The Pact: A Master PC Tale
Chapter 2: Alyssa

Copyright© 2013 by Rainmaker

Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 2: Alyssa - A Master PC story, and the trials and errors of responsibility. And a teenage ballet school.

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Ma/ft   Fa/Fa   ft/ft   Fa/ft   Ma/mt   Mult   Teenagers   Consensual   Romantic   NonConsensual   Reluctant   Mind Control   Lesbian   BiSexual   Heterosexual   TransGender   Fiction   Celebrity   Slut Wife   Wimp Husband   Incest   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Fisting   Squirting   Lactation  

While Stacy changed into yet another set of clothes, I began whipping up a grilled chicken salad for our dinner. The combination of my metabolism and her intense schedule of dancing and working out meant we could pretty much eat anything we wanted, but we worked at it most of the week so we could indulge in pizza and ice cream most weekends.

I was tying on the ridiculous bib she gave me last Christmas when I heard a beep from the hallway. We had messages on our old-fashioned answering machine.

On rather, one message. I pushed the button.

“Lawrence, it’s me,” came the familiar voice. “I wanted to remind you and Stacy that I would be meeting her at the airport, right next to the baggage claim. I also wanted to remind you to make sure she got all of the vaccinations on the list.”

She paused, but no beep. There was more.

“I hope you are doing well,” Alyssa, my ex-wife, added. “There are times when I miss your company. But we both know why I’m here and you’re there and why Stacy is with you. I just hope she can enjoy spending some time with me in Sao Paulo. It will be Festival while we’re there, so she can show off her skimpy bikinis. And so can I.”

And so can Ashley, I thought.

“ ... you don’t have to call me back,” she was saying. “Just be well and know you were the only man for me. It was...”

Beep. Damn antique answering machine.

Marriages like mine are commonly referred to as Outkicking your coverage. Alyssa Miles was a travel agency sales rep – which meant she’d been to most of the exotic locales that she advertised. We met on a cruise, naturally enough, me as one of a group of guys who were all celebrating our college graduation with a trip to the Caribbean.

Everyone scored; my buddies all hooked up with hot and horny women who were also looking for action. Me, I had to take the long road. Coming off a couple of relationships that had left some scarring, my meeting Alyssa on the trip was the beginning of a 14-month courtship that literally had me chasing her around the world. Working as a free lance writer made travel possible, and knowing her made it affordable.

I proposed on the western side of Oahu at sunset. Not only did she say yes, we fucked right there on the public beach and neither of us wore clothes or left my suite for the better part of the next week.

“Why me?” she asked in a restful moment between simultaneous orgasms.

“Easy,” I said.

“Was I?” she teased, burying half her face in the pillow and peeking over at me with the other.

“No. Not you. My reasons,” I said, goosing her. “You make me laugh. You make me think. You make me want to make myself better. You make me horny with just a smile.”

“Is that all?” she asked, turning over and fully exposing her tanned exquisite body.

“My cock fits perfectly in your sweet, hot pussy,” I said as matter-of-factly as I could.

“And my ass?” she said without missing a beat.

“That, too,” I think I blushed. “But more than the sex...”

“There’s more than the sex?” she asked with a fake wide-eyed gasp.

“You make me want to make you an honest woman,” I tried.

“That’s no fun,” she pouted. “How about, ‘You make me want to stop looking because I found the best?’”

“Who said I was even looking?” I said, sliding atop her and finding her wet and compliant.

Our wedding was on the Australian west coast. Our honeymoon was in Curacao. Stacy was conceived (best guess) in Cabo. Alyssa was the hottest looking pregnant woman you ever saw.

She was also one of the most petty, bitterly jealous mothers you can imagine.

Her post-partum period was hardly one of depression as far as I knew. She had her tubes tied and fucked like a sailor on leave. I was not yet 30, but had to turn to Viagra to keep up with the woman. Not that I was complaining. She was more beautiful than ever and had given me a beautiful baby girl.

