The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Year 2010 — Intro

The sun shines on my eyes to awaken me to a new day. I see my two sisters still asleep in the beds next to me. They aren’t my actual siblings, but the three of us are close since we’ve shared a room for as long as I can remember. There is Samantha, the oldest of us three, sleeping on her side with her long, jet black hair scattered all over her face. She hugs a pillow as a stray lane of drool moves at a snail’s pace down out her mouth and down her face. Samantha isn’t too much older than me, but she is old enough to remember the day that I arrived here as an infant. She was the age that girls are when they carry around a doll and pretend to be a mama, so she obviously was ecstatic to see a new baby brother land at her feet. Yes, that caring motherly nature slowly faded as our age gap got less and less obvious, but our relationship blossomed into what I like to imagine siblings are like. She is the responsible older sister and I am her sheltered little brother.

In the bed directly next to me I can see my younger roommate/sister Eve. Her hazelnut hair somehow managed to stay neat and orderly through her restful night. She definitely didn’t toss and turn as much as Samantha from the looks of it. I feel like Eve is sort of lucky. She arrived here the same as me: an infant with nowhere to call home. However, she already had me and Samanta to take her in. Samantha only had herself until I came along. I think this is why Eve is turning out more dependent than me and Samantha. She doesn’t really talk to anyone else besides us two—even our caretaker has trouble getting her to speak up.

The three of us are tight, and we all know it. It’s the kind of relationship where we could have a good time talking for hours or sitting in complete silence—just each other’s company was appreciated.

I slowly get up, doing my best not to wake anyone up. As I lift my weight off of my bed, the cheap metal frame creaks just loud enough for Samantha to stir in her sleep.

I tiptoe towards the edge of the room. As I exit the door, I am blasted with the thick aroma of eggs being scrambled. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen and see Ms. Davis cooking at the stove in her white sundress. She is a younger woman named Melinda who takes care of this foster home full time. She has a well built frame but nothing that would stand out to my eyes. Her golden blonde hair speckles down her back as she hums a tune to satisfy her boredom.

I can feel the incredible care that she has for all of us. However, even with my limited knowledge of life, I know she is just doing her job. She will always go the extra mile for her kids, but never once have I heard her talk about the foster kids who have already left the home. This even makes me wonder how I will be treated once I am older. Will we still be together? Maybe Eve, Samanta, and I can rent out a place once the time comes for us to move out.

I simply brush these thoughts aside and hope that my worries are simply a result of my nervousness.

This is a family, right? Maybe, who knows, my inner conscious thinks to itself.

Now flash forward to the present day.

I am sitting by myself at the coffee shop and I can’t help but notice the black haired girl with a busty frame sitting across the room from me idly typing away on her computer. I would build up the courage to go say hi, but I just can’t. The person sitting over there is a stranger—no, not really. I know her name: Samantha. We were once close enough to consider ourselves siblings back at the foster home, but since then I haven’t talked to her since we all went our separate ways.

Sure, she would probably be glad to see me. It would probably even be a pleasant surprise to run into an old friend, but that’s all it would be. She wouldn’t see me the way that I see her: as my sibling.

I watch with a sense of absolute helplessness as she picks up her things and walks out the door leaving me with a feeling of loneliness.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve dealt with this feeling. Ever since I was a kid, all that I’ve ever known was being alone. I grew up in an orphanage so I never really had anyone. And I don’t mean to shit on the people who raised me, but that group of people that I grew up with—I always knew it wasn’t a real family. That isn’t to say that the love or companionship wasn’t there, but at the back of my mind I always knew that as soon as I turned 18 I would be forced out. I simply lied to myself, hoping that I was wrong. I hid my fears at the back of my mind and hopelessly lived in an ignorant bliss.

And that’s exactly what happened. On my 18th birthday, instead of presents I was given the foster kid equivalent of an eviction notice. It acted as a confirmation of the suspicions of my entire childhood: it was all artificial. It was a long time coming anyways. Samantha left the home a couple of years before me. Every day I waited to hear back from here, but I was met with radio silence. I knew the day would come where I would have to leave and say goodbye to everyone for good.

