The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Impulse Control

by Pizzahead

Five — Leggy Christmas

Christmas—it’s supposed to be the happiest day of the year, right? When I was a kid, I was always up at the crack of dawn, jittery with the anticipation of opening my presents.

This Christmas, I awakened when someone shook my shoulder, calling me a sleepyhead. My first instinct was to completely resist awakening, because I was in the middle of a dream where I was in bed with Nell, and she was straddling my waist after having stripped down to a white laced bra and panties, and I was juicing the impulse she had to peel off the bra and let her super-knockers run free.

“John, wake up! It’s Christmas!”

When I opened my eyes, the room was bright and the very first things I saw were lovely breasts in a lacy black bra, very close. They were very big but they weren’t Kong-sized like Nell’s, and I felt completely disoriented.

“Get up,” my stepmother’s fine mouth spoke above the breasts. “It’s almost nine-thirty.”

There were lingering cobwebs, but in about three seconds I knew three things. One, the dream of Nell had given me one hell of an erection under the covers, and it felt like just a little bit more of that dreaming could have me launching cum into orbit. Two, my stepmother’s rear-end was on the bed next to me, with the weight of her upper body supported by a hand that rested right next to my hip, dangerously close to that erection. Three, I had never seen her wearing so few clothes except when at a swimming pool or at a beach, or on stage in one of her fitness competitions. Black thong panties and that bra, which gathered her breasts together for an inspiring cleavage-crack that none of the other fitness competitors could even dream of. Over that was a black nightgown, open in the front, that was so sheer it might as well not be there at all.

“I’m not going to let you fall back to sleep,” she said, and in response I said the impulse control spell, to know what was going on inside. “What did you say? I think you aren’t awake yet.”

I was awake and I was in, seeing so many contradictory impulses firing that it was like my stepmom had a map of the Middle East ruling her heart and mind. She wanted to pull the covers away and see my erection; she wanted to leave and give me privacy. She wanted to lean down and whisper something to me, and she wanted her nipples to feel the friction of the covers over my chest. She wanted to stand and leave the room in a hurry. She had an especially strong urge to reach under and touch my cock, and she wanted to slap her own face for having that urge.

My cock twitched and I sat up in a rush, knees bent to hide my excited state. “I, um… It’s late, huh?”

It was not helping that I could see through the translucency of Meghan’s bra that she had beautiful round areoles, and her nipples were stiff. I thought I detected female excitement in the air, either fresh or a lingering trace from Lila last night. I’d had the presence of mind to change the sheets before finally going to sleep, so I suspected it was present company perfuming the air.

“There are presents to open,” my stepmother said, the mattress lifting as she stood. The way she changed her posture was a kind of muscular unfurling, and I could not look away. It was no surprise that she looked like a hardbody fetish-babe in lingerie, but peering up at the underside of her big compressed tits like that, and her with her lips more plush than I could ever remember, and all these wishes erupting inside her, which now included the urge to shimmy her panties down her legs, no doubt to show me how wet she was, how steamy and randy

If I were a noble kind of person, I would have tamped down any spell-induced impulses she felt around me. I did no such thing, but at least I didn’t work to inflame them. She was backing up very slowly, either to get away or as a prelude to pouncing, and that’s when I fully took in the stockings and heels for the first time. Meghan was deservedly proud of her legs—some of the fitness competitions she’d participated in had special awards for particular body parts, and she was always singled out for the size of her quads and calves, as well as their definition and ideal form. I had admired her workout body pretty much ever since I could remember, but it was different when I suspected she’d slipped into patterned stockings specifically to show off to me. In the day-to-day part of my brain I knew I didn’t want to want her; in the but-this-is-an-entirely-new-magical-world part of me, the wanting was very much there.

“John, I…” she said, and her voice was tense with conflicting emotions.

And then we both heard Lila’s bedroom door open. As though she had a degree in the art of subterfuge, not library science, Meghan immediately assumed a mask of composure and turned to address her daughter: “Your breakfast is so ready it’s been cold for half an hour. Both of you are so sleepy this morning!”

“Maybe it was the eggnog,” Lila responded, padding barefoot past my door. “I want to talk to you about something later,” she added, and she was speaking to me.

“Definitely the eggnog,” I muttered.

Lila’s footsteps stopped. I couldn’t see her surveying her mom in the lingerie, but I knew that had happened when she said: “You look like the present Santa brings to a pornstar who’s been nice.”

I probably looked like someone with a cartoon angel on one shoulder whispering, “No, no, no”, and a devil on the other shouting, “It wasn’t your fault and she’s practically begging for it!” I heard the bathroom door close, and when my stepmom turned to face me again she had an intensity burning in her eyes that chased the “No, no, no” angel all the way across Lake Michigan. She wanted to strike a provocative pose that showed the shaping of her legs to wonderful effect, and I couldn’t help it, I urged that urge.

“I have this funny feeling that you’ve been naughty this year,” she said, leaning against the door jamb with a hip thrust out and a hand resting there. Her posture was pure feminine seduction, and I couldn’t help thinking of a joke I’d heard more than once, that when Meghan joined the staff at the library, all the softcover books got hard. She was family but fuck it—she was one super-sexy hard-bodied MILF. And fuck that—she wasn’t a MILF but a MSAMBSMILF, my sexy-assed muscle babe stepmother I’d like to fuck.

Desire overran composure and I found myself saying, “What’s life without being naughty sometimes?”

In her mind and her loins there were multiple impulses to come in, shut and lock the door and do a variety of very wicked things to me. Her right hand visibly twitched and it was tied to an urge to pull her panties aside, either to show me her excited state or start fingering herself. Again I didn’t interfere; she was either going to Meghan-pussy me, or not. I watched her mouth open, her emotions overtaken with the wanting, and she took two steps towards me before stopping with a sound like a little choking in her throat. A second or two of suspended movement and then the impulse to run away flared, and she turned and left the room in a rush.

