Impulse Control
by Pizzahead
Ten — Already Written
I’m in a cavernous library, so ancient that the motes of dust that hang in the air might be some of the first matter created after the Big-Bang. I’m desperate to find some special book… Oh, right. That book.
“Can I help you?” It’s a woman, a librarian, smartly dressed and wearing glasses that catch the light in an odd way, making it impossible to get a good look at her eyes.
“I’m seeking a particular book. It’s old, really old, and it… This is going to sound crazy, but I think the book is alive.”
“I see. You’re looking for the book where the story is already written.”
I want to say yes, that’s the one, but then I think—aren’t stories already written in every book?
“I don’t know if I can be of much help,” the librarian says. “No one can be taken to that book, not unless that story has been written. If it’s not, then you could look forever and never find it.”
I’m not at all satisfied by her response, and it occurs to me to cast a spell on her, to see if there are any impulses hiding under the surface. I want her to speak about anything that can help me, and on the impulse field I see that she’s holding something back. I grab on and force her to speak.
“There’s another book!” she nearly coughs out.
“Another one?” I’d thought that book unique, one of a kind.
“It’s not at all like the other. It’s ordinary, but it has a chapter on the book you’re seeking.” She shakes her head as if to clear it, then says: “You used magic on me to make me tell you that, didn’t you? Some sort of make-me spell.”
I’m not sure if I should let her know for certain, but then she removes the odd eyeglasses, and when I see her eyes it’s clear that she knows.
“You’re new. Raw, even. Maybe I should save you a whole lot of trouble and take you to this book. It won’t tell you much, but it’s a start.”
She turns on her heels—very smart heels, with very shapely legs above them. I watch the wiggle of her ass as we make our way deep into seemingly endless rows of shelving, and I wonder—am I developing a sexy librarian fetish?
There are millions or billions of books in every direction, including up above us and and down below, with spiral stairways leading to floor after floor after floor. We pass by an elevator and I look at all the numbers above… It makes my eyes tired just trying to find the last one, which I never do.
This library is so much like the book itself; I can almost smell infinity in the air. There must be books about everything here. Books about everything that exists, and all their stories. Books about things that don’t or can’t exist, and their stories, too. There must be books about books that tell of other books. There must be books about me.
Finally the shapely librarian stops, and reaches high to pluck out a fat tome that I never could have known to single out. Its cover is completely black, save for the title: Mischievous Magic—A History of Constricted Conjuring. I get the willies reading that, but I accept the book when it’s placed into my hands.
“I don’t know if you should even believe what this book says,” the librarian cautions. “Its very existence is only another story already written. The book you’re seeking… It knows all of us, and knows our stories, intimately. You, trying to find out what you need to know—you’ll fathom as much as it wants you to, and not a bit more.”
She’s going way too philosophical or mystical for me. I’m in need of practical answers, not hints of riddles within riddles.
She departs and I sit on the floor with the black book in my lap, running through the table of contents. This is a very timely book for me—there are chapters on devils and tricksters, demonic deceit and cosmic chicanery, spurious spells and boomerang bargains, but I don’t see anything about a living book of spells. Does the book with the spells even have a name, a way of being identified? What did the librarian call it—a book already written, or a book where other things are already written? There is nothing like that in the table of contents.
I go to the introduction, and skim those pages. There are paragraphs that contain general words of warning about engaging in the casting of spells, and right there, in bold print, is this: No spell, once cast, can be withdrawn; the magic is much like a living being born to fulfill a given purpose, and there can be no persuading such a thing into betraying its inherent nature. A regretted spell can, however, be re-shaped or partially overridden by the casting of additional magic; for this reason it is said that only fools aim magic into their world without knowledge of other spells sympathetic to the magic in their possession.
That’s it, right there—the only cure for miscast magic is to add other magic on top. I feel a flutter of hope, though it also hurts, essentially being revealed as a fool.
