The Freedom Ch. 01

I found it right off, but in my haste tripped on one of the straps. I bit it hard on the floor, wind escaping my lungs in a rattling cough. As I groaned and began to pick myself up off the floor, there came a sharp pinch in my neck. Instinctually, I grabbed the foreign implement and tossed it away. A syringe clattered and spun down the hall, a residue of neon green liquid visible.

I rolled onto my back, still trying to catch my breath and stared up at my mother. "What did you do?" I demanded of her.

"I'm sorry," she shrugged, "I tried to do this differently but it was taking too long. I had to give it to you directly."

"Give me what?"

"You'll see," she promised.

And, boy, was she right. In an instant, it felt as though she had dumped a combination of lighter fluid and molasses into my vein. My blood felt on fire and everything seemed to slow down. The rapid adrenaline soaked flutter of my heart was reduced to a dull, periodic thumping. My vision would fuzzy, then grey, then black. I was awake, I knew I was, but I could see nothing.

I could feel myself beginning to change. My brain's warnings disappeared. My morals were captured and chained away, their screams reduced to mumbles and then a hum of nothingness. In their place, the doors holding back all the unacceptable, unapproved, impractical, and downright dangerous fantasies were sprang open. The dark whispers of my deepest subconscious, of humanity's collective unconscious, came rushing out. My body twisted and shook, goosebumps crawled over inch of me. I bit my tongue to try and hold back the filth it wanted to spew. My mother had injected me with The Freedom. Moments before, I had no idea what that was and then, immediately it seemed, I knew it without a doubt. It introduced itself in my head, under my skin, in my very organs. Everything I ever wanted sexually, even that which I never knew I did, it promised it would grant me. Everything. I need only give in.

It did not stop with my mental functions either; my body began to alter itself as well. The scar I had on my forehead from childhood and always annoyed me? I knew it was gone without having to check. I just knew. I could feel the thighs that I bemoaned my entire adolescence and adulthood for never being as thin and as toned as I'd like regardless of how in shape I was achieved what I had been exercising so hard for all this time in less than a second. I was even vaguely aware that the split ends were gone from my hair and the places where my Japanese Rose Garden pink nail polish had chipped were suddenly smooth, glossy, and pristine. Now I knew why my mom's body looked so odd to me. It was her ideal version of herself, granted to her by The Freedom.

My vision returned and focused on my mother, gazing at me without something that decidedly could not be described as motherly love. She massaged my tits and I could help but marvel at how incredible it felt. I had by no means had lousy lovers up until then, but no one had excited me this much with a two-second feel-up session. It felt so amazing to me, in fact, that I never questioned how it was that I was already naked, my clothes strewn this way and that around us. It did not seem important.

I was dully conscious of a part of me still fighting against the chemical storm unleashed in my body. It was the part that decided to remind my mother of her role as parent. However, the rest of me would not cooperate. So instead of a shocked admonishing, "You're my mother! Stop it!" it instead came out a throaty moaned reminder of debauchery, "Mmmmmm...oooooo...you're my mother."

"Yes, I am baby. You like that? You like your tits being felt up by your Mommy?" she leaned in and whispered next to my ear.

"Yesssssss," I hissed, arching my back to press my breasts more fully into her hands. My last shreds of morality flitted away.

A lecherous smile crossed her lips and she cooed, "Do you want Mommy to make you cum?"

"Please," I begged.

"Have you been a good girl?"

"No, Mommy, I've been sooooooo bad."

"Have you? Tell me," she ordered, lowering her naked body against my own.

I spoke as she kissed, licked, and sucked my body, beginning from the hollow of my neck and ending at my ankles, pointedly avoiding my tits and my pussy, driving me wild with just enough stimulation to ensure I stayed aroused but never more than that.

"I watched you Mommy. I watched you finger yourself on our dirty basement floor like the fucking slut you are."

She moaned back, "I knew you had to be watching. Did you love watching your Mommy touch herself?"