Listening to her heels tapping down the stairs, I wondered why I hadn’t had it in me to dampen my stepmother’s impulses, leaving her to fight them on her own. I sat there with my heart pitter-pattering and my cock aching, reviewing the way her facial muscles had contorted at the apex of her flight or fuck response, and I knew it was unethical and twisted but goddamn if that hadn’t been one of the hottest moments of my life. If she had been a beautiful random MILF, not the woman who’d helped raise me like a son, I was pretty sure I would have seen to it that she could not stop herself like that. It got me to thinking what I could do if I hung out for extended periods at yoga classes or a juice bar, or if I joined a gym and spent all day casting attraction spells at bottles of Gatorade.

It was obvious that Meghan was in emotional turmoil over the magic in her system, and I had no idea whether she’d be able to continue resisting the pull before eventually dispelling the magic.

Dispelling—that sure was a word appropriate to the moment. I got out of bed and consulted my iPad, and there it was: Dispel—to make a feeling or belief disappear; to banish or throw off.

I had seen it happen very quickly with Blizzard, and how long before Nell would be able to dispel her feelings of attraction? It all might come down to how much she was into That Fucking Lucky Swiss-French Bastard, and how much or how little she could, without any enchantment, ever be into me. The spell might last for years or only a number of months, but I wasn’t really worried because I could always cast it again.

So Nell on magic: good. Lila and Meghan on magic: bad, or at least very wicked. I could barely believe what had happened with Lila last night, and how it had happened. It had, in its way, been a fucked-up semi-disembodied threesome, me inside Nell’s impulse-orgasm world while Lila gave me a fucking hand-job. I wondered if I’d even been in my right mind when reaching into Lila and fueling her orgasms as I had; I had poured it on pretty thick, like I had been out of control.

Lila had wanted another go after Meghan almost caught us; she stayed on the bed and spread her legs wide, and whispered, “I need you here.” I had wanted to and I had not wanted to, which was, wouldn’t you know, almost the same as entirely wanting to.

Blizzard had begun scratching at my shut door just then, and then barking. Normally he slept through the night on the downstairs couch so this was weird—eggnog flashback, or maybe he sensed that the mood in the house was all warped and it had him feeling anxious? I didn’t want another check-in from Meghan, so I exploited a different impulse inside Lila, the one that, between the alcohol and the lateness of the hour and her supernatural orgasm of a little bit before, had her feeling exhausted.

The impulses towards sleep inside her were fainter than the battlefield of lust that was coming back online; nonetheless they existed and I worked her urges to close her eyes. Blizzard barked again and I let him in, and he settled next to Lila as she nodded off. I needed to carry her into her bedroom after that, and while arranging her on her bed she awakened just enough to say, “I have never climaxed like that.”

She fell asleep just seconds afterwards, and I stood there in the quiet of her bedroom for a while, taking in the beauty of her body while remembering what Nell had said about Lila, that she was secure enough with her looks that they could be friends. My stepsister was fucking gorgeous, and I could not keep living under the same roof with her now that she was entranced. I mean I could, but it would be laughable to believe I wouldn’t cave and find myself fucking her. She would be like a container of chocolate/pussy ice cream in the fridge—there was no way I wouldn’t give in at some point, and want some.

Even worse when I had sensed not one impulse towards restraint inside Lila; that was her nature even in normal times, to be impulsive and to reject many societal norms, believing that conformity was little more than being passive while brainwashed. Now she was brainwashed, and that meant I would have to be the one who remained sensible or moral, saying no when my anatomy—enchanted anatomy at that—said fuck yes.

It was almost as bad with Meghan. I could see how my stepmother’s resolve was ready to crumble; she seemed almost tormented by the immorality or unnaturalness of desiring me, which made sense when she was a married woman, and had done her best to treat me like a real son. Those feelings would eventually free her of the spell’s power, but we’d be walking a minefield until then. I could try to work like the devil, detecting and squashing every sexual impulse concerning me…

Like the devil—that was the problem, because the devil in me liked what was happening. And it was a pipe-dream, believing I could constantly detect and deflect urges on two fronts under this roof; I’d have to cast spells again and again to know their intentions every second, and I could never create a foolproof net. Given the current circumstances it was like living in a house with two ticking time-bombs, and part of me, while understanding that it was wrong, nonetheless was rooting for them to go off.

Almost like she’d been clairvoyant, Nell had spoken the solution last night, to move out and get a place of my own. I was eighteen and so no one could stop me, and I’d managed to save a tiny bit of money from doing carpentry work the previous summer. I probably only had enough for a couple of months’ rent, though, not very inspiring. A couple of months somewhere else might be all I needed, but leases usually ran for a year, or maybe six months.

The idea gained traction when it occurred to me that all I needed was a landlord with even a scrap of an impulse to treat me decently. As for coming up with rent every month, I’d already brainstormed a bunch of ways to turn my magic into wads of green. Some of my ideas were, ultimately, rather unethical, but sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

My phone pinged just then, which meant a text message. It was a text from Nell, which simply said: Been thinking of you.

Nell Brockton, on Christmas morning, had been thinking of me. Which I took as a sign from above that yes, it was high time I had a place of my own to live in, no more sex in cold cars.

I saw an earlier text, sent at six in the morning, that I’d slept through without hearing the alert. It was from Nancy, and it said: Can’t stop thinking about you. There was a photo that looked kind of blurry, and when I tapped to enlarge, there could be no mistaking that I was looking at Nancy’s hand between her legs, a finger disappearing inside her pussy.

Wow, that was not the Nancy I knew. A sexting photo, from a girl who planned on becoming a lawyer, or maybe even a politician someday?

“What have I awakened here?” I asked out loud. I tried to imagine Nancy in some faraway bedroom with her phone in one hand while the other busied itself between her legs. That I could picture, but for her to have the impulse to reach her arm out to take a snatch selfie? There was zero percent chance that a pre-magic Nancy would have photographed her pussy, and even less of a chance that she would have sent such an image to my phone.

It was some crazy-powerful magic, this attraction stuff. I wondered how she’d react if i sexted back with a dick pic—would her heart swell, or would she feel compelled to start llicking at her phone screen?

