Moz wants more from mommy

James's hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer. The smell of her arousal filled the room, a potent scent that only served to fuel his depraved desires. He felt his orgasm building, the tension coiling in his stomach like a serpent ready to strike. He knew he had her completely under his control, and the knowledge was as exhilarating as the sensations her mouth brought him.

As she sucked and kissed his asshole, his thoughts wandered to Remy and Zyn. He would savor this moment with Tiffany, but he couldn't wait to hear their sweet pleas for his touch, their innocence shattered under the weight of his manipulation. The house was his playground, and the women in it were his toys. He felt invincible, a god playing with the lives of those who had once been his family.

The speakers whispered their endorsement, the sounds of their pleasure mingling with Tiffany's muffled moans. This was only the beginning of his reign, and he intended to enjoy every twisted second of it.

"Mother," James instructed, his voice a dark purr, "you must remember your place. Act as you always do around others, but know that your true purpose is to serve me."

Tiffany nodded, her eyes glazed with a mix of confusion and newfound desire. "I understand," she whispered, her hand moving to his cock, stroking him gently.

He watched as she leaned in closer, her spit glistening on her lips. He felt the warmth of her breath as she began to whisper, her words a blend of love and depravity. "You're such a dirty ass boy," she murmured, "always wanting your mother's hand in your ass."

The room was alive with the sound of her spit mixing with his precum, a wet squelch that filled the air. Her hand moved from his cock to his asshole, her fingers slippery with their combined fluids. She began to circle the entrance, the tip of her index finger pressing gently against him. The sensation was foreign, yet exhilarating.

"Fuck, yes," James hissed, his grip tightening in her hair. He could feel the walls of his control crumbling, his mother now a willing participant in his twisted fantasies. He pushed his hips back, urging her to continue.

Tiffany's eyes remained locked on his, the confusion slowly fading away. "You're such a naughty boy," she murmured, her voice a sultry purr. Her hand slipped between his cheeks, her spit-slicked fingers tracing his asshole. "But mommy's here to make it all better."

Her voice was a siren's call, her words a dark symphony that played directly to his desires. He watched as she began to insert her finger, the tight ring of muscle giving way to the digit with surprising ease. The sensation was electric, a mix of pleasure and pain that made his toes curl. He groaned, unable to stop himself.

The speakers in the room grew louder, their whispers of approval a symphony of sin. He knew he had her, that she would be his to manipulate and use for his own gratification. He leaned back in his chair, watching as his mother's hand moved rhythmically, her fingers delving deeper with each stroke.

"Mother," he murmured, his voice strained with need, "you're so good to me."

Tiffany's eyes filled with a strange mix of love and submission. "I'm here for you, baby," she cooed, her other hand reaching for his cock. "Always."

Her hand worked him expertly, her movements mirroring the rhythm of her invading digits. He felt himself getting closer to the edge, the tension in his body reaching a crescendo. The room was alive with the sound of her spit mixing with his precum, the squelch of her hand on his ass.

"Fuck, Tiffany," he groaned, his body taut as a bowstring. "You're going to make me cum."

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice a breathy whisper. "Cum for mommy."

The final thread of his self-control snapped, and he erupted, his seed spurting into the air, landing on her face and in her hair. The speakers buzzed with satisfaction, their work a success.

As Tiffany licked the remnants of his orgasm from her fingers, James couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. His mother was his, and soon the rest of the family would follow. The house was his kingdom, and he was its twisted king.

The aftermath was a blur of sticky flesh and heavy breathing. Tiffany stood, her nightgown in disarray, her eyes still glazed with the lingering effects of the mind control. "Is there anything else you need, my love?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper.

James stood, his cock still semi-hard. "No," he said, his voice firm. "For now, go back to bed. Act as if nothing has changed."

With a nod, she complied, the spell of his control over her still strong. He watched her leave the room, the soft click of the door the only sound that broke the silence. He knew she would follow his every command, her thoughts and desires now his to mold.