Impulse Control
by Pizzahead
Twelve — Expanded Possibilities
For at least half of this momentous day, I’d been freezing my ass off. I had quality gear, and I was in good enough shape that all the hiking on the way to the Wolverine castle/house hadn’t worn me out, but it sure would be nice to just sit somewhere warm, and relax.
Standing almost knee-deep in snow amongst ornamental trees, I couldn’t be spotted from any of the windows of Nancy’s house, but I was perfectly visible from the street. When I heard youthful laughter to my right and saw a quartet of pre-teens coming my way, walking in the troughs formed by snow-tires, I felt conspicuous just standing there—who goes out in frigid weather like this to just stand in the snow and do nothing? Everybody knows what to do to cover themselves in a situation like that—I got out my phone and stared at the screen, feigning an expression of intense concentration so it wouldn’t look like I was lurking.
“Hi,” one of them said, the whole group slowing. They were all pink nose-tips and ruddy cheeks, out enjoying the day I’d had about enough of.
“Hey.”
“You can’t get reception inside?”
I thought about Nancy’s mother, and how she had gone into something like a protective crouch when she’d seen me. “I guess I didn’t get the kind of reception that would make me want to stick around.”
“You’re Nancy’s boyfriend, aren’t you?” another one asked. “I’ve seen you before. You drive a Toyota.”
“That’s me. But I think I might be the ex-boyfriend now.”
“She broke up with you? Shame, because she’s, uh—“
“You think she’s hot,” the third one supplied.
This, coming from the mouth of a twelve year-old neighbor. “We’re not exactly…” I trailed off. Truth was, I didn’t know what Nancy would think of me once she was back on her feet, which would probably be soon. And vice-versa—did recent events mean I was completely through with her? “It’s complicated,” I supplied, which was the understatement of the year, and the year was almost over.
“So, like, how’d you get all those scratches on your face?” the first kid asked. “It wasn’t Nancy, was it?”
I laughed and said: “What, you’ve never gone sledding in a barbwire field?”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“You have more sense than me, then. Don’t ever try it.”
The kids moved on, and in their wake I wondered again just how badly marked my face was. I took a selfie, and while examining the image I could see why people kept remarking upon my appearance. I wasn’t outright mutilated, but those brambles had really done a number on my upper cheeks and forehead, at least a dozen thin lacerations angling in all directions. One above my right eyebrow—I could remember the pain of that one—had enough caked blood around it that it looked a little like a Frankenstein scar.
I needed to wash my face, and maybe put on some ointment. The chalet was the obvious place to go; it would be warm and I’d just bought a rudimentary first-aid kit. But would Meghan still be there? I could imagine her doctoring my wounds in a motherly way, which would be great, but then we’d end up fucking like snow-rabbits. That would feel wonderful and warm, too, but what I really needed just now was the possibility of being alone, to think things through.
The phone again; it would tell me where things stood. I saw new voice messages from Nell and Meghan and Lila—there was also one from Rock, but he was of little concern just now. I listened to Nell’s first: “Hello lover. I miss you so much—where are you? I keep replaying yesterday over and over in my mind, how it felt to be with you… How it felt to make love with you, my God. You, between my breasts… It’s like I know why I have them now, and when we do that… I love that they turn you on so much—they’re yours. I’m yours. I want to… I want you here in my bed, so badly. Oh please call, and let me hear your voice. The roads will be passable soon, and we can… Call me!”
I became a half-frozen guy with an insistent snow-boner after hearing that one, and Lila’s message made it even worse: All I can think about is fucking you. I want you between my legs, inside me… Oh John, I… I can’t stop… Stop running from me! You have to get here somehow! You have to!
It was almost spine-tingling, hearing how they were both, each in their own way, on express highways heading towards the same exit from sanity that Nancy had taken. It was crystal-clear that if I didn’t do something to intervene with the compounding of the magic inside them, they’d become truly crazed with desire.
