I heard the jingle of keys in the lock, the door swung open, and there was Sam, my ex-wife, stepping in like she owned the place. I gave her keys to my new apartment; I'd figured she was the best person to have my spare set in case I ever got locked out, although I didn’t figure she would use them so casually.

"Hey," she said, her voice calm as if it was common and she stopped in all the time.

"Hey," I replied, sitting up on the couch, remote in hand from the show I'd been watching. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, closing the door behind her.
"Just wanted to say hello. See what you're up to."

"Nothing much," I muttered, glancing away. The apartment felt smaller with her in it, her perfume hitting me like a wave, sweet and sharp.  It was a scent I hadn’t experienced in a while, something I was used to every day and it hit like a drug addict relapse.

"Oh, really?" She arched an eyebrow, moving closer. "I saw on Instagram you were out with a woman. Didn't look like nothing much to me."

I felt my face heat up. "Yeah, that was just... whatever. A date or something I guess."

"Didn't look like whatever," she pressed, her tone edging into something sharper, almost possessive.
"She had her hands on you, like she was claiming you.  Like it was a soft launch."

“Soft launch?”  I said, confused.

“You know,” she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as if she had to explain something to me for the millionth time, “like when a girl posts a pic on Instagram of her and a guy before announcing that they’re dating.  Easing people into it.  You know, soft launching the relationship.  You still don’t know anything, do you?”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, I don't know. Could be?  I just needed to be with someone, I guess. It's been lonely since... you know."

She paused, then slid over and perched on the arm of the couch right next to me, her thigh brushing my shoulder. Her fingers threaded through my hair, gentle but insistent, sending a shiver down my spine. I froze.

"What are you doing?" I asked, startled slightly and a bit confused.

"Just... I don't know. I don't like seeing you with someone else." Her touch lingered, nails lightly scraping my scalp.

I pulled back a little, "well, you should've thought of that before you wanted a divorce."

"Yeah, well, I needed that so I could get married to Mark," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, there you go. You have what you want. So what's the big deal?"

She bit her lip, her hand returned to my hair. "I don't know. I just... I liked it when you needed me."

I looked at her, "well, it doesn't seem like you needed me."

"Maybe I do. For some things," her voice softened, almost suggestive.  

"Like what?"  My voice raising slightly, laced with surprised annoyance.

She shifted, sliding smoothly into my lap, straddling me with a leg on each side, her face inches from mine. The weight of her pressed down, stirring a flutter deep in my chest, and lower, her voice changes from curious prodding to direct, "I don't like seeing you with other women."

"That might be too bad for you," I said, my hands hesitated but finally broke through and rested on her hips, betraying my words and shaky demeanor.

"It doesn't have to be," she leaned in, her breath hot against my ear.

"What do you mean?"

"How about we come to a deal?"

"Like what?"

She smiled playfully, "how about you don't date women anymore? Don't date anyone. Stay single."

I blinked, my heart rate picking up, "why would I do that?"

"Because maybe you don't need to," her curling behind my ears, fingers tracing upwards through the hair along the back of my head..

"W-what are you saying?"

"If you promise not to date any more women, not to have sex with any more women... I promise to do things for you."

"Like what?" I persisted, staring at her, confused but undeniably interested, my pulse racing as her body heat seeped through our clothes.

She lifted her shirt off in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, revealing the lacy bra underneath, "you know how much I love having my nipples played with and you were always so into it when you sucked on them," then she pulled the cups down, exposing her full breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air. She pressed her hand against the back of my head, guiding my lips toward her right breast.
"How about I let you do that?"

I hesitated, my breath catching, staring at her tits, pink peaks I'd masturbated to for months since my access to them was revoked. The nervousness hit me like a punch, what the hell was this? But the pull was too strong. I leaned in, engulfing her nipple with my mouth, sucking deeply. The taste of her skin flooded me, salty-sweet, and my arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tighter to me. God, it felt euphoric, her softness yielding to my tongue as it moved back and forth from sucking deep pulls and flickering the tip.

