The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

VI

Christmas break only lasted three weeks, but swear to gods, it stretched on like forever. I went home and mom was happy because I had finally made good grades, and we got a package from my dad, who I hardly ever saw because my mom divorced him when I was twelve, and all the time I was counting the hours until I could get back together with Jen.

My mom worried about me being so dark and all, but by then I didn’t really care much what mom thought. She was one of those completely anti-sex gals, all lectures about how men lead a girl on, blah blah blah, the act itself was painful and you mustn’t ever let a guy et cetera. If she had her way, I’d be some kind of nun. Not a priestess.

But more and more I was as I constantly dreamed of being, darkly, darkly tanned with a ruby glow beneath my skin. My looks were more and more striking, my big breasts now globular and full, my nipples always erect, my dark aureoles puffy. My ass cheeks were nicely rounded, my waist small and neat. I felt terrific. Jen and I had sipped the semen of Peth so often that whatever little diseases and allergies I had suffered from were gone, pffft, like that. I understood somehow that I need not fear any disease, for no disease could get a hold on my body. And one morning in the shower when I washed down there, all my remaining pubic hair just rinsed away. Nothing under my arms, either, and I’d never have to shave my legs again. And I’d had my last period. From now on I could fuck every day of every month I lived, and I just might be becoming immortal, I felt that good.

I didn’t tell my mother anything about any of this shit, because she might like totally freak or something. To tell you the truth, I had outgrown my mother, and I felt hardly any connection to her. Still, you know, mom and all, so I made my peace with her and left her feeling good, believing I was taking all her advice.

So anyway I lied and got back to college a couple days early and went to meet Jen at the airport. Up the escalator comes this gorgeous woman, skin nearly as dark and as glowing as mine, figure great, really big lush tits, hair gleaming like bronze. Oh. My. Gods. And no glasses to hide those entrancing pale green eyes, because now her vision was like perfect. Guys around her just about curled up and died.

“Jen,” I said, and the two of us embraced and kissed each other, a real kiss with tongue and no sisterly peck, and I swear you could hear guys all around us thinking, “Man, that is so-o-o hot.” We drive straight to the apartment, and in like five seconds we are naked and bouncing in bed.

“Like them?” she asked, caressing her great new boobs, making the nipples hard for me.

“Fantastic,” I said. I cupped my own rack. “How about these? I’m up to a D cup, I think!”

We played with each other’s titties, and she remembered everything I had so carefully taught her, and in a few minutes we got off just doing that, no lie. I mean, we came, we just practically gushed, just fondling each other’s boobs, how cool is that?

I had her lick me then, me sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on my elbows, her kneeling on the floor, her head between my spread thighs. I stroked and petted her hair as her tongue gave my pussy a good long loving welcome. “Mm,” I said, “that is so good. You’re a good servant, Jen.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” she said humbly, and her hot breath pushed me over the edge and I came like a demon.

I returned the favor, sucking her clit until she got off again. We cuddled for a while, and then she sucked my finger. Pulling away, she said wistfully, “Could we—you know—please, Mistress, could I have some honey?”

Honey was what she called it.

“Okay-ay,” I told her. “But I’ll do it just ‘cause we haven’t seen each other in three weeks. This can’t get to be a habit, or we might o.d. on the stuff. But just the same, I want you to save some for me.”

So I stood beside the bed, and she lay on her back with her head hanging off the edge, and I twisted my ring. I felt the swelling inside, and then my pussy lips split apart like a ripe mango bursting, and my pseudo-cock emerged, not yet fully engorged and erect.

“Ooh,” Jen cooed. “It’s so nice, Sam. Oh, I want to have a cock in me soon. Oh, let me stroke it.”

With her hand, she teased and squeezed my member. I never had really known why guys got off so much on hand jobs before, but now I was beginning to understand. If a girl uses just a little feather-light pressure, just fluttering the fingers, following the contours of the shaft with quiet appreciation, it’s a fantastic feeling. Mm, I would be so much better at it when we found the Master.

“Omigod, I love your cock,” Jenny crooned. “Oh, it’s so beautiful, so smooth. I love the texture.” Her tongue flicked over the underneath side of the shaft, making me shiver from head to toe. “I. . . love. . . the taste.”

She opened her lips for me, and I began to thrust into her welcoming mouth. I just could not get over how totally sensitive my cock was. I mean, I could practically feel the individual taste buds on her fantastic, talented tongue. I reached down to play with her titties, and I saw that she had the fingers of her left hand busy at her bare snatch, now as hairless as mine, enthusiastically frigging herself. When Peth is in my head, I can’t help wanting girls, and now I began thinking that if Jen and I could find maybe another suitable virgin, how cool it would be to have them both suck me off, their mouths locking around my cock, their tongues equally hungry for my sweet cum.

Jen was getting really good. If you want to be a priestess of lust, one thing you have to learn is to keep a guy’s excitement high for a long time. That spurs on the production of cum, so that when he shoots, it will be in a proud, hot eruption, not a miserable trickle. She was doing it to me now, making me nearly crazy as I fucked her mouth, but at the crucial moments closing me off by circling the base of my cock with her right forefinger and thumb and squeezing. Made me frantic, and she started to deep-throat me, her gag reflex gone with the wind, right along with her inhibitions.

I could feel my butt cheeks clenching together with my mounting need to come. Gods, I was sweating all over. Beads ran down and dangled on the tips of my hard nipples, and the cleft of my buttocks felt as if I had spread melted butter back there.

Even though my pussy had this alien thing, this pseudo-penis, curving out of its spread-open lips, I still had my clit swelling in its own lusty demand just above it, and I reached down to stimulate that as I watched Jen sword-swallow my six inches. I knew that she was only regretting that I didn’t have a pair of balls to fondle and play with. By now I could nearly read her thoughts.

“Oh, God, Jen,” I groaned. “Please let me come!”

She released her hold on the base of my cock, and I pinched her nipple with one hand and pinched my clit with the other, and I felt her shake with an orgasm, and then, oh gods, I shot like a gallon of cum into her mouth. This time she contained it all, didn’t spill even one precious drop. I heard her swallow, and I hoped she remembered I liked the taste, too.

