﻿Sexy Shorts

by Pan



Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2023-06-10
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:56:49
Chapters: 34
Words: 49,250
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/SexyShorts/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: A collection of short tales for the whole family.
Erotica Tags: ex, in, mc, md, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Pizza Time is Family Time

Pink

Driving Lesson

Meme

Too Old

Training

Maid

Getting Ready for Work

Mind Control

Breakfast on the Train

Insulted

Bicycle

Musical

Hacked

In the Way

We Need A Man

Medicine

Stressed

Headlights

Oh Brother

Sex Education

Gift

Seduce Me

30 Days

Baton

I Need A Ride

Company Policy

Plant

Headlights

Sexy Shorts

Fishing Trip

Common Core

New Phone

Fourth Base



	Pizza Time is Family Time

“I want pizza,” Kayla said suddenly. The urge had hit her out of nowhere.

“Sure,” her brother Nick said, a slight leer on his face. “You’ll have to order it though.”

“Oh god…”

She’d forgotten what a hassle it was to order. Still, she was in the mood for pizza, and she knew that nothing else would suffice.

“Okay,” she said, moving over to where her brother was sitting on the couch. “Remind me of how this works again?”

“Just pull it out and dial,” he said, adjusting himself so that she would have better access.

Kayla unzipped her brother’s fly, and pulled out the phone. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just order it from the website—or on her mobile. This antiquated method was so inconvenient.

“Okay,” she said, wrapping her hand around the phone and slowly tugging it several times. “Oh shit—what’s the number?”

“That’s it,” Nick replied with a grunt. “That’s the number.”

She paused, and rolled her eyes.

“No answer.”

“Just try it again. Keep on trying until you get an answer.”

For the next few minutes, Kayla continued stroking and pulling on the phone. Why wasn’t anyone picking up? If she wasn’t so desperate for the meal, she’d have given up, but Kayla had an urge that only pizza would satisfy.

“Where are they?” she whined, which caught her brother’s attention. His eyes had been closed, and he seemed to be in another world.

“Oh!” he said, bucking his hips forward slightly. “I think someone’s answering.”

Kayla urgently leaned forward, and took the phone in her mouth. Slowly sliding it in and out, she mentally described the exact kind of pizza she wanted, making sure to use lots of tongue.

“I don’t think they caught that,” her brother said, sounding strangely short-of-breath. “You’ll have to repeat the order.”

With a mental sigh, Kayla repeated her order, again and again. She really hated ordering pizza this way, but sometimes she just knew that nothing else would do.

_Why don’t they just get an app?_ she asked herself, holding her breath and taking the phone deep into her throat. _Or at least a better line…this is getting ridiculous._

Finally, the phone twitched, indicating that it was ready to send confirmation that it understood what she wanted. Kayla took the phone out of her mouth, and dialed the “receive” code a few times, until the phone was ready to transmit its data.

She shut her eyes to make sure that it didn’t get damaged by the phone’s powerful signal, and as the warmth splashed onto her face, smiled.

“Awesome,” she said, sitting back down on the couch next to her brother. “I can’t wait until that arrives.”

“What did you order?” Nick asked casually. She didn’t even know why he bothered—as she relayed her exact order, he didn’t even seem to be listening. He was just sitting next to her, typing on his phone.

* * *

“Pizza’s here!” Nick shouted, and Kayla jumped for joy. The phone’s transmission had dried on her face, leaving her feeling icky and gross, but she knew that the warm pizza would make everything feel better.

Her brother went to fetch the pizza, and Kayla smiled at the sight of the inviting cardboard box. She felt like she’d had pizza almost every day for the past few weeks, but she just never seemed to get sick of it, and neither did Nick.

“Careful,” he said, as she reached for a slice of Hawaiian. “You don’t want to make a mess!”

“Oh, of course,” she replied, feeling like a fool. She quickly shrugged off her jacket, and pulled her top over her head. Pizza stains were such a bitch to get out.

“How great is pizza?” Nick asked as she undid her bra.

“The greatest.”

With a smile, Kayla shut her eyes as the slice entered her mouth. It was amazing, and had the added bonus of washing out the lingering taste of phone.

As she chewed, she made sure to massage her bare breasts and tweak her nipples, to help with the digestion.

“Do you want a hand with that?”

“Sure,” she grinner. Nick was so good at making sure she didn’t eat too fast—his mouth was able to assist with digesting way better than her own hands ever could.

After a few minutes he stopped, and looked at her with concern.

“Where’s the dip?” 

Kayla looked around, confused.

“Oh god, not again—I swear I ordered it. They must have forgotten to bring it!”

“Oh.”

Kayla was enjoying her pizza so much, and Nick was looking so disappointed—she couldn’t stop herself from offering.

“Do you want me to…”

“Well, only if it’s not a problem.”

“Of course not,” she said, standing up and quickly stripping off her jeans and panties. “I still think you’re a freak though—who eats pizza with dip?”

Nick couldn’t help but agree with her as she positioned herself. Kayla had to put the pizza down to make sure that she was steady—Nick could get quite _vigorous_ during mealtimes—but soon she was leaning over the table, supporting herself with her arms, giving him the best access possible.

The pizza always surprised her with its rigidity, not to mention how many times Nick had to dip it before he was satisfied. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck, and both hands on her hips.

“Almost done,” he moaned.

“No rush,” Kayla responded casually. She was staring at the pizza in front of her on the table, picturing it sliding into her mouth, filling her with its creamy goodness.

“Smile!” Nick grunted, and for the first time Kayla noticed the camera in the corner pointed straight at them.

“What the hell, Nick?” she said. “Why would you record us eating pizza?”

“For the memories,” he responded through gritting teeth. “Pizza is one of my favourite things to share with you.”

Almost against her will, Kayla’s heart melted slightly at the sentiment. One of Nick’s hands reached up and firmly grasped her left breast as he slammed his hips against hers, and she could feel his pizza begin to twitch inside of her.

It was nice to know that he enjoyed pizza just as much as she did.


	Pink

“So dye it back.”

“No! You’re not listening,” Alice said in frustration. “I _like_ having pink hair—I’m just sick of it being the only thing people remember about me.”

“I mean…it’s pink hair,” her brother said. “What did you expect?”

“Ugh,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Never mind!”

The siblings sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Okay,” Matt eventually said, “I think I get what you’re saying. You like being noticed for the pink hair, but you don’t want it to define you.”

“Yes!” Alice replied. “Exactly!”

“You want people to think of you as more than just pink hair.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Matt said, leaning over, and moving so quickly that Alice didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late, he undid the top two buttons of her shirt.

“Matt!” Alice said, shocked, and he just sat back, a smug look on his face.

She opened her mouth, prepared to tear him a new one, but glancing down at her newly-exposed cleavage, something stopped her.

It would definitely help with her problem.

* * *

“So now I can’t work out which is worse,” Alice whined as her brother sat back, rolling his eyes. “At least before, they were looking at something I’d done—an expression of myself.”

She gestured at her boobs, which were prominently highlighted by the push-up bra and low-cut top she’d chosen that day.

“With _these_ , it’s like I’m nothing more than a piece of meat for them to ogle.”

“So stop showing them off.”

“Then I’ll just be back to where I was before!”

Matt rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, and marched over to Alice’s wardrobe. A few seconds later, Alice was ducking as he threw clothes at her—the highest heels she owned, a short skirt, and a boob tube that she normally wore with a jacket over the top.

“Wear these,” he said, ignoring Alice’s stare of shock.

“Matt!” she exclaimed, “I can’t…”

Again, she paused. Why not? Sure, it would show off more skin, but at least the clothes would divert attention away from her tits.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh.

* * *

Alice tottered into her brother’s room. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable walking on the huge heels, but she was getting used to it.

“It’s not fair!” she pouted, collapsing onto Matt’s bed. “People are just looking at me like I’m a…like I’m a…”

She trailed off, and Matt pointedly didn’t help her.

“Well, you know,” she finished lamely.

“Woman?”

“No! Like I’m…”

Again, she struggled to finish her sentence.

“They won’t stop looking at my body.”

Matt raised one eyebrow.

“At least they remember you for more than the hair,” he offered, but Alice just glared in response. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Alice said, annoyed. “I don’t just want them to see me for what I was born with—I want to leave an impression.”

“Well, you definitely leave an…—“

“You know what I mean!”

Matt stood up and stared at his sister. She shivered slightly at the strength of his gaze—he’d looked at her before, but this felt different. This felt like he was stripping her bare, leaving her totally exposed.

“Okay,” he said after a thoughtful pause. “People are staring at your body, right?”

“Right.”

“Why not use that to your advantage? Use your body to express yourself.”

He strolled over to his computer, and a few clicks later thick, sultry music was pumping out of his speakers.

“Dance,” he said, sitting back on his computer chair. “You’ve got everyone’s attention—now do something with it.”

* * *

Alice smiled at her regulars. Everything had moved so fast after that day in Matt’s room, it had all become a bit of a blur. She still had her long, pink hair—she’d dyed her pubic hair to match.

Her name at the club was simply “Pink”.


	Driving Lesson

“Okay Elly,” my brother said. “You ready for your driving lesson?”

“Of course!”

I jumped up, excited. Jack had been promising to teach me how to drive for months now, but before now we’d never managed to get our schedules to sync up. I was so excited—as soon as I’d woken up, I’d put on the special driving outfit that Jack had instructed I wear.

“Here we go,” he said, and my face fell.

“What? Here?”

I’d been expecting the lesson to take place in Jack’s car—a fair guess, you’ve got to agree. But instead, Jack was sitting on the sofa, gesturing for me to sit next to him.

“Of course,” he said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “There’s no point in taking you onto the road until you understand the basics.”

“Fine,” I said. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was too excited to even be cranky—I was finally going to learn how to drive!

“Okay,” my brother said. “First of all, steering. I’m going to be helping you out with that, okay?

I sat down to his left, and Jack immediately put his arm around me, resting his arm on my shoulder and grabbing my left tit. I could see now why he’d insisted I wear such a low-cut top with no bra.

“The easiest part of driving is the steering, and so we’re going to do that first, okay?”

I nodded in response, and Jack gave my breast a quick squeeze, letting me know that it was time to start. The next few minutes were just driving—every now and again my brother tweaked my nipple, just to assure me that I was doing a good job.

“Great job!” he said, and I beamed in response. “Next up: changing gears.”

The gearstick was a bit trickier. In a real car, Jack told me, I’d be able to feel the car respond, and so for teaching purposes, he tried to provide a similar kind of verbal feedback. At first, I was changing the gears very slowly—first to second, then back down to first. First to second, then back to first.

As I continued, however, I got more bold—and faster at it- and Jack, emulating the car, got very excited every time I went up another gear. When I finally made it all the way up to fifth, he pulled my mouth to his and kissed me with excitement.

“Geez,” I said with a laugh when he finally pulled away. “I hope that’s not how the car reacts!”

He laughed, giving my breast a quick fondle as he did.

“Now, an important part of driving is taking care of your car. Do you know how to change a tire?”

I shook my head.

“How about checking the oil?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, well changing a tire is a bit tricky without a real car, but checking the oil is easy. We’ll use the fake gearstick as a dipstick, and for the oil we’ll use…how about your mouth?”

“Sure thing,” I shrugged. Car maintenance actually sounded really boring, but if Jack said it was important, I was sure he knew what he was talking about. Maybe if I got everything right today, next time he’d take me out in an actual car.

I got down on my knees in front of Jack, and opened my mouth obediently.

“Now, using a dipstick is pretty easy—you dip it right into the oil, and then when you pull it out you can see by the way it’s glistening how much oil is in the tank. You’re going to have to let go of the gearstick, Elly.”

Blushing, I let go. I hadn’t even realised I’d still been changing gears—just first to second and back again, for the practice.

“Okay, try it now. Just the tip though.”

I lowered my mouth over the gearstick, and then when I pulled away, I could see what my brother was talking about—the head was glistening, but the rest was just a veiny purple colour.

“Great! Again, a bit further this time.”

I lowered my mouth over the gearstick, and again, could see exactly how far I’d gone down by where the saliva stopped.

“Again!”

“I’ve got the idea, bro…”

“Trust me, Elly—you want to make sure you’ve got this right. This time, bob your head back and forth until I say stop do. Oil is much darker than saliva, and so to properly get the idea we’ll have to get HEAPS of saliva on there.

I must have spent a full five minutes “checking the oil”, but my brother was right—when I finally pulled it out, it was way more visible where the saliva ended.

“Okay,” my brother grunted—his face was red, and he was breathing quite heavily. “Last thing for today—filling up the gas.”

“Jack, I know how to fill a car with gas…”

“Oh do you? Okay then sis—you be the car, I’ll be the fuel pump. Talk me through it.”

“It’s super simple. Okay, stand up. You take the fuel pump…and you put it in like this. Oh!”

I gasped as the “fuel pump” (which was really just the gear stick we’d been using earlier) entered me. The other half of my brother’s clothing instructions—short skirt, no panties—suddenly made sense now as well.

“Okay,” Jack interrupted. “But what if it only goes halfway in?”

“Then you just…you take it out a little, and then put it back in. Maybe move it back and forth a few times.”

I was panting slightly as well now. The gear stick was much larger than it had felt in my hand and mouth.

“Keep trying that,” I continued breathlessly, “until you get it all the way in. Yes! Like that. Once it’s all the way in, you just pull the lever and it’ll start to unload.”

My brother pumped the gearstick inside me a few times—he must have really been having trouble getting it to sit right—but it wasn’t long before he pushed forward, and I could feel the fake gas starting to pump inside me. If I wasn’t careful, it was going to drip all over the sofa—or my skirt!

As the car filled with gas, Jack reached under my shirt to hold my tits properly. It was comforting, the feeling of his bare hands on my skin—it really let me know that I was doing a good job.

“And once the car’s full?”

“You take the pump out,” I said, removing the fuel pump. The entire thing was glistening now, and not just with saliva.

“Okay,” my brother said, sitting back down on the couch and smiling at me. “Final thing—before I let you borrow my car, I really want to make sure you’re going to take care of it.”

“Of course,” I replied, and quickly worked out what he meant. The gear stick had lost most of its rigidity, but I was determined to show Jack I could take care of his car, so I dropped to my knees and took it back into my mouth.

By the time I was done, it was going to be spotlessly clean.


	Meme

“So is it a virus?”

“No, that’s the thing - it’s not biological. It seems to be entirely…mental.”

“What, like a mind ray?”

“No, like a…you know when you get a song stuck in your head? There’s nothing psychic or viral about that, but you still can’t get it out.”

“Wait wait wait…so you’re saying people all over the country are fucking each other because they’ve got a song stuck in their head?”

“No! Jesus, you just don’t listen, do you?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. Brendan was…he wasn’t _stupid_ , exactly, he just really struggled to understand stuff sometimes. She normally didn’t hang out with him one-on-one, but the rest of their gaming group were running late, and so she was stuck talking to him about the weird phenomenon that the news was going on about.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said with a sigh. “It’s like swine flu, or anthrax - it’s just the media making a big deal out of nothing. In two weeks’ time, we won’t have heard anything else about it.”

“For sure.”

Soon after, the others arrived - Patrick and his sister Clare, and Clare’s best friend Irene. Maggie put the conversation out of her mind, and focussed on rolling up a new character.

That night on the train home, a man sat opposite her, and she couldn’t help but notice a strange look in his eye. Nothing that was cause for alarm, just an odd gleam. She found herself leaning forward, trying to get a better view, when suddenly she looked down, and noticed that the man’s cock was out.

“What the hell are you doing?” she said, sitting back in alarm. “What the fuck is going on?”

“What!?” he said, looking around in panic, even as his right hand grasped his flaccid penis and started to pull and tug.

“That!” she said, and he looked down, confused.

“This?” he asked, looking at her like she was insane. “This is…what’s wrong with you? It’s my cock. I was just going to cum in your hair.”

“Jesus Christ!” she said, standing up. “I need to go.”

“What?” he said, calling out after her. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those religious freaks. Whose hair am I going to cum in now??”

* * *

The group stared at Maggie in shock as she told them the story the next day. They were attempting to complete the entire Tomb of Horrors over their summer break, meeting every day to further explore the demi-lich’s final resting place.

“I know, right? Crazy!”

“For sure,” Brendan muttered. “What a…tit.”

Clare elbowed Brendan in the stomach, and they both burst into laughter, with the rest of the group still following.

“What!?” Maggie said. “It was really weird! What’s so funny?”

Patrick eventually calmed down, looking Maggie in the eye.

“Are you feeling okay, Mags?”

“I’m fine!”

“She’s the breast she’s ever been,” Irene added, and the group began to laugh again, much to Maggie’s confusion. Her right nipple was beginning to ache, and so she removed the clamp and fanned herself off.

“I think it’s the virus,” Brendan said softly. “Apparently it’s not contagious though…at least, I think that’s what she said. The trick is just to ignore it, and it’ll go away, like a tune stuck in your head.”

“Well,” Patrick said, pulling out the module, “I guess we’d better…get a boob on.”

The group burst into laughter once more as Maggie glared at them, catching Clare’s eye, making her friend feel bad. She reattached the nipple clamp, quickly added another coat of oil to her tits, and wiped her hand on her pants before picking up her character sheet.

* * *

That night, as Patrick and Clare hopped on the train, they made sure to check that the carriage was empty.

“Do you think Maggie’s going to be okay?”

“Of course she is, bro,” Clare said, rolling her eyes and slipping out of her shirt. “The news people said not to worry about. And besides, you heard Brendan - it’s not contagious.”

“I guess you’re right,” Patrick replied, pulling down his pants. “Still, I think we should recommend she go see a doctor or something.”

“Sure, that could help. Still, I’m glad there aren’t any nutters on our train.”

“For sure,” Patrick said, distracted by the sight of his sister’s breasts dropping as she removed her bra.

“Okay. Me on top?”

“Nah,” Patrick said, pulling down his pants and positioning himself at his sister’s entrance. “Bend over the seat.”

“Oh!” she moaned, at the sudden feeling of fullness as Patrick thrust forward. “That’s the spot.”

* * *

“Well what the fuck are we supposed to do?” Irene asked Brendan in a hushed whisper. “We can’t just sit here while they…while they mack on each other.”

“They’ve clearly got the virus,” Brendan replied, trying not to look as Clare’s mouth closed over her brother’s cock, for the third time. “I mean, it’s annoying, but there’s nothing we can do.”

“But they’re related! For fuck’s sake, we have to do something.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Maggie asked, only to be met by a roll of Brendan’s eyes.

“Shut up, tits,” Irene said, turning to look her in the eye. “You’re too far gone to be helpful.”

Maggie leaned back, hurt, and idly played with the chain that connected her nipple piercings, wondering if Irene and Brendan’s strange behavior meant that they’d caught whatever Clare and Patrick had.

“Hang on!” Irene said suddenly, “I’ve got an idea. Brendan, follow me.”

Irene and Brendan stood up, and Irene pulled him into the cafe’s public toilet.

“You’re a virgin, right?” Irene asked, and Brendan nodded, confused. “Great.”

She turned to face the wall, lifted her skirt, and pulled down her panties.

“Fuck me in the ass.”

“What??”

“You’re a virgin, and so I want you to fuck me in the ass. Was I not clear?”

Brendan looked around, confused. Though he did often struggle with basic concepts, this was one he was definitely able to understand. He didn’t think it would help their friends, but with a shrug, he lowered his pants.

After all, it certainly couldn’t hurt.


	Too Old

_I really am too old for this,_ Enid told herself as she prepared to clean her son’s room.

_Nick too,_ she added as an afterthought.

In truth, Enid was only in her mid-forties, and had the body of a much younger woman. She was right about her son, however—he was much too old to have his mother cleaning his room for him. But she knew that if she didn’t, it would remain a pigsty forever, and so she rolled up her sleeves and entered.

_Typical,_ she thought to herself, scanning the room. Her son Nick was laying on the bed, reading a magazine. _There’s absolutely nothing stopping him from taking care of this mess himself!_

But Enid prided herself on being a good mother, and that meant helping her son out…even when he was too lazy to help himself.

She’d been tidying for a minute or two before Nick even seemed to notice her.

“Oh, hi Mom!” he said in surprise. “Thanks so much!”

“Of course, sweetie,” she smiled back. He might have had a total lack of work effort, but he was still her son and she loved him. Otherwise she wouldn’t have helped.

“Sorry about the mess,” Nick added. “Make sure you don’t get your clothes dirty!”

Enid paused. Nick’s room really was quite the mess, and he had a point—she was willing to help make sure his bomb-site of a room was at least habitable, but she didn’t want to ruin her outfit in the process. After a few seconds of thought, she quickly stripped it off, and resumed cleaning Nick’s room wearing nothing more than a bra and panties.

Within a few minutes, she noticed that Nick’s attention had turned from his magazine to her.

_Good._ Enid thought. _Maybe now that he’s _seen_ someone cleaning, he’ll understand how it works._

“Careful!” Nick said as she leaned over to pick up the pizza boxes off his desk. It took Enid a moment to realize what he was talking about, until she looked down—her bra was resting on his keyboard.

“Whoops!” she said with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to get this dirty, would we?”

Putting down the stack of cheesy boxes, she undid her bra, and looked around for somewhere to put it down.

“I’ll take it,” Nick said, and so she quickly threw it to her son for safe-keeping. “Panties too?”

“Of course,” she replied, slipping them off and standing completely naked in front of her son.

“Can I be alone for a few minutes?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes in response.

“This place is filthy,” Enid replied firmly. “You know I can’t leave it like this.”

“I know, but I just…—“

“Nick, I need to get this place cleaned up. Just pretend I’m not here, okay?”

“Fine,” Nick said with a sigh. “Just don’t look, okay?

Enid continued to work for twenty minutes, ignoring her son as he pulled his pants down. She knew how teenage boys were, and as she cleaned, tried to just tune out the rhythmic thumping of the bed frame, and Nick’s occasional grunts and sighs.

When Nick gave out one long, loud moan, she couldn’t resist a cheeky comment.

“All done?” she asked with a grin.

“Mom!” Nick said, but she could tell that he wasn’t actually mad. Then she glanced down to see her panties in his hand.

“Nick!!”

“What?”

“I took those off to _avoid_ a mess, Nicholas! Look at what you’ve done!”

“I think it’s fine,” he responded. “Try it on!”

With a scowl, Enid took the panties and slipped them on. She could feel his emission pressing up against her sex, still warm.

“See? It’s fine.”

“Hmmm.”

Enid had to admit that her son was right, but she had no interest in giving him the satisfaction of knowing it. She glanced down again, looking for a reason to change the subject.

“And look at what you’ve done to yourself!”

“Oh, yeah” Nick said casually, picking up his magazine once more. “Could you take care of that when you’re finished with the rest of the room?”

_I’m not your maid,_ Enid mentally objected, but she didn’t have the energy to get into the full argument. His room was almost clean, and she quickly straightened the last of her son’s out-of-place items, faintly aware of his discharge drying on her crotch she did.

When his room was completely tidy, she turned her attention to the mess he’d made on himself.

“Mom!” Nick said in shock, as she dove down and started licking up his spill without warning.

“Almost done, sweetie,” she said, before running her tongue over his bellybutton to scoop up the last of his fluid. “There we go!”

She sat up, amused at the shocked look on her son’s face. She’d spat on a tissue to clean his face countless times as a child—this was really no different.

“Actually,” Nick said, interrupting her thoughts, “I think there might be some a bit lower.”

“Here?” Enid replied, dabbing around with her tongue.

“Lower…”

“Here?”

“That’s the spot!”

Enid spent the next few minutes exploring with her tongue, trying to find the spill that her son was referring to. Just as she was about to give up, Nick gasped.

“Right at the base, Mom!”

The angle that Nick was sitting at meant it was impossible for Enid to reach the spot Nick was referring to without getting poked in the eye. After a few attempts at stretching her tongue and trying different angles, Nick put a hand on her head and guided her mouth.

“Nick, what are yo—…ummph!”

Her mouth suddenly—and surprisingly—full, Enid was delighted to find that she was now at the perfect angle to reach the area Nick had specified, and so she spent several minutes scrubbing at it with her tongue, moving her head up and down as she tried to do the best job of cleaning her son up as she could.

“That’s it!” Nick finally grunted, and Enid finally understood what he was talking about—he thrust forward, and as the mess started to gush out, it landed directly in her mouth. The panty-clad mother was forced to admire her son’s forward-thinking: he had ensured that the sheets weren’t stained and he didn’t need another cleaning.

Just to be sure, she ran her tongue around the whole area before swallowing everything down and standing up.

“Thanks, Mom!”

“I can’t keep doing this for you forever,” Enid smiled in response. “You’re too old for your mother to be taking care of you!”

“Never,” Nick said, and Enid gave her son a warm hug before leaving his room to get redressed.


	Training

“Sit!”

Josie scowled at her poodle, Fiwi. She’d heard they were supposed to be intelligent and easy to train, but so far she hadn’t had any luck in getting it to obey a single command.

“Sit!” she repeated, but instead, Fiwi wandered over to where her brother was sitting, and sunk its teeth into his pant-leg.

“Ow!”

“Oh, shit. Marcus, I’m so sorry…”

“Damn it, Josie. You have got to get this damned dog under control.”

“I’m trying,” Josie replied, a note of desperation in her voice. “But no matter what I do, I can’t get it to sit.”

“Show me.”

Mark watched as Josie repeatedly tried to get her new pet to obey her. After a minute, he spoke up.

“I think I know what it is.”

“What?”

“Your tone—it doesn’t have the authority that it requires. The dog isn’t going to obey you unless it respects you.”

Josie’s brow furrowed at her brother’s words.

“What do you mean?”

“Try this.”

Marcus raised his chin and stuck his chest out.

“Sit!” he barked, and Josie watched as Fiwi immediately dropped, obeying Marcus’s command without hesitation. She didn’t blame it—she was tempted to obey it herself. It was such an authoritative tone.

“Now you try.”

“Stay...” Josie warned, trying to imitate her brother’s tone, but the dog just ran straight to her, its tongue lolling happily from its mouth.

Marcus shook his head. He stepped forward, and with one finger, raised Josie’s chin. He placed one hand on the small of her back, and pulled back on her shoulder, until she was imitating the pose he’d been in earlier.

“Now,” he said, and Josie immediately did as he said.

“Sit!” she commanded, but it just wasn’t the same. Fiwi ignored her, however, and began chasing its own tail. Josie deflated.

“Hang on,” Marcus said, and deftly unbuttoned her shirt, soon slipping it off her thin frame. He again pushed her shoulders back, and Josie thrust her chest forward in obedience to his unspoken commands.

She stood still as Marcus undid her hair tie, and allowed her long hair to flow down over her now-exposed shoulders. Josie wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but Marcus clearly knew what he was doing, and so she allowed him to help.

“Try it again,” he said, and without even a moment’s hesitation, Josie cried “Sit!”

Fiwi continued to sniff at her shoes, and Josie looked desperately at her brother. With a sigh, he reached behind her and unbuttoned her bra—her full breasts sprung free, and Marcus quickly tweaked and pinched her nipples until they were hard.

Josie hesitated, not feeling any different, but Marcus clearly wasn’t done yet—he hadn’t given her the go-ahead. Standing behind her, he moved her hands up to her exposed breasts, and she took over where he’d left off, ensuring her nipples remained stimulated.

He undid her jeans, and—with a little effort—slipped his hand down the front of them until it was within her panties. Dipping a finger into her wet slit, he began rubbing her clit, back and forth.

“How does that feel?”

“Good,” she answered shakily. Her head was beginning to grow light, but Marcus still wasn’t finished. Josie’s juices were beginning to steadily flow, and he used them to lubricate a few more of his fingers, and quickly—unexpectedly—plunged them inside of her.

Josie jimped in shock, and that’s when his command came.

“Now.”

“Sit!” Josie gasped, and to her delight, Fiwi actually turned at the sound of her voice. She wasn’t sitting, true, but she was at least now listening.

It was working.

“Almost,” she said through gritted teeth, and she could feel her brother nodding. Just as abruptly as he’d entered her, he pulled his sticky fingers out, and in one smooth motion, pulled her jeans and panties down, stripping her completely bare.

“All fours,” he said, and Josie didn’t even think, she just obeyed. Fiwi was still watching her, and she wanted to take advantage of the dog’s undivided attention while she could.

“Sit,” she grunted, and Fiwi ran over and licked her face. Josie smiled. It wasn’t quite what she’d wanted, but she was happy to get a response.

“Are you ready?” her brother asked, and Josie nodded.

“Now,” he said, and as Josie opened her mouth to give her dog the command, his large hand landed on her backside, causing her order to come out more emphatically than she’d expected.

“SIT,” she bellowed as her brother spanked her repeatedly. “Sit, sit, sit, sit!”

Unfortunately at that moment, a butterfly flew past, and Fiwi’s attention was diverted. Josie wanted to wail, but she knew it wouldn’t help—she’d have to wait to see what her brother came up with next.

When she turned around, she was surprised to find that his pants were down as well. Then Josie noticed that he was positioning himself at her entrance, and she smiled.

Brilliant.

As her brother thrust forward, Josie swallowed hard and pushed back against him.

“Sit,” she gasped, but it didn’t work. She knew it wouldn’t—it wasn’t time yet. She didn’t feel it yet, but her brother’s plan was still coming into fruition…when it did, it would work—of that, she was sure.

For the next few minutes, Josie’s entire body was rocked as her brother’s hips repeatedly jerked forwards. She tried to stay still, as best she could, but it was hard to stay focused—especially once he began pulling her hair.

