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The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 01

By: betternowthanlater



This story represents my best effort at coming up with a story about sex between a mother and her son that could really happen - and it happens to a mother who is probably least vulnerable to incest. It takes a while to get there, though, so fair warning: he doesn't even get to first base in the first chapter. But that doesn't mean there isn't some hot sex. Enjoy, and I look forward to your feedback, to guide my future chapters. 

Chapter 1: What a Life! 

The 60 inch LED television is mounted on the wall of my home office. Its image is incredibly crisp and bright. Connected to a fantastic surround-sound system involving twenty different speakers, the sounds filled my ears. It was like being right there, all over again, and even though I'd watched this particular episode, oh maybe a gazillion times, it always felt fresh and exciting. 

The point of view is from a corner camera, pointed directly at the couch in the center of my mother's in-house office. There is an overhead light. Every detail stands out clearly. My mother is naked and on her on her hands and knees. Her breasts, so round and heavy, hang down and shake. Her nipples are swollen and hard. Her eyes are closed. Her back is arched, her ass pressing up and back...towards her son, who just the day before celebrated his 22nd birthday and is about to get the best present ever. 

And, yes, at exactly this moment, the tip of my rock-hard cock touches Mom's shiny, well-lubricated pucker. Her entire body shudders. She looks back over her shoulder, catching me with those big grey-blue eyes, and apologizes to me: "Oh god, Jason, puuuush, I'm so sorry, but please don't stop, push, slow, slow, slow, push, aggghhhh," as the swollen tip stretches her sphincter, "oh god, my poor son, my poor son, how can I do this to you, but I am sure, so sure, this will finally be the end of it-eeeeeeh," her voice rises to a shriek as the head of my penis achieves its goal in life and moves past my mother's sphincter with a silent pop. 

I hit the pause button and switch the point of view. My mother's head is now hanging down, her back hunched up, her arms rigidly supporting her. Young Me is grinning widely. And I know oh so very well what comes next: my buttocks clench, I place my hands on Mom's hips in a firm, possessive grip, and then I push my swollen, engorged, throbbing erection all the way in. One fell swoop, without pause, till my cock has disappeared into her and the two cheeks of her ass are pressed up against me. 

But I pause just before the Mighty Plunge, because, well, it's part of my ritual. 

I get up from my desk, pour myself two fingers from my second-to-last Macallan '26. I hoist the glass and declare: "To the luckiest guy in the world!" 

That's me. 

Then and only then do I press the play button. My cock, hard as steel, tempered over the ten-plus years I spent fantasizing and planning for this action, slides deep into my mother's ass. There is no resistance, but she is tight, clutched around my thick pole. And then, captured on camera, that most rapturous moment of all: her whole, tensed-up body shudders, once, twice, and then to my great surprise she relaxes, all muscles going slack, her ass and legs trembling with the effort of staying upright, her body suddenly accepting my hard-on as if she, too, had been waiting years for this ravaging. She pushes her ass back up at me. I press into her. And so begins the dance, a beautiful rhythm with lyrics that mostly involve my mother moaning, that all too soon culminates in waves of orgasm washing over me, and burning hot sperm filling her ass to overflowing. 

Yes, that's me: the luckiest guy in the world. 

Consider, after all: at the age of nineteen, I wrote a fantastically popular iPhone app and by the time I was 20, I had more money than I knew what do with. So I did lots of stuff with it, really enjoyed myself. You name it, I did it. You fantasize about it, I probably did it. Racing ahead twenty years to the present, I am now working on a new killer app utilizing the latest virtual reality glasses and hyper-local surround sound. My wife of ten years is the creative director for the game. She is smoking hot and she loves sex. With me. Do I have anything to complain about? No way! 

I have got to be just about the luckiest guy in the world. I possess everything I ever wanted to possess, I did everything I ever wanted to do (though I am sure to think of more). Yet, having said that, sometimes I feel the need to remind myself of just how much I have achieved, by verifying that even my darkest, my most insanely private fantasies have been realized in this life of mine. 

And when that need arises, I open up my secure drive. It's not connected to any external network, and is accessible only with the provision of a 1024 bit passkey. No one but me can see this stuff. Everyone needs a little privacy, right? I open up that drive and peruse my list of Greatest Hits from the now classic and never released to video, 247-episode series titled "The Seduction of Mom." 

So be honest, dear reader: if you owned a video that showed your rock-hard 22-year old cock sinking into your Mom's beautiful ass, with a soundtrack of her moaning and grunting and apologizing over and over again for "making" you do it, you would watch it, right? Over and over again, every chance you got - right? 

Well, I have my choice of hundreds of recordings made in just about every room of the house in which I grew up. The house in which mom had her office, where she saw her patients and stored her files, the house I grew up in, where I discovered just how totally depraved I could be. The house I lived in till I was thirty, met Laura, and moved on with my life. The house that bore silent witness to my brilliantly conceived, slow and steady seduction of my very own lush, sexy, and very loving mother. 

And I recorded, oh, just about every second of the process. 

It's ironic, or something. As human beings go, I am a nasty piece of work, or can be. Yet I seem to have been rewarded handsomely for every nasty act I committed in my life. The world can be strange sometimes. 

For example: at the age of 16, I hacked into my mother's confidential files for all her patients. Mom was a sexual dysfunction therapist (she only treated adults), and a widely renowned one at that. I was a nerdy, very smart kid. Very much the sort of kid, in fact, who loved to stay up late, checking out the latest gadgets and seeing where they could take him. So how could anyone have expected me to resist the temptation to peek into Mom's office computer? Hell, I had put the whole network together for her. I had all the sys admin passwords. I could see and do anything. Not that Mom had any idea. She was more or less phobic about computers, and relied on me completely. 

So her files were open books to my tip-tapping fingers, and oh those files made fascinating reading for the penis-with-legs-and-oh-yes-a-brain that was my 16-year old self. Fortunately, I was a very fast reader. 

But that's not all, no sir. A year later (at which point I had become a 17 year old bored with school and getting really excited, instead, about something I'd been hearing about called the "world wide web"), I installed miniature, hi-resolution, movement-activated cameras, a half dozen of them, in my Mom's office, when I did some remodeling for her (I was and am an excellent handyman, too). And for good measure, I did the same thing all over the house: kitchen, bedroom (hers, not mine), dining room, laundry room. 

I hooked them all up to a big array of hard drives and turned them on. Left them on all the time. Including in her office. 

So, for example, I recorded all of her sessions with patients. Of course, most of what I recorded was boring (like cooking or cleaning dishes in the kitchen) or revolting (some patients were ugly and gross and a big turn-off). But there were also some beauties, some incredibly sexy young women. They definitely helped me with my boredom problem, talking about the terrible urges they had about their daddies or brothers or, for that matter, their sisters, a flush rising up their throats and then suffusing across their faces. Heavenly! 

But without a doubt, the stars of the recordings were, for me, the young men, usually no more than a few years older than me, who were obsessed with fucking their very own mothers. In many cases, they'd actually tried. Just two had achieved their goals, and then later got caught. One of them was fucking his mother in every possible way for a year before the dad caught on and shipped him off to a military academy. Which referred him to my mother. The other one was still fucking his mother - he was going to therapy because he had turned his mother into his slave, and was feeling kind of guilty about it. That was Saul - hands down, my favorite amongst all her clients. 

So there I was, seventeen, smart as hell, but way more horny than I was smart. I sucked these stories directly into my newly sexed psyche. And surely you can guess what happened next. I became completely obsessed with fucking my mother. 

That was a perfectly rationale thing to be obsessed about, all things considered. 

My mother: Dr. Susan Brendil, celebrated therapist and mom extraordinaire. She really was and is a great mom. My dad died when I was four; I have a few, fragmentary memories of him. Mom raised me as she finished grad school and started her career. We have always been very close (and remain so to this day. We never mention what happened between us so long ago) and she always looked out for me. I've done the same for her. 

So a great Mom, but also a "closet beauty". I say that, because when my mother saw patients she always wore very conservative and loose-fitting outfits, all very plain in design and nothing too colorful. 

She needed to dress like this because her body was a total knockout. She loved the beach and so I had seen her in a bikini since I was a little boy, but I never realized how amazing her body was until puberty had its way with me. When I was twelve, we went for a week-long holiday in the Outer Banks, North Carolina. The first morning we went to the beach, when she pulled her sundress off, I suddenly found it hard to breathe. She faced me as the dress came up over her head, her arms lifted, raising her breasts. Her body blocked the sun, but that just caused an incredible halo effect. She was, literally, surrounded by a blaze of light. Here's what I saw: 

Heavy, round, firm breasts pressing at the fabric in her bikini. 

Smooth, but not entirely flat, stomach. 

Belly button with just a hint of hairs around it. 

Hips that blossomed out from her hips in a delicious curve. 

Strong thighs and calves, showing lots of muscle from all her time on the tennis court. 

Then the sundress came off and dropped onto her towel. She looked down at me staring up at her and laughed: "Close your mouth, Jason, or some really gigantic bug will fly in. You look like you've never seen me before." 

Well, really, I hadn't. I stood up, gave her a big hug, and without even thinking, said: "Mom, you're so beautiful!" 

"Silly boy," she replied, tousling my hair. "Let's go swimming." She turned and strode down to the water. I watched her ass, barely contained in her bikini bottom, moving back and forth. I felt my head start to move from side to side, matching her rhythm. I looked down and saw an erection pushing out the front of my bathing suit. I looked around quickly to see if anyone noticed. No. Good. I ran past my mom and dove into the water. 

It was the best vacation of my life (well, at least until Laura and I spent our honeymoon in Paris, spending every minute exploring each other's bodies in orgasmic detail). In addition to the usual fun (swimming, snorkeling, hiking, eating great food, etc.), I became a devoted Mom Watcher. I soon learned that if I wore dark sunglasses and worked on developing my peripheral vision, I could stare and stare at my mother's body and she would never know it. 

Where was I? It's so easy to get lost in memories of my beautiful mother. 

Right. She wore conservative outfits to hide her sexy body. After all, she often counseled young men with sexual problems. If she wore clothing that came even close to form fitting, they would never hear anything she had to say. They would just sit there and stare at her breasts. And dream my dreams. Which they probably did, anyway. 

Ha, well, the joke was on them, all those pathetic mother fuckers and mother fucker wannabees, forced to spill their guts out to some (pretty) stranger. She was my mother and I knew just what she had to offer. 

And by the time I was fifteen, I knew exactly what I wanted: I wanted her nipples swelling in my mouth, I wanted her legs spread wide. I wanted to bring her to orgasm with my tongue and I wanted her to swallow my cum. I wanted to watch and feel my erection to slide into her, into her mouth, her vagina and her ass (oh, those bad boy patients of hers had loaded me up with all sorts of tantalizing ideas!). 

But I was smart enough to know that as hard as it might be for any son to convince his mother to have sex with him, for me it would be a hundred times harder. She counseled incestuous sons and mothers, daughters and fathers, she helped them get back to a "healthy" relationship that did not involve sex. 

So for her to do such a thing, to cross that line herself, well, I figured that it would seem unthinkable, entirely beyond the pale. I knew that I would have to be very careful, very creative, very patient. 

And patient I was. I never gave up on the idea of getting my mom to give me a blow job (and so much more), and I certainly never stopped using those ideas to fill my hand with pools of burning hot cum. But I got on with my life. I discovered computers, I discovered programming, I discovered that I could create worlds governed by my own rules, populated with my own sorts of creatures, and I started building games. 

And then I came up with BlinkShrink, a game that tested your ability to read facial expressions and predict a person's behavior and decisions - in the blink of an eye. If you suffered from Asperger's Syndrome or worse (full blown autism,) the game was a total waste of time. For other people (fortunately still well in the majority), it was an irresistible challenge, and millions of dollars rolled into my bank account. Tens of millions. 

I was filthy rich at the age of 19. I saw no reason to go to college, no reason to leave my mom by herself. Sure, I dated. Hell, I had gorgeous girlfriends, and I fucked them to their deep satisfaction. Mine, too. I wasn't stupid. Obviously, if I showed no interest in any other female than my mother, she would get very suspicious: was I gay? Or worse, did I lust after my very own mom? 

No way was I going to give her any clues. So I brought home really cute girls to meet Mom. And I made sure they didn't look anything like her. 

So there I was: a millionaire at 19, and all I wanted to do was make love to my mom. And then one day I "woke up" and decided it was time to move beyond fantasy and wishful thinking. It was time to get serious. And that meant doing research. 