I tapped out a more generic Christmas greeting instead, with the added words: Think I’m going to get an apartment. And then I sat looking at my phone, trying to decide what to type out to Nell. She’d shown much more reserve than Lila or even Meghan; not once last night had I sniffed an urge in her to grab my cock or shove her tits in my face. How fucked-up was that, that the intended target of the spell seemed to want the intimacy of friendship, or perhaps eventual courtship, while my stepsister’s reaction to the magic was to jerk me off the very first night, and my stepmother was fighting a civil war in herself about whether or not to attack my cock.

Trust in the power of the spell to wear Nell down? Trust that she was just as affected as Lila and my stepmom, but that every woman had her own individual pathway, or style, that would inevitably lead her towards my pants once the spell was inside them? That might be a plan, but I thought a better one would have me messing with Nell’s impulses every chance I got. I went to the window and tried to tune into her… She wasn’t in her bedroom, nor anywhere else I could reach. That made sense, as it was Christmas morning and they were probably all together in the main part of the house. I didn’t know what else to do, so I sent her a text that simply said: Really enjoyed last night.

I heard Lila going down the stairs, and I gathered fresh clothes for the shower. Before getting there, another message arrived from Nell: With relatives all day, as expected. You’re still free for our date tomorrow?

Yes, I wrote back. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Got some new music I’d like to share, she wrote, which was totally unexpected because we had never once discussed music, and I had no idea what her tastes were.

I took those messages into the shower with me, where I slowly, achingly, jerked off. I mostly thought about how I’d invisibly affected Nell’s climax the night before, picturing how boobs that volumetric must quake like crazy when she came. It was channel-surfing mental-imaging, though, my mind not entirely focused, because the memory also flashed in my mind of Meghan’s power-legs animating her stockings, and the swell of her breasts when they’d been so close to my face first thing in the morning, and the smell of her heat teasing at my nostrils. And the burn in her eyes, and the fact that she had to struggle so mightily to keep from completely losing her cool and attacking my dick. And, fuck, the heat between Lila’s legs when she’d buried my hand there last night, and how beautiful her body had been when she’d lain climax-devastated on my bed last night, and that vulnerable quality to her voice when she’d been half-asleep and said, “I have never climaxed like that.”

I came, but there were additional images in my head that kept my dick hard. I pictured my own little apartment, the details of location and atmosphere totally unimportant, and leading Nell to my bed, fueling every attraction impulse I could find so she was ready to cum before I’d even gotten her out of her panties and bra. And bringing Nancy into that same bed, getting at least one night with her in a soft bed instead of a fucking car. And using magic to seduce Stacy Putnam, and drilling the barista at Pete’s Java Brew, and making it with a steady stream of women I’d never even met yet, a long line of spellbound pussy just aching for…

I came again in the shower, and if it hadn’t been Christmas I might have spent an hour in there, dreaming of things to come and still going strong.

I had never opened presents with so much daylight gone, and with the female components of our family looking so fucking sexy. Meghan had put on a green wool skirt and a white button-up blouse, but the patterned stockings and fuck-me heels remained, and every now and then I was certain she was deliberately striking a pose to put on a physique show for my benefit. Lila, by comparison, had never really gotten dressed. She was obviously braless under a red silk robe that came down to mid-calf, but it opened enough at the front that, like her mother, she could flaunt the beauty of her legs. Her feet were bare and he had a sinful way of arching them, and once, when my dad and stepmom were in the kitchen, she rearranged herself on the sofa and I got a glimpse of bare pussy, and I do mean bare. Apparently she had followed through, with no nudge from me, on an impulse to shave her privates to perfect smoothness while in the shower.

She caught me looking—she’d wanted me to look—and before the parents returned she gave her pussy a slow and sensual finger-swipe, staring between my legs the whole time.

My cock could not remain calm during moments like that, and I wasn’t hard the entire time we opened presents around the tree, but it was on stand-by mode when it wasn’t. I might as well have a fireman in my pants, playing dick-solitaire with the certainty that at some point that alarm bell was going to ring and there would be a pussy on fire that needed my attention.

My father looked as relaxed as I’d ever seen him; he was quiet and just smiled a lot, his eyes often stuck to his wife’s legs. I’d always liked how my dad made no secret of his infatuation with his second wife’s physique; my real mother was lovely, too, but there was no denying that Meghan, at least physically, was an upgrade. Sometimes her eyes would flash at him and I suspected she had given my father an early Christmas present during the night, that had involved the lingerie she’d awakened me with. Maybe, as a way to cope with the spell burning in her blood, she wanted the two of them to go find a private place for a quickie, and I thought about casting the spell to tune in, but decided I really didn’t want to know. If Meghan could deal with the effects of the attraction spell by redirecting her urges towards her husband, then fine by me.

Only it didn’t appear to be enough. My stepmother seemed on pins and needles whenever I opened a present, and I would swear that every time I looked at her she was staring back, her focus reminiscent of Blizzard watching me eat a steak sandwich. Lila, from all surface appearances, was her regular cool and semi-sarcastic self; she had boycotted any chain stores and all the gifts she gave were hand-made objects. I got a pair of hand-sewn slippers from her, and when I thanked her I may or may not have seen her eyes light upon my crotch with a slight frown, like she was thinking that if she had only recognized her interest sooner, she could have gotten me a knitted dick-warmer.

The gift highlights went like this: For my dad, it was all about fishing equipment, same as every year. Lila got a bunch of outfits and body washes and lotions, but she was particularly happy about a felting kit. I had no idea what that was, but the pictures on the box got the idea across that you jabbed at balls of colored felt with a needle thingie, thereby shaping the felt into little sculptures of animals or objects. She also got a new iPhone, and she wasted no time playing with the photo and video functions, recording the remainder of the gift-giving. Meghan got a pair of black leather boots from Santa, which must have been specially fitted and crafted by elves because she always complained that she couldn’t find boots that could accommodate her calves. I got a new phone just like Lila’s, and goo-gobs of clothing. And, through magical interference as Meghan had shopped, a great new pair of headphones and a Jetboil camping stove.

What I didn’t have—though I held out hope—were the clasps of one of Nell’s mighty bras in my fingers, with all that magnificence ready to spill out into my world. I tried to tune into her on the impulse field several times while presents were being passed around, but could never find her. When I looked out the window and found the Brockton’s big Pathfinder gone, I had to conclude that Nell and her folks had gone to their relatives’ house, not the other way around, so there was no way I could mess with her until sometime that night, or even the next day.