Every now and again, a grunt or a squeak would pass her lips, a desperate attempt to say “Sit”, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

Occasionally Marcus would spank her; she shut her eyes and let the wave of pain flow over her, let it combine with the pleasure, the feeling of fullness.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes had passed, Josie could feel it approaching. She could feel the right time coming closer.

She opened her eyes, and was delighted to find Fiwi standing directly in front of her, apparently entranced by the siblings’ actions. Her brother’s tempo increased, he dropped her hair and grabbed her waist with both hands.

“Now,” he said in a guttural tone, and as she could fill him filling her up, as she could feel the primal, animal instinct within her, Josie opened her mouth.

“SIT,” she said, with as much authority as she could muster...and to her delight, Fiwi sat, cocking its head to the side as both Josie and her brother huffed and panted with climax.

As her brother pulled out, Josie turned to him.

“Thanks so much for that!” she said eagerly, and Marcus nodded in response.

“No problem,” he said with a smile on his face. “Training is easy, once you get the hang of it.”


	Maid

“C’mon Dad, I’m not your maid.”

“Damn straight you’re not the maid. If you were the maid, you’d be fired.”

Angela glowered at her father. The rule had always been that she did some work around the house in exchange for her allowance, but for some reason he’d really been riding her ass about it lately.

“Just show me how to do it, okay?”

“Oh no,” her father scoffed. “You’re not fooling me that easily—you just want me to do all the work, and then you’re off the hook for another week. No, you’re going to do it, and you’re going to do it right. Now, let’s start with the glasses.”

Angela’s job was to polish the glasses. There were dozens of them, and she didn’t see the point—they only got used once every few months, why did they have to be polished so regularly?

“Okay,” her father said. “What are you using as polish?”

As she pointed at the glass polish, he rolled his eyes.

“Well there’s your first problem,” he said with a sigh. “These are good glasses—I want to make sure you’re using the good stuff. Here, try this.”

Angela’s father unzipped his pants, and Angela reached out to take the tan bottle. It felt strange in her hand; strangely squishy and flexible.

“That’s fine,” her father said in response to the look on her face. “It just means you need to shake it up.”

He stood next to his teenage daughter, looking down at her as she shook up the bottle of polish until it was hard to the touch. It still felt warmer and more fleshy than she was used to, but her father’s approving nod told her she was doing the right thing.

“Keep shaking,” he panted. “Just keep on shaking.”

Angela’s arm was starting to get tired, but she didn’t want to disappoint her father—or risk her allowance—so she continued moving her hand back and forth across the bottle of polish.

“You’ll know it’s ready,” he grunted, “by the way it tastes. Open your mouth and give it a spray.”

Her brow furrowed as she obediently opened her mouth and moved it to the opening at the top of the bottle. To her surprise, nothing was coming out, and for a moment she wondered if it was busted.

“It sometimes has a bit of trouble,” her father said. “Try using both hands—that normally gets it unstuck.”

With both her hands wrapped around the bottle, she was moving them as quickly as they could. She poked her tongue out—she only wanted to spray a tiny amount of the polish, just to make sure it was ready to use.

“Here we go!”

At her father’s word, the polish pulsed, and began spraying faster than she’d expected. The first two spurts landed straight in her mouth, but the shock made her lose aim, and the next spurt hit her straight in the eye before slowly sliding down her face.

“Aah!”

“It’s okay honey,” her father said with a chuckle. “It washes off. Now, how does that taste?”

“Fine,” she said, rolling it around in her mouth. It had an odd consistency—globular, not the fine spray she was used to.

“Here,” he said, “let me try some.”

Pulling her to her feet, Angela’s father forcefully pressed his face against hers. She tilted her head back and waited as he spent several minutes with his lips against hers, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

“Great,” he said, finally satisfied. “Looks like we’re ready to go. Now, what cloth have you been using?”

Without saying a word, Angela pointed to the ragged cloth that was on the cleaning tray, next to the bottle of polish she _had_ been using until corrected.

“No no no! That’ll never do—no wonder we’ve been having such problems. No, glasses like this need to be cleaned using underwear.”

“Underwear?”

“Underwear. It’s the only way to do it right. Do you have any on you?’

“There’s, uh, some in…”

At the look of scorn in her father’s eyes, Angela trailed off.

“Baby, I don’t want to be rude, but it’s not like you’ve never done this before. You _know_ it has to be fresh. Are you wearing any now?”

Angela didn’t want to embarrass herself any further, so she didn’t say a word as she pulled off her T-shirt and undid her bra.

“How about this?”

“That’s fine,” her father nodded. “Okay—get to work.”

For the next ten minutes, Angela used her bra to polish glasses. It wasn’t until she’d reached the last one that she realized she hadn’t used any polish. Her father hadn’t said anything—he seemed to be distracted, and she wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Great,” he said. “Okay, that just leaves my pipe.”

Angela looked at him, puzzled. The polish had started to dry on her face, but her father hadn’t noticed.

“You know, the glass pipe I got in college. Please don’t tell me you haven’t been cleaning it…”

In response, Angela just shook his head, causing her father to heave his shoulders with disappointment.

“Okay,” he said. “This will have to be a pretty thorough clean then. Let me just get it for you.”

In literally no time at all, Angela’s father returned with the glass pipe in his hand. As she reached for her bra, she was again met by a disappointed head-shake.

“This is my _glass pipe_ , Ange. You can’t use a dirty rag on it.”

Reaching underneath her skirt, Angela took off her panties, and wrapped them around her father’s pipe. She slowly began to polish it, surprised by its size.

“Have you ever smoked?” her father asked abruptly, and then burst out laughing at the look on Angela’s face. “It’s okay—who am I to judge?”

“Once or twice,” she mumbled in response. For some reason, being on her knees in nothing but a skirt was doing something to Angela’s rebellious side. Normally she and her father were constantly at odds, but from this angle, she felt…strangely close to him.

“I think there’s still something left it in. Why don’t you try some?”

A shy smile appeared on Angela’s face, and after glancing around to make sure that her mother wasn’t about to appear, she put her mouth over the end of the pipe.

“It can take a few minutes to really feel it,” her father said, smiling as he looked down at her. “Just keep bobbing your mouth back and forth.

“You’ll feel it soon enough.”


	Getting Ready for Work

“Damn it Tim,” Fiona snapped. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

Her son pouted, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. Over the last few years, he’d made a big show of being independent, but suddenly in the last week or so he’d become so _needy_ , and it was starting to get under her skin.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “What is it?”

“It’s just…”

The middle-aged woman turned, and rolled her eyes at the sight of her son’s chiseled body. He had forgotten to get dressed once more, and it was clear that he needed her assistance.

“God, Tim,” she said with a sigh. “are you serious?”

“I just…”

“I know what you _just_. But you’re eighteen years old—how on earth did you get this far through life if you can’t even get dressed by yourself?”

“It’s _hard_ ,” he said with a whine, and it was all that Fiona could do not to slap him. With a deep breath, she remembered that this was what she’d signed up for when she’d become a mother.

“Okay,” she said, making an effort to sound relaxed. “So. First things first. You can’t put on pants if you have an erection, can you?”

“No,” he said sullenly, and she forced a smile. She was going to do this as quickly and calmly as she could if it killed her.

“So, first step…”

“ _Mo-om_ ,” he said in response, and she reminded herself (again) that it was never okay to slap her son. “Can’t you just do it?”

“Fine,” she replied through gritted teeth, wrapping her hand about his erection. “Just warn me this time, okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Tim said, clearly not even listening. She’d helped him get dressed a few times this week, and last time he’d cum without warning, staining her dress and making her half an hour late for work.

_Well,_ she told herself, _this time I’m going to be prepared._

After a few minutes, Fiona got down on her knees, and replaced her hand with her mouth. That way, even if he did finish sooner than she anticipated, she’d be able to swallow it all down.

“Now,” he grunted after about ten minutes had passed, and she rolled her eyes again. If she’d known he was going to warn her, she could have been using her hand the whole time.

_Too late for that now,_ she thought, as he began thrusting forward and filling her mouth.

She dutifully swallowed it all down, and stood up.

“Okay,” she said. “Now that’s dealt with, do you think you can handle everything else on your own?”

“Of course,” Tim said, and Fiona was surprised to hear a note of genuine gratitude in his voice. He’d never thank her, of course, but it was nice to know her efforts were appreciated. “But first…”

“What is it now?”

“Well, you know how you’re always helping me get ready in the morning?”

“I do.” Fiona glanced at her watch. Helping her son had started to take up a large chunk of her morning routine, and so she’d started getting up a full hour earlier to make up for it. Even with the interruption, she still had half an hour to finish getting ready.

“I was thinking…maybe I should repay the favor?”

Fiona laughed, oddly touched by the suggestion.

“That’s sweet, honey, but women don’t get erections. Besides, as you can see, I’m almost done.”

“You don’t have a bra on yet.”

Fiona glanced down. He was right—he’d walked in on her before she’d had a chance to put a top on at all.

“Maybe I could help with that.”

After a moment of thought, Fiona agreed. She’d been so snippy with him lately…it would be nice to do something together. Something to bring them closer.

“Okay,” she said. “I mean, it’s pretty simple. Do you know how the latch works?”

“The latch? But Mom, your boobs aren’t even greased up yet.”

“Oh, of course!” Fiona said, slightly flustered by her forgetfulness. “Looks like it’s a good thing you’re here after all. Okay, well, the first step is to…um…grease up the boobs.”

“Allow me,” Tim said, and before Fiona could say anything, his mouth had latched over one of her nipples, and he was licking and sucking at it with gusto.

A moan came out of her mouth—it had been so long since anyone but her had prepared her boobs for a bra, and (despite this likely being his first time) he was _remarkably_ good at it.

For the next few minutes, Tim alternated between her breasts, licking and sucking like his life depended on it. Fiona found herself getting warmer and warmer as he did, until finally she glanced at her watch and realized she only had twenty minutes to run him through the rest of the process.

“Okay,” she panted, “that’s quite enough. They’re ready now.”

“Oh no…” Tim said, and she looked at him with concern.

“What’s wrong, Tim?”

He glanced down, and Fiona groaned as well.

“Tim, no! We spent so long getting rid of the other one.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts, Tim. I simply do not have time to help you with this again. You’re going to have to take care of it yourself while I get ready.”

Tim nodded, but the sad look in his eye broke her heart. Still, she couldn’t afford to be late, and she still had to put on the rest of her clothes—she couldn’t go to work in nothing but her business skirt and stockings, after all.

“Of course…”

“What, Tim?” she sighed, glancing at her watch again. Eighteen minutes.

“I mean…what if there was a way that we could take care of my problem _and_ you could get ready for work?”

It took Fiona a moment to realize what her son was referring to, and she looked at him reluctantly.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“C’mon, Mom. It’ll leave your hands and mouth free, and it means we can both be on time.”

Fiona began to weigh up her options, before realizing that she didn’t have time.

“Fine,” she said. “But try to be fast, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mom,” Tim said, lifting up her skirt and sliding her panties down her legs. “I’ll do my best.”


	Mind Control

“Please,” Denise whimpered. Her mind was racing.

_I shouldn’t be doing this,_ she reminded herself as a flush ran across her skin. _He’s my brother…I shouldn’t be kissing him, I shouldn’t be letting him touch me…like this…_

_And I certainly shouldn’t be fucking him._

Harold looked up from between her legs, where his talented tongue was hard at work.

“Sshhhh,” he said gently, before returning to his task, enjoying the soft moans of Denise’s pleasure.

_God,_ he thought to himself. _I have the hottest fucking sister in the world. This is so wrong…but it feels so _good_ …_

* * *

Mind control. What a rort.

It sounds like the dream, doesn’t it? Well, here’s the thing—y’know how you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do?

I’d absolutely kill to have _that_ limitation.

My name’s Suzanne, but most people call me Suzie. Don’t call me Sue.

(Seriously, don’t.)

And I have the ability to control minds.

Great, right? Yeah, you’d think so. I was pretty pumped when I found out. But here’s the thing—the ability to control minds…it’s not what you’d think.

See, I can control minds, but I can’t control bodies. Actions. People.

I can change what someone thinks, but only if—and this is a pretty big if—it doesn’t affect what they were going to do anyway.

Ridiculous, hey?

So if someone’s driving down the street, I can change their reality. I can make them think they’re a doctor, or a heroin addict, or make them think they’re a fictional character, driving through the world of the Simpsons.

What I can’t do is anything that makes them stop driving. If they’re going to the pool, I can make them think they’re a doctor, but I can’t redirect their route to the hospital, or stop them from going for a swim.

It’s…well, it’s pretty much useless.

When I first learned about the power, my thought was that I could go into a bank and command them to give me money. Turns out I can…as long as they were going to do that anyway.

I basically have the amazing power of “being able to withdraw money from my own account.”

So yeah. I’m never going to be able to rule the world…well, not unless I was going to do that anyway. And most people with this power; they don’t think about it—it’s too frustrating. The limitations are stupid…pointless, you might say.

And that’s why I’m so proud of myself.

See, I can’t use it to take over the world. But I’ve managed to have my fair share of fun with my abilities.

How?

Well, you see, I’m a pervert.

* * *

Alfie gulped as Nicole walked towards him. She was so sexy, and he knew what they were doing was so, so wrong…but he just couldn’t help himself. He wanted her, and she wanted him…

…and they were going to make a baby together.

Nicole smiled up at him, those big brown eyes that he loved so much.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

She wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt. She rarely did, these days, since learning that her Daddy wanted to knock her up. Every time they got a chance, every time they were together, she’d unzip him, pull his cock out, and slip right onto it.

Her mother didn’t suspect a thing.

* * *

See, the thing about the internet is not only that it has everything you’re looking for…it teaches you about things you’d never think to look for in the first place.

Incest porn. Maybe before the internet that was a thing, but I feel like the ’net has been responsible for its Golden Age.

Not the stuff with little kids, by the way. I’m talking about consenting adults—brothers and sister, fully-grown daughters and their dads, moms and their adult sons.

I don’t know why, but holy crap does incest porn tickle my fancy. I don’t think I’ve cum thinking about anything since I first found it. The lonely housewife, turning her attention to her studly son…the married woman, getting seduced by her lesbian little sister.

But here’s the thing—if these people were out in public, if you didn’t know them, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell that they were related. Like, unless they look _really_ similar—I don’t look much like my brother (and, for the record, I’m not at _all_ attracted to him)…and so if you go into a food court, _any_ couple that you find could be an incest couple.

It’s statistically unlikely that any of them are, sure…but it’s possible.

And that’s the beauty of it.

* * *

“Mmmm…” Mark moaned, louder. Scott looked up from under the bedsheets.

“Sshhhh,” he whispered, a huge grin on his face. “Do you want us to get caught?”

_A little,_ Mark thought to himself, but he made sure to keep his moans quiet. His brother was right—they couldn’t get caught. Although the look on their Dad’s face if he walked in, found his two football-playing sons in bed together, lips wrapped around each other’s cock, naked, making each other cum…

It would almost be worth it.

* * *

The game was simple. I’d go out to the mall, or sit in a coffee shop. I’d wait until I found an obvious couple—not just any couple though, I had criteria. They have to look the same, for one—no interracial couples, or drastically differently-shaped faces.

And their ages had to fit one of a few different categories. Either within a few years of each other (for whatever reason, when the gap was too large, it just didn’t work for me) or a whole generation apart. Older men with younger women, or—occasionally—vice-versa.

I’d watch them for a while, make sure that they were definitely together, try to get a feel for their relationship…and then I’d start to make the alterations.

When I started out, I’d open with small tweaks. Nowadays I don’t even bother—after all, I can’t change their behavior. No matter what I do, they’re going to act the same…so I just make the changes, sit back, and watch.

From my point of view, you could argue that there’s no difference. But you’d be wrong—there’s something so _hot_ about knowing the cute couple sharing a milkshake think that they’re siblings, that they’re having an incestuous affair.

She’s no longer just a second wife trying to get pregnant—she’s his grown-up daughter, now living with her father, trying to get him to knock him up. Gay couples are suddenly hiding _two_ secrets from their parents, middle-aged married couples suddenly have a lifetime of taboo behind them…

My power may not be much. But honestly, considering the limitations, I’m proud of what I’ve managed to do with it.

Next time you’re in a public place, look around. Those two teens cuddling up…they’re probably just high-school sweethearts, but maybe they’re something more. Or—just as good—maybe they _think_ they’re something more.

Happy hunting.


	Breakfast on the Train

Jeremy glanced over at his younger sister.

“I can’t believe you’re eighteen,” he said with a grin.

“Why not?”

“You’re fidgeting like you’re ten years old.”

Dani glanced down at her intertwined fingers, then back up at her brother with a shy grin.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You must be hungry,” Jeremy replied, and suddenly Dani knew that he was right. That was exactly why she was fidgeting—her stomach was suddenly growling with a desperate, urgent hunger.

“Yeah,” she said, trying not to show how ravenous she was.

“You didn’t eat?”

“Nope,” she said, and looked around the train, not sure what she was hoping to find. The carriage they were in was empty, and was unlikely to randomly have a vending machine or man randomly selling hot dogs.

“Well,” Jeremy said with a sigh, unbuckling his pants “you’re lucky your big brother came prepared.”

Shooting her older brother an appreciative glance, Dani reached out to grasp the breakfast that he’d brought for her.

“Both hands,” he grunted. “I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you a big breakfast. You’re going to need both hands to unwrap it.”

The hungry young woman was certainly grateful that her brother had thought ahead, but she couldn’t help but wish that he’d been a _little_ bit less worried about containing the food. She was starving, and despite firmly using both hands, it was taking her forever to unwrap the meal.

“Here,” Jeremy huffed. “This’ll help.”

Eager to get to the food, Dani never stopped unwrapping it as her brother leaned forward and undid her top. She shot him an inquisitive look as he reached around and undid her bra.

“You’ll burn less heat this way,” he explained, as her perky tits came into view. “So you won’t need to eat as quickly.”

_It’s probably not going to help,_ Dani thought, trying to ignore the insistent rumblings of her stomach…but she had to admit, when the cool air of the train carriage caused her exposed nipples to harden, the desperation of her hunger subsided a bit.

“Okay,” Jeremy urged her. “There we go.”

Dani felt her face go red—she’d been so intent on precisely and firmly unwrapping the meal, she hadn’t even noticed when it came into view. Leaning forward, she slowly lowered her mouth onto the delicious gift that her brother had thoughtfully brought for her.

“Slowly,” Jeremy reminded his sister. “Use your tongue to make sure that you don’t just gulp the whole thing down at once. That won’t…—uggghh.”

A shudder passed through Jeremy’s body as his sister followed his advice, carefully using her tongue. She grasped the base of her meal—if it slipped away now, what kind of a fool would she feel like?—and slowly pushed it into her mouth, until it was deep within her throat.

“This is delicious,” Dani tried to say, but with her mouth full, Jeremy couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“Use your tongue,” he panted, and she gave up on trying to talk and just concentrated on enjoying her breakfast.

It was so big that she couldn’t even get it all the way into her mouth in at first, and so Dani pulled the meal almost entirely out of her mouth. Now she understood Jeremy’s advice—by carefully licking around the entire portion, she gave herself a much better chance of fitting the whole thing down her throat.

It took five or six attempts before she could take it all, and as she flexed her throat muscles around the snack, she swallowed repeatedly and twirled her tongue as enthusiastically as she could.

“Oh god,” Jeremy moaned, and Dani looked up at him. He was clearly enjoying seeing his sister eat, and his eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure as she watched.

“That was awesome,” Jeremy sighed a few minutes later, when he’d calmed down.

“I agree,” Dani said, pulling the softening meal out of her mouth. She’d swallowed down enough of it to sate her hunger, and so after a few minutes of carefully rewrapping it, she smiled as she watched Jeremy put it back in his pants.

“Pity we didn’t get a photo of that,” Jeremy said. “I know how much you like to Instagram your breakfasts.”

“Next time,” Dani said, and then paused as she saw a frown come across her brother’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“That was a lot, all at once. I’m worried you’re going to have some trouble digesting it. Here, lift your skirt up for me.”

Dani obliged, watching her brother’s face carefully as he slipped one hand between her legs.

“I think it’ll be fine—I know some exercises that you can do to assist with digesting food.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Here, just lie back and let me…”

Dani shut her eyes as Jeremy began to help her digest, slowly and carefully moving his fingers up and down. A warm feeling began to spread throughout her body, but after a few minutes he stopped.

“Nope,” he grunted. “Can’t do it from this angle.”

“Oh!” she said, disappointed.

“Hang on…”

Dani opened her eyes, lifting her legs slightly to help her brother remove her panties.

“Okay,” he said, unzipping his pants. “Come and straddle me; that’ll do it.”

Without hesitation, Dani stood up, and slowly sat on her brother. Her eyes widened slightly as she lowered herself, and then when her bare butt was resting on his legs, let out a soft moan.

“That’s good,” Jeremy said. “Rock back and forth for me? It’ll help the food settle.”

_I’m so lucky to have an older brother who looks out for me,_ Dani thought to herself as he reached down and began massaging her again. _If he wasn’t around, I don’t know what I’d do._

A smile slowly spread across her face as she mentally answered her own rhetorical question.

_Go hungry, I guess._


	Insulted

“God, what are you—stupid?”

Vanessa fumed. Over the past few days, for whatever reason, her brother had started routinely hurling abuse at her. At first she’d told their mom, but the mild admonishments he received were more effort than they were worth.

That was what she repeated to herself as she cleaned up the dishes, ignoring the one she’d accidentally dropped and broken. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth it.

Vanessa and her brother had never gotten along, but recently he’d been more of a dick then usual. Perhaps he’d been rejected for the millionth time, or lost his save on Minecraft.

The cause was irrelevant; the result was what mattered. And as a result of her brother’s dickheadery, his words echoed around her head for the rest of the day. No matter what she did she couldn’t stop thinking about them.

_God, what are you—stupid?_

They made her so angry, and she felt so powerless.

Even when she went to bed that night, her brother’s insult continued to bouncing around the inside of her head. She wanted to distract herself, and so as she always did when she wanted to turn her mind off, decided to get off while thinking about something else.

Anything else.

As her middle digit made its way between her slick folds, however, to her horror she found herself continuing to repeat her her brother’s words.

_God, what are you—stupid?_

_Was_ she stupid?

No. No, of course not. She was a smart, successful, attractive woman. Her brother, meanwhile, was a useless layabout who clearly had nothing more to do with his time than belittle others to make himself feel better.

Her left hand reached up and pinched her nipples. And even as she felt herself getting wetter, her brother’s words never left her thoughts.

To her horror, she found herself climaxing around her middle digit a few minutes later, her brother’s words on loop. _What are you, stupid? What are you, stupid?_

_What are you, stupid?_

* * *

The next, Vanessa wore headphones to breakfast, and refused to look her brother in the eye. The memory of her orgasm the previous night, her pussy clenching around her finger while her brother’s voice was in her head…just thinking about it mortified her.

She refused to pay it any heed. It wasn’t worth it.

Breakfast passed in silence (except for the music she was determinedly listening to) until the moment she got up to put her plates in the sink.

As she moved the headphone cable somehow got caught. The buds left her ears, clattering against the counter loudly enough to attract her brother’s attention. The moment the music was rudely jerked away, she could hear his taunt.

“Clumsy slut,” he sneered and immediately returned to the magazine he was reading.

Vanessa’s mouth opened to deliver an angry retort, but she made herself stop. _Don’t give him the power,_ she told herself. _It’s not worth it._

Her anger grew throughout the day, coupled with the shame of what she’d done the previous night. _It was just a weird lapse in judgment,_ she told herself. _It won’t happen again._

But that night, when Vanessa was alone in bed, she found herself with one hand between her legs, two fingers furiously pistoning in and out of her wetness while she repeated her brother’s words.

_Clumsy slut. Clumsy slut. Clumsy slut._

Even after she came, she couldn’t stop thinking it.

_Clumsy slut. Clumsy slut. Clumsy slut._

This shame refused to leave her. Her fingers never slowed down, and she tried to think of something else— _anything_ else. But the only words that she could think of as she frigged herself to a second orgasm were her brother’s insults.

_Clumsy slut. What are you, stupid?_

_Clumsy slut. What are you, stupid?_

* * *

Vanessa’s face burned red the entirety of the next day. She skipped breakfast (the only time when she was forced to see her brother) out of fear that he would make another comment.

Afraid that he would spark another uncontrollable desire within her.

At nine o’clock that night, Vanessa silently celebrated. She had managed to avoid her brother all day, and the chances of running into him this late were slim. The late-night hours were when he went raiding with his World of Warcraft pals, and she knew that he wouldn’t miss that for anything.

10 minutes later Vanessa was back in her room, screaming into a pillow. She thought she’d be safe to make a quick trip to the kitchen to get some breakfast supplies, and had frozen in horror at the sight of her brother making himself a late-night snack.

“Why aren’t you on World of Warcraft?” she stammered, and he looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Why are you dressed like a whore?” he replied with a guffaw, and left Vanessa speechless.

The moment he left the kitchen, she sank to the ground in lust. Her brother’s words had been enough to ignite a fire between her legs, and it was all she could do not to cum on the spot as soon as she was alone. She ran to her room, and it hardly any time at all before she was cumming, her face pressed against a pillow, her bellows an equal mix of lust and rage.

What hell was happening to her? It must’ve been some sort of Pavlovian thing. His words were so enraging that they never left her head, she was so angry that she couldn’t help but think about them as she got off, and this had triggered some sort of connection between her brother’s abuse and arousal.

Now even a casual insult was enough to turn her on.

“No,” she said out loud. “I can fix this.”

She determinedly marched over at her computer, and pulled up Google. Typing a few filthy acts into the search box, she hit “I’m feeling lucky” and began to unbutton her blouse.

Vanessa swore she was going to get off thinking of anything else. Her brother’s hold over her couldn’t continue, even if it meant getting off to the strangest and sickest videos that she could find.

For the next hour and a half, Vanessa plumbed the depths of what internet porn had to offer. She’d started started with relatively tame material…but to her horror, every time she approached orgasm her brother’s words appeared in her head.

_Clumsy slut. Why are you dressed as a whore? What are you, stupid? Clumsy slut._

_Slut. Whore. Stupid. Stupid, clumsy, slutty,_

_Whore._

As soon as her brother’s words entered her head, Vanessa would immediately stop pleasuring herself. She withdrew her fingers and gave herself a moment to cool down.

Then, when her brother’s words had stopped ringing in her head, she pulled up an even more extreme video than before and start again.

This repeated more than a dozen times.

As soon as she was close to coming, her brother’s voice would appear in her head, and when she forced herself to think of something else, the arousal would evaporate.

After 90 minutes of this frustrating cycle, Vanessa was forced to give up.

She threw herself down on the bed and drifted off almost immediately, her brother’s words ringing in her head and filling her slumber with confusing, erotic dreams.

* * *

“What have you done to me?” Vanessa asked, glaring at her brother.

She had awoken that morning more aroused than she’d ever been in her life. All night, her brother’s words had echoed in her head.

_Clumsy slut. Whore. Stupid._

As a result, she had woken up soaked. Unable to to resist, she’d reached down between her legs and flicked her clit until she was trembling with pleasure.

She hadn’t even tried to fight it. She’d allowed herself to swim in her brother’s insults, and as a result had one of the most satisfying orgasms she could remember.

Immediately after, filled with revulsion and fury, she’d marched into her brother’s room to accuse him of what she knew he’d done.

“What are you talking about, you ugly fuck?” her brother responded, a calculating look in his eyes.

The moment her brother had said “ugly”, Vanessa had felt a surge of arousal course through her body. At the word fuck, used as a noun, she knew that she was moments away from orgasm.

“Please…” Vanessa said with a grimace.

“Please what? What do you want, you dirty fuck-toy?”

It was too much. At her brother’s insults Vanessa found herself uncontrollably humping the air, as a climax overtook her. “Please…” She gasped again, but this time even she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for.

Vanessa’s brother watched her as she came on his bed, smug look on his face

“You desperate little hussy,” he sneered, “…I bet you’d do anything to get a cock in you.”

“Yes…” Vanessa gasped. It was suddenly clear what she was begging for. “Please… I need it.”

Her brother looked almost shocked at her words, but with a shrug pulled his blankets off to reveal a silk pair of boxers, barely able to contain his erection.

“All yours, you filthy cunt.”

Vanessa was too turned on to even realize what she was doing. On some level, she knew what she was about to do was wrong, but at that moment her body simply didn’t care. She frantically ripped her brother’s boxes off.

_It doesn’t matter…_ she told herself. _Nothing matters…_

“Talk to me,” she panted to her brother’s hard cock. “Call me your little slut…”

“I don’t need to,” her brother replied, enjoying the sight of his sister drooling over his erection. “I’ve said it once, and now it will rattle around your brain forever.”

As she shut her eyes, Vanessa realized her brother was right. She’d never be able to unhear those words.

_Filthy cunt. Desperate hussy. Fuck-toy. Dirty. Whore. Stupid._

_Ugly fuck._

As she remembered each insult that her brother had given her over the last few days, Vanessa realized they would true. They were all true. It who she was, and who she would forever be.

She was her brother’s plaything. She was a piece of meat for him to fuck. She was only there to help him get off.

As she sank down onto his hard cock, her pussy clenched. In almost no time, she could feel him coming inside her, his words bouncing around her brain, getting her more and more worked up.

Was this right? Was this what she wanted?

_It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself, and allowed her mind to drift away. As she came, she was aware of nothing except her brother’s cock inside her, and his potent words, repeating inside her head for all eternity.


	Bicycle

“Let’s go for a ride,” Jane exclaimed abruptly. “It’s a beautiful day, we both have bikes—let’s get out of here and do something.”

