The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As Stan and Dave the Caretaker round a massive oak tree, the clubhouse comes in view. The path splits, one part leads upwards slightly to the front door, which shines silver metal and glass reflecting the hot mid-morning sun. Dave stops at the divide, and sets off down the other trail to a small loading dock where a pickup truck is being unloaded by a young woman wearing a white kitchen jacket and a hairnet. Each item she picks off the back of the truck she takes over to a short, well-built mustached middle-aged black man whose curly hair shows a hint of gray. He’s checking a clipboard as the girl shows him the contents of each open top cardboard box.

She totally ignores Stan and Dave the Caretaker, while the clipboard guy turns and smiles at them with a hearty, “Hey Dave Tee Cee, how’s it hanging?” Dressed in a nicely pressed but loose and functional work jacket, no tie but high collar, he reminds Stan of the bartender on “The Love Boat” reruns.

“Like always, long and low. You?”

“Longer and lower than you’ll ever be!” comes with a quick laugh and big grin.

“This our new owner?”

“Yeah, meet Stan Van Goet, new in #18. Stan, do you know who this is?”

“Um…” Stan squints and concentrates and nothing comes up. “Er, no, the built in directory doesn’t seem to be working. I feel I should know.”

“There’s a reason. This is Thor Mightihammerson.”

“Really? When I picture him I see a tall blonde extra from the cast of ‘Vikings’.”

“Well, it’s not his real name, he’s hiding out here, and you need to be introduced to him in person to recognize him. If you try to describe him in any way, word, text, phone, it’ll come out with that description. Thor runs the clubhouse like I run the grounds.”

The woman lifts one last box from the truck, opens it revealing packed vegetables, Thor checks it off the list on the clipboard. She takes it into the building then returns and stares straight ahead next to Thor, head up, shoulders back, feet apart at a 45 degree angle, hands clasped behind her back so her ample chest puffs out, like a soldier on parade rest.

“Very good ‘Girl’. Now go and start chopping the avocados.”

Stan detects a brief shake and slight smile from the woman, then she turns and goes into the building without a word.

“Fresh guacamole tonight.” Thor explains.

“Thor’s big chore every day is running the dining room dinner service. We’ve got a good chef, but that’s only the kitchen part of it. We serve between 10 and 50 gourmet meals every day, though usually the number is in the low 20’s. I assume you and Ashley will be joining the herd tonight.”

“I hadn’t thought that far. I guess so.”

Thor turns to Stan, “Any particular favorites. We do a choice of two entrees, a steak and something else. Can do vegetarian or even faux-kosher.”

“Steak’s good. I like all kinds of fish too.”

“Can’t do fish tonight, but we can get something by the weekend. Ever had pickerel cheeks?”

“No, I take it they’re good.”

“Just wait, I got a line on a supply of fresh ones just yesterday, and now a reason to order. I love ‘em with just a bit of garlic butter and a baked potato.”

Dave tells Stan, “Watch out, this place can make you fat. Most owners adjust their treatment to make sure they get a bit more exercise than they are inclined to. Both carnal and in other ways too.”

“If you’re not fightin’ the pounds, I’m not doin’ my job.”

“Do you mind if I tell Stan how you ended up here?”

“Better than learning it from the streets...”

“Correct me when I get something wrong”

“Hell, I’ll even correct you when you get something right.”

“Thor Notthisrealname was pretty successful, had worked hard and managed to own and manage four...”

“Just three, was negotiating for number four.”

“Three franchise restaurants in his home town, which shall remain nameless, let’s just say south of the Mason-Dixon line. Getting to be a big man in the community too, VP Chamber of Commerce, and even the Elks Club and some other organizations had him on their executives.”

Thor stands tall, then goes up on tiptoes, “I was a big man.” His eyes are level with Dave’s chin.

“Then his dick got in the way. Did I tell you about his pecker yet? No, well there is a bit of a cliché about the size of black guys.”

“No cliché. Truth.”

Dave gives Thor a stern look.

“Ok, it ain’t always true. But I got me a monster hose.”

“Yeah, Thor here has as big a stick as any in Trophy Acres. Some guys like to watch as their dainty little wives see it for the first time and realize that they’ll soon be stuffed to bursting...”

“I never burst no one...”

“You’re right I’m exaggerating. Thor is very gentle and all the Trophies he’s been with have handled it real good.”

