The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Reap the Whirlwind

Three

“Nicole, why didn’t you just call the landlord?” I asked as I finished replacing the faucet in her bathroom sink.

“Because it’s Saturday, and it won’t get fixed until at least Tuesday,” she replied. “Besides, I like the one I picked out better.” I told her that home improvement normally should apply to one you own. Nicole giggled and gave me a hug, “Thank you, Daddy. But this is the first place I’ve lived on my own—so it’s like my first house.”

I walked past her desk, messy, as usual. I chuckled; Nicole was working on multiple ideas at the same time, just like she had since she was six. I stopped, however, at her large computer monitor because there was a large black-and-white spiral spinning on the screen. “Oh,” she said, “I’m working on computer-driven trancing. I think that there’s much more possible with hypnosis than the accepted applications and practice, and this may make it easier to achieve a sufficiently deep trance state.” I nodded. “See, if you look at the spinning spiral, I can just talk to you and guide you into trance without worrying about the watch or spinning the crystal the right way, I can just talk to you while you watch the spiral... concentrate on it as it spins and just listen to my voice and breathe and relax...” Nicole gently and soothingly droned on about how fascinating her hypnotic spiral computer animation was, and suddenly, I felt a little tired and sleepy...

“...You’re my Daddy and you’ve always answered my questions and I love you for it,” my daughter was saying. “Now I have a question, and I need you to show me how to do something. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Anything, sweetheart. You know that.”

Nicole french-inhaled, and a creamy plume of smoke blossomed from her lips, looking a lot like Lisa. “That makes me very happy. I want to learn about anal sex, and you’re the only person I can ask to show me.” I told her that it would be my pleasure. “Let’s go to the bedroom where we can relax.” I sighed happily, and let her lead me there. I gently warned her that it might be uncomfortable, but that it shouldn’t be painful, stressing the need for adequate oil-based lubrication and discussing the after-sex cautions. “So it’s important that I relax... relax even more without falling asleep, and listen to my voice,” said Nicole. “I suppose you have to be naked for this.“

“Yes,” I replied, and sat docilely while she removed my clothes, then hers. She handed me baby oil, presented her ass to me, and I slowly worked fingers into her ass.

“Mommy—” she gasped, “—Mommy really likes this?” I told her yes. “Then I want to do it, too. I want to be like Mommy.” The fact that our genius daughter wanted to be like her mother made me smile and resolve to help her any way I could. Her breathing eased as her ass unclenched, and I was able to move my fingers smoothly. “Now you need to put your penis in, right?” she asked. I affirmed that and looked down to discover that somehow, my cock had hardened. I got behind her, warned her that it was thicker and longer than my fingers, and slowly pushed into her.

“Ohhh... Daddy... don’t... don’t... stop,” she moaned as I carefully stuffed her with my dick. When I was buried in her, I asked if she was all right and if she wanted me to start moving. Gasping and panting, she replied, “Yes, Daddy! Teach me about anal sex! I want to be just like Mommy!” I eased backwards, and then gently moved forward, mindful of not hurting her. Lisa had been experienced with it, but not Nicole... wait... Nicole... something about...

Suddenly, the friction around my dick began to move, sending an electric shock through me. When Nicole started rocking on her hands and knees, muscle memory and instinct took over, and soon I was thrusting slowly, but smoothly at her ass, making her moan sweetly. She panted enthusiastic approval for my instruction, encouraging me to keep going, telling me how much she was learning. Then she sighed, “Ohhhh... I can feel you growing!”

“Yessss, sweetie!” I gasped. “It means... it means... I’m gonnacum!” She snorted and began to quiver, and fire shot through me at my next forward thrust. And again... and again...

I suddenly woke up; the fog that had laid thick on my mind was gone; it took a few seconds for my brain to process everything I was seeing: Nicole, naked, lying face down on her bed, panting and moaning with cum on, around, and leaking out of, her ass; my own nudity and shrinking, but still sensitive, cock, and the sensations racing throughout my body I normally felt after orgasm. My knees buckled and I felt ill. Oh my god! I just had sex with my daughter! I sat on the floor in shock, babbling, “Oh no-no-no,” continuously. The world around me vanished; I drew my knees to my chest and rocked in a ball on the floor. How am I going to explain this to Lisa? To Nicole? To anybody? I just committed the most heinous sex crime! I just destroyed...

