Chapter 14

Angela had sorted the other problem in two days. She invited Tracie for the weekend, but then told Tracie to say out loud how it would be unfair to leave Debbie out. Then she asked to speak to Mrs. Antrobous. She explained that she was asking Tracie over, and Debbie was welcome to come to, and would that be okay? I heard her say that she would collect them. She’d sussed out that my Dad kept the car in the garage. “Leave the garage door open, but wait there to close it!” So Friday came, Mum and Dad went off for what I can only describe as a dirty weekend. They took Dad’s car of course, Mum’s was a bit of an old jalopy, but it would do. Okay, they were married, but the resort they were going to was not the place for staid, boring couples. Clothing was optional in the pool! Tops and bottoms! I was sure there would be no partner swapping (can’t call it wife-swapping any more, that isn’t PC, nor is it accurate for the gay and lesbian couples I know), but I had seen the brown, unmarked envelope that arrived with a package inside. I saw Mum rush off with it; guilty, guilty, guilty! I was getting used to the idea. I closed the garage doors. Only Angela was inside. She had driven off and then driven back. I was confused.

“Did they change their minds?”

“SURPRISE!!!” said two voices together as two girls appeared from the back seat, from under a rug. “Angela is brilliant! She is so clever! Mummy has no idea!”

I couldn’t believe that I was going through with this. There was still an age bar on Debbie, I was still heading for prison. If I implicated Ang, any juror would say I was a lying piece of manipulative shit. So when Angela said “Now, remember, neither of you are getting his cock inside you! We don’t want any teenage mothers. Don’t look disappointed, girls. There’s still plenty of fun to be had. And you!” she said looking at me. “You said you were thinking we were just couples now. You’ve failed at the first test, if it was a test.

Which it wasn’t.

I have a couple of wands that we are going to play with, magic wands.” The two girls looked suitably confused. “Heh! Do that thing! What you do that turns respectable, responsible middle class girls into fucking nymphomaniacs.” Ang had a way with words.

“I’ll be right back. Why don’t you make some tea ... or orange squash.”

“Get real! Girls, I have here vodka and cranberry juice. Let’s find some glasses.”

Now, call me a misanthropic, old fashioned, fuddy-duddy. But fucking girls that are drunk is not my thing, nor would it make any jury more sympathetic. I rushed upstairs and sprayed myself; then returned quickly to stop things getting out of control. I know, crazy eh? Here was I with the chance of a lifetime – I knew what she meant by wands, even if the girls didn’t – and I wanted to slow things down.

I had rushed things a little too much. Sprayed too much, sweating too much. Girls breathing too much. It took five minutes! By the end of that, they were trying to remove my trousers to get at the jewels within. I can fight off one girl, but not three. And I can resist one girl, but not three, when one has her lips wrapped around my erection, and another is trying to make me eat her left tit in one go. Angela had intended to play with them I think. She thought that she could resist me now, she didn’t realise that our more relaxed sessions recently were because I wasn’t wearing any spray. Now she was back slavering for sexual release. I did like Gerry, he was a genius.

“So, Angela, what was it you wanted to do with your magic wands?”

“They’re here! I was going to give these two lots and lots of orgasms; do you want me to?” The three were all ready to please me in any way they could. “In a while. Debbie? Debbie! Stop sucking my dick and look at me. No! Stop I said. Tracie. Have either of you used one of these before? No? But you’ve seen them in porn I bet. Yes, I thought so. Right, Debbie, start at the front, and Tracie at the back and nipples and anything else you can think of.

Not yourselves, Angela. I want her to have five orgasms, at least.” Angela looked briefly worried, five? But she was dutifully compliant, they undressed her and laid her on the floor, on the rug at the fireplace. Then Tracie lifted Ang’s legs onto her shoulders and played the vibration button over Ang’s buttocks, slowly working it into the crack. Debbie began on Angela’s thighs and moved slowly towards her outer lips. That first climax came very quickly.

