Yes, and no.

When you come to, you're greated by the magnificent view of your mother's mammaries, as your head is resting in her lap. "Hello there, sleepyhead." Your mother beams down at you. "You sure scared me for a minute there, passing out on me like that. I think we'll have to work on that somehow, maybe find some exercises for you, so you can last longer when I want to really hilt myself down your throat. Oh! And while we're at it; squats! Loads, and loads of squats! Maybe see if there are any other ways we can work on your ass. Not that I don't like it right now, it's just that I would LOVE to see how big we could make you with some real tlc for those sweet, sweet, cheeks of yours. Ooh, just the thought of it is getting me going again."

As you listen to your mother rambling on about the need for you to work on your lung capacity, your ass, and your legs, you grow ever more horrified by how her nearly **** you to **** with her dick isn't fazing your mother at all. She's just working out ways for you to pleasure her better, and turning you into her own, personal wet dream.

"Mom!" You shout. She looks down from her phone, where she was looking up yoga classes to sign you up for. "I could have died a few minutes ago! Or gotten brain damage! What the fuck!?" Your mother looks bemused at your words, and starts stroking your hair.

"Oh, honey. First of all, I had complete control there the entire time, you were never in any danger at all. I just thought your limits were a little further than they turned out to be, but as I said; we'll work on that." You try to tell her how you actually don't want to work on them, but she cuts you off. "As to your second point; there's no need to worry, honey. It doesn't matter to me how damaged your brain, mind, or body get; mommy will always love you the same, honeybun." The smile that graces her lucious lips after those last word sends chills down your spine.

Looking up at your mother, her soft thighs beneath your head, and alarmingly hard rod lifting you slightly, you try to give voice to the pure terror, and loathing you have for your new life, without upsetting the woman who just implied that she'd be okay with fucking you no matter what condition you were in. "Uhm, mom? I really don't think this is what I want out of life. Couldn't we just go back to normal? Like, I'd be ok with helping you out occasionally, often, even but this is all bit too much for me."