Impulse Control
by Pizzahead
Nine — The Mother of All Storms
Before calling Nancy I texted this to Nell: I absolutely adore you. By the time I’d brought in a few new logs for the stove she had texted back: Ditto, ditto, ditto! Hope you’re keeping warm.
A few minutes after that she texted again: I doubt you’ve had a chance to listen to the music yet. It’s definitely not for everyone, but it’s how I feel since we’ve gotten close.
And a couple of minutes after that: Going to get my beauty rest, trusting that tomorrow will be a very active day.
As if Nell needed beauty rest. I liked that she might be thinking about how active we could be together, and I definitely liked her final text: Good night. I am so in love with you it’s crazy.
Yes, it was crazy that she had fallen so hard for me—crazy hot. I was curious about the music she’d given me—a nice touch, feeling the desire to share like that—but I didn’t even have my computer with me to plug her memory stick into.
That could wait. Buoyed by Nell’s response, I parked my rear on one of the barstools and worked up the courage to call Nancy. She picked up on the first ring, saying, “About fucking time, I was going insane! I mean, where are you? I can be on my way in twenty seconds! It’s snowing like a bitch but if I—”
“Wait, wait, slow down.” I tried to keep my voice steady but heard it waver—breaking up is hard to do. “We need to talk, Nancy.”
“We’ll talk plenty, after we fuck. After… God I want to suck you off so bad.” She laughed a shrill-sounding laugh, tossing out: “Can you imagine I used to say no? That I didn’t think I’d like it? Like a baby thinking it wouldn’t want milk—I must have been crazy! I’ve been practicing on cucumbers, big cucumbers, getting better at it. I can’t wait… So where the fuck are you? Like I was saying I think I can still drive, as long as—“”
“Nancy—”
“Where?!!”
“Nancy, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m seeing Nell Brockton now.”
A pause that I thought might melt the phone in my hand. Then: “What, you’re peeping into her window? Great, you tell her to keep up the show and I’ll suck you off while you stare over at her boobs. I can be there in five, maybe ten—“
“What I mean is that we’ve hooked-up. We’re… I guess you’d say we’re dating. Seriously dating.”
A dismissive laugh. Then total silence, and not just the silence a foot of snow drops all around. It was the silence there might be in outer space.
I tip-toed forward. “So you see it’s not as simple as—“
“Wait, wait. You’re joking with me, right? Nell Brockton, who looks like she drinks a sex-appeal smoothie every morning? Nell Brockton, with tits the size of soccer fields? She wouldn’t—“
“It’s no joke.”
“But she’s older, in college! How… This isn’t making any sense at all!“
“It happened really fast, out of nowhere. We went for a walk and, I don’t know, we connected. And she… We… It’s an open relationship, remember? You agreed to that. I never imagined that Nell and I, but—”
“I think I’m going to die.”
“Look, I know this is upsetting…”
“No, you don’t know. You don’t seem to have any idea how much I… Are you fucking clueless?”
I wasn’t; she was, only I couldn’t explain that to her. Knowing it was an unfair argument I pointed out that she had been on the verge of breaking up with me only a short while ago, which made her groan with frustration.
“The stupidest moment of my life, okay? Everybody has one. But now I know I could never do that because I’m in fucking love with you! Times a thousand! I’ve even been thinking of delaying college, like we could get married, maybe spend a year traveling or… Or anything; I don’t care as long as we’re together. I can see us… I can’t go from that to… Why do guys fall for gigantic tits? What are they good for, anyway?”
A whole lot, actually.
“I’m going to fall apart. I can’t… No! You can’t do this! I’ll get a boob-job. I’ll get the biggest boob-job in the history of plastic surgery if that’s what you need. Like gallon jugs of milk. Two fucking gallons if that’s what—“
“Come to your senses!” I snapped, which was like being frustrated with a knot for being a knot, when I’d been the one to tie it that way in the first place. “Just listen to yourself, talking about surgery. Does that make any sense at all?“
Of course it didn’t, but it had my dick throbbing that the spell was so insanely potent that she would even think in that direction. Because this was the same spell I’d cast on Nell. It was iron-tight, true entrancement, the recipient willing to do anything to be with me.
