Your Mom Is Next! Ch. 02

My fist fuck, an incestuous encounter with my mom of all things, left me with such a hunger and a desire that I wanted desperately to plow through more mature cunt. If you haven’t read the first chapter, you won’t recall that I’m your typical 20-year-old American male: average height, a bit on the muscular side but not a jock, and a recent college graduate. But there are two things that differentiate me from all other males: the gift to hypnotize and perhaps most importantly the fact that I’ve an uncommonly large cock. It’s nice and thick and a little over twelve inches long when fully erect.

In the beginning my sex life consisted of nightly hand jobs for at an early age I realized that having such a large cock might present some problems. It seemed obvious that no sane woman, young or old, would willingly want that ‘thing’ inside her. It had made me shy and certainly embarrassed, and had I not walked about with my hands in my pockets trying to conceal the monster lurking within, I might well have attracted a few curious girls. But in my fucked up mind I was a freak and so I remained a virgin.

But my mother had opened up a whole new world for me. Not only the fantastic world of sex but the realization that the Evil Eye would certainly ensure the obedience of any chick I set my eyes upon! I could manipulate them any way I wanted, physically and mentally. An added bonus was that they would not remember a single moment they experienced during their trance---once they ‘awoke’ life went on as usual. I didn’t have to charm, beg or plead a woman to sleep with me---I could just damn well have her! It was quite the advantage, wouldn’t you say?

Any chick I wanted. Hmm. I thought about that for a while. Yet no matter how hard I tried to think of a girl I’d like to have a crack at, the image of my mom squatting on me kept steering my fantasies towards mature women. All I could suddenly think of were the older women in and about our town, most of them mothers of my fellow students! Oh, what a selection!

I have to thank my mom for that! I don’t think that the well-used phrase ‘experienced older broad’ had anything to do with it, as I had nothing to compare her performance to. But the sound of my 40-year old mom squeaking and howling, her face all contorted and wide-eyed and so deliriously excited at the same time, madly humping me as if it was the last time she ever would was something I promised myself I would want to experience again and again. And so I decided to test the effects of the Evil Eye out on the neighborhood.

Watch out---your mom is probably next!

I naturally had the means yet still had to figure out how to go about it. My powers were not strong enough to control a bevy of family members and nosy neighbors. I therefore had to find a way to ensure that the woman I intended to ‘visit’ was alone, and that for a considerable time. This certainly caused me considerable headaches. I spent several days musing over this dilemma until it occurred to me that the only logical solution would be to carefully shadow my intended victim, thereby amassing valuable information as to their habits and daily schedules. And so I spent the next two days spying on the first woman on my list.

This unfortunate woman was more than just one of the women in our neighborhood, but also the administrative director of my college. She lived in the outskirts of neighboring Bakersfield and I knew that she would be home shortly before noon. A certain Parker Matthews had died in a car crash three days ago, and since he was the son of the college’s director, all the faculty staff had attended the funeral services this morning.

Let me tell you about this woman. Hyacinthe Eleanor Deans was forty-three years old, about five-foot-ten inches tall and very slim and slender---a real garden rake. In fact everything about her was long and lean: the face; the slender arms with their bony fingers and pointy nails; the waspish waist, the slim hips and with legs as long as those of a spider’s. I suppose the best description of her lanky body would be that it was sylph-like. Skinny: but still shapely. She had the most remarkable walk; slow and elegant, the slim hips gently swaying, the steps never hurried so that she looked like a timid giraffe crossing a clearing.

Yet although borderline skinny she possessed fairly large breasts that made her slender and frail body exceptionally interesting. On her slim body they seemed positively huge! They were not heavily rounded and balloon-like, but slim, forward heaving jugs that sloshed and swished about when she walked past you. Oh shit---you could actually hear them shake!
Unfortunately her full bust was never very visible as she was wont to cover them up with cardigans or knitted shawls so that their true size and shape was anyone’s guess. She was ultra-feminine in her choice in wardrobe, a bit frumpish perhaps, so that she always looked like the proverbial shortsighted, dim-witted librarian. She was always buttoned-up and never wore anything remotely revealing. No matter what she wore---blouses or a simple top---she always had to bundle herself up in a shawl or some form of wrap. She usually wore flat, sensible shoes, opting to wear heels only when she wore a skirt. And if she did, the skirt always fell below the knees. Her old-fashioned wardrobe and the bifocal eyeglasses she was wont to wear around her neck on a delicate gold chain made her look twenty-years older than she was. She certainly wasn’t old yet gave one the impression that she was pushing seventy.