“I could help you feel much better,” a woman says, standing right in front of me. My eyes are at the level of her thighs and there’s no mistaking the vitality of these legs, powering their way up and under an above-the-knee wool skirt. It’s Meghan, dressed in her typical work attire, a colorful stretch-top tucked into the skirt, with nylons and fetching heels. No wonder I’m having a thing for librarians; everyone would have a librarian fetish if they were exposed long enough to a woman who looked like Meghan. Everyone would have a librarian fetish if they had any idea how she could fuck.
She’s just standing there, doing nothing to flirt with me, yet my cock hardens and pushes against the back of the book in my lap. I can sense the compression of her breasts where they form cleavage up above me, and I would swear there’s a little cloud reaching out to brush vapor against my nose and my mouth, formed by a swelling of the humidity between Meghan’s thighs.
“Come with me,” she says, reaching down. “I can show you something you’ll never find in any book.”
I’m torn, but succumb to the will of my dick, which lifts my arm to take her hand. I still haven’t found the chapter about the book that gave me my magic; maybe it doesn’t even exist. I still have to find it somehow, but Meghan pulls insistently and I’m pretty sure she can make me come if she needs to.
I fall into step behind her, taking in the sway of her ass, and the breathtaking puzzle of form and possibility that is her powerful calves tapering into her heels. I know the sound the heels make on the marble floor is click-click, click-click, but in my head it’s more like suck-dick, suck-dick, and I feel my cock moving strangely. When I glance down I discover that I’m not wearing any pants or underwear, my hard cock jutting forward and gently swaying with every step. Shouldn’t I be wearing pants in a library? Everyone must be able to see how much Meghan excites me.
She unlocks a door and beckons me into a private room. I pass her and she shuts the door, and turns to face me. Her eyes go straight to my erection, and she grins.
“Come with me,” she says again, but she steps into me, not away. She grasps my hand and pulls it under her skirt, my fingers touching hot wet pussy, no panties. “Cum with me!” she insists, and now I get it.
Feeling Meghan’s heat and wet on my fingertips makes me want to growl, and I have two fingers deep inside her before I even know it.
“Yes, yes!” she gasps. “I knew… They just knew they could count on you to have almost no impulse control at all, not when it counted!”
What she just said makes me want to put my cock in her mouth to shut her up. I’m either about to do just that or say something, but then legs, other legs, wrap around my neck and it’s impossible to speak and difficult to move. The legs are nearly as spectacularly muscled as Meghan’s, but slimmer.
“No, cum with me!”
It’s Lila. I don’t know where she came from but she’s got me in a leg-hold that a python would admire. I’m not quite choking but close, gone mute by force.
“No, cum with me!” echoes Nell’s voice, and I briefly see her eyes glistening with feral intensity before two soft mountains of boob-flesh press into my face, and I can no longer see anything at all.
I don’t know if I’m standing or lying down, or even which way is up, and now I am gasping for breath, helpless and smothered. Nell’s boobs are so huge they could surely asphyxiate me.
“Cum with me!” a new voice, wavering and frantic, pours straight into my ear. Nancy, and I can’t see what she’s doing but I feel extra weight on my chest, and it feels like there’s a hornet’s nest buzzing all around my cock, every single centimeter being vibrated.
“Mmmm!” I try to say, but can’t.
And then I was awake, my eyes wide open and my mouth pressed into my stepmother’s shoulder.
I pulled my mouth free and inhaled deeply, then sat up slowly so as not to disturb Meghan’s sleep, getting my bearings. Heat still emanated from the woodstove, and Meghan was partially covered by one of the blankets she’d brought. She must have awakened earlier, put fresh wood in the stove and brought over blankets, with me sleeping through it all. Now she was the one deep in slumberland, and I was wide awake.
Awake with a sex-nightmare—I suppose there was such a thing—that hung in my memory, where all of the women with the attraction spell inside them had come together around and on top of me until I felt smothered, to the point that I thought I might die from lack of oxygen. And another part of the dream, about…
I remembered. The book. I never found it, and never even found the chapter about it in a different book, but I did learn something, and it was important.
