One Simple Trick

by Zipper D Dude

Copyright© 2018 by Zipper D Dude

Science Fiction Sex Story: Dad has a very very bad idea.

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Science Fiction   Oral Sex   .

Before you get the wrong idea, I really respect my dad, a lot. He worked hard for me and mom when I was a kid. He did all the right dad things, threw a football for me to catch and helped mom raise me well. He always made sure there was food on the table and a roof over our heads. For that I respected him – he knew what was important. But, and you can tell there is going to be a ‘but’, sometimes he could be really really stupid. He never worked out that the only easy way to be a multi-millionaire was to have parents who were multi-millionaires. All the other ways required a lot of hard work, a lot of luck or both.

His parents didn’t have millions, so he was always looking for an easy way to make big money. I bet he clicked on every single one of those ‘One Simple Trick... ‘ clickbait links. He even tried Amway for a few months! That was when I was little, so I got the story later, from mom. He pissed off all our friends by hassling them to buy the stuff, and then pissed them off again with Amway presents for Christmas and birthdays until he’d gotten rid of all the stock he’d ordered – far too much for him to actually sell. I remember wondering why I got soap and shower gel for my birthday and Christmas one year. Dad was always the optimist; every one of his easy-money schemes was going to work big, until it didn’t.

Mom was much more of a realist. If he asked her, “What about if I tried...” she’d shoot down whatever idiotic scam he’d seen. But she understood dad, so if he came to her with, “I’ve seen this really good idea...” then she knew she’d never be able to dissuade him, so she didn’t bother. She’d make supportive noises until his idea crashed and burned.

Once he won $800 on a lottery. He loved that, though he never bothered to add up how much he’d spent on tickets over the years. It only encouraged him to spend more of his spare money on tickets and scratch-cards.

To his credit, the money for his schemes was always spare money, left over after the essentials were covered. That meant that my college fund was way too small and I suspect his pension wasn’t in good shape either. Ever the optimist, he was sure that when his next idea worked out all of that future stuff would be OK.

Then the President made his announcement and all the future stuff changed. His pension and my college fund didn’t matter so much if big alien lizards were going to eat us in ten years time. Making easy millions didn’t matter so much either, you couldn’t pay the lizards to eat someone else instead of you.

I didn’t understand everything then. I’d just turned thirteen when the announcement came, so the stuff about concubines mostly passed me by as I was still in the ‘girls are stupid’ stage. I’d just about worked out that I had to pretend that the ones whose boobs had grown weren’t, but I only did that to fit in with the other boys.

Dad took the CAP test of course and he got a 5.9. Better than a lot of people, but not sponsor level. Inevitably that set him off looking for ‘One Simple Trick... ‘ to increase his CAP score. Some ideas weren’t so bad; he lasted about three months at boxing, trying to increase his aggression. Others were complete scams: “One simple pill to increase your CAP score!” Make that: “Overpriced vitamins to increase our profits.”

By the time I hit fourteen I’d revised my view of girls, the ones with big boobs really were more interesting. Even if they were ugly they were interesting. Not that I looked at their faces much, just their boobs. A lot of mom’s woman friends had big boobs too, bigger than girls my age anyway, so I did as much ogling as I thought I could get away with whenever they came around to visit to mom. Yeah, I was a typical asshole fourteen-year-old with my brain pumped on all that new testosterone.

I took my first CAP test and got 6.2. Not a bad score, and the woman in the Testing Center told me that my score should get better as I got older. She had big boobs as well, just like all the ‘real Confederacy concubines!’ stuff on the web that I tried to keep hidden from the parents. I think mom suspected though.

The downside was that the card had my name on it: Leonard J. Knox. At fourteen I hated that name. Len or Lenny, fine, but Leonard – ugh. That was for maiden aunts. Not that I had any maiden aunts, but you know what I mean.

Mom had kept quiet about her score, though I managed to get her to show me: 6.1, and I wasn’t to let dad know. He’d assumed that his score was better than hers and she hadn’t corrected him. Mom gave me some sensible advice as well, better than most of dad’s ideas. Because of her I concentrated more on science and computing in school and I took up soccer. I thought about boxing, like dad, but I didn’t like the High School boxing coach, so I stuck to soccer.

The day after my seventeenth birthday I went up from 6.4 to 6.5 on my retest. I was a sponsor! Mom was genuinely pleased for me. Dad was pleased too, but I could tell that he was jealous as well. That sent him off on one of his bad ideas; he went on the web and ordered up a fake CAP card with a 7.7 on it. That was a really bad idea, given what people said about the way the Confederacy treated people with fake CAP cards. I looked at the website he’d used and it had this tiny legal notice about the cards being ‘for amusement only’ and it was illegal to use them for real.

