Government Drones Corrupt My Stepsister: Mindless 2
* * *I bolt upright from a dead sleep, the sharp sound of something rattling at my bedroom window making a hot rush of adrenaline go through me. What the hell is that? I blink at the smooth glass, then hear another burst of clinking sounds as someone pelts the window with gravel.
Tory, I realize numbly, because there’s no one other than my best friend who’d come around like this. But what the fuck is she doing here at this hour?
I grumble to myself as I stride over to the window, ripping it open with a harsh, “What the hell, Tory?”
My face softens as I take in her fogged up glasses and twisted expression. Her normally wild and curly hair is even more tangled about her shoulders and her brow looks sweaty; she’s breathing hard, like she’s been running. Weirdly, she’s not wearing any shoes.
“Are you okay?” I call down to her.
“No,” she says softly, reaching up for me.
Oh shit. Has she been doused? No one is talking about how the government routinely dumps mind-altering fertility powder on unsuspecting civilian’s heads. The actual disbursement of MAFT-22 isn’t on the television newscasts, or in the papers, or even on the internet—even though the occasional protest still breaks out in anticipation for its release. It’s almost like the whole fiasco last Friday was a figment of my imagination, but a week ago it happened to me and my stepsister, Alison, and I still have the photos of her bent over the sink in the public library’s restroom, her pink pussy swollen from the pounding I’d given her, dripping my cum on the tiled floor.
I shake myself before I can get too lost in thought and whisper to Tory, “I’ll get the rope.”
She hasn’t used the simple knotted rope made out of old bedsheets for at least a couple of years now, I realize as I dig through my closet for it. We’ve known each other since we were toddlers, and I’ve always viewed her as the sibling I never had. She’s always been a bit of a dorky tomboy, wearing oversized t-shirts and blue-jeans instead of frilly skirts, and enjoying sports like football or baseball over volleyball or ballet. If I’m honest, I’ve always kind of thought of her as a brother—but once we both hit puberty she slowly stopped sneaking through my window at night (even though all we ever did was talk about comic books or something else meaningless). Until now. Apparently.
I finally find the rope, buried under years of junk, and scurry back over to the window, dropping it down the side of the house for her. She’s a lot heavier than I remember, and it’s a struggle to hold it as she hoists herself up. I’m tempted to crack a joke about it, because we normally rib each other mercilessly, but somehow it doesn’t feel quite right in the moment, so I keep silent until she’s breathing hard but otherwise settled, standing in the middle of my bedroom.
“Do you know anything about . . . what’s happening?” Her voice is low and shaky, and my eyes lock onto hers in hopeful curiosity.
Does she know about the MAFT-22? I don’t think I could ever tell her about how I lost my virginity to my actual stepsister in a public restroom (in the sacredness of a library, of all places!) but I do want someone to acknowledge that this madness is real; that the government is actually drugging people and altering their minds so that they breed. I’m not stupid enough to be direct about it though, just in case it’s not what Tory’s talking about.
“Be more specific,” I say.
Her eyes blank out like she’s just seen a ghost and nervous tremors go through me, especially when her voice turns nearly monotone and she says, “Yes. A week ago, I was protesting MAFT-22, otherwise known as Mind Altering Fertility Treatment two-thousand-and-twenty-two. An aircraft released a powdery substance on the crowd. It burned, a lot. It also made me ridiculously horny. I didn’t want some random stranger to . . . to….” She pauses and her eyes refocus, her body twitching like she’s fighting something off. “Don’t do that,” she whispers breathily. “Don’t make demands of me. You don’t know what it’s like!”
“I think I know.” I sit down on my bed, my own body trembling as I realize what’s probably happening.
It’s weird enough that Tory, of all people, would use the word ‘horny’ with me. Because of my experience last Friday, I know that she must have been drugged and that it could still be affecting her mentally. Especially if she somehow managed to escape without getting fucked. Who knows if the drug is supposed to affect men like it does women—because it’d definitely not altered my mind all that much—but Alison was completely out of it by the time I’d finally given in to her, and she’d not come out of it until after I’d finished inside her. Like a fertility drug would want; the male climaxing inside would be the most important bit, so long as the female didn’t fight him off and allowed it to happen. I can’t imagine Tory letting that happen to her though, and it doesn’t quite surprise me that she’d gotten away unscathed, because she’s a tough, stubborn sort, but I still want to know, so I carefully word my next question, “If you feel like answering, how did you escape?”
“I ran. I don’t know how I made it through all the people but I did, and then I was back home, and I locked myself in my room.”
Tory has some wealthy uncle that pays for her studio apartment, so it doesn’t surprise me that she could disappear away from the world without anyone hassling her—unlike me, who still lives with my dad and stepmom, even though I’m now eighteen, too.
