I find it perplexing how quickly it all seemed to change.

Let me tell you what I mean. I’m currently, at the time of writing, 58 years old. My brother is 60, and my sister 55.

My children are the oldest of mine and my sibling’s offspring at 36 and 33, respectively. They’re both boys. My brother has two children, one of each, at 35 and 32. My sister’s eldest, however, has only just turned 21. She also had one of each, with her son some four years younger than her daughter.

When I went to high school in New Zealand in the late 70s early 80s, there were three stages to final year exams. In the 5th form (Grade 10), you sat for School Certificate. If you did well, you went on to the 6th form and did the University Entrance exam. In the final year, 7th form, if you hadn’t been accepted into a University, you could sit for either a scholarship or a bursary for University.

Here’s the thing, though. If the boys didn’t do well in School C, they left school and got jobs. Apprenticeships, if they could, or general work, if they couldn’t.

The girls also left school if they didn’t pass their School C, but they, more often than not, would only take jobs temporarily until they became old enough to get married and have children.

I’m not saying it was better back then! Let me emphasise that! I’m just saying how it was.

But in the years between my sister and me, something changed. Getting married and having children was no longer the primary goal of the young women leaving school. Suddenly, everyone was waiting until their mid to late 30s to get married, and sometimes even later, to have kids.

I’m not sure why you would want to deal with teenagers in your 50s, but each to their own!

Let me emphasise here, again, I don’t have a problem with it; I’m just observing!

My mother, who has long passed, was a manipulative bitch! She taught all of her well-honed manipulation skills to her daughter, my sister.

So why do I tell you all of this? Because through a series of really unfortunate events, my niece, Rebekkah, came to live with my wife and me just before her 16th birthday. Two years of absolute hell ensued!

Mum was the first to go. She died of oesophagus cancer, which was not surprising given she had smoked a pack of cigarettes a day since age 21. Dad, as is often the case, followed her into the grave. I’m sure he only meant to check to make sure the gates of hell had locked behind his wife!

Then came the fateful accident. Greg, my sister’s husband (he would have had to have been a saintly man to put up with my sister!), my sister and Greg’s parents, as well as my niece and nephew, had hired a huge Winnebago type campervan and gone on holidays to New Zealand’s deep south.

Luckily for the two kids, they had decided that sightseeing on a cold, wet, windy Invercargill day wasn’t for them, and they stayed with some other kids at the caravan park.

It was one of those actual accidents, nobody’s fault. The truck driver, coming down the range, hit some black ice. His truck slewed out of control and slammed into the campervan driven by Greg’s dad.

All of the camper van’s occupants were killed at the scene. I hope it was quick and mostly painless for all of their sakes.

Greg was an only child, so there were no relatives on his side that could have taken the children in. My brother stepped up and took them into his home.

Five months later, he called me, “You’re up, brother,” he said. “If I have to have this fucking bitch in my house any longer, I will probably get charged with murder!”

The eldest of my two boys had already left home. The youngest had a steady trade job and was hardly ever home. So why the fuck would I want to go back to raising teenagers?

Add in that my wife and I were having trouble. Now that the kids had grown, we discovered we didn’t have much in common anymore.

My wife is a gorgeous creature. 5-ft. seven in. (170 cm.) of fiery red hair (and temper) and green eyes. She has long legs with a firm, toned ass and high, tight, apple-sized breasts. Even in her mid-50s, she is still slim, trim and terrific. I still lusted over her dreadfully, and let’s hope the female readers will forgive me for this thought, I needed to keep my cock in her mouth to keep her shut, the fuck, up!

All that ever issued from her mouth was an endless litany of complaints. Her job was too hard, I didn’t make enough money so she could quit work, the house was too small, her car too cheap, I couldn’t take her on European holidays every year as she felt she deserved, etc.

Just as a by-the-by, I never got to stick my dick in any part of her anymore. She had decided that clamming her vagina up might help me to work harder or get a better job. I was earning almost $80,000 a year, but apparently, that wasn’t enough!

Reluctantly, but family is family, right? I took the flight across to New Zealand to pick up my niece. Her brother wanted to stay with his uncle. As feared, my sister had taught her daughter all of the tricks our mother had taught her.