I stood and tip-toed over to the kitchen area, filling a glass from the faucet, twice, and drinking that down. I was parched, probably from shooting my load so many times. I could still hear it icing out there, and I had no idea what time it was. I found my pants and the phone inside—3:31 a.m. I had fresh voicemails, too. There was one from Lila, two from Nell and eight from Nancy. And, lo and behold, one that said Dawn H.
Dawn, the not-elfin waitress, had called. Dawn, with the beautiful red hair and the creamy big tits and the faraway husband, had called.
I was probably the most curious about Dawn’s message, but wanted to call Nell and damn the hour of the night. But I made myself pause before punching her number. I had almost no impulse control—that was what dream-Meghan had said about me, to me, and here I was with my index finger almost automatically poised to touch the phone screen to dial Nell, without really thinking things through. If I started a conversation with Nell, that would awaken Meghan, and an awakened Meghan would likely mimic the dream I’d just had, where my intended purpose—tying to understand more about the living spell book—got subverted by seduction and mutual attraction and a whole bunch of fucking. I had to learn and get smarter real quick, or the final part of my dream, being smothered to death by four enchanted women, could prove prophetic.
I pocketed my phone and grabbed my sleeping bag in its sack, and very quietly padded past the sleeping Meghan and up the stairs. I‘d spent zero time in this raised part of the chalet, essentially the bedroom, and though there were no fixed walls between up here and down there, I thought the sound of my voice would be muted enough that I could make a call or three, which seemed necessary.
Mummied into my sleeping bag for warmth, curiosity won out and I listened to Dawn’s message first. It went like this:
Hi John, it’s Dawn and… And I guess I’m calling, aren’t I? I see it’s supposed to be icing down where you are and I got to thinking about you. No ice here so far, just snow… But you don’t need a weather report from me, do you? I just… I’ve been thinking about you, and now you have my number. I’d be happy if you called me. That’s all, just… Call me sometime soon, okay? I feel good about what happened between us. I feel good about you. Okay, bye now, and stay warm.
Dawn wanted me to call. She had no attraction magic in her and she was married, yet she wanted me to call. How about that?
I played Nell’s messages next, both of which were laments about the ice. She said to call at any time, and when I did she picked up immediately, no trace of sleep in her voice.
“Thank goodness you called. I’ve been praying for it to stop icing… What are we going to do?”
“Maybe we’ll have to love one another from afar for half a day?”
“God I love the romantic in you. But I… This is terrible because I want you.”
“And I want you. Weather is weather, though; my car sure won’t go in this, and I doubt any of yours would either.”
“How are you faring out there? We’ve lost power, and have gone to the back-up generator, so for now we’re warm.”
“There’s plenty of firewood whatever happens here, but I have power so far.”
“Are you lonely?”
“Not exactly. My stepmother got worried and drove blankets out here before the ice began. Now she’s stuck here.”
“Oh. Does that suck, or…”
Not so far, because who needs that when it fucks like a transcendent cunt-demon? “Let’s just say that Meghan being here is hardly the way I pictured my first night in this place. But then I didn’t expect an ice storm, either, or… I guess life has been full of surprises lately.”
She was silent for a few seconds, then said: “I’ve been feeling that same way. There are so many firsts with you, John. And I just love firsts.”
I wasn’t entirely certain what she meant by that, and told her so.
“You’re the first time I’ve had sex with someone already in a relationship, as I told you before. And the first… It still astounds me how it feels when we make love, almost like I’d never quite done it before, not really. I’ve never… It’s like there’s this colossal factor when I’m with you, like… It’s like everything is amplified—how much I long for you, and how good it feels to be with you, and then when I see your body aching for me… I don’t even know how to describe it. I just feel so much.”
She had described the effects of the attraction magic well enough that I was rock hard, listening.
“I wish it could always be this way,” she went on. “You’re my first love, truly, and I know feelings change, even when people are totally right for one another. My English Lit professor calls it the ‘happily ever-after conundrum’ that plagues Western society, especially for women who buy into the myth that some day their prince will come. She’s told us, several times, that there is no prince, not long-term, because people get used to one another, and take things for granted, and… You get it, right?”
