The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Saturday — The Egg Cracks

She was up early, and while Andy slept in, over the second cup of coffee Vicky called me. “Mr. Egg, please manifest.” She held the book in one hand and had a curious expression. I had been hovering, hoping for the call, so it was just a matter of making myself visible.

“Hello, Vicky.”

“Hello yourself. Can you tell me about this?” she asked, holding up the book.

“Yes,” I said and nothing more.

She waited, but then asked, “Will you tell me about this?”

“Yes,” I said and nothing more.

She’s a bit frustrated by this. “Then do, please.”

“It’s a book. Six inches by ten. It has 240 pages and...”

She cut me off, “No, Do I really need to ask exact questions?”

She’s getting it, “Yes,” I said.

“Why?”

“Rules. I’m bound by them too.”

“What rules? What are the rules? What you can tell me?”

“The rules of the book. The rules as to what I can tell you are I have to answer your questions, but can’t add anything you don’t ask.”

“So if I said ‘Tell me everything’. How long would that take?”

“About two years. If I rushed it.”

After that was a long pause while she thinks about her next question.

“Tell me about where the book came from. What it does. Enough details that I understand but keep it under a half hour. But first, will this cause any problems for me or you? Feel free in all of this to voice an opinion, but then say why. And as a general rule caution me when I ask for something dangerous so I can think about it unless there is an immediate need to do what I’m asking.”

“OK. No major problems for me. You took them all when you picked up the book—now you are the one to make choices—not just for you but the others too. You, the others, the book, me, and what escaped from the breech all are tied together forever. Knowing about it will help you—in my opinion. Asking me the right questions will help both you and me—in my opinion. Keeping the manna flowing will help you all—in my opinion.”

“OK, where did this book come from, half-hour or less version”

LONG AGO

Aro woke alone in bed, again. Across the room Chub was waking up as usual by rutting like a goat with his bed-warming slave, not an attractive girl, and not that young or healthy-looking either, but willing to extend her favors when Chub wasn’t looking for some extra beer or a loaf of baked meal.

He rose and said his devotion to the goddess, “Blessed I be for,” followed by a list of items physical and metaphysical. High on Aro’s personal list was his position as a head scribe for the priests of this temple, food without the stoop labor of the field—else he’d be dead by his thirty-third flood season-two passed already-if that were true. He was skilled enough to be busy during the day and left to his own pleasures at night. And about as educated as any man in Sumar, he’d been writing for the priests for over 20 floods, and knew more than most of the younger ones of the mysteries.

The fact was, he wanted more. He wasn’t a eunuch like the king’s harem guards, and had the means to support a wife and family now. But his club foot was seen as a sign of the god’s mockery, if not disapproval, not good in a theocracy, and a block to his entering the priesthood. So he was stuck.

Not that there wasn’t opportunities for sex, not just compliant slaves such as Chub’s woman, but each Moon day the women newly past first flowering were compelled to come to the temple garden in the shadow of the great ziggurat and offer their favors for payment until they had twelve bronze pieces to pay the priests. Some were so desired that a simple dance for an admirer would bring the whole offering. Most, however took two or three Moon days to meet this goal. Some took considerably longer. Sometimes the family paid in full and no sacred whoring for the goddess was needed, often to the disappointment of the young bucks who tracked the progress of the loveliest maidens and saved for the opportunity.

Once the offering was made, the women were full members of the city—that meant that they could marry, own property, become priestesses, even conduct business. Men just had to be of age and pay three bronze pieces every spring flood to the king to be citizens. Some thought this unfair, but the king needed the taxes and the priests needed the offerings. Babies conceived but unwanted during the women’s temple prostitution duty were made wards of the priests, and raised to work for the glory of all-fertile Ishtar.

So it is with Aro. His mother was one of the unlucky ones, after two Moon days in the sacred garden, she was still two coins short. Her moderately wealthy but parsimonious amphora-crafting father, who was hoping to marry her off soon arrived to collect her at day’s end was enraged to find that she came up short. But it was a bad year for crops, the flood not a strong one and the days hot and dry, so cash was short all around. Grumblingly the old man dug the needed two coins out of his fine sheepskin purse, but then insisted on getting what he’d paid for, to his daughter’s dismay and disgust.

Sure enough, there was a child, club-footed Aro-full name Arrow-Up in cuneiform—who the father happily sent to the temple as soon as he was weaned. All who knew the story agreed that the deformity was more of a reflection on the old son-of-a-goat than Aro, who was generally liked though regarded as shy. But his foot was seen as a taint by the potential wives he’d approached over the years.

Thus when he went down at the end of the Moon day and paid a straggler enough to finish her offering that day, it was seen as an act of pious kindness, though Aro himself suspected that horny indifference and an itch for young fresh flesh may be larger factors. But he always gave them the choice of offering themselves to the goddess by doing the fleshly dance on his quite handsome penis, fucking mostly virgins had kept him disease free and well exercised. If they didn’t he never became angry, he just blessed them and went looking for another. Most did as it was believed to be a way to ensure fertility later on in life. And in a sense it was true, the goddess was at the height of her power and blessed those who boinked her servants, such as Aro. It was a forerunner of Carl’s and later all the guys’ magic healing dicks, though nowhere as powerful; Ishtar was careful to shepherd her power in those days.

Aro had a secret project—well not so secret as ignored, he was writing his own tablets, on special clay made from pure river mud fresh from the first day of the flood, and mixed with the ashes of the holy incense from the temple braziers, and most secretly, the love scrapings of the most beautiful temple whore-for-a-day ladies soiled clothing and cleaning rags left in the garden’s many niches and intimate nooks. He titled it “The Dummies Guide to Where His Tigris and Her Euphrates Join.” In it he put as much knowledge—both practical and magical—as he had accumulated as a long term scribe for a particularly successful fertility-through-sex cult, and then drew himself on the first tablet, holding a single finger in the air, this being the universal standard hand-signal for “erect penis”.

He pictured presenting to the King, through his contact with the ambassador from Memphis, and being told in a regal way, “Thank you, thank you very much”. So thus he dedicated it to the ruler, and put the head priest second, just to be safe. Maybe then he’d have enough respect to wed and breed. Though some of the fit newly-added accolades bore his distinctive bushy eyebrows, proof in his mind that his foot problem wouldn’t be passed on.

One final ritual remained, on a rainy Moon day he took both the book, at that time almost fifty baked-solid thin clay slabs protected in a wood box with a real metal clasp, and a stunningly beautiful but notoriously unlucky—some say cursed—dark-skinned girl on her second Moon day, and a goat-skin of wine to the top of the ziggurat, on the flat rooftop, and after sharing the strong alcohol, proceeded to work on the wench. His intent was to generate as much fluid—both male and female—as possible to anoint and scent the book before it was presented. A storm was brewing, but in these dry lands that was a sign of dangerous luck. And so it was that the freak bolt of lightning found the highly elevated metal clasp just as the two lovers climaxed—he sat on the box and she rode him while close underneath them in the main temple room atop the structure the priests were having a celebratory orgy, which also functioned to clean out the stragglers who hadn’t fully made their offering that day—face covering masks were provided for those less comely, allowing the women to meet their obligation and get on with their lives while wetting the priest sacred wicks for no coin at all. Win-win.

