"See you tonight, Jake," my mom called, her heels clacking on the hardwood as she smoothed her blazer in the hall mirror. She was a fucking goddess--43, but built like a porn star begging to be unleashed. Her navy pencil skirt gripped her wide hips, the back slit flashing meaty thighs that jiggled with every step, and her white blouse was a battlefield, buttons straining against her monstrous tits, threatening to pop and spill her flesh for the world to drool over. She managed some MNC, all corporate queen energy, but to me, she was a walking fetish I'd only recently embraced--a filthy obsession that consumed me whole.
It started a few months ago, just after I turned 18. I was home alone, restless and horny, when I found a pair of her black thongs in the bathroom hamper--crusty with discharge, reeking of her pussy and sweat. I locked the door, pressed them to my face, and inhaled like a junkie snorting his first line. The scent hit me like a freight train--raw, musky, intoxicating--and my cock throbbed harder than it ever had. I wrapped those filthy scraps around my shaft and jerked off right there, imagining her wearing them, her juices soaking through as she bent over, teasing me with that fat ass. That was it--I was hooked, a slave to her stink.
From then on, I raided her laundry weekly, stealing whatever I could get my hands on: satin bikinis, cotton briefs, lace G-strings--all drenched in her musk and slime. I'd stash them under my bed, a growing pile of her unwashed filth, and jerk off into them night after night. I pictured her catching me, her eyes widening as she saw me huffing her sweaty drawers, then bending over, spreading herself wide while I buried my face in her crotch. The thought of her knowing what a depraved pervert her son had become--and maybe even loving it--made me cum buckets.
I got bolder with time. One night, I stretched a pair of her soaked yoga panties over my face, the crotch plastered to my nose, and humped my pillow like a rabid dog, her dried juices smearing my lips. The terror of her busting in, seeing me like that, only fueled the rush. She never did, but the risk made every orgasm a mind-blowing explosion. Now, at 19 and unemployed, I had endless hours to dive deeper into my twisted hobbies. I'd always been a tech geek, and recently, I'd built a nano-bot chip--a little bastard that could possess bodies and bend minds. It was my golden ticket to turn my sick fantasies into reality.
"Later, Mom," I said, cool as ice, leaning on the kitchen counter with a smirk she didn't catch. My hand was in my pocket, stroking the dart gun--my master key to her body. I'd upgraded it last month: no timer, no limits, just pure, unfiltered possession for as long as I damn well pleased. I'd wanted her since that first whiff of her cunt turned me into a drooling, panty-sniffing freak, and now she was mine.
She grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and headed out. I drew the gun, aimed, and fired. The dart nailed her neck--a tiny speck she swatted as the nanochip sank in. She stepped outside, and bam--one blink, I wasn't me anymore. I was her, strutting in those heels, her pantyhose rasping against her sweaty thighs, her bra digging into her shoulders under those heavy, luscious tits.
"Fuck yes," I growled, her voice dripping with sex, low and throaty. I stopped, turned back, and leered at my reflection in the car window--her reflection. Angular cheekbones, red-slicked lips, dark hair pulled tight in a bun. I ran her hands down her curves, squeezing her ass through the skirt, feeling the firm flesh yield under my grip. "Mom, you're a walking cum factory, you filthy bitch," I snarled, licking her lips in the glass. "I'm gonna make you my nasty little plaything."
First move: ditch work. I yanked her phone from her purse and dialed her office. "Hey, Karen," I said, nailing her sharp, bitch-boss tone. "It's Lisa. I'm fucked--flu or some shit. Out all week. Yeah, sucks, right? Email the reports, I'll handle 'em from home. Thanks, babe." I hung up, grinning wide. "Sick? Only sick in the fucking head. Time to get dirty, you corporate slut."
I swaggered back inside, locking the door behind me. My old body was slumped on the couch--drooling, useless, a pathetic shell. "Sweet dreams, you limp-dick fuckface," I sneered, kicking it as I passed. I beelined for her bedroom, her shrine of stench and sin. The air was thick with her--perfume, sweat, pussy juice--a cocktail that made my borrowed cunt twitch. I kicked off her heels, her stockinged feet sinking into the carpet, and faced the full-length mirror, drinking her in with her own eyes.
