The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1. HALF AN HOUR AGO

It all started with the big bang. Orgy that is, though technically it may be thought of as two orgies, up in the kitchen and down in the basement rec room where the kids hang out. It was the late-70’s, a time of big screen porn and big hair, skin-tight jump-suits and permissive parenting. Of suburban swingers key parties and big 20 dollar bags of mid-western ditchweed stored in high-school lockers.

Slowly their minds came out of the fog of near mindless animal rutting, and they regained conscious control in bits and pieces, like the languid descent of an oil blob in a not yet fully-heated lava lamp. Similar to a waterwheel in a gentle stream the book tapped only a fraction of the uncontrolled flow of manna, but it was enough to start to get a handle on the situation as the fail-safes kicked in. One of which was creating me. More about that later.

On the kitchen’s sunshine yellow linoleum floor Troy thrusts with long slow strokes into Gail’s buttery bum. A foil wrapped package of Dairyland’s Best slowly melts in the summer heat on the floor beside them, finger marks marring the square end where Troy scooped out a dollop to use as a lubricant. She’s wrapped her legs up and over his shoulders and is pushing back and moaning. A thought dimly comes to Troy, “Stella thinks she’s the only 10 in town, but her mother Gail has to be a twelve. Long, longer legs. Bigger, rounder boobs. Tighter ass too.” Not that he’d had much experience with Stella’s ass, just that once, so far, and it didn’t end well. “God Damn”, he exclaimed as he cums yet again, the fifth time in the last two hours. Glancing over he saw both married couples, known swingers Carl and Sheila Parker, plus more puzzling to the boy the super conservative and uptight Sam and Betty Bullman still going at each other hot and heavy. But the fog of lust was clearing, even in his thick sex-obsessed head.

As he slipped out of Gail’s ass, he remembered why he was in the kitchen in the first place, to get something to drink after smoking that bomber with Marc and Will, and damn he was thirsty. Just then Carl came with a loud groan into Sheila, he’s a big man with a funky near-afro and several bronze and silver medals hanging from his neck, swinging like wind chimes against his large, hairy chest on a Buddha’s belly; Carl was sitting on a kitchen chair with Sheila astride him, riding his cock, facing away, her nice full and surprisingly firm tits swaying in time to the music his medals were making, her long groans and his blending like a Gregorian chant accompanying each push into her twitching twat.

What Troy saw was making him jealous. Though tall and good looking, athletic in build yet something of a klutz, and generally pretty dim overall, he was very proud of all the girls he’s “made” and had learned the hard way long ago not to talk about past lovers, and certainly never to current ones, he couldn’t help but boast to the guys, and in turn find himself with the rep of being a stupid swinging dick—in fact he’s the top of smart-yet-horny monkey in the house that day in the largest number of previous sexual partners, fellow students—and a couple of their mothers, college girls, at least one female gym teacher—it may have been two, but it may also have been the same one twice, he wasn’t sure—and of course sweet ass little Stella, who he breaks up with and later has had back-together-again hot and sweaty sex three times already this year, him just beating the next highest sex-partner counts of Carl then Sheila who are going through a swingers phase to liven their hum-drum middle-aged middle-class white-bread marriage, much to their daughter Rose’s disgust.

“Damn! Carl has a huge dick!” Troy observed. Damn Troy loved to say “damn”. And as I said, he was jealous.

As Troy’s breathing came back down to normal, he reached into the open fridge, its motor whining, straining in an effort of keeping everything cool—forgotten ajar since the whole fuck-fest started. The young hunk flexes his muscles and loudly proclaims “Yeah!”, then pulls some OJ in a carton out and closes the fridge. And as he’s a guest in the Bullman’s house he doesn’t drink from the container, but pulls down a glass and pours one for himself, then directs it down his parched throat. Sheila sees this and gestures, Troy pulls down another glass and fills it, bringing it over to her. She settles down fully impaled on Carl’s hairy monster dick and gulps down the juice, grabbing Troy’s smooth muscular teenage ass with her left hand, bringing him close. With her right hand she grabs a napkin and wraps it around Troy’s soft and messy penis. A few rubs and it starts to rise again. “What stamina!” she thinks. Still slowly grinding on Carl’s stick, she turns the napkin inside out and uses the other side to remove as much of the buttery santorum that clings to Troy’s wang, then pops the slowly hardening organ into her mouth.

Gail slowly becomes aware after the daze of her last orgasm. She watches as Troy brings Sheila the drink. “Hell, he was up my bum, he should have got one for me too. I’d have sucked him off, if I’d thought of it”.