When I left the foster home, I walked out of the doors with selfish ambition: I wanted to prove that I was worth their love. I wanted to live a life that would make them jealous, that would make them regret abandoning me. However, spending the past 2 years on my own has been an experience that changed my views on life to say the least. I had to find a place to rent, find a job, learn how to live on my own. It’s been hell and made me appreciate how good I had it when I had people around me, even if they weren’t a real family.

But now… everything is different… I can have them all back. I haven’t told anyone and I barely even believe it myself, but I found something really special. I was walking home from the coffee shop when I noticed it on the side of the road. It was as if it was glowing, but it wasn’t. It had almost this weird aura to it. But besides that… it was just a simple box. Actually, upon closer inspection I found that it was a series of boxes stacked within each other, almost like a set of nesting dolls, with each slightly smaller than the one holding it. I counted and found that it had three layers to the thing. The outermost box couldn’t be more than a square foot in volume. That left the middle and the last innermost box to be slightly smaller than that

As soon as I picked it up, I realized it had the power to alter people—not physically, but mentally. Characteristics, traits, core memories, anything that makes up who a person is—I now have the ability to add whatever I wanted. Now, how did I know this? Because as soon as I touched it, it altered my memories to give me a complete knowledge of how it works and what it does.

I wish I knew who granted me this power or how this all makes sense, but my curiosity can live on later. Right now what is important is what I intend to do with it.

Present Day — Chapter 1

I never had to realize that life isn’t fair. The moment I was born, that simple fact was my entire reality. Now, fate seems to have stepped in and given me the upperhand for once in this miserable life. I am given a chance to retrieve what was once taken from me, to retrieve what is rightfully mine. They called themselves my foster FAMILY yet were so quick to give me the boot. They failed to see what we had was real. Not related by blood, but our bonds. True, I didn’t believe it back then either; I didn’t want to believe that the group of people around me could actually love and care for me. But being truly alone for the last 2 years has made me realize how wrong I was.

So let’s get into how this all works. These boxes... how do I put this? They can each be bound to one soul and from that point on, that simple piece of cardboard acts as a Personality Box.

That is to say, if you put something in the box, then some of the core “essense” of that object will be transferred onto the person the box is bound to.

I think you can see where I am going with this. I am going to use the boxes to help my old foster family (at least the ones I really cared about) act more like a real family again.

Now let’s start off. What’s a family without a good mother? This was an easy pick for me. The caretaker of my foster home, Melinda, was the only mother figure I had growing up. Starting with her is an obvious choice, as well. It wouldn’t really make sense for me to collect my siblings without having a mother to go home to.

I understand the concept of these Personality Boxes may still be new to you, but just think of it this way: they only add on to what is already there. Since Melinda is naturally a kind and caring woman, I just need her to act more motherly. Of course, I have no idea how to go about this but I need to be near her for this to work. Not only so that I can make sure that things are going as planned, but also because the box can only be bound to people in its general vicinity.

DING DONG

Here we go. I wait for a few moments in the dusk with a bag in my hands. For a moment I think that no one is home until I hear the shuffling of feet behind the door. Suddenly, the door swings open and I’m greeted to the familiar face of Ms. Davis. She has soft blue eyes and perfectly gold hair. Despite still being relatively young, her body is one that you would consider of a milf—a filled frame, sizable chest, and a large rear.

This is all a surprise to me. It seems in the last two years that she has filled out her frame to a very noticeable extent. It’s not that she was petite before, but she wasn’t this thick either. Describing her in such a manner is sort of weird for me, but it’s impossible not to notice her naturally appealing build.

“Oh my gosh! Marcus, is that really you!” Melinda says. “I hardly recognize you!”

She pulls me in for a hug. It’s nice to be held by her again so I return the sentiment as I wrap my hands around her. Even if I was only her foster child, I have never seen this woman as anything but a mother to me, but I can’t help but notice her soft bosom pressing against my chest. Despite her blouse and jeans being somewhat conservative for home-clothes, I still can’t help but notice the softness of her chest against mine.

Quickly, I pull out of the hug to avoid any awkwardness; the last thing I’d want is for her to think that I was enjoying her embrace a little too much.

“Hey Ms. Davis! Long time no see!” I say.

“Marcus, dear. What did I say? You’re an adult now! Melinda is fine,” she says with a light chuckle. She doesn’t think much of what I said, but soon enough she’ll hopefully be saying the opposite.