"There you go," she said softly, "mmm, that's nice. Just like that, baby. Go on, suck on Mommy's nipples like a good boy. There you go."

She started gyrating her hips on my lap, grinding against the growing hardness in my pants, the friction sending sparks through me. I groaned around her breast, sucking harder.

"Do you like that? Do you wanna suck on Mommy’'s nipples every night? All you have to do is promise you're not going to have sex with any other woman," as she’s saying this she’s shaking her head back and forth slowly and mimicking the slowness in her tone.

I pulled back, gasping, my lips wet and swollen. I looked up at her, hungry but trying to process what she’s asking.  Her hair fully and thick hanging past her shoulders, skirting the tops of her breasts, "what do you mean, not have sex with any other women? Like I just suck on your tits and don't fuck anyone ever?"

She nodded, her eyes locked on mine, intense and unyielding, "yes, that is exactly what I mean. But don't worry," she stood up, then slid to her knees in front of me, her hands going to my pants, unbuttoning them. I flinched as she tugged them down, lifting my hips without thinking, helping her, my cock eager and needy. 

"You still get to cum," she continued, settling on the floor between my legs, "just not from sex."

She pulled my pants off, then gripped the legs of my boxers, tugging them down to expose my erection, my hard cock stiff in the air.

I slouched forward and he wrapped her hand around it causing me to flinch and drop my mouth open in a gasp.  She began stroking slowly, her grip firm, "I'll let you suck on my nipples, and I'll give you a nice, gentle hand job whenever you want. But you can’t be greedy AND you have to promise me you won't have sex ever again. I'll be the last woman you’ll ever have sex with. And I want you to call me Mommy while I’m helping you with your little hard-ons, okay?"

I groaned, the sensation of her hand on my cock overwhelming, warm, soft skin sliding over my shaft, squeezing just right at the base. "I don't... I don't know," I managed, but my hips bucked into her touch, betraying how badly I didn’t want it to stop.  Ever.

She stroked faster, squeezing and tugging, rubbing her thumb over the head where precum was already beading causing me to suck in a deep gasp of air and retract my hips, she knew how sensitive I got and she was now just toying with me.  She looked up at me, eyes dark with desire and control, "come on, be a good boy for Mommy. Give me what I want, and I'll give you what you want. You know you like this. You know you love this. You'd rather have me jerk you off and let you cum while you suck on my tits than fuck random women. Just tell me. Tell me you'll be my good boy."

The pleasure built, intense and electric, her hand gliding up and down. I nodded quickly, lost in it, the nervousness twisting with need, I didn't want her to stop, not ever. This felt too good, too intimate, like she owned every nerve in my body.

She slowed her strokes as I began to moan and my breathing grew short, controlling me, "no no no.  No finishing, I need to hear you say it. I want to hear you say it."

Through heavy breaths, I stammered, "I will... I will."

"No," she said sternly, as if she were a teacher disciplining a child, her hand pausing at the base, squeezing just enough to make me whimper, "I need to hear you say exactly what you will do, or won't do actually. And who you'll do it for."

I stared at her, my eyes glazing over from pure lust, the intensity crashing over me, her hand on my cock felt like fire while it held firm and still waiting for my answer. I didn't want it to end like this, I needed more; the thought of chasing random women paled against this, her touch, her control, "I... I won't have sex ever again. For you."

She stared back, expectant, her thumb grazing up and down slowly, making my whole body shudder with anticipation, waiting for that extra bit of control to slide over me.

"For you, Mommy," I whispered, the words tumbling out, sealing it.

"That's my good boy," she smiled triumphantly, then took my hand and led me to the bedroom, her grip firm. My legs felt weak, heart hammering with a mix of excitement and surrender. She stripped slowly, peeling off her clothes until only her panties remained, her body glowing in the dim light and I stared at her almost naked body, the softness of it.  The sculptured curves not yet finished making her imperfection even hotter.  The small bit of extra weight she carried at her belly, the softness and gentle sag of her breasts.  She was so real and she was someone else’s wife now.  It felt dirty and wrong and it made me even more aroused.  I was surprised that I hadn’t cum already.

