At a Crossroads: A Forever 12 Story

by Awynedd

mc; Mg; oral; tf; inc

The movers had been by a week ago and the last bits and bobs - those items too delicate to trust to a commercial mover - had been placed in the back of the Suburban. I was leaning against the front passenger door waiting for my wife and two stepdaughters to finish with their one-last-run-though-of-the-house. While I waited for them to appear, I looked at the three small boxes I held in my hand and contemplated the odd set of circumstances that had brought these boxes, their unique contents, and the necessity of this move about.




My fiftieth birthday found me at a crossroads. I was in the second year of marriage to my second wife, a woman twenty years my junior and, other than two daughters ages 10 and 13, brought little to the marriage except for the ability to instantaneously max out any credit card that passed through her hands. The woman had no concept of how money (especially credit) worked. Sure, she was always quite contrite when the bills came due and the apology sex was truly mind-blowing, but we still argued monthly about money, her spending, and our budgets.

Her daughters were almost mirror images of her; all were lithe, beautiful, blonds who spent money faster than a sailor on leave; thankfully, the daughters had yet to discover boys, but the older was rapidly approaching that particular moment.

It had occurred to me that I may have let my dick do my thinking when I proposed to her, but then hindsight is always 20-20. Thankfully, I had enough sense to have her sign a prenup. While she and her daughters would be well off, should we split, I would retain the bulk of my assets.

Add to this, I was also newly retired, a more PC way of saying that I "had been given an extraordinarily handsome severance package when dismissed due to a hostile take over of the company I had founded." So, I was looking for my next path in life. What I wanted was a slight modification to my life: I'd like to keep the joie-de-vie that my wife and her daughters brought into my life but eliminate their bad habits, and I wanted the challenge of running a business without the stress of building something from the ground up.

The solution presented itself in the form of Bob. I'd met Bob through the local chamber of commerce. We first met at some chamber function just after I had gotten remarried and as he introduced himself, he mentioned that he owned the local Forever 12 outlet. I made some off-handed remark about how it seemed that half my take-home ended up in his store and he was polite enough to chuckle at it. Over the course of a few months, we became good friends discovering that we both had a number of things in common, among them an appreciation for the beauty of the developing female form (we liked to girl-watch).

The day after my fiftieth birthday, Bob took me out for drinks to celebrate my reaching the half century mark. We found a table on the bar's terrace and sat watching the young girls play on the beach and talking. After a few drinks the evening had darkened sufficiently to make girl-watching difficult and the conversation took a more serious turn.

Bob asked me what my plans were for the future. When I told him about my dilemma and about feeling a bit of a fool for having such a typical mid-life crisis, he said that he might have a solution for at least one of my problems, possibly both. He asked if I had ever considered owning a Forever 12 franchise. I had never thought of myself as being a retail magnate and was about to tell him that I wouldn't be interested when it occurred to me having a legitimate, profitable excuse for girl watching might be what I needed. Those Forever 12 shops had to be profitable, why else would they be spring up like mushrooms after a rain? The franchise was opening a new store every two months, and its stock was continuously trending upwards. So I told him I might be interested, and if he had a prospectus, to drop it by the house.

It took me a few days to review the prospectus and from what I saw, I couldn't believe that anyone could make any kind of profit from one of these stores, much less want to spend the $1.5 million it took to own one. I told Bob that based on what I had read, I wasn't all that interested and was amazed that he was doing so well given the franchise's conditions. He laughed, and told me that the prospectus really didn't tell the whole story and if I was willing to keep an open mind he'd show me how the stores really made their profits. I had have to sign an NDA of course, but he assured me it would be worth it. Not having any other option readily at hand, I told him I'd give it a look and we agreed to meet at his home that evening after his store had closed.

When I arrived, Bob greeted me at the door and ushered me into his home office. Sitting on his desk was the NDA - a quite peculiar NDA I discovered; frankly, this was the first one I had ever seen that included sexual intercourse as a trade secret. I was sure that Bob was pulling my leg, but he insisted that he couldn't talk to me if I didn't sign. Figuring I had little to lose and that the eventual punchline was going to be good, I signed.

Bob grabbed a couple of three ring binders off a shelf and led me out of his office and over to his den and motioned me to sit down in one of the leather recliners. He sat in the other one, put the binders down on the table, and began to talk about Forever 12. He told me that each Forever 12 store carried two product lines, silver and gold. The silver line was kept stocked on the shelf and all silver line products were embroidered with the company's famous F12 logo. It was this line that enjoyed a cult-like following among females ages 10-14 as well as those mothers who felt a need to have mother-daughter matching outfits. This line was also strictly controlled by corporate and, yes, if he had to rely on his cut of silver line sales he'd see about $25,000 a year in net profits.

