This picks up in the aftermath of the last chapter. Italics indicate telepathy at work. Appreciate your votes and comments, especially comments. Will try to respond to signed comments, public and private. Enjoy, JB7
It took me nearly an hour to calm Mom down. When she lunged at me, screaming the way she was, I freaked out and 'froze' her. First problem was, I didn't know how I did it. Second, she was still awake, in a body she couldn't move and I couldn't release. I could, however, talk to her.
I explained, as best I could, what Grampa Luke, Gramps, and Dad had done to her, Gramm and Nana. That, using their empathic abilities, they had been able to force the women's desired outcomes to align with their own. When I changed her desire for release to acceptance of her frozen state, she realized I was telling the truth, and was able to identify a number of times in the past when it had happened to her.
I had placed her on the couch, lying on her back, her arms and legs in the 'lunge' position. Over the hour we 'talked,' (I talked, she thought and I read her mind), gravity and gradual relaxation worked their magic and her arms and legs fell into a normal supine position. I was sitting by her feet, stroking her legs, trying to help her relax. There was a lull in the conversation as she considered the information I had just given her, about empathic control.
She was lying there, looking at the ceiling. I looked up from rubbing her leg and noticed that the hem of her frock had fallen up her leg and was bunched up right at the juncture of her thighs. There was just enough room so that I could see she had been waiting for me, commando style, to return from Gramm's. My cock gave a lurch, much to my surprise, after coming four times with Gramm in a four to five hour period.
I started running my hands up over Mom's knees, reaching a bit more than half way up her thighs.
"Will,"
she thought, her tone sharp and full of irritation,
"what do you think you're doing. I'm still angry at you..."
"I know, Ma, and if I had done it consciously, you'd be right to be angry. But, I promise, the only time I consciously attempted to make you do anything, was the day Gramps went into the hospital, when I asked you for the truth about what Harry had done to you."
I had pulled her legs around me and was rubbing them, doing the top of her thighs on the up stroke, then the inside of each on the downstroke. With each stroke, I went a fraction of an inch higher. I was a about two-thirds of the way to her crotch when she lifted her head and looked down at what I was doing.
"That's far enough,"
she said, her mental voice calm, with no inflection. I looked up at her face. She had lain back down, and wasn't looking at me.
"You know, Mom, this reminds me of a story I read once, about a guy who had hypnotized a girl so she couldn't move but was aware of everything he did to her. He was talking to her, reminding her of the great sex they had together, and all the time he was running his hands over her nude body."
At that point, I imagined Mom lying there, naked, and her clothing was gone. Looking around, I saw it in a pile in the easy chair. I felt a little bit of alarm from her, mixed with an increase in her level of arousal.
"He was just lightly touching her, caressing her, on her stomach, her breasts, arms, legs, shoulders, face," I went on, matching my actions to my words, randomly caressing her, for just a few seconds at a time.
"Please stop,"
she thought. I could tell that if she had been able to speak, it wouldn't have been more than a whisper.
When I finished stroking her cheeks, I stopped talking, and my touching got a little firmer, slower, longer. I started at her shoulders and moved down her body, avoiding her nipples but caressing the bottoms and sides of her breasts. While doing this, I sent my clothes to the pile with hers.
"Stop. Please. Don't." Whispers, but spoken this time. "Stop, Will, I'm your mother. You shouldn't be doing this." There was no inflection in her voice. It was like she was reading a movie script for the first time. Her voice was flat, undemanding, no anxiety or fear evident.
I continued stroking her abdomen, every third or fourth circuit reaching up to her breasts, lightly touching the bottom crescents. Her body grew less tense and I could visibly see her relaxing. As she slowly gained control, my hands ventured lower on her body, brushing through her dark, full thatch with my fingers. I could feel her subtle upward pushes, even as she kept repeating her whispered, "Stop, that's enough now, Will. Please stop now."
I bent forward to kiss her, just below the navel, dragging my teeth down her belly just before the kiss. "Will! What...Ooooooh, you fucker; don't you dare stop now!" her hips began to thrust harder as my line of kisses moved down through her nest to her open wetness. "Oh, god, Will! Are you doing this to me with your mind? I've never felt like this before. Oh, shit! I'm gonna...uh uh uh uh uh ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyy gaaaawwwwwwwwwwd, Willlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!! Unnnnnnggggghhhh!"
I had found her clitoris with my tongue and was lashing the hell out of it. Her hips were dancing off the couch while her hands were trying to pull my face inside her pussy. I had an idea, and without warning her, envisioned her floating a few inches above the couch. She was there, unaware of it, as I slowly entered her pussy with my cock, rock hard at this point.
I pulled her legs up over my shoulders, and holding on to her hips, began sawing in and out of her. Have you ever done it in a pool or lake? It was kind of like that. Once she was in position, it didn't take a lot of concentration to keep her floating, so I was able to enjoy the kinkiness of it.
Mom was fine, until she reached down to adjust herself sideways. When the couch wasn't where she expected it to be, she sort of freaked a bit.
"Whaaaaaaaa? Where is.... where am I??" she screamed. I was able to maintain her floating even while I was laughing. I reached down and pulled her to me, so that we were in my version of the lotus position, except that by now, I had also levitated myself. We were both floating, joined at the pussy.
Needless to say, Mom was nearly hysterical, first from fright, then from wonder. Her head was in a spin inside, so that I couldn't get a grip on anything to get her to calm down.
Then the doorbell rang.
I landed on my knees and elbows, on the couch, saving Mom from getting crushed by my body, except I think my cock went in about six inches deeper than the eight I already had in her, and we were pube to pube as it was. Okay, it wasn't an extra six inches, but it sure felt that way.
Mom looked kind of dazed, then shook her head and said, "It's someone for you. A woman named Iolande. She was sent by Yvette, your great grandmother."
I looked at her, surprised out of my jockeys (if I'd been wearing them). "How do you know who's at the door? And how..."
"I don't know," she answered, surprise and a little fear in her voice. I put our clothing back on us and went to answer the door. Mom opened the bedroom window and went to the kitchen.
If you're familiar with the painting by Botticelli of Venus Rising from the Sea, then you have an idea of what was waiting for me when I opened the door. Statuesque is the only word that begins to do Iolande justice, and it falls short by an encyclopedia volume or two. She was tall, about 5-11 in her stocking feet I would learn. Her body was wrapped in a light summer travel cloak, but inside, when she took it off, she revealed a very feminine size 14 body. (For those of you who insist on numbers, 36D, 22, 35).
She had auburn hair, with bright blue eyes set in the wide planed facial structure of the Slavic-Scandinavian genotype. Think Anita Ekberg or Bo Derek with reddish hair. Charlie hadn't fully receded yet, and the sight of Iolande stirred him to full salute mode. When I opened the storm door to let her in, she glanced down at my groin, then at my eyes with a slight smile. When she was past me, I glanced down. He wasn't showing. How did she know? Oh, yeah; she's a witch.
I let the storm door close and turned to follow Iolande. She had taken a few steps into the foyer and turned to wait for me.
"You must be Will. Yvette didn't tell me how handsome you are."
Naturally, I blushed and stammered something stupid in reply, then asked, "Can I take your cloak?" She unfastened the frog at her throat and started to shrug it off. I pictured it hanging on the coat tree across the room, and in a flash it was there. Iolande's eyes opened wide in surprise.