Then she turned to me, mothering me like I was hers to care for, lifting my shirt over my head, sliding my boxers the rest of the way off, "lay down," she said softly, guiding me onto the bed.

She leaned against the headboard, slouching slightly, her breasts inviting. I leaned over her, my body partially covering hers, one leg between hers, one arm curling under her, the other reaching across to rub her opposite breast. My fingers tweaked and twisted her nipple gently, feeling it harden under my touch as my lips latched onto the closer one. I sucked deeply, long and slow, the tug pulling a moan from her, and in turn from me. The taste, the texture, it was intoxicating, my tongue swirling around the peak.

Her hand reached down, wrapping around my cock again, stroking slowly at first, up and down. Her other hand glided fingertips over my shoulders and back, light as feathers, making my skin erupt in shivers. Every graze sent tremors through me, uncontrollable, heightening everything. The intensity built like a storm, her strokes firming, pumping my shaft with perfect rhythm, while those fingertips danced across my spine, my sides, making me arch and moan into her breast.

"Oh, fuck, Mommy," I groaned around her nipple, the suction breaking as waves of pleasure overwhelmed me. It felt so good, the heat of her hand enveloping me, sliding faster now, the friction building pressure in my balls. I didn't want it to stop; this was everything, her control wrapping around my mind like her fingers around my cock. The nervousness from earlier melted into pure, desperate need, I'd give up anything to keep this feeling, this intimacy that no one else could match.

"There you go.  Good boy," she whispered, her voice breathy. 

"Suck harder for Mommy. Feel how good my hand feels on your cock? You love this, don't you? You'd trade all those other women for Mommy's touch, wouldn't you?"

"Yes…Mommy,” I nodded hesitantly, giving into it, gasping as she cradled my balls.  I latched back on, sucking with renewed hunger. Her strokes quickened, hand pumping me relentlessly, thumb pressing into the sensitive underside. The shivers from her fingertips intensified everything, goosebumps racing over my skin, making my toes curl, my body trembling at everything she did. It was overwhelming, the build-up coiling tight in my gut, every nerve tight. Her hand owned me, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, but I craved it, succumbed completely, moaning louder.

"Come on, do it for Mommy," she urged, her hips shifting under me. 

"Do it for Mommy. Make cummies for Mommy. Come on, baby, I know you can do it."

I groaned, the sounds guttural and unlike any sound I’d ever made before, my suction faltering as the orgasm crashed closer. Her hand flew now, up, down, squeezing, the intensity blinding, my whole world narrowing to her touch, her words. "Please... don't stop, Mommy," I begged pathetically, my voice broken and weak.
"It feels so fucking good... I promise, no one else...ever.  Just you...just you…just you."

"That's right, good boy. Cum for Mommy. Let it all out," her voice now like warm milk pouring over me.  It calmed my mind while her hand kept pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

The release hit like a train wreck, my body seizing, cock pulsing violently in her grip as hot cum shot out, spilling over her hand, splattering across my stomach to my chest and hers in thick ropes. I moaned helplessly, overwhelmed, my voice shattered in mid groan.  The aftershocks shivering through me as she tugged every drop from me.

She wiped her cum splattered hand on my thigh, smiling downg "good boy. You are such a good boy, cumming for Mommy like that. I'm so proud of you," she leaned in, kissing my forehead. "Now, you remember what you promised. I want you to be a good boy and keep your promise to Mommy. No more cumming unless it's by Mommy's hand, okay?"

I nodded, exhausted, collapsing onto the pillow, my body spent and mind hazy with satisfaction.

She got up, dressed quickly, and walked out, leaving me there, owned, obsessed, and already aching for next time.

***

The next day, every thought looped back to Sam, her skin under my palms, the way her hand stroked my shaft, milking me until I was broken. It was like a fever dream replaying on endless repeat, distracting me from work, from eating, from everything. I yanked out my phone half a dozen times, thumb hovering over her name, drafting messages like "What the hell was that?" or "When are you coming back?" But each time, doubt crashes in. Was it even real? If it was, is she sneaking around on Mark, risking her new marriage for... this? Whatever "this" is. How would she react if I messaged her out of nowhere? We never hashed out the details last night. I was too fogged up, brain short-circuiting from her touch, like I'd been spiked with something potent, or just straight-up drunk on her body, her scent, her control.

