I Turned My Prude Mother Into A Sexy Bimbo 1 [M/F, Incest - Mom/Son, Mind Control/Hypnosis, Bimbofication/Growth]

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic mind control fiction with elements of coerced sexual activity; all characters are 18+

Summary: *Kevin’s mom accidentally orders the ‘lover’s package’ for their special mother-and-son day at the spa. What’s a son to do when his prude and petite mom turns into a curvaceous MILF with the libido of a bimbo?*

**I TURNED MY PRUDE MOTHER INTO A SEXY BIMBO 1**

“Why won’t you get in?” I ask my pouting mother, staring at her sweat-slicked face as she tries to pretend that she’s not overheating. “You’re the one that dragged us here!”

She shrugs, then blushes and stares at her pretty, sandaled feet. “I thought there’d be separate pools, Kevin—I didn’t think we’d be….”

“What? Do you not have a bathing suit on under that?” I stare at her modest blouse and high-waisted jeans, confused that not only did she force this *mother-son day* on me, but that *now* she doesn’t seem to want to participate in taking a dip at the private pool that she reserved for us.

She glares at me, straightening with a huff. “Of course, I have a swimming suit on!” she whispers angrily—in her ‘*who-the-hell-do-you-think-I-am?*’ tone; the truth is, my mom has always been a major prude, but it’s never really bothered me, until ridiculous situations like this crop up.

“I just thought that I’d get my own pool!” she continues, “And that such a fancy resort would have men and women separated….”

I roll my eyes and sink further into the coolness of the shimmery water. It tingles against my skin, refreshing and perfect on a scorcher of a summer’s day like this one. The advertisement had said something about the water being infused with ‘relaxation salts’, whatever the hell that means, and with each second that passes, I feel the tension leaving my body. All of my resentful and annoyed feelings seem to dissipate as I dunk my sweaty head under for a brief moment. I don’t really want to argue with my mom—in fact, I feel mostly sorry that she’s so uncomfortable . . . and maybe even a little ashamed, too, like it’s my fault somehow.

“I don’t know why you wanted to go swimming with me, then,” I mumble, wiping the water from my eyes. “If you want, we can just leave….”

I don’t want to leave now that I’m in the blissfully cool water though, and I’m glad when she immediately says, “No, no—I paid too much money for us to be here….”, my feelings less hurt when she continues, “I guess it’s just you and me, anyway, and the pool is pretty big.”

With as relaxed as I’m becoming, I don’t even feel the need to snip at her that of course we’re the only ones here (that’s what a *private* pool reservation means, after all), and I still don’t quite understand what she expected (or why it matters if we both have our own pool versus sharing one), but it’s hard to care as a mind-numbing wave of calm flows through me, relaxing me from head to toe.

*This is really nice*, my thoughts buzz dreamily.

When I open my eyes again, it’s hard not to stare at my mom slowly stripping off her top. She’s got a cute, lean figure, and I’ve never seen her in a swimsuit before, even though it’s a pretty basic one—tight and black and clinging to her small, perky breasts and slender body. I pretend not to notice as she shimmies down her jeans, side-eyeing her long bare legs, and petite, rounded ass.

*Maybe she’s just embarrassed that she’s so thin,* I consider, realizing that she’d look better with a few more pounds on her. *Maybe she’s worried that I’ll make comments on her body….*

That thought makes me feel really bad, because obviously she’s my *mom*, and it’s none of my business if she’s particularly attractive or not—and even though I definitely think she is, I know telling her would be weird. I don’t say anything as she bends over to remove her sandals, and I continue to pretend not to notice her as she slowly slips into the pool, a distance away from me.

“Wow,” she hums, going neck deep quickly, as though she’s trying to hide herself in the murky-purpleness of the water. “They weren’t kidding about this being relaxing.”

“Wanna swim laps and see who’s faster?” I tease, grinning as she shoots me a ‘*no-fucking-way’* smile.

We just chill together, with me halfway dozing as the salts really seem to sink in, both of us sitting mostly submerged on the edge, where there are convenient sloping seats under the water, just made to lounge on.

“This feels amazing, Kevin,” my mom murmurs, and when I open a drowsy eye to peek at her, I’m surprised to see her normally tense face fully relaxed, the pink heat in her cheeks balmy, her plush lips open, her eyes half-lidded and . . . strangely sexy.

*Don’t be a perv,* I tell myself, covering my lap with my hands as blood rushes to my groin.

It’s such a strange reaction to have to her that the calmness I feel nearly spins into confusion, but then a woman walks into our room, her attire trim and professionally white, carrying an armful of towels and a tray of drinks.