I was initially sympathetic. It had to be very difficult to lose your parents at that vulnerable age, but I soon realised that this narcissistic bitch couldn’t have cared less that her parents had gone.

Her biggest complaint was that her inheritance was tied up in a trust fund controlled by the family lawyer, and she had no access to ‘her’ money. I’m glad she didn’t because there would have been nothing left for her or her brother two months after she got her greedy, selfish fingers on it.

Her next biggest complaint, apparently, from what my brother told me, was that he and his wife wouldn’t ‘keep her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to’!

Her mother had been a teacher, and her father a livestock broker, so they led a life of wealth and privilege. Private schools, private ballet lessons, trips to foreign lands, all of the trappings the fortunate few enjoy.

‘Perfect,’ I thought. ‘Another whinging bitch complaining I don’t make enough money.’

My brother picked me up from the airport and filled me in on the details on the way out to his farm.

It seemed manipulative behaviour and skipping school were the least of our niece’s many ‘indiscretions’.

“I can’t stand it, Eric,” he informed me. “She’s got Lou (Louise) so terrified Lou won’t come out of our bedroom if Rebekkah is home. Lou has basically moved back in with her mum and dad. I don’t know how I’ve managed to not murder the bitch thus far!”

This didn’t exactly fill me with a desire to help my niece, but what do you do? You can’t abandon family to the system when you can do something about it, can you?

That was five years ago. All of the above is written to set the scene for the story I’m now going to tell you: How I brought my niece to heel and made my wife into a high-priced escort at the same time.

The two years from when Rebekkah crashed into our lives until just before her 18th birthday was a daily living hell. She exhibited all of the behaviours my brother had described. Things had gotten so bad my wife was living separately. She still expected me to pay for everything, though. Fool that I was, I was!

The behaviours culminated when Becca, as she prefers to be called, was arrested for trespass, assault, assaulting a police officer, and shoplifting (to name some of the crimes she was charged with that I can tell you about in this forum). She was two months short of her 18th birthday. To my chagrin, the judge found her guilty of all charges and sentenced her to two years of home detention. She even had an ankle bracelet!

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ I thought. Becca had always said she was moving out of our house as soon as she turned 1eight. I was looking forward to the day so much that I marked the days off on a calendar and counted them down! Now I was going to be stuck with this hellcat for another two fucking years!

The court released her into my custody, and I took her home.

She showed no signs of remorse. In fact, she sneered at me, “Great, stuck with your imbecilic ass for another two fucking years! You’ll have to give up drinking when I turn eighteen in four days because I’ll drink every drop I can find in the house if you don’t!”

I dropped her at home and made sure there were no credit cards or mobile phones anywhere in the house she could use. She did have her own phone, but it was a prepaid one that I kept only the minimum balance on so she could call me to pick her up or use in an emergency.

Going down to the local, I grabbed a beer and sipped it while I tried to figure out what the fuck I was going to do about the next two years.

I’d been there about twenty minutes and was deciding if I would have another when a guy in a dark business suit, wearing sunglasses, sat beside me. I was a little taken aback as it was only mid-afternoon on a weekday and the bar was mostly empty, so there were plenty of other seats.

“Your daughter just got sentenced to home detention, huh?” He said to me.

Wondering how he could have known, I corrected, “Niece, actually, but I’m her legal guardian, so, same, same, I guess.”

The guy nodded. “Bet you’d pay just about anything to get that bitch under control, wouldn’t you?” He said.

“Sure would,” I replied.

He took his sunglasses off. He had the most startling blue eyes I’ve ever seen and stared at me for a time. The man stood to leave, but before he did, he took a business card out of his jacket pocket and gave it to me.

“Call the number and make an appointment. You may have to wait a couple weeks because I’m pretty full. Bring your niece. It will be worth it!”

‘As if,’ I thought, but thanked him and put the card in my shirt pocket.

When I got home, Becca had trashed the house. Everything glass or china had been smashed, food had been thrown everywhere and trampled, and furniture tipped up and broken. It was like a hurricane had torn through the inside of my home.

