Uncle’s Hypnosis Game
* * *“WIN FREE PRIZES — LIKE A NEW CAR!”
The words are bright and flashing on my Uncle Joe’s laptop screen. He’s asleep on the couch—like usual—with a beer bottle clutched in one hand and his computer resting on his round gut. I tiptoe over to him, knowing that the advertisement is probably a scam but curious anyway. I could really use a car. Ever since I moved in with my dad and his two brothers, I’ve had to walk my tired ass to school and back every weekday. My mom used to drive me when I lived with her, but then she met some guy on the internet and ended up moving across the country to be with him; I didn’t want to leave all my friends, or my hometown, so now I’m here with aging, male divorcees.
What the hell was Uncle Joe looking at? I wonder as I crouch to get a better look at the screen.
It looks like some sort of game site, with colorful, cartoony images of farms and livestock. I glance at my sleeping uncle’s grizzled face, my lips quirking. Who knew such a mean, old bastard could like playing childish shit on the internet? Not me, that’s for certain.
I turn my attention back to the flashing words and read the little note under that says to plug in some headphones and watch a promotional video for a chance to win big.
Maybe it’s not a scam, I think to myself hopefully. It probably just has very low odds of winning anything good, and as I carefully remove the laptop from Joe’s belly, I notice that the flashing words change periodically to list other prizes like in-game currency and FarmerVilla merchandise.
Which means I’m kind of helping my uncle out by even watching the video in the first place, I convince myself as I scurry off with his laptop, eager to search my room for some headphones. After I dig out the old, white pair I got as a present several Christmases ago, I plug them in and sit on my pink bedspread; Dad was nice enough to paint the walls a soft, rose color when he learned I was coming to live with him, six months ago, and so I decorated the rest of the room to match (with fluffy heart-shaped pillows and a myriad of stuffed animals).
Even though I turned eighteen a week ago, I still like the same stuff I always have—which includes happy, bright colors, stuffed toys, and cartoons.
This game even looks like something I might be into. I’m a little jealous that I don’t have my own computer to play it on as I click on the video and watch a “COMING SOON!” ad, featuring lots of cute animals—mostly bunnies, kittens, and puppies.
“Collect them all,” a cheerful voice tells me, “by logging into FarmerVilla every day, for our one year anniversary event, starting next week!”
Another, less cheerful, voice makes me jump. “Stella, what the hell are you doing?”
Uncle Joe stands in my doorway, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes.
I rip off the headphones, dropping them on my bedspread with wide, guilty eyes. “I, uh . . . I wanted to play your game. Sorry.”
“Don’t touch my stuff again,” he says gruffly, striding in to grab his laptop. He unplugs my headphones with an irritated yank of his hand and then frowns down at me. “Get your own account. Costs ten bucks a month and you can play it on your phone. There’s a free version, if you don’t mind watching ads all the time and doing some other bullshit….”
“Okay, thanks,” I murmur, embarrassment flooding through me; I shouldn’t have messed with my uncle’s laptop, and it feels really weird to talk with him about anything (since we mostly ignore each other), much less silly video games. I can also smell alcohol and musky sweat radiating off of him. He’s too close to me and my bed, and although I know that’s my fault, I really want him to turn around and leave my room. “I’ll look it up,” I say, reaching for my purse and putting all my attention into digging out my phone.
That seems to do the trick; he turns around with a huff and I apologize again as he storms back out to the couch. Then, I load up the game on my phone.
“FREE ACCOUNT OR PAID ACCOUNT?” the website asks me.
I click free, and then I fill out some other questions about my name, gender, and age.
“UPLOAD A PICTURE OF YOURSELF TO FINISH ACCOUNT CREATION,” the website tells me.
That’s kind of weird, but it must want to verify that I am who I say I am. Uncle Joe did say that the free version would make me do some ‘bullshit’. I take a quick, smiling selfie and upload it.
“THANK YOU, STELLA. PLEASE WATCH THE TUTORIAL VIDEO TO START YOUR VERY OWN FARM!”
It flashes the headphone symbol at me when I try to play it, so I plug them in and feel a giddy rush of excitement go through me as happy, cartoony music begins to play.