So I pulled out of her mouth and sprawled down on the bed on my back. Jen swung around, then rolled over and covered me, squeezing my softening member between her thighs, her titties pressing into mine, our nipples rubbing bawdily together. She pursed her lips and let a golden stream drool out, and I opened my mouth to receive it and tasted the hot-honey semen of Peth. We kissed open-mouthed, savoring the last delicious strands, and then giggling, Jen turned around, presenting me with her pussy as she took my cock back into her mouth.

I couldn’t stand much more of that, so I clicked the ring. Jen made a little frustrated grunt as my cock shrank back inside me, but she pursued it with her tongue, and before you knew it we were sixty-nining each other like crazy, until we both came again. Not a mega-orgasm this time, but a nice, girly, welcome-home type of coming.

In the next couple of days before school started again, I gave myself a little belated Christmas present: I went out and bought a nice array of dildos. I ordered Jen to service me with them, observing their use and explaining to her how a cock fills a girl and gives her a special kind of orgasm. She was getting so eager to find our Master and finally give up her hymen that I had to be very strict about ordering her not to use a dildo on herself, or even to put her fingers in. I promised I would induct her into anal loving instead, if she behaved herself, and she would have to content herself with that.

VII

I have to say one thing about Jen didn’t change. She was still a great student.

But the same wasn’t true of me, so when school started again for the spring term, I realized I needed help. Jen was willing to help me learn school stuff, you know, in exchange for her learning all that nifty sex stuff from me, but that seemed the hard way.

So I thought of Professor Prescott again. He wasn’t my reincarnated Master, I knew that, but then again he was, like, an older male, you know? And in my former life, I had been strictly trained in taking orders from older males and unless they like tried to hurt me or something, I always obeyed, even though it came down to my choice, and I could say no if I really needed to.

Of course, with my Master, now, if he ordered me to drink a pint of cyanide and then go jump off a building, I’d totally have to do it, but that’s not the way it works. Master would have love and regard for me, and he would take care of me. He would feel for me what I felt for Jen, and I would never hurt Jen or lead her to be hurt.

Except for when it had to be done, as I knew it would, in the end. But that didn’t mean she had to know what was coming, did not need to understand how her blood would be spilled. Sometimes the better part of kindness is simple silence.

An-y-ways, I knew that Jen and I needed more experience and more time if we were gonna go hunting our Master. That meant we couldn’t like flunk out of school or anything, because that would just complicate our lives. Jen was a snap, I ordered her to make straight A’s as usual, and that was no big deal, but me—I needed motivation.

Now, here’s the thing: I wasn’t in Professor Prescott’s class any longer, and I thought he’d think something would be fishy if I just popped in and said, “Hi, Prof, boss me around, make me a good student, blah blah.” So first I thought, I bet he’d do it if I slept with him, and then I thought, hey, I need a guy for Jen to practice with, anyway, and he’s not bad-looking, and then I thought, oh, Jeez, he’s forty fucking something years old, suppose we kill him?

So I had a bad day of it, but then that night, while Jen and I lay snuggled in naked sleep, I like had another prophetic dream, and in this one in my former life I saw myself making love to this real old, old king guy, and not only did it not kill him, but he actually looked like he felt a lot better after I finished screwing him, so I woke up and said to Jen, the gods have sent me a sign.

I thought and thought about it, and one day I went by the History and Social Science building and checked Dr. Prescott’s office hours. I came back a few minutes before he was due to be in his office and went into the girls’ bathroom, where I gave myself a long, slow, sensual bout of masturbation. Gods, but I stayed horny all the time lately, and I swear, my fingers were soon just dripping. I took the sistrum out of my purse and did a little bit of chanting just to be sure, and then I started to smear my mouth and lips with my own juices. Musky perfumes try to imitate that smell, but the real thing is always the best. It can get any man interested real fast.

I got my instrument stored away and put myself back together—this was January, but I was wearing these cute black stretchy ski pants, really tight over my gorgeous ass, and a tight pink sweater to show off the boobies. Man, I was really ready. I knocked on Professor Prescott’s door and he said “Come in.”

So I stepped in and closed the door behind me. “Hi, Dr. Prescott,” I said, giving him a big grin.

He smiled back. “Hello, Miss Weston. Congratulations on your grade last term.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Could I talk to you for a minute? Are you busy?”

“No, I’ve got time. Sit down.”

I pulled the visitor’s chair right up beside his chair so we wouldn’t have to talk across his office desk. In my best, huskiest bimbo-type voice, I said, “I wanted to thank you for motivating me, sir.”

“Well, that’s what I’m paid for.” He had a really nice smile. I bet he was something when he was twenty.

“Only, well, this is embarrassing, but I still need some encouragement. Would you do me a huge, huge favor and command me to get good grades in all my classes this term, too?”

He stared at me through his horn-rimmed glasses, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about, Miss Weston?”

I bend forward, hoping he was getting a few whiffs of my aroma. “It just helps, that’s all. See, I think it’s psychological? Like we learned in your class? My dad left home when I was twelve. He was the disciplinarian in our house when I was little, and when he gave me an order, you know, it motivated me to obey ‘cause I admired him so much. I always need a strong male hand to guide me, that’s all. It’s just a silly little quirk, but it makes a difference. Please. It can’t hurt anything, can it?”

He kept staring at me for a moment, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t like to encourage magical thinking, Miss Weston. If you work hard for a good grade, you will get one. It’s as simple as that.”

I leaned even closer. “Oh, I know. But it’s not like it was harmful or something, is it? I mean, it’s not like I was . . . seducing you . . . or something.”

Professor Prescott seemed kinda stunned. I leaned closer and closer, and I could smell his mouthwash on his breath, so I suspected he could smell my pussy on mine. “Come on,” I wheedled, my lips pursing into a little-girl smiling pout. “Please.”