Nancy seemed to hit the reset button, her next words unnaturally calm. “I get it. I agreed we’d be in an open relationship, and you… Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it. A threesome, you and me each with one of Nell’s boobs to play with… Hell, they’re big enough that we could climb them together. If that’s what you want I’ll do it, I promise. And if you want to be alone with her… Dammit, John, just give me tonight and I’ll try not to bother you again until she’s gone back to school! She’s only here for another few days, right? Then we can… Just tell me where you are!“
The wind howled outside and maybe there was sleet or ice mixed with the snow, because crystalline taps sounded all around me, and I could hear a similar transformation in Nancy’s voice, desire hardening into the kind of desperation that had characterized her voicemails. She’d been away just a few days, and it sounded like she was in a state similar to Lila and Meghan earlier, only worse, where absence made the heart grow even more obsessed. There was no quit in her, none at all, like I was food she had to eat, or water she needed to drink to stay alive. I didn’t want her to come to me, but maybe, under the circumstances, to keep her away was a form of cruelty. But then…
I went over to the front windows and put my face to the glass, peering outside. Far to the left the headlights of a lone car, moving with painful slowness, giving me just enough light to make out that it was seriously icing out there. Now that I saw it I realized I’d been hearing it for a good ten minutes, all that tiny tapping everywhere.
“Nancy, it’s not even in our hands right now. Have you looked outside lately? There’s ice, lots of it, and neither my car nor yours could get anywhere tonight.”
“I’ll walk!”
I was going to tell her that was crazy, but she spoke first.
“I know—you can talk dirty to me. That helped before, because your voice… It’s not the same as having your cock here but I love your voice. It’s like velvet, like the best chocolate in the world, like sonorous spoken sensuality, and I have…” Rustling sounds, maybe a drawer being opened. “I bought a dildo, big and fat, so much like yours. It’s not the same… It would have to be made of pure gold… No, made out of the stars to be like yours. But if you talk to me while I—“
She continued speaking but I didn’t hear it all. What she was saying and the tone of her voice—how much of this was unique to Nancy, her basic personality or psychological makeup, and how much was from not having seen me for several days? My sonorously sensual voice and my cock made of stardust—that sounded like stuff that a horny thirteen year-old girl might say about her teen idol. I wished I could believe she was just in love with over-the-top language tonight, but the truth was probably more sinister than that.
My shoulders and back shuddered; it was an involuntary response to a thought that surfaced, that maybe the attraction magic kept deepening over time, irresistible but reasonable at the beginning—just as Nell had described of our midnight walk on Christmas Eve—but growing more potent with every passing day, or even every hour. Like attraction squared, then cubed, and so forth. Like the magnitude of earthquakes, needing a scale of their own to convey how rapidly and immensely a force could become multiplied.
Nancy had been given the potion a handful of days before the others, and if this new suspicion was correct, that would mean Nell and Lila and Meghan weren’t even where Nancy had been on Christmas eve, when she’d reluctantly agreed to be packed into a car and whisked away to Chicago. After impulsing the attraction potion into her system, I’d gotten together with Nancy every evening for lots and lots of car-rocking sex, and she had always been eager to see me but never frantic like this. Now, after a couple of days without me, she sounded like it would take a hardened underground bunker to keep her from banging her way in. And if she ever got her hands on my cock again, what would I need, a crowbar to pry her away?
It hit me—was Nell destined to become like this? Was Lila? Was Meghan?
I opened to the instructions and general knowledge of the attraction spell that had been imprinted upon my brain. The magic would eventually collapse; that I knew beyond a doubt, even if the timing of that eventuality was anybody’s guess. I saw nothing about desire compounding over time, but there was also nothing that stated the reverse, where desire appeared and immediately plateaued.
I realized now that I had just assumed the magic would behave the same way a stable force like magnetism works, me as the giant magnet and a spellbound woman like someone with an abiding amount of metal shavings in their soul. But what if Nancy was the model for all of them, the precursor of deepening chaos to come? What if the attraction spell worked more like our ever-expanding universe, which scientists had assumed must be slowing down, only it somehow wasn’t? Nancy had sprinkled some alarming language into this conversation—she’d said that she felt crazy, and insane, or that she might fall apart. Wasn’t that in Nell’s last text too, that she loved me so much that it was crazy? I didn’t exactly hear Twilight Zone music in my head, but the hairs on my arms stood on end because the worst-case models that came to mind existed in the realm of horror movies.
There was a sudden knocking on my front door, which made me jump. I looked at the entrance to the chalet stupidly, then down at the phone in my hand. Nancy’s voice lightly moaned from the speaker, and I heard her say, “Are you touching it? Is it completely hard for me?”
“Fuck your dildo like it is me,” I said into the phone, and then, “Someone’s at the door; I have to go. Keep it together and I’ll call you in the morning.”
I switched off and muted my phone and wondered: A neighbor in trouble? Nell, braving the storm to be with me while she still could? I turned on the outside light and opened the door and… Oh shit. It was Meghan, bundled in a big parka and boots with huge trash bags dangling from either hand.
“Are you going to invite me in? It’s diabolical out here!”
