Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 

   Disclaimer: The following may contain depictions which are graphically
adult in nature.  Of course, if you've made it this far, then you probably
already know that, and I can rest easily knowing that I have thus divested
myself of any responsibility for the destruction of the moral fabric of
society.  If you do not enjoy such depictions, then DON'T READ THIS.  Of
course, I don't really care.  I just like writing disclaimers.  The
following may also contain traces of peanuts.  Enjoy.

   Curtain rises, lights go up . . .  "Dream A Little Dream Of Me" By:
JValet

   "Jeremy . . ."

   "Jeremy . . ."

   The voice, smooth as silk, slipped into his ear, and slid right down
into his brain, drawing him out of sleep.

   "Wha?" Jeremy yawned, and sat up in bed.  Blearily, he cast a glance
around his darknened bedroom.  No . . .  not his bedroom.  It was a
teenager's room, cast-off clothing strewn about everywhere, posters of
bikini chicks on every wall, and a pile of undone homework sitting on the
desk.  It all looked vaguely familiar, like his old room back home.

   "Jeremy . . ."

   This time, the voice brought him to full consciousness, in a bed he
didn't recognize in a room that was eerily similar to the one he'd had as a
youth, before the house itself had been demolished to make way for a
minimall.  His mother had made a pretty penny on the sale of the old place,
more than enough for the two of them to live fairly well for a while, until
he left for college, eventually getting a job and a place of his own; mom
had made a few shrewd investments with what was left after his tuition to
add a hefty bonus to her own paycheck.

   "Jeremy . . ."

   The bedroom door opened a crack, allowing a shaft of light to pierce the
shadow.  Jeremy had to shield his eyes, having grown accustomed to the
dark. The shaft widened as the door slowly swung open, beating back the
darkness to the far corners of the bedroom, driving the shadows underneath
moldy shorts and discarded Playboys.

   "Hello, Jeremy." A figure stepped into the doorway, a female figure,
whose silhouette spoke of lean curves distributed nicely over a tall frame.
The only discernable clothing was a pair of towering heels, as she posed in
the doorframe, one hip cocked, and arms akimbo.

   "What?  How?  Who?" Something wasn't right here.  Not that he minded
anonymous, naked, female visitors - he'd just prefer to entertain them in
his own bedroom, on his own terms.  How'd he get here, anyway?  What was
going on?  Why was his cock so . . .  well, that one was a no-brainer, he
realized, giving the woman at the door another once-over.

   She raised her hand.  "Shhhhh . . ." With slow, deliberate steps, she
entered the room, hips sashaying back and forth in a delightful rhythm. 
The woman stopped in front of the bed, and placed her hands back on her
hips.  Her shadow fell over Jeremy like a warm blanket; for some reason, he
felt safe, secure . . .

   "Don't worry, Jeremy . . .  it's all just a dream."

   "Really?"

   "Yes." She chuckled.  "Just a dream.  That must make me . . .  your
dream woman."

   "What?" He puzzled that one over for a moment.  It sounded reasonable,
but "Your dream woman, Jeremy.  Your fantasy.  The embodiment of all your
lecherous desires . . .  everything you ever wanted.  That's me." She
turned to present him with a profile, revealing a pair of perky,
apple-sized breasts, slightly upturned, and lush, kissable lips, parted in
a smile.

   Jeremy's cock strained underneath the bedclothes, and he realized for
the first time that he was naked under the sheets.  One hand stole beneath
to grab his pole, and stroke it lightly.

   "That's right . . .  wank it for me, Jeremy.  Show me how much you want
me . . .  much you want this body . . .  your fantasy woman . . .  ME!"

   Suddenly, the lights went up in the bedroom, and he saw . . .  he saw .
. .  he saw . . .

   Jeremy sat bolt upright in bed, sweating furiously, and with a hard-on
that could have poked a hole in a concrete wall.

   A quick look told him he was in his own bed, in his own apartment.  A
nearby clock read 3:47 AM in little red figured.

   Exhaling loudly, he fell back onto the matress.  That had been . . . 
intense.  No matter; it was just a dream, after all.

   He rolled over, and tried to get back to sleep.