“You really want to do something?” Charlie drawled, smiling at the sight of Jane’s fervent nod. “Fine. Do the bikes even work any more?”

“I’m sure they do,” Jane said, leaping up off the couch. “Come on—let’s find out.”

Charlie reluctantly followed his sister out of the room as she enthusiastically led him to the shed. The two bikes were sitting in the corner, covered in webs.

“I bet they’re not rideable any more,” he said, and she shot him a glare.

“I’ll bet they are,” she said. “Besides, if they’re not, that’s something we can take care of before we go.”

A quick prod told her that the tires were flat, but that was easily solved.

“Where’s the pump?” she asked over her shoulder, and at the sound of the zip, reached behind her to grab it.

Five minutes of earnest pumping later, a frown appeared on her face.

“Why isn’t this working?”

“Could be a few things,” Charlie grunted. “Maybe they’ve got a puncture, maybe the pump isn’t working. I’d test the pump first.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jane lowered her mouth over the pump, and tried to test if it was pumping air or not. Sucking her cheeks in, it took several minutes of bobbing her head up and down to determine that the fault was definitely not with the pump.

“Must be a puncture,” she said eventually, pulling her mouth off and looking up at her brother. His eyes were closed—he was so lazy. Not like her.

“Mmm?” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, sorry. I was, uh…are you sure it’s not the pump?”

“I’m sure,” she repeated, a hard edge to her voice.

“Sorry,” he said, and she realized that he was totally out of breath. _Good thing we’re going on this ride,_ she told herself. _Charlie’s level of fitness is ridiculous._

“Where’s the puncture kit?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Don’t need one,” he said. “The pump has one—just shake it out.”

Jane’s brow creased in confusion, but she did as she was told, and wrapped her hands around the pump again. After just a few minutes of pulling the pump, it pulsed in her grip and—just as Charlie said—emitted a few ounces of what she only assumed was a substance suitable for repairing a puncture.

“Huh,” she said, scooping it off her face (where the majority of the warm goo had landed). “That’s neat.”

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed, pulling up his pants and putting the pump away. “Okay, you go and put your riding clothes on—I’ll fix up the tires.”

It wasn’t until Jane returned that she realized she’d accidentally walked away with the majority of the sticky puncture-repair matter. Charlie seemed to have found another solution, however, and she smiled at the sight of him, bent over and carefully fixing the gears of her bike.

He was such a good brother.

“What are you wearing?” he asked with a smile, and Jane stared down in confusion. “You know that if you get any cloth stuck in the gears, it’ll cause the whole bike to break down.”

Flushing with embarrassment at her mistake, Jane quickly stripped off her pants, shoes and top, until she stood in front of her brother in nothing but a pair of panties.

“It’s been a while,” he said slowly. “Are you sure you remember how to ride this thing?”

“Isn’t it one of those things you never forget?”

“Still…” Charlie replied reluctantly, and Jane was forced to swallow a sarcastic reply.

“Okay,” she said after a pause. “How can I prove that I remember?”

“Jump on,” he said, standing up from the bike she’d had for the better part of a decade.

“See,” Charlie continued as she planted herself onto the seat of her old bike, “this is why I was worried. Look at what you’ve done.”

Glancing down at her ass, Jane’s eyebrows shot up in shock. Apparently her bike’s seat was covered in grease—a dark stain covered her white cotton panties.

“Damn it,” she cursed, carefully taking them off and inspecting them.

“Your first mistake was sitting down,” Charlie said, and Jane was forced to admit that there was a lot about riding a bike that she must have forgotten. “Here, let me show you.”

Jane’s brother positioned himself behind her, moving her feet to either side of the bike, and making her gasp as he slowly pushed forward.

He took each of her hands in his, and moved them to the handle.

“Now sit,” he said, and Jane was impressed that he was able to hold her weight. For the next few minutes, he guided her through the process of riding. Most of it was familiar, but she would occasionally find herself unable to breathe, shaking at the force of his instructions.

“We’re almost there,” he gasped into her ears, and Jane was so excited by the prospect of leaving the dark shed and getting onto the road that her whole body began to shake with pleasure.

“So close…” she panted, unable to stop herself from bouncing up and down with excitement. “Can’t…wait…”

“Yes!” Charlie cried, and for a moment Jane almost lost her grip on the bike as he began to thrust forward with all his might. Fortunately, her brother had a firm grasp on her breasts, ensuring that she wouldn’t fall over.

With a bellow, Charlie finished his instructions, and for the next few moments the room turned white for the sibling pair.

When he was done, a strange feeling of emptiness came across Jane, but she couldn’t quite place why.

“You ready to go?” Charlie asked, breathless from the exertion of teaching.

“I dunno,” Jane said through the haze. “Maybe…maybe not today.”

“Fair enough,” her brother replied, pulling his pants back up and redoing his belt buckle. “It’s all ready now, so any day you want to head out, just let me know and we’ll do it, okay?”

“Of course,” Jane said dreamily.

Maybe tomorrow.


	Musical

“Come _on_ ,” Sandy whined, stamping her foot. “You know I have to practice!”

Her older brother Rod stood above her, a smug look on his face.

“Dude,” he said laconically, holding the flute in his hand. “You’re eighteen years old. Why the fuck are you still practicing every day?”

“Because,” his sister replied haughtily—or, at least, as haughtily as she could while jumping up and down and trying to grab her flute back, “I’m _musical_. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Okay…” he said, and Sandy stepped back. Where had her flute gone? “If you can find it, I’ll let you practice.”

Sandy looked around the room. He hadn’t thrown it anywhere—had he? No, she would have heard that. He hadn’t dropped it—the carpeted floor around them was clear. He must have hidden it somewhere on his person somewhere, and it didn’t take her long to work out where it had gone.

“Ah ha!” she cried out, kneeling in front of her brother triumphantly. She could see the flute bulging in the front of his pants. Undoing his fly, she quickly pulled it out. For a moment, her eyebrows furrowed—something about it didn’t seem quite right. Was it normally this thick? And warm?

“Put it together,” her brother said, and she regained her focus. Right. It was very important that the flute was put together carefully, so that it wasn’t damaged in the process. She grasped it carefully with both hands, and lightly began running her hands up and down the delicate instrument, refamiliarizing herself with its smooth length.

After a few minutes, Sandy was confident that she wasn’t going to cause any damage, and she tightened her grasp slightly.

“Oh!” her brother cried out, and she looked up at him smugly. He’d thought he was sooooo clever, hiding her favorite instrument like that, but she’d shown him. In a fit of pique, Sandy stuck out her tongue. He didn’t seem to have noticed, so she kept it out as her hands continued to gently twist and caress her flute into place.

After a few minutes, the assembly was mostly complete. It didn’t normally take this long, but her eyes never left her brother’s face—she knew that if she glanced down at the flute, she could have it done in seconds, but she was confident in her ability to put it together blind, and so she continued looking up at him, her tongue extended, her eyes fierce.

Finally, Rod glanced down at his sister, a manic grin on his face.

“Watch out,” he said arrogantly, and before Sandy could work out what he meant, her flute began jerking and twitching in her hands, expelling a thick liquid which landed directly on her face.

One spurt hit her in the eye, but the rest landed squarely on her tongue, and before she could even process what was happening, she’d swallowed it down, spluttering and coughing in shock.

“Damn it!” she said, her hands never leaving her treacherous flute.

“That’s what happens when you over-oil a flute,” Rod jeered, and Sandy’s eyes narrowed. She _never_ over-oiled her flute; she took meticulous care of the instrument.

He must have added some oil to it when she was still searching the house for it.

She sure hoped it was non-toxic.

“You’re a dick,” she said, rolling her eyes. Well, eye. She kept the other one shut, to stop the rapidly-drying flute-oil from getting in. She couldn’t wait until her daily practice was done, so she could go and wash it off her face—Sandy knew she must look a mess.

“Time to play?” he said, and she was forced to agree. The oil must have been what made assembling the flute so hard, and so it took a few more minutes to finish putting it together. Once it was rigid in her hands again, she knew it was ready to go.

Rod sat down on the couch to watch her play, and Sandy crawled forward so that she was right in front of him, still on her knees. Once he was comfortable, arms behind his head and an arrogant look on his face, she moved her lips to the thick instrument and began to practice her craft.

Perhaps it was the audience, perhaps it was the emotions surging through her body (anger, mostly) or perhaps she was just in the right mood, but Sandy couldn’t ever remember playing better. Her hands travelled up and down the body of her flute, manipulating the buttons so expertly it was as if they weren’t even there, while her talented tongue worked on the head. 

Again, she found herself looking up at her brother while she worked. At first he’d seemed bored and distracted, but the longer she played, the more excited he seemed to get. Finally, as she reached the climax of the song, he leaned forward and grabbed her hair.

“Play!” he grunted, and she closed her other eye to enjoy the taste of the music on her tongue. “Harder!”

Rod’s entire body twitched with excitement as Sandy enjoyed the music. Just as it flowed from her into the instrument, it seemed to flow right back from the instrument into her mouth, and she swallowed it down hungrily.

Her hands continued to pump the flute, eager to get more music out of it, but it quickly became clear that both her and the flute were spent, and she sat back, exhausted.

“Wow,” her brother said, and Sandy couldn’t help but grin proudly in response.

“Thanks,” she said shyly.

“I can’t wait to see you perform,” he said. “What are you going to be wearing?”

Sandy cocked her head to the side. What an odd question. Still, after he’d sat through her practicing, who was she to deny him?

“Let me show you,” she said, slipping off her top, and reaching behind her to unzip her skirt.

“I can’t wait,” Rod said with a grin.


	Hacked

“Wait,” Melissa said. “You can teach me how to hack?”

“Of course,” her brother replied with a roll of his eyes. “Hacking is easy. You want me to show you now?”

“For sure,” the teen girl said, her mind racing with possibilities. She could finally get back at those awful girls at school—hack their facebooks, find their juicy secrets, maybe even send some messages to boys that they liked.

“Okay,” Daniel said, cracking his knuckles. “First things first—focus.”

“Focus! Got it.”

“You don’t just say ‘focus’,” Daniel laughed. “You really have to concentrate. Shut your eyes, take off your bra, and really think about the task ahead.”

Melissa nodded, and within a few seconds her eyes were closed and she could feel her tight pink t-shirt against her nipples.

“Okay. Open your eyes again. How much do you know about programming?”

“Nothing,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Well, it’s pretty simple. We’ll use my computer—I’ll take the mouse, you take the joystick. One pump to click, two to double-click, and three if you need to right-click on something.”

As Daniel’s laptop booted up, he unzipped his pants and Melissa wrapped her hand around his joystick. It fit perfectly into her hand, and she couldn’t help but run her hands up and down its length a few time, flitting her thumb briefly against the tip.

“Oh shit,” her brother said in embarrassment. As his computer loaded up, a pornographic video had started to load up. “Fuck. Help me close that, will you?”

Melissa tried to guide the mouse cursor to the top right-hand corner so she could close the video, but the computer seemed to be unresponsive. The video continued to play, and to her embarrassment, she found herself getting turned on by its content—a girl was jacking a man off onto her huge tits, as he grunted and called her names.

“You filthy slut,” the man hissed, and Melissa found her nipples getting hard at the abuse coming from the laptop speakers. “You’re nothing but a little whore, jacking me off like this.”

Finally she managed to get the cursor to the ‘X’, and as she frantically clicked on it over and over, wondered if she would even be able to learn anything about hacking from such a slow computer.

Almost five minutes after the video had first popped up, she finally managed to close it, the joystick in her hand so happy to have achieved its goal that it emitted some kind of stringy liquid.

Her brother looked over at her, breathing heavily, his cheeks red.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said. “If you want to do this another time, just let me know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Melissa replied, lifting her hand to her mouth and licking off the joystick’s salty output. “I just want to know how I can get my revenge on the popular kids at school.”

“Okay,” Daniel said, moving the mouse and and opening up some programs. The video must have been clogging up the system, Melissa realized, because it all seemed to be working at full speed now. “Let me just get things loaded up, and I’ll see what I can teach you.”

Dropping her hand back to the joystick, Melissa was disappointed to find that it had somehow gone spongy and soft.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” her brother said. “It’s a newer model, and it still has some bugs. Just clean it up with your mouth and it’ll be good to go.”

His sister nodded in response, getting down on her knees and taking the joystick into her mouth. Sure enough, after a minute or two of licking and sucking at it, it began to regain its rigidity, and she returned to her seat next to her brother.

He began explaining the complexities of the code to her. Melissa was smart enough to keep up most of the time, but occasionally he would talk so quickly that she’d get confused, and be forced to ask him to repeat a piece of information.

The third or fourth time she did this, he grew exasperated with her, and snapped.

“I’m sorry!” she replied defensively. “This is all new to me, and I’m trying as hard as I can.”

“It’s not that difficult,” he said. “Maybe if you were _really_ concentrating.”

“I am really concentrating!” she replied. “What more can I do?”

He cocked one eyebrow at her, and she sighed, knowing he was right. She sat back, closed her eyes, and took two deep breaths. With the first one, she lifted her t-shirt up and over her head, exposing her perky breasts to the den’s warm air, and with the second she unzipped her skirt. Opening her eyes again, she stood up and smiled at her older brother as she slipped it off, until she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but her shoes, socks, and a pair of blue panties.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this. Show me again?”

Her brother had been right, she realized. Now that she was really focused, he barely needed to pause at all. Daniel zipped through the rest of the information, until his sister was sure that she’d be able to make her first attempt at hacking.

“Just one question,” she said before opening up the camera. “How will I know when it’s worked?”

“Oh, that’s the easiest part of all,” Daniel replied. “Your whole body will tense up with pleasure—that’s the feeling of accomplishment. It’ll build for a while, but you’ll know that the hacking has worked when your cheeks go warm, you throw your head back and scrunch your face up, and everything goes white for a second.”

“Oh, easy.”

Daniel lay back, and arranged the laptop on his chest. Melissa couldn’t see his face, but that was fine—the camera’s display was taking up most of the screen anyway, and she was more than happy to watch herself as she hacked.

Slipping her panties to the side, she slowly lowered herself onto the joystick so she could use it while both her hands were on the keyboard.

“Okay,” she muttered. “First step…broadcast?”

Daniel didn’t say anything, which she appreciated—she would never learn anything if he walked her through the process every time. He did gasp when she took the entirety of his joystick inside herself, but fell silent again as she started to click.

Entering the email addresses of all her enemies at school, Melissa smiled as she emailed them the stream. It was the first step of any effective hack—as soon as they opened it, she’d have access to their accounts, and their computers would be at her mercy.

After that, it was child’s play. She rapidly typed, trying not to get distracted by the sight of her breasts bouncing as she clicked, double-clicked, and right-clicked on elements of the hack. Her hands moved so quickly she sometimes lost track of what she was doing, and as she bounced up and down on the joystick, she realized Daniel was right.

The feeling of pleasure was growing inside her, building into what she hoped would be her first effective hack. The thought of how humiliated the girls at her school were going to be just increased the feeling of pleasure, and soon she was panting and moaning.

“Yes,” she cried out, her eyes rolling back. She realized she needed to thank Daniel for his help, that none of this would have been possible without him. “Fuck, Daniel, you’re so good. You’re so good. Oh my god, you’re such a good brother. This all feels so amaaaazing…”

With that, she was no longer able to hack, and throwing her head back, she gasped and sighed with pleasure, grinding her hips forward, moaning Daniel’s name over and over, even as she saw the number of people clicking the link and falling her her hack increase.

When she was done, she smiled directly into the camera, winked, and shut the laptop. She was met with the grinning face of her older brother.

“That was amazing,” he said, holding up his hand.

“You know it,” she replied, high-fiving him with gusto. “We’ve got to do that again some time.”


	In the Way

“Hang on,” my brother said, a slight scowl on his face. “I can’t quite get the shot.”

I rolled my eyes. Tim tries, but he can be so useless sometimes.

“Come on,” I huffed. “I just want a photo of my outfit—how hard can it be?”

“Why don’t you take a selfie?”

“Because I want to get the whole outfit in.”

I glanced down at my shoes—I’d spent so long looking for the exact right pair to go with the dress that Mom had made me, and I just wanted to email her a photo of the whole ensemble.

“Ah, crap,” my brother muttered.

“What is it now?”

“My thumb is in the way.”

I just gaped at him for a second, unable to believe what I was hearing. When I spoke, my words dripped out slowly, heavily lathered in sarcasm.

“…then _move_ your _thumb_.”

“Ah, got it,” he said, and I smiled for the photo again. I stood there in an awkward freeze for close to thirty seconds, before the strain got too much for me and I hissed through my teeth at him.

“Did you get it?”

“No,” he said. “Crap.”

“What!?”

“Now your dress in the way.”

“What?”

“I can’t get the photo—your dress is in the way.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, and quickly slipped the dress over my head. Standing in front of my brother in bra and panties, I adjusted my pose to show my body off as well as I could.

“Ah, nope.”

“What is it?”

“You’re going to be mad if I tell you…”

“I’m going to be mad either way,” I snapped in response, but my face softened slightly at the sight of my brother’s reaction. _He’s trying,_ I reminded myself, and after a deep breath I tried again. “What’s wrong now?”

“It’s just…well, my cock is in the way.”

I took another long, slow, breath, and repeated my earlier words, trying desperately not to sound angry.

“So _move_ it.”

“I can’t,” he said, and it was clear from his expression how bad he felt about it. “It’s hard.”

A slight breeze went through the back yard, and I shivered. I wanted to get this damned photo taken before the sun went down and it got cold, but I understood that my brother was probably doing everything he could.

“Okay,” I said, mentally counting to ten to prevent myself from screaming with frustration. “Let me have a look at it.”

He unzipped his pants, and pulled his cock out. I reached out my hand to move it, but he was right—it was too hard, and when I tried to shift it to the side, it just bounced back.

“Can you make it soft?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“Not unless I cum.”

“So…” I paused, trying to work out how to phrase it. “So take care of it.”

With a gesture, he indicated that his hands were full. With my phone. I rolled my eyes, and kneeled down in front of him.

“Just try to be quick, okay?”

I reached and out and gripped his cock. Normally I would start a hand-job nice and slowly, but I really wanted to get this damn photo taken, so I just started rapidly pumping my hand up and down.

“That’s good,” my brother said, and for a moment I thought I heard his phone’s shutter clicking, a sound that gave me pause. Even my brother couldn’t be _that_ dumb though—he knew this wasn’t what I wanted the photo of.

We sat there for several minutes, me jerking him off, him pointing the phone straight at me. Another breeze crossed the yard, and I shivered.

“Are you close?”

“Almost,” he grunted. “I’m just…”

He trailed off, and I took a deep breath.

“What?”

“I’m not sure if I can cum.”

“ _Why_ , Tim? _Why_?”

“You’re aiming at your tits, but your bra is in the way.”

I paused, glancing down. He was right—I’d naturally been aiming his cock at my boobs, but my bra meant that it wasn’t possible for him to cum directly on them. With one hand, I reached behind my back, unclasped my bra and threw it aside, allowing my tits to come into view, and looked back up at him, trying not to glare.

“Hmm?”

“Great,” he said, and almost immediately his hips started thrusting. His head swelled, and soon he was spraying me with his cum—despite my preparation, very little of it actually landed on my tits; the majority of his load hit my face. The only seed on my tits were the parts that dripped off my chin.

I looked up at my brother with a smile. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

Standing up, I considered wiping my face off, but I really didn’t want to do anything that would delay the photo. 

“Okay,” he said. “Ah, crap.”

“What is it now?” I said, beginning to lose my cool. How hard was it to take a damn photo?”

“My thumb’s in the way again.”

“Then _move it_ ” I snapped, and he jumped.

“Sorry!” he said, and I immediately felt bad.

“No, I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing me a favor.”

We looked at each other for a few seconds, sharing a sibling moment as his cum dripped onto my tits.

“Ready” I said softly, and he smiled, then looked down in alarm.

“Oh no…it’s hard again.”

“Oh, Tim…”

It was at the point where I wasn’t even angry any more.

“Okay,” I sighed. “What can we do?”

“I mean…” he said slowly, and I looked at him expectantly. “…there’s one obvious way we could get it out of the way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if it was inside you, it wouldn’t be in the picture.”

I nodded, immediately understanding what he was getting at. We stood there in silence for a few seconds as I stared at his erection, trying to work out the best way to get it out of the way. An obvious solution came to mind, and within a moment I was on my knees, his cock halfway down my throat.

“How’s this?” I tried to ask, but it came out as “Mmmf mmf?” 

Fortunately, my brother seemed to understand, and after just a few minutes of my head bobbing up and down on his erection, he shook his head.

“Sorry sis,” he said. “We can’t see the shoes. Maybe if…”

Fortunately, I was way ahead of him. Sliding down my panties, I positioned myself so that my brother could easily slide his cock into me. 

“Now?” I asked, and he smiled as he leaned forward to kiss me.

“Perfect,” he whispered, and finally took the damn photo.


	We Need A Man

“Are you sure this is the one, Lumar?”

“Of course, Zarboth. We have tested every man in the area, and this is the one the powers are emanating from.”

“But he’s just a boy...we need a man.”

“He will become a man. He just needs the stimulation.”

“Shall we begin the program?”

“Of course.”

“Very well, Lumar. By night, he shall no longer be a virgin. By the end of the week, his powers shall be fully formed.”

“Press the button, Zarboth.”

* * *

My name’s Paul. I’m eighteen years old, and I am _surrounded_ by women.

You might think I’m exaggerating, but it’s insane. I live with my step-mom (I got handed around a lot as a kid, and ended up with my Dad’s second wife) and her life partner, Zara. Mom (as she insists I call her—my real Mom died when I was a kid) has three daughters, and Zara has four.

So that’s me: my lesbian parents, three step-sisters and Zara’s four daughters. On top of that, Mom is rich (although I’ve never worked out exactly where the money comes from) and so we have a bunch of servants.

All female. I don’t know if Mom hates men, doesn’t trust them...or if she just likes having a bit of eye-candy around. I mean, it’s hard to argue with that—they’re all pretty cute. Kate is my favorite, or maybe Li. Kate does most of the stuff in the kitchen, always dressed in a red-and-white checkered apron, and Li is a little Asian girl who’s in charge of my room. She’s almost always hanging around in a French maid outfit—I don’t know if that’s her choice, or if Jo got it for her.

Oh, Jo is in charge of the servants. She’s about 35, and always dressed professionally. Suit pants, a nice jacket, often a tie. Combine that with her short, Ellen-like haircut and if it wasn’t for her bust, you’d never guess she wasn’t a guy.

I’d never make a move on either of them, of course. Mom would kill me if she ever found out, unless Zara got to me first.

It can just be frustrating. The servants are super cute—they’re not family, so I feel way better about checking them out. But honestly, the hottest people in the house are probably my Mom and Zara. Mom’s almost 40 now, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. She’s always dressed like she’s about to go to the office—knee-length skirts, white buttoned-up blouses, stockings and heels.

Zara is black. She’s maybe six feet—quite tall, and fairly intimidating. She’s always dressed to kill, too—literally. I mean, if you told me that she was an assassin in her spare time, I wouldn’t be surprised. Black leather, skin-tight outfits. It’s amazing that she manages to squeeze her boobs into them; her and Mom are both incredibly busty.

Their looks got passed down to their kids, too. Like I said, Zara has four—Eb, Florence, Gertrude and Hilda. They were all adopted, but I think Gertrude and Hilda are related. None of them really talk to me much—I guess cos I’m the only boy in the house, they tend to spend time with my step-sisters.

Those are Mom’s kids. Like, her biological kids. Cristy, Abby and Bianca—they’re all stuck-up as hell, and won’t even give me the time of day when Mom isn’t around. Sometimes the seven of them hang around together in the pool, dressed in nothing but bikinis.

I spend those days trying very, very hard to remember that they’re my siblings.

Anyway, that’s my life. Surrounded by women, but not one of them that I’m allowed to date. Still, there’s plenty of eye-candy. And, of course, in my dreams they’re all much nicer to me...

* * *

As soon as the alien pressed the button, several things happened. Firstly, Paul’s latent psychic powers began to manifest. They would still need to be fostered, but the seed was now active, and with the correct stimulation, he would soon reach the full extent of his powers.

Secondly, the correct stimulation began to manifest.

All the women in the house would grow taller and bustier over the next few days—the aliens had seen exactly what turned Paul on, and the women in his life were to be altered to match those desires. Their minds were altered too—every woman in the house was turned bisexual, their desires split evenly between Paul and the other women in their life.

By morning, every woman would be equally aroused by the man they lived with and all the women.

To get things started, Zara was particularly affected. She rose from her bed, still asleep, and began walking towards his room. As always, Zara had gone to bed in a red semi- transparent night gown. Through the thin mesh, her black thong could be seen, as well as her large (and recently enlarged) bosom and long dark nipples.

Without waking her life partner, Zara left the room and made her way into Paul’s. Less than four minutes after the alien’s actions changed their lives forever, she was in the bed of her partner’s son, reaching into his boxer shorts, and stroking his cock until he was hard.

As both of them continued to sleep, Zara pushed her thong to the side and lowered herself onto the teenaged boy’s hardness. She rode him steadily until he grunted, spurting his seed into her unprotected cunt. The feeling of his orgasm (the first male orgasm she’d ever been a part of) was enough to bring her over the edge as well, and once they had both finished, she removed her thong, leaving it under his pillow.

With that, the sexsomniac returned to her own bed, where Paul’s Mom, still sleeping felt compelled go down on her girlfriend, unknowingly sucking her step-son’s cum out of her dripping cunt.

* * *

I awoke the next morning with a huge smile on my face. What a weird and wonderful dream—I’d dreamt that I was fucking an Amazonian woman. Big and busty, with no compulsions to do anything but cum around my cock.

It wasn’t until I followed the unusual smell to beneath my pillow that I realized something was up.

Someone had left their thong under my pillow! And not just any thong—it was black, and pungent with the delicious scent of pussy.

My mind was racing. Who could it have been? Li? Kate?

I reached down and began jacking it at the idea of one of those gorgeous women sneaking into my room at night and leaving a wet pair of panties for me to find, when suddenly another thought struck me.

It could just as easily have been one of my stuck-up step-sisters. I don’t know exactly what kind of prank would start with leaving a soaked thong under my pillow, but I knew that I didn’t want to find out.

My fantasies shifted from Li and I making out, to me lining up my three bitchy step- sisters and cumming on their faces as they scowled, and tried to spit it out.

“Take it,” I grunted, the strange thong wrapped around my cock, and soon I was spurting my seed onto my chest and stomach, thoughts of revenge in my head.

* * *

That day, Paul noticed that something was different about the women in his life, but he couldn’t work out what it was. Did they all seem...taller? No, that couldn’t be right.

One thing was for sure; they were treating him differently. They all seemed to have a perpetual blush on their face, and every time he looked at them directly, they would burst into giggles.

He even thought he saw a few of them checking him out, but that couldn’t be right. He’d known these women his whole life, and none of them had ever shown even a glimmer of interest in him before. What were the odds that all of them had spontaneously developed a crush at the same time?

As he watched them, he realized that they were checking each other out as well. The girls had either grown more attracted to each other, or he’d just never noticed their lesbian tendencies before.

That night, Paul fell immediately into a deep slumber. Again, he was visited in the night—this time by the cheeky servant Kate from the kitchen. Still sleeping, she made her way into his room—the teenage boy was already hard, and she slipped her short, revealing nightie to the side and began slowly riding him, until they were both crying out in orgasm.

“Come in me, Master!” she sleepingly cried out.

On her way out of the room, she was passed by Gertrude and Hilda—the biological sisters adopted by Zara. Like Kate, they were both asleep, but on some level they were aware of how wrong their actions were.

At this point, Paul woke up—not enough to realize he was awake, but enough to appreciate what was going on in front of him. As he watched, still half-asleep, the buxom girls slowly stripped each other, and made out for his viewing pleasure. He moaned softly as the teen girls’ tongues entered each other’s mouths, and their hands began to roam—caressing their smooth, exposed skin, and causing tingles to run up each other’s spines.

“Our sleeping bodies are yours,” Gertrude and Hilda murmured.

When Paul was well and truly hard, the girls turned their talented mouths to him—Gertrude took his full length into her mouth, while Hilda enthusiastically began licking and sucking on his testicles.

It wasn’t long before Paul was cumming, fully convinced that what was happening was a dream. He spurted onto the sister’s faces, and then went back to sleep while watching them lick it off each other.

* * *

I realized something was up the moment I walked out for breakfast. I’d had more vivid, sexual dreams—this time, featuring two of Zara’s daughters and the head of the staff.

As soon as I saw the hungry, lustful faces on their faces, I knew it hadn’t been a dream. What’s more, it felt like I had shrunk—everyone around the table looked so huge!

I staggered backwards for a moment—Mom immediately grabbed me a chair, sat me down, and started rubbing my temples to make sure that I was okay. It wasn’t until I realized that my feet still touched the floor, as usual, that I was able to calm down enough to realize that I was the same size as I’d always been.

Mom and my sisters had grown.

No, not just Mom and my sister. Everyone. Mom was dressed in a dark navy skirt that ended just above her knees, and a white blouse which—for the first time that I can remember—actually showed cleavage.

What’s more, it seemed like Mom had more cleavage than she’d had before.

From the looks of it, she was wearing one of her normal outfits. She just...didn’t fit into it as well as she normally did.

Overnight, Mom—and all the women in the house—had somehow grown.

I didn’t say anything. I tried to act as normal, just in case this was some kind of cosmic test. honestly, I didn’t know what the hell was going on—but over the course of the day, a few things became clear.

