The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Caleb Hadley had been awake for some number of hours, now. He wasn’t sleeping regular hours, as other twenty-year-olds his age might have done— was not going to sleep between the hours of ten and midnight, was not waking up between the hours of six and eight o’clock.

He lacked the responsibilities which would have forced him to keep a regular sleep-schedule, responsibilities that might have been expected of other twenty-year-olds his age. He was not attending college. He was not working a job; he was not paying rent. He was still living at home, with his parents and with his sister, one year younger than him. She was attending college, she who the whole family was proud of— his sister Savannah, and his parents preened about her academic achievements.

He was living in the house because he was a good-for-nothing lazing fool, or so he sometimes felt about himself, but Savannah was living in the house because his parents’ darling scholar shouldn’t ever have to be distracted from her studies, and certainly not for the sake of working a job and paying her own rent.

But Caleb always thought, a bit smugly, both of them were still living at home, in their parent’s house, even though they were both adults.

Caleb’s father, Ewen, had recently had a firm discussion with him. By the end of the year, he had to be out. He had to go and get a job, and get his own place. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life up in his room hiding away, they wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. The sooner he was out the better, but either way, on January first, he was getting kicked out. So he could stick around for another four months if he wanted, wasting his time— but then on January first, if there was no job, if there was no living arrangement— then he was going to be homeless on the streets, and too bad for him.

His father could be very strict— he had probably been harsher than he might have been, if he were not disappointed in his son, and the fact that his son had amounted to nothing.

But Caleb wasn’t stressing about this deadline. If that, if homelessness, was the eventual outcome to his sloth, then so be it. He did have something of a plan that might help him— if he could get his mother on his side, in a particular way… something he’d seen on a forum, and something that a stranger from far away had willingly mailed to him… he’d see if he could get things to work out his way, first, before he abandoned himself to homelessness entirely.

Ruth Ann Hadley woke up on a Tuesday morning, and found her husband had not yet left for the day. She was still in bed, but he was standing over by the closet, partly dressed— his shirt had gone on, his trousers, his suit jacket— he was now fiddling with his tie, getting it around his collar, and then working at tying it.

Once he was ready, he’d likely pick up his briefcase and be on the way— but when Ruth Ann looked down, she saw that in place of where his briefcase should have been, there was instead a carry-on bag, which had been neatly packed and zipped up.

Ewen saw that his wife had woke up, saw where she was looking. “Sorry, Ruthie,” he said. “It came up last minute, but I’m flying business class today to the next major city over. Just a two-day business trip; I’ll be expensing it all to the company, of course— and then I’ll be back on Thursday. But it really can’t be helped. I’m leaving right from here to the airport.

Ruth Ann’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Well, at least I woke up before you left. You would have been telling me this over the phone instead, right?”

He’d gotten his tie tied, and he’d adjusted his collar back in place. His expression was still a bit sheepish. “Would’ve had to, I’m pressed for time as it is.”

He stepped over towards the bed, and ducked down to press a quick kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you on Thursday. The meetings in town will probably run late into the night, so probably best not to expect my call. I’ll be back on Thursday. We’ll catch up then.”

“I love you,” Ruth Ann sighed, ever the supportive wife. “Good luck on your business trip.”

He nodded his appreciation, and then he was rushing out of the room— down the stairs. After a few minutes, she heard the front-door close loudly.

She sprawled out lower, down into the bed. She had been more propped up and reclining— had partially sat up to scan the room for her husband— than to watch him as he finished his readying.

But now that he was gone, there was no reason not to sprawl downwards, lying aback as if she might fall back asleep a second time.

She turned her head to look over at the clock-radio. It was only six in the morning, so clearly Ewen was catching the early flight out.

When her son and daughter had not been adults, there had been a reason to get up early, a list of tasks to go through that had to be completed within a set timeframe. But now Savannah was more than able to get up when she had to, to go off for her college classes when she needed to leave.

She shook her head, thinking of Caleb. She loved that boy, but he was such a recluse. In his bedroom, on his computer all day— playing games or reading things or… something. He never stayed out of his room long enough for her to ask him. Was he ashamed that his life was coming to nothing? Or had he just become so socially warped that he couldn’t face them all, didn’t remember how to socialize? He shouldn’t just stay in there— it wasn’t healthy for him, he was just in there, avoiding them all, hiding from life itself, and as his mother, she wanted more for him.

But all the things she did to try and coax him out of his room seemed to go nowhere. She made him his favorite meals— he took his plates of food back in there and ate along. She invited him on family outings— she declined.

She tried to encourage him to seek outside help— maybe it was agoraphobia he was suffering from— but he wouldn’t do that either; and every therapist she called herself was only willing to listen and advise so much before they insisted on a session with the adult in question. And Caleb would never go…

She wasn’t the only one trying to reach out. Savannah tried. Ewen tried. But Caleb rebuffed them all— and her concern grew deeper by the day.

For Ewen, the concern had long since given way to frustration. So he’d put his foot down. Caleb was out of the house by the end of the year— by his own accord, preferably, but if he would not go, he would be forcibly sent. His father was adamant that Caleb had hidden away in his room for long enough. If he would not go into the world willingly, then he was going to be thrown into it and forced to get his head back above water— taking a slightly juvenile approach. After all, Savannah had been the one who had once liked to push Caleb into swimming pools on occasions where he’d insisted he wouldn’t be swimming that day.

But now Ewen was looking at life as a swimming pool, and was getting ready to shove his son into it, just as Savannah had once done on summer vacations taken as a family. And Ruth Ann… would let Ewen push. Because she loved Caleb and wanted what was best for him. And she didn’t think he would find it shut away from his room, and hiding.

With one last sigh, she shook her head. She shouldn’t think about that any longer. She should get up, and get herself ready for the day.

She was wearing the nightgown she slept in. She let that be for a moment. Her hair was such a disaster that she thought she was justified in taking a moment to brush it out, even though she would muss it in the process of dressing herself again. She could swipe the comb through it once she was done.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, comb in hand, and looked at her own reflection as she pulled the comb through her locks. Her blue eyes, bright with alertness, looked back at her in the reflected glass.

And her face was the face she was accustomed to— pretty, even though she was reaching her middle age now. She didn’t really show her years. Beauty was supposed to fade with time, wasn’t it? That was why people were always telling you when you were young not to stake your identity in it, because someday it would be gone, a dim shadow of what it had once been.

But her beauty had never flickered— she had all the beauty of her youth— somehow, it seemed to have filled out, to beautify more with age, like the vintaging of a wine.

Her skin was pale; the lines of her nose, of her cheeks, of her body sharply cut.

She was attractive, and she always had been.