"Mmmm, god, yes. I fucked myself too. I was soooo wet."

"Did you like seeing Mommy in your dirty panties?"

"It was such a turn-on to know you were soaking panties I had already soaked. To know my Mommy was an incest loving whore who'd rape her little daughter she wanted to get fucked so bad."

My mother began to bite me then, hard, sharp gnashing of teeth on my skin. I yelped and saw purple bruise appear and then be blended away. The Freedom whispered its promises of consequence-free sex. Rough sex would leave no bruises; unprotected sex would carry not STI or pregnancy risks. The Freedom knew what we wanted and would always make sure we could realize it.

My body roiled with delight at the pain/pleasure it felt. My sexual experiences, while nice, had all been relatively vanilla. Foreplay, some hand work, maybe a little oral, a position or two, climax. Done. Certainly, acts of same sex incest and biting had never been on my radar. At that moment though, in the grips of The Freedom, I could not conceive of a me that did not want these things, that did not actively seek them out.

Completing her toothsome journey, Mom wrapped me in herself, her arms surrounding me, her new breasts thrust against my arm, her hard nipples insistent against my skin, her right leg draped across my mid section. Her toes, lacquered a fire engine red, gracefully found my clit and began to tease me. Her skin felt both hot and cold against my own. It was a sensation I cannot fully describe as it seemed my senses could not fully comprehend. Each part of our flesh that touched the other's was exhilarating, a series of micro-fireworks bouncing from nerve ending to nerve ending. She kissed me, strong and wanting, and I returned it in kind.

My mind was flooded with thoughts of "You are kissing your mother," but they were not admonishing or disapproving. Rather they celebrated it, urged me on, called me dirty names that only made me want this depravity more.

I bit down on her lip, tasting my mother's blood. She pulled back, eyes stormy. Some reptilian part of her brain seemed to grasp I had harmed her, but The Freedom made it all seem like pleasure. As the gash healed, she groaned with desire.

"Hit me," I whispered.

"What's that baby?" she asked. I do not know if she simply did not hear me, if it was a tease, or if, for one moment, my mother, my real mother, resurfaced. Ultimately, it does not matter as there was no escape from The Freedom.

"Hit me, Mommy," I half-whined in a breathy growl, "Spit in my face. I disrespected you when I ran away before...when I made you work for this. Teach me a lesson, Mommy."

Just saying the words out loud turned me on. My nipples grew as hard as they had ever been, my pussy so wet I could literally feel myself drip.

"You did, didn't you? You little bitch!" my mother barked, and granted my wish. First, she spit on me, in my eyes and my mouth, gleefully giggling. Then, she repeatedly slapped me. Each stinging blow on my face caused me to moan like I was experiencing a deep french kiss, each whack on my tits made me grit my teeth like a mouth was teasing me, each shocking strike on my cunt left me writhing as though I was being pleasured by the world's most effective, pleasurable vibrator.

She flipped me onto my hands and knees and began to smack my ass over and over again. Her mouth alternating between kiss my shoulder and being right next to my ear repeating a mantra, "Should've done this years ago. Raising such a slut under my roof!" as she did it.

I could only nod in agreement and beg her for more and for it to be harder. Then, seemingly, The Freedom grew bored with this and adrenaline and a new desire rushed through my bloodstream.

With a snarl, a grab a handful of my mother's thick sandy hair and pulled her to the floor below me.

"I didn't have any choice, growing up with a whore for a mother. Always sniffing around the boys I brought home, just hungry for it all the time."

"I can't help it!" she mocked, "I just love barely legal dick."

This wasn't true. My mother had never "sniffed" around any guy I brought over. She had never even slept with anyone who wasn't my father. But with The Freedom in your veins, in your head, it all made sense. Of course my mother was a dirty whore who couldn't get enough of 18, 19, 20, 21 year old cock.

