The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Adventures of Eggy Remixed — BOOK 3 — NEW EXPERIENCES, INTERLUDES AND DISTRACTIONS

Interlude 3 — Wednesday — Reluctant Mistress Gail

Monday morning Gail summoned me in a tizzy. “Mr. Egg, please manifest,” she sang.

She started in right away. Her usually perfectly brushed hair and painstakingly laid on make-up were not yet done. There were bags under her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.”

“Tell me,” I said, being as neutral as possible. I knew what was troubling her, and that’s why she was chosen for this task. But the point is to lead her to her own solution. She was working off a deep desire to please me I had implanted, built on the solid foundation of her genuine gratitude for removing the cancer from her body. The urge to comply is strong in this one. And she doesn’t know how. This bothers her. A lot.

“What do you want me to do on Wednesday? I don’t understand.”

“Remember what I said? ‘Gail, for you Troy, Andy, Marc and Annette will come over, you’ll eat Betty’s horsey dovers, have some pre-dinner conversations, Eat dinner, and then they’ll become your personal love slaves for the rest of the evening. Keep them busy, any that feel ignored at the end of the night will later have you serving them to reciprocate, but for a full day. Two girls, three dicks, get creative.’ Well just do that. What is unclear?”

“Slaves? Like in the Old South?”

“No. Well sort of. More like house slaves in ancient Rome. They’ll have to do what you tell them to. But no, you can’t beat them or abuse them, that’s very different. You’ll have to see these people long after this night is over. Remember I said love slaves.”

“I don’t know if I can. I mean, I’ve always had a problem with even ordering the maid when we had one.”

“Tell me more,” sometimes with this crowd I feel like a psychologist, first Sam now her. I’d been reviewing reruns of The Bob Newhart Show, so I wasn’t totally unprepared.

“I grew up pretty. My mum was what is called a stage mother. She had been a dancer, making it to New York. If she hadn’t married my dad, she’d a shot at being a Rockette, which she never let him forget. Dad and I called her the ‘leggy general’ behind her back. She pushed us around, I took dance classes, and she was very disappointed when I developed these,” she hefts her substantial breasts upwards with her hands. “’That’s a stripper’s body,’ mom said. ‘Not a dancer.’ So she stopped my ballet class. She pushed me into a couple of show auditions, but I clearly wasn’t an actress, I’d never trained for it, and she soon gave up on getting me on the stage, but boy, did she ever order me around. How to dress. How to talk, who to talk to. The thing is, I loved dancing. To her it was a profession, and other than weddings I don’t think she danced a step after she got married. No, I’m wrong, when I was little she drilled me in the steps. I was heartbroken when she canceled ballet without asking me first. But I went along.”

“Go on.”

“So she set her heart on me having a good marriage. She had us join a very posh Country Club—my dad, who was sort of well off, but not totally loaded could barely afford it, and she started organizing my dating life. I wasn’t much for golf, but there were Friday dances for the younger members and their kids, and they were heaven. Because of the social set the music wasn’t all the frug, the shimmy and the twist, the boys all had at least some rudimentary lessons in the waltz and other formal dances, some were better than that and everyone loved the conga line. My mum stayed out of it because I was ‘meeting the right people’. I had lots of attention from the young guys, made a few good girlfriends and danced every step I could. We had fun. I had some good sex too. The guys really liked my big young bubs. I did too. Maybe too much, because I got a bit of a reputation. I was so used to doing what I was told and the rich kids were so used to telling people what they wanted that I was a bit of a pushover. Only after the dance though. Particularly after the dance.”

“My dad finally pulled us out of the Club, telling my mum that it was college or marriage for me, and it didn’t look like there was a solid prospect among the stuffed assholes at the club. Truth is, the guys there were being pressured by their own folks to find someone wealthier than themselves as well, just like me, and I was the ‘poor girl’ because dad only had a million in the bank. There were a couple of kids who later did get married for love to more working class girls—real beauties both and smart too, I went to their weddings, but at 17 the folks who were looking for a fast hitch were pretty sleazy even if they had bucks. The only sure way to do it was to get preggers, and not even my mom had the nerve to suggest that.”

“And,” I prompt. Actually I was learning a lot listening to her.

“So I went to a good school. I was thrilled to be on my own and free of Mom. I went to classes and got pretty good grades. After the first month, I realized that there was something odd about my roommate.”

“Odd how?”

“She told me she was hot for me and wanted to fuck.”

“What did you do?”

“I guess I was still doing anything anyone asked of me. I slept with her. I was no virgin and guys didn’t seem to be working out. And it was pretty good. I was shocked by that. She’d had lots of experience and wasn’t rough or arrogant like the Country Club boys.”

“She could really screw. She started with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a glass of white wine. And then a not so chaste kiss. Another glass of sweet sparkling German panty-remover and off with the bras. She was short and dark haired, small sensitive tits and a lean hard body. And a very pretty foxlike face. She was the best lover I ever had. I still miss her sometimes, Or at least her wonderful lips and wandering hands... She had a way of kissing that you should give to one of us. Not me. Not Stella either. I want to receive it again.”

“OK, If you do well enough on Wednesday I will. Did you think you were a lesbian?”

“I didn’t even know what the word meant at the time. We slept in the same bed most nights. But no, I still liked guys too. I had a pretty good first year at school. At spring break my roomie went home and I stayed on campus. It was dead that week, but the townies were having a ballroom dance. I hadn’t gone to anything but sock hops in months, so put on a good dress and headed for it. It was a revelation. For one thing I was seriously under-dressed. The ladies there were all spangles and slit skirts. Low cut and free-flowing. And there were large busts like mine nicely presented with lots of skin showing... But they welcomed me anyway and I had a great time. I joined their club and went out and got some new dance clothes and danced twice a week. They had competitions and I started placing. My grades stayed good, but not as good. My girlfriend started complaining about the time I spent dancing. Then end of term came.”

“You went home.”

“I did. Mom was worse than ever. I swear she met me at the plane with a day timer full of dates she had arranged. Dad was distant and divorced my mum as I returned to school. He’d had enough without me around to take the brunt of her dictates. He still paid for school, but I know that with the alimony he was strapped. I felt pretty guilty. Second year you can move into your own room and not have to share. But I got back into a double with my friend, and one night first term she declared her love for me and ordered me to do the same for her. Ordered! I did because I always back down, but moved out the next day. She chased me around campus making a scene the whole second year. I was seriously stressed out. The only relief was the Ballroom club. It was like opening a steam vent, all my tension went away. But you can’t live off that. None of my classes interested me. And I found a great dance partner. We started winning local competitions and even made plans to go to some regional events.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes, later. He was pretty rich, his family had serious dairy interests here in Wisconsin and was sent after some emergency to fix it all and then later he had to supervise all the cheese factories in the central region. He asked me to join him. My dad liked him. My mother approved. We had to cut back our dancing to a few nights a month, but I got pregnant and we got married. In any case it was headed that way. He was on the road all the time and I had little Stella Dallas. So the dancing became something we did only a few times a month, then a few times a year. I became one of those Country Club wives who had people to do things for them without ever even asking, and he began bringing a series of secretaries on his road trips. I still loved him, but never as much as when we were moving together to some old swing tune or Strauss waltz.”