We all ate lunch together in the dining room, and while my father told a story that involved boycotting the past four state elections because he couldn’t vote for anyone in the goddamn government anymore, somebody’s foot found my crotch beneath the table. It pressed in for just a couple of seconds with a slight wiggling of toes, and then was gone, leaving me hard as stone. Without casting any spell I tried to detect the guilty party by reading facial expressions; my stepmother, sitting directly across from me, had the best angle, but both she and Lila looked completely innocent. I cast the impulse spell on Meghan, and immediately found her tamping down an urge to touch her pussy under the table. Fuck, did that mean the foot had been hers, stirring her up? I cast the spell on Lila next and the truth was revealed, because she was weighing her desire to put her foot against my cock again.

“I’m going to figure out my new phone,” I said, rudely interrupting my dad’s story and taking my plate to the kitchen. I walked quickly, and once my hands were empty I put my them in my front pockets to mask the erection leading the way.

Upstairs in my bedroom, I took a bunch of deep breaths, trying to calm down. It had been outright crazy for Lila to play reindick games with my groin under the table; what had happened the night before was even more extreme, but at least we’d been in private. And the impulse I’d found in Meghan… Maybe she’d always been more sexually needy than I’d imagined, and she’d been getting herself off every day for years, especially on Christmas. I had no knowledge of what constituted a normal amount of lust in my stepmother’s private world, but after being inside her on the impulse field in my bedroom, it would be naive to believe that her urge to finger herself at the lunch table had little to do with me. The magic messing with my stepmother just as much as with Nancy and Lila; she was just trying to deal with it in a way that the others didn’t have the strength for.

I grabbed my iPad and sat in bed doing the research I absolutely needed to do to get a place of my own, fast. Nothing could happen on Christmas day, but that didn’t keep me from going through the listings on two different sites, where I found what might be a suitable one-bedroom apartment about twelve miles away, and a rustic chalet for rent that was four miles closer. There were several photos of the chalet; it was cozy-small with a heat-pump, bad, and a Vermont Castings wood stove, good, and a loft bedroom that was all slanted walls of whitewashed pine. Could I picture Nell Brockton pulling a sweater over her head in there, her knockers heaving out to pizzazz the space? I sure could. Could I afford the rent, nine-hundred dollars a month plus an equal amount as a security deposit? No, but maybe that was a no that could be turned into a yes.

I had one semester left of school, which would resume in eight days. But did I even need to finish high school now? I couldn’t see any strong reason for staying or dropping out, unless I was sure I’d want to go off to college somewhere.

These thoughts were interrupted by a light rapping at my door. “It’s me,” Lila said. “Need some help setting up your new phone?”

My heart raced. I wasn’t in her head anymore but I thought there was a teasing quality in her words, like she was playing groin-footsie with her voice now. “I’ve got it,” I called back.

She tested the door handle and found it unlocked, and stepped inside, closing the door behind. She was still naked under the silk robe, open enough at the front that the inner half of each breast showed. Lila had deliciously full D-cup breasts—I’d peeked at her bra labels plenty of times—and today her nipples looked like they aspired to become laser pointers. They pushed little tents into the fabric of her robe as she raised a knee to brace a foot back upon the door, which drew the robe open even further. Dear lord the grace of those legs, still lightly tanned even in the winter, and with her very bare mound plain to see.

She had a tube of lotion in her right hand, one of the gifts she’d gotten earlier. “I love this new moisturizer,” she said, lifting her other hand to her nose. “I can’t decide if it’s grapefruit or some flower that makes it smell so nice.”

“Lila, I don’t think you should—“

“C’mon, John, stop being like that.”

The look in her eyes was almost catlike, and I would swear the lotion in her hand was being brandished like a weapon. I cast the spell again, and once her impulse-world opened to me I saw she had an urge to come to the bed and straddle me.

“I’m beginning to think I should start locking the door,” I said. “You’re being kind of weird, aren’t you?”

She slowly shook her head, indicating what a dunce I was, and then did just as I’d said, locking the door handle. “There, done,” she said, placing her hands behind her on the door and leaning her butt into them.

“Lila, I meant—“

“I know what you meant. You’re freaked out at what happened last night and afraid I’ll want to do something with you. And you’re mostly afraid that you want the same thing.”

“I don’t want—“

“Lift the strategically placed iPad off your lap and show me what you don’t want.”

I couldn’t be harder and so I did no such thing.

“Just as I thought,” she said. “I mean John, look at me. Really look at me. We both know I look like a great fuck, and I am. I’m strong, and so limber, and tight. Really tight.”

Me and my dick both wanted to groan, which never happened because Lila propelled herself forward and onto the bed. Before I could even read the impulse she had the iPad in her hands, lifting it away and placing it on the mattress at her side. Her eyes were on my crotch and she had the urge to squeeze lotion onto her fingers and stimulate her nipples in front of me. She also had the urge to finger her clit with me watching. She also had the urge to lean forward and get my pants off me, to give me a foot-job… No, to rub lotion on her legs… She wanted to give me a leg—job.

I sighed the sound a superheated hard-on makes when partnering with hell-yes and then colliding with fragile conscience. “Lila, think for a minute. You never thought of me this way before, did you? I mean, doesn’t this seem kind of strange?” Because I really wanted to know how she felt about what was happening to her. I was her fucking stepbrother, so wasn’t there some sort of stepbrother-fucking alarm bell in her heart or head, trying to be heard? The attraction spell was clearly upon her, but wasn’t there some part of her that could look at her impulses and see them as foreign?

“Of course it’s strange,” she said, placing a hand on my knee and squeezing. “When I came home a few days ago it didn’t hit me immediately that you’ve changed so much. You’ve gotten sexy, John. Last night I could have believed it was the eggnog, that I was drunk, that I wasn’t myself. But not today. Today, from the moment I opened my eyes… And I know what you’re thinking, and I disagree. What we did last night might have been unprecedented, but it wasn’t incestuous at all.”