This is going to be so fun, I think to myself gleefully, watching as little farmer people attend a livestock auction to purchase cows, pigs, goats, chickens, and horses. I’m definitely going to want a couple of each, especially as the video explains the new breeding feature, showing cutesy hearts over the cartoon animal’s heads and then a stork dropping off adorable baby versions (a cheerful voice explains that offspring can be sold or raised up).
“FREE ACCOUNTS START WITH NO IN-GAME CURRENCY,” the website warns me in big red letters. “PLEASE WATCH THIS SHORT VIDEO TO GAIN 500 GOLD COINS!”
“Already with the videos,” I murmur, not surprised but still a bit irritated that I can’t just jump in and play.
I press play on the video, but my phone screen goes all fuzzy and bright. Weird, whispery, static-noises fills my ears, and my head starts to feel funny, like I’ve been pulled into a warm, lucid dream. I try to look away, try to move, but can’t—my body going slack and heavy as everything turns white. Then black.
A moment later I come to. My pussy throbs, and I find myself rubbing my clit through my panties with my skirt rucked up around my hips. What the hell? I think muzzily, staring blankly at the ceiling. Cheerful music fills my ears and I realize I’m wearing headphones while lying in my bed.
“Stella, your door is wide open!”
I lurch upright, the headphones falling off and the cord nearly strangling me as I stare into the angry, green eyes of my father. He slams the door before I can say anything. My cotton-candy colored panties stick wetly to my pussy lips, and in slow motion horror I look down to see that they are completely exposed (so my dad certainly saw them) and they are also nearly translucent because they’re soaked through.
How long was I masturbating with my door open? And why?
I vaguely remember playing a new game on my phone, but nothing between watching the tutorial video and now. It’s like a blank spot in my brain—a blackness of nonexistence, like I’d fallen into a dreamless sleep. But I hadn’t been sleeping, had I?
No, you were fucking yourself and now Dad thinks you’re a little slut!
Tears well up in my eyes as I straighten out my skirt.
“I am a slut,” I whisper, and then I gasp.
I hadn’t meant to say that; it’d just come out all on it’s out.
Sluts play with their pussies, a stern voice, much like my own, tells me.
What the fuck is happening? Why am I thinking these things? My hand reaches back under my skirt, and even though I try to stop myself I find that I can’t; a voice in my head keeps saying: Sluts play with their pussies. Sluts make themselves cum.
And I do really want to cum, I realize, because the maddening ache inside me is making me feel delirious and crazy. I rub my clit through my panties, squealing when my body instantly seizes up and shudders, the orgasm intense and brutal, like it’s been building and building for hours.
After I finish panting, a nauseous horror fills me as my eyes catch on my window. It’s definitely much too dim in here to still be late afternoon. If I remember right, I’d just arrived home from school a half hour before I’d downloaded the game. Now, it looks like the sun is setting—which means I’ve been in my room, with the door open, playing with myself for hours.
Uncle Joe and Uncle Frank might have seen, but then were too disgusted to say anything to my face. Maybe they were the ones who went and told my dad, so that he’d get the slutty performance to stop.
My face burns and hot tears leak from my eyes as I fight back sobs. God, they probably all think I’m an awful, whorish tramp now. And worse, I must be going crazy if I just did all that for hours on end—especially because I don’t even remember any of it.
Play FarmerVilla to relax! a cheerful thought tells me.
I grab my phone, desperate to forget what just happened; I need to numb my brain to reality and my situation. A cute game will at least distract me for a while, and then I can just try to avoid my dad and uncles for the next few months (then I’ll be able to graduate and skip off to college). Maybe I’ll even have a shot at winning a car so I can drive my ass across the country to go live with my mom and her new husband, instead.
“CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE EARNED 500 GOLD COINS! DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE LIVESTOCK AUCTION?”
I give my phone a watery smile and click the accept button, putting my headphones back on to hear the happy music and jingling of coins as it gives them to me. The game transports me to the auction, popping up a little message about bidding against other players for livestock in real time, and then I get sucked into the chaos of it all, clicking frantically at my phone as I bid on a cow with a five-star rating. (Apparently, the animals all have stats indicated by their star rating, and since I’m a competitive person, I want the best ones to start my farm with.)
“450 GOLD COINS GOING ONCE!” the game tells me, and I fight with myself over if I should outbid the loser who keeps jumping up the price and spend all of my gold coins on just one animal.