Firstly, Mom wasn’t the only one looking a bit bustier than normal. I first noticed it with Li—she was dusting my room, as usual, and I realized that she was showing cleavage.

Now, Li is as cute as hell—always has been—but her frilly little black maid’s outfit has never shown cleavage before; because she’s never had any to show.

Either wonderbra technology had rapidly advanced, or whatever had caused my Asian maid’s sudden growth spurt had also given her BOOBS in the process. She saw me staring, blushed, giggled, and from that moment on always made sure that no matter what she was doing, it involved me getting a generous view of her new tits.

Secondly, Li wasn’t the only one interested in teasing me. All the girls of the house were wearing less and less clothing. Even Bianca, Abby and Cristy—normally when they know I’m around, they make sure to cover up (although I’ve spent many an afternoon staring at them as they sunbathe by the pool).

That day, however, it was like they desperately wanted my attention. Bianca pulled out an orange bikini (which contrasted beautifully with her black hair) that I’d never seen before, and actually wore it into my room once or twice, saying she “just wanted to chat”. Abby wore a long white T-shirt that clearly showed she had no bra under it, and a pair of pink panties. Then she got dressed as usual, but when four or five pm arrived, she’d shed back down to a pink teddy, as if she was about to go to bed.

Cristy was the worst of the three—I don’t think she even bothered trying to justify it, she just wore a pair of knee-high cowboy boots, and a black, lacy set of lingerie. Whenever I went to talk to her, she’d get very touchy—moving my hands to her bare waist, running a finger up and down my chest, insisting on sitting on my lap whenever we chatted.

It was hot as hell, and I had no idea why any of them were doing it.

* * *

As I was getting ready for bed (anticipating a record-breaking masturbation session, after everything I’d seen that day) Jo asked me to meet her in the servant quarters. I gaped when I saw what she was wearing—I hadn’t seen her all day, and it was clear that she’d spent the day preparing.

The normally pants-only Jo was wearing the shortest schoolgirl skirt I’d ever seen. It looked like she was dressed to go to a very naughty Catholic school, and it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing panties. On top, she was only wearing a white blouse, carefully positioned to show her cleavage (had she always had that much cleavage?) and hide very little.

“Sir,” she stammered, and a surge of power rushed through my body. “I just thought...”

“What?”

“I thought you might want a massage.”

My eyes lit up. I’d long dreamed of having Jo’s hand running over me, and I certainly wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Within a few minutes I was stripped off, laying on the massage table Jo had prepared, wearing nothing but a towel. For the next twenty minutes, her skilled fingers roamed my body, making me feel better than anything I could remember.

With a cough, she asked me to roll over, which I did. I was hard as a rock, and I saw Jo’s eyes widen in excitement as she noticed—as if in a trance, she began massaging my chest and stomach, her eyes never leaving the obvious tent in my towel.

As her massage got lower and lower, her breathing got faster, and when she reached the edge of the towel, I was worried she would hyperventilate.

“Paul...” she gasped.

“Hmm?”

“Have you heard of...would you like...”

I paused, wondering where she was going with this. Finally, after a few more attempts, she squeaked “Happy ending?” and I nodded before even processing what she was asking.

Jo was shaking with excitement as she leaned in close, and removed my towel. The arousal that had been building up all day got the better of me, and as soon as she touched my turgid rod, I was cumming, spewing my load all over her face and clothes.

“Oh!”

The head servant cried out with joy as I sprayed her with my cum, and I could have sworn that she was cumming as well.

As we both recovered from our orgasms, I wanted to stay, to explore this new sexual side of Jo that I’d ever seen...but she fled from the room, and I retired to my room to sleep as well.

* * *

That night, I was woken up by Mom. She was dressed in a blue nightie; opaque around her firm, E-cup breasts, and almost completely see-through everywhere else.

“Mom?” I said, but one look in her eyes told me with absolute certainty that she couldn’t hear me. Not consciously, anyway.

My step-mother seemed to be sleep-walking.

“Paul,” she said in a rasp, her eyes unfocused. A chill ran up my spine, but I was also excited to see what she would say. Perhaps this would provide a clue as to the strange events of the past seven days. “Follow me.”

I followed her into the basement, where she pushed an old filing cabinet aside, and leaned heavily on the brick wall. To my surprise it swung open, revealing a huge metal door, protected by a keypad. After checking that I was watching, Mom slowly and deliberately typed in the code, and the metal door slowly opened, to reveal more jewelry and cash than I could ever imagine seeing in my life.

“Take this,” she whispered, and started counting stacks of $100 bills into my hand. “Use them for whatever you like—they’re completely untraceable.”

“Mom?” I asked, but she didn’t seem to comprehend that I’d even spoken. “Get yourself a Mercedes station wagon.”

That was my dream car...a fact that I knew I had never, ever mentioned to anyone.

With a thin, creepy smile, Mom pulled out a finance statement, and thrust it into my hands. Even without the contents of this vault, it soon became clear that my Mom was worth tens of millions of dollars—something that had certainly never been made apparent to me before.

No wonder she could afford this house, the servants. This explained a lot.

* * *

Mom followed me back into my room, and—still sleeping—pushed me back on the bed. Looking up at me with that blank stare, she’d lowered my pajama pants, pulled out my cock, and slowly begun running her tongue up and down my shaft.

“Honey, you must come in me,” she chanted.

As soon as I was hard (which, trust me, hadn’t taken long) she’d moved up on the bed, moved the tip of my cock to her wetness, and slowly lowered herself until she’d taken my entire length. I’d been too stunned to speak as my sleeping mother had slowly rocked back and forth until she’d brought both of us to orgasm.

Immediately after we came, she collapsed on the bed next to me, snuggled up with me in a way that no woman ever had, and finally closed her unfocused eyes. It hadn’t taken long for sleep to overcome me as well.

A few hours later, I was wide awake once more. My mind kept racing—I’d been dreaming of Eb and Florence, Zara’s two eldest daughters. In my unconscious fantasies, they’d been passionately making out, learning how to pleasure each other, two adopted sisters teaching themselves how to use their bodies to get off.

I groggily stood up and made my way to the kitchen. To my surprise, the two girls of my dreams were there—Eb and Florence were standing completely naked in the middle of the dark kitchen, their lips locked, their hands roaming over each other’s skin.

They didn’t seem to notice when I turned the light on, and it quickly became clear that they were still sleeping. I sat at the counter and poured myself a glass of milk as I watched the show they were unknowingly putting on for me.

Florence’s hands moved down to Eb’s firm ass, grabbing her cheeks so hard that I wondered if she’d leave bruises. Eb, though asleep, seemed to be enjoying it—she threw her head back in passion and silently moaned, as she grabbed Florence’s large, D-cup breasts.

The two girls were coated in a thin layer of sweat, their eyes glazed over and their breathing heavy. As I watched, Eb opened the fridge and pulled out a can of whipped cream—Florence lay back on the kitchen table in anticipation, and was soon rewarded as Eb added a generous dab of whipped cream first to her own nipples, then to Florence’s.

“We are your sleepwalking slaves,” they told each other, and I couldn’t help but wonder—did they know I was watching?

Florence shuddered with pleasure as Eb’s small pink tongue flicked over her nipples. She drew her sister’s head to hers, and passionately kissed her, licking whipped cream off her lips and giving her ass a firm, hard slap.

For the next hour, I watched the sisters enjoy each other’s bodies, wondering if I were in a dream. Finally, when the can of whipped cream was empty and the girls had brought each other to several quivering orgasms, they started to move towards bed and I did the same.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up, stacks of cash in my bed and my mother snoozing beside me.

Suddenly, everything was suddenly clear. I had been given a gift, the stimulation to unlock my natural psychic abilities. With a wordless command, every woman in the house—still sleeping—had marched into the living room, where Mom and I had joined them just a few minutes later.

To my delight, all the women were at least six feet tall—Zara was closer to seven. It seemed that my unconscious had transformed the women of my house into Amazonian figures, just as I’d long fantasized.

There’s something so sexy about seeing what people sleep in. Zara was wearing a very similar outfit to Mom’s, but in red instead of blue. Her four daughters were just wearing panties—Eb and Florence were in white, Gertrude and Hilda were in black, and all four of them had large-but-perky C-cup breasts.

A single thought was all it took to harden their nipples.

Abby, Bianca and Cristy were all in long white T-shirts. A mental command caused them to remove them, to reveal the thong underwear they were wearing underneath. They blushed with arousal at the sight of each other’s bodies, and the three sisters immediately started reaching out to fondle each other’s asses.

Li, to my delight, slept totally naked. I summoned here towards me, and began doing what I’d dreamt of doing for so long—touching and caressing her nude body, pulling at her nipples and gently slapping her ass. Before long, she was wet—a pulse of mental energy was all it took to make the rest of the girls wet as well, and they all simultaneously moaned in their sleep, preparing for what was going to happen next.

I was surprised to see that Jo slept in a long nightgown that mostly covered the gorgeous, well-developed body I’d seen so much of the previous night. At my mental instruction, Kate (who slept in a longish black T-shirt with nothing under it) used her teeth to slowly take Jo’s nightgown off, allowing me to see her naked beauty for the first time.

As soon as Jo was naked, Kate began uncontrollably fondling her double-D breasts; tweaking her long reddish nipples, and cupping her huge bust.

Unlike any of the other women (that I could see, anyway) Jo had a wild, untrimmed bush. With a smile, I began ordering the women around. I could have done it without speaking, but there was something hot about watching them obey my words without question.

“Abby, Bianca—I want you to hold Cristy down. While you do that, I want you to make out with her. Take turns, and then take a break to kiss each other. Cristy, while they’re making out, I want you to lick and suck their breasts. Li, get on your knees—you’re going to get me nice and hard, so I can finally fuck my step-sister.”

I don’t know why I picked Cristy to be my first fuck of the day; I think she’s always been the cruelest towards me.

“Mom, you’re going to get her nice and wet. Make sure you use your tongue, just as you did on me last night.”

That still left more than half a dozen girls, but I knew that this orgy would be lasting all day, and so I was in no rush. Still...I decided it was a waste, to have them sitting around and doing nothing.

“Eb and Florence, I want you to go down on Gertrude and Hilda.”

“We will fulfill our Master’s fantasies,” Eb and Florence mindlessly chorused.

“We must obey,” Gertrude and Hilda echoed.

“Kate, Jo—your job is to suck on Zara’s huge titties until she’s dripping wet—wet enough to fuck. Then I want you to finger her, and then make her lick your pussies until you cum.”

Within a few seconds, the room was a flurry of movement as everyone leapt to my commands. I smiled as my cock made its way into Li’s mouth, and the soft moans of female pleasure filled the room.

I don’t know who helped me unlock my powers (or why), but I know I’ll be eternally grateful to them.

Life was so different from then on. When I was around, all my women were devoted to my pleasure—whenever I wasn’t, they would be constantly touching each other, feeling each other up and moaning with pleasure as they did. Mom and Kate would share a kiss over a well-cooked supper…one time I walked in on Li giving Zara a massage, before slipping her hands down the busty woman’s top and feeling her huge tips.

When they noticed me, they just smiled. I think they knew as well as I did:

They needed a man.


	Medicine

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Erin said to her brother. “You know you have to take your medicine.”

Truth be told, she wasn’t 100% sure _why_ it was so important—or even what the medicine was for—but she knew that it was vitally important that he take his medicine every day, and somehow it had fallen upon her to make sure that he did.

“Do I really have to?”

“Of course,” Erin said, glancing at her watch. She was planning on going out later, and so she needed her brother to take his medicine as quickly as possible.

“Well I don’t want to take it off the spoon—it’s too cold, and it makes my teeth hurt.”

“Fine,” Erin said with a roll of her eyes. “How do you want to take it?”

“I want it somewhere warm.”

“My hand?”

“No,” he said, looking faintly disgusted. “Somewhere _clean_.”

“My hands _are_ clean,” she objected, but he refused to budge. After a few minutes of negotiation (precious time that Erin knew she could be using to get ready), she stripped off and applied it to the tip of each of her nipples, presenting them to her brother to suck it off.

For the next few minutes she sat there nursing her brother, wondering why it was taking him so long. Finally, one of her impatient sighs must have gotten through, and he removed his mouth from her breast and looked up at her.

“What?”

“Just…hurry up, will you?”

“I’m trying,” he replied. “It’s just really gross. Do I absolutely have to take it?”

“Of course you do,” the teenaged girl replied. “And it’s not gross.”

“Oh really? And how would you know that?”

“What, you think you’re the only person who’s ever had to take medicine? It’s not gross, it’s good for you. And you know you have to have it every day.”

A smile started to form on Erin’s brother’s face, and he put his hands behind his back.

“So you’re telling me that it’s definitely not gross?”

“Of course not.”

“And that if you had to, you’d take it without objecting?”

“That’s right,” Erin said cautiously. What was her brother up to?

“Okay, how about this. You take a dose, and if you really don’t think it’s gross, you’ll never have to bug me about it again. I’ll take it every day without a word of complaint.”

“Fine,” Erin said, and her brother grinned in response. “Fine.”

As he undid his pants, Erin got on her knees and prepared to try some of her brother’s weird medicine. She knew that a single dose wouldn’t have much of an effect on her, and if he really started taking it every day without her assistance, it would totally be worth it.

She sniffed it slightly—it wasn’t the best thing she’d ever smelled, but it certainly wasn’t _bad_. Why did he have to be such a whiner?

“Make sure you take it right down your throat,” her brother said helpfully. “That’s the worst part.”

_No wonder he didn’t want me to apply it to my hands,_ Erin thought to herself, trying not to choke. _It would have been really weird, my hand going halfway down my brother’s throat._

After several minutes, Erin started to understand why her brother took so long. She bobbed her head up and down, trying desperately to suck the medicine out, to prove to her brother that it wasn’t nearly as gross as he’d made it out to be, until finally she could feel the medicine stick plumping up, and several spurts of hot fluid shot down her throat.

“See? Not so bad,” she tried to say, but some of the medicine must have gone down the wrong tube, and instead she just spluttered an incomprehensible response.

“I told you,” her brother said smugly, taking her coughing as disgust. “It’s gross, hey?”

“Not at all! I quite liked it,” she argued, but her brother refused to believe her, claiming that her actions spoke far louder than her words.

“Whatever,” she said with a huff. If he hurried up and finished his medicine, she’d still be able to get a lift to the party. “Let’s just get this over and done with.”

Carefully adding another drop of medicine to each of her tits, Erin tried to position herself so that her brother had easy access. No matter what she did, however, it seemed to cause a problem—either he was leaning over uncomfortably or her elbow was in his face or her skirt was rubbing awkwardly up against his jeans…

Finally, she took her skirt off, insisted he take his jeans off as well, and just sat on him.

“There,” she said, her heart skipping a beat as she carefully lowered herself down onto his lap. “Let’s get this over with.”

The easiest way to make sure that her brother had easy access to the medicine, she soon realized, was for her to gently rock her hips back and forth, over and over. It felt extraordinarily pleasant, almost soothing. She hoped that it was helping her brother, as well—he seemed to be struggling to take his medicine. His breathing was getting faster and faster, and she noticed that his hips were beginning to move in rhythm to her own.

Finally, he bucked against her several times as he sucked on her nipples, and Erin felt a warm glow spread throughout her entire body.

“Wow,” she said with a smile. “You all done?”

“Yeah,” he said wearily. “Yeah, that was great.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, carefully standing up and looking around for her panties. “I told you the medicine was good for you, didn’t I?”

“I guess.”

Erin began getting redressed. According to her watch, she could still make the party, but she’d have to hurry. As she began to leave the room, her brother’s voice stopped her.

“Oh! Did Mom and Dad mention?”

“Mention what?” she said impatiently.

“You’ve got to start taking medicine as well, and I’ve been assigned to make sure you do.”

“Fine,” she said, crossing the room and presenting her outstretched palm. “Hand it over.”

“Ah, sorry,” he said, a grin flashing onto his face. “It’s not that simple.

“Yours needs to be administered rectally.”


	Stressed

_I’ve been so stressed,_ Marie thought to herself. _And he’s right _there_ …_

Life as a single mother was hard. Danny was a good kid, and she loved him for it, but no matter how good he was, the fact remained—taking care of a house, her son, her job…

It wasn’t easy.

And to make it worse, Marie’s preferred method of stress relief was to be fucked. Something about it—the animalistic nature of it, being taken, surrendering your body to another person…

It relaxed her.

But Marie hadn’t been with a man for several months, and there weren’t any on the horizon.

And then, one night, a naughty little idea had struck her…

Danny.

He was right there. And he was handsome, strong…and likely as horny as she was.

But, of course, Danny was a good kid. He’d never do anything as wicked as sleeping with his own mother.

Not of his own accord, that was…

* * *

It had been a particularly stressful day at work. Clients shouting, dogs barking, cars honking. Marie had ended up taking a half-day, just to get out of the office and back home where she could relax.

Of course, she couldn’t _really_ relax. Not until she got fucked.

As it had so many times before, her eyes glanced to the corner of the room. Before they’d broken up, her ex had showed an interest in hypnosis, and accidentally left one of his books there. She’d totally forgotten about it until a few weeks ago, and now…

Now it was all she could think about.

You can’t make someone do what they don’t _want_ to do under hypnosis. Just the thought made her feel a bit better about what she was planning.

No, not planning. She’d never do it. That would be…wrong.

But if she _were_ to hypnotize Danny, she wouldn’t be able to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. So what was the harm? It wasn’t like she was abusing her son, if she was just making him do what he wanted.

After all…what teenage boy doesn’t _want_ to fuck?

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. There was no way…

And then the alarm went off.

The fucking smoke alarm. Every time Marie went to make anything—toast, a bagel, a grilled cheese sandwich—it went off. A loud, shrill, penetrating BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

On a day when she was already feeling shattered, it just added to the stress. She climbed onto the chair, grabbed the broom, hit the button…

And instead of turning off, the entire alarm fell, with a loud BANG.

That was it. That was the last straw. Barely able to keep her balance, Marie slowly, calmly, got off the chair. She ignored the shattered remains of the smoke alarm, and walked into the study, where she picked up the book on hypnotism and started reading.

She didn’t care if it made her a bad mother. She didn’t care if it made her a bad person. She wanted—no, _needed_ —a stress relief method, and if that meant hypnotizing her son to get it, that was the way it would have to be.

* * *

“Yes, mother,” Danny said in a soft monotone, and Marie tried not to look him in the eyes. It had almost been too easy—he was so trusting.

Abusing that trust had been almost _too_ simple.

“Do you like me?” she asked, fairly sure she knew the answer.

“Of course, mother.”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course, mother.”

She took a deep breath.

“Do…do you think I’m sexy?”

There was a long pause, and Marie leaned forward in nervous anticipation.

“I think you could be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’re sexy dressed like that.”

Marie looked down with a furrowed brow. She was wearing a pantsuit, the one that she wore to work. It was professional, but she had to admit—Danny had a point.

“What would I wear that would be sexy?”

“Dresses. Stockings. Skirts. Low-cut tops.”

Marie sat back reflectively. She couldn’t wear that stuff to work, but…around the house it would be okay. She didn’t want to go any further with Danny, not today. First he had to find her sexy—then he’d want to fuck her.

Until then, it wasn’t worth the risk.

“You will forget that I hypnotized you. Next time I ask you to hypnotize you, you’ll think it was the first time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

* * *

Marie smiled; it had been subtle, but she’d definitely noticed the shift in energy between her and her son. When he thought she wasn’t looking, he’d started checking her out. Nothing major, just glances down her top, eyes lingering on her legs.

It hadn’t helped with the stress—if anything, it was just emphasizing how much she needed release. Every day now, her head pounded so hard it felt like it was going to explode. She was having trouble sleeping, fitfully going in and out of dreams—many of them involved Danny, pounding into her, but none of them got her what she needed.

She needed to get fucked. She needed to get fucked, ASAP.

And so she’d hypnotized him once again.

“Do you think I’m sexy?”

“Yes, mother.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Conflicted.”

“Why?

“You’re my mother. I shouldn’t find you attractive.”

“What if you thought I found you attractive? Would that make it better.”

“Yes.”

With a smile, Marie repeated her sign-off, and woke Danny up again.

* * *

“Do you think I’m sexy?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Do you think I find you attractive?”

“Yes, mother.”

Marie had started returning her son’s glances. If he checked out her legs, she’d wait until he caught her eye and then wink. When he tried to peek up her skirt, she lifted it to give him a better view.

The other day she’d even pinched his ass.

Each night, she pounded herself with her toys, reaching orgasm after orgasm until she fell asleep, but it wasn’t the same…she needed a _man_. She needed her boy, between her legs, jackhammering her into pure bliss.

It was time.

“Lay down on the couch,” she instructed.

“Yes, mother.” he panted, and she smiled. For a moment she felt guilty about what she was doing to her innocent boy, but she also knew that she couldn’t stop now.

Not while she was so close.

Marie groaned as her boy’s erection sprang loose. She’d been so stressed…for so long…

It was finally going to end.

As his mother gaspingly lowered herself down onto his erection, Donny couldn’t help but break character for a moment and smile. She wouldn’t notice, of that he was sure.

Buying the book on hypnotism was the best thing he’d ever done.


	Headlights

“Come on, Dad!” Sasha begged, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’ll be fun! Just like when I was a little girl.”

Trevor refrained from reminding his teenage daughter that to him, she _was_ still a little girl. After all, she’d only turned sixteen a few months ago.

He knew he spoiled her, but he just couldn’t help it. She was his little angel, and so for her birthday he’d splashed out, buying her the kind of car that he wished he’d had at her age.

“Fine,” he reluctantly laughed. “But don’t think we’re going to make a habit of this!”

“Of course not, Daddy,” Sasha cooed.

“I’m your old man, not your servant.”

“You’re not _that_ old,” Sasha said in a husky whisper, and Trevor shot her an odd look. She didn’t seem to notice, and soon he was following her to the garage, where she’d gotten everything ready.

“How much did I pay you to wash my car?”

“Five dollars for the outside, another five for the inside.”

“Well, fair’s fair,” Trevor said with a grin, but before he could explain that he was kidding, Sasha pulled five dollars out of her pocket and earnestly pressed it into his hand.

“I was…”

He sighed. It wasn’t worth it.

“Come on, darling. Let’s wash.”

As Trevor dipped the sponge into the bucket of soapy water that Sasha had prepared, she lowered the spaghetti straps of her pale blue top. Without hesitation, he reached out and began sponging his daughter’s huge headlights.

“Oh, daddy…”

“Come on Sash,” he said with a laugh. “I’m the one doing all the work here.”

“Well,” she replied breathily, “you _are_ the one being paid…”

“Ha ha ha.”

Sasha didn’t take long to join in, reaching up and using her hands to dry off her soapy headlights. The father and daughter continued to work together like this for several minutes, Trevor soaping and Sasha helping clean the suds off.

Trevor turned around from dipping his sponge back in the bucket to find that Sasha had removed her denim cutoffs, and was standing in front of him in nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms.

“The trunk,” she said in a soft moan, “has, uh…spiders.”

“Spiders?”

“Yeah,” Sasha repeated with an nod. “Spiders.”

“Sasha, I’m worried you’re not taking good enough care of this car…”

“I swear I am,” she said eagerly. “I take _such_ good care of it, Daddy.”

“Hmm,” Trevor said, a note of skepticism in his voice.

“They’re not so bad—all you need to do is scare them off.”

“And how does one do that?”

“It’s easy. You just give the trunk a thump.”

“Oh?”

“You can do it with your hand. Please, Daddy, use your hand…”

Sasha turned around to ensure that her father had easy access, and—leaning over the workbench in the garage—tensed up with anticipation as Trevor raised his hand.

WHACK.

“OH!”

His daughter yelped, as though she hadn’t been expecting him to smack the trunk so hard, but after a quick glance at her beet-red face, she wordlessly indicated that she was fine—just worried that he hadn’t managed to remove all the spiders.

He raised his hand again.

WHACK.

Sasha shook her head once more.

WHACK.

Sasha whimpered as her father dutifully smacked her trunk as hard as he could, but still he couldn’t seem to remove all the spiders.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

“YES!” she cried out, and Trevor sat back, a smile on his face. It was good to know that he could still protect his daughter when needed.

For the next few minutes, the duo worked in total silence. Sasha took the sponge off him and began soaping the rest of the car’s body, and so he used his bare hands to work the soap off.

After five minutes, Trevor couldn’t help but notice that his daughter was slacking off again—she was laying back, her legs spread, trembling silently and letting her father do all the work. With a grin, he remembered the punishment for laziness when she was a little girl.

Without a word, he picked up the bucket of cold water and dumped it onto Sasha’s head.

“Daddy!” she shouted, and he doubled over with laughter.

“Come on,” he said, “we’re all done anyway.”

“No we’re not,” she pouted. “What about the inside?”

“That’ll be another five dollars,” Trevor quipped, and again refrained from saying anything when Sasha reached into her discarded denim shorts and pulled out a five dollar note.

“Well?” she said, leaning back and looking up at him nervously.

“What do you want me to do?” he said with a sigh, and Sasha’s eyes lit up.

“I think we should, um…vacuum.”

“I’ll get the Hoover.”

“No,” Sasha said with a provocative smirk. “Let me…”

Trevor waited patiently as Sasha unzipped his pants, and pulled the vacuum cleaner out. It dangled lifelessly in her hands, and he reminded her that she needed to turn it on.

“Oh, I will,” she said softly. “I will.”

It didn’t take Sasha long to turn the vacuum cleaner on—despite the fact that vacuuming had been one of her chores since she was young, Trevor was surprised by how nervously she moved her mouth to it. As her long tongue moved up and down the hose, it soon hardened in her hand, and Trevor was ready to clean out the inside of the car.

Sasha carefully undid her bikini bottoms, and again positioned herself across her father’s workbench. He moved behind her, moved the hose to the entrance to the car, and couldn’t help but admire the sight in front of him. The car looked so good when it was glistening and clean, and for the first time he saw how carefully his daughter obviously took care of it. Its sleek lines, its huge headlights, its generous trunk.

He slowly inserted the hose into the car, and began cleaning. Slowly at first, but then faster as his daughter moaned with what he could only assume was impatience.

“After—this…” she panted, “we’ll—have—to—OH! …clean out the trunk, as well.”

“Of course, darling,” Trevor said with a smile. He felt oddly close to her, in that moment; maybe washing the car together was something they’d have to do more often.


	Oh Brother

“It’s really not that hard,” Alana said with a shrug.

“Well I don’t know what you mean,” Mickey replied, “so you must be explaining it badly.”

Alana’s eyes flashed, and she glared at her brother.

“I. Want. You. To. Feed. My. Pet.”

“I get that,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. “Jesus.”

“What part of it don’t you understand?”

“Just go over it again,” he sighed. “God, you’re away for three days. You must have the most needy pet in existence.”

“Look,” Alana said, stamping her foot. “Why don’t we just go through it now? After doing it once, even an idiot will be able to do it again.”

“Thanks.”

“So, there’s no point in feeding them unless they’re hungry.”

Alana lifted up her skirt as she spoke.

“The first thing you should do is feel around their mouth, make sure they’re ready to eat.”

“And how will I know?”

“They’ll be salivating; their mouth will be wet.”

Mickey sighed, and reached down to check. He rubbed his hand up and down a few times, slowly coaxing the animal into opening its mouth and letting him check for saliva.

He slipped one finger inside, and his sister panted.

“What?”

“You can be rougher than that. Use two fingers. Yes! Yes, just like that. Now…ungh…check if it’s wet.”

It has harder than Mickey expected to determine how much saliva the creature was producing—he had to slip his fingers in and out over and over again. It didn’t take long for him to get into a rhythm, but his sister’s breathing was getting heavier and heavier—it was obvious that she was getting impatient.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Shut up!” she panted in response. “Rub…oh, god! Rub the…nose…”

Mickey reached up with his thumb. It took him a few seconds to find the creature’s nose, but as soon as he did, he started rubbing it—the animal’s maw tightened around his hand, and he briefly worried that it was going to bite him, but after a few gentle clenches, it relaxed, and he withdrew his hand.

“Mmm…” his sister sighed. “Well…done…”

“What do you mean? I couldn’t even tell if it was wet.”

A glint entered his sister’s eyes.

“Taste it! Then you’ll know for sure.”

Mickey wrinkled up his nose, but popping his two fingers into his mouth, he could detect a strong smell, and a distinct tang.

“Yup,” he said. “It’s wet.”

“Great,” Alana replied. “Now, you don’t want to get this stuff all over your clothes—you’d better take them off.”

“For real?”

“Uh huh.”

Mickey sighed, and slowly stripped off. Alana’s eyes gleamed as his well-developed muscles came into view, and even more as he lowered his boxer-briefs.

“What now?”

“Are you sure you’re getting this?” she asked, squirming slightly. “We can revisit making sure they’re hungry, if you like.”

“No no,” he said, “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I don’t want my pet getting sick, so you’re going to have to test-taste it first.”

“Ew! For real? I need to eat pet food?”

“You never know. Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”

“Over my dead body,” he mumbled, but got down onto his knees and moved his head where Alana directed.

Poking out his tongue, he tentatively tasted the pet food. It tasted a lot like Alana’s pet’s saliva…which made a lot of sense, really.

“Not like that,” Alana said disparagingly. “You need to get right in there. Really make sure it’s okay.”

Mickey crinkled up his nose again, and began exploring the container of pet food with his tongue. He lapped up and down the sides, tried to burrow his tongue deep inside, and when that was met with mixed results, found a harder point up the top which he figured was worth further investigation.

“Yessss,” Alana moaned with approval. “That’s the, uh, test…nub. If that tastes right, you know the whole lot is fine.”

“Seems to taste good to me,” Mickey mumbled, but Alana lightly slapped the top of his head.