I got it. Romeo and Juliet died, otherwise Juliet would have eventually been dismayed that Romeo picked at his teeth, or that he liked to watch football. He would have been no different, eventually getting irritated by all the “Wherefore art thou’s?” when he just wanted to spend some time gambling with the lads.
“Let’s just love this, right now, as much as we can,” Nell supplied. “This glow, this… This feeling of being so in love, with it all so new and fresh.”
“I think you might have the sweetest heart in the entire world,” I said.
“If my heart can ever be found. It’s hidden under boobs that probably weigh fifteen pounds each.”
Holy crap could she pull a tease out of nowhere! And boom, my erection was ready for lift-off up through the storm and to the moon. “Nell, you’re killing me, you know?”
“I’d like to kill you right into stroking yourself into cumming again. Did I tell you before that I love your cock? Because I do. Your cock turns me on even more than your hands, and that’s saying something.”
The sudden sex talk almost sounded like a personality shift, but I thought it was simpler than that. The attraction magic had her loving me romantically and sexually, perhaps in equal measure, and she wanted to express all of it.
“I can hear you breathing into the phone,” she said. “I even love that, that your lust for me has a sound. Speaking of sound, I suppose that with Meghan there, some hot and heavy phone sex would be kind of awkward?”
Confidant in how we’d already discussed my infatuation, and how she was happy with it, I ventured: “Do you mean phone sex where I picture my cock gliding between thirty pounds of perfection?”
“Mmmm… I should tell you not to say they’re perfect, but… They kind of are, aren’t they? I don’t even understand how they stay so pert when… My doctor says she’s never seen anything like them. She shakes her head and… She actually said they break about half a dozen laws of physics!”
“Nell, you’ve got me dying here.”
“I want you to be dying for me. I want… Actually, I want this to be the kind of phone sex where I tell you that if you asked me to marry you, I’d say yes.”
Whoa! Back to the romantic stuff and jackpot! “Do you really mean that?”
“I’ve never been more sincere in my life. It means you’d be marrying my tits, too, and that would mean I’m promising that yours will be the only cock that ever glides between them. And I would insist that you do that, a lot. When I have you right there, wrapping my boobs all around you… God it makes me hot.”
I had to stifle a groan, from a cock that wanted to say “I do!”, but also from knowing that our path was not going to be all easy-peasy storybook like this. How could it be when I had Meghan downstairs in just about the same shape as Nell, plus Lila and Nancy? I’d just been shown in my dream that I could end up buried from that attraction potion fuck-up.
“Oh Nell, you don’t know how much I want to, but—“
“I understand; she’s right there with you. But that doesn’t mean…” A hiss into my ear. “My God my nipples are so stiff, so… They get so huge when… It’s like just hearing your voice makes my whole body vibrate. I can’t wait… Oh I can’t wait…”
I knew how she felt, every word like a dick-stroke.
“Oh John, I love falling in love with you. I never want it to end.”
“Me too.”
“No, listen to me. This feeling, this… I’ve read stories about love and we all know the films, but this… It’s like my heart is on fire!”
It felt like my heart was swelling, too, not quite like my cock and not with violins but with… Caring? I recalled what I’d read about Virgos in the first hours of Christmas, and how they were more about the emotions stirred by sex than the sex itself, and I thought: Why can’t she have it all? She should be able to have it all, everything she wanted, just as long as I was right there with her.
She sighed. “Believe me, as soon as the roads are drivable, I’m there with you, body and soul. Until then…” Another stuttering hiss, barely audible. “I’m going to bask in your words, your voice… Oh God you excite me! I need… both hands… Sweet dreams, lover.”
And she was gone, a silent phone in my hand and an aching cock in the sleeping bag. I wanted to beat off. I wanted to run downstairs and fuck Meghan for the next two hours, and cum a dozen times. I wanted to teleport into Nell’s bedroom the way the old magician had teleported into a freezing lake, but with a much warmer welcome.
More spells. I fucking wanted more spells. I knew they existed and I had to have more!
My phone vibrated. Nell, with something to add? But no, on the screen was A. Bakken. I had a half-second brain-fart from the unfamiliar initial and number, and then got it—Anthony Bakken, Nancy’s dad. Or Nancy’s dad’s phone.