Her attention is drawn to Sam and Betty Bullman going at it, Sam is speeding up and Betty gasping louder, her legs dangling off the kitchen table where she’s sitting, with Sam standing between her gams, as Sam calls them, pistoning into her sopping cunt, rocking the table with each thrust.

Gail gets up off the floor, taking the OJ carton out of Troy’s hands; he’s now swinging it back and forth wildly with occasional sloshes out the top while Sheila is sucking him off, up, down and sideways in time with Carl’s well hung sausage plowing her furrow.

Sheila’d fantasized about Troy’s hot body, but never seen a way to get to him that made sense. What was happening didn’t make sense—had they all gone nuts? But his ass felt firm and tight as she pulled him down her throat. “Damn!” Troy thought again, then had a pang of fear on feeling her butter-greased finger working its way up his butt. “I hope she’s taken that big ring off,” flashed through his squirming mind—he tries to pull back, but her grip is too tight. “Aaaagh, there it is”, as the smooth round opal in the ring rubs against his sphincter and he cums, Sheila is prepared and relaxes her throat, allowing his seed a straight shot at her guts.

Gail takes a long satisfying drink straight out of the carton washing down the last taste of the cum Troy has coated her throat with an hour or so ago. Sam and Betty cum together in a loud squishy sigh, then Gail sits on the table next to Betty, handing her the juice. Betty takes a big slug, and when Sam reaches for the carton Gail snatches it back from Betty’s well-manicured hand. She then slowly pours the last of it across her chest and down into her pussy, then tosses the empty container into the trash in the far corner—a three pointer. “You want some juice—you can get it off me!” she says.

Sam pulls his now deflating somewhat road-worn cock out of Betty and struts over to stand erect as only a decorated ex-petty officer can in front of Gail leans over and begins cleaning her tits with his tongue. Slowly following the trail of juice down her chest, into her navel and down to her Troy cum and tangy juice flavored-filled gash, Sam dives right in. Betty turns to Gail and purrs, “I bet you didn’t know that Sam is the best pussy eater in all the tri-state area. He’s been perfecting his technique for years. Lucky me. Hahaha,” giving off her distinctive half-laugh. Gail reaches out to the somewhat frumpy but very naked and sweaty house-wife next to her and plunges her tongue deep into Betty’s shocked but eager mouth.

Sam’s ministrations have got Gail’s motor running again, sweat breaks out across her brow as she strokes the back of Betty’s hair with one hand and gently caresses her left tit with the other, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, tongues dancing together between gasps for air.

“Sam’s tongue tricks are old news to me. Betty you will never find out why,” Gail smugly thinks, remembering a tipsy St. Patrick’s day a couple of years ago that included a memorable secret side-trip to the upstairs walk-in closet with Sam. In her opinion Betty was right; Sam was the best head she’d ever had—including a very talented all-out lesbian college room-mate who shared her bed for two semesters.

2. MEANWHILE DOWNSTAIRS...

Lying in a pile of unwashed laundry beside the dryer, Marc also was clearing from his sex-mad fog. Underneath him Annette, taking in his cock with slippery ease between some bright pink and somewhat inflamed pussy lips. He was starting to feel a little sore himself, and definitely thirsty, in need of a beer. And he never liked Annette, why is he doing this? Ever since he became the Bullman’s tenant in the basement room last year they had been at odds, mostly because she was a slut who looked down on Will’s friends because they were a year younger. That hadn’t stopped her from repeatedly fucking that idiot Troy though, even if he was officially seeing Stella at the time. She’d left home for her own apartment at one point, and life became easier, but had returned after finding out her new roommate wasn’t going to wait on her hand and foot and ran around almost as much as she did, sometimes with his ex-wife. She may be a home-wrecker, but she has standards.

Slowly pumping away, Marc chanced his first look around the room, besides the laundry area it had an old couch, a black and white TV from the early 60’s hooked up to the antenna on the roof, thankfully all 4 channels plus a weird uhf station that only came clear late at night, and a sturdy old round table which was the frequent site of shared weed smoking among the basement regulars. Marc’s room was defined by a curtain in the south corner; he had a window, a bed, and best of all his own small tiled washroom with a toilet, a showerhead, water controls, a drain at the low point and a mirror, no shower curtain. In fact, when Sam showed it to him Marc joked “Shit, Shower and Shave all at once, right” and Sam had to agree, though he also said “Watch that potty mouth”.