And research meant, well, looking to see what others had done in the past to achieve their personal goals of bedding their mother. I went online and found Literotica. I read story after story, and lots of them were really stimulating (it was probably a good thing to take a break from only fantasizing about my own mother). But, to be brutally honest, they generally did not offer very plausible scenarios. And they were certainly not likely to help me with a woman whose incest antenna would be as sensitive as my mom's. 

So I decided to do some "data mining" in another excellent repository on incest: my mom's own files. I'd read them years ago (and watched the sessions, too), but that was in the burning fire of adolescence, cherry-picking the contents for the most juicy parts (it's amazing how well you can train a brain to skim words and voices to pick out "mission-critical" keywords like ass, penis, erection, bent over, suck, etc.). 

Now it was time to go back and put in some serious study time. I built a program to scan both written files and videos for sessions that had to do with mother-son incest. That saved me a lot of time. Then I concentrated on the initial phases of the "relationship" - what had the guys tried? What worked and what didn't? 

All sorts of things were tried, and they mostly didn't work, including: neck rubs that gradually resulted in breast grabbing, asking their moms to pose for them for art classes (nude and otherwise), straight out guilt-tripping ("It's all your fault that I can't like girls my age."), vacations in which there was just a single bed to share in the hotel, etc. Like I say, most of them didn't work and the ones that did, clearly succeeded in spite of themselves (their moms were looking for an excuse to let their sons fuck them, which is fine for them, but didn't do me any good). 

Then there was a patient my mom referred to as "S" in her notes. 

Ha. There's some weak encryption. His name was Saul andhe reminded me of me. He was smart and careful and gradual. He found a path through the maze of his mom's resistance, and he followed it step by step by step, never trying to push through an obstacle, always ready to back off if he suspected she suspected. I admired this fellow, this Saul. And, amazingly, so did my mom, from what I could glean from her notes (he was from before the time I installed the cameras). She wrote after one session: "S seems to understand his mom so deeply, he was able to identify one of her compulsions, and then use that compulsion, through tiny increments of pressure and affection, to move her closer and closer to the point when she would open herself (and quite literally her legs) to her son." 

Best of all, my Mom never "cured" Saul, she never convinced him that he was wrong, and (more to the point) she failed utterly to get his mom to close her legs. She really did consider herself to be his slave and seemed quite content with that situation. 

Now, this was a fellow I could learn from. And what did I learn? 

1. Never be in a hurry. 

2. Always be ready with a "safe retreat" - a way to back off from an uncomfortable moment with a believable explanation. 

3. Find a compulsion, a deeply-felt desire, and use it. 

4. Never stop loving your mother, but never let that love get in the way of your objective: to express that love in the most taboo fashion. 

All good advice, and I felt I was ready to proceed, except for number 3. What did my mother deeply desire? What seemed to compel her to act in a certain way? I cast my mind back over recent years, and the time I spent with my mom. And one moment shone clearly through: I was 18, graduated from high school. It seemed like I should go to college, it seemed as though I should move out. Of course, I didn't want to - I had other plans - but I couldn't tell my mom that. 

We sat on the couch in the living room. It was summer, the windows were open, it was warm, but comfortable. Mom wore a tattered, old t-shirt, a favorite stay at home choice - and one of mine, too, because it was a bit of a tight fit. She was wearing a bra, which was a bummer, but the thing was I could see that bra, clear as day. 



The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 01



So as I fantasized about pulling that t-shirt up over her breasts, I blathered on and on to her about my ideas for video games and apps and, in essence, the modern version of get rich quick schemes, and Mom didn't laugh at me or guilt-trip me. She supported me, unequivocally. 

My mother said to me: "Jason, you are brilliant. I believe in you. You can do whatever you set your mind to. And I am here to help you reach your goals. Whatever you want to do, I will help you. All you have to do is ask." 

Well, I was pretty sure there were some things for which I couldn't ask. But I never forgot her expression of devotion, and it definitely helped. I can remember a few times when I was really stuck, trying to get BlinkShrink to work, when I thought about my mom, that conversation, her breasts, and found a way to get past the sticking point. 

And the point right now is that my mother was completely and utterly devoted to me. She wanted the best for me...almost compulsively, it seemed to me, as I looked back on our years together. The question in my mind became very simple: would my mother really do anything for me? 

As in: how I could use my mother's deep and abiding love for me to get inside her pants? 

Unfortunately, I had no idea and that was very frustrating. I was, at this point, twenty-one. I was rich enough to buy my own mansion and move out. Yet I still lived with my mother. I could feel her wondering if there was something wrong with me, inside me, that I didn't move out and pursue a more independent life. More research was needed. And one day, I found another key to solving my puzzle: my mother's own operating principles. 

I'd read and heard bits and pieces of them over the years, the files, the videos. But then one day I watched her give comfort and guidance to a 27-year old man who was consumed with a single objective in life: to get his mother to swallow his cock just like Linda Lovelace does in Deep Throat. 

My mom is saying: "You must overcome your sense of shame, Paul. Clearly, it is not normal," and here she held her hands to mark the word in quotes, "and potentially very destructive to both you and your mother, to obsess about putting your penis deep down her throat. But saying this doesn't help, and simply being ashamed of what you are thinking and feeling will just make it worse. You will remain obsessed and at some point take some sort of disastrous action. We need to avoid this and I have a suggestion for you. I call it my Accept-Describe-Act-Compartmentalize strategy. Instead of fighting full force against your compulsion, you must accept your desire, your lust. You must then describe - out loud - your lustful feelings as clearly as possible. By verbalizing, externalizing, how you feel, you gain perspective. That's what you are doing with me, and I feel it is going well." 

My mother hunches forward, bringing her face close to Paul, who sits on the obligatory couch. "Still, that is not enough. Thinking and speaking will not resolve your obsession. You need two more things: action and compartmentalization." 

Paul suddenly sits upright and rubs at his crotch. 

"Not that kind of action, Paul," says my Mom, sharply. "I suggest, instead, that you try taking very small steps with her: put your arm around her shoulder. Give her a hug, perhaps a small kiss on the cheek. See if that contact will satisfy you. For many of my patients, it is enough. It gives them a sort of breathing space to step back from their obsession and realize that all they really wanted was love and affection from their mother." 

Paul slumps back down in the couch. He doesn't look encouraged at all. I don't think that's all he really wanted. "But that's not all," continued my mother, "You also need to make sure that your obsession doesn't destroy or disrupt the rest of your life. So as you experiment with small, affectionate gestures, I want you to also work on constructing a little compartment, a room with thick walls of steel and concrete, and a big heavy lock. Put into that room all of the sexual thoughts you have about your mother, and keep it locked up tight. You can visit the room, and when you are inside, you can fantasize about your mother. But outside of the room, you don't see her in that way." 



Paul nods. He seems encouraged. Who knows? Maybe he's already constructed a room like that and it's filled with all sorts of interesting devices. That's what I would do. And then my mom concludes: 

"So let's try that. A room for your lust, small gestures of affection with your mom, and then we will see how things go." 

Great speech, I thought to myself. I wonder how it worked out. I executed a search through my library for Paul's name and leapfrogged directly to the last session my mom had with him. He sat on the couch, looking at the floor. I couldn't see his face. My mom, however, did not look happy and her tone was rather sharp. 

"Paul, I suggested you keep all your lustful thoughts for your mother in that little room. I asked you to try to be affectionate, just affectionate. But your mother told me yesterday that when she went into your bedroom to tell you it was time for dinner, you ripped off her clothing and then sodomized her. You pushed her penis into her anus. That is not being affectionate, Paul." 

Paul looked up at my mom. I was on the edge of my Herman Miller Aeron True Black chair. Give us the low-down, Paul! 

His voice was rough, croaky. "I kept all my lustful thoughts in that room. I printed big pictures of my mom, like when she was wearing a thong bikini in Maui, and hung them on the wall. I tried really hard not to think about those posters when I was outside my bedroom. I always kept the door locked, but then yesterday I forgot. She came right in without knocking. She was wearing my favorite dress, light blue satiny material, it clung to her, you know what I'm saying? It's like she wanted me to see it all and touch it all. She said come to dinner. I got up and gave her an affectionate hug. She hugged me back. But then I realized she was in my room, the room, it was the right place. I figured it was the right time. I kicked the door shut and...and..." Paul started to cry. "Did she tell you she didn't like it? When I was doing it, she kept saying 'Paul, Paul, my darling baby'..." 

I turned off the video. I didn't need to hear my mom's effort to recover from her advice gone badly wrong. What an idiot. His bedroom, the lust room! But I wasn't disappointed. No, I felt very encouraged. I had watched Mom's principles before transformed into a drastically different reality: 

Accept your lust, put those feelings in a box, close it up tight...and then wait for an overwhelming eruption of lust. 

I liked that idea. But I still had no idea how to get my mom to start having lustful feelings towards me, and then put them in that box, that room. Damn! Another dead end. 

So I took out my frustrations by burying myself in my next video game: ThoughtCrime. I'd decided that there were plenty of first-person shooter games and plenty of role playing games that were either bloody or innocent, perfect for either testosterone-soaked teenage boys or little kids. 

It was time to design a game for adults, something that would utilize the latest in virtual reality, high resolution graphics, super-powered processors, and intuitive knowledge, to take players into another realm of thought and passion. No fighting (with weapons), no rewards (except for the respect and devotion of others). It would be a game that recognizes the vast gulf that existed between your public actions (and words) and our private thoughts (and fantasies). It would test your awareness of the thin line that separates civilized behavior from what I liked to refer to as "true emotions." And you would play ThoughtCrime not with an old style controller (go, thumbs, go!) but with VR glasses that would let you truly inhabit another body, another life, another world. 

So began the most productive period of my life. For two years, I hid away in my "cave" (that's what Mom called it), surrounded by computers and big display screens and lots and lots of stimulants, building ThoughtCrime. I'd never felt more creative in my life, more certain of success, than I did in that time. I contacted dozens of virtual reality hardware companies before I found one that could provide just the kinds of glassed and gloves I needed. 

And I decided to insert Easter Eggs throughout ThoughtCrime, and Easter Eggs of the most exciting sort. I developed algorithms that would allow players to upload images of faces and bodies, and manifest an avatar within the game that closely resembled those images. So you could play truly as yourself or as, well, just about anybody. Real anybodies. But that was just the start. I enhanced open source graphics libraries to make it easy (for me) to model real-life motions from high-level descriptions, or even other, previously existing movies. From there, it was child's play to build in menus to allow players to create "scenarios" of whatever activities you wanted. And the first menus I built? They were all about sex. Pick from: heterosexual or homosexual. Pick a position (missionary, doggy style, etc.). Pick a style (gentle, combative, dominating, or submissive). 

And then whoever you "beat" to reach this point in the game? They were yours to do with as you pleased - but only if you could find and "crack" the Easter Egg. Obviously, this would be an X-Rated game, but why not? I had more than enough money. I didn't need to create another game that could be played by anyone of any age. So that's what I did. 

It took me two years of intense work. Barely ever saw my mom, barely ever thought about wrapping my lips around her nipples or pushing my thumb past her anal sphincter. Just wrote code and more code. I dreamed about ThoughtCrime and lived it every day. I wrote over 1,000,000 lines of code. I anticipated thousands, maybe millions, of people playing it, and finding those Easter Eggs. Who knew what they would come up with? Well, I for one wanted to know. So I built in the capability to "watch" what other players did in ThoughtCrime, to "ping" (contact) me when certain kinds of behaviors were requested. I also made sure that I could intervene in a player's Easter Egg experience and inject some "surprise" variations. 

In the context of ThoughtCrime, in other words, I would be no different from a god: modifying the direction of a person's life and behavior without them ever knowing it. 

And one late night (or rather, very early morning), as I sensed that ThoughtCrime was very close to being "done", ready to release in the wild, I realized that ThoughtCrime might offer a way for me to achieve my long-sought goal in life: to feel my hard, hot, throbbing cock buried deep inside my mother's ass, while she thrashed beneath me. 

Could it be? Had I finally found a path to genital enlightenment? The possibilities flooded my mind. Even thought it was 3 AM, I felt more alive, more alert, than I could remember for years. I sat at my computer for another five hours, my fingers a blur over the keyboard, as I added more and more features to ThoughtCrime to implement my strategy. I ran a few more tests, just as I heard Mom get up and head down to the kitchen to prepare her obligatory café con leche. 