“Hello?”
“John? This is Anthony Bakken. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m wide awake with the storm.” Including the shit-storm, which must be deepening or there wouldn’t be this call in the middle of the night. “Mr. Bakken, is Nancy okay?”
“To be honest, yes but mostly no. She’s upstairs sleeping; I gave her a sedative. John, I don’t know what’s happening to my daughter. She’s… Is she on drugs or…”
“Nancy would never do drugs, you know that.”
“Which hardly puts my mind at ease. John, she… Nancy has written your name all over her bedroom walls, dozens or… It could be hundreds of times. And when I went in there… I won’t describe how she’s… You see, I’ve worked with clients in varying obsessive-compulsive states, but Nancy… This is my daughter, and I need to know what’s happening to her! She’s been writing about not going to college at all, so she can marry you and… I normally wouldn’t even dream about invading her privacy by reading through her journal, but we’re so worried! She… I won’t quote the lewd acts… It’s more like possession than…”
His voice choked; the guy was torn up, really worried. As was I.
He continued, his voice sharper. “If you know what she’s been into lately, or why she would fixate upon you this way, writing love poems about your… your anatomy…”
“Mr. Bakken, my phone’s about to give out,” I lied. “We lost power here, but please don’t worry, I’ll…”
I ended the call and switched off my phone, because what could I say? What explanations would I give? What assurances would I be able to supply? I’d never confess to the truth, and the truth was that without the acquisition of additional magic to lay over top of Nancy, the only cure for her state was for me to be an around-the-clock behavior-nurse, knocking down every mental and physical and emotional impulse that formed inside her from the attraction spell. I did have magic that could reshape the other magic, as my dream had posited, but it was terribly insufficient, like being in possession of a sword when a thousand arrows are hurtling towards their target.
That dream—I could hardly think of it as an ordinary dream, because I’d never had one so detailed and informative. Having the dream had already re-shaped my thinking, because I knew the only way forward now, even if I didn’t know how to get there. Maybe the dream had come from a place in my brain that held the knowledge of the spells. Maybe, ultimately, it came from the very book where the magic had originated—hadn’t my first encounter with it played out like a dream?
If it even was a book. I had just about zero belief in God, or gods, but this was that kind of territory, wasn’t it? A book where stories were already written—that kind of shit was biblical or mythical and it kind of gave me the creeps.
I stretched out in the sleeping bag, putting my head on the floor, and tried to think. Whatever the source of the dream, the ending had neatly summarized where this would go without some kind of intervention. Earlier in the dream I’d been shown the only way out: more spells, that were better equipped at shaping the magic I’d already loosed upon the world. So it was painfully obvious that I needed to find that book again, which—if my dream had any wisdom to it at all, and I had to believe it did—could only happen if the book wanted to be found, which meant the finding of it had to have already been written, too. I could see how convoluted all of this was—give me a fucking aspirin—and it brought up questions I had no appetite for, about things like predestination and the existence or non-existence of free will.
Maybe I would care about all of that someday, but right now it was all about getting out of the jam I’d created for myself and others. And maybe there was hope, because the old man and the book would have known that I’d fuck-up the attraction spell—how could I not? They gave me a spell that looked like an arrow, but in actuality it fired with the power of a canon, only gradually, so as to mask its force. Combined with a dick that was always gung-ho, plus the fact—might as well face it—that I wasn’t particularly gifted at holding back on my own impulses towards having sex with great-looking women, and there it all was, a recipe for making me desperate for more magic, whatever the cost.
That meant I needed to get back to Wolverine, making a second attempt at finding the old magician’s home, or lair. With an ice storm making travel impossible, fuck.
I heard a sound and opened an eye, and there at the top of the steps was the shape of a totally nude, incredibly fit busty woman, lit from below.
“You’d be much warmer next to the fire, with me.”
Meghan beckoned with outstretched arms and I surrendered to the inevitable again, going from a problem-solver to a guy with an aching eager dick in the space of two or three seconds. I unzipped my sleeping bag, got out and trailed it with me, thinking we might end up fucking again right there at the top of the stairs. But Meghan took my hand and led me down, and together we added the sleeping bag’s softness to our stove-side nest.