I shove the phone away, deciding to leave it be for now. Maybe she'll reach out, confirm it wasn't some hallucination. But the hours dragged by, the morning turned to afternoon to evening and nothing. No text, no call. By nightfall, I'm pacing the apartment, questioning my sanity. Did I imagine the whole thing? The taste of her nipples, the sticky warmth of my release on our skin? It felt too vivid, too raw. Exhausted, I crash into bed, trying to push it out of my mind, but it rebelled, flooding with memories: the plush give of her curves, how desperately I crave to clutch her bare form again, knead her flesh until she gasps. That thought chases me into sleep, warm and insistent, folding into my dreams.

Deep in the night, a rustle at my bedroom door stirs me from sleep. My head is foggy, vision blurry without my glasses, and I let out a groggy mumble, half-question, half-grunt. Then comes a soft "shush," whispering through the dark like a secret.

"Hey," Sam's voice follows, and I feel the mattress dip as she climbs in, settling right beside me. My heart stutters, am I still dreaming? I blink hard, squinting at the shadows, unable to tell what time it is. 

“Huh?  Sam?”  I mumble.

"Shhhh," she whispers again, her hand brushing my arm, warm and real.

I just stare, brain sluggishly piecing it together, my body heavy with sleep but stirring awake at her nearness. She's here, in my bed, her outline faint in the moonlight filtering through the blinds.

"I just... I hated seeing you with that girl on Instagram," she murmurs, her tone laced with vulnerability, an edge of possession. 

"It kind of made me jealous, and I don't know. I just wanted... I don't know what I wanted."

Dumbfounded, I prop myself up on an elbow, searching her face, eyes wide, lips parted, like she's as surprised as I am to be confessing this as it wasn’t like her at all to be this vulnerable.

She presses on, voice dropping lower, "I want to make you forget about her."

Before I can respond, she leans back slightly, hooking her thumbs into her panties and shimmying them down her legs. She presses the warm, thin fabric into my hand, silky lace carrying her faint scent, and then she's moving, lifting herself up, swinging a leg over me. In a heartbeat, she's straddling my face, her thighs framing my head, and she lowers down, pressing her bare pussy right against my mouth and nose. The sudden weight smothers me, her slit sealing over my lips, hot and slick, the intimate folds parting as she grinds slowly, deliberately.

My mind reels, scrambling to catch up, sleep fogged thoughts fracturing as reality slams in. Is this happening? 

Her heat envelops me, the musky scent of her arousal flooding my senses, earthy and feminine, like salted honey mixed with something primal, addictive. It's overwhelming, invading my lungs with every shallow breath I snatch through my nose, pressed tight against her swollen clit.

Nervousness spikes through the haze, what if this is another dream? But no, the pressure is too real, her thighs quivering slightly as she rocks, the soft hairs tickling my skin. Intensity builds fast, my cock twitching to life under the sheets, but my focus narrows to her: the velvety texture of her inner lips sliding over my tongue as I instinctively part them, the way her juices coat my chin, warm and viscous.

After that stunned moment, instinct takes over. I wrap my arms around her thighs, fingers digging into the supple flesh, pulling her down harder, anchoring her to my face. I dive in fully, tongue lashing out to lap at her, sucking her clit between my lips with hungry pulls, savoring the flood of her taste, tart and sweet, mingling with that heady aroma that's now burned into my brain. Inhaling deeply, her delicious smell strong and filling my nostrils. I moan into her, vibrations humming against her core, desperate to devour every inch, to drink her in like she's the only sustenance I'll ever need. Her moans echo mine, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.

Her hands snake down, gripping my hair tight, yanking me upward, forcing my mouth deeper even though I'm already thrusting my neck up, tongue-fucking her cunt. She rocks harder, hips bucking, her weight shifting to grind her pussy across my face, smearing her wetness everywhere, cheeks, nose, forehead. My hands slide up under her loose tank top, finding her breasts, cupping the heavy swells, thumbs circling her hardened nipples before pinching and twisting them, eliciting sharp cries from her.