Mom and I both tried to dissuade him, but dad wouldn’t listen. He was convinced he would get away with it because he’d changed his middle initial on the forged card. Instead of his real name: ‘John K. Knox’ the card had: ‘John J. Knox’. Why on earth he thought that the Confederacy would extract him with a fake card in the wrong name escapes me. That was dad though, all his ideas were going to work fine, before they inevitably failed.

Thanks to Lorna I’d managed to lose my virginity before I got my good score, but that card with 6.5 on it was a big help at getting girls to drop their panties. These days, what’s on your CAP card is a lot more important than how you look. Since I wasn’t a six-foot, blue-eyed blond with a six-pack, the score was very helpful. At five-eight with brown eyes, mid-brown hair and no bulging biceps I was average looking, so I needed the boost. Most of the girls who suddenly noticed me were OK, and I would have been happy to take them with me if the Confederacy had turned up during our date. I knew what it was like trying to find a sponsor, so I didn’t mind them coming on to me. I wasn’t on their radar before I got the score; they wanted their ticket off Earth and back then I didn’t have one.

There were a few who were real bitches, like Bethany. Good tits, better ass, incredible legs and so completely in love with herself that she went straight to the bottom of my list. I only promised her a test drive, no more. I delivered on my promise and then told her, “Sorry Bethany...” I don’t like to promise something I won’t deliver.

I graduated High School with a sponsor score (I’d gone up to 6.7 by then) and a tiny college fund; thanks dad! What to do with the rest of my life? I wanted to fight the aliens, but if I joined the Army then the Confederacy couldn’t extract me. I preferred to fight them off Earth, so the Army was out. College? Maybe, but with my pathetic savings I’d end up with a big pile of debt, unless I got extracted. I decided to skip college and go straight to work. There was a medium size defense contractor in town that was expanding as work preparing to counter the aliens built up, so I joined them as ‘Junior Coffee Person’ or something like that. Whatever, the pay was bad, the job was boring, the people were friendly (most of them) and I was in on the ground floor, getting known.

With extractions going on all the time, there were sudden vacancies appearing and promotions to fill those vacancies. In a couple of months I was ‘Senior Coffee Person’ with a small pay increase. The job was still boring though. At least it was a step up from, “Would you like fries with that, sir?”

I can’t prove it, but I suspect that my score was a big help in getting me the job. The more sponsors there were on site then the more likely a pickup would be and more of the low-scoring managers would have a chance of being taken. I got some very obvious hints from colleagues that they, or their female relatives, were available. A lot of those female relatives were helping in the office so they would be there if the Confederacy turned up. Some guys had already set up pre-packs and their concubines were helping as well. I didn’t mind that, the helpers did a lot of the coffee delivery kind of stuff I’d been doing, so I could concentrate on the more interesting (make that less uninteresting) parts of my job.

As well as hiring sponsors, the company was quietly trying to get rid of the more rabid Earth First types. There were only a few there when I joined, and a couple of them got pushed out in the first six months I was there. It was done quietly, and there was always a good reason given, but if you paid attention you could see what was happening. The company wanted to attract a Confederacy pickup and obvious EF types worked against that.

As a side effect of having a lot of concubines looking for sponsors, us sponsors tended to sit together in the canteen to avoid being hassled. The concubines, the sensible ones anyway, knew not to bother us there. One of the common topics among sponsors was pre-packs: who we were taking and why. The women mostly wanted a stud (or their husband/boyfriend) together with a mother. Even if they were experienced mothers themselves it was obvious that they’d be away on duty a lot of the time, so their concubines would have to look after any children. Us young men mostly wanted a mother to go along with our wife/girlfriend/fuck toy/whatever. The older men usually went for some young thing to go with their wife, who would provide the motherhood experience.

One Saturday, when dad was out, I talked to mom. She was prepared to go to the stars without dad, despite still loving him. If she stuck with him then realistically they’d both stay on Earth and be eaten by the aliens. That must have been a horrible choice for her, leaving dad behind after all their years together. Then I asked her if she wanted to go with me. She smiled and thanked me, but there was a problem: “I can’t have sex with you, Len. You’re my son and I just can’t do that.”

“What if I promised not to, and found some other guys to get you pregnant?” I offered.

She thought about it a bit. “Thanks for the idea, but no. I want a steady man, not a different father for each new baby.”