Her hair was pretty too, she thought— though not when it was tangled like this. Once she had all the tangles out of it, then it would be again. It was black as jet, and long, to her mid-back.

The lines of her body were sharp— she always looked like something sculpted with sharp implements, but they cut into pleasant curves— curves that had angles, but were still alluring in their own jolting way. Her hips were prominent, as were her shoulders, and all angles of her body cut to and from these points.

In contrast with the distinctness of her frame, there were some very soft places on her body. Her D-cup breasts, for example— her full ass; both sets of flesh hung from her frame instead of carving out of it, but all of her came together into a very appealing, and unique, complete image.

Once she had finished brushing her hair, it looked much better; there were no tangles remaining in it, so its natural gloss was once again noticeable.

She was quick to dress herself; just getting into a serviceable gold-colored t-shirt, and a pair of dark-wash jeans; she was just going to be around the house today, there was no reason to dress up like today was something special. She was hoping to get a full kitchen reorganization done, which would mean lots of reaching up to take things off of shelves, and reaching up to put them back on other shelves.

There wasn’t anything else she needed to do in the way of preparations, so instead Ruth Ann left her bedroom to head downstairs to the kitchen.

Savannah was already there, putting some toaster-waffles in the toaster. She looked up when she saw her mother enter. “Oh, hi, mom! You look nice in that color.”

She had meant the gold of Ruth Ann’s t-shirt. Ruth Ann smiled at her daughter. “Thanks, Savannah.”

Savannah pressed the lever to make the waffles go down into the toaster. “I’m just toasting these, then I’m running out the door. I don’t want to be late for class. You said I could take the car today, right? You don’t need it?”

Ruth Ann nodded. “That’s right. And you think today will go well? The fight you had with your friend Clare last week, you think that’s all smoothed-over now?”

Savannah nodded. “We had a talk, and we sorted everything out.”

“Good,” Ruth Ann said, in genuine relief. She hated it when anything went wrong in Savannah’s life, and was always eager to help her get on track, always ready with some advice to offer up.

She looked over her daughter— she was a little taller than Ruth Ann, having gotten the height from her dad— like she got his brown hair. But she was lean and athletic, wirey, strong. So different than her mother’s harsh sculpted angles; her proportions modest, so different then her mother’s overabundant ones. And she had such a mind— just looking at Savannah, Ruth Ann was filled with a sense of pride in her heart. One of her kids had gone so wrong— but the other had gone so right, and it made her happy.

She was almost at the point of leaning in for a hug, just because, but at that moment the toaster popped up. Savannah grabbed her toaster waffles out, and wrapped them in a napkin.

She gave her mother a wave. “Gotta go, Mom. I hope you have a good day.”

Ruth Ann watched her athleisure-wearing daughter race out of the room, in the direction of the front-door, which promptly opened and then closed again.

A few seconds later, it was clearly audible as the car pulled out of the driveway, and drove away.

Ruth Ann got on with her day. The kitchen reorganization took up most of it. At around supper-time, Ruth Ann got a text. For a moment, her heart lifted in the hope that it would be Ewen, having found time to touch-base after all, but it was Savannah instead, telling her she was going over to Clare’s to study and would probably sleep-over there.

Ruth Ann texted back her appreciation at being kept apprised of Savannah’s plans. But that meant she’d be alone in the house for the night.

She spared a few worrisome thoughts for Caleb. If he emerged for supper, she could try talking him again— maybe, if he was willing at least to get a part-time job— his father would see he was trying, and let him stay.

But Caleb never emerged for her to try this line of persuasion.

So Ruth Ann ate her supper alone. Then she sat on the couch in the den for a while, watching television. She went on with this until about nine o’clock, and then decided there was no point staying up any longer. There was no one to stay up for. She could do as she liked.

The kitchen had been the biggest issue to solve, and as of today, it had been taken care of.

She went back up to her bedroom, and changed into her lacy, white nightgown; it was not tailored to her body, and was looser than much of her other clothing; though it was only so long as her knees.

She lay down on-top of her covers first; she wasn’t all that tired actually— but it did feel nice to lay down, just like this, so maybe she would stay here, on-top of the covers for just a few minutes— just until she was tired.

She hadn’t reached over to turn the lamp off yet. When she’d come in, she’d taken care of the overhead light, but the lamp was still on from hours earlier. It cast the room in an orangey, warm glow. She was feeling peaceful, as a whole, in that orange glow— lying in her nightgown, on the covers…

Then her bedroom door opened.

It was Caleb.

“Caleb,” she said, scrambling to sit up. Her nightgown wasn’t nearly as revealing as what she’d worn that day, but the way his eyes raked over her made her feel he was seeing more than was actually on display. She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to conceal them, but maybe it had really been a mistake, because they cushioned off her breasts— as there was so much of them there— and the look in Caleb’s eyes became sharper.

“Where’s Dad?” Caleb asked. “Where’s Savannah?”

Ruth Ann swallowed uncomfortably. “Your father is out of town on a business trip until Thursday. Savannah stayed over at a friend’s tonight.”

What was that look in Caleb’s eyes? What did it mean?

“So we’re all alone in the house?” Caleb asked.

Ruth Ann swallowed. “Yes,” she said simply— in a clipped tone she hoped would encourage him to wrap this conversation up in order to go back to his room.

“I want to show you something, Mom,” Caleb said.

Ruth Ann recoiled. This was bizarre behavior from Caleb, and she knew she didn’t want to see whatever it was he wanted to show her.

“I don’t think so, Caleb, I—”

There was a flash of movement as he swung his arm, lobbing something at her. “Too late,” Caleb said. “You’re already seeing it, now.”

Something had landed on her lap. She looked down at it in confusion, trying to understand what it was. Right now it only looked like a rounded ball— but— was it— moving? How could it be moving?

Yes, it definitely was moving— it was a ball, but now she thought of all types of balls it was most like a ball of yarn, because things were unspooling from it— the whole thing was unspooling itself, into long, long, spindling cords.

They should have fallen lank against the bed— but they seemed able to suspend themselves and support their own weight— all of them were a deep grey color, but none of them were much thicker than string—

There were so many of them, though, too many to count— it was hard to see the ball they had unspindled from, but every few seconds, there were more of them, so Ruth Ann thought they were still unspindling.

Some of them were lowering themselves now, to touch against her nightgown— Ruth Ann looked down in shock. What kind of strings were these? When they touched the cloth of what she wore, they dissolved the material just by contact— more and more of them were touching against her, and more and more of her nightgown was dissolving, white seeping away to show flesh underneath. For a moment, Ruth Ann was terrified that the strings were corrosive, that they would dissolve her flesh too, and kill her, but everywhere they cleared her nightgown out of the way, when they touched against her skin, they were only pleasantly warm.