I found her sitting cross-legged on her bed, the only thing that hadn’t been wrecked, with a disdainful ‘what are you going to do about it?’ look on her face.

‘Dial the number’, I thought.

Walking outside, I took my phone out of my pocket and dialled the number on the card. A sultry deep throated female voice answered.

“Dr Beckham’s office. How may I help you?”

“Someone gave me a card and told me to call. He said you could help with my niece’s behavioural problems?” I explained to the woman.

“That was Dr Beckham himself,” the woman said. “He told me you would call. Eric Cantana, I presume this is? Your niece is Becca Cantana?”

‘How the fuck could they know that”’ I thought but answered, “Yes, it is, and yes, she is.”

“The doctor has made some room in his schedule for you on the 22nd of this month. That’s when your niece turns eighteen, isn’t it? You’ll need to take a half-day off.” She told me.

‘These people are remarkably well informed,’ I thought. ‘It’s a bit creepy, really!’ But I was desperate for some, any help!

“How much is this going to cost,” I asked.

“Initial consultation is $15.000. If you decide to proceed, there will be a set-up cost and an ongoing monthly fee that the doctor will discuss with you at your appointment. Results are guaranteed, though. If he cannot modify your niece’s behaviours for any reason, you will receive a full refund of all money paid.” The voice on the end of the phone said.

I could afford the $15,000 bucks, but the ‘set-up’ and ‘ongoing monthly fee’ worried me. It sounded like a trap. But what choice did I have? The only other solution I could think of would be to beat my niece within an inch of her life every time she acted out. This was not something I could do nor allow anyone else to do!

“I’ll be there,” I told the voice. “What time?”

“We’ve scheduled you for 8.00 am,” she told me.

“22nd at 8.00, got ya,” I confirmed.

“Oh, and Mr Cantana?” The voice further said. “You might want to take the whole day off as I’m sure you and your niece will want to spend some time alone once the doctor has seen you.”

‘Stay at home with her and her ankle bracelet as she whines and whinges about everything? I don’t think so!’ I thought.

I made the arrangements with the justice department to be allowed to take my niece to the doctor’s on the twenty-second and set myself to endure the four days until our appointment. It took me the rest of the day and most of the night to clean the mess up in the house.

The day of my appointment dawned. As it was my niece’s eighteenth birthday, I got a blueberry muffin and stuck a candle in it. Then, lighting the candle, I knocked briefly on the door to Becca’s room and walked in.

My niece was naked with one leg on her bed and spread apart. Her head was bent over as she examined her pussy area. She used an electric Phillips lady shaver to clean her pubic hair. There were clumps of hair on the floor under her ass, so I assumed shaving her pubic area was a brand-new thing!

Hearing the door open and seeing me walk in, she screamed, “Get out, you fucking pervert!” And threw her pillow at me.

Blushing and stammering and apologising, I immediately backed out of the room.

I leaned against the wall opposite her door and thought about what I’d just seen. My niece was actually quite an attractive woman! With all of her potty-mouthed trash talk, I hadn’t taken the time to notice before, but she was actually very sexy!

My niece is a short, tubby thing, but she has long blonde hair and eyes that are such a deep shade of blue they are almost purple. Her eyes are wide-set and quite large. Her skin is mostly clear of pimples and is a pale, alabaster white.

However, her best features are those I hadn’t noticed until now! She had huge, firm tits that stood proudly out from her chest and a round tight, badonkadonk butt! Her plump thighs are shapely as well as firm!

From what I had seen, she had a sweet, tiny pussy!

To my dismay and a little to my disgust, I was harder than river stone! My cock was jumping and throbbing in my trousers! I badly wanted to see more of my niece shaving her pussy! I, even more badly, wanted to taste her sweet young twat!

Knocking on the door again, I spoke through it. “We have a doctor’s appointment at 8.00 am,” I told her. “Now that you’re eighteen, he’s going to put you on the pill like you’ve been asking.”

It wasn’t the reason, but it was the only one I could think of that might get her to go with me.

Flouncing out of her room wearing skin-tight Lycra exercise shorts that clung to every inch of her curvy butt, a boob tube top with a silk jacket, and heeled sandals, Becca looked at the muffin I was still holding.