“No affairs?”

“No. I’ve been tempted, and god knows the clubby set I hang out with chase tennis instructors like they were golden retrievers after Frisbees. And he always gave me lots of sex when he was home. I exercise to music with a group of ladies twice a week now, but it isn’t the same as having a lover’s arm around you gliding along.”

“But you divorced.”

“I knew about the affairs, they went on for years. I knew he had an apartment in town to take his tootsies to. What ended it all was I found out he was also taking them to discos. That hurt.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’ll get by. Stella is provided for, she’s part of his family no matter what. There is a trust for her education now or to do whatever when she’s 25. I get an OK alimony and the house. But I still find myself shutting up and doing what I’m told.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“How can I order anyone around? I mean I can go to a restaurant, but if I’m with friends I’ll let them select my meal.”

“Stella isn’t like that”

“Not at all, she’s bossy as hell, like her grandmother. Looks like her too, Well-built and strong south of the equator but where I’ve got the Alps she’s got the Poconos. She’s had my number for years.”

“So being in command is pretty new for you.”

“Yes”

“And that’s your problem.”

“I think so. What can I do?”

“I’ve already told you. Host a dinner. Get squishy with a bunch of friends who will follow your every whim. Be the center of attention. Be bossy. Do what you want not what anyone else wants. Other than me, I mean.”

“Like what?”

“If I told you they wouldn’t be your whims, would they?”

“I guess not. Are there rules? Can you tell me that?”

“Sure, fair enough. One, you won’t be able to ask them to do anything that violates what I’ve promised not to happen. I’ve split all the families up, so the no incest rule doesn’t come into play. No one else is invited, so all activities are within the group. You can’t ask the guys to have sex with each other, I promised that wouldn’t happen. Two, they are love slaves. What you ask them to do should be sexy. Three, it ends at midnight or when the others are all done. Sheila is putting on her porch light to signal when they are done, and I’ll send you that image when it happens—the Bullmans are sure to finish first. You can wrap it up anytime you feel like after that, though all you will glide to a soft landing by finishing up whoever they are doing. I’m not going to suppress their natural reactions to your suggestions, so you may get some verbal resistances, but they’ll do it anyway, and enjoy it because following your directions will always get them hot.”

“So doing my laundry is out.”

“Is it sexy laundry?”

“I guess they could do it in the nude. And sit on the spin dryer afterwards”

I agree with this. “I think you are heading in the right direction. I’m not going to tell you what to do. But if you ask I can suggest some ways to get organized.”

“Please do.”

“Figure out what you want to do. What you are curious about. What you like. Then make it bigger. You have a couple of days to think about it. Write it down so you can look at it and remind yourself Wednesday night if you’re struggling. Think about things they’d like to do but wouldn’t do unless they were told to. Think about their new gifts and push to use them to the max, I guarantee they’ll come through all right. Remember, love slaves. Make love not war. Think about things they’d do anyways, but not with who they are going to do it to. Think about things they may not have even thought of doing with, to and for you to watch. And while you’re at it, why not ask them? That night they won’t lie to you, but you can’t force them to tell you any secrets either. Ask Sheila for some suggestions, she has a filthy imagination—just don’t take what she says as requests or orders, just ideas. If you dare do the same with Stella or Betty—they’ll take you seriously, and if you do I can guarantee that they won’t spread it around. I bet both have hot ideas they’d like to see happen to, I mean with, Troy—and you can! The others may have ideas too, but I think those women are your best chances for good advice. I do ask that you not reveal your plans to your guests in advance. Look at some porn. Remember talking is a form of intercourse. You ever think about being a playboy centerfold?”

“What pretty girl doesn’t?”

“So you’ve seen the questions they answer. What are your turn-ons?”

“Yes, sunsets and long walks kind of things. I always thought that a crock of shit. Should be solid pecs, skillful kissing and a monster hard cock. One that I caused to stiff up. That’s power. That gets me hot. Always has, I guess I’m a lot like Stella.”

“So list those answers for yourself too. Some may be old favorites, some may be happy dreams. Some may be strange fantasies. You can use these too in your plans. Don’t be worried about playing a bit rough, all of you are very hard to break, and one of the things you need to do is push a bit to show how far you all can go with each other.”

“Is that it?”

“That’s all I’m going to say other than good luck and have fun.”

“One last question. You made Aram the dancer. Why not me?”

“He needed it. You need this. But...”

“But?”

“Why not ask him out for a twirl around the dance floor? He won’t ask you, so you’ll have to take charge. In fact right now I’m making it so that if it happens, you have to ask him. But I’m sure he’ll say yes, enthusiastically. Don’t be shy. Organize a group outing to go to the disco Annette likes. Take charge. Wednesday is about showing you that you can. Not always, but when it’s important. Anyway, your choice not mine. I’m not telling you to do any of it, I’m only suggesting. And I shouldn’t even be doing that. Open your wings and fly.”

* * *

Gail:

They all arrived at the same time. Some looked eager, some nervous. I bet I look among the nervous.

Annette and Marc had both dressed to the nines; She had on high “fuck me” heels and a bright red cocktail dress, and had spent some time on her make-up. Not a little girl any longer, no sireee. I wondered if this was a challenge or a compliment. Maybe a bit of both. The guys all seemed to be appreciating it, though when I answered the door, my low cut formal evening gown made me look everything a proper hostess should, though not doing any of the top buttons and cinching the waist tight wouldn’t pass Emily Post’s approval. Braless I flash bust with almost every move.

The guys swallowed, stuffed their eyeballs back into their sockets and let her enter first, Troy followed, wearing a tight tee that shows his midriff, tight jeans and a stupid grin. Marc had gone thrift-shop formal, with one of the loudest leisure suits I’ve ever seen, some off-green shade with matching jacket, pants and vest. No natural fibers at all, and a paisley-patterned bowling shirt that made my eyes swim when I first saw it. I couldn’t help it, I laugh out loud as he comes through the door. I hope he wasn’t trying to be serious. Andy hasn’t changed much from his usual uniform, but I notice that he’s cleaned himself up, his hair is neatly combed and smells like floral shampoo, his shirt and jeans clean and ironed, and he’s in shoes, not sandals. I’m impressed by the efforts made, but Troy is the one that I find myself getting worked up about—I’m not going to have this be me fucking Troy while I make them watch, though there may be a bit of that too.

First we have to get through drinks and dinner.

One of the advantages of the Country Club life is that I’ve seen some of the best hostesses operate among some of the most difficult circumstances. This is nothing like the wedding of—well I’m not saying who—where the Mother of the Bride had to vamp for a couple of hours while her ex-husbands 1 and 2 both worked at getting the Groom and his father out of the stir in time for the ceremony at the packed-with-the-cream-of-society largest Episcopalian Church in Springfield, while the bride hid out crying in shame, locked in her dressing room with the maid of honor, who was getting quietly then not so quietly schnockered. And they kept it from most of the guests that day, it only slowly leaked out after the divorce six months later. Now that MOB was a classy hostess. I can get through the next few hours. Antiperspirant, what would we do without it? Sweat, I guess. I had chosen as my role model for the evening one of the strict ballet teacher’s I had as a pre-teen. Everybody in the class did what she wanted when she wanted or else.