And then it was time. Time to act on desires that had been consuming me for the past decade. It was time to see if I could turn my mother into a son-fucker. 

I joined Mom at the breakfast table. As usual, even though it was early, even though she hadn't yet finished her first cup of coffee, even though she was wearing an old bathrobe, she positively glowed with life and energy and love and (to me) sex. I rubbed her shoulders and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. 

"'Morning, Mom," I said brightly. 

"Up all night, again?" she asked, with a big smile. No one knew me better than my mom - though, really, she didn't know me nearly as well as she thought she did. 

"You betski," I replied and sat down across from her. I caught her eyes and with a serious look, said to her: "Mom, I need your help." 

She immediately put down her caffeine infusion and gave me her full attention: "Whatever you need, sweetie, you know that." 

"Great, Mom, thanks. You know how I've been working on my new game, right?" 

"Sure...ThoughtCrime, is that the one?" 

"You got it. Good news: it's done, more or less." 

"Congratulations, Jason! Will you be getting more sleep now, then?" Always my mother, always looking out for me. Perfect. Just what I was depending on. 

"Um, well, maybe soon. Thing is, now it's time to test the game. And before I put it out in the world for my beta testers, I was hoping you could test it with me." 

Mom looked really surprised. She sat back in her chair. I tried not to focus on how her robe settled against her breasts and accentuated all the lovely curves above her waist. "Me? Help you test your software? Honey, you know I am a complete basket case when it comes to computers. How could I help you?" 

"Mom, that's just the point. This game should appeal to anyone and everyone (be they adults), doesn't matter if they know how to use a computer. That's why I need you," with just the slightest emphasis on "need". I wanted to see if I could engage what I was relying on to be her compulsion: helping me succeed. 

It seemed to work. Her face immediately brightened. "You need me to help you with your software? Wow, I never thought I'd hear you say that. What can I do?" She was so eager, so ready to help, that I almost felt guilty. I've never been very good, however, at doing guilt, so the moment quickly passed. 

"Mom," I told her, "You aren't just absolutely beautiful, you are incredibly nice." I'd noticed ever since that day on the beach that it was perfectly acceptable to tell my mom how beautiful she was. She would just blush ever so slightly and respond with some variation of ( as she did now): 

"Oh, stop that, Jason. I am not beautiful. I am middle aged and getting wrinkled. You, though, are a handsome young man and I am sure you will find the right woman for you very soon." 

I did my obligatory emphatic shaking of the head, but didn't push it. 

"Whatever you say, Mom. But I am sure you can help me. I want this game to be interesting, well, to be honest, I want this game to be addictive to anyone and everyone, no matter whether they are geeks or nerds or normal humans. You are very, very normal." 

Mom frowned for a moment, uncertain as to whether that constituted praise. I hurried on. "Anyway, all I want you to do is play the game with me." 

"Seriously? That's it?" Mom sounded disappointed. 

"Not quite. I also want to take advantage of your expertise. You've been counseling some rather strange characters about sex for, what, like ten years, now?" Mom frowned at my use of the word "strange," but I just ignored that. "I figure that means that you are an excellent observer of the human condition - and a person who can tell when what they are watching is real or just some made up nonsense. I am using some very advanced virtual reality algorithms that are supposed to result in hyper-realistic imaging, but I think the movements will be needing refinement. So as you play the game, I'd like you to look for actions, limbs, facial expressions, whatever, that don't ring true, don't belong. And then I will adjust them. Finally, I want you to promise to be completely honest with me about how you feel about the game, what you like and don't like. OK?" 

The frown changed to a big smile. I had pushed all the right buttons. Mom said: "OK, I promise. But I've got a full day of appointments today. Can we start tonight?" 

I'd love to start with you tonight, Mom, that's for sure. First, I'd run my hands over your breasts, then... 

"Exactly what I had in mind. Mom. After dinner, I will get us all set up and we will play our first round of ThoughtCrime." 

I am certain we both exited the kitchen feeling very pleased with ourselves. But if Mom knew why I was pleased, she would have slapped my face and kicked me out of the house. Hopefully she wouldn't feel that way in another month or so. 

Chapter 2: Mom gets addicted to watching porn, hot sex between two VR characters who look just like...herself and her son.



The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 02



In Part 1, I told you I was the luckiest guy in the world. Successful videogame developer, I am rich and used that wealth to do everything I ever wanted. Which happened to include having sex with my lush, beautiful, incredibly sexy home (who was a sexual dysfunction therapist, with a specialization on incest). And every once in a while, I watch the videos of took of my successful seduction, which culminated in my cock sinking smoothly into my mom's ass while she actually apologized for asking me to do this "for her." Lucky? Oh yeah.

By the end of Part 1, I'd decided to try to use the testing of my latest videogame to start changing my mother into a person who would lick the cum off my cock. Mom had agreed to help me test the game and I had, well, total control over how the game worked and what happened it. I could also watch (real time or recorded) whatever she did in the game.

We agreed that we'd start in the evening. And so the story continues:

That was just about the longest day of my life. I cleaned up my game room, which was no small feat. Gone were the empty, crushed Coke cans, the empty, crumpled Cheetos bags, the broken controllers and second-rate VR (virtual reality) gear. I made sure that both of the La-Z-Boys were free of trash, stains and odors. I tested two sets of VR glasses and gloves from VRVision, a Taiwanese company that was at least three years ahead of anyone else on the planet. I sprayed Febreeze with a vengeance and carefully rolled up and put away the enormous and very revealing posters of Pamela Lee Anderson, which I'd made from snapshot grabs form the opening scenes of Barbed Wire (what can I say? I need safe inspiration). Hell, I even vacuumed. 

When Mom came into the kitchen from her last appointment of the day, I greeted her with a glass of Merlot. "Time to relax, enjoy, and beta test, Mom," giving her my biggest smile.

I watched the tension of her sessions fall away as she returned my smile, took the glass, and gave me a hug. "You are such a sweetheart."

"Whenever you're ready," I replied, "please join me in in game room."

She hooked her arm around mine and said: "Your wish is my command."

Are you ever amazed at how quickly thoughts, even entire scenes, can flash into and through your brain? When my mother said that, all I could think was: Wait, did I miss something? Is she a submissive? And a picture of my mother, entirely naked and writhing on her bed, with her hands and feet tied to bedposts filled my mind. I will have to build a scenario for that in ThoughtCrime, I decided. 

Then I shook my head to clear it, saying: "I would never give you a command, Mom. Just a suggestion. You always have to decide for yourself."

She looked at me oddly, and I realized that I had just repeated word for word one of her principles. I held my breath. Would she suspect something? No.

"That's is just what I say to my patients, Jason," she said. "And it is good advice for everyone, so thank you."

"You are most welcome," I said with a little bow, and escorted her to the game room.

She sniffed when she entered the room, looked around nodding to herself. "Nice clean up job, Jason. It's almost habitable for normal people now." I grinned at her and pointed to a La-Z-Boy. "That's yours, Mom."

We then spent an hour or so getting Mom used to the VR glasses and the controller, by running through some exercises. The more immersive the experience, the more I've found novices struggle to "let go" and stop trying to move their body along with the action in the game. Mom picked it up pretty quickly, though. So I moved on. With both of us settled comfortably in our La-Z-Boys, eyes covered by the glasses, hands cradling the controllers, I said:

"OK, now it's time to set up our avatars."

"Our what?"

"Our representation inside the game. You can pick whatever name you want, whatever look, you want. But one thing that is very cool about ThoughtCrime, and that I want to test, is that you can upload a photo or two, and the game will build a character for you from that. See, look..."

I fiddled with the controls, and uploaded a photo of myself to the game and clicked on "Build." Ten seconds later, the avatar appeared on screen - and it was me, no doubt about it, but also clearly a high-res digitized version: a character, not a photo.

Mom said "Wow! That is really neat, Jason. You are so smart! Can you do the same for me?" 

Exactly what I was hoping she would say. So I switched over to her character, and opened a directory of photos I'd pre-loaded. I knew that I had to let Mom pick, but I made sure to offer only photos that showed her at her sexiest.

"Hmmmm," she said, "I like that one in the second row, third in." Oh yeah, so did I. Beautiful, big smile, accentuating her cheek bones. I showed her how to select it, upload it, and then a few seconds later, there was my Mom: loaded into ThoughtCrime.

"OK," I said, "now we pick our bodies." I showed her the steps with my character, picking a strapping young man, with big but not stupid-looking muscles. 

Mom was so honest and sincere, that she picked her accurate body type (to avoid scaring off Mom, I'd changed the label on that type from "Lush Slut" to "Rubinesque Beauty"). I immediately was reminded of the scene from the original Terminator when Arnold, just about to go under from the drugs, picks "Slut" for the female character in his "fantasy."

"And, finally," I said, "you get to name your avatar. Don't use 'Mom', OK?" 

"What are you going to name yours?"

"Kotok," I said immediately. "Named for Alan Kotok, one of two MIT students who developed Spacewar!, one of the first computer games. Oh and plus it's a palindrome."

"Hmmmm," Mom replied, "Kotok. Well, OK. Sounds a bit too much like Kotex for me to want to use it, but you're not me. How about....Sabina? Yes, that'll work for me. For Sabina Spielrein, one of the first women to join the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society - set up by Freud and Jung."

"Saabeenah," I said, drawing out each syllable. I liked it. I could definitely fuck a Sabina. "Excellent choice, Mom."

Kotok and Sabina. Good strong names for good strong characters. This was all going exceptionally well. And then it was time to play.

So play we did. It didn't take Mom long to get the hang of it, and she was good, which I pretty much expected, given what she did for a living. Half an hour into it, she said: "Wait a minute, did you see that?"

I said "TC - pause." and the game stopped. 

Mom, startled, said: "What happened?"

"Oh, I stopped the game. It'll respond to your voice. Just say 'TC' very clearly, followed by a command, which can be any of: Pause, Save, Back, you know, stuff like that. So - why did you want to stop?"

"I saw something wrong in the images. There's a leg sticking out from that character in the background, with the blue shirt. See him?"

Yep, I saw him. In fact, I'd deliberately put that leg there to see if Mom would catch it, and respond. Good job, Mom!

"Oh, yeah, I see that. OK, so I need to fix that. Here's what I will do: TC," I said firmly, "Fix, blue shirt, bad leg. End fix. OK, Mom, now I've logged that issue. I can go back to it later and apply the fix. You can do the same thing. Just say 'TC-fix' and then describe the problem, then 'end fix' and you can go on with the game. If we can get rid of all those anomalies, this game will be so much more popular."

"Got it," said Mom, and I could hear her buy-in on helping me make another blockbuster game.

"Oh and by the way," I finished up, "You can also use voice commands to direct your avatar. Watch." My avatar was standing still. I said: "Kotok - jump!" and Kotok jumped high into the air and came back down, landing nimbly on his feet. 

We played a while more. She was good. I could, of course, beat her anytime I wanted, but that's not what I wanted right now. After an hour, Mom groaned. I pulled off my glasses. She was sitting up in the La-Z-Boy, glasses off. 

"That's it for me, Jason. I'm tired."

I turned on my high-beam smile. "Thanks, Mom! Did you like it?"

She smiled back at me and got up. I got up, too. She held out her arms and enveloped me in a hug. Her breasts mashed up against me. My cock got instantly hard and I had to pull my pelvis back away from her a little. Can't let her think she turns me on.

"It's fantastic, Jason. I'm so proud of you and I promise I will help you make it even better. We can play tomorrow after breakfast and then some more in the evening, if you'd like."

"If I'd like? Mom, you are great. Thanks so much for helping." We let go of each other. I watched Mom carefully. Would she glance down and notice the bulge? Nope, she kept her eyes on my face. I turned quickly to the door and gallantly waved her out first.

* * *

Over the next several days, Mom really got into ThoughtCrime. She was good at the game, and even better at finding small problems in the way the in-game humans were presented and the way they acted. Much to my amazement, Mom was making the game much better, and having a great time doing it. She'd already earned enough points to move to the second level of play. Which also meant that I could now introduce her to the Easter Eggs.

In four days, I was going out of town for a week, to a gaming conference in which I planned to demo ThoughtCrime. So the timing was perfect to get the game cleaned up, and I told my mom this. Increasing my sense of amazement and love for this incredible lady, she volunteered to cancel any unnecessary meetings with patients so she could spend more time working on the game.

All very exciting. But from this point onwards, the success of my "Seduction of Mom" project would depend on taking the most careful, small steps at just the right time. One mis-step and the opportunity would be lost forever.