She seemed to have absolutely no awareness, or self-awareness, of being affected by the spell. “Tell me how you see last night as not being incestuous. You were in bed with me, and you got me off, and I got you off.”

“I got myself off,” she corrected, unaware of how much of a role I’d played through invisible means. “And it was…” She visibly shivered with the memory. “You never touched me, remember? And I’ve never… We’re not even real brother and sister, not by blood. I mean you are my little brother, and maybe it’s that element of danger, of breaking through taboos, that gets me so excited that I feel like…”

The scent of Lila’s pussy, so much stronger than any lotion she’d applied to her skin, told me what she felt like.

“But that’s not even the point,” she went on. “It’s not real incest anyway, because we’re not blood relations. But even so, I’m not going to fuck you; it’s only almost-incest if that is inside here,” she insisted, indicating what that was and where here was with the pointing of her chin. “I mean, who needs to when there are so many other avenues for pleasure? And those taboos about brothers and sisters… They’re not about us anyway, John. They’re all about the need to keep keep slack-jawed first cousins apart in backwater places like West Virginia or Alabama.”

“Ohhh ohhh Alabama,” I semi-sang a bit of Neil Young.

She laughed, squeezing my knee again. “I’ve always loved your sense of humor.” An impulse in her to say something more, which she was deciding not to say. Too curious to let it pass, I grabbed on and forced her mouth to move.

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed you’re all grown up now, and wants a piece of that.”

“Oh,” I said, which might as well have been, “Oh fuck.” She’d either noticed that her mother was acting strangely or, perhaps worse, Meghan had said something to her. “I think she hasn’t been herself lately. I’m sure her feelings… It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal, asking you to walk her home last night when she lives next door? I think she has the hots for you.”

Nell—she was talking about Nell. There was something else she had an urge to say and was holding back, and I pushed, hard.

“She texted me just ten minutes ago! She… She asked if I thought it was immoral to have a thing with a friend when her boyfriend lives so far away. It’s like she’s seeking permission, not so much from me but from herself, or…” A pause, and then shaking her head: “But why am I talking about Nell? I—”

“How did you respond? What advice did you give her?” I asked, with too much emotion in my voice. The words Lila had said were like compressed fuel quick-loaded into a Titan cock-rocket—Nell was seeking permission from herself to have a thing with me? My dick twitched and I blew out a breath, and Lila saw the movement in my pants.

“You know I go out to clubs and bars,” Lila said. “And do you know what guys say to me all the time? They tell me they want to fuck my legs. I’ve gotten that nickname at school, you know, CrazyLegs. At first I thought it was because of the colored and patterned tights I wear, but a girlfriend set me straight, that it’s because my legs are so beautiful it’s crazy. And so do you know what I’ve gotten really good at? Fucking a hard cock with my legs. All it takes is some lotion and… Oh look, just like the lotion right here!”

“Lila, no,” I said with absolutely no conviction.

And then my phone rang. It was on the bedstand and every chirp jump-started my heart because I figured it was Nell, like speaking of her had acted as a summons. Lila had repositioned herself onto her butt with her legs, completely free of the robe, lifted in the air and swung sideways, and she paused in that position as the phone continued. I used that stop in the action to grab my phone, but it wasn’t Nell’s name there; it was Nancy B.

Saved by the bell? “It’s Nancy, Lila. I have to take this. Give me some privacy please.”

I don’t know what she would have done without the intervention of further magic. Lila had conflicting impulses to get up and go, or to stay and grab at my dick, and—it wasn’t an easy decision—I inflated the one to leave.

As my door shut and I was alone, I said, “Hi-ya,” into the phone, with my dick silently screaming at me that I had just been a bonehead. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you. Been missing me?”

“Of course I have. How has it been in Chicago?”

“Crazy. Cousins’ kids getting too many presents and way too much sugar, my grandparents always arguing with each other… I’m ready to come home. I swear if I had my own car here I’d be at your house already. How did Christmas go there? Did everyone get what they want?”

I thought about Lila and my stepmother, and me waiting to hear from Nell. “Not exactly. Sometimes, even at Christmas, you learn there are some things you have to make happen all by yourself.”

“On that subject, I’ve been thinking about us, John. You should apply to schools in the same cities I’m applying to. If I got into Harvard, say, it’s not like it’s the only college in Boston. We could take on that chapter of our lives together.”

“Wait. I mentioned this same thing more than a month ago, and you said that was proof I wasn’t taking my college education seriously. You insisted I should—“

“My thinking has evolved, okay? Before… Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking before. Now it’s so clear that we could get a place together, be roommates or… No, not roommates, that’s not what I want. We could be together. We could, you know, keep each other really happy during a major life transition. A lot. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

What I thought I heard was the attraction magic having a bigger effect on Nancy than I could have imagined. She had said, several times now, that she’d fallen in love with me, but it sounded more like blistering hot sex was what she projected into a future together. Which made sense, as she had admitted herself that it was the sex together that had kept her seeing me past our natural expiration date.

I could have jabbed in that direction, but what I said was: “On that front, I’ve decided I want my own place right here, right now. I’m going to move out as soon as I can; I might have already found something. You’re back tomorrow night, right? Maybe it’ll even have happened by then. We could finally—“

“Fuck in a bed.”

“Exactly.”

“I love the idea, but where will you get the money? You’ll still be in school and—“

“I think I can swing it.”

“Without going way into debt? Look, I know you don’t have much of anything saved up, and the back of a car isn’t ideal but—“

“Without going into debt. If things go the way I’m hoping… Don’t worry about any of that, okay?”

“Our own bed to make love in,” she said, a bit of dreaminess in her tone.

My bed to fuck in, I thought, but kept my mouth shut.

“Oh Johhhn,” Nancy sighed my name like it could keep her warm. “I really never thought anyone could get inside me like this. I keep thinking about you and I… You don’t know how much I want you right here.”

“Yeah, I wish we were together, too.”

“No, dummy. Right… Mmmm… Right here.”

Oh, here as in here. My cock, which had never really softened, pulsed its approval of what it was hearing. “Nancy, are you alone?”