Dinner goes well, I guess I serve Betty’s dainties first, and they are delicious. They don’t seem to have sent us into a frenzied orgy, I’m still more nervous than turned on.

I went the catered route for the main meal. I figured the guys would appreciate a good thick steak and Betty had told me that Annette likes seafood, so I had the meal delivered from one of the top restaurants in town just before they arrived, and I had raided my ex’s wine cellar for some special grape that was delicious, and I’m hoping a treat they’ll all appreciate.

Conversation wasn’t relaxed, the elephant in the room is what would happen later. I tried to get Andy to open up about his past, but he was not really interested in talking about it. Troy and Marc goofed around some, and it was good to see they ate every bite of the steaks, and even had some salad. I blathered on about the wine, pulling out some of the things I’d heard over the years. Annette and I shared a bottle of white with our fish, the guys all had a red with their beef. I asked Andy if there was the same connoisseur language for pot enthusiasts. After all, he sold those magazines. He started explaining hesitantly, but when he saw that no one would criticize him, he got into the same excessive amount of detail that my wine collecting former hubby’s pals used to fall into. Ultimately dull, but I did like when he talked about the various places he’d been so I steered the conversation there, in particular India where he’d spent a year on the ocean in houseboat. Marc and Troy contributed to the conversation, but Annette seemed to be sulkily enduring, not enjoying. Well, I thought with a sly smile knowing what’s coming, “fuck her,” as I asked who wanted dessert and coffee.

Everyone took a slice of the chocolate cheesecake. It dripped with cherries and I topped it with fresh whipped cream. I closed my eyes as I took my second bite, letting the rich flavors soak into my palette. Then all too soon it was gone. Time to begin. I was still trying to thing up a good opening line. I blinked and exhaled and the world spun a little.

Marc politely thanked me with a, “That was great, Mistress Gail. Thank you.”

Where did the “Mistress” come from?

“You’re welcome Slave Marc,” I reply. “But for the rest of the night none of you are to speak unless I request it.”

Really, why am I saying this? Why did I say “Slave?”

There are confused looks all around...

“I think we have entered the next phase of the evening. Let’s start by letting you know what’s in store. For some reason the Egg thinks I should take firm charge tonight as we generate more sex energy for it to use. I guess I’m all for that. I went to my doctor yesterday and it looks like my cancer is gone, every bit of it. I still need a few more tests to confirm it, but I’m sure that the Egg healed me. So I owe it big time. Tonight I intend to pay some of that back. Thank you for helping me pay, though you have no choice. Tough titties. Boo-hoo someone made you orgasm. You want to say something Slave Marc?”

“Yes Mistress Gail. That’s great news. But we seemed to be compelled to act in certain ways now. Can you tell us what you know?”

“Yes, Slave Marc. I wasn’t expecting this change in how we address each other, but I think it’s to reinforce our status tonight. The Egg told me some rules. The ones you need to know are that you will all be OK tomorrow, I can’t make you tell secrets or harm yourselves, that we are to have fun under my terms and you are going to obey me, though your reactions are your own, I can’t make you like or hate doing something. I can make you smile while doing it. But I’ve been told to push you into places you’d not go otherwise, and I intend to. And push hard. And that we’ll be done by midnight at the latest. My first command is that you will acknowledge my commands with a ‘Yes Mistress Gail’ and nothing else unless I ask you.”

“Slave Annette, there is a box on Stella’s bed. Undress and wear only what is in it and come back down. You can keep your shoes. If you need to visit the washroom, now would be a good time.”

She really wants to say something, but all that comes out is a “Yes Mistress Gail,” and she heads up to Stella’s bedroom.

“The rest of you slaves, there are boxes for you in the den. And new sandals. I think I found your sizes. Go change, prepare yourselves, and return here.”

Three chirpy replies and off they head.

* * *

The four stand in front of me in my living room.

I’ve taken the opportunity for a change of costume as well. You can imagine how their jaws dropped when I took off my housecoat to show them the new—at least for tonight—me. If I’m to be Mistress Gail I might as well look the part. To that end I’ve bought a pair of high heeled shiny black boots that reach past the knee to mid-thigh. They are stiff and hard to walk in, but I practiced earlier and they give me a real authoritarian Ilsa She Wolf of the SS strut. The softer (thank god) black leather bikini has a full halter-type bra that contains most of my boobies, except for where the nipples come through the cut out at the tips. I added a crisp black peaked pilot’s cap with a leather brim is held in place with a couple of strategic pins. I hadn’t got the nerve to carry a whip, but from the same catalog—next day delivery—I purchased a yard long swagger stick which I plan to thump menacingly against my boot-encased legs.

It was Sheila who suggested costumes, so she gets the credit. I was over there to ask her advice and get Carl to work his magic wand into all my holes so I could be really outrageous. He let slip that all the women except his daughter had seen him or were coming by before their big night. Even Betty, who astonishingly was almost first in line. A busy bull, and loving it. I half expected him to snort and have a nose ring.

“Looking the part will help you feel the part,” Sheila said. I took her advise to heart and applied the same principal to my guests. Special wear for all. The Egg-man helped using some of his magic to make it all fit snugly but comfortably and stay where put on the condition I wear it at our next group get-together.

“Stand straight Slave Troy,” I tell the dear boy as I thwap the stick against my boot. He looks so hunky in his new leather breech-cloth. I grip one of his ass cheeks and lift it up. He straightens.

I’ve dressed the guys in identical doeskin mid-body flaps and sandals, nothing else. The leather’s fine, brown, thin and very soft, light enough that it doesn’t weigh their hard-ons down the least. There is a square that hangs across the front mid-leg to mid-leg width and mid-thigh high and a smaller one that hangs almost to the bottom of their asses around back. A leather string circles their loins holding everything in place. I walk around Troy and he looks magnificent. My savages! I feel weak in the knees, but I’d practiced this first part and that helped keep me on script.

I then trace a finger across Marc’s nipples, they’re standing up with excitement, like a girls. He gives an involuntary shake. “You like that, do you? Interesting.”

I reach under Andy’s front, wrap his penis in my hand and gave it a gentle shake. “Pleased to meet you.” It stiffens.

Annette looks spectacular, but she’s slumped in a defiant posture familiar to mothers of teen-age girls. I go all drill sergeant on her.

“Posture, Slave Annette, posture. Stand straight! Legs together! Butt in and shoulders back! Head up! Smile!” I manhandle her into position. The boys enjoy this. “Remember this position, when you aren’t doing something else, you will stand like this. Do you get it, Slave Annette?”

“Yes, Mistress Gail.”

“That includes a big smile. Got it?”

Her smile doesn’t look happy, but I think that makes it more interesting to me and the guys. “Yes, Mistress Gail.”

