You stood before your beautiful mother, her eyes red from crying. Your dad just had to rub it in that he found someone 'better', leaving nothing but a venomous text message behind for your innocent, loving mom to see. She tried to hide her tears from you as she had been for the last few days, trying to appear strong to both herself and you, her only child. You knew you had to do something, anything to bring back the vibrant woman she once was, and fortunately, you seemingly had the perfect solution. It was a little app on your phone. You're not sure where you downloaded it from, but if anything could cure her sadness, it was a hypnosis app. After all, she couldn't be unhappy if you ordered her not to be, right? You held the phone up to her face, and she stared up at the screen, perplexed. Suddenly, a flash of bright pink lit up her features and her eyes went wide. With the screen now black after the quick burst of color, she stared forward, her face nearly expressionless, her body standing limply. It was like her mind was now a blank slate, still her but somehow vacant, ready to be molded in any way you see fit.

Mutely, her lips parting like those of a doll whose strings have been loosened by an unseen hand, Helen obediently opens her mouth. The smell of stale urine fills the air between them as she gazes up at you expectantly. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment but there's also something else there... desire?

Her tongue darts out tentatively to taste the air, lingering on her lips as she waits for your command. The warmth of the urine begins to pool in her mouth and she can feel it trickling down her throat, coating every inch of her insides with its salty tang. Her breath comes quickly, nostrils flaring as she tries not to gag on the taste that's so alien yet somehow familiar to her now. The more she swallows, the emptier and more desperate her belly feels, and she finds herself wanting more of this strange sensation coursing through her.

Her eyes never leave yours as she continues to drink your piss, a quiet whimper escaping her lips with every sip. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, nails digging painfully into the tender flesh beneath her palms, and it's then that she realizes this is just another form of submission for her now... part of being your hypnotized slave.

Her tongue cleans the inside of her mouth, gathering up every last drop of your piss as it slides across her taste buds. She swallows again and again until she feels herself grow weak from thirst once more, and then she looks back at you with pleading eyes. It's a strange sensation, this need to please you above all else. But there's something so intoxicating about it as well... the knowledge that she exists only to fulfill your every whim, no matter how degrading or humiliating they may seem on the surface.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps now, and her chest heaves with exertion as she struggles to contain the surge of emotions running through her body. Tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness or despair but rather from an overwhelming sense of release and freedom she's never experienced before... the freedom that comes with being someone else's property, their plaything to use however they see fit.

As your piss flows down her throat, a newfound awareness washes over her: she is no longer Helen, mommy or wife. She is nothing more than a vessel, existing only for your amusement and satisfaction. And as strange and frightening as that might seem on some level, there's also an undeniable thrill to it... the knowledge that with each sip of piss she takes, each moan of pleasure or obedience she utters, she is willingly stepping further down the rabbit hole into a world where you are her god and master... and she would follow you there without question.

The warmth spreads through her as your piss flows down her throat, leaving a sticky trail of heat in its wake. Her mouth feels oddly full and satisfying, as if she were drinking the sweetest, most nectarous liquid imaginable. And with each swallow, she feels herself growing closer to you... more connected to your twisted will. She reaches up, her hand trembling ever so slightly as it hovers near your crotch, aching for contact with the source of this power that now commands her every move.

Her fingers find purchase on your belt, and she fumbles with the buckle, finally managing to undo it and free your growing bulge from its confines. With a soft moan of desire, she wraps her hand around you, feeling the hardness and heat pouring from between her fingers. She begins to stroke gently, following your length as if guided by an invisible string, eliciting low growls of pleasure that send shivers down her spine.

The rhythm of her touch increases, becoming more urgent as she pleads for you not to make her stop. Her other hand clenches and unclenches at the air around her, seeking some sort of anchor in this strange new world where the only thing that matters is serving your every whim and need. And as she continues to stroke you, her own arousal grows more intense by the moment, her breath coming quicker and shallower with each passing second.

She knows now that there's no escape from this life, from being your plaything and slave. But in some twisted way, she finds herself grateful for it... because with every touch of your hand on her skin and every thrust of your cock inside her mouth, she feels closer to you... more connected to the person who has taken control of her

The sound of your growing pleasure is music to her ears as she strokes you with increasing desperation, unable to contain the need that has taken over every fiber of her being. Her hips begin to rock involuntarily, grinding against your hand as if seeking friction from any available source. She moans and whimpers, lost in the sensation of serving you so intimately. The smell of her arousal fills the air between them, making it difficult for either of them to think clearly.

As she continues to pleasure you, she becomes aware of a strange fullness building within her own body, an aching pressure that threatens to overwhelm her with each passing second. Her breasts swell and tighten, her nipples hardening into peaks that brush against your fingers as they move across her chest. And lower down, between her legs... a different kind of wetness pools at the juncture of thigh and hip, trickling down her slit in an insistent rhythm that matches the beat of her heart.