“What… How…” I stammered, and she stepped past me, bringing a wave of icy cold inside. I had never given my parents the address, but I’d said the chalet was on Rockridge Road, and she had figured it out.
“It’s really icing out there! These past few minutes I thought I’d end up in a ditch, but I made it.”
She had probably been the car I’d seen several minutes ago, and she was wearing the weather right on the shoulders of her coat, a host of pellets resting there. Ice storms were the worst—would I lose electricity overnight? Would Nell even be able to come tomorrow?
“I couldn’t bear to think of you out here without blankets,” Meghan explained, setting the bags on the floor and lightly stamping her feet, a whole lot of winter falling off every part of her. “Cozy,” she nodded at the wood stove and the little nest I’d made near it. “And a bar, that’s an interesting touch. A bit sparsely furnished, though.”
Not furnished at all, which all of a sudden felt like a problem, and not just because of a lack of comfort. Having no furniture meant no obstacle but the stove to put between myself and Meghan if she came charging, like the time a rutting moose had chased me in an open field.
She shrugged her parka away and draped it over a barstool, then planted her rear on another for the removal of her boots. “Let me get my feet warm before I head back home,” she said, her feet free, toes wiggling.
I said nothing during this time because my mouth hung open. A cock’s-length of accumulated snow and ice ago, when I’d run out of my parents’ house, Meghan had been wearing leggings and an old cut-off tanktop, looking sexy as hell in exercise garb that showed plenty of muscle. But there were many ways to show off body-tone and beautiful flesh, and Meghan had changed into deep violet stockings, that ascended her superbly sculpted legs until they became a lace pattern, with garters attaching them to nearly-nothing matching panties. Then, creating a wide oval opening to showcase how barely-covered the goods were, more lace rose above the hip, almost tickling her navel. Above that carnal yumminess was a translucent areola-tease of what might be called a halter-bustier, whose purpose was less to conceal anything, more to squeeze and heft a pair of big breasts while leaving Meghan’s strong arms and shoulders completely bare.
Fuck-me lingerie, with winter garb over top for the drive. Fuck-me lingerie, with way more woman packed inside it than any lingerie ever has the right to hope for. Fuck-me lingerie, amplified by her body in a way that it felt like it was smacking me not only in my dick, but in the face.
“I rushed out without…” she began, seeing my amazed expression. She shrugged and feigned an apologetic smile that wasn’t convincing at all, and then, shedding any guise of justification, she leaned and reached into one of the bags, and brought out a pair of black-purple pumps. Her calves bulged as she slipped them on—she made them bulge, and as she did so one of her hands gliding over nylon and muscle like even she couldn’t believe how full and strong they were, and how amazing they looked.
I had a bulge, too. I had a bulge that felt like it could bore through earth and stone to tap into the energy at the center of the earth. I had a bulge that felt like Meghan’s leg-tease was summoning forces into this chalet that mere humans are never meant to understand, let alone wield. I had a bulge that felt like the storm outside was raining down invisible heat pellets, all collecting inside my enchanted balls
I squinted to gather my wits, and got it together enough to cast a fresh impulse spell on Meghan. What I found made me want to either cum right then and there or run out into the cold, because a starving wolf might have fewer impulses to devour me. A few scenes from the film “The Life of Pi” surfaced in my thoughts, colorful images of a young man trapped on a boat with a Bengal tiger. Meghan’s presence here was almost exactly like that, only the tiger was decked out in lingerie. My reflexes felt like they were on high alert, every little gesture or word carrying the potential to set the beast upon me.
As if she weren’t standing right there in front of me wearing an ensemble whose whole purpose was to turn cocks to stone, she said, so mom-like: “I felt compelled to bring several wool blankets, and also your sleeping bag.” She pulled out my REI down bag in its carrying sack, and with one hand alighting upon an out-thrust hip she added, “I can’t believe you didn’t grab this back at the house.”
Grab this—oh God did I want to. And her posture, and the way she was digging right into my pants with her words… Was she ever like this with my father? Did she dress like this for him, blowing into his world like a dark roiling cloud, giving every signal that she could blast pleasure into a man in mighty gusts?
“Hey, do you have more of those?” she asked, shocking my brain alert and pointing to the bottle of beer on the floor. “No, forget that. I also brought… this!” And just like that she had a bottle of Cognac in her hand, retrieved from her handbag. “There’s more than one way to get warm on a cold winter’s night,” she added, with a giggle like a little girl’s.
Meghan had never been much of a drinker, though she was relaxed enough with alcohol to have downed enchanted eggnog. Every now and then, always on special occasions, she and my father would share a fine brandy on the couch, slowly sipped from tiny blue glasses. It was when she pulled out the stopper and took a good long swig, straight from the bottle, that I knew for sure how out-of-whack her emotional state was.