I’ve dressed her in a sexy maid’s costume, black with white highlights. It also was magically altered to fit Annette. Starting with a cute peaked cap pinned to her hair, a ruffled collar, and a strapless tight black dress that fails to cover the top of her tits, its stiff bust liner pushing her nipples up and out and curving the top of her tits into twin half-globes. Its high-waisted skirt stops before her mons, leaving her ass and pussy on display. A garter belt holds black fishnet stockings up her legs. All the guys immediately tented their loincloths when she came down the stairs.

I turn to the men. “Now for some tradition. At the start of many social occasions the ice is broken when a couple of girls get out on the dance-floor while the guys stand around staring and working up their nerve. And the night ends with a slow groping dance. I want to do both to start off. Slave Marc, there’s a Commodores record on the stereo. Drop the needle. Slave Andy, go over and turn the lights dimmer down. Slave Troy, go help Slave Andy. Stand against the wall and watch us. Pay attention.”

I pull my breasts out over the top of my bra and then I take Annette’s left hand in my right and pull her close with the other arm so our tits rub together. “Slave Annette, dance with me. Dance sexy. Imagine I’m the last chance you have to get a date at closing time. Seduce me with your hands, your hips, your lips.”

The lights go down and Easy starts playing I let go of her hand and use it to rest her head on my shoulder and start swaying and then we begin to dance. Simple small steps. I feel her reach for my bottom and she give it a gentle squeeze, then leaves it there.

I whisper in her ear, “That’s better girl. It feels nice. Slave Annette, answer me in a whisper when I whisper to you. And keep dancing like this.” It felt good pressing together. Dancing always gives me confidence, so I’m starting tonight with one. And I was finding that Annette’s pouty petulance made it so much more fun to order her around, if I’d started with Troy he’d just have done whatever I said, Egg-powered or not. She started out dancing all tensed up, but was starting to relax as we rubbed busts to Lionel Richie’s smooth voice. Thinking of the Commodores my mind turned to the not quite as dark skinned Aram. I told myself that I was to call him tomorrow to go dancing somewhere. I pulled Annette in closer, her head over my shoulder. My nipples had hardened and I felt hers had too.

“Slave Annette, does this feel good?”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

“Then Slave Annette, kiss me. On the lips. Like you mean it. And keep dancing.”

Open mouth, tongues, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Hmmmm, that was nice.

With her head back on my shoulder, I ask, “What do you want to do most tonight Slave Annette?”

“Fuck Troy, Mistress Gail. With everybody watching.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” I think. But I don’t say that to her.

I pretend mock anger, “What Slave Annette, not suck my clit?”

“I really want to suck your clit too, Mistress Gail. But Troy has been interested in you recently. And Sheila. And my mother.” She sobs, “and he wants to fuck mom m..m..more than he wants to fuck me! Sob! He had his choice on Monday.”

So that’s what’s been bugging her tonight. And it looks like Betty jumped Troy’s bones at least once already. She’s really getting into it. “Well, Slave Annette, if you relax and obey and show some enthusiasm, you may just get to both fuck Troy and lick my kitty. So when you are asked to do anything tonight, I want you to think about these things, and how obedience will get you closer to your goals. Can you do that Slave Annette?”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

“Here, feel this,” I guide her hand into my leather bikini bottom, guiding her fingers down the top front and slowly through my fur pie and then onto my pussy. I rub it with her fingertips, pushing a couple inside. “Wiggle your fingers,” I tell her and she does. “Pet the pussy. Feel how wet it is.” I remove her hand and bring it to her nose. “Remember this smell.” I push her fingers into her mouth. “Remember this taste.” I reach under her skirt and stroke her. She’s damp too.

The song is coming to the end. “Slave Annette, you look really yummy. Be proud of it. I want you to go to the mirror in the front hall and watch yourself for two minutes, at how much hotter you look when you stand straight with your tits proudly thrust out and your head high. Say ‘Damn I’m sexy’ ten times while posing in the mirror. Then come back here and we’ll get on with it.”

The music ends and I call “Stereo off. Lights up,” as Annette runs out of the room.

“Slave Andy, you are up first. My bedroom, top of the stairs. Take the duvet off the bed and fold it neatly out of the way, then take a damp cloth from the bathroom and dust the tops of all the pictures and the top of the armoire and any other high place you see. Then put the cleaning cloth into the laundry hamper, clean yourself in the bathroom and wait for me standing by the bed. You may fondle yourself while you wait. Think back on the dance you just witnessed.” Hell, I might as well take advantage of having a tall person while they are around and willing. Maria, my once-a-week cleaner is under five foot and never gets up there.

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

Annette returns, the pouty look gone—for now. “Slave Marc, Slave Troy, Slave Annette Listen carefully to me.”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

Gail had asked Stella what kind of things they did in the Bullman’s basement. Stella had been surprisingly honest. What Gail had learned was that one thing they liked was games with dares and penalties, and she also heard in great detail that Annette had been pretty snobby about her brother and his friends always competing with each other. She thought it juvenile. That’s fine, tonight in the game between Troy and Marc she could play a different role.

“Slave Marc, Slave Troy. You are going to have a skill-testing contest. Slave Annette is going to be referee and judge.” The vixen smirks at that. “And the prize.” Not so much smirk now. I hand her two items, a stop watch with two hands that’s been sitting in a drawer unused for many years, and a Ping-Pong paddle I found in Stella’s room. We don’t have a table, but I’m pretty sure she’s been using it for other purposes.

I hold up my bedside digital clock, which I’ve unplugged and brought down to show them. “Slave boys, do you know what this is?”

“A clock Mistress Gail?”

“Not just a clock, a digital clock. I have six in this house including this one, and all are unplugged or have their lights turned low. They are where they usually sit, none is hidden in a drawer or closet, they are all in the basement, main or second floor. You two will work as a team to find them all. You can’t split up to find them separately and have to wait as prizes or penalties are given before moving to find the next one. This one is easy, I’m taking it upstairs to my bedroom and it will be the last that you can find. Find, plug-in if needed and correctly set all the clocks. I see Slave Marc has a digital watch. Hand it to Annette. Show the watch to them clearly so they can read it whenever they ask. Set the time so that the clock never is more than one minute different than Marc’s watch. You have to keep an eye on both until they both change to tell. Alternate setting the clocks, Slave Troy for the first, third and fifth clock found. Slave Marc on the even numbers. You have three minutes to correctly set it once you touch it, not including testing, and the setter can look at it for up to two minutes first to see where the controls are. Only the setter can touch the clock, it is an automatic penalty then and there for the non-setter if they do, though this doesn’t mean that they lose a turn. Got it so far Slaves?”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

“Slave Annette, wind the stopwatch. See there are two sets of controls, one for short times and one for long times. Test it by pressing each and seeing what happens. Use the button on the left to time the total duration. If it goes over an hour before they have found and set all the clocks, you win. You can’t impede them though. If they do not set it correctly they lose, and you get to give the bent-over loser five good smacks across the bum with the paddle. Lift the breech-cloth ass-flap so it is on bare bottom.” She beams at this. “If they set it correctly then place the clock into position, they then they take the prize and when that’s done go on to find the next clock. If you do anything to get in their way or screw up the timing they get an extra ten minutes on the total and can each give you five with the paddle.”