   The next time he awoke, it was to the shrill voice of the telephone at
his bedside.  After a quick grope with his head still stuck in the pillow,
he grabbed the reciever, and gave a muffled "Hello?"

   "Jeremy Kilborn?" The voice on the other end was officious and very,
very serious.  Jeremy sat up, not quite knowing what to expect, but fearing
the worst.

   "Yes - speaking."

   "This is Dr.  Richard Epphardt, at County General over in Victoria Rock?
I'm afraid it's your mother . . ."

   An hour later, Jeremy was on the highway, showing great disrespect for
the speed limit.

   He knew this day was coming.  He'd known it since he'd moved out and
away from home.  Something had happened to his mom, and he was nowhere
nearby to help.  There had been a car accident, Dr.  Epphardt had said; by
and large, there had been little damage to his mother, but she had
sustained a minor head injury . . .  it would be best if he came as quickly
as he could.

   "As quickly as he could" meant a very long drive.  There was no airport
in Victoria Rock, and no train had arrived in its picturesque station for
over fifty years.  So, Jeremy was stuck motoring his way back home.  Even
breaking the speed limit as recklessly as he was, there was no way he'd get
there today, which meant either a gamble on driving without sleep, or
delaying his arrival by several more hours.

   Find a motel, a very sensible voice told him from the back of his head.
Had he been paying closer attention, Jeremy would have noticed that it
wasn't his own.  You'll be no good to her in jail for driving while
impaired, or in an accident of your own.

   "Good idea," he muttered, and gunned the engine, hoping to make as much
distance today as he could, before he had to find someplace to sleep.

   "Jeremy . . ." This time, he immediately came to attention, sitting up
in bed, the motel bed, instead of some recreation of his teen-age bedroom.

   At least, he tried to sit up.  He found that he had been bound to the
bed in some non-distinct fashion - no silk scarves, no leather straps, just
something holding him down.

   "Hello, Jeremy . . .  do you remember me?" The voice came from somewhere
beside the bed.  Glancing nervously to the side, he could make out a female
figure sitting in the dark.  The butt of a cigarette flared momentarily in
the shadows.

   "M-my dream woman?" He stuttered, and struggled in vain against the
invisible bonds holding him to the matress.

   "Verrrry good, Jeremy," she purred, and took a long drag.  "The
embodiment of your desires . . .  your ultimate fantasy . . .  remember?"

   "Yes," his cock rapidly started filling with blood, standing tall from
his prostrate body.

   "Repeat it for me," she stood, and began to approach the bed.

   "Y-you're the embodiment of my desires, my ultimate fantasy," Jeremy
tried to swallow saliva that wasn't there as she climbed up on the bed, and
began crawling towards him, straddling his body, yet not touching any part
of it, except his cock.  That dragged slowly along the length of her body,
leaving a trail of precum across her silken skin.  She stopped for a moment
to rub the bloated head of his dick against the fur of her pussy.

   "Goooood boy," he could hear the smile in her voice.  "Now, do you know
why you're not allowed to move, Jerrrremy?"

   "I-I don't know," he admitted.

   "Because you can't touch me unless I say so," she sat up, knees pressing
into his shoulders.  The scent of her perfume, coloured by the aroma of
tobacco smoke filled his head.  "This is your fantasy, Jeremy, to be
controlled . . .  by me . . .

   "Nnoo," he protested weakly; his head was muzzy, there was something
happening here that wasn't right.  But she was so close . . .  so beautiful
. . .  he could detect the scent of her pussy . . .  his cock throbbbed
painfully . . .

   "Yessss," she insisted, "it must be your fantasy, Jeremy . . . 
otherwise you wouldn't be dreaming it, you'd be able to wake up from it;
you want this, Jeremy.  You want this, more than anything."

   "I-" the logic was inescapable, somehow.  He blinked, slowly.

   "Say it, Jeremy . . .  tell me what you want . . ." She lowered herself
onto his chest, and began to rock, slowly, grinding her wet pussy into his
body; she began to fondle it with one hand, while using the other for
stability.

   "I want . . .  I . . ."

   She leaned close, and whispered into his ear.  "You want this, Jeremy.
Your fantasy . . .  being controlled by me . . .  say it!"

