Aberrant Futures: Chapter 4
My name is Kirsten, I grew up under the Law of the Collar on New Terra and this is the story of my daughter’s, Chelsea’s, opening vacation with Sam, my son.
It took a day for Sam to believe that I wasn’t going interfere with him and Chelsea. It took two for him process that I couldn’t. Today was day three, and anticipating his next discovery gave me butterflies in my stomach. Every time Sam took Chelsea to their room for an “experiment”, the weight of my own collar reminded me I was one check away from being his plaything.
Most men couldn’t check me. In public, the failed attempts were a relentless waterfall of little BBs in my mind. The zap of a successful check was almost a relief. Almost.
But Sam wasn’t most men, he passed the PEAT test and figured out how to put his controller on stealth mode—I hadn’t heard of anyone doing that before.
I could hear from the bedroom snatches of conversation.
“Its too big, Sam. Can’t you put it in my mouth like last night?”
“I’ll just keep increasing the pressure, the Wikipedia page says this is the easiest way, ok? Don’t move.”
“For fuck’s sake, Sam, it’s to big. Oh, oh, OW!”
I winced on Chelsea’s behalf and guessed what Sam was doing to her. More experienced captors wouldn’t try anything the easy way, they started hard and put it in your mouth after.
“Fuck Chels, you’re so tight,” said Sam on the other side of the door. The bed creaked rhythmically, and for a few minutes he panted while Chelsea squeaked, I hoped mostly with pleasure, “I’m going to make you cum with me,” Sam said out of breath.
Their groans intermingled until I couldn’t tell them apart. Before joining me in the kitchen for lunch, they showered together. Chelsea wore a relaxed red checkered sundress. I caught glimpses of her tan body through the loose hemline and guessed she liked it because it was easy to slip off and on. I knew she wasn’t a captive because Sam kept her naked when he could.
“Hi, mom!” Sam said cheerfully as he sat. He was wearing a blue T shirt and bathing suit. He looked scrawny only because his shirt concealed cordlike muscles. Girls responded to his sandy hair and warm smile. He had been the easy child growing up.
Chelsea pinched him in the side until he yelped. “That’s my sandwich,” she said, “no mayonnaise.”
“Sorry,” Sam said scooting over to the next seat. Chelsea was more bossy than ever when she wasn’t under his thumb.
“Mom,” said Sam, “What did Uncle Earl make you do during your opening vacation?”
“Don’t listen to him, mom,” he’s just fishing for ideas.
“Mom can’t help it,” said Sam plucking at the arm with his controller. My collar crackled to life.
I felt a torrent of embarrassing confessions in my throat and my cheeks turned red.
“Well,” I said, “He had a knack for finding and breaking boundaries. He made me video chat my friends with him in me, he captured mom and I together,” I hoped that went over his head, “Mm, what else? He teased me until I begged to for penetration, he took me to the dog kennel . ..”
“Ok, that’s enough of that,” said Sam canceling my compulsion to talk. We felt uncomfortable afterwards and ate in silence. I wondered if I were still slaved to him.
After I cleared the table, Chelsea and I sat down to watch a cooking competition from the couch. We got through an episode and a half before Sam sat down next to Chelsea between us.
“Do you mind?” She said.
“Not at all,” said Sam, and Chelsea jumped as she felt the zap of capture.
“I have a new program I’d like to run,” said Sam. I didn’t think Sam intended to be sadistic, but letting Chelsea plea and argue now would just make her feel more helpless later.
“This tutorial,” he said leaning over to show her. “See, your inhibitions will be suppressed, but only for impulses that come from you.” He sounded like someone talking about an exciting hobby.
“So I’ll mostly just be doing the things I want to do anyway?” She asked.
“Exactly,” said Sam, “You won’t be able to stop yourself from doing what you really want.”
“Sure,” said Chelsea getting it and rolling her eyes, “you think all women deep down just want your dick.” I winced and made a note to talk with her about goading captors.
He ignored her jab. “Reviewers say they like it because their subjects reach orgasm naturally.”
Chelsea said, “oh?” skeptically refusing to back down.
