Bratty Hypnosis

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

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Bratty Hypnosis

Chapter One

Mike tossed and turned in bed, groaning as something roused him. But he was having such a nice dream that he clung to it desperately, whimpering into the so very soft pillows as the image of the blonde woman slipped from his mind. Thick and heavy with the largest breasts he could have ever imagined, she stepped back and back and back from him, pink fog swirling around her as if she was a sprite or nymph of raw and ardent sexuality snatched straight up from his wildest sexual fantasies.

And yet the knocking continued, rousing his tousled, brown hair from the pillow, blinking in a state of being half-awake, loathe to let go of his dream just yet. The best, after all, was yet to come as the sexy woman, older than him, removed the blonde wig with a flourish, revealing long, straight, dark brown hair that was reminiscent of his own. There were similarities too in how her cheekbones rounded out softly, eyes dancing, lips puckered as if they were waiting for someone to kiss them. He'd never wear make-up like that, however, but he knew her as well as he knew himself, gasping as the last vestiges of the dream tore from his wanton fingertips as much as he tried to claw them back.

Yet he knew her and could not deny that as he stretched out his hand to her in the realm of dreamland, wanting and craving something that simply was no longer his to take. His mouth opened and closed but she floated, tits disappearing into the dream-like mist from which she had been born.

His mother.

"Surprise," she whispered even as she drifted away. "I would have made all your dreams come true..."

And, thus, Mike woke and groaned, rolling over in bed as he blinked and came back to some sense of his surroundings. It was not the room that he would have liked to wake up in but that didn't seem to be a choice that was in his control to make as laughter rang up to his window, the doorbell going off and off and off as if it was being pressed repeatedly by a child.

"Who the hell is here at this time?" He grumbled, showing his age (older than his years, in fact) as he shoved his feet into his slippers, not bothering to cover his pyjamas with anything else as he clomped noisily downstairs. "God-fricking-damn-it all!"

He growled and grumbled and chundered to himself as he opened the door, fumbling for the key and dropping it in his haste to try to work out just what was going on. And, still, someone squealed and wailed from the front garden, although he could at least say that it no longer seemed as if they were hammering and pounding on his front door. Whether that was a blessing or not remained to be seen, however.

The door swung open and it took him a moment to understand just what he was seeing, eyes focusing in the dim light. In the distance, a dog barked, yanking a chain in a garden that it should not have been tied in, the floodlight illuminating a streak of his garden down to the hedge that gave him some privacy from the main road and passer-bys, although what he found there was not what he expected.

"What... Mom?"

For it was his very own mother, the woman he had just been dreaming about, who sat with her legs spread in the middle of his garden, plonked down as if she belonged there, eyes wide and childlike, fingers pressed to her lips. She giggled through her fingers, hair clinging to her face and the back of her neck, but there was nothing that was normal about her in a skirt and low-cut top that showed off her massive cleavage. A heavier woman, her breasts hung low even with that support, more than one man could handle one at a time, and he caught his breath, eyes dropping right where they were not supposed to go. Toy cars were scattered around her in stark, bright primary colours and she squealed delightedly, picking one up and zooming it through the air as if it had suddenly grown wings or become an aeroplane, blowing raspberries through fat lips that had rubbed off most of their lipstick. Standing with the toy car in her hand, she squeaked at him, dropping it, though she had clearly already spotted him as she struggled to remain upright, off-balance and needing some manner of support even though there was nothing there in the middle of his grassy front lawn.

"Hiiii, Miiiikeeyyyy!"

He blinked but the swaying figure of his mother, giggling like a fool, was hard to ignore as she posed before him, a leg lifted as if to show off something. Was she drunk? Of course, she had to be drunk but to act like that in front of her own son... Growling in the back of his throat, he fought down the urge of lust rising within him, fighting it back and back and back - back to the dark part of his psyche where it belonged.

No. Not this time. He couldn't. He knew he couldn't.

"Mom, what's happened?"

