What My Mother Needs

(c) 2023 by ThinkingMan

Synopsis - A mother is mind controlled to be an incestuous slave, and needs instructions for what her new role is to be. But what if her son/master is revolted by incest? This is an MC story with little to no actual sex and was begun as a horror story for Halloween examining how 'normal' people would respond to a family member being mind controlled, and how they might handle it. Please read the author's note before you decide whether to read and vote on this story!

* * *

Author's Note:

This story is probably not what you probably think it is. First, there is almost NO SEX which occurs "on screen." Second, no character in the story is pleased with the Mind Control elements in the story. It is about a wife and mother interrupted in the final stages of being mind-controlled by her father, and what the family goes through during and afterward. It does not go well for the mind-controller, the mind-controlled, or their family. Hope, memory, illusion, and the desire to restore the mother to her normal self have unintended consequences. The POV changes for a short time mid-story from the son's to the mother's POV, then the doctor's POV, then switches back to the son's POV for the rest of the story.

* * *

It was, it turns out, my grandfather who destroyed my mother, and, though I hate to admit it, I unknowingly helped. Who knew mind control was real, not just something from a bad television series?

About a week before it all started going to hell, Mom started acting in ways that were odd for her. Nothing we could put our finger on, Dad and I, but we both noticed. Mom was always a neat freak. When she stopped caring about the house, it was a huge red flag that something was wrong.

Mom sort of retreated into herself about then, too, seemingly distracted or preoccupied most of the time. This was also very unlike Mom, who had always been engaged and supportive of Dad and me on a continuous basis. Instead, she seemed to retreat into her bedroom more and more.

Dad and I grew more worried, as time passed, since she didn't snap out of it. Mom seemed to get even more confused and depressed every day. This was completely unlike her. The parts that scared us, truly scared us, were the first hints and then signs that Mom was getting desperate about something, but she would not, or could not, tell us what she was so upset about. She couldn't seem to admit that she was behaving strangely, and that was another signal flare that something was wrong.

About the middle of the third week, Mom disappeared. Vanished out of the house, I have no idea how long she was gone before I got home from school, and she was still gone when Dad got home from work. Of course, we called everyone we knew looking for her, not knowing what could have happened to her.

Mom did come home around midnight, finally, and we both noticed that she seemed more cheerful and focussed. She told us she had been at Grandad's house, which was odd, because his was one on the many numbers we'd called earlier, but there had been no answer. She said she did not know why we couldn't reach her there, and apologized for upsetting us.

"I am just feeling the need for more family time with my father," she said.

"Honey, just please answer the phone when we call. You just seemed to vanish, and that is never okay. Especially after the last few weeks! You don't know how worried we were for you. We were close to calling the police reporting you as missing! Are you able to tell us what's wrong?" Dad asked. He'd been a lot more concerned than I had, but hey, I'm eighteen and I still wasn't mature enough to really understand how many terrible things can happen. I certainly had no idea that what had actually happened was even possible!

"It must have been on silent," Mom said, pulling out her cell phone and looking at it carefully.

"Honey, we called your father's house phone, too. No answer," Dad shook his head.

"It... I don't know... I didn't hear it ring, either phone," Mom said. "My phone is not in airplane mode and the ringtone volume is on high. Huh," she said, looking at it doubtfully. "I see where you called, really, seven times? Call me now."

I pulled out my phone and called hers, which rang loudly in her hand.

"Huh," Mom said, looking at her phone as if it were annoying, then her face cleared and she brightly answered it, smiling widely, "Hi, son! How's my baby boy?" Then the smile left her face like it was switched off. She snatched the phone from her ear and thumbed the "End Call" icon on the screen.

Okay, first, what the fuck? 'Baby boy?' I'm sure that some kind of look showed on my face. She had never called me her baby boy, never, not once in my memory. She might have said it when I was an infant and so I can't remember that, but really, never call an eighteen-year-old man a 'baby boy.' It will not be received with any appreciation at all. If she had done that in public, especially in front of friends, it would be an unforgivable sin. No bueno. As it was, it was weird and embarrassing.

"I'm sorry, Miles. That wasn't as cute as I'd thought it would be," she said. She flushed with embarrassment, and pulled at the neck of her top to fan cool air, looking down. "I just can't seem to put a foot right, today. Forgive me?"

