The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

VICKY’S WEEK — SATURDAY — THE EGG CRACKS

She was up early, and while Andy slept in, over the second cup of coffee Vicki called me. “Mr. Egg, please manifest.” She held the book in one hand and had a curious expression. I had been hovering, hoping for the call, so it was just a matter of making myself visible.

“Hello, Vicki.”

“Hello yourself. Can you tell me about this?” she asks, holding up the book.

“Yes,” I say and nothing more.

She waits, but then asks, “Will you tell me about this?”

“Yes,” I say and nothing more.

She’s a bit frustrated by this. “Then do, please.”

“It’s a book. Six inches by ten. It has 240 pages and...”

She cuts me off, “No, Do I really need to ask exact questions?”

She’s getting it, “Yes,” I say

“Why?”

“Rules. I’m bound by them too.”

“What rules? What are the rules? What you can tell me?”

“The rules of the book. The rules as to what I can tell you are I have to answer your questions, but can’t add anything you don’t ask.”

“So if I said ‘Tell me everything’. How long would that take?”

“About two years.”

After that was a long pause while she thinks about her next question.

“Tell me about where the book came from. What it does. Enough details that I understand but keep it under a half hour. But first, will this cause any problems for me or you? Feel free in all of this to voice an opinion, but then say why.”

“OK. No major problems for me. You took them all when you picked up the book—now you are the one to make choices—not just for you but the others too. Knowing about it will help you—in my opinion. Asking me the right questions will help both you and me—in my opinion.”

“OK, where did this book come from, half hour or less version”

LONG AGO

Aro woke alone in bed, again. Across the room Chub was waking up as usual by rutting like a goat with his bed-warming slave, not an attractive girl, and not that young or healthy-looking either, but willing to extend her favors when Chub wasn’t looking for some extra beer or a loaf of baked meal.

He rose and said his devotion to the goddess, “Blessed I be for,” followed by a list of items physical and metaphysical. High on Aro’s personal list was his position as a head scribe for the priests of this temple, food without the stoop labor of the field—else he’d be dead by his thirty-third flood season—two passed already—if that were true. He was skilled enough to be busy during the day and left to his own pleasures at night. And about as educated as any man in Sumar, he’d been writing for the priests for over 20 floods, and knew more than most of the younger ones of the mysteries.

The fact was, he wanted more. He wasn’t a eunuch like the king’s harem guards, and had the means to support a wife and family now. But his club foot was seen as a sign of the god’s mockery, if not disapproval, not good in a theocracy, and a block to his entering the priesthood. So he was stuck.

Not that there wasn’t opportunities for sex, not just compliant slaves, but each Moon day the women past first flowering were compelled to come to the temple garden in the shadow of the great ziggurat and offer their favors for payment until they had twelve bronze pieces to pay the priests. Some were so desired that a simple dance for an admirer would bring the whole offering. Most, however took two or three Moon days to meet this goal. Some took considerably longer. Sometimes the family paid in full and no sacred whoring for the goddess was needed, often to the disappointment of the young bucks who tracked the progress of the loveliest maidens.

Once the offering was made, the women were full members of the city—that meant that they could marry, own property, become priestesses, even conduct business. Men just had to be of age and pay three bronze pieces every spring flood to the king to be citizens. Some thought this unfair, but the king needed the taxes and the priests needed the offerings. Babies conceived during the women’s temple prostitution duty were made wards of the priests, and raised to work for the glory of all-fertile Ishtar.

So it is with Aro. His mother was one of the unlucky ones, after two Moon days in the sacred garden, she was still two coins short. Her moderately wealthy but parsimonious amphora-crafting father, who was hoping to marry her off soon arrived to collect her at day’s end was enraged to find that she came up short. But it was a bad year for crops, the flood not a strong one and the days hot and dry, so cash was short all around. Grumblingly the old man dug the needed two coins out of his fine sheepskin purse, but then insisted on getting what he’d paid for, to his daughter’s dismay and disgust.

Sure enough, there was a child, club-footed Aro—full name Arrow-Up in cuneiform—who the father happily sent to the temple as soon as he was weaned. All who knew the story agreed that the deformity was more of a reflection on the old son-of-a-goat than Aro, who was generally liked though regarded as shy. But his foot was seen as a taint by the potential wives he’d approached over the years.

Thus when he went down at the end of the Moon day and paid a straggler enough to finish her offering that day, it was seen as an act of pious kindness, though Aro himself suspected that horny indifference and an itch for young fresh flesh may be larger factors.

Aro had a secret project—well not so secret as ignored, he was writing his own tablets, on special clay made from pure river mud fresh from the first day of the flood, and mixed with the ashes of the holy incense from the temple braziers, and most secretly, the love scrapings of the most beautiful temple whore-for-a-day ladies soiled clothing and cleaning rags left in the garden’s many niches and intimate nooks. He titled it “The Dummies Guide to Where His Tigris and Her Euphrates Join.” In it he put as much knowledge—both practical and magical—as he had accumulated as a long term scribe for a particularly successful fertility-through-sex cult, and then drew himself on the first tablet, holding a single finger in the air, this being the universal standard hand-signal for “erect penis”.

He pictured presenting to the King, through his contact with the ambassador from Memphis, and being told in a regal way, “Thank you, thank you very much”. So thus he dedicated it to the ruler, and put the head priest second, just to be safe. Maybe then he’d have enough respect to wed and breed. Though some of the newly added accolades bore his distinctive bushy eyebrows, proof in his mind that the his foot problem wouldn’t be passed on.

