The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

BETTY IN THE AFTERNOON

I spent the next week working on money. Unlike the other times and places I referenced from myself in the book—this book—having money seems to be the heart of the ability to act without a lot of interference—or at least keep trouble at bay. Previously it was armed might or social status that could cocoon my pets from their predatory kind. Not that an excess of cash would be unnoticed, but a constant worry about its lack would get in the way. Besides, I will want them to derail from the dull and somewhat quietly desperate lives that they had foreseen, school, work and retirement to someplace warm. I feel proud of what I came up with after spending time in one of their financial capitals—Wall Street—and absorbing information from the minds of the kings there while they were at their most vulnerable to me—while boffing their wage servants, known as “secretaries”—when reading of the past secretaries were mostly men and rarely were they boffed by their masters—on Wall Street they were female and it seemed to be very normal if not universal.

I’ll not bore you with the details, but I could see a few ways to gather a useful crock of gold that could be seeded with the resources available to those I have at hand, I’m no thief, I always pay back in multitudes what I take. Let’s just say that I found one particularly nasty crook bilking a lot of money from people who depended on him, and with some minor mental manipulation restored his victim’s losses, keeping a 10% finder’s fee for my trouble which seems to be the standard for those who do such things. In any case the sad dupes who had found their life savings gone were sad no longer even with that minor loss, and I left an invisible aura around the jerk that gave those within earshot a feeling of untruthfulness every time he lied, the bigger the lie the stronger the feeling. He’ll never work on Wall Street again. Or sell cars. I won’t say that this gave me unlimited funds, but more than Sam makes in a year, less than Carl. And it seems to be a pretty deep well that I can dip into again as needed.

I wanted to see what my pets would do coasting on the routes I’d laid down for them, I was still investing manna on their upcoming “Wonderful Wednesday” get-togethers, but only as an observer recording for later review at the Bullman’s and their neighbors Carl and Sheila. Gail’s party was another matter.

After reading the recipe she was to make for the gatherings Betty summoned me. “Mr. Egg, please manifest.”

I interviewed all on Thursday the day after, and I’ll let them describe Wednesday’s events in their own words, though I may throw in a comment or two.

Betty:

I was shocked when I read the Egg’s recipe. I mean, this whole thing is strange. I know I should be more bothered by it, but somehow I’m feeling comforted and stimulated by not just living on as a “typical housewife” and for having an adventure. A weird sex-filled adventure, but all the same, if it wasn’t for my kids being caught up in it, I don’t think I’d worry so much. I know Annette was never going to college—and would probably proceed to make a series of guys’ lives exciting then miserable, though maybe she could grow up a little more and change. She’s going back to school this summer and Egg thing thinks she can be a writer. Maybe once she is done with all this she could be another Jacqueline Suzanne. Wouldn’t that be something?

But Will wants to be the first of this family to graduate from college. His marks are good enough to go—though not high enough for a scholarship. We’re paying for him to go to the U of W campus here in town next year—he can live at home, and we should have enough for a second year by the time it’s needed. But what if all this sends him off the track?

Tuesday I woke up with two new books beside my bed. Sam had bought me one the day before, and it shook me. Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. That man, sometimes I think he sees me as a food dispensary. I marched right out and bought a copy of The Joy of Sex. Taking it to the young man at the till was a bit embarrassing, but I just laughed when he looked at me, he smiled and put it in a bag. Let’s see if what was said last Saturday works, or if what happened was just being caught up in the moment. I sat down at the kitchen table and alternately read from each—I got most of the way through the sex book, lots of pictures, but it’s going to take a while to read all the recipes in the other. Actually both were pretty good, and I wasn’t so peeved at Sam for showing me food over sex, I could feel the sensuality of it, the heavy creams and the light as air soufflés and the cocooning smell of home baked bread—I put his choice down as the same kind of odd shyness that Will seems to sometimes get. And I wanted to show him what I learned—in both the kitchen and the bedroom that night.

And yes, the gift of reading then doing seems to work just fine. If Sam is going to get to suck the sweet out of the honeypots of Rose and the other good lookin’ gals, I’ll just keep him hooked on home cooking too—both upstairs and down. His stiff pasta is going to be nothing but limp noodle when I spoon him out of my love steamer. Hahahaha. To be fair, sharing Troy with the other old gals is not bad compensation for losing an exclusive contract with my man.

I’m going to have to go shopping for some shorter skirts, I could look at my “gams” in the mirror all day—boy they show great again—if I was as vain as that little minx Stella. Her and Rose both need new cloths too. Money is tight right now, I wonder if the Egg thought about the consequences of his changes?

I don’t know if we were so loud as to wake the kids, but frankly at this point, who cares. I made goodly sure Sam was walking funny the next morning with that big grin on his mug. God I love that man! I’ve been a good Christian woman all my life, but my folks never were ones who saw that as a list of restrictions. I was taught to try to approach others with love, kindness and charity, to watch out for greed, because it happens without you noticing it, to honor the family and to help the less fortunate, not lie or and not worship false gods. Mr. Egg has never claimed any divinity—if it did I guess I’d have a problem with that. Nothing I’ve seen here so far makes these principles not true—well, some of our new family of friends are pretty greedy and petty at times, sadly, so is Annette; Troy is a bit of a glutton for sex, though is it gluttony when doing so is healing the universe, as the Egg claims? Maybe this will help them in the end, if they see all the sex as also giving love and pleasure and not just taking it. That’s the core of my belief, and it hasn’t changed Egg man or no Egg Man. Goo goo ga choo. Hahaha.

So late Wednesday morning when I re-read the recipe under the Bullwinkle magnet on the fridge, it still confused me. I had to ask about it. I wanted to mention the shopping too, without seeming petty, but what the H E double hockey-sticks, let’s see what the thing that floated up from the basement has to say. So I chanted, “Mr. Egg, please manifest.” And there it was floating about five feet away. “Betty,” it said. How does it talk I wondered again. I’m hearing it, right, it doesn’t seem to be a voice in my head.

I comment:

It’s simple, I just vibrate part of my ‘Shell’. I could talk to their minds directly, but they may find that less pleasant than getting the input through their ears.

Betty:

So I asked him, “Mr. Egg, this is just a recipe for a tray of ordinary snacks, there is nothing here that’ll get anyone’s motor running. I mean, we all assume that these are going to be aphrodisiacs to get us to make squishy so you can get more of this ‘manna’ stuff you need. Is this paper right?”

He replied in that weird low pitched voice “Yes.”

“Why?’”

“Are you willing to keep a secret? I could make you, but I won’t, I don’t like to burn off manna on something like this. But if you promise, I’ll tell you.”

“Um, OK. Spill.”

I comment:

So I told her. We also talked about shopping and her kids’ future. In the end she happily accepted my answers without me having to do any pushing or prodding. We talked a little about money, it was still pretty new to me and I learned a few things that reading minds didn’t reveal. Over the next week or so she would arrange store credit at a number of local and mail order shops, and set up accounts for those in the group. Most were clothing, both ordinary and specialty, but some were places that had more peculiar merchandise. And she promised to keep quiet about this talk, even with Sam, once I revealed to her what was going to happen the next week.

We talked about women shopping to please men. I had suggested they spend some of the credit right away on new clothes—particularly things that would flatter their figures and stimulate the guys. She said that’d make the “gals” even happier than all the sex. Well most of them. And she told me taking the men along to stores—particularly clothes stores, was about as much fun for them as visiting the dentist to have a tooth pulled. “Even the lingerie stores?” I asked. I still had a lot to learn.

“Oh, they’ll like it just fine when we get home, but they’ll squirm like worms on a fishhook in the store and check their watches, and try not to stare at the other shoppers. It’d be different if they could see us in the lingerie I think, but because the stores can’t have intimates worn by everyone who may come through the door without washing them, it’s a matter of eyeballing on the hanger.”

“There’s one place on the list that is a bit different system. It’s by far the most expensive, I’ve never been there, but now I intend to make it the first stop. They have a private viewing room and some models, and you get measured and then the models come out dressed in what you want to see, and if you buy it, they find it in your size and you try it on while they mark it to perfectly fit. You can have it delivered the next day with the alterations done, or pay extra to get it done while you wait. I’m not sure, but with the amount of credit we talked about, I think that two outfits each would be about what we could afford.”

I ask if the guys would still be fidgety in that shop.

