Mr. Thomlinson's New Computer - Cover

Mr. Thomlinson's New Computer

by Maria Bordelon

Copyright© 2020 by Maria Bordelon

Erotica Sex Story: Guy buys a new computer and it turns into his nightmare. Hopefully you will enjoy the similarity to the Rod Serling style and scripts from The Twilight Zone. Any names, places or descriptions resembling reality are purely coincidental. Thanks to Cagey Sea, Hey All and Steve Locock for their suggestions and advice.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Magic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Horror   FemaleDom   Humiliation   Group Sex   Orgy   Nudism   .

I was never what many call worldly. Most would call me a nerd ... a guy who likes math and science. If you’re looking for a degree or other certification don’t. Even though my favorite t-shirt was emblazoned with Kirshoff’s Laws. In a college known for engineering and science I became the odd-man out, a history major. That is a sad way to admit I dropped out of calculus and physics before failing. Meanwhile the nerds and I worked out a deal: They helped me pass my science and math classes and I helped them with their history and social science classes. My undergrad thesis was titled The Social Implications of James Clerk Maxwell’s Equations.

Math and science may have been my downfall but I was a good “shade tree mechanic.” Back then the cars were simple. Electronics were limited to stereo systems and voltage regulators. The plethora of computers and electric interconnected devices now on modern cars hadn’t been invented. My ability (luck) at keeping an old Mustang convertible and a Triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle running convinced many to trust my wrenches.

To this day I’m the guy who repairs bikes and toys for my kids and their friends. Wifey is happy every time I repair a household appliance. As previously stated, electronics and computers are not my strong suit. My kids can do all that stuff much better than yours truly. As for that Mustang and 650 Triumph ... are you nuts? Two weeks before getting married I traded those things for a new mini-van with an extended warranty.

I suppose a few personal details would be helpful. Wifey and I have been together for 14 years and married for 12. We have two kids. Our son is 8-years-old and loves basketball. Our daughter is 11 and just started middle school. Almost forgot, my wife and I were sweethearts in college and got married right after graduation. My wife knows I wrote this narrative. She has always been shy and insists on remaining anonymous therefore, “Wifey” will be used in place of her name.

Enough already. This saga began almost a year ago when I dropped my laptop computer. The damn thing hit just right on the wrong corner. One look at the cracked screen and I knew it was impossible to salvage. When my son confirmed the hard drive was also ruined, dollars began floating in front of my eyes. The first Saturday after that cataclysmic event I dropped my wife and daughter at the mall then went to the nerd emporium on the highway with my son. While I dickered with the sales and tech guys my son was in heaven—the toy and game isle. Every half hour or so I checked on him and encouraged the pimply-faced clerk in that section to find a real customer. Eventually the sales and tech guys convinced me that the last of last year’s model fit my needs. They sweetened the deal by adding a five-year subscription to the “best” anti-virus service then transferred the photos and files in my old computer to the new machine without charge. The whole shmeer, including a new game for my son cost me $910.91.

Sunday night when the others were asleep, I entered my office and activated my new bundle of electrons. A few seconds later the screen was filled with the usual icons. Yes, the photos and other personal stuff was there. What the hell? Letters and images from some damn thing called Slutmania were dancing on my screen. Although I did an emergency shut-down and virus check the Slutmania page remained. I tried reading the fine print. There was no fucking way to read and understand that confusing shit. I took a chance, pushed the “accept” button, hoped it was indeed free and planned on uninstalling it moments later. Bright colored wheels began spinning and foxy ladies danced. Then the games took over. Although I switched through several games, fortunately the damn bandit only stole my time. At 1:48 AM, almost three hours past my bedtime 234 more credits were added to my original 10,000. Enough! I quit. I shut the computer down and prepared for bed. I tossed and turned until dreams of wealth soothed my insane brain.

Damn alarm! I rolled out of bed and did the morning things. Kissed Wifey then walked out the door and began the wretched commute. Work, work, make the company lots of money by selling that stuff made in China, Japan, Taiwan ... any place but here. Glad my commute was only 7.8 miles. Poor Wifey must travel 26.2 miles, a real marathon for her job. Plugged away for the day. Walked in, said hello, looked at the mail, gathered kids for dinner, helped with dishes, put the kids to bed and finally found time to unwind. Wifey was already in bed. I replied with a few yawns and noncommittal tone, “I’ll be there soon. Good night.”

I slipped into my office and sat at the computer and read some emails. I tried shutting the computer but Slutmania kept flashing my balance, 10,234 credits. Damn! I played for a few minutes and won 169 more credits. My balance now totaled 10,403. Enough! Technically, Troublesome Tuesday had just begun. I needed sleep and did all the shutdown procedures. Even pulled the plug but the damn thing wouldn’t shut off. Maybe the rainstorm messed up the wacky wizened web. Couldn’t wait another second, I had to pee.