One final ritual remained, on a rainy Moon day he took both the book, at that time almost fifty baked-solid thin clay slabs protected in a wood box with a real metal clasp, and a stunningly beautiful but notoriously unlucky—some say cursed—dark-skinned girl on her second Moon day, and a goat-skin of wine to the top of the ziggurat, on the flat rooftop, and after sharing the strong alcohol, proceeded to work on the wench. His intent was to generate as much fluid—both male and female—as possible to anoint and scent the book before it was presented. A storm was brewing, but in these dry lands that was a sign of dangerous luck. And so it was that the freak bolt of lightning found the highly elevated metal clasp just as the two lovers climaxed as he sat on the box and she rode him, while close underneath them in the main temple room atop the structure, the priests were having a celebratory orgy, which also functioned to clean out the stragglers who hadn’t fully made their offering that day—face covering masks were provided for those less comely, allowing the women to meet their obligation and get on with their lives while wetting the priest sacred wicks for no coin at all. Win-win.

The next day, examining the damage from the bolt, the bodies fused together of Aro and his girl were found, along with the baked box. Inside was the book—fully infused with Aro’s and the dark ladies essence, magical and unique. And it sucked up and incorporated the strike moment of the orgy underneath as well, where the priests and prostitutes were playing the sacred and complicated game of “who’s dick is this?” It scared the Baal out of the priests, and when one noted that the dedication was to the king, they shipped it to the palace forthwith, where it was promptly ignored, until a wedding gift for a client kingdom was needed, at which point it took its place with dinner sets, casks of indifferent wine, and other non-registry gifts.

The goddess was pleased. She’d successfully crafted an object of power to store part of her essence as a safeguard against assassination in the constant open hostilities among the upper echelon of the great powers.

“Cute story,” Vicki says, “but it hardly helps me understand how it works.” She pauses, then starts thinking aloud, “OK, what did I learn?” she asks herself. Smart girl. There are things to be found here. ‘That the book is an ‘object of power’. That the circumstances of Aro’s parenthood had left him somewhat hostile to incest, though goddess knows, there’s a lot of that going around in both the fields and the palaces. No wonder Mr. Egg agreed to that restriction so quickly, the part of the book that is Aro’s essence would cheer for that restriction. There was an orgy when the book was created is why we are often finding ourselves in trios, quartets and larger groups. I’ll think it out again later, there may be more,” she continues. “What, in your opinion , should I do next, any perils to what you suggest and why should I do what you suggest?”

“In my opinion, I suggest you ask another question. Use the book to look at where the others are at physically, mentally and magically. Don’t try to do anything with the book until I tell you that you have enough information to do what you want to do safely. I’ll always answer questions truthfully to whoever holds the book. The peril is if you try something I say not to do or not do something that I say is important, you could upset the balances I set to now cause trouble for any of you or even the group itself. You as a set may seem strong, but are fragile. The advantage is control of 14 people that you like including yourself. Commander Vicki. I suggest you tell no one about it, even Andy and Annette, at least not yet.”

SATURDAY AT THE BULLMAN’S

The Saturday gathering started right on time, and as usual started with a fashion show in the living room. For the guys it was nothing special, some new silk shirts that felt good rubbing against their nipples making them puff out, and ass-tight shorts that revealed more than they hid. Still the ladies thought they were hot, though not as hot as they were themselves, which all agreed was appropriate.

The women had their new swim suits from yesterday’s trip from Sheila, Will and Marc, worn under sheer neck to ankle drapery, colored the same as the suits, red, blue, white, black, yellow, orange and purple. Broad cloth belts of the same color drew the waist tight and highlighted their figures. As usual, medium to high-heeled shoes tightened the legs and threw out the butt, and pushed their breasts forward, with the lightweight fabric clinging to every curve.

These fashion shows start with each woman looking closely at each man and giving them a complement. And then the roles are reversed, except today before the women’s turn, they left for the kitchen and removed the covering and retied the belts around their tummies as sashes.

On their walking back out in the Brazilian beachwear, the guys fell silent. Even Will and Marc, who has seen Vicki in her swim suit were speechless at the sight. Over the course of these Saturdays they seen all these ladies naked, more than once while riding their dicks—save the restriction on incest. but this was overwhelming, there was something about the cut of the crotch, the peek-a-boo nipples on the thin bra, and it didn’t require any glamour on my part to enhance the reaction.

The rules for the fashion show are look and don’t touch—yet.

“ER, looking good Mom,” Will says when he gets to Betty.

“Thanks dear.”

Sheila has cocked a leg over a chair, and invited Marc in to have a closer look at her crotch. “Mrs. S, I think you are trying to seduce me.”

“I Carumba,” is all Aram can manage.

Troy just drooled a bit.

By now all the guys are squirming uncomfortably in their tight new shorts.

“Gents,” I say, distracting them from the sight of so much female flesh, “if you are feeling uncomfortable drop your drawer and we’ll retire into Sam’s room. There are some important fucking things we need to do today.” Soon seven very stiff dicks were following seven very enticing asses down the hall.

EARLIER AT VICKY’S

“Let talk of the future,” I tell Vicki. “There are big changes today.”

“Because I found the book?”

“In part. Guard it well. But I’m changing and going off to do some things I want to now the breach is sealed. Don’t tell anyone, I will today and I like to surprise you all. Keeps things off balance and makes it easier to keep the flow going.”

“I’ll still answer questions and can be called back, though I may not come right away anymore.”

“Yes, go on.”

Then I told her what was going to happen later, she was a bit shocked, but I explained my reasons, and though she had some initial qualms, she came around to my point of view.

SAM’S ROOM

For Saturdays, we had set up a number of comfortable places to fuck, some raised to bed height, some on the floor. Also some big cushy chairs, and even a place to bind to a simple rack, though the only ones whenever used it were Annette and Vicki on writing days.

Once they were assembled in a semi-circle around me, I started, “We are coming to the end of my time running these weekly get togethers. The breech is repaired. All the manna—well almost all—is going to you, mostly slowing down ageing, but also running whatever special talents you have and to maintaining this room.”