“If the first slave loses and is paddled, the second one has the same chance to set the clock. Unplug it so it resets if you can. As the second setter had a chance to see the first try, the penalty for failure is ten swats not five. That’s the same penalty if they touch the clock before their turn. Slave Annette, spread the blows around both cheeks, OK?”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

The guys were looking uncomfortable at her leer. That won’t last.

“Here’s a jar of the magic cream. Rub it in after any paddling, it’ll ease the pain. A little. Until the next time.”

“What if you set it right? Well then the prize for the first clock you get correct is a super blowjob from Slave Annette ending with her deep-throating your prick as you cum down her gullet and she swallows all your load. She’s blown Carl and had all the other adjustments, so I know she can do it. Sheila took this polaroid as proof.” I found and handed the picture to Marc and he whistled and passed it over to Troy. In it Annette had her head right up to Carl’s hairy balls, dick down her throat and nose mashed slightly sideways, eyes wide open. Troy guffaws and hands it to Annette, who turns beet red in anger and then blushes in shame, which triggers her pussy to start dripping in overall horniness.

“Today’s a good time for some BJ practice. As Slave Marc cums a lot, after the first spurt and swallow, she can opt at any time to finish him with her hand or tits as long as the jizz lands above her neck on her face or hair. Because of the incest rule it’ll only be five shots, I believe no borrowed splooge from Will or Sam past her lips. Then the only way she can get any stray spume off herself before we’re finished today is to scoop it and swallow it from her finger, no wiping with a Kleenex or towel.”

Nope, she’s not happy with that at all.

“The prize for the second clock you individually set is a good athletic fuck into her pussy, right there on the floor in front of the clock. Ending when you spurt into her. Slave Annette, I command you to give them a great fuck. Grind hard and milk the cum as best as you can. Guys, you are competing against each other on the setting but working together on the finding. And time counts, pound her hard and cum quickly for the win.”

“If you guessed that the third prize for setting a clock correctly is her ass, you’d be right. Doggy style on hands and knees. Lubricate with the cream. If you both get 100% of the clocks then it’s three blasts each into her, and the last one’ll be up in my bedroom. If either of you scores over three clocks no immediate prize, just go to find the next one; there are some other written suggestions of things to do to Slave Annette to be drawn after the final clock is set for any extra prizes. One suggestion per extra clock scored. Fun things. And if you go over an hour all extra points are canceled and she can take items from the same list and have some fun with both of you. How many items depend on how much time over. So work together to find the clocks. Or find out what she might do. Questions?”

“Mistress Gail, this is lame,” comes from Annette.

“Bend over Slave Annette. Slave Troy, take the paddle, once on each of the ass cheeks, show her how it’s done.”

No hesitation on either’s part. Automatic obedience.

SPANK...SPANK

“Eeeow!”

“Now hand her the cream.” She opens it and rubs some in. I know it cuts the pain right away, leaving just a very dull throb. She looks up at Troy with fury. He’s going to screw up, she knows it and I know it and it hasn’t passed into his thick skull yet. And she can’t wait for the first smack.

“Say ‘Thank you Mistress Gail’.”

She does and I head upstairs alarm clock in hand. Annette clicks the stop watch and says “Now!” Marc and Troy aren’t ready yet.

I hear, “Hey start again!” followed by “30 seconds up already. 35, 40.”

The ‘doing my laundry’ idea wasn’t something I had the nerve for, but this’ll keep them occupied while I go see to Andy. I really hate setting these new digital clocks, none work the same way as any of the others and some are quite tricky, so at least I know that they’ll all be correctly set tomorrow and I figure each sex act will take five minutes, plus I’ll have killed a half hour at least, and they are all competitive enough that they’ll remember it as fun. It took a while to work out the details. And sure enough, before I reach the bedroom, comes “Here’s one!” “Idiot, put it down it’s not your turn.” Followed by some loud smacks. Weird, that had to have been Marc’s mistake, I’d have pegged that for a Troy goof. Well, he still might make it today, even after seeing Marc pay the price.

* * *

Andy was waiting, standing there in his breech-cloth with a slight smile. He seemed to have something he wanted to say, but can’t talk without my permission.

“Yes, Slave Andy you can speak.”

“I just wanted to say this isn’t the weirdest situation I’ve had.”

I nod. “It is for me. But that’s not important.” I go to the closet and then step out of my leather bra and panties and remove the pins that hold the hat in place, letting my hair fall free. Andy watches as I put on a simple short see-through nightie. A few pieces of clothing can be much sexier than total nudity. Particularly once you’ve passed a certain age. So I leave the boots on.

“I’m a little too old, a little too white, a little too conventional to have got into this whole pot thing. I don’t like the smell and I’m pretty sure the smoke is not good for you. But the kids all seem to be into it, and god knows I’ve seen more than my share of older folk who’ve got in trouble over drink. So Slave Andy, with your special semen, I’m going to do some experimentation.” There is a desk with a comfy writing chair by the window. I lowered the blind and sat. Then I motion him to come closer. “At dinner you talked about the different strains, the ones that get your body stoned and the ones that effect the head. I want to try both, using this stiff pink hookah.” I lift his front flap of his breech-cloth and tuck it into the waist strap. He’s standing between by legs as I sit with my writing desk behind me.

Taking his penis in my hand, cupping his balls while circling its root, I command, “What is the best ‘head’ stone you’ve ever had, not the strongest, the one that you found the most pleasant, that as a connoisseur you’d recommend?” I flick my tongue out and lap the tip of his dick.

“Hard to say. Probably hash. From Nepal. Temple Ball it was called, powerful but leaving you both ripped and clear headed. Can I say something?”

“Sure. You’re about to say a lot of things.”

“Mistress Gail, I want you to know, now, while I’m not able to lie, that I’ve never sold dope to kids, at least not since I was a kid myself. I’ve never tricked anyone into taking anything. That I believe each person’s journey is their own and there are tools that can help us find who we are, some that require smoking, ingestion and maybe even dancing. I just wanted you to know.”

I had to think about that a second. I knew that Stella and her friends sometimes smoked and I’d assumed that Andy was in part responsible. He sold dope pipes and rolling papers in his shop, after all.

“Fair enough. I want to try that Temple stuff. Don’t think of any other kind before you cum and I should get a taste.” I pop the ruddy head into my mouth and circle it with my lounge. He shudders slightly.

I have him by the balls with both hands now, rolling them gently in my fingers. I back off the other end and tell him. “You never talk about yourself. I know you exaggerate the ‘I was stoned and don’t remember’ thing. So while I work on this you are going to tell me some true stories. What was the first great sex you ever had? Not necessarily your first time, but the first time you were blown,” I lick the head of his dick again, “away.”

“Mistress Gail, must I?”

“Yes Slave Andy. You are an older man hanging around with my daughter and her friends. I want to know. You don’t have to tell me any secrets, and I promise not to say anything to the others unless it’s really important. We can even have the Egg put a seal on my lips if you want.”

“No I trust you. I just don’t want to remember some things.”

