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Message-ID: <51475asstr$1119942603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "jvalet45" <jvalet45@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sweet Dreams Are Made of This, by JValet.  MF, inc, m/s, mc, mag, ???
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Date: Tue, 28 Jun 2005 03:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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DISCLAIMER: The following contains scenes of incest, sex, adults
engaging in activities which they otherwise might not engage in in real
life if they really
existed, which they don't, so don't worry too much about it, unless
you're under 18 or whatever age your locality has arbitrarily set to
tell you that you're too young to be looking at nipples, because
nipples will send you to hell, but since we're all headed that way
anyway, isn't it just as well to have fun first? :takes deep breath:
Whew.  Who reads these things anyway?  If you did, please e-mail me at:
jvalet45@xxxnetscape.net, removing all xxx, of course.

"Sweet Dreams Are Made of This," by JValet

All comments, queries and suggestions good, bad, and ugly can be sent
to:
jvalet45@netscape.net

Have a nice day.  Or at least a good wank.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the seventh night in a row, I lie awake in bed, my wife snoring
softly beside me, my cock iron-hard in my hand. I jerk myself slowly,
careful not to wake her.

A week ago, I wouldn't have cared.

A week ago, this would have been a prelude to some seriously hot sex.

A week ago, we weren't talking about little blue pills to "rectify" my
"problem."

She thinks I'm impotent. And not without good reason.

At only 25, my wife's a hot little number. Small and svelte, she likes
to come to bed in these silky little things that used to never fail to
turn my crank. Every night, we'd fuck like rabbits... I'd pound her
tight little cunt with all the meat I had for hours on end.

When I came, she used to clean my cock with her tongue.

That was then.

As a test, I roll over, and stroke her slim hip. My cock begins to wilt
immediately.

With a sigh, I roll back, and feel it spring up in my hand.

It all began last Tuesday night...

Opening my eyes, I see a poster of Styx on the wall, and know that I'm
dreaming. Sitting up, I take a look around... lotsa posters, lotsa crap
all over the place... My bed is a single, and I'm all alone. My bedroom
back home. My mom's house, I mean.

"Now, why am I back here?" I wonder aloud.

I can hear a voice, soft, muted, in the background. It sounds
remarkably like my mother's voice.

Swinging myself up and out of bed, I pad to my door, wearing only a
pair of pyjama pants. My cock swings heavily between my legs,
unfettered by underwear.

As quietly as I can, I open the door.

It's definitely her voice, but not as I've ever heard it... mom speaks
in a low, sexy tone that filters up from downstairs, but the words are
muffled...

Like any good teenager, my cock starts to fill with blood. It makes me
uncomfortable to know that I'm starting to get aroused by listening to
my own mother's voice, but I'm not responsible for what my cock thinks,
and at sixteen, it'd get hard over mud.

I slip out into the hall, and start making my way towards the stairs. I
don't know who she can be talking to, but I know it can't be "dad" - he
died before I was three.

Still more curious, I creep to the top of the stairwell. The landing at
the top has a nice view of the living room...

Peeking through the rails, I can see at least half of the living room.
My mom stands at the entrance. She's wearing the quintessential little
black cocktail dress, thin and blousy, the skirt barely long enough to
hide the welts of her dusky stockings. Her heels (I wonder, why hasn't
she taken her shoes off in the house?) are tall, five inches at least,
and a glossy black, just like the mane of hair on her head.

She's speaking to someone I can't see, sitting across from her, I
think, in that big, comfy easy chair in the living room. Whoever it is
isn't saying much, seemingly content to just sit and watch my mother...

... as I watch my mother...

I still can't hear what she's saying, but I'm satisfied just watching
for now, observing her as she struts back and forth, eyes glued to her
legs, the way her hips bounce, the way her tits jiggle inside the deep
cleavage of the dress...

"That's your mom, you perv!" I hiss to myself, and try to forget how
hard I am...

... but I'm a teenager, and teenagers will get hard about anything...

... including their moms...

My train of thought is shattered, as mom reaches back, and begins to
unzip her dress. The sound of the zipper goes through the house like
lightning, though her voice is still muted, unclear... except for the
tone... that's crystal clear. She's speaking sexily, seductively, her
words dripping with arousal.