But he already knew what had happened - or, at least, he thought he did. She was drunk, she'd been out on the town, she'd gone right off and had herself a jolly old time and it wasn't even Christmas party season yet. What that boded for the coldest months of the year, however, he didn't want to think about as his mother, Rachel, spun and kicked her cars, squealing as if it was the best thing in the world, a child at heart living more simply than would have otherwise have been usual for her. Whereas that in itself was not a bad thing, he cursed under his breath, glancing up and down what little he could see of the street beyond the hedge, heart pounding and throat tightening. No one could see her like this.

But that meant... He swallowed, or at least tried to, the lump in his throat growing like some other part of his body.

Oh no.

And yet it had to be done if he was to play something of the part of the dutiful son, looking after his dear, old mother in her time of need. He had to care for her and he knew he'd have to push his own kinky needs aside, looking at her as someone that was off-limits, so to speak, as hard as that was in a moment where a weaker man may well have been easily placed to take unfair advantage of her.

"Mom... Mom, you can't be here like this, come on, you have to get up. Come on, mom, on your feet... Chop-chop?"

As if that was going to work but he had to try anything that came to mind, puffing out air as his cheeks inflated, eyes wide and strained. Just what was he meant to do when she was down on the ground like that, ignoring him completely and putting way too much on show that a son with his secret was comfortable with?

"Mom..." He pushed her shoulder as she looked up, legs spread and a little of her panties on show. "Mom... Mom, get up. Come on. You've got to get up, get to bed. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Whaaaat?"

Staring at him with wide eyes, there was not a hint of comprehension in her face as she looked him over, head moving as if she could not just move her eyes. What was up with that? And yet Mike still did not realise as he tried to push down his desire to do terrible, terrible things to her in such a state, knowing that it would all come back on him negatively in the end. Perhaps it was selfish for him to think of himself like that rather than her but, well, whatever got him through the moment was the thing that he was going to latch onto one way or another.

It was only then that he realised that things were even worse, her dress sagging around her huge tits, torn down the middle. The smallest wrong move would lead to her breasts popping out and it was at the very moment that that thought crossed his mind that the unspeakable happened, the dress giving up as she toppled forward, on her knees and whimpering, big, fat tears streaming down her face as she howled and blubbered.

"Wahhh! Wahhhhh! Miiiiiike! Miiiiiiike, help meeeee!"

"Mom!"

He lunged for her, hands fluttering, but he couldn't exactly shove her breasts back into her dress - the fabric was done for! Uselessly, Mike hovered and swallowed a curse, expecting even after the years had passed for her sharp tongue to whip out and tell him what for if he dared speak out of turn, breath catching in his throat. He had to do right by her even if it was difficult and, well, he could not have said either that they'd had the best kind of relationship in his younger years, his childhood years. It made things all the more difficult as he hushed her and grabbed her shoulders, one of the only safe places to grab as she slouched and slumped on the ground, cheeks wet and lips slick with similar moisture.

"Mom, will you tell me what happened? Come on, come on, let's get you inside."

But Rachel was hardly compliant or helpful in the slightest as she lumbered, shorter than him but several times wide, her thick form the base of so many fantasies and yet not what he wanted right then and there. He shrank from her fat tears and pursed his lips, still looking around and around as if he expected the head of a neighbour to pop up over the hedge at any moment, demanding to know what he was doing out there with his mother as such a time of night. Of course, no one but he knew about his secret fetish, his fantasies running amok in the privacy of his home, but he would feel the same shame from it, cheeks heating at the mere thought. The responsibility of it all weighed heavily on him but he couldn't form the words to ask her what was happening, what was going on, trying to face her and failing dismally as she let out an ear-splitting squeal, upset coursing through her. Why she was upset, however, he could not say and no amount of begging had begotten him any sensible words from her thus far.

"H-h-he said I should give you-u-u this," she whined, barely able to form the words as he hauled her up, his mother leaning heavily on his shoulder. "The hypno said I'm a big-titty bitch, a spoiled, big titted bitch!"

