Aberrant Futures: Chapter 2
My name is Sam. I have an older sister Chelsea we call “Chels”, my mom Kirsten, and Fred, my dad. Chelsea is three years older than me, but I was fitted with a controller device a day before her collar because I passed the precocity exemption aptitude test (PEAT). Chelsea had been furious and demanded that mom tell me her friends were off limits. It didn’t matter anyways because, that afternoon, mom, Chelsea, and I packed into the van for the traditional opener vacation.
The first three months with a collar is called a girl’s “open season” on New Terra. The acclimation period is referred to as “opening her.” Families traditionally take time off together after the collar is fitted so a girl isn’t overwhelmed by men with a fetish for opening girls. Dad said he had to work, and I didn’t blame him; we were headed to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Super rich families preferred to travel off world.
In the twenty-four hours since the clinic’s anesthetic wore off, I’d played with my controller ceaselessly. I nearly caused a wreck by successfully checking women drivers and mom told me to knock it off. Then I figured out how to check women covertly, but it had been more fun watching the little nervous jumps when women they felt a successful connection. I was building up the courage to feed commands back to a collar, a process called “capturing.”
Chelsea had been a nervous wreck from the moment her collar was locked. She was wearing an oversized grey hoodie and jeans, but I could still appreciate her athletic curves through her baggy clothes. She was texting her friends to find out who was capturing whom. Mom was focused on the road. I pointed my device at Chelsea, changed a few settings, and a little image of her face appeared on my controller. I was in.
I took a breath and flipped shut the circuit icon so my device fed inputs back into her brain. Technically I had captured her, but my outflow was empty. Next to me, Chelsea opened a video—her best friend Ally was standing in front of a banner that said “Kappa Delta Welcomes Sluts.” Chelsea mouthed “Oh shit” silently, and on my controller the little wavy line for anxiety peaked—Chelsea was about to panic. I turned down the slider next to it, and her shoulders relaxed. In the video, Ally and another girl kissed passionately for a circle of cheering frat bros. Chelsea, completely relaxed now, giggled.
For most of the ride, I tested different sliders and options. Beside me, in quick succession, Chelsea drank a bottle of water, took off her hoodie (she had a tank top on under), fell asleep, and woke up. I slowed down when I noticed mom watching Chelsea through the rear view window. There was menu after menu for managing feelings, attitudes, relationships, and more. I felt overwhelmed until in the help menu, I found tutorials on building scenario programs. I wanted to try them all, but the only one I thought I could get away with in the car was “Malleable Cuddle-bug.” I whispered, “weirdos” under my breath and got to work.
Chelsea didn’t seem much different afterwards except she was looked out the window instead of texting. The tutorial had said “receptivity to physical affection with no memory flags”. That last part was code that nothing would stand out emotionally later, but her memory would remain intact.
“Chels,” I said.
“Mm,” she said still looking out of the window.
“Wouldn’t you be me more comfortable laying down across the seats?”
“Mm,” she said again.
I rolled my eyes, so far mind control had just been an inconvenience.
I rested my hand on her shoulder and waited for the high pitched whine to mom for intervention, but she didn’t even shrug me off.
I pulled, and she shifted to follow my lead looking to me for guidance. I ignored the little internal voice telling me how much trouble I was in and pulled her down across the middle seat. When she lay her head in my lap, I felt my erection rise until it pressed into her cheek through my jeans. She must have felt it, but she just smiled cozily and dozed. I let out my breath, and mom glanced back at us through the rear view menu and then to road again. Looking down, I could see tan lines through the side of Chelsea’s top.
Keeping one eye on mom, I put my hand on Chelsea’s shoulder and slid it down under her arm so that my fingers rested against the side of her boob. Chelsea shifted and I tensed, but she was lifting her arm up over her head to make it easier for me to grope her. I took a deep breath, decided not to molest my sister in full view of my mom, and took stock of the situation. The seat was littered with car trip junk—a tablet, a bag for trash, half empty water bottles, Chelsea’s hoodie, and a blanket. “Bingo,” I thought and pulled the blanket up and over Chelsea and I so just her head was sticking out.
I felt around through the blanket folds for her shoulder again and from there slipped my hand underneath the fabric of her shirt. I savored every inch my hand covered until I was holding her boob in my hand, thumb on her nipple. My dick was throbbing under Chelsea’s cheek and I moved my hips a little to press it against her face. When she snugged up to me, I nearly came in my pants.
The vibration of the car over the cabin’s gravel driveway saved me. Chelsea sat up, stretched, and yawned. I pulled the blanket off her to hide my erection from mom, and Chelsea ruffled my hair sleepily.
Chelsea watched mom and I get out of the car from her seat. “Chels!” Mom warned, “get with it.” Chelsea just stared blankly at her until I canceled the snuggle bug program. When mom snapped a second time, Chelsea said, “ok, ok” rolling her eyes and helped us lug suitcases up the short stair to the cabin. My controller reassured me that Chelsea wasn’t upset or angry.