The dress falls to the floor, and she kicks it away... underneath,
she's wearing the tiniest, laciest black bra I've ever seen. Her
breasts, big, smooth delicious globes, are held up on a shelf of
scalloped lace for the world to see... Her slender hips are circled by
a garter belt that clips onto a pair of smoky black stockings that wrap
themselves around your oh-so-long legs.

Dress disposed of, she begins to dance for her audience to music that
only she can hear. She runs her hands through that long black mane and
poses sexily, pouting her plump, glossy lips... lips made for
kissing... for cocksucking...

... my hand slips inside the elastic waistband of my pyjamas, and
begins to fondle my cock, hard now, harder than it's ever been...

I have to get closer... I have to hear what she's saying...

I begin creeping down the stairs, hand in my pants, and her dance
becomes more erotic as she sweeps her hands over her tall, tight form.

Suddenly, the front clasp of her bra springs open, and those
magnificant tits spill forth, jiggling, jostling, rosy nipples erect in
the chill air of the house. She proffers them to her audience, still
dancing, still talking...

I creep down, step by step, my hand working furiously on my cock now,
unable to tear my eyes from her form, writhing sinuously before me. She
begins to touch herself, now... outside her panties, tiny wispy things
that barely cover her...

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, iron-hard cock in hand, I pull my
pants down to my knees, and jerk harder, my palm slick with precum...

She hooks her fingers in the waistband of her panties, and start to
pull them down.

I gasp, and, being a teenager, start to cum, spurting rope after rope
of thick, hot semen all over my hand, my chest. One splatters on the
floor, and the sound is thunderous.

My mother's head snaps in my direction and...

... and that's when I woke up, my cock harder than it's ever been.

That first night, I woke up my wife by slipping it inside her, not
caring for foreplay, wanting only to get off. Her cunt, always wet and
tight and ready, welcomed the injection of hard meat, but I soon
wilted, softening like butter in a hot oven.

Lily brushed her short blonde (too light) locks out of her face and
asked, "what's wrong? Usually you don't stop for anything once you've
started." I looked down at her perky little breastlets (so small... too
small), and made up an excuse about pressure and work.

That was only the first night. Now, it's been a week, and I still
haven't cum. While I'm awake, anyway. I dream the same dream every
night, and every night I cum in my dreams, but wake up to the lead pipe
in my pants.

If this keeps up, she'll leave me, I know it. I can see the desire die
a little in her eyes every time we try to fuck, and fail. Last night,
we didn't even try. Tonight, she didn't even want me to touch her.

Closing my eyes, I lie back in bed, and try to masturbate my problems
away. It hasn't worked all week, but you never know.

As usual, I start off with an image of my wife... (too) short, blonde,
slim... naked, just like I like her... her thin little legs are (not
long enough) spread before me, and her (stubby) fingers are lodged in
her sopping (skanky, hairy) cunt... her face is contorted into a
mocking sneer as she pinches her tiny tits...

My cock wilts immediately.

Sighing, I let my mind wander. Images swirl about my brain, and my dick
begins to plump up again...

A pair of dainty feet appear, perched atop high, stiletto heels. Smoky
black nylon encases them, and my mind's eye follows the stockings up,
up, up, over legs so long, so toned, so perfect that they should be
strutting down a runway. Calves rub against one another, thighs clench
and unclench as I continue up...

... my cock is so hard, now...

... a pair of wispy black panties appears between these juicy thighs,
tiny, lacy, sheer things. I can see that there is no hair underneath.
Long, elegant fingernails trace the pouty outline of her pussy lips,
and then, with a curled finger, lead me upwards, past the curves of her
hips, over the tight muscles of her tummy... we stop for a moment at
her breasts, big and soft, and capped with delicate, shell-pink
nipples... I long to suckle at those nipples, but her hand leads me
ever onwards and upwards, past her slim neck. I pause to kiss the
plush, glossy lips that follow, and look up into a pair of violet eyes
just beginning to open. A thick mane of dark, black hair flows down
upon me, and I realize...

Mom!

My breath short, I open my eyes, reluctantly dispensing with the
fantasy. My dick, however, is not so quick to forget, and remains
iron-hard... pulsating in my hand...

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

Why is it always her?