This was my stepmother, but not. Or rather, this was my stepmother on ever-escalating magic, a great-looking workout wonder with a single-minded brain working in tandem with a severe-weather clitoris. As she downed more of her liquor, I thought: This woman has an inner strength that might even be more formidable than what was obvious in her physique; after all, for the moment she was controlling her fuck-John impulses by attacking a bottle of booze, rather than clawing at my pants. But how she had dressed said everything; she was perfectly gift-wrapped sex, and I could see that her right eyelid was twitching, and her fingers drummed a nervous beat on the bottle in her hand, and there was a slight shifting of her weight from leg to leg, like her thighs were jaws practicing the movement that would have them opening to clamp upon her prey. When she put the mouth of the bottle to her lips again, she couldn’t resist tonguing the rim.
This woman was the most frequent participant in my early erotic fantasies; when younger and smaller I used to think of her pinning me down and using her strength to make me fuck her. A handful of additional years had not stripped her of any of her beauty or vitality, and I already knew there was no way she could leave tonight. She was a woman in heat, and my fucking cock was so fucking hard.
Meghan wasn’t looking at my crotch just then; she had turned her head to the front windows as the sound of ice against glass sounded all around us, an intensified symphony of hard tinkles that confirmed the inevitability of our situation. She quickly strode to the window and leaned to peer out—oh fucking fuck, a good look at this woman’s rear end was always a special treat, but tonight there was an opening that had been designed into the lace hosiery right there at her ass, her perfectly toned cheeks framed for my viewing pleasure. Worse, or even better, the nylon sheathing her legs had vertical seams that traced the glorious form of her thighs and calves, disappearing down into her heels.
I approached with the crotch of my jeans looking like I had a weather vane stuffed in there, proclaiming that there was no denying my body’s response to Meghan looking like a pumped-up sexual storm waiting to happen, just as there was no denying the reality of the outside weather. The worst ice storm in many years was raging out and above, while inside, my magically enhanced cock throbbed a mere foot away from an entranced pussy.
She sighed at the glass, and said: “My car’s already encased in ice. I’m stuck here alll-night-lonnggg,” and the way the “all night long” came out, it had the sound of promised stamina. She had an impulse to say something more, was tamping it down, but then she lost that battle. “I knew it was crazy to go out in this weather. I knew I’d be stuck here overnight before I left. And I knew, when I couldn’t resist putting on this outfit…” She went silent then, with a dip of her chin, like she was taking in how she’d decided to dress for being stuck here.
Standing right beside her, very close, I lowered my head to take in that same view. Damn she had some tits swelling out from the tightness of that torso, and from this viewpoint I could see the outline of her protruding nipples, so obviously stiff. I wanted to pinch them, to roll them, and while my hands wavered at my side with that wanting, Meghan tapped a quick text into her phone.
“They know I’m safe now. They know not to expect me tonight.”
Not safe, neither one of us. Meghan muted her phone and put it on the windowsill, and she had the impulse to touch my arm. Touching—it used to be what we did without even thinking about it, conveying familial love that no one thought would go off like dynamite. I could have blocked that impulse and kept her hand away; I’d read it in time, and I had that ability, to stifle as well as encourage.
But fuck all that. She had been fighting the spell’s influence for two days, and it was clear that she’d been coping through masturbation, meanwhile berating herself for having such feelings about me. But no longer; that coping mechanism was like floppy disks, good for yesterday but useless in today’s world. It was obvious that her conscience about cheating on her husband was crumbling, or had already collapsed. She had either rationalized that dressing to seduce me wasn’t such an shameful thing, or it still was but the drive towards me was stronger, and she’d done it anyway.
She followed her impulse, placing her hand on my arm, and it felt to me like that touch was hot enough to slow-brand the flesh beneath my shirt with the letters NTI, for Not Technically Incest.
There were impulses for her fingers to move, to massage, and they did, and there was no mistaking that these were erotic movements, teasing and exploratory, like a physical preview of rhythms to follow. No escape; I’d seen and heard enough from Lila and Nell and especially Nancy to know that Meghan would be in an even worse state tomorrow, and the day after that, and on and on. Right now she was a tightly bound mass of seething desires—I could smell them burning right next to me.
Surrender—I surrendered. I had never chosen to put that attraction potion inside my stepmother but it was there, and she didn’t have the strength to resist it. Neither did I; I’d tried, rather lamely, to put off the inevitable, but I wanted to fuck Meghan. I had wanted this for years.