If they were fucking, why weren’t they comfortably on his bed? At least they were behind the machines where they couldn’t be seen. The answer became both clear and perplexing as he looked across the room at the sofa, where he saw his “Old Hippie” burnout boss Andy’s head at one end on the couch’s armrest, and his feet over the one at the other end, and some blond girl with a Farrah hair style who looked familiar, “That Aram’s psycho ex-girlfriend?” he thought. She bounces up and down on top of Andy. Because of the couch’s back he couldn’t see what was happening between Andy’s head and feet, but the topless blonde using him as a human trampoline made it clear that she is riding the hell out of Andy’s johnson. “It is Vicky”, Marc realizes, “Weird”.

Marc pulls out of Annette, as she starts to protest he flips her over, pulls her up to her hands and knees, and plunges back in. On his knees he has a clearer view of the proceedings around the room—no need for him and Annette to hide, it looks like the whole fucking gang are getting their ashes hauled. Except Troy—he was here, wasn’t he?

While Annette’s cunt feels fine, Marc’s been pumping it for a while without quickening towards climax, and he’s become more aware of his surroundings and his state, including having a terrible thirst; he’s sweat through the shirt unbuttoned but still on his back, not to mention the six, or is it seven times he’s aware of that he’s cum in and on her. There’s some beer hidden in his room, but how to get there without leaving Annette’s quim? He looks around again as Andy emits a “Woo! Hot young pussy! You’re so awesome girl!” and Vicky blushes deeply but keeps riding away.

This brings Marc out of his sex-daze again, not stopping but slowing down and putting a lot of side to side motion into the action down below. This helps stiffen him up, as he focuses on the table, where his current off-and-on girlfriend Stella is sitting legs wide apart while Will is pushing into her, sliding her ass back on the table and pulling her forward again with the hands behind her ass. Stella’s arms are around Will’s shoulders and she is kissing him and licking his ears and nibbling his lobes while breathing quite heavily. Marc’s already stiff erection gets harder still.

“What’s going on?” Annette asks and tries to bring her head up.

“Nothing to see,” Marc replies, pushing her gently but firmly back onto her face and chest messily on top of the pile of sweat and human-fluid soaked clothing, while speeding the pace of their coupling in her upturned cunt, which has the desired effect of causing her to moan in pleasure.

“Is that Rose’s ass?” he asks himself, looking at the couple on the near side of the table past the couch. Though he can’t see her face, the long red hair is unmistakable. The short brown-skinned guy shoving his cock into her bum has to be Aram, a foreign student who also graduates in a few weeks from Oscella Heights High (“Go Ocelots”), now a close friend who’s preparing to study at the local university, once he’s finished getting his American high-school accreditation. She is bent forward, her jiggley, freckled naked breasts sliding back and forth across the table with each stroke. Even in this dim light it looks to Marc that something odd colored-like an out of the world psychedelic purple-orange sparkly powder has spilled across the table and is rubbing into and coating Rose’s tits and Stella’s ass, and both are starting to glow faintly and sparkle.

On realizing this, though not understanding it, Marc climaxes, which trigger’s Annette’s orgasm. She sinks down onto one of Sam’s white work shirt that is sopping wet with her and Marc’s fluids, and Marc pops out of her now fully aware of his strong thirst and ready to do something about it.

He may hate her, but they’d just spent the better part of two hours fucking and sucking, so he gets Annette a beer as well as one for himself from his hidden stash. They both guzzle theirs down in one gulp, Annette stands up and looks around confused, Sam’s shirt sticking to her chest, molded wetly on each breast slick with cock snot and pussy jism, her nipples erectly poking up and out slightly. She reaches under the shirt and starts rubbing her swollen clit.

“What the hell, they need it”, Marc mutters as he pops the caps off six more beers. He goes over to Andy and asks, “How’s it going?”.

“It’s going righteous, dude” the long haired 60’s survivor mall knick-knack and doo-dad store manager says, “Do you know who this is?” pointing with the beer Marc has handed him at the petite lady orgasming wildly on his knob, soaking his pubes. “Whoo, here I go too—darlin’, you may want to get off me first.” Andy, even at his most wasted always tries to be a real gentleman as far as not cuming without permission in a stranger’s cunt is concerned, though in this case he’d already shot up her puss a couple of times while still in his own sex-driven mind-fog.

“I can take it. Give it to me again! Again! Again!” she forcefully declares.

“This is Vicky.” Marc hands her a beer too. “Weird to see you here.”

“Hello Vicky, pleased to meat your acquaintance, ha ha UGH, Unghhh,” Andy grunts as he unloads into her unprotected womb, then takes a big slug of beer. “Old Waukegan Premium Ale, not bad. Hot and horny young women, finest kind.”

Marc walks over to the table as Will pulls Stella tight and floods her sopping pussy, triggering her release. Marc hands them a beer each. “I bet you need this”.