Betty thinks a bit. “Sam and Will for sure. Marc would be polite but bored. Carl the same I think. With Troy the problem would be controlling the drool.” I think I can adjust for that, so I suggest a plan to be revealed at our next get together. Troy will go shopping with the three older ladies as the “male opinion”, each one separately a day or two apart. They’d buy one outfit for themselves, and select one for one of the three other mature shoppers, name drawn from a hat. They’d also draw one or two names of the younger set—though not their daughters—and buy something for them as well so that all the women ended up with two new bedroom outfits, with the instructions to make them as dick-raising and jaw-droppingly sexy as possible for whoever they were buying for. Then the next week we’d have a fashion show where the gift outfits would be seen and then worn for the first time. I’d make sure that this place had all the measurement needed. The outfits for themselves would be bought first and altered while they shopped for the others, to take with them. While we were working it out I split my attention and did some research on the store, and added “Make sure to ask to see the ”special collection“ as well.” Betty nods and she starts wondering what that could be.

“What do you think the staff will do when they see Troy come back with a different lady on the second and third trip?” I ask.

“Well, with his behavior I don’t think that they’ll see him as a gay fashion consultant. My guess, gigolo. Hahahaha. He’s going to love it. I think all of us will.”

I was glad that she was enjoying this. I could tell that shopping—even the idea of shopping got her super-hot without me doing any pushing. I have to investigate this consumerism thing more closely.

This store would be the first stop on the shopping days. Troy would then be dragged around to more conventional women’s clothing stores—maximum of any two stores with credit arranged, for more clothes for themselves and those on their gift list, as then to a sex toys and “custom” threads place tucked away discretely in an industrial strip mall. There he would have a credit too and no restrictions on what could be bought except for price and that it could be shared.

After that long day of buying stuff, Troy would accompany his companion home for a private viewing of the day’s purchases. And then—whatever.

After that has played out I think it would be good to do something similar but not identical with the younger women.

By the time Betty and I plotted this all out, she was, shall we say, extremely enthusiastic, so decided to go off to look for Sam; I suggested to her that Marc might have to do, as Sam was working for three more hours, the other kids at an “Animal House” matinée for the third time, and Marc just off shift at his part time job was just downstairs fondling himself while reading a smutty book he borrowed from under the counter at Andy’s store—where such things are kept, Three Hot to Trot Moms, and he might be in the mood for some womanly love. Before I left, she promised not to reveal our plan. I didn’t mention to her that Marc was just finishing the chapter where Hot Mom Number Two seduces her son’s best friend. Is that timing or what?

Betty:

Halfway through getting not nekkid—hahaha—in front of my bedroom mirror I thought, “What the hell am I doing?”

I had my red nightie, the special one with the black trim in one hand and one of Annette’s old cheerleader skirts in the other. And I had been trying to figure out which Marc would like best. Both left my thighs bare, showing off my fishnet stockings and silk garters. I was working from the bottom up. Gals my age look better with a bit of clothes showing off our shapes and hiding the flaws. But I have to say that since Eggy made our changes last weekend my skin lost some of my liver spots, and they all seem to fade more with every fuck, my skin has tightened leaving wrinkles behind, and my boobies have perked up, the sag they’d picked up over the last few years has been replaced by perky nips that quiver after Sam squeezes them and go super stiff when he sucks on them and they are redder than they used to be. And every time I made whoopee I seemed to come out peppier all day.

But just for a second I realized that what I was thinking of doing was odd. Not wrong. Never wrong, but peculiar. I was going down to talk to my 18 year-old border, my son’s good friend and ask him to fuck me. And he would say yes. OK. Eggy made that seem normal. But it wasn’t. I just knew I wanted to do it. He always seemed old for his age, I guess that comes from being independent since his dad left and his mom was away and working two jobs.

So why not? It’s looking like we’ll be fucking a lot in the future. And not in some kind of “getting it out of the way” like it was a chore, like it was say laundry. Or dishes. But I wanted to make it hot, to make it special. I wanted to suck his dick and taste his seed. I wanted to smear his hot cum all over my breasts and see what happened, if it would be like when I did it with Troy when it felt so good and sank in like a three-hundred dollar moisturizer. I wanted him to know I had put some effort into it and this was my reward.

Three weeks ago the thought of boinking one of my son’s friends would have horrified me. Except maybe Troy, honestly I’d have never made a pass but if he did… but Marc was like a second son this last year. Good looking with some bad boy charm. And now he had a squirty spurty dick. I was salivating. I knew my taste buds had been fiddled with as part of my changes, but I’d always sucked Sam as a reward for his own expert oral loving on my puss. I liked him coming on my tongue, but now I loved the creamy and salty taste of it too. I wiped my mouth with the skirt and pulled it on, with its built-in adjustable belt it just fit. It just fit over my ass too. Perfect. Split-crotch or no panties? None it is. I tossed the nightie back on the bed and threw on an easy to remove sheer blue baby doll top that I tucked into the skirt’s waist to tightly press against my nipples. Reaching down between my legs I moistened my fingers with the slickness there and traced them across the nape of my neck to act as perfume. Heavens I was hot and bothered.

I may not be Gail beautiful or Rose busty, but my secret weapon—my curvy legs became dynamite as I stepped into a set of three inch heels. I wagged my ass at my reflection in the mirror. “No more delays,” I said aloud as I grabbed the jar of the third version of the tonic and tube of lube I’d prepared along with a couple of sandwiches—do I know teenagers or what, and went downstairs to get much more familiar with Marc’s magic dicky.

Marc:

I was laying on my bed in my still damp bathrobe beating off when I heard the door to the basement open and someone come down the stairs. I’d shared a doobie with Andy in his store’s incense filled back room, nothing too powerful or long lasting, but I still had a bit of a buzz on. Given how things went I think I did pretty well.

Honestly I was fantasizing about Gail, Stella’s mum. The Egg-thing told us—well me, Andy Troy and Annette Bullman to head over to her house where we were to act as her “love slaves” whatever that is. I think she was as shocked as any of us, but I was pretty sure that it meant that we’d be fucking later. And for a middle aged woman, she was really hot. Playboy or Penthouse hot. Not skanky like Hustler. Nice big round tits that Sam and I accidentally saw last spring when we walked in on her changing. And she didn’t shriek and cover up, but cocked her hip and asked, “Do you like what you see?” It was Sam that turned beet red and hustled us back out the door with a “Sorry” while she laughed at us. Sam told me to keep quiet about it, but Gail ended up telling Sheila and Sheila told Betty and Stella, who I had just started dating at the time. Boy did we get in trouble! It wasn’t our fault. But I’d had lots of happy times since thinking about those shirt puppies and stroking away.

For research I’d borrowed a book from the under the counter items Andy sold, about horny suburban mothers and hot teenagers. I wasn’t too hot on fucking Annette, I didn’t like her much and she didn’t seem to like the fact I’d moved into her basement. On that first day I’d fucked her in every way I knew at the time and I think she was a bit embarrassed at how hard she’d cum. And I was one of her brother’s friends, and she looked down on all of us because of that, except for Troy who she’d been boffing for a couple of years on the not so sly. But at Gail’s I’m pretty sure I’d be fucking her again. And so would Andy, but he’s a nice guy who wouldn’t turn a lady down. And Troy, who’d fuck pretty much anything. How do you fuck someone you don’t like—hard and angry I guess. At Andy’s suggestion I’d been reading some books on Zen and how does doing something like that throw off your karma?

The point is that I hadn’t been thinking about Mrs. B at all when she stuck her head around the curtains that hung around my bed to define my room from the rest of the basement. Jeesus I was laying there polishing my knob when she asked, “Are you decent?”

“Not really,” I admitted, pulling my robe closed but I was still tenting.

“Me neither,” she said, stepping in, dressed for action. I’d never seen her like this, or even had any kind of fantasy about her. But man oh man she took my breath away. It was obvious she was up for a fucking.

I whistled and said the first stupid thing that entered my head in my best nasal Dustin Hoffman voice, “Mrs. Bullman, I think you are trying to seduce me.”

She giggled. A good sign. So I uncovered Mr. Stiffy and held up the book so she could see the title Three Hot to Trot Moms and lied, “I was just thinking about you.” That made her blush. I sat up on my elbows, “Wow you look gorgeous. Let me have a good look at you.” She slowly did a 360 and then lifted the hem of her short skirt. No panties.

“Marc, I want to suck on your peter.”

“Seems like a good place to start… Ohhh. That’s nice. Swing around so I can play with your pussy too. Can I stick my fingers in?”