For two days, Mom and I did almost nothing but play ThoughtCrime, identify and fix issues, eat and drink, and sleep. It was the most fun we'd had together in years, and I could see Mom getting totally sucked into the game. She was racking up all the points she could, she was challenging me and other (100% computer-driven) avatars and often winning.

Mom clearly deserved a little reward, and that's exactly what my Easter Eggs were for. 

We were finishing up day 3; one more day of testing and play before I head off to GameCon. We lay back in our La-Z-Boys, approaching the climax of our latest challenge. I'd been going kind of easy on Mom - after all, I wrote the game - but now I used all my skills to meet every one of her moves and then overcome them. I won!

"Whew!" said Mom, "I couldn't stop you, even slow you down there at the end."

"Mr. Invincible, that's me," I replied, and then quickly added: "But don't take off the glasses yet. I want to show you something new, and another part of ThoughtCrime that needs to be thoroughly tested."

"Another part?" Mom shook her head. "Where do you find the time to do all this stuff?"

"Time is of no importance," I intoned, quoting from one of my favorite films, The Fifth Element, "Only life is important....OK, you see that shiny red ball sitting on the ground off to the left?"

A slight pause, then: "OK, yes, I see it."

"All right, try to pick it up." I watched Sabina lean over and try to grab the ball. But her hands went right through it, as if it were not there. 

"What the-! I can't, Jason. It's like a ghost ball, or something."

"Exactly - but only for you, because you lost the last round. Now watch." Kotok walked over, reached down, and picked up the ball. "I can hold it, because I was the winner. But that's not all. This is an Easter Egg, Mom. You know what that is?"

"Well, sure, I know what an Easter Egg is, but I don't think that's what you mean."

"Right - a software Easter Egg's a big different. In a game, an Easter Egg is a hidden message or other content, which can only be opened in response to a certain sequence of commands - and we never publish that sequence. It must be discovered, instead."

Kotok held up the red ball in front of Sabina. "This red ball is an Easter Egg. I've filled this game with Easter Eggs. And I've filled those Easter Eggs with all kinds of goodies. Watch."

I tossed the ball into the air, once, twice, three times, and when the ball descended the last time, it blossomed into an enormous rose that contained within it a menu of choices.

"With traditional Easter Eggs, when you open it, you might acquire a certain powerful weapon or you might watch a short video. With ThoughtCrime Easter Eggs, you are given the opportunity to interact with another avatar in the manner of your choosing (from the menu) - and that character has no free will or choice in the matter. They are, after all, the loser. Take a look at the menu."

Here's what we both saw:

Greetings, Winner!

You are a winner and winners are rewarded. Take your pick from the choices below and enjoy!

Sports: Fencing * Tennis * Boxing
Romance: First Date * First Kiss * Romantic Dinner
Hierarchy: Master-Slave * Teacher-Student * Boss-Worker
Adult: Are you at least 18 years old?

Mom didn't say anything. My mouth felt dry. Finally, I explained: "I plan to offer more categories and more choices in each category, but I figured this was enough to get started. Let me show you an example." I clicked on Tennis. The game presented me with choices:

Aces All the Way
Play Hard to Victory
Humiliate Your Opponent

I chose "Aces All the Way" and then we both watched as Kotok faced off against Sabina on the tennis court. We both wore traditional whites, but Sabina's clothing clung tightly to her body, showing off every curve. And, since I had worked so hard to arrange things just right, those curves were my Mom's curves. It really did look an awful lot like her. I couldn't take my eyes off of Sabina.

"Kotok - Serve!" I said, and Kotok blasted a serve right past the late-swinging Sabina. I really liked the way the shorts pulled tight over Sabina's butt. Excellent graphics software. The sign behind her showed "102 MPH". Ha! No wonder she missed it.

"Oh!" cried Mom. "You didn't give me, I mean Sabina, a chance." Sabina acted pissed off, stomping around on the court. Ha! 

I grinned behind the VR glasses. "That's right, Mom, that's the point. I was able to access the Easter Egg, because I won. And the Easter Eggs are all about rewarding the winners. So now I get 'aces all the way.' Kotok - Serve!"

Another tennis ball rocketed past Sabina, who twirled around helplessly and then fell over on her hands and knees. The skirt rode way up Sabina's legs. Mom didn't seem to notice, but I did. Yummy!

"You rat!" shouted my Mom. 

"OK, OK, Mom, don't get so upset. Remember, always remember: it's just a game." I closed the Easter Egg. "And also remember: when you win, you get to look for an Easter Egg, and choose your victory dance."

I didn't draw any attention to the Adult section and Mom didn't ask about it. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But I had decided in advance that I would leave it for her to discover for herself (well, for a little while, anyway. If she didn't explore, I might have to push things along a bit).

Next day, the day before I was leaving, Mom played with a fierceness I hadn't seen before. But it wasn't all that hard to figure out: she wanted to win. She wanted to find an Easter Egg. I could have beat her, I'm sure I could have, but I didn't need to find more Easter Eggs. Hell, I knew where they all were and could access them any time.

"Yes!" shouted Mom. I lifted my glasses and glanced over at her. One arm punched up in the air, her face flushed. "I won! I did it. OK, now show me the Easter Egg."

I slipped the glasses back on. "Show you? What's the fun of that? No, the whole idea is that you have to search for it, and if you are clever enough to find it, then and only then do you get your reward."

And so Sabina searched. She started with the bright, round objects in view, a reasonable thing to do given that the first Easter Egg I showed her was a shiny, red ball. But not this time. It took Mom a little while, but finally she noticed a walking stick leaning against a wall. She picked it up and shook it. Nothing happened. Tried walking with it. Nothing happened. She shook her head and then picked it up and held it sideways, ready to toss it aside. And then the Easter Egg menu appeared.

Greetings, Winner!

You are a winner and winners are rewarded. Take your pick from the choices below and enjoy!

Sports: Fencing * Tennis * Boxing
Romance: First Date * First Kiss * Romantic Dinner
Hierarchy: Teacher-Student * Boss-Worker * Master-Slave
Adult: Are you at least 18 years old?

"Congrats, Mom, you did it!" I said, giving her lots of encouragement. "So what's it gonna be?"

"OK, then, let's see....I think I'll try 'Teacher-Student'. Remember how all your teachers complained about you being a smart ass, talking in class, fiddling with the school network? I think I'll enjoy watching you be a student who has to do what the teacher says."

The menu dissolved and a scene appeared in which Sabina stood at the head of the classroom, wearing a tank top and mini-skirt, showing lots of cleavage and lots of leg. She tapped a ruler against her hand. 

"Jason!" exclaimed Mom, "Why am I dressed like that?"

"Uh, sorry, Mom, but I never did like the way my teachers dressed. Way too conservative."

And there, sitting at the only occupied desk, was Kotok, looking bored, book on his desk closed, staring out the window at the sunny afternoon that beckoned.

It was, essentially, a still life. I waited. Finally, Mom asked: "So how do I tell it what to do?" 

"Well, with the Easter Eggs, you can always say: 'TC - go' and then the game will just play out a randomly selected sequence. But with each scene, there is also a way to trigger/direct your own activity....you just have to find it. Um, let's see," I said, stalling a bit as I tried to recall what I'd done in this particular scene. Oh, right! This should be interesting.... "Try this: say 'Sabina - punish'."

"Sabina - punish!" repeated Mom obediently. Sabina immediately sauntered over Kotok's way, saying: "Mr. Kotok, I can see that you are not paying attention, and once again you have not handed in your homework. Don't you remember what I told you the last time this happened?"

Kotok looked up at Sabina and then down at the desk in embarrassment. I grinned behind my VR glasses, anticipating the next step.

"C'mon, hot shot," said Sabina, "Get yourself out of that seat and lean over the desk." She grabbed his arm and yanked upwards. Kotok stood with great reluctance, then turned, placed two hands on the desk and spread his legs slightly. Good looking ass in those jeans, I thought. Go for it, Mom-I-mean-Sabina!

Sabina raised her arm and SMACK went the ruler down against Kotok's jeans-covered buttocks. He threw his head back: "Ouch, that hurts!"

"Well, of course, it hurts, Kotok," replied Sabina, as she raised her arm again, "it's punishment." WHACK! WHACK! WHA-

"Sabina - stop!" said Mom, and the scene froze, just as the ruler hit and Kotok opened his mouth to shout his pain. I could hear Mom was breathing heavily; otherwise the room was entirely silent. After a few seconds, I decided to see if I could move things along.

"So, yeah, that's, um, one of the things you can do in this scene."

Mom didn't reply. But we did keep playing for several more hours that night, fixed some more bugs, then went to bed.

Next day, I headed off to the airport, my mom gave me a momly kiss at the door, before I jumped in the cab. "I'll do lots of testing, promise," she said, holding up her hand making a "scout's honor". 




The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 02



"Thanks, Mom, love you, you're the best!" I yelled over my shoulder and threw myself into the cab. 

Four hours later, I was checking into the Las Vegas hotel and an hour after that I was setting up my booth in the conference's exhibit hall. Sure, I should have hired someone to help me, but that wasn't nearly as much fun as showing everyone my own creation myself. 

But this conference was going to be different from any other I'd been to, for two reasons:

1. I'd never before offered a video game with an X-rated component. Of course, you couldn't see that from the exhibit hall. But I had arranged a few adult-only viewings; that should be interesting.

2. All through the conference, I planned to watch my mom, both within the game as Sabina and outside the game, through all my cameras. 

The exhibit hall filled up; I got busy with demos, all the time using my VR glasses to also keep tabs on Mom. But that wasn't all I was doing.

There I was: young, rich, famous in this community anyway, and pretty damn good looking. I had no shortage of women hitting on me all day long and at the evening parties. So I did what I always did at these conferences: played the Mother Matchup game. I kept an eye out for a woman who reminds me the most of my mom, and then exploit her sexually to the fullest possible extent, with (of course) her enthusiastic cooperation.

The first day, no one caught my eye and I stayed busy with demonstrations of ThoughtCrime, while also keeping an eye on Mom's testing activity. She was a very disciplined beta tester, all right, putting in lots of hours, exploring nooks and crannies, logging bugs. She was definitely checking out the racier aspects of Easter Eggs (she'd returned several times to the Bad Student scenario), but had not yet ventured into any of the Adult offerings.

I called her that night. "Hey , Mom, how's it going?"

"Great, Jason. I logged twenty-two bugs, but I hope that doesn't make you feel bad. I covered a lot of the game."

"Wow, that's fantastic, Mom!" I wanted her to feel very good about this game and her impact on it. "My demos here have gone really well, and that's in so small part because of how much you've helped me clean it up."

A warm, comfortable silence filled the line. Then I decided to push a little bit.

"But, Mom, have you had a chance to check out any of those Adult Easter Egg menu items? I know it's not your thing and all, but it's an important part of the game and I am planning a demo for a private audience later this week. Anything you can do there to help will be deeply appreciated."

A less comfortable silence filled the line. I waited. Then a sigh.

"Yes, OK, sure. I did agree to help and if you think that's important, I will do it for you, Jason. Anything for you."

I smiled widely. Now that is what I like to hear. Over and over again, and hopefully soon she will be saying that as she looks into my eyes and surrounds the tip of my cock with her thick lips.

Went out for lunch, then back to the booth - just in time to meet the best Mother Matchup I'd ever seen: Janice Yellin, a software developer for X-Games-X, a group I'd admired from afar for a long time. They published smart and funny games, and only hired the best. 

And Janice was the best, by which I mean incredibly hot. Heavy, high breasts, a brilliant smile, no apparent desire to emulate the fashion model starved look. Every apparent desire (without knowing it) to remind me of my mom, perhaps twenty years younger. Because she was also the best, in terms of resembling my mother. It was uncanny and so damn exciting. 

And, lo and behold, she was a groupie, sort of. She stopped by my booth, and raved about BlinkShrink, how it inspired her to get into game software. 

"So no version 2?" she asked with a big smile. "There's an awful lot you could do with the new neuroscience and cognitive research. And then you could smooth over the rough spots in version 1." She raised her eyebrows as if inviting an argument. Some spunk! I liked that....

"Rough spots?" I decided to appear to be the enlightened, broad-minded sort. "Yeah, I guess there were, but version 2? No way. I've got something way better to work on and push out the door now."

"Oh, yeah: ThoughtCrime. I've been hearing people talk about it. They're, ahem, psyched. Can you show it to me?"

