Homecoming Hypnotism Ch. 01

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

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Homecoming Hypnotism

Chapter One

Mark Eldridge flight landed more gently than most, so gently, in fact, that he was barely aware that the wheels had touched down, startling back to reality as the other passengers about him on the plane, dressed formally and smartly with suits and layered dresses, prepared to disembark. There was no sense in hastening to get ready, however, as there were still end of flight checks to be taken care of, and he settled himself a little deeper into his seat, which was not the most comfortable, pressing the tips of his fingers together.

No one noticed him, the man with neatly trimmed facial hair (he did need a shave, however, though it had been hard to find a personal barber out on his travels) and blonde hair that was neatly swept to the side, not a single hair out of place. Everything was just as it should be and his blue eyes shone with inner contemplation, smart slacks hanging just so over his legs, although the price was evident in the smooth tailoring. No one needed to look close to see that not a stitch was out of place, his class surely above the rest of those on the flight, although he made not a single complaint about his travelling companions. Things overseas were far more tenuous than a single bout of air travel and the country of his home birth felt the effects of the war, twenty years or so back now, so keenly that it would be ingrained in the days of a generation before fading to history.

This much he knew but that had not stopped life from moving on, human beings slowly managing something of a return to normal life and being, the air raids stopped and businesses booming. Not much pleasant was said about the ones who had started the world war to begin with but there were still the after effects too to take care of and artefacts to be reclaimed, which was just why he had been studying and, of course, working in the field of archaeology in his time away. The effects were widespread and he was determined to do his part in the best way he could, even if Mark was only, at that point in time, at the youthful age of twenty-six.

And unmarried. His mother, Sarah Eldridge, had never failed to forget to remind him of that in her many letters to him, although not all of them had arrived in the right order. Maybe things would have been different if she and his grandmother, Victoria Eldridge, complete with her piercing, imperious stare, had not hassled him so, moved into the forefront of his mind on a daily basis, but it was far, far too late to consider anything of another course of action now that he had set off on his chosen road. A glorious road too it was destined to be, so much so that he could not help but allow his lips to curve up on just the one side in the faintest of smirks, cocky to the last and understanding the gravity of what he had been planning for, in all actuality, several months. A hasty plan, indeed, was not a plan that he would have wanted to undertake at all with the family name in such prominence and at such personal stake.

For he had something on his mind that was soon to come to pass, something very detailed and intricate that had come to light during his time studying and working in India. A culture rich with history and teachings, he most certainly had not been at any kind of loss for fresh material to learn, although not even a man as deviant as he had expected to come across what he did. And that was about to change the course of his entire life from then on out.

He could have used his newfound powers for good but, well...just where would the fun have been in that?

Off the plane in Ohio, a whirl of smartly dressed airport officials, all getting the people of the passenger flight where they needed to go. For some, it must have been their first time flying but, even at his age, Mark was an old hand when it came to the flights that had reinstated after the war. There was no sense in holding back from life, after all, and in doing his bit he also wanted to learn and do as much as he could, immersing himself in the culture and heritage of India, the teachings in meditation.

Ah, and just who could have possibly known that the teachings would contain such pleasure at the end of them? He waited for his bags, smiling at no one, a towering, imposing figure of a muscular man who had kept up with his fitness regime even overseas. Everyone parted around him like the Red Sea from the Bible itself and he allowed them to, patient and biding his time until the chauffeur came to pick him up, the sleek, black vehicle conveying status and power in a way that machines had an innate ability to do.

And, the whole way home into the countryside where the family mansion lay, he plotted. There was nothing that would stop him, not even the grime and sweat and tiredness of travel, nothing that would stop him from putting his plans into motion the very moment he returned home. There was much work to do and he had to keep going, making the bare minimum of polite conversation with the chauffeur whose name he did not catch and whose person he would never see again. The price paid was none of his concern, the family coffers overloaded in the figurative sense -- for money was not stored like that anymore, but it was still nice, in its own way, to think about all of their riches overflowing, the liberty it provided them. Yet it was liberty itself that, strangely, he sought to strip from the first two lovely ladies in his life.

His hand tightened into his fist, knuckles turning white under tension. The chauffer's eyes met his in the rear view mirror and slid away again a moment later. Mark wondered if he caught something in his eyes. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it would not come to matter very shortly indeed.

Nothing about the estate seemed to have changed in his time away, the display of comfort and riches as extravagant as ever with the groomed hedges and sweeping land lining the driveway. Every tree resided exactly in the place designated to it, trimmed by the gardeners and landscapers, and the fountain bubbled away perfectly before the steps leading up to the grand front doors, every last inch of the mansion oozing a sense of loud elegance. They were there to make a statement, as it was, and not even Mark could have imagined his family toning it down in the slightest when everything that they could have ever have wanted was taken care of for them at a moment's notice, a snap of one's fingers and a passing on, of course, of the ever-present coin and payment.