“Ob courbse.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

After about ten minutes of heavy going where we used our mouths for things other than talking, she pulled her sweat-soaked sheer-blue top completely off, I had reached under it to fondle and squeeze her tits, they were bigger and firmer than I had thought they were and hung nicely above me as I had mostly remained on my back and let her blow me and then ride me. I’d cum once—well really six times on successive sucks as I do channeling each of the guys now, except for Will because he’s her son and that’s the rules. And she’d swallowed it all, naming whose splooge each spurt was if she knew if, Sam, Troy, unknown maybe Aram, unknown probably Andy because it made her light headed and giggly and that’s what his cum now does, Carl, and all me last as always.

She handed me a cup of “something she had been working on” and I hardened right up as she swung onto my hardening cock and slowly started to rise and fall as I sucked on her tits.

Then she pulled off of me while I was still hard but starting to breathe fast headed towards a new climax and asked me to stand up while she sat on my bed my dick in her hand. “Cum on my boobs. All of it.” She stroked me gently while licking the tip of my magic wand. I was already close so soon another six-pack splattered across her chest. After cumming on stroke 6 she dropped me and started rubbing the pecker-snot into her tits. Then she fell back on the bed and super-orgasmed spurting wetly all over. “Lordy!” I reached out and continued massaging my slick dick goo into her, not just the tits but down her tummy to the thin patch of dark curly hair between her legs. She came one more time—man I’m going to have to shower again and change my sheets for sure before I go out tonight!

I lay down behind her while she caught her breath and we spooned. I reached across and held her close while gently fondling her sticky breast. My hand was stuck in one place but that didn’t stop the squeezing while I rubbed her nipple with my pointer finger.

“Woo haw!” she sighed. “Thank you, I needed that.”

“Any time. No need to thank me. My pleasure.”

“No really, thanks for not freaking out or even hesitating. I was worried that it’d throw you off. It could have been awkward, but it was delightful.”

My dick was getting hard again and I slipped it between her legs. “Well it was unexpected. I have to ask, did Egg-guy tell you to do it?”

“No. Well sort of. We were talking about something else—shopping. Don’t tell anyone else, ok, but we made some plans that got me all hot and bothered. But I’m pretty sure I did it to myself. You’ll hear the plan’s details when we all get together next weekend. Here, try this.” So she reached for my johnson between her legs with one hand and the jar of special cream I had been using to masturbate with on my bedside table and lubed me up and pointed my pecker at her asshole. “Push it in.”

I grabbed her hips and pushed. Slid right in.

“I went and had Carl do my tush yesterday so I could stop using that butt plug Eggy gave me. Just go real slow until you get real hard. How does it feel? How many bums have you fucked?”

“It feels great. Tight. Only one, Stella. She wanted to try out the things Eggy did to her, and I obliged. But she’s different, feels a lot different. But this is nice.”

“Anyway,” she continued, breathing a little harder, “Darn!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Not you dear, keep pumping, nice and slow. I was hoping that you spunking on my chest would have the same rejuvenation effects that happened on Saturday when Troy splashed me. I tried it with Carl yesterday, but nothing. I was hoping your extra cream would be different.”

“It did give you another orgasm. A really big one.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that. OK speed up a bit. I’m going to get on my hands and knees, see if you can keep it up my keester. Yeah, yeah, faster… you’re going to have to try again and see if it’s one of those special things we weren’t told about. Maybe all your girls will cum bigly when you dirty their boobies.” She rubbed her dripping tits again, and flushed. “Oooh-ha! Man-o-man that’s a lot of goo.”

“Hmmm. OK, I guess I could get into that.” I pushed all the way in and stopped and held her tight. “It worked you know. Cumming on you. The first time last week. Your face and your tits I mean. They’re looking real hot. Perkier. So I’ve been thinking… Eggy says that he’s going to give us back the manna he doesn’t need for his project saving the universe if we generate more than he can use. Maybe I can get him to give me some luck. I could always use more of that. Why don’t you see if part of the excess you generate gets returned to you when someone… er, spends on you. You know to get it spread on every square inch. To make more fountain of youth cream or something like it. I bet all the guys would help by cuming on you and rubbing it where you can’t reach, even Sam. Maybe at the same time.”

As she moaned at the thought I reach down and grabbed her tits, putting a lot of pressure with my palms on her nipples and pushing up a bit so she bulged flesh between my fingers. “Ready for some power stroking?”

“Sock it to me. Hahaha. Oooooh!” She moaned. “And don’t forget the magic word.”

Not much later Mrs. B invited me to come upstairs and share her and Sam’s shower, first helping me strip my bedding and get it into the washing machine to run when we were done. Plus sandwiches! My mattress had a plastic outer layer under the pad so a quick wipe cleaned that up and an opened window helped freshen the air, though the sex stink would probably be there for a while. That’s alright as I didn’t expect anyone down there and I locked the door to the outside signaling I wanted privacy.

The shower was fun, I hadn’t been in the Bullman’s master bathroom before and it was pretty sweet, we easily fit on the large shower/bath combo and before we were done Mrs. B—she asked me to call her Betty but I said that my calling her Mrs. B was sexier and could be done anywhere with no one knowing it meant “missis fuck buddy”. That it turned me on. So she said that she’d remember that and be turned on too, hahaha. Anyhow she changed the water to run out the tap instead of the telephone shower head and insisted on blowing me and seeing if my cumming buckets on her tits gave her another huge orgasm like the last one. It did. She had me hold her up pressed against the shower wall as she dropped another hot wet load which spurted in an arc down my legs. I was tight against her as her knees went loose, getting my hairy chest all covered in my own spunk, and I found myself spurting an extra load as well, just a small one.

We talked a bit about what was going to happen at the diners and after, I told her that Aram was a good guy, smart and other than the fact that he was hard for Stella when she was supposedly my faithful girl someone who could be counted on. I also confessed my doubts about what would probably happen with Annette at Gail’s later. Was it OK to fuck someone you didn’t get along with?

She replied, “Well Annette’s my girl and I love her to pieces, but she can be a bitch. Maybe this whole experience will make her more mellow. But she really isn’t happy when she doesn’t have some guy or two twisted around her finger. Don’t be that guy, Marc. Even with other girls she always has to be in charge.”

“No intention. Andy says as long as she wants it and it gives me a good time, don’t think too hard about it. That sometimes being strong and a little rough is just what a woman wants.”

“Hmmm. I think he’s right. As long as it’s just a little rough. I can see her wanting that. Give her a spanking for me if you get the chance. Hahaha.”

With that she turned the water back on and we soaped and rinsed one final time.

Before I went back downstairs wearing one of Sam’s bathrobes—“Just put it in the wash”—she gave me a preview of what she planned on wearing later when Aram and Rose came over. I had to tie my stiff dick under the robe with the sash to make it back down to my room. The others were going to come home soon, and I don’t think either of us wanted to tell any of them what we’d done all afternoon, though the guys except for Will would know I’d been fucking; I could tell them about how I spent the afternoon with Andy’s book.

Eggy:

Sam had some of the same things on his mind. But he was a little swifter on seeing the implications, I’d had a private conversation with him before the show-and-tell day, and he had promised as well to keep it to himself for now.

THE STAGES OF SAM—1—DEFIANCE—2—SUPPLICATION

Sam:

“Mr. Egg, please manifest”—it doesn’t work the first time, so the second time I sing it a little and there it is.

“Look, I’m sorry I tried to bean you. I shouldn’t have. But please, can’t you see how unfair this is. I know the girls screwed up and it has to be fixed, but can’t I take the kids place. I’m sure that Betty and the other parents feel that way. They have their full lives and I’d do anything to free them. Please.”

That darn thing is inscrutable. It just floats there. It reminds me of my CO from the Navy.

The Egg has no face, so I never can tell it I’m looking at the front or back.

I comment:

It’s all front when you’re round.

THE STAGES OF SAM—3—BARGAINING

Sam:

“I’ll round up all the perverts in Wisconsin and throw them a party with all my money, whatever you need, if that’ll get the kids back to normal lives. I’ll ask Betty to bake cookies for the PTA. I’ll write sick sex stories and post them on telephone poles. I’ll dance naked at the zoo. Please. I’ll vote Democrat. Anything.”

The Egg just floated there. “Won’t work. You were all tied to the breach. I didn’t cause it. The girls did. Now you all have to fix it.”

Oh shit.

“But,” it continued, “let us talk of simpler goals.”