The cabin had a kitchen-living area with a sagging couch and two bedrooms. The furniture was faded but clean and the back windows opened to a small pool and wall of pine trees. An owl hooted from the branches. We had piled our suitcases together in the entry way. “A whole week?” Said Chelsea sardonically, but I thought she must have been relieved to be safely bored.
“Hush,” mom said, “Sam, after you put away your suitcase, come see me.”
Chelsea raised her eyebrows at me saying silently, “what did you do now?” I could guess and felt sick with anxiety.
When I knocked on her door, mom was sitting on her bed sorting through clothes. She said, “close the door,” and patted next to her for me to join her between the piles.
“I know you’ve captured your sister,” she said and paused.
“Yes, mom,” I said filling in the silence. As a show of good will, I cut the connection to Chelsea without being asked.
“I remember my opening vacation,” she said, “it was with my mom and Uncle Earl.”
“Earl?” I said confused. She didn’t seem surprised or angry.
Mom laughed at me with her eyes. “Sam, what do you recall about the demographics of a first capture?”
“Uh,” I said recalling my classes, “The captor is usually a close friend or family member, it’s usually during the opener vacation.” I paused putting two and two together, “and often in a controlled environment to soften the effect of loss of autonomy.” I looked at mom with the shock of realization.
“You’re both here to splash around at the shallow end of the figurative pool,” she said. “As long as you stay safe, the law says I’m not supposed to discourage you.”
I realized my mouth was hanging open and shut it. I almost asked if I was supposed to breed Chelsea, but the answer was obviously going to be no.
“Why not dad?” I asked.
“Well, psychologists say a father figure is usually the top choice, but your dad couldn’t capture a rock. I have some unpacking left to do, if you don’t mind . . .”
I stood to leave but paused at the door. “Mom, Chelsea’s not going to like it when she finds out I’ve checked her.”
“That’s what you’re both here to experience. Now shoo.”
When I opened the door to our bedroom, Chelsea had put my suitcase by the door and was sprawled out on the bed. “You can sleep on the couch,” she said with elder sister entitlement.
Her presumption got to me, “Mom said this was our bedroom.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, she was preparing to fight, “Oh?” She said giving me a chance to back down.
“I’ll mind check you,” I said.
“And I’ll tell mom,” she said. But the threat worried her.
My anger gave me courage. When Chelsea felt the zap of the connection, she got up, pushed past me without a word, and slammed mom’s door shut on her way in. I could still hear them through the controller.
“Sam just checked me.”
“Oh?” mom said.
“You need to tell him that’s not ok.”
“I can’t stop men from checking you sweet pea. I’m sorry, I wish that I could.”
“It’s Sam” said Chelsea, emphasizing my name.
So softly I could barely hear, “I’m sorry Sweetpea. You think he can’t just check me too? You need to get used to this.”
There was a long silence and when Chelsea came out her eyes were red from crying.
“Ok, bro, We’ll share the bedroom. Ok?”
“Thanks I said,” but she was already ignoring me. The triumph of my will over hers felt good.
“Let me know when your ready for me to make sure you’re appropriately dressed for bed.” I said pettily. I wanted her to feel my control.
She didn’t say anything, but turned scarlet with rage and then sickly green. It was an intense reaction, so I decided to leave her alone for a while. She stayed in her room through dinner and only came out after mom and I were watching TV. She had on the oversized T shirt she slept in, but underneath she had on shorts. She normally wore just a long T and panties.
Chelsea defiantly: “So?”
Me: “You’ll be more comfortable without the shorts.”
Chelsea: “Mom? Sam wants me to prance around in my panties.”
Mom: “Sweetpea, this is really between you guys.”
I fiddled with my controller, Chelsea jumped at the connection, and said, “No, Sam!” when she became conscious of the program. She struggled with herself before lifting her T. The rising shirt revealed smooth, brown hips narrowing to a little waist and a flat stomach. I glanced at mom as the shirt rose over Chelsea’s bra, but she was pretending to be absorbed by her phone.
Chelsea dropped the shirt to the floor and pulled down her shorts revealing tanned, muscular thighs and little blue string bikini panties. By the time she reached back to unhook her bra, her indignation had turned into embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Please don’t make me?”
Her pert boobs nearly distracted me from stopping the command. She had her thumbs in the straps of her panties before I hit the cancel button.
“It’s ok,” I said, “you’re ok like this.”
“Can I put my top back on?” she asked.
“No, but you can ask me again tomorrow morning.”
Anger flashed across her face and she hopped in place with anger, which made her boobs flop, but said “ok”. When she turned to go back to our room, my attention dropped to the round curve of her ass.
After the door closed, I waited to see how mom would react. “Clever,” she said, “but if you use your checks to influence everyday life, they’ll take your device away.” I waited for a lecture, but she started texting on her phone again.
When Chelsea’s light turned off, I thought about her topless under the sheets. I got up to go to bed, and mom said, “put those clothes in the hamper, would you?” I collected Chelsea’s discarded T and shorts on my way.