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NSFW: yes

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic mind control fiction with aspects of coerced sexual activity; all characters are 18+

**I ACCIDENTALLY TURNED MY MOTHER INTO A SEX ROBOT, Book 1:**

“Alex, what the hell are these?”

I’ve only just come through the front door when I hear my mom’s panicked voice trickle down the hall.

*Oh fuck*, my mind whirs, realizing three things all at once: my mom is in my room, she’s found something she doesn’t like, and that something could be any number of things.

The hardcore MILF porn, perhaps, or those weed laced cigarettes my best friend, Billy, gave me last summer. Maybe she’d found the love letters I wrote, but never sent, to my older cousin Sarah (forgive a boy for going through puberty while his mom made his total smokeshow of a cousin babysit him, for God’s sake!).

I slink down the hall, nervously pulling the straps of my backpack tighter around me, and peek into my bedroom. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Cleaning,” my softspoken mother says with tears in her eyes. “Are you on drugs?”

She holds up a little baggy of white pills and I nearly choke on my own spit. Shit. I’d totally forgotten about those.

“God no, mom! It’s not—”

“Because you could tell me you know. I’d get you help!”

My heart clenches hard in my chest, but then I begin to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I wish I could explain to her that what she’s holding aren’t drugs for me, but for someone else. Rather, for me to use on someone else. Somehow I’m not sure that would make her feel any better though—and I really don’t want to freak her out. I’d found the dumb things on some dark website after I’d got a little drunk with Billy one night. We’d been whining about how none of the pretty girls at college would give us the time of day, and neither of us wanted to graduate from high college while we were still virgins. The website had promised that the pills were some combination of love and lust pills: ‘*Get your dream girl, tomorrow!*’ and all of that jazz. It’d been mostly a joke when Billy entered his dad’s credit card number and ordered one for each of us. He hadn’t even wanted his pill when they’d shown up in the mail (and sober us agreed the whole thing was completely insane)—yet for some reason I’d held onto them, amused that we’d been so pathetically desperate that we’d fallen for such a stupid scam.

They were probably made of sugar or chalk. Still, I didn’t really know how to explain the whole thing to my wide-eyed mother without looking like a complete psychopath.

“Alex, this isn’t funny,” she whispers, her knuckles bone-white as she grips the little bag. “Tell me what these are.”

“I really don’t know, mom.”

Her face screws all up and she begins to wail. I watch in horror as tears stream down her face, her entire body shaking. Ever since I turned eighteen, she’s been a little more emotional than usual.

“You’re just like your father,” she blubbers. “Always lying.”

I swallow hard but don’t have any idea what to say. My mom’s never compared me to my father before—a man who was in my life for a handful of years before dipping out to make a new family—and my mom has never been a vindictive or cruel person. If anything, she’s all the time been a freaking saint, taking on two jobs to support us and all the time being there for me. She’s obviously having some kind of mental breakdown, and I have no idea what to do for those.

“I swear to God,” I say softly.

I want to reach out and offer her a hug or something, but she’s sort of scaring me. My normally prim and elegant mother looks nearly deranged, clutching the plastic baggy so hard it looks like she’s gonna make her palm bleed with her face beet red from weeping. It’s like she’s found out I murdered children and am gonna be executed or something, not like she’s found a couple pills that aren’t even made of anything worrisome.

“Hey, please calm down….” I want to tell her she’s freaking me out but I don’t want to make her feel bad if she’s lost it or something.

“I found your porn,” she chokes out, holding the little baggy to her chest. “And the marijuana.”

“Okay—”

She stops crying and stares at me with large, wild eyes. “Who are you anymore, Alex?”

“I’m me, mom!”

But I know what she means. Maybe I do lie to her a lot, but that’s only because with every year I’ve grown older she seemed to grow a little more anxious—like I wasn’t supposed to be changing or growing up. It’s sort of surprising that she’s waited this long to snoop in my room, as I’d stopped hiding things very well when I started realizing that she didn’t ever seem to look. Or maybe she was just good at hiding things from me, too. Until now.

“Then tell me what’s in the pills,” she says quietly.

“Likely nothing!” I cringe when she flinches, realizing that I’ve just yelled at my mother. “They might be salt tablets. I doubt they are real,” I whisper.