THE STAGES OF SAM—4—SCHEMEING

Sam:

“Like what?”

It hovered closer and raised itself a bit. I’ve seen Rear Admirals puff themselves like this when they came up with a bat-shit crazy “great idea”. The secret to surviving around such puffery is to agree agree agree and then do what seems best and take the consequences if it goes wrong and give them the credit when it goes right.

“You still don’t believe that you have lost nothing and have much to gain. Every hour, every minute, every second you spend getting physically intimate with each other will not count against your lifespans. If you fuck for 20 years you will live for 20 years longer, and in good health. The same with your children, who have more to gain. What worries you and the others is not achieving the goals you have set, which never were sure things. You want your son to have higher education and a good living and you want both your children to have families of their own that will be happy and successful”

“Yes”

“But in this world these are not guaranteed.”

“No. But we do our best. And frankly this is putting a strain on our resources. And I’d always thought that Will and Rose were going to split up at some point forever, once they see the wider world. As far as the other kids, well we’re fond of Marc, he hasn’t had the easiest time of it, but he’s smart and resourceful and probably will end up on top of the heap or at the very bottom, instead of in the middle like me and probably Will. The girls—I don’t know, things are different now. The foreign kid seems OK, but that Troy is smart as a brick.”

“I could say ‘trust me’ but I won’t. I could make you trust me, but I won’t do that either. I’m not infallible, but I do promise to do my best, that the kids will have all the adventures, education, and way more fun than they had ever planned. I repeat my pledge to you and to all that our cloistered time is finite and all will come out with better chances at being what they—and you—want to be. I’ll need you to be open for each other, it gets me where I need to be more rapidly, and by the time I’m done you will all have more choices than you ever expected, even the choice to resume ‘normal’ life.”

“As far as resources go, I’m working on that. Relief will come soon. Money for schooling and even a fair bit more is in the pipeline, though we don’t want to attract the government’s attention, do we? How does early retirement sound to you? I think you will do very well from your book, well enough to never have any other boss. Work hard on it, take it seriously. I know you will. Watch Annette go back to school and see how she and the others work out the problems that have been keeping them from being what they can be.”

THE STAGES OF SAM—5—WATCHFUL AGREEMENT

Sam:

I spent almost ten years afloat, and I’d never heard such sugar coated horse crap in my life. But the thing did suggest a few interesting tests of his word. Mostly my little girl—I know she can be a holy terror, but she’s also my precious—she goes back to school for anything and sticks with it and passes with a good grade—C+ or better—it’ll be a fucking miracle.

In the meantime a good NCO can follow the letter of what that the brass asks and do no more than needed and interpret commands so that they can actually meet everyone’s goals, and wait for my change to make things better for the others in the same way I looked after the sailors back when. A rowdy bunch they were, always in trouble off duty, but crackerjack when it counted.

THE STAGES OF SAM—6—SOME PHILOSOPHY OF THE BEDROOM

Sam:

It said, “I think I know what is troubling you.”

“Really? What, could it be that we are doing things without having a choice, and all the plans that Betty and I have made have gone down the tubes? Could it?”

“No, I thought we had dealt with that. How we get there will be different, true. But your goals will be met at a level you dared not hope for. What bothers you is that you don’t believe that having sex with someone is not a good thing unless there is a deep emotional connection. And other than Betty, you think that you do not connect deeply with anyone. You do not trust yourself.”

“Well a lot of what we’ve been asked to do is little more than using someone else as a masturbation device. It’s the same kind of empty experience that I hated on shore leave when the red light district was destination 1 to 100 for my shipmates. I stopped going along with that after a while.”

“I’m not saying you are wrong about that, just that you aren’t taking in the big picture. Can I give you an example?”

“OK.”

“Cards. You play solitaire sometimes?”

“Sometimes.”

“Poker?”

“Sometimes.”

“They different?”

“Sure.”

“Well in poker you need to react to the other players. In solitaire you are playing with yourself.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s just a cheap joke.”

“It’s not. Let’s look at it further. Is it different to play poker with strangers, or players you’ve bet against before? Or ones you have never played with but know from something else?”

I’m game, “with strangers you have advantages in that they don’t know your tells, or how you think. And you don’t know theirs. A fast read of character is key. With players you know, you have to take into account how they’ll bet, and watch for clues in their actions. You draw on your history with them.”

“So why is it different with sex? When you are playing cards it’s a kind of talking, with solitaire you are talking to yourself. With poker you are talking to and more important listening to the other players. Going to tup a strange hooker in a strange town is like playing poker with a stranger—some like it that way because it is easy to set up and anything you give away about yourself has low long-term cost. Sex with someone you know is fraught with dangers and rich with rewards, if you are both talking and listening. When you are with Betty you are engaged in a life-long deep non-verbal conversation. With Rose the other day it was like a pleasant but intense chat. When Stella and Rose created the breach it was like a radio tuned to all the stations at once, lots of noise but little that is useful. It was like a poker tournament where everyone is playing by different rules and no referee. Chaos. Eventually it all ends in a big fight that turns into a shoot-out. And you folks are all right in the middle of it all, fucking like salmon spawning, all action and no brain—now that’s masturbation with human props, and the casino’s security cameras are pointed right at your mugs and your credit cards are in their safe.”

“Go on.”

“So they call security to clean it up. They created the casino; they don’t want to stop the game. It’s an important part of why they exist. But there are all these over-turned tables and broken chairs and chips on the floor that no one knows who they belong to. And again there in the middle bumping uglies are you, your family, friends and neighbors like some hill tribe in the big city for the first time. So who do you think security makes clean everything up and put it back to normal? Don’t over-think it, this isn’t a court of justice looking to be fair, it’s a mob casino where opinions are divided on cleaning it up as quickly as possible by letting you all burn out in a blaze of mindless sex, or giving you all a chance to pay back—with interest, but walk away in the end.”

“So they found me being born in Rose and Stella’s spell and I have to deal with it. And believe it or not I think you monkeys are fairly sophisticated and capable of making a choice.”

Still hooey to me, but I ask, “But why can’t you just take our natural sex, I’d fuck Betty every day and Carl and Sheila would do the same. Our kids are all of age and already having more sex than I like. Troy would fuck the crack of dawn if he could. All of it high quality conversations, by your definition.”

“But boring. Well mostly boring. Sorry, Sam. Not enough sand in the cement. And not enough cement. To get what is required in the time before I’m replaced, not gently at all for me and for you folk, by the second team, I need a mix of fresh new players and old hands at the table. And the old stags need to be challenged by the young bucks, and the bucks outwitted by their elders so they can learn. So there we are. Robots produce thin gruel. I could have you all in a squishy heap anytime, but the next day I’d have to do it all over again, and the cost would be almost what the harvest reaps. But letting you go on as you were wouldn’t work either. So we have this balance that meets my needs, and pays you back in spades for the inconvenience. And gives you some freedom of choice. But sometimes I have to push too. I’m assigning you the minimum to get the job done. Head down full steam, build yourselves some slack! Place some side bets, the house doesn’t always take a cut of those; nothing is stopping you, not me, not Betty or your kids, only yourself. It all helps. It costs too much to force any of you to do something you are 100% against, so I’m asking you to play to your strengths and not fight your own natures. Enjoy the game and have interesting “conversations” and don’t forget to listen. Get closer in many ways to the ladies, not just physically. Make them happy. Rose and Stella really like and respect you, you gruff teddy bear—don’t disappoint them by sulking. And admit it you were hot for Rose before any of this happened, but you’d have felt bad if anything ever happened between you two. But now you can do it and Betty’ll understand. Will won’t be sore that you fucked his girlfriend. He’ll just fuck her mother instead. So fuck them! Suck them! Bend them over and make them howl in orgasm! Yes, dot them six ways to sideways—but do so with dignity and love. Find a way. I can make it so that it’s not that difficult, for most of you the social restrictions are half-way torn already—but you need to work out the strategy and tactics. Orders won’t work with the lasses unless you know that orders are what are desired. Same with gentle hints. Read the other players. I’ll help each of you where I can. All of you will walk away winners just for having played. Longer and healthier lives. Lots more love, not just sex, but a ton more of that too. And eventually a superior and happy next generation. And winning in the end isn’t having all the chips, it’s knowing that the love you make is equal to the love you take.”

That sounded like hippy bull to me, but I didn’t say so.

“Besides, you really liked sucking on Rose’s clit. And she likes having your tonguing her. She thinks it’s the best part of the whole experience.”