I played Meghan’s message next, and she sounded comparatively together, though there was a definite edge to her voice: I don’t know why you left; I wasn’t done with you! I understand if this is causing you distress about your father, and our family… But dammit, John, it’s also a crime to waste another minute after we’ve discovered how profoundly suited we are for each other. We’re both freaks of nature… It’s a gift! For both of us! The ice storm has kept the library closed and I’m just here waiting. I… Oh, just come home and do me!
Every one of the women was a sex-bomb, their explosive yields multiplying with every hour that passed. I now had the means to defuse these bombs, but did I really want to do that? Nancy had been a no-brainer, at the point where it had become a binary choice—dial her down or be responsible for her disintegration. The other women weren’t that fevered yet; they might just now be entering the prime of their spellbound horniness, and wouldn’t that be a blast to experience in triplicate.
So, do what? I thought about Lila, and I didn’t know. She had left messages bragging about how limber she was, and how tight, and my dreams had defined her as the third hook that had me by the gullet. If she was in some magical way a piece of the trap that I couldn’t escape from, why not make us both happy by fucking her brains out?
I definitely didn’t want to tone down Nell’s desires very much. I figured I’d have to, some, to keep her from descending into the Nancy zone, but to make it so she was just kind-of in love with me? All I’d gained with her had come through underhanded means, but she felt like my girlfriend now, my woman, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to give that up. Watching any glow inside of Nell ebb away as I rheostated her down… I didn’t even want to picture such a thing.
And with Meghan… I was really torn there. The angel perched on my shoulder wanted me to remember that I’d never intended to get magic inside her system, which meant I should dull the attraction spell way down, and perhaps make her forget we’d ever fucked. She was my father’s wife, after all, and my dad could be a bit of a conservative conspiracy-believing weirdo, but I did love him. But I was not all about angels—I had a teenage dick-devil, too, and that made me remember what it felt like to be inside Meghan with her superlative snatch vibrating like a power washer, and I just couldn’t decide what to do.
Where should I go to think all this through… My old bedroom, that was the place. Lila might be in there with her nose sniffing my clothing like an abandoned dog, but the chances were that she’d be in her own room, or elsewhere in the house. I was done with turning into an icicle out here and so I decided to take the risk, closing my eyes and picturing my old bedroom in detail. When I felt like I had it, I breathed out the spell, and made myself be there.
And presto change-o again, so absolutely cool and so comparatively warm! I didn’t know what it looked like from an observer’s perspective for me to appear out of nowhere—did I just blink in, or was it a gradual materialization, like the transporter beam that everyone knows? I didn’t need to understand all of the physics of the magic to make use of it, but there had to be so many safeguards at play for my feet to be planted right on the floor, and for the magic to prevent me from appearing with one of my legs occupying the same space as a corner of the bed, that sort of gotcha-thing. It was a reliable way to get from one place to another, but it obviously required the right kind of concentration and familiarity with the destination—see the age-addled magician, now deceased and buried in some freaking alternate universe, falling through ice in the middle of a lake.
And was that even the most miraculous of the new spells? I could make people forget things, a perfect tool for cleaning up magical mishaps; which, I noted, would include someone witnessing me appearing out of nowhere. The memory spell wasn’t so much different than the “Men In Black” memory-wipe device from the movies, and could be used for the same purpose.
I thought about that. What I’d just accomplished with the memory spell, causing Nancy’s mother to forget about two minutes of her experience, was no big deal, but the implications were immense. In some ways people are their memories—all you had to do was spend a little time with grandparents or other old people to see how their sense of themselves was largely upon long-ago stories of what they’d accomplished, or the deeds or failures they regretted, or the adventures they’d experienced. The eating away of memories in the normal sense was called Alzheimer’s, right? And that was hardly a thing I wanted to go around inflicting without thinking through all the implications.
