Several things happen

Linda Doe sighs as she turns off the shower. The air around her is humid, enveloping her voluptuous body in a cocoon of warmth that she knows will be dispelled the moment she opens the shower door and steps out. She stands still, listening as the showerhead spits out a final few rivulets of water before slowing to a hesitant trickle. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She tries not to think of her son. She imagines her wedding day, how bright it had been, with divine rays of sunlight wafting through the church windows. Before she could take her vows, a cloud had obscured the sun, enveloping the church in sudden darkness. A small shiver runs through her, and she suddenly remembers experiencing a similar event on the day of her wedding. A superstitious part of her mind wonders if that had been an omen; a warning of what would happen if she married Tom Doe. For a brief moment, Tom’s face warps, and she sees her son’s face smiling at her like a demon that had possessed his body. The church is illuminated once more, the cloud which had so ominously botted out the sun dissipating into nothing. She stares up at her son’s face, horror and love and disgust and pure comfort threatening to tear her apart.

The priest watches them both with fond eyes. He turns to John.

“Do you, John Doe, take your mother, Linda Doe, to be your unlawfully wedded wife? Will you love and comfort her in sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

This is so surreal.

“I do,” he says proudly, as if marrying his own mother were somehow normal for him.

Stop. This isn’t right! Why am I even imagining this? I’ve got to wake up, somehow.

Instead, she licks her lips. Her pussy quivers and her heart races with excitement as the priest turns to face her.

“Do you, Linda Doe, take your son, John Doe, to be your unlawfully wedded husband. Will you love, comfort, and obey him in sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

No! I won’t participate in this disgusting… daydream? Hallucination? Whatever the hell this is.

“I do!” she says happily, and she feels herself meaning it. It terrifies her.

No, I didn’t mean to say that! I-I… I suppose it could be worse. John would make a much better husband than his father ever could.

Her eyes widen. She tries to pinch herself, and silence the traitorous thoughts that vie for dominance over her mind, but her fingers don’t obey her. They rest at her sides, and she realizes with horror that she’s never felt more comfortable in her entire life.

No. Stop. Let me move, dammit!

“Very well. Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

Her son gazes at her, and she can’t help but appreciate how handsome he is.

He’s so much better looking than Tom! A real man I could see myself settling down with. Hm. I wonder what our kids would look like…

Before she realizes what’s happening, John leans toward her and captures her lips with his own. She melts into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him against her. She feels his tongue probe at her lips, and she opens them immediately. All thoughts of denying him are gone now. Sensing this, her son lowers his hand beneath her wedding dress to cup a handful of her asscheeks.

Oh god. I hope he isn’t turned off by how big my ass is.

She moans into his mouth.

The kiss seems to carry on forever. When they finally separate, she finds herself out of breath. John isn’t. His eyes sparkle with confident manliness, and she knows she’s never been so attracted to a man before.

“I love you, Mommy,” he whispers.

Her entire body shudders as she orgasms. The world shatters around her and she finally opens her eyes to find herself sitting on the shower floor. Her index and middle finger are pumping in and out of her pussy.

She stops herself, disgusted.

“W-what the hell was that?”

She holds her fingers in front of her face. She draws a shuddering breath.

I have to be stronger than this. I can’t think about John that way. He has his whole life ahead of him and I don’t want to jeopardize that by… giving into whatever this is.

And are they, these feelings she’d suddenly developed for him? Where had they come from? Why was she only just now realizing that her son, her flesh and blood, was the love of her life?

I’d see a therapist if I could trust any of them to keep their mouths shut about this and not inform the police. Discretion is such a rare thing these days.

It occurs to her suddenly.

What about Sharon? She’s a psychiatrist and she’s always been honest and open with me.

The more she thinks about the idea, the more appealing it becomes to her.

Perhaps I should give her a call. Not today. Tomorrow, when she’s in her office.

Linda Doe is nothing if not a woman of purpose. She gets to her feet. Her large breasts jiggle and wobble annoyingly as she opens the translucent shower door.