Stacy was around three when I got my first inkling that Alyssa considered her daughter a rival for my affection.

Things were going better than ever for me professionally. With my little girl as inspiration, I connected with an out-of-work California bohemian artist named Elizabeth “Liz” Boling and the two of us made bestselling magic together with my children’s books. I wrote quickly, she was likewise faster than most and I had actually sent enough material to our publisher to give me a five-year backlog of releases. That allowed me to write strictly when I felt the muse.

So it was in this world of relaxed comfort that reality kicked me in the balls.

As I tucked her in one night during one of Alyssa’s trips, Stacy bravely said something she’d wanted to say practically since she had learned to talk.

“Why does Mommy hate me?” she asked in a whisper, as if she didn’t want her mother in the West Indies to hear.

“She doesn’t hate you!” I exclaimed. “How can you think that?”

In her limited vocabulary, I pieced together that she was playing with her stuffed animals on the floor while Alyssa was trying to vacuum the living room rug. She apparently kicked one of the beloved Beanie Babies away from Stacy’s grasp.

“Why are you in the way? You are always in the way!” Alyssa shouted at her. “I don’t need you in my way!”

That was it, apparently, but it scared Stacy that she might be sent away or whatever young children fantasize about. But my daughter was brave beyond her years.

“Please don’t tell Mommy I told on her,” she said. “I’ll be okay as long as you know, Daddy.”

So I said nothing. But I watched. And listened. And I might have missed it otherwise. Alyssa said and did all the right things when we were together as a family, but when I looked closely, I failed to see any genuine affection towards her daughter.

I read up on post-partum depression and realized that it could be temporary. I was fooling myself.

A few months later, I was pleasantly taken aback one otherwise unremarkable day when she greeted me at the front door with a cocktail and a birthday suit that 99 percent of the women in the world would kill for.

After ravaging her in a session that started in the front hallway and ended over the back of the couch, my brain finally kicked in.

“Where’s Stace?” I asked, still panting hard, my erection still filling her from behind.

“In the kitchen, eating her supper,” she replied.

“No I’m not. I’m finished,” Stacy said from the doorway. “You and daddy are sweating. Are you sick?”

Having been caught in the act, the last thing I wanted was for my daughter to see my erection so I stayed inside Alyssa and turned her around towards her.

“Mommy and I were just having some grownup fun,” I said to my daughter from behind my wife.

“Daddy and I were fucking. That’s something only I can do with him,” she said, clinching her muscle enough that I couldn’t have pulled out even if my erection had softened (which it hadn’t). “Daddy and I do this all the time, and I’m tired of hiding it from you. I enjoy it; so does he. Understand?”

Stacy nodded her head in a little girl way that said she had no clue what Alyssa was talking about.

“I’m going to go play in my room now,” she said like a big girl and left without a word. As soon as she was gone, Alyssa relaxed and I spun her around to face me.

“What were you thinking?” I said, as angry at her as I’d ever been in my life. “Letting Stacy see us? My God!”

“I’m thinking that she’s getting a lot of my quality time and I’m not as willing to share,” she replied. “It’s not her fault, but I swear to God if I could parcel her out to grandma and grandpa, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said, knowing full well that she was.

“I want my marriage back,” she said. “I want to be able to travel the world and fuck you on every beach, on every mountaintop I can reach.”

“You still travel,” I protested. “But we agreed that I would have to stay behind and give Stacy a stable home life. Besides, I can write better when I’m stationary.”

“Stagnant, you mean,” she scoffed, lighting a cigarette and looking so fucking hot since she was still naked. “So, I’m having a problem sharing you with my daughter – our daughter. And yes, I know how fucked up that sounds.”

“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t,” I said. “I’m having a hard time loving you right now.”

“Your dick says different,” she said through a cloud of smoke.

“That’s the Viagra,” I said defensively.

“Yeah, well,” she laughed derisively. “Gee, what would you do if I wasn’t here? Fuck Stacy?”

I slapped her. Hard. Put out her cigarette.

