To the uninformed, Jon was sure that there was no way anyone would know that this young big-titted sex-pot was a de-aged, augmented version of his own mother. Once a person knew, however, it became obvious. It was her eyes that gave it away. Jon had seen those eyes his whole life, caring, clever eyes that had watched and nurtured him since birth. Those same eyes glanced back at him with not only love, but with so much more. Lust, submission, eagerness, and conflict.
Jon had wanted it that way. He knew that having an exact duplicate of his mother would be a disaster. There would be no chance of ever being able to hide his perversion from the world, no less his family. Eventually his own real mother would discover what he had done. He couldn't even imagine the fallout from that. Disowned? Probably. Humiliated? Of course.
The new Linda, the sex slave Linda, was the perfect solution to that. His own mother would only see her and think that she looked familiar. They were the same height, had the same basic bone structure, but their bodies were just so different. The new Linda was young, energetic, and had a body out of a wet dream. Huge breasts, big ass, thin waist, all things Jon's mother had never had. Her lips looked like they were made for a cock to slide in and out of, which they were. Her hair was long and blonde, while Jon's real mother's hair was a greying brown and short. Lots of men end up with women who in one way or another remind them of their mothers, and Jon was confident that whatever resemblance there was, his mother wouldn't figure it out.
The conflict on his slave's face, though, was as important as anything else Jon had programmed in. Without it, the whole thing wouldn't be as fun. No, Slave Linda had to believe that she was Jon's mother. And while there was no way she could resist his orders, and no way she could resist her urges to physically please him, she had to know, at least on some level, that what they were doing was wrong. A mother wouldn't normally wake her son up with a blow-job, but Jon was confident that the next morning that's how he would wake up. A mother wouldn't normally take pole dancing classes so that she could entertain her son at home, but Jon was certain that his evening entertainment in the coming months would include a floor show. A mother wouldn't normally scream her son's name while she rode him in the backseat of the car, but Jon knew he'd be pulling over on his way home to hear just that.
Jon didn't want her to act on her conflict, he didn't want her to disobey him, he just wanted her to feel it. That was important to him. Maybe he'd talk to her about it, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd encourage it. It didn't matter. All of these things were part of the fun. It was important to him because he could do it.
He watched as Linda pulled outfit after outfit out of the wardrobe the Slave Store had provided once he requested some clothes for her. Each one Jon's sexified mother held up to her body, turned to him, and asked what he thought.
"How about this one, sweetie?" she asked, holding up a pink, sparkly mini dress.
"A bit fancy," Jon replied.
"Is this one better, honey?" she asked, pressing a skirt suit with an abbreviated hemline against her body.
"Too formal," Jon said.
"And this one, baby?" she said, showing off a pleated plaid skirt and white blouse. It was a schoolgirl outfit. It was exactly the kind of thing his mother would roll her eyes at if she saw a girl wearing it. It was so slutty that his mother would be mortified to be wearing it.
It was perfect.
"That's the one!" he said, smiling. Jon's response brought an instant smile to his mother's face, twice as big as his. She grabbed the stockings and shoes that went with the outfit and immediately got dressed.
"No need for the panties," Jon instructed her, "they might get in the way later."
A brief look of conflict crossed Linda's beautiful face, then was erased by a mix of submissiveness and lust. "Of course, Jon." She tossed the panties back into the wardrobe and began sliding on her stockings. Once she was dressed, she clicked her platform heels across the room to the make-up table where, without a moment's thought, she did herself up to look like a slut. "I've got to make it look believable," she justified to Jon, "being your girlfriend, I mean. This is how you'd want a girl you were with to look, right?"
"You're doing great, mom," Jon replied, pleased every one of his programming instructions was working out perfectly. He couldn't wait to get her home and start his new life with her. While his new sex slave might feel conflicted, Jon didn't feel it one bit.