I nodded acceptance of the apology. This was more like Mom. Not that we ever needed to forgive her for anything often at all, but her caring and love showed through.

She looked back to Dad, and all that sort of dimmed, and she looked ill-at-ease. If I hadn't been watching her closely, I would have missed the subtle shift. And now we come to the second 'what the fuck?' I have watched my Mom and Dad together all my life. Mom always, always,

brightened

whenever she looked at Dad, like he was the light of her life. They loved each other so deeply that it showed all the time whenever they were around each other, even when they were irritated with each other, as happens in all relationships. The subtle change made my stomach lurch. Were Mom and Dad fighting, and I didn't know?

Then Mom hugged Dad, and the moment passed, but it left me wondering what was going on. She kissed him, then kissed him hard. "I'm so sorry, Andy! I didn't mean to scare you! I'll keep an ear out next time, okay?"

"If you do that, there won't be a next time," Dad laughed, throwing his head back and laughing as he hugged her. "I'm just glad you're home safe!"

"Well... um, I need to get some sleep," I said, turning for the stairs. "See y'all tomorrow!" Watching those two lovebirds would get a bit nauseating if I hung around. I heard Dad's "mmmmhh...," of acknowledgement as he kissed her. Yep, definitely time to leave. I love my parents but sheesh! Get a room, guys!

As I closed my bedroom door, I heard their voices talking in low tones. Well, at least Mom was back, even if she hadn't acted quite... right. Something was off, but it had been a long day, and I really had been worried, and I was tired. I didn't even read before crawling into bed and turning off the lamp.

* * *

As the next week passed, the oddnesses increased. Three days after Mom disappeared for a day, I heard something I had never heard before -- my parents arguing in their bedroom. Alarmed, I went downstairs and found Mom putting a blanket and pillows on the couch.

"Mom?"

Mom froze in mid-smooth of the blanket, and then she turned to me with a wide smile. "My baby!" she cried and hugged me.

Why did she use that word again? I'm fucking eighteen, not a baby! Didn't she realize that was insulting? And why was she hugging me so close? I stepped back and looked at her. "I heard you and Dad arguing. What's going on?"

"Ohhh, well... that's kind of private," she said, red-faced.

"Mom, the two of you were

arguing

. Out loud. I heard you. You're making Dad a bed on the couch! You've been acting weird for weeks, now. What is going on?"

Mom sat down and looked at me soberly. "I... know. I've been... going through some things. Maybe it's the change of life. I don't know." Suddenly she was sobbing. "I don't know what's wrong with me!" she sobbed quietly, tears running down her face. Shit. I hugged her to show my concern, love, and willingness to help.

"Uh... Mom, I'm sorry. It's just... well, something is wrong and I'm worried." She seemed to bounce emotionally from one state to another. Maybe it

was

her change of life? She did seem kind of hormonal, maybe?

"I... know, ba- ... Miles, sorry." Mom corrected herself. "You're at the age where saying that's insulting. Well you are not alone! Every other male human on the planet your age or older has had to live with their mother using terms of endearment that they feel they've outgrown. Too bad. Get used to it." Mom smiled sympathetically. "I'm trying to not step on your feelings, but, well, I don't think I can keep from doing it from time to time. 'Sorry about that, chief!'" she grinned, and I recognized the reference to an old TV show she watched when she was young. It was like she was on stable ground again, back to her happy, normal self. I wasn't fooled.

"I know," I sighed, "and I bet every mother has had to try to not use outgrown names with their kids at some point. But, really,

try

to keep that to a very

private

minimum, okay?"

Mom's breath caught, then she laughed. "I'll try if you'll try to be more okay with it in... private."

The way she said 'private' was... off somehow, but I didn't know how. "Besides," she said, "this isn't for your Dad, it's for me. It's... my fault, not his. Don't worry, I'm sure this rough spot will all be over soon."

I looked at her. My parents never argued. Never. Fussed a bit, got irritated sometimes, but I had never heard them argue before. "What... what happened?"

"Oh, I just... I find I'm not in the mood."

"Uh, Mom, you're on the

couch

. 'Not in the mood'?"

Mom sighed. "Like I said, I think I'm going through the change of life. When that happens, you can lose interest in making love. That's bad, because your father and I love each other very much, and we show each other that a lot. In bed, I mean. Anyway, it is starting to become a relatively long time since your father and I... and well, I'd be cranky if our situations were reversed. Hah! I'd be a bitch, is what I'd be! Your father is just a little frustrated. It

is

putting a definite crimp in our style. But our disagreement really isn't his fault."