I saw her on her knees, surrounded by guys my age. They were naked and so was she. She spun around, grabbing one cock here, another there, sucking on the one in front of her, then moving on to the next set. The other guys jacked themselves off waiting their turn and hurled epithets at my mother. She gobbled it all up, literally and figuratively, their abuse only turning her on further. This never happened. Ever. But in my mind at that moment, it felt like a vivid memory.

I pulled harder on hair, jealous both that it was not me surrounded by those leering, jeering men, feeling their hot cum splashing on my face, on my body, in my mouth, in my eyes, in my hair and that it wasn't me using my mother like the useless fucktoy she was. She moaned louder the harder I pulled, licking her lips and settling her "fuck me" eyes on my face.

"Do you remember, Wendy?" she purred, her tone imbued with self satisfaction, "Do you remember me taking them in front of you, making you watch me?"

"Yes," I groaned, her digits invading my betraying pussy. I felt my grip on her hair falter.

"I wonder, which of us did you want more? Your date...or me?"

"Yoooooooouuuuuuu," I confessed in a wail of lust, too wracked by pleasure to continue to hold her on the ground. Again, none of the memory was real. Of course my mother had never fucked any of my dates in front of me. But The Freedom tricked us, made it all seem real. I had spent years wanting my mother, watching her take my dates out for a test drive before I ever got a chance with them, The Freedom told me. And I believed.

She sprung up quickly, her lips crushing into my own, her tongue invading without invitation. She tasted of fresh fruit...I had never kissed anyone that tasted like her. We tumbled over and over on the floor, groping, scratching, fingering, kissing, licking, biting. Nothing had ever felt as good as this did. Never as natural or dirty or decadent or fulfilling. Every one of my senses seemed in overdrive and everyone one of them devoured every aspect of my mother. It was incestuous sex on MDMA times a thousand. Times a million even.

I ended up pinned below with her sitting on my stomach. Her impossibly perfect breasts heaved up and down in hypnotic rhythm, defying gravity as though fake yet moving and feeling exactly like real ones. She had trapped my wrists above my head where she held them in placed with one of her hands. She rotated her pelvis in a circle against my belly leaving me glossy with her wantonness.

"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked of me, voice neutral.

"Yes," I whispered, small and vulnerable.

"Tell me."

"I want to fuck you."

"Louder."

"I want to FUCK YOU!"

"Who am I?"

"You're my mommy," I groaned, the delicious filthiness of it delighting The Freedom and, in turn, my body.

"And you want your Mommy to fuck you?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Yesssss, please," I begged, "I need it so bad."

"How bad?"

"So...so fucking bad!" I roared, beginning to thrash about, "Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME!" I must have looked mad, eyes bulging, face red, screaming and snarling. If my mother was capable of seeing me as anything more than a piece of meat, perhaps she would have recognized that. Under The Freedom though, we were all just vessels to fuck and be fucked. Sex was all that mattered.

She let go of my hands and pivoted off me. I reached for her with a growl and she slapped hands away. I whimpered like a wounded animal. She smirked and bid me, "Shsh." My leg was lifted skyward and she repositioned herself, her right foot rubbing across my abs and teasing my nipples. With a quick yank, our bodies collided, pussy against pussy.

We mewled simultaneously, an ugly alien noise of filthy forbidden lust. We sought and quickly found a rhythm and the sound of wet grinding filled the room. I felt a full body fever radiating from my center, I was dizzy and sharper than I've ever been before all at once. We grabbed each other's top leg hard, fingers bruising the skin, bruises faded immediately; nails drew blood from wounds that healed so quick they were barely able to be perceived. Flesh undulated against flesh as if we were the same being.

We chanted at one another, over and over again, "Fuck me, oh, fuck me. I'm so fucking filth. A dirty whore! Use me! USE ME!"

"You like Mommy's cunt?"

"Mmmm, yes...you're so wet!"

"All for you, Wendy, all for you!"