“Honestly? You’re just making her think that.”

“Really she does. It’s her favorite new thing. And it’s all you, I didn’t push her at all. Don’t be shy, you know how good you are. Own it.”

I stopped to think about it for a second. Rose has a really pretty pussy, natural red-heads like her have a pure white skin and she shows a deep pink tone when you split her open. Like coral. Her inner lips were meaty enough to gently nip between my teeth though not over-long. Her clit when it stands up has a slight curve to the left and vibrates a little on the tongue when licked. Hell, now I was getting a super-stiffy.

The Egg-thing droned on, “And Betty is OK with it, totally. So relax and slurp it all up. Besides, if you reject her or even be reluctant you could hurt her feelings. You don’t want to do that. So buck up sailor, you can’t be scared of a hot teenage girl whose cuze drips thinking about you scarfing into it. It’s SNAFU not FUBAR.”

At last the Egg-thing said something that made sense.

THE EVENING’S ORGY

Rose:

Aram called on me a bit early. I had been feeling uncomfortable around Mr. Bullman—Sam I guess I should call him now, since we rolled around on my kitchen floor makin’ bacon. Hell, he’s my boyfriends’ dad. My ex-boyfriend’s dad. One of my boyfriends’ dad. And he and Mrs. B are almost second parents. It’s just weird. I don’t know what to say to them. And I’m pretty sure that we’re going to be humping wildly in a couple of hours or less. Maybe he’ll put his pecker up my butt again—I’ve been using the plug with the cream and it’s not so bad, it’s just... just not normal. He’ll suck my tits for sure. And he’ll suck my clitty too. Mmmmmmm.

As I have these thoughts I become aware that I’ve unconsciously reached under my dress and been rubbing my pussy. Am I a pervert? Did that thing do this to me, or is it really me? I grab a Kleenex and dry myself as the doorbell rings and Mom shows Aram inside.

It took a long time to decide what to wear. I practically live in jeans, but every time I went to put them on, it just didn’t seem right. It’s been a hot day, so something light would be good. I tried a halter and mini-skirt combination, looking in the mirror I saw that the halter was from before my bust burst out—it fits, but it also pushes my tits way out and leaves an awkward gap both above and below, with my nipples poking out and the bottom of my bust hanging down. And the skirt is riding up high, might as well be walking around just wearing panties. I’d wear this if I was going to seduce Will, though that never requires so much effort, but for some reason I still don’t want Sam and Betty to see me as a slut.

I haven’t found any bras that are comfortable yet, so the nipples will show, no matter what. My tits don’t seem to need one most of the time, just when I want to go out in public without drawing a crowd of gawkers following my every bounce. The Egg didn’t say it, but I suspect I got the same so called gift as Stella, I’ve noticed the longer I wear something, the better it shapes to my figure, the sexier it becomes. Wear a burlap sack and by the end of the day it’s a Dior, if I was a skinny little model. Which I definitely am not.

Rats! There’s nothing here that seems right. Nothing fits. Then I remembered Mom’s new white cotton gown. I’m a bit taller than she is, but should fit as basically it is a light-weight loose-fitting pleated full-length sack with spaghetti straps and a matching belt. It’s formal enough with heels to be good for going out to dinner, but covers almost all the way to the ankles. There is a short split at the top with a single button that can be done up for extra modesty or left undone to show more boob valley. I leave it open. The straps hang low, loose enough to show some cleavage up top, and an ankle bracelet and a matching costume jewelry faux-turquoise necklace complete the look. I like what I see in the mirror, not shy but not pushy either. Mrs. B has to be a little intimidated with lookers like Gail and Stella, and even Mom around; I like her, but face it, she is a bit frumpy.

I went down to the kitchen and showed Mom, who’s unpacking the package of food from Betty and putting it on a tray. A bucket of Kentucky Fried sits warming in the oven. If nothing else I’ll eat better tonight. Betty Bullman is a great cook, and Will told me yesterday that she’s been seriously digging into a fancy French cookbook that his dad gave her.

Mom is OK with me borrowing her dress, and she says something that soothes my nerves, sort of. “Rose. Dear. You’re still my little girl, but you are also a grown woman now. This whole thing is like a strange dream, but it’s real too, you know? I like it, then I worry about it then I like it again. But I don’t know how to change it, just how to try to make it go in ways I like instead of ways I don’t. One thing I know for sure is that the Bullman’s are real good people, and won’t hurt you for the world. Straight arrows. So let it take you where it takes you. Enjoy what you can enjoy and remember that you’ll be back home safe later. And don’t come back in until you see the porch light on, unless you want to see your father humping Stella again. Or Will being blown by Vicky while my tongue is up his tasty ass. Or me and Vicky 69ing. Or Will in Stella’s puss while your dad reams her bum as she sucks my clit. Or Will all dolled up being hand-milked into the mashed potatoes—Ha! The colonel’s secret sauce done right. Or...”

Seeing that Mom had gone flush, I said, “OK, I get it, porch light,” and left the room. The milking comment reminded me of what I faced later and got me thinking ahead. It was obvious that Mom was thinking ahead too. Gross. I was real happy to be eating out. Then Aram arrived and I came back down to meet him and we headed across the yard to the Bullman’s side door. On the way out Mom pecks Aram’s cheek and whispers in his ear.

I as we walk I ask him what she said.

“Remember, ‘Cilantro’.”

I felt myself blushing.

Aram:

Angelique! Rose in that white dress. So sexy. A goddess made flesh. We walk towards Mr. Sam and Mrs. Betty’s and I want to take a step back so I can watch that magnifique tushie sway, but I don’t. I tell her that she looks very good, and she says thank you back, but not warmly. Polite but not drinking in the compliment. I think she’s worried, or at least nervous. Tense.

Her bubbies lead the way, in her heels she’s taller than me and walks with shoulders thrown back and back straight, if I don’t tilt my head up I’m looking directly at her milky freckled throat. It’s hard not to glance down right into the deep valley, but I try to watch her face instead. She’s caught me twice already, and all I can do is smile sheepishly and say “Sorry”. I tell her that I like her necklace, and she relaxes a bit and tells me that it’s not real. I ask if I can look closer at it, and she agrees. I bend in close and take it in my fingers. “Yes but it’s hard to tell if they are real unless you touch,” I say, letting it and my eyes drop to the top of her boobs, “the stones that is”. She knows what I really want to see, but I asked nice and didn’t make a point of it or be crude, and that seems to be what she really wants. Dignity.

When I first met Will and his friends I’d go home and whack-off thinking about those glorious mountains of flesh. And now they were right there, inches from my face, bigger and bolder than ever. And if I don’t blow it later tonight I’ll be wrapping my little Juan Perez in them and spurting cum across her face, or even better past her bright red lipstick coated lips and into her moist mouth. I try not to walk funny.

Mrs. Betty greets us at the door. She too has dressed to kill. A bright red blouse collared high on the neck but taught around the bust line, then a wide belt slimming her waist and a matching short skirt that puffs out. If it hung straight down it would almost reach her knees, but instead it flares wide, giving me a view of her black stocking-clad legs almost all the way up to her coochie. Maybe it will peek out if I am sitting and she is walking around. They really are nice legs. Not long, but curvy and muscled, the stockings showing their perfecto roundness and making a quiet swishing sound as they rub together when she walks. Matching garters can be seen hanging from something that cannot be seen, a belt maybe, to hold them up. She doesn’t seem nervous at all, but chatters away greeting us as we follow her in to the living room. Her heels are much higher than Rose’s, and it causes her hips to swing nicely as we come up behind to where Sam sits in his recliner. He turns the TV off and gets up, kissing Rose on the cheek and shaking my hand in welcome. He is perhaps a little too smiley. I think he is nervous too. We sit on the couch while Betty heads off to the kitchen. Watching her go I swear that she’s not wearing panties, but I can’t be sure. I like to think she isn’t. It’s obvious from her little soldiers standing at attention that Rose has no bra on. Must look at her face instead when I find myself drifting.

Mrs. Betty returns with a tray of dainties. Both Sam and Rose look at them with caution. Mrs. Betty says they are not poison, and actually quite tasty and takes one to eat. I take one too. “Delicioso,” I say. “Is that banana pepper?” Sam, then Rose take one each, and it’s like they’ve been asked to swallow poo. Sam takes it whole and gulps it down like a pill, then ends up coughing. Betty pats his back like a baby and he coughs once and swallows. Rose takes the otre approach and nibbles at it by the edge, but it really is nice in the mouth, sweet and spicy with a creamy texture built over a flaky pastry crust so she soon finishes hers. I have another. There are two each, and Sam chews his properly the second time down, and so do the ladies.