To begin with, just the smallest of signals from me, a slight lean towards her, and letting my breath out, letting my breath be honest, acknowledging that I liked what she was doing. The impulse to lick her lips flared in her, and they moved, becoming moist, inviting. The impulse to whisper my name, and out it came, first just, “John,” and then, “Oh John, I…”
She thickly swallowed whatever those next words would have been, the hand on my arm squeezing the message, and once she had done that I felt a host of muscles tensing inside her, primarily in her face and lower body. She was poised to move definitively, irrevocably, and in that instant I decided that what happened next should not rest solely on her conscience. It was Nell’s words in my mind, her belief that she had been the one to seduce me, knowing, rightly, that she was too sexy for me to resist, but with no understanding of how her heart and soul had been infiltrated. I didn’t want Meghan to remember this as me being all innocent, the younger, less experienced man standing beside her while exhibiting a willpower that she didn’t possess, yet finally giving in. Better to co-instigate, demonstrating at least a tiny bit of the truth that I was an active participant in all of this, not in any way a victim.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world, I took a slow half-step back and pulled her in, embracing her from behind, Meghan’s strong back against my front, the palms of my hands feeling the solidity of her shoulders. She had the impulse to arch her back just a little, and when she did it I knew why—it brought her ass against my erection, and she slowly rolled against me, feeling my hardness and taking my measure. The sigh that escaped her mouth made my cock twitch, and Meghan groaned in response.
Time to confess, up to a point. I said: “Do you know how many times I’ve stared at you, and wondered what you must feel like, how hot it would be to—“
“No words,” she said, her hands coming down behind her back and grabbing hold, deftly unfastening both button and zipper.
She pulled me out, fingers alive and inquiring, and as skin met skin I groaned my approval. I moved my hands and tightly cupped her breasts, both of us squeezing and being squeezed. After Nell almost any woman’s tits would feel tiny, yet Meghan more than filled my hands, her nipples hard enough to jab into my palms. I knew from competition applications that she was five-five and weighed 132 lbs., and I even knew her measurements, including the circumference of her biceps and thighs and calves, but no string of numbers could even begin to encapsulate the genetics and dedication that made her body’s contours explode like a MILFified fireworks display.
She was thickly built, a tight bundle of physical contradictions. Some of the other competitors in her division lost all the softness in their cheeks and jaws while their bodies became unattractive, to me, topography with veins popping up like they had ropes under their skin. Meghan, through diet and dedication and the will to shape her body in the exact direction she preferred, had threaded that needle where the power and mass were evident, yet her curves remained intact. I found my hands roaming, squeezing, gliding from one region of her physique to the next, wondering how muscles so hard could give way to breasts this big and soft. It was like my fingers tried to understand through attentive study what my dick had known for years, that this woman’s body was just so fucking hot.
And that was just her upper body, there in easy reach. The true goldmine was down where her quadriceps bulged, and her calves flared so spectacularly. I remembered a day when I was thirteen or fourteen, and with two school friends, all of us approaching my family’s car, with Lila and Meghan both standing in front of it. One friend, who had a massive crush on Lila, said: “Jesus, your stepsister’s legs… She looks like she could leap right over that car if she wanted.” To which the other friend, Rock, had responded: “Yeah, but Meghan’s legs look like they could crush the car.”
Old fantasies came alive and I sank to my knees, turning her towards me and burying my nose into the damp black of her panties while my hands glided all along soft skin and the sheen of nylon covering rock-hard muscle. I suppose every fitness babe or bodybuilder experiences a certain kind of satisfaction when they feel all their dedication and effort being appreciated, those thousands of squats and curls and steps validated. Maybe it was some of that, infused with the magic, that caused something inside Meghan to let go like a bursting dam. One second she stood there with her legs slightly parted, my nose between her thighs, and she was loving it. Then, with the impulse and resulting action so tied together that I had no chance of reacting, a roar sounded above me and I was on my back with wriggling weight on top, my stepmother unfastening her stockings and literally ripping her panties away. Done with that, bare pussy sending out scent-waves, she straddled me facing away, soft warm light highlighting the definition of her back while the muscles of her butt, given a display window through the design of her lingerie, danced while my pants got shimmied off.
On the impulse field, her clit was like a solar flare when she saw my cock. She had conflicting impulses, wanting to suck it and also to drive it inside her pussy, and pussy it was, suddenly and emphatically, both of us huffing out gusts of hot air from the pleasure of it. I suppose the question had always been at the back of my mind: “Does a vagina become all loose and stretched-out forever after a woman gives birth?” The answer, glove-tight all around me, was no.
