The woman is middle-aged. Forty-five, for those of you who can't relate to a character unless you have the exact number of times the earth has gone round the sun during their existence. She has wavy blonde hair, haunting blue eyes, and a face that most would describe as attractive, if not gorgeous. In a younger woman her looks might have been described as cute. On a woman her age, her face looks caring, friendly, even matronly. Her skin is smooth and pale, and she is always reminding herself that she needs to get a tan. She worries too much. In truth, her pale complexion completes the impression of an ordinary mom, and perhaps this is the reason I choose her.
The rest of her body helps, too. Her arms are slender and her sizeable breasts have only just begun to sag, a sight which gives her a pang every time she is naked in front of the mirror before going on one of her many fruitless dates, thought she knows she should be proud of her breasts. In her low-cut sweater and her pencil skirt -- her standard attire when she goes to the retail firm which employs her as a human resources executive, she looks particularly fetching.
Maybe this is why so many of her dates are with middle-aged men in her firm who see a forty-five year old single mom, are attracted to her looks and personable demeanor, and assume such a woman must be desperate. They are partly right, but Carol is not an easy woman to please. Perhaps one shouldn't blame her. Before a plane crash killed him seven years ago, she was married to a man who was, in all senses of the word, perfect. Handsome, intelligent and caring, her husband had met her when she was when she was twenty-three and he was twenty-seven, and the proverbial sparks had indeed flown. Within the year they were married, and the thirteen years that followed were bright and cheerful, the source of tons of happy memories, and an adorable baby boy.
She longs for the intoxicating mix of romantic bliss and satisfying companionship her marriage had afforded her, but finds that none of the men she dates can match up to Jason, her deceased spouse. Most of them are too self-absorbed for her liking; almost all are careworn and almost none have anything resembling a personality. Her easy charm wins her many people she can hang out with, but the only person whose company brings her anything resembling intimacy is her son, Peter.
At nineteen, Peter is a smart and ambitious young man who has just completed his first year at college, where he is majoring in economics. The last two weeks have been a relief for Carol -- she finally has her baby boy back with her after a whole year. Sadly, even though Peter is very close to her, much closer than most sons are to their mothers, his raging hormones seem to pull him away from his mother towards his girlfriend, with whom he has spent much of the two weeks he has been back at home.
"Mom, I'm going out." Peter bends down and kisses his mother on the cheek from behind the sofa she is curled up on. His gaze inadvertently falls on her breasts, which are visible underneath the loose blouse she is wearing, but he checks himself and averts his eyes.
"Bye, honey. Be safe." Carol turns her head and kisses him on his chin, a gesture she makes when she is feeling especially affectionate. She gazes up at her handsome son, pats his cheeks once and ruffles his hair, this last gesture evoking a wince on Peter's part as his carefully engineered hairstyle is disturbed by this display of maternal affection.
"I will. And you have fun too. You should go out on a date or something. A pretty lady like you shouldn't be sitting home watching TV."
"That's very kind of you, Pete, but your mother is an old woman now."
"No! Forty-five is not old! And anyway, what happened to that guy you went out with last weekend?"
"That's okay. Dump 'em if you don't like 'em."
Carol smiled. "Don't flatter me so much. It makes me nervous. Makes me think you're softening me up so I'm not angry the next time you do something wild."
"Hey, it's just me and Jenny. We're two well-behaved teenagers. We're not gonna do anything wild." There is a trace of satire there that Carol chooses to ignore.
"Good. Now leave your mom alone."
"Bye. I'll be back by midnight, I promise."
As Peter exits the apartment he moved into with his mother shortly after his father's tragic death, he feels a slight pang of guilt. His mother needs his company, even though her fear of upsetting him prevents her from saying it. He resolves for the umpteenth time to spend more time with the woman who invested so much into raising him even after he was left fatherless, trying her best to shield him from the shock of losing one parent by working as hard as two parents.
Determined that her son and she would continue to enjoy the lifestyle they always had, she worked clocked sixty-hour weeks at work while attending every PTA meeting, and each of her son's debates and football matches. Moving into a smaller apartment had been prompted more by convenience and a desperate need to get away from the presence of her dead husband which lingered all through their former residence, than by economy.
