That Voodoo You Do so Well

At one point it had grown so hot she thought it would burn her thumb. In response, she had seriously considered dunking the little doll in her complimentary drink, and watching the ice cubes *dink*dink* against the little nubbin, but had serious reservations on the effect that might have on her son. Instead, she simply stroked it the other way until the heat was utterly gone out of it.

The sense of power that the little figurine had given her over her son was almost overwhelming. She could just picture it in her mind, James frantically thrusting into his girlfriend, fucking her for all he was worth, and then - nothing. A limp, cold, dick, and both of them frustrated and wanting. It was a perfect plan, really. The more frustrated they got, the faster they'd break up. Young people had needs, after all. Young men, especially, with their rampant cocks and swollen balls, constantly aching for release, needing more sex than any inexperienced young pussy could give them; what a young man *really* needed was an experienced woman, in the full flower of her sexuality, with a sexual hunger that matched his own.

Barbara caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed and bright pink. What had she been thinking?

"Where did you want thes- Jesus!" James strode in through the open door and froze in the doorframe.

"Language," Barbara admonished, without thinking.

"Sorry mom," he said, looking downcast. "It's just- I mean, did you leave anything *at* the mall?"

"My wardrobe needed updating," she said, turning away from him. Barbara began unbuttoning her shirt. "I've, um, lost a little weight and I haven't bought any new clothes in *ages*, so I thought I would just-" She shrugged, and Phillip's old shirt fell to her shoulders. Her son made a small choking noise, deep in his throat.

Her gaze flicked to the full-length mirror.

There he stood, her strapping young son, biceps standing out against the weight of the bags in either arm, staring, mouth slightly agape. It caused her a moment's confusion - surely he'd seen her changing before. Then Barbara realized, he'd never quite seen her like *this*, had never seen the smooth, sinuous curves of her bare back, or the little dimples just above the jutting mounds of her newly pert little ass, swathed in the skin-tight black cotton of her leggings. She wasn't even wearing a bra; he could probably see the outside curves of her breasts from his position in the doorway.

The shirt slid to the floor, and Barbara reached out to touch the weir-boy. The little digit was hot again, without her having manipulated it. Fresh wetness flooded between her legs. He was watching *her*! He was getting hard for his own *mother*.

"Um, where-" James said, helplessly, waving the bags. Barbara covered her nipples with one arm and half-turned to face him, watching his gaze crawl all over the swollen breastflesh oozing over her forearm. There was sweat on his brow.

"Oh, wherever." She said, fingertip agitating the little nubbin as it grew hotter, rewarding his wandering eye with intense pleasure. The blood rose in his face as her son took a step inside and dropped the bags unceremoniously on the floor. He quickly turned to go, and even got a half-step towards the door when she called him back. "James, can you get something for me please?" He paused.

"Sure, mom." He said, voice a little shaky.

"In that little pink bag there by your foot, there should be a bra, a black one. Can you get it for me?"

"The-" he looked down. "The Victoria's Secret bag?"

"Oh good, you *can* read." She said. "Yes, that one."

"I, uh-" she pressed a little harder, and he made a slightly strangled noise as pure pleasure rocketed up through him. "Sure." Bending, he fished the bra out by the strap. Holding it up, it dangled from a hooked finger. He inspected the scalloped lace. "This one?"

"That's it," she said. Obviously in a hurry, James tossed it in her direction, where it caromed off one of the bags on the bed, then slid to the floor.

"James Michael de Wynter!" Barbara thundered. "Did I raise you in a barn? Come over here, and hand it to me like a civilized human being." She could see the thick tube of his cock, jammed down the leg of his khaki pants as he stepped over her shopping. Her fingertip kept circling the weir-boy's little digit, feeling the heat ramp up. Was that a damp spot growing on the fabric?

As he bent to pick up the bra, she stepped on it. Her toenails, painted a bright baby-blue, shone in the light of the room. Barbara wiggled them in his direction as he took hold of the bra, never ceasing to manipulate the doll.

"Now apologize," she said. "For your rudeness."

"I'm sorry, mom." James didn't look up from the floor, staring at Barbara's soft little foot, pudgy toes wriggling so close to his face. "I'm sorry I was rude. It won't happen again."

"Good boy," Barbara said, stepping back. He straightened up, and put the bra in her outstretched hand. "You can go back to whatever it was you were doing." Waving at her son dismissively. "Unless you want to watch me getting dressed, that is."