"He's making you sleep on the couch?!"

"Uh, no, that's me again. I just... need to sleep in here." She looked sad, then brightened. "But you can hang out down here with me for a while, right? I don't... I'm not ready to sleep, yet."

I wasn't ready for bed, either, and at least she was talking. Maybe She'd tell me what was wrong if we continued.

It was at that point Mom took over the conversation and grilled me about school, and was I seeing anyone I hadn't told her about yet, and if I was finding it difficult as a new college student. We talked for about an hour, just like old times. I told her I was between girlfriends still, but was considering a young lady in my English class who had caught my eye. As I described her to Mom, she seemed to get happier and happier, but occasionally there would be a look that crossed her face amongst the looks of encouragement and love that seemed kind of sad. Well, I guess I'm no longer her baby, but almost fully grown, and that had to be difficult for parents, especially Moms.

It occurred to me that Belinda, the object of my recent and nascent interest, looked kind of like my mother in a general way. I guess I'm one of those guys who want a girl just like the girl who married dear old Dad. Mom has always been such a great mother to me and wife to Dad, and, well, I wanted something as good as they have. Of course, I hadn't even spoken to Belinda much at all yet, so I don't even know if her personality is actually at all close to Mom's, but I had hopes.

As I was reflecting on this, I was disturbed to notice that Mom was looking... shit, those were her nipples! She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, and holy mother of God, her pajamas showed a damp spot! I freaked out a bit.

Mom looked down and immediately got embarrassed. She pulled the blanket over herself and I heard her mutter something about hormones. "Ba-... Sweetheart, I'm sorry. That was so inappropriate. I think I'll see my doctor tomorrow. This is causing too many problems!"

I hate feeling stupid, which is how I felt for overreacting to something that, frankly, I shouldn't really have even noticed. Bodies do weird and unexpected things sometimes, and being 'judgy' about that was uncool. I'd seen lots of guys and girls have reactions like that, and knew that the physical reaction didn't always mean what it might seem to imply! For instance, teasing a guy for getting an erection in math class said much more about the teaser than the teased, and actually just demonstrated that the teaser was an asshole -- I'd learned that lesson pretty thoroughly in school.

"Uh, yeah, Mom," I said, getting up from my seat, "good idea. I do understand hormones making people crazy!" God knew the last few years had been both fun and painful for me to discover how teenage hormones can complicate our lives. Was she going through something similar? Was she going through the female version of getting instant, aching boners for no reason and weird mood swings? Maybe so. I thought I'd heard that males and females had peaks at different times of their lives. That might make sense of all of this. I smiled and turned for the stairs. "Well, bedtime for me," I said "'Night, Mom!"

I did not turn around to look at Mom as I left, so as not to embarrass her further. After being pretty relentlessly teased as a kid about yet another inappropriate boner, I didn't want her to feel bad about an uncontrollable biological surprise annoyance.

It was awfully quiet below as I hit the top of the stairs and headed for my room. It didn't take me long to get into some shorts and crawl into bed.

* * *

The next morning when I went sown to breakfast -- Mom fixes excellent breakfasts as well as dinners, by the way, she is an excellent cook and loves to feed us well -- I found Dad sitting at the table at an empty spot. I was surprised to find my own plate piled high with steaming blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs, with a cup of coffee just like I like it, and a large glass of orange juice.

"Hey, Dad! How is it?" I asked, mostly to be polite and make conversation, and figuring he'd already had his breakfast.

"You'll have to tell me," he said in a slightly strained voice that tried to sound amused.

"Huh?" I was brought up a bit short.

"It looks like you're the one with all the food," Dad said.

"You haven't already eaten?" I asked. "Mom? Why didn't you feed Dad if you're making breakfast?"

Mom turned around with a brilliant smile for me. "Good morning, Ba- uh, Miles! What were you saying? My mind was somewhere else."

I pointed at the over-bountiful breakfast in front of me, and asked "Why didn't you feed Dad?"

"Oh, I'll feed him later," Mom assured me.

"Uh, Mom, he goes to work in less than half an hour," I reminded her, and I think you've kind of hurt his feelings."

