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,