She had very pale skin coloring, almost alabaster; hazel colored feline eyes and a small, pouting mouth. The creamy skin coloring contrasted sharply with her black hair---and I mean a natural black, black like a raven’s wing. She had fairly long hair, straight and smooth, but in all the years that I have known her she had never worn it loose. Instead she had it always pinned up in a very severe and business-like manner.

She was a sweet woman, loving and kind, a real motherly type who went out of her way to help anyone even at a great personal sacrifice. She was too concerned with everyone’s well being and stressed herself out in trying to cope with her own workload and everybody else’s problems. She was also extremely prudish in behavior, blushed a lot when sexual innuendos fell into conversations no matter how harmless the comment, and was too religious by far. She was wont to ‘Bless the Lord’ quite frequently and chide you with remarks such as ‘Ah, only the good Lord will forgiveth’ when you fucked up with something or another. Oh, no matter what you said or did she would remind you that ‘The good Lord’ was always there, peeking over your shoulder. In many ways she was quite eccentric. She wasn’t a numbskull, but exceptionally old-fashioned and naïve regarding the modern world and its social issues.

Although polite and soft-spoken she had a real knack for getting things done her way. Nobody I knew had ever lost an argument with her. She could persuade a supplier in agreeing to her demands whether it was for a new roof or for a dozen new PC’s. She was quite charming, and if one looked past the frumpish old maid veneer she was actually quite beautiful, too. Those emerald eyes could really hold you spellbound----they were very mystic. And that slinky body with the loose, wobbling tits surely made a guy succumb to her whims. She was no flirt: yet for some inexplicable reason you needed to please her. And when she smiled at you and thanked you in her goofy, feminine way you simply felt as if your day was complete. You knew that you could never have a chance with her as she was certainly not promiscuous and any pass at her would certainly shock her silly. She seemed the kind who would report you on the spot. Yet you just had to please her. It was quite odd.

She was an immigrant from Liverpool, England. Her husband, a sixty-two year old (yup, he was an old fart) was one of our professors, a well-known archeologist, and he had brought her with him several years ago. It was an odd marriage for two reasons: he was rarely home; always out at some dig who knows where and the nineteen-year age difference made you wonder about their sexual lifestyle, if any. They had two children, though: a twenty-four year old son who had returned to England and a nineteen-year-old girl who lived with them. The girl, unlike her mother, was a short and chubby little thing who would probably blimp out into a real hippo within the following years. The daughter worked in Jarvis Bay as a dentist’s assistant and wasn’t supposed to be home until late tonight.

I parked my car a few miles down the road from her home in a lay-by surrounded by shrubbery. Behind the dense bushes was a small creak. It was a favorite angler’s place for the creak that fed Dawson’s reservoir was chock full of trout. Noticing a car stationed there would certainly not cause any suspicions. I hiked north along the road for about twenty minutes until I came to the Dean’s homestead. I waited patiently under a drooping willow for her arrival. The road was a very quiet one, rarely traveled, and the nearest house a mile away. Oh, I could hardly wait.

Ten minutes later I saw her little red Volvo come tearing up the road. I rose and slid behind the trunk of the willow. She parked the car in the gravel driveway and got out. I peered out from behind the trunk and gazed at her with utter amazement. I had not imagined that she could look so stunning. What was this vision? I got an immediate boner. Ooh! What a classy get-up! She looked like something that stepped out of a Vogue magazine.

She was wearing a long dark skirt and a sleeveless camisole. The long gown-like skirt was dark green with a paisley motive, satiny smooth and so thin and transparent that I could make out her long legs shimmering through it. The silky, glistening camisole was apple green in color that nicely complimented the darker shade of the long skirt. For the first time I could notice how slim her arms and how frail her shoulders were. She had slung a silver loop chain around her narrow waist that greatly amplified her slim figure even more. Unfortunately she had, as always, wrapped herself in a finely knitted black shawl with dangling tassels, draping it criss-cross across her bare shoulders so that her full bosom was partially hidden from view. But she could not conceal the considerable bugles. Nothing could!

