The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Prologue: Book of Words

The mansion at the end of Monmouth Circle had lain empty for nearly fifty years, the last remnant of the estate of Joseph Rosenthal IV, a famously infamous millionaire playboy of the 1920’s. Three stories high with vast and beautiful grounds, the mansion overlooked the town of Green Briar and its surrounding communities, and remained somewhat of a cultural landmark. Often times the teenagers of Green Briar were known to sneak onto the property for some youthful shenanigans, but rarely could one such group boast of actually making it inside the house thanks to nearly mythological security devices. The trespassing fun would soon end, however—to the astonishment of all, the mansion was sold the summer past at nearly one-eighth its valued price.

The buyer was one Maxwell Cutter, a 45-year old independently wealthy venture capitalist who made his fortune as one of the first such men to fund Internet start-up companies and sell them to conglomerates for hefty profits. Estimated at nearly seven hundred million dollars, he ranked somewhere in the upper echelons of Forbes wealthiest men list. Maxwell had three children by a wife lost to cancer some years before, two daughters, 20 year-old Jessica and 17 year-old Megan, and a son, Jack, aged eighteen years.

Recently remarried, the mansion was meant as a wedding present for Maxwell’s bride, Angela Lee Joelson, a 38-year old former Playhouse Playpet who looked not a day over twenty-five. Angela had two twin daughters from a brief previous marriage, Krystal and Jenna. Both women were stunningly gorgeous at 18 years old, outdoing the beauty of even their mother, and both were blessed with the rarest of all eye colors, a brilliant shade of violet. There was little way to differentiate one twin from the other.

The Cutter family quickly became the talk of the town.

Jack never knew they built houses as gigantic as the one he now lived in. His house back in Los Troyes, the town next to Green Briar, was big, bigger than anyone else’s in the neighborhood, but this place was ridiculous: three stories and twenty-six rooms in all, excluding a wine cellar, basement, attic, sauna, indoor pool and tennis courts, workout room, and everything outside the place—gardens, fountains, ponds, courts, gazebos, and a plethora of other isolated areas.

“This place is unbelievable,” Cassandra said. Cassandra Wilson was Jack’s best and oldest friend, a 20 year-old sophomore at the same college Jack would begin attending when the term began in September, the University of Southern California. Though Jack would never tell anyone, he was deeply in love with Cassandra, deeply in love and extremely attracted as well—and it was hard not to be attracted to a woman as beautiful as she was. Standing 5′8 with blonde hair that fell about her face in soft ringlets, bewitching blue eyes, and a body to make a man cry, she was every man’s fantasy girl...not to mention she was stacked.

“I can’t even remember everywhere we’ve been,” Jack said. “Where are we right now?”

Cassandra laughed, a silvery, musical sound. “The third floor, silly. Look, these stairs must lead up to the attic.” Her eyes narrowed and twinkled mischievously. “Wanna check it out? Who knows what’s up there?”

Jack knew who controlled their friendship, and immediately gave in. The pair climbed the steep, long staircase and found a door at the top, which opened up into a huge room filled to the roof with boxes. It was August and the room was stuffy and hot.

“What is all this stuff?” Cassandra wondered.

“It must be all of Joseph Rosenthal’s old things,” Jack replied, “left untouched for god knows how many years. I guess my dad didn’t need to put anything of ours up here and just left it alone.”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” the girl whispered, curiosity overtaking her, and the two began scouring the contents of the boxes. An hour later the two had little to show for themselves—photos, ancient trinkets, photos, dusty old odds-and-ends, and still more worn and tattered photos.

Cassandra had rolled her shirt up and tucked it under her bra in a makeshift bikini top, revealing a tanned and toned midriff and accentuating nicely the fullness of her breasts. Jack felt the stirrings of lust strike deep within him, but shook them off—he knew they’d go nowhere; Cassandra was just a friend.

“Who was this guy?” she asked.