OK, I could understand that, though it meant I now had to find a sponsor for mom as well as a motherly concubine for myself. Dad would have to look after himself; his chances as a low-CAP male weren’t good, and that stupid fake CAP card of his didn’t help.

At work I spread it around the other sponsors that I had a pre-owned experienced mother available, in good condition with 42,000 miles on the clock, solid chassis and good bodywork.

A couple of the guys asked, but I could tell they weren’t serious. They just wanted a MILF notch on their bedpost before they moved on to some other desperate wannabe concubine. Then I got a response from Miranda Gill, one of the hotshot programmers. She wore glasses, though she wasn’t a geek – reasonably good looking with dark hair, smallish tits and better dress-sense than the stereotypical geek.

“Len, I hear that your mother is available?”

That surprised me. Rumor said she had already picked her four concubines, two men and two women. Why was she asking about mom? “Yeah, she is.”

“Does that mean you still need an experienced mother for your pre-pack?” she asked me.

“It does. I haven’t picked anyone yet, so I’m open to suggestions.”

“OK then, we could try a swap. I don’t want to leave my mother behind and I don’t want to take her myself.”

I looked my question at her.

“I love her, she’s my mother,” Miranda explained, “but she rubs me up the wrong way sometimes. She can treat me like I’m still sixteen. If I take her I’m afraid I’ll get really mad at her and do something stupid. All that nasty stuff that they say sponsors can do to their concubines...”

“Yeah, I can see your problem. But I thought you’d already picked a couple of moms?”

“I had, but Nicola’s older son just turned twenty and retested at 6.5,” Miranda explained. “They decided incest was best, so now I have a slot for an experienced mother.”

“Then you want me to have a look at your mother, while you take a look at mine.”

“It’s certainly worth a try.”

“I’m not sure my mom will go for the lesbian stuff,” I warned her, “if that’s what you want.”

“A little maybe, but not much. I’ve got a couple of studs picked out, I like a bit of variety in my men,” she grinned.

Thanks to Nicola changing her mind, here was a chance to do my best for mom. “So, test drives then? What’s your mom like?”

Miranda produced her phone and showed me a pic. If I was cruel I’d say ‘short dumpy housewife’. Being kinder she was plump and well-rounded with good size breasts and nice calves. She had well-cut dark brown hair and a pleasant smile.

“Mom is very traditional,” she explained. “A woman’s place is in the home, cooking, cleaning and the rest. As far as I can tell she liked her sex, before my dad left that is. I think she’s been doing without since.”

While I was looking at Dawn Gill, Miranda was looking at a photo of mom on my phone. I’d picked one that didn’t show dad as I wanted to avoid questions. If mom wanted to talk about him she could do it herself when she met Miranda.

We exchanged phone numbers so our mothers could get in touch to arrange to meet us. Separately. We both agreed that a double test-drive would be too much.

I’d agreed to meet Dawn Gill at her house. She was in a white blouse with a little lace and knee-length plain green skirt. The traditional clothes suited her image as a forty-something mother. Far better than trying to look like a teenager, which almost never worked. I’d made it clear on the phone that I was looking for a mother, and she’d gone for a suitable look. She matched her photo, definitely not one of those “forty but looks twenty” women you read about in all those MILF stories on the web.

“Would you like a coffee, Len?” she asked.

With the social essentials completed we sat near each other on the couch. “How much has Miranda explained?” I asked.

“You’re looking for an experienced mother to be your concubine. You get two, and the last time I talked to Miranda, you hadn’t picked anyone.”

“I still haven’t. I’m looking for an older mother and a younger woman. Very boring and conventional really.”

“Conventional usually works well. That’s why it’s conventional.”

A reasonable point, I thought. “I assume you know what I want from you: sex, babies and childcare.” She nodded. “What do you want from me?”

“Obviously I want to get away from the aliens. Beyond that I want to be a housewife. I’m very traditional, unlike Miranda, so I want to cook, clean, look after the children and look after my man.”

“Look after... ?” I asked.

“Ummm ... sex basically. Since my husband left I miss the sex. I’d like to have a permanent man. I don’t do short term relationships.”

“Why did your husband leave?” A rude question, but I needed an answer.

Dawn sighed. “It wasn’t sex; whatever he wanted from me he got. He was getting older, so he wanted a younger woman to make him look young again. He left me for one of the women at his work, fifteen years his junior. A bit of a cliché really – a male mid-life crisis, trying to stave off getting old.”