“How about you, mom?” My heart sank.
“Uh, I think you should be nice to your sister,” hoping that’s what he meant.
“No, I mean I want to run the script on your collar.”
“Wouldn’t you rather pick something that turns you on for me to do?” I asked knowing I was pleading and arguing just like Chelsea.
“Mmm, like what?”
What would distract him without going overboard? “I can throat a whole banana,” I said feeling silly and embarrassed.
“I want to experience that,” he said, “but not right now.”
He let me feel the connection and I jumped at the little zap. Chelsea and I looked at each other nervously and then away afraid of what we might do, but after a few anxious minutes nothing happened. On the show, someone’s cake leaned crooked as dubious judges poked at samples of it on plates. I tried to watch it, to think of nothing else. But the more I tried not to think about Sam and Chelsea like that the more I couldn’t—Mostly of Sam wrestling with his friends by the pool, adolescent muscles straining, especially their obliques and stomach muscles.
“Oh my god,” I said realizing what I wanted to do and that I couldn’t stop myself.
They both looked at me and I turned toward Sam in the middle. I put my hand under his shirt flat on his stomach—it was hard and ridged with muscle. His cock rose under his bathing suit.
I looked anywhere except his face, but I heard the cocky grin in his voice, “it’s ok mom.” He reached over his back, grabbed his shirt by the shoulders, pulled it off, and flexed his muscles. I rolled my eyes at his smugness, released temporarily from my embarrassing urges. Chelsea was not.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she said and slipped her hands under the waistband of his shorts. When she touched his dick, he bucked his hips, which made muscles ripple along his torso.
I ran my hand up the back of his neck, grabbed a handful of his sandy hair, and pulled him so he was leaning helplessly back against the couch looking up. I ran my other hand over the hard muscles and bones of his whiplike body. Across from me, Chelsea had one hand under Sam’s swimsuit and another under her dress squeezing her chest with matching tempo. Our eyes met briefly (I wondered if mine were as sex glazed as hers), and I pulled the elastic waistband of his bathing suit down expose Chelsea’s handjob.
“Oh,” I said surprised, “You poor girl.” His cock was huge, her hand looked small wrapped around its base.
From where I held Sam’s head by his hair against the couch, he said, “You poor girls,” in a husky, mocking tone.
Chelsea released his dick and stood pulling off her sundress as she moved. Looking at her young, skinny body, I remembered how my own perfect teenage stomach had tightened and released when my brother had let me orgasm on my opening vacation.
She kneeled next to Sam on the couch and he looked up at her from where I held him against it. She couldn’t meet his eyes and she leaned forwards and down, bending at the waist and bracing against the headrest, until her nipple rested against his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked. His cock twitched against the waist of his swimsuit.
I knew what I was going to do next before my body moved. None of Earl’s diabolical predicaments could compare to Sam innocently and enthusiastically making us the victim of our own perverted desires.
I got down on the floor in front of him, a cushion from the couch under my knees, with his cock pointing at my face. I leaned forward until the hot tip of his giant penis rested against my lips. He thrust forward and I held my head still so that his bucking hips pushed pushed the cock into my mouth. Muffled by Chelsea’s tits he said, “Oh fuck, mom!” I had to stretch my jaw wide when he put his hand against the back of my head and held me down.
When Sam reached the back of my throat, I tried to push myself onto him imagining myself stretching around him like a sock or rubber band. I gagged and the constrictions of my throat made his dick spasm. He jerked his shaft into me, and my neck distended around him.
When my nose reached his stomach, my senses were filled with him—the smell of sweat, the tensing of his muscles, and his groans. His cock twitched again and I felt his load slide into my stomach. When he pulled out of me, leaving a trail of salty slime in my mouth, he was already leaning back into the couch falling into a post coital coma under Chelsea. “Sam!” I said, “Sam, the program!” But it was too late, he had passed out leaving Chelsea and I unsupervised.
She said, “Mom, I’m so sorry, I want to taste Sam in your mouth.”
“It’s ok, sweatpea,” I said, “we don’t have a choice,” and hoped Sam would wake up before things got out of hand.