“Better safe than sorry! If you tongue at it a little, you’ll know for sure if it’s good.”

Mickey began slowly running his tongue around the test nub, alternating between flicking at it, and pressing the flat of his tongue firmly against it.

“That’s it,” Alana panted. “Try to get a rhythm going. Yesss…”

Mickey found the nub was most responsive when he firmly licked it up and down, and after a few minutes of repeating that action, Alana confirmed that he was on the right track.

“Yes! Yes! Just like that! Oh my god, yes! That’s the spot! Oh yes yes yes yes…”

To Mickey’s great surprise, the container seemed to buck around in response to his testing. When it finally calmed down, he ceased licking, and looked up at his little sister.

“How was that?”

“That’s how you know it’s good,” she said with a smile. “Oh, man.”

Mickey’s eyes opened in shock as she began stripping off as well, exposing her firm breasts and pale skin.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to show you how to feed the pet, dingus. You don’t want me to get food all over me, do you?”

“I guess not,” Mickey said, looking away comfortably.”

“Okay,” she said with a contented sigh. “You’ve made sure the creature is hungry. You’ve tested that the food is, uh, fresh.”

“Right.”

“Now all you need to do is serve it up. Here, let me grab your scoop.”

Mickey jumped slightly as his sister reached between his legs and spent a few seconds preparing the scoop.

“You want to make sure it’s nice and firm, and then _push_ it into the food gently…yes, just like that. Now, to make sure you get enough for my beloved pet, you need to push right in…just like that…and out…and in…and out…”

A smile spread across Mickey’s face as his sister’s commentary turned into an incoherent gurgling sound. Feeding the pets had been more fun that he’d expected—he was really going to enjoy taking care of his sister’s pet for the next few days.


	Sex Education

A gender-flipped version of [Manners Maketh Man](https://mcstories.com/SexyShorts/../MannersMakethMan/index.html), Chapter 3.

Samantha stood between her father and brother, trembling slightly. She’d spent so long fantasizing about this moment, and it was almost here.

She took a deep breath.

Time to get to work.

“Dad,” she said. “I’m worried about Michael.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking down at her feet nervously. “He’s never kissed a girl. I think it’s because his sex education is lacking. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to… _teach him a lesson_?”

Her father tensed up at her last four words. When he replied, almost a minute later, it was with a different attitude. An authority that he’d been lacking before.

“Michael,” he said confidently. “Get over here. I think it’s about time you learned a few things about sex.”

“Yes Dad,” the teenage boy responded.

The two men just exuded testosterone. Manliness. Samantha shivered in anticipation.

“Now, son, tell me. What do you know about masturbation?”

Michael paused, staring his father up and down.

“Quite a lot,” he said eventually. “I mean, I think.”

“Well, son, why don’t you show us?”

“Yes,” Samantha added. “Teach us a lesson.”

With a nod, Michael lowered his trousers and pulled out his thick cock. Samantha could feel herself salivating at the sight of it.

“Now that’s a cock,” their father said. “Strong. Manly. That’s a dick to be proud of.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Michael beamed.

“Why don’t you get it nice and hard for us?”

“Please,” Samantha said, “let me help with that. For the lesson.”

“Great idea, Sam.”

Samantha shivered with pleasure as she reached out to touch her little brother’s huge cock. She’d dreamt of this moment for so long—she couldn’t believe it was finally here. As she touched it, it twitched slightly—she wrapped her hand around it, and started slowly stroking it up and down.

As the cock hardened in her hand, it grew even thicker. Before long, it was at its full hardness—Sam was delighted to find that she couldn’t even wrap her whole hand around it.

“Marvellous,” her father said, leaning in closely to watch her technique. “What a beautiful dick.”

Sam was forced to agree.

“Now,” her father said, “how often do you masturbate?”

“Every day,” Samantha replied immediately.

“No, I’m talking to your brother.”

“About the same,” Michael said, after a moment of thought. Their father shook his head.

“That’s not good,” he said. “Look at you, Michael. You’re a man! You shouldn’t be beating your meat—that’s for wimps. Your sister was right to be concerned; you should be pounding some slam-piece, coming down a slut’s throat. Not getting _yourself_ off, especially not so often.”

Michael nodded, taking his father’s words to heart. Samantha felt like every part of her body was buzzing with excitement.

“Use me as an example,” Samantha said, “to ensure the lesson really lands.”

“Perfect,” her father beamed. “Okay, Michael, we’re going to pretend that your sister here is a dirty little slut.”

“Treat me like a piece of meat,” Samantha whimpered in pleasure. “Please…”

“Got it,” Michael said.

“Teach him every way I can get him off.”

“Great idea. Son, when you’ve got a little whore like this, there’s a few different ways you can use them. Let’s start with a hand-job.”

Michael looked down at his erection, Samantha’s tiny hand wrapped around it.

“That’s a good start, but you’ve got to really show them who’s boss. Remember, you’re a man—you’re a slab of muscle and meat, and their role in life is to serve you. They exist purely to get you off.”

Michael nodded, taking his father’s words to heart.

“Call Dad sir,” Sam mewled. “he’s your teacher.”

“Make sure your slut is on their knees when they jack you off,” the older man said. “And don’t feel like you need to ask them, either—just grab them by the hair and show them who’s boss.”

Without warning, Michael grabbed his little sister’s long black hair at the base, and forced her to her knees.

She almost came on the spot.

“Some of these sluts like it, some of them don’t. If they don’t like it, they’ll let you know—but I think _this_ little slut loves it, don’t you girl?”

“Yes sir,” Sam gasped.

“This is the kind of girl you want to find—a slut who’s into the rough stuff.”

“Yes sir,” Michael said slowly. “Good tip, sir.”

“Okay slut, start jerking your brother off.”

“Ohhhh,” Michael groaned. “That feels good.”

“See what I mean, boy? You’ll never have to jerk off again. Not as long as there are sluts around, looking to please real men like us.”

“Please, sir,” Samantha said, her eyes locked on her brother’s erection. “Do you want me to teach you how I can please you both at once?”

“Good idea,” her father sniffed, lowering his pants. “Now, Michael, don’t worry if this seems a little gay. There’s nothing gay about sharing a slut with another guy.”

Samantha was in heaven as she wrapped her other hand around her father’s equally thick cock. They stood in a comfortable silence for several minutes, as she jerked both men off at once.

“Now,” her father grunted, “I can see you’re almost ready to cum. Make sure you aim for your slut’s face.”

“Yes sir,” Michael mumbled, placing his hand on Sam’s, directing his cock towards her. “Are you ready for this, bitch?”

“Good lad,” their father said. “If you’re dealing with someone who likes the rough stuff, they probably like a bit of dirty talk as well. You like dirty talk, don’t you Sam?”

“Yes,” she moaned, her arms not slowing down for a second. “Please…”

“I’m going to cum on your dirty whore face,” Michael hissed, looking down at her. “Oh, fuck, I’m doing it!”

Sam closed her eyes and let her brother’s seed coat her face—one, two, three spurts of his spunk landed in her open mouth. One last spurt hit her forehead, and began slowly sliding down her face.

“Now,” her father said, “you’re still young. You’ll be ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, why don’t I show you the second way a girl like Sam can get you off?”

“Yes sir,” Michael. “I’d love that.”

“I would too,” Samantha said quietly, continuing to jerk her father off.

“Girl,” he said, surprisingly gently. “Open wide.”

Sam’s eyes widened as her father slowly slid his enormous cock into her mouth. Whenever she felt like she was going to gag, he’d wait for a few seconds, then continue once he felt it was safe.

It took several minutes, but she was delighted to discover that she could fit the entirety of his thickness down her throat; her lips were obscenely stretched around his base, and she couldn’t breathe, but _she’d done it_.

“Now,” her father said softly, “that’s how you deep-throat someone you love. Someone you care about. Hell, they might not even want to deep-throat you, and that’s fine too. They might just want to lick your cock, or suck on the tip. Everyone’s different, and that’s totally fine. If you love the girl and want to treat her gentle, that’s how you do it.”

Sam could feel his enormous hand reach down and take a tight grip on the back of her head.

“…of course, when dealing with a tramp like your sister, we use a totally different approach.”

Sam’s eyes widened as her father began forcing her head up and down his cock, fucking her mouth so hard that she knew he would be leaving bruises.

She’d never been so wet in her life.

The room was getting blurry when she could feel it—her father’s movements grew more frenzied, and she knew he was approaching orgasm.

“ _This._ ” he grunted, “ _Is. How. You. Fuck. A. Slut’s. Throat._ ”

With a loud groan, she could feel him cumming straight down her throat. She felt the room start to swim as he held her head, not letting her pull back for oxygen. His twitching cock completely filled her throat, until he released his grip.

Gasping for air and twitching with pleasure, she sat back. She’d dreamt of being used by the two men in her family for so long—she couldn’t believe it was actually happening. Her eyes were red, her throat was sore, and her pussy was throbbing.

She wanted more.

Before she could speak up, her father surprised her by anticipating her desire.

“Son,” he said slowly. “Would you like to learn how to finger a woman?”

“ _Yes sir_ ,” Mark replied, his face lighting up at the idea.

“Samantha,” their father said. “Strip off for us.”

In her imagination, Samantha had always done a slow, sexy strip-tease, driving the men in her life crazy with the body they all knew they could have. In reality, she was so excited, so turned on, so impatient—she took her clothes off as quickly as she could, and knelt before the two men naked.

Her brother, she was delighted to see, was already hard again.

“I know you probably want to fuck her right now,” their father said proudly, “but all in good time. For now, I’m going to show you how to get a slut off. Let’s see what you do naturally.”

Samantha gasped as her brother’s beefy finger explored her slit. He was clearly inexperienced, but before long he’d found the hole and slowly popped one finger in.

“Good, good,” her father muttered, leaning in for a closer look. “Just like that.”

As Michael’s second knuckle slipped into her aching hole, Samantha felt herself cumming—her entire body shook with orgasm, her pussy clenching repeatedly around Michael’s probing finger.

Her father laughed.

“Well,” he said. “There’s a lot more to learn than that, but it looks like she was just too ready. Let’s move straight to the main course, shall we?”

“Yes sir,” Michael said, staring at his father adoringly.

“Shove that finger of yours in her mouth,” the older man advised. “Easiest way to clean it off.

Samantha’s eyes widened in shock as the taste of her own pussy entered her mouth. She suckled at it enthusiastically until it was withdrawn.

“Now,” her father said, his eyes running up and down his teenage daughter’s body. “There’s only one way you can make love to a women, but there’s a few ways you can fuck a whore. What do you think your sister is?”

“Whore,” Michael answered without hesitation. A pulse of arousal passed through Sam’s body. She had no idea why she craved this kind of degradation, but the urge was overwhelming and undeniable.

“…sir,” he added as an afterthought.

“So you can fuck a whore in a lot of way. Any preferences?”

“Ass,” Michael said, equally quickly. “Sir.”

His father smiled.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, punching his son lightly on the shoulder. “You’re a chip off the old block. Samantha—do you have any lube?”

Samantha, stunned at how well this was going, took a moment to answer.

“No…” she said, her heart sinking.

“No matter,” her father said. “Deep throat your brother. Make it nice and juicy.”

Samantha willingly obeyed, taking her brother’s cock into her mouth, covering it with as much spittle as she could.

“Grab her head,” her father instructed. “Fuck her throat hard—she doesn’t deserve any better.”

To Samantha’s joy, Michael obeyed, pounding his huge cock deep into her throat, again and again.

“Now, if your cock is nice and wet,”—it was—“line it up with the rosebud of her ass.”

Samantha was quivering with anticipation as her brother’s cock rested against her butthole.

“If your sister was someone sweet,” her father said, “someone who liked cuddles and vanilla sex, I’d advise that you go slow, like I did with her throat.”

“Yes sir,” Michael said. Samantha could feel that he was shaking with anticipation as well.

“But,” he continued, “we both know she’s not. So fuck her, son. Don’t be gentle; she loves every second of it.”

“Yes sir,” Michael said, and Samantha’s eyes widened as he began to push.


	Gift

“Do you like it?”

Pam looked uneasily at the present her son had gotten her. She had no idea what it was, even though he’d been raving about it for months. ‘Mom, you’re going to love your gift.’ ‘I can’t wait until you try it out.’ ‘This is going to be the best Christmas ever.’ 

But after unwrapping it, she didn’t have a clue what it was. Glancing up at her son’s face, she forced a look of gratitude. 

“Wow,” she said. “I, uh…”

_Come on, Pam, think._

“…I never would have thought to get one of these for myself.”

“I know,” her son replied, beaming down at his kneeling mother. “Well, come on! Try it out.”

“I’d love to! I, uh…”

Again, she trailed off. Her son seemed to sense her confusion, and just laughed.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never used one before.”

“Well,” she said. “…it’s been a while.”

“Just play with it,” he advised. “You’ll remember how it works.”

Reaching out and poking at the strange gift, Pam realized it was too late to admit that she had no idea what the…thing…was. Knowing her son, it was probably some new piece of technology that he’d set up for her and she’d never use, like her surround sound system or the white noise machine in her room. 

Well, she’d already pretended to know what it was—now all she could do was play along and hope he didn’t ask her in a few weeks whether or not she was still enjoying it.

Hesitantly, Pam reached out and wrapped her hand around her present. It was warm to the touch, and firm. She slowly slid her fist up and down it, pausing as she got to the end.

Peeking up at her son, he seemed to be excited by what she was doing. Relaxing slightly, she kept toying with it—giving it a soft squeeze, moving her hand down to the base, rubbing her thumb against the tip. She had to admit, even though she had no idea what the heck it did, it seemed pretty fun to play with.

“Careful,” her son warned her once, when she started to use her nails, but for the most part he seemed happy to just watch his mother enjoy his gift.

“This is fun,” Pam said. Her mouth was dry, as though she hadn’t spoken for a while—how much time had passed? It felt like she’d only just knelt down and unwrapped her Christmas present a few minutes ago, but as she glanced at the clock, she realized half an hour had passed.

“I thought you’d like it,” her son gasped. He was looking strangely red-faced. “And you know…it’s flavored.”

Pam raised her eyebrows, surprised. She hadn’t even realized that the gift was edible. Pity—she had been hoping to keep it around, maybe use it as a fidget toy. Something about it made her feel…calm.

“Try it,” he grunted, and she smiled up at in response. Without saying a word, she leaned forward and stuck out her tongue, gently licking the side.

“It doesn’t really taste like anything?” she said, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Keep going,” her son said. “You’ll taste it.”

For the next few minutes, Pam licked and sucked on her son’s present. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t taste anything more than a slightly salty flavor; familiar, but not one that she could place. She again lost track of time as her tongue explored every inch of her gift, discovering that the tip of the strange object was slightly tangier than the sides.

“Now, Mom,” her son huffed, and Pam excitedly engulfed her entire present in her mouth, keen to taste its flavor.

As though she’d reached the center of a tootsie roll, Pam’s mouth was suddenly alive with flavor. She eagerly gulped it down, relishing every gooey glop of the delicious substance.

But just as suddenly as it had coated her tongue, the mysterious fluid was gone. She spent another few minutes eagerly running her tongue across every inch of her son’s gift, but—to her disappointment—could find no trace of the liquid that had brought her such pleasure.

And—strangely—it seemed like the gift itself was tired—as Pam watched, its rigidity slowly sagged, until it was nothing but a floppy parody of its former, firm self.

Pam’s heart sank. She hadn’t even considered the idea that her son’s present was a one-use item. From how he’d described it, she’d been expecting to use it again and again—and already, she’d built up hope that she could continue to enjoy it for years to come.

“Thanks for that,” she said, again putting on a brave face. “Seriously—that was a great present.” 

“I knew you’d like it,” her son smiled, resting a hand gently on her hair. “Come on—your turn.”

Less than an hour later, all of the gifts were unwrapped, and Pam sat with her child surrounded by the detritus that follows Christmas morning. Her son watched from the couch as she started sorting through the wrapping.

“What are you looking for?”

“The present you got me,” she said, slightly embarrassed. She’d been hoping that there was perhaps just a little bit of flavor left—she couldn’t get the taste out of her mind. She just wanted one more quick slurp before she threw it out.

“It’s here,” he said, and Pam’s eyes lit up. It was back to its former glory—as ready as when she’d first unwrapped it. It seemed that the mysterious gift _was_ reusable.

“Come sit on it,” her son added.

“What?”

“It’s not just for your mouth,” he laughed. “Come on, Mom—I thought you’d had one of these before.”

“Of course I have,” she mumbled. It had been fun enough to fiddle with, and the taste had been _amazing_ , but how could it possibly be comfortable to sit on?

_Only one way to find out,_ Pam reasoned as she slowly lowered herself onto her son’s gift.


	Seduce Me

“You will ask to see my cock.”

“I will…no. I…I can’t.”

“Say it, Mom. You will ask to see my cock.

“I…I…”

“ _You will ask to see my cock._ ”

“…I will ask to see your cock.”

“You will beg to see it.”

“I will…please. Please, no.”

“You will beg. Say it.”

“I will…I will…”

“ _You will beg._ ”

“I will beg to see your cock.”

* * *

“Come in!”

“Hal, do you have a minute?”

“What’s up, Mom? I was about to hit the hay.”

“I just…I had a question.”

“Mmm?”

“I was just…I was just wondering.”

“What is it, Mom?”

“I was just wondering if I could…if you were…”

“…Mom? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I was just worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Well, I’ve never told you this, but your father had…uh…a medical condition.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It had to do with his…with his penis.”

“Mom!”

“I’m sorry, son, but this is important. I need to check to see if you…if you have the same condition.”

“Jeez, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, Hal, it’s just…”

“Why don’t you just tell me what to look for?”

“No! No. It…it has to be me. I have to check.”

“Mom, I don’t want you to see my cock.”

“Please, Hal. I…I need to.”

“Mom, you’re being really weird.”

“It’s for, um, your health. Please, Hal. It’s urgent. Please!”

“How can it possibly be urgent? I’d never heard of this medical condition before tonight.”

“Please, Hal! Please, let me see your cock. Please.”

“Mom, are you okay?”

“ _Please_.”

“…fine.”

* * *

“You will ask to taste my cock.”

“No! No, absolutely not. I can’t.”

“You will ask to taste my cock.”

“I will…I can’t. Please. That’s so wrong.”

“You will ask to taste my cock.”

“I will ask…no. Please, Hal.”

“You will ask to taste my cock.”

“I will ask to taste your…cock.”

“You will beg to taste my cock.”

“I will b-b…please. Please, stop. I don’t want this.”

“Say it.”

“I will beg…I will beg to…”

“ _Say it._ ”

“I will beg to taste your cock…”

“Again.”

“Please, no…”

“Say it again.”

“I will beg to taste your cock.”

* * *

“Well, Mom? Do I have…whatever Dad had?”

“…it’s hard to say.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t tell.”

“But…you said you just needed to look.”

“Sometimes y-you can’t just tell from looking.”

“What, you need to taste it?”

“Yes.”

“Mom! What the fuck? Jesus, I was kidding.”

“I need to taste it, Hal.”

“…is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No. To make sure you’re…you’re healthy…I n-need to taste your penis.”

“No! I’m not going to let you…god, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“Please, Hal. I’m worried about you.”

“Mom, get up!”

“I need…I need to taste it. Please, Hal. Let me taste it.”

“Mom, you can’t… _Mom_! Jesus!”

“Mmmph-mmph-mm-mmf-mph.”

* * *

“You will suck my cock until I cum.”

“What! No! Of course I won’t…—“

“You will suck my cock until I cum.”

“I will…I will…”

“You will suck my cock until I cum.”

“…I will suck your cock until you cum.”

“You will swallow my cum.”

“I will swallow your cum.”

“Again.”

“I will swallow your cum. I will swallow your cum. I will swallow your cum…”

* * *

“Okay Mom, you’ve…you’ve tasted it. You can stop now. Please, stop…”

“Mmm…”

“Mom, seriously. You need to stop!”

“Mmmph-mmph-mmf.”

“Mom! I…I’m getting hard!”

“Yes…get hard for Mommy, Hal.”

“I don’t want to…Mom! Get your hand away from…from m-my balls.”

“Please, Hal. Get hard for Mommy’s mouth.”

“Mom, what the fuck is wrong with you!”

“I need it, Hal. Please. Please, I…mmph-mph-mmmph-mmph-mmmf.”

“Oh god, Mom…”

* * *

“After you swallow my cum, you’re going to strip for me.”

“After…after I swallow your cum…I’m…”

“After you swallow my cum, you’re going to strip for me.”

“After I swallow your cum I’m…I’m going to strip for you.”

“You’re going to tell me how horny you are.”

“I’m going to…no. I can’t say that.”

“You’re going to tell me how horny you are, and beg me to fuck you.”

“I’m going to tell you how horny…please, no. Oh, god…”

“Say it.”

“I’m…I’m going to tell you how horny I am, and beg you…Hal, this is so wrong…”

“ _Say it._ ”

“I’m going to tell you how horny I am, and b-beg you to f-fuck me…”

“Again.”

“I’m going to tell you how horny I am and beg you to fuck me,”

* * *

“Fuck, Mom, I’m going to cum!”

“Mmmmmmph…”

“Oh god, Mom. I’m cumming! Fuck!”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…fuck, Mom. I can’t…I can’t believe you swallowed that down.”

“Hal, after that, I’m happy to say that I don’t think you share your father’s condition.”

“Mom, what the hell has come over you? That…that was so wrong.”

“Now, I think it’s only fair that you check to make sure I’m in perfect health as well.”

“Jesus, Mom, what are you doing?”

“What do you think, Hal? Do my shoulders look healthy?”

“Mom, we’ve got to stop this…”

“What about my tits, son? Does Mommy have healthy tits?”

“Please…I don’t know what’s going on, but…”

“Do you like looking at Mommy’s tits? What about her legs?”

“Mom, this is so wrong…”

“What about Mommy’s hairy pussy, Hal? Does it look like Mommy has a healthy cunt?”

“Stop, Mom. Please, stop…”

“Mommy needs you to fuck her, Hal. Mommy needs you to fuck her healthy pussy.”

“No! Jesus! You know I can’t do that!”

“It looks like you’re getting hard again, Hal…”

“Mom, please…”

“Mommy’s little boy is getting hard for Mommy. Fuck Mommy, Hal. Please…please, fuck Mommy. Please. I need it…”

“Mom. God, I…”

“So hard. So hard for Mommy…doesn’t that feel good? Mmmm. Doesn’t it feel good, feeling your cock inside Mommy?”

* * *

“You’ll let me fuck you anytime I like.”

“No. Please. Hal. Please…”

“You’ll let me fuck you anytime I like.”

“I’ll…I’ll let you…”

“Say it.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t!”

“You’ll let me fuck you, anytime I like.”

“I’ll let you fuck me…”

“Anytime I like.”

“I’ll…I’ll…”

“Say it, Mommy. Say it and you can cum.”

“I’ll let…I’ll let you fuck me. I’ll let you fuck me, anytime you like.”

“Good girl.”

“Oh. Oh! OH! Oh god. Oh god! Oh god, Hal…I’ll let you fuck me anytime you like.”

“I’m going to wake you up. Then, you’re going to count to ten and come knock on my door…”


	30 Days

“No,” Suzy said, a smug look on her face. “Fraternal means boy. We’re identical twins, but if we were boys, we’d be identical fraternal twins. As it is, we’re just identical twins.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Jean said, chewing on her lip.

“It’s not,” their older brother said confidently. Michael was two years older than the twins, and they hated his know-it-all attitude.

“Oh yeah?,” Suzy asked. “Then why do they call it a _frat_ in college?”

She sat back, confident she’d won the argument. A smile spread across their brother’s face.

“You’re that confident about this?”

“Of course,” Suzy said. “Right, Jean?”

Jean hesitated. “…sure,” she finally agreed. She knew Suzy hated when they didn’t provide a united front. She said it went against the ‘twin code’.

“Okay,” Michael said coolly. “Let’s make a bet. If you’re right, I’ll give you both a ride to the concert tomorrow night.”

“And if we’re wrong?” Jean asked nervously, causing her sister to roll her eyes.

“Then for the next thirty days, you have to obey my every command.”

Jean looked at her twin nervously, but Suzy was staring into Michael’s eyes, as though entranced.

“Um…”

“You’re on,” Suzy replied.

Before Jean could object, their brother pulled a contract and a pin out of his pocket, and soon the twins were signing it with their blood.

“Great,” Michael said with a smile. “Now let’s see what Google says.“

* * *

“I can’t believe you,” Jean grumbled as she and her sister scrubbed the kitchen floor—normally one of Michael’s chores. “I really thought you knew what you were talking about.”

“God,” Suzy replied, “will you get over it already? It’s only thirty days.”

“I guess,” Jean said. “But still. We agreed to do _anything_ he said.”

“Yeah, but it’s Michael. He’s our brother. What’s he going to do?”

* * *

Suzy looked at her sister for moral support as she slowly slid her panties down her legs. Jean was blushing beet-red, her flush visible over her entire body as she sat on Michael’s bed, completely naked.

“When was the last time you came?” their brother asked, and Suzy hesitated. Technically, a question wasn’t an order, so they weren’t compelled to obey.

“Tell me,” he commanded, and the words came tumbling out of the teenage girl’s mouth immediately.

“This morning,” she gasped. Michael had reached between her legs to feel how wet she was. Jean was still throbbing at the memory of her brother’s touch—he’d done the same to her, just a few minutes earlier.

“You won’t cum again until I tell you to,” he ordered, and Suzy nodded, just as Jean had. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Jean?”

“Yes.”

“Call me master when we’re alone,” Michael said with a half-smile.

“Yes, Master.” Jean said, wishing that she could resist. Wishing she hadn’t signed that damn contract.

Wishing she wasn’t so wet.

“Good girl.”

* * *

The girls stared into each other’s eyes as they lay naked beside one another. They’d shared a room their whole life, but they hadn’t slept in the same bed for over a decade, except for during family vacations and the like.

But Michael had commanded they do it, and they’d promised to obey.

That was the bet.

“This is so weird,” Suzy said, her stare hazy.

Jean didn’t say anything in response. Her focus was on trying not to cum. She knew she couldn’t disobey Michael. He’d given her a direct order.

“I mean, who would have guessed that Michael was into…y’know.”

Jean let out a slight moan. Her sister was _very_ talented with her hands.

“I dunno, I just expected him to be different. He’s seen how many pervs we have who assume that just because we’re twins, there’s something going on between us. I just…I dunno.”

“Getting close,” Jean gasped, and Suzy slowed down.

“How many times did he say?”

“Three,” she said throatily. “Three edges before bed. Each.”

“I hate this,” Suzy murmured, and Jean nodded her agreement.

“Me too.”

Suzy twitched. “Not my clit,” she pleaded. “You know how sensitive I am there…”

Jean nodded, curling her fingers inside Suzy’s wetness. She wished she didn’t know that about her twin, but now she did.

* * *

Michael didn’t need to say anything. He could, of course—they’d obey.

They’d promised to obey.

But they were so turned on, so finely tuned to his needs, he didn’t need to say anything. He just gave a vague gesture, and the twins got to work.

“Good girls,” he said, as they quickly removed their tops. Despite being identical twins, Jean could never help but notice that her tits were just a _tiny_ bit larger than Suzy’s.

She knew her brother had spotted the difference as well. She always swelled with pride when he sucked on her nipples first, before turning his attention to their sister’s.

“Suck me,” he said, and the twins’ eyes widened. It had never gone this far before—he’d often play with them, he’d had Suzy jerk him off once, as they drove into town (Jean had glowed with jealousy for the next few days), but he’d never had them go any further than that.

“Who?” Jean asked in a whisper.

“Both of you,” Michael responded. The twins looked at each other, just for a second, before leaping to obey their brother’s command.

They had to obey.

Michael’s cock tasted just as good as Jean had imagined it would. She’d spent so much time imagining it, since watching her sister jerk him off.

Since watching her sister lick Michael’s seed off her hands.

“Share,” Michael warned gently, and Jean backed off, allowing her sister to taste their brother’s cock.

She had to share.

She had to obey.

The twin girls alternated sucking off their brother. It never felt like it was _quite_ enough—Jean would just be getting used to the taste of Michael’s cock, the satisfying feeling of having it slide into her throat, the sheer pleasure that she got from watching him twitch as her tongue ran around his sensitive pee-slit…

Then, just as she was feeling like she could spend the rest of her life like that, topless on her knees, in front of her brother, she’d pull back, and it would be Suzy’s turn.

It didn’t take Michael long to cum. He didn’t warn them, his cock just began to pulse. Suzy’s mouth had been over it when he started, but she’d jumped back in shock, and the rest of his seed had landed on her face, her tits.

Jean wished she could be so lucky.

As if he could read her mind, Michael glanced at her. “Clean her up,” he ordered, and Jean obeyed immediately.

She had to obey.

Suzy, slightly stunned, moaned as Jean’s tongue enthusiastically licked Michael’s cum off her tits. Her nipples hardened as Jean’s mouth explored them, and she gasped with pleasure as Michael reached down and tweaked one of her tits.

But when her twin made her way to Suzy’s mouth, she was ready. For the first time, the twins kissed, their tongues dancing as Jean cleaned the cum out of her sister’s mouth, off her sister’s face. Even after she was clean, the kiss continued, because they knew Michael would like it.

Jean wished she weren’t enjoying it so much—she wasn’t gay, not even slightly—but she knew they had no choice. If Michael liked it, they would obey.

They would obey.

* * *

Jean woke up one morning to find her brother’s form looming above her. She slept naked, of course—both the twins did.

