point of fucking me, she wasn’t even aroused in the slightest as I unloaded up her belly.

She won’t stop looking out the window.

“Oh dear. Where is he?”

She glances at the clock for the thousandth time.

She flicks the remote at the TV and the screen goes dead. Then she switches the TV on again.

She straightens her bodice. Her ass jiggles and squirms on hot upholstery. I can’t stand it. She’s doing my head in. She’s driving me out of my brain.

I whisper: “Shopping trolley.”

Her pursed lips part in a cute little smile.

“What’s that, Jamie?”

My heart stops beating. I say:

“Your skirt’s hiked up.”

She looks down.

“Oo! Yes! Why yes! So it has!”

She tugs at the hem.

I say:

“Hike it up some more.”

“Some more, Jamie?”

“Yes. More.”

“Why! What a good idea!”

The dress is extra tight, but she wiggles her ass and the white hem rides up even higher. She preens:

“Is that better, Jamie? Is that how you like it?”

“That’s how I like it, Mom…” My stomach clenches. “You like it do you, Mom?”

She wiggles some more and the dress hikes up even higher. The hem stretches tight across her crotch.

“Why yes. I think I do. That feels far more comfortable.”

She’s wearing a thong. I didn’t even know my mother owned a thong till right now. The thong’s even skimpier than her bikini bottom. A tiny triangle of pink nylon stretches itself semi-transparent over her luscious pussy, her thicket of black pubic hair squashed flat on her sumptuous mound.

My stomach seizes up. My heart rushes into my throat. I say:

“Are you wet, Mom. Is your pussy wet?”

Her voice comes back all dreamy.

“Why I believe it is, Jamie.”

Jamie. She said Jamie. My name. Not Alfie. I say:

“Have a feel, Mom. I want you to tell me. I want to know for sure.”

Her voice goes even dreamier.

“Why. Yes. Of course, son.”

She slips her hand inside her thong. I can see her pink fingernails slithering around like moist pink plectrums through the tiny nylon triangle. Her thong stretches and strains even more. The G-string disappears into her ass-crack. She groans:

“… Oh… oh…”

“Wet?”

“Why! Yes. I believe I am wet, Jamie.”

Wet? Three fingers are burrowing knuckle deep in a churn of voluptuous wetness.

“Show me.”

She pulls her hand out reluctantly. Strings of creamy pussy juice stretch between her pink, glistening fingernails.

I feel sick to my stomach. I’ve got to stop. I tell myself to stop. I say:

“Can I have a taste, Mom?”

She gives me this goofy smile.

“Why of course you can, Jamie. My fingers are all yours.”

I’ve got my cock in my hand. It’s stiff. My thing’s rock-hard and throbbing like crazy. I’m standing over her with my erect penis in my hand pumping like crazy.

She doesn’t seem to notice. She doesn’t even seem to see what I’m doing. I know for sure that if I tell her to pump it for me, she will. I’m one hundred percent certain that if I instruct her to put it in her mouth, she’s bound to. But until she receives further instructions, she’s oblivious.

She’s reaching up for me to taste her juice. Her fingers are all mine. I take three of them in my mouth, lick the sharp hot taste of her pussy off her nails. My mother sure tastes good.

I suck and gobble for a long time.

With her free hand she’s pulling the front of her dress down round her belly, her naked butt squirming on the upholstery. Her large voluptuous breasts slip free of her bandeau. She’s massaging her voluptuous softness with her free hand.

When she finally takes her fingers out of my mouth her nails are dripping warm saliva.

I mutter: “Touch your clit.”

“Yes, Jamie.”

My name. I just about it. Jamie. She said Jamie. Not Alfie. She’s still saying my name. She’s doing this for me!

“Show me how you rub it when you masturbate.”

“Alright, son.”

The carpet moves under my feet. The sofa sways. My heart’s beating like crazy.

Mom swoops her mouth and starts licking an engorged nipple. Her other hand slips between her legs, searching for her clit. A wet nail churns excitedly. She rubs her clit real good. She churns her love nub like an expert. She pulls the pink nylon aside and a pink fingernail circles on a surge of juicy sweetness, rubbing harder and harder, sumptuous wetness plastering black hairs to her slippery clit as she churns it exactly how I want.

“… Oh… oh… oh God…!”

Her butt lifts off the sofa. Her pussy kicks. Her tail-bone bucks.

“… Oh… oh… oh… fuck, Jamie… I’m… I’m…”

I groan:

“Your pussy. Shaft your pussy with your finger. Bring yourself off.”

“… Yes, Jamie… if you say so… oh… oh…”

Her back arches. Her butt lifts clean off the upholstery. Her finger—it’s her middle finger—slips down the melting envelope throbbing out sweet juice beneath its thicket of wet black hair.