I took a few minutes to get out of the damp clothes I’d been wearing all day, putting on fresh jeans and a soft flannel shirt. My parka had received the same kind of treatment from the brambles that my face had; it couldn’t heal itself, though, and might as well be trashed. I had another, older parka, and when I dug that out of my closet it got me thinking—if I put together a big bag of stuff, could I spell-a-port that with me to wherever I went next? Could I even move most of my shit to the chalet like that, just holding onto whatever I wanted to take, and spell-a-porting it with me to my new home?
My clothes and keys and wallet were traveling with me every time—no Twilight Zone tricks like the fillings falling out of my teeth when I magically traveled—but there were guidelines that I’d need to follow. I could “read” from the instructions in my brain that I couldn’t take anyone with me when I spell-a-ported; every magical journey would have to be a solo trip, no exceptions. There had to be a clear cutting-off point between the can and can’t do’s—you can materialize elsewhere with a small bag of groceries in your arms, but not holding a mini-fridge to put them in, that kind of thing. I would have to test those limitations over time, so I’d know the rules of the magical road.
That was just one example of how my life had become a seriously complex puzzle. One way of looking at the math was to say that I’d only doubled the number of spells I could wield—three to six—but it was probably more like lottery games, where a mere six numbers could yield millions of different combinations. Or like DNA—we’d studied that last year, how just a small number of differences in the sequencing of four letters, A, C, G and T, could give all the variations that separated a man from being a monkey, or even a frog. For me, I could theoretically throw some magic at a woman now, making her lust for me this much, while inside on the impulse field I egged on this impulse a lot while burying this other impulse a little…
I wanted to laugh, thinking how at the beginning of Christmas break, the toughest problems in my life had involved homework assignments, or wondering how Nancy and I would navigate the ending of high school, and if that transition would mean breaking-up. My dick might be able to last forever, but all these new equations about what the future could hold were tiring my brain out.
Okay then, I should assess what I could of my new reality, and keep it simple. I could know some things for sure, even if their impact on future decisions remained murky.
Some of my fears were obsolete now; I still had three cases of ever-escalating attraction magic to deal with, but I could take care of the women on a case by case basis, by managing the attraction magic going nuclear inside them. That meant I could cast the attraction spell anywhere I wanted now—I could go fucking wild with it if I chose to—and afterwards I could adjust the degree of its effect upon each host. All of that in addition to everything I could do by controlling impulses, and then if I fucked something up, just wipe away the memories of that and come out smelling like a rose. And then, like a cherry on top of a fabulous sundae, I also had an inexhaustible dick—not a bad deal at all.
Wait. A new thought occurred to me, and maybe it was crazy but I just had to know. My cock was enchanted; that was a fact. I had always assumed that it was the old magician who’d put the magic into it—he’d said it was a gift, and I had no memory of absorbing a spell to do the deed myself. But having no memory… I hadn’t been able to remember how I got to Wolverine that first time, either, and I’d only retained the dimmest of memories of where, exactly, the access point to the book was. Memories were disposable, in the company of a magician who possessed the spell I now had.
I flashed to what I’d seen of the old magician’s equipment when I’d had him thawing in the bathtub. I figured he must have enchanted his cock with spells I had yet to acquire, that had kept his dick looking no older than mine even as the rest of his body had aged. But he’d been hung, too, like really hung, as if he’d had the ability to make his thing unnaturally large.
I quietly removed my jeans and underwear, and what the hell, the shirt I’d just put on, too. They went on the bed, and once completely naked I stood with my feet slightly spread, focusing upon my hard cock. It looked completely normal but I knew there was magic inside, and if I cast the rheostat spell upon it…
I did, and I thought it bigger, the same image I’d had before of sliding the bar of an adjustable light-switch, connected to my dick. I slid the bar up, and holy shit praise Jesus and Satan and anyone else involved, I I watched my dick grow right before my eyes, somewhat longer and thicker, then more long and more thick, and I could have gone more but I stopped, because oh. my. God.