Will inhales the whole bottle at once, Stella takes a delicate sip, a breath, and then chug-a-lugs her entire beer too. Will looks down at Stella, who’s pussy is leaking all over the table, and who’s ass seems to be glowing with this weird shit that is spilled out of what looks like an overturned round mini-weber barbecue, a tripod where one of the legs has come off spilling half-burned objects. “What happened?” Will asks the still panting Stella and the always cool in a crisis Marc. At that moment Will felt deep love for them both. Seeing a half-burnt magazine sticking out of the brazier, he asks “Hey wait a minute! Is that my new Playboy?” Will then notices that there also seems to be a weird assortment of other singed to blackened objects either in the pot or spilled across the table, the lacy bra Rose wore on the night he took her virginity, a half-ticket to a porn movie theatre, one of Marc’s ceramic whack pipes, and most disturbing what looks like a used condom, and some other stuff too burnt to identify.

Aram is still pounding away at Rose’s ass-it becomes fascinating to Will, to Marc and to Andy as they become aware that this is where Aram’s cock is disappearing up. Will feels a bit peeved at this, as the one time he tried to get her to do anal, Rose became all huffy and called him a pervert and wouldn’t let him even fuck her for three whole weeks. Rose’s tits are becoming completely coated with the purple-orange-glowing sparkle, their stickiness aided in part by Aram blowing a huge wad all over them as the end to the last of the three blow jobs Rose gave him today. So far.

“I—uh uh”, Rose pants. “I mean we, oh yeah!”, “I mean Stella and I...”

At that moment I chose to be born into this world.

3. EARLIER—STELLA’S STORY

I think Stella tells it best...

Stella:

It’s like we didn’t think anything would happen. I mean, an old book, a magic spell to ask the love goddess to bring us the perfect man I think. Rose decided to do it, and I guess I was curious. We’d spent the better part of the day before gathering materials for the magic pot—Rose calls it a brazier, but seemed pissed when I called it a brassiere.

Rose even went down to the astronomy department at the University, where she blew some guy to give us a list of times the next day when the planet Venus would be in the right place in the sky as the spell said had to be done. Actually pretty common, twice a day every day, 1:17 in the early afternoon or early morning. Rose says she didn’t have to give the guy head, he’d have done it if she asked nice, but he was cute and she was between boyfriends since going back to Will was out of the question—or so she said that day, I don’t believe her. For being such a prude a year ago, she’s become a real slut. A big amazon slut, almost as tall as Troy, with boobies that seem to be the focus of attention of any men around. Unfair, they should be looking at me. I’m way cuter. The cow.

Hell, all our regular gang are young, hot and horny, so it’s all good. On the pill and off with the panties. When Troy and I broke up I missed holding his studly body, but since I’ve been getting with Marc, who’s not quite as good looking as Troy but has way more tricks that make me cream, I’m pretty content, sex-wise. Rose sometimes scares me though. She went overboard with the drinking and partying when she was seeing that college guy. But I got to give it to her, now she may have an occasional beer, but I haven’t seen her all out drunk for months. She might be back part-time with Will these days, though they’re being pretty cagey about admitting it.

I guess her weird parent’s sex-life really fucked her up this spring. I remember it ’cause the summer catalogs had just arrived in the mail and I went over to her place to get her opinion of what would look best on me. There she was sitting on her porch, and when I said “Hi Rose” and she looked up, I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. She did look pissed off. She told me the whole story. Her parents were experimenting with an “Open Marriage” and would occasionally be seeing other people. So today they had both brought their lovers home, and then started arguing and waving the “date” calendar from the fridge at each other and shouting. Their dates left together, and now Carl and Sheila were having make-up sex in the middle of their kitchen floor, as Rose had just discovered, walking in looking for a glass of milk.

After hearing Rose tell me this, I stood there, shocked and for once speechless. Then I heard it, the groans and cries of two old folk in full rut, just on the other side of the door. Gross. I couldn’t leave Rose sitting there listening while her parents made the beast with two backs, so good friend that I am I took her to the mall so she could watch me shop. My mum may be a proud ex-trophy wife, but she doesn’t look half the age of those two fools. Pretty funny if you think about it really, like an x-rated sit-com.

She seemed to be a little happier at the mall—we stopped to talk to Andy at his store—Marc only works there weekends, and he mentioned some new shops at the far end away from the main door off the highway, which sounded fun. All-in-all Andy is a pretty cool guy for a smelly old hippie, he never talks down to the kids who come to his kiosk, and he’s been pretty good to Marc.