“Yes and I’m… I don’t have a single stitch on below the waist and I’m feeling so… I keep thinking of the last couple of times we were together and how I got so… I’ve always loved your hard cock but I didn’t fully appreciate… You make me feel like an animal, do you know that? I’m like an animal in heat and… God I’m so wet right now!”

I gulped. Phone sex—this was phone sex, with Nancy speaking about my hard cock and her animalistic wet pussy, when the week before the words would have been penis and vagina. Only we would never even be having a conversation like this, no way.

I told her to give me a couple of seconds and when I put the phone to my ear again my pants were off and I was lying on the mattress naked below the waist just as she was, my dick pointing at the ceiling. I could feel the magic in it, like the cum waiting on tap was being warmed by dragon’s breath.

“I’m dying to suck on you again,” she said. “I keep thinking of how much you like that and I almost can’t stand the waiting! I love the taste of you… I mean it, I love the way you taste, like… Like my tastebuds have been waiting for years for something that good, that delicious. Better than chocolate, better than anything. I don’t know why I waited so long, and was afraid. I started crying last night… This might sound crazy but it was like I was mourning all the lost time when I could have been sucking your cock and didn’t! And then when I fell asleep… I dreamed of it last night, of you looking so happy because I was sucking you off, and I was so disappointed when I woke up this morning and you weren’t here. If I had my own car here I’d already have you inside my mouth. I’d be twisting around you, swirling saliva all around you…”

Holy crap was that spell working its magic. I touched my cock-head with two fingers and breathed loudly. “Nancy, are you touching yourself? Are you as excited as—“

“Yes! Oh God yes, tell me… Tell me what you’d want me to do if I were there with you right now. Tell me in detail… I’ll do anything for you, John. Tell me what you want. Anything, I mean it.”

Before I could reply, I saw my bedroom door opening. There stood Lila again, shutting and locking the door behind her. She was stark naked above the waist and down below had sheathed her legs inside shimmering black stockings that ended at mid-thigh. Even from across the room I thought her pussy looked wet and swollen, and her nipples looked like flesh-colored bullets. Her mouth hung open with her eyes laser-focused on my hard dick.

“Oh no,” I whispered, and Nancy said, “Oh yes, anything,” into my ear, just as Lila raised a finger to her lips, indicating “Sssshhhhh, quiet.”

“Um, Nancy…”

“Don’t be shy,” my girlfriend said, just as Lila got onto the foot of the bed and crawled forward on all fours.

The earlier impulse magic was still active in Lila; I had made her leave before but there had been nothing to prevent her from returning, and here she was. I could read that she was determined to fuck me with her legs and, shame on me, I gave up, meaning I gave in.

“You’re on all fours over top of me,” I said into the phone. “You’re wearing black stockings and nothing else, and your knees are planted next to mine. You lower your head… Ohhh yes, you circle the crown of my cock with the tip of your tongue…”

I could hear Nancy breathing heavily into the phone. “Yes, like that,” she said. “I love your cock! Tell me more. Tell me everything I do to it.”

Lila tilted her chin up and swept her hair out from her eyes, and looked straight at me, silently mouthing words.

“You look up at me and whisper, ‘You have a beautiful cock. My…’” Lila mouthed “brother”. “‘…boyfriend has a big, beautiful cock’.”

“You do!” Nancy agreed on the line. “We measured together and… Oh John, it’s so long and thick and I… Oh John I think—“

“You lower your head and take me between your lips… And then slide me into your mouth, slowly, slowly until… Uh! I’m entirely inside your mouth. All of it, your face touching my groin, and you… Oh! Oh fuck yes, you slide me out really fast, dragging your tongue on the shaft.”

“Oh John I can see it. I want to so badly!”

“You roll onto your back and raise your legs into the air, bent at the knees, and you… Your feet are arched, you’re tensing the muscles in… God, even your feet are amazing. I think you must have the most sensual legs I’ve ever seen. So sleek and sculpted and strong…”

“I know you love my soccer legs,” Nancy said. “I’ve always loved teasing you with them.”

“You turn your head to me, and you say… You say ‘real silk’, because that’s what you’re wearing, real silk stockings. And then you mouth the words…” I paused, so as to repeat them. “’I’m going to make you cum so hard. I’m going to…’” I gulped in air and continued. “‘I’m going to make you ache for me. I’m going to make you need me.’”

“Oh God this is so hot!” Nancy hissed into my ear, and I knew she had to be touching herself, probably fingering her clit. “You will need me, I’ll see to it!”

Air exploded from my lungs. “Oh shit, yes, yes…”

“Tell me what I’m doing!” Nancy insisted.

“Your feet… You’ve swung your body, you’re lying on your back with your pussy aimed at me, your legs raised and your feet…” More hot breath. “The bottoms of your feet are together with me in-between, and your toes… Oh yes, your toes abusing the head of my cock, rubbing at the underside where… Oh God Li…” Shit! “Like that, yes, like…”

“Like what? I’m so close, John, so… What am I doing? Tell me!”

“You’re extending your legs forward, heels on my belly and… Ohhh fuuuck! You’ve got me pressed between your calves, lightly scissoring your legs to… I’ve never… The silk, it glides like you have the most amazing lotion on your legs, like… Oh yes, like that, just like that, lifting them, lifting from your hips and, oh shit yes Li… Like that, do me just like that, yes, oh fuck faster, do it faster yesss!

My cock, almost an angry shade of red, let loose, the first rope of cum like something from a fountain, a three-foot liquid curl, followed by a second spurt that was more reminiscent of NASA footage. I heard distant little cries and even squishiness in my right ear—Nancy had obviously put the phone down near her pussy, and was giving me the acoustics of her frantic fingering. A mwuumm of momentary silence, which to took to be some sort of thigh action, and then the soft groans of Nancy-gasm, clear as a bell. Hearing her like that, I wished she were here, not there, so I could get behind the wheel of that orgasm and drive her off a cliff. I could do nothing to affect my girlfriend’s orgasm from afar…

But Lila was fingering herself, still on her back with her eyes wide, looking at my cock with amazement. It was already rock solid again and she nodded at it, everything about her expression saying WTF.

