His Mothers Voice

A long tale, in the writing, and the reading I suspect. If you're looking for a quick stroke story, you should probably look elsewhere. If you've read one of my stories, you'll find the usual here: elements of incest, mind control, gently dominant moms, a little light humiliation and cuckolding. If these are not your cup of tea, please do not complain to me that you are drinking somebody else's tea: just give me back my dang tea.

--for my muse--

-----------------------------

The doorbell rang, then rang again, followed by an insistent knock.

"Ty, can you get that please?"

"Yeah, yeah, just a minute."

"Now, please, Tyler. I've got my hands full, here." His mom's voice, her no-nonsense voice, rang out from the acoustically-balanced first floor bathroom just before the doorbell went off again.

"Fine, whatever." The broad-shouldered 21-year-old pulled himself up off the sofa and slouched his way over to the front door. The UPS guy on the other side only looked a few years older than he did. "Hey."

"Hey. I got a package for-" he read the label on the side of a much-abused cardboard box. "Kimberly...Hayes?"

"Mom!" Tyler shouted back over his shoulder. "Package!"

"Well, sign for it," came the reply. "I've been waiting for that."

Tyler rolled his eyes but took the electronic pad offered by the courier.

"Wait, is your mom that Kim Hayes? 'Mommy Muscles' Kim Hayes?" The guy looked past him to where a cardboard stand-up version of Mrs. Hayes lay propped against a wall. "Holy shit she is! Dude we had all those tapes when I was-"

"Yeah, yup I already heard it." Tyler shoved the pad back out the door and snatched the package. "Get the fuck."

The door swung closed with a bang that shook the house.

"You're welcome," he hollered and threw the package onto a side table before falling back into the sofa.

"Oh perfect, thanks!" His mother emerged from the bathroom, pulling off a pair of canary-yellow rubber gloves. If you ignored the lines around her mouth and eyes, she was still visibly the woman on that old cardboard cut-out, minus the atrocious mid-90s haircut, some off-brand variation on the 'Rachel.' Tucking her gloves into a pocket, Kim pulled off the kerchief holding back her razor-straight black hair. She wore a pair of Tyler's old grey sweats, hacked off at the knee, ragged hems swinging around her tawny-brown calves like bells around clappers. Kim gave her hands a final wipe in her much-abused t-shirt (emblazoned with a faded image of her 20-something self, flexing a bicep), and said, "gimme gimme gimme."

"It's on the table," Ty said, not looking up from his phone. It was obvious even to a passing observer that Tyler was his mother's son: the same dark hair, same nose, same eyes. He had his father's chin and cheeks, which gave him a slightly aristocratic, intellectual air, the kind of guy who got cast as the heart throb nerd in a teen movie, especially after the summer working at the lumber yard had filled out his chest and shoulders. Sometimes when Kim actually spent the time to do her makeup properly before a fancy dinner or special occasion, people would mistake her for Tyler's older sister, to her constant delight and his equal embarrassment.

His mother's nails had been trimmed to a utilitarian length, but they made short work of the packing tape anyway. Foam peanuts scattered on the floor as she lifted the contents from the box.

"Perfect!" Kim crowed. "Can you help me set this up, please?"

"Ugh. What is it?" Peering over the back of the couch, he saw she was holding aloft a sun-faded box with a big cellophane window revealing a brassy-looking microphone. The block-letter legend below the window read CYREN6000. "What the hell do you need a microphone for?" Tyler stood back up with a grunt.

"It's for my podcast," said his mother, bouncing on her toes.

"What are you going to do with a podcast?" He took the box from her, turning it over in his hands.

"We can't live off those 'Mommy Muscles' royalties forever. For starters, they get smaller every year," Kim began listing off reasons on her fingers, "second, I can't coast on one success for the rest of my life. Third, I'm bored to tears. Fourth, all these Instagram girls seem to have a lifestyle and fashion website, and I don't think there's anything out there for women my age. Finally, I think I still have a thing or two to teach all those moms out there."

"So you're starting a podcast?"

"Well, that's part of it. It'll be a whole website, with food and fitness ideas, makeup and fashion tips, all that stuff." Her hands closed over his forearm, as she bobbed excitedly.

"Dad isn't uh-, I mean he's not going to-, I mean his involvement is going to be pretty um-" Tyler tried to find a more or less polite way to talk around his father.