“Sorry, I forgot to set these out for you,” she says with a wide smile. She drops the towels on a pool chair nearby, then sets the drinks on a singular, tiny table.

The water ripples around my mom and me, and I glance over, expecting her to look more uncomfortable now that someone is here, witnessing the absolute shame of a mother doing something as scandalous as sharing a pool with her only son.

“Thank you,” my mom says, not even glancing the woman’s way. “They’re non-alcoholic, right?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

It’s the last word anyone says, and I don’t think anything of it until we get out of the pool, hours later, and sip the bubbly, pink drinks slowly as we towel off. I’m so calm that I don’t even complain about the bitter-sweet taste or how it makes heat rise all through me. My gaze catches on my mom’s silky-smooth looking feet, at the way her toenails are painted nearly the same shade of pink as our drinks, and I almost compliment her before I catch myself, remaining silent as she pulls on her dry clothes and sandals; I stay in just my basketball shorts.

*Why have I never noticed how cute her feet are before?* I wonder idly, following her as she quickly leads the way to the front desk.

A flustered man greets us, his eyes wide, sweat dripping down his cheeks. “Oh, my, yes,” he stammers, “I hope you both had a lovely visit, Mrs. Weathers and . . . uh, son?”

“Yes,” my mom says, not seeming to notice the question—or the man’s open nervousness. “We both had a very relaxing time.”

“So pleased to hear, so very pleased,” the man continues, tugging on the sagging white collar around his sweaty neck. It’s then that I notice him slyly body-blocking a sign behind him, but with me standing off to the side, and my mom in front of him, I can still make out the words: ‘Lovers-drinks: fruity pink concoctions meant to bring out sensual lusts and desires. May have unintended….’

*Did he serve us the wrong drinks?* I think numbly, seeing just the hint of the next drinks offered, described as something called: ‘Familial-refreshments: tangy orange….’

“Here’s your complimentary vial of our pool salts,” he says quickly, handing over a bottle of white sand-looking stuff to my mom. “On the house!”

“Well, that sure was nice of him,” my mom tells me as we make our way to the car. “Normally something like this costs extra—a few hundred, at least! I’d looked into buying some before we came, but—”

I don’t listen to her ramble on, distracted by my racing thoughts that we were probably served the wrong drinks, and wondering what the hell that means for us, since we obviously consumed shit that was meant for *lovers*, not friends or family.

My mom gets into the driver’s side as my fingers pause on the passenger door’s handle, my ears picking up on a frantic, “Mr. Weathers! Mr. Weathers!”, and I blink in confusion as the lady who’d served us our drinks and towels comes running up behind me, a pink vial clutched in her hand. “You forgot this!”

“It’s part of the lover’s package,” she says, “I think Dilbert gave Mrs. Weathers the wrong one. Feel free to keep both, though!”

I take the vial from her, too shocked and embarrassed to say anything, desperately wanting her to go away before my mom realizes something is wrong.

“Thanks,” I say quickly, wondering how the fuck she doesn’t realize I’m much too young to be my mom’s husband, but not wanting to explain anything as I quickly get into the car. “Appreciate it,” I say as I slam the car door shut.

She runs off without looking back, and my mom claps in delight, exclaiming, “Two vials of salts? How generous of them!”

“Yeah,” I say weakly, clutching the pink vial tightly to my lap.

*What the fuck, what the fuck!?* my mind screams; I suddenly realize that the purpleness of the pool was probably because we’d been bathing in the pink salts combined with the blue water. Was that why I got an erection thinking about my mom? Was that why I couldn’t help but notice her tantalizing feet and toes? Was the lover’s package to blame for all my pervy and weird thoughts?

\*\*\*

Mom seems to forget that I have the pink vial of pool salts in my possession, her demeanor calm and giggly as we get home and she tells me that she could use a good nap. I rush into my room, my cock tingling weirdly, and hide the vial in my sock drawer before pulling down my shorts, my eyes nearly bulging out of my head as I get a good look at the swelling going on.

“Jesus,” I whimper, touching the spongy flesh, shocked that my half-hard dick seems to have nearly doubled in size.

Much to my shame, I’ve always been on the smaller side, but now I look to be perfectly average, if not more, but fear floods through me as I wonder if I’m having an allergic reaction of some sort.

*Maybe my body is rejecting the salts,* I think, remembering the sign warning that unintended reactions could happen. *Maybe it was the pink drinks too—maybe the mix was toxic to my system and my body is trying to eject the toxins….*

“By what, making my cock swell?” I whimper to myself, frantically gripping it.

