Loving Mother Mind Control


Don Matheson

Lot's Cave, Inc.

Loving Mother Mind Control - Bookrepublic

Loving Mother Mind Control


Don Matheson

Lot's Cave, Inc.


Nessuna protezione







€ 3,99


DESCRIPTION Tantalizing and stimulating, this handsome son can’t stop having erotic dreams of his domineering mother—even if he wanted to! Desperate to sate his taboo lust, this young man will do anything mommy tells him. Now, this voluptuous older woman is pushing her son’s every boundary. What forbidden and incestuous pleasure is possible when an adventurous mother controls her son’s mind? EXCERPT I used to this recurring dream where I had this impossibly long cock and my beautiful and impossibly young-looking mother’s nursing the milk out of it with her long cherry red fingernails like a kind of thick glue with a steady tugging gesture, and I could clearly feel the cold pressure of her fingernails while the veins pulsed wildly up and down the thing’s thick purplish shaft, and I wailed and moaned the plaintive moans of a small boy with my arms tied behind my back on a wooden folding chair beside my mother’s perfectly made up bed complete with the decorative pillows behind her sadistic grin. In this dream I would thrash my head back and forth melodramatically in my efforts to let her know that I can’t take it anymore, but for some reason I couldn’t ask her to stop. I could not say the words, Mother, please stop tugging on my penis, and because of this, she did not stop, and as the cum continued to dribble impossibly slow and thick out of the inflamed slit at the tip of my head, it was like a knife being driven between my eyes and cracking open my head so that the most perfect light was pouring into me, and I was so grateful for this wonderful gift, but every time I woke up, it’s always the same thought about how my mom is a total bitch that I’d like to humiliate in some way while I compulsively jerked off into the duvet, except for that every time I came, I always saw another woman’s face. A mature blonde woman with wrinkled cleavage and the most wild ecstatic grin. I read once that there’s a reason why we’re afraid of the dark, and I believe my mother utilized the basic instinctual fears I’ve inherited to control me like her tame pet. She could always manipulate me into doing whatever she wanted through some lewd insinuation or other, and she always made me call her Mommy just to make me feel small, and I would often stand there painfully erect, feeling like she had my cockhead gripped between her pincerlike fingernails while she stood there berating me and making me feel like her helpless little boy, but that one time she bought a whore to give me a blow job, I knew something was terribly wrong. This was the August before I left for college, and she said she felt so sorry we’d miss spending Halloween together this year that she’d decided we should dress up, and then she gave me a pair of leopard print bikini briefs and her costume involved a white fur coat, a long cigarette holder and a bright pink strap-on dildo. You’re Tarzan, and I’m Cruella DeVille, she said while her hand went instinctively to the well-toned pectoral muscles I’d developed from all the body-building she’d made me take up that summer---making me bench press in the basement while she lightly brushed her fingers up and down the shaft of my cock through the cloth of my shorts.



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