Your mom's morning (flashback)

-Mh-mh-mh♫-You trill, twisting your blonde hair in a fluffy chignon. "Perfect." You judge, smiling at the gorgeous woman behind the mirror, who obviously does the same. You then enter the tub and start washing your body, paying attention not to get your head wet: after all, it's pain in the ass, I mean, a lot of bother having to dry that silky hair you've got, if it's not necessary. Hot water runs down your curves, sending tickle-like thrills as it flows. Watching down, beyond the lock on the side of your face, all you can see is your luscious, thick figure gently pulsing for the stimulation. In particular, you had your eyes on the juicy, brown nipples on which your boobs culminate, a carnal desire to play with them building fast.

"These tits... these abs... are mine." And it's not just because you're possessing this body: you feel that they belong to you, you feel that you are who you should be and who you have always been; yet, at the same time, you know that you're irrevocably invading your mom's privacy; you remember who you actually are and you know that you're robbing her of her role, her body, her life. This lovely contradiction is even more arousing than the body itself. Nevertheless, time is flying, and you have some plans before lunch, so you're determined not to give in to the impulse. However, your thoughts soon wander on the first time you've landed your eyes on her form like this, just half an hour, maybe an hour ago.

-Ah!!! Ah!!!- Your sister's body cums once again, you've lost the count; but this time something is different: you feel yourself getting shot out through her pussy and squashing you to the ground. You lay disoriented, until a pair of hands roughly grab you and put you inside a jar; you see Tina's face looking at you amused, next your following hours are fuzzy, as if you were fainting all the time. Then, suddenly, you're standing once again on your feet, but they're not your feet, and these manicured fingers holding a cup aren't yours for sure. You see Tina, Kim and your old body having breakfast, this means...

Two minutes later you break into your mother's room, looking at your reflection in her body mirror. You hyperventilate. Part of you wants to scream. Instead, as a wild fury, you tear down your clothes.

-Fuck... mom...- You hear not your voice saying.

-I'm mom.-.

It's the switch: your hands **** your body immediately forcing you to lie down on your parents' bed, and you bite your lips to stifle your moans.

"I'm mom, I'm mom, I'm mom, I'm mom!!!".

Then, finally, you are mom. At the same moment that your vagina erupts in a burst of pleasure, it becomes your vagina, it becomes your body, as if your mother has woken up after you've possessed her, only that it's still you.

You breathe frantically, juggling the memories that are submerging you. You get out of the bed and open your wardrobe; after you've changed, you come back down. Your children need you, and you won't keep them waiting.

After you've lathered yourself, playing for a bit with the foam, you rinse and step out in a robe. You could redress in the same clothes, but you want to try something different; thus, after you've disheveled your hair, you open the closet from where you get a black, sleeveless business jacket, a pencil skirt of the same color, lacey fishnets, a red bra and a thong, last three being items you normally use during special occasions with your husband. Husband who contemporary is your dad. Weird. Anyway, this would be a pretty special occasion.

You enjoy the kind pressure of your lingerie as you wear, shaking your hips in sexy thrusts. Eventually, you grab a blanket and you're ready. In the hallway, you hear Kim still showering, but you want to be outside before she catches you so you speed up your pace. Downstairs, your other two kids are still snoring, Tina being wrapped around Tom like with a teddy bear. You miss being her a little, but right now you're satisfied with who you are; besides, who knows, you might as well go back, since your powers have increased. Not now, though. You cover them and gently caress their hair, feeling a motherly wave of love melting your heart.

Finally, you take your (mom's) car's key from the table in the living room, you put on a pair of heels and you leave the house. Your family sedan is awaiting you, the front seat is correctly adjusted to your height, and the rearview mirror confirms that you're the rightful owner. You start the engine and, after a rapid finger check of your cloth-clasped goods, you drive away.