So I handed her some VR glasses and we dove in. Played all the way to a certain Easter Egg, in which I had exposed the Adult menu option. Would she ignore it? That would certainly indicate a lack of interest. I felt nervous. I really wanted this woman.

Whew. No worries. She said: "Hey, I'm older than 18, can you show me that?" 

"Sorry, I am only showing that part of the game in private sessions. It's too risqué for floor demos."

Janice was no dummy. She took off the glasses, handed them back to me, and with a mischievous smile, asked: "What do you have to do to get a private session with the famous creator of BlinkShrink?"

I decided to go for the gold. I looked deep into her gleaming eyes and said:

"You have to be drop-dead gorgeous. You have to have an open mind, willing to try new things. And you have to be able to come over to my room after the EcoEvoSoft event tonite, maybe around 10."

Janice stuffed her hands into her jeans pocket, pulling her official, convention floor X-Games-X t-shirt tight over her breasts.

"Let's see, I visit a different tropical rain forest each year for a week of exploration. I love new things. I grew up Catholic and now bow down to the wisdom of Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace, if to anyone or anything. My mind is so wide open, I sometimes worry I'm going to lose myself in it. But as for the drop-dead gorgeous part, you're going to have to decide for yourself."

Tight t-shirt, memories (however distorted) of the last two nights floating through Janice's mind. You know the result. Her nipples began to swell, push out. I watched them come to life. And guess what else came to life?

I took a nice long look, up and down her lovely body and back up, then nodded. And looked solemn, just to enhance the drama of the moment.

"OK, I've decided. You, Janice Yellin, are drop-dead gorgeous. I will give you a private demonstration of the Adult menu choice. My room number is 3725. Oh, what the hell, I'm the trusting sort: here's a cardkey. I should be there around 10 PM. Wear something comfortable."

She took the key, her nipples now clearly poking out. She realized it, looked down, crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a nod back, with a really big grin: "See you at 10, then, Jason."

She turned around and I watched her walk back over to the X-Games-X booth, her well-defined, heart-shaped ass swaying in her jeans. 

And then the VR feed from Mom's testing session caught my attention. She had made it to an Easter Egg and clicked on Adult. Sabina was greeted by a Pamela Lee Anderson look-alike, the guardian of all things Adult in ThoughtCrime. 

"Hello, Sabina," she said. "Would you like to wear a mask in the Adult section? Some players like to maintain a little bit of mystery, even with their avatars."

I clicked over to the screen showing Mom playing in my game room. She was breathing heavily. She moved her hand and Sabina grabbed the mask. That's exactly what I expected. I figured that it would be hard enough to get her started on the hard stuff, without having to actually look her Kotok-son in the face, or have her Kotok-son look at her face. This way, she could maintain some distance.

So in Sabina went, and was offered the Adult menu:

Romantic Kisses 
You Like to Watch
You Like to Be Watched
Anything Goes

Mom picked You Like to Watch and Sabina entered a room where a masked Kotok lay naked, sprawled out on a leather couch, sporting a hard-on that bobbed in the "air." A door opened and "Pamela" walked in, also naked, her ridiculously enormous breasts preceding her. She gave Sabina a wave and without wasting any time, knelt in front of Kotok and starting giving him an expert blow job. Kotok seemed to like it, but Sabina suddenly disappeared. I switched to the live camera feed.

Mom has sat up in her chair and pulled off the goggles. She was panting and shaking her head, as if trying to get an image out of her head. That's right, Mom. I have a cock. It gets hard. When it gets hard, it gets big. It likes to get sucked. Did you like to watch?

Hmmm, a bit hard to tell. Damn. Didn't matter, really. The most important thing is that she'd gotten started. My mom, as Sabina, had just watched Pamela give me, as Kotok, a blow job. I was willing to think she'd be back. After all, she'd do anything for me.

Then a bunch of potential resellers approached the booth, noisy nerdy guys who thought they were hotshots, so I had to give them my full attention.

It was about 9:50 when I was done with the conference social events. I'd had a couple of margaritas, but made sure to keep a clear head. I was really looking forward to Janice. I made my way up to the 37th floor and carded my way into the room. It was a very nice suite; I liked to travel in style when I traveled. So I couldn't see the bedroom, but it was immediately clear to me that someone besides myself and the housekeeper had been in my room. I saw an X-Games-X t-shirt draped over a chair. Even better, I saw a pair of lacy black panties right on the floor outside the bedroom.

I could tell right away that someone was wearing something more comfortable.

I stepped into the bedroom and took in the view. Janice sat on the bed in the lotus position, wearing (so far as I could see) nothing but a blue thong that a sheen to it, even in the low light. It was hard to look away from the small patch of blue, but I forced myself. 

Ah, what a torture it was. Janice's had turned on the bedside lights, soft and low and they formed a halo around her body leaving reflected light to highlight her features and the curves of her lovely body. I wanted more light, lots more light. 

Still, I was instantly reminded of two things:

1. Janice was drop-dead gorgeous, no shitting around. 

Not only were her breasts like small melons defying gravity, but her abdomen was flat and tight, her legs and arms sported great muscle tone, and her face was symmetrically beautiful. Her neck had a graceful curve to it and the lightest touch of a smile around her lips made me want her even more. My cock got hard in seconds.

2. Janice looked a lot like Mom. 

No doubt about it, Janice had won the Mother Matchup contest. He'd occasionally run across a woman with a similar body, but different face, and would "settle" for her - and have a wonderful time. Or he'd encounter a woman whose face was very similar but was overweight. And then there were the many woman who were beautiful and attractive and simply reminded him of his mother. 

This time, he'd hit the jackpot. He carried a few photos of his mother, from different ages. One was when she was 27, a little older than Janice, but not much. I knew those photos well, and Janice could easily be that woman. I shivered at the thought of sex with her.

And it meant that that hard cock swelled further, and turned into a source of aching pressure. Which reminded Jason, painfully and with no small amount of reluctance that it was, therefore, time for Phase 2 of the Mother Matchup game. No choice. Just do it. Or don't do it, more to the point.

"Down, boy," I mouthed silently to my hard-on, because Phase 2 was all about discipline and training.

Somehow I had never doubted that one day, I would make love to my mother. She would give in, I would find a way, and then that moment would arrive when she was before me, naked, and she was mine for the taking. And that moment would only come once, in my whole life, in the whole life of the entire universe. One first time with my mom. 

And with all the years of anticipation, of planning, of frustration, it would be way too easy to be in a hurry, to rush my way to sex, and to come quickly. That would be a tragedy of epic proportions and I was not going to let that happen. 

As a consequence, I used every hookup in Mother Matchup as a "dry run" (though usually there was a lot of fluid involved) for the real thing. 

There was really just one rule for Phse 2: Take things slow. 

Hurrying implies a destination, an action or experience that would be the culmination of the process, someplace I want to get to, sooner rather than later. 

I preferred to think more in terms of a journey, a grand adventure, like hiking deeper and deeper into a deeply shadowed and mysterious forest, in which every step along the path brings new wonders. I ran my tongue along her lips! Our tongues meet! I kiss her nipple! So many moments that, when they finally take place, will just a few years before had unthinkable and incredibly exciting all by themselves. 

I didn't want to miss or under-appreciate any of those things. So, first and foremost, I would take things slow. Putting that one, simple rule into action was sometimes torture.

Janice raised her head to me, eyes still closed. I lowered my head until our lips met. Electric! She sighed into my mouth and invited me in. My tongue wasted no time in complying. She was a great kisser....

Then her hand snaked down to my pants, slid inside the waistband and wrapped itself around my cock. Her hand was, to my surprise and reflexive alarm, quite cold so I jerked. She laughed, keeping hold and then started to rub me. I was in agony. Phase 2 this, Phase 2 that -- and I was about to explode, right then and there. Entirely unacceptable.

I grabbed her hand, stopped all motion, and directed all attention inwards, leaving Janice for a second or two, shutting down the process. What can I say? I've been in training for years.

"Janice," I finally managed to say, "Oh my, Janice, you are a delight. I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone." A little while lie. She was number two, which when you think about it, was an incredible compliment. But I couldn't explain that. 

I pull at her hand gently until she let go of my cock, which showed signs of softening a little bit. Thank god. I pulled her hand out and stroked the side of her face. "

"Could we just slow things down a little? Jack Reacher thinks the second time is better, but I could never get that. My feeling is you only have a first time with a new lover once. So why not take your time and enjoy it, fully experience it? I want to fully experience you."

She looked a little surprised, pouted her lips for effect, and then smiled: "Well, that's certainly refreshing, coming from a guy. OK! Let's slow it down. Tell me how you like to do things."

I asked her to get dressed and meet me at the door to the room. Sort of like Memento, a movie going in reverse chronological order.

"Hey, Janice, come on in, I am so glad you could make it," said I, feeling just a little bit foolish. But I just gave her a wry smile and then we kissed.

We kissed for a long time, our bodies pressed together. 

And really, for the next three hours, our bodies stayed pressed together in various ways, like her lips pressed against my cock, taking the swollen, purple head entirely and then swirling her tongue and sucking on my cock. 

Like my fingers finally surrounding each breast and gradually pulling together to squeeze and pull the nipples, while Janice thrashed her head back and forth. 

Like brushing the tip of my tongue over her asshole, and hearing her gasp sharply, pull away, leaving me to wonder at her strong reaction. 

Like my cock, enlarged, really pumped up with desire and expert machinations, finally sliding fully into Mom, ah, yes, really into Janice, lovely Janice, but oh she could be by Mom, I could be finally doing it with Mom. 

Like moving with long, deep strokes, imagining it was Mom underneath me, her cunt eagerly welcoming me in, her legs wrapped around my back. 

Like how Janice answered each of my deep, hard grunts when I was fully inside her and slammed up against her pelvis with a small, intense cry.

Like when I exploded inside Janice, pumping out hot sperm over and over again, never came like this before, filling her, with flesh and with cum.

Turns out there are lots of things you can when your bodies are pressed together.

Three hours later, I looked down at Janice, sprawled face down on the bed, her limbs loose in total contentment, her breathing gradually slowing after her third orgasm. I'd cum twice, both times hard. Incredible.

My, oh my, sex with Janice was fantastic, way better than I'd hoped for. Her tongue has been expert at exploring the tip of my cock. She was able to deep throat me like I'd never experienced before. Her breasts and nipples: incredibly sensitive and so much like Mom's. And fucking: she loved it and held nothing back. She had been the best stand-in for Mom ever, and I felt like I had done OK, not pushed hard or fast, made sure she wanted to do anything they were doing and made sure we did everything she wanted to do.

Damn, I suddenly felt really tightly connected to Janice. I found myself wanting to know more about her (not my usual post-coital response) and thought I'd start with just about as innocuous a topic as possible: music. Everyone loves music.

"Hey, Janice!" I leaned over and nipped her butt cheek with my teeth. She yelped and picked up her head a little. "You are the sexiest lover I've ever had. You move with a sweet rhythm. I bet you love music, dancing, singing. What's your favorite song?"

Her response to my "innocent" question surprised me. Her face went from pleased to closed up, not angry, just not open. She turned away from me, shaking her head. "If I tell you, you'll think I'm some sort of weirdo and I am not," she said. "I am not a weirdo."

"No way," I protested. This was interesting. Don't tell me she liked death metal or atonal crap.

I snuggled up against her and nuzzled her neck. I wasn't going to push it, if she didn't want to talk about it. She softened and relaxed. Finally, she whispered:

"Oh, daddy."

"Oh, daddy, what?"

"That's the song, my favorite song: Oh Daddy by Fleetwood Mac."

"Ahhhhhhhh," I said, feeling a stirring of excitement in my otherwise placid and satisfied loins. She has a thing for her daddy maybe?

"Yeah, right, see?" she said, annoyed, pulling away. 

"See what?" I asked, pulling her back and wrapping my arms around her. "I like that song, too. It's a great song. But...it's your favorite. Any special reason?"

A long silence, then a heavy sigh and: "All right, maybe it'll be OK, you seem like an OK guy. Fine. See, I had a thing for my dad when I was, well, from when I was 13 to like 18, and went off to college. He was smart, handsome, athletic, very good with his hands. He was always super nice to me, gentle and patient. Oh, fuck, I might as well admit it: you remind me of him. That's why I decided I would sleep with you, I think."

She sat up in bed, stared into the mirror, into her own eyes, and continued: "I had loved him completely and without any kind of reservation all my life, and when puberty hit and the hormones rolled on into my brain, shit, I got obsessed about being in love with him. Really obsessed. It was bad. I wanted my first sexual experience to be with him. So I was a pervert, right?"

