DQ Ch. 01: Losing Control with Mom

DQ stands for Deviant Quickies, which will be a series of loosely related quick-and-dirty stories that explore the limits of the plausible (and very often exceed these) to provide you with wild narratives, while I work on the longer, hopefully more literary submissions that I have been promising for a while.

Also, I am very grateful for all your previous (and sometimes critical) comments. I try to incorporate these, so feel free to share your thoughts.

This first one is, well, rather deviant and rather quick. It involves mind control, incest, cuckolding, and lactation, so be warned if that is not for you.

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A man and a woman sit together at a large desk. A book is opened in front of them. The man is a holding a pen, which hovers above the empty page like drone, ready to strike. He does not yet know how apt that metaphor will be, what kind of forces will be unleashed from the tip of his stylus. The woman lets her head rest on her arms as she closely observes him. She looks bored.

"Where do we begin this time?" she asks.

"I see a quaint British village," he answers her. "Streets of cobblestone. Narrow passages. Ivy on old, crumbling walls. Small houses. The smell of coal. A loving family."

"A son?"

"Of course."

"Again, really? Let me guess: yet another wimp?" she sighs as she says it, her eyes rolling.

The man looks at her, annoyed. "I am trying to get at something fundamental. Something primal. Boy surrenders to deepest hidden passions."

'"You've just read too much Freud. Why can't it be a love between two equals for once? Why are your pages crowded with nerds, virgins, boys trembling at the borders of sexuality? Why can you not write a romance between two adults?"

"Not this time."

"Let me write next time then..."

"Perhaps."

I put down the heavy bags that I had been carrying home through the narrow streets of our town and placed them on the kitchen floor. Finally. Doing groceries for my family was quite a chore. The list was long, the market crowded, and the instructions were, as always, tremendously specific. No regular mushrooms, chestnut mushrooms. No Chinese cabbage but bok choy. I got a remark every other week for buying the wrong kind of walnut, or the wrong brand of olive oil. Hopefully I got it right this time.

"I am home, mom!", I yelled, as I carefully started to unpack the plastic bags in our spacious kitchen. We had one of the largest houses in the street, due to Dad's work at the insurance company. But as spacious as it was, the kitchen was filled completely with trays on which a grid of dough balls was placed. Mom had been busy with a new cooking experiment, something Mexican by the looks of it. I was extra careful not to disturb her culinary experiment, but when I placed the bread into the basket, I accidentally bumped into one of the trays, causing some of the balls to roll over.

Of course, this was exactly the moment for my mother to come into the kitchen.

"Careful there, honey", Mom scolded me, as she suddenly appeared behind me, took the bread out of my hands, gently shoved me aside and took over unpacking the groceries. Mom was a voluptuous woman, and once she had made her presence known, one could hardly escape it. Her energy filled up the room instantly. Her straight brown hair hung just over her shoulders, usually tied in a ponytail but now loose, and although I could not call her fat, her hips were about twice as wide as mine.

Mom wore a tight, black skirt and a light blue blouse that she must have had for ages as I remember seeing her wear it on old photographs too. As always, Mom appeared classy in these clothes, as if she would have to go to an official dinner tonight instead of just lounging on the couch with Dad and me. My own sports pants were much less fancy, and I internally scolded myself for not dressing more properly, as I knew how Mom appreciated that.

I watched as she moved the groceries around, without even looking me in the eye. She could be so practical. Mom had a sharp eye for anything irregular or out of order to her taste. Nothing ever eluded her attention. Both Dad and I felt a mix of admiration and nervousness towards Mom, as she always managed to do things better, faster and more thorough than we did. I, for my part, felt a constant need to prove myself to Mom, but it seldom occurred that what I did fully pleased her.

As I sheepishly stood beside Mom, she took the peppers I bought out of the plastic bag. They lingered on their way to the cupboard, and I could already predict that something was not to Mom's liking. "O, Dan, you bought regular chili peppers again. I just hoped you would bring Madame Jeannettes this time to spice up the meal I am preparing." Damn. I knew I had forgotten something. She held the peppers in front of me face, as if to confront me with my mistake.

"Sorry, Mom."