“So the time has come, do you want to return to normal? Lose your anti-aging, lose your talents? Vicki, do you want to go back to being so suspicious and angry?”

“Hell no!”—we’d rehearsed this. “I’m happier now than I can remember. With Andy.” She turns to the others, “With you all treating me so well. I don’t want to give that up.”

“Andy?”

“I think I’m the luckiest fucking guy in the world right now.”

“Bob?”

“What about swinging again? I mean, I miss it, and I know Sheila does too.” She nods. “I feel a little trapped.”

“Well, whatever your decision, one of the changes is that you won’t be restricted at all in your have sex with. Only who you can be forced to have sex with. If you chose to keep going, you’re abilities will work with all partners,” I add. “That includes Marc, who I have a special assignment and more for later. Troy too will stay an older chic magnet, you may lose him to the knitting circles and book clubs of suburbia.” Troy give a thumbs up.

“But what about things that are kind of restrictive?” Will asks. “Like my ‘Big Doll’ command, or Rose’s ‘Milky’, or Vicki’s being open to all suggestions. They could lead to real trouble. Imagine a dog—a big dog, sniffing Vicki’s crotch, and then starting to hump her leg. Would this mean that she has to get down on her hands and knees, Pull up her dress and down her panties, and let him hump here right there in the street—or even discretely back home? His long doggy cock sliding in and out her sweet puss while she shouts in orgasm, and then being tied and led around until the knot goes down. These could be—inconvenient”

Vicki and I had talked this through—not a graphically as Will, who’s dick betrayed him as having a bit of a kink toward an unexpected direction.

“There will be a change here, in particular with new partners. Within this group, all you have to do to negate any of these things—any time where someone else is effecting you is to think “No” really hard within 5 seconds, though if you don’t you’ll still be compelled. With outsiders it’s 30 seconds, to give you some idea of what they intend.

“Sam? Your book is done. What do you say?”

Sam looks at Betty, and they whisper together, then he turns to the crowd, “At first I’d say put things back. But I admit, I’m having fun, my Betty, my heart and soul, is having a great time too, as the oldest the whole aging thing is a miracle. If our book is a hit, I may think of a sequel. Or not, just do the research. Betty and I are yes to continuing to collect manna, however that happens.”

With that declaration there is a general consensus. “Keep going,” I tell myself

“OK, one last game before the free-form fucking, it’s a serious game too.”

“Men, lay down somewhere comfortable, on your backs hands at your sides, and then don’t move. Ladies remove your sashes and tie them around one of the guy’s eyes, make sure they are completely blindfolded. Done? Good. Can any of you see? No. Well done girls, now drop you bathing suits.”

“I have a final major project for all of you. I want you to do this as silently as you can, when I call your name, select a male who you want to partner with and go stand near them. By age.”

“Betty”—she goes right away to stand with Sam.

Sheila choses Troy. Gail, Aram. Annette has a harder choice—she can’t chose Will, and Marc bugs her. If she chose Andy, then her friend Vicki may not be her friend anymore. Well Carl is available and has a big magic dick—could do worse. Relieved Vicki goes to Andy. That leaves Rose and Stella. they whisper together far from the crowd, and Rose goes to Will and Stella to Marc.

“Now looking out, get your cunts on top of the guys faces and let them lick you to orgasm. And have a nice big sloppy one all over their cake-holes. Guys, lips, mouth. lounge, teeth and head only, no hands. Any no guygasms, we’re saving that for later. Prizes for the winners.”

Of course Betty cums first. Sam immediately recognized Betty’s taste and knew exactly how to bring her off in a big screaming in delight puddle of flesh and fluid, and he is again reassured by her loyalty—even while having at least a few mid-afternoon trysts with Marc—that stopped being a secret for him a while back, though the discretion they had shown was appreciated.

“First prize Sam. Take off you blindfold—it’s Betty! Are you surprised?”

“No. she’s my delicious pop-tart. I’d know her taste anywhere.”

“Are you hot for her? Here? Now.”

“I’m at full mast with a volcano on top.”

“If I told you to give her a magnificent fuck, would you do it?”

“Anytime, anywhere.”

“You can move again. get at it. Pure animal lust topped by the biggest mind-blowing orgasm you have ever had. Both of you.”

I don’t think the two of them ever went at it so hot and heavy since newlyweds. They could be heard bouncing on the mattress inspiring the others to greater cunt-eating enthusiasm, with the ladies helping where and how they could, spreading their pussy lips and making sure they guys could find their clits.

As each group finishes I give them the same prize, I’ve ramped up their lust levels to the max, and the guy’s orgasms empty not only all the spunk in their balls, but all the spunk from any day since I started with them that they failed to have shot a load—really it wasn’t that many more cums, but still enough to overflow the pussy pots.

I also timed it so that after a good healthy screwing with lots more multiple orgasms on the distaff side of the equation the guys blasted about a minute apart. A big, sloppy mind-blowing cum—one for the record books—I don’t think I’d read of one of my former selves doing this before, I felt quite proud of it. Once Sam was done, red faced and puffing like a steam train, I instructed him to help Betty into the classic Bicycle exercise position, on her shoulders with her arms to the elbows flat on the ground and spread out, hands on hips supporting her raised back. And then spread her bent-a-the-knees legs wide. Sam placed a low chair behind her to help support her like that, and I froze her there, with her cum-overflowing gash pointing directly skywards, should there be sky in this pocket dimension.

Andy was next, and Sam helped him place Vicki in the same position as Betty. With each guy cumming, a lady was placed fun parts up and spread wide, knees bent, heels resting on bums. Marc for once didn’t share his orgasm, but it was more than enough. It looks like a lewd exercise class, all the women inverted and fully exposed. White milky fluid in copious amounts sloshing around their spread pussy lips.