Bliss shoots through me at my own touch, making me nearly dizzy as my cock goes fully hard, growing long and stiff in my hand.

“Holy shit,” I moan.

It’s *definitely* bigger—and my thoughts all blur together as I can’t help but stroke it furiously, all the images of my mom’s sexy body and cute, painted feet swirling around inside me as I beat off. It’s like a compulsion that I can’t fight—and if I had enough foresight in my mind to consider that the lover’s package was meant to make couples fuck, I’d realize what’s happening, but instead I just cum helplessly all over the floor, jerking off like an animal as I grip my dresser, ecstasy thrumming through me like a pink wave.

I’m so tired after my orgasm that I stumble into bed in my still damp shorts, instantly falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

My dreams are filled with purple-pink waters, and I'm drowning and then not, being pulled up by my mom, who kisses the air back into my lungs. Instead of her modest, black bathing suit, she has on a tiny, pink bikini, her perky breasts only barely covered, her nipples peeking out, her rounded asscheeks spilling from the sides of the skimpy material, and her feet and toes bare, wet and sexy.

"Is this what you wanted, Kevin?" she asks, holding my chin. "Did you want to share a private pool with your own mother, son?

“I—I—” the dream me stammers, trying to deny it, trying to deny that I’d ever felt such a longing, lustful attraction to her.

“I’m so glad we get to share this special experience, together,” she mouths poutfully, her plush lips even fuller, her tits swelling bigger and bigger under her tight top. “Let me help you,” she giggles playfully, noticing my engorged erection, the once small stub nearly baseball bat-sized as she takes down my shorts. “I’ll breathe some life into it….”

I wake up in a pool of sweat and cum, realizing that I’ve just had a wet dream where my own mother sucks me off. Quickly, I raise up the waistband of my shorts to stare at my swollen member, and am relieved to see that it’s not grown so big as to be monstrous, but is still the same above average-ish size I fell asleep with.

It’s still bizarre, being suddenly bigger, but at least it’s not freakish. I could definitely get used to not being worried about disappointing girls with it, but I also don’t want to walk around like a horse, and I’m still completely stunned that it’s even grown at all….

*Does that mean mom might have grown, too?* I wonder, and then a heat-wave goes through me as I realize how she looked at me when she told me that she needed a nap, her face dazed and pink, like she might have been horny and needing alone time to *take-care-of-it* furiously, just like I had done….

*Don't be a pervert,* I tell myself, not liking the turn my thoughts are taking. *You shouldn’t be thinking about her that way!*

But I can’t help the morbid curiosity I feel as I quickly clean up the mess I made in my bedroom and then casually amble out into the hallway, in fresh, clean jeans and a t-shirt. I stare at my mom’s closed bedroom door. Is she still napping? Or is she up and wondering where I’ve been?

My heart beats frantically in my chest, but I knock softly anyway, hoping against hope that she might come out and tell me everything is alright, that she didn't grow plump tits and that the drinks didn't make her weird and horny, that everything is completely normal.

But no one answers the door.

“Mom?” I call out, knocking harder. “Are you—”

“I’m in the kitchen, Kevin!” she sing-songs to me. “Making your favorite!”

What is that cheerful, titter-like noise she’s making? Is she *giggling*? I stumble down the hallway into the kitchen, and my breath knocks out of me so hard at seeing her, it’s like I’ve been punched.

“Wow,” I gasp, staring at my mom’s new body in clothes I’ve never seen her wear before.

She grins at me, her teeth white and dazzling. Her lips are fuller, her eyes smoky and exotic looking, instead of the normally plain grey, they are now thickly lashed and full of heat. But it’s not her beautiful face that draws my eye, but her heavy, rounded breasts, barely contained by her tight, white tank top, and her curvy ass, the globes almost peeking out the bottom of her high-waisted shorts.

Like me, she’s not grown to freakish proportions, but she’s definitely \*grown-grown—\*and my new cock springs to life, aching desperately to be touched by the smokeshow MILF who stands before me, plating me up beer-battered chicken strips and homemade fries.

My mom giggles again at my slack-jawed expression, blushing and batting her eyelashes. “Do you like what you see? You’re going to give me an ego!”

“I’ve, uh, never seen you in . . . this before….” I finish lamely.

“These old things?” She giggles again, motioning for me to take a seat at the kitchen table. “For some reason my other clothes didn’t fit right—do you think I’ve gained weight?”

“Uhm, yeah,” I say before I can stop myself.