This is hardly the first time I've tried to wank my problem away. Every
time I start to touch myself, to relieve the pressure in my balls, she
keeps creeping in...

Her face, her body, her voice... they creep into my imagination, eating
away at any fantasty I try to erect... her image is like acid...

... and each time, it's harder to stop. It's been a week now, since I
last came while I was awake. My balls ache with backed-up cum, and I
can feel the need to get off eating up my resistance. If this is what
it takes to get off, my cock says, then we'll take it. Look at her!
Have you ever seen a hotter woman? What can it hurt? It's just a
fantasy...

... but a fantasty about my mother, my mom... the woman who raised
me... who loves me... who dances nightly in my dreams...

I can't! I can't! How can something so wrong be making me feel so good?
How can a dream be ruining my marriage? How can I want to cum for my
mother?

Overcome with guilt, I take my hand off my erection, and try to get
some sleep.

Not surprisingly, the dream comes again.

This time, as I kneel on the floor, semen spurting from my cock,
splattering on her shoes, I'm sure I see her look at me and smile
impishly...

I wake up early in the morning, before six, sweating, panting, my cock
harder than it's ever been.

Lying awake in bed, I listen to Lily snore. The sound is piggish,
repulsive. I look over at her dishwater blonde hair, and sneer. How
could I ever have been attracted to her? A child's body and a whore's
haircut.

My cock droops at the sight of her.

This, of course, does not resolve my problem. While it's now obvious
why she can't get me off, I still can't figure out what the dream
means, nor why I can't get my mother's (beautiful, sexy) face out of my
head when I wank.

Slipping out of bed quietly, I leave the bedroom and head for the
kitchen phone.

I dial a long-distance number, and wait a moment as I hear the phone on
the other end ring. Why am I doing this? I don't know. It feels like
the right thing to do, though.

A sleepy (sexy) voice picks up after a few rings.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Tom? Is that you?" All sleep gone from her voice now, but still
speaking in low (seductive) tones. Strangely, she doesn't sound at all
surprised.

"Mom... something's wrong."

"Well, why don't you tell Mommy all about it?" When she says "mommy,"
there's a shiver up my spine that I can't ignore. My cock, no longer
drooping, begins to rise again. I can hear clothes rustling in the
background as she sits up.

"Well," I say, and begin to tell her about my dreams. Each time I
pause, she says "mmmmm," in a husky (sexy, seductive) voice. I'm sure I
can hear something wet (pussy) in the background, but I can't make it
out.

"And, and now, every time I try to relieve myself," I finish. "I can't
stop thinking of... of..."

"Yes? Yes!?" She asks, her voice excited. Mom sounds slightly short of
breath, as though she's doing something.

"You!" I finally break down and confess. There's a long, satisfied sigh
on the other end of the phone, and the wet sounds subside.

"Mmmmmm... yesssss..." she hisses. "And what did you want me to do
about it?"

"I want help!" I say, "I want to know what's going on, why I can't cum,
what these dreams are all about..."

"But why call me? What can I know about your dreams?" She said
innocently.

"I-I don't know," I confess. "I just thought, I thought..."

"... about me while you were masturbating... jerking that hard young
cock while thinking about little old me."

"Mom!" I protest, blushing.

"If you ask me, I think you know exactly what those dreams are
about..." She sounds sly, knowing.

"N-no... it can't... I can't..."

"No? I bet you're touching yourself right now, listening to my voice,
aren't you?"

"No!" I took my hand off my erect cock. "I'm not... it's wrong..."

"I know it's wrong, honey... mommy knows it's wrong... evil... to dream
about your mother... to think about your mom... that way..."

"Yes. Exactly! I-"

"But it feels soooo good, doesn't it? To touch yourself while you think
about me? Those sexy, sinful thoughts floating through your head,
eating away at your will..."

"No, no, no! you're wrong! It's wrong! I never, I..."

"Never what? Never thought about me while you jerked that big, hard
cock? Never dreamed about my naked body? Never woke up, harder than
you've ever been before at the mere thought of your mother? I bet if
you closed your eyes right now, you'd see me, wouldn't you? Wearing
nothing but a tiny pair of panties, and my stockings?"

"No, I wouldn't, I, it's wrong..." My eyes began to close of their own
accord.