“To even think that, much less to say it out loud, is repulsive,” I said.

She ran out of the room crying, and I sat on the very same couch and turned on the television. I lit a cigarette and watched the news. She came in a few moment later, wearing a robe, and curled into a ball next to me. I remained impassive.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” she said in a tiny voice.

“It’s Stacy you need to apologize to,” I said, softening. “What were you thinking, anyway?”

“You just heard the voice that has been inside me since she was born,” she whispered. “I know I have to do better. It’s not her fault. I feel this way, even though she’s so, so pretty.”

“But she is so much you. Her eyes, her smile that’s you, in her,” I said, tears forming. “That’s a wonderful thing.”

“I know,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder and looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. “I know.”

Things seemed to be better for a time; Alyssa’s smiles towards Stacy seemed to be genuine. But when she was gone to a reps’ trip to Baja, I got a text meant for someone else.

Same place, same time? was all it said.

It required little imagination to believe there was a tryst in her future. Only she had my cell phone and I had hers by a simple act of carelessness. While the pain in my heart was growing by the minute, my head told me to play along.

Remind me, I texted back to whoever it was.

LOL! came the inevitable reply. Meet me on beach noon Tuesday by grotto unless U want to meet in grotto!

OKOKXOXO, I cleverly responded. Five minutes later, I was calling Greg, the travel agent I keep on retainer, and 24 hours later (leaving Stacy with a sitter and a note to avoid questions and, frankly, to avoid bringing her along) I was in Ensenada, inquiring about grottoes. Turns out there is a beaut on Todos Santos, an island about a two-hour boat trip from the port. Most people go there for the surfing, or to watch the surfing or to avoid being found for a day or two. Alyssa had legitimate enough reason to be there and indeed the agency had rented an estate called the Casa del Cielo for their agents and their clients.

I didn’t have much of a cover story, and because I knew a number of Alyssa’s co-workers from get-togethers over the years, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. But here I was, riding in a rickety cab on a spectacular climb above the coastline. Then it hit me: I knew where to be and when to be there. These folks didn’t need to know I was there.

“Turn around,” I told the cabbie in my sorry Spanish. “Take me to the Guaycura instead.”

“I cannot turn around on this road, senior,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. “We have to go all the way to the Casa to turn around.”

“Ah. Okay. My fault,” I muttered. So as we neared the estate, I slipped below the window and hoped no one was watching on the balcony. I took a peek and I saw a dozen people on the sun-drenched party deck, and in that split-second I recognized her boss, Doug McBay, a couple of other surfer types (natch), the unmistakable Caribbean look of one of her fellow reps, Ashley Piloto, and a couple of blonde, tanned Amazons who wore the corporate golf shirt all of her company’s reps wore during the day. (At night, dress to kill was the operative code and man did they ever follow that directive).

I did not see Alyssa with my glance; suddenly I had a feeling of that I was in the wrong place; her company was plenty large to have more than one spot on Cabo.

We turned around without slowing and soon I was safely in the cool of my room.

The front desk had a map of the island and sure enough, there was a grotto marked adjacent to one of the main tourist beaches. Since it wasn’t the weekend, and it wasn’t time for one of their numerous surfing competitions, there was no telling how crowded the beach would or wouldn’t be at noon.

Completing my deception was my disguise: white shirt and very dark sunglasses. It didn’t occur to me until later that a loud Hawaiian shirt would have allowed me to blend in a little better. I looked like I’d taken a left turn at Wimbledon and wound up on the fucking beach.

I didn’t see Alyssa. I did see someone who looked like a local, and used my paltry Spanish to ask about the grotto.

“Oh, grotto. Si!” responded the young man, who was selling small tubes of sunscreen. “Around rocks. There!” he pointed at the sharp outcropping of rock a quarter-mile to our left.

“How do I get there?” I asked, seeing the beach end abruptly at the rock line.

“You walk, amigo!” he smiled a gap-toothed grin and went about his business.