Sparkling lights danced in front of my face, interrupting my panicked thoughts. Then a soft, soothing voice spoke to me, telling me to relax... relax... My body gradually unclenched itself and I could only see the sparkling kaleidoscope, and the soft, soothing words became imperative whispers in my very soul. “Relax and forget... Relax and forget... Relax and forget... you were only answering your daughter Nicole’s science questions... just like a good father... just like when she was a little girl... You’re such a good father... you’d do anything for your beautiful, intelligent Nicole...“

* * *

The kids were in bed and my wife was feeling frisky on a Saturday night, but I wasn’t. “Lisa, not tonight, please,” I pleaded. “It’s been a long day, and my back hurts from working on the yard all day. We must have moved a couple of tons of dirt.” I was also cranky from dealing with my lazy son. Kevin had helped me with his mother’s “little” landscaping project, but it took almost as much effort to keep him on the job as it did to do the labor. However, it was as much about the battle of wills between father and son and a lesson in obligation as it was about shoveling dirt and manure for six hours, so it had been worth the extra effort—it just hadn’t been pleasant.

Lisa reached for my cock. She had been hornier than normal over the past month, but privacy and time had never seemed to meet. Now here we were, alone, on a Saturday night, but I was worn out and grumpy, so I blocked her hand. “Fine,” she indignantly sniffed, and left the bedroom. At least I can get some sleep now, was my thought. Hope that ibuprofen kicks in soon.

I heard her sing, “Oh, Ja-a-ack,” from the doorway, and my jaw dropped. “Guess what I found today?” There was a brown, unfiltered 164, which, as far as I knew, were no longer available, burning in Lisa’s wedding holder. She stood in the doorway, wearing only white opera gloves, posing for me. I watched her draw, make a big, showy, open-mouthed inhale, then lean in the doorway and release a long, silent, combination exhale with narrowed eyes. “Tobacciana in the mall had four boxes left, so I bought them out. For you,” she smiled, arching her back as she exhaled again.

My brain started working after a few seconds of tactless gaping. “Ummmm... baby... I think you need to close the door first.” Lisa stepped inside the room and pulled the door. Then she took a long, deep, mesmerizing drag, and started a thick, nasal exhale before lazily opening her mouth and turning it into a combination one. “I really appreciate the way you look, and I’m happy you found some 164s again,” I said, “but I’m tired, and I really hurt. I’m not as young as I used to be.” She posed elegantly, dragging again, without a word. It was mentally arousing, but my body wasn’t having any of it.

Lisa sidled over to the bed, giving me a close-up look at her hard, long, cheek-hollowing draw. Some smoke seeped from her nose while she held it, and then she opened her mouth, shaped her lips, turned her head to the side, and blew, sending a long trail of smoke across the room. “Then let me do all the work.” She took another puff, ivory holder held from beneath in white-gloved left hand, while her right wrapped around my comatose penis. She began to rub lightly, and to my surprise, a little bit of blood answered the call of her silken-gloved hand. She ran her thumb across the corona and crown; I sucked in a loud breath and my cock gave a little jump. My wife breathed, “Watch me, Jack,” and exhaled her next elegant drag in thick, all-nasal streams that spilled across my body. My dick gave another jerk and began to grow in earnest.

Three drags later, I was almost fully erect and moaning with her patient, steady, gentle masturbation. The brown cigarette still looked extremely long in her holder. Lisa stopped playing with me, swung a leg over my body, and steadied my cock with her free hand before settling onto it with an audible slurping noise followed by a loud, sensual sigh. My wife rolled her hips a couple of times, turning me rigid and holding me completely buried in her pussy—and then she stopped moving. “Hurt your back any?” I moaned no. “Still grumpy?” she playfully asked. I shook my head. Lisa transferred the holder to her other hand, still supporting it from beneath, and as she drew, began moving her hips again, gently. I groaned with physical and mental excitement; normally, Lisa wasn’t able to ride me for more than a few seconds while smoking because of how intense my super-hard erection would feel to her. Tonight, she continued her gentle movement while continuing to smoke the 164, stopping when the sensations got too intense—for either of us. She rode me for the mind-blowing eternity it took to finish the 164. Lisa stopped rolling her hips to put the last inch or so of the cigarette into the ashtray and carefully placed the holder onto the nightstand. Then she leaned forward and poured her tongue into my mouth as her motions became more urgent, whimpering and squeaking in excitement. I didn’t last very long after that, cumming with a throaty moan, answered by Lisa’s orgasmic cry. My wife pitched forward on top of me as my ejaculation continued; I wrapped my arms around her and started thrusting from beneath, feeling gooey warmth in my pubic hair.