“And they all give me a special smile when I say hello. Stan, can I call you Stan?”

“Sure Troy.”

“I got a big fat trouser snake that the Trophies giggle about, but long to ride. Last New Year’s they had a party game where they tried to outdo each other in how far down the shaft they could get their mouths. Mrs. Bidini won, but she didn’t take the grand prize by kissing my nutsack with the pipe inserted—and she’s the Deep Throat Champion two years running.”

“Constance Etta LeRoy Jones fainted the first time she saw Thor’s hammer.”

“Yeah, but now she can’t get enough of it. Or at least half of enough. But she tries hard.”

“But why are you here, hiding?”

“Got a girl pregnant. Nineteen, cute as a button, met her when she was working for the C-of-C part-time while going to college. She told me she was on the pill and protected, but what she was on was getting back at Daddy. And she was on my cock one way or another every day for a month or so too.”

“White girl?”

“Damn right white girl. Whitest damn girl there ever was. Daddy the Paisley Dragon of one of those special southern men’s clubs that like to dress up and light crosses. I got word they were coming for me and I got out toot sweet.”

Dave picks up the story, “I knew Thor from when we were scouting for a location for the Acres. I’d even offered him the clubhouse manager job, which he rejected, not knowing any of the details of the benefits package. We looked at a couple of places near his town as a possible site, the C of C were interested in what we were doing, in the end we thought it was too damn close-knit, everyone was into everyone else’s business.”

“Truth, that.”

“In fact, I was leaving town, in the motel parking lot, motor running, when Thor raced up to the car, threw a suitcase in the back seat and shouted, ‘Drive’". I sat stunned at first, but the first bullet hole through the back windshield sure got me moving.”

“I had almost three million dollars in those restaurants, a Mickey Dee and two Dairy Barns. Now her Dad had a lawyer in and when the baby was born, claimed all of them in his grandson’s name. I still had half-interest but if I show my face anywhere near a courthouse, I’m dead meat. So I sold out to a major franchise operations company that have more legal fight than the hick honkie asshole does. He didn’t even give a share to my other two kids; I still send all three baby mamas a thousand bucks a month in support through a lawyer in Dallas.”

“So the girl’s Pa has to set out to do me harm, he’ll lose respect with the racist clowns he hangs with if he doesn’t. But he through his grandson, a beautiful brown baby who he barely tolerates, he gets his paws on a million and a half worth of my property. I’m hoping the girl is stashing away the money I’m sending her—the Dallas guy tells me that he makes sure it goes into her hands—to get away from him, but I don’t think she does anything but spend it.”

Dave picks up the story, “We’re sure that the pissed-off Pa has put out alerts in most of the places where they think Thor may turn up, with hospitals, with cops who are members of their tribe, with business organizations that may notice him if he tries to run a restaurant. So this is the perfect place for him to hide, and no one can describe him accurately.”

“I had them put in that I was six foot four. I had enough to buy a cabin here, but no woman to throw into the mix and not enough to pay the annual dues, so I’m like a half owner, half employee.”

Dave adds to this, “Most of us work, once worked or are major shareholders in the company, so you really aren’t that alone.”

“Yeah, but I was going somewhere big... Well some things still are big.” Troy turns to look Stan directly in the eyes, “Let me tell you something. These women, they love my big johnson. But they’ll love your not so mighty dick too, and even make friends with it. Did you tell him...” he asks Dave.

“No, it’s in the treatment package, but he’s still processing it”.

Troy turns back to Stan, “When one of them asks you if you have a special name for your dick, you have a choice to make. Give them a name, they’ll think of you as two separate people, Mr. Stan and Mr. Penisname—whatever you told them. And Mr. Penisname is their good friend; they have a mad crush on him, better looking than George Clooney in a tux, and do anything he asks even if it is being said out your mouth. They’ll gossip about him with the other women, and talk to him directly. ‘How are you today Mr. Penisname? You should stand up when you greet a lady.’ Some guys find that troubling, so don’t give a name to their dick, but I think you should, mine’s “Mr. Monster” and some gals even write stories online about his adventures. Nothing too recognizable, but it stiffens me up to read how Mr. Monster saves the day by squirting all over the evil TittyWoman, catching her in his sticky trap. Ha Ha Ha.”

“Yeah,” Dave affirms. “All the Trophies will love your genitals. They can’t help but. Physical love. Feelings too. Whoa Whoa Whoa Feelings...”