To complete this picture of sophisticated elegance she had put on black elbow gloves and a huge, black floppy hat. The hat was slightly tilted at an angle so that the green ribbon that circled the crown was visible. Her shiny black hair was pinned up only partially this time because of the hat, with the lustrous mane bunched at the nape of the neck in a sort of curled and rolled-up ponytail.

As she came slowly up the walkway, hips swinging ever so slightly, I could make out the jingle and jangle of her crystal teardrop earrings. She was even wearing a matching bracelet on her left glove-covered wrist. At a distance of ten yards or so I was even able to make out three or four loops of a pearl necklace disappearing under the black shawl.
Black four-inch high-heeled pumps with silver buckles and what seemed to be black stockings peeked out from under the billowing gown. Man, did those spiked heels make her taller than ever!

‘Good Lord’ indeed, I groaned to myself. What a sight! I let her unlock the door and step inside. I counted to ten; then carefully slipped out from under the tree, eyes nervously scanning the road. I had to make sure that nobody saw me here today. I rang the bell.

The door opened seconds later. Mrs. Deans stared at me with surprise; then opened the door a little wider. “Master Braddock!” she exclaimed. “My Lord! Wot are you doing ‘ere?” She had the most noticeable British accent. Her voice was soft yet had a throaty ring to it.

I smiled at her and gazed deeply into her hazel eyes. “Look at me. You’re getting sleepy.” She made a face, wanted to say something: but suddenly all she managed was a gurgled grunt. She held my gaze and within seconds a stony look came over her. She closed her eyes and stood there, frozen rigid. The Evil Eye had kicked in!

“Listen to me, Hyacinthe,” I said softly. “When I snap my fingers you will awaken. You will feel like a puppet. You will not move any body part unless I tell you to. Nod your head if you understand.”

A barely noticeable jerk of the head was all that she could manage. “Good. You will be able to see, hear and feel. But you will not speak. You may cry, whine and scream---but you will not say a single word.”

I took her by the arm and half pushed, half prodded her away from the door and into the foyer. It felt like moving a mannequin. I propped her against the wall and closed the door. I snapped my fingers and her eyes popped open. “Stand up straight, hands at your sides.”

She did as requested, eyes wide with perplexed confusion. “Excellent. What a good doll you are. I like to play with dolls, especially pretty dolls. Would you like me to play with you?”

She blinked at me. I smiled at her. “Ah. Yes, of course. Nod your head if you would like me to play with you, or shake it if you do not.”

She blinked at me again; then her face paled. Her head did not move but eyes darted nervously around the foyer. Although in a hypnotic state she was aware of her surroundings and suddenly quite aware what I meant. Oh, she didn’t like that at all! She slowly shook her head. The crystal earrings chimed.

I frowned at her. “No? Hmm. What a shame. And you’re such a pretty doll, too. Hmm. You know what? You can’t do much about it now, can you?”

Her green eyes were blazing at me with horror and her face had gone even whiter. She damn well knew what I intended and she stared at me with maddening terror. Yet no matter how hard she tried she could not run away. She couldn’t budge an inch! She emitted a high-pitched whimper.

“Walk,” I commanded, took her by the arm and led her into the living room. In her hypnotic state she couldn’t move properly and stumbled alongside me like a robot with rusted limbs.
The floppy hat kept whacking me in the forehead for in her high heels she was taller than I was, and walking next to her forced me to tilt my head to the side. I took a peek at her hoping to get a view of those heavy hooters, but they were completely covered by that black shawl. But man, the bulge was considerable! The protruding jugs just shook and wobbled as she stumbled along beside me. Yup. No mater how much she covered herself up she could not conceal their pendulous nature! And those crystal earrings just chimed and tinkled, too! She gasped and grunted as I guided her towards the sofa. She was terrified!

A grand piano stood in one corner of the room under a large throw rug. I knew she was an accomplished pianist and I was not surprised to see that she had one in her home. A big potted, leafy plant stood next to an L-shaped sofa arrangement. It was one of those five-piece jobs with individual seat cushions and padded backs all pushed together. It was black with a red rose pattern. In front of it was a low-lying coffee table with a heavy plate glass insert.