   "I want this . . .  I want to be controlled . . ."

   "By whom?" Her undulations increased in pace.

   "By you . . ."

   "Verrrry good, Jerrrremy, now beg to touch me . . .  to feel my body . .
.  to touch perfection . . ."

   "Please . . ."

   "What?"

   "Please, let me touch you . . ."

   "You call that begging?"

   "Please, I beg of you . . .  I want to touch you . . .  I need to touch
you . . .  I have to touch you . . ."

   "And who am I?"

   "Perfection . . ."

   "Verrrry good, Jerrrremy, now . . .  wake up!"

   He sat bolt upright in bed, soaked in sweat.  What the fuck was going
on? These dreams . . .  that woman . . .

   He mouthed the word 'perfection.'

   His mom!

   Shit, he had to go.  He leapt out of bed, and hastily threw on his
clothing.  Ten minutes later, he had paid the desk-clerk, and was back on
the road again.

   Jeremy burst through the outpatient doors several hours later, a wild
look in his eyes.  The desk nurse gave him a suspicious once-over as he ran
up to her.

   "I have to see my mom," he blurted out before she could open her mouth.
"She's a patient here.  What room?"

   "Very well, sir." She turned to her computer.  "What's your mother's
name?"

   "Anne; Anne Kilborn"

   "Just a moment." Fingers flew over the keyboard.  A few seconds later,
she clucked her tongue.

   "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't see her.  Doctor's orders.  She's not to
be disturbed."

   "Disturbed!  What the hell do you mean, 'disturbed?' I'm her son, for
Christ's sake!" He swept his arm across the desk, knocking a tin full of
pens to the floor.

   "Just a moment, I'll get Doctor Hartley.  In the meantime, please have a
seat." She gestured imperiously at the waiting area's molded plastic seats.

   Jeremy had to bite back a comment on where she could stick her seat; she
was just doing her job, after all, and he was tired, irritable and
stressed. Maybe if he sat down, he could calm himself somewhat.

   Muttering an apology, he retreated to the waiting area, and seated
himself.  The large, moist woman in the next chair gave him an irriated
glance, and went back to her Glamour.  Jeremy sighed, put his feet up on
the magazine table, and set to waiting.

   Damn hospitals.  He tapped his foot on the table impatiently.  Not only
do they stink of piss and disease and God only knows what else, but they
always keep you waiting so bloody long you . . .  you could . . . 
something . . .

   He yawned hugely.  Now that he had sat down, and all his forward
momentum had been taken from him, Jeremy's energy simply fell away from his
body.  The waiting room itself was warm, and full of that mediciney smell
that just seeped straight into your brain and . . .  and . . .

   The fat woman gave Jeremy another irritated look when he started snoring
softly.

   "Jeremy . . ."

   He found himself seated in an uncomfortable plastic chair, clothes
missing, and restrained once more by invisible bonds.  His dick was already
erect, tall and thick and slapping against his stomach.

   "Hello again, Jeremy . . ." A pair of moist lips pressed against his ear
and gave the lobe a little lick as she spoke.  "Who am I?"

   "Perfection," his own voice was little more than a whisper.

   She purred.  Her hand caressed the side of his face.  He leaned into it,
trying to maximize the sensation of skin on skin.

   "What else, Jeremy?"

   "My fantasy woman . . ."

   "The embodiment of all you desires," she supplied, and gave him a peck
on the cheek.  Heels clicked on the floor, and she walked around him.

   Suddenly, she was sitting in his lap, her legs straddling his, her hard
nipples brushing his chest, kinky pubic hair tickling the underside of his
dick, and pussy breathing heat and moisture onto his balls.  She wrapped
her arms around his head, and leaned close.  Jeremy's heart leapt into his
throat; she was so close now . . .  touching him . . .  the silk of her
skin sliding against his . . .  his limbs trembled like leaves in a strong
wind . . .  if he could only move . . .  but his arms refused to lift
themselves . . .  not until she said . . .  she was in charge . . .  in
control . . .

   "Jeremy," she hissed hotly in his ear.  "I want you to take my scent in,
to breathe deeply of my aroma . . .  feel me suffuse throughout your body .
. .  filling up every nook and cranny of your self . . .  making it mine .
. .  inhale, Jeremy . . ."