The clarity with which those words came out shocked him and he hesitated, staring at her. What the hell was that all about? She'd been to a hypnosis thing or what? What was Rachel, his mother, to be saying things like that? He gulped and shook his head, but it was too hard to swallow, trying not to look at her breasts spilling heavily through the front of her dress, over the torn top. They were still contained, barely, but her brassiere, but even the fabric of that was torn, exposing a pert, pink nipple that some part of him still longed to lock his lips around and suck as if his life depended on it.

Taking a shuddering breath, he dragged his eyes away.

"What? Mom, what happened to you? What's this about a hypnotist? What do you mean?"

"He... He..."

And then there was a crumpled up wad of paper in his hand that he smoothed out against his thigh with difficulty, juggling between the tasks of trying to work out what was happening and look after his mother. But it was just as well that he found the strength of presence to read it when he did for it was that very note that was set to change the course of his life forever.

All would come clear in time as he learned about the depths and intricacies of hypnosis but Mike had to read first, peering at the note in the dim light as he worked out just a little of what had come to be that fateful night.

"You've been controlled your whole life, Mike," he read aloud, mouth dry and eyes wide. "Now, it is your turn to control her. If she has behaved like a brat, let her be one."

It was not signed but it did not have to be as he gulped and shoved it into his pocket, blood roaring between his ears. It was entirely the wrong moment for adrenaline to kick in but he had to haul her, heave her, get her into the house at all costs, doing all that was needed to seclude his now brat of a mother away from the wider world of humanity.

His heart pounded as he rested her in the front hallway, the small house suitable for a bachelor male but not anyone much more than that. A complete mess, just setting her down there knocked over a stack of magazines that he kept meaning to throw out but, truth be told, he was rather a bit too lazy to actually get done the things that needed doing. It was something that his mother had always gone on at him about in his younger years and, well, maybe her lectures and scolding had merely sent him off in the wrong direction rather than down the path of a neat and tidy and virtuous life. A neat-freak, most certainly, he was not.

"Okay, mom... So, were you at a hypnosis show tonight? Was it the thing with work?"

Rachel nodded quickly, eyes shining. Somehow, her tears had already dried up, her mood changing so quickly that it was hard to keep up with.

"Yes, yes, yes! Good show! Like show - handsome man!"

He flinched. That wasn't a word that she would have usually have used for herself when speaking about a man or anyone else for that matter and, if it was true that she was acting under the influence of hypnosis rather than alcohol, it would stand to reason that the phrase had been planted there by the hypnotist himself. But how had the hypnotist, whether they were a man or a woman, known that Mike had been shamed and controlled by her his whole life? That one, at least, was a mystery not to be solved that night.

Either way, he had to get her to bed and to sleep off whatever it was: she would be better in the morning. That was what he had to tell himself against all odds, pursuing the thought that everything would be okay if only he could do that one thing. Yet for a man like him, looking for a simpler sort of life, that was a tall order in itself as he sighed and grunted, trying to lug her up the stairs like a bag. Squealing, Rachel kicked out, slamming chubby, balled-up hands like the bratty girl that the hypnotist, apparently, had said she was.

"Nooooo, I don't wanna!"

"Well, you're going to have to, mom."

He gritted his teeth. It was now or never, he had to do it, had to take control, even if it was only for her good. But he had never before been the person who'd had to take care of others on a night out and had no prior experience to lean back on as she wailed and moaned and thrashed, the weight of her too much for him to force his way through. Brute force and what little, weaselly, strength he had wasn't going to get him anywhere as he swore and made a face, Rachel squealing and squeaking and making all manner of noises that did not sound at all like they should have been coming from human lips.

"Mom... Mom, what can I do to get you upstairs? You have to go to sleep! It's going to be so much better in the morning, for god's sake, please believe me!"

Ah, desperation was a fickle thing and not one that was going to get him in anyone's good books as the childlike woman before him frowned, lips shivering as if they were sealing a wail back behind them. But she didn't have the same concerns in her life anymore and neither did she care all that much what Mike did or did not think of her, folding her arms petulantly over her tits - not that it did any good - and pushing out her bottom lips stubbornly.