While she talked I was looking at her. I had a flashback to when I was fourteen and fantasizing about mom’s friends and their boobs. Dawn had a reasonably large pair, which I’d have been drooling over seven years ago. Truth be told, I could easily drool over them now, and today they were available for the asking. So I asked.

She laughed. “When Miranda brought teenage boys home, I could see them thinking exactly the same thing as you did. It might be fun to try that.”

She did insist on pulling the drapes to stop the neighbors seeing in while we played our game. She came across as somewhat passive, so it was easy to project my old teenage fantasy onto her.

She returned to her seat next to me and smiled. “Hello Leonard.” For this game we were Leonard and Mrs. Gill.

“You have really big tits, Mrs. Gill.”

“Leonard! That was very rude!”

I reached over and fondled her nearer breast. “Oh yes, they’re big and so pleasant to touch.” Even through her blouse and bra it felt good.

“Stop that, you bad boy. How dare you touch me there!”

“But I like fondling your boob, Mrs. Gill.” I started to unbutton her blouse.

“You want to take my top off so you can see my naked breasts, don’t you. You want to see them, touch them, kiss them, fondle them, don’t you? Such a bad boy.”

She was right about that, I wanted to get to her tits, and more. She had a front-fastening bra on, but not for long. I parted her blouse, undid the bra and got my hands on her breasts. “You have really nice nipples, Mrs. Gill. They really stick out.” Her areolae were big, I liked that. Her breasts were heavy as well. Younger women’s breasts are more self-supporting; Dawn’s sagged more, so they were softer and heavier in my hands. I definitely enjoyed feeling their soft weight.

“Ohhh, you’re making me feel...”

“Feel what, Mrs. Gill?” I took one nipple in my mouth and started sucking.

“Feel ... naughty too.”

I had my mouth on one tit, my hand on the other and a hand free to drop down to her thigh. Up under her skirt, along her smooth thigh and onto her panties. Her damp panties.

“Ohh yes, Mrs. Gill, you are feeling naughty.”

“I can’t help it, Leonard, you wicked boy.”

I wormed a finger underneath her panties and started to stroke her pussy lips. There was a lot of hair under there, apparently Dawn didn’t shave.

“You shouldn’t be touching me there, only naughty boys do that.”

“But I am a naughty boy, Mrs. Gill,” I confirmed. I could feel her pussy was juicing up nicely.

I slowly began to push my finger into her channel.

“Oh no, Leonard. You mustn’t put your finger in me.”

“Into where, Mrs. Gill? Where shouldn’t I put my finger?”

“Into my ... my pu ... my pussy.”

“But I want to put my fingers into your pussy,” I told her as I added a second finger.

“Two fingers! That’s twice as bad, Leonard, you wicked boy.”

“I want to see my fingers. Pull up your skirt so I can see,” I ordered.

“But you’ll see...”

“Pull up your skirt,” I insisted. “I want to see.”

She did and I saw. Her thighs were more rounded than most women my age. They made a nice contrast to the fashion-model matchstick thighs that a lot of younger women seemed to aim for.

“Ohhh, you shouldn’t be looking at me there. It’s so rude.”

I kept my fingers moving slowly in and out. She was enjoying this, her pussy was getting juicy, her nipples were hard and her breathing was getting a little faster.

My cock was feeling confined in my pants, so I removed my fingers and stood up. “Take off your blouse and bra, Mrs. Gill,” I told her, while starting to strip.

She pulled her skirt down a short way and got rid of her blouse and bra. Her breasts were a mother’s breasts, they’d inflated and deflated so there was the inevitable sag. They still had a good shape – they hadn’t gone on to the underinflated look that some older women have. They weren’t perfect, but they were real, reflecting her life. I liked that, silicone tits look stupid, ugly and unattractive.

“Now your panties.”

“Such a bad boy you are Leonard.” She did what I said though. Her plain panties joined her blouse and bra on the floor.

“Now slide forward on the seat and pull your skirt up again.” I liked the idea of fucking her in her skirt, it was somehow naughtier and fitted in with the game we were playing. I grabbed a throw-cushion, laid it on the floor between her spread thighs and knelt.

“Take hold of my cock, Mrs. Gill,” I told her.

“Oooh, that would be naughty.” She did what I asked though. Her hand grasped my erection, not too firmly, and began to stroke me slowly. I could tell she had plenty of experience.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you Leonard. You want to put your stiff cock into my pussy. Such a bad boy wanting to misbehave like that.”

She had that right. I moved forward so my cock-head was almost at her pussy. “Put it in, Mrs. Gill.”