“Oh yeah, silly me,” I say with a smile.

“Whatchya got in the bag?” she asks.

“Oh, I brought some snacks,” I say.

“Well, come in come in. It’s getting dark! I wish you’d given me a call cause my house is sort of a mess right now,” she says with a silly smile.

As I enter her house, I take in her environment. It is a neat little place. Of course, someone on a caretaker’s salary isn’t gonna be able to afford a mansion, but this place was nicer than I expected. It made me feel quaint and cozy as if it fit the exact definition of “home.”

We sit down at the dining table and begin to chat over the food I brang. There are some biscuits, a small cake, and some chips. Of course, the main reason that I brought all of this here is so that she wouldn’t question why I had a bag. She wouldn’t care if I brought an empty cardboard box into her home, but she’d definitely ask some questions that I don’t have the answer for.

As we chat, I realize my fears are true. Our idle small talk resembles more of two good friends who haven’t seen eachother in some time than a mother and son.

“So, how are the little ones?” I ask, referring to the younger kids from the care home. I wasn’t super close to all the little fella’s since they were too busy playing with legos while I was busy with finals, but I still genuinely care about them.

“Aw, they’re doing alright. I actually moved jobs last year after I finished my degree, but while I was there I could tell that they missed you a lot, Eve especially,” Mom says.

Hearing that about Eve absolutely wretches my heart. In the last two years, I never built up the gut to check in on her. I didn’t want to seem weird or clingy and I sort of hoped that she would make new friends.

“Oh, new job? Hopefully you like it there? What do you do?” I say. I am a little bit hungry, so I pull the small plate out of the box and begin to cut two slices.

“I’m actually a higher up at this big insurance firm—I’ll spare you the boring details. And yeah, it’s pretty nice, especially since I was able to buy this place with the new salary,” she says as she takes her slice of the cake and places it on her plate. We both begin to idly eat as we chat. “How about you? Have you talked to Samantha since you left?”

“Eh, I talked to her after she left a couple times, but not much since then. I’m pretty sure she’ll be graduating college this year,” I say.

“Oh oh, that’s good,” Melinda says.

I sense a gap in the conversation so I begin to plot my next move.

“Oh, may I use the bathroom?” I ask.

“Marcus dear, you don’t need to talk to me with all that manners stuff anymore. And the bathroom’s down the hall on the right,” she says.

I thank her for the directions and get up to go to the bathroom. I walk quickly so that she doesn’t question the fact that I brought my bag with me.

Once I shut the door, I glance around my surroundings. My eyes instantly lock in on the prize: a hairbrush sitting in a coffee mug on the vanity. I take out the box and begin the sacred binding ritual—AKA trying to pull loose strands of hair out of a hair brush.

Once I’ve finally collected a good dozen strands of hair, I get a small lighter out of the bag and begin to turn her dead, golden strands of hair into black ash. As they burn, I let the particles slowly fall into the box, coating the inner floor with a thin yet visible coat of dust.

Maybe it’s just my head messing with me, but the box sends out a strange pulse of power. Hopefully this means that the box is now connected to Melinda .

I look into the bag and see the assortment of goodies that I brought to test this thing out with. Remember, the end goal is to get my mother back, so all the items I brought here are in an attempt to do that. Of course, I don’t know the specifics of how this box works so I brought a few items so that I have room to work with: a baby bottle, a stock photo showing a happy family, and an unopened “Mother” doll play set. I actually picked the doll because the sundress that the figurine is wearing sort of reminds me of a sundress that Melinda used to wear during warmer days—though I doubt it would still fit her considering her body seems to have grown quite a bit in the last two years. Perhaps her larger paycheck doesn’t have her penny pinching at the grocery store any more.

Let’s start it simple. I take the stock photo and place it into the box. The idea here is that Melinda will become more caring and family-like, so hopefully all goes well. As I stare at the lone object inside the box, I feel a strange sense of power emanating from the cardboard, as if something in this reality has been changed beyond my understanding.

I quickly flush the toilet and pretend to wash my hands to really sell the idea that I was in the bathroom. I come back to the kitchen to see that Melinda is still there waiting for me.