She hissed a wet “Yesss!” when I was fully inside her, igniting her impulse to…
“Gaaah!” I exhaled, stunned.
There were muscles inside Meghan’s pussy, a fact that she was making thrillingly obvious by making them tighten and release, doing membrane-reps all over my cock. I think I uttered the word “What”, meaning what on earth, and what are you doing to me, and what’s going to happen to my cock if you don’t stop. I know I raised my head and reached out, a gesture towards urging her with a touch to ease off, to not kill my dick with whatever she was doing, but before I could communicate anything she shifted her legs into a widespread squat and started powering up and down. My head fell back and I found my hips thrusting up to fuck her, only I wasn’t doing any humping—her pussy was tightening and lifting me up and down, turning me into a fuck-puppet moved by the cock. That sensation, and the visuals of her powerful legs working, with her tits big enough to be seen bouncing out of the bustier from my vantage point at her back, had me feeling like I wouldn’t last more than ten more seconds. But then she started up that internal massage again, and I just lost it, bellowing before I convulsed a heavy load into her, my head thrashing side to side from the force of it.
For a change, I was the one who felt close to passing out, like half a gallon of consciousness had spewed out along with my cum. I lay there stunned and drained, thinking thoughts that were disconnected from one another, until one took definite shape—she had lifted a good part of my weight with her cunt! And that rippling inside her—where the hell did a woman learn to do something like that? There was some old joke that hot librarians were by vocation always well versed in the do-me decimal system, but Meghan… Jeeeeeezus!
“I should have given you some sort of warning,” a soothing voice whispered close to my ear, a warm body snuggling against my side.
I curled into the steamy body, finding it solid and spectacular with my hands wanting to be everywhere, eventually deciding upon the curvature of an especially firm ass. Memories filtered up, of weekend mornings when my stepmother would be making breakfast with a certain affirmation in her movements, a quick and confident step, while my father sat at the table drinking coffee with a dazed smile, looking for all the world like he’d been visited by a vampire in the night, his vitality sucked away. Yet his eyes were completely different, like those of someone who’d just received the news that they’d won the lottery. Other memories, of the way Meghan could always win every argument between them that mattered, with nothing but a certain mischievous look directed at my father, a secret trump card that beat him every time.
The ace of yoni, as it turned out. More memories, of my father sighing that his Meghan was one in a million, and an under-the-breath comment that she might become a world record-holder if every muscle group received its due in fitness competitions. My father’s second wife, the one he always said was like a miracle that he couldn’t possibly deserve, had a pussy that had skills akin to a super-power.
“What you did to me…” I said, still barely believing it.
“It’s called vaginal weightlifting. There are Youtube videos, but I didn’t find them until later. The talent was just in me, right from the beginning.”
As she spoke, her hands slowly glided all over my body, like they needed to know every detail of my construction. It must be reciprocal magic again, because that’s how I felt, like I was pressed against a living sculpture that could only be understood through touch, its secrets transferred from skin to skin. She sighed and pressed tighter into me, like if she could she’d melt her flesh right into mine, so merged that we’d become two minds sharing one body.
It felt like my cock had just run in spirals all the way to Chicago and back, but that wasn’t enough to make it feel disoriented, or weakened. I was filled with a special ability, too, all packaged inside my cock and balls, and I may have been as drained as precious wetlands in a developer’s backyard a few second’s ago, but now I surged back to hardness, aching for more. I hadn’t known that a pussy could do the things Meghan’s pussy could do; weird analogy, but it was reminiscent of the first time someone had put a nail gun in my hand, and I learned that years of hammering had been an activity for amateur hour. There was a whole new game in town.
I squeezed Meghan’s ass tighter, letting my fingers go towards each other, and I would swear the closer they got to her pussy, the hotter her flesh became. My cock was completely hard before I even grazed her wetness, and she let out a gasp of surprise, then a louder one when the tip of my middle finger teased at her swollen opening. A hand touched my cock, fingers curling and tightening.
“I can’t believe…” she started to say, the words cut off when I took hold of her right thigh and lifted, opening her up.
She couldn’t believe I was hard again so soon; I was certain that was what she’d meant to say. I focused on her clitoris and found that the earlier spell had worn off, so I breathed out a new one. Renewed spell, resurrected cock… I wasn’t going to go at her so relentlessly that it would raise supernatural red flags, but Meghan was about to find out that I had my own special card to play—the eight inches of inexhaustible clubs.
She had surprised me and so I did the same, just plunging in without any prelude or warning. I loved her groan, long and low and ending in a much higher note, like a little squeak of pleasure.
“Do it!” I demanded. “Do that thing you can do!”