She considers me for a long moment, her blue eyes locked to mine. “What were they supposed to be?”

“I don’t want to say.” It hurts to admit even that much.

My mom sticks out her jaw a little, her eyebrows furrowing, and whispers, “Then I guess I’ll take one if you can’t be honest with me.”

“This is stupid,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

I want to ask her what the hell has gotten into her lately, but that doesn’t seem like something a good son should ask. Clearly, she’s worried about me. Worried about me lying to her and . . . well, maybe she’s worried about losing me now that I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want. I don’t really plan on going anywhere for a while, but the natural order of things is that at some point I’ll fly the nest . . . and that obviously bothers her.

“I’m serious, Alex. I’m going to take the drug that you bought so that you experience the consequences of buying intoxicants!”

I can’t help but laugh. This whole situation is pure insanity, and the least insane part is what will happen after she consumes the scam-pill Billy bought off the internet (which is absolutely fucking nothing).

“Be my guest!” I shout at her as she storms out of my bedroom.

There’s no way in hell I’m telling her what the pill is supposed to be or outing myself like that. I know for sure it’s not gonna work, or maybe it’s a laxative and she’ll be stuck in the bathroom for the next few hours. That would be pretty funny.

*No, it wouldn’t be,* my mind whispers to me. *She’s your mother and you love her, idiot—even if she’s being a complete Drama Queen.*

“Mom, please don’t take it!” I call after her, dropping my backpack to the floor as I walk out to join her in the kitchen.

She takes a big gulp of water just as I arrive, swallowing deliberately while making eye contact. “Too late.”

“Well, if you’re hoping to get high or something, you’re going to be very disappointed.” I walk away and flop down on the couch, eyeing her as she downs the rest of the water.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t just be honest with me.”

“There’s some things a son can’t tell his mother,” I mutter, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV.

I’m bored of this whole dramatic conversation, and I don’t think the pill is gonna do more than give her an upset stomach at most, so I decide to distract myself with something more pleasant. Like racecars or football (and I don’t even really enjoy watching either of those things).

After a few long minutes, I realize my mom is still standing in the kitchen, just watching me. She looks sad with her mascara streaked face and her smudged lipstick. Normally she keeps herself so perfect and pretty, it’s weird seeing her like this.

“You messed up your makeup.” Maybe that’s not something I should say to her at this moment, but she’s unnerving me by just hovering in the distance like some statue.

“Do you want me to fix it?”

I blink at her, not sure if she’s joking or if she’s angry. Her voice sounds a little strange and distant. Maybe she’s just messing with me, or maybe she wants to bicker more. I should probably apologize for the porn and stuff . . . I should really apologize for the entire argument and just be done with it . . . but she really shouldn’t have gone through my things.

Stubbornly, I return my focus to the TV. There’s some dumb commercial on about cleaning products where the people all sing and dance like idiots. Usually my mom hums along to this one, and although that all the time annoys me, I discover myself wishing she would again. I don’t want her to be upset. There’s a hollow ache inside me. A roiling sense of guilt and shame.

“Please stop staring at me,” I finally mutter. “I’m sorry, okay,” I say without looking at her. “The pills were a dumb thing Billy ordered . . . a libido, uh, type thing….”

Okay, that’s as much as I’ll admit to, and even that has me so uncomfortable I’m squirming in my seat.

“I don’t want to fight anymore, mom. I’m sorry for yelling. Can we just drop it, please?”

“Alright,” she says.

I flick my eyes over to her, weirded out by the flat tone of her voice. She’s not looking at me anymore, instead staring off into nothingness. Her work outfit looks a little rumpled—the slim, black pencil skirt and white blouse wrinkly instead of smooth. It looks uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you go have a nice shower and lie down?” I suggest softly.

“Alright,” she says again, and I give her a forced smile as she begins to walk woodenly forward and then turns to make her way down the hall.

God, she’s acting strange. *She’s probably just exhausted from working so much and then having to deal with me,* I think bitterly. I flip through the channels once she’s gone, relaxing as soon as I hear her bedroom door close.