However, the gold line was something completely different. The gold line consisted entirely of highly customized products and was marketed exclusively to a highly select group of men, men with discerning tastes, men with significant assets and high net worth. He opened the binders and pointed to two nearly identical bikinis. He pointed to the F12 logo on one bikini bottom and told me "as you can see this little number is from the silver line, the logo is embroidered, the cut while risque won't violate any laws; it sells for $100. Over here is one from our gold line, the logo is in gold and hangs from the waistband on a gold chain, the cut is barely legal in Rio; it sells for $1,000." He continued to leaf through the binders pointing out the remarkable price delta between the gold and silver lines and I was beginning to see where the profit came from. What I didn't see any customization; sure the gold line was far more erotic, but it still looked like mass-produced clothing and jewelry. When I told Bob this, he laughed and replied, "Son, we don't customize the clothing, we customize the wearer." As he lifted a simple gold chain from a pocket of the binder, he said, "And it all begins with this little number right here, the clothing is merely provides the fine detailing; let me show you." With that, he started a video.

I watched, stunned, as the video started with a wide shot of two naked, unconscious women, one about 40 and the other about 18, each with a gold chain around their neck and each chain had a pendant embossed with the F12 logo hanging from it. As the video progressed, the shot tightened on the women's faces and chests; a tattoo appeared on their left breasts: the F12 logo and what appeared to be a serial number. Then their bodies began to change: they became younger, smaller, and by the time the video ended they had been transformed into a pair of identical pre-teen twins with dazzling green eyes, luscious red hair, and bodies that had just begun to take on the curves of womanhood. The video stopped with a split screen shot, filling the screen with a close up of each of the girl's tattoo.

"Now, before you say a thing," Bob said, "I need to introduce you to my daughters." He left the den for a moment and when he returned, he was accompanied by a pair of identical, red-haired, green-eyed twins each wearing a scandalously short silk robe. The girls walked over to me and to my great surprise, opened their robes.

I sat there in stunned silence, not sure what to think - part of me was a bit taken aback that Bob was so cavalier about the fact that his daughters were displaying themselves before me, part of me was widely attracted to the beauty and the raw sexuality of these girls, and a small part of me noticed that each girl bore a tattoo on her left breast, a tattoo that looked remarkably like - no make that identical to the tattoos still displayed on the TV's screen. After a moment, I managed to stammer out: "What's the joke Bob? You play me a video that is nothing but 15 minutes of special effects, you've got your daughters standing here flashing me, and you expect me to believe that this is the result of a Forever 12 product line?"

Bob replied in the affirmative and he calmly and repeatedly explained the full capabilities of the Forever 12 gold line. In a nutshell, the founders of Forever 12 had found a way to create the perfect sex toy and had to decided to market it. To cover for (and launder) this income stream, they developed a business that sold haut culture to tweens. The video Bob showed me was the physical transformation of his wife and daughter into what he called his "demo models." If he was to be believed, they had been completely re-crafted into his concept of the ideal life partner. It was half-past 2 by the time we stopped talking and I had managed to wrap my head around Bob's revelations. Bob suggested that, rather than drive home at this hour, I make use of his guest room and grab a couple of hours sleep. I agreed and he had one of his daughters show me to the room.

The girl took me up to the bedroom and proceeded to undress me; I knew that I should have stopped her, but I didn't. At the moment it seemed like just another part of the sales pitch, but looking back I had already sold myself on the idea of owning a franchise and of having the power to produce the embodiment of someone's fantasy. The girl didn't just help me remove my clothes, she turned the entire process into an act of seduction and by the time the last piece of my clothing hit the floor I found myself lying on the bed nude with a beautiful girl nuzzling my erect dick.

For the next thirty minutes, using just her mouth and tongue, she kept me on the edge of orgasm. She traced and studied every contour of my dick as if she wished to memorize its every feature. This was no mere blow job, this was her act of worship and she exalted in it. And when she sensed that I had reached my limit, she took my cock into her mouth and down into her throat, nestling her nose into my pubic hair, swallowing as my dick poured streams of cum into her.