But Peter is nineteen, and he has needs. Jenny is a girl he met shortly before leaving for college, and they decided to continue their relationship even though they knew they would be a thousand miles away from each other in their respective colleges. Now that he is home, a single hour spent not having sex with this beautiful, witty girl is an hour wasted. His thoughts of his mother are replaced with thoughts of a more lascivious nature as he heads for his girlfriend's house, where she is to be alone for the whole of next month, owing to her asshole parents deciding to take a second honeymoon at about the same time their daughter came home from college for the first time.
Her parents' callousness irks Jenny, and Peter is vocal in voicing his agreement while inwardly feeling intensely grateful to his girlfriends' parents for their absence. It is thanks to them that he has an empty house and a lonely girlfriend at his disposal, and he has been making the most of his little windfall.
Jenny hugs him at her door, her pert breasts pressing against his, and kisses him lightly on the lips. Peter can feel her nipples through her t-shirt. Jenny is wearing no bra, usually a sign that she is eager for sex. At five feet seven inches, Jenny is only a couple of inches taller than him, and her lithe and slender body complements her slightly oval face.
Peter takes her full lips between his, and gently places his hands on one of her pert breasts. A sudden urgency takes hold of his body, and he grabs hold of her face, and smashes his lips against hers, as if in an effort to glue their faces together.
At this point I should probably introduce myself. I am not a person, and I don't have a name. If you want, you can simply call me Narrator. But even that wouldn't be strictly accurate, because I am more than a mere narrator. Neither quite material nor quite spiritual, I am nevertheless very much a part of your world. When I want to be, that is. I am not an entity you can say hello to or shake hands with, nor will you ever awake from a dream because of me, startled at the revelation you have just experienced. I am wherever I want to be, whenever I want to be, and I can certainly have an influence on humans. I can be your unexpected surge of anger at a pregnant lady who cuts in line, and I can be the part of you that decides to risk your life to save a baby from a burning building.
However, I seldom choose to be any of these things, preoccupied as I am with matters closer to the pelvis. Usually I guide people -- possess them, if you will, while concealing the fact of the intrusion from them. As a result, when Peter starts making out with his girlfriend without the usual preliminaries, he is surprised, but still under the illusion that he was in control of his actions. As for that pretty girlfriend of his, she finds herself turned on by his sudden ardor -- I forgot to tell you, but I can 'control' more than one person at a time.
Boy and girl move rapidly toward her bedroom, avoiding empty beer bottles and almost knocking over a vase in the process. Peter pushes her onto the bed, impatiently sweeping aside some books and Jenny's iPod, which falls to the floor and cracks its screen, eliciting a feeble sound of protest from its owner, but Peter is in no mood for conversation. In a matter of seconds, he is fully naked, and his girlfriend is staring lustfully at his athletic form, admiring the V formed by his torso and his strong legs and calves, and licking her lips at the sight of his fully erect penis.
Ordinarily, Jenny would have felt alarm at the events of the past minute or so. She is the usually the kind of girl who likes to take it slow, with special emphasis on the foreplay. But all she can feel right now is a****l lust, and all of her mind is shot through with one desire -- to have Peter inside her, on top of her, and all over her body. She takes off her jeans and panties and sends them flying across the room before Peter comes over and rips off her t-shirt.
They are now both naked, and assault each other with a ferocity that only I can inspire in two human beings. Their kisses are a disorganized mashing together of two mouths, each of which appears to be engaged in an attempt to bite off the other's tongue and end the battle with bl**d, their caresses are really savage clawing motions, and leave real scratches. When Peter turns his attention to his neck, instead of showering it with his usual soft kisses, he bites it, almost drawing bl**d, causing Jenny to scream and scratch his back.
Peter moves to her vulva now, and roughly f***es open its lips to stick a finger inside and thrust it as far as it can go. Her vagina is thoroughly wet by now, and he brings his tongue to it to taste her juices. Jenny reacts by involuntarily drawing up her legs and closing them around his head and squeezing.
Remarkably, both have managed to keep the volume down -- I wouldn't want to wake up their neighbors, or waste my energy inflicting selective deafness. A minute later Jenny is sitting upright with her mouth open around Peter's cock, who shoves it in and out of her throat. Jenny keeps fingering herself, readying her pussy for her boyfriend's cock. Peter is pulling on her dark hair and squeezing the flesh of her upper body.
