Masochistically.

I focused on sliding more miniature elephants out the proverbial door, watching as, with a happily lifted trunk, they strode out and away and straight into my mother's mind, which appeared to be just as accessible as Abby's. And, I hoped, anybody else's.

I scrunched my nose thoughtfully.

The thing is, with this ability, even when I was in trouble, technically... I wasn't. Or not as much as I would be without it, at least. Right?

Right-o.

So what I wanted to see, then, was just how resolutely I could hold on... being the one at the helm. I mean, I could get out of probably anything with a single notion if I wanted to. Break-ups, cookie jars, pat-downs. But what if I turned to the tide? Actually walked in its direction? Only this time, with me being the one responsible for it? For opening the dam? And giving it my own wicked spin, that otherwise would never have come to pass.

In other words... I guess I was feeling kind of... masochistic.

Twisted, I know. In the same time, it wasn't quite the same thing, as I would never truly be out of control -- (theoretically). But then again, this was a new concept for me as a whole, and I decided not to dwell on it that much.

I wasn't sure I knew what I was getting at then. But I knew that I wanted to exercise some kind of control over my mother, but in a way that would be different.

I inhaled, still as dirty-minded as before as I looked her in the eye and she to me, and decided that, wherever I was going, I was going to make the most out of it.

Here goes, I thought.

"As I was saying, Mr. Daniel Redding Easley," she continued, when a small flicker suddenly clouded her eyes. However, before anyone could object, before any divine alien could nitpick, it departed just as plainly as it appeared, and she looked back at me, continuing aglow, "...you are such a naughty fucking brat!"

"What?" I choked out as my mother glared at me, stepping forward.

Sometimes my acting didn't suck. Fortunately, in this case, we were all on-stage.

My mother grabbed me by the hair and pulled, then squeezed my lips. "Oh, look at me, mister smart-ass." She scoffed. She let go of my mouth only to bring it down to grab me -- right in the sack. "My god, you fucking pervert! You came from watching your own sister masturbate!" With a moderate squeeze, her fingers pushed through the cloth, bringing my erection back to life once more. "You're so sick," she hissed into my ear as she began rubbing my dick through my pants. "You're a sick, filthy fucker. You hear me, son?"

"Yes," I gasped. If this is how her handiwork felt with me clothed, it must be bliss out of them.

In time, of course.

"My son, a dirty depraved teenager." Meanwhile, my mother, who had never uttered profanity in front of us willingly in her life, scowled. "You know what we do with sick, filthy perverts like you?"

I was about to say 'what?' only for her to indicate she probably wasn't waiting for a reply.

"We punish them."

She pushed me onto my knees. I went on all fours as she went behind me, and unbuckled my pants. Muttering unmentionables about how wet and filthy they were, she slipped them over my legs and tossed them to the side. Then she placed a warm hand against my right butt cheek, which remained protected behind my boxers, and slapped my ass, right there, on the very bottom she -- my mama -- gave me.

"Get moving, dog!" she spat.

"But where, Mom."

Another slap. I winced. This was never a thing in the Easley household -- the nearest we got to just scratching domestic **** was the time Dad whipped me with his belt after he thought I ran a guy over with his car. Of course, that turned out to be Bradley Gatt from fourth. Always running people over.

"To the master bedroom, dog!" Slap! "Where else?"

After a quick 'right away', I scurried off, still on all fours while my mother cracked me every now and then in the ass. Despite the circumstances, I was stifling too many laughs to even count. But I stifled, stifled it all away, as I continued planting more words into my mother's mouth.

Once we made it to the bedroom, my mother closed the door and began removing her clothes.

I tried to drop my jaw in shock at first. Then I did so in genuine appreciation of her very delectable, motherly, nevertheless, but grabbable, hardy body.

"Mom, what are you doing? Why are you taking your clothes off?"

"Shut up, Daniel," she glared at me as she threw her scrubs over to some decrepit wastebasket. She continued menacingly, "Do you know how tired I get coming home from work every day? Do you know how sore my legs are? How fried out my brain is? Have you ever considered that? Don't you know how much I just want to lie around, grab a male model magainze, and just finger my self all day, do you?"

"Mom, I never knew--"

"Don't speak out of turn, Daniel! I'm not finished!" One unhook and swing later, and there went the bra. Then there went the panties. I held a breath at the unobstructed view. She really was beautiful. "You little brats just don't understand, do you? How much fucking care, and attention, and sex, a hot and healthy woman needs!"

"But Dad -- "

"Goodness fucking gracious, Daniel!" My mom said, exasperated. "Just zip it, young man! Zip it or else," she added, "I'll make you eat my ass!"