"What? Daddy isn't even here..." Mom stopped short, mouth open.

"

My

Dad, the man you married, not

your

Dad, Mom. Besides, I've never heard you call Grandad 'Daddy' before!" As I said the first part, I indicated Dad sitting across the table from me. He was looking very concerned and very sad.

"Oh my God! Andy! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there!" exclaimed Mom.

"Sweetheart, we were talking three minutes ago as you were making breakfast for, uh, Miles."

"Did you want to eat? I can make something...."

"Well, dear, yes, that would be lovely," he said, looking at her oddly.

Mom went back to the stove and started working again, and he turned to me. "Really, we've been talking almost the whole time I've been in here." His eyebrows quirked. "Did you not

want

to fix breakfast for me, dear? I mean, if you don't, I could just pick up something on the way to work...."

"No, no, just give me two minutes," Mom said, pouring a beaten bowl of eggs into the skillet, where they began to cook quickly.

I shrugged, and started eating. Cold eggs and pancakes are a lot less tasty. Dad shrugged and smiled to me.

After a minute, Mom finished up and brought Dad his plate. Of eggs. Just eggs. Slimy-looking half-cooked eggs that had somehow also been burnt. I pulled off my top two pancakes and put them on his plate next to the eggs and passed the syrup. "Thank you, Miles," Dad said.

"Coffee, Mom?"

"Next to your juice, dear."

"What... uh, Mom, I meant for Dad."

"Why would I make Daddy coffee now?" Mom puzzled.

I glanced at Dad. She'd done it again. When I talked about Dad, my Dad, she seemed to automatically think of her Dad, and called him Daddy. My dad was shaking his head in disbelief.

I'd had enough of whatever game my mother was playing. It was cruel and meanspirited, which was weird because I had thought all my life that my mother didn't have a mean bone in her body. "Mom!" I said sharply and she looked at me, startled. "Stop being a shit to Dad -- my Dad, not yours. Really, as if anyone would believe that you just forgot he was there and cooked a full breakfast for me and nothing for him, and then just poorly-cooked eggs that look terrible when you do make something. Look at these, Mom! Now look at my Dad's. See how different they are? I'm going to give you the same speech you gave me when I wasn't fair with my friends when I was a kid -- it is mean, small-spirited, and behavior unworthy of him, of you, and of me. Didn't your parents teach you better?"

"Miles!" Dad snapped.

I was certain that my reaction was perfectly appropriate. "It's true, Dad. Whatever the problem is between you, acting like a shit is not acceptable. You both taught me that. The two of you should go to therapy."

Mom was crying, the tears streaming down her face. She looked at Dad, and said, "I'm sorry, Andy. I don't know what's wrong with me!" I felt bad, but still justified.

"Mother, I

know

that you know better. You taught me better.

What is going on?

" Mom hung her head lower.

Dad glanced at the clock, and started eating quickly. He shook his head at his plate and focussed on the pancakes. The eggs Mom had made for him did not look edible, let alone tasty. I passed him my coffee and juice, then went to get a cup and a glass and poured more for myself.

Mom still hadn't looked up. She looked so very despondent that I began to feel guilty, but I felt like I shouldn't be any easier on her. Finally, she said in a small voice, "I don't know what's wrong with me, really, I don't. I'm going to see the doctor today. Maybe she'll know. I... I'm not thinking and feeling right, and I know it. I'm trying to... it's like... things keep disappearing in my head, and other things pop in. It feels... confusing." She looked up to Dad. "Andy, I'm so sorry. Let me make you a real breakfast! I didn't really

mean

to serve you that crap," she indicated the somehow-runny burned scrambled eggs.

"I have to leave for work, dear. And you know, while this is the worst breakfast you ever made for me, every other meal you ever made for me was delicious, so one poor one out of many thousands is certainly better than could ever be expected! My love, I hope the doctor can help! You've been so very unhappy the last few days, and I just want you back to your normal, happy self!" He kissed her cheek and said, "I've really got to go, now!" He drank the last of his coffee and moved out in a no-nonsense way.

Mom had flinched a bit when Dad kissed her cheek, and I only saw it because I was watching closely, something that I obviously had to do to gather clues. Something was much more wrong than just hormones, I was certain. If it were just hormones, she'd have been all over Dad the last few days, wouldn't she? But she seemed to actively dislike Dad now. And she didn't seem to know why.