Go downstairs and have something to eat

I headed out of my mom’s bedroom and into the hallway, taking note of where I left the ray gun as I made my way downstairs. With each step down the stairs, I felt my tits, ass, and hips jiggle ever so slightly. My bare feet padding softly against the cool hardwood floors.

The satin pajamas moved with me, the fabric whispering against my skin with every step, every movement. I could feel the way it clung to my curves, the way it slid against my thighs, my ass. It was maddening, delicious, and I couldn’t help but relish in the way it made me feel—so aware of my mom’s body, so alive.

In the kitchen, I moved with a slow, deliberate grace, enjoying the way the fabric shifted against me as I reached for a pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. The soft hum of the burner filled the room, and I leaned against the counter, my hands resting lightly on the edge. My hips swayed slightly as I waited, my mind noting the contracting height between my body and my mothers.

I reached for a box of macaroni, tearing it open and about to pour the contents into the boiling water. I refrained, knowing my mom was trying to lose the weight. I turned off the stove and began to rethink my dinner for the night.

Knowing my limited options, I began to work on a simple salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, chickpeas, and lettuce, finished with a vinaigrette. As I ate the salad, my refined palate picked up subtle flavours of the salad, bringing a grin to my face.

When I was done, I remembered that I was now my mom, and no one was going to clean up for me. So, I took my plate to the sink, gathered the utensils I used to make the salad, and began loading the dishwasher. I looked down into the sink, frustrated by the mess that was left in it from earlier in the day, only realizing a moment later it was my mess.

Once the dishes were finished, I had the idea of having a nightcap. Considering I was under 21 years old couldn’t buy my own ****, the few times I snuck and took some ****, I hated it. The ethanol from the **** burned my nostrils and the taste was very bitter. But now that I would be tasting it in my mom’s body, it may taste better with her sophisticated palate.

I reached for the open bottle of tequila, swirling its amber liquid in the bottle. As I poured myself a small glass, the sharp, smoky scent filled my nostrils, as I took a small sip. A pleasant warmth spread through my chest as my mouth picked up wonderful rich notes of vanilla, caramel and custard mixed with subtle floral notes. This was delightful, I thought as I poured myself another glass, drinking it as I made my way back to my mother’s bedroom.

I laid in her bed, scrolling through her Instagram feed as the **** began to take its effect. I knew that we would both be sleeping well tonight.

When the time came, I took off the skin suit and laid it face down on the bed. As I retrieved the ray gun, I returned to my mom’s bedroom and from the doorway I zapped her, quietly fleeing back to my room and silently closing the door. I didn’t hear any noise coming from my mom’s room, but I assumed that after that pleasurable shower and nightcap, her fatigued body would want nothing else other than sleep.