I went racing into a hat, purse and assorted things shop I’d never seen before, they had real cool bright-colored scarves from Africa and other accessories that fit my way too tiny shopping budget. A lot of it was from places I’d never heard of before. They also had knick-knacks, some of which were pretty-gross wood figures with huge dicks and impossibly pregnant women with oversized breasts, and there was even a small shelf of musty old books in a glass cabinet. Rose, still basically a girl-nerd from the days before she filled out, started looking at the titles while I was ogling the ancient porno dolls.

“Isn’t this from Aram’s country?” she asked, tapping the glass in front of a Sexy Miskatonikanada Secrets and Recipes.

“I think so. If it is, he hasn’t read it. He has the worst luck getting laid, even when he gets a girlfriend she turns out nuts.”

“Don’t I know. I was the one who pretended to go out with him to get rid of Vicky.”

“OMG! Don’t you know she’s snooping around again. I saw her outside the Will’s last week.”

“OMG!” Then Rose broke out laughing and I knew that her mood was back to normal, even if her parents weren’t. “Poor Aram.”

I left with two bright blue and red scarves and a cute blue knit hat like Mary Tyler Moore wears in the opening of her show, and hot damn they look good on me. Rose asked the bored sales-clerk how much the book was, just under two dollars. “A present for Aram’s graduation next June,” she said. “Besides, if you come across a book that may have magic love-potion spells in a weird shop, you just have to buy it. You’ve seen that movie.”

I hadn’t seen any movie where that worked out good. But a distracted Rose was easier to be around than a depressed Rose. I was so glad I hadn’t peeked into her kitchen, the mental image of what was happening there was more than enough. Still time for a malt before heading back, Carl and Sheila couldn’t still be going at it, but better safe than sorry.

Time passed and I’d forgotten about the book, having broken up with Marc and then getting back together briefly with Troy, until he fucked Annette again and I went crying back to Marc again, who I’d only sort of broken up with. Mum says, if all else fails, try tears, and it seems to work.

About a week ago on a day I was wearing one of the scarves tied around my neck, highlighting my perfect cheekbones and black as coal hair, Rose said, “Remember that book I bought for Aram? It’s mostly crap, but there is this one thing in there I want to try. Not too hard—and it summons up the perfect man.”

“Impossible. No such thing,” I replied,

“You sure?”

I nod.

“Well not perfect, but how about better than what’s around here?” she asks as Will waves at them from across the street pushing the manual lawnmower across the already short grass, because that’s his Sam-assigned weekly chore, if it needs cutting or not. “No point in giving Aram a book that doesn’t work, is there?”

“Would Aram want a perfect man?”

“Sometimes I wonder. But it also can be done for women, it’s just a different time with them—it has to be done at a certain astrological time, we’d need to figure out some astronomy to get that right.”

Hearing this I lost interest, “Whatever”.

Rose added, “We need some ingredients, can you get these?” and handed me a hand-written list. I tried to ignore it, but I guess I was curious. It had a bunch of things that were easy to get, such as some things men liked to lure them in, well Troy used to have some old Playboys in the back of his van hidden in the wheel well were he thought I’d never look, that’ll do. Those are full of things men like, not just naked bimbos, but cars and stereos and booze too. Though if they asked me to pose and paid enough... Some fluids, male and female—a used condom would have those, I could get one from the next time Marc and I fucked. It also wanted figures like the ones we saw in the shop, but they should be modern, not old like those dick-men and knocked-up women-knocked-up in any case didn’t sound that great-well the Playmate photos would do for the female objects then, and my naked Burt Reynolds centerfold from Cosmo magazine had become pretty ratty—I can’t remember the last time I rubbed myself off to it, before Troy probably. It could go. Some common spices, sandalwood incense—I knew Steven’s boss Andy had some at his shop for lame hippies who burnt to hide the smell of their whacky tabacky, not fooling anyone. Rose was right, this looked pretty easy. A trip to the drugstore and mall should supply the rest. And that means a day at the mall!

So that afternoon Rose got on a bus to the U, and I went shopping and then out hunting for Marc to jump his surprised bones.

4. TWO AND A HALF HOURS AGO

It was going well. The ingredients were different than the recipe, but close enough. The time was right. There were even enough people in the immediate area to meet the “coven” requirement, though all the gang except for Stella and Rose were out of the basement. Sam, Betty, Carl, Sheila, and surprisingly Gail, Stella’s mostly neglectful mom were in the kitchen, the guys and Gail having a beer while Betty and Sheila favored ice cold G & T’s in the summer heat. Troy, Will, Marc and Aram had just gone out to Troy’s van, parked in the driveway, when they met Andy who was dropping off the keys so Marc could open up the shop the next day. They invited him to join them in the back for a bit of summer smoke that had just come in—something new called Michoacán, from Mexico. Andy didn’t usually imbibe with teenagers, but Marc was cool, and Andy had read a recent High Times article about this stuff and was curious. “I don’t just buy it for the pictures, I like the articles too,” he had joked.