He tugs hard at her hair to signal that he wants to fuck her now, and Jenny is prompt in her obedience. As Peter's cock is plowing her cunt, her face is contorted in indescribable ecstasy, and all she can think of is what a magnificent cock Peter has, and how good his face looks so close to hers, morphed as it is into a mask of pure pleasure, and when she senses she is approaching her climax, she plays with his buttocks, encouraging him to cum inside her. She faintly registers that he hasn't used a condom, but this only increases her excitement instead of alarming her, especially as she's on birth control and is pretty sure Peter doesn't have an STD.
Peter has reached the point of no return, and this is when I decide to have fun. Instead of his girlfriend's flushed face, all Peter sees is his mother's sweet face as she was kissing him on the cheek, her tear-stricken face as she hugged him for comfort after they had lost his father, an almost-forgotten memory of her naked body he had once glimpsed as a boy and felt infinitely embarrassed for, but Peter is helpless. It is though a bucket of ice has been poured over his pleasure, but there is no way he can stop the inevitable. He tries to pull out of Jenny's cunt, but she has his ass firmly in her grip, so all he can do is let out a moan of anguish, which Jenny takes for unbearable pleasure, and collapses on top of his girlfriend, his eyes moist.
At this point I withdraw my influence, leaving behind a somewhat confused, but extremely satisfied girl, and a very disturbed boy. What happens after this is boring and somewhat predictable, though very touching, I'm sure. Jenny is a little embarrassed at what just happened, and concerned at Peter's distraught state. She comforts him with words like, "Hey, baby? What's wrong?" and "Are you OK?" and Peter reassures her that's everything's all right, he really doesn't know what happened, though he has been missing his father lately. This last fabrication earns him a hug from Jenny, and a blowjob that does wonders to lift his spirits.
Later, after they are both dressed in t-shirts and underwear and are sitting on her sofa sprawled in front of a TV, beer in hand, Jenny says, "So, how's your mom?"
"She's good," is the laconic response, and nearly has Peter choking on his beer.
"You know, she's a beautiful woman. Is she dating anyone?"
"Not right now. But yeah, she's beautiful all right," is Peter's slightly nervous response.
To relieve the tight knot in his stomach, he makes a joke, adding, "Are you interested?"
"Thanks. But I like her son better." Jenny comes closer to him and nuzzles his neck, tracing the contour of his face with the tip of a finger.
Peter empties his mind of the guilt and unpleasantness of the sexualized images of his mother, and allows himself to be swept up in his girlfriend's sexual advances, as the sensual touch of her lips moves downwards along his face and to his neck, which she teases softly with her tongue and her breath. He puts his arms around Jenny and seats her on his lap so that her feet are off the ground and she has to hold on to his strong shoulders for balance while she continues to kiss him all over.
He pulls her face level with his and kisses her full on the lips. This time I am not interfering with either of them, just watching, so the kiss lacks the a****l brutality of half an hour ago, and has more of the familiar romantic warmth that our couple is accustomed to.
They help each other off with their shirts so they are both topless, and savor the feel of each other's warm chests as they snuggle. Peter takes one of her pert breasts, much smaller than his mother's -- damn, why is he still thinking of his mother! No worry, the image is gone -- and licks the hard nipple, while kneading the other breast with his hand. Jenny lets out a soft moan, and her arousal reaches her pussy, moistening it, readying it for the penetration that will soon follow.
Jenny abruptly climbs down from Peter's lap to take off her panties, and helps him off with his underwear. Again dispensing with a condom, she climbs back up, and with Peter's help, gently lowers her slit onto his stiff cock. Her mouth opens into a little O at the moment the head of his penis makes contact with her warm entrance, and Peter produces an involuntary grunt, and supports her weight by holding her like a baby at her sides as she comes down to envelop his cock inside her until she is almost sitting on his balls.
Their lovemaking is tender and considerate, and lasts a good fifteen minutes. I watch amused at their slightly comical attempts at dirty talk, which seem incongruous with the otherwise soft and romantic nature of their coupling. As they both reach their peaks, Jenny brings her face down to her lover's, covering his face with her dark hair that has fallen forward in a sort of protective canopy around him, and they kiss deeply while Jenny rides him harder and faster.