“Then when you’re done today, I command you to let anything that bothers you that is dredged up sink back into wherever you’ve buried it. I still want to know. Start talking, but warn me when you think you are about to cum.” With that I dove as deep on his shaft as I could. Carl’s magic dick had caused changes that made me able to take him down right to the balls, and I withdrew and then plunged back down a couple of times. Then I took his fleshy pipe completely out and started kissing it along the sides and trying to give him a dick hickey. As I worked away he started speaking.

I promised him not to repeat it, if you want his story, you have to ask him yourself. Sorry.

“I’m about to blow,” he warned. He’d managed to get as far in his biography as being drafted by then. I wrapped my lips around the base of his manhood’s head and sucked the salty flow all in. For some reason the taste it reminded me of really expensive chocolate. Yum, then, whoa—I felt dizzy like I’d spun around 1000 times.

“Help me to the bed.” He puts his arms under mine and I manage the few steps. I know I can sober up in an instant by thinking of doing something more complex than walking. But the point is to feel this. It’s not unpleasant, better than being drunk on hard liquor, not as giddy as on Champaign though. I remember the next step in my plan, and tell him, “I want to enjoy this for a while. Kiss me all over. Use your hands too. Take your time. And tell me about the funniest sex you’ve ever had. Or that you’ve ever heard about. Stop when you are starting to get hard again.” I should have asked him to bring up Betty’s energy tonic; Andy’d need some recovery time. Later—let him touch me first while my body seems to be nicely sensitive with the stone—nice.

His cum actually was pretty delicious. I was feeling all tingly, though mostly in my head, I was aware of where each of the pleasure parts of my brain connects with where Andy is kissing.

He had turned be over on my stomach and was kissing my ass when we heard the clockers working next door on Stella’s bedside alarm.

“There’s one in here.”

“Of course there is. You were her boyfriend for how long. I bet you’ve been in here lots of times.”

“I’ve been in her more.”

“Hey talk nice doofus.”

“Who you calling doofus, dilrod.”

And so they went on, I pictured Annette standing back smiling to herself, letting them eat up the time with their pointless banter.

Finally they got around to it, and it was Marc’s turn to have the first stab. So they’re at clock two or four. Shit, I’ve done some complex thinking, my high is gone. Just as well, Andy’s stopped and says, “Mistress Gail, I’m almost back up again.” He then gives my ass a nice rub.

Speaking of ass, I can hear the three in Stella’s bedroom, Marc has obviously set the clock and is now mounting Annette’s back door. She’s moaning loud enough to hear clearly in my room, also we get Marc as he goes “Fuck yeah, Fuck yeah. Fucking Annie’s ass yeah”. I bet Troy is wishing it was over and they could move on to the next clock. It occurs to me that if Marc is already tapping her butt, he has to be one setting ahead of Troy.

“Shhh, I want to listen in. Slave Andy, kiss me here.” I flip over and guide Andy’s head between my thighs.

They finish next door and it’s obvious that they are having trouble with finding the next-to-last clock. It’s both tricky and obvious, if it’s the one I’m thinking of.

“Slave Andy, I’m ready for another story. While you stir the stewpot. But first think now about the best body stone you’ve had, again, not the strongest, the one that you enjoyed the most.” He climbs between my legs and places a pillow under my bum while I bend my knees so my feet sit flat on the bed.

“There was some Maui weed that was pretty righteous.”

“Tell me the best sex you’ve had since you came to town. You don’t need to use any names if you don’t want to.”

“Mistress Gail, that’s easy. And you don’t even have to keep it secret.”

“It’s with Vicky. Just about every night.” Thrust. “I don’t know why.” Thrust. “I’ve had my share of old ladies, sorry, common-law wives. Please, can we change to side by side? I’ll talk better.” He goes all-in and we roll over together. “I don’t know if you met her when she was going out with Aram. She was what we used to call ‘bugfuck’” Thrust. “I never met her but heard stories. Instant jealous rage.”

Slorsh. I’ve just cum a little. We are quite wet down south. “But now, I don’t know, we’re simpatico. In tune. Even when she knows I’m here doing who knows what and she’s over getting reamed by Carl and Will.”

Slorsh. “We get together and it’s just special. I don’t know why.”

Slorsh-fffft. I’m starting to get used to having all those extra sensations in my purse, but they are always a bit of a shock for the first few seconds. I’m feeling a warm happy glow on top of the usual friction from our nerves rubbing together. As I recognize it, I realize that so far tonight I’ve made all the decisions, I’ve had my four guests dance to my tune, and I don’t feel ashamed or embarrassed—or even particularly bossy or bitchy or even guilty about doing it. That warm glow increases as I concentrate on using my enhanced cunt muscles to add an extra-special twist to our coupling.

“Slave Andy. I think you are in love,” I pant.

He’s breathless too, “Mistress Gail... I think you are right... And here I cum.” He spurts into me and I feel a rush of numbness, then a tingling all over-kind of like when your arm goes to sleep, but better.

“Oooh that feels nice. Thank you. Now I want you to touch me everywhere.”

He gets up and rolls me to the side of the bed. He kneels on the carpet and starts giving me a full body massage. It’s heaven. And all too short as the three clockers burst into the room. They are arguing with each other excitedly.

I picture myself driving and that brings me back to reality, such as it is. “Quiet!”

They stand still and look at me sheepishly.

“I take it you found the first five clocks. Slave Marc, you can answer that.”

“We think so Mistress Gail. One in the basement, one in the den, one by the front door, one in Stella’s bedroom. But we are confused about number five. It’s the one on the stove, right. Troy says that’s not a clock. But he set it and fucked Annette anyway, though she tried to say it wasn’t a clock either, but a timer.”

“Does it tell the time, Slave Troy?”

“I guess it does Mistress Gail.”

“So it’s a clock. Mine is over there. I won’t keep you, you still have to beat an hour.”

Marc went to look it over but it’s the simplest of the bunch, I’ve even set it a few times. He picks it up and has it running in less than a minute, by Annette’s stopwatch. 58 minutes total.

“Very good. So what is the score? Do we get to see you push your dick up her ass now Slave Marc?” I knew this had to be either his fourth or fifth clock, but I wanted to watch her as he answered. She’s blocked by the boys so I can’t quite see her from the bed, but her body language shows she’s is still a bit defiant, so I hadn’t broken her. Well that was never the intention, and she still had to face one or two of the suggestion slips.

“I set four and Slave Troy two, Mistress Gail.”

“Slave Annette, how many paddlings.”

The thought of that brings a smile to her face. “One for Slave Marc and two for Slave Troy,” she says. “Slave Marc picked up a clock when he found it though it wasn’t his turn. Then later Slave Troy did the same thing. And he missed setting one clock.”

I must be psychic.

“Mistress Gail, may I go to the washroom. I need to pee.”

I look at her more closely. She’d been hiding behind the boys. She was covered above the neck with cum. Marc’s bountiful gift I assume. It’s just lathered on. There were patches of bare skin where she had cleaned it off, but it was like a layer of clear Jell-O in other places, in various stages of drying. Her hairline’s first inch or so was white and sticky looking, and there were ropy streaks through the rest of her hair. Andy finds it hot, I notice his limp dick twitch as she comes into full view.