   He did as she asked, and filled his lungs with her scent.  The heady mix
of sweet-smelling sweat and tangy perfume made his nose buzz with pleasure,
a sensation that quickly spread to every nook and cranny of his body.

   "Look at my hand, Jeremy, and tell me what you see . . ."

   He glanced over and saw a cigarette, burning brightly in the darkness.
The end flared momentarily as she took a long drag.

   "C-cigarette," he stammered.

   "Good," She leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue playing with his,
and pushing a thick stream of smoke into his mouth, which immediately dried
up.  Jeremy gagged from the noxious fumes filling his lungs, and coughed
violently when she broke the kiss.

   "Whatsamatta little boy?  Don't like my smoke?" She mocked, sitting back
on his lap.

   "N-no," he mumbled.

   "But Jeremy, it's sooooo sexy," suddenly, her mouth was lit by a shaft
of light.  Pink, moist lips curled into a smile.  "Look." She took another
draw from the cigarette, lips wrapping around the pristine white paper of
the filter.  Her hand lowered, and the smoke just trickled from her mouth,
spilling down over her chin and into his face.  He couldn't help wincing as
the white plumes wafted past his eyes.

   "Still don't like it?" He shook his head.  "I don't know why . . .  it
looks just like a little cock . . .  like your cock . . .  would you like
to see me wrap my mouth around your dick, Jeremy?" She didn't wait for him
to stammer out a reply, but forged on.  "That's all it is . . .  me kissing
a stiff little pole . . .  yours . . ." She took a drag.  He groaned
loudly, almost feeling the sensation of her mouth on the pulsating purple
head of his erection.  "And the smoke . . .  it's just like your cum,
Jeremy . . .  oooooozing over my lips . . .  down my chin . . ." As she
spoke, he could see it, trailing out of her mouth . . .  the warm buzz
suffusing his body had centred on his cock, tingling along the ridge of the
mushroom cap, tickling his balls; he felt as if he were about to blow,
right there and then, all over her torso, without her ever having laid a
hand on his dick.

   "You like it now, don't you?" He could only nod.  "Good." She took a
draw, and swooped in to kiss him again.  The smoke was thrust into his
mouth once more, and down into his lungs.  His head whirled . . .  it felt
so good . . .  perverted . . .  tasting his own semen . . .  or was it . .
. or . . .  or . . .

   "Mr.  Kilborn?  Mr.  Kilborn?" The fat chick shrugged his head off her
chubby shoulder.  He looked around, blearily.  His dick was putting a
strain on the front of his jeans.

   "Wha?" He yawned.

   "If you'll follow me," said a blurry man in white, "I'll take you to see
your mother, now."

   He found his mom already dressed, apparently getting her things
together. She looked as if she were ready for a night out, wearing a black
cocktail dress that molded itself to her slim frame.  The skirt ended a
couple of inches above the knee, revealing a pleasant expanse of lightly
tanned, smoothly-muscled leg.  A pair of towering black sandals clicked
loudly against the linoleum floors as she gathered her stuff.  She was
wearing minimal makeup, as usual, and her hair was a bit of a fright, the
effect of three days in bed.  Just above her right temple, there was a
slight bruise.

   Pink, moist lips curled into a smile when she laid eyes on him.

   "Jeremy," she gave him a quick, tight embrace.  Instead of going down,
his still-hard dick surged momentarily.  Had it really been that long since
he'd last had a girlfriend?

   "Hi mom," he replied.  "I'm sorry it took so long for me to get here,
but-"

   "That's what you get for moving so far away," she admonished playfully.

   "Yes, mom." He rolled his eyes.  "What's going on?  Have you been
released?"

   "Yep." She gave him a peck on the cheek.  "And don't worry, Jeremy;
better late than never, I always say.  At least you can save me cab fare."

   "Your mother's injuries were minimal when she arrived here after the
accident," the doctor put in.  "She was unconscious when she got here,
however, and there was some head trauma, as I told you over the phone.  We
thought it best if we kept here for a few days, for observation's sake."

   "Yes.  Well, I'm ready to go, doctor, if you'll excuse us." Anne took
her son by the arm, and the pair strode out of the room.