Mom's blue eyes stared deeply into mine before she winked, smiled, patted my cheek and put the peppers away. "Don't worry. It'll just be a little less spicy, but your Dad even likes that better." The sensation of her stroking my stubble beard lingered on my face.

I stood there watching as Mom emptied the bags, hoping that the rest of the products were right. Mom's movements were accompanied by the familiar, tingling sound of her elegant silver bracelets that Dad had bought for their fifteen year anniversary. It is strange how such subtle sensations can come to mean much for us. While I was waiting for Mom to unpack, I felt a tinge of melancholy due to the sound. Even though I was twenty one and only home for the weekend, the sound of Mom's bracelets symbolized the many evenings when I had helped her cook when I was young. She had an idiosyncratic way of shaking the water off veggies that made a silvery sound when her bracelets shook too.

After we had cleared away the groceries, we moved to the living room for a coffee. Dad was already sitting there, reading his newspaper. The weekend edition nearly covered him, but underneath two legs in sports pants stuck out. He must have gone for his favorite run to the nearby meadows while I was shopping. Dad sure did make an effort to keep in shape for Mom. To be fair, she hadn't resisted joking about his pot belly when he had one a couple of years ago. Mom could be quite demanding... Not bossy, but demanding for sure.

Beside Dad, on the small table in the corner, two large carton packages were placed that had probably been delivered this morning. Mom bent over and kissed Dad on the cheek. "Hi honey, had a good run? Will you dress up nicely for your son and me? He's not home from college that often. Your shirt smells a bit." Mom rambled and continued without a pause, pointing at the boxes on the table: Are those for me?"

Dad folded the news paper and nodded, ignoring the remarks about his clothes. "Yes, dear. They just came in with the mail this morning."

Mom cheered and picked the packages up. As Dad and I drank our coffee in silence she began unpacking them. The first turned out to be a new duvet cover. It was a washed pink, with a very gentle rose pattern in it. Mom held it in front of her to admire it. "Won't you look at that... Don't you like it, honey? It will look amazing with the colors of the walls, don't you think?"

Dad's smile was a bit too tense. I guessed what he thought: another girly element to their sleeping room. But long ago he had given up his resistance to pink flowery ornaments and other feminine elements in the house. "Great, yeah," he managed to say. Mom winked at me, as if we were conspirators sharing a secret - only for that I did not have anything to do with Dad's waning taste.

"Why don't you go put it on our duvet, honey?"Mom asked Dad in a sweet voice.

"What, right now?" Dad glanced quickly at his news paper. Poor guy, all he wanted was to finish his weekend edition of the Guardian.

"Why not? I'll make you some more coffee!"

Dad got up with a sigh.

"Don't be like that." Mom said. "Imagine if I sighed at everything I did for you. And honey, could you maybe also change the pillows with the ones in the attic? I think they will look nicer, color-wise."

"Anything for you!"

While Mom unpacked the second package, which contained a pair of nylon stocking, I sipped my coffee and thought about college. It was so great to feel so free from my family. I liked being here, but being sucked into these age old family dynamics was tiresome at times. Why did I still feel so under pressure to please Mom?

"Ok, where is this going?" the woman wanted to know, still lying with her head on the desk, bored.

"You'll see," he said. "I plan to slowly make the son and mother grow towards one another when the father has an accident. A relationship that secretly blooms while Dad is in hospital."

"Yawn. Seen that before."

"What do you suggest, then?" the man asked, his eye brows lowering ominously to show his discontent.

"Send in the dove!" she giggled, and slowly raised herself into a more upright position, as if the story had suddenly caught her attention.

"Now already?" He genuinely was surprised.

"Yeah, give this story a short cut. Let's see what happens when they lose control? May I?"

Slightly irritated he replied: "No, let me have a go first. I'll send in the dove if that means that you'll remain interested. We'll see where I can take it from there."

As Mom went to the kitchen to try on the stockings, I was startled by a loud thumb against the window, as if somebody had thrown a basketball at our house. However, when I got up to look, I saw a crippled dove lying in the bushes outside. The poor bird must have hit our house at high speed. When it looked at me through the window with its beady eyes, I felt a strange, cold feeling all through my body. Just as I wanted to go out, to save it, the bird got up, flapped its wings and took off in the goofish parabolas in which doves tend to fly.