“Hm, everything alright? Any tummy problems?” Melinda asks, which is sort of strange. It’s not the sort of question that one would ask a grown man, but maybe it’s just because she is so used to having to care for me. But on the other hand, maybe the box did work as intended.

“No, I’m alright,” I say with an awkward chuckle. I take a seat back at the table and eat the last bite of food on my plate.

“Oh, you want some more?” Melinda says as she half gets up out of her seat as she begins to gather more cake onto my plate. It’s strange, but she is serving me? And I can’t help but notice the way her breasts hang to the floor with the way that she is bent over the table; from my angle I can see straight down her cleavage.

“Oh no, it’s alright,” I say, but before I can stop her my plate is already full.

“Eh, I wouldn’t want you to have an empty stomach,” she says.

“Well, I’m all grown up now, so I don’t think it’s too much of an issue,” I say with a chuckle.

“Nonsense, there’s never an age where you should be on an empty stomach,” she says, disregarding the fact that I have the ability to get more of the dessert if I really desired it.

I think it’s safe to say that this has been a success. Melinda does seem to be more caring about me, at the very least. She sits back down and I begin to dig at my recently filled dish. I think I can take it a step further.

Without bringing too much attention to myself, I reach into my bag until I get a hold of the doll set. Since the doll is of a mother with a baby, I hope this will bring out more of the maternal side of her. I’m also not exactly sure how this will work; will she think she is my mom or will she just be more motherly? Only one way to find out I guess. Doing my best to make minimal movements of my arms, I drop the play set into the cardboard box.

Again, I feel that strange sense of power radiating from that box as if it was rewriting the universe itself.

Melinda seems to skip a beat as the effect seemingly overtakes her.

“So Melinda, found anyone to keep you company ever since you left the orphanage?” I ask.

“Dear, what did I say? It’s rude to call me by my first name. Just because you’re an adult now doesn’t mean you can start disrespecting your mother,” she says. Holy shit… “And why would I need anyone to keep me company? You’re all the love I need, hon.”

Again, holy shit… It worked? And better than I expected; she really thinks she’s my mom. As if on queue, she reaches across the table and affectionately rubs my hair into an unkempt mess.

“Uhh yeah, Mom,” I say with a sense of uncertainty still lingering in my voice. I want to push it even further. “I’ve been wondering, would it be cool if I crashed here… indefinitely?”

“Haha very funny,” Melin- I mean, Mom says sarcastically.

“Huh?” air escapes out of my mouth.

“Well, maybe if you’d move out first I might consider letting you crash,” Mom says teasingly. Wait, does she think that I live here? She starts to get up from her seat. “Well, it’s getting late. I’ma head off to bed now. Can ya clean up the kitchen before you go to your room?”

It takes me a second to process what she is saying. My room? She is already a few steps in the process of leaving the room but she pauses in confusion of my lack of a response.

“Dear? Clean the kitchen right?” she says as she turns around, half out the door into the hallway.

“Umm yeah. Wait- where exactly is my room again?” I ask.

“Huh? Are you alright?” my mom asks with genuine concern. Her eyebrow is scrunched in the cutest and most delicate possible way. I respond with a nod. “Where it’s always been? The door across the bathroom?”

“Oh yeah,” I say with a fake laugh, trying to pass it off as a joke. I greet Mom goodnight as she goes to get ready for bed.

I quickly tidy up the kitchen—emptying the dishwasher, washing the plates, sweeping up the floor—and go look for my new room.

I walk to the hallway and see four doors. The first is the bathroom that I went into earlier. The one at the far end of the hall is where Mom went to—almost certainly the master bedroom. The last two doors seem to be guestrooms—the one across from the bathroom apparently being my bedroom.

I enter my doorway and see my room. I half expect it to be decorated and full of my stuff, but as I peek inside I see that it is as bare as any guest room can be. It’s simply a bed, closest, and table. That’s not to say there isn’t room to give it a splash of my own personality, it just isn’t there. The box can’t change reality, only people.

I showered before I got here but I didn’t bring an extra change of sleeping clothes. I simply strip down to my boxers and get into bed. Despite this room being vanilla and plain, I feel at home. The bed is softer, the air is easier to breathe, and I just feel comfortable. I’ll bring all my stuff tomorrow, but for now I’ll just drift away.