   "Mr.  Kilborn!" Dr.  Epphardt jogged along beside them for a moment. 
"It would probably be best if you stayed with your mother for a couple of
days, just to be on the safe side.  I'm pretty sure there's no danger, but
a little caution never hurt anybody." The physician gave them a little wave
as he turned, and walked off in another direction.

   "Well, how about that?" Anne quipped.  "I've never recieved a
prescription for a visit from my son before." She pressed closer into his
arm as they continued on.  The faint aroma of perfume, days old, wafted
past his nose.  It buzzed slightly, at the tip.  Jeremy pulled the tail of
his shirt out and over the front of his jeans, to hide the erection that
still plagued him.

   When they got to the lobby, she asked him to wait for a moment while she
"just dashed" into the gift shop.  Moments later, she came out again,
carrying a pack of Virgina Slims.

   "Mom!" Jeremy protested.

   "I'm sorry, Jeremy; I know how much you hate these things, but the last
few days have been so awful, what with the accident and all - forgive me
this . . .  for just a little while, okay?" He sighed.  There was really no
good reason not to - except maybe lung cancer, emphysema, and a million
other things that came immediately to mind - but the look on her face.

   "Just not in the car, alright?" Jeremy said as they walked out into the
parking lot.  As a reward, she kissed him the cheek again, and hugged him
close, calling him a "good son." The heat of her body, so close to his . .
. she looked so young for forty-two . . .  he could feel his cock pushing
up past the waistband of his briefs.

   Eventually, they reached his car, and were on the road in a matter of
minutes.  Jeremy couldn't help but notice how high the hem of her skirt
rode on her legs; she'd always had great legs, even when he was a kid, he
could remember stealing glances in a confused, horny kind of way.

   "So, uh, were you headed out before the, um, accident?" He asked,
tearing his eyes away from her legs so he could stay on the road.

   "Ugh," she snorted in disgust, "I was going out to dinner with some
jackass Melinda introduced me to a week ago.  Actually, I'm almost glad I
had the accident - if nothing else, it made for an excellent excuse."

   "If he was such a jackass, how come you were going out with him?" Jeremy
let the wheel slide back into position under his hand.  He was starting to
relax now, his dick was beginning to soften up.

   "What can I say?  He caught me in a moment of weakness." The sound of
cellophane wrinkling and tearing filled the car for a moment.  "I lead a
cery lonely life, Jeremy.  Before, I at least had you around for company.
Now . . ." She left the senctence unfinished.

   "Sorry," he muttered.

   "No need to apologize," she laughed, "life goes on.  Things change. 
Besides, you're back now, aren't you?"

   "Only for a couple of days, mom."

   "If you say so." She leaned across, and kissed him again on the cheek.

   While Jeremy was figuring out that enigmatic comment, he detected the
telltale click of a lighter.  Glancing over, he saw his mother, lighting
up.

   "Mom!" He protested loudly.  "I said . . ."

   "Oh, Jeremy, just this one," her voice was a little plaintive, "I
promise."

   "B-" he gave her a longer glance.  The cigarette stood out from her lips
as they pursed and relaxed while she took a draw.  His dick rapidly came
back to full mast, the head tingling as he watched her exhale slowly, the
cu- smoke wafting from her cool, pink lips.

   "Jeremy!  Watch the road!" Heart in his chest, he looked back just in
time to avoid ramming the side of a city bus.

   For the rest of the ride, he kept glancing back at her, eyes flitting
between legs and lips, making small motions with his hips to rub the
sensitized end of his dick against the waistband of his shorts, just for
the sensation of something touching his stiff prick.  He fervently wished
he'd found the time for a good wank before all of this started.

   "The shower's all yours!"

   Thank God, Jeremy thought to himself as he briskly walked to the
bathroom, towels in hand.  He hadn't had a shower for two days, and he was
starting to get a little ripe.

   He found his mom standing by the door, wearing a white satin robe that
only came to about mid-thigh.  She looked much better than she had in the
hospital, refreshed and ready to take on the world.  Her shoulder-length
hair was slicked back, and he could spot a slight discoloration on her left
temple, already fading away.

   "Waiting for a bus?"