I expect a flash of hurt in her eyes, but instead she just giggles, acting like a ditzy bimbo instead of my prudish mom. What the hell is happening? Did the bath salts or the fruity drink really affect her that much more than me?

“Maybe I should skip lunch,” she tells me teasingly.

“You look, uh, damn, just fucking great,” I babble, unable to tear my eyes away from her large, tear-dropped-shaped tits.

I bite my lip nervously since I just cursed in front of her, but I don’t think she’s wearing a bra, and it’s so confusing to my brain that I can hardly even form coherent words at all. I can’t stop staring at her sexy, pointy nipples. She doesn’t seem to care too much, about the cursing (and maybe not about the staring either) giggling again and swatting me lightly on the shoulder as she whispers, “Language, Kevin….”

“Sorry….”

She sets a plate of food in front of me and I realize that I have no idea what we were even talking about. I can barely remember my own name, and my cock feels so big, like it might burst right through my jeans. I wonder if my mom notices, her gaze lingering on my sweaty face, then dropping lower as I bury my fists into my lap.

“Are you okay, Kevin?” she asks sweetly.

“Just, ah, you,” I stammer.

What the hell is wrong with me? It feels like my brain is molten mush. Are the salts still working on me? I feel like a big, dumb monkey—just dying to grope myself and jerk off all over my mom’s plump tits. I want to suck her pointy nipples into my mouth. I want to grope her curvy asscheeks, feel the soft skin jiggle as I slap it.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, drawing closer to me—so close that I can smell her intoxicating scent, the slight tang of her sweat, and the sweetness of her perfume. “You can touch them if you want….”

“What!?” I nearly knock my plate off the table as I stand abruptly, pure shock jolting through me.

Did I hear her right? Is she offering to let me touch her new tits? And does she even know that they are different now? Has she put all the pieces together?

“They aren’t too hot to eat,” she says unsurely, pushing my plate back into place. “Did you want ketchup or barbeque sauce? I can get it for you….”

*Oh fuck*, my mind whirs, and I guiltily sit back down, feeling nearly sick that I assumed my mom was offering up her body to me.

“Uh, ketchup is fine.”

But why did she phrase it like that? Is she teasing me? I nearly think so when she winks at me, smiling mischievously as she sways her hips and sashays over to the fridge. My eyes latch onto her ass, my cock straining harder and leaking wetly into my boxer shorts.

*Don't be a pervert, don't be a pervert,* I keep repeating internally. *She doesn't want ME. She doesn't know what she's doing.*

But the more I think about it, the less I believe it. Because I *definitely* want her—and if the salts are affecting me this way, with the growth and desire, they should also be affecting her the same way (and obviously the growth is there, I think, my mouth watering as I watch her tits nearly bounce out of her too tight shirt).

It's not until I've wolfed down a few pieces of the delicious, crispy chicken and have doused the fries with an obscene amount of ketchup that I finally feel like I'm regaining my rational senses. My mom just watches me happily, not seeming very hungry for food, her pupils enlarged and focused entirely on me.

“Did you enjoy your lunch, son?” she asks in a sexy purr.

*Oh shit, there goes rational….*

Because she’s definitely flirting with me, right? My half-hardon swells up to a full erection, pulsing angrily as my mom giggles and leans forward, showing me her milky-white cleavage, and the full, rounded softness of her new tits. One of her nipples peeks out of her top, dusky-pink and forbidden.

She looks SO sexy.

The urge to touch her is almost overwhelming, and I have no doubt that I'll be jerking off furiously after this, my mind racing with images of her soft, creamy skin and the way her nipples look so suckable, so tantalizing and soft yet hard.

“Jesus,” I whisper.

I don’t even realize that my hand is reaching out, or that she only moans when my palm connects with her exposed nipple, letting me grope her heavy tit as she maintains eye contact with me.

“Did you want any more?”

“God, this is enough,” I mumble, but then I realize she’s still talking about the *food* as her eyes flit to the kitchen counter, where a plate of chicken strips and fries sit and wait.

She doesn’t seem to realize how I’m feeling her up. How does she not realize that my fingers are now twisting her nipple? She moans delicately, but only asks, “Are you sure you don’t want more before I clean up?”

“I’m good.”

I bite back a disappointed groan as she pulls away from me and gets up to refrigerate our leftovers. Is she really not horny for me? Why am I dribbling precum all down my legs for her? Maybe she didn’t masturbate at all in her room—maybe it doesn’t affect women like it does men? But how would that make sense . . . since lovers should want each other *equally*—and we consumed the lover’s package?