The next day, examining the damage from the bolt, the bodies fused together of Aro and his girl were found, along with the baked box. Inside was the book—fully infused with Aro’s and the dark ladies essence, magical and unique. And it sucked up and incorporated the strike moment of the orgy underneath as well, where the priests and prostitutes were playing the sacred and complicated game of “who’s dick is this?” It scared the Baal out of the priests, and when one noted that the dedication was to the king, they shipped it to the palace forthwith, where it was promptly ignored, until an additional wedding gift for a client kingdom was needed, at which point it soon took its place in the bride’s warehouse-sized trousseau with dinner sets, casks of indifferent wine, and other non-registry gifts.

The goddess was pleased. She’d successfully crafted an object of power to store part of her essence as a safeguard against assassination in the constant open hostilities among the upper echelon of the great powers.

“Cute story,” Vicky said, “but it hardly helps me understand how it works.”

She paused then starts thinking aloud, “OK, what did I learn?” she asked herself. Smart girl. There are things to be found here. “That the book is an ‘object of power’. That the circumstances of Aro’s parenthood had left him somewhat hostile to incest, though goddess knows, there’s a lot of that going around in both the fields and the palaces. No wonder Eggy agreed to that restriction so quickly, the part of the book that is Aro’s essence would cheer for that restriction. There was an orgy when the book was created is why we are often finding ourselves in trios, quartets and larger groups. I’ll think it out again later, there may be more,” she continued. “What, in your opinion, should I do next, any perils to what you suggest and why should I do what you suggest?”

“In my opinion, I suggest you ask another question. Use the book to look at where the others are at physically, mentally and magically. Don’t try to do anything with the book until I tell you that you have enough information to do what you want to do safely. I’ll always answer questions truthfully to whoever holds the book. The peril is if you try something I say not to do or not do something that I say is important, you could upset the balances I set to now cause trouble for any of you or even the group itself. You as a set may seem strong, but are fragile. The advantage is control of 14 people that you like including yourself. Commander Vicky. I suggest you tell no one about it, even Andy and Annette, at least not yet.”

“How close did Rose and Stella get to creating the perfect man?”

“Does it look like I have arms and legs? I’d have had it easier setting things up if I could have passed for human. They misread it anyway, they were looking for a prince when the spell was for a perfect manservant. But the breech also supercharged my own power and with no one else in charge, mage, witch or wizard it was up to me to get things fixed before they all went to shit. Pardon the language. And what was done worked out well, you’re all still alive and better off than before in lots of ways. But you all still have one more major obligation—let me tell you about it and why it needs doing...”

SATURDAY AT THE BULLMAN’S

The Saturday gathering started right on time, and as usual began with a fashion show in the living room. For the guys it was nothing special, some new silk shirts that felt good rubbing against their nipples making them puff out, and ass-tight shorts that revealed more than they hid. Still the ladies thought they were hot, though not as hot as they were themselves, which all agreed was appropriate.

The women had their new swim suits from yesterday’s trip from Sheila, Will and Marc, worn under sheer neck to ankle drapery, colored the same as the suits, red, blue, white, black, yellow, orange and purple. Broad cloth belts of the same color drew the waist tight and highlighted their figures. As usual, medium to high-heeled shoes tightened the legs and threw out the butt, and pushed their breasts forward, with the lightweight fabric clinging to every curve.

These fashion shows start with each woman looking closely at each man and giving them a complement. And then the roles are reversed, except today before the women’s turn, they left for the kitchen and removed the covering and retied the belts around their tummies as sashes.

On their walking back out in the Brazilian beachwear, the guys fell silent. Even Will and Marc, who has seen Vicky in her swim suit were speechless at the sight. Over the course of these Saturdays they seen all these ladies naked, more than once while riding their dicks. But this was overwhelming, there was something about the cut of the crotch, the peek-a-boo nipples on the thin bra, and it didn’t require any glamour on my part to enhance the reaction.

The rules for the fashion show were look and don’t touch—yet.

“ER, looking good Mom,” Will said when he gets to Betty.

“Thanks dear.”

Sheila had cocked a leg over a chair, and invited Marc in to have a closer look at her crotch. “Mrs. S, I think you are trying to seduce me.”

“I Carumba,” is all Aram can manage.

Troy just drooled a bit.

By now all the guys are squirming uncomfortably in their tighter new shorts.

“Gents,” I say, distracting them from the sight of so much female flesh, “if you are feeling uncomfortable drop your drawers and we’ll retire into Sam’s room. There are some important fucking things we need to do today.” Soon seven very stiff dicks were following seven very enticing asses down the hall.

EARLIER AT VICKY’S

“Let talk of the future,” I tell Vicky. “There are big changes today.”

“Because I found the book?”

“In part. Guard it well. But I’m changing and going off to do some things I want to now the breach is sealed. Don’t tell anyone else, I will do that today and I like to surprise you all. Keeps things off balance and makes it easier to keep the flow going.”

“I’ll still answer questions and can be called back, though I may not come right away anymore. But I’ll be around; I’m tied to that book.”

“Yes, go on.”

“Remember what happened with Gail at her party, the weird parade?”

“Yeah, what was that all about? They had to stand naked smiling and waving as a parade passed by, right? And couldn’t move otherwise? Weird!”

“There are things out there. Powerful things. Not good not evil but things. Some are quite childlike. And some like toys. Some use other beings to their own ends. Some use other beings for amusement alone. Some are just hungry and would see us all as creamy manna centered bon-bons. I’m going to send you a mental image.”

“Ugh! Is that us. It looks like Troy’s head on the top there. Between the arms?”

“One possible outcome. That knot of flesh is all of us, me included if we are noticed by the wrong thing.”

“Brrrr. Take it away. What can we do then?”

“I’m going to hide us. Like cloaking on Star Trek. But we need to all blink out at the same time to keep anyone else from trailing behind. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but 100% is better than 90%, right?”

“Right. I get that our manna is precious. And that we could be robbed of it, or hurt because of it. And any protection or advantage is good. Go on.”

“So I need a lot of manna, all at once. Or almost all at once—over a very short time. More than we make during what our pleasant usual Saturdays have become. Then I’ll hide us all, or at lest make us not look like walking tater-tots coated in beer-battered manna.”

“When?”

“Today. We’ll all be together. Sooner the better now I’m not taking any manna for the breech. Please let me do what I’ve planned to do. I know you’re going to find it a bit shocking and against one of my promises. But if you say it’s ok, then it’s not my promise that’s broken and you’ve made none yet. You will, trust me. But if no one knows you have the book, then no one can ask anything of you. I beg of you, oh mistress of the book.”

Yeah, I laid it on with a trowel. Some habits are hard to break.

“Tell me about it first. But maybe, no probably we’ll do what you planned. And maybe there is a way to make it better or something you’ve missed. So I may have suggestions.”

Then I told her what was going to happen later, she was a bit shocked, but I explained my reasons, and though she had some initial qualms, she came around to my point of view. And her suggestions were good. Such as “Get the guys more involved” and “Make every orgasm more memorable.” Her best suggestions though had to do with adding additional protections against threats I hadn’t thought of. [UPDATE—As you’ll see dear future me, this was really useful]

I was happy to see that she was really getting into it. There’s no one better to look after the group.

SAM’S ROOM

For Saturdays we had set up a number of comfortable places to fuck, some raised to bed height, some on the floor. Also some big cushy chairs, and even a place to bind to a simple rack, though the only ones regularly used it were Annette and Vicky on writing days. Most of the others were only tied down for a special treat on their birthdays.

Once they were assembled in a semi-circle around me, I started, “We are coming to the end of my time running these weekly get-togethers. The breech is repaired. All the manna—well almost all—is going to you, mostly slowing down ageing, but also running whatever special talents you have and to maintaining this room.”