She stroked the head up and down along her slit a couple of times and positioned it at her entrance. “There you are, you wicked boy. Push forward now.”

We both sighed as I slowly entered her. “I’m fucking you Mrs. Gill.”

“Mmmm ... Yes you are, Leonard. Can you pull on my nipples a little please while you fuck me?”

I was enjoying this, and she was too, which made it better. Playing with her nipples was helping excite her. Not the tightest pussy I’d ever fucked although that wasn’t really important. The Confederacy could fix that later. Sometimes my mind goes to strange places when I’m fucking.

I came first, humping into her hard. Her softly padded body was very comfortable to hump into, much better than some skinny teen with too many bones sticking out. Another advantage of plumper women.

I pulled out and sat next to her. If she was disappointed at not cumming she didn’t show it. “Suck me clean,” I ordered.

She moved the cushion over, knelt in front of me and took my half-hard dick in her mouth. She was looking up at me in the approved style, but she didn’t look like a porn star. This was a real woman, a housewife. I enjoyed that. When I was clean I had her jill off; her pussy had too much hair, so I didn’t fancy eating it.

“Thanks, Dawn.” We needed to get back to Len and Dawn, leaving my very satisfying teenage fantasy behind.

“How did I do, Len?” she asked, expectantly.

“You passed. I’ll accept you as my concubine.”

“Thank you, Len,” she smiled. “You can celebrate in my ass if you want.”

“Your ass?”

“I cleaned it out especially. You haven’t fucked my tits yet either.”

I could tell I was going to enjoy having Dawn as my concubine.

“Len, can we talk please?” Naomi asked.

She was one of the helpers, the daughter of some very senior manager. She had that ‘I’ve had all the expensive beauty treatments’ look, so she almost looked naturally beautiful. Almost. She’d been too obviously made to look natural, so it didn’t quite come off; unnaturally natural if you like. She still looked good though: blonde, tall, slim with reasonably large breasts under her T-shirt. Even her T-shirt was probably expensive from some high-end boutique, her jeans definitely were.

“Sure, Naomi, we can talk. Give me five minutes to finish this.”

She waited. It was a bit of a test, so I had to spin out two minutes of real work to fill four minutes. “OK, what can I do for you, Naomi?” as if I didn’t know.

“Did my dad talk to you already?” she asked.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Damn. Did he fuck it up for me?”

Like I said, a lot of the managers were trying to get their female relatives off Earth, and Mr. Ormsby was one. He’d talked to me a few days earlier, selling me Naomi and he’d done a good job. His problem was trying to make a standard mid-twenties concubine with no real childcare experience stand out from the crowd. Granted she was good-looking, but that didn’t matter much as the Confederacy could easily fix any problems with a concubine’s appearance. So here was Naomi to sell herself.

“No, he did a great job of selling you actually. He’s a good salesman.”

“He worked his way up in sales, so he’s got the experience.”

“Can you be honest with me, Naomi?” I asked.

“Yes, I can do that.”

“OK, I got your good points from your father. Given that nobody’s perfect, what are your bad points?” I knew that was a cruel question because I’d been asked it myself in job interviews. You can’t answer ‘none’ and you can’t say ‘I’m an ax-murderer’. You have to pick something believable, but not too bad.

“Shit, that’s a nasty question,” she stalled. “Well ... my family is rich, so my life has been different from most people’s. Like, I’ve never babysat for any of my parents’ friends – they all have nannies to look after their kids. I’ll make assumptions about things and those assumptions will be wrong because my experience is different. I know I’ll have to learn that I’m not so special any more. I’ll try, but I won’t get everything right first time. I’m reasonably smart so if I get something wrong once, I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Good answer,” I told her. It was – believable and not too much of a problem. “You’ll have to learn childcare, obviously. My other concubine is an experienced mother, so you’ll learn from her.”

“I’m taking tutoring in childcare,” she told me. “That will help.”

Standing up I told her, “Follow me.” I led her to the nearest restroom and into a stall.

I started work after the President’s announcement, so this wasn’t unusual for me, though longer-serving staff thought differently. The convention was that those of us without individual offices used a restroom. Having a prospective concubine under your desk in an open office was too distracting for the others.

She locked the stall door behind her. “Fuck or suck?” she asked. She knew what this was about.

“A BJ is fine,” I told her.

She lifted her T-shirt to her neck – no bra – knelt down and went for my fly. She was good. Maybe she’d had some tutoring in this as well? Either that or plenty of boyfriends. She could take my six inches with little problem, and swallowed everything. I was playing with her tits, but I didn’t really need that to get off.

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