"Him? Ha!" Kim laughed derisively. "I might ask him to help with maintaining some of the tech stuff, but there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to let your father get any more involved than that. If it wasn't for him-" she rolled her eyes. They'd both heard it more than enough. Dan Hayes would never live down losing all a fortune, her fortune, hard-earned from the creation of the Mommy Muscles fitness system that made Kim Hayes a household name in the 90s, by betting it all on pets-dot-fucking-com. "Anyway, so long as you're around this summer, I thought you could help me set things up, starting with this." She poked the box.

Ty scanned the back of the box, which read:

THE CYREN6000 AUDIO RECORDING SYSTEM is a fully Windows 95 and SoundBlaster32-compatible sound recording system that comes complete with an on-the-fly Mini Mixing Board so you can change your voice as you record! They'll never hear your voice the same way again when you're speaking through the CYREN

"You would not believe the deal I got on it," she said, big brown eyes flashing with excitement. "It was the last one in stock."

"No kidding." Tyler made a face. "Mom, this thing might be older than me."

"Is that...bad?" Kim's own face fell, two decades of disappointments suddenly pulling on her demeanour. "I can still use it, right? Please don't make me have to go ask your father."

"I mean-" he struggled for the words, then, "Look. A mic's a mic, right? We might need some, uh, attachments to get it to connect to the computer but I think we can figure something. We probably just need an adapter or something."

"So you'll go to Radioshack for me?" His mother went back to bouncing on her toes, the top of her head bouncing just above his shoulder.

"Radioshack? Mom, Jesus. Didn't they all close down?"

"Best Buy or whatever, will you please?"

"Yes, yes yeah sure. I'll have to borrow your Visa." Tyler shook his arm free from his mom's grip.

"What? They don't pay you down at the lumber yard?"

"That's for," he thought for a second. 'Motorcycle' was probably the wrong answer, there. "School."

"So you're definitely going back, then?" One of Kim's eyebrows shot up.

"Uh, well, it wouldn't hurt to put some money aside, right?" Ty gave her what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.

"I'll get my Visa," his mom said with a laugh, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "But bring it right back, okay?"

"Right, yeah."

* In fact, it took two trips to Best Buy, and one to an electronics recycling depot to build the chain of adapters and ports required to link the mic to Kim's computer over the course of three days, not counting the time spent finding a set of compatible drivers to make the thing work.

It sat on her desk, next to the keyboard, a great big fake-brass slotted lozenge atop a heavy swivelling arm. There were a number of buttons around the base of it, fat plasticky-looking "jewels" with stuff like REVERB and HI-TONE on them: one purple button was bigger than the rest, and just read VOG.

Tyler thought it looked like a kid's toy, and said as much. Kim thought so too, but she'd paid for the damn thing, and all the hardware to connect it, and as far as sunk costs went, she wasn't about to say die on this one. Not yet, anyway.

"So, it works?" She leaned back in her chair, idly swivelling it back and forth. Kim held one toned, brown leg against her chest while swinging the other; a pair of loose, black running shorts left them almost entirely bare in the sticky summer air. She fanned the hem of her aqua-blue tank top a little, motivating some of that air around her chest, while sweat ran in rivulets down into her cleavage.

"Theoretically, I guess, yeah." Tyler shrugged. "I mean, all the connectors connected. Only one way to find out-"

"Hey guys, what's up?" Dan Hayes poked his head around the door into Kim's office, hair plastered against his forehead with sweat. His wife and son shared a look.

"Nothing," they said, almost in unison.

Kim, realizing that looked even more suspicious, ventured, "Ty was just asking me about, a...personal problem."

"Oh? Maybe I can help." Dan's paunch-strained t-shirt nosed around the corner.

"Sure, Dad, sure. I've got this rash, right-" Ty turned around and made to pull down his basketball shorts.

"Whoa, wow. Okay, wow I'm fine." His father threw up his hands and backed out of the room. "That sounds like some quality mother-son time I'm interrupting. You guys have fun." They breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped away, only to seize their breath again when he poked his head back in. "Hey, if you're still thinking of revamping your website, I've got some ideas that you might-"

"Yes definitely, of course." Kim nodded vigorously. "Now Tyler, honey, why don't you show me where the itching is?" Parting shot taken, Dan hurried away before things got gross.