I shrank, popping out of Lisa, but my hips kept moving, sore back and all, smearing our cum all around her pussy. I kept knocking at her door, and after a while, the head of my cock became sensitive again. A few more thrusts, and I was getting long, if not quite firm yet. I grabbed my sticky dick and forced the head into her. She gasped, and I frantically began thrusting upwards, shoving more of my cock into her each time. “Nnnn... nnnf... nngghhh...uhhh... uhhhh... UHHHH... OH!” At Lisa’s last squeak, her knees slid outwards and she pressed her chest into mine, raising her ass, which gave me more leverage to fuck her. My dick got all the way hard within a few strokes, and I power-fucked my wife from beneath, making her hiss, gasp, squeak and groan with pleasure. Her pussy cream ran freely down my cock before I pounded it back in. This didn’t last long; it couldn’t. “Ohhh... Lisa... ohhh... baby... gonna cum... gonnacumagain...” Her breathing became higher-pitched in response, and with a final, “Ohhhhh... Lisa-a-a-a-a!” I added more cream to her roiling, boiling, now-overflowing honeypot. With each intensely burning pulse through my cock, I jabbed at her, led by my hips, finally settling into an easy rhythm when I ran out of semen, in order to urge as much feeling through my still-hard dick as I could. Without warning, I went completely soft, and slid out of my wife with a squishy popping sound. Lisa melted onto me, breathing heavily.

“Ohhhhhh... Jack,” she finally managed before grabbing my head and kissing me passionately for several minutes. Lisa slid off me, patted my hand, and whispered, “Good night, ba—” I fell asleep right in the middle of the word.

* * *

I lay on my back, naked on my daughter’s bed, unable to move from the post-hypnotic command she had implanted. “Isn’t my boyfriend sweet, Daddy? He buys me such nice things,” smirked Nicole.

“You have got to stop doing this,” I softly argued, even though I was glued to the bed. “Gaston doesn’t deserve this, Nicole.”

“Mmmm... I disagree,” my daughter retorted. “He has lots of money, and all the professional juice in the world short of a Nobel prize. But in his deepest heart, he’s still your picked-on-at-school nerd.” I told Nicole that I couldn’t believe that the broad-shouldered, six-foot Gaston had ever been picked on. “He had a late puberty. His growth spurt didn’t really kick in until sixteen,” she replied. “So, that fifteen-year-old inside of him wants to show all those guys who picked on him. He wants an arm trophy—with a brilliant mind so he can convince himself he’s not being shallow—for his parties at the club, at work, and, most importantly, at his twentieth high school reunion last year.” She placed a Virginia Slim menthol 120 into the onyx holder with diamonds that her enthralled boyfriend had just bought on eBay for seventeen hundred dollars and lit it with a showy, open-mouthed inhale. Nicole lazily tilted her head back and sent a thick, massive nasal exhale into the room. My cock twitched. “He’s getting exactly what he wants—and so am I.”

“What about... intimacy?” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say that someone was having sex with my daughter aloud.

Nicole took another drag in a frighteningly accurate echo of her mother. “I make sure... he’s satisfied.” My erection shrank at that. “Ohhh... noooo... Daddy,” she cajoled, grabbing the crystal sitting next to me. My eyes locked on it as she spun it over my head, and everything... faded... away... “Don’t think about that... just watch the pretty crystal... and talk to me, your special daughter... nothing’s wrong... there’s no guilt or shame... just relax and let yourself enjoy,” Nicole enticingly cooed. She set the crystal back down. “Watch me.” Her next elegant puff caused my cock to resume lengthening. She helped it along with gentle masturbation and resumed speaking to me. “Every so often, I let him—worship me—” Nicole interrupted herself with a girlish giggle, and rapidly stomped her feet with glee. “I could be such a successful hypno-dominatrix! It might even pay better—but then I’d have to deal with the fact that I had a successful normal career. I don’t think people would get it, do you?“

“No. It would invalidate anything you did, once you were recognized,” I answered rationally. My penis was almost at its full extension, tingling pleasantly, but not intensely, with her touch.