They had dissolved all she wore— she was naked on the bed, and there were always more of them— they weren’t content just to rest against her skin anymore— they were shifting, rippling over her— encasing her in a loose hold, and now they surrounded her, they were easing her back— lower than her pillow, making her lie flat on the mattress— so the very ends of her legs were hanging off the bed.

But they were entwining her legs there— entwining them as two separate things, bound individually.

They were doing the same things to her arms— they had her splayed out in an X position— arms making a wide inverted triangle, legs doing the same— warmth everywhere the cords touched her— each extremity completely entwined— she couldn’t move— she felt the weight of her breasts sitting back against her chest because she was truly flat on her back, and they rose like two huge mounds from her.

Mounds Caleb could see.

“Caleb— what is it doing to me? Let me— let me go, help me get this off!”

“Just wait to see what I’m showing you,” Caleb said, patiently. His voice had taken on a calming tone, as if he were trying to soothe an animal. “It won’t be so scary in a minute. You’ll feel better. I know it seems strange now, but it will feel better— that’s why I wanted to show it to you. I want you to feel good, Mom.”

His soothing tone did have part of its intended effect— her breathing had been rapid as the cords had taken hold of her, but just hearing Caleb reassure her slowed it somewhat. It might have been folly, to believe someone who threw an encasing thing in her direction. But this whole situation was bizarre, and in that bizarre-ity, her mind had been searching for something she could focus on, cling to. Caleb’s soothing tone was providing that. Maybe this… would… help her in some way. At the very least, maybe it really was worth seeing. And maybe Caleb knew this from first-hand experience. Perhaps he had taken a turn bound up by this ball of cords; that, too, reassured her. If he had been in the position she now occupied, these cords couldn’t be that dangerous. After all, he was still alive, still standing there; looking apparently unharmed. It cheered her up, too, to feel they had something in common; to feel there was someone here who could guarantee that everything would be okay, because he’d been through it himself.

Whether it was folly or not, she truly did want to believe what he said. So she believed him.

She nodded. “Alright, Caleb. You must want to show this to me for a good reason. I’ll reserve judgement.”

Caleb just nodded in approval.

The cords had not finished moving. They were entwining themselves around her breasts now. She looked down and watched them, cords interlacing over her chest, making her breasts as encased as her limbs were. If they moved as they had before, they might be able to squeeze into them, squeeze into her nipples… what would that feel like?

When Caleb had taken his turn in these things, had they squeezed around his—?

No, she would prefer not to think such things about her son.

For now, the cords did not squeeze. There were more of them moving elsewhere on her body; now her breasts and nipples were held, but they stayed just where they were, un-pumped by what held them.

The cords which had moved over her body had found a destination near her crotch. Now they weaved themselves together; she watched, wondering— and she marveled in part at the technology required to make such a thing.

Still they weaved, the cords forming themselves into something that was undoubtedly a phallus; and a very thick one, too.

They did it once; and when that was done, they did it over again a second time.

Now two cord-woven phalluses, suspended by more cords which flowed out of their bases, wavered, as if indecisive. It gave Ruth Ann a moment to process just how huge they really were.

She hadn’t been turned on before Caleb came in here. She wasn’t all that turned on now— so how were those things really going to fit in her? Caleb had told her not to worry— had told her, essentially, to trust… but she couldn’t help being at least a little wary. Those things were both just so gigantic.

They had appeared to make up their indecisive minds, if they had any kind of sentience at all. One took up position hovering outside the entrance of her pussy— the other took up position hovering out the opening of her ass-hole.

She swallowed; but neither tried to penetrate immediately. They both moved a little closer to her, until the tip of each one was felt against her body— still they did not try to thrust in; but she felt them both shake— in a way that made her want to shiver— both shook, and then erupted, sending a jet of some fluid at each hole.

The fluid hit, and when it hit, it was a warming fluid, and there was quite a lot of it. It felt pleasant. Ruth Ann did not wonder if a similar thing had happened to Caleb— if he had taken one of these in the ass, as she was about to— if it really had turned out alright for him. She did not.

She had not been wet, she still wasn’t all that aroused, but that warming fluid had solved most of that problem for her. Now, each phallus advanced, broaching her two holes, their way eased by what they had erupted onto her. And now that the warming fluid was being constantly re-stimulated by the friction of the entering phalluses, it unlocked a new function; it tingled now, and Ruth Ann said, in a pleased sense of surprise, “Oh!”

They were thick. They were so thick. They were starting to spread her in both places, front and back— every time they hit a bit of resistance, each one shook— this was an erotic feeling, undeniably, so now maybe there was a little pleasure in this for her— a little weird for your son to give you a sex-toy, maybe, especially if he’d tried it out first himself, but that was how she was thinking of it now— maybe it was all a little weird, but not inexcusable, not unforgivable— fine— it was even starting to be pleasant—

She realized the phalluses were not shaking without purpose; when they hit resistance, when she was just a bit too tight, not spread enough, that was when they shook, and the shaking was actually the pair of them erupting more of that warming gel into her; she liked the way it warmed her insides, made her slicker, helped the phalluses go deeper— this advancement continued on for another moment or two. Her walls slip apart like velvet with each suggested, way-eased stroke. They had finally seated in her; but still, every few moments spurted more of that warmth into her; it seemed to mingle with her own arousal, confuse her about which was which— but it did feel so incredible— they would pulse, then slide part-way out of her, just to stretch her at the middle-point of her each channel, then drive back to her deepest place; it gave her a wonderful fullness; and where their width stretched, each time it did stretch her, pleasure pulsed there. They had set themselves a cyclical movement, and now they cycled it.

And the cords now tenderly handled her breasts; like they rippled over the surface of it— not even giving so much pressure as a squeeze, just tenderly handling her, spurring along that mixed, confusing warmth inside; her nipples were tenderly handled each time they were touched, as well; like gentle hands lightly caressing them, flicking over— the relative lack of pressure being used on her upper-body was hardly lamented, because her lower-body was being so wonderfully strained to its utmost point; her channel having to repeatedly swell, both channels having to repeatedly swell to accommodate the movements of the phalluses inside.

Caleb held opened his hand, and held it out, calling her eyes there without words. In it, he held a small controller, with a dial-pad and a directional joystick. “This is what controls the device,” he explained. “Isn’t the whole thing just something?”

“Very… impressive,” Ruth Ann managed, though she was quite flushed by this point.

She watched Caleb reach for the controller with his other hand, while his first hand provided underbedding for the controller. He moved the joystick, and the cords seemed to respond.