James licked his lips, hesitated, then left; his mother closed the door behind him. Listening to him thudding down the stairs, she grabbed the little male figure, and began to firmly downstroke its member, ignoring the discomfort in her own thumb. The heat in the little green nubbin dissipated almost immediately.

Feeling like a queen, she strut back into the bedroom and snapped the bra into place. Laying the damp figure down next to its momma, she bent low over the pair. What was that? Picking up the doll that had done so much for her, Barbara noticed that there was a tiny flash of pink between its legs. Raising it close to her face, she saw that it was an insignificantly small flower bud, bright pink against the worn grey wood.

It took a long time for her to compose herself once her fingers were finished with her pussy.

--

When Barbara walked into the living room, James and Janie were sitting far from each other on the sectional couch, not really watching the movie on the television. The air was heavy with unspoken tension.

She walked around them, and slid into the short arm of the big l-shape, near her son. Her hands were tucked deep inside the pocket of a body-skimming running hoodie in bright turquoise; seating herself, Barbara laid back and swung her legs up onto the overstuffed ottoman in the centre of the room; her tiny black yoga shorts revealed yards of smooth, bare flesh, right down to her toes.

"What are we watching?" Barbara said, breaking the silence.

"I dunno," James said, trying not to look at his mother's legs, and not succeeding very well.

"Just some garbage," was Janie's contribution. It was the least Barbara had ever heard her say in a stretch.

"James honey, I'm sorry I was a little short with you earlier," his eyes flicked over to her, taking the opportunity to get a good long look at her legs. In the dim light of the room, he couldn't see her hand working in the big pocket of the sweater.

"No- no problem, mom." He shifted uncomfortably as the buzzing pleasure from the weir-boy started up in him, then looked at the TV.

"Sweetheart," she began. "Would you mind doing your mom one last favour?"

James mulled the question over for a moment, then: "sure mom, what is it?"

"Well," Barbara swivelled her hips, and suddenly her feet were laid on the edge of the couch, next to him. "I've been on my feet *all* day long. Would you mind giving them a little rub?" She wiggled her toes at him. Her hand worked inside the pocket.

"Uhhhh," he said.

"You never rub *my* feet," Janie pointed out, sulky.

"Well," Barbara argued, "you're not his mother, are you, honey?" Suddenly, James stiffened, then relaxed. She turned to her son. "Sweetie? Just rub mommy's feet for a couple of minutes, okay?"

"Yeah," his voice was far away. "Yeah, yeah sure mom."

"Good boy," she said. Her son stiffened again, relaxed. His hands were large and dry and his fingers warm as he picked up her left foot and held the heel in his palm.

"I've never, uh-" he ran an inexpert thumb across the ball of her foot.

"It's okay, babybear. I'll tell you how." Barbara crossed her free leg across the knee. "Just listen to me. 'Mother knows best,' after all." She winked. Janie rolled her eyes again. "This is for your benefit too, dear." She said to the girl. "Once I've shown him what to do, he'll rub yours someday. Probably."

"Now James," she turned to her son. "Just rub your thumb up, from the heel to the ball of my big toe." He ground the pad of his thumb deep into her outstretched foot, and she groaned appreciatively. "That's it, honey. Now just dig in deep, just under the toe like- ah! Ahhh yes, like that. Now circle around, and go back down to the heel. Ooohhh James, that's good. You're a natural!" Barbara splayed her toes wide and wriggled in her son's grasp. "That's it, sweetheart, stroke it up and down...uuuuup and down." Deep in her pocket, her thumb followed the selfsame instructions, translating her touch straight to his pleasure centre.

"I can't even hear the movie anymore you guys," Janie complained, curling her plump legs under herself.

"I'm so sorry, dear but James is just- ah! Making his mom- oooohhh! Feel nnnnghhh! Soo good!" Barbara arched her back and pressed her foot hard into James' hand. He was breathing raggedly now, fingers exploring the soft pink flesh of her sole. "Now use both hands, honey, press both thumbs into the heel and oooohhhhh!" Barbara bit her lip, her thumb frantically working the searing-hot little nubbin in her pocket. "Now work my toes, honey. Get in real close, bend over them...yessss just like that and work mommy's toes." James' breath was hot on her skin as his fingers began to pull on her pudgy little digits, his mouth dangerously close to her foot.