Without looking, she grabs her towel off a bar anchored to the wall and dries herself off. She moves into the bedroom and pauses, glancing at the door. She’d locked it when she came up here, worried that John would barge in. A silly thought normally. A timid boy unless angered, he tended to know where his boundaries were and respected them. Lately, however, he’d seemed to have aged ten years in demeanor. He still had the same scrawny look, yet she couldn’t help but smile as she remembered how masculine and confident he’d been in the basement.

She chews her lip, her pussy tingling with arousal.

F-fuck!

She thinks back to earlier, when they were in the basement together. Of him grinding her crotch against her butt. She hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, but she’d felt it; his erection. It felt large and thick trapped between her buttcheeks. It felt somehow more intimate than when it had been sandwiched between her breasts. She nearly shuddered with a second orgasm at the memory.

Dammit. That wasn’t even really sexual. My breasts belong to him. They exist to make him happy, so that was more masturbation than anything else. Still, his penis is very nice. Big. Much larger than his father’s, though that’s not saying much since he can’t even get it up for me most of the time. God, it’s been way too long since I’ve had sex!

“Stop it,” she shakes her head abruptly, trying to dispel the memory. She walks over to her bedside table. On it sat a dark green lamp with a white shade, an alarm clock, and her cellphone. She picked up the phone and opened the calendar app. A few more taps on the screen and she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do.

Just as she’s about to lock her phone again, she meanders to her contacts app. Her fingers scroll downward until she finds John’s information. She taps on it, and her phone screen is promptly illuminated by a picture of him. It’s his graduation picture.

She can’t help the conspicuously unmotherly smile that spreads across her face.

Such a handsome young man. If I were twenty years younger and not related to him, I’d go after him in a heartbeat.

She briefly considers calling him, just to hear his voice, but decides against it.

I don’t trust myself around him. I don’t know if I ever will.

Linda sighs and lies down on her bed. She stares up at the ceiling, wondering why things had suddenly become so much more complicated for her.

Hypnosis had always been some abstract thing you’d read about in books or, more often seen as a plot point in television shows, comics, and other fictional mediums. You know of its use as a therapeutic tool, but it was generally accepted by most people that you couldn’t make someone do something under hypnosis that they would not have under their own free will. It’s an assertion you now know to be completely untrue, whether due to Charles’ help or not, it doesn’t matter.

Staring at Angela’s hypnotized visage, you can’t help but wonder what it’s like for her. Is her consciousness truly suppressed or is some part of her aware of what’s going on around her, helpless to do anything but listen?

You like Angela. You actually enjoy her company, unlike most people. She’s one of the few people who were nice to you before you’d reprogrammed them under hypnosis. It’s for that reason you decide to hold off on any severe personality alterations for the time being. For now, you’ll keep Angela almost exactly as she was, with a few minor alterations to suit your interests.

What are those interests? Finally seeing her naked is a given, as is having sex with her, but you’re still reeling from your mother’s abrupt departure from the basement. You’d clearly gone too far with her, too quickly. It isn’t entirely your fault: five minutes a hypnosis session isn’t nearly enough to cover all your bases. Then again, you’re the one who suggested the five minute hypnosis window to begin with when you’d met Charles, so it is actually your fault. Whatever. You’ll overcome your limitations (self-imposed and otherwise) regardless. You just need a little practice. Practice makes perfect, after all. For now, you’ll try to be more cautious than you were before.

You close her refrigerator and get down to business.

“Angela, can you hear me?”

“Yes...” Her normally lively, upbeat voice is entirely devoid of emotion. Your erection throbs with excitement.

“Feel my words filling your mind. Feel them relaxing you, soothing your thoughts. There's no pain or hardship here. You can just let your thoughts go and listen to my voice.”

“Mmmm…”

“How do you feel right now, Angela?”

“Relaxed. Your voice is so soothing.”

“It makes you feel nice and relaxed and safe. You don’t need to question anything when you’re listening to my voice. You can just let your mind open up and let my words soothe you, can’t you?”

“Mhm,” she nods.

You place a hand on her left breast.

“Where am I touching you, Angela?”

A smile.

“My boob.”

“Is that funny to you?” you ask.

“A little,” she replies.