*Maybe there’s something in her that still makes her realize she’s my mom,* I think bitterly, watching her carefully rearrange our fridge, like she normally does to ensure we eat what’ll spoil fastest first.

And shouldn’t I care that she’s my mom? It’s weird to realize that I totally don’t. With her new body and prettier face, she might as well be one of the MILFs I jerk off to online. I slowly get up, planning to make a mad dash for my room so that I can take care of my *now-not-so-little* problem, when she spins around on me, grinning.

“I thought you’d eat more. You’re normally so *hungry*.”

Her gaze drops to the crotch of my pants, and a thrill shoots through me. Has she noticed my hard-on? Is she just teasing me?

“I am hungry,” I tell her, staring at her luscious tits, especially the one that’s still hanging *out*.

“Oh?”

The coy look on her face drives me forward. I reach out and pull her tank top down, freeing her large breasts so that they spill over the top. She gasps and giggles, not stopping me as I grab them with both hands to bury my face in them.

*Soft, so fucking soft,* my brain whirs, latching onto the breathy noise she makes, it sounds kind of like, “Oh, Kevin!”

Something inside me snaps. I hastily undo my jeans, pulling my leaking cock out as I gleefully suckle on one pointed nipple, making her squirm and mewl.

*She’s letting me do this,* I realize, *she LIKES it….*

Arousal burns through me and I feel light-headed as I mouth desperately at her plump tits, thrusting into my hand. I don't even know what to think. I only know that I'm not going to stop until I cum, and when my mom realizes what's happening, she wraps her arms around me, moaning, “Oh, Kevin, don’t stop!”

I suck her nipples in turn, making the pink flesh turn nearly purple as I leave love marks across her beautiful, pale skin. She shivers against me, her scent burning into my brain, her musky arousal lancing through me like a knife.

Does she know what she's asking for? Or am I being a sick pervert by doing this to my own mother?

All my shame is washed away when her hand replaces mine on my cock, her small, soft hand pumping me expertly.

“Cum on my tits,” she mewls, dropping down to her knees and looking up at me with her tantalizing grey eyes.

They burn silver now, like they are entranced, like a bright moonlight has filled them.

“Christ,” I groan.

She pushes her tits together and I stare at her perfect, soft-looking body, her creamy-pale skin, and her plush, pouty lips, all begging me to give her a pearly-white decoration. Her hand feels so good on me. *Too good.*

My cock jerks wildly, shooting hot, sticky cum all over her face, her tits, and her long, silky blonde hair. She moans as though it's the best feeling in the world, and the look of ecstasy on her pretty face makes me dizzy because I realize that she's orgasming with me—that my climax is making her climax, too.

I groan in pure bliss as she opens her mouth and takes my last spurts on her tongue, milking me dry as I watch my cum spill over her plump, reddened lower lip.

“Mmm, guess I was hungry, too,” she whispers, swallowing some of me down.

I stare in complete awe at the way my sperm decorates her new, curvy body, the white trails slowly slipping down her large breasts to run down her slender, flat stomach.

*Fuck, I want to rub it into her soft skin,* I think, still not quite believing what just happened.

But before I can make a move, my mom is up on her feet and pulling her top back into place. She blinks at me distantly, then asks, “Did I make you lunch yet?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, confused.

“Oh, good,” she answers, sounding equally as confused. “Thank you for going to the pool with me today. I had fun.”

“Uh, yeah,” I say again.

She blinks at me again, then turns around and mutters something about needing a shower. For an instant, I think I see my prudish mother return, her gaze sharp and bewildered as she looks down at herself: her cum-soaked tank top, the way her tits poke out.

But then she giggles and says, “I must have worked up a sweat cooking for you!”

I don’t answer. Instead, I give her a delirious half-nod, watching as she flounces away. Did I just take advantage of my brain-addled mother? I mean, she was the one who took my cock in her hand and pumped it until it shot all over her sexy body, but I should have stopped it, right? A good son wouldn’t have let her go through with it. A good son would have protected his mother from such things. A good son wouldn’t have groped her and suckled at her and got off so quickly at her sensual touch.

“I won’t do it again,” I tell myself firmly.

But I don’t even believe my own lie, knowing that if my once prudish mother grins at me coyly and flaunts her new, bimbo body, I will fold like a house of cards.

*I doubt the salts even last that long,* I reassure myself, staring down at my shriveling erection, thinking that it already looks a little smaller than it did when we’d returned home from the spa.

But I do have more salts. A good son would get rid of them. But that’s for a future me to worry about….