“It would be unfair not to. But I don’t want you spending all day looking at the mirror. So as the winner, Slave Marc, you are going to take this,” I hand him the heavy cloth belt from my bathrobe, I can wash it later, “and use it to blindfold her and then escort her to Stella’s washroom for a pee. You’ll have to watch her closely to make sure she doesn’t peek and her aim is good. And wipe her dry when she’s done. Then you can piss, let her hold your pecker—gently Slave Annette!—as you wizz so she can feel the stream come out. Don’t make a mess in there. And leave the blindfold in place until I tell you.”

“Slave Andy, Slave Troy, you can use my washroom once I’m done with it.” She’s reminded me of my own full bladder. Marc is leading the sightless girl away as I exit.

As I pee I realize I’m slightly dripping with Andy’s cum. The Egg’s changed my womb to trap most of it, but enough was spent outside my VJ to be glistening. Both Marc and Troy must have seen that. For some reason I find this sexy. Should I douche it out? No, I have a better idea.

I sit on the desk’s chair when I come back. I’ve fixed my hair and straightened my nightie. My boobies bounce as I walk and the open slit at the front shows a lot of skin. Without panties on my pussy is playing hide and seek with the guys eyeballs. I’m pleased to see that the front flaps of their breechcloths rise slightly higher as I walk across the room.

I sit on the chair by the desk and lean back and spread my legs wide. I motion to Troy that it’s his turn in the toilet. He reluctantly turns and goes. As he does Andy smiles and nods. We spend some time in companionable silence, I’m sitting and thinking, I have my list and take this time to review it. Andy stands by the bed, and seems to be content just looking at me. I like that a lot.

Marc comes back in, leading Annette with one arm around her, fondling her boob. He drops his hand and they stand inside just inside the door. With the sound of a flush, Troy returns and Andy heads in to relieve himself.

“Slaves, come stand in front of me.” Marc helps guide Annette. They stop about five feet away. I keep silent and they wait, slowly becoming fidgety. Andy returns and I motion him to join the others.

“Slave Annette. Have you been well and truly fucked?”

“Er, yes Mistress Gail.”

“Did you have an orgasm?”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

“More than one?”

“Yes Mistress Gail.”

I look at her in anticipation, but then realize that she can’t see me. She gets the hint anyway. Whatever else, she was raised by Sam and Betty to be polite.

“Thank you, Mistress Gail.”

“Slave Marc, you have one bonus for the extra clock. Take one of the three cards from the table here. Read it to yourself and then hand it to me.”

He does so and his eyes go up and a toothy grin appears on his face. He hands me the card and I see which one he selected. I nod. “We’ll need the kit. There’s a brand new one on the shelf in my bathroom. Go get it.”

As he heads off I continue with Annette.

“Slave Annette, do you like sucking on my pussy.”

“Oh yes, very much Mistress Gail.”

“So you’d like to do it again?”

“Please may I, Mistress Gail.”

“It’s full of Slave Andy’s jizz. You will get stoned, Slave Annette.”

“Really?” She smiles broadly, then remembers to finish, “That would be super, Mistress Gail.”

“And if you did, I’m ordering you not to deliberately lose the high until I tell you to, unless there is a good reason, would you still suck on my clit and make me cum and spurt all of Slave Andy’s strong spunk at your mouth? Would you swallow it all, Slave Annette?”

“Oh, could I, Mistress Gail? Pleeeeeze!”

“Well, I guess since you’ve been so good a prize, you deserve a treat, Slave Annette.” I motion with my hand for the others to help her.

Both Andy and Troy’s dicks are holding their breech-cloths straight out at all this silly talk. Marc’s too, he has come back in with a medium sized cardboard box with the kit I picked up from the pharmacy today, and he and watches as Troy helps Annette to her knees and leads her forward to a place between my thighs. Her hands find the top of my polished leather boots and she leans in and with an un-erring sense of direction—perhaps she was using her sense of smell, starts lapping my folds.

She’s not quite the pro her dad is, but pretty darn good. If it wasn’t for my Egg-given gifts I’d have gone off on her first touch of tongue to clit.

“Open the box and read the directions, Slave Marc.”

He breaks the seal and pulls out the parts and lays them on the desk, then unfolds the instruction sheet. “Happy Movement’s Home Enema and High Colonic kit. Everything you need. Just add water,” he starts.

She pulls back a bit on hearing this, but I gently guide her back to the sweet spot. Marc reads each step slowly and clearly. I didn’t think those guys could get any stiffer, but the evidence in front of my eyes shows I was wrong.

“Marc... prize number 4. Water jug... in washroom... and... thermometer. Fill. Mix in some... magic cream... Also use... cream as... lube,” I pant. I’m determined not to cum until the nozzle is in her ass. I almost make it; I hold her lips against my spasming quim as the tube goes in her other end. I push all of Andy’s jizz out of me and into her. She gulps it all down, despite the anal distraction. Slowly the pitcher of warm water mixed with cream empties as Marc pours it into the bag and it flows down the tube to her insides.

Five minutes later Marc gets to lead her to the john and then clean her with care. He has his hand under her ass with the middle finger wedged tight in her sphincter to prevent her from leaking. Her tummy bulges, she’s wobbly, her bum swings side to side in an exaggerated way, and she leans on him with her arm behind his back and over his shoulder to stay upright, my guess is she’s kept her promise and still feels the effects of Andy’s semen. I tell him after she goes he has to stick his tongue up her butt and twirl it around to make sure it’s squeaky, and to keep doing so until she cums, though he can use his hands elsewhere to help that along.

When they return the blindfold remains in place while we play some other more conventional games on my bed—if you can call stuffing three dicks in my happy holes while a sightless girl suckles me as conventional—how did we manage?—Until the image of a light going on flashes through my mind and I know we are done. I was riding Troy at the time and put some extra effort into my massaging of his dick in my womb and bring him off again. Of the guys, only Carl and Aram have extra staying power—Marc can cum like a fire-hose but recovers like a normal male. I’m proud of how my three men have done tonight, they must feel drained. We did take a bit of a break for refreshments after Annette was cleaned out, but still...

I say, “Finish who you’re doing and then get dressed and come downstairs. Slave Annette, you can take off the blindfold, but cannot look at yourself in any mirror or reflective surface. No washing above the neck before you get home and in your own shower. First change my sheets and put the duvet back on the bed. Then we are through.” I could have done this with Annette earlier, but it was a kick to have her blindfolded. Now she’ll have to guess who’s toes she’d been sucking. Plus Troy and Andy both also got a turn at bathroom escort and bum kissing duty.

Then the oddest thing happened.

* * *

There we were—standing naked on a concrete platform, in a line facing forward, big grins on our faces, right arm raised at the elbow, waving our hands while below us passed a long line of people dressed from many different eras, cave people wearing furs, ancient Romans in togas, ladies in impossible complex hoop skirts, and even a dozen or so knights in full armor, a Bedouin sheik trailed by fifty veiled yet topless harem girls in diaphanous puffy pantaloons. Each parade person waved back as they passed us. I could only move enough to turn my head to see that we five were alone up there. I could barely move my mouth to hiss, “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t like this, get me out of here,” Annette hissed back.