"Anyway," Tyler turned back to the computer. "I don't see why it shouldn't work. Everything is connected. Just hit record and you're good to go." He adjusted the height of the mic. "What the hell is VOG?"

"Oh I don't know, I haven't read the manual all the way through yet," Kim waved a thick, yellowing booklet around. "I'll play around with it, and let you know if anything's wrong."

"Yeah, sure." He shrugged, and sauntered away.

"Thank you honey!" Kim shouted at his retreating back, earning another shrug. "VOG...VOG..." she thumbed through the manual.

"Variable...voice...voltage...volume...wait. Voice of the Goddess, page 87." She flipped to a crude photostat of the button layout; sure enough, there was VOG, the Voice of the Goddess button. No explanation followed. "That is...unhelpful." Kim's brow furrowed. She put the book down and turned back to the computer where the recording software waited.

"Test test test," she put her lips, soft and pink and bare, almost against the metal of the microphone. Nothing. "Hello?" No response from the computer. Feeling slightly helpless and older than her forty-five years, Kim was almost considering calling out to her husband for help when she noticed the little black switch at the base labelled POWER. She flipped it, and feedback howled from the computer's speakers, while the buttons came to life with a gently pulsating light.

"Hello?" Kim tried again, and just about clapped with glee when the equalizer on screen leapt to life. Who needed a man around, anyway? Specifically, who needed Dan around, anyway, so long as Ty was home? "Test test test."

Noodling around with the audio software, she eventually found the REC. button.

"Test one two, test one two."

Too bad he was only hanging around for the summer, taking a "gap term," while he sorted out his courses. She'd be sad to see the back of him. Even when he was in one of his sullen moods, Ty was twice as useful to have around the house as his father. Dan had two modes: eager but incompetent, and lazy and incompetent, except where it came to one or two fairly narrow fields of experience, such as late 90's HTML coding, or losing money.

"Thank you, Tyler." Oops. She hadn't meant to record that, but there it was, all sine waves and things on the screen. Oh well. A thank you .mp3 might be nice for him? Kim smirked. Too bad there was no way to get some real work out of him. Her fingers played with the sound effect buttons. On a whim, she pressed VOG.

"Now go and clean the kitchen," she said, laughing. Kim played with some of the other buttons, then started poking around with the software, looking for a way to save the files, export them into the format she wanted. There were a...lot of options. She'd have to get Tyler to show her what a lot of them meant, at some point, but she eventually happened on an "Export File to MP3" command, and out popped a wee 10 second sound file. She listened to it a couple of times; the VOG seemed to add a little depth to her voice, a little extra...assertiveness or something, just a little oomph that was almost imperceptible if you didn't know it was there.

Then it was off to her email, attached as a file, sent off to her son, subject line "TEST - Let me know if it works."

Even if it worked, there was still a lot to do. For starters, there was Lydia -- the whole website thing was her agent's idea, after all -- she'd want to know when the wheels started turning so she could sort out a marketing strategy, get her in touch with the right people to promote it, revamp it, host it, all that technical stuff; then she'd have to find a decent photographer, figure out a reasonable schedule for posting, a rota for articles and content, et cetera.

And that was all before she even started writing anything. No, it was a lot of work, but it still beat making the convention circuit for the umpteenth time, addressing dwindling crowds and hawking the same old same old.

Maybe it was time to hire somebody, an assistant or something. Dan would be pissed, but there was probably some harmless corner she could give him, something even he couldn't fuck up.

Someone to share the load would be-

Outside, a cacophony of metal striking and sliding and scattering across tile broke her train of thought.

"What on earth?" Kim rose from her desk, shutting down the software, and followed the racket into the kitchen, where she found Ty on his hands and knees in the middle of a gleaming, freshly-mopped floor (the mop stood in its bucket close by), trying to reassemble the precarious stack of pots and pans that lived in the open cupboard next to him.

"How," he said, not looking up. "The fuck." Two cookie sheets banged together. "Do you stack." He nested a couple of pots atop them and slid the works inside, where it promptly poured back out again. "These fucking." A muffin tin joined the avalanche this time. "Things?"

Kim laughed and immediately dropped to her knees to help her hapless son.

"Practice, mostly, and a little bit of skill, I guess." She said, nimble fingers quickly assembling the cookware in the one configuration that worked. "What in heaven's name are you even doing?"

"I'm-" a look of confusion crossed his handsome features. "I'm...cleaning? Cleaning the kitchen?"