Alyssa’s cell phone rang. No text, this, but I looked and I saw it was me calling.

“Hey, you. Got the wrong phone, didn’t you?” I said with some forced jocularity.

“Hey, babe. Yeah, I’m sorry,” came her voice, always sounding so musical to my ears. “Do you know if I missed any messages?”

“Not a one,” I lied. “But I haven’t paid much attention since I realized it wasn’t mine. Do you want me to check right now?”

“No, no. That’s fine,” she said quickly. “Funny. Sounds like I hear the ocean in the background.”

“That is funny,” I said, offering my most convincing fake laugh. “That’s probably at your end, Miss Cabo of 1993.”

“You know? You’re right!” she also laughed. “I’m such a dumb blonde sometimes. See you in a day or two!”

I broke the connection and began looking for a hiking trail. It took a few minutes, and it wasn’t actually on the beach, but I found it. It was rough, barely marked and only a makeshift GROTTO sign told me I was in the right place at the right time. I was glad I’d put sneakers on instead of flip-flops, because it was slow going, but it wound around and I found the beach and the inset in the rocks.

I saw no one.

But there was plenty of shaded beach hidden from view, and I made my way down to the sand. I hugged the rocky face as I moved slowly towards the grotto proper when Alyssa’s phone went off and took five years off of my life. I answered silently when I did not recognize the number.

“Where are you?” came the unmistakable voice of her friend and co-worker Ashley. “I miss you so much!”

I kept walking while she was talking and actually came up behind her as she sat on a secluded rock. “I’m right here,” I said once I was directly behind her.

Ashley, so naturally dark-complexioned that she was almost invisible in the limited light, screamed and apparently dropped her cell phone in the water. Dressed in a sarong and not much else, she had little chance of getting away from me. I grabbed her around the throat and turned her face to mine.

“Are you fucking my wife?” I asked pleasantly.

“No, no! Larry, listen to me,” she blubbered.

“I’m listening,” I said calmly, even as my grip tightened. I was prepared to kill this tiny, beautiful woman.

“She and I augh only since she had Stacy. I swear!” she gasped.

“Go on,” I said reasonably, loosening my grip somewhat.

“She said you were too busy being a daddy to be a husband,” Ashley said, finding her voice. “She didn’t want another man, only you. But she – she and me we were always ... close.”

“So you’re telling me my wife is a lesbian?” I asked, grip tightening again.

“No! I don’t know! I just know I am!” she said defiantly.

“Well, Ashley, here’s what you’re going to do,” I said calmly, producing Alyssa’s cell phone. “I’m going to call her, and when she answers, you’re gong to invite here down here just like you were trying to do all along.”

“You’re not going to hurt us, are you?” she asked in terror.

“Don’t know, Haven’t decided,” I said, punching in Alyssa’s own number. I know you’re going to do this, or they’re going to find you body when the tide comes in.”

Ashley nodded and Alyssa answered my phone still in a good humor, “Hey, you! Any messages?”

I silently handed the phone to Ashley.

“Hey, sweetie. It’s me,” she said softly. “I want you to meet me in the grotto, right now, OK? Yeah, he’s here. No, it’s fine, but it’s probably time to spill.”

Ashley handed the phone back to me.

“She’s coming. Please don’t kill us,” she said.

I laughed and sat on the rock which had just been Ashley’s roost. “No, you called my bluff. You might as well make yourself comfortable,” I said as coolly as I could.

Less than 15 minutes later, I heard Alyssa’s voice calling both our names. She appeared around the corner, out of breath. She was wearing cutoffs and a peasant blouse over a bikini top. My heart broke at her beauty, the way it always did.

The look of horror on her face broke that mood.

“Larry! What are you doing here?” she said, stopping in her tracks.

“I’m here finding out what you’re doing here,” I said. “Your stupid girlfriend here leaves pretty obvious messages on your cell phone – which of course I thought was my cell phone when when I answered it. I felt like I should keep that appointment for you.”

“Is Stacy here?” she asked.

