Chapter Eight

In the process of having embraced the woman tightly, your breathing slows before stalling; then starts again, in its clumsy rhythm with hers; your mind drifting off to dreams, the drugs that keep you operating within acceptable standards of efficiency, as prescribed by your Corporate overlords having long since stripped you of the ability to dream.

No, when your eyes close, the breathing becomes steady, and with the touch of soft feminine skin pressing against your (only) boxers-wearing body, you enter an almost-hibernation-like state.

You do not sleep, at least, you haven't since you gained these cybernetics, Kiroshi Opticals, and an onboard computer hooked up directly to your brain, courtesy of Arasaka.

If there were anything more dehumanising, it would be what they've done to your sleep, for when you close your eyes, you are vaguely conscious of what goes on around you, the breathing and twisting of your mother, the chatter and honks of the NC nightlife.

It was not that they turned you into a light sleeper, for you did not rouse at these noises, your body resting regardless of your limited consciousness; it was that, when you opened your eyes again, it would be morning, and while your body was restored, your mind did not.

You feel tired, even as the morning lights flow through the slivers between your bedroom windows curtain; you feel tired even as you extricate your arm from the hugging grip of your mother; your morning erection pressing through your shorts, buried beneath her buttcheeks.

The woman lets out a moan as you stretch your limbs, unconsciously pressing against your hardened member, and if not for her accuracy and your sole piece of clothing, you would have been having a very different, albeit pleasant, morning.

You can feel your toes curl, your groin struck by restrained waves of pleasure, and it takes a few seconds of the still sleeping woman riding your dick between her asscrack for you to pull away from her, your dick pulsating, crying out in pain and discomfort for this sudden and uncalled for blue balling.

So Close…

But she is your mother, and you are in control, for if you followed the will of your sex drive, in all its unthinking animalistic rutting, you would have never have parted ways with Amanda.

Now, you need a cold shower, something you should have done before you went to bed; your body is covered in a layer of sweat and grime that has now rubbed off on the bedding and your mom.

She's not going to be happy when she wakes up.