He blinked and even blushed. I could tell he was getting turned on. “Oh, all right,” he said in a gruff kind of voice. “Miss Weston, I order—no, I command you—to make good grades this term in all your classes.”

“You’re a dear,” I said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

For a second he sat like he’d just been flash-frozen, but then he kissed me back. Then he pushed away and scrambled up out of his chair. “You need to go,” he said in a hoarse voice, while I admired the bulge in the front of his gray wool pants. He might be sort of an older guy, but he had a very promising package.

I picked up a little pad of sticky notes and wrote our apartment address on the top sheet. “Come and see me and my roommate tonight,” I said. “We’ll make you glad you did.”

“Miss Weston, if I were caught fraternizing with students—”

“No one’s going to catch us. I promise.” Then a thought hit me, and I looked at his left hand. “Oh,” I said in a real downer of a disappointed tone. “You’re married.”

Professor Prescott touched his wedding band sadly. “I’m a widower,” he said in a kind of choked voice. “My wife died two years ago. Two years as of last December.”

Well, I could see his big brown eyes brim with tears. My heart just melted. A priestess ministered to the lonely and the bereaved. In my mind I heard the god of lust whispering the professor’s secrets to me, his happy past, his sad loss, and his sore need. And if that wasn’t enough, the god added some sly comments about the Prof’s potential as a cocksman. “Please come,” I said in my softest, kindest voice. “Seven tonight. Please. I’m not your student any more, and Jen has never taken a course from you, so there’s nothing unethical about it, and no one would mind if you saw us socially. We’re all adults. Please. You need this, Professor.”

He shook his head, his expression glum. I left the address on his desk and walked out, very much aware of the way he looked at my beautiful butt as I switched it back and forth.

Well, seven o’clock came and the professor didn’t show, so Jen and I had just about decided to resume lessons of another nature, when my cell phone rang. I picked it up and saw the name. Dr. Prescott was calling me from his home.

“Hi,” I said.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he growled. Well, of course not, my pussy scent had the magic of the sistrum in it, duh.

“Look, Paul,” I said. “I’ll be honest with you. It’s just this one time, okay? That’s all it can be. But I promise you will feel better after tonight, and you may even find yourself getting interested in seeing someone again. Would Celine have wanted you to be lonely the rest of your life?”

Silence stretched on so long I thought he had hung up. “Samantha, how did you know my wife’s name?”

The god of lust had told me, and had given me fleeting pictures of how the two of them had rutted with such wonderful abandon when they were young. But aloud I said, “I know lots of things . . . Paul.”

I think he was crying a little. “The very last thing she said to me was ‘Find someone who loves you.’”

“She was a wonderful, wise woman, Paul. Please come. You can be here in twenty minutes.”

And twenty minutes later, at five after eight, he knocked on our door. Jen let him in. She and I were already naked. Paul looked about fifteen miles past miserable. “This is so wrong,” he said.

Jen kissed his cheek. “No. It’s so very right. We want to return a big part of life to you.”

She led him to the bedroom, and before long we had stripped him down. He had a good build for someone in his forties, you could tell he jogged and played tennis and shit, and there wasn’t any flab on him. I was delighted to see that his endowment was totally what I had hoped. He had a good, springy seven or eight inches on him, gratifyingly thick. “Just lie back,” I told him. “Jen is a virgin, and I’m giving her some pointers.”

He groaned.

“It’s so different,” the kneeling Jen murmured, caressing his cock inches from her face, her adoring green eyes taking in every inch of it. “Bigger and thicker, and look at the top!”

I moistened a finger with my saliva and traced the ridge around the base of the big purple dome. “This helmet-looking part is what the other one doesn’t have,” I said as Paul shivered. “This is called the glans. Now, this part is very sensitive. You lick it, and keep him from coming the way I showed you.”

I picked up a little bottle of special oils that I had worked over with the sistrum, poured it into my palms, and began to rub it onto Paul’s bare chest. He writhed, the breath coming hard and fast in his throat. Not many girls realize that a man’s nipples are just as sensitive as a woman’s. Give them some loving and slick attention, and you can drive a man just about crazy.

Jen was having a great time sucking and licking the head of Paul’s cock. She loved the slit, she said, and the salty taste of his slippery precum. Finally I let Paul have his first orgasm—Jen squealed in delight as his cock bucked and shot a stream of white cum arching high into the air, and though I had warned her the taste of it could not match the honeyed cum of Peth, she slurped at his cock, finishing it off. I whispered into Paul’s ear, suggesting he pay her back.

Jen, still giggling, lay on her back, and he went down on her. She whispered to me, and I relayed instructions to him. Some guys won’t eat pussy at all, and they usually are the shitheads of the world, take it from me. Trouble with most of the others is they don’t know what the hell they’re supposed to be doing down there. A girl can do another girl and both of them really get into it, but even a guy like Paul, a guy eager to please, can be so clueless.

So I listened to Jen’s whispers and instructed Paul: “First thing, right at the front of her slit, down at the base of the hood that covers her clit, you’ll find a little stretch of real slippery flesh. Point your tongue and probe that, back and forth, slow, we’ve got all night and tomorrow’s Saturday.”

Jen practically purred. “Hmm. Aww-w-w-w-w, yeah. Ye-e-ah-hhhh.”

Paul took instruction well. He followed my cues and learned just when to dip his tongue deep in Jen’s pussy, when to wipe it up and give her clit special attention, then how to spot the moment when he should cup her clit with his lips and really start to polish it. Jen’s butt was bouncing off the mattress by then, and although I wouldn’t let him use his fingers, Paul brought her to a screaming orgasm just by mouth power. Not many men could do it that well. He was going to be very popular with the lady teachers on campus, I thought.

Then I invited Paul to fuck me. We did it very meat and potatoes, the old missionary. Meanwhile Jen lay on her stomach, her dark-brown legs crossed at the ankles, and kicked her feet back over her magnificent ass and back down as she gazed enthralled at his cock going in and out of my pussy.