“It’s time that we did some serious talking,” she said, pushing me down so I was lying on my back, cock pointed at the rafters.
“I know. I—“
“Shhh,” she quieted, finger to her lips. She was on all fours over top of me, her big boobs hanging down, eyes trained on my erection. With two erect nipples pendulum-tracing upon my torso, she said, “Let me say my piece, since I’m the one who’s done the cheating.”
She lowered herself onto her elbows, back arched, directing a nipple to dab at the crown of my hard-on. Her right hand came in and pushed my cock-head around and around, stiffness meeting stiffness, and she looked totally focused, like it was nothing for her to tease a dick and speak of difficult things all at once.
“Only it’s not really cheating, is it, when it’s all kept in the family, where we can trust one another. And what a discovery I’ve made, in finding out that there are two sexual freaks in our little family. Your father calls me that, you know, his powerhouse sex-freak of a wife, and he’s right, because I am. He can never hope to keep up with me; I just assumed that no man in the world could, because they just aren’t made that way. But you…”
She eased her haunches further back and dipped her chin, and had her tongue swirl all around the tip. It was all so practiced, so delicious, just a wet feather of a touch that would never bring me off, but had chambers loading. It occurred to me, essentially from the relative silence in my brain, that I had no access to Meghan’s impulse world, and I decided to leave off casting a fresh spell for now, because she seemed so sure of what she wanted to say and how she wanted to deliver the news.
“You’re a sex-freak just like me, right there under my roof, and it took you moving out for me to discover that. Being hard like this…” A slow and pulsing dip inside her mouth, and back out. “…after cumming how many times tonight…” Taking me in deeper with her cheeks compressing all around, then popping me back out. “I’m always going to love my husband, your father; I want you to understand that. I will never forgive you if you say anything, or do anything, to deliberately hurt him. But I’m also not going to give this up, do you hear me? I’ve been training this body since I was fifteen, and you know how I can dedicate myself to winning. Not just publicly, the trophies—I’ve taken pride in your father’s sex-freak labeling, and I’ve trained myself that way, too, since you were a child. I’d put what I can do with you up against anybody and I think you get that, how special a lover I am. So whomever you choose to be with, and whatever shape your life takes, don’t even think of it as being without me. I won’t crowd you, but I’m going to have you.”
And then I was sucked deep into her mouth, and down her throat, and she did a version there, with her cheeks, of what she could do in the depths of her pussy, undulating me towards blast-off. Sex-freak indeed; as far as I could tell her mouth was designed like any other, but the talent she was displaying, and the confidence… I came, and came, and she kept oscillating away, pulling every drop out of me, sucking me dry.
Her expression was pure victory when she raised up. Her lips moved apart and I thought it was to say something, but she opened wide and stuck out her tongue, letting me see that her mouth was almost ludicrously cum-filled. Back to my dick, where she opened wide and drizzled my erection, which was still going strong, like putting white sauce on a big fat hotdog.
“How on earth can you still be hard after that?” she asked.
“It’s subsiding,” I lied. “Look, I need a few minutes… I have to pee.”
I got up and padded to the bathroom, still with an erection as straight as a spear. I figured there had to be some kind of line between sex-freak and the outright impossible, and I wanted her to believe that I needed at least a little time in-between to get hard again.
I did pee, and after that I stared at my face in the mirror for a good half-minute. I didn’t think I looked any different in terms of my features or anything, but for some reason I felt like it was a more mature face staring back at me, like all these magical shenanigans were making me grow up faster on the inside.
Not at all surprising, when I was fucking my father’s wife. And Meghan’s conscience-protecting logic about it being not-quite cheating when it was all within the family… That was total shit. She had tried resisting but willpower was no match for the potion that infused her being, and so she was willing to believe in feeble justifications, whatever it took to do what she had to do.
I couldn’t help replaying Nancy’s father’s voice in my head, his palpable distress about something he’d never be able to understand. What I’d heard in his voice was the shadow side of the attraction magic, and I watched myself promise myself: “You have to fix that. You must fix that.”