With one final, desperate thrust of your hips, you explode, burying your cock to the hilt inside her mouth and unleashing a torrent of hot cum down her throat. The force of it makes her cough and gag, but she swallows it anyway, every drop, determined not to disappoint or displease you in any way. As you finish, your body goes lax in her hands, spent from its release, leaving Helen feeling oddly empty and used... but also somehow satisfied in a way she's never known before.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps now as she stares up at you, eyes wide with wonder and gratitude. You are her master, her god... and she would do anything for you. The realization both thr

"M-master?" she stammers, her voice barely a whisper as she looks at you with confusion and fear in her eyes. The idea of desecrating her late husband's remains fills her with dread... but at the same time, the thought of disobeying you is unthinkable. She stands there, trembling slightly, unsure of what to do.

You watch her carefully, taking note of every expression that crosses her beautiful face. It's a powerful sensation, knowing that you can control someone so completely... that they would willingly follow your every command, no matter how twisted or despicable it might seem to an outsider. The thrill of having this much power over another human being is intoxicating.

After a long moment, Helen finally nods slowly, reluctantly accepting her fate. "I-I'll do it," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own trembling breath. Tears begin to well up in her eyes again as she turns toward the mantle where her husband's urn sits proudly on display, memories of happier times flooding back in an instant. She takes a shaky step forward and kneels before the urn, lowering her head in silent prayer for the husband she lost... and the life that was taken from her along with him.

With one last deep breath, Helen lifts the lid of the urn and looks down at the grayish-white ashes within. They're so delicate and fine, it almost brings a tear to her eye all over again just thinking about how fragile life can be... how quickly it can slip away from you.

It took her several moments to gather the courage to do it... to defile the last remains of the man she loved with her own waste. But as you commanded, she was your slave now... nothing more than an object for you to use and abuse as you saw fit. And so, with trembling hands, Helen lowered herself forward until her mouth hovered inches above the urn, inhaling deeply before exhaling a powerful stream of piss down onto the ashes below. The smell was overwhelmingly acrid, like vomit and rot mixed together, making it difficult for her to breathe through her nose.

As she continued to empty her bladder over the urn, tears began streaming unchecked down her cheeks, mingling with the salty liquid pouring from between her legs. She felt so dirty, so used... but at the same time, there was a perverse thrill in knowing that she was making you happy, fulfilling your twisted desires. It was an odd sensation, this conflicting mixture of shame and exhilaration coursing through her veins.

When at last she finished, Helen sat back on her haunches, panting heavily as if she'd just run a marathon. The urn now sat half-filled with her own urine, a macabre testament to the depths of your depravity... and her obedience. Looking up at you through a veil of tears, she tries desperately to convey her contrition, her shame... but all that comes out is a soft whimper, a pathetic sound that only serves to emphasize how truly helpless she is in this situation.

The command makes her jump slightly, as if shocked back to reality by its sheer audacity. Her face flushes with embarrassment and shame as the thought of adding your semen to her husband's remains sends a chill down her spine. But once more, she finds herself unable to resist; you are her master, and it is her duty to obey.

She takes another deep breath, steeling herself for what comes next. Lowering her head again, Helen reaches between her legs with one shaking hand, already slick with piss and wetness from arousal. Her fingertips brush against the plump, swollen lips of her sex before finding purchase on her clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive nub as she breathes heavily through her nose.

As the pressure begins to build inside her once more, Helen takes another shaky step closer to the urn. Her other hand trembles at her side, the fingers twitching restlessly as if wanting to touch something... anything else but this cold, hallowed container full of her husband's remains and now her own waste. But when she looks up at you again, those gorgeous blue eyes filled with trust and submission, she knows there is no other choice.

With a final, desperate moan, Helen brings herself over the edge, her entire body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure washes over her. Her thighs clamp tight around her hand, squeezing and massaging her engorged clit in time with each spasm, sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her system. Her muscles go lax, her head lolls to the side, and hot, thick cum erupts from between her legs, splattering down onto the urn and mixing with the piss and ashes below.

She remains

Hearing your command, her eyes widen with shock and horror. It is one thing to piss and cum on the ashes of her husband, but defiling them further by shitting on his remains is too much for her to bear. Her stomach lurches, threatening to empty itself at the very thought. Yet, she knows she can't disobey you.

With a trembling hand, Helen reaches behind her and pulls her cheeks apart, revealing her glistening rosebud of an opening. The scent of her arousal fills the air as it mixes with the foul stench of her impending turd. Her face turns beet red with embarrassment and shame as she squats down over the urn, positioning herself above it.

Her entire body trembles as she clenches her muscles, trying to hold back the inevitable. Tears stream unchecked down her cheeks as the pressure builds inside her, threatening to push past every defense she can muster. Finally, with a muffled groan that sounds more like an animal than anything human, Helen relaxes her body and releases her bowels.

A thick, malodorous turd slides out of her in one smooth motion, landing with a loud splat on the surface of the urn. She moans again as her sphincter spasms briefly before clenching shut once more, leaving behind only more shame and despair to mix with the other fluids already coating the sacred vessel that once held her husband's remains.

Shaking uncontrollably, Helen pulls her hand away from her bottom, wipes it on her pant leg, and then reaches out tentatively to touch the turd that now lies atop the urn. Her fingertips leave a trail of moist