"No? You mean you can't see me? Your eyes aren't tracing their way up
my legs? Your nose isn't full of my perfume? You can't hear my voice,
calling to you night after night?"

"No!" I cried. "It's wrong, it's evil, it's..."

"Sexy? Seductive? Irresistable?"

"I-I don't know... I..." In my mind's eye, I can see her, plain as day.
Her long fingernails beckoning me, calling me... her legs begin to
spread...

"I know who's in that chair... I know who watches me eagerly every
night... I know who can't resist the image of my body... can't resist
my voice... comes to me every night to watch, to touch himself while I
dance for him... do you know?"

"No... no..." My protests are weak. The answer is obvious, but I try to
resist it... try to resist the siren call of my mother's body... to
resist the seductive image of her... her mouth... her legs... her
breasts... her pussy... her hot, wet, inviting pussy...

"Yes you do," she teased. "But I'll give you a clue: he's masturbating
to the image of my body right NOW!"

For a moment, silence. Then, the soft sound of my hand, sliding up and
down my stiff cock.

"Oh, God," I groan in defeat.

"Yessssss," she hisses. "You! You can't resist my body... my voice...
it fills your mind, doesn't it? Your cock is already a slave to my
body, to my tits, to my pussy, to ME. That's why you can't get it up
for your wife anymore... because your cock belongs to me... because
it's enslaved to MY will... isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

"Yes! YES!" I almost shout into the phone, defeated now, my hand
pumping faster.

"Then come... come to me, my son... come to your mother... leave her,
and I will make all of your fantasies come true... I will make you cum
for me as you have every night... as you will every night... you will
be enslaved to me, to my body... I will seduce you, make you mine night
after night after night, and you will love the feeling... so
helpless... so seduced... you will fight and you will lose because you
know you cannot resist me... my body... your mother's body...
forever..."

"Yessss..." I groan, feeling the sweet pleasure of seduction sweep over
me, knowing that every word she speaks is true, knowing that my body is
hers... that I love her... that I will come to her and for her, and her
only... an unholy marriage of sex and seduction and incest, forever...

*    *    *

I sit in the car, drumming my fingers against the wheel, idly playing
with myself, waiting for a red light to change.

The image of my mother's body plays itself over and over in my head.
It's distracting - I can still drive, but only just.  And it's probably
a good thing it's still early.

Looking at the clock on the dash, I see that it's well past the time I
set our alarm for.  Lily is definitely up by now.  She's probably
reading the note I left.

If she is, then that's definitely one bridge burnt.

But why not burn bridges?  It's not like I'm going to go back.  Back to
that life.  Back to my wife.  Back to everything I've spent the last
five years building, everything I'm just throwing away.  And for what?

The image of my mother's body begins to fade, and flicker a bit.

For a dream?  For some fucking wank fantasy?  Hell, if I want to get my
rocks off, well, that's what the internet's for, isn't it?  Stories,
pics, chatrooms...a kink for every perv, and a perv for every kink.  If
that's what I want, I can get it at home...

...home, where my bridge is merrily burning.

My friends, my wife, my job: I'm giving them all up, flushing it all
down the tubes because my cock said so?

Speaking of my cock, it's wilting, now.  The image flickers,
fading...fading...

Taking a sharp left, I turn into the old neighbourhood.  All of the
familiar landmarks are goine.  All the old families, moved.  The only
things here that's the same at all is mom's place.

What the fuck *am* I doing?  Why am I coming here?

I pull up in front of the house, and leave the car, suitcase in hand.

It's hard not to be angry when mom opens the door.  After all, she's
the one I've given everything up for; she's the one for whom I've burnt
all my bridges, abandoned my life, flushed everything down the toilet.
I've every right to be angry.  Indeed, right up until she opens the
door, I can feel the ire building, boiling away the seductive imagery
that filled my brain, clearing my vision.

Then she opens the door and...

...and she's not wearing very much.  Her robe is made out of the
sheerest, lightest, black gauze you can imagine.  It does nothing to
hide the tiny scrap of black silk she wears underneath as a nightie,
and it only falls just below the hem of the nightie, so that every
glorious, creamy inch of her legs are on display.  Not that she's much
concealed otherwise; her tits shimmy and shake beneath the paper-thin
fabric covering them, threatening to burst forth with every breath she
takes.  Her hair is a tousled, sexy mess, and she wears a smile on
those plump, juicy lips.  When she beckons me to enter, I have to
scramble to hold onto of some of the anger I can feel rapidly slipping
away.