Jack smiled—he knew the story by heart now. “Joseph Rosenthal IV, millionaire tycoon and playboy. Made his money a thousand different ways, too many to mention, and few people really know how he did it. Men worshipped him and envied him, women adored him and wanted to bear his children, and six different women did. His nine kids fought tremendous legal battles over his estate when he died fifty-eight years ago, and their greedy lawyers decimated the fortune. However, Joseph put a trust fund aside before he died to maintain the upkeep of this mansion, the one true love of his life. The fund ran out last year and my dad snagged it cheap through a business connection.”

“Lucky you,” Cassandra said. “It just happens to be an hour drive from school—the school which, I might add, you followed me to.”

Jack assumed a hurt look. “Hey, I just want a good education and good athletics.”

Cassandra grinned devilishly. “You just want to fuck all my hot college girl friends.”

“I do not!” Jack reconsidered. “Well, maybe...”

Their rummaging continued, him at one side of the attic, her at the other. Nothing was produced, until Jack came across a small, ornately decorated gold chest in the far corner, covered in dust and the effects of time. He was about to call Cassandra over but some strange feeling gave him pause, and instead he opened the chest by himself.

Inside only one object sat, nestled within the folds of a cushion of maroon velvet. It was a book, ancient he could tell, but well-preserved. Jack could almost swear his fingers tingled as they touched it. Bound in brown leather with cream-colored pages, the book had no identifying marks of any kind—no copyright information, serial number, bar code, or the like. He flipped open to the title page:

Du Mortes adu Savignard

Am Dusant du Lons

—

The Words of the Spirits

By Dusant the Wise

—

Translated by

Pericles Arrath, Rank Scholar

1126 ad

“What the hell?” Jack whispered to himself. “1126? Jesus Christ!” Jack flipped the page and came across the table of contents. The first section was titled Words of Weather in the translated version, and Jack flipped to the page. The first paragraph read, ‘A Working of words to increase the temperature in a room by 5 degrees—repeat tack to increase by 5 more degrees with each repetition’. Jack looked hesitantly at the words beneath, then whispered them, almost inaudibly, “Taltamen, en du atas, boldone em tack allasa.”

“Is it even hotter in here than it was when we got here?” Cassandra called from across the room. “Geez, Jack, I might need to take off all my clothes to stay cool.”

Jack’s mind reeled—it worked, the book actually worked. He opened it randomly in the middle and quickly read the translated words: ‘A Working of words to affect a state of transparency’. Beneath that was a counter spell. What the hell is this thing, an astonished Jack thought.

“Jack?” Cassandra called again, coming closer. “Are you there? I’m hungry, it’s too hot, and someone’s calling us down to dinner. Let’s get out of here.”

Jack slammed the book shut and quickly dropped it back into the chest. Shoving the chest out of sight, he stood up, his heart pounding inside his chest. Cassandra found him and the two headed downstairs to get some food, but Jack found it hard to concentrate on anything but the book.

Maxwell Cutter sat at the head of the massive oak dining room table and surveyed the members of his attractive family. It was their first night in their new house, a mansion by everyone’s standards and the house Max had wanted to buy ever since he moved back to Green Briar, the town of his youth.

At the other end of the table was Angela, his beautiful wife of less than a year. Radiantly dressed—she always dressed up—in a sleek black evening dress that showed to great effect all of her assets, she looked every bit as gorgeous as the Playhouse Playpet she was some sixteen years earlier. To Angela’s right and left were her daughters from a previous marriage, Krystal and Jenna, both eighteen and both unbelievably stunning. Identical in nearly every way, Krystal and Jenna were both one inch under six feet with flowing blonde hair down to the ass, not to mention tits to make a mouth water. Max secretly harbored deep feelings of lust for his stepdaughters, and the knowledge of their sexual precociousness didn’t help much. Too bad the girls were complete and utter bitch snobs.