“Did you get that for me, you big spender you?” She sneered. “Spared no expense, didja?”

She still took it and began to eat, though.

“Well? What are we waiting for? You to find your balls?” She followed up with.

Gritting my teeth, I walked out my front door and got in the car. Becca flung herself into the front seat beside me.

“Where is this damned doctor?” She demanded. “It had better not take all fucking day!”

“Why? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” I asked facetiously.

“Oh, you a funny man? Okay, be funny, funny man!” was the sarcastic response.

I entered the doctor’s address into the GPS. It was up in Brisbane’s Spring Hill, where most of the upmarket doctors and consultants had their premises. The card said, ‘Parking at the rear’, so at least I wouldn’t lose a testicle trying to pay for inner-city parking.

We arrived at the building with a bit of time to spare. It was a discreet building with blackened windows and a heavy wooden front door.

Pulling the door open, we entered a bright, white, expensively decorated waiting room. We were the only clients there.

There were no fewer than four different receptionists at four different desks. They were all stunningly gorgeous and extremely buxom, mid-20s to mid-30s women. All four must have stood close to six feet tall (183 cm.), probably taller than that, as every one of them was wearing what had to be at least 7-in. heels.

They ranged in skin colouring from one as pale as my niece to one ebony black.

They had matching uniforms on. Dark grey skirts barely covered their knicker line with matching dark grey jackets buttoned up under their magnificent bosoms.

They were wearing dark red blouses that didn’t meet in the middle. All the women’s bosoms were squeezed into a black push-up bra, and a good portion of their inner boob mounds was generously displayed.

Every woman wore black stockings with a thin pencil line seam running in a dead straight line up the backs of their legs. The two sitting down were showing lingerie suspender straps attached to the tops of the stockings, so I assumed they would all be wearing them as well.

One of the sitting receptionists swung her chair toward me. I could see right up her short skirt from where I was standing. She wasn’t wearing underwear! Her shaved pudenda was clearly on display.

I felt an immediate rush of blood to my groin.

The receptionist whose pussy I had just glimpsed stood and walked across to me. She was the ebony woman. When she spoke, it was obvious this was the woman I had spoken to when I had called the office.

Holding her hand out, she had long red-painted nails and said, “Mr Cantana?” I nodded. “I’m Charlotte. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. Glad you could make it.”

She turned to my niece with a welcoming smile and said, “You must be Rebekkah,” Charlotte looked at her notes, “but you prefer Becca, don’t you? Welcome to the Beckham Centre, Becca. My assistant will be out shortly to take you to the spa.”

“Spa?” Becca asked, confused. “I thought I was seeing a doctor about going on the pill so I can fuck whoever I want whenever I want and not get pregnant?”

I’m sure this was a dig at me, but I’d gotten so many from her that I was inured to it.

“We’re a full-service medical centre, Becca,” Charlotte informed her. “We take care of all your physical, spiritual and emotional needs. The doctor has determined you need spiritual help more than any other, so we’re going to start with a day at the spa. Well, a half-day, I guess.”

A small beautiful Asian woman appeared at Charlotte’s side.

Charlotte put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. The woman’s head wouldn’t have reached Charlotte’s bosom and said, “Becca, this is Inoko. Inoko will now take you to the changing room and prepare your treatments. We have planned a facial, some waxing, a makeover, and a few other activities you can choose, if you approve?

“Inoko, this is Becca. It’s Becca’s first time here, so please be patient with her.”

Becca shrugged and followed Inoko out.

“The doctor will see you now, Mr Cantana. If you’ll follow me?”

I walked after Charlotte across the reception area and through another door.

Showing me into a luxuriously appointed room, she told me to take a seat on the lounge.

“The doctor will be imminent,” she said and left through the door.

I’d barely settled into place when a door opened in what I had thought was a wall. Once the doctor had closed, I was hard-pressed to see where it had been.

“Hello, again, Eric,” the doctor said. “I’m Doctor Davis Beckham. Welcome to my establishment.”

“What is this place?” I asked.