“Why’s it funny?”

“Because I see you staring at me all the time.”

Your throat suddenly becomes dry.

“You see me looking at you in what way?”

Another grin.

“You know, at my breasts. My legs and my butt. I always see you looking at me when I’m working in the yard.”

Now your eyes are wide, and it feels as if a pit has opened in your chest. She’s caught you. She thinks you’re a creep. She hates you.

Except… she doesn’t?

You frown.

“It doesn’t sound like me looking at you bothers you. Does it?”

She shakes her head.

“No.”

“Why doesn’t that upset you?”

“Because you’re a boy. It’s only natural.”

A small smile comes to you.

“That’s right. It’s only natural that I look at you. Because I’m a guy, right?”

“Mhm,” she nods cheerfully.

Huh. That was easy.

“But touching is a little more forward than looking,” you remind her, and you only realize how unwise that is after you’ve already said the words. You amend your sentence quickly to forestall her reply. “I mean, I can’t be that much more forward, since you found it funny, right?”

“I guess so,” she replies.

“And it’s just with me, right? You don’t normally find it amazing when other guys look at you.”

She doesn’t reply.

You sigh. Of course her being solely interested in your attention was too much to hope for.

“You’re an exhibitionist. You like it when men stare at you, don’t you?”

A small smile.

“I do,” she whispers.

“Is that why sometimes you do yard work in your bra?”

Her smile widens.

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes. You certainly hadn’t expected your spying on her to be something you’d enjoy, let alone encourage. It does kind of fit with the Angela you know, though. She’s always been hard to embarrass or fluster and seems to feed off of the attention of others. That’s why she seems so down now that her husband’s out of town and her daughters are away at college. She has no one around to give her the attention she craves. When she’d seen you on the sidewalk, it must have seemed like the answer to her prayers.

Now, how to turn that in your favor?

“You trust me, right Angela?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“You wouldn’t just admit that you like being watched to just anyone, would you?”

She shakes her head “no.”

“In fact, that sounds like a pretty big secret of yours. If it got out, a lot of people might think differently of you, wouldn’t they?”

“They’d think of me differently.” She nods emphatically.

“Men would think you were a slut and women, well they’d think the same thing, wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah…”

“People would think you were a slut if you thought you liked men looking at you. Say it and find yourself believing it.”

Angela licks her lips. A glob of saliva trickles down her chin before falling into her cleavage. Fuck.

“People’d think I was a slut if they knew I liked it when men looked at me.”

“Again. Feel the words cementing themselves in your mind. Feel yourself believing in them more the more you say them.”

“People would think I was a slut if they thought I liked it when men looked at me.”

Again.

“People would think I was a slut if they thought I liked it when men looked at me.”

You grin.

“You don’t want to be thought of as a slut, do you, Angela?”

“I’m not a slut,” she says firmly.

“I know you’re not, but if that secret of yours got out, what would happen?”

“Everyone would think I was a slut,” she grounds out.

“And you’re **** to avoid that, aren’t you?”

She swallows.

“If people thought you were a slut, they’d look down on you, wouldn’t they?”

“I don’t care what they think,” she doesn’t sound like she believes it.

“You might not,” you allow. “But what would your husband think? What about your daughters? Do you think they’d enjoy their mother being thought of as the town slut?”

Even though she’s hypnotized, the color seems to drain from her face.

“You’ll do anything to stop people from thinking you’re a slut.”

“I’ll do anything,” she admits readily.

“You can’t ask your husband or daughters for advice on this, can you? Just the thought of it would be enough to make them ashamed of you, wouldn’t it?”

“They’d be ashamed…” she utters morosely.

“I’m not ashamed of you, though, and I don’t think you’re a slut. It’s natural for a woman to enjoy men’s attention. But we’ve built a society that’s ashamed of sexuality and so we have to adapt to it. That doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it,” you cut her off when she opens her mouth. “We just need to learn to get our enjoyment secretly. Privately. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think so,” she answers.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I trust you completely. You’d never call me a slut or tell anyone about me,” she says with a strength of belief that surprises you. No one had ever really trusted you before. You’ve already violated hers. It’s too late to stop now.