That Dave the Caretaker, whatta joker!

Thor invites Stan and Dave the Caretaker to come see the kitchen, which is on the ground level just inside the loading dock doors. It’s bigger than a suburban home kitchen, almost but not quite as big as a typical commercial one. ‘Girl’ has a stack of avocado paste in a bowl in front of her, and is slicing, scooping and adding to it in a slow but methodical way. Like a machine, Stan thinks. She’s really quite pretty, but for the neutral blank look in her eyes. She finishes the last one and looks up at Troy. “Now mash then and add the ingredients in the blue bowl in the cooler,” he instructs. She picks a potato masher off a cutlery rack and starts pounding the paste.

“Wait,” Dave instructs. He reaches out and unbuttons her blouse so that her breasts fall free, “Continue,” he commands, and her generous boobs bounce around as she pounds the avocado’s into a smooth paste.

“What’s with her?” Stan asks.

Dave says, “That’s ‘Girl’—we don’t know her name. Or much else about her. She’s a bit of a stray.” Girl doesn’t even look up at the mention of her name.

“We had a bit of a crisis early on, some of our research into the treatment was stolen by a former employee. It took us a while to track him down, and when we did, he was dead. Killed himself. Hell, we’d have just wiped his memory of the process and made him confess to the cops about the theft. But when we went to confront him, well, let’s just say it was a mess. We found our data in his basement, which he’d turned into a lab. We also found Girl, who was sitting dead still and naked on a chair, at first we thought she was a mannequin. There was nothing to indicate who she was, and she was unresponsive to questions.”

Sally, my name is Sally

“We took her to a psychiatric hospital, where they diagnosed her with catatonia, she’d eat if you told her to, could walk, but only when ordered, and could answer simple questions, though nothing about where she was from or who she is.”

I ran away from home and was heading to New York when I took the wrong ride.

Our Dr. Bobbin was reading the notes left behind by the suicide, and figured out what was going on. The thieving doofus’d messed up the calculations, moved a decimal place and over-did it by a factor of 100. Girl, as we’ve come to call her was mind-blasted with one thing—to obey orders and enjoy filling them—with nothing else in the command set. So, other than some simple routine functions she was left unable to do anything else.”

But I’m here!

“Dr. Bobbin checked her out of the institution for private therapy, bringing her to the Acres, and we’ve found that she’s very teachable, we can give her long term commands on how to live and how to function in various situations. Her memory is excellent, and she gets a little jolt of pleasure when she completes an order correctly. Not orgasm or chocolate sundae on a hot summer day level pleasure, but a good feeling. We aren’t sure if there is anything left of the original person in there,” Dave taps her head, “but Dr. Bobbin still has some tricks up his sleeve—his basement is full of white rats he’s testing various solutions on, we don’t want to fuck her up more than she is, but so far the best we can do is teach her more and more complicated command sets. It’s like a machine, not a baby where their brain starts picking up things on their own. Everything she does is because someone told her to. Thor here, since he doesn’t have a wife, lives with her, he’s a great and patient teacher, and she’s occasionally available in the ‘On Deck’ room—most guys find her a bit cold, but she’s learned to give an excellent Swedish massage and can do some other tricks that require precise action.”

I pray every night that Dr. Bobbin frees me. He’s the only one that thinks I may be still here locked in my own head. I can’t even move my pinkie, no matter how hard I try. But I feel everything.

“So what do we do with a Girl who loves taking orders, and is always accurate? We made her our dining room waitress. I bet you wish all the waiters you’ve ever had got off on being accurate, discrete, and just attentive enough to not be annoying.”

Dinner! I look forward to serving at mealtimes. Nothing but short bursts of pleasure as I’m riding in the meat that was once my body. Best time of the day.

“Say ‘Hello’ to Stan, Girl.”

For the first time Stan hears her, a breathless, dry “Hello”.

“Hello Girl. Pleased to meet you.”

“Very good. Stan, you noticed that she smiled, just a bit there. That’s the pleasure we were talking about. If you have simple to learn tasks that are repetitive, like stuffing envelopes or folding a lot of laundry, you can book her through Thor.”