I had made myself soft, or mostly so, and Meghan saw that when I came back into the main room. She was on her back with her legs spread wide in the air, both hands between her thighs, lightly rubbing. The tension of the position highlighted the muscles of her thighs, which was more than enough to make my dick reverse course. She had turned her head at my approach, very attentively witnessing my dick reassert itself, full of admiration and magic.
“Your stamina is unreal,” she said, then stood, and took hold of my shoulders and firmly guided me into the position she wanted, me taking her place on the floor, she overhead squatting monkey-like to impale herself with my cock.
The feel of this woman… She glided me inside with exquisite patience, creating slightly different pathways of penetration with subtle twists of her hips, and up and down undulations with nothing more than the tightening and releasing of the muscles at her waist. I thought it must be like fucking a belly-dancer, even before she switched on any special jets. At times her interior muscles would clamp upon me and I’d feel the center of my body being moved in freaking awesome counter-clockwise circulations, and I knew right then that any solution to the unholy mess I’d created with attraction magic had to include the continued fucking of my stepmother.
Because now that I’d had the taste of her and what she could do to me, I was hooked. In a way I was in the same head-space as she was, because I’d had no clue that the woman making me dinner nearly every night was a superstar sex-goddess behind closed doors. Now that I knew, and she was mine, how was I going to give that up? I just couldn’t, no way.
She had four fingers stroking her oversized clit while she went up and down my length, and I decided it was time for fresh impulse magic. Other than what I could sense building in her clitoris, the climax to come, her impulse-world was completely clean; she had no desires other than to be precisely where she was, doing exactly what she was doing, fucking me with her A-game interior contractions waiting in the wings, ready to bring me off in seconds.
I brought out my A-game before she did this time, giving her no warning, turning her clitoris into one of those fast and furious cars, all impossible speed around hairpin wipe-out curves, and then more speed, the drive not nearly over. It had to be one of the greatest shows on earth, being an audience of one for the interior escalation that provided the rocket fuel for a woman’s orgasm, and then to be able to participate, to orchestrate, invisibly taking hold of the performer’s natural abilities and transforming them, magnifying them, taking them to heights they could never have flown to, sparrow climaxes turned into soaring eagles in mid-flight, tiny wings growing and growing, given new power, flying into the fucking sun, and riding the overheated currents so the bliss could last and last and last…
I was close to shooting my load when Meghan started to topple sideways. I rolled with her, keeping my cock inside, and from the way her body went limp and her impulse world went offline, I knew I’d finally given her a knock-out climax. Maybe it was wrong, repositioning myself to fuck her pussy again from behind, with my stepmother oblivious to what was going on. I figured she would want me to keep going, the competitor in her believing no runner should quit a race before having the satisfaction of the finish line.
I lifted her by the hips and had the very first rag doll fuck of my life. It was a real physical exertion that got my heart rate going while needing to suck in deep breaths, and maybe I hit and then blasted through the wall that long-distance runners speak of, where fatigue inhabits every muscle but you somehow keep going, and find on the other side a place of clarity and capacity, and the inner peace that comes with knowing that you can keep going.
I kept going, cumming into Meghan but not stopping, making her move and continuing to pound away until I came again. I finally collapsed, totally exhausted, my stepmother breathing slowly and evenly beside me, her storms temporarily calmed, a tide of jizz escaping when I eased out. My sleeping bag had been through a lot, and now it bore the stains of supernatural semi-incestuous sex-freak fucking.
I fell beside Meghan, panting and snuggling close for warmth. and then I was just breathing, my heart rate slowing down, the…
The water all around me looks tranquil, surprisingly so when it appears that I’m out in open ocean. This is a fishing boat and we’re nowhere near land, out where the water is at its deepest. I see a few other passengers, sitting relaxed with rods in their hands, taut lines disappearing into the depths.
“Quality bait is really important,” an old man says.
I think he must be the captain of the boat, and he’s getting another fishing rod prepared, affixing something to a hook. It looks like… Christ, it looks like a tiny hand-carved version of naked Nell, all trim and athletic with the giant out-there tits.