“You didn’t cum last night, did you?” Michael asked, and Jean sleepily shook her head. She would have done anything to cum, but Michael had ordered them not to, and so they couldn’t.

She hadn’t cum in weeks.

“Good girl,” he said, and Jean glowed. Suzy was laying next to her, still asleep. Her mouth was open, and Jean briefly wondered if her brother was going to fuck it.

Her pussy throbbed at the idea. She hated that the thought of her brother fucking her sister’s sleeping mouth turned her on, but it was impossible to deny that it did.

Most everything turned her on these days.

“Edging time,” Michael ordered, and Jean nodded, obediently moving one hand between her legs. Before she could start teasing her desperate clit, Michael reached down and grabbed her hand.

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “My turn.”

Jean gasped as her brother moved his cock between her legs, and started slowly rubbing his head up and down her pussy-lips. If she thrust forward, he could be inside her. Her nipples hardened at the thought. One twitch was all it would take to feel her brother inside her, to feel her older brother filling her needy cunt…

She moaned as Michael moved his erection up, and began circling her clit.

“Don’t cum,” he ordered. “You can’t cum…”

Jean just whimpered in response. Twenty minutes later, when her twin woke up, Michael had brought her to the edge three times, and she was struggling to remember her own name.

As a reward for her obedience, he allowed her to go down on her twin as he edged her. Jean almost came just at the combined taste of her twin sister’s pussy and the pre-cum dripping from her older brother’s cock, but she managed to stop herself just in time.

She was a good girl. She was a good girl for her master.

* * *

“Do you wish this were you?” Michael taunted. “Do you wish you were the one being fucked by your brother?”

Jean wanted to shake her head, but Michael had ordered her never to lie.

“Yes, Master,” she gasped. Her twin’s head was buried between her legs—even though Suzy was distracted, her sister’s talented tongue was still bringing her dangerously close to orgasm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cum—Michael now had them edging at least ten times a day, but never cumming. Never allowed to cum.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, and Jean nodded furiously.

“So jealous, Master,” she said pleadingly. “Wish that were…oh! Wish that were me…”

“Look at the camera,” Michael ordered, and Jean obeyed. The flash went off, capturing her pink skin, the look of lust in her eyes.

For the past week, they’d been told to picture getting fucked by their brother while they edged, and it had soon become all they could think about. Since his order, they’d slowly become obsessed with the idea of feeling it inside them. They talked about it while they edged each other, and Jean knew that she and her sister were both thinking about it whenever they made out.

It was a twin thing.

And now, Jean watched Suzy take her brother’s cock.

“Don’t cum,” Michael warned, and the twins nodded in unison. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Master, please let me have your cock. Oh god, I want to feel it inside me so much. Please, Michael, I’ll do anything.”

He grinned.

“Anything?”

“ _Anything_ ,” Jean repeated.

“What about you, Suzy? What will you do if I let you cum?”

“Anything you want,” the young woman grunted. Jean could tell it was taking all of her sister’s energy to stop herself from cumming, while Michael repeatedly rammed his huge rod inside of her.

“Anything?”

“Yessss…” Suzy responded.

“The thirty days end at midnight,” Michael said, and the twins nodded. They’d completely lost count, so focused were they on obeying their master’s commands. “Twenty minutes. After that, you’re no longer obliged to obey me.”

“Yes, Master,” Jean eventually said, realizing that her brother wanted a response.

“I want to make our arrangement permanent,” he said. “But I can’t order you to make it so. So let’s make a bet—Suzy, if you can go twenty minutes without cumming, I’ll give you a dollar. If you fail, you have to obey my every command for the rest of our lives.”

“Yessss…” Suzy replied without hestitation.

“Not yet, sis. Jean: same offer.”

Jean’s eyes widened as she contemplated her brother’s offer.

“But…”

He smiled as her thoughts fought their way through her lust-addled brain.

“…but that’s...”

“Think it over,” Michael said with a smile. “We still have a little time.”

As he spoke, Michael thrust forward, filling his little sister up with his cock.

“No,” Jean stammered, and Michael raised his eyebrows.

“No?”

“Not for…a dollar.”

Michael frowned.

“If you say no,” he said. “I retract the offer for your sister. It’s both of you or neither.”

“Please, Jean…” Suzy begged, her eyes rolling back in her head as Michael’s cock filled her up. She looked so happy, and so desperate at the same time. “I need this. _Please…_ ”

“I can’t,” Jean gasped. She felt horrible, but…she couldn’t imagine the rest of her life, obeying Michael’s every command.

Or, even worse, she could. She could imagine it perfectly.

Her pussy pulsed at the thought.

“Okay,” he said. “How about this? If you cum in the next twenty minutes, you have to obey me for the rest of our lives. But if you don’t…I’ll fuck you.”

Jean’s eyes widened.

She wanted to be fucked so bad. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more. There was nothing she wouldn’t give to feel her master’s cock inside her.

“Yes,” she said, her voice a soft moan of pure lust. “Yesss, Master…”

Michael smiled.

“Good girls,” he said, pulling a contract and a pin out. “You’re both such good girls…”


	Baton

“Baton-twirling?”

My brother looked at me like I’d just suggested driving a rocketship to Mars.

“Why on earth did you put yourself down for _baton-twirling_?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged, wriggling slightly under the intensity of his gaze. “I just…I thought it would be a cool talent.”

“It would be a cool talent,” he explained to me, using the patient tone of a parent talking to a very small child. “It would be a very cool talent…if you could do it.”

“Right,” I said, staring back coolly, trying to ignore the tingle of embarrassment passing through my body. “So I thought you could teach me.”

Marko raised one eyebrow.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” I said, all but stamping my foot.

“Okay,” he shrugged. “But you have to do whatever I say.”

“ _Fine_.”

“Great,” Marko said with a grin. “When shall we begin?”

“No time like the present,” I replied, hoping that he hadn’t noticed my red face. Why _had_ I signed up for baton-twirling? And why was I asking my brother to…—

Before I could finish my thought, he’d grabbed my hand and dragged us into his room.

“Okay,” he said, after making sure the door was locked. Good one. Wouldn’t want Mom and Dad witnessing my embarrassment. “Get changed.”

“Changed?”

“No one twirls batons in jeans and a button-up. Do you have a leotard?”

“Ummm…I have a one-piece bathing suit?”

Rolling his eyes, Marko went over to my wardrobe, and pulled it out.

“Fine,” he said, throwing me the blue outfit. “Put this on.”

“But you’ll…—”

“I’m about to show you how to twirl a baton,” he said, a patronizing look on his face. “It’s important that I see what I have to work with.”

“Um. Okay.”

I didn’t want to argue with my brother. He was being so helpful, after all. He didn’t even have to help me with this. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he even _could_ help…—

“Now,” he barked, distracting me from whatever I was thinking about. I gulped, and began unbuttoning my jeans.

A few minutes later, I was standing in front of my older brother, wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of panties. I began stepping into the bathing suit, when Marko held up one hand.

“Wait,” he said. “You don’t wear underwear under your bathing suits, do you?”

“Of course not,” I spluttered. “Not normally. But…”

“You don’t want to stretch it out,” he said, making intense eye-contact with me. I nodded. The tingle was back.

“Of course not,” I repeated, and slowly undid my bra. Marko watched my breasts swing freely as I bent over to remove my panties as well.

A few moments later, I was standing in the middle of my bedroom, wearing the blue one-piece, feeling like a bit of a dork. Not nearly as much of a dork as I suspected I’d feel when I began learning the routine, of course.

“Great,” Marko said, leaning back on my bed. “Let’s start with the basics. Reach out and grab the baton.”

I did. It didn’t feel as cold or metallic as I’d expected…I really was a complete novice at this.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re really going to have to familiarize yourself with the baton. Run your hand up and down it a few times, appreciate how it feels in your hand.”

“Really?”

“Do it,” Marko said smugly.

I nodded, and did as my brother commanded. Again, it wasn’t anything like I’d expected—instead of a smooth, consistent shape, it seemed to vary in thickness as I got closer to the base.

He was right—if I’d just started the routine, I would have been completely disoriented by the tool’s unusual shape. This way, I could at least wrap my head around it before we started training proper.

“More,” Marko grunted. I glanced up in surprise—his face was slightly red. “A little bit harder. Faster.”

Confused, I obeyed, rubbing and stroking the baton with my soft hand, harder and harder. My brother let out a strained groan, before ordering me to stop.

“Okay,” I said, using the towel he threw me to wipe the sweat off my face. I’d known baton-training would be difficult, but I hadn’t expected it to be so grueling. At least, not so early in the process.

“That’s enough training with the baton,” he said. “There are two parts to a good routine—using the baton, and using your body. Let’s focus on the other half for now.”

“Using my body?” I said, a half-smile on my face. “Phrasing.”

“I know, right?” he grinned. “Ew. But I mean, that’s the best way to think about it.”

I nodded. He was right, I guess. The routine would be half about the baton, and half about me.

My body.

“You’re no dancer,” Marko said, “so it might be easiest if I just move your body through the routine you’ll be doing, start building up that muscle memory.”

“Okay,” I shrugged, raising my hands. “Whatever you think is best.”

For the next fifteen minutes or so, Marko talked me through my routine. As he did, his hands slid all over my swimsuit, and over every inch of my exposed skin as well. He bent me into all kinds of positions, some of them requiring him to press his body against mine as I learned the routine. He moved my hips, my arms, my legs, even my butt and my chest. At one point, he had one hand on the front of my mound, one on my right tit, and his entire body pressed up against mine.

“Is that a baton in your pocket?” I joked, “or are you just happy to see me?”

Marko didn’t respond. He had a look of focus in his eye, so I just shut up and let him manipulate my form however he saw fit, listening to his commentary as he did.

Finally, he seemed happy.

“Okay sis,” he smiled. His voice was slightly ragged; I guess this was a bit of a workout for him, too. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I mean, I can try,” I shrugged.

“Don’t think,” my brother reminded me. “Just follow your body’s prompts.

Marko lay down and pulled out my baton, and I tried to recreate the routine he’d just talked—and moved—me through. At first I thought I was doing well, as I ran my hands up and down my body, pinching my nipples through my top and giving my ass a sharp slap, but as I crawled on top of his body, his expression changed—the broad grin was gone, replaced by a faintly worried look.

I redoubled my efforts, pushing my tongue into his mouth, crawling on top of him, moving my swimsuit to the side, raising and lowering my body exactly as he’d instructed me to. Finally, a loud groan from my brother was accompanied by a feeling of warmth between my legs, and I realized the routine was finished.

“What’d you think?” I panted. Both of us were breathing pretty heavily.

“Good,” he said, flopping backwards on the bed. “Good, but not great. I think you can get there, but it’s gonna take a lot of practice—do you think you’re up for it?”

“Of course,” I beamed. “I can run through this every night before the talent show, if you can help me.”

“Mmhmm,” he smiled back. “Thatta girl.”

For a moment, a strange thought struck me. What talent show? My school didn’t even have a…—

“For good luck,” my brother said, interrupting whatever inane thought was running through my head, “why don’t you kiss the baton before you leave?”

“Great idea,” I said, sinking to my knees in front of him. “That brings good luck, right?”

“Uh huh,” Marko responded, moving his hands to my head. “Sure does.”


	I Need A Ride

“Please, Daddy.”

Suzy stood in front of her father, a baleful look on her face.

“I need a ride. _Please_.”

Her father slowly lowered his newspaper.

“Ever since you turned eighteen, you’ve been so very needy,” he mused. He spoke in a low rumble, like far-off thunder.

“Please, Daddy? You know I can’t get there by myself.”

“Where?”

Suzy hesitated.

“Uh…”

Her father raised his eyebrows sternly.

“Well? If you’re asking me for a lift, don’t I at least deserve to know where I’m taking you?”

“…”

“Suzy, you know I can’t stand mumbling.”

“…to, um, Michael’s.”

Suzy’s father rolled his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re asking me—your loving father—to stop what I’m doing and give you a ride to your boyfriend’s house, so you can get laid? Oh, don’t look at me like that—I was young once, too. Is that the situation?”

“…”

“That _mumbling_ , Suzy.”

“…yes.”

“Hmmmph. And you thought if you were upfront about it, I wouldn’t agree?”

“…yeah.”

“How do you think hiding it went?”

“…pretty badly, Daddy.”

“Yes, I’d be inclined to agree. Here’s a question for you, young lady.”

“What?”

“Now don’t take that tone with me. I haven’t said I wouldn’t help, have I? I _could_ just ground you, but I like to think I’m a more reasonable man than that.”

Suzy nodded. There was a brief pause.

“What’s the question?” she asked, her cheeks red.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Um…”

Suzy’s father smiled at her as she processed the question. Lowering his glasses, he began to speak.

“It seems to me that you’ve worked out what _you_ get out of it—some quality time with Michael. And you’ve worked out what _won’t_ incentivize me—the knowledge that I’m basically delivering my daughter for sex. But have you spent any time wondering what _would_ inspire me to help you out?”

Suzy was staring into her father’s eyes. She couldn’t remember seeing him without his glasses before. That didn’t make any sense, did it? He was her father. She’d seen his naked eyes hundreds of times.

Hadn’t she?

There was something…different about them. Something _very_ different, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

“Well?”

“Umm…”

“Maybe I could help you out.”

“Yes please, Daddy.”

Suzy felt a little like she was having trouble breathing. She gulped in some air, but the feeling still didn’t go away. She felt light-headed. Distant, almost.

“What’s in it for you, sweetie?”

“Uh…”

“Come on, young lady. If we don’t sort this out soon, your mother will be home, and your window of opportunity disappears.”

“Uhhh…time with Michael, I guess.”

“Yes yes, but what are you going to be _doing_ with Michael?”

“…”

“Louder, honey.”

“…sex.”

“Exactly. Your incentive is sex; one of the most powerful incentives known to mankind. Empires have risen and fallen, some of the greatest works of art have been created, all in pursuit of hot, wet, naked _sex_. I’m not surprised you thought it was worth trying to lie to your father, when the incentive on the other end was so compelling.”

“Sorry I lied, Daddy.”

“It’s too late for that,” he replied, waving her apology away. “Stay focused. For you, the carrot was sex, so you must know how effective an incentive it is.”

“Yes…”

“So why not try to use that on me?”

Suzy blinked twice as her father sat back, a huge smile on his face. He couldn’t be…

Her mind was racing.

He couldn’t be…

No.

But…on the other hand…what he said made perfect sense.

There was a long silence as Suzy processed her father’s words. Finally, she tilted her head to the side.

“Daddy,” she said, the sweetest of smiles on her face.

“Yes, darling?”

“I need a ride.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes please. To my boyfriend’s house. His parents are away until eight, and we want to have sex before they get back. His Mom will drop me home.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know you’re busy, but if you give me a ride…”

“Yes, honey?”

She took a deep breath.

“I’ll give you a blowjob.”

Suze was surprised when her father responded with a bellow of laughter. Her cheeks reddened as he continued to laugh for several minutes, eventually wiping the tears from his eyes.

“What?” she asked, surprising even herself with the level of petulance in her voice.

“Oh, honey,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “You’re _eighteen_. The ability to give a good blowjob is something that comes with time, with experience. No offense, sweetie, but I’m confident a blowjob from you would be among the worst I’ve ever had.”

The eighteen-year old girl could feel her face burning with embarrassment. She wanted to sink into a hole in the ground and never come back.

“Fine,” she said, blinking back tears. “Forget about it.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You had no way of knowing. I’m sure your Michael loves it when you give him head. He just doesn’t know any better. No, a blowjob is not what I’m after.”

Suzy wrinkled up her nose.

“Sex?”

Her father nodded.

“Sex with an eighteen-year old,” he responded slowly, “is one of the greatest experiences a man can have. No, you don’t have the technical skills of your mother, but the youthful body…ah, it’s such a treat.”

“Okay Daddy,” Suzy nodded firmly. “If you give me a ride to Michael’s, I’ll have sex with you.”

He lowered his glasses once more, and stared her in the eyes.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling slightly dazed.

“Very well,” he said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

When they were done, Suzy felt even more unsteady than she had before.

“Wow, Daddy,” she beamed, cuddling him close. “That was…”

“Amazing?” he asked, stroking her naked skin.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“Fun?”

“Oh yeah.”

“…satisfying?”

“Yes,” she moaned lightly, enjoying the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns.

“So you’d say you’re satisfied?”

“Deeply,” she said, smiling up at him. “I feel completely, totally satisfied.”

“Great,” he grunted, shaking her off and returning to his newspaper. “Then you don’t need that ride after all.”


	Company Policy

Joan groaned with frustration as she read the email.

> It is now company policy that all employees begin having regular sex with at least one family member.

Over the last few months, company policy had been getting more and more intrusive. Just a few weeks ago, heels had become a mandatory part of the dress code for women, and men had been informed that they needed to stop masturbating, instead using the company secretaries to relieve sexual tension.

Joan was an analyst—not a secretary—but it was still inconvenient. She’d never liked wearing heels (though she loved the way they made her legs look, especially in the short skirts that she’d had to start wearing) and they’d come extremely close to missing a deadline after waiting for Carol to suck off what seemed like half the floor.

Yes, Carol was one of the most attractive secretaries in the company (especially after the directive about wearing low-cut tops had been released), but Joan didn’t see why her team should be punished for that.

Joan stopped by Bert’s cubicle. He wasn’t part of the marketing team, but they worked nearby and had always gotten along. He was reading the email, a worried look on his face.

“What am I going to do, Joan?” he asked, turning to face her. It took his eyes a moment to travel up her body—remembering the new rules about presentation, she patiently posed for him, throwing him a big smile when his gaze finally reached her face. “My mother is in her seventies, and I don’t _have_ any other family.”

“I thought you had a stepdaughter.”

Bert’s face lit up. “Do you think that would count? I assumed they meant blood relatives only.”

“I think so,” she nodded.

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

“Well,” Joan said. “I have two boys, of course, but I was thinking maybe my brother.”

“Doesn’t he live in Peru?”

“Well, yeah. But he comes to visit every Christmas. Once a year is technically regularly, right?”

Bert’s mouth twisted. “I wouldn’t risk it,” he answered frankly.

“Yeah,” Joan nodded. “You’re right.”

For the rest of the day, the new policy was the talk of the entire office. Everyone was worried about the logistics of it—as if it wasn’t bad enough that the policies were so invasive, the vagueness was making a lot of people nervous. “Regularly”, “family member”—Joan even overheard Carol worriedly asking if sleeping with her sister counted as ”sex”.

(The intern who was sliding his cock between Carol’s tits as Joan walked past assured her that he was sure it did, and volunteered to come and watch, just to confirm that they were doing all they could to follow the spirit of the new rule.)

It wasn’t until she was about to leave that someone brought something up that she hadn’t even considered.

“You have two kids too, right?”

Joan nodded. She didn’t know Sadine particularly well—the sales associate was a few years younger, and apparently paid much closer attention to other people’s families than Joan did.

“I have two girls, and pretty much no other options. I mean…how do you choose?”

“What?”

“I mean, how do you tell them ‘hey, mommy is going to fuck _you_ , but not _you_?”

Joan’s eyebrows raised at the strong language. Even though the company had sent out several emails encouraging swearing, she still hadn’t grown accustomed to hearing it in a corporate environment.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Joan asked, looking nervously at the clock. She’d come in early that day, and the company had a _very_ strict overtime policy.

“I’ll walk with you,” Sadine said, accompanying Joan to the elevator.

“I just want to know what you’re going to do,” Sadine asked pleadingly when they reached the lobby, and Joan softened at her colleague’s worried tone. “It’s like Sophie’s choice, y’know?”

That was when Joan realized what the younger woman was asking. And not only that, she realized that…she _hadn’t_ thought about it.

She had two boys. How was she going to choose which one to…

“Joan? Are you alright?”

Sadine’s query snapped Joan out of it.

“I have no idea,” she said softly. “I guess I’ll need to…”

The large company clock that the new owners had installed struck five, and Joan cursed.

Overtime. And to make things worse, she was in the _lobby_ , which was almost full. She’d gotten so close to leaving on time—just a few steps further, and she could have made it home in time for dinner.

Joan rolled her eyes, and began unbuttoning her blouse. Sadine’s eyes widened as she realized what was happening, and—throwing Joan an apologetic look—began doing the same.

Within a few minutes, the two women were naked, and a small crowd had formed around them.

“Come on,” Joan said to the excited men standing around. “Make a line. I’ll take two of you at a time.”

“I can do three,” Sadine offered, and Joan threw her an impressed look.

It was just over ninety minutes before the girls got through everyone. Sweaty and sore, they began redressing.

“You got in early as well?” Joan asked, and Sadine shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “But it was my fault you hit overtime. I couldn’t just leave you to take them on alone, you know?”

“Thanks,” Joan said, throwing the woman an appreciative look. She felt like she’d underestimated Sadine—especially after the redheaded woman had offered to take on some of their larger co-workers, the ones that Joan felt overstuffed just from _looking_ at.

“So…did you work out what you’re going to do?”

“I’m going to go home and have a hot bath,” Joan replied, pulling out her phone to message her husband. He’d understand why she was late. He’d been incredibly understanding of all the changes at her job, ever since the new owners had sent everyone home with a copy of the training video.

“No,” Sadine said nervously. “I mean about…which of your boys?”

“Oh.”

Joan’s face fell. She’d been so preoccupied with her overtime duties, she’d totally forgotten about the conversation that had caused her to stay long in the first place.

After hitting “send”, she opened up the email from corporate, hoping for a loophole of some kind.

“I mean, you can’t just pick one, can you? Right?” Sadine said worriedly. “That doesn’t seem fair…to either of them, really.”

“Wait a second,” Joan said, staring intently at the single-sentence edict. “It looks like they thought about this.”

“What do you mean?”

Sadine craned her neck, and looked over Joan’s shoulder.

“ _At least_ one family member,” Joan said.

“Oh!” Sadine exclaimed, her shoulders slumping in relief. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yes,” Joan beamed. “We won’t have to choose after all!”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Plant

“I don’t see why I have to water them,” Priscilla whined, her eyes threatening to roll so far back that she’d never see them again. “They’re your friggin’ plants.”

“Come on,” Liam said calmly. “You’re my sister. You don’t mind helping out, do you?”

“You’ve got arms, don’t you?!”

“Of course,” Liam said softly. “Come on. It’d really help me out. I’ll owe you one.”

“Fine!” Priscilla huffed, tossing her long red hair to the side. “But I don’t see why you can’t just take responsibility for once.”

“Thanks,” Liam smiled, ignoring his sister’s barb, and sat back on the couch as his sister got up and prepared to maintain his houseplants.

Priscilla took her time, moving from one plant to the next, grumbling all the while. Finally, the last of the plants had been watered, and she set down the can.

“Happy?” she said, with all the petulance she could muster.

“Almost,” Liam grinned. “Just one more.”

Priscilla tilted her head to the side, and looked around the room.

“Where?”

“Here,” Liam said, unzipping his pants and releasing the thick, stalky plant.

“Oh,” Priscilla said, still slightly confused. “Sorry. I forgot about that one.”

“No no no!”

Priscilla froze, her hand halfway to the watering can. “What’s wrong?”

“This one is sensitive, remember? You can’t just pour water onto it, you’ll…damage it.”

“Fine,” Priscilla sighed. “How do you want me to water it then?”

“Well…”

“What?”

“Your mouth is pretty wet,” Liam said, his eyes flicking down to his sister’s soft, pink lips. Priscilla raised one eyebrow.

“You want me to spit on it?”

“You could try it.”

Sinking to her knees in front of her older brother, Priscilla mustered up a healthy gob of spit, and let it loose. It hit the side of the pink plant between Liam’s legs, and slowly slid down the side.

“How’s that?”

“Hmmm…”

“What?”

Liam looked down at the plant, then glanced at his sister, just inches away from it.

“It doesn’t look like the moisture is sinking in. Maybe it needs to be applied…directly.”

“Is this seriously something you need me for?”

“Of course,” Liam replied, an earnest look on his face. “After all…what are siblings for?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Priscilla said, and tentatively moved her head forward. It was weird that this plant wasn’t on display with the others—it was quite pretty. She stuck her tongue out, and lightly applied it to the side of the plant.

Despite its vaguely cactus-like shape, it didn’t seem to have any spines or burs, and so she continued licking around the entire plant until it was shiny with her saliva.

When Priscilla glanced up at her brother, she noticed that he was slightly red-faced, and seemed to be breathing quite heavily.

_He’s probably embarrassed that he’s getting me to do his chores,_ Priscilla reasoned.

“How’s that?”

“Gooooood,” Liam moaned. “So good. Keep going.”

“What? How much watering does this plant need?”

“It’s uh, it’s flowering. Blooming. It’s in bloom. It really needs a lot. Please?”

“Liam, I don’t know if…”

“ _Please,_ ” Liam repeated, and he sounded so insistent that Priscilla couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and continued dabbing at the plant with her wet tongue, trying to block out her brother’s weird moans as she did.

“Maybe…”

“What?” Priscilla said, wishing her brother wouldn’t interrupt. For some reason, she was starting to enjoy the task.

“Maybe it’d help if you wet the whole thing at once.”

There was a pause, as the young redhead worked out what Liam was asking.

“You want me to put it in my mouth?”

“Yesss,” Liam groaned. For a moment, Priscilla wondered if he was feeling okay, but as she opened her mouth to ask, the plant was thrust forward.

“Like this?” Priscilla asked, after a few seconds of holding the plant in her mouth, running her tongue around the sides (and the particularly flavorful tip).

“Don’t stop!” Liam gasped, and Priscilla obeyed.

Bobbing her head up and down on the unusual plant, she was surprised when her brother’s hands reached down and grabbed the sides of her head. She was happy to help, but…well, there were limits.

“Sis,” Liam panted. “It’s…it’s…it’s going to bloom.”

“What??”

“No!”

Grabbing a fistful of his sister’s red hair in each hand, he forced her mouth back over the blossoming plant. Priscilla spluttered and tried to get away, but Liam held on with an iron grip.

“Trust me…sis…the blossom is…delicious.”

Resigned to her fate, Priscilla continued to tongue the sides of the plant, trying to keep it as wet as possible. Sure enough, she could feel the unusual flora starting to twitch in her mouth, and before long it was blossoming.

Just as Liam had promised, it tasted fantastic. It filled her mouth so rapidly, Priscilla barely had time to appreciate the taste, gulping it down as fast as she could. Some of it escaped her mouth, and dribbled down one cheek.

“Wow,” Liam said, laying back on the couch. “That was…that was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Priscilla said, slightly confused. Something about watering the plant and having it bloom in her mouth had left her with a tingling feeling throughout her body, and she suddenly realized that she was soaking wet.

“I owe you one,” Liam sighed happily. “You can call in the favor any time, sis.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam said, looking his sister in the eyes. “I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, bro,” Priscilla said. She was sure that she’d have some chores coming up that she didn’t want to do—maybe she’d ask her brother to return the favor next time she needed a hand.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Headlights

“Okay,” Trevor said with an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s do this.”

“Thanks Dad!”

Trevor smiled down at his teenage daughter. He knew he spoiled her, but he just couldn’t help it. She was smiling up at him, her green eyes sparkling with gratitude.

When he’d bought her a car, he hadn’t expected it to require so much maintenance. Still, he was always happy to help out.

“What’s wrong with it today?”

“I think it’s the headlights,” Sasha said, tilting her head to the side.

“Show me.”

Sasha lowered each of her top’s pale-blue spaghetti straps, and revealed her headlights to her father. He squinted slightly, and leaned in for a closer look.

“These seem totally fine,” he said, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“Are you sure? Maybe you need a closer look.”

Trevor felt like he should have objected as his daughter pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him, positioning herself so that her car’s headlights were right in his face.

“Nothing wrong with these.”

“Hang on,” Sasha said, slightly breathily. “Let me turn them on.”

Waiting patiently as his daughter fiddled with her car’s headlights, Trevor wondered if she wasn’t yet ready to be trusted with such an expensive vehicle. She was, after all, only sixteen…

“There we go!”

“Honey, they really seem fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Trevor rolled his eyes as Sasha grabbed his hands and moved them to her headlights. He supposed he should be proud that she was so diligent, but really…

To satisfy her worries, he played with them for a few minutes, tweaking and turning the large bulbs. Glancing up at his daughter’s face, Trevor wasn’t entirely sure if he was alleviating her worries or not—she was biting her lip nervously, and she seemed flushed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she gasped. “Just…worried about my car.”

“Well,” he said, letting go, “I can tell you that everything seems fine.”

“Oh!” she said, sounding disappointed. “I suppose I’m just being, uh, paranoid.”

“A little, yes.”

“Well, what about the tailpipe?”

“The tailpipe?” Trevor said, confused. “What on earth could be wrong with that?”

“I dunno,” Sasha said, squirming around on his lap. “What if it’s clogged?”

“Tailpipes don’t really get clogged…” Trevor said, and his daughter let out a shuddering sigh of frustration.

“Daddy…” she begged. “Can you please just check?”

“Fine.”

He sat back as Sasha got up and removed her shorts and panties.

“Use your fingers,” she instructed. “But be careful.”

“My fingers?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sasha said, her green eyes wide with anticipation.

“Honey, they’ll get dirty.”

“It’s okay,” his daughter said, bringing his hand to her mouth. “I’ll clean them off…”

Trevor felt like he should object as Sasha lovingly tongued his fingers—to point out that they weren’t actually dirty yet, if nothing else—but he could just watch as the young woman enthusiastically licked and sucked his fingers until they were dripping with her saliva.

“Okay, Daddy,” she said coquettishly. “Check now. Please.”