Lila had three impulses right then, essentially a menu of hot actions for me to choose from. One was to grab my free hand and guide it into helping with her finger-fucking. Another was to pause her auto-stimulation long enough to taste any cum still attached to my cock. And the third, despite what she’d said earlier about not actually fucking me, was to widen her legs and grab my cock and put me inside her before I softened.

She didn’t understand yet—probably a good thing—that I wasn’t going to get soft, and so I grabbed hold of Lila’s urge to taste my cum and inflamed it, saying into the phone: “Nancy, I think my sister needs something.”

“John, I—“

“Family stuff. Let’s talk later.”

“I miss you!” she got in before I killed the call.

I went onto my knees, grabbing Lila’s ankles and pulling her legs wide apart, the sort of family stuff that would have been unthinkable less than twenty-four hours ago. My cock was raging anew and Lila saw that, and she was right with me as I pivoted my body so I was over top of her facing the other way, classic sixty-nine with my dick like a downthrust sword.

My stepsister’s shaved pussy was a thing of beauty, with a surprisingly pronounced clitoris. All along her slit she glistened like a squeezed orange slice—she really was insanely wet—and on the field it was like Lila’s clit had its own version of impulse-control disorder, already vibrating in anticipation of my tongue.

I was thinking of the ratio of physical vs. magical stimulation I wanted to give—I could make her cum buckets without ever touching her—when my cock was sucked inside a hot, hungry mouth. Lila frenzy-swirled wet heat all around and it was immediately clear that my stepsister was, A: gifted at giving head, and B: half-crazed for my cum.

I had just enough presence of mind to know I’d have questions to answer if I made Lila’s clitoris go nuts all the way to orgasm without ever physically touching it, so I took my first feather-tongued taste. She was hot ambrosia and she responded immediately by moaning into my dick, a hot soaked sound-job.

I was committed, and while she sucked away I inserted my thumbs, and tongue-flicked her clit while mentally vibrating it as if I placed it into a microwave oven. The sounds into my cock intensified but she lost her rhythm down there, her legs kicking at the air. I knew she wasn’t going to last very long so fuck it—warp-eight, engage.

I didn’t shape the impulses inside her clitoris as I’d begun to do with Nancy; I just poured on fuel, superheating what was naturally there. It only took a few seconds of that before I could sense the arrival of the cumming storm-wall. She was nearly silent at the very beginning, a series of semi-tortured in-breaths, and as she started to cry out I reacted without really thinking, pulling my cock out of her mouth to grab my pillow as I’d done the night before. I pressed it over her head just in time to muffle most of the torrent of vocalizations that reminded me of old times we shared on carnival rides. Lila’s toes curled and her thighs quivered in a way that I’d never witnessed in anyone before, lightning-quick muscle spasms that made me think of earthquake tremors. In a way I felt those tremors in my balls, because I swear it was like my cock had wanted to see a woman’s thighs moving like that its entire life.

I felt like it would take one little erotic touch from Lila and I’d be spewing again, but she appeared to be temporarily out of commission, so I applied that touch myself. As she started to calm down some, I ran one hand all over her thighs and calves and butt while stroking myself with the other. Her quad muscles were still experiencing aftershocks; I placed my palm firmly there and felt the tremors go into me.

Lila’s right hand planted hard on mine and she urged, “Do it on me!”, her eyes trained on my cock, and my hand stroking it. “I want your jizz all over—“

Ask, ye sexy-assed stepsister, and ye shall receive. It took all of a dozen more hand-strokes before I was painting her left thigh and abdomen and the bottom of her tits, porn video style. The wish to swallow my cum was still active inside her—I could read that—and I couldn’t help myself; I turned her impulse to swipe some up into a raging need, and she had some of the characteristics of a wild or rabid animal as she feverishly scooped any cum she could, fingers digging at her flesh and stuffing it deep into her mouth so fast that she started coughing.

Seeing her like that turned biology around and had me hard all over again, and I figured I’d better get out of there before I just totally lost myself in how hot it was to turn my stepsister into an abject sex-slave. I pretty much vaulted off the bed, grabbed some fresh clothes and raced out the room, making a beeline down the hallway to the bathroom. I locked the door—it felt like I should hammer two by fours across it, too, trapping myself in just as much as keeping Lila out. Turning on the water for a hot shower, I ended up just sitting on the closed toilet seat for awhile, steam turning the air opaque as I got my heart rate down and my interior bearings in order.

I had to remind myself that I had never intended to use the magic on Lila; it was all a colossal fuck-up. But I sure wasn’t putting up much in the way of resistance, either. No Dick inside Jane, yet, but she’d had an impulse to go there, and the way things were going, I would find the prospect hot enough to plunge right in. She was so fucking sexy—lots of guys, when she and Nell had both been the hottest girls in our high school by far, would have chosen my stepsister to fuck between the two of them, she was that great-looking. And it was obvious that she carried her undomesticated nature into bedroom matters; no spell had taught her to fuck with her feet and legs like that, and she hadn’t been able to complete the task because of my clitoral interventions, but it was obvious that she could give great head, too. Her pussy… I didn’t even want to think about her pussy, because, for real, I couldn’t stop thinking about her pussy. Really tight, she had teased, or bragged, and I believed her. I’d managed to keep from outright fucking her last night, and for the moment I was locked in here instead of drilling for cunt-oil out there, but come on, how the hell was I supposed to keep on keeping myself from tapping that?

I took deep breaths, and repeated to myself that I had never prayed that I be allowed to bone my stepsister. I had saved a guy from drowning, that’s all; it wasn’t like I had been plotting a dastardly scheme underneath all that where I thought that if I did a good deed, my cock would get to wear a medal and dine on no-go pussy forever.

Calmer than before, I reviewed how what had just happened with Lila was yet more practice at affecting the impulses inside a woman’s clitoris. And it seemed to me that working with the impulses natural to a clitoris—even if zapped with more energy than would otherwise take place—was a more organic approach than grabbing hold of the orgasm itself, and manipulating it. It was the difference in poking at a hornet’s nest, a lot, as I had just done, as opposed to saddling up the hornets to ride them. I could ask Lila which way felt better, but did it really matter? It was supernatural sex, both ways.