“So the time has come, do you want to return to normal? Lose your anti-aging, lose your talents? Vicky, do you want to go back to being so suspicious and angry?”

“Hell no!”—we’d rehearsed this. “I’m happier now than I can remember. With Andy.” She turned to the others, “With you all treating me so well. I don’t want to give that up.”

“Andy?”

“I think I’m the luckiest fucking guy in the world right now.”

“Carl?”

“What about swinging again? I mean, I miss it, and I know Sheila does too.” She nodded. “I feel a little trapped.”

“Well, whatever your decision, one of the changes is that you won’t be restricted at all in who you can have sex with. Only who you can be forced to have sex with. Which is no one. If you chose to keep going, your abilities will work with all partners,” I add. “That includes Marc, who I have a special assignment and more for later. Troy too will stay an older chic magnet; you may lose him to the knitting circles and book clubs of suburbia.” Troy gave a thumbs up.

“But what about things that are kind of restrictive?” Will asked. “Like my ‘Big Doll’ command, or Rose’s ‘Milky’, or Vicky’s being open to all suggestions. They could lead to real trouble. Imagine a dog—a big dog, sniffing Vicky’s crotch, and then starting to hump her leg. Would this mean that she has to get down on her hands and knees, Pull up her dress and down her panties, and let him hump here right there in the street—or even discretely back home? His long doggy cock sliding in and out her sweet puss while she shouts in orgasm, and then being tied and led around until the knot goes down. These could be—inconvenient”

Vicky and I had talked this through—not a graphically as Will, who’s dick betrayed him as having a bit of a kink toward an unexpected direction.

“There will be a change here, in particular with new partners. Within this group, all you have to do to negate any of these things—any time where someone else is effecting you is to think ‘No’ really hard within 5 seconds, though if you don’t you’ll still be compelled. With outsiders it’s 30 seconds, to give you some idea of what they intend.”

“Sam? Your book is done. What do you say?”

Sam looked at Betty, and they whispered together, then he turned to the crowd, “At first I’d say put things back. But I admit, I’m having fun, my Betty, my heart and soul, is having a great time too, as the oldest the whole aging thing is a miracle. If our book is a hit, I may think of a sequel. Or not, just do the research. Betty and I are yes to continuing to collect manna, however that happens.”

With that declaration there is a general consensus. “Keep going,” I tell myself

“OK, one last game before the free-form fucking, it’s a serious game too.”

“Men, lay down somewhere comfortable, on your backs hands at your sides, and then don’t move. Ladies remove your sashes and tie them around one of the guy’s eyes, make sure they are completely blindfolded. Done? Good. Can any of you see? No. Well done girls, now drop you bathing suits.”

“I have a final major project for all of you. I want you to do this as silently as you can, when I call your name, select a male who you want to partner with and go stand near them. We’ll choose by age, one each.”

“Betty”—she goes right away to stand with Sam.

Sheila choses Troy. Gail, Aram. Annette has a harder choice-she can’t chose Will, and Marc bugs her. If she chose Andy, then her friend Vicky may not be her friend anymore. Well Carl is available and has a big magic dick-could do worse. Relieved Vicky goes to Andy. That leaves Rose and Stella. They whisper together far from the crowd, and Rose goes to Will and Stella to Marc.

“Now looking out, get your cunts on top of the guys’ faces and let them lick you to orgasm. And have a nice big sloppy one all over their cake-holes. Guys, lips, mouth. Tongue, teeth and head only, no hands. Any no guygasms, we’re saving that for later. It’s a race. Prizes for the winners.”

Of course Betty cums first. Sam immediately recognized Betty’s taste and knew exactly how to bring her off in a big screaming in delight puddle of flesh and fluid, and he is again reassured by her loyalty—even while having at least a few mid-afternoon trysts with Marc—that stopped being a secret for him a while back, though the discretion they had shown was appreciated.

“First prize Sam. Take off you blindfold—it’s Betty! Are you surprised?”

“No. she’s my delicious pop-tart. I’d know her taste anywhere.”

“Are you hot for her? Here? Now.”

“I’m at full mast with a volcano on top.”

“If I told you to give her a magnificent fuck, would you do it?”

“Anytime, anywhere.”

“You can move again. Get at it. Here’s some pure animal lust topped by the biggest mind-blowing orgasm you have ever had. Both of you.” I pushed their libidos up several notches. I brace their hearts. Their lungs become more efficient at processing oxygen. Nerves all are on high alert.

I don’t think the two of them ever went at it so hot and heavy since newlyweds. They could be heard bouncing on the mattress inspiring the others to greater cunt-eating enthusiasm, with the ladies helping where and how they could, spreading their pussy lips and making sure they guys could find their clits.

As each group finishes I give them the same prize, I’ve ramped up their lust levels to the max, and the guy’s orgasms empty not only all the spunk in their balls, but all the spunk from any day since I started with them that they failed to have shot a load—really it wasn’t that many more cums, but still enough to overflow the pussy pots.

I also timed it so that after a good healthy screwing with lots more multiple orgasms on the distaff side of the equation the guys blasted about a minute apart. A big, sloppy mind-blowing cum—one for the record books—I don’t think I’d read of one of my former selves doing this before, I felt quite proud of it. Once Sam was done, red faced and puffing like a steam train, I instructed him to help Betty into the classic bicycle exercise position, on her shoulders with her arms to the elbows flat on the ground and spread out, hands on hips supporting her raised back. And then spread her bent-a-the-knees legs wide. Sam placed a low chair behind her to help support her like that, and I froze her there, with her cum-overflowing gash pointing directly skywards, should there be sky in this pocket dimension.

Andy was next, and Sam helped him place Vicky in the same position as Betty. With each guy cumming, a lady was placed fun parts up and spread wide, knees bent, heels resting on bums. Marc for once didn’t share his orgasm, but it was more than enough. It looks like a lewd exercise class, all the women inverted and fully exposed. White milky fluid in copious amounts sloshing around their spread pussy lips filling their satiny wombs.

Then the real games began. All the women’s cunts were wide open in this position, full of the milky-white seed, and the men’s jizzum that failed to find a place inside them, slowly sucks itself in, from back up their legs and around their pussy lips, occasionally defying gravity, until they find themselves stretched inside by the loads. Tummies protruding slightly. Then the fizzing starts, like an Alka-Seltzer, no plop-plop, but lots of fizz-fizz.

Rose is the first to moan as she squirted a fountain from her clit. It shot about two feet straight up in the air and plopped back down in dead center of her seething pit. Her face had gone red and her breath quickened.

The guys watch, fascinated. “Are they OK?” Will asked.

“They’re having the time of their lives,” I reply. “Your little soldiers are having a fight to the last man standing. To the girls it’s super stimulating. Up and down, round and round, the turmoil hitting all their pleasure centers like a velvet prehensile penis. Like a demolition derby inside their quims. Should last about ten minutes with about three to six orgasms each a minute. Just watch. You’ll never see the like again.”

Just then Betty squirted and cried out, again her cum arced up—only about a foot or so, but thicker than Rose’s—and it also landed perfectly on target in her spread twat. Seconds later Stella and Sheila follow.

Soon it’s like a fountain with several squirting sprouts, or a pod of whales blowing air randomly—squirt-moan... squirt-gasp-squirt-scream in ecstasy.