They didn’t see Vicky lurking in the bushes, she didn’t really care what Aram was doing at the moment, it was all guys there. After a couple of months of ignoring her feelings, she’d fallen back into the same jealous funk—what was there about Aram that drove her nuts? And her boyfriend before that, Dudley. And Roger, who fled town and didn’t give her his new address. She knew it was nuts, but couldn’t stop herself when the urge to spy on old lovers hit. Maybe a peek in the basement window would show what is going on.

Annette was up in her room trying on clothes for her date that night—she didn’t know who with yet, she planned to go down to Studio 27, the local disco and make her choice of a companion there. Her hottest dress, fire red and low cut with white frills, still had wine stains on the hem, so she threw it in the hamper with the other laundry and headed downstairs to do some wash. Since moving back in Betty refused to launder her clothes anymore, and Annette was feeling a bit peeved about having to do it herself. But the thought of going out and picking up a guy and fucking his brains into his shoes cheered her up again.

Rose never explained why they were doing the ritual in Will’s basement. It probably would have worked in her own. More people closer to reach the spell’s quorum. And it should only take about four minutes if they timed it right. It may have been the warning at the very start of the writing that all the ingredients had to be correct, the minimum number of people in the area as well—she didn’t know about Andy or Vicky, so they were surplus, which is OK—still “Unexpected Results May Occur”—or at least that was the gist of it in the strangely phrased introduction to that chapter of the book. The fact that this warning was in Latin may have something to do with her ignoring it. Her eyes had skipped right over it. I’m not saying it would have turned out differently had she read it, mind you.

Stella and Rose had stripped naked and put on bathrobes—exposing their bodies to the smoke was part of the rite, but with the robes they could cover up if interrupted and claim to be going sunbathing. A round brazier-type incense burner from Andy’s shop was placed in the center of the table, slightly wobbly with one leg missing one rivet and with the leg’s other rivet loose, but the right price, free as a gift from Marc to use to cover other smells in Stella’s bedroom, not that Gail paid much attention, but you never know.

They flicked the locks to the house and to the cellar door to the yard. It wouldn’t stop those with a key, but at least they’d hear anyone coming in and it’d slow them down. They only needed a couple of minutes anyway. Locking the door was the way Marc told the Bullman’s he wanted some privacy, and if they found the door closed were to use the Radio-Shack inter-com if they wanted access. But a locked door wouldn’t stop Marc.

Rose sprayed a little lighter fluid pinched from Marc’s zippo refill kit on the items they’d placed in the bowl and lit the contents of the brazier with a match. She set a small kids pail of damp sand on the table next to it for safety and handed Stella a copy written out in her loopy cursive hand of the seven lines they needed to repeat seven times in unison to complete the spell. Taking up positions on either side of the table facing each other they threw off their robes and began to recite.

“Owata Goo Siam. Owata Goo Siam. Owata Goo Siam.”

“What the hell is going on?” Vicky couldn’t quite see into the room to the table from the window, but it sure looked like Stella was naked, her tits swinging as she seemed to be singing something. With a metallic bang the van door closed and the boys stumbled out. Vicky pulled further into the bushes as she watched them heading for the cellar door.

Annette had reached the top of the basement stairs, only to find the inside door locked. “Will and his doofy friends. Smoking dope again,” she thought. Luckily she had her purse with the key in it atop of the basket of laundry balanced on her hip. She was going to give them hell, just because. Especially if Marc was masturbating. Then she planned to mock him. And maybe show him her tits. A mean smile passed her lips.

“That was pretty tasty. Thanks,” Andy told Marc. “Here is the key for morning. Open at 10 OK. Or 10:30 at least, the new pipes should be delivered around then.”

Marc took his key chain out of his pocket to attach the shop key, so it was in his hand as they reached the outside cellar door. Will was leading the way, but found it locked. Marc stumbled past him, key out, not totally in balance, unused to the strong Mexican weed.

Troy said, “Whoa, burned my throat. I’m gonna get some juice, OK, Will?”

“Sure, in the kitchen fridge. Tell my mom that I said OK if she asks, and bring down the container and glasses for us all. I need some too. And Troy, don’t chug from the carton! No backwash! Or it’s ‘Up Your Nose with a Rubber Hose’”.