To Max’s right sat his oldest child from his own previous marriage, Jessica, a twenty-year old bombshell who was the spitting image of her mother, God rest her soul, with dark black hair, deep brown eyes, and a killer figure. Across from her sat Megan, his youngest child of seventeen years and another beautiful girl of the family. Her auburn and sunset-colored hair came from his wife’s parents, having skipped a generation, and matched her green eyes wondrously. Having come into her womanhood a few short years earlier, Megan displayed the same kind of endowments her mother and sister enjoyed: huge tits and a slender figure. Still a virgin, Max knew Megan would make some man very happy someday.

Then there was his only son, Jack. Jack was incredibly intelligent, just like his old man, Max thought with a tiny grin, and would someday truly make something of his life. However, he seemed to have a little trouble with the ladies. Not that the boy was ugly, quite the contrary, actually. Jack was 6′4 and decently built for a fresh young high school graduate. Captain of the boy’s volleyball and basketball teams, he was on his way to college—USC—on a volleyball scholarship. Jack just seemed shy went it came to closing the deal with girls. They all had crushes on him, but by the time he ever worked up the nerve to do anything, he’d become such good friends with the girls that they didn’t want to ruin it, or they’d found some other more accessible guy to crush on. One such girl was having dinner with them at this vey moment—Cassandra Wilson, Jack’s best friend. She was a hot little number, Max always thought, and before he married Angela he often fantasized about the things he could do to her supple young body. Come to think of it, he still did. Poor Jack, Max thought, he would figure it out someday.

“How is dinner everyone?” Max asked.

“Excellent, Mr. Cutter,” Cassandra said, “thanks for having me over.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and Max could’ve sworn for a moment she was flirting. No, he must be mistaken. Wishful thinking, he supposed.

“I’ve had better,” Krystal said, echoed by Jenna’s, “mediocre at best.”

Jessica leaned over and patted his arm, and whispered, “Don’t worry, daddy, I love it. Jack loves it, too—don’t you, little brother?” She rumpled her brother’s hair affectionately. Jack nodded.

“I adore it, too, daddy,” Megan declared.

The conversation began to flow, and Max sat back and enjoyed it all as the fruits of his labor, the meaningful people in his life, bonded together on the first night in their new home. He knew great things were in store for them.

Chapter One: To See or Not to See

Jack raced back to his room, the chest from the attic hidden beneath his shirt. He locked the door behind him and quickly pulled out the ancient book. Cassandra had driven home after dinner so Jack would be all alone. He stared down at the strange manual, his finger tracing the edge of the cover. His could feel his pulse beating rapidly. If the spells in the book really worked...it was too crazy to even think about. He flipped to the page marked with a dog-ear and studied the writing: ‘A Working of words to affect a state of transparency’. Beneath them were written more words in a strange language. Jack took a deep breath, and muttered them aloud.

Nothing happened. Jack looked down and saw his hand; he could still see himself. “That sucks,” he said, but in some strange way he felt almost relieved. He went to the full-size mirror in the hall bathroom—and nearly fell over when he saw no reflection in the glass. He was gone without a trace, totally invisible.

“Holy shit!” he cried, waving his arms around wildly without any movement registering in the mirror.

“Hello?” His sister Jessica’s voice called out from somewhere quite close, and seconds later she appeared in the bathroom doorway. Jack stood rooted to the ground, not wanting to make a sound. “Jack, are you in there? Hello?”

She entered and closed the door behind her. She wore a loose t-shirt and had a towel wrapped around her waist. Her hair was wet and soaking her shirt; she must’ve just taken a shower. Jessica walked up to the sink and splashed some cool water on her face. Her sweet cinnamon scent tickled Jack’s nose. God, she smells good, Jack thought. She reached for her toothbrush, and as she did so the towel dropped to the floor.

Jack clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping. A pair of pink lace panties covered her private regions and nothing else, exposing most of her bottom half. She bent over the bathroom counter, back arched, her ass sticking out in the air, and for the first time Jack realized how truly beautiful his sister was. Jessica was tall at 5′10, with raven colored-hair and deep brown eyes. Her skin was tanned gold by the sun, which she bathed in regularly, and her body was flawless, well-endowed with long, supple legs and an ass to die for.