"Honey, I appreciate the thought but why? Was there even anything to clean in here?"

Ty ran his hands through his hair, clearly making a great effort to think through something. "You...you asked me to? Clean the kitchen?"

"Oh." Kim said, quietly. "Oh, I see." She bit her lip, watching him. "Well, let's finish this together and then we'll start thinking about supper. How does something on the grill sound?"

"That sounds great to me," and he was back, confusion gone.

"Ty," she asked, as they slid the pans home. "Did- did you get that email I sent you?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think so? The audio file?"

"That's the one." They both stood at the same time. "Did you listen to it?" Kim looked up into her son's handsome face, searching his features as his brow furrowed with concentration.

"Yes?" He scratched his head. "Yes." More firmly. "Yeah, I listened to it."

"Good," she said, thinking. "Good. I'm glad it worked." Kim clapped her hands, clearing the air. "Now, let's start talking supper. Steak ok?"

* If it took a few days for Kim to get back to playing with her new toy, it was because she was busy getting her new venture in order and definitely not because of its apparent effect on Tyler. After all, there were probably a dozen good reasons for a recalcitrant young man to be cleaning a kitchen for his mother, no matter how incompetently, on a beautiful summer's day that had nothing whatsoever to do with weird vocal effects, even if Ty couldn't give any himself.

Easy enough to believe in the summer sun, when there were ten other things that needed doing and twenty more that she'd rather be doing. But eventually the air got fed up with the humidity and sent it all crashing back to earth in great warm sheets of rain. Thus, Kim found herself seated in front of the computer again, staring at a handwritten list of topics she and Lydia had come up with and nursing a mojito (leftovers from last night's brainstorming session).

"You need at least six weeks' worth of content ready to go," her curvy pixie of an agent had advised. "Or at least that's what Lyam tells me."

"Liam?"

"No, 'Lyam' with a 'y'."

"That poor child, what were his parents thinking?"

"Honey, so long as he's still got that big young dick he can spell his name with as many 'y's' as he wants."

Once she got started, it was nearly impossible to get Lydia off the topic of her latest conquest, so the last three bullets on the list were "cocks," "BIG cocks" and "sexual stamina of college-age cocks," whereas the rest of the entries were all stuff Kim had given hundreds of extemporaneous talks about on the conference circuit: nutrition, supplements, aerobic exercise, weights, squats, etc., etc.

She stared at the list for a bit, sipped her drink, then stared some more. She got up, walked around the room, flexed her quads, picked at the light-grey leggings stretched taut across her muscular thighs and squat-hardened ass, straightened her flowy blue tunic and sat down again. Kim stared at the screen, feeling immensely silly. It was one thing to talk to an audience of actual humans, but wasting an afternoon just talking to herself seemed ridiculous.

She drummed her fingers lightly against the keyboard, scowled, then picked up the phone and dialled Lydia.

"Kimberly darling," her agent enthused breathlessly, "how are you? I had an absolute beast of a hangover this morning but I'm working...it...out."

"Are you on a treadmill?" Kim could hear the other woman grunting with exertion. "Getting extra dehydrated is not a great way to-"

"Me? Please." Lydia laughed. "No, this is more like, um, oh! Acupressure. Just a moment." There was a loud fumbling at the other end of the line, then the weird faraway echo of being put on speakerphone. "There we are, that's much more comfortable, isn't it?" There was a noncommittal male noise somewhere in the background. "Now, um, now Kim what can I do for you?"

"Help me not feel like a fool," she said, twirling the phone cord around her finger.

"Whatever, oh! Whatever do you mean?" Kim could have sworn she heard a slap.

"Talking to this computer is what I mean," she twanged the cord once, twice, then started running a fingertip around the keys of the keyboard. "I feel like an idiot, trying to chat away in a room by myself."

"Well, why don't you close your eyes and try to oooh imagine an audience?" Lydia's sigh was loud enough to make the handset vibrate against her ear. "They can be naked, if that makes you more comfortable." The agent laughed again.

"Oh, so instead of just talking to myself, I can go for full-blown delusion instead? That's an even worse idea! Lydia, what if I can't do this?" Kim played with the mic's on/off switch. "Lydia? Lyds? Hello?"

"Ummm, sorry darling. He's just really hitting those deep tissue pressure points. What about a co-oh-host? Somebody from the cum-community?"