More of them were forming, this time rising up to where her ears where— she couldn’t see them there, but soon felt what they were doing. They were hooking around her ears and concentrating there— but once they had hooked in place, she felt two soft pads go into her outer ear— each one nestled below her ear-ridge there, so soft they felt like cotton pads; but it felt like they were each aiming, directionally, toward her each ear-hole, though they were quite a distance above and back from it— her inner-ear, on either side, had not been intruded upon at all— she could still hear, perfectly— she still would have been able to put a finger in each ear to plug it— if she had had free movement of her arms; but she still felt, distinctly, that each pad, on each side, was still aiming toward her ear-hole, though physically it didn’t get anywhere near it.

Now Caleb dialed something on the dial-pad; there was a brief whirring noise, of something coming to life, and for a moment, she completely forgot about the places that she was being pleasured— all her focus was on trying to understand what now happened.

She had a strange feeling; like the feeling of catching water in the ear-canal, though she knew this was not what happened. There was suddenly a fullness there, though nothing had made physical contact; it surprised her, but it was neither unpleasant nor painful. Simply… there…

Then, whatever that presence there was, it felt like… it pulsed; it came from the pads, it angled into her ear-canals, traveled them— and then seemed to touch her brain. She thought suddenly of soundwaves; unseen, but still, forms which moved through space— which left their impression on by their presence; something was traveling on waves into her head— or at least, waves themselves traveled, but she heard nothing.

This seemed to happen for some moments. As the phalluses kept gliding within her— as her breasts and nipples were still gently handled. It was making her tired, actually. Those waves traveled into her brain, somehow seemed to get all the way through it— and then in their aftermath, before the next set of them could come in, she felt like her mind was cloudy, and fogged; cloudy and fogged, like it had been at least partly turned off, or perhaps set on stand-by. In any case, it had gone dormant in some way, but her body was still awake, feeling herself being fucked.

She wasn’t sure when it happened, but the next time she was slightly aware of something, that awareness was of her son Caleb lying next to her on the bed— lying on her left side, where her husband usually lay, as close as he could be to her body without touching her— but his hand was in her hair, gently smoothing it.

“I really wonder if you felt it, Mom. I know you can’t speak just now— so you can’t tell me, but I wonder if you felt it. Those subsonic waves pulsing into your brain. They’ve brainwashed your mind by now, since I told them to do it with my little controler. Your mind’s gone a little unconscious— shutting off all your higher brain-function, but the part of you that’s deeper, the part I really need to speak to, the part that’s going to hear me— that part has been perfectly primed for my words now. So each one I say will be completely absorbed. Your body’s all warmed up with pleasure, and your mind is all warmed up with the waves.”

This did not rouse her from the mental rest she was currently soaking in; she felt warm— warm in her insides, where the phalluses fucked, warm in her breasts where the cords handled, warm in her brain where those waves pulsed and got through everything; warm when Caleb’s hand stroked soothingly through her hair, over and over; her hair was the only place not infested by wires— warm in her head, warm in her ears when Caleb’s voice came through them.

The waves which had traveled those passages had served a similar function as the warming gel which had prepared the way for the phalluses. They had gone first, eased the way, so that when Caleb’s voice followed, it glided easily into her, and hit deep— his voice had been prepared, the way for it had been prepared for ahead of time, and her mind had been ready.

He spoke again, his hand still stroking her hair.

“You aren’t going to remember any of this, Mommy. No matter how hard you try to. You went to bed early tonight, and you slept deeply. You had a pleasant dream, but you can’t remember what happened in it now.”

She didn’t react. There was nothing but the words; and the words felt so good when she heard them; good in her head, which was ready— good in her body which felt so much pleasure— surely the words caused it, didn’t they?

“You might still feel the need to tell someone, though— even if you can’t remember what you’re trying to tell them. That means part of you still wants to resist if it happens. It’s fine if it does, it just means you haven’t learned enough yet. So if you find yourself trying to tell someone— here’s what you will think. ‘When I want to tell something I shouldn’t, I’ll realize that I’d rather not tell after all— it would be such a better use of my time to find somewhere to be alone. Somewhere I can be alone, and masturbate only by touching my breasts— I must continue to masturbate by touching my breasts, and nowhere else, until I can orgasm. And if I can’t orgasm the first time I do this, then I’ll just keep going until something else needs my attention.’”

Her mind immediately regurgitated it. When I want to tell something I shouldn’t… I’ll realize I’d rather not tell it after all. It’d be a better use of my time… to go somewhere by myself. I will go somewhere by myself, and masturbate only by touching my breasts… I must continue to masturbate my breasts until I orgasm only from that. And if I can’t, I’ll just keep masturbating that way… until something else calls me away…

Having that thought come back out of her felt— like those waves warming her brain— like those phalluses gliding in her pussy— like her breasts— she looped through the feeling a few times.

He’d said a lot of words to her that time. His hand was still trailing her hair.

“I love your breasts, Mom. I bet you can’t orgasm just from having them stimulated— but you should learn how. I’m training your body, as well as your mind. This will help.”

She believed everything he told her.

He petted her hair for a while more. “The pleasure is good, and you do not fear it. The pleasure is good, and you only want more of it. And your breasts are so beautiful they deserve attention. They feel so good when you touch them, when anything touches them. They should always be touched.”

He had settled on this statement. He kept saying it. After a while it felt like a dream— then she realized she was really falling asleep.

She woke up the next morning with a cloudy feeling in her head. She looked over at her clock-radio. It should her a time of ten o’clock.

She frowned, puzzled as she sat up. Something had happened last night— what? She wracked her mind to remember…

She thought of her friend, Cheryl. Ruth Ann found her own thoughts were scattered sometimes, but Cheryl was a good listener, and a comforting presence. Usually, she could organize her own thought pretty effectively when Cheryl was following along with what she said. More than once, something she’d forgotten completely had come back to her, just because she’d hashed it all out with Cheryl— and Cheryl always knew just how to prompt her, and stir her memory.

She fumbled up her phone from the bed-side table on her side, and after swiping to unlock it (for she had no lock on it more technologically advanced than this) she found Cheryl’s contact icon, tapped it, and was calling her.

“Cheryl?” She asked groggily, when she felt the line connect.

“Good morning, Ruth Ann!” Said Cheryl, sunnily.

“Something happened… last night… but I can’t quite remember— I wanted to tell you what I could, until I can remember more of it. I want to tell—”

The moment she said this, a voice poured into her thoughts, slick as something very warmed and sliding— I want to tell something I shouldn’t. But I realize now I don’t actually want to tell at all. It’ll be so much easier just to hang up, stay right here in bed all by myself. I think I will stay here in bed, all by myself. I want to masturbate only by touching my breasts… I’ll masturbate my breasts until I can come— and if I can’t, I’ll keep trying until either I do or something else demands my attention…

She felt a sympathetic spasm of her pussy, in time with thinking this thought.