"Aw, hell, Janny, " I said, "don't be so hard on yourself."

"What did you call me?"

"Um...." I thought back: "Janny."

"Fuuuck," she breathed out. "That's what he always called me, growing up."

She stared at me, wonderingly. I smiled and hoped it reminded her of her father smiling. This was fun. And I decided that she liked me enough, maybe even trusted me enough, to ask her: "So did you ever try anything with your dad?"




The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 02



Her shoulders slumped down. She looked dejected. "Yeah. What a disaster. When I was 18, just a month before graduation from high school, we were home by ourselves, Mom out shopping. While in the living room watching TV, totally on a crazy impulse, I jumped on Dad's lap and snuggled up against his chest and, since there's gravity and all, I also settled down into his crotch. He gave me a hug and we sat there quietly watching for a few minutes. 

"Then I realized that I could feel him getting hard under my ass. He was getting an erection from me! What else could it be? I was so excited. I can still remember the feel of his erection, even the pulsing of the blood. I was afraid to move, afraid I might stop feeling what I was feeling. Maybe it was going to happen after all. I turned my head into his neck and gave him little kisses. He sighed. I could tell he liked it. I thought to myself: finally he will love me the same way I love him.

"So I kissed my dad on the lips. That's what lovers do. I saw it in movies, read it in books. You kiss and you love each other and then you make love.

"Well, lips met. His were warm and soft, and we stayed that way, in contact for a while, which we'd never done before. Clearly, something had changed. Then I pushed my tongue out just a little bit and tasted him. Oh my god, he wasn't pulling away. This really was happening. But then I blew it. I shifted in his lap and suddenly his rock hard erection lay straight along my crack and it was kind of turned up and actually pressed against my, you know, my vagina. Abruptly, almost violently, he pushed me off his lap. I stumbled, grabbing the side of the couch to avoid falling.

"'What the hell are you doing, Janny?' he shouted. He was angry, seriously pissed off. 'You're my daughter. You can't do that.' Now, looking back, I can see that, really, he was angry because he let himself get turned on, but he sure as hell didn't acknowledge it, then or ever. I felt totally rejected. And the worst thing about it? He was never the same after that, we were never as close. I was so stupid."

Janice sounded bitter and sad. Poor thing. She needed some cheering up. I gave her a hug. "You were a kid. Your dad was a great guy. It happens all the time. Don't beat yourself up. You get along OK with him now, right?"

Janice sniffed and nodded. "Yeah, we're OK now, I guess, but not the same."

Janice went to sleep shortly thereafter. I lay awake for awhile, thinking about what she'd told me. What a strange and wonderful evening. We slept late, so woke up scrambling to get ready for the day's activities. Mostly that meant Janice went back to her room to change. We agreed to meet again at my room at 8 o'clock that night. Dinner, dancing and lotsa loving.

Well, that day, the last of the conference, was super-fucking-long. I was totally bored with my demos, and it showed. I checked in on Mom a few times. Yep, she was still testing and - ho ho! - she'd even visited a few different Adult scenarios, but only for a few seconds and then backing out quickly. Now, that was a nice development. But I found my mind circling back to Janice, again and again.

She would be back in my room at 8 PM. I thought about her body and her eyes and her deepest secret desire. 

And then I had a brainstorm, a moment of pure inspiration: I could use her lust for her daddy to test out a strategy I planned to use with Mom. Because I sure hated the idea of doing anything with or to Mom that I wasn't 100% sure of. I had no room for error, none at all. Couldn't make any mistakes.

So I called Mike, a guy I knew in Las Vegas who could get you any kind of drug. I lined up a purchase of some really excellent hash and a small vial of molydextrine, for delivery later that day.

Now, I admit that some assholes use Molly as a date rape drug. It makes the person who took it passive and super easy to manipulate. Give them too much and they all but pass out, becoming, essentially, a sex doll to do with what you desired, liberated by the fact that they never remember what happened. 

That's not what I wanted to do. Nothing that extreme or abusive. I just wanted a little assistance in overcoming a temporary bout of shyness, of reluctance, a sort of insurance policy really. In smaller doses, you don't pass out, you just find it hard to say no to anything someone tells you to do (or so I had read on the Internet). And at lighter doses, you might remember something, but it would probably be like a dream. Like I say, that's what I'd heard about Molly. W=

Very convenient drug. If what everyone said was true. I would try it out on Janice that night. 

Mike came through, fulfilling both orders by 4 PM that afternoon.

I got back to the room at 6 PM. No way was I going to let her beat me again. I got everything set up, snacks and beverages, room serviced a platter of finger foods, and threw together two alcoholic drinks for us: a lime margarita for her (she'd told me last night it was her favorite drink) and a room temperature Irish Bailey Cream for me. I know: disgusting, right? But that way I would make sure she didn't want my drink. Cause I sure as hell didn't want hers. It was laced with what I sincerely hoped was just the right amount of molydextrine for my plans to work out.

Right at 8, Janice flowed through the door and into my arms. She smelled fresh and clean. She pressed against me and it seemed like she fit perfectly against every countour of my body. Mom, I thought, you would fit like this, too. Then I scolded myself: tonight was for Janice, not me. It was a night to be spent with Daddy.

We ate a light meal, feeding each other, sipping our drinks, being incredibly romantic. It was fun, not my usual thing. Oh, and we got increasingly buzzed, as we smoked some hash, too. We drifted along contentedly, talking about software, listening to jazz, stroking each other, kissing, anticipating what would come. Of course, right then, whatever Janice was anticipating was probably quite different from me. And I had a distinct advantage:

I'd drugged her. Hey, I already told you: I am not a nice guy. Not when it comes to pursuing my dream, anyway. I will do anything that will get me closer to feeling my mother's lips around my cock.

Then I noticed that Janice had stopped initiating conversation and was slumped back in her chair. I leaned in and waved a hand in front of her face. Her eyes tracked it, but that was about all.

It's now or never, I told myself. At some point, you would face that same moment with Mom. You would have to take some action that crosses the line. The point at which there is no going back. So go for it.

"I'll be right back," I said. She nodded.

I went into the bedroom, took off my clothes and put on the heavy cotton bathrobe. Then I dimmed the lights and pressed the Play button on the sound system remote. "Oh Daddy" filled the room.

No lights, no camera (damn, why didn't I think of that?), but lots of action, here we come!

I went to the doorway. Janice had turned her head to the music and her foot was tapping along. A small, sweet smile appeared on her face.

Lyrics wafted through the air: "Oh Daddy, You soothe me with your smile, You're letting me know, You're the best thing in my life."

"Janny," I said loudly and firmly, overriding the music, as if I was upset about something. "This is your daddy. Come in here, please. I, your father, need to talk to you."

Janice started, surprised by the somewhat harsh voice in the otherwise soothing environment. She peered at me, but I stayed in the shadows of the room. Hopefully I really did remind her or her father. That little bit of physical reinforcement could make the difference.

She stood up, uncertainly, swaying a little bit and looking confused. "Daddy?" she asked in a little girl's voice.

My robe tented from my hard-on. She stared down at it. I did, too. Wow. The towel was bouncing. I was excited. I sure felt excited.

"Daddy?" she said again, almost squeaking, and looked up at me.

"Yes, Janny, I am your daddy. You are my daughter. You are 18 years old, just about to graduate from high school, and you have been bad. I got a call from the principal. He told me that you showed him your breasts and asked him if he thought that I, your father, would like them. Showed him your breasts? What were you thinking? As you can imagine, I was shocked and very upset. Now, why would you do something like that, say something like that, Janny?" 

I sighed and shook my head. "You know how much I love you, but now you need to be punished."

"Punished?" she repeated. I worried that I'd given her too much of the drug. Well, that's why I was testing this whole deal: wouldn't want to mess up with Mom.

"Yes," I said, brooking no disagreement. "You must be punished. Come in here and take off your pants."

Janice's eyes opened wide. She licked her lips. But she stepped through the doorway. She undid the clasp of her pants and let them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them. Just like last night, she was wearing a shiny blue thong. I wondered how many she owned, and what that meant. 

She looked down and quickly covered her front with her hands, self-conscious, apparently, in front of her daddy. She did seem to have shifted nicely to thinking of herself as a teenager. Perfect. 

"Now lean over the dresser. Go ahead, that's it." She went over to the wide, low dresser, which sported a mirror behind it the full length of the dresser. She put two hands on it, and leaned over, sticking her ass out. She looked over her shoulder, with a bit of a wild look in her eyes. "Daddy?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Should you be looking at me like this?"

"Me looking at you? What about you looking at me? What about you asking your principal what I might think of your breasts? Janny, what's gotten into you? You are out of control. Now, close your eyes, and think about why it was wrong to show your breasts to your principal." 

She turned towards the mirror and closed her eyes. Her ass trembled as it stuck out. She could feel how much she was exposing to her own father. I think it scared her a little.

I give her a sharp smack on the ass. 

"Ow, Daddy, ow, that hurt," she cried, more from surprise than anything else. I didn't hit her all that hard. 

"Well, of course it does, Janny. If it didn't hurt, you'd just keep on doing the same thing again. It's a learning process. Expose yourself to strangers and I will spank you, and that's not all."

Then, quickly, so she could not respond in time to stop me, I grabbed the top of the thong and pulled it down to the floor and off her legs,then pushing her legs apart even more in the process. Now she was completely naked from the waist down. Now her ass was visibly shaking. Now a light sheen of sweat appeared. 

Janice's breathing grew labored, heavy, erratic. I resumed the spanking. And she started up a running monologue in a hoarse voice: "Oh my god, ouch! Daddy, oh my god, daddy, ouch! Oh my god...." Her beautifully shaped, nicely muscled ass shook with each impact of my hand. Soon her skin was red and hot. Her voice wavered, broke. Maybe that was enough, Dad. Sheesh, what a monster.

"Oh, honey, look at that. I'd better stop. I am so sorry that I had to hurt you like that." And I knelt down behind her and began to kiss her hot ass. 

"Daddy, what are you - uuuuuuhhhhh...." Her words turned into a long, long groan as I switched from kisses to run my tongue all the way down her crack to the pucker of her asshole, and gave it a flick. Her legs trembled violently. More kisses and licks, more groans and then:

"You have such a nice ass, little Janny. I've been watching you for a while now. And I've noticed you watching me. And that kiss you gave me last week. That was very bad. But at least now I know what you want, Janny, and I am going to give it to you."

"Oooooh, Daddy," she wailed. "I have been bad. I do want to be punished. Please, do it." I really had no idea if she was Janice or Janny, but I guess it didn't really matter. Either way, she was going to accept her punishment. What a good girl!

I ran my hands over her ass and down her strong legs. "Janny, close your eyes and stand up."

She did. I stood close behind her. I lifted her X-Games-X shirt over her head and tossed it aside. I stared at her in the dim light, once again reminded so strongly of my mother. Even the slight heaviness around the waist, that spoke of a relaxed, full acceptance of her own lovely body. Mom. But then I put that thought aside. Tonight, I was Janny's father and that was the only fantasy I would focus on. My erection pressed up against her back. I reached around and cupped her breasts, my fingers burling around her nipples.

They were amazing nipples. They were so filled with hot blood that they were purple, hard, really stiff. I pinched them both lightly. Janice gasped, but she was (right now anyway) a good girl and did not open her eyes. I brushed my lips against her neck and whispered directly into her ear:

"You know that I love you very much, and that is why I must punish you when you do something wrong. And exposing yourself to your principal and then, even worse, to your father - look at you, right now! You are naked and your nipples are hard. Well, I am afraid you must be punished even more than I'd originally planned. But I will not be cruel. I will prepare you to make it as easy on you as possible."

I pulled gently on her nipples, not releasing them, drawing my "daughter" down towards the dresser. When my hands brushed the table, I moved them around to her back and pressed her down, so her breasts mashed down just a little on the varnished wood. Her head was turned to the side. Her eyes remained closed.

Then I reached down and tugged at her legs to pull them even further apart. I needed more room to work. She cooperated very nicely, her mouth open, panting.

I stepped back for the "big picture." Her cunt glistened in the little light there was. She was so wet, she was dripping. Seriously, I could see the drops falling to a spot on the carpet halfway between her. Well, that's what housekeeping is for, I guess. I soaked in the contours of her ass as they narrowed up to her hips, then broadening out again slightly up her back. Well-developed muscles bunched along both sides of her spine. Janice was exquisite.