"Um, hi."  I say, not sure what I ought to do.

"You came!" She said, hugging me close.  Her body is warm against mine,
her breasts soft against my chest.  My arms close around her in
reciprocation, and my hands rest just above her jutting ass.  My cock
begins to rise.

Squeezing my anger tight, I break the hug.

"Mom," I say, "I'm not..."

"...feeling well?"  She finishes for me.  "My poor, sweet, boy.  I
understand." Reaching up, mom begins to stroke my face.  "Why don't you
go take a nap?  Your old room is all ready for you."

Sleep is what started this, I want to say.  But I am tired.  And
holding onto my anger in the face of such beauty is wearying.

Without any further ado, I thank her, and stumble off to my old
bedroom.  At least nothing happened.  At least my cock's not all the
way hard.  I can do this, I say to myself.  I can resist this.

*     *     *

This time, when the dream starts, I ignore it.

I pull my head under my pillow and remember that I'm a teenager.
Teenagers are angry at their parents, not seduced by them.  I'm angry,
I'm sullen, and I'm tired.

Head under the pillow, I can't hear her voice.

Eventually, true sleep comes as a welcome respite.

*    *    *

I wake up to the smell of dinner cooking, and (for the first time in
days) a limp cock in my pants.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, I swing out of bed.

As soon as my feet hit the floor, I know I am ready to greet the day.
New day, new life.  I don't know what I was so worried about before.
It's like starting with a new clean slate.  A hard reboot for my life.
Just what the doctor ordered, really.

As I enter the hallway, I can hear my mom singing, downstairs.  It's a
beautiful, wordless song, of new beginnings and...and...something
else...
something familiar, and very important...it's on the tip of my tongue,
but I can't seem to remember what it is.  No matter.

I start off down the hall, towards the stairs, when I notice that mom's
door is open.  Strange.  Maybe she leaves it open now that I've moved
out.

I reach in to close the door, and notice that there's a new
step-machine by her bed.  Something dark hangs from the handle bar.

Curiouser and curioser.  Mom's not someone to leave stuff lying around.
Without really thinking, I walk into her room, intent upon sorting out
this little mystery.

The dark object turns out to be two articles of "clothing," made from
some kind of soft, stretchy material, more than a little damp.  Further
investigation reveals them to be my mother's workout gear, a set of
matching shorts and sports bra.

The tag inside the sports bra reads, "32EEE."  I can only imagine what
it must look like, wrapped so tightly around mom's huge mammaries as
she works out, trying desperately to restrain all that hot, sweaty,
jiggling flesh.  The shorts are so small as to be practically
insignificant.  They're slightly smaller than my own hand.  God, I can
see them on her now, skin-tight around her generous hips, dipping low
beneath her navel, rising high above her hips.  I can almost see the
seam climbing, higher, higher into the cleft of her sweet, sweaty
pussy...

Raising the shorts to my nose, I inhale the delicious scent of her
womanhood.  The still-damp fabric positively reeks with the smell of
her, and my cock soars into full erection.  I can almost *taste* her.
Maybe if I just stick out my tongue and...

No!

What am I doing?  This is my *mom*!  I banish the thought, and wad up
the shorts in my hand.

I can still hear her singing away, downstairs.

I decide that these should go into her hamper, and walk into her
en-suite bathroom.

On my way through the door, I trip over a gym bag, sending the contents
scattering across the floor.  With a deft flick of my wrist, I send the
workout gear into the hamper and bend to pick up the mess I've made.

A bottle of tanning oil, a beach towel, and...something black and
slippery-looking catches my eye.  It's black latex, and seems to be
mostly straps.

Hooking it with a finger, I find that it's a bikini, perhaps the
tiniest I've ever seen.

The bikini is nothing more than three tiny scraps of fabric, held
together with the narrowest of straps; a film of oil glistens on my
fingers.

This is a swimsuit made for sun-worship, covering a bare minimum of
flesh.  Still, she'd never be able to wear it in public - unless she
wanted to be arrested by a very happy police officer.