My nose wakes me up before my eyes. From the darkness of my dream, I can smell the deliciousness of freshly cooked eggs. This is a nostalgic aroma because Melinda would make them for us every Saturday when we were all kids. I’ve had dreams like this before; I guess my inner subconscious enjoys reminiscing in those days. But as I slowly return to the realm of consciousness I realize that this time it isn’t just a dream, this time it is for real.

I don’t think to put on a shirt as I walk out of my room in my shorts and nothing else. I walk into the kitchen and immediately feel that I have made a mistake as soon as Melinda lays eyes on me. I expect her to tell me to go back and dress up—it’s bad etiquette to be shirtless around someone after all. However, she doesn’t seem to care.

“Morning’ Mark!” Melinda says in a giddy tone without even batting an eye. Oh yeah, she’s still under the impression that she is my real Mom; of course she wouldn’t care if her own son was shirtless.

“Uh good morning Mom,” I say with an excited tightness in my chest.

The embarrassment I feel for my slip up almost causes me to miss the elephant in the room—well, with a day like this I guess everything going on can be considered the elephant in the room, but that’s besides the point. What has my attention now is what Mom is wearing: the same sundress that she used to wear throughout my childhood—the one that inspired me to choose the doll as one of my test items. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure if she’s wearing it because the doll wore such a similar outfit or because that’s what she considers her “motherly” attire.

Nonetheless, did I mention that Mom has grown ahem thicker in the last few years? No no, I’m not calling her fat but her body much more closely represents that of a specific category present on most porn sites. The ones that stand for “mother I’d like to—”... I’ll let you fill in the rest. The thing was already getting small all those years ago, so you can probably imagine how she looks in it now.

Again, not like I’ve ever seen this woman in a sexual light, but I can’t help but notice her large breasts stretching the poor fabric of her sundress. They gotta be like what, DD cups? I don’t remember them being that large, but they seemed to have grown in with the rest of her body. The sundress ends only a couple inches short of being ass naked, giving a generous peak of her large thighs.

“Morning sweetie!” Mom says. Pan still in hand, she swivels her waist around from the stove to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Made ya some eggs.”

“Uh thanks Mom,” I say. As her body grows closer in proximity to mine, I audibly gulp. She pulls away from the impromptu hug to continue cooking. “Going to work today?”

I sit on the kitchen table to awkwardly wait for my food, trying my best to be oblivious to the state of Mom’s attire.

“Nah, took the day off to spend with you, sweetie,” she says .Mom quickly transfers the eggs from the pan onto a dining plate. She grabs some silverware and a glass of water before placing everything in front of me. “Enjoy!”

The nostalgically intoxicating smell floods my nose. Not even wasting a breath to thank her for preparing a meal, I dig into scrambled eggs and reminisce about a childhood long passed—it tastes exactly how I remember.

“MHhmm!” I audibly groan in pleasure. “THESE ARE SO GOOD!”

My enthusiasm seems to have taken Mom by surprise.

“Haha, glad you like them,” she says.

“They taste exactly how you used to make them!” I say.

“Of course? That’s kinda how that works doesn’t it?” she responds.

“No, you don’t understand. No- Ah whatever, nevermind,” I say as I partake in another bite of heaven.

I continue to chow down on the first home cooked meal that I’ve had in two years as Mom idly converses with me. She seems to enjoy watching me eat as I enjoy actually eating! Eventually, I finish my plate and quickly excuse myself to my room. Mom protests my action, clearly urging me to eat more food. I tell her that I’m just gonna grab a shirt and I’ll continue eating right when I’m back. Satisfied with my answer, Mom lets me go.

I make my way to my room and think about how this whole scheme seems to have gone according to plan. Hell, it’s gone better than according to plan! This is all too perfect; Melinda is really acting like my Mom again! I just gotta fix that wardrobe thing, but that can come later. As long as no one outside sees her like this, it’s not even that big of a deal. However, I wonder if it can get better. Mom is acting as loving and motherly as she once was while I was a child. However, an even more unethical thought slips my mind: could I make her an even better Mom than she was?

I mean, I still have one more item to place into her personality box that I could mess around with. But, would changing her into something that she was never be worse than what I have already done? In my mind, I didn’t change Melinda—she used to be this way with me—I am just reverting her to a previous state. If I were to go any further, would it even be fair to say that she is the same person?