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” she said. “Oh, Sam, your pussy has the prettiest ring of coral-colored flesh all around his shaft, hugging it tight. Oh, I love how his cock slips in and out, so shiny and slick. Look at how his balls bounce! May I feel his balls?”

Paul grunted and I said, “Sure! Play with ‘em, Jen, but don’t squeeze!”

“They’re nice, Sam, so heavy and swollen! Can you feel when they bounce against your ass?”

“Oh, yeah, that always feels great,” I said. “Hey, spank my ass a little, Jen.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, and she gave my bottom some good hard smacks.

The pleasurable pain spurred me on, and I pressed hard against Paul, our pubic arches practically grinding, and he came so hard that I felt strings of his jism squirt out of my pussy around the base of his cock. He pulled out reluctantly. “That was—that was fantastic,” he panted.

Jen started to suck and lick at his cock.

“No,” he groaned. “I can’t.”

“Just cleaning up,” she said, flicking her pink tongue out to catch a white drop of cum that had wound up on her upper lip.

“We’ll rest a while,” I said, bouncing out of bed. I felt his cum running out of my cunny and down the inside of my thighs. Gods, it felt great to be properly fucked again!

I went to the kitchen and came back with a tray. “Herbal tea,” I said, interrupting a long kiss between Paul and Jen. I put just about a teaspoon of warm yellow liquid into his. “Honey,” I lied.

See, I didn’t think somehow that Paul would be too keen on sucking Peth’s cock or tasting his cum, even if it came spurting from a tool that curved so prettily out of my cute coral-lipped pussy. But I wanted him to have some of the gifts the semen of Peth could give, permanent health, extra stamina, confidence, the will to find at least one good partner, or more if he wanted, and fuck and fuck and fuck, and so bring strength and happiness to the gods of lust.

Of course, technically that would mean that from now on he couldn’t give me orders. I was making him my servant, at least in theory. Actually, since he was getting such a small dose, I doubted that he would be fully under my power, but I didn’t want a male acolyte, not yet. That might come after I found my Master, after the necessary rites had been performed. After the blood.

Half an hour after draining his cup of tea, Paul was like drunk on lust. He was willing to try anything, everything. I had him sit on the bed, and I turned my lovely ass toward him and settled my cunt down on his shaft and fucked him that way, with Jen lying between our spread thighs. She couldn’t resist licking my clit, and she gave me a really hot orgasm that way, so that I yelped just the way she always did when she came.

All that night and into the next day, we sucked and fucked Paul Prescott, more times than he would have been capable of without that little bit of golden liquid in his tea. I let him take Jen up the ass, and she purred and then yelled and gasped in rapture as she came that way. I showed her how a woman can use her tits as another way of exciting a man, and he titty-fucked me, his great cock slipping between my hot globes of flesh, pumping harder and harder until he groaned, “I’m coming!”

Jen bent in to take him in her mouth and got a full blast of his cum. While he rested, Jen and I sixty-nined each other for him, licking and sucking each other’s hairless slits and letting him watch us get each other off and rousing him to more noble efforts.

By the time we sent a blissful and exhausted Paul home the next afternoon, I knew we had changed his life forever. He wouldn’t actually grow younger on the little dose of magic cum I’d given him, but he would feel years younger. And from now on he would give off such an air of confidence that he could have any woman he wanted. He would always remember the lessons we had given him, and when women on campus talked about guys who knew their way around a bed—hey, guys, believe me, they talk about it all the fucking time—his name would be right up at the top of the list.

And every time he came or made his partner come—and for an older guy, take it from me, that man could make a woman come and come and come—then my gods would be stronger and happier.

Meanwhile I had other things to think about.

VIII

Such as, once we graduated, how did we go about seeking the Master? Okay, so I had a hunch that dreams and stuff would help to lead me, although in the end that wasn’t actually what happened, but somehow I sorta-kinda knew we would find him eventually. He would be the embodiment of a god, and a god calls to his servants, okay?

But—how would Jen and I go about traveling to wherever he was? I mean, you can’t just exchange a blowjob for a trip on an airplane, or at least not in any kind of reliable way. And Jen and I had no intention of going back to our home towns once we graduated. We were gonna stick together, but to do that we needed some kind of way of paying the bills, you know. We needed money for our lives after college.

And I can see you’re thinking about one way we could have made all the money we wanted, you dirty, filthy-minded person you . . . mmm, I like you so-ooo-o much. But if we prostituted ourselves, we would sully our holy purpose and shit, and I knew that would corrupt our quest, so charging people off the street by the piece was totally out of the question. Even in the ancient days, my sex was offered and taken freely, as a gift of lust.

On the other hand, religious donations were always welcome.

Actually, it was Jen who came up with the idea, along in early March, during the college’s annual scholarship drive. This included three class days when if you volunteered to like go out cruising for fatcat donations to the old scholarship funds, you could legally cut classes. Jen always volunteered, and one night she says to me, “You know, when we hit up donors for the college cause, we might hit them up for our cause, too.”

Donations, not payment for services rendered, see? But of course the donors have to offer the money willingly and freely, and our job was to make them want to offer lots of it as willingly and freely as all hell. So I get very professionally made up and dressed in this severe gray business suit, and so does Jen, and we are like the hottest things you could imagine, all really straight-arrow dresses but swollen with the ripe promise of our bosoms, as the Victorian lady wrote, and our dark, dark faces and our light, almond-shaped eyes, hers green, mine blue, just made you want to eat us right up. Or out. Or something.

Dr. Emma Bekker, who was in charge of the fund-raising, was a career woman in her late thirties, brown hair pulled back into, I swear to gods, an actual bun at the back of her head, no makeup, or just a little lip gloss maybe, heavy specs. She had a trim but not especially endowed body, and when she interviewed Jen and me, at first she was kinda reluctant to commit, but we gently reasoned with her. We learned from her that we would have to be real cool and professional in raising funds, and she learned from us that she really got off big time when she was on all fours and being done doggy-style by me, my back arched, my hips pounding my pseudo-penis into her hot eager slit, my hands gripping twin bridles of her lovely long hair, pulling her head back so she whinnied with eagerness, until Peth’s cock shot its golden load inside her at last.