To confirm my suspicions, I move to the bathroom window. It looks out
upon the back yard, and glancing outside, I see a chaise longue sitting
innocently out by our pool.

She only wears this when she's home.

In my mind's eye, I can see her, lying on the chaise, her body
glistening in the sunlight...her legs, darkly tanned, rub against one
another ever so slightly...the huge mounds of her tits spill forth from
the flimsy cups of the tiny black bikini in my hand, threatening to pop
out with every deep breath.

Mirrored black sunglasses cover her eyes, and I think she can't see me
from here.

As I watch, she takes the bottle of coconut oil, and applies a generous
helping to her soft, long-fingered hands.  Slowly, sensuously, she
begins to rub it in to her smooth, soft skin, stretching out one long,
long leg, then the other, running her hands over their firm, perfect
lengths...She spreads it on the inside of each thigh, and I can only
just resist the urge to touch myself.  My cock has surged back up into
full erection.

My mom's hands begin to spread the shining fluid over her heaving tits,
and I find that my own hand has moved, of its own accord, to fondle my
cock through my tented pants.

Mom's body begins to writhe on the chaise, and I...I...

I stop.  I blink.  The image is gone.  What is *wrong* with me?  I know
I shouldn't be doing this, especially after everything that's happened.

With a reluctant sigh, I toss the bikini, towel, and oil back into the
bag.  Looking down, I can see that the front panel of my pants is dark
from the oil on my hands.

I don't think I've brought another pair.

I briefly consider going back to my room to look when I hear mom's
voice again.  This time she's calling...calling me to come...to come
downstairs for dinner.

Forgetting the mess on my pants for the moment, I leave her bedroom,
and head downstairs.

Mom is standing there in the living room, looking for all the world
like the image of domesticity.  She wears a paisley sundress, perhaps a
bit short in the skirt, with an apron tied around the front.  Her black
curls are held back in a pony tail, and she's smiling with motherly
love.

The only thing out of place are the high heels she's wearing - they are
tall, black mules with pencil-thin five inch heels - more suited to a
night on the down than a quiet dinner at home.

For a moment, I can see her wearing nothing but the apron, creamy tits
spilling out the sides of the frilly fabric, the hem barely long enough
to cover her pussy, doing little to conceal the broad sweep of her
beautiful hips.  For that moment, I think her eyes look red, deep and
dark like the fires of hell.

The arousal I experience at that moment is so powerful that it makes me
stumble.

When I recover, she looks normal again, only now wearing a worried look
on her face.

"Thomas?"  She says, "Are you all right?  Dinner won't be ready for a
little while, yet.  Maybe you should sit down over here."  Taking me by
the arm, she leads me to the huge, overstuffed easy chair that haunted
my dreams by its absence.

As soon as I was seated, I look up at her and ask, "what's for dinner?"

"It's a surprise," she said with a mischevious grin.  "But it's
something that I'm sure you've been wanting for quite some time, now."
Reaching behind her back, mom begins to untie the apron.

As she tosses it away, I can see that the sundress is not quite so
innocent.  The front dips down very low in a deep V that exposes the
upper quarters of her magnificent tits.

"Now," she said, "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, but before we
eat, I wanted to give you another surprise.  Now, close your eyes, and
hold out your hand."

Tired, confused, and horny, I comply without complaint.  Seconds later,
something soft falls into my outstretched hand.

Opening my eyes, I find that I'm holding something paisley.  Something
warm.  Something that looks remarkably like mom's dress.

Looking at her, I find that she's wearing the same bikini that I found
in the bathroom, black and shining and oh-so-small.  Her body is just
as I'd imagined it, tight and toned, with all her curves in exactly the
right places.

My mind reels at the image, as my cock blooms in my pants.

How?  This is impossible, I think.  How did she get it and put it on?
I just had it in my hand.  The oil still stains the front of my tented
pants.

"How?  What?  I-I don't understand..." my voice falters as mom begins
to dance.  Her hair begins to blow in an unfelt wind.  Her eyes,
they...glow?

"Mom, what's going on?  What are you doing...how are you doing..."

"Shhhhhh..." she shushes me.  "I'm seducing you, darling...filling your
head with images of your mother's body...my body..."

"No," I groan, unable to take my eyes off her.  "It's wrong...evil...I
can't..."

