Chapter 1: Home Again

At the start of every long bus ride I can’t wait for it to be over. Halfway through, with my notebook sitting on my lap, the rest of the world may or may not exist. I’m a good chunk into the next chapter of my story, and I’ve lost track of everything else. Writing smut in public, surrounded by so many people is always a thrill… but right now it’s just sensible.

I don’t want people to forget about me while I’m on break. Even if I’m going to be staying with my mom for a bit, it isn’t like I don’t have a laptop so I can keep everything discreet.

Being a lesbian was already a big thing for my mom to take in. Having her find out that I write mind control erotica under the pseudonym “Lady Moonlight” really wouldn’t go over well.

On top of that… if she found out I think she would have some very big questions about the recurring theme of mothers and daughters ending up in bed together. Maybe she’d notice the way I always have the mothers wear their hair up like she used to do when I was younger, or maybe how they tend to wind up in aquamarine dresses.

Basically: It’s not my fault that I have a bit of a crush on my mom. I’m a good girl. Even after my fascination with mind control had me learning hypnosis, I never seriously offered.

Maybe because I don’t trust myself.

When the bus finally reaches the stop after mine I realize that I should head out, pack my notebook away, and start the short walk back towards mom’s place. Technically it’s my place too, but since Mom’s the one who sets all of the rules this feels like her place and my dorm room feels a lot more mine. There might be rules for that, too, but they don’t feel the same. They feel more like the price for working towards my independence.

Hopefully the degree will help with that, too…!

Taking a deep breath, I pause in front of the door and my finger hovers over the button for the doorbell. I still have a room here, but… should I hit the buzzer? It’s annoying, but it feels really presumptuous when Mom has been living here alone for so long after I had to miss my last vacation to make sure I got caught up—

“Diana! You’re home!”

Mom must have heard me coming, because before I can make up my mind the door is open and she’s throwing her arms around me. All I can do is blush and hug her back while hoping none of this comes off as me not being happy to see her. “Uh-huh! Surprise!”

She looks as good as ever—good enough that I’ve had to tell my friends to stop being weird about my whole having-a-hot-mom thing. Long blonde hair that’s so soft and luxurious, soft blue eyes that look like the sky on an impossibly clear and beautiful day, full lips that always feel so comforting, soft, and warm when they press into my forehead… Then there’s the fact that she has curves to die for. It’s impossible to hug her and not feel myself sink into her in all of the best ways.

Being shorter than her is nice, too. It means that while I can’t exactly nestle into her chest, I can still feel young and nurtured when she easily puts her chin over my head.

Maybe it’s bad that I’m enjoying this so much, but…

It’s really nice!

“It was more of a surprise when you called me from the airport.” She pulls back just long enough to scan me with her eyes. Feeling my mom scrutinize me makes it hard to not squirm a little, but she smiles approvingly. Without any warning at all, I’m squished back against her. “Your surprises could use some work, but it’s so great to see you! Come on in, put your things down…

“I wanted to get the place ready for you, so I’m burning some incense. I hope you don’t mind!” She pulls back, stepping inside and I follow behind tugging my luggage along with me. Just a step in and I’m hit with the overwhelming scent of…

Forget-me-not…?

My thighs clench before I can stop them. This smell will always, always be associated for me with the big seduction of Caitlyn’s mother Jacqueline in my story “Forget Me Not, Resist Me Not”. The stories I write with explicit mother-daughter stuff don’t get the same kind of responses as the genre fiction, or the more… standard stuff in such a niche genre, but…

They’re some of my favorites, too.

“Everything alright, honey?” Mom turns to face me, and my face burns. “Honey? You’re bright red… Here, let me check your forehead.”

Sputtering makes it very hard to tell her that’s alright, or that I don’t need that, but it’s not as if I really mind. Her lips on my forehead, it’s one of those things that’s really nice. Even if I don’t tend to fantasize about her being the one kissing me, or touching me, I really love when she touches me.

It’s not my fault that the idea of slowly seducing away her mind, training her to obey my commands without question, making her sink into trance on command makes me so…

Well.

Probably not hard to guess?

After a quick kiss of my forehead, Mom sighs and shakes her head. “You feel a little warm. I know you’re excited to be back home, and you’ve been off on your own, enjoying your freedom? But I think it would be a good idea if you went to bed early tonight. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow.”

“Mom, I’m really alright… but I haven’t been getting the best sleep lately, so…” I shrug. “We’ll see after dinner? I really don’t want to sleep too early…”

“If you tell me to drop it, then I will. As long as you’re sure that’s what you want.” She smiles before turning away and moving deeper into the house, but I don’t follow right away.

The back of her top is just low enough that I can see a hint of a bra strap, and it’s aquamarine, the exact shade as that dress she always used to wear when I was younger. Her hair is down, or else I’d getting a little bit worried that this was her way of having an intervention.