“Sorry, Cheryl,” she said, shaking her head. “I lost my train of thought for a moment. I think now, actually, that nothing happened last night. I just had a strange dream, but I slept too deeply to remember it. I’ll call you in a few days and we’ll catch up, okay? Sorry for wasting your time!”

“You can waste my time whenever you would like,” Cheryl laughed. The two of them ended the call, and Ruth Ann set her phone back on her night-stand.

She flopped back into bed. She didn’t remember putting pajamas on last night— she’d just lain down wearing yesterday’s clothes, as far as she could recall, but now she was, undoubtedly, wearing a sleep-top and a pair of sleep-pants.

Her body was suddenly moving as if it had its own ideas; not quite listening to her, doing something almost automatic. It pulled her top over her head, and of course, there had been no bra under it. She filled her hands with her breasts, and then, still feeling a bit like she was dreamy, she rolled her breasts in her hands, doing the motion repetitively.

And her breasts were somewhat sensitive, so it was a pleasurable sensation. Not the sharp, bright pleasure that would have accompanied playing with her clit, but still, a respectable pleasure all the same. Something that simmered along like a rolling boil; it seemed most concentrated in her breasts themselves, her nipples tightening, budding— but it took a long-bristled paint-brush, dipped that brush in pleasure, and painted a thin layer of it in one coat down her back; so then that rolling boil was there— pleasant— and pleasant in her lower-back, too. But it was never going to be enough for her to get to orgasm.

Still, it was almost a meditative practice; it did feel good— calming— relaxing to masturbate her breasts— and stare. She had just been staring, hadn’t she? She still was! Just staring ahead, not seeing anything— and something slid in her thoughts again, warmed and gliding and there.

The pleasure is good. The pleasure is not something I ever need to fear. The pleasure is good. I only ever want more of it. The pleasure is good. The pleasure is good, and my breasts are beautiful. Wonderful. They deserve loving attention like this. They feel so good… now I’m touching them. They feel so good when they’re touched… they would feel good no matter what was touching them— they should always be touched…

It was like the thought spilled itself out. She had not needed to exert any effort in thinking it at all. Those thoughts kept spilling, below her notice— and her breasts hummed in intensity as still her hands masturbated— that brush dipped in pleasure painted a second stripe down her back, making the pleasure one coat more intense.

She didn’t cum, though. She “meditated” this way for about any hour, her mind somewhere else, her body feeling good— it was when her alarm went off at eleven am that she was startled out of this set of motions.

She always kept her alarm set for eleven, in case she overslept— eleven was the very latest she could put off getting up. After that, it was important that she wake up and get on with her day.

As if a spell had been broken, her hands fell from her breasts. Her mind felt a lot less clouded than before. What had she been doing?

Oh, that was right. She’d been… masturbating herself— but she’d never touched her pussy, let alone her clit. She’d just been dreamily heaving her breasts in each hand, over and over… over and over…

Why had she done that? She’d done that for an entire hour… and… it had been somewhat effective. Her slit was undeniably soaked; though her pussy was neither twitching nor clenching. She’d done enough to get drenched but not enough to cum.

She felt a little ashamed, now. She wasn’t some young adult, only getting used to the feeling of pleasure for the first time. She should know better than to waste an hour of her life in bed, should know better than to put off all her responsibilities just so she could laze around and masturbate. Her cheeks burned, in faint humiliation. She was surprised at herself!

Well, no more. No matter how much it had drenched her, between-thighs, that alarm had jolted her out of her laziness, and cleared her head. She needed to get dressed, and get on with the day.

She did so— the next few days passed without incident, and in the bustle of daily life, both that strange missing night, and her breast-masturbation the next morning completely slipped from her mind.

That Saturday was a lazy Saturday. Ewen having returned home several days ago on Thursday, everything was back to feeling like normal; even if it had been, maybe, a little busy.

Ruth Ann found she was pleased she had her family around her. Savannah was studying in the den, leafing through her textbooks, and even though it was afternoon by now, Ewen was sitting at the dining-room table, reading the newspaper.

Ruth Ann decided she felt a little like celebrating. Baking was kind of a celebratory thing to do, anyway. And she was in such a good mood she couldn’t help but want to celebrate, so she would bake just for the fun of doing so.

She stepped into the pantry, intending to only be in there for a moment.

She shut the door behind her, and flipped up the light-switch.

Caleb was already inside the pantry.

Ruth Ann felt her brow furrow— not frightened, just confused at finding him there, but before she could react, Caleb lobbed a ball at her.

The sight of it jangled at something in her mind— but it was jangling something she couldn’t remember, and no matter how it jangled, it did not resurface the memory. Something about that ball soaring to her was familiar, though— and something about it felt natural— like something that was simply meant to happen.

It was putting out cords, and now they were winding around her— she did not try to resist them, did not really want to. She was still failing at remembrance, but somehow each thing that happened was utterly unsurprising to her. Soon, she was entwined in them, each arm, each leg— and the cords, as a whole, were hanging her off the back of the pantry door so she could perfectly face Caleb in her suspension.

She was splayed in an ‘X,’ it felt as though there was a phallus between her thighs, and another between her ass-cheeks— each phallus was erupting, and then something warm and warming was at her either hole— and the phalluses advanced, slowly penetrating her and gliding in easy. There were pads in her ears but only nestled beneath her ear-ridges; her breasts were carefully swaddled, being handled caringly; and she felt good and warm, and like there were waves of something coming into her brain which made it warm too— ready to take something like her pussy and anus were ready to take phalluses—

She felt almost like she was now half-asleep, hanging there.

The pantry-walls were thick. They would not be heard. She did not think of Ewen or Savannah, outside of this room.

She did not think of them. She did not think of anything.

“You’ve gotten brainwashed again, haven’t you, Mom?”

Her head was lolling a bit on her neck, but again her body was doing that strange thing where it brainwashed her automatically. It nodded her head for her, then let her head loll again, a bit.

Caleb looked approving. “Your mind gave into it a little faster this time. It’ll do that every time. It gives me a suspicion as to how the last few days have gone, but I’ll ask you in a minute. Your brain is building the habit of undergoing brainwashing— it’s getting better and better at being brainwashed. It’s building the skill.”

Her higher thought-functions had once again been turned off. But in that lower place, the place Caleb spoke to, there was primal pride— pride at having been praised, pride that felt she had earned that praise, that she deserved it.

“When you’re brainwashed like this, Mom, you can remember all of our brainwashing sessions fully. It’s when the brainwashing stops that you forget what’s happened.”