Without a pause, she began working to bring my erection back and in far less time than I expected, I found myself watching her lower herself on to my cock, her thighs gleaming with her fluids, her cunt a hot, wet, tight tunnel. In one fluid movement, she had impaled herself on the entire length of my shaft; with only a single quiet squeak leaving her lips as the head of my cock met her cervix. She proved to be just as skillful with her cunt as she was with her mouth; she would rock and thrust with her hips until I was approaching climax and then stop and hold me on the edge of release using just the contractions of her cunt before letting me drop down from this erotic height only to begin the cycle again. We fucked for what seemed like hours; she reached her climax numerous times - an exquisite sight, her entire body seemed to vibrate with pleasure, her moans running together into a single drawn out note of joy - before bringing on my release. When I finally came, it felt as if I was flooding her womb with my cum; some primitive instinct took over and as the first stream of cum left my dick, I grabbed her hips and pulled her down, thrusting my dick deep into her and I held her there as my balls emptied themselves. When she finally lifted herself from me, a torrent of cum flowed out of her cunt and over my cock and balls. She moved off the bed and bent over to clean the evidence of our fucking from my body. Ever the skilled fellatrix, she soon had me clean, semi-erect, and satiated. Thankfully, she did leave time for a couple of hours sleep.

A week later, I was $1.5 million lighter, had a to-do list a mile long, and was the owner of a Forever 12 franchise in a town two states over. Six months later, I found myself standing next to my Suburban, waiting.




My girls finally made their appearance and whatever reservations they may have had about the move and the associated two day road trip were laid to rest when they saw the small boxes with that Forever 12 logo emblazoned on the lids. In no time, three small, thin gold chains where decorating three svelte necks; and so we headed off into a new future.

The only noticeable difference between this and any other previous family car trip was that my girls were unusually quiet, agreeable, passive, and docile. When we arrived at the no name motel that marked the halfway point, I remarked to no one in particular that this was our first family trip without a single fight. I checked in and, 15 minutes later was leading a trio of dopey females into a nondescript room.

Once inside with the curtains drawn tight, I said the trigger phrase I had been given and watched as the faces of all three female went blank and they began to strip, their actions more robotic than human. Once they were completely naked, they turned in unison, moved over to one of the two king-sized beds that dominated the room and laid down. I watched as the Forever 12 logo appeared on their left breasts. As serial numbers began to write themselves below the logo, I turned, left the room, locked the door, and went to get something to eat.

Even though I was expecting it, the reality of the sight that greeted me upon my return came as something of a shock; there, lying on the bed were my three daughters. If the twins - identical 12 year old beauties, hair the color of sunlit gold, pert B cup breasts adorned with small nipples standing erect in the cool air of the room - had their eyes been open they would have been the blue of the Caribbean sea. Their virginal bodies were adorned with a flawless skin and an equally flawless tan. The only thing that would distinguish one from the other was that Ana was right handed and Julie was left handed. Lying between them was Celeste, a petite 16 year old redhead, her body sporting a pair of luscious 36C tits, a flat waist and drum-tight ass. Her flawless skin was almost paper white, a product of her lifelong avoidance of tanning: she would suffer from the redhead's ability to burn rather than tan. I knew that when they opened, her eyes would be a sparkling emerald green.

The morning would see the rest of their transformation complete and as there was nothing for me to do, I undressed and went to sleep on the other bed.

I awoke to the sensation of a little kitten licking at my balls and a warm mouth about my rapidly erecting dick. As my eyes open I looked down and was greeted by the sight of a pair of blonde heads and heard the sounds of a pair of mouths working to bring me off. I felt a weight hit the bed to my right and, turning my head, I was greeted by the sight of a pair of green eyes and a set of rapidly approaching lips - a sight that quickly transformed into a french kiss; a kiss that threatened to bring me off in short order; a kiss that would need to end before things got much more involved. I had forgotten our "tradition" of having a Sunday morning orgy before brunch. While the girls had the benefits of having complete memories of all our "old" family traditions and a "lifetime" of training, grooming, and experience, I was finding the learning curve to be a little steep - 24 hours was just not enough time to transition to being a single parent of 3 joyfully hedonistic fuck-bunnies.

I broke from Celeste's delicious kiss and with great effort told the twins to stop. They got up with a few sighs of disappointment and dressed in outfits from the Forever 12's "Good Girl Gold Line" (a line of clothing designed to activate the girls' "young lady" programming). By the time I got our bags packed back into the SUV, three well-mannered, well-dressed girls were waiting patiently in their seats ready to go.

The day's drive was somewhat less relaxing as my mind kept wandering to that wondrous wake-up my girls had given me and by the time we arrived at our new home, I was hornier than I had been in decades. I was not quite sure how I managed to get the car unpacked and the girls situated without dragging them off and fucking them silly. I'd like to think it was that the fact that I wanted to savor taking each one for my first time, to take the time to create a single clear memory of the occasion rather than recall the event as a jumbled hedonistic experience of cunts, asses, mouths, and cum. It was strange to think that I would, in one sense, be taking their virginity, for the girls these first nights would simply be a continuation of a loving, willing relationship; each girl had their own unique clear memory of the night they lost their virginity.