I watched lustfully as they played the vibrators over her nipples and brought them up to rock hard little nuts. Then they turned her over, pushed one under her and pulled open her bottom to make as much contact with her arse as possible. She moaned with delight, at the same time as begging for it to stop. She was overwhelmed in exactly 15 minutes and 11 seconds.

I let her have a rest then, and told the two girls to give themselves an orgasm each. They sat on the floor with their backs against two chairs, and their legs wide open and happily played themselves towards a crescendo. Neither thought to wash the instruments.

And that’s when Mum and Dad walked in. “Hi, would you believe it? The hotel was closed down yesterday for health and safet-----” They both stood, speechless, looking at three girls and a boy, all stark bollock naked (okay, technically I was the only one stark bollock naked. No idea what the term for a naked girl is); two of the girls had been happily playing with large external vibrators, Debbie chose that precise moment to hit her climax. The other girl clearly had her fingers inside her – I hadn’t told her to, but she was getting off on watching Debbie. The boy – their son – had an erection the size, solidity, and consistency of a tree trunk (a small one, maybe). They were, as I say, speechless. Debbie filled in the void with a loud “Oh, My Fucking ... Oh!!!! I ... I’m COMING! FUCK ME PLEASE!”

Angela made the classic comment “It’s not what it looks like.” Yes, of course it was. It was exactly what it looked like. A fucking orgy. Oh Fuck! Mum was already breathing the heady fumes of pheromone and starting to look at me in a way that I understood. If she came on to me, Dad would flip. I imagined the headline “Man kills son in crazy sex and violence orgy.” No, this can’t happen.

“I can explain.” I lied, “Give me two minutes.” I rushed from the room, up to my bedroom, found the remainder of the spray I had prepared for Mum and Dad before. I put on a dressing gown and shouted down. “Mum! Dad! Can you come up here. It would be better away from them.” I had been on the verge of running back down the stairs and spraying down there. The result would have been mayhem as Mum and three young girls went crazy for me AND Dad. I didn’t want to think about the scenes that would have burned into my eyeballs.

Mum came up the stairs faster than a ferret up a drain pipe. I hoped this worked, otherwise the truth might actually come out – which is worse? That the truth about female pheromones (or is it male? I’m not sure now) became public and every woman the world over became a slavering sex slave to any man with money to buy the magic, or that my family broke under an intolerable strain of sexual perversions. I even found myself wondering what it would be like to have mum suck me off. I was determined not to implant sperm in her. Dad followed up the stairs. There was a heaviness about his steps, he was reaching explosion point. I sprayed my room with loads of his sock-inspired pheromone, and hoped that it masked mine. Again, fear, panic and urgency made me use too much. Mum rushed in and was stopped dead by the new unconscious smell. Dad walked in, and she turned to him and simply said “If you don’t fuck the living daylights out of me until morning, I will scream. You, give me one of those vibrators. NOW!”

With one bound, I was free; until tomorrow; then my parents – who might not be geniuses but they would know something was up – would wake up and want to understand. Back up with a vibrator, I closed my eyes and backed out at the sight of my mother trying to swallow my father’s balls. He was completely out of his depth, but increasingly willing to go along with it. “Dad, I’ll explain tomorrow, meanwhile tell Mum what you want; whatever you want.” - I hoped he wouldn’t say ‘what I really want is a nice cup of tea’.

Downstairs, the mood was sombre, but desperate. Tracie kept sliding the wand (I’d taken Debbie’s) towards her groin, and the other two were saying ‘no, don’t’. I walked back in with a smile. Upstairs we heard something a son probably shouldn’t hear, Dad shouting “Oh Fuck! YES!”. I think I heard Mum saying “Shush, you’ll disturb him downstairs.”

“Carry on Tracie. Debbie suck on her tits, and Angela, suck on me.”

“Oh, goody!” exclaimed my girlfriend, as she was given the ‘honour’ of getting the big load from my cock.