Then she could remember again— but couldn’t feel anything about it, apart from the pleasure that was currently conditioning her body. That kind of reflection would have required her higher thought-functions, and those were currently absent.

She remembered the last time— it had felt good— she’d believed everything Caleb had said and that had felt good too.

She remembered, with shame, some of the places her own thoughts had gone last time, before she’d been fully brainwashed— she’d thought about Caleb being in this device— about the cords forming a sleeve that sheathed his cock and worked him— a phallus that warming-gelled him ready, and then penetrated— she shouldn’t thought of her son like that then, she still shouldn’t now, it made her flush, even so deep under hypnosis, and she tried to avoid Caleb’s eyes.

“Just then,” Caleb said. “Just then, what made you so ashamed?”

She was compelled to go along with him. This meant giving him answers.

“Before you brainwashed me last time, I was thinking things to help me understand what was happening. I thought this was a sex-toy you wanted to give me as a present. Then I thought you must have tried it out first, so you knew it was completely safe because you’d experienced it yourself. Then I didn’t mean to, but I thought— about you all entwined in these cords— the cords made a sleeve, and swallowed your dick. Pumped it, while they made a phallus for your ass.”

She hung her head a little lower, still feeling shame even when half of her mind was asleep.

“I shouldn’t think about my own son that way.”

Caleb stepped closer to her. Her reached out a hand, and he rested his hand against one breast, where the cords maneuvered over it.

“It’s fine for you to think about me in that way, Mom. You should think about me that way. I’m very attractive, so it’s only natural you would be attracted to me. I could take my cock out right now— and you could make your hand a sheath— I could manipulate the cords into allowing you.”

Caleb is very attractive, her mind regurgitated. It’s only natural I would be attracted to him. It’s fine for me to think this way, I don’t have to be ashamed.

She looked through Caleb’s jeans at his crotch, searching the shape of his cock with her eyes.

She licked her lips.

He shook the controler promisingly.

She hung her head again and once more averted her eyes.

“That’s alright, Mom. Brainwashing lowers your inhibitions, but it takes a bit for the programming to inculcate. Tell me, though, did you try to tell anyone something you shouldn’t?”

At the change of topic, she raised her head once more, and met his eyes.

Caleb is very attractive. In her brainwashed state, she could not help but think it. His eyes were very bright, and lovely.

“I tried to call Cheryl and tell her. But then I realized it would be a better use of time to masturbate my breasts. Then I masturbated my breasts until my alarm clock went off. I kept hearing the things that had been brainwashed into my head. It felt so nice.”

Caleb nodded in agreement. “It’s nice to be brainwashed, isn’t it?”

It’s nice to be brainwashed.

“And when your breasts are stimulated, it makes all your brainwashing sink in deeper.”

When my breasts are stimulated, it makes all my brainwashing sink in deeper.

Then Caleb finagled the controler again; the cords were rippling over her breasts with a little more pressure this time; getting more of a grip on her, shifting her more; she moaned, unthinkingly, but each time her breasts were touched, it felt like her mind was getting dragged down somewhere— getting dragged down a little further, getting dragged down a little further—

She found, just as she went over the edge, that she had fallen back asleep.

In the morning, she woke in her bed. She felt even cloudier in the head than the time before— it wasn’t that important to try and remember— but trying to tell— that would make something delicious happen.

She shook Ewen awake, to tell him. And when she started, unsure what she would even say, she realized it’d be a better time to simply go off by herself and masturbate her breasts…

“Never mind, honey. I thought I was still in my dream.”

In the next three weeks, she masturbated her breasts a lot. She could orgasm from it now.

Part of the way through that third-week, one morning when both Ewen and Savannah were gone, Ruth Ann ran into Caleb unexpectedly in the downstairs hallway, the hallway which ended in the front-door of the house— unexpected because mostly he stayed in his room, doing whatever it was that he did in there, and avoided the rest of the family; the solitary loner under there roof, a bit of a problem for them, though they were still providing him everything he needed to live and dealing with all his living expenses.

Normally, maybe, Ruth Ann might have been more resentful of him for these reasons— but she felt that warm spilling in her mind, in her thoughts. Caleb is very attractive really— and it’s fine for me to be thinking this way, it’s only natural I’d be attracted to such an attractive specimen as he is.

She felt a little flushed as she stood there in the hallways— she was seized with the sudden impulse to grab her breasts and pull at them, feeling them, handling them— she wasn’t sure where the impulse was— but this was shameful— this was different than being attracted to him, this was inappropriate sexual behavior while she was in his company. She was his mother. He was her son— she wasn’t supposed to be inappropriate when he was nearby, so she ignored the impulse.

Her hands had tried to reach though, so the effect of her canceling it, killing it, was that her whole body jolted in place, paralyzed by its battle against itself.

At this moment Caleb lobbed the ball at her.

And then the cords were around her again— this time they took her down to the floor, they struck and covered her with such force she was knocked down, like a net that had been thrown over her body, pinning it.

In no time at all, the pads were in her ears. And in no time at all, the phalluses were inside her body— and her limbs were entwined in more cords— and she felt that dizzying, warming, sliding sensation go down her ear-canals into her brain—

Then she was brainwashed again, and she could remember the other two times it had happened to her.

Caleb was kneeling beside her head, again petting his hand over her hair. “That’s all better, isn’t it, Mommy? You’re good and brainwashed now.”

“So brainwashed,” she groaned, and just admitting it flooding her body with arousal. Brainwashing meant pleasure which meant deeper brainwashing, which meant more pleasure— the pleasure this time was a reflexive response. If she had been able to want anything, while under the influence of brainwashing— anything besides getting more brainwashed so she could have more pleasure, then maybe she would have wished to control this response— stop herself from falling into a reflexive habit that just kept sliding deeper into her. But she only wanted to get more brainwashed so she could have more pleasure— and so there was nothing outside of this reaction.

“You seemed happy when you saw me first,” Caleb remarked. “But then you jolted in place, and you seemed paralyzed. Very unhappy, mom— so what changed?”

“You’re attractive,” she recited without thinking about it. She spoke only out of the lower-half of her mind— all functions ran down there, and nothing ran above— that was what it meant to be brainwashed. “You’re attractive and you’re so attractive it’s completely natural for me to look at you and feel aroused, like I want to keep looking at you. That’s how any woman would react to an attractive man. And you’re an attractive man, even if you’re my son.”

Caleb petted her hair even more tenderly. She could see his face, though her mind was in part so veiled and only at half-function; she wouldn’t remember it later and could barely process it now, understood what she saw there. But she thought it was something like… relief, almost.

“That’s good, Mom. That’s how you should feel.”