Of course, you should, my mind tells me, because you can always earn more coins.
“SOLD!” the game tells me just as I’m about to click on the ‘bid another 50 coins’ box.
“What the fuck,” I hiss, “that’s not fair!”
“FEELING DOWN ABOUT MISSING OUT? UPLOAD A FULL BODY PHOTO TO GET A SECOND CHANCE AT WINNING 5-STAR BLACK AND WHITE HEIFER!”
I almost don’t think about it as I jump out of bed to position myself in front of my full-length mirror. It’s only when I’m gazing at my reflection—at a teen girl with long, brown hair and big, green eyes—that I realize this is kind of bizarre. I’m wearing a fairly conservative skirt that falls to my mid-thigh and a blouse that entirely covers my torso and breasts . . . so maybe it’s not such a big deal, though.
Plus, I really want that damn cow.
I snap another smiling picture, making sure to get my entire body, including my sandaled feet. I just painted my toenails pink this morning, and I think the picture looks pretty cute and innocent as I upload it.
Classy even, I console myself as my stomach twists in discomfort. Not weird at all….
“CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE WON THE 5-STAR BLACK AND WHITE HEIFER!”
Wow, that other person must be really pissed off, I think with a grin as my coins jingle merrily away and the adorable spotted cow is loaded into my farmer avatar’s trailer.
“YOU ARE OUT OF GOLD. TO GET 500 COINS AND REMAIN AT THE AUCTION, PLEASE WATCH THIS SHORT CLIP.”
Another one? Well, I guess I should have expected it, I think as I press play.
The screen goes staticky and buzzing whispers fill my brain. I can barely make out words this time. You love FarmerVilla, I think I hear. Then something about being addicted? I try to focus closely, my mind feeling warmer and heavier as though I’m getting very sleepy, and I blink in confusion as the pictures I uploaded flash briefly on the screen.
I look so happy though, I think dreamily. I love this game.
The screen returns to normal, and the cartoony music begins again, cheerfully pinging me my 500 earned coins. I smile at the screen and think about how I need to buy my new cow a boyfriend so that I can start off making baby cows. That’s what a real, successful farmer would do. I hope that the next round doesn’t get so pricy, and meanly hope that everyone else’s game crashes so that I can save my gold and bid at leisure.
“BONUS OFFER! GET 5,000 COINS NOW IF YOU UPLOAD A SILLY UNDERWEAR PHOTO!”
“What?” I whisper, wrinkling my nose.
A silly underwear photo? Does that mean a pic of a silly pair of my panties? Or does it mean capturing a shot of me being silly in only my bra and underwear?
For some reason, I know it’s the latter and immediately feel warm pressure in my head to stand up and strip off my blouse and skirt. But I can’t do that right? That would be insane.
A cheerful voice warns me, “This offer expires in 30 seconds! Thank you for playing FarmerVilla!”
“Shit,” I hiss as I kick off my sandals and fumble with my blouse and skirt.
Alarm bells go off in my mind, partly screaming don’t-do-this and partly screaming you-only-have-a-few-seconds-left!
I drop my clothes to the ground. My heart hammers in my chest as I pull a goofy grin and pose, sticking out my boobs and butt as I awkwardly snap the pic.
Thankfully it uploads automatically and a cheerful voice tells me, “Good job! Enjoy your bonus coins!”
A warm rush of joy goes through me when I hear the steady jingle of a buttload of coins going into my avatar’s overall pockets. She jumps up and down, waving her arms and beaming at me.
“So cute,” I murmur, tapping at her to make her sit down and get ready for the next animal.
It’s a goat, but since I have so many coins, I decide to buy it, even though it only has 4 stars. I win it easily for a 100 coins, and then a message pops up, “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE WON THE 4-STAR GREY BUCK!” followed by another message that reads, “SPECIAL OFFER! UPGRADE THIS ANIMAL TO 5 STARS BY UPLOADING A SHORT VIDEO OF YOU JUMPING UP AND DOWN FOR JOY!”
A timer appears on the screen, counting down from 30 seconds.
“No cheerful voice this time?” I ask my phone, quickly tapping on it to start the recording feature.