I wasn’t hung like a horse, but I wasn’t that far off. I didn’t have a ruler handy, but I didn’t even believe a 12-inch ruler would have been inadequate to the task. I was fucking massive. My balls, too.
I touched it, checking that it was real. I gave it a long—very long—slow stroke from base to serpent’s eye, way out there. I squeezed it, and squeezed my ass muscles to make it rise and wobble, and I wondered how long my forearms were from elbow to wrist, because I was pretty sure this monster was getting close to being an extra limb.
Another piece of my new reality sank in—I could be as hung as I wanted to be. I could probably be so hung that women would run away, fearing for their lives. Unless they had the attraction magic in them, and I turned up the rheostat to where they’d need to climb my cock like a daredevil child driven to get high on the perfect tree.
My heart raced and I felt a little lightheaded. I was so hard, and there so much there to be hard. It felt amazing, like just get me going and I could wear out Supergirl’s pussy, which got me thinking about Meghan, presumably still waiting for my return at the chalet. She already believed I was a freak of nature, and that had turned her on. Imagine erasing her memory of my cock’s dimensions, and then lowering my pants with this flesh-pillar bobbing up to greet her. She had passed a baby through that wonder of a pussy, and to feel her doing her special thing on inch after extra inch of enchanted meat…
I breathed out and rested my bare ass on the bed, thinking what felt like a dangerous thought, that I was no less than a fucking sex god now that I’d magicked myself a super-schlong in form as well as function. I thought about what Nell had said when she first saw my penis, that I was like her. I wasn’t entirely certain what she’d meant by that, but now, with my cock this huge… I focused on my rod again, and lifted the rheostat bar a little higher, and just a little higher after that, and I had to laugh as I saw it expand further, my balls lightly pressing at my thighs. Everything seemed to keep the same overall shaping, always in the same proportion of thickness to length, and I’d always had a lot of girth.
“Now I’d say I’m like you,” I whispered. Beyond anything one would ever expect. Not even one in millions or billions, but fucking unreal. Sized where Nell could create the longest cleavage-canyon possible for her breasts, and I could mack-truck my way between them and still have the head of my cock emerging and pushing at her mouth, saying pretty-please.
And of course my thoughts went there, that there had to have been the spell that had given Nell those wondrous tits, and Meghan her freak-show of a talented vagina, and what if I acquired those someday? I was completely convinced that magic had intervened in their lives some number of years ago, and if it could happen then, why not again? I pictured growing Nell’s clitoris in size while plowing into her, until it matched Meghan’s or even surpassed it. I pictured Lila’s tits growing a bit in volume every day for weeks, until she and Nell could share bras.
My imagination was getting the better of me. There had to be dangers still—I thought of the old magician as I’d first seen him, a helpless bag of bones who would have been a drowning statistic if not for the intelligence and tenacity of a small dog. It was possible to be victimized by one’s own magic. I wasn’t all-powerful, just… Well, extremely powerful, in ways that were mostly tailored for having otherworldly sex.
I thought about the old magician again. I was eighteen, and he’d been what, eighty-eight? That would be seventy years difference. If my path was anything like his, I might have seventy years of magical practice ahead of me, sometimes overtly serving the needs of the book, and the rest of the time doing what I wanted to do.
Which might already be written, but fuck that. Who could ever say why I’d been chosen to become the successor to the old magician; I was hardly unique in being a horny teenager, and lots of people had impulse-control issues that sometimes got them into trouble. Yet I wasn’t evil, and maybe that was important. Extortion didn’t work on those with no conscience, and I had one, whether I wanted it all the time or not. I’d been maneuvered into fucking-up and afterwards had made a more conscious bargain with the book because of those fuck-ups. Now I was tempted again towards all sorts of mischief, by being given everything I needed to be an outright sex machine.