Dr. Bekker was like real pleased with our exchange of knowledge, and as it wound up, she assigned Jen and me to a half dozen high-rolling donors, and in return we later hooked her up with Professor Prescott. Jen mischievously used the sistrum and planted in Emma’s mind the suggestion that she would be enthusiastically bi from then on and that she would bring in hot young girls every now and then for threesomes or foursomes or good old-fashioned orgies with the Prof, and Jen and I felt all warm and fulfilled at the thought of all those lovely orgasms to come, each and every one of them giving sustenance to our gods.

I don’t suppose I have to paint you a picture of the next three days, except to say that they were totally intense. A local philanthropist called us on the carpet, where he eagerly licked Jen’s pussy while I rode his cock, and he donated, and the director of community relations for a local bank, a truly sweet girl, went home real hot and eager to her lucky husband, but not before giving out as well as giving in, and so on and so on. Jen and I actually won an award as the best fundraisers that year, and our team brought in nearly seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the college scholarship fund. When somebody asked how we did it, Jen just said we simply put the fun into fund-raising.

We also brought in a little over a million and a quarter for our fund, which Jen christened the World Holy Order for Reviving Erotic Services. She had some cute acrobat—no, that’s not the word, what is it?—acronym, I mean, for our association, but I forget what it was. Nicest thing, our donations were all in cash, piles and piles and piles of it, so we didn’t have to pay any tax on it at all.

Hey, it was a religious thing, and our particular religion doesn’t render anything to Caesar. Fuck Caesar.

And for the rest of the term we went to school, of course, and we did well in our classes, and we spent every weekend finding someone who needed some erotic instruction and we gave it to them, along with a few drops of Peth’s honey, enough to keep their libidos racing and to keep them safe from all infectious diseases. We knew they’d go on to make other conquests, the boys and the girls, but now that they bore a little drop of the sacred semen of Peth, their pleasure would reverberate in a wider spiritual realm and would feed our gods. I think that’s how it went.

Jenny giggled to me one evening while we watched four members of one of the stuffiest sororities on campus daisy-chaining each other on our living room floor that we were “erotic vampires.” You know, we inducted people into the proper ways of screwing and sucking, and they went on to induct others. I preferred to think of ourselves as crusading priestesses, though.

Anyway, we enjoyed ourselves, and through it all I had a hell of a time keeping Jen on the path of virginity. See, I knew and she knew that when we found the Master, for him to be whole, for the ka part of his life-essence to unite in his earthly body with the ba, or the core personality of his being, we would need a virgin. I really, really wanted that to be Jenny, because after the sacrifice, there was like an extra-special present in the deal for her, but I couldn’t tell her, because the offering had to be unselfish to work.

Jen, on the other hand, was constantly aroused and getting more and more cock-hungry by the day.

I mean, in computer class one day she totally masturbated while leaning forward pretending to read computer code. She’s a screamer—remember?—and when she yelped, the professor came over and asked what had happened, and she lied and said she had just got the concept.

But, like, that’s part of the past, you know. What you want to hear about, and what I want to tell you next, is how we set out on our quest to find our Master, and the surprises we hit all along the way.

IX

Graduation day rolled around at last, and Jenny looked so cute walking across the stage in her cap and gown (I knew what she wasn’t wearing under the gown, of course) to accept her cum laude diploma. I got just the vanilla version, ‘cause my average still was just about a C, but later when we celebrated, Jen made me come loudly, so that sort of counted, I guess.

Thing was that the visions and dreams I had expected had been kinda stubborn about showing up, and I was totally not sure of what to do to start tracking down the Master. He could be just about anywhere in the world. I mean, my incarnation as Hathet had been thousands of years ago in the middle of Egypt, but when my ba popped back into the world, it wound up in the northeastern U.S. The Master might be in Australia or Germany or Thailand or some other European country, for all Jen and I knew. And he wouldn’t even know that he was the Master yet, ‘cause Jen and I had to awaken his ba before he would begin to be himself again. We graduated at the beginning of June, and we had the apartment leased until the end of the month anyway, so we put our heads together more than we did our heads and pussies for a change, and we tried and tried to think up some way of beginning our quest. I mean, we could go like north, east, south, or west, or any combination, but we needed a nudge or something before we actually got underway.

Jen suggests we go to the college library and haul out this big-assed atlas, weighed about twenty-five pounds, and sort of meditate over it, but all that got us was bored. We were sitting at a big table with the book spread open on it, and at that time of the year we were all alone in the library, except for the staff. “Maybe we should just open it at random and you could put a finger on the map,” she said. “That’s called bibliomancy, and it was a medieval form of magic.”

I didn’t have any faith in that, but we tried it. Jen let the book flop open, and I stabbed a finger down, and I wound up pointing at a dividing page that said “State Maps,” hah, big help, right? But something went, tinkle, tinkle, and Jen gasped. “Omigod, Sam, your ring just fell off!”

That really stunned me, ‘cause I hadn’t been able to get it off my finger for months, though I really didn’t want to get it off because it helped me get it on, if you know what I mean, but sure enough, there on the library table lay the braided gold ring of Hathepeth-Amun. “I wonder how it got so loose?”

Jen reached for it and paused, her cinnamon-colored fingertips hovering. “May I, Mistress?”

“Sure, go ahead,” I said. I was bored, like I told you, and I have to confess right then I was wondering if Jen tried on the ring and gave it that wicked little twist, she’d blossom out down there with Peth’s tool. It didn’t seem fair to me that I was the mistress and she was the servant, yet she got all the girly-side benefits of that suckable, fuckable piece of magic flesh.

She slipped the ring on, or tried to, but it wouldn’t even go over her fingertip. “My gods, it’s so small! How’d you get it on your finger? I mean, your fingers are bigger than mine.”

“I don’t know.” She handed the ring back to me, and it slipped right on the fourth finger of my right hand. “It’s big enough now.” I took it off and handed it back to her, but again she couldn’t even force a fingertip through it.