I don’t want to do this, but I’ve already uploaded the bra and panty pic, so this really doesn’t seem much worse. I jump up and down like my avatar did moments ago, making sure to wave my arms around and trying to ignore the way my big breasts flop all over the place. Embarrassment rolls through me and my face reddens; my panties are still glued wetly to my shaved pussy and rub awkwardly on my clit with each of my flouncy movements. I can’t focus on that though, I scold myself, because I need to smile happily for the camera and look joyful in order to upgrade my goat. I’ve already started the recording, so it’s probably too late to stop. Plus, it’s important to start out with the best animals if I want to be successful.
“Good job!” a cheerful voice tells me. “Video clip submitted and accepted. Enjoy your upgraded 5-star buck!”
“I need a bull next,” I tell it, even though I’m pretty sure it can’t hear me (and that it’s not a real person).
Weirdly, the next animal offered is a black bull and for some strange reason his stars are red, instead of gold, and he has six of them instead of five.
“SUPER RARE EPIC AUCTION,” the game tells me while colorful fireworks burst all around. “LIGHTNING ROUND!”
“Oh shit,” I mutter, sitting back on my bed and focusing.
I need this bull. No matter what happens I must win him so that I can start my farm off right. I wonder if Uncle Joe is in the living room also bidding at this auction, and then realize that he’s probably far enough in the game where he doesn’t need new livestock. He’s also probably passed out on the couch again. But still, the game said this bull was super rare and epic, so it might have alerted all its other currently online players about it or something.
As soon as the bidding opens, the price skyrockets up to 4,000 coins and then bounces past 5,000 before I can even get a bid in.
“Fuck!” I yell at my phone, watching in despair as the super epic bull sells for 250,000 gold; a number I didn’t even think was possible.
“SPECIAL OFFER,” my phone tells me as I continue to curse at it, “FOR A CHANCE TO WIN YOUR OWN SUPER EPIC 6-STAR BULL, PLEASE UPLOAD A FUNNY NUDE PHOTO!”
A timer pops up again, and in my haste to not waste the fifteen seconds it gives me, I peel off my sticky underwear and lacy pink bra, laying back on the bed with a cheesy smile. I give myself bunny ears, my mind whispering, ‘What-the-fuck-are-you-doing?’, as I snap the photo.
It doesn’t look very funny, I realize as it freezes on the screen while it slowly uploads. It actually looks pretty slutty, like a young teenager trying to be sexy with her large tits pressed together and her bare cunt on full display. I can even see my clit poking out. It looks very pink and wet.
“I am a slut,” I whisper.
A shiver of pleasure goes through me, hardening my bubblegum pink nipples and making my cunt do a little spasm. My thoughts insist, Sluts play with their pussies. Sluts make themselves cum.
“Not now,” I scold myself, feeling uneasy until a new message pops up: “GOOD JOB! PHOTO SUCCESSFULLY UPLOADED. SPIN THE WHEEL FOR YOUR FREE CHANCE TO WIN A SUPER EPIC 6-STAR BULL NOW!”
A wheel appears and I make my farmer lady go spin it. It only has one golden wedge; the rest are black.
“You better win me that bull,” I tell my avatar. “I just did a lot to get it.”
The spinner lands on a black wedge and I curse. My avatar slumps her shoulders and frowns at the ground.
“Better luck next time!” a cheerful voice tells me.
“You piece of shit!” I snarl, tossing my phone down.
Why am I even playing this stupid game? I wonder, but immediately a stern thought pops into my head: Because you love it.
But why do I love it? It’s not that fun, is it? It’s also super weird.
My unease grows, making me feel like I’m going to throw up before a stern thought tells me: Play FarmerVilla to relax!
“Stop stressing yourself out,” I mutter, picking my phone back up.
I notice a new message immediately, “FOR ANOTHER FREE SPIN ON THE WHEEL, PLEASE WATCH THIS SHORT VIDEO CLIP.”
“Oh good,” I murmur to myself, pressing play. It sure beats uploading videos of myself!
My phone screen goes white, the cheerful music shifting into a staticky mess. Good girl, I think I hear in the background, but I can’t be sure. Good girls make good sluts. I blink a few times, everything inside me flushing hot with arousal. If I could think clearly, I might be concerned or wonder what the hell’s happening, but instead a dreamy euphoria settles over me. Good sluts are relaxed and cheerful.
“I am a slut,” I murmur to myself, over and over.