I laughed at the absurdity of it all, and then covered my mouth with my hand. If Lila came in and saw me with a fire hydrant of an erect cock… She’d probably do a ballet leap to play a game of cunt-toss in her current state. I could perhaps intercept that impulse, and then make her forget she ever saw it, but was that any way to move through life, starting dangerous brushfires and then working all day to stamp them out?
“Rock,” I whispered, another change in my new reality sorting itself in my mind. I hadn’t wanted to take the risk of letting him or anyone else know about the magic; now, with the memory spell at my disposal, what was there to be afraid of? I could disclose everything if I wished, and if the reaction wasn’t right, I could make him forget.
Rock was my best friend. Beyond that, of anyone I knew he would be the one with the imagination to see complex spell combinations that it might take me weeks or months to figure out. He invented whole worlds in his stories, with labyrinths of obstacles for his characters to overcome—following one of his narratives was like peering into the mind of a chess master who moved invented people instead of traditional pieces, all their destinies plotted twenty moves ahead. Once he had an understanding of my situation, I could only guess at the brilliant maneuvers he’d be able to come up with.
Which included, at this very moment, being butt naked with an absurdly huge boner, so large that even those “grow your penis” spams would think I’d gone too far. My breath caught at a horrible thought—I could return my dick to normal, right? Because to live with something like this day to day, trying to stuff it inside a pair of jeans…
I had to know for sure, so I closed my eyes and concentrated, going inside my cock with my mind and sliding the mental rheostat downwards. I thought: This must be the only time in human history that a male of the species was determined to shrink his erection. But I could feel it working, and…
And that’s when scratching sounds came from the door, with the sounding of an “I want to see you!” bark. I opened my eyes and before I could do anything, the door was flung open, with Lila standing there, staring.
Blizzard rushed in with a helicopter for a tail, licking my bare legs, a familiar greeting. There was very little that was familiar about Lila—her jaw was slack, eyes bulging, but even if she weren’t gawking with amazement, the beautiful young woman in the doorway wouldn’t have looked quite like the Lila I’d known since childhood. Her body was the same in its lithe near-perfection, and plenty of it was showing, as she had nothing on other than a black bra and black thong panties, but her hair looked finger-in-socket frazzled, and there was something about her eyes that reminded me of troll dolls. She smelled like pussy, too, and my gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to the insides of her thighs, which were much redder than the surrounding flesh. She’d been masturbating, a lot.
There was a deer-in-headlights aspect to her frozenness—her eyes were glued to my erection, and when I looked for myself I saw that I wasn’t quite back to normal, my cock at least an inch longer and proportionally thicker than it had been for all my adult life. I’d lost my concentration while trying to return it to normal, which had left it right were it was at that moment, distinctly larger than it should be. Larger than when she’d last seen it.
That meant there was a whole lot of cock pointing at Lila as I pivoted her way. Not coming up with anything better, I said: “A little privacy, plea—“
“How long have you been here!? How long… So long… So long!”
“I can expl—“
“Guuaahhh!” is what she said, and then she was on me without warning, pushing me back onto the clothes on my bed. Before I could even ease out the impulse spell she had the tip of my cock inside her pussy, and then without art or ceremony, down came her hips and I was all the way in.
“Gwah!” she riffed on the previous vocalization, which turned into a steady “Gwah! Gwah! Gwah!” as she drove her haunches up and down with considerable force. It was less like I was a guy getting fucked, more like she was into self-reaming and I was the chosen object.
I spoke her name, and tried to meet her eyes, but hers were rolled back, her vision gone inward like she only wanted to see the magic warping her brain. She had not been lying when she teased that her pussy was tight; the squeeze of her was incredible, but it also felt like I might be getting the world’s first zombie-fuck.
I cast the impulse spell on her and my entire body flinched when that world came online. A fever would have shied away from what I was seeing in her, afraid of catching what she had.