After closing the door behind me, I make my way inside. Everything looks like it always did, except for a bit of redecoration. Mom always used to collect brass—lamps, incense holders, candlesticks, whatever she just loved it. For verisimilitude, or a deeper draw from real life, I had some of that sneak its way into my writing.

I swear I haven’t seen any of this since I was… ten? Thirteen?

And red roses in a vase by the mirror… Which story was that…? It wasn’t mine, but it was one of my biggest inspirations…

Restrained…?

Gosh, how could everyone not love that story?

“Admiring the decor?” Mom smiles at me. Is it a little… flirty? No way. My mom isn’t a lesbian. She must be teasing me. “I hope you like it. I tried to make everything welcoming.”

Welcoming is an odd word to choose for it, but it is… welcoming.

Mom is always a great hostess.

“Yeah! Just… has a nice vibe to it. Thanks for putting so much effort into everything…!” Blushing, I wrap my arms around her for another hug. She returns it, and I let myself just rest my head into her shoulder. She’s not super tall compared to me, but nestling into her just feels so warm and safe. I really need to kick this school-girl crush on my mom. Writing story after story doesn’t seem like it’s helping.

We haven’t always gotten along, but she’s always been so attractive to me. When she divorced my dad, I was always really confused why she wasn’t taken within the year. Maybe that’s part of why I got used to the silly idea of taking care of her…

Silly, right?

Mom squeezes me a little tighter, and I sigh when her fingers slide through my hair. “You’re very affectionate today, Diana. Is everything alright? Is there anything I can do?”

It is so hard to not think something like “there is a lot you can do for me, mom” at her so intensely she’d hear it no matter what. At least she didn’t notice my gaze peeking down at the cleavage of her top.

No one should be forced to act like they aren’t attracted to their own mom when she’s got tits like hers. They’re so round, so… so… much? They might not be the perkiest in the world, but they just make her look more experienced, more mature. So heavy, so… When I remember that I was breastfed a part of me gets very jealous that baby-me had all of the fun.

Maybe I’m a grown-ass adult woman now, but I am still a baby where it counts.

And I desire these tits no less even if I don’t need them for nutrients. Sex is an important physical need, right? Somehow I don’t think anyone would find that a convincing argument…

She clears her throat.

I blush.

Zoning out in my head when someone’s talking to me is a very bad habit I’ve had since… uhm… ever. One of these days, I’ll work on it.

“Oh. Right. Uhm… No, no, I think…” Gosh, if I stay here I’m just going to keep embarrassing myself. I should hide. “I think you were right? I’m not ready to sleep yet, but… I think I’ll lay down for a little bit…? I might be a little bit, uh, under the weather after all…”

“Well, if you need mommy to kiss anything better, you just tell me where you want me to kiss, and I will.” Imagining my mom dressed as a fetish nurse is not helping me tame my arousal at all. “For now…” She kisses my forehead again, and pulls back with a smile. “I’ll stop teasing you. Get some rest, honey. I’ll be around, getting everything perfect for my special girl.”

How am I supposed to respond to that?

Flushing, I nod, and tug my bags up to my room. Everything here seems virtually untouched…

Everything except for a mint on my pillow.

It’s fine, there’s nothing I left here that would be incriminating anyway. Mom finding even one of my stories would be too much to bare, so I’ve been really careful. As much fun as it might be to attach my real name to my fiction, Lady Moonlight will have to work for now.

Besides, who could possibly want to hire a woman who wrote a romance story about a pair of old lovers reunited by a gooey, squicky alien invader?

Pretty sure that gets you put on a watch list for the criminally fetishistic.

That or, you know, all of the thinly-veiled mom fantasies.

Groaning, I collapse down onto my bed and hide my face in the pillow. It smells like forget-me-not. Everything in here does. As tempting as it is to work out the tension with a quick shlick-session, something about that feels a little… crass. It’s not like it would be the first time I masturbated with mom in the house, but I just came home and used not feeling well as an excuse to hide away in my room. Getting off feels seriously fucking rude. I wouldn’t mind if that was what she was doing, but I’m not sure she’d feel the same way about me.

And from what I understand about how much incest messes people up, it’s probably for the best.

I shift around, laying on my back to stare up at my ceiling. Now that I’m here, all comfy on my familiar old bed… I think I actually might be a little tired. Yeah, I’m worked up, and getting off would help me sleep, but… I already feel pretty close to falling asleep right now.

Don’t think I need the help.

Yawning, I flutter my eyes closed.

The scent of forget-me-not is so intrinsically linked to my writing now, to that story, to… really fun memories. Breathing that in, sinking into my bed…

I think I might need to take a little nap.