“So, you do know about it? I’m not crazy….” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, not sure how much I should admit to, but not wanting her to feel as crazy as I’ve felt these last seven days, with memories of me and Alison flooding most of my waking thoughts. “Yeah . . . they got me, too. I was there….”
“Oh god,” she mouths, wiping her sweaty brow.
She’s not looking at me, like she’s afraid to or something, and for some reason that hurts a little bit. Even though I know we’ve never been the best friends who tell each other absolutely everything, we still have always been super close, and she should trust me—like one would a brother. Her hesitance just makes the last years more painful. Why did puberty change things between us, even if only slightly? She’s still the same dork I spent my childhood frog-hunting and splashing in mud puddles with. I’ve never sexualized her or thought of her in any inappropriate way. If anyone asked, I’d say she’s my bro—because I think that’s what she’d want, and it’s true besides….
“I still don’t feel quite right, Clark.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because I really am sorry, but I have no idea what I can do for her.
If my assumption is right, she’ll have to go through with what the drug is trying to get everyone to do, and I’m the last person in the world that wants to tell her that. It just seems so wrong. So dirty. So unlike anything we’ve ever talked about, ever.
“Did you . . . did you do it then?”
I swallow and look down at my hands. The same hands that fondled my stepsister’s breasts and toyed with her wet pussy. She’d been begging me to, practically, and I hadn’t really had much of a choice—or had I?—but the result was that I did, and I’d enjoyed it. I’ve spent the last few nights beating off to the memory and the pictures of Alison on my phone, like a complete and utter pervert.
“Yeah,” I admit very softly, because I owe my best friend the truth, even if it’s only the partial truth.
It’s not like I’m actually going to tell her about Alison Rigby—a girl she both despises and that she’d be completely appalled that I lost my virginity to, for multiple reasons.
“Did it fix it?”
Her voice sounds so broken and soft that I can’t help but stare at her, taking in the ruddiness of her cheeks and blank, deadness in her eyes. She’s never been a pretty girl, but I know that’s because she’s never wanted to be that type—completely comfortable skirting in the shadows of plain sloppiness that’s usually only afforded to boys. Her clothes are too baggy and her features aren’t quite right: dark eyes that are covered by thick glasses, a mop of curly, red hair, and pale, freckled skin—skin that she never dolls up with makeup and frequently lets burn in the sun. I don’t think she’s ugly, but like me, we’re boringly average in the looks department, and I’d say she even goes out of her way to be below average.
“Yeah,” I say again, although I’m suddenly uncomfortable about where this might lead us.
There’s no way in hell I could help her out with this problem, right? It would be even worse than touching Alison, because even though Alison’s my actual stepsister, we don’t have the same life-bond and trust that Tory and I have.
“I need you to fix it,” Tory whispers, her voice cracking.
“I can’t do that—” I start, but she’s already lifting her shirt off and oh-my-fucking-God, how did I never realize my best friend had grown such a massive pair of tits?
I’m stunned by the sheer size of them, even though they are bound down by some sort of tight fabric, they spill over the sides and look like they’re just aching to be released. Why did I ever think of Tory as my brother? She’s very clearly a woman with those massive things staring me in the face.
All of our history melts away as blood rushes to my groin and she peels away the fabric binding her tits. I can’t hardly breathe as they jiggle and flop upon being set free, the heavy flesh milky-white and freckled like my best friend’s face but infinitely more interesting. Her nipples are small and dusky pink, like her lips, and I suddenly want them in my mouth—I want her to drown me in her tits.
“Take off your pants,” I find myself saying, even though I hadn’t meant to say a word.
The power flows through me, like it did before in the bathroom with Alison. Tory will listen to me. Tory will want to listen to me. Tory will do anything I say until I cum deep inside her, just like I did with Alison.
She unbuttons her jeans quickly, her dark eyes glazed and her face flushed. I wonder if she’s even really with me at the moment, or if she’s somewhere far away in the recesses of her brain, her denial blanketing her under the warm heaviness of lust. My eyes stick on her plain white panties and thick thighs. She’s curvier than what I’d normally go for, but I don’t much care with how the white cotton of her underwear are soaked clean through, and how her tits sway enticingly with her every move.
“You’re kind of hot, Tory,” I say raggedly. “Show me your pussy.”
I can’t believe she’s listening to me like I’m her master or something. I can’t believe this is actually happening. It feels like a fever dream, and I nearly want to pinch myself as she pulls off her sodden underwear, her plump, pink pussy lips gleaming at me from under a soft bed of curls.
I know she’s never been fucked before; she might not even like boys at all—although it’s something we’ve never talked about. But she seems more than eager to show me, and I’m more than eager to look. More than eager to be the first one to see, to touch, to take….
She moans at me, her eyes fixed on mine, and begins to rub her pussy and her breasts, gasping, “I need you….”
Well, who am I to turn down a friend in need?