Marc tears his eyes off the sight and goes to the stack of fresh hand towels, moistens one and then heads over to Stella and wipes her sweating face. “Thanks,” she whispers before squirting again. “Oooohh!” The other guys then all then do the same with their chosen women, some giving words of encouragement, some squeezing their tits as they flop over their chins. Troy kissing Sheila on the lips—her long lizard-like tongue shooting out and then laying across her face and on the mattress before being reeled back in.

“Yesssss, Oh Gawwwwd!” Gail exclaimed as she has a final, explosive orgasm—easily a five foot squirt—and the party in her loving cup stops fermenting.

Soon all is still as each woman has their last mind-blowing cum, and then only sound is their heavy breathing.

“You can move now,” I informed them. “Guys, help them up.”

As watery messes runs down the female legs, the guys use towels off the stack to catch the leaking effluent and to wipe down the exhausted women as they help them to sit.

Vicky is last by design, and I float by and gently bump her head, then I race between each of the women and men tapping them with about the force of a fully inflated beach. ball. Vicky briefly fades out like a cheap movie effect and then back in, and everyone else gasps. Then Andy and each of the others do the same.

“What was that?” Vicky asks, knowing full well.

“Camouflage. You are now hidden, or at least hard to see from the kind of nasties that snatched Gail and her guests for that weird parade. One of my last gifts.”

Ever polite Will said, “Thanks”

“Oh, and congratulations ladies. You’re all pregnant.”

Well, that sat them back. Rose muttered darkly, “I figured.”

I explained, “I’m going away, but I need a new generation to continue to exist. But let’s make it a positive.”

“How? I want to go to grad school, not change diapers,” Rose adds.

“Well for one thing, you have two years to start gestation. Until you perform a short ritual, the fertilized egg is dormant, though after the two years it’ll start automatically. The ritual is this, stand up and declare out loud, ‘I want a baby.’ It’s important what direction you face, stand looking North and you’re child will tend to be pragmatic, South romantic, East will produce an academic or business tycoon, and West an adventurer. You can also face any combination of congruent directions to birth a romantic adventurer, loving child or a practical academic.”

The ladies are all listening closely.

“And your pregnancy’s will all be trouble free and the children all have the best sperm from the fathers—top grade—and your best egg, your child will be healthy, smart, lucky, charming, good looking, humble when appropriate, bold when needed. Naturally horny too, both sexes. And they’ll inherit and pass down your special talents and gifts—both mothers and fathers, but those won’t be active until they finish puberty, which will happen on their 18th birthday exactly.”

“The downside—while you are pregnant you will age normally. But it will be worth it. And you’ll have a big manna bonus from giving birth that you can use in a number of ways of your own choice. Guys don’t get that, but they do get a small boost for each time they knock someone willing up.”

At that I started to change. A long crack developed along the side.

Will, ever thoughtful, asked is I’m OK.

“What I am is hatching. I’m going away for a while, though I’ll be back from time to time. From now on it’s up to you to create your own manna generating games.”

Betty stands, faces East and says, “I want a baby.”

Sam’s face shows his confusion, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking of it,” she glances at Carl who suggested it only a few days ago. “My time is right, and I want to have the energy to deal with a toddler, and even teenager.”

My eggshell cracked a bit more, loudly.

Sam asked, “Even if my book sells, can we afford it if I retire or get let go? I don’t make as much as I used to, and there is some college tuitions in the future.”

From the edge of the crack my egg tooth starts to create an opening. My “talking” helps soften the shell, so I explain about my financial activities, retrieving stolen and swindled Wall Street gains, and said, “So you are all now part-time employees of ”My Nest Egg Financial“ for a thousand dollars a month for life—not a lot but it’ll grow with inflation, that’ll help you all get started. And your kids created today will all be my kids too, or at least my responsibility. So each of the mothers will receive an extra two-thousand a month once you have the baby until they are 18.”

Aram points out he can’t legally work in the USA.

“Your check will come from overseas then,” I add. “Now any more baby declarations?”

Stella says, “Let me think on it. Maybe in a few days.”

“Hell no,” an angry and upset Annette says.

Vicky goes and puts her arm around her to comfort her, “Who knows in two years it may be the right time. And you’ll have some money coming in while you write. Or travel, why not go to Hollywood as you want to? You could work as a screen writer while trying to break in to acting.”

“Would you come with me?”

“I’d come visit. I’m with Andy now and I’m thinking about the baby too.” Andy gets the same shocked face that Sam showed a few minutes ago. “But I want us married first, and there are things in his family that Andy has to deal with first, so maybe in a year.” Most of this is news to Andy, but thinking it over, he grins.

“You girls will still come and visit me?” he asks. “Even an old married man?” while looking at the busty Rose and ass-tacular Stella.

Carl exclaimed, “Hell, what do you thing Sam and I are, chopped liver?”

“We have news too,” Gail contributed. “My Ex’s fired lawyer is getting his own back, making things difficult with the emigration department on Aram, so we are getting married too, right away. My financial affairs were settled yesterday—surprisingly quick with his new mouthpiece, and this should clear that up. Because of what people will say, I’m not having a kid started until at least a month after we wed. In the mean-time, don’t worry about more kids, Aram and I have some plans to carry out with the snobs at the country club.”

“Wow, congratulations. This is so weird. Are you ‘Dad’ now?” Stella asked Aram.

He grabs her butt and gives it a thrilling squeeze, “No, your Dad is still your Dad, I’m just the guy sleeping with your mother, and fucking you too, if you want to.”

“Like now? In front of everyone?”

Aram looks at his saggy dick and gives it a shake,“That took a lot out of me too.”

“Maybe this will help,” and she gets down on her knees and starts sucking on his rod. She managed to bring it to half-mast before turning over and slipping it into her slick, slippery ass.

Watching this, most of the other guys shake their heads in a regretful, “Not yet.” But not Troy, who has approached Gail with a “Can I have a congratulatory fuck? You’ll have to help raise the flag first,” and after a brief suck from Gail on his rising cock, mother and daughter were laid side by side, their hands holding each other as they were rocked back and forth by their pistoning lovers, Gail on her back getting it from Troy in the front, Stella facing down with a pillow under her hips, ass impaled by Aram’s stiffening dancing rod as he sang to her, “Good Morning Little School-Girl” to get his rhythm going.

“I love you, I always will,” Gail moaned to Stella and kissed her on the cheek.

“Aw, mom,” Stella blushes back like an embarrassed teen-ager being bussed in front of her friends, and then returns the kiss as they rock back and forth in time to Aram’s singing.

The other folks wandered around watching, the guys cupping their balls, hoping to get stiff again, but feeling more than a little worn.

I was all but forgotten, but pleased by the turn of events. But I was polite enough for the fuckers to cum before I finally cracked the egg wide open, revealing my new form, a large sticky eagle, purple-orange of course, covered in the remains of my amniotic sack and fluids. They gazed at me in wonder. “Get jars, clean me, collect my goo, it has powers, collect the shell pieces too. They are my final gift, they are manna filled and can do wonderful things. So long, I shall return on occasion, but you are all on your own now.” With that I let them scrape me dry, bold Sheila even tasted a bit of the empty yolk sack, then immediately grabbed the closest male and fucked him silly, Will I believe. I took some pity and gave him an erection from the future, 2001 or so, he might not miss it.

While they did that, I told Marc about what as in store for him, “Want to work for the Rolling Stones?”

“What? You bet.”