She did, as easy as flipping a switch. It was like having an inverted millipede for a pussy, contractions moving along my length while I was in motion. There was no such thing as being a man of endurance when she did that; it was like being given a hand-job by dozens of tiny hands working in unison, and again I groaned involuntarily while shooting a gut-wrenching load into her.
Magic; she had her own form of magic. It was more explainable than mine, a rare skill and the physical wherewithal to perform it, akin to a contortionist being able to make a pretzel of their body. Only it was a sexual skill, sexual magic, and until tonight, no one but my father and perhaps a smattering of early lovers had a clue that Meghan possessed it. The workout librarian with the car-crush legs also had a preternatural pussy—who knew?
Meghan hadn’t cum yet; I was very aware of that, tuned-in as I was to all the body impulses that were dying to take her where she had twice sent me. I could feel that there was a kind of joy in her, just from giving—she was attracted to me as few women ever are to anyone, and she had bestowed pleasures upon me that I hadn’t even known existed, twice. That had her feeling pretty good, but her own needs were still churning, and it was high time I showed her an unimagined trick, too.
It got me hard again, the anticipation of it. I was still inside Meghan, getting small and ready to slip out through shrinkage, and just like that the tide reversed, and I grew long and thick, pushing against her walls again.
“John, you’re… Oh my God you’re…”
“Eighteen,” I said, as if that might explain everything. Meghan had been the one in charge until now, but it was my turn to lead, like an adept dance partner who knew exactly how we were going to navigate this room.
She gasped and said a soft, “No!” when I pulled out of her—she loved me being in there, which was heartwarming. And her attitude turned into an “Oh yes” when I got on my knees and pivoted so her pussy was in my sights, my cock thwacking her in the cheek, like a nudge to open her mouth. Classic sixty-nine, though it would have a magical twist.
She had me between her lips before I even touched her, and it would have been so easy to just let her suck away and see if she could swallow all I could give. Not possible to be that passive, not when my face was just inches away and I found myself further entranced, this time by the visuals of Meghan’s pussy.
No two are alike; everybody knows that, but I would have to say that Meghan’s most private anatomy wasn’t normal, which is a way of saying that her clitoris was far more prominent than the average. I’d seen larger ones in porn videos with titles like “Huge Fucking Clit!”, where it’s pretty much like there’s a small penis jutting out from under the hood, and I remembered wondering whether exceptional size there equaled exceptional capacity for pleasure. Meghan’s wasn’t on that grand a scale, yet it had to be three times as large as anything I’d ever seen in person. She was pumped up, a genetic powerhouse, even here.
I ate that thing like it was candy. It was fuck-muscle just as substantial as the rest of her, hot and wet and there against the tip of my tongue, a can’t-miss target. Her legs jerked and she hyperventilated me right out of her mouth, and I didn’t even care if she couldn’t concentrate on blowing me—I didn’t want her to be able to anything, just writhe and pant and grow wetter and wetter, an express train of a climax quickly on its way, the tracks vibrating with its approach. You didn’t even need impulse powers to sense what was coming—maybe it was that extra size that telegraphed exactly where she was, the train’s headlight blindingly close. Coming, looming, here, and I took hold of her internal systems and added extra engines.
She went a little bit airborne, and with me over top of her that meant her body smacking against mine. I loved it, and kept my focus, and just kept adding engines. Meghan’s legs jackknifed and an outright jet of girl-juice bathed my mouth and cheeks and chin, an emotional, abstract wail twisting from her mouth, the soundtrack to a train-wreck of an orgasm, murder on the clitoris express.
She went limp and there was not a single impulse in her to do anything, other than to moan in descending octaves. She hadn’t climaxed into unconsciousness, and when I repositioned myself to kneel at her side, her eyes were wide open, and shining. Was she crying?
“I’ve never…” she said to the air, or ceiling. “I’ve always wanted to squirt, to… to erupt. I think I did.”
Mark that as a definite, because I still had Meghan-juice dripping from my chin. I felt like I should give it back by rubbing my face all over her boobs, or coating her physique with it so she shone like she did in competitions, her body oiled-up with her body’s own lotion.
Just like that Meghan sat up, arms firmly placed behind her. In a way it was the first good look I’d gotten of her naked tits, which had surged out of her bustier long ago. They were so full and even mighty, riding high from all the development of her pectoral muscles. Her eyes caught sight of my continuous erection and it was like supercharged pheromones were beamed into the room from the woman’s pores. Impulses blazed and it made no sense to parse which were which; the impulse-soup within spelled one definite message: KEEP FUCKING!
She didn’t hesitate, turning over onto her knees and elbows with her thighs spread wide, ass raised high. In one way it was pure invitation, a submissive position with either hole open to me, my choice. But not really submissive because it was also a demand—do me or else.