Then the real games began. All the women’s cunts were wide open in this position, full of the milky-white seed, and the men’s jizzum that failed to find a place inside them, slowly sucks itself in, from back up their legs and around their pussy lips, occasionally defying gravity, until they find themselves stretched inside by the loads. Tummies protruding slightly. Then the fizzing starts, like an Alka-Seltzer, no plop-plop, but lots of fizz-fizz.

Rose is the first to moan as she squirts a fountain from her clit. It shoots about two feet straight up in the air and plops back down in dead center of her seething pit. Her face has gone red and her breath quickens.

The guys watch, fascinated. “Are they OK?” Will asks.

“They’re having the time of their lives,” I reply. “Your little soldiers are having a fight to the last man standing. To the girls it’s super stimulating. Up and down, round and round, the turmoil hitting all their pleasure centers like a velvet prehensile penis. Should last about ten minutes with about three to six orgasms each a minute. Just watch. You’ll never see the like again.”

Just then Betty squirted and cried out, again her cum arced up—only about a foot or so, but thicker than Rose’s—and it also landed perfectly on target in her spread twat. Seconds later Stella and Sheila follow.

Soon it’s like a fountain with several squirting sprouts, or a pod of whales blowing air randomly—squirt—moan... squirt—gasp—squirt—scream in ecstasy.

Marc tears his eyes off the sight and goes to the stack of fresh hand towels, moistens one and then heads over to Stella and wipes her sweating face. “Thanks,” she whispers before squirting again. “Oooohh!” The other guys then all then do the same with their chosen women, some giving words of encouragement, some squeezing their tits as they flop over their chins. Troy kissing Sheila on the lips—her long lizard-like tongue shooting out and then laying across her face and on the mattress before being reeled back in.

“Yesssss, Oh Gawwwwd!” Gail exclaims as she has a final, explosive orgasm—easily a five foot squirt—and the party in her loving cup stops fermenting.

Soon all is still as each woman has their last mind-blowing cum, and then only sound is their heavy breathing.

“You can move now,” I inform them. “Guys, help them up.”

As watery messes runs down the female legs, the guys use towels off the stack to catch the leaking effluent and to wipe down the exhausted women as they help them to sit.

“Congratulations ladies. You’re all pregnant.”

Well, that sat them back. Rose muttered darkly, “I figured.”

I explained, “I’m going away, but I need a new generation to continue to exist. But let’s make it a positive.”

“How? I want to go to grad school, not change diapers,” Rose adds.

“Well for one thing, you have two years to start gestation. Until you perform a short ritual, the fertilized egg is dormant, though after the two years it’ll start automatically. The ritual is this, stand up and declare out loud, ‘I want a baby.” It’s important what direction you face, stand looking North and you’re child will tend to be pragmatic, South romantic, East will produce an academic or business tycoon, and West an adventurer. You can also face any combination of congruent directions to birth a romantic adventurer loving child or a practical academic.”

The ladies are all listening closely.

“And your pregnancy’s will all be trouble free and the children all have the best sperm from the fathers—top grade—and your best egg, your child will be healthy, smart, lucky, charming, good looking, humble when appropriate, bold when needed. Naturally horny too, both sexes. And they’ll inherit and pass down your special talents and gifts—both mothers and fathers, but those won’t be active until they finish puberty, which will happen on their 18th birthday exactly.”

“The downside—while you are pregnant you will age normally. But it will be worth it.”

At that I start to change. A long crack develops along the side.

Will, ever thoughtful, asks is I’m OK.

“What I am is hatching. I’m going away for a while, though I’ll be back from time to time. From now on it’s up to you to create your own manna generating games.”

Betty stands, faces East and says, “I want a baby.”

Sam’s face shows his confusion, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking of it,” she glances at Carl who suggested it only a few days ago. My time is right, and I want to have the energy to deal with a toddler, and even teenager.

My eggshell cracks a bit more, loudly.

Sam asks, “Even if my book sells, can we afford it if I retire or get let go, I don’t make as much as I used to, and there is some college tuitions in the future.”

From the edge of the crack my egg tooth starts to create an opening. My “talking” helps soften the shell, so I explain about my financial activities, retrieving stolen and swindled Wall Street gains, and say, “So you are all now part-time employees of “My Nest Egg Financial” for a thousand dollars a month—not a lot but it’ll grow with inflation, that’ll help you all get started. And your kids created today will all be my kids too, or at least my responsibility. So each of the mothers will receive an extra two-thousand a month once you have the baby until they are 18.”

Aram points out he can’t legally work in the USA.

“Your check will come from overseas then,” I add. “Now any more baby declarations?”

Stella says, “Let me think on it. Maybe in a few days.”

“Hell no,” an angry and upset Annette says.

Vicki goes and puts her arm around her to comfort her, “Who knows in two years it may be the right time. And you’ll have some money coming in while you write. Or travel, why not go to Hollywood as you want to? You could work as a screen writer while trying to break in to acting.”

“Would you come with me?”

“I’d come visit. I’m with Andy now and I’m thinking about the baby too.” Andy gets the same shocked face that Sam showed a few minutes ago. “But I want us married first, and there are things in his family that Andy has to deal with first, so maybe in a year.” Most of this is news to Andy, but thinking it over, he grins.

“You girls will still come and visit me?” he asks. “Even an old married man?” while looking at the busty Rose and ass-tacular Stella.

Carl exclaims, “Hell, what do you thing Sam and I are, chopped liver?”

“We have news too,” Gail contributes. My Ex’s fired lawyer is getting his own back, making things difficult with the emigration department on Aram, so we are getting married too, right away. My financial affairs were settled yesterday—surprisingly quick with his new mouthpiece, and this should clear that up. Because of what people will say, I’m not having a kid started until at least a month after we wed. In the mean-time, don’t worry about more kids, Aram and I have some plans to carry out with the snobs at the country club.”