I expected to get a raging stiffy and maybe throw one of the Donna’s down and rip off their clothes and stuff them silly, but nothing. It’s a little disappointing. Merdre. Then I remember that the Huervo Fantastique said that it wouldn’t hit until after dinner. Good, I’m hungry and always take any chance I get to eat Mrs. Betty.

The others also have realized that nothing was going to happen right away. Mrs. Betty seems to be amused at our reactions, like she knows something we do not. A buzzer goes off in the kitchen and she heads off while we chat a bit, I’m sure I see a flash of ass cheek; Mr. Sam asks Rose about school and me a bit about my home town. It’s painfully polite. I have known him for three years now, and he has never shown the slightest interest. I answer as best I can. He actually seems more hip to it when he realizes that we were once a colony of a place he often visited in the Navy, and he had more knowledge than he had realized.

We were called to eat, a sideboard had been laid out as buffet and we got plates and filled them and sat down at the solid oak table in the dining room—before I always ate with them in the kitchen; there were 2 kinds of home-made salads, a cold meat platter and some fresh buns, cheeses and fruit. Back home we’d have something like this often as a summer meal, as no hot stoves needed. It is simple but delicious. Mrs. Betty put some real work into it, for all its seeming plainness, and I tell her so. Between bites Rose agrees. There is a fruit punch in a two-liter bowl which Sam measures and pours a cup of rum into and offers Rose and me a clear glass each as we finish our plates. A concession he sees us as adults, I take it as. He pours Mrs. Betty a glass as well, but sticks to beer himself. This seems to upset her, and she says that he should at least try it, that she worked so hard, etc, etc. He puts down the beer and takes a cup and sips. “Delicious,” he says and reaches for his beer. She tells him that the punch is supposed to go with the meal, and he puts the beer down, but pours a little more rum into his glass. “It’s like putting ketchup on French fries,” he justifies. Then he takes a mouthful and swishes it around, getting the full flavor.

Rose says, “I know this taste from somewhere.” She whispers something into Mrs. Betty’s ear and she nods back.

Now I’m starting to get a tingle down there. Not enough to do anything without my hosts making the first move, but I have ants in my pants and I want to dance. There is a Frank Sinatra LP on the stereo. I pick up the sleeve and ask if I can play it. I don’t know the songs, but it looks darkly sexy.

“Sure dear,” Mrs. Betty answers. She knows what I have planned, so when the first song comes up, I recognize it as a fox trot. I take her hands and we dance the pattern a couple of times. I project a simple “one” at her and she moves in closer, so I up the heat to “two”. We release and I take Rose’s hands in mine.

“I don’t know the steps.”

“I’ll show you, it’s easy. Slow slow fast fast.”

“No funny stuff.”

“No funny stuff. I promise.”

And so we dance until the end of the song. I keep my promise and don’t push any heat into her, but she’s getting a bit squirmy and presses close, heaven. Her dress seems to have become more transparent, and I can see the darkness of her nipples clearly, and notice when the light is behind her from the lamp I can just see her figure clearly outlined and even the red hairs of her bush.

Mr. Sam is sweating a bit, and has poured and drunk another punch. I guess I know what is going on, but not why. I don’t think the pre-dinner snacks were loaded with anything but great taste, but the punch is similar to what the remote fuckers were given when we purgioed that thing from Mrs. Gail’s boob. Rose is the only one of us that had it at that time, which is what she recognizes. And Mr. Sam for some reason was now fighting it. I had to help him; the strain could give him a rupture.

I sat down across the table from him and asked, “How did you meet Mrs. Betty?”

He smiled at the memory. “I was in the navy, and we were invited to this dance for shore leave. Most guys just wanted to get drunk and find a hooker, but that wasn’t my style. I wanted to meet someone I could have some fun with during the day, not just at night. The dance turned out to be a real drag, run by a church group with chaperones watching to make sure that there wasn’t even any bellies rubbing on the dance floor, and the girls mostly seeing it as a patriotic duty to look after lonely sailors in a Christian manner and keep them away from temptation. And most were ugly as boots too, the goers were old and lonely, the lovelies ice-princesses who sneered when approached. Then I heard this laugh. Hahahahahaha. You know, Betty. She was as pretty as a peach with a skirt just above her knees and a smile that lit up the room. I don’t know how she got mixed in with those sticks and lumps.”

Mrs. Betty adds, “You know I was with my cousin Maude. It was her idea.”

“Right. Anyway I asked her to dance, and we followed protocol, at least six inches tummy separation, and when we were done I followed her back to her table, where we fell in talking, with at least three of the chaperones eyeballing us at all times. But we made a date for the next day.”

“I took Sam to see the sights. Maude came along to make sure I was OK, but he was the perfect gentleman, and eventually we sent her away. We had dinner together, and afterwards kissed some in a movie theatre, and for a sailor who’d been at sea he was perfectly patient. He told me that I was the admiral, what I said goes. I asked for a night to think about it, and when we went out the next day I gave him my answer.”

“For a good church girl, it was pretty daring hon. I could have been a con man.”

“No you weren’t. My dad was a liar and a cheat, and I’d had a lot of experience spotting them by then.”

“She said no sex, not even with condoms because they fail, but that we could rent a room and she’d get some of the salt out of me one way or another. I don’t think we were in love yet, but we sure were in lust.”

“You have to understand how bad it could be for a single girl to get knocked up then. It’s still bad now, but then, a real tragedy.”

Mr. Sam has become more relaxed as he relates this, and is as happy as I’ve ever been with him. He is also squirming on his seat and has snuck one hand down to his crotch to arrange his trouser tent-pole into a more comfortable position.

“Is that when you became so interested in cunnilingus?” I ask.

“No, that was earlier. It was something that was used pretty regularly aboard ship as a swear, stupid pussy eater, cunt-tonging son-of-a-goat, that kind of thing. We never talked like that back home, but sailors have a special language of curses all their own and a lot of them centered around cunnilingus; I became curious as to why it was so shameful. I mean half the talk off hours was boasting about sex, but no one would admit to eating hair pie. So it occurred to me that if they wouldn’t, I would, and I’d get myself all the girls that wanted a wet nether kiss but her lads declined. Of course I later learned that talk and deed are different things and that those who put the munch down loudest would lick a razor blade if it got them some action. So when in port I’d pick up porn with it shown and study carefully when at sea. I went with the guys to a couple of brothels too, but I never saw a woman there who I wanted to get that close with. Most of them required two rubbers to blow a kiss to, I thought.”

“So here was Betty, pretty, young, clean and willing, I got my first taste of pussy and found I liked it a lot. I had a couple of other girlfriends over my Navy years, but kept coming back to her.”

She playfully bats his arm, “So that’s why you kept getting better between visits.” Rose has become totally enthralled, and her dress now hangs like liquid against her flesh. Her tits are magnifico, full, firm, round with cheery cherries poking out on top. Her dress has become so see through I swear I can see the freckles on her chest. There’s a glow of perseratio on her high-head.

“There’s much more between us than sex, but this tongue got me this girl.” Mr. Sam points at his mouth and then Mrs. Betty, and kisses her on the cheek.

Then I held my breath and asked him the next big question I had been working up to. “Do you think you can show me the basics?”

Mr. Sam has stopped thinking about keeping his boiler cooled down, “Sure,” he says. “Betty, hop up on the table here and I’ll give the lad a few pointers.”

The second request is more difficult. How to phrase it? I still am learning English and don’t want to blow it. Before I speak, “I think that it should be Rose,” Mrs. Betty suggests, picking up where I’m going. “She is a guest. Rose, would you like to ride Sam’s tongue. It is special—It’ll be educational.”

Mr. Sam blinks once and says meekly, “Yes dear. Hop up on the table lass. You are going to like this. Your choice, please say ‘yes’”

Something the Egg has shared is that if Rose is hesitant, she can be coaxed by asking her nicely and giving her a choice. She’s usually compelled to agree to any sex act unless it’s something that she really doesn’t want to do or something that could hurt herself or someone else. Mild conflicts always go to the sexy side without dithering. Everyone knows Sam ate her puss on the kitchen floor after the incident with the wrench; Sam had to go around and describe what happened and apologize afterwards. And everyone also knew she liked it from the kiss she gave him that lingered on his cheek. She’d even told Stella all about it in graphic detail, who then spread it around as a “secret” to all the other guys except for Rose’s dad Carl, who in turn got it from Troy when it slipped out while they were talking about carburetors the next day.