I knelt behind her and sunk my tongue immediately and directly into her cunt, as deep as I could. My face pushed up against her and was immediately covered in her juices. She let loose a series of exhalations: "Uh, aaaah, ungh, uh, uh," as if struggling to control herself. But she sure as hell didn't push away.

I sucked with my whole mouth covering her vagina, drinking her, stroking her inner walls with my tongue. Then I set up a nice fucking rhythm with my tongue, in and out, and she soon picked up on it and pushed back at me as I started the in stroke, grunting with each push. After a bit, though, I pulled out and watched her ass grope for my tongue. Then I reached up and stroked her clitoris with my left hand. That soon had her pushing down against my fingers, which brought her asshole closer - and that lovely orifice was my real target. 

Starting with her clit, I licked all the way up her opening and then right over onto her pucker. This time I stayed there and circled it with my tongue, enjoying the crinkles and the musky odor and tangy flavor. At the same time, I started working her clitoris back and forth.

Lots for little Janny to absorb, and she was doing her best. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her head hanging down. Her legs trembled violently and she moaned "Daddy, oh, that's so good, daddy, punish me, punish me...."

Ha! She thought this was the punishment? I stiffened my tongue and pressed into her ass. That really got her attention. The sphincter, of course, pressed hard against my tongue, trying to push me out, but I just pressed my whole face into her crack and would not retreat. I used my right hand to pull her ass cheek to the side. My left continued to work over her clit. She was panting like a dog on a blistering hot day. I swirled my tongue around as best I could and soon she relaxed just a little. So I pulled out my tongue and quickly inserted my middle finger, well lubricated from her cunt juices. Straight and true, it slid in as far as possible. Her whole body stiffened, but that was fine by me. I deposited a big gob of spit on my finger and moved it in and out. With my other hand I matched that rhythm with two fingered strokes up the length of her inflamed clitoris. 

Her whole body was now engaged in the back and forth. And then I inserted a second, lubricated, rigid finger into her ass. Oh, my! Janice went wild, bucking her ass around my embedded fingers, pressing down against the fingers massaging her clitoris. And I had a back row seat for the show. Fantastic!

Janice started to growl and grunt, then a scream grew in pitch and volume: "Daaaaaaddddddyyyyy!" And then the climax roared through her over-stimulated body. To help her along (what the hell), I pushed two more fingers into her ass and spread her wide. Janice threw back her head and roared: "Aaaarrrggghhhh" as she pushed back against the fingers. She then trailed off to a series "ungh, ungh, ungh, ungh" as she milked the orgasm for every last ounce of pleasure wiggling her lusciously squishy parts around and against my fingers. 

I could tell her legs were about to collapse, so I grabbed her around the waist and lowered to a kneeling position on the carpet. She could barely hold herself upright, so I held her tight, her sweaty back pressed against my chest, as she shook and shivered and sighed to quietude.

Then she wiggled in my arms and turned herself around to face me. Eyes still closed, she raised her lips to mine and we kissed, her tongue snaking into my mouth.

I let that go on for a while and then separated us. "Janny, I am your father and while I have a responsibility to punish you when you do wrong, there are certain things we cannot do. You are a great kisser, but that is not appropriate between father and daughter, not like that. And though I very much want to fuuuuuck you," drawing out the word softly, caressing her with it as I kissed her eyelids gently, "that is also not something a father should do with his daughter."

I pulled her to her feet. "Having said all of that, now that I have prepared you, it's time for your final punishment. Go lie down on the bed, face down." And, moving somewhat robotically, as if in a daze, she obeyed my command.

Now it was my turn.

"Janny, get up on your hands and knees." And she did. I grabbed a tube of K-Y jelly from the nightstand and smeared it all over my cock, which was bouncing noticeably with each pulse of blood pouring into it (and pouring back out). 

I very carefully moved behind her on the bed and touched the head of my penis against her pucker. Janice began to shake her head. "No, no, nooooo," she moaned.

"No, Janny, no? No, what? No, you don't want your father's hard penis in your ass? No, you'd rather have it filling up your cunt - like this?"

I suddenly shifted down a bit and pushed into her other hole. She was wet and swollen and felt absolutely wonderful - just like last night. There was no resistance and I slid in, deep and fast. 

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispered as I filled her up effortlessly and she began to move back and forth on my cock.

But last night was "been there done that," so I grabbed her hips and held her tight up against me, stopping her motions. She squirmed and I said: "But, Janny, I told you: I am your father and it is not appropriate for a father to fuck his daughter. You could get pregnant. And, anyway, what kind of punishment is this? You seem to like it an awful lot. "




The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 03



In Part 2, I hooked up with a software developer at the conference who looked just like my mom must have looked 15 or so years ago. Oh, she was hot and she wanted to be fucked by her daddy, so I obliged, while testing out a drug that I wanted to use with my mom. Meanwhile, Mom begin to explore the Adult section of the game and end up having an orgasm while watching Sabina go down on Kotok - while simultaneously licking her own dildo. I had a lot to go home to, and off I went. 

Which brings us to Part 3....



That was one looooong plane ride. But I didn't have trouble passing the time. It's just that passing the time playing those images of my mom with the dildo spreading her lips, sliding into her mouth, was making me just a little bit insanely horny. Ah, such problems I have!

Finally, finally, the cab dropped me off at our house, 6 hours earlier than I'd originally planned and told Mom. Standing at the door, I hooked into our WI-FI network and checked out the cameras. Oh my. Looks like Mom had cancelled her appointments for the day to help her son make really great software. The glasses were on, she was in the La-Z-Boy, one hand slid down inside her sweatpants, and she was watching....oooh, nice. She was watching Kotok smoothly slide his erection into Sabina from behind, with that lovely virtual ass pushing back at him with each thrust. 

For a moment, I stood outside the door, torn. I so much wanted to silently disable the alarm system, sneak in, and then fling open the door to the Game Room, surprising Mom with a "Hello, Mom, I'm Back!" and catch her in flagrante delicto. But what if she totally freaked out and wouldn't go near the game or the glasses again? 

I couldn't risk that.

Slow and steady, my boy, I reminded myself. Slow and steady. 

I unlocked and opened the door, disabled the alarm, threw my bag on the foyer floor, and yelled: "Hey, Mom, I'm home early!" 

I watched through the VR glasses as my mother seemed to levitate off the recliner, she was so surprised. She yanked off the glasses and looked around a bit wildly, panting, looking distinctly out of control. It was a very nice look for my always-in-control mom.

She got up, straightened up her clothing and hair and walked out of the room.

I took off my glasses and walked down the hallway. We met halfway. I gave Mom a big smile and enveloped her in a big, warm hug. I felt her stiffen against me for a moment. My first reaction was dismay: Mom had never felt the least bit of reluctance to hugs...but then I realized with a tingle in my groin: Mom was changing how she saw me, not just Kotok. That tension was sexual tension. That was good, very good.

And then she relaxed in my arms. "Welcome home, Jason. I didn't expect you for hours, yet. What happened?"

"Oh, it's all good, Mom," I said, waving away the issue. "The afternoon keynote was cancelled and I decided it was more important to get back here and work with you on ThoughtCrime than gamble in some casino. So here I am! How's the testing going?"

We pulled away and looked at each other from arm's length. Mom looked flushed. "The testing?" she asked blankly. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! The testing....I've found a bunch of things to fix, and I did, um, start looking at the Adult section. That's not easy for me, you know," she said, looking up at me through her eyelashes. Was she being flirty? "But since you said it would make a big difference to the game's success, I stuck with it."

"Oh, Mom!" I used that as an excuse for another tight hug, and this time she pressed right up against me. I figured I would play it 100% innocent. I squeezed her against me, and could the feel the shape of her breasts - and...were those her nipples? Yes, they were a bit stiff. Oh, lovely, lovely. It was very good to be home.

"Mom," I spoke quietly into her ear, while holding her close, "I never wanted to make you uncomfortable." This was, strictly speaking, the truth. I wanted her to be very comfortable with the feeling of her body pressed up against me, skin to skin, my burning cock pulsating against her abdomen, sending an unmistakable message: Take me inside of you.

"If you don't want to do it," I said, rubbing her back softly, "then you should just stop. I'll go over those parts of the game and clean them up as best I can."

At that, Mom straightened up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You're such a darling boy, Jason. No, it's OK. I'm an adult, I can manage it just fine. And I want to make sure your game is the very best it can be."

She turned and walked towards the kitchen. Her ass filled out the sweatpants really nicely. I was pretty sure she wasn't wearing any panties. 

"Have you had dinner?" she asked over her shoulder, and that was that. I was home, back home with my mom. She would make me dinner. She would help me test my game. She would, with the proper amount of privacy, bring herself to an orgasm while sliding a dildo in and out of her mouth. Now it was time to find out what else she would do.





The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 03



Now, as I am sure you recall from my time with Janice, I have a healthy dose of self-control. And I really did want to hold off on cumming until (as I by then hoped might happen) Saul brought Mom to an orgasm. But seeing my mother's thick lips wrap themselves around Saul's cock and descend was just too much for my primitive, sex-obsessed male brain. Urgent messages were sent to the rapid responders and fireworks started going off in my head, resulting in streams of cum saturating and then pushing from under my boxers. "Ahhhrrrggg," I groaned and went with it, stroking and pushing and coaxing every possible pleasure from the moment.

Of course, Mom had no idea this was going on. And she had other things on her mind and in her mouth. Well, actually, I could only hope that in her mind she was picturing my cock. But who knows? 

As the fireworks subsided, I refocused on the action in Mom's office. Saul continued his coaching: 

"- deeper, yes, Mom, take it deeper, yes, such a good Mommy." By this time, Saul was unabashedly pushing his pelvis up off the couch, thrusting into Mom's mouth. She remained in front of the couch, bent over her client, massaging her breasts as her head moved up and down, making all sorts of mewling, moaning, groaning noises. Jeanine sat on the edge of her chair. Her thong lay on the floor, by her feet and both hands were busy fingering herself. 

And I reminded myself, with a shiver of pleasure running up and down my spine: I am not just watching this. I am recording it. Even if I never got any closer to fucking my Mom, I would always be able to enjoy this moment.

Then Saul froze, with his butt of the couch, and growled: "Aaaaah, going to cum, going to cum, suck harder, Mom, harder...."

Some part of Mom's brain must still have been in touch with the reality outside that room, though, because as soon as the words "going to cum" penetrated the fog of lust, she snapped her back, letting the throbbing erection pop out of her mouth. She staggered back, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing. Jeanine jumped to her feet, Mom backed right into her; Jeanine wrapped her arms around Mom and placed her hands right over her breasts. Held her tight, while my mother, flushed and trembling, gasped for breath.

I swung my attention back to Saul and was amazed at what I saw. He'd fallen back onto the couch and his face became extremely angry, like he couldn't believe or accept that his will had been denied. I saw a little cum spurt out of dick, but then his face relaxed, he sat up straight, and he nodded. He seemed to have suppressed the orgasm entirely. Impressive.

"OK, I get it, that's too much role playing for you, that's cool. Anyway, you don't deserve it. Mom gets all my sperm. Just Jeanine." He blew a kiss her way and Jeanine lit up like the sun. He stood up and faced Mom, with Jeanine directly behind her.

"Bra?" he asked Jeanine. She shook her head.

"Straps?" he asked Jeanine, and moved his head first one way, than the other.

And Jeanine reached up her hands from Mom's breasts and pulled her straps down over her shoulders. The dress bunched up around her waist and....no bra.

There stood my mother naked from the waist up. I couldn't help comparing Mom to Jeanine. Jeanine was sexy. I was ready to fuck her, for sure. But there was also an edge to her somewhere, somehow, something sharp and pained. But Mom - it's not like nothing bad had never happened to her (triple negative!). She'd had her share of crummy luck and bad decisions. But through it all she'd remained....the same substantial, compassionate, present, lively, natural woman. Her sexiness went bone deep and warmed the soul. Her round, smooth, heavy, firm breasts promised the kind of ecstasy that changes your life forever. 

OK, fine. So I am obsessed. I am in love. What the hell do you expect of me? I admit it. Get over it. And keep reading.

Saul sucked his breath and let it out in a long, contented sigh. "Fuck, doc, you are beautiful, really something. They," he said, gesturing at her breasts, "were there all through those therapy sessions? I can't hardly credit it. Man, what a waste. Anyway." He put his hands on his hips.