   "Don't be silly.  I'm going to wash your clothes while you're in the
shower; unless, of course, you like smelling as if you haven't showered for
weeks." Jeremy rolled his eyes, and entered the washroom.

   Without much ado, he handed his clothing off to Anne through the door,
and fairly jumped into the shower, relishing the heat.  He was working up a
good lather when his dick popped up again, ready for action.  He stopped.
Well, why the hell not?

   Jeremy wrapped one soapy hand around the shaft of his cock, and began
pumping away with a kind of fervent need for gratification he hadn't felt
since high-school.  Not surprisingly, his mind immediately flashed to her .
. .  her body . . .  tall and lean and tight . . .  how smooth her hand
felt . . .  her delicious little breasts, those oh-so-long legs . . .  like
his mom's . . .

   He shook his head.  What the fuck?  Before he could ponder the odd turn
his mind was taking, the need to get off re-asserted itself, and he just
kept on going, pushing those gams out of his head, trying to think of
something else.

   Her scent . . .  the heady mix of sweet-smelling sweat and perfume . . .
the tang of tobacco . . .  her lips . . .  cool and moist and pink,
wrapping around the butt of a cigarette . . .  just like his cock . . . 
just like his mother . . .  smoke, left drifting from her lips . . .  like
semen . . .  like his mother . . .  his mom's lips wrapped around a
cigarette . . .  his mom's legs, straddling him . . .  his mom's body,
still tall and tight and lean . . .  pressing against his . . . 
controlling . . .

   He was beating his meat furiously now, leaning against the shower wall
for support, head whirling, on the verge of blowing his load right there.
The wet smacks of skin on skin almost drowned out the sharp, insistent rap
on the bathroom door.

   "Jeremy?  Jeremy?  What's going on?" His mother asked from the other
side.

   Shit!  He mouthed the word, and unwrapped his hand from his dick with
stiff fingers.  How long had he been in here?  The water was starting to
turn cold.

   "Nothing mom," he called out.  Maybe tonight.  Maybe tonight she would
let him cum.

   Head still whirling, Jeremy climbed out of the shower, and reached for a
towel.  It was probably a good thing he'd stopped anyway.  What the hell
had he been doing in there, anyway?  Wanking about his mom?

   Shaking his head, he towelled off.  "Mom," he addressed the door, "are
my clothes done?"

   "They're washed, if that's what you mean, but not dried."

   "What!?"

   "The drier's been on the fritz for a day or so.  The repairman was
supposed to have come yesterday, but . . ."

   "Yeah, yeah, I know." He sighed.  What a week.  "D'you have a robe I can
borrow?"

   "Got one right here." Jeremy opened the door a crack, and his mom shoved
something inside.

   The robe was a full-length blue satin dressing gown.  As he slipped it
on, his dick strained painfully due to the slick feel of the fabric.  He
gave serious thought to strapping the damn thing to his leg with a length
of dental floss.  Instead, he simply ripped out a hair or two from his
testicles.  When the tears cleared, his penis had gone down enough for him
to hide it in the thin robe.

   He uttered a prayer to whomever was listening, hoping that his dick
would keep still, and walked out into the hell, er, hall.  His mom was
waiting.

   She was dressed casually for a summer evening at home, a pair of old
cutoffs and a white T-shirt.  The denim shorts were cut high on her legs,
showing off those long, long stems, tanned and toned and . . .

   Jeremy shook his head.  Underneath the silky fabric of the robe, his
dick was rising again.

   "Something wrong?" She asked, taking a long drag from a cigarette in her
left hand.

   He groaned inwardly.  It was going to be a very, very long evening.

   "Jeremy . . .  "

   He snapped to full consciousness, in the lumpy bed his mom kept in her
guest room.  Sleep had been hard won, between the uncomfortable matress,
and not being able to wank his stiff dick.  Not that he hadn't tried; it
was just that every time he started, his mind turned to her, and then to
his mom for some perverse reason, and then he had to leave off.  His dick
was willing, but that was a taboo he just couldn't consciously cross.

   "Jeremy . . ."

   He lifted his arm, experimentally.  He could move.  What did that mean?
Would she finally let him get his rocks off?

   "Come to me, Jeremy . . ."