"Look at this nasty fucking slut," I purred, her voice a wet, sultry dream. "Hey, Jake, you perverted little shit, been drooling over Mommy's body, huh? Sniffing my crusty panties since you turned 18, you disgusting creep?" I hiked the skirt up slow, flashing her pantyhose and black lace panties, soaked through with her sweat and slime. "You wanna ram your cock in me, don't you, you sick fuck? Want Mommy to spread her legs and grind her dripping cunt on your face? I'm all yours now, you panty-huffing degenerate." I groped her tits through the blouse, twisting her nipples until they hardened, pain and pleasure mixing in her gasp. "Come fuck me raw, Jake. Mommy's pussy's aching for her nasty boy--gonna drown you in my hot, sticky juice."
I ripped the blouse open, buttons pinging across the room, her tits bursting free in a black satin bra, the lace biting into her pale flesh. I tore it off, clutched it to her face, and snorted deep--her sweat, her perfume, a sour tang of armpit musk flooding my senses. "Oh fuck, Mom," I moaned, her voice trembling with lust. "You smell like a goddamn whorehouse. Wore this yesterday, didn't you? Sitting in meetings, soaking your panties while I jerked off to your stink at home?" I dropped the bra, still high on her stench, and spun back to the mirror.
Time to play. I yanked the skirt down, letting it pool at her ankles, and stood there in her pantyhose and lace panties, her fat ass jiggling free. I grabbed one of her tits with her left hand, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh hard, feeling it spill between her fingers--mine to command. With her right hand, I reared back and slapped her ass, the crack echoing like a gunshot. The sting shot through her, my phantom cock twitching as I watched her reflection flinch. "Take it, you dirty sow," I snarled in her voice, spanking her again, harder, the flesh blooming pink. I locked eyes with her in the mirror--her face, my power--cheeks flushed, lips parted, a puppet dancing on my strings. "Look at you, Mom, you fucking slut," I hissed, smacking her ass again, her tit bouncing in my grip. "Jake's owning you now, you sweaty, dripping bitch. Been dreaming of this--spanking your nasty ass raw while I choke your cunt with my dick." Another slap, her skin burning under my hand, sweat beading on her thick thighs. "You're my toy, you juicy whore--gonna bruise this fat ass till you scream for mercy, but I won't stop, you sick pervert's wet dream." I kept going, alternating cheeks, her flesh quaking, my grip on her tit tightening as I leered at her submission--her own son, her fucking god now.
One hand still mauling her breast, I slid the other down from her stinging ass, clawing at her crotch through the pantyhose. "You love this, you filthy fucking whore," I snarled, rubbing her clit raw, feeling it swell under my touch. "Your fucked-up son pawing you, making you gush like a slut in heat. Nasty pig." The pantyhose were drenched, her body begging for more, and I gave it to her, grinding harder as her grunts filled the room.
"Gotta see the prize," I said, peeling the skirt fully off her hips. It hit the floor, leaving her in pantyhose and those black lace panties I'd jacked off to a thousand times. I slid them down slow, drooling over the soaked crotch--dark, sticky, a puddle of her juice and sweat. I dangled them in her face, cackling like a maniac. "Check this, Mom. You're a fucking fountain for me, you sloppy bitch." I smeared the wet patch across her lips, then jammed them in her mouth, sucking hard. Sour, salty, rancid--her pussy juice and sweat coated her tongue as I chewed the lace. "Mmm, fuck yes," I groaned, muffled by the fabric. "You taste like a used cumrag, Mom. Wanna choke on my cock while I finger your tight little shithole?" I gnawed the panties, her fingers plunging into her bare cunt, sloppy and loud, slime dripping down her thighs like a river of sin.
The laundry basket was a pervert's paradise--days of her unwashed filth, ripe and begging to be defiled. I stumbled over, panties still gagging her, and dove in. I pulled out gray yoga pants, the crotch a swamp of sweat and juice, and a pair of white cotton panties--crusty with discharge, drenched in her musk. I held them up, grinning like a psycho. "All those months sneaking these, shitting myself you'd catch me," I said, her voice thick with twisted glee. "Hiding them under my bed, sniffing in the dark, terrified you'd bust in and see me with your sweaty panties plastered to my face. But now? I'm you, Mom. No one to catch me, no one to get caught--just us, wallowing in this sick fucking mess." That hit me hard--her and me, fused in perversion, no boundaries left. I lost it, slamming the yoga pants to her face, crotch over her nose, and snorted like a starving pig, then mashed the cotton panties against her mouth, huffing both. "No more hiding, Mom--gonna drown in your nasty stink!" I roared, sniffing so deep I gagged, her filth choking me as I rubbed her pussy raw, her juices slicking my fingers.