"Yesssss," she hisses.  "It's so wrong, isn't it, Tom?  To think about
your mother like this?  To watch her, stare at her, dream about
her...but I know...I know you...I know you're enjoying this...I know
that this is exactly what you want, isn't it Tommy-boy?  In your
deepest, darkest fantasies...the ones you won't even admit to
yourself...but I can see them...I've been seeing them for years."

"I-I don't understand..."

"I was drawn to your fantasies, my son...on the deepest, most sinful
level of hell, they called to me...Night after night...dreaming of your
mother...of me...seducing you, enslaving you...I have fed on the evil
of your dreams for years, my son...until recently...until you met
*her*.  Then your dreams stopped.  I couldn't have that, John.  They
were soooooo deliciously sinful, sexual, evil...so I came to earth...I
adopted the shape of your mother, and put her to sleep, down in the
cellar...then, I gave you your dreams *back*, fed them to you as you
fed them to me...I lured you here...seduced you...and now you are
*mine*!"

Her voice began to change, falling into a lower octave, as the crimson
that stained her eyes began to spread to her skin...long, sinuous black
horns erupted from her skull, and a pair of wings, darker than the
darkest soul, burst forth from her shoulders...she was a demon...a
succubus...

"It's true," she said.  "I am *not* your mother, but I can be...every
night...every day...we can be like this all the time...wouldn't you
like that, John?  Wouldn't you love that?   your mother, seducing you,
bending you to her will for eternity?"

"N-no," I protest, weakly.  "I can't, I won't.  It's wrong, it's evil,
it..."

"It's *hard*," she says.  "I can see your cock standing tall and strong
in your pants, my son...you know that this is what you want...to feel
seduced...helpless...aroused against your will...it feels soooo good,
doesn't it?"

"No," I begin, but my voice falters.

"Then why are you rubbing your cock like that?"  She asks with a grin.
It's true.  I'm humping my hand through my pants.  "See?  I'm right,
aren't I?  You want this.  You want to feel this way *forever*, dont'
you?  It's so wonderful...so perfect...so sexy..."

I can feel the last shreds of my resistance break.

"Yesssssss..." I say.  "I want this...I want to feel this
way...forever..."

At my surrender, she has a gasping, screaming orgasm.  The succubus
drops to her knees, rubbing her sopping cunt madly as she cums.

"Oh, FUCKYES!!!!"  She screams.  "Finally!  Finally!  All mine...for
ever!"

She lies back on the floor, legs spread.  I can see the black folds of
her pussy, opening and closing, calling to me with wet, sloppy lips.

"Come to me, my son," she hisses.  "Fuck your soul into me...seal the
bargain..."

Without a second thought, I leave the chair, unzipping my pants as I
go.  My cock stands tall, thick, leaking copious precum.

I crawl between her thighs, and, with a single thrust, penetrate her
pussy.

It's the tightest, wettest cunt I've ever been in, and it grasps my
cock like a hand.  I begin to fuck her, latching my lips upon her
midnight-black nipples, and she screams in delight.

"Yes!  Yes!  Fuck me, my son!  Fuck your mother!  Fuck me with that big
cock!  Give it to me!  harder!  HARDER!  YESSSSS!  It feels so
goood...to give in to the sin...to surender to the evil...to the
taboo...fuckmefuckmeFUUUUUUUUCKMEEEEEEE!!"  Her pussy clamps down on my
erection hard, and suddenly I'm spurting, spewing rope after rope of
thick, hot cum into her cunt...my scream meshes with hers, and the
world around me begins to swim, and fade...

*     *     *

Darkness.

Heat.

Laughter.

Where am I?

What have I done?

*    *    *

"Tom?  Tommy, honey?  Are you okay?"  A gentle hand shakes me awake.
Opening my eyes, I see my mother, bending low before me.  She is
wearing a thin purple dressing gown that does little to hide her erect
nipples...I glance at them for a moment, then away, embarassed.

"I'm alright," I say.  "Just a bad dream."

"I'm so glad," she says with a smile.  And just for a hair's breadth of
a moment, I can see her eyes flicker red.

Outside, it's a very, very hot day.  Perfect sunbathing weather.  Every
day.

I don't care what they say.  It'll never freeze over.

END

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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