“This is really strange,” Jen said as she gave me back the ring.

I put it on again, and it gleamed against my darkened skin. “It’s a magic ring,” I reminded her. “Maybe it’s, like, a tuna to me.”

“What?”

“It’s a tuna to me,” I explained. “You know, it’s an old saying. The ring is a tuna to me. It fits me like some kind of fish.”

Jenny’s green eyes bored into me. “Do you mean ‘attuned?’ Are you saying the ring is attuned to you?”

“Oh, is that the way you say it? Huh, I thought it was all about fish.”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Jen suggested. “The ring may be trying to help us find the Master.”

“Good luck,” I said sarcastically. “If he’s like out in Malibu, California, and we’re here on the East Coast, it would take that little thing forever to roll across the continent.”

“No, no. Maybe we could—hang on, I think I have an idea.” Jen went over to the librarian’s desk and came back with some twine. “Let me see the ring again.”

She tied the ends of the string together to make a loop, then she threaded one end of the string loop through the ring, then passed it through the other end of the loop, so she had the ring dangling on the string, like a pendant. “Okay,” she said. “Find the map of the world.”

That was in the beginning of the atlas. I opened the book to it, and there lay all the countries of the world, pink and green, blue and yellow, orange and tan. Jen had me rest my elbow on the table and kind of goose-neck my hand, so I was holding the string over the book. The ring’s weight held the string straight up and down, about an inch over the atlas page.

Jen started to whisper a prayer to the nameless, eldest god of lust, asking for guidance. And—no lie—that ring totally began to swing back and forth! I swear to gods, I wasn’t moving it, but it was like it had some freaky kind of life. It rocked back and forth on that freakin’ string just like a pudendum. No, that’s not it. Pendulum? Yeah.

And then it started to swing round and round in a circle, like it was orbiting right above the page, and then, freakiest of all, it stopped. Only it stopped while leaning out at like a forty-five degree angle, as though it were being pulled by a magnet. “It’s pointing,” I said.

Well, it was pointing at the old U.S. of A., which kinda relieved me, I must admit. I mean, I had dreams of our gods growing strong enough over the whole earth so that nations would live in peace, their people fucking each other so constantly and joyfully they wouldn’t ever stop to think about prejudice and greed and war, but if there’s one thing I really, really hate, it’s needles, and if we’d had to go overseas, I would have to have all these shots and shit, because you just know that no government employee was gonna believe me when I told him I’m immune to disease, and as far as fucking a government guy goes, forget it. A slut has to have some standards.

But the thing was that although we had a kind of hint from the pointing pendulum, on that particular map the U.S. was like tiny, maybe about the size of a playing card, so that didn’t help us very much at all, hardly. Jen had another bright idea, though, and she opened the book to a map of just the U.S. This time the ring did its whirly-whirly thing and wound up pointing at Florida. Cool, I thought. I’d never been to Florida.

So Jen finds a double-page map of Florida, and we find out we should go to the northwest Gulf coast, where there are towns with weird names like Apalachicola. So we got a great big map of that part of the state, and that’s how we found out we were supposed to start looking in a coastal town named Obafoskee Inlet. Then we were shit out of luck, ‘cause the library didn’t have a street map of that burg.

We go home, and Jen gets on the Internet. I lean over her, staring at the screen. “Is that like a real place, even?” I ask her. “Oh-Boy-Fuck-Me Inlet?”

“Obafoskee. I think it’s a Seminole name or something,” Jen said, reaching back to casually fondle my tits through my thin t-shirt. “Says here it has about five thousand permanent residents. It used to be a center for pencil making and now it’s a minor vacation destination. There’s lots of fishing in the area. They say they have white sand beaches, sugar sand, they call it.”

“Be good to feel sand between my toes again,” I said, reaching down to give Jen’s right nipple a tweak. “As in the ancient days, when I walked the streets of many-splendored Miwt-Waset and gloried in the giving and receiving of pleasure.”

“Thebes,” Jen said in a preoccupied way.

“Huh?”

“I looked it up. Miwt-Waset is a very, very old name for a city in Egypt that was later called Thebes by the Greeks. Now it’s mainly two archaeological sites, Luxor and Karnak. Mm, you’re making me wet, Mistress.”

“Find me some pictures of Thebes,” I told her.

Well, she did, and believe me, I looked at those pictures and just bawled. There was the ruined Temple of Amun, and there were broken statues that I remembered in their painted splendor when they were new. Niut-Amun, they had called the part of the city now known as Karnak, and the kingdom had a sort of nickname for the whole place, Ipt-Swt, “The Glory of Cities.” To see the wreckage that time had wrought made my heart feel laden to bursting with sorrow. Tears ran down my cheeks in streams, and Jennifer got up from the computer to hug me and kiss me.

That night I sought solace, as they say, by ordering Jenny to service me just about every way we knew how, and she did a good and enthusiastic job, and we lay fondling and petting and kissing each other until we drifted into sleep.

And then at long last I had one of my dreams.

Horus the Elder towered over me, the ancient god, not the later and lesser son of Isis. His eyes were the piercing eyes of the hawk, and his stature was much greater than the cedars of Lebanon, and his member alone was the height of a man, and of the thickness of my thigh.

“Daughter,” Horus said unto me. “Thou mayst ask of me three questions, but I warn thee: I will not tell thee how to find thy incarnate Master, for that is a test of thy obedience and cunning.”

“Cool,” I say unto him. “Uh, okay, so how about this: Why did I get the ring? I mean, it’s real nice and all, and Jen and me love that semen of Peth stuff, but why was I chosen—”

“Thou wert—”

“’Wert?’” I asked. “Is that, like, even a word? That can’t be right, can it? It sounds dumb.”

“Lucky for thee a god’s patience is infinite. All right, all right, you were meant to have the ring when it was first fashioned five thousand years and more ago, Daughter. You bear within you the ka and the ba of Hathet, the greatest and best of priestesses and servants. Now through you she and her divine brother Peth may live again, and spread the doctrine of holy lust.”