It feels good to say it, sending electricity buzzing all through me and twinging in my nipples and in my throbbing clit.
“Sluts play with their pussies,” I whisper. “Sluts make themselves cum.”
My hand reaches between my legs to rub at the engorged nub poking out of my pussy lips. Pleasure rolls through me as I press into it eagerly, spiraling little circles with my fingers and spreading wetness all over my smooth, shaved mons.
Good sluts record themselves masturbating, I hear through the static.
I press the record button and point my phone at my questing hand. I am a good girl, I’m nearly certain, and good girls make good sluts.
“Good slut,” a deep male voice says over the static, and instantly my body seizes up, ecstasy rolling through me. My long, pale legs spasm and flail as I cum. Quick bursts of liquid spray out of my pussy hole. I whimper breathlessly as the orgasm high slowly fades into golden aftershocks.
The cheerful music resumes. My entire body keeps twitching as I try to catch my breath.
Holy shit. Did I just wet myself? What just came out of me? Was it girl-cum?
Yeah, and that’s not normal, my mind whirs. That’s super trashy.
“I am a slut,” I say with a shaky sob, wondering what the hell is happening and what got into me.
The bed is disgustingly wet with my own juices and I’m lying in a puddle of it. Why did I just masturbate while recording it? Is this game changing me somehow? Why did a strange man calling me a ‘good slut’ make me squirt like that? Something’s definitely not right about all of this. I nearly remove my headphones when a cheerful voice stops me by saying, “Please use your free spin now!”
Oh right, I still have a chance to win that super rare bull. My attention snaps to my phone game and the potential of winning big. If I do, it will all be worth it, I console myself, knowing that if I get this bull, I will be truly happy.
It might only be pixels in a fake world, but being a successful farmer is important to me—for some reason. If just winning cool animals brings me this much anticipation and joy, I can’t wait to see what the rest of the game offers. Especially after I get to the farming part with my carefully curated livestock.
My avatar spins the wheel again, and I groan as it lands on another dumb, black wedge.
“You little bitch,” I mutter at the brunette avatar of my farmer-self.
She does her stupid, sulky pout as the cheerful voice says, “Better luck next time!”
But maybe the game will give you more chances, I think hopefully, staring with pleading eyes at the screen. I did upload that video of myself, and I didn’t even get anything for it (unless it was part of watching the clip, which doesn’t seem fair).
“SORRY ABOUT YOUR POOR LUCK,” the game tells me in bright red letters. “TO INSTANTLY FORCE-WIN THE EPIC SIX STAR, YOU MAY SEND YOUR MOST RECENT VIDEO TO A RANDOM CONTACT IN YOUR PHONE.”
“God no,” I whisper, exhaling sharply.
But a little 10 second timer pops up with a large green, ‘ACCEPT?’, button, and I accidentally tap on it without thinking.
“No,” I moan, whimpering as my contacts pop up and a little arrow slides over them and clicks one.
‘UNCLE JOE’, it chooses, and panicked tears well up in my eyes as the clip of me masturbating is attached to a text message and pinged to his phone.
He’s probably piss-drunk and asleep, my mind soothes me as I glance at the time on my phone.
I’ve been playing this game for hours and hours, and it’s already past midnight. I should be exhausted, especially because I got up really early for school this morning, had to walk miles, and have now masturbated to completion twice—but for some strange reason my brain feels all lit up like a Christmas tree. I want to keep playing FarmerVilla.
I also want to get ahold of my uncle’s phone before he sees the incriminating clip.
“Good slut,” the deep male voice tells me, and I gasp as my pussy spasms so hard a gush of liquid squirts out of it, dropping the phone right onto my open-mouthed, orgasming face.
“Ow,” I whine, grabbing at the phone and then rubbing where it hit me.
Is this dude going to make me squirt all the time? I don’t have time to worry about it—and it’s hard to worry at all with my mind and body still buzzing from the high—because the cheerful voice in my phone sings out, “Congratulations on your new, super rare, 6-star bull!”
Triumphant horns sound off and fireworks erupt; my avatar dances like a maniac, shimmying all around the new bull.
I can’t help but smile as my epic prize is loaded up into my trailer, already picturing all the elite little calves I’m going to get out of him. That’ll probably make me buttloads of gold coins, and then I won’t have to do all this weird video and picture stuff.