When I sat back on the couch the weirdest thing happened. I watched as my right hand began to crawl, like a giant spider, up my leg, without me wanting to move it. "The fuck..."

In terror I saw how it moved higher and higher towards my crotch, as I tried to stop it by grabbing my right arm with my left. Soon, however, I also lost control over my left arm, which was positioned left to my body again, where it hung relaxed. My right hand had crawled up to the top of my sports pants, and now it moved inside my boxer shorts. All I could consciously move was my head, and I stared down, appalled, at how my right arm began to make jerking movements as my hand closed around my penis.

"Stop, stop, stop," I thought, because Mom could be back any moment. But I just felt my dick stiffen as my arm continued to make pumping movements out of its own. I breathed heavily in a fit of panic. What the hell was going on?

Just as I heard Mom's heeled shoes approaching the living room, the spell broke and I frantically pulled my hand out of my pants. Mom saw the last part of this movement and raised an eye brow. "What are you doing, baby?

"Nothing," I said, still frightened by what had happened.

Mom accepted this empty answer and pointed to her stocking-clad legs. "What do you think?" she wanted to know.

The stockings were of a shiny fabric, that made Mom look even more classy. Still shocked by myself, I had to gather my thoughts to make a compliment. "Really nice, Mom!"

The woman sighed audibly. "So why did you just make him masturbate if he gets away with it like that? Why not go the whole way?"

"Now that you have messed up my suspense by having me send down the dove, I might as well... But I don't know. I hesitate. I feel bad for him, I guess. Like he is a real person."

"Why are you getting sentimental all of a sudden? These people are real, alright, and then they aren't. They exist only when they are being read, or written down. Their future is ours to make. But then again it is their real future, and they will have to face its consequences. You know all this, and it hasn't stopped you before."

"Ok. Just give me a bit longer."

When Dad came down again, Mom took out a piece of cake she had baked earlier. While we munched it in delight - it even helped to make me forget a little about my loss of control earlier - Dad placed his hand on Mom's knee and complimented her with the new stockings, as he had been disciplined to do over the years whenever Mom bought some new piece of clothing.

"Thank you honey," Mom replied. "Please be careful with your nails though. And your hands look a bit dirty from sporting still. I want to keep them clean." She removed Dad's hand as if it was a dirty rag, and smiled to him. "First clean yourself, before touching your pretty wife." She giggled.

Dad accepted Mom's remark and leaned over to reach his coffee. As he did, a piece of the cake crumbled and landed on Mom's lap.

"Mark, careful!" Mom said annoyed, while she picked the piece of cake up between index finger and thumb like it were a nasty insect she had spotted. "I've just got these stockings new and you are already crumbling greasy cake on them. You are hopeless."

When she saw that Dad looked frightened, she quickly kissed him and moved to the other side of the couch. Jocularly, she remarked: "Perhaps my new stockings are safer here. You be a good boy the rest of the day, and you may approach me again."

"And perhaps give a welcome to our new bed sheets..." Dad whispered slightly too loudly.

"TMI, Dad," I laughed. Sex had never been a hot topic in our home and jokes like Dad's didn't really shock me anymore.

"Just as a piece of advice," she started, mocking his tone, "a good narrative never involves elements that do not contribute at all to the plot. If the boy forgets about the masturbation that easily, it could as well have been left out."

"I thought it would make a greater impact!" he said as he lowered the pen he had used to write just now. "It seems like I just can't control their reactions..."

The woman laughed. "They are real, remember? We can throw things at them, but as characters they will respond how they will. If we push them too far, they simply become others and lose their identity. One time we even made the entire narrative disintegrate, do you recall?"

"I guess I will fang the flames a bit then, to see how far we can go."

"Another dove?"

"I don't know. If we keep throwing deus ex machinae at them, this story will become pretty implausible."

"It already is, so fuck it. Just do it."

Another heavy thumb startled us, and Mom and Dad both jumped up. The large window at the street's side of our house was visibly trembling due to the impact.

"Another one?" I thought.

Before I could act, Mom and Dad rushed to the window.

"Don't look!" I yelled dramatically, but it was too late.

"Don't be ridiculous." Mom said. "It's just a poor dove."