He would take payment of a different kind from his family, however, having been under their care and almost their service too for so many years. Maybe they did owe him something, the son pushed so far and so hard in life, but maybe that was just his own sense of entitlement coming through -- not that it was something that would ever be examined and deciphered by the curiosity of another soul. No one would know what he did with them as he pushed open the door, his mother, Sarah, standing smiling at the bottom of the staircase with her gloved hands clasped together before her breasts.

"Mark! Oh, my son!"

She rushed for him politely, not breaking stride from a walk even as her pleasure in seeing him once again shone in her blue eyes. He'd gotten his eyes from her but the curls in her richly blonde hair were put there by time with the curlers, the little rolls of spiky beauty making her locks, ultimately, soft and wavy, so much so that something in him ached even then to run his fingers through them. She was dressed in a long, demure summer dress that came all the way down to her ankles, legs still clad in pantyhose and everything about her as prim and as proper as it had always been. The only hint of something a little rebellious about her was the smear of red lipstick adorning her lips, shaping them to a more appealing line: a little trick that he was sure that she had picked up over the course of her time working as a secretary. Of course, she had not needed to work but even a woman had to find something to occupy herself and her drive had been just the thing that had landed her a husband -- to begin with anyway. It was good that she still had something to keep her mind busy.

However, as he watched her approach him as if in slow motion, it was not her attire or her smile, fixed in place, that caught him the most, but just how her breast moved lightly as she walked, not quite constrained as much as they should have been by her brassiere. She was a forty-four, double-D, cup and preferred demure underwear, even when it came to lingerie. He knew she was a forty-four, double-D, cup because he'd looked in her lingerie drawer before. Maybe even then that had been the beginning of the end that was, really, only another sort of beginning.

Shoulder blades pushed back sternly, he looked down at her, his mother a good head and shoulders shorter than him, not returning the hug.

"Mother."

The word came out softly and lowly and something in his tone made her take a step back, eyeing him uncertainly even as she obviously looked him up and down, fussing with his jacket and tugging it a little straighter across his chest, even though it had, honestly, been perfectly passable before.

"You must get these creases out," she said, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, a shake of her head coming across as more disapproving than ever. "Did you not have anyone to manage your laundry while you were over there? Oh, you must tell me everything. But one moment -- I shall have Helga fetch us refreshments!"

But Mark did not move as she turned, looking for the bell with which she could call her personal maid (if she did not hear it, there would surely be hell to pay), waiting with a small smile for the moment that had called him on for so many months. After all that, it was time, and his mother would finally see the man he had become out from under her wing.

"Mark? Mark, are you coming? Do come along now."

"Everything's going to change now, mother. You don't know that now but you soon will."

She paused, confusion crossing her face. It was hard to see just how a woman like her could be confused when her life, as it was, was already so easy and simple. Really, it was only outside affairs that complicated it but she hesitated with her torso half-turned from him, lips parted and her brow, ever so slightly, furrowed. It was not an appealing image, although he did appreciate getting to see the rise of her breasts through the front of her dress, pulled tauter than perhaps she would have liked to see for herself in the dressing room mirror if she'd taken a moment longer to observe her calculated appearance that morning. His eyes dropped and she shifted uncomfortably beneath her son's gaze, completely and utterly unaware that he would be getting far more than an eyeful all to himself soon enough.

"Mark? Whatever do you mean?"

"Pacta Sevanda."

Two little words, two words of power infused with just the right amount of desire, and they did the trick that they'd been designed to do. As if every last bit of energy had been leeched from her body, she crumpled to the floor in a heap of that pretty, floral summer dress, lips parted widely as if to moan. Not a single sound broke the tentative, sweet seal of her lips, however, and she closed her eyes, rendered asleep, the trance taking hold as both her body and her mind moved beyond her control.

Mark smiled, standing over her, hands closing and unfurling to and from fists, although his only lingering tension lay in excitement and anticipation. He was not worried, oh no, but his mother should have been as she slouched in her trance, unaware of what was going on around her. Why, if he deemed it so, after planting the seeds in the language of his letters for so many months, opening her up to the notion of mind control with a hint and a suggestion, he could have had her forget everything and all could have gone back to normal. Yet why would he have wanted to do that when he could now live out every kinky fantasy of his that he'd had of his mother in the realm of mind control?

The time had come.

"Stand."

And, like the puppet she now was, a programmed vessel for his will, she stood elegantly, fluidly, with her eyes open, a small, overly serene smile stretching her lips. She could have slipped away in her mind without the use of any kind of mind control, a drugged state encompassing her, but it was all him and every last bit of the power he'd commanded for himself. And the trigger... He'd keep that the same, a word that was easy to remember as he surveyed the woman who had once held such power in his life, in a position over him where, as her son, he had been no less than forced to love her by society.

Well, he did want to love her, just in a different way than what society wanted of him. And that was something that he could do too.

Groaning softly in the back of his throat, he stood before her, eyes riveted on her form and figure, swaying lightly, although she would not fall in such a scenario without him dictating it of her. That was the beauty of the depth of the mind control, muscles locked in place to hold her body upright.

"Strip."