As she brushed her teeth, her butt wiggled slightly, the panties bunching up, and Jack felt the beginnings of a major erection. Jessica finished, wrapped the towel around her and scooted off down the hallway, leaving a breathless and unseen Jack in her wake.

“He seems like a nice boy, Jessica,” Angela, Jack’s stepmother, said quietly to her stepdaughter. “I’m sure you’ll have a fabulous time.”

Jessica smiled. “I hope so,” she said, anticipation rising. She was dressed in a short red sun dress with a tiny purse, lipstick, and painted toenails to match. She looked sexy as hell.

Jack stood in the corner of the kitchen, waiting as Jessica did for the date to arrive. When the doorbell finally rang, Jack slipped out one of the side doors and crept around to the huge circular cul-de-sac at the end of their long driveway. Luckily, the boy Jessica was going out with drove a white 1998 Suburban with plenty of room to hide. Jack quickly jumped inside.

Jessica and her date, a young mechanic named Tommy Higgins, arrived shortly thereafter. Tommy intended to take Jessica to one of the romantic hotspots of the town of Green Briar—the oldest working drive-in movie theater in the United States. During the drive over, Jack lounged in the back of the car, unseen in his invisible state. Tommy pulled into the parking lot and rolled to a spot a good distance from the rest of the cars.

“What’s the movie, Tommy?” Jessica asked, her voice soft and shy. That’s not like Jessica, Jack thought. She was usually so bossy.

Tommy smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a romance,” he said, and leaned in close to kiss her. Jessica closed her eyes and felt his warm tongue slide into hers. The touch of his hands upon her neck sent shivers down her body, and between her legs it suddenly grew very steamy. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder and trailed down into the valley between her ample breasts.

Suddenly she felt something pinch her ass, hard. “Owww!” she cried, and shoved him away. “That hurt!”

Tommy looked at her like she was crazy, which really pissed her off. “What hurt?”

“Why’d you pinch me?”

“I didn’t pinch you.”

“I felt you do it!”

“I didn’t pinch you.”

Jessica looked at the walking, talking asshole jerk before her. Why he thought he could get away with cruelly pinching her when he was the only other person in the car was beyond her. She absolutely abhorred liars. She smoothed her skirt and sat up, staring straight ahead. “Take me home,” she ordered.

Sitting unnoticed in the back seat, Jack Cutter smiled.

When Jack returned to his room, he immediately pulled out the book again and began flipping through the pages. The book, he reasoned, had a lot of potential. He flipped to the table of contents and was about to continue when a small folded sheaf of cream-colored parchment fell out from between the pages. The paper was extremely brittle so Jack unfolded it with tender loving care. There were words written on the paper, words written in English:

To Whom it May Concern,

The discovery of this book is the discovery of one’s destiny. The powers of life and death, love and hate, wealth and fame, physical and emotional states, gravity and time, the past, the future, the present, and everything that comes in between are all contained within these tattered pages. The world is yours to command, now. Use this book wisely and never leave its side, for no single entity on the face of the earth wields more power. These are the powers of the fates and the gods.

Good Luck,

J.R.

Jack shuddered. These are the powers of the fates and the gods. The words echoed through his mind. My destiny, he thought. With a deep breath, he continued the investigation of his discovered treasure. The book was divided into five sections: inanimate object spells, spells for other people, spells affecting the spell-caster, action spells, and one for miscellaneous spells. While browsing the spells affecting the spell-caster section, the same section he found the invisibility spell in, Jack came across another spell that caught his attention: ‘A Working of words to convey the caster to limbo’. Beneath that, as usual, was a quick spell to bring the caster back. Limbo, Jack thought to himself, sounded interesting indeed. For the third time that day, Jack muttered words in a foreign language—and the world around him disappeared.