"Fuck. Fuck, oh god," she gasps, her voice breaking with each grind. 

"Yes, lick my cunt. Fuuuuck. I want you to remember my pussy. I want it to sink deep inside your brain. I want you to think about it all the time. I want you to dream about it and smell it in your sleep. Whenever you think of another woman. I want you to immediately start thinking of me when you get hard. I want you addicted to my pussy."

She bucks wildly as she says it, her face angled down toward me as she spills the words towards me in a heavy whisper.  Her scent intensifying, thicker now, a potent mix of sweat and desire that makes my head spin, my senses overloaded. The feeling is electric, her slick heat gliding over me, the way her folds yield to my probing tongue, the overwhelming rush of being buried under her, suffocated in the best way. My mind's fully awake now, consumed, every nerve screaming for more; I can't get enough, lapping greedily, sucking her clit with rhythmic tugs, feeling her pulse against my lips.

"I'm the only woman you want to fuck. I'm the only pussy you want," she demands, grinding faster. 

"Say it. Tell me.  Tell me I'm the only pussy you want. Tell me."

I pull back just enough, her juices dripping from my mouth, and groan out, voice muffled and thick with need into her thighs, "yes, M-mommy, you're the only pussy I want. I don't want anyone else. I swear, you're the only pussy I need."

That ignites her, she shudders, moaning deep, slamming down with her full weight, thighs clamping like a vice around my head. Her pussy convulses, gushing a hot rush over my face, soaking me as she trembles through her climax, body arching in ecstasy.

Panting, she pulls back, collapsing beside me, her chest heaving, limbs limp. I'm ravenous, my cock throbbing painfully hard, slick with precum. I reach over, sliding my hand between her legs, cupping her still-quivering mound, fingers dipping into her wetness, ready to roll over and plunge inside, to chase my own release in her depths.

But she hesitates, pulling away with a soft unwelcoming sound of regret, her voice shy, almost frightened, like she's crossed a line and fears I'll push further, turning her tease into something she can't control.

I lean back, breathing ragged, my hand dropping to my aching shaft, gripping myself tightly as I gaze at her in the dim light, her face flushed, eyes wide with a mix of satisfaction and uncertainty, like she's sated but second guessing the aftermath.

Desperate, I grab her hand, guiding it to my cock, my stare pleading, raw hunger twisting my gut. She wraps her fingers around me, starting to pump half-heartedly, and I arch back with a moan, my arm snaking around her waist to pull her close. Soon, I'm thrusting into her grip, her other hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently.

"Tell me to cum for you," I mutter, voice strained, the build-up coiling tight.

Her response comes soft, distant but commanding, "cum for me. Cum only for me. Right now, do it, cum for me."

That's all it takes. My body tenses, cock erupting in her hand, thick spurts jetting across my stomach, warm and sticky. She makes a coy ew noise, wiping her palm on my chest, then slips off the bed.

"I have to get back," she whispers, pulling on her clothes, "Mark sleeps heavy, but if he wakes up, I don't know what I'd say about where I was."

I just nod, grunting in acknowledgment, too dazed to form words. It's like a whirlwind hangover, her mounting me, the intoxicating smother of her pussy, the quick jerk-off leaving me spent and spinning. She vanishes out the door, and I'm left staring at the ceiling, confusion swirling as sleep drags me under again, blurring the line between dream and this twisted reality.

***

The next night, anticipation gnaws at me like a persistent itch, every mundane task, flipping channels, scrolling aimlessly, tainted by flashes of her grip, her whispers, the slick aftermath on my skin. When the knock comes around dinnertime, my pulse spikes, a mix of eagerness and unease twisting in my chest. I open the door to Sam, casual in jeans and a fitted top, carrying a faint flowery scent.

"Hey," she says, stepping in without invitation. 

"Hungry? Want to eat first, or... go lie in bed?"

The choice hangs there, loaded, but my body's already betraying me, a low throb starting below my waist, "bed," I mutter, voice rough, no hesitation.