“Stand still.” I grabbed her around the waist and spun her around. Oh, what a small waist this slinky woman had. And that camisole was soft and slippery and smooth. I held her for a moment, enjoying her madly spinning eyes and the deep intake of her breathing. That tall, slender and almost fragile body seemed to be as breakable as a stick! Oh man---my 12” cock was going to split her open for sure!

I let her stand there while I busied myself with the sofa’s cushions. I removed one of the thick, 2x3 seats from the left sofa and propped it up against the back of the other side of the L-shape layout, thereby reducing the seating width there by half.

I started to undress then and piled my clothes in the far corner of the left sofa. I straightened and stood in front of her wearing only my boxer shorts and my socks. Her green eyes widened at the considerable bulge poking through the front of it. It was quite a bulge, too, and she made a funny gasping sound as she stared at it with alarm. “Okay, Barbie Doll. Why don’t you sit down over here? That’s it---prop yourself against that cushion and spread your legs a little.”

She lifted the hem of the long gown a bit with her gloved hands, turned and gently let herself fall onto the sofa. Her tits shook and wobbled as she plopped down. I fell to my knees in front of her, grabbed the long, thin skirt and pushed it up her long legs until I had it bunched around her slim hips. Shit! She wasn’t wearing stockings and garters at all but cute, knee-high socks, the kind that schoolgirls wear with their pleated miniskirts and white cotton tops. How kinky! They were very black and of some stretch cotton material that clung to her slim calves as if glued. And those semi-spiked heels made her slim legs seem twice as long. Oh, what a sight!

I reached up and pulled the bifocal glasses from her nose, tearing the dainty chain in the process. She gasped as the chain cluttered onto the sofa. I grabbed the glasses and put them on the pile of discarded clothes for later retrieval. I decided to have her keep the floppy hat on: if she dressed like a socialite I was going to fuck this high-class lady, hat, elbow gloves and all! But that stupid shawl wrecked the entire look. It was coming off!

I smiled at her. “Let’s have a look at what you’re hiding under this fucking blanket!”

I reached up again and started to fumble with the large knot of the shawl. She whimpered a little as I drew the tasseled ends apart, then squealed with protest as I slowly peeled apart the sides. Oh Jesus---her tits just drilled out at me like missiles! The sight of those two jugs heaving out like that through that silky top was a hell of an incentive to draw the shawl off her completely. I grabbed one end of the knitted shawl and pulled it off her bare shoulders with a quick jerk; then tossed it on the pile of clothes behind me.

I stared at what I had thus exposed. It was the first time that I’d seen her bust uncovered and the sight of them took my breath away. Man, they were even bigger than I had thought! They thrust out and forward, stretching the thin and loose camisole taut at the sides, the rounded tips piercing through the thin material like rockets. Large, knobby lumps were extremely visible in the center of each pear-shaped tip, indicating that she had to have nipples large and fat enough to poke through both bra and camisole. Whoa!

“When’s the last time somebody played with these?” I asked her. All I got was a horrified stare. I nodded. “Hmm. It’s been awhile, eh? You poor, neglected doll. Well, today’s your lucky day. I am really going to play with them! I’ll make you happy---trust me!”

She emitted a terrified gasp. I shook my head. “Ah, that thought horrifies you? Tsk, tsk. You can’t have tits like these and expect men to ignore you. Now be a good doll and hitch up the camisole, Hyacinthe. Pull it all the way up, nice and slow---then tuck it under your chin. It’s about time you show the world just what you got! Come on!”

She just sat there like a statue, eyes bouncing crazily around the room. She brought her gloved hands up and slowly started to inch the green top out from under the loop chain around her waist. With a startled sob she managed to pull it out and her navel came to view; then hitched it up slowly, pausing only when she had to work it over her protruding bust. And then she wrapped it under her chin, exposing her breasts to me. I gasped.

She was wearing one of those seamless bras made popular by Victoria Secret. It was black, yet so sheer and semi-transparent, like a filmy negligee so that everything was visible. It was also one of those jobs that could be worn strapless if so desired for it obviously had removable straps and padded under rims for extra support. Which was strange, as I could not imagine her wearing anything so revealing that required a strapless bra! What an odd woman! Oh, she was eccentric all right, quite so. The slinky gown with the elbow gloves, the high heels and the large hat and now the special bra----nothing made sense. Wasn’t she supposed to be frumpish and timid? What a contradiction!