“I have for you an apprentice position on their advance crew in starting January. They don’t tour until February, but you need some training. You’ll never be in the same town as them except at the start, and if you last, the final shows. Otherwise you’ll be part of a three-man team scoping alternative hotels and restaurants, suppliers of this and that, vetting potential groupies—not just road testing them, but checking medical records and such, no use letting Bill get the clap, you’ll never work in the ‘biz’ again if you do. And you need to do something for me as you travel.”

“Yes, of course.”

“In every town, city, whatever, go to a local sperm bank and leave a load. If they ask, tell them it’s a religious obligation. You’re Johnny Spermyseed. Because you share the cums, it’ll be like all the guys are contributing. All across the country and into Vancouver too. I want your kids everywhere. And they’ll all be wanted.”

“Wow!”

“And you have a new gift. If you wander in a crowd, you’ll be able to spot any woman who wants a baby, and she’ll know you can give her one, if she’s healthy enough. What you do from there is up to you two.”

Then I walked out to the back yard, they followed me silently, Marc opening the door, and I flew away.

ALMOST 17½ YEARS LATER

The birthday party was winding down, and the guest of honor was looking at the card his “Aunt” Rose had slipped him—she was not really a relative but a close family friend, his baby-sitter when he was younger, she hadn’t seemed to have aged at all since then—she looked 25, maybe 28 or so, though she had to be 35 or older. She was lush, straight red hair, a tall athletic body, and some of the nicest tits he’d ever almost seen, lately she seemed to be teasing him, there had been more than one nipple slip in the last month or two, and always directed towards letting him get a good look. And they looked good, creamy skin and lovely flesh, some freckles to give texture—even better than the girls in the stack of Penthouse magazines the gang had stored in the Bullman’s basement. Oddly enough “Aunt Vicky” seemed to be teasing him also, though not a full figured as Rose, she was very pretty, and had this amazing smile that drew the eye. Sometimes he couldn’t figure out which one to think of as he beat off—sometimes he thought of both, naked together with them alternately sucking his cock or riding it, while he squeezed Rose’s magnificent tits—it was usually the thought of the tits that brought the cum spurting out of his dick. At 16—16 now!—beating off three cums a day was not unusual. He had a sort of girlfriend who he hung out with, and a gang of kids—mostly his parent’s friend’s children—that he fooled around with, no real sex, yet. At least for him. He’s not sure if he believed Roscoe and Vinnie when they bragged. Lots of necking. Some petting and spooning. They all were pretty good-looking and all, but something held them back, just a bit. They had a regular hang-out spot in the Bullman’s basement—he’d caught his father looking wistfully—and perhaps a bit knowingly when picking him up there. Particularly when Papa Aram looked at the old wood table they used to play games at, with its scorch mark and weird purple-orange stains.

He’d inherited his dad’s caramel coloring, and a lot of those who didn’t know him well assumed he was African-American, though he didn’t think of himself that way. There was also a local teen show with a DJ and dancers who all looked a bit like both him and his dad—he was always being asked if he was one of them, and had to deny it. Though he was a pretty good dancer—his mom signed him up for lessons when he was still in kindergarten—he wasn’t the show-off that his folks were, they still went out dancing every Friday and often Saturday too, sometimes competitively, sometimes just for fun. Then they’d come home and fuck like crazy—they weren’t that careful about noise though they locked the bedroom door, though he didn’t really identify all the noises until he was 13 or so. Sometimes they brought another couple to join them, Uncle Will and Aunt Rose—or Aunt Vicky and Uncle Andy. Or, more discretely—he was sent to his room from watching late night TV in the den before they arrived—other folks he didn’t know. But now the screams in orgasm—muffled by the insulated walls of the ‘rent’s bedroom but not silenced, from his mother and the bull grunts of his dad were familiar, and he often put on his headphones to space out to Nevermind or Life’s Rich Pageant while fondling himself and thinking about sex with anyone other than his folks.

Sometimes his half-sister Stella, who hadn’t settled on a steady partner came over with one of her current lovers when she was in town, kicking him out of his room, which had once been hers. They sometimes left all sorts of interesting artifacts that gave him ideas.

He figured the ‘rents had one of those 60’s free love things going on, after all his dad was a dozen years younger than his mom, though both look less than their ages. Maybe some kind of sex cult. He both worried and was excited by the idea that he’d be asked to join. Not cause he was all Oedipally about his mom, the opposite was true when he thought about it. But Aunt Rose gave him boners all the time. More than Mrs. Perry his history teacher or Suzy Q. the head cheerleader, who he got to dance with at the sophomore prom and she kissed him so hard afterwards that the chaperon broke them up. But he was no fool—he’d long ago worked out that dancing would get him laid. So he sometimes snuck down to his mum’s practice studio off the kitchen and put on all kinds of music and shook his booty. He was too shy and teenage indifferent to let his folks or his little sister see him do this, he didn’t want his mum pushing him into classes, he had enough of that at school.

He also found it weird that his mum and all her close female buddies all had another kid almost exactly five years after he and his friends like Roscoe and Vinnie were born, and then five years late had yet another who were all babies and toddlers. Like it was scheduled. What was that all about. And he was damned sure that his five year younger half-sister wasn’t by his dad. But that’s OK because Aunt Vicky’s 10 year old almost certainly was.

Looking at the envelope he read his name, “John” in Rose’s looping bold cursive hand and thought, “what a plain name”, but he got to choose his own final name in his dad’s language when he turned 18, so had been thinking hard on what that was to be for most of his life. His friend Roscoe had an interesting name. A long dead ancestor, he told John, on Uncle Sam’s side of the family. And Aunt Sheila’s son Vinnie looked like one, dark curly hair and a Travolta—like twinkle—they had the Kotter DVDs. Both seemed to have matured a lot in the last year just after turning 16, and John as hoping for the same. Zits cleared up too. The amount of time either Roscoe or Vinnie palled around with the gang certainly decreased by a bit too, though Uncle Sam and Aunt Betty let the kids use their basement to hang in even if Roscoe wasn’t around.

The younger kids had more interesting names than him too, Harmony wasn’t that much younger, less than six months, and she had a real devil-may-care attitude, open to every new dare or challenge, but never seeming to be harmed by them, like a rubber ball, she seemed to always bounce back, not even so much as a broken arm or leg, though there were more than one time that a skateboard was destroyed by whatever crash she’d been in. Her folks, Aunt Vicky and Uncle Andy—more not-quite relatives—were more focused these days on their new twins, just two years old, and left Harmony to her own devices more often than not. And what about Caesar? That was a pretty unusual name. But he looked like his dad, Uncle Carl, and sported a huge sausage, the first time John had seen it in a gym locker room, he couldn’t believe a 14 year old could have a pipe like that, and was distressed by Caesar’s joking boast that his dad was even bigger. Thinking this, he looked down at his fairly standard sized six inches and thought “it’s not the meat, it’s the motion” and felt a bit better.

“Alice”, well at least that was a pretty yet conventional name. Even younger than Caesar, she was already quite stacked, and proud of it. John wasn’t sure if she would be as big-chested as her mother, Aunt Rose, but it was going to be close. John had kissed her a few times, and had dug her faint but special taste, though he wasn’t quite sure if it was flavored lip gloss or natural. He’d also tried to feel her up, but she’d playfully batted his hands away.

Well, at least he didn’t have a weird hippy name like “Snapdragon”, the youngest of the crew, what was Aunt Stella thinking. Her dad, Uncle Marc, was a big-time promoter who traveled the country with rock and roll bands, and never married the mother of his child, both seemed very fond of each other, but never lived together, as far as John knew. Still, everyone called her “Snap” for short, and her tight curly almost-afro marked her as Marc’s daughter, while her fine, round juicy ass—which developed magnificently since her 13th birthday—indicated her maternal bloodline.