Then, I have a reassuring thought. The box is magical, but it isn’t all powerful. Like I said earlier, it only adds to what is already there. The woman outside acting as my mom, that’s still Melinda. She has the same wants, desires, passions—now she’s just extra motherly.

With my mind soothed, I shut my door and go to the few belongings that I have stored in my new room: my clothes, the box (and the item’s that the box contains), and the baby bottle.

Honestly, this whole “come up with items that relate to maternity” thing was a lot harder than I thought it would be, so I had no idea which of these items would have the effect that I intended. However, everything has worked out flawlessly up until now so I don’t even feel the need to think about my next actions.

It makes perfect sense: a baby bottle—an item that is so closely tied with maternity—would have the effect of making Melinda an even better mother. The only way I can see this going wrong is if it somehow reverts Mom to a child-like state, at which case I could simply remove the bottle and essentially undo my fuck up.

With all factors accounted for, I effortlessly pick up the bottle and toss it into the dull box. Instantly, I feel that same wave of power radiate out of the box and into all depths of the universe. I am only changing Mom but it is almost as if reality itself is being re-written from the start of the universe to accommodate my slight revisions.

I stand for a moment with a feeling of doubt. Now that I think of it, I can’t even imagine how Mom could get more motherly. Melinda treating me as her actual son is already everything I could’ve hoped for. Everything that I’ve seen seems more than adequate for my tastes, so I don’t know what more I could be expecting. The definition of a good Mom is subjective, so if she already checks all my marks then could she even get better?

Well, only one way to find out. I throw on a shirt and head out the door and back towards the kitchen. I only told Mom that I was getting dressed (I was shirtless after all) so she’ll be expecting me back shortly.

I make my way back to the kitchen and notice that everything is the same. Mom is still in front of the stove cooking a second round of eggs just like I left her. I guess that this makes sense as the box can’t change anything physical, so all the changes that just happened aren’t tangible. The only way that I can experience this new and (hopefully) improved version of Mom is to talk to her and see how she treats me.

“Hey,” I say to Mom. I realize this statement is a little awkward considering that we now live in the same house. I still needa get used to that.

“Oh, ready for seconds?” Mom says. As she turns her upper half to look at me, the fabric of her already tightly stretched sundress hugs to her body even tighter. It’s so insanely hard not to pay attention to her womanly frame—a large bosom, wide hips, and meaty thighs. It’s only in my nature to notice, but I needa get in the mindset that this is my new mom.

“Yes please,” I say. Nothing seems different about her thus far, so I keep waiting.

She turns off the stove and grabs the frying pan. I expect her to serve the eggs to move, however she places them aside as if she is just letting them cool down. She grabs a seat from me across the table, lets out a deep sigh, and begins to expose herself..

What?

I hear the fabric of her dress stretch as she forces her milkers out from beneath the constraints of her sundress. This is supposedly my mother, but milkers are the only way to describe these things. The stretched fabric pushes her tits upward, exaggerating their perkiness. However, they are both still to globe shaped masses of soft, perfect fat.

“Mom?” I cry out.

“Dear, come hear and eat up,” Mom says as she readies her tits.

I recognize the site in front of me. She seems to want to breastfeed me, however no milk comes out of her tits.

“Mom! Cover yourself,” I say as I shield my eyes and avert my gaze.

“Hm? But aren’t you hungry?” she says as she massages her breasts in between her fingers in a preparatory manner.

Something obviously messed up here and there is only me to blame. Still, it takes me a moment to gather my thoughts..

“Yeah, for eggs! Not for- for this!” I say, still blocking Mom from my vision.

“What’s the matter?” Mom says. She sounds genuinely unsure of what all of the fuss is about; she sees nothing wrong with this. I guess it is my fault since I’m the one who messed around with her personality.

I think about it for a moment, and what is the harm in me looking? Not like she cares anyways. I just needa undo whatever I just did and then I can act like this all never happened.

I slowly open my eyes and remove my hand from my face. Mom is still sitting across the table from me kneading her large breasts in her hands. The box can’t change anything physical, so Mom isn’t even producing milk. Despite this making it literally impossible, she is still acting like it is her duty to let me breastfeed on her—which would just be sucking on her boobs I guess.