Kotter had been off the air for a couple of years, but Troy’s days of modeling his life after Vinnie Barbarino lived on, something the gang all ribbed him on whenever it occurred to them.

“Yeah I wish I got as much tail as Travolta. Do you think he ever did Olivia Newton-John. I bet he did.”

With that he turned to go to the upstairs kitchen door, passing inches from where Vicky hides.

Marc, still not the most wasted he’d ever been, though close, stumbled down the outside steps, inserts and turns the key on the second try.

“Owata Goo Siam.”

Stoned, crowding the cellar door in the narrow cut that leads five steps downwards from outside, when the door swings open Will, Marc and Aram fall forward over each other down the last two inside steps into the basement. Marc in lead stumbling all the way across the room, hitting his head loudly on the washing machine. Annette, halfway down the stairs sees this, and uncharacteristically concerned drops her basket, spreading clothes across the lower inside steps and across the floor, then rushing down the remaining stairs, putting her hand on Marc’s shoulder and asking, “Are you hurt?” He shakes his head. “Good thing you have a hard head.” None of those goofballs even notice Stella and Rose, and undistracted they chant again.

Andy, with a long history of navigating while a little off balance, steps into the room over Aram who’s getting up from behind the couch when he sees the girls. Andy goes, “Wow. Cool hallucination!”

Will looks at Andy and follows his line of sight.

“I don’t thin’ that’s a hallucination,” Aram replies looking over at the girls, his jaw dropping.

“Owata Goo Siam.”

Peering in from the open door, Vicky hears Aram and storms into the room. “What the hell is going on!”

“Owata Goo Siam.”

While Marc rubs his head feeling a bump emerge and Annette bends down to pick up her red bra off the concrete, Will, Aram, and Andy look on in dumb fascination at the naked pair bent over the table, eyes rolled back and tits swinging as they chant, while from the pot on the table a thick plume of dark purple smoke rises, alternately caressing each of their womanly charms, curling around them like a tongue of smoke, curling around their rock-hard nipples and down between their slightly-spread legs and around their curvy asses.

Vicky marches over to the table next to Stella and shouts, “I said what the hell is going on?” To punctuate she slams her palms onto the table.

“Only one more to go,” Rose thinks, “Owata Goo...”

The table wobbles with her blow. The shock finally loosens the last rivet in the brazier’s bad leg, now it tips sending the burning contents across the table.

“Siam!,” Stella shouts as she grabs the sand bucket and dowses the small fire now splayed across the table.

“Siam,” Rose whispers a beat later, realizing that they have failed to get all the way through the spell together. Probably won’t do anything anyway. And they had to get it at least 90% correct, that was still an “A”, wasn’t it? Bell curve and all.

While the fire was out, the smoke seemed to be getting thicker, forming new tendrils out of the brazier and off the table, the ashes a soon to be familiar mystic wizardly purple-orange with sparkling stars mixed in, reminding Andy of Dr. Strange’s cloak from those cool comics. One tendril headed directly to cover Stella’s face, another speared into Vicky’s nostrils. Less than a second later Stella had her tongue half way down Vicky’s throat, and Vicky was reciprocating, grabbing Stella’s tits. Rose sees this; a second later a thick new tendril snakes into her pussy and she emits a loud groan, cumming instantly on the spot.

“Whoa. Trippy!” Andy exclaimed, as additional smoke tendrils form and drift slowly towards Aram, Will and himself. Andy is next, inhales one deep, deliberate hit on the smoke being sent his way. Closest to the girls, he walks up behind Vicky, lifts her skirt, pulls down her panties, undoes his jean’s button, unzips himself and plunges deeply in her soaking wet vagina. Impaled, he pulls her back a couple of steps, she disengages from Stella with a wet “Pop”. Andy and her fall back on the couch. “This strange pussy,” he thinks. “Feels pretty fine.” His hands reach around to grope her breasts while undoing her shirt and bra.

Stella looks around for a new partner. Marc can’t be seen on the floor where he’s rolling on the clothes pile with Annette, and Aram has started to plow into Rose, who is bent over the other side of the table.

Will reacted fast, pinching his nose and holding his breath on seeing what was happening to his friends. But a naked and demanding Stella ordering, “Will! Get over here! Fuck me!” is all needed to break his resolve; he opens his mouth wide and gulps a big ball of the smoke. He coughs it out but it flows back in with the next breath. Half-a-moment later Stella is sucking on his dong in ways he’s only dreamed of. The first thought going through his little head is “I bet if I can get her to sit on the table I’ll be able to eat her pussy. Then I’ll fuck her. I’ll fuck her ass. Maybe I should cum in her mouth first. If I do that, she’d gotta let me suck on clit.”