I did eventually shower, and when I was done and opened the bathroom door, Lila was right there. The earlier spell had worn off and before I could cast a new one she pushed me back and pinned me against the vanity, grinding her pussy against my groin and giving me the most fiercely tongued kiss I’d ever received. I couldn’t cast a spell with my mouth filled with stepsister tongue, and when a hand grabbed at the wrapped towel covering my erection and dropped it to the floor, that same hand repeatedly tugging my meat in a corkscrew fashion, I lost any will to intervene.

When Lila came up for air she said: “I don’t know why I get so hot being naughty in your bedroom, and I don’t care. Something happens to me, and… You’re sex drive is unreal! You’re so hard again—no wonder an overachiever like Nancy couldn’t let go of you. You are…”

She never told what it was that I was, not in words. Lila wrapped both hands around my cock and held tight while squatting down, and then I was inside her mouth again, and I could tell that this time, unless I interfered in some supernatural way, she was going to have me blowing my load down her throat.

Maybe, deep inside me, it was magic versus magic—in one corner, wearing white trunks, the ability to shut her cock-sucking impulses down; and in the other corner, wearing trunks the color of reddening engorged flesh, complete with a pirate’s tattoo and flashing the victory symbol, a spellbound cock that could theoretically reload for days. No contest, my ability to shut her impulses down not even stepping into the ring, which had me reaching back to turn on the faucets in the sink full blast in hopes of covering all the slurping sounds.

I was the one with the everlasting sexual equipment, which made it a bit surprising when I cast the impulse spell on her again and found her clitoris screaming so loudly. I didn’t want to push there too soon and too much, which had made her unable to continue fellating me back in my bedroom, but I also couldn’t leave well enough alone. I focused in more of a dribbling way this time, almost like tickling at the mechanics of a clitoris rather than attaching a jetpack to it.

Lila, as I’d figured out from what she had shown in the bedroom, knew how to suck cock. Whether she had ever blown anyone with this much gusto before, going at me like cock-sucking was a new lifesaving technique and I might die if she didn’t stuff every inch down her throat and bring me off in three, two, one…

“Guhh!” I gasped, and about a second later Lila responded with a “Mmmubbum!” which sounded to me like she hadn’t been prepared for the amount of cum I was shooting. She had believed, as any sane person would, that after witnessing me cum twice just a little bit ago, my tank would be mostly drained and that would lessen the load.

As she received a lesson in my lack of lessening, I didn’t know if it was instinct or a plan that had me firing up the jetpacks strapped to her clit, and launching her once again, sending her boldly beyond where any normal clitoris had gone before. No shaping, no orchestration, just pushing and pushing, the “O” for orgasm in her alphabet soup bowl leaping into the sky.

The effect was that she wailed into my cock while still trying to swallow cum, with her limbs jerking spasmodically like a metal puppet touching the third rail. Lila collapsed sideways, mouth coughing out white while her thigh muscles vibrated like crazy again. Maybe I already knew this—a green recreation of Nell caught in a moment of orgasmic bliss had been a central image in the “dream” where this had all begun—but there might not be anything in the world that stirred my soul more than seeing a beautiful woman’s face and body undergoing the thrill of a searing climax. The stunned, somewhat emptied expression, the change of skin coloration, the fluttering eyelids or quivering thighs…

Becoming a post-orgasmic heap with one cheek resting on the bathroom floor, Lila was something like a human puddle—she still had cum oozing from her open mouth and the insides of her thighs shone with female ejaculate. She moaned and said something incoherent, and tried to push herself up with her arms, then collapsed again and got the words out: “I… can’t… believe…”

Maybe what she couldn’t believe, because her eyes were fixed there and she reached an arm out toward it, was that I wasn’t close to getting soft. She had already commented on my stamina, and earlier had made wtf eyes at it, and if I kept going, meaning we kept going, she would have to know that something beyond even gifted human capacity was afoot. Like my stepmother first thing in the morning, I had my own fuck-or-flight conundrum on my hands, and fuck me, how could I even be doing this—I decided it was finally time to choose flight.

As Lila worked her way towards becoming a functional human being again, I raced to my bedroom and got dressed, knowing I had to just get the hell out of the house. Where I was going or how long I’d be gone I didn’t know, but it was apparent that if I stuck around here I’d either be boning my stepsister until neither of us could walk, or I’d have to start squashing her sexual impulses all over the place, which I didn’t seem to be finding the inner strength for.

I put on my parks and boots, and figuring that most stores would be closed, I decided to grab some Christmas leftovers to take with me. It was there, with my head partway inside the fridge, that I thought I heard Meghan having an argument with someone in the little bathroom off the kitchen. This was perplexing, as it’s a very small bathroom. I wasn’t really trying to listen at first, but I heard her say, “You’ve got to stop this! Just stop it! Now!”

Her tone was such that, if I’d been the guilty party doing whatever it was that needed stopping, I would have stopped. Lila was upstairs, possibly with her face still on the tile floor, so this was no lecture about my sister going into her stepbrother’s bedroom or the upstairs bathroom for supernatural sex. So what, had my father transgressed in some way that I hadn’t witnessed? Or maybe it was Blizzard she was chastising?

I didn’t stick around, didn’t even microwave anything to heat it up, I just hurried cold turkey and some potatoes into a container and got out of there. And on the way I saw my dad in the hallway to their bedroom, and Blizzard sound asleep on the couch, which meant…

It meant Meghan was talking to herself. It meant she was the one being ordered to stop, by herself.

I knew what was going on—she was vocally doing battle with the magic in her system. Whether she’d been telling herself to stop being attracted to me, or to stop masturbating because of that attraction, or to abort some idea or scheme in her head that involved me… The particulars didn’t even matter, did they? She was in something like the same shape as Lila, only fighting it fiercely. I could only hope that my father hadn’t caught on to any of this, and that Meghan knew she was talking to herself, no Sybil-style degeneration into multiple personalities because of drinking that damned eggnog.

Just imagining something like that, a disciplined woman like my stepmother becoming an outright lunatic in my presence, underlined the words that kept going through my brain—I must get a place of my own!