“Jesus. Give me some credit,” I snapped. “As far as she knows, I’m taking my publicist to dinner and will be home late tonight. Which I will be. Whether I commit two murders before I leave here is up to you.”

Alyssa and Ashley embraced one another, first in fear, but clearly, too, in passion. The looks they had for one another were smoldering, to say the least. It got me harder, quicker than I ever recalled.

“What do you want us to do?” Alyssa asked, smoothing our her lover’s hair.

“Let’s see,” I said, scratching my day-old stubble. “First, you will never come home again. You will see Stacy only when she wants to see you and I allow it. You will let the agency locate you God knows where.”

“Okay,” she said, seemingly less frightened but now crying.

“Now, the two of you, right here on this beach, in this beautiful place, will make love to one another like I wasn’t here.”

“And what if we don’t?” Ashley dared to speak up.

“Then I will probably beat both your brains out with a piece of coral,” I said. “It’s not like you have somewhere to go. Besides, you want to be together. Now’s your chance.”

While still embraced, neither woman moved. If anything, they tensed up.

“Ashley,” I said softy. “Kneel down in front of Alyssa, pull off her shorts and bottoms and stick your goddam tongue in her motherfucking pussy. NOW!”

Considering I had no visible or viable weapon, I wondered later if this wound up being little more than some kind of role-playing game for them. What would I have done? I would never have harmed the mother of my child, but her tanned, tattooed girlfriend was probably at risk. But Ashley went down on my wife, who needed little time for Ashley’s studded tongue to bring her off in a major way.

“Now, Alyssa my sweet, sweet wife – kneel down on all fours and bury your face in her ratty snatch,” I said, undoing my shorts to display my impatient erection.

I actually thought I saw them share a smile before she went face-first into Ashley’s hairless pussy. She took the route of covering the whole thing with her open mouth and shared eye-to-eye contact as she snacked down. The smile made me even angrier and I moved behind and rubbed my erection on the juices flowing out of her perfect pussy and cunt lips, so that when I jammed it into her to the hilt, it slid easily and completely in.

Alyssa screamed into Ashley’s pussy and I felt a trace of satisfaction for the first time that day. Ashley and I made eye contact while I was thrusting into my wife conveyed to her that I was done with her. I hammered away at her, but I was already close. I dumped my load into her her and my feelings seemingly poured out of me as well. I sat back on the rock, bare-assed and drained in every way possible.

“What are you going to do, Lawrence?” Alyssa asked as she sat sprawled on the rocks, cum trickling out of her pink, swollen snatch.

“I’m going home. Something you can never do,” I said as I pulled up my shorts and walked away, looking the other way.

“She has a home,” Ashley said quietly as I stepped around the corner.

“Wait! Larry!” Alyssa called out to me. I couldn’t begin to guess what she wanted to say, but my heart was close to betraying my stony expression. She was totally nude as she so often was at home as she walked up to me.

“Here’s your cell phone,” she said coldly, placing it in my hand. “Sorry for the confusion.”


“ ... I asked you when supper will be ready?” Stacy was saying, snapping me out of my recollections. She was dressed down in a tank top and khaki shorts and was so beautiful I wanted to cry.

Instead, I began fixing supper.

“I left you a message on the machine,” I said, pointing with a long spoon.

“You heard her voice and zoned out,” Stacy said, pegging me as she always did.

“Do you miss her?” I asked stupidly. After all, she was barely out of the cradle when we broke up.

“Yeah I guess so,” she said, pulling down some mac and cheese from the shelf. “Not as much as you, obviously.”

“Yeah.” ... Well. What could I say?

“You know you were happier when you were together,” she said.

“But,” I said, putting down the spoon. “I have you and I wouldn’t trade you for any girl in the world.”

She handed my a cup of coffee which I gratefully accepted.

“Not even Jacy McKinnon?” she asked, causing me to sputter out my coffee all over the counter. Her joyous laugh as she ran back to her room made me glad that Alyssa helped me create her.

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