She’ll be fine after she relaxes and takes a nap, I tell myself. Women are often unpredictable creatures, even my nearly perfect mother, with her generally soft and nurturing demeanor punctuated by little outbursts. I guess no one can hold it together at all times, but it certainly would be nice if she evened out a bit.

After a couple hours of channel surfing and settling on some action movie, I start to forget the entire ordeal. It’s only when I hear my mom’s soft steps returning to the kitchen that I look up, and all the air escapes my lungs in one big rush.

“What are you wearing?” I stammer, my eyes flaring wide.

My prim and proper mother has come out in only a bright blue bra and matching, lacy underwear. She gives me a demure smile, her sapphire-colored eyes twinkling, and murmurs, “Do you like it?”

I gape at her. Is this her way of getting back at me for the porn and drugs? Her large breasts practically spill out the front cups of the lingerie, and I’m torn between revulsion and a sickening appreciation.

“No!” I sputter.

Her now perfectly painted face falls. “Am I not attractive?”

*Oh no,* my mind whirls. *My mom’s completely lost it. That or . . . the pills have done something to her*.

“I—I uh,” I stammer uselessly, tearing my eyes away from her sinfully curvy body to stare into her half-lidded eyes.

She looks just like the women I wank off to in my magazines. This has to be a trap of some kind. She’s setting me up, and I really don’t like it.

Well, except for one part of me, and that part has sprung up unwanted, straining against my shorts like some sort of horny beacon.

She gives me another smile, this one devious and knowing as she eyes the tent I’m sporting. “I’m going to make us a lovely dinner,” she practically purrs.

“I’m not hungry,” I yelp, covering my lap with my hands.

I can feel my face burning a bright red. I’ve never felt so vulnerable and exposed as I do right now—and I’ve never wondered about my mother in that way before, but now that she’s parading around in skimpy *fuck-me* clothes my mind feels all muddled, the blood in my veins too hot.

“Not hungry for food?” she asks with a girlish giggle, lifting a hand to twirl her blonde hair.

Is my mom seriously flirting with me? Or is this all an elaborate prank to get back at me? I shake my head dumbly, wishing that I could transport myself back in time, banishing both the porn and the pills from my pathetic existence. Maybe then my mom wouldn’t be trying to humiliate me, and succeeding.

“Then what are you hungry for, Alex?”

My pulse hammers so hard in my brain that I can’t think straight. My mom saunters over to me, her breasts jiggling enticingly, her hips sashaying back and forth with each catlike stride. I want to tell her that this isn’t funny, that it’s not right to tease her son like this, but my mouth won’t work right, only groaning uselessly as she sinks to her knees before me.

No girl has ever looked at me the way my mom is looking at me right now. Like she wants to consume me—to devour my cock and cum with her plump, painted lips. When she rests her warm hand on my bare knee, I suddenly realize that she’s not joking or teasing me, and that the pills have definitely altered her somehow.

“Mom, I think the drugs have kicked in,” I bite out.

My voice is low and hoarse, like I’ve been kicked in the throat. I want to push her away, but at the same time, I want her to keep touching me. God, I’m such a fucking pervert. I’m definitely gonna go to hell if I don’t stop this.

But no one has ever touched me before and when her hand slides up-up-up and under the leg of my shorts I freeze in place, allowing her soft fingers to explore my inner thigh, separated from my skin only by the thin material of my boxers.

“Mom?” I gasp.

“Let me take care of that for you,” she purrs, her blue eyes wide and glazed with lust—with mindlessness.

“Oh,” I groan, just as she pushes her hand in the hole of my boxers and brushes against my erection.

A frisson of pleasure shoots through me, pre-cum dribbling all down my leg as hot skin touches skin.

“Please,” I whine, not sure if I mean ‘please stop’ or ‘please keep going’.

It doesn’t matter, because she grips my boner firmly, stroking me before I can decide either way. *I guess no decision is decision enough*, my mind taunts me as my eyes flutter closed. I don’t move as she pumps me with one hand slowly, her other hand reaching out to undo my shorts.

“I want to make you feel good, son.”

Oh fuck, this is so wrong. But I’m frozen in place as she finishes opening my fly and then pushes my throbbing cock through the hole of my boxers. *If I don’t watch it doesn’t count,* I tell myself. I feel her large breasts press against my legs as she leans forward and against me, hear the sound of the fabric of her bra brush my shorts.