I wasn’t sure how this would go.  After last night being so different from the night before I didn’t know where it left us.  Was she still Mommy or was she the reluctant, obsessive ex not sure if she should fuck me or just use me like the edge of a chair to masturbate on.  It seemed as if tonight were leaning one way more than the other.

She takes my hand in hers and leads me down the hall. She releases me and starts undressing, deliberate and unhurried, peeling her top over her head, revealing the swell of her breasts cradled in a colorful bra, shimmying out of her jeans, the fabric whispering against her thighs; unhooking her bra with a flick, letting it drop so her chest sways free, nipples perking in the cooler air.

Then she turns to me, same as before, her gaze maternal, like a caregiver. She flicks her hands at me, motioning me to her, I step to her mostly naked body and her fingers graze my shirt hem, lifting it slowly over my arms, exposing my chest inch by inch. 

"There we go," she says softly. Next, my pants, unbuttoned and tugged down my hips, pooling at my feet. I step out, heart hammering, as she kneels slightly to slide off my socks, her breath ghosting my calves making me shiver. Finally, my boxers, she eases them down, my cock springing half-hard into the open, stiff but not erect, and she cradles it in her palm, warm and gentle, rubbing the underside with her thumb in lazy strokes.

"Mmm, look at this," she says, her touch sending jolts up my spine, "so nice and eager. Mommy's glad it hasn't met any new friends lately." 

She looks up, eyes locking on mine, a blend of affection and ownership, "Mommy likes being its only playmate." 

A few firm strokes follow, her fist closing around the shaft, pumping once, twice, and I'm rigid in seconds, veins pulsing under the friction, the sensitivity making my knees weaken.

She stands, satisfied, and climbs onto the bed in just her panties, thin cotton hugging her hips, a full cover panty that someone’s mother would wear.  Not the kind you were attracted towards but just the kind of mom that hovers in the background offering to get snacks, but something about her wearing this and nothing else made the electricity of it hum loud in my hips.

Her breasts settle against her torso, soft and inviting, as she pats the mattress beside her. "Come on, baby. Come join Mommy."

I scramble up the bed, no grace, just raw need, settling into that familiar cradle of her body, my arm slipping under her back, pulling her close with one leg wedged between hers, feeling the heat radiating from her core.  My free hand claiming her far breast, fingers rolling the nipple into a tight bud. My mouth descends on the nearer one, lips sealing around the areola, tongue pressing flat as I draw in deeply, slow, profound pulls that make her sigh, the flesh yielding like ripe fruit.

Her hand finds my cock again, wrapping loosely at first, then beginning a torturously languid stroke, up the length, pausing at the crown to swirl her thumb over the slit and chuckling softly as I wince and twitch, then down to the base, squeezing just enough to tease. The pace is glacial, hypnotic, each glide building a deep, aching pressure in my core, like she's untying something primal inside me. She speaks in that soothing gentle voice, low and melodic, words weaving through the haze like a spell, lulling my mind while igniting my body.

"Feels so wonderful in my grasp, doesn't it baby?" She whispers, her breath warm against my ear. 

"Such a sweet little pee-pee, all stiff and throbbing for Mommy," infantile terms drip from her lips, wee-wee, winky, each one stripping away my resistance, reducing me to this vulnerable state, her voice a velvet chain binding my thoughts. I barely utter a sound, lost in the suckle, the rhythmic tug on her nipple mirroring her hand's unyielding crawl along my dick, up, down, up, down, an endless loop that spirals tension deeper into my gut.

It’s gone on for minutes now, maybe longer?  Probably longer.  I have no concept of time as she keeps me focused on her rhythm.  Every so often, her free hand intervenes, threading through my hair, nails grazing my scalp in feather-light trails that spark electric shudders down my back, or skimming my shoulders, fingertips dancing like whispers, making my muscles twitch involuntarily, a moan vibrating from my throat into her breast. 

"Oh, Mommy adores when you nurse like this," she purrs each time, her tone laced with genuine delight.