Lila, or Lila’s mind or personality, was barely there because there wasn’t room for it. She had plenty of that white-hot ephemeral glow in her middle-section; it wasn’t there to the all-consuming degree that I’d seen in Nancy, but it was getting there, my stepsister in a lot worse shape than she’d been just last night. The impulses to fuck me, to meld with me, to have me literally inside her so she could share bliss with me—they weren’t quite All, but damned close.
More proof, if I’d needed it, that the attraction spell, when left unsupervised, eventually became a monster.
That assessment was completely at odds with the feelings inside my dick, as I felt myself close to losing my load. I had never been fucked this fast or this furiously, and with my extra bit of size in her tight tunnel I didn’t even know if she could be doing this without the insane amount of lubrication that was flooding from all sides. There is wet and there is Wet!, the desire magic turning her insides as liquid as the eggnog that had ensnared her.
I abandoned my passivity of being fucked, of being my half-there stepsister’s fuck-toy—I flipped her onto her back and grabbed hold of those goddess legs at the knees, and I spread her thighs wide, wider, her legs now a straight line in the air, a wide-open pussy with full splits for ears.
And then I did the humping, deep rapid thrusts while giving Lila’s clit afterburners. I had never penetrated a woman so deeply, partly her positioning and partly my size, and she made a crying, “Hooowaaahhhhhhhhhh” sound that didn’t stop, becoming a drone, and then it was like Noah’s flood inside her pussy, all of her muscles vibrating. I came, too, and it was like cumming into a tropical sea, with Lila’s entire body going all herky-jerky—for a former dancer it was a stunning loss of body coordination, like I really should start filming these orgasms to play back to the women, so they could see.
It wasn’t a knock-out climax and I was glad of that. I got on my feet and pulled all the winter clothes off the bed, then grabbed one of her arms and pulled her to her feet. Holding tight to her waist, I put my mouth right up to her ear and said: “Show me how limber you are. Is it unreal? Are you a freak of nature in how you can fuck me? Because I’m done with trying to run from you. You want to show me how great a fuck you are? Then do it!”
I could see that my words were getting through to her—a determination flared in her eyes, trying to penetrate through the fog. I had the sense that Lila’s spunky personality remained intact, but it was enshrouded in cunt-mist and a near-manic determination to just fucking fuck me, without art, without personality, the white glow in her middle attaching itself to primitive drives, instinctual needs.
They surged in her and in one clean motion I had one of her knees up at my ear while her other leg remained planted on the floor, a hand grabbing at my hard cock and stuffing it back inside her. I wouldn’t even know what to call the position we were in together—forward split leg-lift standing impalement, or something like that. I was inside her even deeper than before, and with nothing more than the flexing and relaxing of the muscles of her planted leg, she got a nice in/partially out rhythm going, my oversized rod parting subterranean walls that I could feel for myself had never been parted before.
She kept gasping, then getting out, “Oh yes, deeper!”, and the fourth time I heard that plea I took it to heart, and during one out-thrust I grew my cock a little, and the next time a little more, and the third time was a charm because we were both panting now, panting frantically, this new degree of reach motivating us both to slam into each other harder, no holding back of anything.
It felt like I had forty-percent more cum-capacity than ever before, rising up like magma, ready to blow. It was essentially the same inside Lila; I could sense her coming climax pressing at her clitoris from inside. And when she came, when we both came, I held nothing back on making her climax go and go and go, her split thighs vibrating against mine, the leg extending past my ear jerking, and Lila eventually letting out a loud, “Ohhwohhh…” before her impulse lights went dark, system offline. I had fucked her unconscious and had wanted her unconscious, for the performing of a little post-semi-incestuous magical-medical session.
Though out of it she remained upright, partly from my still-hard dick being wedged so deeply within her, and partly from her weight being caught by the leg that was up and over my shoulder. I put one hand at her slumped back and bent to work the raised leg free, and it was during that maneuver that my overinflated rod pulled out with a wet plup! I had to keep her from sliding to the floor, and it was at that point, with my cock still erect and jizz and Lila-juice oozing out my stepsister’s crack, that I saw my father standing in the open doorway, eyes bulging with his mouth agape.