“You can trust me with anything. I’d never tell a soul.”

Her eyes get slightly teary.

“You’d never tell anyone about me,” she says.

“Never. Going forward, you’re going to be a lot more cautious about attracting men’s eyes, aren’t you?”

She nods.

“I don’t want anyone to think I’m a slut.”

“That’s good. But you still have those desires, don’t you? You still need a man to look at you.”

She follows your logic easily.

“Can you look at me, John? When I need it?”’

“Of course. And just to be clear, I’m allowed to look at you wherever I want, whenever I want, aren’t I?”

She nods.

“Anywhere you want.”

“But it isn’t just enough for me to look at you. In the absence of so many men’s gazes, your need for male attention will rise, won’t it?”

“It will,” she says.

“You’ll need to get naked in front of me, won’t you?”

“I…”

“You’ll do anything to prevent people from thinking you’re a slut.”

“I’ll do anything to stop people from thinking I’m a slut,” she parrots.

“Just me looking at you while you’re clothed isn’t enough. You need to satiate your needs by crossing a few boundaries if we’re going to keep your secret hidden. You’ll do anything to prevent people from thinking you’re a slut.”

“I’ll do anything to prevent people from thinking I’m a slut.”

“If we’re alone and you feel a need to have a man look at you, what will you do?”

Her lips part slightly.

“I’ll take my clothes off.”

Bingo. Damn, that was actually pretty difficult. Angela’s a tough nut to crack. You guess you shouldn't have expected anything else.

You stare at her. It’s been a while since she fell into her trance. Likely five minutes or more, yet her eyes are still blank and glazed over. She’s still apparently hypnotized. Might as well take advantage of that.

You grab her tit again, and she smiles.

“You think it’s funny that I’m touching your breast, don’t you?”

“I do,” the smile doesn’t leave her face.

“There’s nothing wrong with me touching you there. It’s only natural, right?”

“Mhm,” she accepts your point easily. You wonder why. Getting her to agree to get naked had been like pulling a tooth out, yet she’s somehow perfectly fine with her touching you? You might chalk it up to some weird idiosyncrasy of hers, but you feel like there’s a catch. There has to be.

“I can touch you anywhere I want, right?”

She doesn’t reply. You try a different track.

“You like being touched by a man, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“You like it even more than being looked at, it seems. Am I correct?”

She doesn’t answer for a few moments, and you’re about to go at her with a different question when she at last replies.

“Being touched feels better than being looked at,” she mutters quietly, like she almost doesn’t want to admit it.

“Do you fantasize about men touching you? Grabbing you?”

She nods without saying anything.

“Where do you imagine them touching you, Angela?”

Her face is slightly flushed.

“My breasts. My stomach. My hips. My ass. My lips. My face. My thighs. My pussy.”

You snort.

“So basically everywhere. You’d never entertain that fantasy in real life with strange men, would you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t betray my husband.”

Unsurprising. Angela had always struck you as a loyal sort. You wonder how you’ll end up breaking that barrier down.

“Not to mention it would make everyone think you were a slut, wouldn’t it?” you say.

She grimaces slightly, but nods.

“But you’re fine with me touching you, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t count as betraying your husband?” This is a bit risky. There’s a chance she could clam up at the reminder or link the thought of cheating on Mr. Hughes with her so much as enjoying your company.

She shakes her head.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because it’s not sexual. You’re doing it to help me prevent everyone from thinking I’m a slut.”

If Angela were conscious and saw the predatory grin you have on your face right now, she’d have good sense to call the police.

“So let me get this straight: me touching you and looking at you isn’t sexual at all. It’s all about me helping you enjoy being looked at and touched by men without risking everyone thinking you’re a slut. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

Goddamn. You couldn’t have stumbled into a better arrangement if you tried. The worst part of it is you can’t remember exactly what you’ve done to engender that sort of logic in her mind.

“Nothing I do to you can possibly be sexual. Everything I do is to help you avoid being thought of as a slut. Say it.”

“Nothing you do to me is sexual. It’s all about helping me avoid everyone calling me a slut.”