I had never fucked a woman in the ass before; Nancy, especially, who’d refused even sucking me off when in her right mind, would have thought me outright villainous if I’d ever suggested it. I have to say I was tempted, but right woman wrong act, because why experiment with Meghan’s ass when there was bionic pussy to be plowed, somehow built stronger, faster, better?
And that’s what I did, easing into her and loving the feel of her in this position, just a slow in/out rocking at first, with impulses melting away inside Meghan because she was getting what she wanted. Only half a minute in, we weren’t at the speed she wanted; she had the impulse to go faster, and together we turned a slow and steady fuck into a firm and fast plowing, and then faster still into a jackhammer beat. Jackhammers are used for building, yet they do it through deconstruction, and that’s what this felt like, me deconstructing several days’ worth of my stepmother’s lust and self-recriminations about her desirous thoughts and actions. But any satisfaction she felt at finally being here had no power to break down the pull of the attraction magic—she just kept wanting me faster and deeper, and then when she switched on those inner contractions…
I couldn’t withstand them—I don’t know if any cock could—and I clenched and spewed into her. But my hips didn’t stop moving, and my dick didn’t even think about getting soft, and I just kept pumping, sensing another explosion on Meghan’s horizon, coming up fast. She was keeping the millipede contractions going by force of will, but that started to break down as her climax got closer and closer. Odd sounds jetted from her mouth, like puffs of disbelief that we were still fucking, and that helped me to keep going, giving my heart and body sufficient stamina to keep up with my dick.
I could watch it all rise inside her as surprising climactic energy became undeniable climactic force, and every muscle in Meghan’s body suddenly tensed in preparation. When it came, when she came, I grabbed on and did some millipede action of my own, making her climaxes stutter, and last twice as long by flickering out and back in and out and in again, her cumming given hummingbird’s wings.
Even that, I could feel, was not a knockout blow with this woman, and that suited me just fine. Meghan’s rear was still raised but now it was like she’d collapsed that way, and her vibrating pussy talents were offline; she’d essentially been stunned into impulse-silence, there but not all there, and I just kept going, delighting in the new liquid friction, like fucking a vagina as wet as the sea. I was panting like someone running a marathon, with little “uhs!” coming out of my stepmother, until something shifted in her pussy and an impulse to cum again blossomed with astounding speed.
“Oh Jah! Jah!” John!” she managed to say right before I released into her again. She went over the edge, too, all her with no manipulations by me, force meeting force, her pheenom of a cunt seeded by my magic wand of a dick, like filling like. Groans, sighs, the soft cooing of, “Ohmygod, ohmygod,” and then the silence of two people emptied of energy, one body holding tight to the other, warm and satisfied.
I wasn’t even sure how I got there but I was spooned to Meghan’s backside, my hand cupping a breast, breathing in the scent of her hair. Memories filtered in of this same woman putting ointment and Band-aids on my scraped elbows, and packing lunchbox meals for me to take to school. Memories of spotting her when she did bench presses, my eyes glued to her tits. Memories of not being able to stop staring when she lotioned her legs at the beach, needing to turn over with my crotch to the sand so she wouldn’t see how much she turned me on.
Memories of watching, through the crack of a not-quite closed door, as Meghan arched her back in front of a mirror, her big breasts so unique and soft for a bodybuilder, being fitted into a bra. And then going to my bedroom and replaying what I’d seen in my mind, and taking it further by picturing her deciding to show me what sex was, those same tits being offered to my mouth as she guided my cock inside her, the mama bird showing the young one how his cock could fly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered again, more coherent this time, here for real, here right now. A hand placed on my cock, perhaps with no intention of getting me hard again so soon, yet the result was exactly that because it could.
“Unbelievable!” she whispered. “John, you…”
Her hand believed, and so did her six-million-dollar pussy. Meghan raised one leg and guided me back inside, and we fucked very slowly this time, my nose by her ear, telling her that she was the real miracle here. Telling her, and meaning it, that someone must have slipped some kind of magic inside her because she was far more rare than one in a million. Telling her, and meaning it, that now that I’d had the taste of her, I’d never be able to give her up. Thinking, and being certain of it, that I would have to find a way to navigate the continued fucking of this woman into my already topsy-turvy life.
And then it was the softness of her hair caressing my face, my hands squeezing girl-muscles in the open air while deep in her mysterious depths, hidden from view like a sea creature that is rumored but not truly known, her revelation of a pussy once again feasted upon my Terminator of a dick, the two of us becoming so warm, so liquid, so electrified again, before finally sinking to the bottom, blissfully drained.