“Wow, congratulations. This is so weird. Are you ‘Dad’ now?” Stella asks Aram.

He grabs her butt and gives it a thrilling squeeze, “No, your Dad is still your Dad, I’m just the guy sleeping with your mother, and fucking you too, if you want to.”

“Like now? In front of everyone?”

Aram looks at his saggy dick and gives it a shake, “That took a lot out of me too.”

“Maybe this will help,” and she gets down on her knees an starts sucking on his rod. She manages to bring it to half-mast before turning over and slipping it into her slick, slippery ass.

Watching this, most of the other guys shake their heads in a regretful, “Not yet.” But not Troy, who has approached Gail with a “Can I have a congratulatory fuck? You’ll have to help raise the flag first.", and after a brief suck from Gail on his rising cock, mother and daughter were laid side by side, their hands holding each other as they were rocked back and forth by their pistoning lovers, Gail on her back getting it from Troy in the front, Stella facing down with a pillow under her hips, ass impaled by Aram’s stiffening dancing rod as he sang to her, “Good Morning Little School-Girl” to get his rhythm going.

“I love you, I always will,” Gail moans to Stella and kisses her on the cheek.

“Aw, mom,” Stella blushes back like an embarrassed teen-ager being bussed in front of her friends, and then returns the kiss as they rock back and forth in time to Aram’s singing.

The other folks wandered around watching, the guys cupping their balls, hoping to get stiff again, but feeling more than a little worn.

I was all but forgotten, but pleased by the turn of events. But I was polite enough for the fuckers to cum before I finally cracked the egg wide open, revealing my new form, a large sticky eagle, purple-orange of course, covered in the remains of my amniotic sack and fluids. They gazed at me in wonder. “Get jars, clean me, collect my goo, it has powers, collect the shell pieces too. They are my final gift, they are manna filled and can do wonderful things. So long, I shall return on occasion, but you are all on your own now.” With that I let them scrape me dry, bold Sheila even tasted a bit of the empty yolk sack, then immediately grabbed the closest male and fucked him silly, Will I believe. I took some pity and gave him an erection from the future, 2001 or so, he might not miss it.

While they did that, I told Marc about what as in store for him, “Want to work for the Rolling Stones?”

“What? You bet.”

“I have for you an apprentice position on their advance crew in starting January. They don’t tour until February, but you need some training. You’ll never be in the same town as them except at the start, and if you last, the final shows. Otherwise you’ll be part of a three-man team scoping alternative hotels and restaurants, suppliers of this and that, vetting potential groupies—not just road testing them, but checking medical records and such, no use letting Bill get the clap, you’ll never work in the ‘biz’ again if you do. And you need to do something for me as you travel.”

“Yes, of course.”

“In every town, city, whatever, go to a local sperm bank and leave a load. If they ask, tell them it’s a religious obligation. You’re Johnny Spermyseed. Because you share the cums, it’ll be like all the guys are contributing. All across the country and into Vancouver too. I want your kids everywhere. And they’ll all be wanted.”

“Wow!”

“And you have a new gift. If you wander in a crowd, you’ll be able to spot any women who want a baby, and she’ll know you can give her one, if she’s healthy enough. What you do from there is up to you two.”

Then I walked out to the back yard, they followed me silently, Marc opening the door, and I flew away.

17 YEARS LATER

The birthday party was winding down, the guest of honor was looking at the card his “Aunt” Rose had slipped him- not really a relative but a close family friend, his baby-sitter when he was younger, she hadn’t seemed to have aged at all since then—she looked 25, maybe 28 or so, though she had to be 35 or older. She was lush, straight red hair, a tall athletic body, and some of the nicest tits he’d ever almost seen, lately she seemed to be teasing him, there had been more than one nipple slip in the last month or two, and always directed towards letting him get a good look. And they looked good, creamy skin and lovely flesh, some freckles to give texture—even better than the girls in the stack of Penthouse magazines the gang had stored in the Bullman’s basement. Oddly enough “Aunt Stella” seemed to be teasing him also, though not a full figured as Rose, she was very pretty, and had this amazing ass that no matter what she wore, drew the eye. Sometimes he couldn’t figure out which one to think of as he beat off—sometimes he thought of both, naked together with them alternately sucking his cock or riding it, while he squeezed Rose’s magnificent tits—it was usually the thought of the tits that brought the cum spurting out of his dick. At 16—16 now! beating off two or three cums a day was not unusual. He had a sort of girlfriend who he hung out with, and a gang of kids—mostly his parent’s friend’s children—that he fooled around with, no real sex, yet. They all were pretty attractive and all, but something held them back, just a bit. They had a regular hang-out spot in the Bullman’s basement—he’d caught his father looking wistfully—and perhaps a bit knowingly when picking him up there. Particularly when Papa Aram looked at the old wood table they used to play games at, with its scorch mark and weird purple-orange stains.

He’d inherited his dad’s caramel coloring, and a lot of those who didn’t know him well assumed he was African-American, though he didn’t think of himself that way. There was also a local teen show with a DJ and dancers who all looked a bit like both him and his dad—he was always being asked if he was one of them, and had to deny it. Though he was a pretty good dancer—his mom signed him up for lessons when he was still in kindergarten—he wasn’t the show-off that his folks were, they still went out dancing every Friday and often Saturday too, sometimes competitively, sometimes just for fun. Then they’d come home and fuck like crazy—they weren’t that careful about noise though they locked the bedroom door, though he didn’t really identify all the noises until he was 13 or so. Sometimes they brought another couple to join them, Uncle Will and Aunt Rose. or Aunt Vicki and Uncle Andy, or just Aunt Stella, who hadn’t settled on a steady partner. Or, more discretely—he was sent to his room from watching late night TV in the den before they arrived—other folks he didn’t know. But now the screams in orgasm—muffled by the insulated walls of the ’rent’s bedroom but not silenced, from his mother and the bull grunts of his dad were familiar, and he often put on his headphones to space out to “Never mind” or “Life’s Rich Pageant” while fondling himself and thinking about sex with anyone other than his folks.