Bright white light flashed before his eyes, and it took a long moment for Jack to reorient himself. Nothing seemed to have changed, he was still in the same place—his bedroom. Then he noticed something strange about the situation: sound had ceased to exist. Every sound seemed to have stopped, even little incidental sounds never really noticed, like the quiet purring of the air conditioning units or the murmurs of the water pipes. The air smelled different, too—not worse, just different. Musty would be the word he’d use to describe it.

“Weird,” he said aloud to himself. Suddenly thirsty, he went to grab a glass of water from the bathroom—and stopped dead in his tracks. Halfway between the water faucet and the basin of the sink, a droplet of water was suspended in mid air, frozen completely in place. Jack’s jaw dropped. He ran to the window and looked outside...and saw a hummingbird motionless in the sky some thirty feet above the ground. Its wings were immobile. In fact, not a single part of the bird moved, as if it were a statue.

Impossible, Jack thought, time just doesn’t stop.

What he found in his parent’s room, however, brought his perception of possibility crashing down around him. His stepmother sat at a tiny vanity table in the corner of the master bedroom, utterly motionless. She was dressed in a silk night robe tightly clenched around her body and a brush was frozen mid-stroke in the long golden blonde strands of her hair. Her eyes were partly shut, as if blinking. She looked every bit the part of a mannequin. His father, Jack realized, was in the bathroom, and Jack had no desire to see such a thing. He stumbled back to his room, mind racing and overwhelmed.

He dropped to his bed—then hopped up again when he realized the mattress gave way beneath him. If the mattress moved, he thought, maybe other things will. He reached for a picture frame on his desk, a photo of him and Cassandra at the beach, and picked it up easily. No resistance, he thought. He set it back down on the desk.

After a long pause he picked the frame up again, held it out away from his body with nothing beneath it, and let go. The frame hung suspended in the air in front of him, as securely as if it rested on a table. Jack smiled to himself—this new development interested him greatly.

The door to his older sister’s bedroom was shut. Jack hovered just beyond it, his heart racing as thoughts of what he planned to do pounded through his head. He could hear her within, moving around the room, radio blasting out some infernal country singer’s love song. Jack took a deep breath, and began to speak.

Jessica heard a knock at the door to her bedroom and rose from where she sat at her writing desk. She was dressed in a tight mini-t-shirt with pink writing on the front that read ‘naughty girl’ and her underwear. She pulled on some grey shorts, and checked herself quickly in the mirror. She knew only her family was home, but that’s no reason to look poorly. Her wire frame reading glasses perfectly framed her face, and her hair was done up in a loose bun that showed off the slender line of her neck. Strands of her thick black hair trailed down over the white skin. The air was cool and she wore no bra, and she giggled when she noticed her nipples were standing up at attention.

She answered the door, but nobody was there. Probably her brother being annoying, she figured. She stepped out into the hallway, but still there was no sign of anybody. With a shrug, she walked back inside and shut the door.

Mission accomplished, Jack thought to himself. Inside his sister’s room, still safely hidden by the veil of invisibility, he watched Jessica sit down at her small desk to finish writing a letter. Her deep brown eyes appeared distant, lost in thought. Jack marveled at his sister’s beauty, something that he really never noticed until now. She was a fucking hottie. A flawless face with perfect skin, a thin frame and narrow waist with athletic legs and huge tits—36D he’d once overheard her say. She leaned back in her chair to stretch her back, and Jack leapt at the opportunity.

He mumbled the words he’d memorized and the blinding light flashed again, though much less brilliant this time around. It must get easier with each try, Jack reasoned. Jessica sat trapped in time, her body unmoving. The radio blasted no more music and the air smelled of the same stale stench. Jack moved next to his sister.

She was staring directly ahead, oblivious to his waving hands. Her mouth was open in a yawn, her tongue lightly pressed against her bottom lip. Her eyes were expressionless, but blazed with life—she definitely didn’t look like she was dead.

Tentatively Jack reached out to touch her face. His fingers gently brushed her cheek, and her skin was warm and strangely pliant. He pressed harder against her cheek and her head moved slightly from the force. He pulled away. Jessica’s head was cocked slightly, left exactly the way Jack had moved it. He reached out again.