Once Peter has ejaculated, which happens simultaneously with Jenny's intense orgasm, they get dressed, hang out at a bar with a couple of mutual friends before Peter remembers his promise to his mother, tells Jenny and their friends that he has to be going, and drives home alone.
It is not even midnight yet, but there is no familiar glow emanating from the living room window. It is unusual for his mother to be asl**p so early, and she could be awake in bed reading one of the romance novels she so adores, but Peter decides not to risk disturbing her. Using his key, he opens the front door and tiptoes to his bedroom. His mother's bedroom is dark, save for the reading lamp, and the door is almost shut. Applauding himself on his considerateness, he cracks the door open a little to check on his mother.
She is sprawled on the bed in a robe, an open novel lying face down next to her. She must have fallen asl**p reading. Peter smiles. He thinks of walking over and turning off the reading lamp, but decides against it. He retires to his room, strips naked, and slides under the covers.
Two hours later, Peter is sound asl**p in the deathly quiet of the house, interrupted infrequently by the faint, distant sound of traffic. This is when I decide to have fun. Peter's eyelids abruptly open, fixing his unseeing stare upon the ceiling. His back straightens unnaturally, as if it is not Peter himself who is responsible for his movements, which is exactly right. As far as Peter is concerned, he is well into one of the erotic dreams he often has featuring Jenny and a few hot chicks from college.
His feet wordlessly touch the ground, and he moves gradually, steadily towards his door. The door opens and closes. Shortly afterwards, he is inside Carol's room. His mother's room. The glow of her bedroom lamp makes her face look even more pale than normal, though of course Peter doesn't see this. His hand reaches out, casts aside her bed sheet, and gently tugs on her nightgown, undoing it leave her breasts and pubic mound in plain view.
His hand reaches out to hers and lifts it to his penis, which has begun to stir. Placing his fingers over hers, he closes her hand around his organ, and starts moving it to and fro along the length of his penis. A drop of warm juice oozes out from the head, and smears itself across her hand. Some part of Carol's brain registers this, and her eyelids flutter for a moment, and then close again. The tempo of her hand's motions has increased, and if I keep this up, Peter should come in his mother's hand soon.
But I have bigger things in mind for these two.
Peter climbs on the bed, planting his knees on either side of his mother. He does this roughly, and this wakes Carol. Her eyelids open, register her naked son on top of her, looking strangely listless -- vague thoughts of d**gs and hallucinations pass through her concerned mother's mind -- before being replaced by a primeval sense of desperation and defeat when she discovers that she cannot move. She tries screaming and saying something to her son, but nothing comes out of her mouth. It is as though she has no vocal cords. She can breathe, but it seems none of her limbs can move.
Terror grips her. What the fuck is happening to me, she thinks. She concentrates all of her energy and succeeds in moving her head slightly. Ooh, this woman is strong.
I strike back with a vengeance, and now her whole body feels as though it is trapped in a block of steel. She looks up, every inch of her trying to scream in desperation, trying to appeal for help to her son.
But her son doesn't look like he's in an especially helpful mood. His mouth is twisted into a diabolic grin. It is a grin she remembers from the times when he was a rebellious c***d, trying to defy parental authority by doing something especially forbidden. Yeah, I'm good. I actually dug into the guy's memories, to make the experience as authentic as possible for his mommy.
His hands close around both of her large mounds, squeezing hard. It is not the touch of a lover; it is the frenzied cruelty of a r****t who wants to inflict as much terror as possible on his victim. His teeth have her lips in her grip, drawing a tiny drop of bl**d, and his tongue f***es her mouth open and ransacks the inside of her mouth.
Peter's mouth comes down on his mother's breasts, takes her nipple inside, and bites. For a second Carol is afraid her nipple is about to be bitten off, but she needn't have bothered. I don't want to disfigure my victims. Evil as I may seem, I really have their best interests at heart, as you will see...