I am amazed that I was able to maintain my sturdy little pinetree rather than it turning into a weeping willow; but I did. Angela helped bring any residual slackness back up to full power. Perhaps the stress and strain of the last ten or fifteen minutes helped, I don’t know. She found herself struggling to cope. “Share it with Tracie. Yes, give her a big kiss and half the load.” I said, and watched with lustful thoughts as the young teenager found she was dribbling spunk down her chin. She came with all the delighted squeals of a demented piglet. A girl was kissing her with her mouth open and pushing salty semen into her mouth, her sister was sucking on her small teenage tits, and her hand was applying a vibrating machine to her groin like she was scrubbing dishes. It was a sex-dream and I was the audience of one. Not once had it ever occurred to me to record these sessions and put them on the internet; that would have broken the spell of perfect erotic pleasure. (Okay, not true. Yes. I had recorded one or two. But for good blackmail reasons, and I had deleted them since – but not told the blackmailee, if that is a word. I had always been careful not to use cloud storage for example).

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As for explaining the following morning. Well of course I didn’t. How could I? “I have the power to turn any female from age nine to ninety-nine into a sex starved nymphomaniac who will perform unbelievably disgusting acts of sex on, with and for me just so I agree to have sex with them.” Yes, that would work well as an explanation for two parents who normally turned the telly off if there was too much bosom bounce in a running woman, let alone nudity! No, nothing was said. This was often the way, it seemed. It wasn’t so much shame or embarrassment or disgust; it was more ‘ooooohhh so that’s what we could be doing. Now we know, lets not admit what particular perversion we enjoy’.

Breakfast was interesting; the spray must have dissipated by now, but as I sat there at the breakfast table, Dad came down and grabbed two bowls of cereal – which forever more will be called Coco-Fucks in my mind; two mugs of tea (oh yes, Dad, you can’t beat a nice cup of tea, even better than sex I suspect); and a banana. He looked at me: “It’s for your mother ... I mean she wants to eat ... nevermind.” He left, and wished, just briefly, to go back to a state where I was innocent enough to think bananas were just for a nice healthy snack. Neither Dad, nor Mum ever asked anything about Debbie and Tracie, which I thought very remiss of them to be so uncaring about their neighbours.

The girls appeared, tired (no, exhausted), looking like they had been fucking all night – which was about right. Nobody spoke. The two girls looked blearily at me and Debbie said “Can we not do that again? I mean it was great fun, but my ... lala and my other place is really, really sore.” Tracie nodded. So they were back to being girls and back to not wanting to say cunt or vagina to a boy. I agreed that last night was over the top.

Angela said the needful: “Obviously we won’t tell anyone that you two are ravening whore-sluts from hell, as long as you manage to forget everything too?” We all agreed.

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Holidays come, holidays end. I was back at University (I actually opted for Business Class to avoid the pair of pubescent, oversexed, over-spoilt girls who checked into First. I’ve had enough of bonking girls who need a life).

The Girl Guides were a genuine mistake. An honest, genuine, mistake. I’d come back from Brown for Easter. I had used the pheromone sparingly, just enough to keep from getting too many, too horny. The list included: two choir girls from Aunty Jean’s church – she hadn’t approved of that and had told me that the Lord’s House was not made for sex fiends to hunt down young women. I apologised. Then she apologised when the two girls came to visit us at home, clearly rather pleased with the experience they had had. Then there was the librarian at the local library near the university, a woman who fulfilled every over-cliched description of librarians everywhere. She was sour faced, strict, hated talking in the library and you had to ask for any book that might be even vaguely salacious. Aunt Jean suggested that she needed taking out of herself. I don’t say she changed much, but after being fucked between the Engineering and Science books, we spent half an hour looking at a photographic book called ‘Naked Photography’ before she recovered sufficiently to deny she had ever had my erect prick inside her vagina. There were also a smattering of students who needed cheering up (honestly), Aunty Jean (of course), and nearly a nun by accident (she was a student in the library when I was getting ready to cheer up a near suicidal after she got a very poor mark) – I resisted the open invitation, I assume she had to do a lot of Hail Marys to atone for even thinking about sex.