You're hungry

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the thoughts churning in your mind, and head downstairs. The kitchen is warm, the scent of something simmering on the stove filling the air. And there she is. Your mom with her back to you, leaning over the stove as she stirs a pot. But the way she’s dressed - oh god - it should not be this hot. She’s wearing a sleek, form-fitting dress in a deep emerald green that clings to her curves like it was painted on, the hem stopping high enough to show off her toned legs. The dress hugging her hips in a way that makes her ass look impossibly round. And those heels - god, those heels. Towering, slender, the kind of shoes that make her legs look endless. Her usually perfect dark blonde hair is down, swept over one shoulder in loose waves

She turns slightly, catching your gaze, and smiles. An easy, maternal smile, completely unaware of the effect she’s having on you. "Hungry?" she asks, her voice warm.

Your cock twitches. Hard. You’ve never looked at your mom like this before. And yet here you are, suddenly hard, your breath hitching just a little as you take in the curve of her hips, the way the dress dips just low enough to show off the swell of her cleavage. Her perfume—something floral and crisp, like fresh lavender and expensive leather—drift your way, wrapping around you, and for a second, you can almost imagine what it’d be like to lean in, to press against her, to taste her. Fuck.

Your cock twitches again. You freeze. What the fuck is wrong with you? This is your mother. Your brain stutters, tripping over itself. You can’t- you can’t- even process it, let alone want it. But the CMD-1… the pills… the effects… it’s like a spark in dry kindling, igniting this terrifying thought: what if you could make her want it too? The idea slithers in, insidious and tempting. Your pulse spikes. You could control her. You could make her want this. Just enough to make her… see you differently. Just enough to make her touch you. Kiss you. Want you. You clench your fists, forcing your eyes away. The thought of using the pills on her slams into you like a freight train. It's sick, wrong, but also… so fucking tempting. The idea of reducing her to the same helpless, pliable version of herself you’ve come to enjoy from Dr. Carter is intoxicating. Imagine it, her at your mercy. Her lips swollen from your cock. Her body arching beneath you as you take what you want.

But then reality slams into you, brutal and unavoidable. A sharp inhale cuts off the fantasy. You swallow hard, forcing your mind to fucking shut up. She’s your fucking mother. Even if the thought alone makes you harder than you’ve ever been in your life. But this is a line you cannot cross. Not just because of morality - though that exists - but because the idea of manipulating your own mother with a chemical compound you barely understand makes your stomach churn.

You take another steadying breath, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for a glass of water. "Yeah," you say, your voice rougher than you intended. "Starving."

She turns back to the stove, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. "Good. Dinner’s almost ready."

You nod, gripping the counter until your knuckles turn white.