“Blah!” I shouted, a completely involuntary reaction, accompanied by a shoulder jerk that almost made me drop Lila. I had never once seen my father’s jaw hang down like that—I hadn’t even known it could. He looked worse than stunned and aghast and horrified—it was like seeing, for the first time in my life, what it meant for someone to be truly thunderstruck. Blizzard sat right next to his feet, the dog’s head craned with brown eyes staring, perhaps as amazed as anyone else.
Part of my brain got on my case with an adrenaline-regret feeling that, if given words, would go something like this: “Well that sure was careless of you, you idiot, super-boning your stepsister in your bedroom while leaving the fucking door wide open!” And there was another part that must have been a remnant from my childhood, because it thought: “Oh no, am I in trouble now!”
Thankfully I wasn’t that boy anymore, and I breathed out the memory spell while rushing the door. My father didn’t seem to be able to decide between staring at his naked cum-filled stepdaughter or the enlarged colonnade that his sone had used to do the filling, and before he could gather his wits I slammed the door shut and locked it. I immediately went inside his brain on the other side of the door, just as I’d done with Emma Bakken before. It wasn’t automatic; I really had to concentrate, but I located and snipped out his most recent memories. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there or what he’d heard before seeing what he’d seen, so I might have taken more than I should have—better too much than too little. I hoped.
Privacy again, with my dad and Blizzard out there, and Lila a beautiful fuck-doll with its batteries removed, slumped half on the floor and half on the bed. I was happy to have finally fucked my stepsister well and good, but it also felt like I was blundering around again, reacting rather than planning. That was the opposite of what I’d come here for—I could do so much, but what should I be doing? What hidden traps might I already be setting off?
I couldn’t stay here; every time I came back to this house I ended up feeling trapped. I also didn’t think I should go to the chalet, where I’d have to confront Meghan’s appetites without possessing a well-considered a plan of action. Eventually, sure—she’d need toning down so she didn’t end up scrawling my name all over the public library walls, or some other crazy shit.
I stood there looking at Lila’s sprawled form, and I thought: maybe her legs were so flawless that they must have been touched by magic, too. Then again, I remembered Meghan and my dad taking turns driving her to her dance classes every other day for years, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t worked at shaping them into such loveliness.
I wanted to fuck her again, right? Maybe not tomorrow or even next week or next month, but someday. For her to last that long, to be able to function, that left me with no choice. I had to dial her growing obsession down, and if not now then I’d have to come back and do it later.
And so I did two things that felt completely counter-intuitive, and maybe a bit depressing. I shrank my erection back to where it had been when Lila had burst into the room—that extra inch or so had felt so right—and while she lay there in a heap of lovely limbs, I decided her fate in the direction of not becoming an insane lady. I cast the rheostat spell upon her and did my mental imaging thing, sliding the bar down on her attraction magic to where I couldn’t see any more of that consuming glow.
I’m not sure why, but I got my phone out, and snapped a few photos of my comatose stepsister, all sex-destroyed. In addition to the overall heap she was, I got close-ups of her superb legs and creamy ass, and I turned her over and took a couple shots of her thighs and pussy, all shiny with me.
“What am I doing, starting a ‘Dexter’—like archive?” I asked nobody.
The door handle wiggled. “John? Lila? Is anyone in there?”
Christ, it had been at least five or six minutes—had my father moved at all? I tried to picture what it must be like for him on the other side of that door—either he’d been standing there the whole time, unsure of how he’d gotten into the upstairs hallway or why he was there, or he’d wandered away and returned.
“Hello?” he called.
He sounded so confused, but just then I didn’t care how he’d end up interpreting the memory-fart or the locked door. With any luck he’d go downstairs, and later on Lila would have the presence of mind to wash my cum off her body before being seen.