She did not hesitate, moving to obey without changing the direction in which she was facing, giving him a front row seat to her dress falling lightly down the full length of her body, unclasped at the back and easing from her soft, feminine shoulders that had not done a day of hard work in her life. It was not for Sarah, of course, to take on the physical labour of men, after all, even if she did not even have to work at all with her wealth and lifestyle at her fingertips, every inch of her soft and pleasant to look at -- even more so when she was stripped of her modest garb.

And it would always be much, much better to see a woman in nothing but her bare flesh, her milky skin kept pale away from sunlight, stepping out of her dress and slipping her low heels from her small feet too. She'd always had quite small feet as if her very body had been afraid to take up too much space at any one time but Mark's eyes were on her shapely legs, the curves of them running up to her thicker thighs, clad only in pantyhose, which was soon to drop to the floor too. But that pantyhose and the underwear that resided above it too was too simple and modestly cut for his liking and Mark found himself shaking his head before even his lustful mind had caught up with what his body was doing. Still, his shaft throbbed, plumping up just a little with blood as his arousal grew from the mere sight of her stripping down at his command before him, curls not hiding a single thing even as they fell down her shoulders and across her collarbone, tipping forward to continue her appointed task.

"Oh, no, mother..." He said slowly, pacing around her in a wide circle, taking in every inch of her hungrily down to the light, white underwear she'd donned, all pleasant enough if she wasn't going to be required to take off her clothes. "This will not do... How could you wear such a thing in my presence? Remove it immediately."

She was already doing so, however, even if that did not quell the rush of power flooding his veins, the bulge in the front of his slacks easily obvious and evident to anyone who cared to look. He did not wonder whether the maid was nearby or if they were at any risk of being walked in on out in the entrance all, the display of finery and sweep of the majestic staircase the most dominating features of the room, but continued on as he was. There was no way to go, after all, but forward once he had set himself on such a path and he was not someone who had ever deviated from a set route, even if it was one that he himself had put down.

The underwear came off, large swathes of fabric that covered her considerable assets falling to the floor. He could not have called it 'lingerie' as it was undeserving of the name, although he had to admit, to himself only, that his mother, most likely, could not have possibly have been expected to be told to strip on his return home. Maybe she would have worn something nicer if she'd thought it was her husband that she would be welcoming? Ah, but he would give her more pleasure than her husband and his father ever had before: that was something, at the very least, that he was confident in. All else, well...that was his pleasure to be taken however he deemed it fit to be taken. And that control would give him the ultimate ecstasy that no orgasm could ever live up to either.

She had not shaved but the hair at her crotch was short and neatly trimmed, making her a woman to fuck and not a little girl. Mark shivered, fingers twitching, and yet he held back I only to take pleasure in the show, sweeping his gaze up to her perfect breasts, pulling down under the weight of her age and gravity, which could not be helped. But her nipples were still large and full, responding to the chill of the air that they could not have been expecting either to perk up into luxuriously hard and full nubs that he ached to take into his mouth and suck.

"Turn."

Obediently, she turned in a circle -- just the once. More could be had, of course, if the command came, but it was more than enough for him to take in the rise of her buttocks, the flesh soft and eager for the grope and squeeze of his hand. He knew what pleasures lay below the crease, the fantasies that had kept him awake night after night in India, and shivered in anticipation, lips parted and a rush of overly warm breath escaping his lungs in a rush.

"We will find something finer for you. What fetish lingerie do you have...Sarah?"

It no longer felt right to call her as his mother, the power dynamic shifting. And yet even a little word like that could have the right tone and lilt placed on it so that the power teased back in the other direction, son coming above her in the order of the household in the line of order. Never again would Sarah ever be able to actually disobey him, even though he would, at times, enjoy her little acts of rebellion, how she would try to push back against him, try to free herself from her sweet hypnotism.

She'd always be his.

"Nothing," she breathed, eyes cast down. "I have white lingerie, what I wore on my wedding night."

He nodded, eyes glittering.

"Yes... That will do. For now. You will go shopping today and return with something...nicer. Red. Fetish. Something you would never have worn before. And you will not disappoint me. Go put on what you have."

As if in a trance himself, hardly able to believe the power he wielded, Mark followed her up the stairs, leaving her clothes behind on the floor. Maybe Helga would wonder what had happened but she would gather everything up dutifully all the same and no questions would be asked as she knew well enough when to keep her mouth shut. He didn't have to worry about it, however, as he followed the sway and clench of his mother's perfect backside up to her bedroom, the grand room appearing more like the living quarters of a person than somewhere where she only needed to sleep and dress.

He didn't hear the phone ringing down the hallway, the sitting room calling their attention. And yet the person on the other end of the line would wait and wonder just what was happening as no answer was forthcoming.

That one could wait.

The lingerie drawer was just where he expected it to be in the heavy, solid oak chest of drawers placed opposite the window, although the curtains had remained drawn, casting the room and the four-posted bed into a tinted purple glow. Later, he would command her to leave the curtains and the windows open so that everyone who cared to look in could see her in the realm of debauchery, regardless of the humiliation she suffered for it.