“No matter where I look at you or where I touch you, I’m helping you.”

“You’re helping me,” she says.

“So if I were to take my pants off and rub my penis on your leg, would that be sexual?”

She shakes her head.

“No, you’d be helping me.”

Jesus Christ.

“What if-”

Angela blinks and takes a deep breath. Her hazel eyes regain their usual liveliness.

“Oh,” she smiles at you. “Hey, John. I didn’t see you come in. Uh, was I… hypnotized?”

“I’m afraid so,” you say.

She lets out a heavy sigh.

“Jeez. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

You wave her off.

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Getting hypnotized is perfectly natural if you’re a mom.”

“Don’t I know it,” she shakes her head and turns to the fridge. She glances at you again and smiles. “Oh, did you close this? Thank you so much. Without my girls around, I have to watch myself around the house. One time, I think I fell into a trance when I was making coffee. It spilled all over the counter.”

You thought you and Charles made sure moms wouldn’t be put in any danger when they fell into their trances. If Angela was hypnotized while making coffee, she could have burned herself severely and not even known it until she woke up.

You file the thought away for later.

“That’s awful. I guess I should come around more often and check up on you.”

She laughs.

“Aw, you’re so sweet! That girlfriend of yours better know how lucky she is to have gotten the attention of such a responsible man.”

Your cheeks grow warm.

“I’m sure she does,” you say, and for the first time since she woke up, you allow your gaze to drift downward. Her breasts are nice and big. Not as big as Mom’s or Sharon’s, but much larger than average. You’d always liked looking at them. There’s a special kind of comfort that comes with knowing she’d liked it, too.

Instead of admonishing you, Angela gives her chest a shake. Her breasts sway with her movements.

“You like ‘em?” she asks.

“What?” you say.

“My boobs. Do you like them?” she asks, a small smile on her face.

You swallow.

“Yeah, I do. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve probably made you feel incredibly uncomfortable.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Relax. If I minded you looking at me, I’d have kicked you off my property the moment I saw you.”

You raise your eyebrows, affecting a façade of surprise.

“You, uh, you really don’t mind then?”

She shakes her head, still smiling. God, those lips are so sexy. And the way she chews on them subtly… damn.

“Not at all. In fact, feel free to look at me as much as you want. My body’s an open canvas,” she says.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you look away from her.

“Hey,” she waltzes in front of you, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. Her milky cleavage almost bursts out the top of her shirt.

“Angela. What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I was clear earlier when I said I didn’t mind you looking at me. Let me elaborate real quick.”

She shucks off her button-down shirt, tossing it onto the kitchen counter. Immediately, her hands go to the bottom of her undershirt, lifting it upward. You’re soon treated to a view of her toned stomach and her bra-clad breasts.

“Uh…” you try to look like a shocked boy unable to look away from his hot older next door neighbor.

She doesn’t stop. Her hands reach behind her and undo her bra. It slides off, falling to the floor, and you’re treated with a view of her full, naked breasts for the first time.

Linda can’t wait any longer. She has to see him. To have him look at her like she wishes her husband could have looked at her, at least once.

He’s worthless. He doesn’t love me like John does. My boy would make me the happiest woman in the world, if I’d let him. He makes me so comfortable and all I do is turn him away.

She gets up from the bed.

Well, no longer. God help me, I can’t stay away from him. Even if I don’t let him go all the way, there’s nothing wrong with a little kiss here and there, right? As long as we do it privately and discreetly, no one should find out.

She dearly wants to taste his lips and tongue again. She wants to smell him, feel his body pressed against hers.

An increasingly weak voice whispers in the back of her mind that this is wrong. That it’s **** and that despite her efforts to maintain secrecy, her little incestuous secret would get out somehow, as secrets are wont to do.

I’ll be careful and I won’t go all the way. Just a kiss here and there. That’s all I need.

She knows it’s a lie, but she makes herself believe it.

She’s so distracted by her thoughts that she nearly walks into the hallway naked. Quickly, she finds a set of clothes – more revealing than her usual attire, she makes sure – and leaves her room.

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/LLation