Though he’d never before checked a car’s tailpipe, Trevor was determined to do a thorough job. It wasn’t easy, with his daughter writhing around on his lap so enthusiastically that once or twice, her car’s headlights smacked him in the face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he felt distracted.

Finally, he pulled his sticky fingers out, and his daughter let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“No clogs,” he said with confidence, and Sasha pouted.

“Are you sure?” she moaned, and Trevor nodded.

“I’m certain.”

Sasha took a moment to collect herself. Her headlights were glowing, and he found it difficult to look away from them.

“Well, what if it’s just in really deep?” she finally said. “Your fingers are only so long—what if the clog is in really, really deep?”

“I…I guess that’s possible,” Trevor sighed. On one hand, he had to admit that her level of thoroughness bode well for how well she’d take care of her car. He just wished that her concerns were more about keeping to the speed limit, not bizarre car issues he’d never encountered.

“Well then,” Sasha beamed, “we should check really, really deep.”

Ignoring the strange tone that his teenage daughter had used to deliver her last few words, Trevor threw his hands up.

“With what?”

Sasha surprised him by sinking to her knees, and undoing his pants. Without a word, she pulled out his long tool, and her father was forced to nod.

Well, yes. That’d do it.

“I’ll clean this off, too,” she said, her green eyes burning into his. Sasha didn’t break eye-contact as she took his tool into her mouth, giving it the same loving attention as she’d given his fingers when she’d cleaned those.

The teenage girl gagged several times as she tried to take the entirety of her father’s tool down her throat, but after just a few minutes her look of consternation turned to triumph as she managed to wrap her lips around the base without choking.

“Okay, Daddy,” she said, standing up and stripping naked. “Let’s do this.”

A small part of Trevor felt like he should have objected, as his daughter positioned her tailpipe above his long tool, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Yes, it was wasteful—who’d ever heard of a clogged tailpipe?—but that wasn’t the problem.

So what was?

With a shrug, he dismissed his fears, and focused on the task in front of him.

It wasn’t long before he and his daughter settled into a rhythm. He’d thrust his tool forward, and she’d move the tailpipe firmly against it.

At first, he was worried that there really was a clog. His long tool seemed to meet some mild resistance for the first half-dozen insertions, but it wasn’t long before it must have knocked whatever was causing the problem loose. It almost felt as though the tailpipe was adjusting to his length, though that obviously made no sense.

Sasha’s headlights were bouncing around, and—worried they were going to break something—Trevor grabbed them. His daughter cooed in appreciation, so he held onto them, squeezing and tweaking them, using his hips to guide his tool into the car’s tailpipe.

“Do it, Daddy,” Sasha groaned, so loudly Trevor was worried his wife would hear. “Oh, god, Daddy, yes…do it. Please. Please!”

Trevor wasn’t quite sure what his daughter wanted him to do, so he continued plumbing the depths of her tailpipe. That seemed to be exactly what Sasha was after, as she soon began shrieking appreciatively.

“Now!” she gasped, and Trevor finally worked out what she was referring to. He began spraying his tool deep inside his daughter’s tailpipe, cleaning it thoroughly, before sitting back, suddenly exhausted.

“Oh, Daddy…” Sasha moaned, peppering his face with kisses. He just smiled; she’d always been affectionate. He didn’t even object when she moved her kisses to his mouth, slipping her tongue between his lips.

After several minutes of allowing his daughter to enthusiastically express her appreciation, Trevor pulled away.

“Come on, kiddo,” he said, lightly slapping her car’s exposed trunk. “Let’s go see what your mom has made for dinner.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Sasha replied, her green eyes shining. “But maybe later tonight we can come back and look at the car again?”

It took all Trevor’s willpower not to roll his eyes. “What on earth do you think is wrong with it now?”

“The oil,” Sasha purred. “I think it’ll take a really long dipstick to check the oil…”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Sexy Shorts

Julienne grunted.

Even standing in the store, she’d known it was out of character, but she’d just _had_ to buy the shorts. Even though she was with her son. Even though he’d tried to talk her out of it.

She’d seen them, and known: they’d just _had_ to be hers.

Her enthusiasm had been so great, she hadn’t even tried them on. Only now did she see what a mistake she’d made.

The moment they’d arrived home, she’d run into her room and stripped off the sensible pants she typically wore around the house. Now she stood, wearing nothing below the waist but a pair of pink panties, and tried to pull the shorts up.

Nothing.

They didn’t fit.

They didn’t fit.

No. No, she wouldn’t believe it. If she believed that about the shorts she’d fallen in love with, the most perfect pair of pants she’d ever seen…it would be enough to break her heart.

She grunted, straining as she tried to pull them up. If she could just get them to fasten…if she could only make them fit…she could…she could…

“Mom?”

Julienne froze.

There was a sharp rap on her bedroom door, followed by another question from her son.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, honey,” she said with a grunt. Just…getting dressed.”

Even through the thick oak, she could hear the sound of her son’s snicker. “They don’t fit, do they?”

“They’ll fit!” she replied sharply. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make them fit.”

There was a pause, and her son sighed. “Do you need a hand?”

“In getting my shorts on?” Julienne snapped. “No, Mac, I don’t think…”

She trailed off, suddenly torn.

On one hand, it would be completely inappropriate for her son to see her in such a state of undress.

But she’d been trying to get her shorts on for…hours, if the bedroom clock was right. No, that couldn’t be right. Had she really spent two and a half hours trying to put on a pair of pants?

Without help, she might _never_ get them on.

And that simply wasn’t an option.

“Come in,” she said firmly.

To his credit, Mac only briefly glanced at his mother’s exposed legs. _Teenagers,_ she thought to herself.

“What’s the problem, Mom?”

“They just won’t quite…button.” Julienne said, trying to act as though she wasn’t too concerned, as though this was just a normal problem.

Not one which inexplicably felt like a matter of life or death.

Mac looked at the shorts thoughtfully for a moment. “Show me,” he said.

Julienne bit back a response, and just nodded. He was trying to help, after all. And she had always encouraged him to experiment, to solve problems thoughtfully and through observation.

She lowered the shorts, completely exposing her panties to her son. He didn’t seem to notice, however; he just followed the denim clothing as it dropped to her ankles, then up again as his mother pulled it up and tried to fasten them.

“See?” she said, and he nodded.

“It looks like it’s pretty close.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like, _really_ close. Maybe if you remove your…”

Mac trailed off, and his blush told Julienne what the rest of the sentence was going to be. No, that couldn’t be right. Surely he couldn’t be recommending that she…that they…

“I don’t know…” she said, biting her lip.

“You want to get these on?” Mac said, staring her in the eyes.

“Yes,” Julienne replied immediately. She did. More than anything.

“Well,” he shrugged. “Every millimeter counts.”

The middle-aged woman nodded. He was right, of course. The shorts felt like they _should_ fasten, like something infinitesimally tiny was presenting them…

Maybe her panties would make all the difference.

“Okay,” she said, ignoring the fact that if this worked, she’d be wearing her shorts with nothing underneath.

And that her son would know it.

“Thanks for your help,” she said pointedly, hoping her son would—for the first time in his life—take a hint.

“Well, don’t thank me yet,” Mac said, sitting down on her bed and leaning forward expectantly. “Unless it works, I might have been no help at all.”

“I’m sure I’ve got it from here,” Julienne insisted, but Mac shook his head in response.

“We’ll see,” he said simply, and she gave up.

Apparently her son was going to see her without her panties on. That hadn’t happened since…god, since he was a child, sharing baths and changing rooms with her.

Still, if she was going to get these shorts on…

With a blush, Julienne lowered her panties, revealing her bush and bare ass to her son. Fortunately, a quick glance told him that he was laser-focused on her shorts.

The mother of one pulled up her new, wonderful shorts, and—

“Damn it!” she interjected. “We’re _so_ close.”

Mac stood up. “Okay,” he said, removing his own pants. “Have you ever used a shoehorn?”

Julienne rolled her eyes, frustrated. “It’s not a shoe, Mac.”

“Trust me,” he said with a soft smile. “Grab this.”

Not even questioning why her son had brought a shoehorn into the bedroom, Julienne wrapped her hand around the tool her son offered. After just a few minutes of grunting, it was clear that it was too awkward to do standing up, and the mother moved to the bed.

“That felt close,” Mac gasped, and Julienne nodded. The tool was surprisingly hard to hold onto; she’d kept almost losing her grip, then grabbing it at the base and trying again. “Do you have any lubricant?”

“Of course not! Do you?”

The moment the question left her mouth, Julienne wished that it hadn’t. She was asking her pubescent teenage son if he had any…lubricant.

That was a whole can of worms she had no intent of opening.

“Duh,” Mac replied, sticking out his tongue—a gesture that struck Julienne as uncharacteristically childish, until he began moving his head between her legs, and she worked out what he meant.

“Oh!” she gasped, laying back as Mac worked to lubricate her. She closed her eyes, and imagined how great she’d look when she finally got the shorts to fit. She’d be the envy of all the other moms, with her new, sexy…—

“Okay,” Mac said, interrupting her train of thought. “Let’s try now.”

Julienne could only nod as her son positioned his shoehorn, and drove it forward. She was feeling oddly flustered; almost certainly due to how excited she was to get her new shorts on.

She loved them so much.

For the next few minutes, Julienne lay back and let her son do the work. He seemed to have a handle on things, and so she was happy to let him handle everything, while she pictured having her shorts on, occasionally shuddering in pleasure at how much joy the image brought her.

“I’m close,” Mac panted, and Julienne opened her eyes in excitement. Her son was looming over her, just as red-faced as she was. She didn’t quite understand how he could be close—her shorts were laying beside the bed, as if forgotten—but she trusted her son.

If he was going to help her get her new shorts on, she would’ve let him do anything.

“Do it, son,” she pleaded. “You can do it…”

“Okay, mama,” he panted, before his body (and shoehorn) began convulsing, and a warm feeling appeared between her legs.

Mac collapsed on top of his mother, exhausted, and she could feel twitches continuing throughout his body. She just stroked his back appreciatively—he’d really gone all-out, ensuring that she got her shorts on.

Several more minutes passed, before Mac got up.

“Okay,” he said, sounding exhausted but confident. “Try now.”

Julienne stood up. Her son really had done a thorough job of lubricating her—she could feel moisture dripping down the inside of her leg as she stood, before bending over to grab her shorts.

Hopefully it would be enough.

She held her breath as she pulled the shorts up until they covered her bare ass, her matted pussy-hair, her flushed skin.

As her trembling fingers held the buttons, she breathed a huge sigh of relief.

They fastened.

“Thank you, Mac,” she said, smiling at the pantless boy laying on her bed.

“No problem, Mom,” he replied with a grin. “And hey—maybe next time we’re at the store, we can get you a sexy top…”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Fishing Trip

Robert’s hand did little to shield him from the beating sun, so he returned it to the fishing pole in his hand.

It was hot. Hotter than it had any right to be in the middle of February. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his back as he sat in silence beside his father on the dock.

The lake stretched out before them, still and blue under the cloudless sky. A few boats were moored along its edge, but there was no one else in sight. Just Robert and his father, alone on the dock.

Robert was sure he’d enjoyed fishing with his father, once upon a time. He must have. They’d been doing them for years; as a kid, surely he’d enjoyed coming out to the lake, spending an entire day alone with his father, bringing home a selection of fish for his mother to cook up.

If nothing else, he’d certainly felt pride in putting food on the table. Now, he just felt bored. You could buy fish at the store; why waste five hours sitting beside the lake to catch a handful of small perch?

His father hadn’t seemed to notice. He was sitting beside his son, a contented smile on his face, probably thinking it was just like the good old days. They hadn’t gone fishing together for years, but when Robert’s father had suggested it out of the blue, Robert hadn’t been able to find a diplomatic way to refuse.

And so here they were, on a dock beside the lake, practically melting in the blazing sun.

With a sigh, Robert turned back to the lake. He was nineteen years old, and stood about 5′8″, with a thin build and dark brown hair. Robert’s father was almost a foot taller than him, and broader across the shoulders—despite this, people often said they looked like, except for the eyes.

The older man’s eyes were always twinkling, like he knew something that no one else did.

_I should’ve brought a damn hat,_ Robert thought with a sigh, before his father’s sudden movement distracted him from the discomfort of the sun in his eyes.

“Got one!” his Dad cried out, the exclamation breaking the silence and echoing across the lake. “Quick, Robert—help me reel her in.”

Robert looked at his father’s fishing rod in confusion. It didn’t seem to be moving at all, but his father had been fishing for forty years—more than twice as long as Robert had been alive. If he said he’d caught something, Robert was confident that he was right.

“Hurry!” the older man urged, and Robert sprang into action, his hands moving to the bait-casting rod for support.

“No!” his father spluttered. “What are you doing that? Not that!”

The teenage boy hesitated, unsure of what was wanted from him.

“We’re not fly-fishing,” the older man snapped, and Robert’s face grew red as realized what an obvious mistake he’d made. As quickly as he could, he reached out and unzipped his father’s fly.

“That’sa boy.” There was a proud smile on the older man’s face now, as his son pulled it out.

“God, Dad,” Robert gasped. “It’s huge!”

The unusual specimen between his father’s legs was bigger than Robert had expected. Red and proud, it didn’t resemble any fish they’d ever caught before; truth be told, it didn’t look like any fish Robert had seen in his life. But his father looked so happy to have caught it.

“Nice work,” Robert said, and his father’s grin broadened, before suddenly dropping away.

“Watch out! Don’t let it escape!”

For such a fresh catch, the fish was surprisingly placid, but Robert humored his old man, trying to contain his father’s snag with both hands. He was immediately glad he had—as his fingers wrapped around the fleshy beast, it jerked in his hand.

“Whoa, boy,” he muttered.

“Got a bit of fight in ’im,” his father noted with a chuckle, and Robert couldn’t disagree with him. “You should stroke it, calm him down.”

For the second time in less than a minute, Robert was lost…until he remembered his father mentioning on the drive down that some fish grew incredibly placid when you ran your fingers softly across their scales. Trout tickling, he’d called it.

Loosening his grip slightly, Robert looked at the beast between his father’s legs. It was long and thin—at one end, the teenage boy could see what was clearly a mouth. At the other, there was a patch of bushy…well, Robert would have called it hair if he hadn’t known he was dealing with a fish.

But no scales.

Still, his father was waiting. Trying to look like he knew what he was doing, Robert loosely wrapped one hand around whatever obscure kind of fish his father had caught and began stroking its length, trying to calm it into submission.

“That’s a good lad,” his father said softly, and Robert couldn’t help but smile at the praise.

Maybe going fishing with his father wasn’t so bad after all.

For the next few minutes, the two men stood in silence. The only sounds were the water lapping against the dock and an occasional moan of satisfaction from Robert’s father.

“Watch out, son,” the older man gasped after a while. “It’s a spitter!”

Before Robert could process the warning, the small head in his hands pulsed. Its mouth opened wide, and spurt of milky-white liquid shot out, landing on Robert’s face.

“Shit!” the boy cried, instinctively letting go. He watched as it spat again, this landing on his shorts. More of the strange fluid dribbled out of its mouth, falling harmlessly onto the dock.

Robert opened his mouth to tell his father to grab the fish, but as he did the liquid dripped onto his tongue, and he spluttered and coughed, shocked by the taste.

The fluid was salty; exactly what you’d expect fish-puke to taste like. He ran to the side of the dock to spit out as much as he could, and try not to throw up himself.

“Don’t waste it!” his father cried out. “That’s the best part.”

“What?”

“Swallow it,” his Dad ordered, and Robert instinctively obeyed. As the warm fluid slid down his throat, he surpressed a shudder, and tried to assess it more fairly.

His father was right; it wasn’t that bad. Though maybe it was more of an acquired taste—Robert scooped up what he could find on his shorts, and tasted that as well.

Certainly not his new favorite food, but definitely not bad.

“Did you grab it?” Robert asked, once he’d swallowed down as much of the salty offering as he could find.

His father shook his head; sure enough, the fish was nowhere to be found.

“Not to worry,” Robert said, trying to mask his guilt. “We’ve still got all day to catch another.”

With a nod, his father returned his attention to the still water of the lake.

Embarrassed, Robert did the same. First catch of the day, and he’d let it go.

He knew he had to make it right.

The two men fell into another comfortable silence. At least an hour passed as they sat on the dock, fishing rods in hand. Twice, Robert thought he’d caught something, but as he started to reel it in, the line went slack and the teenager’s’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

After Robert’s third near-miss, his father turned to him.

“Let me show you what you’re doing wrong,” he offered kindly, and Robert nodded in response. He was torn—part of him just wanted to be done, to go home, to head back to where his phone had reception…but he also wanted to make up for losing his father’s first catch.

“What’s the first choice you make when you’re fishing?”

“Location?” Robert guessed, but his father shook his head. “Bait?”

“Which rod to use,” the older man said, taking the fishing pole from his son’s hands and gently laying it on the dock. Robert narrowed his eyes as his father reached between the teenage boy’s legs and unzipped his pants, but as the second rod emerged, he relaxed slightly.

“Show me how you hold it,” his father ordered, and Robert wrapped his hand around his pole. It was odd; he must have done this on countless lake visits in the past (the new rod immediately felt comfortable and familiar in his hands) but there was something about having his father watch that made it feel awkward.

It was an awkwardness that must have been obvious, because Robert’s father almost immediately moved his son’s hand away and replaced it with his own.

“Let me try.”

Robert gasped; he could immediately feel the difference that his father’s decades of expertise made.

For several minutes, Robert’s father coached his son. He talked him through how to cast, where to place his feet, and what angle his body should be at as he reeled. His father was patient, even kind, as he taught the young man the tricks of the trade. And all the while, his hand was firmly wrapped around the fishing pole, manipulating it expertly, putting his decades of experience to good use.

Robert loved it.

His time at the lake with his father no longer felt like a chore, something he had to endure until it was over. He couldn’t work out if it was the feeling of closeness, or his Dad’s excellent teaching…whatever the reason, he was feeling great, his body beginning to fill with endorphins as the lesson continued.

As his father reached the end of his instructions, Robert could feel his excitement peaking.

“Show me how you cast off,” his father ordered in a low growl. “Cast off for me, son. I want to see it.”

The older man released his grip and Robert replaced it with his own, trying to imitate his father’s motions as he pointed his fishing rod at the water.

“That’sa boy,” his father bellowed triumphantly as Robert cast off, his line shooting out into the water—followed, to his surprise, by another line, and then a third.

“Wow,” he said, breathing heavily at the exertion, as some smaller lines dribbled out from the tip of his fishing rod, landing in the water. “Maybe I’m better at this than I thought?”

“Maybe,” his dad replied, a hungry look in his eye. “Let’s put it to the test. I’ll bet I catch something before you.”

“You’re on,” Robert grinned, confident that with all that instruction, he could easily hold his own against the old man.

His father moved quickly, casting his rod out and reeling it back in. To the teenager’s surprise, it was less than a minute later before his father grunted “Got one!” and unzipped his fly proudly.

“Another big one,” Robert admired, and his father stared down at him.

“Taste it,” he said ordered suddenly. Robert stared back at him, wondered for a moment if he’d misheard his father. Surely he didn’t want Robert to…

“...taste it?”

“Why do you think we’re out here?” his father asked. He was smiling, his broad shoulders thrown back, but there was something in his voice that made Robert uneasy.

“Yeah, but...”

Robert wanted to object, but the dominant look on his father’s face left him unable think of a single reason why they shouldn’t eat their catch immediately.

“...I guess you’re right,” he lamely concluded, dropping to his knees before his father.

The fish his father had caught looked no less weird than the one which had thrown up in Robert’s face earlier, but the boy somehow knew that no argument he could make would have an effect. Sometimes his father just got like this: determined, bull-headed. Unable to be reasoned with.

Robert glanced up at his father’s face, confirming that was the mood he was in. Opening his mouth, Robert looked away as his father gently nudged his head forward.

“Open wide,” he said softly, and Robert did as his father commanded.

The fish didn’t taste bad, the teenage boy realized as he wrapped his lips around it. His tongue slid over its slick skin. The thing felt slippery, but not slimy—blander than he would have expected. It tasted like a slightly salty, mostly-flavorless fish.

Not his first choice of a meal, but far from his last.

“Good boy,” his father grunted, and Robert decided to get it over with. He tried to take as much down his throat as he could, and immediately regretted it; the fish was larger than he’d anticipated, and he choked and coughed as he tried to swallow the whole thing

Wiping his watering eyes and pulling his head back slightly, Robert made another attempt. He managed better this time, swallowing the entire length of his father’s catch without choking. His lips were pressed against the coarse hair-like substance, and he looked up to see his father smiling down proudly.

“That’s my boy,” he whispered, and the sentiment lit a small fire in Robert’s gut.

He could do this. He was going to do this.

He was going to make his father proud.

For the next several minutes, the air was filled with the wet sounds of Robert’s mouth going to work, soon met by his occasional choking or gulping of air, and his father gasping as Robert’s tongue explored every inch of the fish’s scaleless skin.

Just as Robert was wondering when he’d have tasted enough, his father grabbed his hair, and began rapidly pushing the fish in and out of his son’s mouth before letting out a ferocious roar.

Robert’s mouth filled with juice from the fish. He desperately gulped it down; finally understanding what his Dad had meant by tasting the fish. Really tasting it; not the cooked, version that had sat on fire, having the life roasted out of it. This was the real deal—fresh, warm and juicy, filling his mouth with the tang of salt.

It reminded him of the delicacy he’d so enjoyed from the first fish his father had caught.

After swallowing the last of it down, Robert collapsed onto the dock. The sun was still in his eyes, but he no longer cared.

The two men sat there for several minutes, both of them breathing heavily, smiling at the bonding experience they’d just shared.

After Robert got his strength back, he picked up the fishing rod that his father had set aside almost half an hour ago, and cast a line into the water.

“Someone’s keen,” his father said, his eyes twinkling.

“Only an hour or two left,” the teenager replied with a grin. “I want to make sure we bring plenty home for Mom to cook.”

“I’ll tell you what,” the older man said, picking up his own fishing pole once more. “The next one you catch, I’ll taste...”

New chapters of all my stories appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Common Core

Jeffrey’s brow furrowed as he stared at the piece of paper.

He’d never been a model student at his son’s age, but he’d at least understood the fundamentals. Then they’d gone and changed everything for no good reason. Ridiculous.

The small bedroom was warm, and even though the window was open, the air was so still and heavy that they may as well have been outside in the summer sun. Jeffrey was hunched over his son’s small desk; Brian was eighteen now, but they’d installed the desk when he was twelve, and never thought to upgrade it.

“Okay Brian,” he said, after another half a minute of pondering. “I think I’ve found the issue. You carry the one, and then...no, wait. That’s not right.”

Jeffrey squinted at the paper. He knew this. At least, he had, before they’d introduced Common Core. What was even the point of it?

“Ah-ha!” he said, the triumphant feeling of progress coursing through his body. “That’s it! You need to- oh, _for the love of God_.”

As soon as he’d set pen to paper, the damned thing had refused to write. He threw the traitorous implement across the room, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

“Here you go, Dad,” his son offered helpfully. He was holding a replacement pen in front of him. It was much thicker than the one Jeff had thrown across the room, but the breakthrough was still at the top of his mind, and he grabbed it eagerly.

“You’ll have to shake it,” Brian said. Jeff was too distracted to notice the sly look on Brian’s face; he followed his son’s advice, grasping the thick pen firmly and beginning to rhythmically shake it.

After several minutes, Jeff had expected the ink to start flowing, but it seemed he was having no luck with pens that day. His son reached down and put his hand on his father’s, making him stop.

“Nothing?” Brian said sympathetically, a sheen of sweat on the teenage boy’s face. “God, that’s too bad. It really felt like you were getting somewhere.”

Jeffrey nodded. There had been something strangely familiar about shaking the pen—it had brought him back to his own days in high-school (though for some reason, he was reminded more of time spent in his bedroom than the classroom).

If he hadn’t been interrupted, he would have sworn ink was just moments from beginning to pump out of the pen’s nib.

“Sometimes it’s just a little clogged,” Brian suggested. “You can always suck the ink out.”

Without hesitating, Jeffrey moved his mouth to the end of the pink, fleshy pen. He immediately began sucking it with full force, causing his son to cry out, as if in pain.

“Dad, stop!” he yelped. “Stop stop stop!”

“What’s wrong?”

“You can’t just go at it like you’re a vacuum cleaner,” Brian explained, audibly frustrated. “You’ve got to...it’s...”

Jeffrey waited for his son to get his thought together.

“...it’s probably frozen,” Brian eventually concluded triumphantly. “You’ll have to warm it up.”

“Frozen?”

Jeffrey glanced at the window, where the hot sun was still streaming through.

“Yeah,” Brian replied nonchalantly. “Ink has a different freezing point to water.”

“I’ll warm it up,” Jeffrey said, returning his mouth to the stiff pen in front of him. This time, he didn’t try to suck the ink out of the tip, instead taking the whole thing into his mouth and rubbing his tongue over the surface until he felt the heat of his saliva begin to have an effect. The pen reacted almost immediately, almost as though it was growing, pulsating.

_Heat does make things expand,_ Jeffrey reminded himself. Even if he couldn’t master his son’s mathematics homework, he hadn’t forgotten everything from his own high school days.

For almost ten minutes, Jeff worked on thawing out his son’s pen. Brian rested his hands on his father’s head as he did. He must have been excited for the homework help, Jeffrey noted whenever he looked up: his son was throwing his head back in pleasure.

As his head bobbed up and down, Jeff tried to keep his mind focused on the problem he’d just managed to crack, but the heat was distracting, and he soon found his mind wandering, reflecting on what an odd sight the pair of the must have looked.

Jeff was in his early forties, and tried to keep himself in shape. He was just under six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a muscular chest, and thick legs. His light hair was just starting to grey; he kept it short and neatly trimmed.

His son, on the other hand, had dark hair, looking so much like his mother. He was taller than Jeffrey was, but much leaner. Jeffrey had always hoped his son would be an athlete, but instead, Brian preferred to spend his spare time reading or playing video games.

He was also a bit of a loner, spending much of his time on schoolwork…which had made it quite surprising when he’d asked his dad to tutor him in math.

Jeffrey had been happy to help, of course. He knew how important his son’s education was.

“Okay Dad,” Brian said breathily. “I think it’s ready.”

After running his tongue along the pen’s underside one last time, Jeff removed it from his mouth and pointed it straight at his son’s homework. To his horror, the thick instrument didn’t even wait for its tip to meet the paper, instead shooting out several bursts of ink, soaking the lined sheets.

“God damn it!” Jeff shouted, watching as the milky-white liquid landed on the question he’d just managed to comprehend. “Oh, for fuck’s…—“

He guiltily glanced at his son; they had a strict no-swearing policy. Fortunately, Brian didn’t seem to have noticed. His mouth was open, his eyes half-closed, and he looked almost as if he was shuddering with pleasure.

“Uh, Brian?”

It took a few moments for Brian to respond. When he did, he had a dopey, satisfied look on his face, as though he’d just finished off a delicious dessert.

Something about the look on Brian’s face made Jeffrey lose his temper. “The pen!” he shouted, gesticulating with wild frustration. “It just...you’ve got to...”

Brian sighed and shook his head. “Dad, you need to calm down.”

“You need to get some stationery that works,” Jeffrey snapped back, closing his eyes as soon as the words left his mouth. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just...”

“Frustrated,” Brian suggested. “Angry.”

“Yeah,” his father replied through gritted teeth. “It’s been a frustrating afternoon.”

Standing up, Brian took his father’s arm.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to do some breathing exercises,” Brian said. “Something to help you calm down.”

Jeffrey wanted to shake his son’s hand off, but he knew that the kid was right. He’d lost his temper at a pen, of all things. An inanimate object. A few minutes of relaxation were exactly what he needed.

After guiding his father to the bed, Brian lay down in front of him, until his face was just a few inches from Jeffrey’s.

“Breathe in,” Brian instructed, and Jeffrey took a deep breath. “Now breathe out.”

A look of consternation appeared on Brian’s face. “What?” Jeffrey asked, before he could help himself.

“Not like that,” Brian replied. “Breathe in like _this_.“

Jeffrey repeated the action, but his son’s expression remained.

“What?” Jeffrey repeated. “Now I’m _breathing_ wrong?“

“Not exactly. It’s more like...here, let me show you.”

Moving his mouth to his father’s, Brian breathed for him. As Brian breathed out, Jeffrey felt his lungs being filled by his son’s warm air; he inhaled deeply, a feeling of deep relaxation filling his body. After exhaling, he was again able to take in the recycled oxygen.

“See?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jeffrey replied.

“I’ll keep helping you,” Brian offered, and Jeff nodded.

For almost half an hour, the two men lay on the bed, their lips locked, Brian helping his father breathe. To assist further with the relaxation, he ran his hands around his father’s body, gently squeezing and kneading his muscles in a rudimentary massage. His tongue even helped, reaching out and gently licking his father’s teeth, exploring his mouth before eventually just lightly running along Jeffrey’s tongue.

All the while, Jeffrey felt himself getting more and more relaxed. As his son massaged his back, his ass, his thighs, even the hard muscle between his legs, the forty-two-year-old just lay back and let it happen. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so good, so zen.

“Are you ready?” Brian asked, and Jeffrey nodded. He was so relaxed, he felt like he would have agreed to anything his son suggested.

He sat up, before remembering the leaky pen. “Your homework is ruined,” he said, a hint of frustration already beginning to return.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brian laughed. “That was just a print-out. The actual homework was online.”

“Ah,” Jeffrey said, suddenly feeling like an old man. He’d never even considered the possibility of digital homework.

Brian loaded up his computer, his mouth twisted.

“What’s wrong?”