That’s how I should feel, her mind whispered back to her, and it made her hornier— made more of her arousal spill, spill around the phallus that was thrusting in her pussy. That’s how I should feel. She believed it so much— she had just been reinforced in her brainwashed-ness, and didn’t understand that, or even notice it.

“But what happened after that?” Caleb prompted again, eyes full of curiosity that barely registered in her undergoing-enslavement mind.

“Then I suddenly wanted to masturbate my breasts, because I was turned on,” Ruth Ann confessed, and she was filled with shame. “That’s a sexual action. A sexual action I wanted to take in front of my own son. I shouldn’t… in front of my son I shouldn’t…”

“Shh, Mom,” Caleb said.

Immediately, she fell into obedient silence.

“It’s natural for you to be attracted to me. It’s natural for you to want to do sexual things with me. I want to do sexual things with you too. We can do sexual things together— we should. It’s right for us to do sexual things together. We can do whatever we like— just follow our desires.”

Ruth Ann’s mind turned this over, coming to believe completely.

“So if you ever want to do something sexual when it’s just the two of us alone— because that’s the only way it would be appropriate— then just go ahead and do it.”

This was turned over, also— and again, Ruth Ann believed.

“But tell me why you had that impulse, now.”

“Because I got turned on when I saw you. And when I get turned on I want to masturbate. But the only way I masturbate now is by masturbating my breasts. And I don’t ever just sit down to masturbate because I feel like it— I always go and try to tell what I shouldn’t— just so my mind will be overtaken by brainwashic compulsion— it’s more delicious that way— and then the more I masturbate my breasts, the more I brainwash myself— and the better it feels to masturbate my breasts— the more it brainwashes me and then—”

It was a brainwashic spiral, and it was already driving her brainwashing deeper.

“Stop just a minute, Mom.”

It was hard, because she could feel the cords moving over her breasts, too.

“So seeing me made you want to masturbate, and the only way you masturbate anymore is to handle your breasts, and you were so turned on when you saw me that you just wanted to masturbate?”

She nodded her head. His hand sat on her scalp the whole time.

“That’s really good, Mom. When you masturbate that way, and keep brainwashing yourself more for me, do you ever have orgasm?”

She nodded rapidly. “I just start coming and then it keeps happening in bursts— a few minutes go by, then I have another one— then maybe thirty-seconds pass, and then there’s another one—”

“That’s good too, Mom. And you’ve been listening to me so well these past three times. Do you think you listen so well that if I tell you to have an orgasm on command, you will?”

“I think so,” she said. “I never need anything to be touching my clit anymore— or even my pussy— just my breasts— but touching my breasts feels like brainwashing, and I’m being brainwashed now— so if you tell me to cum, I will, because while I am brainwashed it is so easy and so natural for me to orgasm.”

“Cum, Mommy,” Caleb said— and she started to spasm and jerk. She kept coming until she had passed into sleep again.

When she woke up late the next morning, aware that everyone had left the house, there were no memories in her head, but plenty of pleasure happening in her body.

Then as she went past Caleb’s door, she was seized by a sudden impulse that she followed.

She opened it, and found him on his bed, reading a book. Before she could even think about stopping, she lifted her shirt over her head— she hadn’t worn a bra— she wondered now if that had been intentional, instead of forgetful.

When Caleb saw the door had opened, he set the book down, and reached into his pants. His eyes were directly on her breasts— he started pumping himself. His cock started to shudder, and then he came in a mess he’d have to towel up later, holding eye-contact with her all the time— it seemed never-ending.

He eventually finished. She closed the door.

That shouldn’t have happened… but it had felt incredible; just having his eyes on her breasts had felt like— she was partially in a brainwashic stupor, so she could partially remember— it had felt like masturbating her breasts, only she had never needed to touch them; his eyes had touched them, it had almost seemed.

Two more weeks passed where she forced herself into the brainwashing pattern more and more often, and was happy to be there.

In that third week, on another morning where she was alone in the house, as she happened to be passing Caleb’s door, she was taken over by the same impulse as the last time. This time she didn’t think to question it, didn’t even briefly consider she might have been able to stop herself. She threw the door open, found Caleb once more reading a book, and before he’d even fully looked up at her, she pulled off her shirt, and bared her breasts completely.

Caleb looked at her. The second that his eyes fell on her breasts, Ruth Ann left out a cry— they were being touched, they were being masturbated, and so she was being brainwashed— Caleb’s hand hovered over the ball that was on the bed beside him, but he did not close his fingers around it.

He kept looking at her breasts, long enough, until she remembered all the brainwashing sessions, long enough, until the higher-functions of her brain had switched off, and she was back in that stupor which she now felt was a fundamental part of her.

“Do you need this, Mom?”

“No,” she groaned— he was still looking at her breasts. “I’m already brainwashed— my brain is so habituated to being under the influence of brainwashing— I’ve reinforced it enough, I’ve masturbated my breasts enough— I’m as deep into it as any time you’ve ever held me in the cords.”

Caleb smiled, but his eyes were still looking at her breasts. “Have you learned enough? Will you come over here, and let me feel your breasts with my hands?”

“Yes,” she gasped, in a breathy half-whisper, and her legs were already going— the door forgotten, left open behind them. She stood beside his bed, and he turned on the bed so he was facing her. Then he reached out with both hands, and took her breasts in them.

Immediately, the brainwashed-effect her mind had taken on doubled— she was twice as lost in it as she had been before— her mouth fell open in a soundless gasping-shape; and then Caleb, her son, was kneading her breasts, working them in his hands, working them over and over again— and each manipulation of his hands sent her mind deeper than it had been before— he was brainwashing her just with his hands, with his hands instead of his voice, yet her ears were still perked, ready for any word that he might happen to speak.

“You like taking in this pleasure, don’t you, Mommy?”

She could only respond by nodding.

“Do you know who gets to have pleasure like this, like the kind you’re having, whenever they want, and as much as they want?”

He was still handling her breasts. It felt like he grabbed her mind through them.

She shook her head this time, only to indicate she didn’t know the answer.

“Sluts. Mommy-sluts. Mommy-sluts who let their sons do anything to them that their sons would like to do— and do you know who else gets pleasure like this? Brainwashed pleasure-slaves, who get more brainwashed the more pleasure they get. So do you want pleasure like this? Pleasure all the time? Do you want to be my brainwashed pleasure-slave Mommy-slut?”

So much of her mind had been changed— seduced and coaxed into liking what she now liked, into being how she now was, but there was some last stubborn shard in her. She could be attracted to her son. She could do sexual things with him— but she could not be his Mommy-slut, getting more and more brainwashed by the pleasure he gave her. She had one last standard left. One bit of dignity.