He stroked her long dark hair—it felt like he was touching silk. His fingers grazed her full lips, tracing a circle around them. He pushed a finger inside her mouth, and lay it on her tongue. He mouth was warm and wet, and the sight of his finger in his sister’s mouth made the blood in his loins start to boil. Then he noticed her nipples, little nubbins thrusting up behind the constrictive cotton t-shirt, and his erection sprung to life.

His wavering hand reached out again and his fingers swept lightly over her breasts. They felt soft and pliant, but firm—and there was a lot of area to cover. His hand cupped her breast, lifting it up. His other hand reached out and he grabbed a handful of her other luscious tit. Her hard nipples pushed against his palms as he fondled Jessica, kneading her flesh, his actions growing more and more forceful with each passing second. He was growing crazy with lust and the boner in his pant raged.

He broke away, panting. Her breasts were frozen in place again, pushed unnaturally high upon her chest where he last left them. The fabric of her shirt was rumpled. Jack quickly murmured the counter spell, and the world came to life around him.

Jessica’s tits plopped down in place, and she jumped in her seat. “What the hell...” she wondered, her hands cupping her chest. She looked confused, very confused. She pushed back from the desk and stood, looking around the room. Her boobs jiggled as she turned, and Jack fought back a groan of desire. Finally, she shrugged and turned with her back to where he stood hidden.

She stripped off the gray shorts in one fluid motion, revealing to him again the pink lace panties burned into his mind from before. They rode high up her ass, showing off her dark tan line from the next-to-nothing bikini she always wore. Then she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. It dropped to the floor next to her. Jack couldn’t wait any longer.

Time stopped yet again. His sister was frozen, her head caught as it turned around toward him. Jack realized he’d said the spell out loud, and she was probably turning to see what the hell was there. Her face was still confused.

Jessica’s back was bare, and Jack marveled at the long smooth curve of it. Her dark hair cascaded off her head and over her shoulders, ending at the midline of her shoulder blades. Jack had never seen anything so beautiful as the backside of his sister’s body. Slowly he made his way around the front, and slowly her magnificent breasts revealed themselves to his eyes. They were far fleshier than he’d ever thought possible, and perfectly round on the underside. There was no tan line—she must sunbathe topless, he realized with a start—and her nipples were smallish in size and pink. Her breasts rose off her chest like melons ripe for the picking.

Jack reached out again and fondled his sister’s breasts, this time unrestricted by the annoying cloth of her shirt. Her skin was warm to the touch, her breasts were giving—they were real, after all—and they rolled around in his hands like play-dough. He lowered his head to her right breast and took the tiny nipple into his mouth. He slavered over Jessica’s tits, licking up the underside, tonguing the nipple and crest, opening his mouth wide enough to suck nearly one third of the fleshy mound into it. His other hand continued to knead her other breast. His hard on nearly pained him, it hurt so bad.

He stepped back and restarted time. Jessica turned around, but saw nothing. Her hands flew to her chest as she did so, as if she felt something, but couldn’t quite place what it was. She shook her head rapidly. Her tits jiggled as she did so, and Jack longed to suckle them again. “What’s wrong with me tonight?” she asked aloud, and crawled forward into bed.

Jack stopped time again. His sister was frozen on the bottom half of the bed on her hands and knees, her right hand and knee ahead of her left. Her back was arched, her ass stuck up in the air. Her breasts hung down off her chest, a foot from touching the sheets. She looked, Jack thought, exactly like a cat standing still. She looked, Jack thought, sexier than anything he’d ever seen in his life.

He moved to her and ran a hand over the curve of her ass. The smooth skin was firm and toned. He grinned devilishly and slapped her once, hard on the butt, and a hand print immediately appeared on her cheek. His fingers traced up and down her back, leaving no inch untouched. Jack had little experience with women and wanted to know what every part felt like. His hands roamed over her sides, her back, and her shoulders; down her arms and back up again; over her stomach, tight and hard, and then higher to cup her hanging breasts again. He squeezed them roughly and shook them, loving the feel of the way the loose flesh wiggled in his palms. He positioned himself behind her and began kneading the soft round orbs of her ass, his face eye-level and inches from Jessica’s bottom.