“Well,” she brightly replied, “it would be fun. And with the internet, I’m sure it would be profitable. I’m very good at hypnosis—as you know. At least while I let you remember—like now. I enjoy our discussions too much to trance you the same way I trance Mommy—or Gaston.” She frowned, adding, almost half-to-herself, “Although I doubt that the academic community would approve of using hypnosis to create a very strong fetish and then using that manufactured fetish to turn someone into a submissive slave.” My daughter waved her hand dismissively at her non sequitur. “But it works for me—and, of course, Gaston— even if he doesn’t know it.” I gaped at her. “Yes, Daddy, that’s how I keep Gaston wrapped around my finger. He seems to have acquired a rather extreme smoking fetish over the last year. And most of the time, it’s how he gets—the release he needs. He only gets me on the rare occasion when I’m feeling generous. Which isn’t terribly often.” Nicole took her final puff, tilted her head, and exhaled slowly. I couldn’t help but think, just like her mother. “But why bother with him when I can have my favorite lover—like I do now.“

I shook my head. “Nicole,” I began, “this isn’t...” The sparkling crystal began to spin in front of my eyes. “... right...” The dancing kaleidoscope took my voice, and then my mind, away. The only thing I perceived beyond my very stiff cock was a soft, gentle, soothing voice. “And now, Daddy, let me take care of you while Mommy’s out of town.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, and watched her mount me. She placed a Capri 120 menthol into a medium-length wooden holder and lit it, exhaling with elegance even as her hips lazily began to move.

“Watch me, Daddy,” Mistress seductively breathed, taking a long drag with an open-mouth inhale, and then turning her head leisurely before releasing creamy smoke through her mouth and nose.

* * *

“No, Jack,” Lisa quietly protested. “I can do a six-inch brown cigarette, but there’s nothing ladylike about a thick cigar.”

I had asked my wife if she would like to try a cigar while we were sitting in a jazz club adjacent to one of our favorite restaurants on a rare night out without kids. As we left the restaurant, I saw that the doorman who had sent me after Lisa that night was in the band playing at the club next door, so I suggested drinks and some music. She happily agreed, as we had spent a few nights in the somewhat upscale and romantic nightclub, but neither of us knew that the club had become a cigar bar with a huge walk-in humidor. I indulged myself, but my wife pronounced, “I’m sorry they don’t make 164s anymore, but I can’t do a cigar. No way. Far too—masculine.” Well, what did you expect from a girly-girl who loves smoking Capri 120s mostly because she thinks they’re effeminate and sexy? However, there were several women in the club smoking cigars of varying sizes, and I had to remind myself not to stare. It was far too public and noisy to adjust Lisa in the club, but the seed had been planted in my mind.

I tried to change her when we got home, but “Sleep for me” didn’t work. It was the first (and only) time that she was able to resist commands after I said the magic words. Her reaction to the concept was so strongly negative that it was probably a good thing I didn’t try to hypnotize her at the club. At that point, it became a challenge: I had to figure out a way around her formidable mental block. I also had to be careful; her mother still checked on her psyche from time to time, just because she had never stopped worrying that her daughter would go off the rails. I needed to make my wife come to the decision herself so that it wouldn’t seem unusual. I used the watch and crystal every night to slowly change Lisa’s perception of cigars, starting with breaking down her notion of it being masculine. She would go into a deep trance, and I would constantly reiterate how sexy I thought she was, and would continue to be to me, even with a cigar. Next, I used “Sleep for me” every night for a week to firmly implant the idea that it was something I thought we could do together. Given that she was always looking for opportunities for us to share an activity that didn’t involve the kids, the hypnosis made the idea irresistible. The third step was to get her to see that women smoking fine cigars had stopped being such an oddity by leading her to pay attention to stories about women’s cigar clubs and the like, especially when photos or video were available, while I commented favorably. All of this groundwork took two months. Once I was sure that I had removed her aversion to cigars, I made her curious about them, and reinforced that curiosity in nightly hypnosis sessions, wondering when, not if, she’d come to the correct decision.

One summer evening when all the kids were away at various camps for the week, she suggested having a date night at that same restaurant. After dinner, she took me next door, and a few minutes later, asked me for a puff of my cigar. “Not bad,” was her reaction this time, and she kept asking for the cigar with increasing frequency. By the end of the night, Lisa had shared maybe a quarter of it with me, and made me stop on the way home for a pack of More menthol 120s. My wife lit one almost immediately after we got to our bedroom, hastily gave me some smoky head, and pulled me on top of her. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that smoking a cigar was what had turned her on, but that hadn’t ever been a part of my hypnotic tinkering—had it?

The next night, Lisa cooked a fantastic dinner for us, and immediately excused me from doing dishes afterward, inviting me to join her on the patio instead. There were a couple of long cigars sitting on a table, along with a cigar tool and cigar torch. “Would you like to have a cigar with me, Jack? The guy at the tobacco store told me that these were good cigars for a first-timer. I hope you won’t be too disappointed.” I was so stunned that it took me a few moments to accept her offer. “You have to teach me how first,” she said. “I might wanna do this on my own some time.”