"Mom, what are you -- " But catching myself, I held my tongue. Raising a brow, for the first time it seemed that morning, my mom smiled.

"That's a good boy." She sat on the bed in all her naked natural physique, and spread her legs. "Now, come on boy. Come on." She whistled like she was calling over Benji.

Hesitantly, I began to come over.

"Nuh-uh," she swished a finger, stopping me with a foot and pushing me back. "Good boys only move on all fours, remember, son?"

I placed my hands on the carpet and crawled. A 'tsk' came from above but an extra inch later.

"Mmm," my mother mulled, looking at me from top to bottom with an expression of fiery lust. "Not good enough." She pointed at my bottom again. "Good boys also wag their butts when they're happy." She tilted her head, looking straight at me. "Aren't you happy to be such a good boy for mommy, Daniel?" She waited, an awkward silence hanging over the room. "Well, aren't you?"

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, I hung my head down in shame and wagged my butt from side to side. From the corner of my eye, I saw my mom biting her lip intently while lightly fingering her pussy, her eyes ravaged with a foreign hunger that before had never existed. However, if you were to stare deep enough, to pry it open enough, you might have spotted a flickering layer of normal, motherly hazel that seemed to crackle every passing second, battling for the surface and failing each time. She was still unaccustomed a bit to such an assertive nature -- I was constantly suppressing that side of her with my mind, and frankly, the growing resistance that seemed to be welling up from inside, in the confines of her most anchored, sturdiest understandings of morality and values, was almost a genuine struggle. This was a little different from what I had done with Abigail, previously -- my mom was still hanging on, though not enough to actually go anywhere. But underneath all the churning gears and on-the-fly modulations and redirected views was still the same sensible, thoughtful, self-sufficient, somewhat prudish mother thinking,

'Hey, I... I can't be doing this, this... this is my own son! Why am I... why is he so cute? Why is he so bad? His butt needs to be spanked!' Tremor. 'No! I mustn't... think that way... mustn't... lost control of myself... but... this is not... myself... this is not... wrong... is it?'

With every second, and every finger in her pussy, each word became quieter... and quieter... until it was no louder than a distant carol... until it left in a single-file line and closed the door without the faintest of byes... until they were but whispers, whispers, whispers.

And now, she was getting so turned on it was as if the transmission was getting backed up, like a radio delay.

...though on second thought, perhaps I was the one losing focus for a bit. My dick grew as hard as a cold-shouldered snowman as I started rubbing it against the carpet in my own tangent of need.

Then, after a minute glow from the mark, and a hard throbbing from my own hardening cock, we both groaned in the same time. My mother's voice boomed, "DAMN IT DANIEL. COME AND EAT MY PUSSY ALREADY!"

Not one to disappoint, I lunged forward, swung my head up, and dove into her moist-as-dew pussy, feeling the heat of warmth with my cheeks wedged between her ample thighs. I licked and I slobbered and I touched and I fingered, her juices soaking my tongue in the taste of womanly sex. Her pussy hair looked like it was last trimmed a week or two ago, but I was surprised she kept it trimmed at all.

"Yes, Daniel, yes!" she cried, swinging her legs over my back as she grabbed my head and pushed me deeper into her. "That's it, oh!" Her legs rung themselves around my neck. "That's fucking it!"

I, on the other hand, was in a world of my own. I had never actually performed this act before, but here I was, giving the electric vibrator a run for its money. As I licked and flapped and assaulted her cunt, she sometimes roughly, sometimes gently guided my head this way and that way and in and out. Her hips rocked the mattress every other second as she slid from side to side on her back and pivoted this way and that on her ass, counterbalancing the **** that was being applied to her by yours truly. Eventually, gold was struck -- I sensed her reaching her climax, and her muscles tensed and skin grew goosebumps as, soon enough, she writhed and pulled and moaned, nearly squeezing the air out of me and calling out my name.

It was funny -- though this had started out as a more... abrasive excursion, there was an undeniable feeling of, well, strangely potent attachment at the end of it. In fact, I could even swear I felt such emotions radiate from my mother as well, partway into her breathy torpor in advance of unconsciousness.

Odd, indeed. I'd lost some control there in the end, too. It looked like I still had some time before I had a hold on this better.

In any case, the next few moments were a lost page to me. I fell to an equally powerful climax, and, right after feeling a bubbly feeling exert itself through, into, then out of me and around the immediate perimeter like some kind of... some kind of net, I only managed a brief, mental 'What..?' before dropping my head against my mother's thing and being knocked out to black.

Going **** was apparently a common byproduct of this whole arbiter thing.

Though, of course, that wasn't the only one.