“My login isn’t working,” Brian said with a sigh. “I tried too many times, so it needs full photo evidence that it’s me. And if you’re going to be helping me, you as well.”

“Well then, give it the evidence.”

“It’s just annoying,” Brian grumbled, and his father laughed.

“Now who needs to relax?”

“I guess,” Brian replied, rolling his eyes. “Come on; let’s take our clothes off and see if it’ll let us in.”

The two men stripped naked, and Jeffrey followed his son’s instructions. A few photos of them standing side-by-side, then one of them closer. Then closer again, until their bare legs were touching.

“Sorry,” Brian said. “It’s really glitchy, sometimes. Let’s try this.”

Jeffrey didn’t hesitate to follow his son’s lead as they got into position—with their bodies pressed against each other, Brian’s hands on his waist, Jeffrey’s arms wrapped around his chest.

“This is so annoying!” Brian cried, and Jeffrey held up a hand.

“I think I know how to help you relax,” he offered, moving his lips to his son. The camera continued taking pictures as Jeffrey tried to offer the same assistance that Brian had earlier—running his hands along his son’s underdeveloped teenage body, caressing Brian’s tongue with his own, all the while breathing heavily in and out of the young man’s lungs.

Finally, when Brian had calmed down, they tried again. At last, it worked: the pose that eventually did it was Jeffrey sitting on the bed, legs spread, while Brian sat on one of his father’s legs, their foreheads touching.

“At last,” Jeffrey joked as his son pulled up the homework, and Brian nodded in relief. “Now, here’s where we were going wrong...”

Just a few minutes of explanation later, a smile split Jeffrey’s son face. “That was it?”

“That was it,” the older man nodded. “See why I was so frustrated?”

“Amazing, Dad!” Brian beamed. “That’s the only thing I was stuck on. I can finish it from here, if you wanted to go. Thanks so much for—AARGH!”

Jeffrey was taken aback by his son’s painful exclamation. “What? What happened?” he asked, looking down at the boy.

“It’s my back,” Brian said, through gritted teeth. “I think I have a cramp.”

“You should lie down,” Jeffrey replied immediately. “I’ll get a heat pack from downstairs, and—”

“No!”

Jeffrey paused. “Why not?”

“I don’t have time,” Brian replied frantically. “The homework is due in fifteen minutes; if it’s even a few seconds late, I might not be allowed to graduate.”

“What?? That’s ridiculous.”

“Those are the rules,” the teenage boy replied with a shrug. “I think I’ll be okay, as long as I get started now.”

“You can’t work with your back like that,” Jeffrey said, clicking his tongue in worry.

“I think I’ll be okay. Can you try to massage the cramp out? Here—I’ll lay prone on the bed, you get on top of me and keep the pain from getting too bad.”

With a nod, the older man got into position. As Brian began typing, he spread his legs and started giving his father very precise instructions.

“A little lower,” he gasped. “Yes, right there. Now add some massage oil, and thrust forward. Slowly, slowly…oh, god, yes. Now use your hands. Now—ungh!—yeah, Dad. Just like that. Oh, _fuck_ …”

“Language!” Jeffrey grunted. The massage was an unusual one, one which felt as good to administer as it must have felt to receive.

After several minutes, Jeffrey started to get the rhythm, and Brian’s instructions faded away, to be replaced by moans and grunts of concentration as he continued to work on the homework. The ID software must have been continuing to play up, because several times Jeffrey saw his son load up the camera system on the computer and take more photos.

“How’s it going, son?” he eventually asked. He could feel himself getting done with the massage.

“Almost finished,” Brian panted in response. “Almost! Finished! Oh god, Dad. Speed up! I’m gonna finish. I’m gonna finish. I’m gonna—OH!—finish!”

With that, Brian’s entire body began trembling and shaking. For a moment, Jeffrey also felt himself losing control, his hips bucking wildly as he massaged Brian, a surge of endorphins and adrenaline hitting him hard as he helped his teenage son with his math homework.

The two men sat in silence, both of them panting heavily.

“How did you go?” Jeffrey finally asked, and—with a long shudder—Brian removed himself from the massage position, and sat up.

“So good,” he said dreamily. “You were really helpful, Dad.”

“I’m glad,” Jeffrey said with a smile. “Any time you need help with homework, you know I’m here for you.”

A twinkle appeared in Brian’s face.

“Any time?” he asked. “Because now that I think about it, I have some English homework that’s due tonight as well…”

New chapters of all my stories appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	New Phone

“Damn it,” Jennifer muttered, her brow creased. “Whatever happened to ‘it just works’?”

She’d used Apple products for more than a decade, but ever since upgrading to the newest iPhone, it was as though they’d banded together and decided to rebel. She’d never had so many technical problems as in the past few weeks; it felt like every time she loaded up a device, it found a new way to crap out on her.

“Tyler!”

Her son appeared from behind his bedroom door, wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. At eighteen, he was her de facto tech support. “It happened again,” the middle-aged woman scowled.

Tilting his head to the side, Tyler glanced at the small device in her hand.

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” he asked, and Jennifer wrinkled up her nose.

“Yes,” she lied. At her son’s glare, she immediately folded. “Fine—no. But that never does anything.”

“Except fix the problem, half the time.”

“Fine,” Jennifer sighed. Holding the button on the side of the phone, she swiped her finger across the bottom to turn it off. At her son’s nod, she went to turn it back on...but the device didn’t respond.

“Oh come on,” she groaned. “I need to make a call!”

“Pass it here,” Tyler instructed, and Jennifer obeyed with a sigh.

After fiddling with it for a few minutes, Tyler moved closer, and gestured for his mother to take it back. As her hand wrapped around her phone, Jennifer couldn’t help but feel like something was different. The device in her hand felt different somehow. Rounder, slightly softer.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. Tyler sighed.

“I told you, you need to turn it on.”

“Oh. Right.”

Leaning forward, Jennifer gave the phone a shake. It remained limp in her hand, and her son shook his head.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” he said gently, and Jennifer sighed. At this rate, she definitely wasn’t going to get to her call in time.

“Fine...”

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and took another tentative grip on the device. She gently ran her hand up and down, hoping to hit the power button—she must have had some luck, because before long she could feel the phone starting to turn on.

For several minute, Jennifer carefully manipulated the Apple product. As she did, she was reminded why she was so loyal to the company—their design. The phone fit so perfectly in her hand, it was like she was built to handle it. She wrapped her fingers around it, enjoying the smooth sensation, and ran her finger across the top of the screen. There was a clear residue; she must’ve been using it while eating.

“You should clean that off,” Tyler said, looking down at her with a smile. “Use your tongue.”

Her eyes widening, Jennifer stared at her son with a confused expression on her face. He shrugged. “Or you can leave it sticky. Up to you.”

“No,” she sighed. “I’d hate for something else to go wrong with this damn thing.”

Tentatively poking out her tongue, Jennifer swept it across her the clear liquid. She couldn’t quite work out what the taste reminded her of, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“I don’t think you got it all,” Tyler groaned, and his mother was surprised to realize that he was right. She could’ve sworn she’d cleaned every last bit, but there was another small globule, exactly where the first had been.

Leaning forward, Jennifer licked it again. And again. And again. For several minutes, she licked the top of the phone, but as soon as the liquid was cleared, more seemed to appear.

She was so distracted by her task, Tyler had to inform her twice that the phone was turned on before she noticed.

“Thank you!” she smiled up at him. “Do you mind staying here while I make my call? Just in case anything else goes wrong?”

“Not at all,” Tyler replied, gently resting one hand on his mother’s head. “Take as long as you need.”

Jennifer had expected the phonecall to be a quick one, but as she moved her lips to the mouthpiece of the device, she quickly realized that she’d underestimated it. She was on the call for almost fifteen minutes, occasionally swapping the phone from hand to hand.

By the time she could feel it starting to wrap up, her mouth was sore. It was weird; she’d never had a mouth sore just from talking before.

“Almost...done...” Tyler grunted, and she looked up at him, trying to smile with her eyes. He’d been so patient, standing there with his hand on her head, occasionally giving her an encouraging nudge.

Though it hadn’t been a question. Or a demand—her son wasn’t really the demanding type. It had sounded more like warning…perhaps he was telling her that the phone was about to stop working.

She’d have to end things quickly.

Leaning backwards, Jennifer opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue, both hands on the phone. This, she knew, would end the call. Tyler began twitching and shaking, and Jennifer’s face suddenly grew warm.

“Sorry that took so long,” she gasped, her eyes closed.

“Not at all,” her son said, panting slightly.

Jennifer wiped her eyes—when she reopened them, sure enough, the phone was no longer turned on. Good thing Tyler had warned her. As she opened her mouth to complain about the unreliable tech, her son surprised her, making a beeline down the hall.

He returned a few moments later, a smile on his face as he offered her a towel. Jennifer cleaned herself up, then noticed her phone sitting beside her on the couch, the screen glowing, notifications alerting her of three missed calls.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” she muttered. It hadn’t alerted her of any of the calls while she’d been using it. With a sigh, she slipped it into her pocket.

“You shouldn’t do that,” her son grimaced.

“What?”

“Keep your phone in your pocket. The radiation, you know.”

Jennifer hesitated. She’d heard about that, but not been sure how seriously to take it. If her son was warning her, however...

“So where do I, um...”

“C’mere,” Tyler said, and Jennifer stepped forward, not objecting as he unbuckled her ‘Mom jeans’ and slid them down her legs.

“Oh!” she gasped, as her son demonstrated an alternative location to carry a device. “I hadn’t thought…I didn’t realize…”

“Fits nicely, doesn’t it?” Tyler grunted, and Jennifer was forced to agree. It may have been buggy as hell, but the phone slotted in so perfectly, felt so good…

“You can take it out and put it back in as many times as you like,” her son showed her. Perhaps he was worried she didn’t understand, because he continued showing her how it worked for several minutes; before long, she was sweating with exertion.

“Do you like that?” Tyler asked with a grin, and Jennifer nodded, not trusting herself to speak. But in response to her silence, he asked the question again, his voice rough and breathy.

“Yessss,” she moaned, as her son inserted the phone again and again. “Oh god, yes. Yes, I love it. I love it, Tyler. Mama loves it…”

At her confession, a shockwave of pleasure hit her body; it was as though every part of her tensed at once, and then all relaxed.

“Oh god,” she panted. “God, yes. I…I love it.”

Her son pulled it out with a smile, and she slithered to the ground like a wet noodle. To her delight, she saw that the phone was still turned on, and her son was looking at her expectantly.

“Are you having any other problems with it?” Tyler prompted, and his mother shook her head.

“Really, Mom? Nothing?”

Jennifer bit her lip. She felt like her body was made of jelly, and her mind was nothing but mush. She’d been having so much trouble with the damn thing lately, but on the spot she couldn’t recall a single issue.

“I know some people are struggling to plug it in,” Tyler suggested, and Jennifer’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, yes!” she said breathily. “Yeah, that’s been a real bear.”

“Let me show you,” Tyler smiled, picking his mother up and turning her to face the wall.

Jennifer shuddered at the way he possessively manhandled her, resting her hands on the wall as Tyler positioned himself behind her.

“You can’t just plug it in,” he explained. “It’s such a tight fit, you’re going to need some lube.”

“What?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound…oh!”

As he’d been speaking, Tyler had coated the phone with lube. Before she could object, he’d pushed forward, gently inserting the cable into the gap at the bottom of the phone.

Jennifer let out a long, loud groan as it slowly, firmly entered. Her son pushed forward slowly, making sure the cable fit just right.

All too often, she’d tried a cable one way, then remove it and try again the other way.

Feeling it slide in perfectly the first time...it was heavenly. She couldn’t remember a more perfect fit.

“How’s that?” he smiled.

“Amazing,” she sighed. “God, Tyler, that feels so good.”

“I can show you again, if you like.”

Jennifer’s toes curled at the thought. A few months earlier, she’d gotten addicted to Reddit—if it wasn’t for the fact that her phone was in use, she’d take a photo of this moment to submit to /r/PerfectFit.

Although, of course it fit. It had been manufactured to. But despite that—or perhaps _because_ Jennifer knew this sensation was the result of careful engineering—it was one of the most satisfying experiences of her life.

“Again,” she begged. “Please.”

Tyler pulled the cable backwards, and Jennifer gasped as he pushed it all the way back in. The first time he’d been so slow, letting her enjoy every moment of the perfect fit; this time, it had been a harsh thrust...but for some reason, it was just as satisfying.

Perhaps more-so.

“Again,” Jennifer gasped, and her son obliged.

The woman’s body shook as she stood, hands against the wall, as her son showed her how to make better use out of the tech she always carried with her. Over and over, he thrust the cable into the charging socket. Each and every time, Jennifer let out a long moan of satisfaction.

“That’s it, Mom. You’re almost done. Just one more push…”

Jennifer nodded, and Tyler inserted the cable again. The phone’s battery must have been close to full—it was almost vibrating with energy.

“Almost there!” he panted, after pushing the cable for what had to be the hundredth time. “Can you feel it?”

Jennifer nodded, lost for words. She could feel the electricity surging through the cable, getting ready to fill the phone with power. The phone was so hungry for it, so desperate to be charged—the middle-aged woman felt a strange empathy for the device as it began to thrum in anticipation.

“Coming!” Tyler repeated, and Jennifer let out a long, primal groan as the charge pulsed into the device, filling it up in a burst of power.

“Oh, god...” she said, her knees buckling at the feeling of electricity filling the phone. She’d never felt anything like it; it was like she herself was the phone, plugged directly into the wall. “Oh, baby, yes! Yes!!”

Tyler’s mother shuddered as he pulled the cable from the socket. She threw him a grateful smile as he stepped away, and she tried not to collapse on the floor once more. It was almost as though the phone being charged had somehow drained _her_ of energy.

“Thank you, Tyler. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he replied with a smile. “Let me know if you have any other problems with it.”

“Just one,” she joked, glancing around. “I seem to have lost it.”

It didn’t make any sense. She’d _just_ finished charging it.

With Tyler’s help, it wasn’t long before the device turned up again—against all logic or reason, it was across the room, sitting on the couch. And despite the fact that Jennifer had just _felt_ it charging up, the icon in the corner indicated it was only at fifteen percent power.

She blinked at the display, bewildered. Technology escaped her.

Good thing she had her son to help.

* * *

New chapters of all my stories appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Fourth Base

“C’mon, Dad,” Eric said, rolling his eyes. “Just one more level?”

“This is important to me,” his father growled in response.

Eric was a nerd. His father, Ted, was much more of a manly man—tall, broad-shouldered with thick dark hair. By contrast, his son Eric was small, skinny and geeky looking. Even at nineteen, his brown hair was thinning around the temples, making him look older than his age.

He’d always been bullied by other kids for being so nerdy; now that his son was an adult, Ted felt that it was time to do something about it. Eric would be going off to college soon enough, and as his father, it was Ted’s responsibility to teach him how to be a man.

“Come on,” Ted said, insistently nudging his son with his foot. “If you can’t play baseball, people are going to think you’re gay.”

“Right,” Eric replied, then paused, a sly smile on his face. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then,” the nerdy teen nodded, throwing down his controller and getting up onto his scrawny legs. “Let’s do this.”

The two men walked out into the backyard, Ted a few steps ahead of his son. At one point he glanced behind him and—just for a second—thought he saw Eric staring at his ass.

No. He must have been imagining things. He sighed, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face.

He loved his son, of course he did. Eric ‘had just come out a little...different.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. But Ted had always struggled to relate to his son, with his X box and his Play Station and his Pro Gramming.

Ted’s greatest fear was that when Eric went off to college, he’d be ostracized. College was where the men were separated from the boys, and—loathe though Ted was to admit it—his son wasn’t a man.

Yet. There was still time.

The pair reached their destination, a large tree near the back fence. Ted handed his son a baseball glove.

Eric stared at it in confusion.

“Today, sport,” Ted said, his voice a low rumble, “I’m going to teach you how to play ball.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Eric was never going to be an athlete like his old man, but this way he could at least understand the basics.

It was a start.

Ted waited for a response from his son, but Eric just continued staring blankly at him.

“Let me show you,” Ted continued. Eric knelt in front of him as he pulled out a pair of balls for his son to handle. He sighed in disappointment as Eric’s soft hand met them; no real man had hands as soft as that. They were the hands of someone who spent all day on a computer, not working.

They reminded him of his wife’s hands.

“Okay pops,” Eric said, looking up at his father with a smile as he fondled the balls. “What next?”

“Listen, champ,” Ted said gently—his son really had no clue. “Bare hands are fine when the balls are just sitting there waiting, but if they came flying at you at full speed, those soft hands of yours would be raw and bloody, maybe even broken.”

Eric nodded his understanding. “So I need to toughen my hands up?”

“Yes,” Ted replied, before a frown crossed his face. “No. You need to wear a glove.”

Tilting his head to the side, Eric looked up at his father, puzzled. His hands had never stopped playing with the set of balls in front of him, gently rubbing and squeezing them.

“Hang on, Dad,” the young man replied. “I thought baseball was all about hitting balls with a bat, not catching them.”

Ted smiled sadly. How had his son almost reached twenty years of age without understanding how baseball worked?

It was a good thing he had a father like Ted to set him straight.

“Let me explain, buddy,” he began, not skipping a beat as his son leaned forward to take the baseballs into his mouth, running his tongue over their wrinkly surfaces. “There are several roles in the game. One team is on offense, and one is on defense. It’s not hard...”

“Not yet,” his son said with a cheeky grin. Ted returned his smile—he didn’t get the joke, but it was nice that Eric was trying—and continued his explanation.

“The offense team are trying to hit the ball and score runs, while the other team tries to stop that from happening.”

“By throwing the ball straight to them? Seems counterproductive.”

“They have to,” Ted said warmly. “It’s the rules.” There was something about the sight of Eric on his knees in front of him, his pale blue eyes staring up as he played with his father’s big balls...it filled Ted with a surge of warmth.

And again, reminded him of Eric’s mother.

Was this…pride? For the first time in his life, was he finally feeling fatherly pride?

Whatever it was, he liked it.

“So the pitcher throws the ball, the batter hits it, and the rest of the team are fielders, trying to catch the ball.”

“Okay,” Eric nodded. “I think I understand.” As he spoke, his hands were gently cupping the heavy balls. “And...who wears the gloves?”

“The fielders,” Ted answered.

“So you’re going to teach me to play the field?”

“That’s where we’ll start,” Ted nodded, and Eric stood up with a smile. For a moment, Ted wondered if his nerdy son was actually going to get this.

“Okay,” the teenager replied. “Let’s do this.”

Ted beamed.

“Put the glove on,” he instructed, and Eric nodded.

“Are you sure I’m ready for this?” the teenager asked, reaching out and nervously toying with the large balls once more. Ted gave him a nod.

“I know you are, champ” he said fondly. “I’m going to show you how to be a man.”

“I bet you will,” Eric replied, once more holding his face like he was in on a joke that his father wasn’t getting. “But before we get into it, can you show me how _you’d_ handle a baseball without a glove?“

Ted opened his mouth to refuse, but something about his son’s face gave him pause. At this rate, they’d barely cover the basics...but it was important to move at a pace that Eric was comfortable with, and it was a reasonable enough request.

Kneeling in front of his son, Ted took the balls into his hand, staring gruffly as he rubbed them, enjoying the feel of the leathery orbs against his rough palm. After several minutes of instruction, he even took them into his mouth (as Eric had), sucking on them as he showed his son how a real man handled balls.

“Great,” Eric finally said, his voice higher than Ted felt any man’s should be. “I think I’m getting the hang of this. How about batting?”

Ted blinked twice. He’d slightly lost track of what they were doing.

“What?” he asked, confused. Where had the glove gone?

“Can you show me how to bat?” Eric repeated, and Ted nodded.

“Of course, son,” he replied after another beat. After all, wasn’t that what they were there for?

Ted got to his feet, and stood beside his son. “The most important thing is the grip,” he began, and Eric nodded earnestly.

“Right,” he continued, as his son wrapped his small hand around the hard bat. “Now, I’ve seen a lot of people hold a bat wrong. They put too much weight on the end, and it makes it hard to swing.”

Ted nodded, and Eric frowned.

“It’s easy, sport.” the older man explained. “You need to use your wrist, not the muscles in your arm.”

Eric looked up, nodding.

“Like this?”

Ted gasped as Eric began using his wrist, impressed by his son’s quick grasp of the fundamentals. Perhaps his son was more of a man than he’d thought.

“That’s it! Now, it’s vital that you really get comfortable with the bat. You want it to feel like a natural extension of yourself.”

Ted reached down and put his own hand over his son’s, smiling at him fondly. This was the sort of father-son bonding moment he’d always wanted. To his surprise, Eric seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as his old man was.

For the next two minutes, Ted showed his son the correct way to position his body, the warm feeling of pride growing by the moment.

“Legs slightly spread,” he said with a grunt. His warmth was building up inside him, and he felt like he was going to burst at any moment. “Stick your chest out, buddy. And make sure you keep the bat low.”

“Like this, Dad?” Eric replied, tilting his head to the side. Ted nodded, then met his son’s smile.

“Okay, let me try.”

Ted released his hand, watching with a mixture of pride and concern as his son took a few practice swings.

“You’ll need to be fast when the ball arrives,” he reminded Eric. “Fast. Fast and...oh, god, yes, just like that...”

The older man trailed off, enjoying his son’s aptitude with the bat. For the next minute, neither of them said anything, Eric skillfully using his wrist as his father’s face turned redder and redder.

Finally, Ted let out a strangled cry, throwing his hand onto his son’s shoulder. He felt so proud of him...so proud of his son’s talent with the bat. His hips thrust forward in pride, and he felt like he was going to cry.

“How did I do, Dad?” Eric asked, looking up at his father with a soft smile.

“You did okay, champ” Ted replied with a grunt. Eric’s face fell.

“Just okay?”

“Well...”

In truth, Ted’s son had exceeded his wildest expectations. With that sort of talent, he knew his son could be a professional. But for reasons he couldn’t explain, a deep sense of shame had filled his body, and he glanced down at the bat in his son’s hand.

It had looked so much larger just a few minutes ago.

“You did okay,” he repeated. “But it takes a _real_ man to—“

“Show me,” Eric interrupted, his pale blue eyes staring coolly into his father’s. “Show me how you’d do it.”

Ted nodded. It was the only fair thing to do. Reaching down, he grabbed the smaller bat that his son presented him with.

“What you want to do,” he began, wrapping his large, calloused fingers around the bat. “Is you want to grip it like this.”

Ted demonstrated, and Eric nodded.

“Okay,” he said, his head tilted to the side. “I thought I was doing that.”

“Well, yes,” his father admitted. “But....you see how I’m gripping the bat lower? And not pulling it back so far?”

“Mm-hmm,” Eric replied through gritted teeth. Ted shot his son a glance—the teenage boy was breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed.

“That’s it,” Ted continued. “Now, you’re going to have to get used to a lot of things. The way you grip the bat will depend on the situation. If you’re up against a knuckleballer, you don’t need to pull your hands back as far....”

“Keep going,” Eric gasped.

“Against a fireballer—that’s a power pitcher—you want to hold the bat a little higher.”

“Okay...”

Ted grinned. His son was really getting into it.

“Now, if you’re up against a fastball, you want to pull the bat as far back as you can.”

As his father delivered his wisdom, Eric let out a long sigh.

“I don’t think I get it,” he said bashfully, and his father stroked his chin (while continuing to stroke his son’s bat) in confusion.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“I mean...”

Eric hesitated, and Ted shot him a look. “Tell me,” he insisted. “I’m your father. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you learn this kind of stuff.”

“Anything?” Eric said, a gleam in his eye. Ted nodded.

“Anything.”

“Well,” the teenager said slowly. “Maybe I’d understand if you...used your mouth.”

“To...explain it?”

The young man nodded. “Something like that.”

Ted was confused as Eric reached out, put his hand on his father’s head, and forcefully pushed until Ted was on his knees in front of his son.

Before he could say anything, Eric turned around. “Give me your hand,” he instructed, and Ted obeyed, unsurprised when his son used it to reach around until it was once more gripping his bat.

“Now,” Eric said, facing away from his father. “Tell me again. Slowly. Softly. Directly into my...ear.”

For a moment, Ted thought his son had said ‘rear’, but of course that didn’t make any sense.

“So, bucko, what you have to do,” he began, but Eric cut him off.

“Closer.”

Ted leaned forward. “First, you...”

“Closer,” Eric hissed, grabbing his father’s head and forcing it forward. Everything went dark as Ted’s face was firmly pushed against his son’s...ear.

“Mmph-hmmph,” he began, and Eric let out a long shudder of pleasure.

“Yes, pops,” he groaned. “Just like that. Explain with...with your tongue...”

Confused—but willing to do whatever he could to help his son—Ted used his tongue as he explained to Eric exactly how to master the stroke, demonstrating on his son’s bat as he did.

He wasn’t quite sure how his son was able to understand his instructions, but the young lad’s enthused reactions told him that he was definitely following (and greatly enjoying) his father’s efforts.

It wasn’t long before Eric began shaking uncontrollably. He grabbed Ted’s hand, gripping it as he let out a long moan of satisfaction.

“I get it!” he gasped. “Dad, I...I get it. I get baseball!”

Ted smiled.

“That’s great, son,” he said, and Eric gave him a nod.

“Thanks, Dad.” he replied, his voice cracking.

The two men stood there for the next few minutes, a sense of shared satisfaction between them. Finally, Eric’s eyes shot open.

“Oh, shit! Dad!”

Ted’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“We forgot to stretch.”

“Well, you don’t really need to...”

The older man trailed off, pursing his lips thoughtfully. A practice as relaxed as this wouldn’t typically require much stretching, but...well, Eric’s exercise routine typically consisted of ‘get up, turn on X Station, play for twelve hours straight.’

Maybe a quick stretch wouldn’t be completely out of order.

“All right,” Ted nodded. “Let’s warm up.”

“Awesome,” Eric replied, his face brightening.

The pair got into position, Ted taking his place behind his son.

“I really need this,” Eric said. “You do too, Dad.”

“I do?”

“Mm-hmm,” Eric giggled. Ted often wished that he had a son who didn’t giggle, but...well, you play the hand you’re dealt. “You’re so _stiff_.“

“Uh huh,” the older man nodded, before talking the teenager through some simple stretches. He placed his hands on his son’s body, positioning him as he wanted, his coarse hands roaming across Eric’s spindly arms and legs.

Just as with the batting, Eric was a quick learner, and within five minutes, Ted could see that his son’s body had loosened up. He was feeling more relaxed himself; he’d always thought of stretching as something to get through. It was similar enough to yoga that he always saw it as unmasculine…but as they moved their bodies in unison, his flesh pressed against his son’s, Ted had to admit that he could feel the benefits.

“Okay,” Eric sighed. “Why don’t you take me to fourth base?”

“Home base, son,” Ted corrected gently. “There’s no such thing as fourth base.”

“I meant the stretch,” Eric said, leaning forward and reaching behind himself. “I’ll talk you through it.”

Ted narrowed his eyes in confusion. He wasn’t following what his son meant, but they’d had such a great time bonding, he didn’t want it to devolve into a fight.

The warm feeling of pride he’d experienced earlier had been so powerful, so intense...he’d do almost anything to feel it again. And somehow, he knew that Fourth Base would get him there.

Sure enough, as Ted followed his son’s instructions, letting out a deep sigh as he leaned into the stretch, the feeling of warmth returned.

It felt good. Better than he thought a stretch could feel. For all his judgment of his son’s un-sporty ways, perhaps there was something Ted could learn from Eric.

“And back and forth,” Eric grunted, breathing heavily. Ted was surprised by how much exertion his son had to put into what was a fairly simple stretch. The downside of being out of shape, he supposed.

They’d have to do this more, before Eric went to college. Make a man of him.

He was surprised by how much pleasure the idea filled him with.

Ted continued taking his son to fourth base...no, that couldn’t be the term. His son must’ve gotten it wrong.

Ted continued stretching with his son, resting his hands on Eric’s bare hips, thrusting forward repeatedly. The stretch was one of those ones that started to spread throughout the whole body; before long, Ted could feel his legs tingling, then his toes. He started breathing more heavily as well, suddenly aware of his heart pounding, his dry mouth.

“Almost…done…” Eric groaned, and not a moment too soon. Ted lost control, his body twitching, before he felt a moment of complete release.

“Oh, godddd…” he let out in a loud moan. Was this why women did yoga? For this feeling of ecstasy, brought about by a simple stretch?

Or was it because he was sharing the moment with his son? Ted suddenly realized how much he loved Eric, how proud of him he was. He wanted to do this again and again, spending more time with his son, learning whatever he could from the bright young man.

The world went white for a moment, and when it swam back into view, Ted realized that his son was groaning as well. He released the teenage boy, and Eric collapsed onto the ground in front of him, panting with exertion.

“I think that’s enough for today, sport.” Ted offered, suddenly feeling gruff. Shy, almost.

Eric just nodded.

“Pity we didn’t get to actually hitting a ball,” his father chuckled. “Still, how about we try again later?”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Eric replied with a shy smile. “I’m happy to practice with you every day until I leave.”

Ted nodded, then surprised himself with the next words that come out of his mouth. “And...maybe you can show me some of those video games you love so much, sport.”

Eric’s face lit up, and Ted felt his stomach tighten with pride. He loved making his son happy; just the sight of the young man’s smile was enough to fill him with warmth.

“That sounds great, Dad.”

In response, Ted leaned over, and did something he realized that he should have been doing for years, giving his son a long, loving kiss.

They only had a few days left together, but he planned on making the most of them.

He’d make a man out of his son yet.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


End file.