"Jamie, this is getting really weir-"

"Ooooh honey your hands are magic! Yessss, just like that!" His mother enthused, drowning out the girl in guttural groans. James' hands were beginning to shake, the fingers of his left scratching idly up her calf while the right dove in between her toes. She uncrossed her leg, planting her other foot on his leg, toes kneading his thigh while he worked, his face a mask of intense concentration. "Oh sweetheart, you're making my feet feel so good! Your father never does this for me anymore." Barbara ground her foot into his flesh.

"Okay, I'm out of here." Janie stood up off the couch and strode to the door, then turned, waiting expectantly. "Jamie?"

"He's-" Barbara gasped. "He's busy, dear. Don't worry, I'll send him to bed once he's done."

Janie gaped, shocked, then stomped out, feet pounding on the stairs.

"Your chubby little slut just left," she hissed to her son while he worked away at her foot.

"What?" He said, looking up from his work, eyes unfocused by the pleasure his mother was sending him through the weir-boy.

"Nothing, baby. Nothing at all. Dig *harder*. Get in there. Good boy!" She enthused, biting back a wet moan. "Ohhh sweetie, mommy's feet are so happy, mommy's toes are so happy." Her elbow worked in and out of her pocket at a frantic pace. He was panting wetly over her feet. "Kiss them." She commanded.

"What? Kiss them? What? That's-" James sounded drunk; his face was slightly blank, brain made muzzy by the teasing sensations Barbara's thumb was bringing his cock.

"Ooohhh, honey it's only fair." Barbara wriggled her adorable little blue-painted nails in his face. "They're soooo happy, baby. Just give mommy's toes a little kiss. Little kisses. That's all." If he could have seen it, her thumb would have been a blur as it worked the weir-boy's little nubbin. "It's okay to kiss your mommy."

"I- I- sure." He was too far gone to think clearly, and bent even closer to Barbara's feet. Gently, lovingly, he planted a kiss against the warm, soft skin of her little toe. He was trembling as he worked his way up, until he reached her big toe; it only took a little push on her part to slide it past his lips, into the heated wetness of his slack mouth. The tremble in James' body suddenly became a pronounced tremor as she brought him closer to the edge. His hands gripped her sole tight, knuckles white as his whole body went rigid. He manfully tried to suppress every sign that he was cumming hard, spurting every last goddamn drop of hot young cum into his pants, and stayed there for a long minute, body locked in place, choking back the cries that tried to escape his throat.

Suddenly, he fell back, panting. Sitting back on the couch, he ran both hands through his hair, and wiped the saliva from his mouth.

"What- what's going on? Mom, what happened to Janie?"

"Oh, she got bored and went upstairs, I think." His mother's voice was bland, but she couldn't hide the grin that was plastered across her face anymore than he could hide the wide wet stain creeping across his thigh through the light tan fabric.

"Oh," he said, distantly, as he caught his breath. "I think, I think I should go." James' voice was vague.

"You don't have to," Barbara said, sliding legs against one another. "You haven't done my other foot yet."

"No," he said. "No, I shouldn't. I already ca- I mean, it's already too late and Janie's not here and I should go." Unsteadily, he got to his feet, seemingly unaware of the cum all over his leg.

"Well, you know your body best," Barbara waved him on. "Go on up. I think she's waiting for you anyway."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I should go."

As his back retreated out of the room, she pulled the doll out of her pocket. Its appendage was rapidly cooling, but it looked slightly bigger now; there was a hint of white at the base, as if there were a stalk there. Wet, too, but she supposed it was her own sweat.

Raising the figure to her face, she kissed it, pushing the little nubbin into her mouth. It was salty.

Her shorts made a wet *squish* as she drew her legs up. She couldn't remember when she'd ever been so horny. There was something about having such obscene power over her own son that was a powerful, addictive aphrodisiac. Idly, she toyed with her sopping wet pussy through her shorts, seriously considering diddling herself for the- what? Fourth? Fifth time today?

But James had looked *so* cute when he was trying so desperately not to let her know he was cumming. Barbara wondered what he looked like when he meant it, what that finely sculpted body looked like when it was rigid with ecstasy, what that fat cock looked like when it was erect and in person.