There they go. Sigh. Well, it is better to be out here at Trophy Acres mashing avocados than stuck in that institution staring at the wall all day. Even though I’d like to have some control over myself, not just be a rider, it’s not as bad here. I can’t tell them how much I like a good fuck, or even a good feed. And I wish Thor had done up my blouse again, it’s a little cold in the air conditioning with my tits hanging out like this. Makes my nipples hard and gives me goose bumps. Maybe I can...try...try...no. Darn. Oh well, maybe tomorrow. I think Mr. Almonte is using me tonight—I dunno why he gets off on me lying dead-still in that plywood coffin in his workshop while he beats off all over me. Doesn’t turn me on at all.

“Let’s go to the bar, then upstairs.”

As they pass a silver square tube coming from the ceiling, Dave raps it with his knuckle—“Dumbwaiter. Brings the food to the dining room without having to climb stairs, saves space so the kitchen can be down here. Besides Dave having his rooms here, there are also two small hotel style guest rooms that are available if you want to do something or someone outside your own cabin. They are on this level, as well as the men’s bar and the locker rooms. Upstairs there’s the main dining hall, Dave’s suite, and the patio and swimming pool. There’s also a smaller party room with a big screen TV for football season and tables for poker and bridge players to use. We’ve developed a tradition for ball season, there’s lots of private game watching parties, and a general all-owners invite for the clubhouse. In either case guys are welcome to bring along their ladies, who generally have a kitchen party, ‘cause if they end up in the game watching room, it’s likely they’ll end up giving blowjobs to all.”

“If you bring your wife, or mistress if you got one too, then they are available to all the guys there at regular ‘On Deck’ rates, though their time in the sack ends if you go back to watching the game and then have to pay again if you want to resume fucking her, and in the meanwhile risk losing the Trophy to some other horny dude. It makes blow-outs more fun. I like walking in on one of these kitchen parties and looking at each lady closely, with all of them knowing that whoever is selected will be taken away to the spare bedroom for a good fucking, while the others are left having coffee and cupcakes with their gossip, wondering why they weren’t chosen—it can get quite competitive. And you should see them perk up if Thor walks into the room.”

Thor, who’s been following along chimes in, “I told you that I have something special.”

“Yeah, they squirm on their seats like it’s already in.”

“’Deed they do.”

They head down the hall, and go into a back door into the men’s bar. It’s dark, it won’t open until the golfers start to come off the course in an hour or so. Thor flicks on the light, there’s a big mirror behind the bar that reflects the room back, making it seem bigger.

“We’re well stocked here, if you have a favorite tipple we’ll make sure it’s available. We do some special events like whiskey tasting, but mostly on hot days we admire the view.” Thor reaches under the counter and flicks a light switch. The mirror behind the bar becomes transparent as lights in the swimming pool go on, and the underwater parts of the swimmers are revealed on the other side of the glass. No guys this time of day. Three, then four women stand in the shallow end next to the window. Most are wearing small skimpy bikini’s or daringly cut one piece suites, though one of the swimmers on this warm summer’s day is naked.

“I see Mrs. Dunleavy could use a hedge trimming,” Dave observes.

“Mr. Dunleavy likes it that way,” Thor replies.

Two big screen TVs—60 inches or more Stan estimates, are powered up. One starts blasting a sports highlight repeat, Troy picks up a remote and changes the channel to show the sunbathers and swimmers at the pool, Stan can look back and forth between the TV and the bodies floating behind the bar, some pressed flat with breasts spread out like pancakes. He starts matching faces to bodies, all of which are very nice indeed and having something of an effect in his lower regions. The other TV is also CCTV, in this case the open shower in the women’s locker room. A couple of wives, one a fiery redhead, the other darker skinned and petite, Filipino Stan guesses, both shapely built and maybe 23 to 25 years old are showering off the chlorine from the pool. Thor takes an old style desk microphone from under the bar and flips a toggle on it. “Hi girls. Thor here. Why don’t you show me how you wash each other? I’ll let you see Mr. Monster later if you do.”

The women look at each other, the redhead shrugs and pours some liquid soap on her hand and brings it to the Asian ladies breast, spreading it across her chest and building a fine head of lather. They then turn and give each other a full on the mouth French kiss, the redhead being a good foot taller stoops down so her breasts hang into the soapy morass, while the Asian girl takes one hand and spreads the suds across her friend’s milky freckled tits, and then trailing a finger down to her pussy for some slippery soapy strokes.

