I turned him around to face the mirror hanging on the door to my room. I placed my hands on his head and ran my fingers through his hair.“Hear the ...ords of your goddess,” I intoned, “What was filthy I made clean, what is sinful I make sacred. There will be no shame or guilt in what we do. Now it is time to confess, son, why do you worship your mommy?”“Because you are beautiful, because you are strong, because without you I am nothing,” he whispered.“Then worship me baby, worship Mommy’s. My breath is so HOT as I breath over your opening, and gently touch your soft skin. Playing with you as I begin to kiss you as if it was your mouth. Little bit of tongue, but not too much. O, you taste so good! I can't hold back anymore as I press against you, and stuff my tongue deep inside! You can't help but arch your back and lace your legs around me and lock them together as if never to let me go. Your hands search the back of my head, and run your fingers through my hair as you. “Last night ... any regrets?”“Only that we didn’t do this sooner.”“I think we’re setting a pretty good pace,” he replied.“Are you hungry? I have some toaster waffles and some strawberries.”“I like strawberries.”“And, I’m brewing some tea.”“I think I’ll use the bathroom.”“You know where it is.”Chris joined her in her kitchen. He sat, nude, at her table. In front of him was a plate with two waffles and sliced strawberries. She set a cup of tea before him and in the center of the table was a plate. All around you, the four accursed walls slide ever so slightly off their hinges, permitting a shearing knife of glorious sunlight to penetrate your little iron box. All at once, the walls fall aside, revealing four much thinner (and more importantly, much more transparent) glass panels in their place, leaving you stood in a box not unlike one you might find a mime pretending to be in, encompassed by a gigantic iron cross where the hated walls had fallen.In fact, you were in much the same.