Celeste would recall that it happened on a crisp winter's night in front of a roaring fire about three months after her mother had walked out on us. The twins (7 years old at the time) had been asleep for a few hours, when she had come down the stairs to find me sitting in a leather recliner staring into the fire working my way through a bottle of Rye. She had climbed into my lap wearing little more than panties and a T-shirt and kissed away the tears that were trickling down my checks. We talked for a bit; I tried to explain to this precocious 11 year old why I was sad, tried to explain why her mother had left, tried to explain that the future would be better in time. After her questions ran out, she looked at me, told me flat out that she was going to be the mom now and that she wanted to make me happy. I responded that she needn't worry about this, all she had to do was to be my girl and I would be responsible for everything else - an argument that would be interrupted by her pulling her shirt off and kissing me passionately - breaking away only to say, "Don't be silly Daddy, I'll still be your girl, but I can also make you happy - I've watched you and Mommy a lot and I know what girls do to make boys happy on the internet." She could see that I was momentarily stunned, but was happy to find that I was willing to follow her lead and as we made out in that chair, we eventually found ourselves naked. She would remember panting in arousal, aching with desire, her nipples, hard as diamonds, jutting from her developing breasts, and beads of moisture had decorated her cunt. She felt my erection, a hot, hard rod pulsing in time with my heart beat lying against her stomach, felt it in her hands as she guided it between her legs, lifting her body enough to bring it to rest against her pussy. She felt the heat of it as it entered her body, filling her, stretching her; there was a brief moment of pain before pleasure began to cascade through her body, building to some as yet unknown peak, driving her with a hunger that she had not known she possessed. Then, as she felt my cock begin to pulse, the streams of hot cum flooding into her, the peak broke and the waiting pleasure exploded across her mind leaving her limp, exhausted, and satiated.

For Ana, the more adventurous of the twins, the loss of her virginity was the more the product of sibling rivalry than anything else. She would remember that, on the eve of her 11th birthday, she marched into my bedroom nude, woke me and demanded that if I was going to fuck her older sister, it was only fair that I fuck her too. After all, if Celeste could make me feel good, she could too and besides, if fucking was as good as Celeste described, then Celeste shouldn't be the only one to get it, and with that, she crawled into my bed, flung a leg over me and kissed me. She would recall me drawing her cunt to my mouth and the feel of my tongue as it gently teased her pussy and clit, of becoming so wet that her fluids began to coat my chin, nose and lips. She would remember lying on her back on the edge of the bed with me standing above her as I parting her legs and placing myself between them, lifting her cunt to my hard cock and feeling like she was being split in two as I buried my cock into her with a single hard thrust. The pain burned through her brain until, at the last possible moment, it was replaced by a burst of pleasure and joy so intense and white hot that it consumed all thought. She would have no recall of my pulling from her or of the feel of my cum dripping out of her pussy only of regaining consciousness in my arms feeling so full of love that she might burst.

Julie would remember being led to my bed by her sisters about 3 months after her 11th birthday, her shyness having kept her from entering it without some external moral support. But once her sisters had left, she would recall finding the courage to kiss me, and as we began to make out, to run her hands down my body, to gently stroke my cock, and as it grew hard to have the audacity to kiss it. As she took it into her mouth, she heard me coaching her, warning her that sharp teeth could ruin the mood. She found herself enjoying the its taste and feel and how each stroke of her tongue, kiss of her lips, or even the stroke of her fingers across my balls would cause my cock to swell and pulse. Her fascination with my cock was such that she paid no attention to my warning her that I was about to cum, so she was taken by surprise when my cum began to fill her mouth; reacting on instinct, she began to swallow, but not soon enough or fast enough to keep it from dripping down her chin. Having found she liked the taste, those few missed drops were quickly licked up. She would recall being so aroused, so driven by a primordial need, so wanting to feel completely taken, dominated that she got on to her hands and knees and begged me to fuck her like this. She felt no pain as I entered her, only pleasure, a pleasure that cried out for more, a pleasure that had her saying "Fuck me Daddy, fuck me harder." Cries that soon became simply "harder, harder" over and over again blending into one another until, as her climax broke over her, they became a single drawn-out moan of joy.

But in all likelihood, it was simply that the trip and the unpacking left me wanting sleep more than I wanted sex (oh the tribulations of getting older). I had the twins dress in a matched set of Forever 12's Sound Slumber nightgowns (a flattering but slightly dowdy line of sleep ware that guaranteed the wearer 8 hours of slumber unless I woke them) and had Celeste put on a Sweet Sixteen white thong and white "men's" dress shirt to sleep in. The clothes would have her climbing into my bed in about 4 hours; she'd be a little hesitant but willing should I find myself sufficiently rested to fully enjoy the delights of her nubile body.

Tools

Messages