“For future reference, that’s Mrs. O’Brian and Mrs. Li. Oddly enough Li is the redhead and O’Brian is from Okinawa originally. Go figure,” Dave adds unnecessarily—Stan has already used the directory in his head, and made a plan to get next to Mrs. Li as soon as possible.

Thor pours them each a Bud, while they watch the women in companionable silence. Despite the steam from the shower, the picture remains sharp. “Anti-fog lenses work pretty good,” Dave says.

“Worth every penny,” replies Thor as Mrs. O’Brian shouts in orgasm, which echoes twice in the tiled shower.

Catching her breath with big lung expanding gulps of air, Mrs. Li asks, “When will we see Mr. Monster Thor?”

“Be in the ‘On Deck’ room at 9:30 and I’ll come down after my dinner shift.”

“But then someone else may pick us,” Mrs. Li complains.

“Then I guess you’ll be fucked.” Thor jokes. “Don’t worry, Mr. Monster’ll keep his promise and catch up with you soon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Drink up, lots to do today,” Thor switches off the mike and the lights in the pool, then the TVs and finally as Dave the Caretaker and Stan head out the Bar’s main door to the stairs, the overhead lights.

Stan had already seen the upstairs facilities, the dining room that overlooked the pool patio, the party/tv room and the doors to Dave’s quarters and the two extra suites. hat he only saw through locked glass doors was the community’s store, which was now open though not doing much business. At the front is a small food and sundries shelf, milk, cigarettes, snacks and such—booze could always be purchased from the bar and more substantial food directly from the kitchen. Behind that are three racks of women’s clothes, and a glassed in cabinet with several shelves. A pretty dark-haired woman with harlequin glasses in a full skirt and tight-sweatered top is slumped over the counter by the registration, reading a People magazine. She looks up, sees Stan, Troy and Dave the Caretaker and sits up, smiles, straightens her dress with her hands and says, “Hello Sirs.”

Thor introduces Stan, then gives tells him that this is Maureen, though he already knows it, introductions, even with the mental directory still seem polite.

Thor then excuses himself, Maureen hopefully calls after him, “Will I see you later?", to which he shrugs.

“Stan’s Ashley is doing her big treatment right now, so I’m showing him around. Don’t be fooled by the size of this store, we can order in anything, usually at a discount. Mo here is its chief cook and bottle washer.”

“Hello. Do you prefer Mo or Maureen?”

“Either’s OK once you get to know me better. How many “Trophies have you fucked so far?”

The question takes Stan aback, he stammers out, “None, but I got a great blow job from Bonnie Guildorf.”

“So a Trophy Acres virgin. Not for long. I hope.”

Dave interrupts her, “Store first, sex second, Mo.”

Disappointment drips from her voice, “Sure Dave. Well, we have the usual things like fresh milk and cigarettes and such, if the store is closed someone at the bar or dining room can get it for you. We keep three racks of women’s clothes, hot, hotter and hottest. The first is for going out in the wide world, sexy and chic, but not indecent. The second rack is for the boo-dwar, slinky, sheer, soft and stiffy-inducing. The third rack is specialty items, nylon, plastic and rubber if that’s something you get off on, costumes, you’ll want at minimum to get Ashley a cheerleader outfit if she doesn’t have one, and a sexy black maid uniform.”

Dave the caretaker interrupts, “We sometimes turn auction nights into theme parties. Maureen, Thor and I try to come up with different fun things. With Maureen it’s usually clothes, Thor food, and me some kind of game. We’ve had a lot of success with cheerleader nights, last one was a sock hop, the guys all had to dress up in their cheapest suits, or get ones like they would have worn to a high school dance, all brown or blue corduroy with wide lapels. Or black jackets with skinny collars over white shirts and narrow black ties. Depending on the era. Even one buckskin jacket with long strip fringes. Very Dennis Hopper ‘60s. The cheerleader uniforms the girls wore had to be original, or modeled on existing ones. Some wore them to the dance; some brought them along to change into later. After the last groping, dry and not so dry fucking slow dance—10pm ‘cause the guys are getting older and are impatient—the girls split into four teams, those who had to change to the uniforms did, and each team performed a routine they had been rehearsing all week. One chose athletic, one aerobic, one funny, and one a real striptease with all six Trophies standing naked at the end, legs apart and fingers spreading their cunt lips wide. Then the three judges put their heads together and handed out the trophy, which you can now see with the winners names inscribed on it in the case in the front hall, along with photos. The strippers won. Of course. Athletes were runners up. They were all so happy and proud.”