She stretched her legs out again, spreading her thighs as she dipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her yoga shorts. As her fingers found the slick, bare lips of her outer labia, and slid in between, she thought back to the memory of his hardbody, bent over his bed, his perfect young cock so achingly hard and desperate for pleasure. That silly little bitch couldn't even take him when he was like that, but then, no inexperienced little *girl* could without significant aid. No, what James needed was a mature, flowered, thick-lipped and voluptuous pussy, a *woman*'s cunt, a mother's-

The front door opened and closed. Snarling, Barbara ripped her fingers from her pussy and sat straight up.

Philip walked in. "Hey, movie night!" He said, laying down his briefcase. "What are we watching?"

"I don't know," she said, shortly. "Some garbage."

"Oh." She watched as her husband mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Had he always been so sweaty? And so bloated? Had she really deigned to fuck him only yesterday? "Where are the kids?"

"They retired early."

"Oooooh." Phillip waggled his eyebrows knowingly. "I see." He checked her out, eyes crawling up and down her legs. "Hellooooo, Legs. What say we do a little 'retiring' ourselves?"

"Don't be disgusting, Philip." Barbara stood, and strode past him, out the door.

"What?" He watched her go, eyes rocketing in on the sashay of her pert little behind, those firm, jutting buttocks a little more than a handful each. "What'd I say?"

In the living room, the TV blared to itself.

"What'd I say?"

--

What followed was a very simple program of conditioning: tease his cock as much as possible with the doll, keep him on the edge with the irresistible pleasure brought by the voodoo doll, and make sure he didn't achieve orgasm with his girlfriend. This, of course, entailed spending a great deal of time with the young couple, watching and waiting for her time to drain the enthusiasm out of her son's cock with a stroke or three.

At the same time, James was becoming much more attentive to his mother, and Barbara certainly wasn't about to complain about that; in fact, she rewarded such behaviour by doubling down on her attentions to the weir-boy, buzzing the pleasure centre of his brain with her thumb. As the week passed, he became more obedient, more docile, more willing to accede to her demands, no matter what weird faces his girlfriend pulled.

For example, on Wednesday morning, as they all sat around the breakfast table, she asked him to make her pancakes. He did so happily and with a will, as she watched him tie the apron around his waist, whipping up batter and frying them in just the right amount of butter as she teased the doll. James delivered a tall stack of golden pancakes in short order, reaching around her to lay the steaming plate on the table; if he took a long, lingering look down the deep vee of her shirt, she didn't say anything, but rewarded him with a flick of her thumb.

"What about me?" The girl had complained. "Don't I get any?"

"Oh shit," he'd said, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't- I mean, I only made enough for mom."

Barbara had to squeeze her thighs together as the heat built between them. Moments later, she dropped her fork.

"James, get that for me please," she'd said, mildly. Suddenly he was under the table. Barbara scissored her legs back and forth, giving him a long hard look at their long, silky perfection. He stayed down there a while before he found it, underneath his mother's foot.

His reward for that had made him shaky and pale with ecstasy, though he didn't know why.

Meanwhile, the dolls continued to change. The weir-boy's green shoot became thicker and longer, day by day until it resembled nothing less than an inch-long mushroom. The momma's tiny pink bud grew, too, swelling outward from her crotch, occasionally releasing a single bead of nectar. If she left them alone in a room for any length of time whatsoever, Barbara knew she'd soon find them together in some secluded corner, the momma atop the 'boy, fat green mushroom now pressing up against her tiny grey tits.

She didn't like to intrude when she found them like that, but she had bigger fish to fry.

And the frying was good. Hanging around outside James' bedroom, she was witness to a great many hushed but tense conversations, at least one shouting match, and a number of young female crying jags. She occasionally felt a pang of guilt, but then, Janie *had* tried to insinuate herself where she didn't belong and James- James was being richly rewarded for correct behaviour.

In truth, the power was addictive and arousing and more than once she fucked herself outside her son's door, knowing she was sabotaging his relationship. For his own good, of course.

Philip, for his part, was more or less oblivious to the goings-on in his own house. He left for the office early in the morning and often returned after dark, good only for a lewd comment to his somehow shockingly-attractive wife, who was in turn, utterly uninterested in his advances. Barbara was too busy paying attention to more important matters.

Of course, it couldn't last forever. The kids were flying out at the end of the week to head back and start the school year, somehow still together.