“I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore,” Marc adds.

“Dude, we were in Wisconsin,” Troy helpfully points out.

I chant “Mr. Egg, Please Manifest.” Nothing I try again with the others joining in. Still nothing.

Annette says, “I’m scared.” The passing throng becomes odder, World War One infantrymen, nurses carrying bundles that may be babies, burlesque performers, drunks in lederhosen, busty milk maids with yokes hung with jars over their shoulders, rodeo clowns and perfectly coiffed beehive hair-do sporting suburban housewives pushing vacuum cleaners.

“I’m in charge today and I order that we be returned home,” I command as forcefully as I can.

And then we were all back in my bedroom. We look at each other in stunned awe.

“Did that happen?”, “What did you see?”, “Are we safe?” and many other questions arise. I try to summon Mr. Egg and this time he comes.

It takes a few minutes to explain what happened, we are all in a tizzy, but I still have authority here and all the Egg has to say is, “Hmmmm.”

“Is that it?” I ask.

“No, of course not,” it says. “I just don’t know what it is right now. Just you five, not the others? And you are all OK other than being a little freaked?”

“Just us. I’m OK.” The other folks nod.

“I need to check on everyone else. I promise that I’ll find out what happened. I’ll be looking in on you all off and on all night, but I think you’re safe now. Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you all at Sam and Betty’s on Saturday for our next group get-together. I should have more information by then.” Then it addresses me directly, “You did well, Mistress Gail.”

I speak up even though they are listening to me closely. “There is a prize tonight for the slave who generated the most manna. Gail chose the prize and will explain once she figures it out. She may have a good guess as it is. All I can say is you’ll know it when you find it.”

And with that it blinked off to go look in on our friends.

We were still pretty worried about what happened, until Marc pointed out that we weren’t threatened, we returned home and the world is a strange place for us every day. That helped, but not entirely. I was still a bit confused about a prize, though I had an idea based on what Eggy and I talked about. What I didn’t know was who. Who got off the most tonight and made the most manna. I thought it was probably Troy. Best way to tell was some kind of physical test.

* * *

Everybody redressed quickly, eager to get home—I offered my shower, but all declined, even Annette who I released from her mirror and bathing command and who still has lots of Marc’s dried cum in her hair, the rest had flaked off. After all that weirdness at the end of the night, I guess they wanted to make sure that their familiar home and simple reality was intact. I had prepared cards for each of them, and as we stood on the stoop saying good-bye I gave each a lingering French Kiss, Troy first, feeling me up as our tongues danced. I gave him the card afterwards, I figured he’d take the longest to get it, so start there. Andy was next, he held me close in his arms and for the first time I thought how happy I was that he is in my life. I’d never appreciated much about him before, he’d always seemed a somewhat disreputable low-life, but that’s not true at all. He’s a gentle, sweet and somewhat damaged soul making his way in the world as we all must. Marc gives my bum a good squeeze as we buss, but it’s Annette’s kiss that shocks me despite being braced for it, the memory flooded back. While the others open their envelopes and read the cards I wrote, I backed away and exclaimed, “That’s it! That’s the kiss.” Puzzled looks all around, at the written offer, and at my outburst. It was though, the kiss I had described to the Egg. He had given it to her. Memories flooded back. Good ones. I didn’t think I could get moist again for days, but I felt the heat flooding my loins one more time.

“What?” Marc asks, holding the card but looking at Annette and me too.

“I described to the Egg a few days ago the best kisser giving the best kiss I’d ever had, and suggested that he gift it to someone. And there it is, Annette has it. I’d recognize it anywhere. I lived with it daily once. It said it’d do it if tonight turned out better than good.”

Annette is pleased with this news. I can see her processing and a satisfied smile cross her lips. That girl is all about sex as power. She can be a bitch, can’t she?

I had taken some old Valentine’s Day cards and written a promise on them, “This is good for one big fat loving time. Whenever you need it, no questions asked, if you need a hug because you’re down or want to whoop it up, I’ll be there.”

“What does this card mean?”

“Just that. I know you had no choice, but thank you for tonight. I owe you all. I know the Egg will be pushing us into all sorts of weird times together, but this is between us. And I’ll do my best to be available, but you know it would be good for it not to be at four in the morning, but I guess that’s OK too if you need it.”

Marc asks, “You know why WASP princesses don’t go to orgies?”

Andy does straight man duty, “No man, why?”

“Too many thank-you notes.”

I find this hilarious and end up bent-over laughing. It’s like a whole ship-load of tension has been released, I feel ten pounds lighter and even when I stop guffawing I can’t stop an occasional giggle from escaping. I was ready to clean up again, I’d wet myself a bit.

“Babe, can I try?” Troy asks.

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow if you ask nice. I’m all sexed out.”

They go with a laugh and final peck on the cheek. Annette takes off in the Bullman’s car without Marc, though they are both headed to the same place. He walks away; it’s only a few blocks. Weird girl. She’s going to make me pay for another kiss like that. Well two can play at that game, I know she starts drooling and dripping when looking at my VJ. She’s hot-to-trot for my twat. She sure doesn’t like not being the alpha-female. How does Betty stand it?

I bet Troy cashes in his card within a week.

I also handed tonight’s costumes to each of them, admittedly not much for the guys.

Annette looked at hers, which was still covered in drying bodily fluids and smelled—well stunk of all kinds of lust—and sneered, holding it gingerly between pinched fingers.

“The Egg Creature wants us to wear these at the next group get-together.” Seeing she was still making a face, I took Annette’s back from her, “I’ll have this dry cleaned and sent over.”

Added later: He also showed it to all the others within three days. And I was wrong, it took two weeks. And that was only because I fucked what brains he has out after I took him shopping in the first week. Still, he’s a hunk and not short of spunk.

I later—much later learned that Marc bought a tacky “Wonderful Wisconsin” plastic picture frame made to sell to tourists and postcards, and framed my card, carefully cut so the front and inside writing were showing, and he hung it over his bed in the Bullman’s basement, for all visitors to see until he moved out. I chose to be flattered and not insulted.

Andy just gave it back, said that it didn’t feel right, that it was like he owned a part of me. I told him that he wasn’t going to get out of it that easy and to go up and get naked on my bed. And he did. As he left a couple of hours later I told him that he didn’t need any stinkin’ notes, no way no more. And giggled, I was starting to like the feeling his pot-laced pecker snot gave me and we had been experimenting. Still have never smoked any real pot, don’t think I ever will. Stains the fingers, like ciggies.

Annette still has hers. I wait with mild curiosity. Troy told me he tried to buy it from her, and bless her she refused. He didn’t tell me what he offered though that hardly matters, I usually call him these days.

Hey Eggy, how’s that for assertive? Plus, damn I want out of these boots.

NEXT — INTERLUDE 4 — THE EGG’S ARRIVAL + 2 MONTHS — GIRLS NIGHT OUT, OR THE HYPNOTIST TRIES TO HAVE SOME FUN