For a long time, Peter terrorizes his mother's upper body with his mouth, sparing not a square inch of her breasts, her neck, her shoulders, and her belly from the touch of his tongue and his teeth. However, I make Peter go just a tad easier than before, so Carol can realize that something of the old fire is stirring inside her. This causes her immense anguish, and increases her humiliation a hundredfold. But there is no way she cannot feel a trace of her deceased husband in the way her son is ravaging her body, no matter how cruelly.
For good measure, I 'make' Peter scratch his mother along the arms, just to leave indubitable evidence for the morning. Peter moves downwards and enters his mother's pussy with his tongue. To her mortification, her cunt is wet, and there is little she can do to stop the involuntary reactions of her pussy muscles to her son's hyperactive tongue. His hands are going berserk on her legs, squeezing her thighs and her calves, and caressing the sensitive area behind her knee.
Her son sticks his tongue inside her as far as physically possible, then withdraws and replaces his tongue with her a finger. The finger goes inside his mouth, and he swallows. He then pulls himself forward and slaps his penis hard against her face, almost sticking it inside her eye. A gob of his juice makes it into her nose, making her want to sneeze. The feeling soon passes. He wrenches her mouth open, and sticks his penis inside. She is overcome with nausea at the enormity of her violation, but I quickly shut off her gag reflex.
Peter moves his pelvis towards his mother's face until both his testicles are inside his mouth, and his penis is rammed against the back of her throat. Carol's eyes moisten, and a tear rolls down her face and onto her the base of her son's penis, making for a fascinating sight, in my opinion.
Peter thrusts in and out of her mouth, and his groin muscles begin to tighten. His penis enlarges that little extra bit that it does when he is going to come. When he does, it he is deep inside his mother's mouth and his cum shoots in rapid streams to strike the back of his mother's throat, from where it rolls down into her stomach.
I extricate Peter from his mother, and release my influence on Carol to give her just enough time to swallow. She begins to open her mouth to scream, but extraordinarily strong waves of drowsiness roll over her, and by the time Peter has exited her room, she is deep asl**p, a little bit of her son's semen dripping through her mouth and onto her lower lip.
When Carol wakes up at 7.30 am, she feels first vaguely disturbed, then horrified as she recalls the events of the night. HER OWN SON ****D HER! But wait... how is that possible? The very thought of it is ridiculous, offensive. Then she looks down at her body, and is surprised to notice she is naked. Her terror mounts when she notices the scratching and the bruising from the night's events, and feels the stickiness against her lip, and knows immediately what it has been caused by.
For several minutes the enormity of what has happened to her is too much to process, and she sits in bed in a catatonic state, hugging herself, an uncomprehending, almost c***dlike look on her face. As she comprehends the reality of what has happened, realizes that there is not the slightest chance she could have dreamed something that was so vivid, so real, and which would leave so much physical evidence, she begins to weep. Uncontrollable spasms of grief overtake her body, and I amuse myself at the sight of her boobs jiggling with each sob.
But Carol is a strong woman, and even being violated by her own son is not enough to stun her into permanent inaction. She puts on her gown, and marches determinedly into Peter's room. There he is lying contentedly asl**p, as if nothing unusual has happened. She roughly sweeps aside his sheets, and slaps him hard across the face to wake him up.
"Huh? Mom?" Peter mumbles, disoriented and confused.
"Don't act innocent, you bastard," Carol shrieks, slapping him again, leaving a mark on his cheeks this time.
"Mom! What the hell?"
Peter is horrified. What has got into his mother? He raises his hands and crosses them in front of his face in self defence.
Carol slaps away his hands, and is about to strike him again, when he screams, "Mom!"
For the first time, Carol looks at his face, registers his expression, his fearful and confounded eyes, and knows in that instant that her son is innocent.
But the little matter of her sexual assault still remains, and a long and painful conversation would have followed if I had not decided it was time for some fun again.
Carol's expression changes abruptly into one of unbridled lust. This causes her son alarm, which is soon enveloped by his anguish at realizing that he is immobile. His mother has cast off her robe from her body, leaving her stark naked in the morning light. A streak of sunlight illuminates her erect nipples. His predicament notwithstanding, Peter notices how much larger his mother's breasts are than his girlfriend's, and how enticing they look on a woman of modest height. Carol is only 5'2'', and this gives her body an even more irresistibly voluptuous quality when naked.