“Then after the contest we auctioned off the cheerleaders. Winners first.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll want to get Ashley a cheer squad outfit. We’ll go through the racks and you can pick some other things out for her. She may be a little fearful and even slightly angry when she realizes what the treatment has done, but I can calm her down with some shopping therapy. Send her over tomorrow with a store credit—make it a gift and you’ll score extra points with her, guaranteed, and I’ll steer her towards whatever you say you like. A thousand bucks may seem to be a lot, but it’ll be worth it. That includes toys from here,” Maureen indicates the glassed in shelves, which when Stan gets close enough to see, includes dildos, butt plugs, vibrators, creams and perfumes, ben-wa balls, handcuffs both steely metal and fun fur, masks, paddles, clips, and playing cards.

“Come in the back room with me and I’ll give you a demonstration.”

Stan looks questioningly, with of touch of pleading at Dave, who says, “I got stuff I can do, back in half an hour?”

“Make it 45 minutes,” Maureen chirps. She pushes Dave out of the store, closes and locks the door and puts up a “Back at 12” sign. “I’ll be right there,” she tells Stan as she leads him to the back door. Stan looks around the stockroom, which is about the size of good size walk in closet; there’s an armless sofa covered with a plain white sheet against one wall. He can hear Maureen as she opens the glass case and pulls items out and then walks in with her hands full of sex toys and lotions.

“Do you think I’m too forward?” She asks, waggling a rubber dingus in Stan’s direction. “I can’t help it, you know. I was an early Trophy, before they started screening for more placid cow-like types. I was really bored here, I’m a big city girl, and they were watching us all carefully, and their solution was this store, which I love. We have three designers who supply the clothes racks, and nothing stays in stock more than a couple of months, we send it back for something fresher. The ladies all are deeply aware when new items arrive, and it can be quite a stampede those days. We don’t stock more than one of any item, unless by request for things like uniforms, so it’s first come first to buy. I use my wages to go on an annual purchasing trip to places like New York, Dallas and Paris for the store. We’re not Saks, but we have dedicated suppliers who get their best to us. And we do special orders too, often at a discount.”

“But what I wanted to say is even after starting the store I was still bored and horny, and trying to get my owner and hubby to do me before he had to leave for a sales trip, and he said, ‘Jeeze Maureen, you’re the most sexually aggressive woman I’ve ever met.’ Then he kissed me on the cheek, got on the shuttle and went away for a week. By the time he returned I had propositioned—mostly successfully, every guy I ran into. I’d taken Master Hubby’s words as an order. When he saw what he had done, the freak liked it and kept it that way. And freak that I am, I love it too. It’s weird, but I think the guys here all pay more attention to their wives and in general treat them better than they would without the treatments. Back in the city once wed they’d most likely end up ignoring them to chase other skirts until the couple would get so bored and distant they drift apart and separate. Not much boredom here, now I have the store but I’m in need of extra stimulation, and the owners tend to make sure that the wives have something to occupy their time if they are getting tired of the routine. Maybe not what they would have chosen, but something. That reminds me, here’s why Ashley will need a sexy maid uniform, if she complains about nothing to do, send her out to clean someone’s cabin dressed in it, there’s a sign-up sheet for that which can be accessed on-line. Maids are allowed—make that expected—to be molested, by the way, so if you see any, feel free to take a free feel. Anyway, don’t be surprised next time I come up to you and ask for a fuck, I really mean it. If I’m turned off by a guy, BO or hygiene or bad attitude, I won’t, but if I like you even a little, then my moist gates of paradise are calling, what’s your dick’s name?”

Stan was now prepared for this question and had given it some thought. “Herman—that’s because it’s where the man meets the her.”

“Clever.”

Actually Stan got there thinking about Thor and Mr. Monster, and coming up with “Munster” for his own lesser prick.

“Strip, I’m going to show you what this cream can do, and then how to use these toys. When Ashley comes tomorrow I’ll demonstrate for her whatever you want her to get and she’ll think it’s her idea. Do you want me to tape that?” She looks up in the corner, and following her gaze Stan notices a camera lens across the room.

“Sure,” he says as he removes and folds the last of his clothes, leaving him naked in socks. Maureen pushes him back onto the sofa, climbs to straddle his chest and takes one of the bigger vibrators and says, “Hold my hips and watch this.”