I stand, my erection trying to burst its way through my pajama bottoms, and approach her. She looks so soft and vulnerable—an image I’d never thought I’d see when thinking about my tomboyish best friend, and I lean in to kiss her, nearly unbelieving that I’m going to get to fuck two girls in one week, when previously I’d gotten laid by zero.
This is so wrong, but so right at the same time.
She tastes like something sweet and salty, and the smell of her arousal jackknifes through me, making me groan into her mouth as she slides her tongue against mine. I pull her back with me until we fall onto my bed, and then I push down my pajama bottoms, determined to fuck her right here and now before anyone can interrupt us. What if my dad or stepmom has heard the commotion? What if they come to investigate the noise?
I push into her, a heady thrill overtaking me at sinking my cock into the second dripping wet girl of the week, and my mind blanks as her heat envelops me, her innermost parts squeezing around my throbbing erection. It’s a tight fit and she moans so sweetly as I bury myself deep that I nearly lose it, but I cover her mouth with my hand, whispering, “Shh. Be quiet!”
I try to be gentle with her, I really do, but I’m so scared that we’re going to get caught that my hips start thrusting erratically, determined to seek bliss before I can be stopped. She needs this from me, and now I need this from her—so I pound her mercilessly, enjoying her muffled cries against my palm as I grope her huge tits and pummel her pussy, the bed creaking noisily under my pleasurable assault.
I never thought I’d be fucking the girl that I thought of as my almost-brother, but now that I am, all I want to do is cum deep inside her, until she’s dripping with my seed just as Alison had done.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” I whisper in her ear, biting at the sensitive spot behind it and relishing her sharp gasp.
I remember how Alison had moaned and cried as I took her, and the two experiences intertwine into one beautiful occurrence, until I’m fucking both Alison and Tory at once, my cock swelling to stretch them further and further until I’m gushing hot streams of cum. My mind blanks and everything goes white and shivery, and I press myself so hard against Tory that she yelps, but I don’t care as I drown in a sea of pleasure: all soft skin and heaving breasts and a tight, wet, suckling mouth between my best friend’s virgin legs.
Well, not so virgin anymore, thanks to me….
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask, my head foggy as I slump against her, golden aftershocks rolling through me.
She makes a ‘Mmhmm’ humming noise, going limp against my bed. Both of our legs are dangling off the side. I’ve fucked her like an animal. I feel kind of like a wild beast. A beast that humps things it shouldn’t—like childhood best friend’s and stepsisters. Maybe the MAFT-22 has affected me in some way, too. I don’t think I’d normally treat girls this way, but now that I’ve been doused and they’ve been coming onto me like bees to honey, it’s impossible not to give into the pull of it.
I roll away and readjust my sleepwear, knowing what comes next. Alison got really bitchy and mean after I’d finished with her, and I expect Tory to do the same. The only saving grace was that Alison hadn’t remembered a damn thing that had happened, but I don’t know if Tory will—she definitely wasn’t as affected by the drug as Alison, especially because she’d fought against it for over a week.
“Clark?”
I freeze as she leans up and looks at me, her dark eyes focused.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I blush and want to stammer something stupid, but luckily I don’t, just sitting up in the bed with her as she leans against the wall.
“So, you aren’t mad?” My voice comes out in a thready whisper.
“About what?”
I stare at her hard and realize that maybe her eyes aren’t as focused as I’d imagined. It’s hard to see them clearly under the thick, foggy glass of her frames.
“Get dressed,” I tell her firmly.
She pops off the bed and pulls on her clothes, rebinding her beautiful tits. I wonder why she wants to hide such specimens away from the world, but realize it’s really none of my business. I got to enjoy them for a little while at least. Whoever gets to enjoy them in the future is a lucky person.
“Clark?” Her voice is very soft and unsure and I nearly grit my teeth in anticipation of a confrontation, even though she’s now dressed and standing before me.
“Yeah?”
“Did I tell you . . . about being drugged?”
I nod at her, realizing that she might not have any idea of what just happened between us, with me sitting on the bed and her standing a distance away from me.
“I think you’re okay now, yeah?” I ask softly.
She blinks at me and then nods, smoothing down the front of her overly large shirt. “Sorry for waking you up to talk about it. I should go….”
I’m still not sure if she remembers, and I desperately want to know, so I ask, “Does this change things between us?”
“What do you mean?”
Well, that’s a lot of fucking help. I nearly groan in frustration before she says, “Why would it change anything? Us talking about what’s happening in the world?”
“Right,” I say, hopping up from the bed to lead her out to the front door.
I’m definitely not going to make her crawl down the shitty rope to get home. We walk in companionable silence through the hallway to the door before we bid each other casual goodbyes and Tory disappears into the darkness. What the hell did I just do? What the hell is wrong with me? And what if she’s now carrying my baby—just like Alison might be?
* * *