I decide I’ll wait another hour or two before I sneak out into the living room and mess with Uncle Joe’s phone. He already caught me screwing around with his laptop, and I want to be certain that he’s dead asleep before I try and delete that text. Also, I’m kind of a big chickenshit. If he’s awake and he’s already looking at it, I want to wait and see if he messages me back with a, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’, or whatever.
A burst of unease goes through me as I remember him telling me, “There’s a free version, if you don’t mind watching ads all the time and doing some other bullshit….”
Did he know about the weird mind-addling videos and how it makes free players upload pervy stuff?
No, he couldn’t have, I console myself. He wouldn’t have let me play it, if he’d known.
My uncle might be a drunk, but he’s never done anything weird to me, or made me feel sexually threatened. He might even be furious if he found out about all the shit I’ve been doing to get free stuff. That thought makes me feel really guilty and sad, but then another thought pops in my head: good sluts are relaxed and cheerful.
“I am a good slut,” I tell myself, and a shiver of pleasure runs through me.
The game pulls me in with a 5-star doe next, and I focus on winning it and then a couple of chickens and pigs before my money runs out again.
“Everyone must be asleep,” I murmur, surprised to realize that I’ve now got all the starter animals except for horses, and that all my animals are 5-stars (except for my super awesome bull).
“YOU ARE OUT OF GOLD. YOU WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY TELEPORTED TO YOUR FARM IN 30 SECONDS.”
“No more free offers?” I ask it, frowning.
Maybe I actually have to play the game and earn my own gold now. My eyes widen as I am taken to a beautiful landscape, with a charming farmhouse, a big, red barn, and a bunch of empty fields. A little message pops up that tending to my livestock will earn me ‘farmer points’, and so I make my avatar put them all in the barn before having her feed and water them. The cheerful music soothes me, and I hardly think about how I’m lying in a big, cold, wet, girl-cum puddle, nakedly playing a game that made me masturbate a bunch and send a weird video to my alcoholic uncle.
At least it didn’t go to Frank, I think briefly, because my dad’s younger brother is much louder and more impulsive, and who knows how he’d react to something like the clip I’d sent. Uncle Joe is much more likely to handle it with cold, quiet fury. Not that I’m going to let him see it still, I tell myself as I spend my new farmer points on seeds to sow my fields.
After I’m finished doing all my farming chores, I’ll definitely go out and find Joe’s phone. In just a few more minutes….
Another hour passes as the game has me play mini-games to make my crops grow. My animals also seem very needy, and I have to make my avatar feed and water them every so often or a little red bar begins to build. I click on the information tab by it and read: “IF THIS BAR GETS FULL YOUR NEGLECTED ANIMALS WILL BE TAKEN AWAY!”
“Can’t have that,” I tell myself as I go through the process of tending to them all again.
I’m definitely not going to lose my animals after all I did to earn the damn things. Another red bar pops up as I tend my animals, and that one appears to be linked to my crops. Both bars seem to fill up faster and faster as I go back and forth between tending my animals and my crops. I growl in frustration.
“This isn’t fair!” I whine.
“WATCH ANOTHER CLIP TO STUNT NEGATIVE BAR GROWTH,” a game message tells me.
I click the accept button, and immediately am pulled into a drowsy state as my phone goes white and the whispery static fills my ears. Good sluts don’t wear clothes unless told otherwise, I hear. Good sluts need permission from men to do anything. Good sluts love to please men.
“I am a good slut,” I whisper, shivering as blissful waves go through me.
“Prove it,” the deep male voice demands.
I immediately press record on my phone, knowing what I need to do. I film myself rubbing at my clit, and then I use my fingers to hold open my slippery pussy lips, showing the viewer my virgin fuckhole. I sink one finger into it, moaning softly, and fuck my tight little hole—in and out, in-and-out—with building speed until the deep voice tells me, “Good slut.”
“Oh god!” I yelp, my cunt clenching around my finger hard and pussy-juice spurting from me.
“You have successfully uploaded,” the cheerful voice tells me as the white noise fades and the happy music returns. “To permanently freeze your negative status bars, please send the clip to your last contacted contact.”
I’m not thinking clearly as I click the accept button, my body and mind both dazed and drained. Although I’ve masturbated before, and maybe leaked a little more than normal, I’ve definitely never ever squirted like I have tonight . . . or cum so many times in a row.