I showed her how to assess freshness, punched one, and clipped the other so she would see and experience the difference, and patiently lit mine using wood matches before asking her to do the same. Lisa was an excellent student, getting her cigar going evenly before taking her first real evaluatory puff. “Don’t inhale,” I warned. “The smoke is a lot thicker and stronger than even the unfiltered 164s.” She nodded, and we sat in our enclosed patio, talking about the normal things we talked about, except this time Lisa was calmly smoking a cigar, something she had absolutely refused to consider just a few months ago.

Much to my dismay, watching Lisa smoke a cigar wasn’t as exciting as watching the other women in the club had been. I was too busy worrying that her newfound enthusiasm would sound alarm bells: there probably weren’t a lot of women who abruptly switched from menthol superslims to 50-ring cigars. Even though she looked at ease with her cigar, I wondered if I had tipped the scales a little bit too much. As I was pondering how that had happened and what to do about it, Lisa took a drag from her cigar and released thick streams from her nose. “The guy also said that exhaling through your nose would bring some of the flavors out more,” she explained.

My worries became insignificant; I was getting hard from just that one inhaled puff, but continued to watch with fascination as my wife inhaled every fifth or sixth puff. I knew that my hypnotic alteration did not give her the occasional inclination to inhale a cigar, nor did it give her the ability to do so without getting ill. The thick smoke she produced amazed—and energized me. I forgot all about finding the root of Lisa’s newfound affinity and, after waiting impatiently for her to finish the 45-ring, five-inch cigar, I promptly dragged her into the bedroom for some serious, extended fucking.

The next day, she took me to a tobacconist, where we bought a humidor and stocked it with about a dozen high-end cigars. As we were checking out, I was again thinking that I needed to hypnotize her out of being so enthusiastic about cigars when we got home—and that I needed to do it before she smoked one and I got—distracted. After dinner that night, Lisa asked, “Jack, do you mind if I don’t smoke cigars all the time? I mean, last night was—” she inhaled noisily, “—wowwww.” My wife paused to let the memories of sex stop playing in her body. “I know it turns you on—but it’s something I’d rather share with you—unless a girls’ night ends up in a cigar bar,” she wickedly grinned with a sparkle in her eyes. “Y’know, I never thought I’d enjoy them, but I do. I like the way it makes me feel—kinda powerful, like some big executive.” I could relax; my Capri 120 girly-girl hadn’t switched to cigars, nor did she want to. I immediately told her that was fine, and she asked me to light her long, skinny, ladies’ cigarette with a teasing, inviting smile. “I bet this still works too,” my wife purred with lidded, dangerous eyes, dragging deeply and releasing a long combination exhale into the night.

* * *

Gaston and I were enjoying a couple of Cubans he’d smuggled into the country from London after dinner with him and Nicole. My wife had been tempted, but chose not to ask. “I haven’t known him that long, Jack,” Lisa confided, taking a ladylike puff from her Capri. “I don’t know how—traditional—he is, and I don’t want to mess it up for Nicole—she really likes him.”

Our daughter came out of the kitchen and announced, “Dishes are going.” She saw us smoking and immediately pouted, “Gaston, you didn’t wait for me!” Nicole took the cigar from her boyfriend, put it to her lips and puffed a few times, standing next to him. Then she drew on the 54-ring cigar and inhaled with a very soft, “Sssss.” Tilting her head back just a little, she exhaled slowly through her nose, looking regal.

Both Lisa and Gaston fell to their knees, arms outstretched, emotionlessly saying, “I hear and obey.” I was speeding to erection, but managed to gasp my daughter’s name indignantly, fighting against the urge to submit to Mist—Nicole.

“Here’s your after-dinner pill, Daddy. Take it,” Nicole ordered, and the diamond-shaped blue pill disappeared down my throat. “Don’t worry. The only man Mommy fucks is you, I promise. Gaston, darling,” she purred to her deeply entranced boyfriend, “Go to your playroom and start the computer. I want to talk to my parents in private.”

“Yes, my goddess. I hear and obey.” He stood up robotically with an expressionless face and zombie walked down the hall repeating, “I hear and obey my goddess.” Then he vanished into a room in the hall.

“I never get tired of watching that,” Nicole muttered. She drew again on the thick cigar, snap-inhaling this time. I got harder as she exhaled through her nose again and turned to my wife. “Go to my bedroom and take off all your clothes. Make yourself sexy and ready for Daddy.”