He opened the envelope and read, “Happy Handsome 16 John! Come see me soon when you have an hour or two free. Say the phrase ‘Rosie the Robot’ to unwrap your present.” It was signed with a big “Aunt Rose” at the bottom.

REMEMBERING ROSCOE

Rose thought, “here we go again” as she heard John use the phrase on the card. She’d given Roscoe the same present on his 16th, but at that time, she was convinced that it was all her idea, but here she was doing the same thing with John, so she wasn’t so sure—but she couldn’t call me to ask until her visit today with John was done. But it was working out with Roscoe so far, and she had beat Stella to John, despite the slut giving him a copy for Christmas of Sam and Annette’s rug-munching best-seller, personally signed on Andy’s drawing of her gaping puss from that memorable day in the park.

The first time she became aware that Roscoe was thinking of her as he orgasmed was pretty shocking—for god’s sake he was only 13, just a baby. But the next week it flashed in her head that Stella was also the subject of his masturbatory fantasies, and the score was one-one. It wasn’t something she thought of often, and for some reason didn’t question, she just knew when Roscoe had cum thinking of her and how many times since he turned 13, and also the same for Stella. When Vinnie turned 13, she started to also know this from him. But he was her half-brother, and though seeing the score, her numbers didn’t seem active. Information only. Still she teased the hell out of him just to up the numbers even if it looked like it didn’t count. John turned 13 next, but it was a couple of months for him to start beating off with her in mind. As Stella like John was Gail’s child, Stella did the same thing Rose had done with Vinnie to John, ‘hot sister’ teasing to the max, going for a judgment on points, so Rose ‘winning’ John was a pretty much sure thing as was Stella’s snagging Vinnie. The lead went to Rose for having Roscoe beat off most often thinking on her, as he was related to neither. But with Caesar still to come Stella could still tie the contest. Both had started on the cesarean campaign, but neither had cross the Rubicon, so to speak into open flirting. Vicky wasn’t even close in score.

Even Harmony occasionally thought of her and Stella, though less often. Each of the other kids—though thankfully not her daughter Alice—as they became 13 showed up in her mind in quiet moments, with both her and Stella’s “score” with each of the other kids. At first she didn’t care, but then Stella was ten spurts ahead of her with Roscoe and she got competitive, and started dropping by the Bullman’s in tight and semi-transparent clothing, until she had drawn even again—the advantage of visiting her parents, still living next door with her half-siblings-Carl and Sheila were raising Caesar as Annette was more concerned with her career writing for both TV and a porn company, and working on her seventh “serious” book, living out west in Hollywood with those detective women and her slutty 2 girl harem. Her books pushed the sex scenes just hard enough to reach the general readers market, though lots of very physical love scenes if you knew the code words and thought about it for a second. And they were the kind that flew of the book rack at the local Piggley Wiggley—all bestsellers—Annette wasn’t at all interested in being a full time mom, and Sheila was surprisingly—to herself as much as anyone else, good with the arrangement. Annette was still calling Vicky for some hot phone sex, they both got carried away at least once a month and Vicky still was proof-reading Annette’s writing, just the final daft these days. And in addition the LA women who she lorded over she was still finding, falling for, fucking, and dumping a series of hot young actors and other ‘industry’ types, even marrying one for 48 hours, until the spent hot-bodied and very vain lover found a new wrinkle and blamed her for shortening his career.

Then when Roscoe turned 16, she knew she’d won-won what exactly she didn’t know. Then she had a great idea, and took out the birthday card for him, and wrote something on it, she wasn’t sure what afterwards, and slipped it to him. When he showed up the next day, well that seemed natural, and when he said “Rosie the Robot” the plan all came together in her mind. She’d pretend to be hypnotized into being a robot girl at his control, but first she’d teach him some life-lessons, like how to balance a checkbook. But that’s not what she offered when he actually said the unwrapped his present with the code phrase, and she replied, “Hello. Young. Sir. I. Am. Robo-Rosie. Do. You. Want. A. Lesson. In. Kissing. Now?”

At the time she was thinking it was so cool how she was fooling him with the robot act, it would be over the top to act all jerky, but she made her talking stilted and monotone. And she was thinking, “this is so fun!”

“Hell yes,” he enthused.

So she grabbed him around the back of his head and gave him a fierce kiss right on his lips, forcing his lips apart and licking his teeth until they opened, then swapping spit with him, she rammed her tongue deep against his.

When they at last came up for breathe, she said to him, “Not. Bad. Have. You. Much. Ex-per-in-ence?”

Now John was at Rose’s door, card in hand. He shifted from foot, reading the card again then pocketed it and rung the bell.

“Hello Aunt Rose”

“Hi John, you here for Alice? She’s not in. She’ll be out for at least two hours.”

“Great! Rosie the Robot.”

There was that phrase again. “Damn, he looks cute, in his own way he’s pretty like his mother,” Rose thinks as he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot hoping he hadn’t made a huge mistake. For once he’s looking her in the eyes and not the nipples. Though she’s wearing one of Will’s old boring flannel plaid shirts, it’s shaped itself revealingly around her boobs and managed to undo a couple of top buttons without her touching them. Her nipple are at attention and visibly throbbing with each of her breaths. She’s tempted to stay silent just a while longer just to see him sweat but she can’t help herself and once again Rose initiated the “I’m. A. Robot. And. This. Is. Kissing. School.” gambit. She considered herself in direct completion with Stella, who had snagged Vinnie as the most beat-off cum winner by three slender blasts despite Rose being his step-half-sister. They’d both really gone to town on Vinnie, giving every opportunity to him to see them dressed skimpily, cute and sexy. They just plain teased the hell out of the boy. Wet tees without bras (accidents of course), skimpy tight shorts in summer. Rose even showed up on Christmas day morning wearing a flaming red full-length dress slit at top with a lasso and hook combo open-slit exposing most of the valley between her breasts and showing her nipples outlines though the semi-transparent light cotton fabric.

For all their competition, Rose and Stella never talked about it, they never let it interfere with their friendship, never discussed any rules to the game, what the prize for the winner is, or even gave a second thought, except when one or the other sees that one of the kids just masturbated to orgasm thinking of the other, then competitive hackles were raised.

NOW — AT THE BULLMAN’S — LIBERATION DAY

As I flew away, I could still hear them.

“How about a congratulatory fuck for me too,” Marc asks.

“Me too” adds Andy.

“How about us?” Betty asks.

Carl responds to her, “Let me show you what I learned from Sam’s book.”

She giggles, “let’s go and tickle my fancy.”

Carl feels some relief, he still hasn’t recovered, and wants to save his dick energy for Gail, and his chance at an engagement fuck.

Will, still limp from his extra bout with Sheila is content to watch as Rose and Annette start making out on a wide chair. Sheila comes over to Sam, and starts working her tongue on his lap.

I think they’ll do alright in their manna collecting even if I’m not there.