He stopped, and a wicked thought ran across his mind. With shaking fingers he grasped the pantyline around her waist and peeled down her underwear. The pink lace crept down over the curve of her bottom, revealing Jessica’s splendors to him inch by amorous inch. When the panties passed over the crack of her ass and the little brown button of her anus appeared, visible to the world, Jack never fell over from the strain of desire upon him. He pressed on, however, and continued to strip off the panties. The lower edge of his sister’s vagina peeked out of the elastic edge, totally hairless—shaved clean. He went lower still, until finally the whole of Jessica’s pussy stood out, uncovered. He dropped her panties around her knees and surveyed his prize.

On all fours with her back arched, Jessica was in the prime position to allow viewing of her honeypot, and Jack got an eyeful. A thin swatch of hair, neatly trimmed in a triangle small enough to hide beneath a string bikini, sat above the actual region of her vagina, which remained shorn completely clean. Her pussy lips were pressed together—pursed, as it were—and frozen in the same timeless manner as the rest of Jessica’s body.

Jack’s hands crept forward and grazed his sister’s nether regions, which felt smooth and soft to the touch. Emboldened, Jack massaged his sister’s vagina gently, his fingers running all over her cunt. One finger trekked north and traced the puckered rim of her anus, while two more spread her pussy lips apart in a V-shaped maneuver. To Jack’s surprise, Jessica’s vagina started to grow moist. One of his fingers slipped inside her pussy easily as the juices began to dribble out, wetting all his fingers and the skin around her lips. He continued his exploration of her cunt, probing her crevice and anus and pubic hair, his dick straining against his pants. He lowered his mouth between her legs and kissed her pussy, then buried his head deep between her legs, smothering his face in her wet folds. He vigorously sucked and tongued her clitoris, his nose poking against her anus. His hands roamed her body now, grabbing and roughly squeezing her breasts, while his mouth slavered over her pussy. His tongue trailed up and licked her asshole, then dropped back down and darted inside her vaginal gash.

He pulled quickly away and freed his swollen penis from its place within his pants. He pumped it five quick times with his hands. Thick ropy strands of his cum sprayed forth. Fat globs of it landed on Jessica’s clitoris and coated her pussy lips and the crack of her ass. Where cum hit, it froze immediately. One juicy morsel of cum hung by a bare strand from the bottom of her pussy, threatening to fall, but locked solid in time. Another sat squarely in the center of her tight copper penny. He shook violently as he came, his hand still pumping his member, his eyes still glued to his sister’s nude and prominently displayed body. Jack collapsed on the floor, exhausted.

Minutes later, sufficiently recovered, Jack toweled off his sister’s ass and pussy and replaced her underwear, trying to make everything as normal as possible before he restarted time. He gave her hanging tits one last squeeze. Satisfied, he murmured the words and everything burst to life.

Jessica, on her hands and knees on the bed, moaned loudly and began spasming. She ripped off her panties and her fingers flew to her drenched pussy, and she passionately began to finger herself. “Oh, GOOOODDD!” she cried. “OH, PLEAASSEE GGOODD!”

Her hips bucked wildly as one, then two, then three fingers disappeared inside her pink hole, and it was everything Jack could do to keep from cumming again, right then and there. His sister looked like a machine, a sex-craving whore. “Oh, SHIT! FUUCCCK! GIVE IT TO ME, PLEEEEEAASSEE! AAAAAHHHH!”

Her body spasmed again, and she screamed, piercing the silence of the house, then collapsed back on her bed, her legs splayed out to her sides, her sloppy pussy soaked with her own juices. When she was finally able to open her eyes, her expression betrayed her utter bewilderment. “What...the fuck...was that?” she panted aloud, voice husky.