Lisa stood, and led by her extended arms, silently walked down the hallway into a different room. “Now it’s just you and me, Daddy. You can let it out now. I bet it’s getting uncomfortable.” She snap-inhaled a huge ball of thick cigar smoke, waited a second, and then exhaled slowly through her nose.

I could only hold it back for a moment before blurting out, “Yes, Mistress,” and removed my pants.

“I never get tired of seeing your gorgeous cock, either,” she breathed. “But Mommy cums first tonight.” Mistress made a face. “Cubans are overrated if you ask me. Put your cigar down, Daddy, and come with me.”

“Yes, mistress,” were the only words in my head, and that’s what came out of my mouth as I obeyed her.

“I know you’re worried about Gaston’s—well-being,” she said. “I think you’ll see that I’ve arranged for his desires to be taken care of.” Mistress led me into a room where her boyfriend was sitting in front of a large computer monitor staring at the spinning spiral on it. She called his name; he turned to gaze at her as she snap-inhaled a drag from the cigar and exhaled through pursed lips.

“Powerful, intelligent women smoke cigars,” Gaston immediately said, his eyes fixed on Mistress. “I adore powerful, intelligent women. My goddess is powerful and intelligent. I adore my goddess. I must obey my goddess.”

Mistress praised him with, “That’s a good boy,” and touched his forehead, making him gasp. His eyes rolled up into his head and his body shuddered in ejaculation-less orgasm until she removed her hand. “I want you to use files... seventy-three and one hundred two tonight... and then you will sleep, deeply, calmly, naturally until I wake you, hearing nothing.” Mistress puffed on the cigar, enveloping him in a cloud of the spicy smoke and resumed, “You will see your goddess reflected on the monitor with every action.”

“Yes, Goddess. I hear and obey.” He began to undress, but then Mistress kissed me hungrily, telling me how exciting it was to achieve and maintain such control through hypnotic trance. When she pulled away, Gaston was naked, and a smoking fetish video of two women smoking cigarettes was now playing on the monitor. Mistress stroked my iron cock as he started to play with his, kissing me and cooing in my ear how good I was. She took one last draw, exhaled through her nose while looking down on Gaston, surrounding him in cigar smoke before she set the remainder of the cigar into an ashtray.

“Let the smoke remind you even more of your goddess,” she said, and he masturbated faster, moaning. Mistress gently grasped my erection and told me to come with her. Gaston moaned, “Ohhhhhh... ye-e-essss GODDESSS!” loudly, distracting me, and I watched cum surge over his flying fist. Mistress tugged on my erection, pulled close and gave me a tender kiss. Then she ran her finger from my hairline to my lips while whispering in my ear, and I forgot all about Gaston, following my enchanting Mistress as she had commanded.

“Your husband is here, my slave.” Lisa instantly stopped playing with herself. She stood and selected a long wooden cigarette holder, put a Capri 120 menthol into it, and began to wave it back and forth in front of my eyes while Mistress stroked my cock. “Going even deeper into trance... so deep that even your cock is under my complete command. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. I... under... stand...” My eyes were glued on the holder moving back and forth... back... and forth... back... and...

“Mommy, serve Daddy his favorite dessert now.” Lisa sat on the side of the bed and lit the Capri in the holder. All the strength drained from my legs and I knelt in front of her. She spread her legs after one glorious, regal puff and gently, I began to lick at her triangle. “Daddy, you will only cum when I command,” said Mistress.

I ate while Lisa smoked, saving my serious efforts until she finished her regal cigarette, and then I worked at making her cum. My wife got very wet and I slurped at her sweetness, savoring her distinctive flavor, adding a finger to the mix. “Hunghh!” shot out of her mouth, and she pulled my head deeper between her legs, so I redoubled my efforts, knowing that she was close to a steep, fast orgasmic climb. Lisa began to vibrate within moments, making noise, her hands locked around the back of my head as she rode my mouth and fingers to a bucking bronco orgasm, hips thrusting sharply at my tongue, crying out when she bumped her clit against my nose or tongue or hand. “AAAAUUUGGGHHHHHHH!” The scream coincided with a wash of pussy juice as Lisa went stiff as a board, legs splayed wide, vibrating like a tuning fork against my face while she smothered me in an intimate embrace. She finally let go of my head, allowing me some needed oxygen, and collapsed onto the bed with a satisfied groan. Mistress walked over to her and whispered something that caused my wife to go limp, unconscious. Then she turned her attention to me.