LATER AGAIN WITH JOHN AND ROSIE THE ROBOT — FIRST DAY

When Rose called me after her first time with John, she point-blank asked if I was responsible for how she had acted. Had I caused her to have given the card to John and do the same routine as she had with Roscoe. Truthfully I told her no. But I said that it was a good idea as Roscoe and John would have their full special talents kick in when they turned 18 and didn’t she think it best that they were prepared. Then I told her, “Keep up the good work” and disappeared. And it was true, I didn’t do either, the whole thing was Vicky’s idea and she loved watching it all play out. Plus Annette helped her with some of the details during planning. Turning Rose into “Rosie the Robot” aka “Robo-Rosie” on command from Roscoe and John made Annette laugh out loud. Annette didn’t know that Vicky had the book or was in control, but knew she was in charge of this task, perhaps because of those dumb games her brother and friends still seemed to be playing, and helped her plot it out. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

So when John reached down to fondle Rose though her dress, she pulled away. “That. Is. For. Lesson. Three. ‘Intimate. Touching. Through. Clothes.” She continued, “Do. You. Want. To. Continue. Lesson. One. Kissing. Or. Hear. The. Rules?”

“Kissing.”

Rose had hoped so. She was really getting off playing a robot, now dripping between her thighs, confident she could stop and be herself any time. But she really didn’t want to, and as Vicky knew well, she actually couldn’t. But Vicky had set it up so Rose really enjoyed what she thought of as it was happening as super sexy play-acting.

To John it all seemed real. “Holy Shit! Aunt Rose as a sex-robot. At my command, sort of.” And kissing wasn’t the start, in two lessons he could grab her tits, though through clothes didn’t sound as good as a full skin-to-skin feel-up. And maybe even a feel down!

They started off with the Rose showing how to do the European fast paced peck in the cheek, and proceeded though several variations including the all-American hello peck, the ear nibble and ending about a half hour later with the full French Kiss while hugging each other tight though arms chastely around the waist—not quite the tit-grab he’d tried earlier, but it sure felt good pressed against her very full chest while swapping spit.

Again Rose broke off, while John caught his breath, she started, “Now. The. Rules. One. You. Can. Have. One. New. Lesson. Each. Week. Until. You. Turn. 17. Two. Each. Lesson. Will. End. With. A. Brief. Quiz. If. You. Pass. You. Will. Be. Rewarded. After. Each. Lesson. Is. Completed. You. Will. Have. Available. A. Practice. Time. With. Robo-Rosie. On. Any. Later. Day. You. Can. Only. Practice. What. You. Have. Had. Lessons. For. But. You. Can. Practice. Any. Completed. Lesson. Starting. Tomorrow. You. Can. Practice. Kissing. For. Half. An. Hour. Before. Next Lesson. Just. Come. By. But. Phone. First. In. Case. Rose. Busy. Third. You. Can. Not. Tell. Anyone. Younger. Or. Your. Folks. About. This. If. Any. Kid. Asks. You. About. Any. Card. They. Get. At. 16. All. You. Can. Say. To. Them. Is.” Rose concludes in a deep voice imitating John, “I can’t talk about it. Trust me it’s worth it.’”

John had asked Vinnie just the same question about the card, and that is exactly what he had said about it. Was Vinnie getting lessons from Rose too? It seemed both weird and hot, she was his sister, at least half-way. But no—Vinnie had been doing ‘chores’ for Stella, could that be it? What he heard next confirmed it.

“You. Should. Tell. Any. Who. Ask. That. You. Are. Cutting. My. Lawn. And. Doing. Chores. In. My. House. To. Save. Up. For. A. Car. They. Will. Believe. You.”

“So that’s it,” John thought. Roscoe was already doing chores for Rose, and Vinnie for Stella. “Wow!” They were both a half year or so older, so they must be up to lesson twenty-something—he could hardly wait.

“Fourth. If. You. See. Me. As. Not. Rosie. The. Robot. I. Will. Not. Remember. Our. Sessions. I. Will. Remember. You. Mowing. Or. Painting. The. Basement. Or. Some. Other. Chore. Rosie. The. Robot. Only. Knows. What. Rosie. The. Robot. Has. Done. ”, she concludes lying for the first time, she’ll remember it all, but pretend not to, “Are. You. Ready. For. Your. Quiz?”

“Sure,” John always did well with tests.

Rosie. The. Robot. gives John a peck on the cheek, “What. Is. That. Called?” When John answers correctly, the second and then a very wet third kiss are identified as well.

Rosie. The. Robot. leaves the room and comes back with some of the weird cream that he sometimes saw in his folks ‘fridge and a roll of paper towels and a glass of water.

“Drop. Your. Drawers. Sit. Here.” She points to a straight back chair in her kitchen.

In full expectation of something special he sits, naked to the waist, his stiff young teen cock erect. The jar opens with a ‘pop’ and Rosie the Robot applies some on her palm and then begins to give him a very special hand-job. “Lesson. 12. Is. Where. This. Is. Taught. But. You. Passed. With. No. Release. Yet. So. Let. Robie-Rosie. Make. You. Soft. Again.” He leans over and kisses her as she stokes away. She briefly pulls away and says, “Not. Scheduled. But. Acceptable.,” and leans back to Johns lips until he does a monster squirt.

She cleans him up with the towels and water. As he dressed again, his natural politeness kicks in. “Thank you very much, Rosie the Robot.”

“You’re. Welcome. Keep. The. Cream. I. Have. My. Own. Source.” with which she takes a quick glance at her tits, which John can hardly fail to notice.

“Do I need to say something to let you reconvert to Aunt Rose?”

“No. I. Will. Do. So. When. You. Leave. If. You. Want. To. Stay. And. Have. Aunt. Rose. Back. Say. ‘Aunt Rose”. “

”Can I ask some questions?“

”Yes. I. May. Not. Answer. Them.“

”Are you really Rosie the Robot, or are you screwing with me?

Rose takes a second to figure out the first answer—she is acting this out, isn’t she? Or is it real? Vicky sits up and types Rose’s response, good thing she was monitoring, though she’d stepped out briefly to get a vibrator to use while she watched this hot encounter, “Yes. And. No. Screwing. Until. Lesson. 26.” Not what Rose would have naturally said, but now it was out, it seemed like the right thing, while she was playing Rosie the Robot she was Rosie the Robot. At U she’d taken an acting class that taught the Stanislavski Method, so that response seemed right, if a bit confusing as to why she’d said those words. Roscoe was only up to lesson 24, so she guessed that she’d finally be riding his dick in a couple of weeks. About time. Why hadn’t she known about the lesson 26? She never wondered, she was discovering the lesson’s order at the same time Roscoe was. But lesson 10 revealed that Roscoe has inherited some of his father’s interest and skill in sucking pussy.

“Can you give me a list of the lessons?”

“No. It. Is. Not. Allowed. I. Can. Sometimes. Mention. Them. Though. You’ll. Have. To. Find. Out. Yourself.”

“Can I split the practice session over time? Say some one day and the rest another?”

“Yes. The. Practice. Times. Will. Get. Longer. You. Can. Also. Save. Time. From. One. Week. To. The. Next.”

“Can you tell me about Roscoe? Does he use Rosie the Robot?”

“No. I. Can’t. Tell. Him. About. You. Either.”

With that John leaves after the appropriate peck on the cheek and a polite, “This is the best gift ever, Rosie the Robot.” With that the inner Rose melted a bit. She knew once John left she would be spending the rest of the afternoon with her special plastic friend. Or though they were married and divorced, maybe a call to Will to play hooky from work would satisfy her—no, he was always regretful afterwards—like his dad he was a workaholic, though they didn’t need the income. Thinking of Sam he’d retired, and he was just down the block and always willing to eat her out—that seemed like the best idea, so after a quick shower she fixed her makeup and dress, slipped on her shoes and headed out the door.