“This is The Beckham Centre for Behaviour Modification and Rectification,” He informed me. “We specialise in taking girls, and women, over the age of consent that exhibit self-destructive and/or anti-social behaviours and turning them into model citizens.”

“Only women?” I asked. “I would have thought there would be way more men and boys that exhibit those behaviours than women?”

“We haven’t, yet, been able to perfect our methods for young men. It seems to work for men who are transgender or intersex perfectly, but there can be some adverse reactions with heterosexual males. Nevertheless, we are determined to find the solution, so we can offer our services to all.”

“How were you able to know so much about Becca and me?” I queried.

Therefore, I keep an eye on the court’s daily law lists and approach parents whose children over eighteen years of age have appeared more than once or are going to appear for multiple offences and offer my help.

No information I found out about you and your niece isn’t readily available through public records. You only need to take the time to look.”

Mollified, I asked, “So how does it work? You have trained psychiatrists and specialists that will work with Becca to change and modify her behaviour?”

“Our methods are a little more direct, Eric,” he told me. “You’ve heard the conspiracy theories that flu vaccines are full of tiny nanobots that, when the government flicks the switch, will turn us all into obedient zombie slaves? The technology I have developed does exactly that!”

I burst out laughing! “Fuck, you must think I’m stupid!” I told him. “That’s just science fiction and will never happen!”

Davis just smiled. “Yours is the most common reaction, I must admit, Eric,” he answered. “If you stay long enough, I’ll show you what we do and explain how it works. Then, if you’re still not convinced, I’ll send you home, no harm and no foul. Does that sound fair?”

I wasn’t sure, so I guess my head was shaking.

“What have you got to lose, Eric?” Dr Beckham asked. “A day’s pay? You’ve already lost most of that to come here!”

“Okay, I’ll bite, but don’t think I’m going to hand out money for this bullshit for a moment!”

“A chance to prove the technology is all I ask, Eric,” Davis answered. “You’ll have to leave your cell phone on the desk. It will be safe, I promise. Then, if you follow me through into the lab, I can explain how we will completely change your niece’s behaviour to one of an obedient model citizen who will obey your every demand without qualm, hesitation, or restraint!

In fact, I’m so confident of my technology that I will not only refund your entire $15,000 if it fails to work, I’ll pay you double!”

Shrugging, I figured, ‘what the fuck?’ right? As he said, the worst I could do was lose a day’s pay, and I’d already done that!

Placing my phone on the desk, I followed Doctor Beckham through yet another hidden door and into his lab.

The room we entered was darkened. Three different technicians were working with either magnifying glasses or microscopes under their own personal light. Walking over to where someone was using a microscope, Davis asked the technician to let me look in his scope.

In the scope I saw, I don’t know how to describe it, but ‘bot’ is the closest thing I can think of. It looked like a tiny water boatman insect swimming through a solution of colourless liquid.

“Keep watching,” The technician said.

He took a tiny sliver of something out of a canister of liquid nitrogen and placed it in the solution.

“Human brain cells,” Dr Davis explained. “Harvested from cadavers.”

As soon as the matter hit the solution, the ‘bot’ rowed straight across to it and seemed to attach itself to the cell somehow.

“The nanobots are programmed to seek out human brain cells and attach themselves to it,” Dr Beckham expounded. “When the human host does what we want her to do, the bot stimulates the pleasure centres of her brain. When she does something we have decided is against what we want her to do, they stimulate her pain centres.”

“How does the bot know the difference?” I asked.

“They’re voice programmed,” Davis said. “If you agree to go forward, most of your time here today will be spent with our technicians. They will ensure the voice recognition software in the control device knows and can understand everything you say. The best thing is, the remote will not respond to any voice other than yours, so it’s 100% safe!”

“Can I see some evidence of it working?” I asked.

“I can show you literally hundreds of hours of it being successfully used on the wives and daughters of our clients. But I think maybe, a face-to-face demonstration may be more convincing. So will you follow me back to my office, please?”

Re-entering his sumptuous office, Dr Beckham handed me my phone and pressed a button on a device he had taken out of a drawer. It looked for all the world, like a Foxtel IQ remote.

“Charlotte, will you come to my office, please?” He was holding the intercom button down so his voice echoed through the waiting room.