Looking at the envelope he read his name, “John” in Rose’s looping bold cursive hand and thought, “what a plain name”, but he got to choose his own final name in his dad’s language when he turned 18, so had been thinking hard on what that was to be for most of his life. His friend Roscoe had an interesting name. A long dead ancestor, he told John, on Uncle Sam’s side of the family. And Aunt Sheila’ son Vinnie looked like one, dark curly hair and a Travolta-like twinkle. Both seemed to have matured a lot in the last year on turning 16, and John as hoping for the same. The amount of time either palled around with the gang certainly decreased by a bit, though Uncle Sam and Aunt Betty let the kids use their basement to hang in even if Roscoe wasn’t around.

The younger kids had more interesting names than him too, Harmony wasn’t that much younger than him, less than six months, and she had a real devil-may-care attitude, open to every new dare or challenge, but never seeming to be harmed by them, like a rubber ball, she seemed to always bounce back, not even so much as a broken arm or leg, though there were more than one time that a skateboard was destroyed by whatever crash she’d been in. Her folks, Aunt Vicki and Uncle Andy were more focused these days on their new twins, just two years old, and left Harmony to her own devices more often than not. And what about Caesar? That was a pretty unusual name. But he looked like his dad, Uncle Carl, and sported a huge sausage, the first time John had seen it in a gym locker room, he couldn’t believe a 14 year old could have a pipe like that, and was distressed by Caesar’s joking boast that his dad was even bigger. Thinking this, he looked down at his fairly standard sized six inches and thought “it’s not the meat, it’s the motion” and felt a bit better.

“Alice”, well at least that was a pretty yet conventional name. Even younger than Caesar, she was already quite stacked, and proud of it. John wasn’t sure if she would be as big-chested as her mother, Aunt Rose, but it was going to be close. John had kissed her a few times, and had dug her faint but special taste, though he wasn’t quite sure if it was flavored lip gloss or natural. He’d also tried to feel her up, but she’d playfully batted his hands away.

Well, at least he didn’t have a weird hippy name like “Snapdragon”, the youngest of the crew, what was Aunt Stella thinking. Her dad, Uncle Marc, was a big time promoter who traveled the country with rock and roll bands, and never married the mother of his child, both seemed very fond of each other, but never lived together, as far as John knew. Still, everyone called her “Snap” for short, and her tight curly almost-afro marked her as Marc’s daughter, while her fine, round juicy ass—which developed magnificently since her 13th birthday—indicated her maternal bloodline.

He opened the envelope and read, “Happy Sweet 16 John! Come see me soon when you have an hour or two free. Say the phrase ‘Rosie the Robot’ to unwrap your present.” It was signed with a big “Aunt Rose” at the bottom.

THE NEXT DAY

Rose thought, “here we go again” as she heard John use the phrase on the card. She’d given Roscoe the same present on his 16th, but at that time, she was convinced that it was all her idea, but here she was doing the same thing with John, so she wasn’t so sure. But it was working out with Roscoe so far, and she had beat Stella to John, despite the slut giving him a copy for Christmas of Sam and Annette’s rug-munching best-seller, personally signed on Andy’s drawing of her gaping puss from that memorable day in the park.

The first time she became aware that Roscoe was thinking of her as he orgasmed was pretty shocking—for god’s sake he was only 13, just a baby. But the next week it flashed in her head that Stella was also the subject of his masturbator fantasies, and the score was one-one. It wasn’t something she thought of often, and for some reason didn’t question, she just knew when Roscoe had cum thinking of her and how many times since he turned 13, and also the same for Stella. When Vinnie turned 13, she started to also see this from him. John turned 13 next, but it was a couple of months for him to start beating off with her in mind.

Even Harmony occasionally thought of her and Stella, though less often. Each of the other kids—though thankfully not her daughter Alice—as they became 13 showed up in her mind in quiet moments, with both her and Stella’s “score” with each of the other kids. At first she didn’t care, but then Stella was ten spurts ahead of her and she got competitive, and started dropping by the Bullman’s in tight and semi-transparent clothing, until she had drawn even again—the advantage of visiting her parents still living next door with her half-siblings—Carl and Sheila were raising Caesar as Annette was more concerned with her career writing for both TV and a porn company, and working on her first “serious” book out west—mostly implied sex this time, though lots of it—than being a full time mom, and Sheila was surprisingly—to herself as much as anyone else, good with this. Annette was still phoning Vicki for some hot phone sex, they both got carried away at least once a month and Vicki still was proof-reading Annette’s writing. And she was still finding, falling for, fucking, and dumping a series of hot young actors and other ‘industry’ types, even marrying one for 48 hours, until the spent hot-bodied and very vain lover found a new wrinkle and blamed her for shortening his career,

Then when Roscoe turned 16, she knew she’d won—won what exactly she didn’t know. Then she had a great idea, and took out the birthday card for him, and wrote something on it, she wasn’t sure what afterwards, and slipped it to him. When he showed up the next day, well that seemed natural, and when he said “Rosie the Robot” the plan all came together in her mind. She’d pretend to be hypnotized into being a robot girl at his control, but first she’d teach him some life-lessons, like how to balance a checkbook. But that’s not what she offered when he actually said the unwrapped his present with the code phrase, and she replied, “Hello. Young. Sir. I. Am. Robo-Rosie. Do. You. Want. A. Lesson. In. Kissing. Now?”

At the time she was thinking it was so cool how she was fooling him with the robot act, it would be over the top to act all jerky, but she made her talking stilted and monotone. And she was thinking, “this is so fun!”