Though, staring at the inviting masses of flesh, that doesn’t seem like the worst idea… Stop it! I gotta get a hold of myself. I can kind of see where things took a turn for the worst: the baby bottle that I stuck into her personality box. I meant for it to make her act more maternal, but now she is literally acting with the core purpose of a baby body: to give milk to her kids—or do her best impression of doing so I suppose.

“I needa excuse myself for a second, Mom,” I say, getting up and beginning to walk back to my room before she can respond.

“What, again?” she asks. She seems kind of annoyed that I am making her wait after she got her breasts ready for feeding time.

“Just gimme a sec,” I say as I walk away. Before I walk around the corner, I steal one last glance at her breasts. For a moment, I think: If she doesn’t care, then what’s the harm? but I quickly snap myself out of it.

I speed walk to my room and lock in on the lone box sitting on my bed. There isn’t much else in my room to get my sidetracked, nor is there anything more important than fixing my fuck up, so I get right down to business. I reach into the box and shuffle around the contents. Most of the items in here have been a great success; Melinda is truly acting like she used to. However, I breathe a sigh of relief as my fingers lock around the small plastic baby bottle that was covered by the other assortment of goods.

As I hold the item in my hand, I feel guilt in the fact that I enjoyed what I saw. In this moment of hesitation, I notice a slight glimmer from the bottle. As a matter of fact, all the items laying in the box give off a similar, almost enchanted, sparkle.

I brush it off—After all, this thing is beyond logic so nothing about it surprises me. I simply remove the bottle from the box and await for this magical aura to dissipate. As each moment ticks by, I realize that the glow doesn’t seem to be disappearing. I don’t know how magic works, but this obviously isn’t a good sign. If I follow movie logic here, only special items will give off special auras such as the golden speckled light radiating from this simple baby bottle. Is it possible that I can’t undo something that the box did?

This thing didn’t come with an instruction manual, it just sorta merged the instructions into my own thoughts. At a certain point, it is hard to tell what knowledge is my own speculation and what knowledge was granted to me. That being said, I remember something that I have been repeating this entire time: personality boxes only add on to what is already there.

This thought was disguised in my mind as my own because it made sense—the box can add on to a person’s personality. But now I realize that it is much more specific; the box can’t even undo its own additions.

Bottle still in hand, I quickly run out of my room back into the kitchen. To my own horror, I find my suspicion to be true: Mom is still sitting at the dining table topless, patiently waiting for me to return.

I am about to freak out, but I stop myself. I notice how calm Mom looks. She doesn’t even seem to care that her breasts are exposed for me to see; she is simply resting idly by as if this is an everyday occurrence. Is this really the end of the world? Sure, it’s not ideal, but if she doesn’t care and I don’t care then it could’ve been worse.

“Mom,” I ask. Hearing my presence, she turns to face me giving me a direct display of her watermelon-esque bust. They seem like they should sag, but a combination of good health and stretched fabric keeps them upright more than enough. “What are you doing?”

“What? You mean this?” she says as she quickly glances down her cleavage. “Waiting for you silly.”

Again, the same thought enters my mind. She obviously doesn’t seem to care, so should I?

“Waiting for me to do what?” I ask, playing devil’s advocate.

“To suck on my breasts?” Mom states quizzically.

“Why would you let me do that?” I ask.

“So you can eat,” she responds, still unsure of what I am playing at.

“Your milk? You don’t produce milk, and I’m not a child,” I say.

She seems to think for a moment, glancing up to the air as all of this enters her mind. She considers all of this, her act even convincing me that she might actually be able to figure out that something is wrong. However, I can tell that she quickly drops the idea. It is as if what I said went straight into one ear and out the other, just taking a brief detour in her brain.

“What are you talking about silly,” Mom says as she grabs my hand and pulls me towards her. I resist ever so slightly before taking a step in her direction.

Am I really about to do this? I shouldn’t, I know that much at least. But the selfish idea that this is a victimless crime flows through my mind. Of course I think of her as a mother—she raised me after all—but my views of family have been fucked up and warped for as long as I remember. How am I supposed to know this isn’t how a son and mom should act? How am I supposed to not be attracted to this woman openly inviting me to feast on her soft bosom?