“Daddy... make yourself hard while you watch me,” I masturbated while Mistress, now naked, pulled a Capri from a gold case, lit it, and then put it into a gold holder. I was hard before she got halfway through the cigarette. She regarded me hungrily, and took one last, long drag, exhaling quickly through her lips. She hopped up onto a small table, tossing the half-finished Capri into an ashtray and uncaringly dropping the holder on the floor at her feet. My cock pointed at her like a divining rod. “Fuck me,” Mistress commanded. I pulled her legs apart and speared her, standing as she sat, perfectly positioned for sex.

I thrust at her without restraint, very quickly sending her to orgasm. Mistress sang for me, drew a great, gulping breath, and kissed me hot, wet, and long even as I continued pistoning at her furiously. “HUUNGH! GUH!!” She convulsed at the hips and her pussy shoved me out with a noisy squirt. I stood, awaiting her command, my rigid cock sticky with her juice. “Ohhhh... you’re such a wonderful Daddy...” she eventually groaned, pushing herself off the table and making her way to the bed on wobbly legs. “Oh, wow! That was so good and so fast that I forgot about you!” said Mistress with a little bit of a pout. “Oh, well, that’s what Mommy’s for.”

Mistress put a light shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, and leisurely prepared a Capri in a different gold cigarette holder. “Mommy, awaken and finish Daddy with your mouth for me. Zombie Daddy, walk over here and let Mommy give some head—after you give me a light.

My arms shot to shoulder height as Lisa and I both said, “Yes, Mistress. I hear and obey,” and we moved to fulfill our Mistress’ wishes.

* * *

“Jack, I think it’s time to have that talk with Nicole,” Lisa said one night as we settled to bed. I made a non-committal noise and replied without concern that Nicole had known about sex since she was five. Lisa jolted me out of my smug complacency by adding, “Well, along with the other issue we saw last week, I think she watched us last Saturday.“

Shit. Saturday had been one of our more epic lovemaking sessions in recent memory. What all did we do—SHIT! I hope Nicole doesn’t ask why Mommy was standing with her arms outstretched and saying, “Yes, master,” to Daddy. I had made Lisa a cum-sucking, deep-throating, holder-smoking nymphomaniac of a femme fatale. My first load went down her throat; she’d elicited the second one, deposited in her pussy, after a leisurely, enthralling More, and then Lisa made my cock semi-hard a third time by seductively smoking three Capri 120s in succession, all the while cooing her intentions. Her frenzied blowjob and asshole did the rest, and I shot a surprisingly large amount of cum into her ass before snapping my fingers to send her to hypno-dreamland. Best-case scenario is that Nicole only saw act two.

Even if that was all she saw, I didn’t think that this was going to be a short discussion. Nicole wasn’t just going to say, “EEEUUWWW,” and implicitly agree not to bring up the subject again like a normal teenager. Our daughter may have only been fourteen, but she had the intellectual capacity and knowledge of an extremely smart twenty-two year-old. She was well equipped to grasp the intellectual concepts of sex games and might even be curious about it—I really hope she doesn’t start asking questions—but emotionally—not so much.

The following night, we pulled Nicole aside after we had put Kevin and Lynne to bed and asked her to join us in the den. I looked at my eldest daughter, and realized, for the first time, that she was no longer the little girl who thought her father could do anything, including having conversations with snow leopards. At fourteen, she was beginning to blossom and showing signs of becoming the type of daughter who caused her father to sit at the door with a loaded shotgun. “Your father and I want to talk to you about love and sex,” Lisa calmly said when the door closed. “We think that there are things you need to know.”

“Oh, I know all about that,” Nicole replied, rolling her eyes. In a bored tone, she told us that they talked about it all the time at school, both in and out of class. “Still, it didn’t keep Lindy Masters or Jamie Porter from getting pregnant,” she snidely noted. “Besides, there’s lots of reasons for me not to have sex way beyond pregnancy. Most of the boys at school are—stupid—not in a book sense, but they say and do stupid things all the time. I don’t like them much, certainly not enough to have sex with them. I’m fourteen. I’ve got plenty of time. I don’t have to start now.” Logical, observant, and with a good, strong sense of self—that was our daughter.

Lisa didn’t seem as confident in our daughter’s forthright response. “Nicole, I’m very happy to hear you take such a mature approach, but be that as it may, you are fourteen, and you may be exposed to things that won’t make sense to you, so it would be in your best interest to limit your exposure to those things that may be too—adult—for you.” She looked pointedly at her and calmly said, “For one, your father and I would appreciate privacy when we close our bedroom door.”