As she stands I reach down, untie her belt, lift the hem of Rose’s dress raising it over her head and off. Naked, she sits on the edge of the table legs dangling, and then leans back on her elbows. “I knew it would come to this,” she sighed and made herself comfortable shifting her weight back and forth, causing her boobies to bounce side to side.

Her pussy has become quite moist and pungent, a strong but happy smell of excited female, and as Mr. Sam spreads her lower lips he starts to point out the relevant parts of her genitalia, and describing each one in detail while stroking them in turn with his increasingly slick sticky fingers. Rose starts to moan and wiggle a bit in response. Her tits bounce and wobble like a jello aspic on a passenger train dining-car tray.

Now the third and final request. “I can’t quite get it. Can Mrs. Betty sit up here so I can follow along?” I wink at her as she hops up on the table lifting but not removing her skirt. I was right, no panties. She winks back twice, once with her eye.

Mr. Sam has become bewitched by Rose’s fiery crotch, and is gently moving her clit from side to side. I swear I can see some drool on his lip. “I guess that would be a good idea.” I ask him to slowly repeat the steps he went through with Rose and as he does so I use my fingers to do the exact same with Mrs. Betty. She has a big grin on her face; I think she sees that her plan has worked. There is something about Mr. Sam that we all follow his lead, even Mr. Carl, and when he isn’t going where wanted, it has to be finessed. Something like with Rose’s reluctance, my dance was my attempt to make us get to this point but I was clumsy—not in the dancing but in the strategy, yet it was Mrs. Betty’s punch which unlocked the fleshy doors to paradise. She has been the one guiding us today in a quiet and subtle manner. She is our secret boss. I happily follow her lead, Rose and Mr. Sam needed a bit more encouragement. But the freight train is rolling now. The tunnels are ahead in sight.

Mr. Sam says to watch closely as he places his mouth over Rose’s entire coochie and starts lapping then licking and sucking, and then I do the same to the sly lady in front of me. Frank is still crooning away, so I know I will dance my tongue exellento. She lets out a loud contented sigh and then a private “Hahahahaha” and not long later shouts “Yes!” as she floods my mouth with her own special fruit punch. Eating Mrs. Betty is always a good meal.

Betty:

Lordy, it took a goodly bit for me to catch my breath. Sam was still munching Rose muff, stopping to comment and pass on an observation to Aram every once and a while, and now had reached around her legs, pushing them up in the air resting on his shoulders so he could grip her boobies. I think he was showing off, trying to give her a multiple multiple. For sure she was on her third.

Aram looked up at me with sad, pleading eyes and a bulge in his pants. “Can we please make love?”

That boy. He’s so polite. “Yes. We can also fuck,” I say. “But let’s head upstairs to the bedroom.” Sam looks over and there is some hurt anger in his eyes. “When you finish up here, you can come join us,” I tell him. He redoubles his efforts and brings Rose off again. When the Egg was talking, I remember it saying that jealousy is often turned into redirected lust. If so, Rose is in for quite a pounding very shortly. She seems to be ready for it. I also remember something else it said and turn to her, “Milky Rose 100-dollar whiskey.” It starts flowing out her Sam-gripped teats and over his fingers, as the magic makes them swell up. I tell Sam, “Enjoy a dram or two, save some for me later” as I hand him an empty crystal decanter off the knick-knack shelf. “On second thought, don’t come up until you’ve set her back to normal. And, don’t forget I love you best of all, Sam.” With that I take Aram’s hand in mine and lead him upstairs.

It’s the first time in years I have been so aggressive, Sam usually leads the way and I agree. But today I’m sure getting a kick out of setting the pace. I’ll have to do it more often.

The first thing he does in the bedroom is turn on the bedside radio-alarm clock and finds a soft jazz station. “This will make it better. The dance of love. You are a very special person to me, Mrs. Betty. You have always been so very good to me here in America.” When I was thinking about love giving and love receiving, this is exactly what I meant. I so want to make his night tonight one he’ll always remember with a smile. I nod in agreement and help him undress.

I strip slowly, folding and putting away each piece. He suggests I leave the stockings and garter on, so I do. “Your legs are tres bella,” he says, then whistles.

We talk a little and he had figured out about the food and the punch. I tell him that he’s right, the Egg set it up so we’d think the appetizers would send us in a frenzy of fucking, and wanted to see if that happened by itself without his push. He never said not to dose any other food or drink, and I knew Sam was resistant to the point of being a pain in the butt, and that would make the night end badly with frustration and tears. So I spiked the punch. And that I hoped that the Egg wouldn’t be too mad for not following its plan. He can see those results next door at Carl and Sheila’s. No punch for them.

Aram pointed out that maybe letting me take the initiative might have been the Egg’s plan all along. And maybe that’s why I was told. I agreed that didn’t sound totally crazy, so I stopped worrying about it as he slipped his stiff caramel pretzel into my hot white oven and I basted it to the rhythm of the bossa nova burbling out of the radio. “Long and tan—uggh—and lean and lovely—squish—the girl—ooosh—from Ipanima...” As he reached down to caress my breasts, I was feeling might good with the world.

After he came he lay there on top of me, still slightly grinding along to the music with that same beatific smile you sometimes see on paintings of the saints, and that Sam has been showing lately. I guess that “a lover lying between my thighs is in ecstasy” thing is real too. Aram exhales deeply and contentedly, his semi-hard dick still up me, my clit rubbing against his pubes. I lay a hand on his smooth young ass and give his cheek an affectionate squeeze.

Then he gasps again, seemingly at random. “What was that?” I ask.

“I think Marc just came, wherever he is, and he shared it,” is the answer. “It happened earlier when we were at the movies, Me and Troy, we felt it. Will says he didn’t. So it must have been with Annette. Or you.” He looks at me pointedly, and then moves on. “In the food fight scene. When Bluto put the mashed potatoes in his mouth and pretended he was popping a zit.”

I blush remembering my afternoon with Marc on his bed in the basement and how he came buckets in me and on me, more than once. Sam probably thinks it was with one of the girls, or Sheila, he had to have felt it too. Maybe he thinks it was with me, no, he would have mentioned it.

Later Sam and Rose came upstairs. He still looked a little annoyed that I went off without him. She was naked but still in her heels, which I helped her remove leaving only the necklace and ankle chain, these I told her were very pretty, and gave her a good foot rub sitting on my knees on the carpet, bum wiggling away as I massaged her tootsies, which always relaxes me. The foot massage, not the bum wiggling. Aram watching my naked backside asked if he could try my ass, but I told him that I was saving the first go for Sam. That cheered Sam up considerable—he didn’t need to know that Aram and I worked out what to say earlier. He wouldn’t have asked himself, but showing his alpha status over young cub committed him.

“Darn, the cream is downstairs. Could someone go get it?” I suggest, more play acting I’m afraid.

“No need,” Aram responds, “Milky Rose Magic Cream.” I reach up and give the girl’s magic honkers a toot.

I say, “Oops, too hard,”—she flushes slightly while spurting a fountain onto the sheets. My mistake. The second time I’m more gentle and fill my cupped palm and smear it over Sam’s pecker, then a second tit-load around my asshole. “Come on big guy, I’m told that sailors all know how,” I tease wagging tail again in his direction. Sam spurts indignantly—from his mouth this time. One way to get him going is to tease about the Navy. He just about had apoplexy the first time he heard that Village People song. He looks down as I get up on my hands and knees on the bed. Again I waggle my bum cheeks, “Never mind the maneuvers, just go straight at them.” He always was a big fan of the one-armed Admiral, and follows his advice. It’s a good thing I’ve prepped by getting Carl to bugger me yesterday—working his magic up the khyber, slick as sin and twice as fun, I feel the heat as Sam snakes in and up, then back down, and up again. He starts slow and gentle, but as he sees that it’s smooth sailing, he stokes the engine to full-steam ahead. Nothing flying at half-mast here. All hands are on deck! Forty fathoms deep! Yo ho ho and the pizzle will cum.