“Takes just the right kind of bait to make the fish bite,” he says, making final adjustments. “You see, you set your mind on catching the right kind of fish, but they can be tricky bastards. Maybe you throw in your line and their belly is full that day. Maybe they’re hungry, but there’s a whole lot of food in the ocean to choose from. You want them to bite into your food, your hook, and how are you going to ensure that happens?”
I feel all tingly, thinking I might know the answer: You dangle a great-looking girl with otherworldly tits as your bait. Tits that somehow, probably magically, are so scrumptious that they defy half a dozen laws of physics.
“Just so. Your lure has to stand out from all the rest. It has to be irresistible to exactly the fish you’re trying to catch. And sometimes…” He reaches into a tackle box, and pulls something out. “Sometimes, just to make certain your fish can’t learn to break the line and swim away, you have to introduce more irresistible bait, and get your quarry in a position where it could pull and thrash forever, but it will never break free.”
It’s Meghan this time, a perfect miniature, only her vagina and clitoris have been carved too large in scale. It’s a depiction of her specialness there, her anatomical endowment and her enhanced internal talents.
“The fish sees your lure and maybe he pauses, natural caution coming to the fore. He wants it so bad, and there’s that moment where the muscles in his mouth tense to open, yet he resists, believing for a second or two that he really has a choice. But you’ve patiently crafted your lure to be completely enchanting, inexorable, and it’s not only what’s there in front of his face that is pulling him in; it’s the entire ocean, and the history inside it. It’s the history you’ve had your part in writing, so the fish has that impulse to bite—that’s a given—and because you’ve made it so, there’s no amount of impulse-control in the world that could make him stop.
My mouth hangs open because he’s just confirmed that he’s talking about me. Then, fast as a snake-strike, the two effigy-lures are whipped down my gullet.
“Always best to work with threes,” I hear, and from somewhere else another hook appears. Beautiful carved legs, Lila legs, and it catches on my lip and pulls…
…Me out of sleep with a “Hahhh!”
I was wide awake, with Meghan warm and still beside me. And I got it; I understood. These dreams were a means of communication, and I was being told that I could fantasize all I wanted about having some semi-normal life with Nell, and a little Meghan on the side, but I was miles beyond that possibility. I was hooked into an agenda that would never entirely be my own; I’d been hooked weeks ago, when given spells I didn’t fully understand, and an Energizer cock to help fuel my desires.
Or maybe the set-up had begun years before that, when a dream-hottie like Nell moved in next door; or, should I say, was caused to move in next door, and given tits that were premeditated events. How else could breasts that size remain perky—so many times I’d heard people exclaim: “That girl’s boobs are just unreal!”, and that had been without them even knowing how their allure had been compounded by fetish areoles and nipples like I’d never seen anywhere. They were unreal, by the standards of a world that understood nothing of magical interventions. And I had fallen into their gravity, or under their spell, just as intended.
Unbelievable, when it hit me that even Nancy’s abhorrence of blow-jobs might have played its part in all that transpired, leaving me unsatisfied and just itching for sexual adventure. Fuck, maybe I’d been set up from the day my mother split from my father, which brought Meghan and Lila into my life. Because the dream was telling me that Meghan’s preternatural pussy was a magical event, too, like before she’d even lost her virginity she’d been penetrated by some kind of spell in there.
That’s what I understood now—the ocean of life is filled with marvels and mysteries, and there are black swans, one-in-a-million eventualities that no one could ever predict. But there are also agents of intervention playing specific roles, causing certain events to happen. Bringing miracles.
The old magician, directed by his master, the book, would have had decades to cast spells here and there, with no one the wiser. Reality changed and the impossible sometimes became possible, and I was living one of those interventions; I was surrounded by it and infused with it, and almost totally certain that I knew why.
Already written—I didn’t know that I’d ever be able to accept that concept completely, but enough to know, to feel, its truth. And lying there in the early morning darkness, it gave me something close to total clarity—my clarity?—of what I needed to do next.