Nicole gasped and immediately tried to cover it, but her blush gave her away. “Nicole, your mother and I have known each other for a long time, and we know what each other likes,” I interjected. “It’s like starting with the most basic, bland recipe, and adding the spices you know you enjoy to make it the way that you like it.” I gently lifted her chin and made her look at me. “Whatever you saw took almost sixteen years to figure out. It is not a beginner’s guide. Understand?“

I still held her chin so she couldn’t look away, but I felt her twitch. “Yes, Daddy,” she quietly said, embarrassed.

“Good.” I continued holding her head. “While we’re on the topic of inappropriate things, do not ever share the internet parental control password with your younger siblings or anybody else, especially your friends from school. We know that you’ve already hacked it, but you’re not as good at covering your tracks as you think you are.” Nicole gaped at us.

“Mom and Dad have some skills, dear,” Lisa pointedly noted. “And while I’m positive that part of it is curiosity, at least some of it is hormones and puberty. I want you to stop that particular kind of browsing. It’s not good for your psyche. Those sites can give you the wrong idea about sex.”

“Otherwise,” I added, “I’ll lock the monitor away when we’re not home, and then your younger siblings will get first crack at the computer, and one of us will watch everything you do on it.” Nicole complained that it would keep her from doing her college-level coursework. “That’s the price you’ll have to pay, Nicole,” I declared authoritatively. “To continue my earlier analogy, what you’re going to find on the internet is spice for people with very specific tastes and no one to share with, or basic recipes designed for people who have no one to cook with.” After a pause, I added, “And what’s out there is mostly made for men, so it’s a skewed view of sex as having no emotional attachment for either partner—which is the opposite of how it should be.” She asked why. I wasn’t sure if she was complaining or curious, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt and went with the latter. “Do you want to discuss biological imperatives and the reasons behind that? I’ll be happy to give you a bunch of seemingly unrelated facts, and work with you to see how they interconnect.”

My daughter mumbled, “No, Daddy,” sounding quite ashamed and humbled. She looked at her mother and said, “If I keep using the computer, but I don’t go to... dirty websites, will you lock up the monitor? I mean, some of the websites I go to aren’t dirty, they’re... just not for kids, but it’s stuff I’m gonna need for my college credit classes.” Lisa looked at me, and we agreed to allow her continued use of the password, as long as her browsing history was transparent. Nicole accepted that. “Are we done now?” she asked, obviously wanting to escape.

Her mother and I said yes. She gave us goodnight hugs and kisses and scurried out of the room. “Well, that went better than I thought,” said Lisa. “I thought there’d be hysterics. At this age, you never know what hormones are going to trigger, when, and how violently.” I agreed that it went well. She stood up, admitting, “I need a cigarette and a drink though. That was nerve-wracking. Come join me?” Outside, Lisa lit a More Light 120 and exhaled nervously with a relieved sigh. “This is about the age where her hormones should turn her into a complete bitch. My mother almost killed me when I turned fourteen. Smart mouth, smart everything—and boy crazy. I lost my virginity just to prove to my mom that I was able to handle it.” She took a drag and exhaled quickly. “Of course, I wasn’t. As smart and mature as Nicole is, this is a dangerous age for her. I don’t know when she’ll stop thinking and start following her hormones. No matter how much of a genius she is, Nicole is still a teenage girl. These years can leave scars that last a lifetime.” Lisa took a longer, steadier drag, pursed her lips, and exhaled. “I also worry that if she does decide to be sexually active, she’s going to be very good and logical about hiding it from us. My mother caught me because I was your typical dumb, hormone-driven teenage girl. Nicole is neither typical nor dumb. We may not find out until there are—consequences.” We sat for about a minute without saying anything, two worried parents confronting their daughter’s inevitable coming-of-age. Finally, Lisa broke the frightened silence by cheerfully adding, “It surprised her that we knew about her visits to porn sites.”

“Yeah. She deleted her browser history,” I replied, “but she forgot about the cache. Can’t stop her—she’ll figure out any security we put on it, and more of those sites appear every day, and there’s no way we can block all of them. I just want to keep an eye on how often, and which ones she visits. If it keeps happening, she and I will have another talk, and I’ll pull out those random facts.”

“It’s good to know that we’re still smarter than she is when it comes to some things,” Lisa smiled.

“True,” I said. “But at some point, that’s not going to be true.” I sat in silence, frowning for a moment. “Truthfully, Lisa,” I confessed, “I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen when she realizes that we aren’t.”