My stomach growled, a sound that had nothing to do with anything going on around me. But it actually did, because I hadn’t had anything to eat today other than a couple of granola bars at sunrise. I needed to find a safe place where I could think, and rest, and get a bite to eat.
I needed to just get out of here, so I put my fresh clothes on again. And then my phone, dialing Rock’s number.
“Yeah, John?”
“Rock, are you at home?”
“No, I’m building a s-snowman with Gentry P-P-Penner.”
Fuck.
“Where are y-you, John?”
“Here, there and everywhere today. Look, I need your help, big time. Can you be back at home in less than an hour? Alone, in the cool room? It’s… This is Code Pineapple, Rock. Repeat, Code Pineapple.” Rock’s language for this being some truly serious shit and you absolutely have to listen to me and trust what I’m saying.
“I’ll be there,” he said, no stutter. “Is forty-five minutes okay? You’ll be okay until then?”
“That’s perfect. I’ll call again, to… I’ll need to prepare you. Talk to you in a little bit.”
After ringing off, I bundled up again. If I couldn’t go to Rock’s yet for advice and a sandwich, then where could I just be? Somewhere warm, where maybe I could… Aha.
There was a slight risk of being seen materializing, but if I arrived prepared to cast the memory spell at any witnesses, it should be okay. I’d only been inside the North Pole restaurant that one time, but I could remember the hallway to the restrooms, and how they were visually separated from the rest of the place. There had been framed black-and-white photographs of costumed Santas on one wall, and an indoor/outdoor green runner protecting the dark floorboards from ice and road salt. I could see it all well enough to make myself be there.
Dawn might be on shift, though, and would it be like jumping into a fire. when I really just wanted a meal and some time to think? She didn’t have the attraction spell inside her—she might like me being there or hate it, but whatever reaction she had, it would be sane.
The fact that there would be hot food there was enough to chase away any further hesitation. I pictured that hallway, seeing the details as vividly as I could, and uttered the spell.
And knew I’d arrived when my next in-breath brought the smell of cooking beef, and the silence of what had been my bedroom was invaded by the clatter of dishes.
No one screamed at my materialization, although I jumped when the door to the ladies’ room, just to my left shoulder, opened. A weathered forty-something woman brushed past, and two paces beyond me she stopped, and turned. She was grinning.
“Got lucky, huh?” And she inhaled, and let out a low smoker’s laugh, and moved on.
I got it—I smelled like Lila pussy, even to someone whose sense of smell was dulled by chain-smoking. Into the mens’ room for a quick clean-up, and while I was there I did what I could to get my face from looking so wounded.
I thought about Dawn as I paper-toweled enchanted pussy from my dick, remembering how just last night she had left a message on my phone. It had sounded friendly enough—maybe she’d be on for more fun and games; maybe with some additional impulse meddling, she could be convinced to be. I could guarantee the outcome of her wanting more if I turned anything she drank into an attraction bomb, and made it burn really hot right off the bat…
But I didn’t know. She might not even have a shift tonight, and if she did, I would have to count myself as undecided about whether to mess with her at all. On the plus side, I had new magic, with new possibilities to explore. I could serve her, with a greatly expanded menu. Hell, I could even serve her with an expanded me.
On the minus side, the faraway soldier husband. I couldn’t pretend that I cared tons about a faceless stranger, but I was aware that what I’d done with Dawn was not my finest hour in a generally moral sense.
But did morality even apply to someone like me? Had the magician before me run around popping hot women at every opportunity with his youthful enchanted meat, or had he devised a set of parameters, like the double lines on a highway telling you not to do certain things when there might be oncoming traffic?
I texted Rock and told him I’d need a good hour to get there. Still Code Pineapple, still an emergency, but I had to get something to eat. And if I could have a shot at setting up a second tryst where I got to see the cumming of the Dawn, well before sunrise…
I just didn’t know.