An eternity seems to stretch out in the one second it takes for her to position us, but then her hot, wet mouth collides with my cockhead and I bite back a moan.

“You’re such a big boy,” she croons, kissing me eagerly. “And look at how much you’re dripping….” I nearly lose it from just hearing her low sultry words. No woman has ever touched me like this before and only in my dreams have hot babes whispered such dirty things to me. But my mom shouldn’t be hot to me, right? I shouldn’t feel all hot and trembly from her sweet caress. I shouldn’t be letting this happen.

“Relax and let me pleasure you,” she whispers.

Stars explode behind my eyes as she pulls my cockhead into her mouth, sucking and tonguing the mushroomed tip with an expert precision. Part of me wonders how many times she’s done this before, but part of me doesn’t care. All that matters is that it’s happening to me right now, and it feels absolutely fucking amazing.

I stare at her face but her eyes are now closed in concentration, her cheeks hollowing as she pulls me all the way in. I’m not gonna last long, I realize distantly. A tight coil of pleasure is drawing my balls up and making all of my muscles twitch. It feels like I’m floating. I want it to stop. I want it to never stop.

My toes curl tight in my shoes as she sucks and slurps, noisy wet sounds filling the room. The ceiling swims overhead as I lean my head back and gasp. My mom is sucking me down like she’s made for it—sucking the very soul from my body. If I’d known that her mouth could do such blissfully amazing things like this, I probably wouldn’t have needed the flatly colored pictures in my magazines; I would have spent all that time jerking off to her.

She gags as my hips buck and I drive my cock into the back of her throat, but she doesn’t pull away. I look down at her, groaning, and her blue eyes flutter open and lock onto mine. A jolt of ecstasy pierces through me, and I feel just as mindless as her wide, dilated gaze. Everything goes white, and I jerk violently as my cock spasms inside her tight, constricting throat, shooting thick gushes of cum down into her belly.

“Mmm,” she hums, like it’s the most delicious thing ever, and the vibration on my dick makes the spasms grow even harder, until I’m nothing more but white-space and throbbing pleasure.

She keeps sucking gently as a golden afterglow slowly descends upon me. I’ve just cum down my own mother’s throat and all I can think about is the floaty bliss of pure relief. It takes a few moments before my body stops trembling, and then she pulls away with a slick-wet sound, her lips swollen from her efforts.

“Did I please you?”

I grunt, eager my heart to stop thundering inside my chest. I’ve never had such an intense orgasm in all my life, but guilt is starting to set in. What the hell did we just do? What the hell am I supposed to say to her now? What the hell is supposed to happen next?

She kisses my knee and pets my cock lovingly. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“No,” I mumble, gently pushing her hands away so that I can push my softening cock back into my boxers and redo up my fly. “That was . . . uh….”

I have no idea what to say. Is she gonna hate me when the drugs wear off? I want to get away from this situation. I want to go take a long shower and then hide out in my room for the next million years.

“I love you, Alex,” my mom whispers, and when our eyes lock again I see a flicker of real concern there, of real warmth.

“I love you, too, mom,” I stammer.

I have no idea where we’ll go from here, but I know that my mom will forgive me—and that she loves me unconditionally—even if it’s my fault for everything. Maybe we’ll never speak of it again and it’ll just be a secret we distribute until the end of our days. Maybe it’s not really such a big deal, after all.

After I shower and tuck myself in—having told my mom that I’m tired and need some space—I lie in bed and stare up at nothing, thinking: *God that was wonderful . . . would it be so wrong if it happened again?*

It probably would be, but if she’s still mind-altered in the morning, I don’t think I’ll be able to withstand the temptation. I still have one more pill, too—but I’m not sure I could go as far as drugging her again. *Or could I?* Sleep pulls me under before I can worry about it for too long, and my dreams are full of my gorgeous mother—her hair a golden halo around her head, her angelic blue eyes gazing at me with an infinite and patient love.

—–

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed Book 1 of my smutty mind control incest series: [I Accidentally Turned My Mother Into A Cumslut (Books 1 – 4)]( if you’d like to follow what happens next, these books are currently on sale.

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