When Dave comes back Stan and Maureen are in the front room looking through the clothing rack, Stan grins at him, wagging a finger through a cut-out for the nipples in a sheer red and black bra. Dave looks at his watch and says, “One last stop, let’s go say hello to the Trophies by the pool.”

Most of the same women they saw earlier on the CCTV are still there, lounging on deck chairs basking on towels on the ground, or sitting in the shade of the wood fence that surrounds the area. Some have bathing suits on, some are tanning bare-assed, some with their bikini top open at the back as they lay on their chests. By their skin color all are obvious experienced sun worshipers, covered in slick, greasy tanning lotion, sun block or a combination of the two.

“Hi ladies!”

“Hi Dave,” they call back.

“This is Owner Stan. He’s taking over #18 with his wife Ashley, who’s just now doing her big treatment. You’ll meet her tomorrow if you’re around here. You’re going to be nice to her, aren’t you?”

“Yes Dave.” they answer as one. Stan finds that a little creepy.

“Stan’s just spent some time with Maureen, so he’s a bit euphoric.”

“You slipped her the trouser snake.”

“Made the beast with two backs.”

“Stuffed her with your man-meat.”

“Went at it like bunnies in heat.”

“Stirred her honeypot.”

“Fucked her silly.”

“Fucked like bunnies.”

“Fucked like silly bunnies.”

“She rode the boner-coaster.”

“Satisfied her once and for all.”

With that comment the brood break out laughing hard. Their breasts—even those encased in swimwear—jiggle happily to Stan’s joy. “How great this is,” he thinks. “Un-fucking believable.”

“So what is your cock’s name?” comes the expected question.

Stan tries out the “Herman” line, which seems to go over well.

“Can we see him?”

“No, he’s resting just now. But I’m sure to introduce him to you, I mean into you, very soon. You all are looking really lovely out here and it’s waking him up, but he’s still pretty tired. You’re a hot damn bunch of sexpots, you know. I hope to see you one and all in the ‘On Deck’ room, perhaps later this week or next. Not tonight, that’s for Ashley, but tomorrow on for sure. Honeymoon can only last for so long.”

At least a couple of them blush slightly at this as they mentally picture Herman, their new good friend.

“We’ve got to get a move on, I’d like to kiss you all goodbye, but perhaps one of you could pass it along,” Stan looks at the woman closest to him, a curvy to the point of slightly plump Trophy sunning herself topless, wearing just some red and white bikini bottoms and crooks his finger at her, “Mrs. Thomas, can I call you Adele?”

She nods and standing up goes to him. He removes her big round sunglasses, hanging them on her broad hip from the bikini bottom. She has lovely eyes. Her permed and layered dark black hair makes her seem taller than she is. “On the lips.” As she just tops five feet, she goes up on tip-toe and he bends slightly to touch wetly. Stan reaches out and feels her tan-oil greasy breast, finger playing with her nipple that then stiffens. He continues to caress her as they break their fairly chaste lips-only kiss, leaning in to her ear, he whispers, “Can you keep a secret?” She nods. “Adele, Herman thinks you’re darn cute and is really looking forward to nestling between your boobies. Soon, he hopes.” He takes her hand and guides it into his trousers, wrapping her fingers around Herman’s head. “Herman says hello,” as he withdraws her hand, a little residual cum from his visit with Mo has leaked onto her index finger, which he leads up to her mouth, where she sucks it clean.

She finds herself turning a little flush as he turns her around and sends her with a gentle push towards the closest wife, Stan then takes a fast pinch on her chubby buttocks before she gets out of range. She lets out a small squeak and throws her hips forward. She then approaches and kisses each woman there the same way Stan did to her, breast fondling included.

“What he say?” the other women ask.

“Can’t tell, secret”, the Trophy Adele Thomas replies, with a hint of pride at being singled out.

Stan looks at the women closely, identifies them all in his mental directory, and confirming what he wants to command is possible, and leaves them with, “Don’t forget to get off in the shower before you go home today. Get a friend to help you if you’re sharing the suds. Think good thoughts about Herman and his upcoming upstanding visit to your vagina. He’s looking forward to it. He even has a pearl necklace for each and every one of you... And have a great day, y’all.”

With that Stan and Dave climb down the outside stairs from the pool deck and head towards the golf course.

“Good one,” says Dave the Caretaker.