“Uh, so, like, what happened the first time we were spreading it around? What went wrong back then?”

His face took on a great unspeakable sadness, the face of a god in mourning. “The old gods, and He of the Rigid Member especially, were deceived and weak. We thought it fine that we should rule over the ancient kingdom only, not over all the other barbarous places of humankind. And other, lesser, later gods stirred the hearts of men and women and introduced shame, and with shame the sins of greed, of pride, and of selfishness. Other concerns distracted human men and women from the lust that should have been their highest calling, and wars were born, and the old ways forgotten. So did Miwt-Waset dwindle, so did death claim Hathet, and for centuries her soul has voyaged, waiting for a new incarnation. You are her second coming, you are our second chance. But thou must take great care, Daughter. Though men no longer think of them as gods, greed and hatred still rule and are still strong. Thou must spread the divine madness of sex and limitless orgasm wide and stealthily, that before the new gods of hatred realize it, humans shall be distracted into desire and its fulfillment.”

“Cool, I like this plan. This is a plan I can get behind.”

He inclined his great head. “And for thy third question?”

Well, I had been sort of scoping him out, especially that big old dingle-dangle, and I began, “Sir, could I like, uh, maybe sample your mighty—”

“No! You’d put your eye out!” he roared, and then I woke up.

X

Well, we had our destination, but when you’re an agent of a supernatural entity intent on spreading the joy of a new form of lust worship among suffering mankind, you keep running into stuff that pisses you off. Honestly.

I mean, Jen and I knew where we were supposed to go, but how were we gonna get there? It was a hell of a long drive, and we didn’t think that Jen’s Corolla or my Taurus would survive the journey, ‘cause they were like on their last legs or axles or whatever. We could buy new wheels, okay, but still that drive did not appeal to us at all. We could take a plane, but then what would we do with our money? It was all in currency, and I could just see us being forced to open our suitcases and trying to explain why we didn’t have any panties but we had like twelve-thousand-five-hundred-some-odd hundred-dollar bills.

So Jen thinks and thinks, and she comes up with the perfect answer: Professor Prescott. We don’t know where he lives, but of course he drank of the sacred semen, and that like created a bond between us, so if I like concentrated real hard, I could read his mind or even change his mind, make him think like a whole new person, even. It was getting so I didn’t hardly even need the sistrum to influence people, it was really bitchin’.

Not that I’d change the Prof in any bad way, because I still kinda had a soft spot for his hard spot, if you know what I mean, and anyway, he’d been real nice. Still, I sort of went into my little trance, and right away I felt his mind and got his address, so me and Jen hopped into her car and went tooling over there.

It was lunch time, and when we rang the bell, Dr. Emma Bekker answered the door. She goggled at us for a second, then got all blushy and shit (because we’d planted in her head the suggestion she wouldn’t really remember our make-out session, see? Because we wanted her to think that getting together with the Prof was totally her idea—well, you understand). However, that naughty Jen had made Emma lustfully bi, and her eyes were just eating up these two drop-dead gorgeous dark-skinned gals standing on the front stoop of the house.

“Who is it, darling?” said Dr. Prescott’s voice from somewhere behind her, in the house.

“It’s the two nice young ladies who did so much for the Scholarship Fund,” she called back, and to us she said, “Come in, dears.”

The Prof’s house was a lot like him, nice and solid but kinda fuddy-duddy, you could tell he’d lived alone for a couple of years and had made the place his nest. Dark paneling, great big old floor lamps, big comfy sofa and chairs. The Prof sat in one of these, and Emma perched on the arm. He put his hand behind her, and I knew he was massaging her pretty round ass. I would have bet like most of the money we’d been donated that she wasn’t wearing any underwear, but that was a distraction.

Jen laid it out. We had lots of graduation money, all in cash, and we were gonna go, as she put it, job hunting down South, but we were kinda scared about carrying all that currency. The Prof listened and nodded in a daddy-knows-best kinda way. Then he looked up at Emma, who was just practically licking her lips and drooling as she stared at Jen, and said, “Darling, I think we ought to help these young ladies. They sucked and fucked me back to life after I’d been mourning for Celine for years.”

She smiled in a lazy way and reached down a hand to caress his balls and cock through his trousers, and I saw right away that some important growth had taken place down there, the golden semen of Peth will do that to a guy. I reached into her mind and nudged her a little, and she said, “I completely agree, darling. Why don’t we have a little farewell orgy with them, and then we can decide on a course of action?”

It’s nice to make new friends, but it’s so comfortable to make old ones, you know? Emma looked like ten years younger than she had, her skin now a deep tan, not so dark as Jen’s and mine, but glowing with health and desire. The Prof had a great big king-sized bed, and we all piled on that, and he lay on his back and she settled herself happily on his strong, springy cock, it made me a little bit envious to tell the truth, and Jen sat down delicately on the Prof’s face and he started to eat her out, and man, from her expression I knew how well our lessons had taken with him, and I stood with my legs straddling his waist and a humming Emma got her tongue into my slit, and that was how we started the fun and games.

Our little private orgy went on the rest of that day and most of the next night, and when Jen suggested it, I twisted the ring, popped Peth’s pseudo-cock out of my wet slit, and did Emma doggy-style, the way she liked it so much, and then we had the Prof go down on her, so he swallowed more of the honey, and in the end they were both my docile and loyal servants. I could make them do anything by that time, but the main suggestion I implanted was like “Be fuckable, enjoy each other totally, and have lots of fun.” Both of them were safe from disease now, and both of them had the stamina to go at it for hours and hours, so I hoped the co-ed crop would be a good one for them that coming fall.

So how it wound up was, we left our cash assets with them—they were completely trustworthy, of course, because they could not disobey my will, but they also loved us dearly in their own special and horny way. The next day both of them went with us to see the banker who had been one of our donors, and I altered his mind a little bit. We passed up the chance to have a five-way right there in his office ‘cause we were kind of in a hurry, but also because I was afraid the Prof and Emma might like melt down after the workout we’d already given them. They hadn’t had the practice Jenny and I had.