John was disappointed to learn that lesson two was how to balance his checkbook. But Wednesday’s practice session was nice, almost all of it in a tight clinch, and he passed the check quiz, so the hand-job was given after a full 7 days of anticipation. The next lesson was better—a full hour of being shown how to feel Rose up. And down. With Rose leaving and redressing with less and less, until just a Brazilian string bikini. He learned his hands alone could make Rose cum. And cum many more times if he stroked her tits right. She didn’t tell him about the Milky Rose command until week 47, when the topic turned so some of the groups secrets.

Robo-Rosie caught some of his cum on her cheek, and he was delighted to see her wipe it off with a finger and stuff it in her mouth and swallow before he plunged his tongue back into her ear.

So it continued with a mix of sex lessons and life lessons, how to do laundry, how to calculate a mortgage, dancing both clean and dirty, and other non-sexual teaching about every second or third week, adding to the anticipation and allowing extra practice time—which never was the ‘balance a checkbook’ unit again.

Only a few hours ago Vicky sat at her new desktop computer—Windows95—and slid a purple-orange 3.5 inch floppy in and presses “start”. She selected the icon showing interesting activity, and sat back with her herbal tea to watch Rose and John’s first teaching encounter. This was one of her best ideas—a way to slowly integrate the next generation into the group at 18, Rose and Stella were still due some extra activities for creating the problem in the first place—well OK, she had knocked over the brazier that stunted Mr. Egg, but it—whatever it was now, it hadn’t given itself a new name—so she thought of including herself but damned if she was going to compete with Rose’s tits and Stella’s ass in a masturbation by teens steeplechase. But John was Stella’s sibling and Gail’s son so she ended up in second place without trying. And she could see all the stats for them, though Stella and Rose usually were only aware of each other’s totals. It was a bit embarrassing, mostly she wasn’t even a distant third, Gail held that position solidly—maybe she’d bring her in for/as their 17th and a half birthday present.

Vicky had some moral issues with the whole adult / teenager interactions. Leave the teens ignorant any later and it could get out of control when they gained their full inherited power. So she decided 16 was “adult enough” to start introducing them to their world—by that point they’d have to be pretty unaware to not know that something was going on. So she drew up a few rules; that the teens had to initiate any session and could stop it any time; that permission be asked and given before any physical activity, sexual or not; that the primary goal was passing information, formally lecturing or simply showing with explanation, but there would be opportunities for practice as well; that the vibes are comfortable and encouraged questions and experimentation. So she hit on having the adults take on a second personality, such as Rosie the Robot. Which the kids could trigger when they wanted for a set amount of time at the rate of no more than one new lesson a week—with Roscoe Vicky was still inventing new activities only a few weeks ahead of the progress. And that the older partners would seem to forget what happened when in the second personality, actually they remembered it all, but couldn’t discuss it, which cost less manna to effect. This seemed an ideal solution. Fun for all. Teens feeling in control when actually they were learning something—they were all good students and not lazy, so this felt as normal as it could under the circumstances. And to add to the fun, even though the oldsters were aware of their circumstances and would think that they were merely improvising a character to maintain a distance between these activities and their day-to-day lives, they would sometimes shock themselves by what their alter-egos did. But they were OK with it, Vicky made sure.

A couple of months ago when she brought home her first PC she’d left the book by the computer overnight and when she awoke it was gone. In a panic she’d searched everywhere, until she noticed the new disc where she had thought the book was, the purple-orange sticker should have been a giveaway, but it acted more as camouflage. Soon as she booted the computer—only a couple of minutes, and slipped in the disc the familiar scenes from holding the disc that used to appear in her head were now displayed on the screen—this was so much pleasanter. She popped the disk out and held it, and the scenes were now back in her head, not the screen.

“Cool. Can I make a backup copy?” she thought.

A resounding “No” was returned.

“Is that you book?” she asked, but received no answer.

So the guys got or will get a card from Rosie the Robot or Stella Starchild on their 16th, whoever they had cum while thinking about the most frequently. Stella Starchild was also a fun alternate personality which Stella snapped into with her code phrase, not rigid and regimented like Rose the Robot, instead a fully spacey hippie chick—based on what Andy had let on about his old girlfriends, into cool things like tantric sex and astrology. Says “Oh wow!” and “trippy,” a fair amount. Plus she smoked herbal ciggys and shared the occasional joint while somehow getting whatever the lesson that week was across. Braless tie-dyes and mini-skirts.

At 16 Vicky thought the girls required a different method of training than the easily led but occasionally over-eager guys. Plus they weren’t as clueless about their bodies. Their hormones too were amping up anticipating hitting 18 when all the benefits and complications of having two parents from the group kick in, becoming their own little manna generators in teen-age hormonal overdrive. Best to prepare them all. True the kids weren’t stupid and knew something was going on with their folks, but spending a little manna on them to keep them cool and incurious, and as soon as it looked like they were going to become sexually active with each other and with their peers at school the parents had done a very good job of explaining and encouraging birth control, and with a little manna to reinforce that Vicky was certain the transition to fully functional Eggy-Adult from Eggy-Child wouldn’t be too traumatic. And they’d been good so far, naturally horny only the youngest girls were still virgins and they found each other more accommodating for experimentation than their classmates.

There were about a dozen girls in Roscoe and Vinnie life. They hadn’t knocked any of their girlfriends up yet, but had left some of their special seed waiting for the first time the young woman was incautious with their birth control. As I always do, I’ll make sure those pregnancies end well for all involved. John was shyer but he’d still need to be prepared, and it’d be good to bring him out of his shell.

It was a bit disconcerting to Vicky to see her daughter Harmony show up on both Stella and Rose’s counter, but not strongly, she’d inherited her mother’s love and lust for the group, and she had lots of guys on the counter too. Alice and Snap both had some Stella and Rose numbers, particularly added to after one of the older ladies did something particularly slutty. Like the time Stella dragged Marc, in for a visit from his travels from her living room where they were having a party for him for a loud make-out session in John’s room upstairs. And how on coming back to the party half an hour later with big grins they took bows on the stairs for their vocal performance as the adults clapped and one even shouted “Encore!”

After the party Rose went to Snap Dragon and said, “My folks used to do it all the time all over the house when I was growing up. They probably still do. But it sure can be embarrassing.”

Snap Dragon replied, “Well I guess it means they love each other. I’m ok with it, I guess. And she’ll be in a good mood for days.”

Rose agreed and told her that any time she wanted to talk, it was cool and she knew how to keep secrets and hold her tongue. Which she then stuck out and wagged around suggestively, then pinched between her fingers.

No “Rose the Robot” for the girls on turning 16, instead they received a card signed by all but relatives telling them to use the code phrase “Teach Me a Lesson” on any of them—once a week maximum, which did different things to different adults, Aram for instance was turned into the strict dancing master until the lesson was done. They’d say the number of their last lesson after the code phrase and all the crew what the next one was for that day. Rose was still Rose the Robot. Betty went full Julia Fucking Child. Always playing that they were in a full trance mode and that the student had control. Some of the lessons were the same no matter who they picked, laundry for example was always lesson 4. Masturbating with dildos always lesson 8. Some lessons depended on who was teaching them. Andy gave naked art lessons. Betty cooking and kama sutra. You can probably guess what Sam teaches. Vicky made sure that not only was she on every card but Harmony’s, but that she’d be approached first, fifth and at least once a month after that. She thought she should be paid something for her efforts in organizing everything. Plus Alice made her hot and she wanted to let her practice what Sam will teach in lessons 7 and 15.