I watched as I saw both Mom and Dad shudder at its sight and I feared the worst. I wouldn't call myself superstitious, but I did not trust these deviant doves at all. I was pretty certain that my loss of control had to do with the gaze of the earlier bird.

Mom and Dad seemed OK as they watched the dove fly off, but this impression did not last long.

"I feel weird," Dad said as he sat down. "My body feels heavy. I can't... I can't move..."

Mom had been moving to sit down, but now just stood about in the middle of the room. "Me... too..."

I, as well, felt a cold force running through me again, and as I tried to stand up, my body remained inert. "Help..."

Then it happened.

Mom turned towards me as she yelped: "My body is moving on its own!"

She started to walk in my direction. All this happened smoothly and Mom's body did not show any sign of resistance. Without jerking and stuttering movements, Mom graciously approached me with wagging hips. Only her scared face didn't fit the calmness of the rest of her demeanor, and she looked as if she had just been placed in a terrifying roller coaster with no way out.

"What is going on?" Dad asked. "Where are you going?"

All three of us were panicking now and frantically wiggling our heads around, as if we could somehow release the spell that way. But our bodies went their own ways.

Mom was now standing right in front of me, when she suddenly dropped to her knees. Her hands were gently placed on my own knees, and pushed them aside. I felt my own legs spread further in response, so that Mom could sit between them kneeling.

"I have no idea what my body is doing! I am trying to stop this!" Mom called out, as her hands started to massage my upper legs.

Meanwhile my own hand had a mind of its own. I saw how it was lifted and placed it on Mom's cheek, gently patting her. It felt way too intimate to caress Mom like this, but no matter how hard I exercised my will, my hand kept softly rubbing her face. She did not have many degrees of freedom, but Mom tried to pull her face away from my hand as well as she could. "I have the same Mom, this is not me!" I explained.

I could not check for sure what my Mom thought was happening, and whether I was to blame, because she soon went even further than some innocent cheek-patting. Her hands which had been massaging my legs, moved up along my legs. The synthetic fabric became static under her intense rubbing and it gave soft crackling sounds as Mom moved her hands to the elastic of my pants.

"Ah. Oh. I am not sure what is happening, baby!" Mom sounded really stressed as her fingers started to hook around the waist band of my pants. The touch of her hands just above the area of my groins felt insanely sensitive. To my deepest shame, I felt that I was starting to get an erection from what Mom was doing to me. With all my will power I tried to think of anything else than sex.

My body did not respond at all to my commands. Instead, I felt how I raised my ass off the couch, giving Mom the opportunity to tug down my pants. Which she did, in one continuous movement. "Fuck, Mom, stop!" I yelled, really scared that she would see my hard cock.

Meanwhile Dad was protesting in unintelligible utterances from the position on the couch where his body kept him locked, forced to see how his wife had started to undress his son.

"I, oh my, I am sorry, baby. You have to believe me, I have no clue what's happening." Mom mumbled as her hands carefully pulled my pants over my Adidas sneakers, so that now I was sitting in front of Mom in my underwear. An obscene tent had formed in my underpants, and Mom's head was awfully close to it. I tried to look away, but all of it was too intense. This was my own mother, who suddenly knelt in front of me as if she was my girlfriend about to give me a BJ! I did not want to see my Mom like this, I did not want to be aroused by it!

Mom started to untie my shoes one at a time, and my body co-operated perfectly with hers, lifting my foot when she was ready to remove one sneaker. My socks came off too. It were the white tennis socks that Mom must have put in the laundry so often when I still lived at home. As if in an old reflex, Mom still neatly formed a ball of the two socks. Then, her attention, or I should say her body's attention returned to my legs.

"Stop, you two!" Dad protested, but Mom's body was unstoppable now even though her face looked properly shocked at what was happening. By now she witnessed my erection and her eyes widened, as if she'd just seen water burn. "Jesus..." she said, the dismay dripping from her voice. "Are you... hard? From me touching you like this? My God..." I felt ashamed, but I knew of nothing to say. With all my will power I tried to move my body to escape, but nothing came from this.

Meanwhile her body displayed nothing of hesitance, and as Mom tried to look away from my hard member, she started to roll up the sleeves of her tender blue blouse. I feared for the worst. My dick trembled from excitement, while I felt disgust at what was about to happen. "I am so sorry, Mom. I am not in control!"