"God! I need this all the time! I need you all the time, Mommy. Your pretty pussy against mine, the taste of your skin. Oh, fuck me!"

Time bled away until it did not exist. The room seemed to dissipate. We were fucking each other, mother grinding against daughter, daughter begging for it harder and harder, in negative space. In emptiness. All that existed was raw need. The Freedom spun visions in our minds, reminded us of past events that never happened, promised future exploits that would violate the laws of man and physics. It fed off us and fed us. I never wanted to be anyone but this carrier of The Freedom.

Then, suddenly, everything exploded in a kaleidoscope of rainbow color. We screamed in what surely must have been an ancient language. Our bodies shuttered and jittered uncontrollably. We came together, simultaneously, gloriously. It poured over us both like a seven waves hitting at once over and over again. I gritted my teeth, my eyes rolled towards the ceiling.

Then... clarity.

It hit immediately after the orgasm. The Freedom was gone. Or at bay at least. I was bathed in sweat. I had run a half marathon in August and not sweat this much. Blood pounded through every bit of me, every part of my ached like I was a punching bag for a very talented boxer. I suppressed the revulsion that filled my stomach like hot soup.

"Mom?" I called out tentatively. She only grunted in response.

I forced myself into a sitting position to look at her. She stared at the wall, eyes still ringed in that infernal green color, glassy and unfocused.

I tried again, "Mom?"

Her hands rose as if she was a puppet and cupped her breasts. She muttered, "Just give me a sec, Wendy. You fucked me soooooo good, I need a sec."

Whatever had happened to me had not happened for my mom, I realized. She had been in the thrall of The Freedom longer, I thought, perhaps this is why she had not recovered like I had.

As I tried to figure this out, I felt it. My claws inside my brain. The Freedom. It was not gone, it was just...receded. For how long? A minute? An hour? I did not have time to wonder, I realized and quickly began to put a plan in motion.

The taste of bile rose in my esophagus as I stood and felt the slick filth between my thighs. I ignored it. I had no time to judge my disgusting behavior.

"Mom, let's go," I commanded, hoisting her to her feet. Her skin on mine was clammy. It made me queasy. Mostly. A part of me responded to it. The Freedom was coming on.

"Where are we going?" she asked, sounding like a heroin addict with the nods.

"I thought it'd be fun if we fooled around in the basement. You know, where you used to make me watch you fuck all those men," I lied.

She kissed my neck then, a tacit agreement as far as I was concerned.

She cooperated enough to let me get her down the stairs safely. As we strode across the cellar to her final destination, I could feel her strength begin to return. She stood on her own, her kisses became more aggressive and varied. At one point, her tongue entered my mouth and I forced myself to play along, although not as much as I expected I would have to, so as not to tip my hand. Her hands began to touch me everywhere. I heard The Freedom whispering that I was already too late. I bit my tongue and pressed forward.

We reached the storage closet in the back corner of the room. When my father was alive it was where he locked up his hunting rifles. Now it stood empty and open. However, the padlock still swung from it. I pushed my mother in and slammed the door shut. She threw her body against the door from the other side and I felt it swing open for a moment. I anchored the door with my body and slammed the lock into place. Behind it, I heard her curse me, beg me, and then, unmistakably, begin to masturbate herself. The Freedom, gaining strength, roared at me. I wavered. It would be easy to open the door, to force her slut face into my pussy and ride her mouth til I gained satisfaction. It would be so—

I shook the fantasy out of my mind and sprinted back upstairs, back to the medicine cabinet. An old bottle of sleeping pills sat on the back of the third shelf. My mom had needed the aid for months after the accident and only recently stopped using them. I swallowed three, then considered and took one more. All drugs, even The Freedom, I told myself, have a half life. Mom's under lock and key downstairs and I'll sleep through it, I promised myself.

I flopped on my bed, The Freedom howling in my head, and slipped into a drug induced slumber.

But The Freedom was no ordinary drug, arguably no drug at all. This was not over.