Some of the ashes have spilled onto the open spell book which blots them up and holds them tight diverting a minute stream from Stella and Rose’s smoke flow. A most fortunate occurrence, else they’d all have end up fucked out husks puzzling doctors and psychiatrists, if they survived at all.

Meanwhile six more tendrils were lazily floating up to the kitchen.

5. UPSTAIRS

“Hi,” for he was quite high, that’s what Troy said on finding the kitchen occupied; feeling a twinge of stoned paranoia-panic as he came through the door. Not only were Sam and Betty there, Sam drinking a beer at the table while Betty was puttering around preparing dinner, chopping some celery to add to the cold potato salad, but Sheila and Carl had joined Sam at the table, Carl with a beer and Sheila some kind of clear mixed drink with lots of jangly ice. And Stella’s mom Gail leaning against the door frame, her awesome tits in a men’s shirt, tied at the bottom in a big simple knot, and almost completely open at top, glistening with sweat in the heat. Troy immediately picked up that she was braless. If she moved her chest few fractions of an inch and he his head a little closer, he hoped that he might see nipple. “Will asked me to get some juice for everyone”.

Betty gestured with the knife, “Bottom shelf of the fridge, dear.”

Perhaps taking half a second too long to be discrete, Troy tears his eyes away from Gail’s cleavage, and opens the fridge. His butt sticks way up in the air as he rummages around the bottom shelf, looking for OJ, enjoying the blast of cold on his face and trying to clear his foggy mind from the combo of the strong Mexican weed and the residual image of Gail’s bodacious bust.

“Bottom shelf—there’s the apple juice—damn Gail was juicy—what’s that behind the mayonnaise?” Troy thinks. He’s proud of his tall, muscular physique, and now that he’s broke up with Stella maybe this would be a good time to give Gail some ideas. “I may not know much, but I know women,” he thought.

He felt unusually shy about approaching her, but damn!, it’d be hot if she started something. He figured that if he made a pass it would end in trouble, but Gail seemed to be as horny as her daughter, and it was all about priming the pump for the right moment. The cold from the fridge was cooling his sweat drenched shirt, making his nips stand up just like a girl’s. It sure was something to show off his magnificent tight jean-clad ass to Gail, but Carl and Sam didn’t need to see him like this, better not be too obvious. So he stayed bent over into the fridge though he had located the OJ, trying to think how to hold the juice that showed Gail his awesome bod but hid his now growing excitement from the others. Getting stoned always made him horny. So did getting up in the morning, and just about everything else, truth be told. A natural hound-dog.

Sure Gail was looking, but so were Sheila, and on noticing Sheila’s gaze, so did Betty. Then Betty looked back at Sheila who winked at her. Sheila thought, “So young. So firm. So good-looking. So stupid.” Betty and Gail thought something similar. Sam was oblivious, but Carl knew well his wife’s most lascivious looks, and this was one of the greediest of them.

“Sheila,” Carl started. That’s when the first smoke tendril hit Gail.

Suddenly, firmly, Troy felt a hand on his bum squeezing it. “Yesss, it feels so good,” he heard Gail say, as another hand reached around his waist and undid the top button on his jeans, reaching in to wrap around his stiffening rod. With a gasp of shock he inhaled the second floating rope of smoke, and with amazing foresight, or at least dumb luck he grabbed an unopened package of butter from the fridge door dairy shelf, dropping it on the ground as he twists around to pull the tie on Gail’s shirt open, spilling those magnificent mounds free. He was right, no bra at all. “Damn these are nice,” he tells her as he pops one in his mouth, tongue to nip, feeling their heft and slick with sweat slipperiness. While Troy sucks on one then the other she busies herself unfastening hooks, unzipping zippers, unbuttoning buttons and pulling off all of Troy’s and her clothing.

The other four smoke bombs hit the others as they turn to react to the odd scene going on beneath them in front of the fridge. Betty drops her knife inches from Troy’s head and grabs Sam by the ears, pushing his face towards her pussy. Sam flips up Betty’s skirt, pulls down her panties and buries his tongue deep in her furry muff, sitting her on the table next to the jar of Miracle Whip and plate of Ritz Crackers and Velveeta she had put out for them to snack on. Carl and Sheila are in each other’s arms, slowly grinding themselves together and deliberately removing one piece of clothing at a time, the way they’ve liked to start a fuck for almost 20 years.

And so the book then entered its second phase of waking up by adding a new page to start writing a new chapter and began storing enough manna to recreate me.