   He eagerly slid out of the bed, one hand holding his dick, but not
stroking it.  For a moment, he wondered if he should put the robe on.  Why
bother?  It was just a dream, after all.

   "Come to me . . ."

   He followed her voice out into the living room, where she stood, wearing
a diaphanous nightgown that hid nothing.  In the silvery moonlight
streaming through the front window her skin was luminous, and every detail
was exposed to Jeremy's eyes.  Her face, as always, was shadowed, except
her lips, lit by the red glow of the cigarette as she took a brief draw. 
Her peach-sized breasts stood proudly away from her tight body, nipples
turned up slightly.  A narrow patch of pubic hair was nestled underneath
the gently curved plain around her navel, and above the apex of her thighs.
His eyes travelled downwards, across the smooth muscles of her legs, to her
feet, wrapped in a pair of sandals with towering heels.  She tapped the
butt of a lit cigarette once, flicking the ash off, and Jeremy realized
he'd been staring.

   "Who am I?" She asked quietly.

   "Perfection . . ." he replied without thinking.

   "Your ultimate fantasy . . ." she said.

   "My dream woman . . ." The words were printed on his brain, now.

   "The embodiment of all your desires . . .  your goddess of lust . . ."

   "Yes . . ." Jeremy agreed wholeheartedly.

   "Is that how you approach a goddess, Jeremy?" Her voice was soft, but
firm.  "Kneel for me, and crawl to your divine mistress."

   He dropped to his knees without a second thought, and crawled forward
until her feet filled his vision.  Her toes, peeking out through the straps
of the sandals, were perfectly formed, and a delicious aroma wafted up from
them.  Of course they were perfect . . .  every inch of her was perfect . .
.  as a goddess should be . . .

   "Greet me properly, Jeremy.  Kiss my feet." He eagerly went to work,
tongue slavishly laving her shoes, her toes, the underside of her arches.

   "Goooooood boy," the pleasure in her voice was a reward for the kneeling
Jeremy, sending a thrill through his body.  "Do you want to worship your
goddess . . .  to give her the service you were born to do . . ."

   "Yesssss," he hissed, his tongue never stopping its work on her feet.

   She lifted her skirt, and spread her legs.  "Then come up here, Jeremy,
and worship at my divine temple . . ." She spread her labia wide, exposing
her pussy to his worshipful gaze.  Liquid was flowing freely now,
glistening in the moonlight.

   "Yesssss," he said again, before leaping to his new task, burying his
face in her juicy orifice.  His tongue tingled as he lapped away, taking
her divine essence into his own body, making himself more a part of her
each time, putting himself more under her control with each lap.

   "Enough!" She commanded, though her voice was shaky.  Jeremy's goddess
drew his face out of her crotch, and tilted his head upwards, towards her
own face.  "Look at me, Jeremy.  Look at your goddess, and know!"

   It was as if a cloud had been lifted from his eyesight.  His mother
looked down at him from on high, lips curled into a smile, eyes almost
glowing in the semi-darkness of the living room.

   Jeremy's heart stopped working.  His mother.  She was his goddess . . .
his dream woman . . .  his ultimate fantasy . . .  this was a dream . . .
it had to be a dream . . .  Despite the shock, he couldn't help but lick
the remaining vaginal secretions from his lips, savouring the taste.

   "It's no dream, Jeremy.  Not tonight.  The car crash . . .  it jarred
something loose, I think.  Something in my brain.  When I woke up in the
hospital, I was filled with new desires, new emotions . . .  and power. 
The power to touch minds, to touch them and mould them any which way I
wanted.  But I needed to test things.  Needed to make sure I could do
whatever I wanted.  If I could have you, I thought, I could have anything,
anyone at all.  But you don't care, do you?  You're happy just kneeling
there, worshipping me, aren't you, Jeremy?"

   He could only nod.  It was the truth.  Everything she said was the
truth. She was a goddess, after all . . .  his goddess . . .  she
controlled him . . .  every part of him . . .  she had taken his soul, and
he didn't care.  All he wanted to do was prostrate himself at her feet, and
worship . . .

   And Jeremy had the rest of his life to find out just how delicious
worshipping this goddess could be . . .  END