"We are don't yet, dear doctor. In my world, when you do something for me, I do something for you." Jeanine started moving hands all over Mom's neck and shoulders, then down over and around her breasts. "You can't leave things out of balance. So a few minutes ago, this," Saul gestured down to his still erect, "was in your mouth. That was, by the way," he smirked, "really cool and very well done."

Smart ass. He was starting to piss me off.

Jeanine fingers centered in on Mom's nipples and writhed over them like snakes, gripping, pulling, rubbing, twisting. Mom's held fell against Jeanine's shoulder. Saul stepped closer and put his hands on her legs and began to gradually raise the hem of the dress.

When he reached the middle of Mom's thighs, once again she seemed to struggle out of the fog of her special massage and come to her senses enough to murmur: "Wait, no, that's enough, enough for today, it's time to, to stop." She gradually lapsed into silence and looked to Saul as if for approval. 

He was not in a generous mode, as it turned out. But he was also a very sly fellow indeed. He nodded. "I see what you're saying. This might not be exactly what you expected or wanted to happen. And now I want to take things further."

Mom nodded, looking a little relieved. Jeanine rubbed her tummy slowly. Was the show to end, then? Ha!

Saul just kept right on talking, in a low, steady voice that was hypnotic even to me. For my mother, who must be incredibly disoriented given what she'd been doing a little while before, I can see how it'd be awfully hard to say no. He was saying:

"I once heard something very wise. It was this: as we go through life, we are constantly doing things to other people, and other people do stuff to us. When we are doing the thing to another, we're responsible. But when something does something to us, it can't be our fault. Doesn't that should right? How can we be doing something wrong if we're not doing anything?"

Mom looked at Saul, ran her tongue over her lips, then nodded.

Saul let go of Mom's dress. But he put his hands on her hips and pulled her close. He leaned over and put his mouth up to her ear. I quickly ratcheted up the sensitivity of the microphones in the office. Didn't want to miss a thing.

"So if you just stand here and don't move, or sit on the couch and don't move, as long as you don't move or do anything, then anything that I do, that my mother here does can't be wrong. It can't be your fault. And since if you move, it would become your fault, then you should not resist what someone does to you, but you should accept it and enjoy it. Otherwise you are acting and then it's your fault."

As Saul spoke, in that same low, even voice, Jeanine reached around from behind and took over the job of dealing with Mom's dress. But this time she worked it top-down and in just a moment, the dress lay on the floor, leaving Mom naked except her Mom Classic: shiny blue panties. Loved 'em them, love 'em still. Easiest way for me to masturbate is wrap up the big fella in satiny blue panties. Always gets me.

Ahem. Sorry about that. I was supposed to be talking about my mother. Not me. That's private stuff.

So what did Mom think of Saul's speech and his hilariously twisted logic? It was kind of hard to tell. She had gone still. She looked into Saul's eyes, and if he moved, her eyes followed his. But beyond that she wasn't moving. Hey, but that's what she'd do if she agreed!

That's what Saul figured, too. He knelt before my mother and pressed his mouth up against her mound. Jeanine moved her hands back to Mom's breasts and pulled at the nipples, just a little roughly. Feeling jealous? 

Mom moaned loudly. Saul reached up, hooked his fingers inside Mom's panties, and pulled down.

Now she was completely naked and Saul got busy running his tongue up and down my own personal heaven on earth. I was really pissed that I'd already let myself cum. I wanted to still be feeling the anticipation, the build-up of pressure in my cock, instead of the cum drying on my leg. Why couldn't I have the self-control of that skinny monster there, fucking Saul.

And I had to give the guy credit. He was giving me a show that far surpassed anything I was hoping to see on this visit. 

With every stroke of Saul's tongue upwards, Mom's body stiffened, her legs shook, she cried out: "Aaaaah." Then she seemed to lose the ability to stay vertical, started to sag against Jeanine's hands, who managed to hold her up, but only barely. 

"Saul, honey, she's falling," Jeanine said quietly. He pulled his head away and looked up at my Mom curling over him, shaking and moaning.

"Let her down onto the chair." He held her legs and Jeanine pulled Mom back and gently laid her out on the chair. Saul pulled her legs apart and hooked them over the arms of the chair. 

And then there it was, in all its glory: Mom's cunt. There was a trim patch of hair, not enough to hide all the details of her beauty. The lips of her vagina glistened with moisture, and were spread slightly apart from all of Saul's tonguing. The nub of her clitoris was swollen and sticking out. Mom's pelvis moved forward and back, she seemed to be searching for something. Probably the tongue that just moments before had been licking her inside and out.

"I need to give you both a present for sucking my cock. And you, doc, you don't get my sperm. So Jeanine, take over for me," he nodded towards Mom. Jeanine immediately buried her face in Mom's crotch, which caused Mom to give out a satisfied "Ooooohhhhhh" and put her hands on Jeanine's head. Jeanine reached her hands up to grip Mom's thick, hard nipples, and twist. Mom arched her back in response. She was so gone. No more Dr. Brendil.

So there was Mom, sprawled out naked on the chair, with Jeanine in front of her, also naked, her ass fully exposed. And Saul looking down on the two of them, a satisfied smile on his face. 

"Mom gets my sperm, Mom gets my sperm," he said in a sing-songy voice, and then he knelt behind his mother and with one smooth stroke pushed into her cunt, all the way in, no resistance. Jeanine was pushed forward, hard against my mom. Mom pushed her cunt harder into Jeanine's mouth. Jeanine stroked in and out, up and down, sucked in Mom's juices. I could tell exactly when she flicked over Mom's clit, because then her whole body shuddered, and twitched up into Jeanine's mouth. Her hands ran incessantly through Jeanine's hair. It was clear she was heading quickly for a massive orgasm.

It was obvious to Saul, too. He started moving in and out of his mother with long, fast strokes. 

He gripped his mother's hips and pulled her back hard against his erection. Jeanine let out a hissing sound, went down on her hands and knees and went mostly still, head lowered, her ass squirming against her son's cock. Mom's eyes popped open and looked wild, lost, frantic, as her pelvis bounced around on the couch, searching for the tongue that had been inside her a moment ago.

"Doc," said Saul in a low, growly voice. "Doc, look at me. Look at me."

Mom focused in on Saul. Her hands went down to her cunt as if to cover herself, but then her fingers slid in and starting moving around. She definitely wanted satisfaction. 

"So now you can see, right, Dr. Brendil? My mother is a sexual being. She needs to give and receive, with her tongue, her cunt, her ass. I make that possible and she loves me for it. And you look like a sexual being, too. Are you a sexual being, Dr. Brendil?"

Mom nodded, caught up in Saul's gaze. It's not as though she were in a position to disagree. I could hear her fingers sloshing in and over her cunt. She squeezed her clit and groaned loudly.

Saul nodded. "Yes, you are, yes, you are. And I am glad we were able to help you see how things are, with us and with you. Should we finish this session, then, doctor?"

Mom groaned again, "Pleeeease, yessssss....."

Jeanine looked back at Saul. He smiled down on his mom and pushed forward with his pelvis. She got the message and moved her mouth back to cover my mother's opening. Jeanine's head moved up and down. Mom pushed herself up into Jeanine's mouth. Saul stroked long and deep. 

The office was silent except for grunts and moans and gasps and sighs. My mother moved her hands from Jeanine's head to her gorgeous breasts and pulled on the nipples. Saul stroked in and out of his mother with the sure movements of hours of practice. I felt a wave of dizziness came over me. I could barely believe that this was really happening. Surely it must be nothing more than a video from some porn site.

And then Mom opened her mouth wide and let loose with that high pitched keening sound that I'd heard when I was in Vegas. This was no movie. My mother was about to cum.

"Eeeeeeh, ungh, eeeeeahhh...." Her chest heaved, her nipples were bright red and stiff. She moved her feet up on the couch, so she could push harder into Jeanine's mouth. And then the orgasm hit her and she screamed as she flung her arms down to the couch to hold herself up, press against the mouth that was bringing her such pleasure. 

"Oh, yeah, doc, cum for me, yeah, yeah, yeah....argh, and here I cum!" shouted Saul, pressing his cock deep into his mother.

It must have been her training, but as soon as Saul started shooting his sperm deep into his mother, she stiffened, there on her hands and knees. She held herself perfectly rigid, as Mom pushed her cunt into this other mother's face and her son filled her up with cum. It was like she was being inflated with passion, getting fuller and fuller and fuller and...

And then Jeanine's back started to buck up and down, and a muffled "Ahhhh, ohhhhh," came out of her full mouth. It was her turn to cum.

I watched the three of them orgasm together and then slowly wind down and relax, first Saul pulling back, letting his softened cock fall between his mother's legs. Then Jeanine collapsing back, kneeling on her calves, head hanging low, panting.

And my mother, sprawled bonelessly out on the couch, head lolled over on one side, eyes closed, breathing rapidly, shivers animating her legs and arms and stomach, but seemingly unable otherwise to move. Glistening in the office lighting, bright and shiny from Jeanine's saliva and her own juices: my mother's cunt. Folds of soft flesh, a still swollen clit....so beautiful.

And so much closer to being filled by her son's hot stiffy. I had no doubt about that now. Mom had moved into a whole new world of sexuality in the last few weeks. Certainly getting it on with a patient showed that she was able to break down some pretty high, strong walls in her mind. I wasn't going to fool myself that it was all going to be easy from here.

But I knew deep in my testosterone soaked brain that she would soon be mine.





The Luckiest Guy in the World Ch. 03



Saul got up and stood behind his mother, looking down on the action with a benevolent expression on his face, as if to say: I did this, I made this happen, and everyone seems so happy.

Jeanine used her legs to pry Mom's legs apart and pulled up the bottom of the dress, revealing satiny blue panties. Pulling back, she knelt in front of the couch and pressed her mouth up against Mom's mound and started sucking. Mom's head whipped from side to side, as she murmured, "oh, oh, oh...."

Saul couldn't resist the sight of his mom's ass sticking out, so he knelt down and smoothly slid his once again hard cock into his mother. "Umph," grunted Jeanine, her mouth still busy. And even with Saul moving in and out her, she stayed focused. Reaching up and under Mom's ass, she pulled off the underwear and slid them down to and off Mom's ankles. Then she spread Mom's legs wide. 

And then there it was, in all its glory: Mom's cunt. There was a trim patch of hair and the lips of her vagina glistened with moisture. I could see the nub of her clitoris swelling into view. And then my view was obscured by Jeanine as she buried her tongue deep into Mom, who cried out "Oh, god, what am I doing? Oh god, oh god...."

Jeanine stroked in and out, up and down, sucked in Mom's juices. I could see exactly when she flicked over Mom's clit, because then her whole body shuddered, and twitched up into Jeanine's mouth. Her hands ran incessantly through Jeanine's hair. It was clear she was heading quickly for a massive orgasm.

It was obvious to Saul, too. He gripped his mother's hips and pulled her back hard against his erection. Jeanine let out a hissing sound, went down on her hands and knees and went mostly still, head lowered, her ass squirming against her son's cock. Mom's eyes popped open and looked wild, lost, frantic, as her pelvis bounced around on the couch, searching for the tongue that had been inside her a moment ago.

"Doc," said Saul in a low, growly voice. "Doc, look at me. Look at me."

Mom focused in on Saul. Her hands went down to her cunt, as if to cover herself, but then her fingers slid in and starting moving around. She definitely wanted satisfaction. 

"So now you can see, right, Dr. Brendil? My mother is a sexual being. She needs to give and receive, with her tongue, her cunt, her ass. I make that possible and she loves me for it. And you look like a sexual being, too. Are you a sexual being, Dr. Brendil?"

Mom nodded, caught up in Saul's gaze. It's not as though she were in a position to disagree. I could hear her fingers sloshing in and over her cunt. She squeezed her clit and groaned loudly.

"You are, yes, you are, I can see that. And you are naked, wet, and ready to be fucked. So, Dr. Brendil, I am going to fuck you while you bury your tongue in my mother's cunt. Will you do that? Will you let me slide my cock inside you? Will you suck on my mother until she comes and fills your mouth with her juices? If you do that for me, I will give you an orgasm you will never forget. Do we have a deal?"

As Saul was speaking, using a quiet, firm voice that brooked no opposition, Jeanine pulled away from him with a sigh and sat up on the couch next to my, spreading her legs wide.

Mom decided to agree to the deal with action, not words. She slid off the couch and turned around. 

From the author: I will leave it to your imagination from here.