Aram has followed suit with the slightly stunned Rose who’s reacting with increasing sexual desire as expected to the gush out her womanly glands, first some cream on his dicky and then spread generously around her dumper. He also puts some in a dish by the bed for later use, “when” not “if” needed. She doesn’t have the advantage of a Carl modification, it’s all sodomy as nature intended, but she’s a big girl and Aram is a gentle lover with a medium sized dick. Still, I think that there has to be some way I can bring her out of her passive daze. The music shifts to a raunchy saxophone piece. Stripper music I’ve heard it called. Both Sam and Aram speed up accordingly, and as Rose and I are side by side on the bed, and as Sam is in sync with Aram we move back and forth together; I look over at her. It’s hard to tell exactly what she’s feeling from the look behind her dangling red hair, but at least part of it is pure pleasure. I throw one arm around her shoulder so she’s in supporting us both in the middle and I plant a wet kiss on her cheek. “You are special. You are loved,” I whisper in her ear, and she gives me a watery smile in return, then Aram remembers to say “cilantro” causing Rose to cum loudly. This reminds Sam and he reaches around to put a finger in my box, and he also says it, giving me a lovely one all over his hand.

The guys could use a break, but there are a few things I’d like to try. That Joy of Sex book really broadened my mind and honed my technique. I’m going to insist Sam read it too. He’s not a big reader but he always reads the manual for any appliance we buy from cover to cover. I’ll tell him it’s like that. As Rose’s shirt puppies shrink back to size they leak cream, which I start smearing over her tits and mine. Aram sits on the chair by my make-up table, and Sam at the end of the bed, watching. I climb on top of Rose and start rubbing our boobies together, sliding easily with the wet cream still oozing out her nips. One of my hands cups her head and I bring her lips to mine, pushing in to give her a really good French kiss. He eyes open wide for a second, then close completely as she gives herself into the sensation and we start rubbing tongues as well as chests. She starts licking back and puts her tongue deep in my mouth, a good sign. After we break off the kiss, I use some more cream to lubricate my snatch and then hers, alternating our legs so that we are rubbing our pussy lips against each other’s upper thigh. It feels so good that I orgasm again.

I roll over taking Rose with me, my ankles locked around her bum and we lay there belly to belly with her on top, our pubic hair mingling stickily. “I mean it,” I tell her again, “You are loved, not just desired. Loved,” and I stroke her silky hair. The lover inside my thighs trick is doing its magic on her, I can see a content and relaxed look in her eyes, all traces of the previous tension gone. She’s awake and aware, and feeling at ease. I open my legs and she stays still, our mons touching and I can feel her breathing against my chest. I wasn’t sure if I had to make her my lover to get this to work, but I have no regrets.

After about a minute or three she kisses my cheek and says “I love you too,” and gets up. The fluids have dried a little and there is some delicate disentangling where our bush hair has fused together in sticky clumps of cream, cum and sweat. I keep my pubic hair short because Sam likes it that way for his oral adventures, so it’s not too bad. I should take the girls aside some day next week and give them all a good trim. After reading some instructions first. We could make a day of it. With cocktails. And maybe a stiff cock or two afterwards.

And there is something else, my chest feels wonderfully tight, like I did when I was a teenager and feeling it get bigger day by day. When I sit up my boobies have grown and plumped, like when I was nursing. “Wow, that really is magic cream.” Sadly, it doesn’t last more than a few hours. I head into our washroom and fill a bowl with warm soapy water and drop four hand towels in it, and jiggle my bust at the mirror, make a funny face and laugh. I sit down to tinkle—sex often triggers my bladder—but nothing, and I feel no need. It’s odd, none of us has left to go pee. Then I remember Carl’s gift, has he been whizzing for the whole neighborhood?

I bring the bowl and some dry towels out and go over to Sam and get him to stand and hand him a wet one and get him to wipe me down then dry. Aram does the same to Rose, then we reverse and I do Sam while Rose does Aram. We spend some extra time with their peckers, knowing where they’ve just been, but they seem surprisingly clean. Is that the cream again? A question for the Egg.

I suggest that Sam sit on our reading chair then climb on his lap and his hands hold my breasts while we wait for his little seaman to get on deck again. He approves. It’s been a long time since we just sat while he played with my titties, and this brings back good memories. Or is that mammaries? Hahahaha. I’ll have to pass this tip on to the other ladies. The Egg did say the cream did more than he told us. I wonder what else it can do. The only way to know is to experiment. Do something sexy with the cream in use and see what happens. Maybe I’ll sunbathe nude tomorrow with it as my lotion. Hahaha. I twist around and give him a kiss on the lips.

Aram, still echoing Sam has coaxed Rose onto his lap on the make-up chair—or is that make-out chair, his lips nuzzling her neck where it meets her shoulder, giving her a hickey, causing her to gasp as he gently strokes and squeezes her bubs and nips, her hands on top of his, following him as he makes them dance, and I remember the her titty clitty gift. Lucky girl.

Then when she felt Aram’s poker stiffen, she gets up and straddles him, sitting down with his face between her breasts and her puss plugged yet again. “It’s my turn to get some exercise,” she declares and starts to bounce up and down. Aram sticks out his tongue and lets it taste her boob flesh as it rises and falls along with the girl. Now she’s got into the spirit!

Half an hour later she suggests and I agree that she eat me out, and as that happens Sam gives enthusiastic instructions. (I don’t tell her, but Sam with his experience and Aram with his music boost are both much better muff divers. But just think, it’s her first time and she gets me off. I’m honored that her virgin carpet munch happens with me. That’s something she’ll always remember. And how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice! Hahahaha.)

Blowjobs are next, then a break for a drink of the punch which Aram brings upstairs along with Sam’s beer, and then some more fucking. I finally let Aram tap my ass, and Sam and Aram take Rose from both the front and the back at the same time while I kiss her all over and fondle her chest. On the hour the DJ changed and the radio has started to quietly burble more contemporary songs, “Take a Walk on the Wild Side, Doo dah doo, dah doo.”

By ten-thirty we were all wore out. We could have kept going by drinking even more punch, but I felt used up, and the guys were not recovering very quickly anymore, even Aram who has amazing stamina when music is playing. Besides, Sam had to work tomorrow, though I could see that he may be late. We haven’t gone at it that long since we were first married. It feels wonderful. But we are older and starting to get a little stiff, not in the good way.

Sam and I showered in our bath which was a very touching experience, and Rose and Aram went to do the same in the kid’s bathroom. After everyone was dressed, Sam and I in our PJs, I fixed snacks in the kitchen from the left-overs and just then looking out the window we saw Rose’s porch light go on. Sam shook Aram’s hand warmly and I kissed his cheek, then Rose’s. Our odd little foreign-friend escorted Rose hand-in-hand back to her place, passing Will on his way home. I gave Sam a big loving kiss while our baby boy returned safe and sound. Sam seemed to have unwound, his usually erect posture a little slumped, but it was a happy relaxed. He smiled at me so sweetly, like a little boy at a sleeping new puppy dog. “It wasn’t so bad after all, was it?” I purr to him. He puts his hand in mine. “We’re a team,” I firmly add and raise our hands to my heart.

Will made a sandwich out of the leavings and refused to talk about what happened, other than to say he was ok. And that the food sucked. “Is that lipstick and blush? And eye-liner?” I ask. He says again that he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Never mind, Sheila can’t keep her mouth shut”, I thought, “I’d get it out of her the next day”. Surprisingly so far she’s been mum, but I have my ways. I did learn from her that Aram stayed the night in Rose’s bed and Sheila and Carl were woken the next morning by the sound of their hair-of-the-dog humping over Rose’s clock radio blasting AC/DC’s All Night Long with Aram singing along on the “American Thighs” line. “We need to move Rose’s headboard away from the wall,” she sighed. Sheila seemed to be boasting when she tells me this. Listening in gave Carl such a stiffy that they had to fuck too.

When Will went to get the last glass of punch, Sam stops him, saying that, “There is alcohol in there, young man!” So Sam must have figured out about the punch by now. Or else he was being an asshole about liquor again. He did completely fill the decanter with expensive whiskey. And a second one as well with something of a different light-amber color. I taste it—delicious white rum, my favorite, what a sweet man. We need to have Rose over more often; I have found some interesting recipes with hard-to-get-in-Wisconsin liquid ingredients. In any case I was tired and not really sure what to think.

Will headed up for a shower and bed, and as Sam and I were freshening our bedding Annette came in, said she was fine and had a good time and wouldn’t say anything more about what happened at Gail’s, then she banged on the kid’s bathroom door demanding that Will hurry up and finish, she wanted to use the shower right away. And not to leave it a disgusting mess. And not use up all the hot water. So we were all back to normal, such as it is.