It’s almost like the game is reprogramming my internal processes somehow.
That thought makes my warm mind cold, so I distract myself with finishing up tending to my farm. Birds chirp happily, my crops grow into fields of luscious tomatoes, wheat, and corn, and my gold starts piling up as I harvest and sell all my produce on the ‘farmer’s market’. Best of all, the stupid red bars remain empty the entire time, and the night slowly passes away as I get lost in the meat of the game (which consists mostly of replanting and reharvesting, but is strangely addicting anyway).
When the first trickle of light comes through my window, I rip off my headphones and sit up in a panic.
Did I seriously play FarmerVilla all damned night? What the hell is wrong with me?
“I love that game,” I murmur, rubbing at my tired eyes.
But I also love that my uncles haven’t seen me masturbating and squirting like a wicked slut, so I scramble out of bed and hunt for a comfy pair of pajamas.
“Good sluts don’t wear clothes,” I whisper as I try and fail to put on a soft, cotton pair of pants.
For some reason my feet just won’t go through the holes, missing awkwardly each time I try. I give up, knowing that if I don’t go out into the living room and get Uncle Joe’s phone right now that he’s definitely going to wake up to a filthy, unwanted surprise.
Anxiety flutters through me as I creep towards my door. I crack it open, listening for any sound of movement. Nothing, everyone must still be asleep. I grit my teeth and tiptoe out into the living room. Wetness leaks down my bare thighs, dripping on the wooden floorboards.
“I am such a slut,” I whisper, a rush of shame and arousal going through me.
“Yes, you are.”
I bite back a scream as Uncle Joe sits up on the sofa. Why is he awake? I cover my bare tits with both arms, hating that his gaze instantly latches onto them. His bleary eyes flick from me to his phone, which he holds tightly in one of his large hands.
“Why did you send me these?” His eyes trail down my shivering frame to my exposed cunt; he licks his dry lips and then his bloodshot eyes snap to mine. “Well?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my mind screaming: Good sluts love to please men. “It was….” An accident, is what I want to say, but for some reason I find I can’t lie (Good girls don’t lie, a little whisper tells me) and then my lips form new words before I can stop it, “On purpose. I wanted to be a good slut. I wanted to please you.”
“Oh?” He swallows and looks back down at his phone, his thumb clicking on something.
Heat floods me as I realize he’s watching one of the videos I sent. Again.
‘Delete those!’ I want to shout, but I can’t—I can’t do anything but stand in front of him buck naked while I watch him eyefuck my squirting porn videos.
“You get very wet,” he whispers.
“Do you like them?” I find myself asking, horror and pleasure filling me up in equal measure.
I don’t want him to like them, but yet I really want him to like them. I really want him to want me, I realize suddenly. I want him to hold me down with his large hands and rape my virgin pussy.
Oh God, what’s wrong with me?
He nods at his phone, his reddened eyes wide and interested. “I do,” he murmurs.
“Do you want to fuck me?” I whisper, hating that I can’t stop myself from asking, because the drone of: Good sluts love to please men, is repeating itself inside my skull with the intensity of a war drum.
A long silence stretches between us. My uncle sits very still, just looking at me.
“I do . . . but I shouldn’t,” he finally says, running a hand through his greying hair. “Even though it would be fun….”
“But I need to please you,” I say, a little whimper escaping me as my throat tightens and my insides do somersaults.
Something really bad will happen if I don’t please him—and even if I don’t know what, I definitely don’t want to find out. I might have an aneurysm or keel over from a heart attack. Or maybe the game won’t work for me anymore. That would still be horrible. Not getting to play anymore would make me miserable.
“Ah….” he mumbles and I see him click on his phone to watch one of the videos again. “Can I use your mouth?”
“Yes, sir,” I say gratefully, rushing forward to drop to my knees beside him.
I instantly want to get back up and run into my room, horrified at myself. I’ve never even kissed a boy before, and now I’m going to put an aging man’s penis in my mouth? And not just any penis, but my uncle’s? What the flying fuck is wrong with me?
Good sluts love to please men, my mind insists, and I don’t even cringe as my uncle tentatively strokes my goosepimpled shoulder, or try to leave as he begins to unbuckle his jeans.