The stroking remains relentless in its slowness, her palm slick now with my leaking essence, gliding seamlessly, the friction a constant hum that burrows into my psyche. Emotional waves crash over me,  a profound vulnerability, like she's peeling back layers, exposing the raw need beneath, a hypnotic fog settling, her words blurring the edges of reality, making surrender feel inevitable, desirable. The intensity coils tight in my pelvis, a burning knot begging for release, but her pace denies it, drawing out the agony-ecstasy until I'm trembling, mind fracturing under the weight.

"I'm so thrilled you're choosing celibacy just for me," she continues, voice dipping into a conspiratorial hush. 

"But what if some woman tries to tempt you? Flirts, touches... could you resist?" 

Her hand quickens imperceptibly, a subtle acceleration that heightens the blaze. 

"Maybe Mommy should ensure no one else wants you. What if you told people you're gay? Then I'd have you all to myself, safe from those wandering eyes."

As her suggestions escalate, so does her rhythm, faster now, fist pumping with purpose, the slick sounds filling the room, my hips begin slowly bucking involuntarily as if they’re fucking her fist. The emotional strain hits like a storm: desperation claws at my chest, a frantic urgency to erupt, to shatter this building pressure that's consuming every thought, every breath. It feels so profound, lodged deep in me, this need she's cultivated, overwhelming, all-encompassing, making my skin flush hot, my vision blur at the edges. I'm teetering on the brink, lips slipping from her nipple as I lean back, gasping, protests dying unspoken in my throat. The hypnosis grips me, her voice, her touch, turning resistance into futile whimpers, my mind a whirlwind of submission and craving. 

I want to say something, or at least I think I do.  I want to, what?  What is it I want?  She’s saying something.  Mommy is saying something untrue.  I think.  What is it? 

My thoughts are thrown about like a passenger in a rollercoaster.  Every time I have a grip on a thought it’s tossed to one side and I’m holding on tight for the next stroke or tender caress of her fingers.

"Will you do that for Mommy?"  She presses, hand flying now. 

"Come on, baby, tell me, tell everyone that you're gay.  Do it for me." 

Faster, relentless, my moans escalate to strained cries, voice warping into something primal, unrecognizable, laced with raw pleading. The frenzy builds, heart pounding like a drum, balls tightening in exquisite torment, every nerve screaming for mercy, but she withholds, dangling release just out of reach. It's torturous bliss, frantic pulses racing through my veins, a deep-seated ache that hollows me out, leaving only the desperate mantra: please, let me cum, I'll do anything.

"Mommy wants you to cum," she teases, thumb pressing the sensitive underside, "but only if you admit you're her little gay boy now. That you'll never touch any pussy again, not anyone's, not ever, except what Mommy allows with her hand."

I beg.  I plead.

“Please.  Please, Mommy.  I need it.  Please.”

She tuts and shakes her head, “Say it first.  Tell Mommy.”

I nod wildly, head thrashing, but it's not enough. The withholding intensifies the storm, emotional wreckage, a vortex of humiliation and hunger, tears pricking my eyes from the sheer overload, body arching in supplication.

"There you go, baby. Now say it, Mommy needs to hear it from your lips.  Use your words baby."

Desperation fractures me: "I will... I will, please, just let me finish!"

I’m desperate.  My voice is wretched in its pleading.

"No, no, no," she chides softly, slowing just enough to edge the torment. 

"Say it properly. Mommy wants to hear it full."

"Yes!" My voice cracks, frantic, a whirlwind of surrender. 

"Yes, I'm gay! I'll be gay for you! I'll be gay for you, just let me cum, Mommy! I'll be gay for you!  Please!"

With that, she unleashes, pumping hard, fast, unyielding, and the dam breaks. Ecstasy surges, cock erupting in violent spurts, hot seed arcing onto her stomach in messy ropes, the release so profound it whites out my vision, body convulsing in waves of overwhelming relief mixed with lingering shame.

She scoops a dollop from her skin, smearing it across my cheek, warm and sticky. 

"There you go, my sweet little gay boy. Mommy loves when you let her make you cum, and you listen so perfectly."