“Hell yes,” he enthused.

So she grabbed him around the back of his head and gave him a fierce kiss right on his lips, forcing his lips apart and licking his teeth until they opened, then swapping spit with him, she rammed her tongue deep against his.

When they at last came up for breathe, she said to him, “Not. Bad. Have. You. Much. Ex-per-in-ence?”

THE DAY AFTER JOHN’S BIRTHDAY

John was at the door, card in hand. He shifts from foot, reads the card again then pockets it and rings the bell.

“Hello Aunt Rose”

“Hi John, you here for Alice? She’s not in. She’ll be out for at least two hours.”

“Great! Rosie the robot.”

There was that phrase again, and once again Rose initiated the “I’m. A. Robot. And. This. Is. Kissing. School.” gambit. She considered herself in direct completion with Stella, who had snagged Vinnie as the most beat-off cum winner by three slender blasts despite Rose being his half-sister. They’d both really gone to town on Vinnie, giving every opportunity to him to see them dressed skimpily, cute and sexy. They just plain teased the hell out of the boy. Wet tees without bras (accidents of course), skimpy tight shorts in summer. Rose even showed up on Christmas day morning wearing a flaming red full-length dress slit at top with a lasso and hook combo open-slit exposing most of the valley between her breasts and showing her nipples outlines though the semi-transparent light cotton fabric.

For all their competition, Rose and Stella never talked about it, they never let it interfere with their friendship, never discussed any rules to the game, what the prize for the winner is, or even gave a second thought, except when one or the other sees that one of the kids just masturbated to orgasm thinking of the other, then competitive hackles were raised.

SAME TIME, ELSEWHERE

Vicki sits at her new desktop computer—Windows95- and slides a purple-orange 3.5 inch floppy in and presses “start”. She selects the icon showing interesting activity, and sits back with her herbal tea to watch Rose and John’s first teaching encounter. This was one of her best ideas—a way to slowly integrate the next generation into the group at 18, Rose and Stella were still due some extra activities for creating the problem in the first place—well OK, she had knocked over the brazier that stunted Mr. Egg, but it—whatever it was now, it hadn’t given itself a new name—so she thought of including herself but damned if she was going to compete with Rose’s tits and Stella’s ass in a masturbation by teens steeplechase. And she could see all the stats for them, though Stella and Rose only saw each other’s totals. It was a bit embarrassing, she wasn’t even a distant third, Gail held that position solidly—maybe she’d bring her in for/as their 17th birthday present.

She’d left the book by the computer overnight and when she awoke it was gone. In a panic she’d searched everywhere, until she noticed the new disc where she had thought the book was, the purple-orange sticker should have been a giveaway, but it acted more as camouflage. Soon as she booted the computer—only a couple of minutes, and slipped in the disc the familiar scenes from holding the disc that used to appear in her head were now displayed on the screen—this was so much pleasanter. She popped the disk out and held it, and the scenes were now back in her head, not the screen.

“Cool. Can I make a backup copy?” she thought.

A resounding “No” was returned.

“Is that you book?” she asked, but received no answer.

It was a bit disconcerting to Vicki to see her daughter Harmony show up on both Stella and Vicki’s counter, but not strongly, she’d inherited her mother’s love and lust for the group, and she had lots of guys on the counter too. Alice and Snap both had some Stella and Rose numbers too, particularly added to after one of the older ladies did something particularly slutty. Like the time Stella dragged Marc, in for a visit from his travels—from her living room where they were having a party for him—for a loud make-out session from her room at the top of the stairs.

NOW—AT THE BULLMAN’S

As I flew away, I could still hear them.

“How about a congratulatory fuck for me too,” Marc asks.

“Me too” adds Andy.

“How about us?” Betty asks.

Carl responds to her, “Let me show you what I learned from Sam’s book.”

She giggles, “let’s go and tickle my fancy.”

Carl feels some relief, he still hasn’t recovered, and wants to save his dick energy for Gail, and his chance at an engagement fuck.

Will, still limp from his extra bout with Sheila is content to watch as Rose and Annette start making out on a wide chair. Sheila comes over to Sam, and starts working her tongue on his lap.

I think they’ll do alright in their manna collecting.

LATER WITH JOHN AND ROSIE THE ROBOT

When John reached down to fondle Rose though her dress, she pulled away. “That. Is. For. Lesson. Three. ‘Intimate. Touching. Through. Clothes.” She continued, “Do. You. Want. To. Continue. Lesson. One. Kissing. Or. Hear. The. Rules?”

“Kissing”

Rose had hoped so. She was really getting off playing a robot, now dripping between her thighs, confident she could stop and be herself any time. But she really didn’t want to, and as Vicki knew well, she actually couldn’t. But Vicki had set it up so Rose really enjoyed what she thought of as super sexy play-acting.

To John it all seemed real. “Holy Shit! Aunt Rose as a sex-robot. At my command, sort of”. And kissing wasn’t the start, in two weeks he could grab her tits, though through clothes didn’t sound as good as a full skin-to-skin feel-up. And maybe even a feel down!

They started off with the European fast paced peck in the cheek, and proceeded though several variations including the all-American hello peck, the ear nibble and ending about a half hour later with the full French Kiss while hugging each other tight though chastely around the waist—not quite the tit-grab he’d tried earlier, but it sure felt good pressed against her very full chest while swapping spit.

