Motherlode - Part 2

 

That first time with Dad changed everything.

I found myself obsessing over it, craving the feeling of being her, experiencing everything as she did. At first, I told myself it was just curiosity, but eventually, I stopped lying to myself: I liked being my mom more than anything else in the world. More than I liked being myself.

When I wasn’t in her, I was thinking about getting back in her. I’d wait for her to take a nap or drink a glass of wine, and the moment she let her guard down, I’d jump into her skin and let the games begin. It became an obsession, an addiction.

I was careful, though. She never suspected a thing. And whenever Dad showed up, I was ready for him.

Mom and Dad started having sex more than ever, and it got to the point where I barely needed to put in any effort. He was so hard for her all the time.

A few weeks in, something strange happened. I was riding him with my top off, one of his favorite ways to do it, and I lost track of how long I’d been out of my body. 

He grabbed my hips, said, “God, you feel amazing babe,” and I felt her consciousness breaking through.

I was suddenly a passenger, looking through my mother’s eyes.

She was confused for a moment, but when she saw him under her, his eyes closed in pleasure, she thought this was all her.

It wasn’t like before. I was there, but I couldn't control her. I felt everything she did, every sensation amplified by my powerlessness. I should have been horrified, but instead I was trapped in her pleasure. Every thrust, every moan from Dad's lips was like fuel to the fire of this new, shared ecstasy.

I didn’t want to lose that feeling. It was too intense, too good. So I stayed where I was, letting her take over as Dad came inside of us.

Mom and Dad started passionately making out, like a couple truly in love. And I understood for the first time just how much they wanted each other. Watching them from inside her was unexpectedly beautiful.

Afterwards, as they lay tangled together and her breathing slowed, I was going to make my move to take back control.

My mother’s consciousness was strong, though. She didn’t fade like I thought she would. 

Instead, she turned her head and whispered, “I love you.”

It was gentle and soft and terrifyingly sincere.

I was stunned by how raw her emotions were. Suspended in the back of her mind, I felt the deep warmth she had for him, for my father.

I tried to push through, but it happened again. Her emotions rose up and consumed me. I was quickly overwhelmed by my mom’s love for him, feeling it replace the kind of love I’d personally felt for my dad. It was love as a partner would love. I could feel my own feelings struggling under the weight of it, crushed and insignificant against the enormity of her desire and her devotion.

The longer I stayed in her, the more I felt it, like it was taking over.

I tried again to take control, but each time the force of her passion overpowered me. I couldn’t get away from it.

It was terrifying and confusing.

I barely managed to escape.