But the old banker guy was just as nice as he could be, although he really couldn’t remember doing us all that clearly. I saw in his mind that he just thought he had made up this wild fantasy about us and him. Anyway, for old times’ sake or whatever, he arranged then and there for Jen and me to have bank cards. That was so nice of him that I went back into his mind and tossed away a few inhibitions he really could do without. Then we deposited about nine thousand dollars each in our new accounts, and the Prof said he would manage our income and would be making regular deposits, and everybody shook hands and the banker said, “Paul, you have a wonderful woman there in Emma. She has gorgeous tits.”

And Paul said, “Thanks, Fred, but you ought to see her cunt.” It was all so neighborly, just gave me a real warm feeling, you know?

Oh, I was gonna explain the odd amount. See, the thing was, the Prof had told us that the problem with cash is that if you put in or take out a really big amount, like over ten k, the government gets all interested in it. So he agreed to keep depositing like five thousand apiece for us in each one of our accounts every Monday, except for holidays, and if we called and had some special need, he promised to find some way of getting more to us. We all kissed goodbye, and Emma was just so upset that we were in a hurry and all she got from Jen was a lot of tongue. But I twitched her mind and she remembered this Swedish au pair girl she knew who just loved to be in three-ways, and by the time we drove off, she and the Prof were dialing her up.

So now we had cards good for thousands of dollars, and we’d kept a few thou in cash, too, just for odds and ends. Jen went on the Internet again and started looking for a place to live in Oh-Boy-Fuck-Me Inlet, and we made our airline reservations and all that shit.

Turned out it was gonna be harder than we thought to establish a home base down there. See, there were about fifty vacation-rental companies, but first, we wanted to make sure we got just the right place to live, a nice big house, isolated, but with all the conveniences, and you can’t always tell from a little picture on a web site, and second, they were charging thousands of dollars a week for a rental. “This place is six thousand,” Jen said.

“Six thousand!? That’s like a nominal egg!” I said, outraged and shit.

Jen just looked at me. “Yeah,” she said. “It costs a nominal egg. We can afford it, Sam.”

“That’s not the point. I just don’t think they should take advantage of two innocent young girls.”

“Well, we’re gonna need to look at the houses anyhow.” She shut off the computer. “So what I suggest is we fly down, stay in a hotel for however long it takes us to find a place, and just sort of get our bearings before we begin our search for the Master.”

“Okay,” I agreed with a sigh. “Fuck, shit like this is so much easier in the movies! I mean, the vampire killer didn’t have to worry about crap like plane connections and rent-a-cars and stuff.”

Jen stood up and put her arms around my waist. “You’re upset,” she said. “Let me lick your pussy.”

Well, I don’t wanna bore you, so we’ll like draw the curtain of discretion over the rest of that scene, as the lady novelists used to write. We wrapped up our affairs, or at least took care of our business—damn, everything sounds sexy, doesn’t it? We got our lives all tidied up in town and gave up the lease on our apartment and all, arranged for a moving company to take what we wanted down to Florida and leave it with a storage company there, packed our bags, and on a sunny Monday in late June we said goodbye to our old school, our alma tomato as Jen called it, and boarded an airplane for Florida. It was the first time I ever flew first class, and I liked it. We didn’t start anything on the plane, ‘cause if we had they might’ve thought we were terrorists instead of pleasurists, ha ha, but I made up my mind then and there that when our religion had spread enough, I was gonna take a long, long first-class flight and fuck as many people as I possibly could in one of those great big leather seats. Big stiff cock in you at thirty thousand feet, it’s the only way to fly.

Later that day we landed at the Tallahassee airport, like miles and miles away from Oh-Boy-Fuck-Me Inlet.

Now this just totally pisses me off. Do you know that a beautiful dark-skinned girl with great tits and a round, beautiful ass and a pussy that can squeeze and milk every single drop of cum from her lucky guy and who is at the moment not even wearing panties under her cute shorty skirt, can totally not rent a car, just ‘cause she’s under twenty-five? It’s the gods’ honest truth, and it just made me so mad that I was tempted to twist the mind of that car rental agent and give him a keen lust for goats or some shit, but I didn’t, because lust should be kept clean and holy and should not be used for revenge.

So when we found that out, we cabbed to a used-car lot, and Jen and I wandered up and down this hot asphalt parking lot, swear to gods it was like a great big sizzling frying pan in that Florida sun, and we found a set of beautiful convertibles that had been demos, same year, same make, both of them with less than ten thousand on the odometer. One was white and one was red, and we talked about which one we wanted.

I said the white one looked more demure, and the red one was real red, fire-engine red, and that would attract cops.

“Exactly,” Jen said. “And they could stop us and we could blow them.”

It was a good and logical point, so we went for the red one, even though in ancient Egypt red is not a lucky color, but then in ancient Egypt they don’t have these fuck-me cars, either, so it was sort of a wash.

The guy who’s selling us the car isn’t too bad looking, about thirty, red in the face, going bald already on the top of his head. He wants thirty-two thousand for the car, though, so we talk him into going with us on a test drive, and we find a nice quiet spot, and jeeze, the man actually sucked the cock of Peth—you wouldn’t have guessed he would’ve been that kinda guy just by talking to him—and after he got a good blast of honey, he let us have the car for a thousand and told us it had something a little wrong with the timing belt, but he promised to have that fixed for free and we could pick the car up the next day.

So Jenny and I spent our first night in Florida in a motel outside of Tallahassee. We took our fill of each other’s fingers and lips, and then we cuddled together, Jen stroking my hair, her sweet breath warm on my neck. “Do you feel him, Mistress?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I admitted. But I told her I wasn’t worried. When we got to Oh-Boy-Fuck-Me Inlet, something would come through.

Jen’s sly fingers were at my slit. “Make something come through now, Mistress,” she whispered. “Please.”

And thinking ahead to the spilling of blood, I couldn’t refuse her. I reached to twist my magic ring.