“Does it make you horny to suck cock?” he asks softly, and I can tell he wants me to say it does, so I do, even though it’s kind of a lie (since I’ve never done it before), although I do feel a shivery sort of anticipation; my cunt feels very wet and tense.
“You have a very pretty mouth,” he murmurs, cupping my chin and using the rough pad of his thumb to trace along my lips. “Can I cum in it?”
“Yes, please,” I whisper, batting my eyelashes at him and smiling.
Oh my God, I’m acting like such a whore, my mind cries, but a little voice tells me: Good sluts are relaxed and cheerful.
“I am a good slut,” I say aloud, and my uncle groans, his pupils blowing wide with lust, as he yanks his throbbing erection free.
It looks positively grotesque, I think in a dazed shock, all veiny and red with weird skin bunched around the tip like a turtleneck. It’s also oozing something clear and twitching like a massively swollen thumb. I don’t want it anywhere near me, but I also desperately need it in my mouth.
“Please,” I whisper, breaking free of his hold on my chin so that I can push my way into his lap.
My sensitive nipples brush against the rough denim of his jeans. I can smell his booze-stink and a sharp musk coming off his man parts. It doesn’t matter though, and I eagerly kiss at his leaking cockhead, smearing precum all over my lips and then slurping at his cockhole. His arousal tastes pungent and salty. A small part of me wants to throw up, but a larger part wants more of it, my pussy clenching with each soft hiss my uncle lets loose, and an intense joy spreading through me that he’s obviously enjoying my slutty attention.
“Your dad might be up soon, and I don’t want to get kicked out….” he whispers, burying one hand into my long hair and then cupping the nape of my neck. “Make me cum quick.”
I whimper as he pushes his cock past my lips, his hold on me nearly crushing. My common sense is screaming that this is all wrong, but a heavy blanket envelops my mind as my uncle begins to fuck my slack mouth, taking advantage of my nonresistance to bury himself deep. I don’t even gag as he hits the back of my throat, something inside me keeping me perfectly calm and still. My uncle grunts in appreciation, his breath growing rapid as he pumps into me; his cock jumps every few seconds against my tongue, spurting little bursts of salty wetness.
“You’re so good at taking my cock,” he says with a groan, and my pussy spasms gratefully, the bliss at being told I’m doing good making me flush with heat. “Are you ready for my load?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum around him, my lips stretched wide and drool leaking out to trickle down his balls.
He stiffens and presses my face hard into his groin, his cock twitching violently and spraying hot, salty sperm straight down my convulsing throat.
Good slut, I hear the phantom, deep voice of the man in my phone tell me, almost like he now lives inside my brain. My entire body spasms in ecstasy as my uncle grips me to him. Hot streams of girl-cum splatter across the floor and run down the backs of my slender legs.
“Oh,” I choke out, lost in the heady sensation of wet heat in my mouth, in my belly, in my cunt….
I shake and moan softly as my uncle finishes draining his balls down my throat; my entire world becomes the throbbing between my legs and of his cock against my tongue.
This is what heaven feels like, I think deliriously, slurping eagerly at Uncle Joe’s softening cock. My entire mouth tastes bitter and acrid, and all I can smell is the primal musk of sex. It’s awful. It’s confusing. It’s fucking insane and wonderful.
My uncle pushes me off of him, his flaccid cock slipping from my lips as I collapse into an awkward crouch at his feet.
“Get dressed and go to school, kid,” he tells me. “I’m going to delete the videos. We aren’t going to talk about this again.”
“Okay,” I agree, torn between resentment at being used like a fucktoy (and then told I’m to be forgotten) and dizzying gratitude that I not only fulfilled my purpose, but that the videos will be erased from existence, and I’ve been given permission to wear clothes again.
I rush back into my room, not wanting to see the guilt on my uncle’s face, and quickly throw on a clean set of underwear, a cute sundress, and my favorite sandals. It feels really good to be clothed again—almost good enough to forget what just happened to me.
Don’t think about it. He said to forget it, I remind myself, knowing that I should listen to men, especially ones that are much older and wiser than me.
Before despair can set in, I grab my phone, my eyes widening as I see: “YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! CONGRATULATIONS ON REACHING LEVEL 2. OPEN YOUR GIFT NOW.”
Wow, my mind buzzes, what does level two mean?
I can’t wait to open my gift and find out….