Catching my look as he spoke into the ‘remote’, Davis said, “It’s designed like that, so no one will think twice when they see it either in your hand or on any of your tables.”

“Why did you need to use the intercom and the device?” I asked.

“Your subject needs to hear your voice to be able to respond to any instructions.” Dr Beckham told me. “The software in the voice recognition system hears what you’ve asked and decides if the subject is complying or not. The nanobots give the subject’s pleasure centres a ‘massage’ if they are. If they are not, it zaps their pain receptors.

Trust me, making extremely docile and compliant subjects takes only a few moments. This is because the more the subject resists, especially in the beginning, the greater the pain. And the quicker they respond positively, the greater their pleasure and the faster it arrives.

It’s the fault we’re trying to fix in the male subjects. They become so addicted to the pleasure the nanobots give them they become virtually useless. Spending all their time begging on their knees for more tasks so they can be rewarded. Women seem better able to resist that path.”

The door to the reception opened, and Charlotte walked in, “What can I do for you, Dr Davis?” She asked in her deep sultry voice.

Pressing the button on the remote, Dr Beckham said, “Close the door and strip off all of your clothes except for the suspenders and stockings. Then, get on your knees before Eric and get ready to suck him off. By the time you are on your knees, you will be so turned on you’ll need him to fuck you as soon as you make him hard.”

Charlotte was one of Doctor Beckham’s subjects! I should have guessed! They probably all were, I thought.

“Charlotte used to be my lead researcher and also my wife,” Davis explained as Charlotte closed the door and began to strip down. “But she was going to leave me and blow the lid on what we do here. I couldn’t have that, so I activated the bots I had already placed in her blood when we first started working on this project.

She thought we were working on a cure for chronic pain sufferers. When she found I wanted to control recalcitrant women, she was going to expose me.

Unfortunately, the nanobots Charlotte has in her system are series one bots. The ones I had made to be permanent. They’re slowly destroying her brain. One day, fairly soon, Charlotte will both suffer a brain haemorrhage and die or become a total vegetable.

This is the reason for the ‘ongoing costs’. These series twelve nanobots I have shown you ‘die’ and get flushed out of the system every twenty-four to forty-eight hours and are replaced by new ones. We hide the bots in the subject’s daily birth control pills, so we know they will be taken, but we can put them in virtually anything. A piece of fruit, a drink, anything that will be ingested.”

Seeing that Charlotte was naked and writhing in front of me, and I was still zipped up, the doctor asked, “I’m sorry, is Charlotte not to your liking? I can order one of the others in if you’d prefer? Maybe the one with the alabaster skin like your niece’s?”

Charlotte was very much to my liking; I was just fascinated by the doctor’s explanations and had gotten distracted. So, leaning back, I unzipped and pulled my 7-in. cock out of my pants. Charlotte immediately devoured it!

I hadn’t had head since I married my wife as she thought oral sex was ‘dirty and disgusting’, so I was going to enjoy this!

Charlotte was a supremely gifted cock sucker. Sucking my length all the way down to my pubic bone with ease and bobbing her head enthusiastically, I was soon very near that delicious point of having no choice but to blow!

“Do you want to cum in her mouth or another of her orifices?” Doctor Davis asked?

“I haven’t had anal since college,” I told him.

Speaking into the microphone on the remote, Dr Davis said, “Charlotte, kneel in front of the couch with your tits on the seat so Eric can fuck you in the ass. As soon as Eric is inside your ass, you may orgasm as often as possible before he cums in you.”

Charlotte was quick to comply. Spreading her thighs and reaching back between her legs, Charlotte spread her ass cheeks and showed me her starfish.

“I’ll need some lube,” I told the doctor.

“I make her fuck herself with plugs and dildos every day,” Davis informed me. “Plus, I have Isabella fist Charlotte’s ass for my pleasure before she leaves for home every afternoon, so she’ll take your cock quite comfortably. You can spit on her ring to slide in a little easier if you wish.”

Charlotte was moaning and thrusting and swaying her hips and ass back and forth and side to side. Obviously, the bots were stimulating her nerve centres almost to the point of cumming.