“… Yes… Yes…”

Her middle finger’s ed by her index finger. A phalanx of juicy polish and slippery knuckle plunges in and out of her. She’s so wet and wide open both fingers slide straight in, probing and pumping.

“… Oh… oh… please, Jamie… ple-eeeeeeease…”

My name. Jamie. It’s still Jamie.

“Please what?”

Wet, clucking noises are coming out of her succulent pussy. Her fingernails slither in and out. She’s ramping herself so hard her luscious cream’s already trickling down her big, slippery ass.

I decide to fuck her. I’ve no alternative. I’m ready to explode. I’m going to fuck my own mother. She groans:

“… Please… please, Jamie… fuck me… I need your big cock in my pussy…”

Jamie. She said Jamie. That’s me. I’m Jamie.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a woman rushing towards the brink in real life, not just on vids. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a woman going over the brink.

“… Please, Alfie… ple-eeeeeeeeease…” Alfie? “… Fuck me, Alfie… please… please, Alfie… fuck me hard…!”

I miss the exact moment my mother climaxes. My cock’s already exploding. I’m unloading on my mother’s belly, ejaculating too bigtime to the particular buck that sends her chunky body over the brink. My hot spunk’s hosing all over her rucked-up bandage skirt and lasso-ing her sumptuous tits in skeins of cum.

“… Yes… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

I suddenly get scared. My mother’s still cumming. Her moist butt kicks and jerks on slippery upholstery.

“… Oh… oh… please… ple-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease…!”

Hot juice is trickling out of her sopping pussy and running down her butt onto the leather. Squirts of pulsing cream are quaking in her voluptuous fuck-hole.

She’ll never snap out of it. The trance has taken hold! She’s still in her trance but I’ve lost control of it. ‘Checkout’ will no longer work. The trigger word’s not going to be strong enough bring her out of her enslaved consciousness. She’s going to be stuck in this mind-fuck universe forever, unable to get out. People will find out what I’ve done!

She slumps back on the couch.

She looks up at me.

“Okay, Jamie?”

Oh. It’s Jamie now, is it? Not Alfie, any more. Not please, Alfie, fuck me harder, It’s Jamie again, now she’s had her fun.

I say:

“Yeah. Pull your dress down.”

She does what she’s told. She tugs at the fuck-me hem, gets it part way down her butt.

“Did that feel nice, Jamie?”

I nod at her tits.

“Your top too.”

She gets her breasts back inside her bandeau bodice.

“Was that good, Jamie.”

“Was what good?”

“Cumming on my belly?”

Jesus Christ. She’s fully conscious of everything that’s just happened! She’s totally okay with everything that’s just happened! If I can’t snap her out of her trance, my mother’s going to stay like this forever!

“Yeah. It was great. Sit up. Get your legs together.”

She sits up. She adjusts her wet thong and crosses her legs.

“Is something wrong, Jamie?”

Yes. Something’s terribly wrong.

She seems to have got over her excitement a little too quickly. I murmur:

“Checkout!”

Startled. Bewildered. Confused. It only takes a second and Mom’s back to her old self.

“Oo! What’s this? I’ve spilled something sticky on my dress!”

She doesn’t a thing.

“Yes,” I say, more savagely than I mean to. “Wine. You’re pissed again.”

She frowns, even more bewildered.

“Wine?” She uncrosses her legs. “I’ve got some on my thong too.”

The sound of a key in the front door. Mom’s given Alfie a key to let himself in.

Mom’s on her feet in a flash:

“Alfie!”

She dashes for the bathroom, tugging her dress down, straightening her bodice.

I only just get my jeans zipped up before Alfie comes walking in.

He’s as cool and relaxed as ever.

“Hi, bro. Sorry I’m late. How’s things?”

I mumble:;

“Things are fine… things are… alright…”

He smiles:

“Mom tucked up already?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Oh. That’s a pity. I wanted to tell her. Ramona’s arriving in the morning. First flight from California. You’ll be seeing your sister again tomorrow.”

“… Oh… oh great…”

I get an even greater sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve never got on well with my sister. Ramona’s equally as bad as my mother, bossy and catty and full of herself! My sister thinks she’s so beautiful and sexy and clever when really she’s just self-centered and uptight and mean. We always end up fighting. Being in the same house as my sister is hard enough as it is without this crazy thing with my Mom going on. Ramona’s so nosy too. She susses things out. She’s bound to find out that Mom’s got the hots for Alfie. Even worse— if Ramona susses I’m controlling Mom’s mind for sex my life is over.