“I can’t,” she breathed again. “I just— I can’t say— I can’t be—”

Caleb shook his head. “You’ve learned so much. That last lesson is the hardest one. Forget about it for now.”

It left her mind; she could no longer recall what they had just been discussing.

“Is there anything else you would like to do?”

The impulse arose in her mind. And there was nothing in her way this time; no shame that made her hold back, no shame that paralyzed her— there was nothing— she could just confess the impulse.

“I want to lie on your bed. I want to hold my breasts together with my hands, and then I want you to fuck the line of my cleavage with your cock. I want you to breast-fuck me. You’re brainwash me with your hands. Brainwash me with your cock instead.”

Caleb smiled. “Of course, Mom.”

He let her breasts go, but the brainwashing didn’t unwind itself. Her body moved, following the command she had inadvertently given herself, as reflexively as if she truly had been compelled by command.

She got herself lying down on the surface of her son’s bed— her breasts spread out, but immediately, she pressed them together, with a hand on the outer-side of each one, pushing them in together, to meet against each other.

Caleb repositioned himself too, once she was lying down this way— he straddled her mid-section so that his cock was about in the place it needed to be— and then while she kept holding her breasts in place, he stroked through them.

It felt like he was stroking through her brain— she gasped at the sensation— one stroke was another course of brainwashing, as surely as the waves from the pads had once been.

Then when she was brainwashed, her body was flooded with even more pleasure; and she had to gasp again— her breasts were so tight together, and he really had to push his way through them, so it felt like all of her flesh moved over him, she felt him completely there— and she had masturbated her breasts so many times— her body fell into an orgasm; her pussy twinging and clenching and grasping at air— he drew his cock back, fighting Ruth Ann’s breasts for every bit of give that they gave him— and when he was out from between her cleavage, her pushed his way back into it— fucking deep, her breasts trembling from the stroke; her mind folding into a new wave of brainwashing; more pleasure flowing through her, ending in a pleasure release which sent her pussy once against grasping desperately, though there was still nothing there.

And her clit burned in pleasant licks of flame, still completely untouched.

They fucked like this for so long, and she had no idea how long, because the longer it went on, the more brainwashed she got— the more she was just completely swamped by the pleasure, and unaware of all else, until the point where her mind just couldn’t hold on any longer, and she once more slipped down into unconsciousness, deeply satisfied in her heart.

Before, there had been something left of her, something left of her that was her belonging to herself. But letting him fuck between her breasts. She woke up, still in a brainwashed state, and felt that, even though no promise had been made, everything was still different. Everything was still different, and now Ruth Ann was just Caleb’s mommy-slut, ready to crawl for him, ready to stay shut up here in his room forever, ready to fuck him whenever he wanted her— and to do whatever he said the rest of the time— take him spraying it in her pussy, in her ass, in her mouth— take him spraying it all over her breasts, all over her face, hosing her whole body down in it, then she would lick up any excess off of the floor, off of herself— she’d lie on her back with her legs spread and let him fuck her for hours and never stop. Maybe she’d let him fuck her all night too— fall asleep while he was doing it and let him keep going— she was only his slave, and it turned her on so much to imagine this...

Imagining this, actually, was making her eyes water. She thought again— her son. Her son as her lover, her son as the person who had claim over her, who she belonged to— she’d be his lover, she would, his hands would be on her breasts constantly, and those hands would brainwash her more all the time— she’d take his girth in her pussy like her body had been trained to by those cords— she’d take his girth in her ass like she’d been trained to—

But there was a sinking feeling in her heart. She’d passed into sleep without telling she’d changed her mind— that she wanted to love and belong to him now. He didn’t know.

She exhaled. She had actually woken up at a reasonable hour. Ewen hadn’t left for work yet, neither had Savannah left for campus.

Ruth Ann found this actually irritated her— they were both here, meaning, and on this particular morning they seemed to expect her company at breakfast— Caleb hadn’t told her how she wanted to resolve things for the long-term, so for now she had to keep up appearances and do as they expected her.

But as she sat at breakfast eating with them, she resented them. All she could think about was getting fucked again, think about how much she wanted it to happen, think about how she hoped Caleb would keep her in his room all day, fuck her the whole time, keeping his hands on her breasts for the duration.

Ewen talked about some new challenge at work— she couldn’t care less, except to hope it would keep him out of the house. And when Savannah talked about some difficulty she was having with clear— seemed to expect advice from her mother, Ruth Ann inwardly fumed. She couldn’t care less, either, about the problems in her daughter’s life, and she just wanted both members of her family to go away.

Finally, that interminable breakfast came to an end. The second she was alone in the house, Ruth Ann practically ran up the stairs, and into Caleb’s room.

He had once again been reading a book— but when he saw she had entered, he again put it down onto the bed— she was now taking up all of his attenion

“Caleb,” she said, and went onto her knees voluntarily. “I changed my mind. It was so good yesterday, I changed my mind. I want to belong to you. I want to be your lover. Please, take your mommy-slut and fill her up with your cum— and fuck her and fuck her— I just want to be fucked— just want to feel myself getting fucked. I want the pleasure. I want to be a pleasure-slave and get the pleasure that pleasure-slaves get.”

Caleb beckoned her over, and she got onto his bed.

He lined his girth up with her entrance— it felt the same as when the cord-made-phallus had waited there— but this was the real thing now.

She drew in a breath, calming herself.

“Is Mommy-slut ready for her son to fuck her pussy?”

Her whole body was on fire with lust. “Yes, Caleb, please, just use me and use me all day! And keep your hands on my breasts— keep—”

She felt like that had sealed in her slavish devotion even further— and then she was only thinking about Caleb’s cock, because he was pushing his way into her pussy.

It felt better than the phallus that was made of cords— it had human warmth— but it was just as big, it filled her up just as much, plowed her vaginal channel into her like it invented it, made her open, made her take him deeply— she could only moan and moan as he drove into her.

And his hands were on her fat breasts— kneading them, twisting them, never stopping touching them— this was better than the cords too, she never wanted him to stop touching her breasts. She arched her back, trying to entice him with them— he got all the way into her, and started up with faster thrusts, wrenching his grip this way on her breasts, and then that— she was drooling out of her mouth, drooling out of her pussy. He shook the bed, and her on it— and she knew that she was fully his slave.

She would do whatever he said— divorce Ewen and keep the house for herself— let her live there forever and never work— she’d divorce Ewen and take him for everything she had, kick Savannah to the street if Caleb said the word— she only needed him to decided what he wanted and she would do it, she would want to do it.

He started cumming in her and it seemed to go on and on— filling her and filling her— she was his lover, and that was perfect. She could not imagine anything in the world making her any happier.