Again Rose broke off, while John caught his breath, she started, “Now. The. Rules. One. You. Can. Have. One. New. Lesson. Each. Week. Until. You. Turn. 17. Two. Each. Lesson. Will. End. With. A. Brief. Quiz. If. You. Pass. You. Will. Be. Rewarded. After. Each. Lesson. Is. Completed. You. Will. Have. Available. A. Practice. Time. With. Robo-Rosie. On. Any. Later. Day. You. Can. Only. Practice. What. You. Have. Had. Lessons. For. But. You. Can. Practice. Any Completed Lesson. Starting. Tomorrow. You. Can. Practice. Kissing. For. Half. An. Hour. Just. Come. By. But. Phone. First. In. Case. Rose. Busy. Third. You. Can. Not. Tell. Anyone. Younger. Or. Your. Folks. About. This. If. Any. Kid. Ask. You. About. Any. Card. They. Get. At. 16. All. You. Can. Say. To. Them. Is., ‘I can’t talk about it. Trust me it’s worth it,’” Rose concludes in a deep voice imitating John.

John had asked Vinnie just the same question about the card, and that is exactly what he had said about it? Was Vinnie getting lessons from Rose too? It seemed both weird and hot, she was his sister, at least half-way.

“You. Should. Tell. Any. Who. Ask. That. You. Are. Cutting. My. Lawn. And. Doing. Chores. In. My. House. To. Save. Up. For. A. Car.”

“So that’s it,” John thought. Roscoe was already doing chores for Rose, and Vinnie for Stella. “Wow!” They were both a half year or so older, so they must be up to lesson twenty something—he could hardly wait.

“Fourth. If. You. See. Me. As. Not. Robo-Rosie. I. Will. Not. Remember. Our. Sessions. I. Will. Remember. You. Mowing. Or. Painting. The. Basement. Or. Some. Other. Chore. Robo-Rosie. Only. Knows. What. Robo-Rosie. Has. Done. “, she concludes lying for the first time, she’ll remember it all, but pretend not to, “Are. You. Ready. For. Your. Quiz?”

“Sure,” John always did well with tests.

Robie-Rosie gives John a peck on the cheek, “What. Is. That. Called?” When John answers correctly, the second and then a very wet third kiss are identified as well.

Robo-Rosie leaves the room and comes back with some of the weird cream that he sometimes saw in his folks ’fridge and a roll of paper towels and a glass of water.

“Drop. Your. Drawers. Sit. Here.” She points to a straight back chair in her kitchen.

In full expectation of something special he sits, naked to the waist, his stiff young teen cock erect. The jar opens with a ‘pop’ and Robie-Rosie applies some on her palm and then begins to give him a very special hand-job. “Lesson. 12. Is. Where. This. Is. Taught. But. You. Passed. With. No. Release. Yet. So. Let. Robie-Rosie. Make. You. Soft. Again.” He leans over and kisses her as she stokes away. She briefly pulls away and says, “Not. Scheduled. But. Acceptable.,” and leans back to Johns lips until he does a monster squirt.

She cleans him up with the towels and water. As he dressed again, his natural politeness kicks in. “Thank you very much, Robo-Rosie.”

“You’re. Welcome. Keep. The. Cream. I. Have. My. Own. Source.” with which she takes a quick glance at her tits, which John can hardly fail to notice.

“Do I need to say something to let you reconvert to Aunt Rose?”

“No. I. Will. Do. So. When. You. Leave. If. You. Want. To. Stay. And. Have. Aunt. Rose. Back. Say. ‘Aunt Rose”. ”

“Can I ask some questions?”

“Yes. I. May. Not. Answer. Them.”

“Are you really Robo-Rosie, or are you screwing with me?

Rose takes a second to figure out the first answer—she is acting this out, isn’t she? Or is it real? Vicki sits up and types Rose’s response, good thing she was monitoring, though she’d stepped out briefly to get a vibrator to use while she watched this hot encounter, “Yes. And. No. Screwing. Until. Lesson. 26.” Not what Rose would have naturally said, but now it was out, it seemed like the right thing, while she was playing Robo-Rosie she was Robo-Rosie. At U she’d taken an acting class that taught the Stanislavski Method, so that response seemed right, if a bit confusing as to why she’d said those words. Roscoe was only up to lesson 24, so she guessed that she’d finally be riding his dick in a couple of weeks. About time. Why hadn’t she known about the lesson 26? She never wondered, she was discovering the lesson’s order at the same time Roscoe was.

“Can you give me a list of the lessons?”

“No. It. Is. Not. Allowed. I. Can. Sometimes. Mention. Them. Though. You’ll. Have. To. Find. Out. Yourself.”

“Can I split the practice session over time? Say some one day and the rest another?”

“Yes. The. Practice. Times. Will. Get. Longer. You. Can. Also. Save. Time. From. One. Week. To. The. Next.”

“Can you tell me about Roscoe? Does he use Robo-Rosie?”

“No. I. Can’t. Tell. Him. About. You. Either.”

With that John leaves after the appropriate peck on the cheek and a polite, “This is the best gift ever, Robo-Rosie.” With that the inner Rose melted a bit. She knew once John left she would be spending the rest of the afternoon with her special plastic friend. Or though they were married and divorced, maybe a call to Will to play hooky from work would satisfy her—no, he was always regretful afterwards—like his dad he was a workaholic, though they didn’t need the income. Thinking of Sam he’d retired, and he was just down the block and always willing to eat her out—that seemed like the best idea, so she fixed her makeup and dress, slipped on her shoes and headed out the door.

John was disappointed to learn that lesson two was how to balance his checkbook. But Wednesday’s practice session was nice, almost all of it in a tight clinch, and the next week he passed the check quiz, so the hand-job was given after a full 7 days of anticipation. Robo-Rosie caught some of his cum on her cheek, and he was delighted to see her wipe it off with a finger and stuff it in her mouth and swallow before he plunged his tongue back into her ear.

So it continued with a mix of sex lessons and life lessons, how to do laundry, how to calculate a mortgage, dancing both clean and dirty, and other non-sexual teaching about every second or third week, adding to the anticipation and allowing extra practice time—which never was the ‘balance a checkbook’ unit again.