"No... No sleep! No wanna! No, no more clothes! No clothes!"

That was worse than not getting her upstairs at all as Mike was forced to watch his mother stripping down, tearing and yanking at her clothes to get them off as if she didn't know how they were even supposed to come off. Her dress squirmed down around her waist and she heaved for breath as she tried to step out of it, toppling and teetering against the hallway wall, stairs still looming before them: another challenge that was going to be more difficult than expected to merely get her up them. And yet he could not drag his eyes from her, moaning softly in the back of his throat as he looked her over, boobs revealed as, somehow, she managed to unhook it off her shoulders, shoving it away with a little grunt that maybe was from satisfaction. He wasn't really thinking about who she was and how she was feeling at that time, her comfort or anything of that nature, only how he could get more from her, see more, drink in what he had so resolutely denied himself since his sexual awakening.

He should have looked away, he knew that. But people didn't always do what they were supposed to do and that was fair enough too, even if not all that much of a reason to play out in his mind. Hungry for more and blushing heavily, a creeping sort of heat racing down his neck in crude patches, Mike watched and watched as more of her body was revealed, curvaceous and plump, her thighs thick as she finally managed to get the dress down them. If she had indeed been hypnotised, she at least had some measure of adult motor control left, for he could not imagine a youngster (one that she was acting like) being able to do the same - yet what did he know of kids?

His mind wandered, imagining running his fingers down and around his mother's sensually thick thighs, spreading them for his tongue and the sweetness of his mouth. She'd be wet, oh, he knew she would, and he wanted to taste that for himself, groaning and grunting - it was not as if she was going to stop him - as her underwear too eased down her legs in jerks and starts, clumsy fingers working away. Rachel huffed and puffed and made out that the whole thing was an awful lot more effort than it strictly had to be but he was not one to mind even at that time of night as he drooled over her, embarrassed to watch and embarrassed not to. There was no right answer to the question posed before him and, sighing, he ran his fingers back through his hair, mussing up the strands that desperately needed a trim further still.

"Is that done now, mom? Are you ready to go to bed?"

What a strange question to be asking a woman standing in the shreds of her clothing but it really was not as if he would have done it for himself. Laziness was Mike's motto and, well, even Rachel could not drag something more alluring out of him. What was he supposed to do but the right thing and he still hoped against hope that he could pack her off to bed and see that everything would then be okay in the morning. It may have been a futile hope but, as overwhelmed as he was, it was all he could do as the sole option presented itself to him.

"Now, Rachel? Mom?" He tried both manners of addressing her. "Let's go to bed, you'll feel so much better."

Rachel laughing and flung her arms out, drawing his eyes to her breasts once again. Truly, they were hard to miss.

"Now?"

His lips pressed together into a thin, hard line.

"Now!"

She giggled, fingers pressed, trembling, to her lips. Wriggling her hips back and forth, the grown woman swayed and rotated, fat jiggling as if to lure him in.

"I wanna go bed now, Mikey. Mikey take me to bed?"

"Yeah..."

He didn't really think anything of it, shutting off his feelings and locking them down deep, only wanting the night to end, the horniness of it all to simmer back down to something manageable. Just how he was supposed to do anything, much less play by the straight and narrow, when his mother was naked before him was beyond him, fingers twitching as he pointed up the stairs. The clothes would have to wait until the morning.

"Uh... Come on, Rachel."

He tried to think about it as if he was speaking to a child, although he'd not been a man who'd been looking for a family and didn't have many cousins either. His brother had a young daughter but they hadn't trusted him with her for good reason. He'd always been known for dropping footballs and smashing mugs and no one was about to trust him with precious cargo in his arms when his clumsy nature was all too well-known. When she'd grown to toddler age, he hadn't really spent much time with her then anyway, uncomfortable around kids that were prone to mood swings and temper tantrums, spoiled and noisy. Which only made things all the worse for him when it came to the necessity of caring for his mother as she wobbled and wiggled before him, his words simply not hitting home.