Before I know it, Mom has pulled me all the way towards her and I have taken a seat on her lap. I am a grown ass man, but she seems comfortable with my weight on her. Each nerve of my body is being overloaded with the feeling of her soft flesh and it’s better than anything that I could have imagined. I take in the feeling of her thick thighs acting as a plump pillow to keep me comfortable.

She wraps her arms around me to keep me up as she shoots me a warm smile. I can tell that she enjoys this. In her mind, she isn’t doing anything more than embracing her baby boy. However, I can still sort of see life through the lens of reality; I can see an old acquaintance letting me sit on her lap, her topless chest only inches away from my touch. However, that view is fading. I can feel myself getting more and more lost in the lie.

“Mom?” I ask. What the heck? If I’m being totally honest, this entire time I’ve been calling Melinda my mother, I’ve been sort of acting along hoping that eventually it would all just fall into place and feel natural; I knew she wasn’t actually my mom. But when that single word slipped out of my mouth right now… it felt so real.

“Yes dear?” she says so genuinely. That’s enough.

I shoot my head towards her tits as I let her nipples enter my mouth. To Mom, there is nothing sexual about this, but I can feel her nipple harden from the naturally arousing sensation of my moistness absorbing it.

As I let my tongue encircle her areola, I let my hand shoot to her other breast. I firmly squeeze, the soft flesh enclosed my hand morphing to fit the mold of my palm. Is that a moan I hear escape Mom’s mouth? I’m too focused to think much of it, but I subconsciously turn up the intensity of my tongue helicoptering around her erect nipple.

I coat Mom’s milk jugs in a layer of my spit as I fill the room with the sound of my sucking.

Mom pats my head as if she is encouraging me to keep going. With her other arm still wrapped around my back, I push it down and press her forearm on the circus tent in my pants.

I take a moment to gasp for air as I even out my attention and begin sucking her other boob. Again, I feel the sensation of her nipple hardening within my mouth. The surface of her breasts feels noticeably more dry and untainted without my coating of spit. However, this doesn’t last long as I globber all over her large tit.

Not once in my life did I think that I would ever know what Mom’s flesh tastes like, nonetheless the skin that makes up her milkers.

I get lost in the subtly sweet aroma emanating from her flesh as I continue to spread my DNA all over the large surface area of her voluptuous tits.

The pressure of her arm against my cock is too much for me to bear. Under the guise of supporting my weight, I shoot my hand to Mom’s crotch. Through the two thin layers of fabric, I can feel the warmth of her cunt against my hand. Her underwear has hugs tightly to her folds so I can feel the meatiness of her cunt. I feel just a bit of moisture on the fabric, but that could just as easily be my own spit dripping down than Mom’s own wetness.

In the back of my mind, I feel a sense of guilt. I know this is all wrong, but I simply push it aside and decide to deal with it later. The only consequences of this will be my own inner shame, which kind of encourages me to keep going more. No one is getting hurt, I keep reminding myself.

“Mark?” I hear my name called, but I don’t register it. I simply keep sucking on the breasts being so graciously offered to me. “Mark.”

This time, I clearly make out Mom’s voice calling for my attention.

I open my eyes and pull away. For a moment, a string of my saliva attaches my lips to Mom’s dark areola. I take a moment to look at my masterpiece. Mom’s entire bust is covered in a shiny sea of my spit. Her nipples are both piercing the air with a strange confidence, as if you can tell that she doesn’t care that her tits are exposed simply by looking at how fucking hard her nipples are.

I can tell that she had to will herself to stop me from feasting on her tits. She may deny it, but she is only lying to herself. Deep down I can tell that she enjoyed it.

“Yes,” I say, as I regain my posure. I feel that sense of guilt trickle into the forefront of my consciousness. I try to move past whatever immoral actions that I may have just committed. I can feel bad later, for now I just needa process everything.

“Are you done yet? I wanted to take you to the mall,” she says. Again, I notice how non-chanantly she talks to me. I just sucked on this woman’s tits for crying out loud! She slowly pulls her top up to cover herself, but dark spots emerge all over her chest as my spit is absorbed into the fabric of her dress.

Fuck, I gotta just stop thinking about it. The mall… that actually works out pretty well. I can look for more stuff to use in the boxes.