Carol straddles her son, gripping his cock and massaging it to arousal while burying his face in her bosom. She makes him nurse her breasts, and even though Carol is in a state of horror -- I have not extended her the mercy of leaving her u*********s while she ****s her son -- she cannot help thinking how good his face feels there, just like it had all those years ago, when he was a tiny c***d extracting nourishment from his mother.
She plays with his blond hair and his face, and runs her tongue over his face, his neck, and bites his earlobe. Her mouth moves down his body, kissing his chest, his abdomen and finally opening to let inside his cock, which is hard by now. She gets working on her son's penis in earnest, bobbing her head up and down over his shaft while working her tongue over it.
Peter's flash is flushed now, his ears are red, and he is about to go over the edge. To add some variety, this time I make Carol take his dick out of her mouth before he comes. Carol's hand closes around Peter's cock, accelerating its approach towards ejaculation, and when he comes, she squeezes every drop of his sperm out of his cock, spraying it onto her face, getting streaks of it into her blond hair, even copping some on her tits.
I release my hold on the duo, leaving them staring in shock at each other as they try to pick up the pieces.
Now I know I might have come across as a cruel kind of guy, but leaving a mother and son who have been f***ed to **** each other and have no idea how any of it happened staring at each other naked, and probably precipitating depression or suicide or worse, is not my idea of fun. You would also have noticed that I didn't get the two of them to actually engage in penetrative intercourse -- it turns out I do have some old fashioned ideas with respect to sex.
So I... this is where it gets difficult to explain the workings of the dimension I come from in terms that are easy for you to understand. But what I do is, basically, to turn the minds of these two humans so that by the time I am done, the '****s' are remembered as extremely pleasant sexual encounters which were merely preludes to a lot more hardcore sex to follow.
Of course, such a change is only possible because the conditions for it already existed -- in Peter's repressed Oedipal urges for his mother even before that one time he saw her naked as a c***d, augmented by their shared experience picking up the pieces after being left bereaved; Carol's intense love for her son, how he reminds him just a little bit of her late husband, the slight tinge of unacknowledged jealousy, sexual jealousy, that has been simmering inside her ever since her son started dating that wench... I could go on.
But the immediate result of my manipulation is that for a few seconds, mother and son gaze across at each other first with adoration and later with lust, their bodies come closer and mouths melt against each other in a passionate kiss.
Carol lays back and guides her son on top of her, while holding his face close to hers so their lips don't have to break contact. She takes his cock and squeezes it, gives it a bit of a rotation to stir it back to life so she can put it in her hot pussy. But Peter doesn't need much urging, and he's hard in no time, much to the delight of his mother.
Carol takes his cock in her hand and positions it against her pussy entrance, and Peter gingerly eases into her cavity. An extremely erotic moment passes between mother and son as Carol gasps a little and Peter grunts to celebrate the breaking of the ultimate taboo, and buries himself to the base of his cock in her cunt. Guided by his mother, he initiates a robust rhythm of expertly executed strokes of his penis sliding in an out of her tight but slippery cunt, and for the longest time, mother and son fuck wordlessly in the missionary position.
Stamina is clearly not a problem for these two.
Carol spreads her leg wider and lets go of her son's back to give him more control in their fucking. Her knees rock back and forth in small jerky motions in response to her son's strong thrusts. She throws her head back, closes her eyes, and lets her son pleasure her, hanging onto his cock through the strong grip of her pussy muscles.
"I'm gonna come, Mom!" breathes Peter, a desperate, slightly guilty look in his eyes.
"It's okay, baby. Mommy's coming too," Carol reassures her son, and soon enough, Peter can feel his mother's orgasm through his cock, before he starts to climax too.
They hold each other's gaze all through their peaks, and Carol almost screams at the exquisite pleasure her son is giving her. Peter stays in his mother's pussy as he shoots all of his load inside her. Despite having ejaculated so recently, he has a lot of his cum to dump in her pussy, and Carol hugs her son's body to her own as she feels gobs after gobs of his semen being deposited in her womb. She isn't using birth control, and probably should be panicking, but all she can do is widen her mouth in a mischievous smile as her son's naked body gently disengages with hers, and they lay with their blond heads resting against each other...