When I returned hundreds of fuzzy, monkey-faced things without bodies were bouncing off the walls and me like big crazy balls. It was Tuesday night. No drinking allowed. I mean really? If it were a Friday or Saturday night, I might say this was from one too many. But I’m not a drinker. Ok, I do indulge sometimes but do not get drunk. Ok, I get drunk on my birthday and New Year’s Eve. Honest, I haven’t done any heavy drinking since graduating college 13 years ago. This was seriously weird shit, like the DT’s gone wild. One of those freaking monkey faces gave me a real tongue-dancing deep throat smack down. Not even Wifey and I in our wild younger days did that. I managed to close the lid on my laptop without shutting it off. Thankfully those monkey-faced things went away. I wanted to take a hammer to the damn thing but in a flash of sanity remembered all my pictures and personal data were on that frigging machine. When my breathing returned to normal, I opened the computer and quickly did an emergency shut off then closed the lid and went to bed.

My nightmares of those crazy-ass monkey faces kept me tossing and turning all night. I probably got an hour of sleep. Damn alarm! Wake up time. I was groggy as hell. Not a clear thought gelled. My poor head and body felt like a bad hangover yet I didn’t have a drop to drink. Fuck it. Got to get up and face the day. Wifey knew something was wrong but didn’t say anything. It really didn’t matter. I was too tired to discuss it.

I’d gone several days without touching that computer. I should have been sleeping like a log but that frigging computer called me at 2:21 AM on another Terrible Tuesday. Moments after getting out of bed and padding my way into the bathroom I did the unthinkable—went to the office and opened my laptop. Bright spinning wheels and pretty ladies were now dancing across the screen and lighting up the room. I tried but couldn’t shut the fricking computer off. For a moment, I was thankful those damn monkey things didn’t appear. Considering what appeared maybe those monkey faces would have been preferable. A dozen gorgeous women ... blondes, brunettes, redheads and a few dark dusky beauties with sparkling brown eyes were in the room with me. Every woman there a walking wet dream.

I don’t know much about women’s clothing but isn’t any blouse or dress that ties behind the neck called a halter? Anyway, their white dresses were slit to the hip. The clingy diaphanous cloth clung to every woman’s nipples. Damn! Those women really were naked in their clothes.

Two of those women were now sitting in my lap and giving me lots of kisses. Normally only one woman, Wifey made my dick hard. Those two made my dick pop so hard and fast through my pjs it’s a wonder I didn’t juice. I loved Wifey and never considered cheating. We had two good kids and a nice life. As mentioned earlier, Wifey and I have been together for 14 years and married for 12. After tonight who knows? Oh, shit! When all that female perfection including the two on my lap let their clothes flutter to the floor, I went insane. For the first time in 13 years, the first time since getting serious with my wife I fondled and kissed another woman’s tits and nipples.

Their hands did more to me than I did to them. I lost it and shot my wad. Fortunately, the dry humps stopped and normal breathing returned when I heard Wifey coming this way. Oh shit! Time to panic. I shoved both beauties off my lap, closed the computer, ran to the bathroom, stripped away my messy pg.’s and flipped on the shower.

Angry words were said as we left for work that morning. Wednesday is normally not a wild night. I used my charms. Even tried something I hadn’t done for a long time. I really wish she shaved. She’s hairy there. A mouthful of hair isn’t tasty or pleasant. As you can imagine, I rarely did anything orally. Hopefully my oral efforts and some missionary work on a Wild Wednesday night saved my ass.

Friday ... TGIF again. I evaded discussions and additional action with Wifey. I mowed the lawn and completed a big “honey” list on Saturday. Peace in the house was restored. I was allowed hugs and peace in bed again. Remember I said peace, not piece.

Sunday should have been restful. No such luck. It was her mother’s birthday, meaning a trip across town. On Sunday night I usually arranged the schedules—ball games, PTA meetings, whatever for the week. Something felt weird. Got up twice and looked out the front window. Our cars were safe and locked on the driveway. Everything seemed normal yet something gnawed at my soul.

Manic Monday began when the alarm sounded. I got up, dressed and out door. Just two miles down road everything stopped. All the freeways and interstates were blocked. A dozen massive traffic accidents stopped everything. No school. No work. Every business and school had to close that day. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The damn mess made the national news.

I finished the week nicely but everything felt strange. Friday night Wifey cornered me in bed. There was no escape. The questions flew. My answers didn’t. I got up and opened the computer. Nothing. No monkeys. Ni spinning wheels. No dancing women or loose money. Damn site was 404, meaning did not exist. That was our first big fight in years. I slept on the couch in our den that night and several following nights.

Another Terrible Tuesday came and went. The crazy dreams were getting crazier. I think the kids talked to my wife because she seemed calm. Can’t call it peace, maybe truce is the better word. Anyway, Wednesday night was wonderful because Wifey let me back in bed. I didn’t dare try anything but did sleep fairly well on my side of the bed. I made it through another week. Even the weekend went well.

Manic Monday continued that trend. Terrible Tuesday got a bum rap. In other words, the day went nicely. I actually got to bed at a decent hour but the bell tolled for me. I didn’t want another crazy episode. I uninstalled and deleted all the games, including Slutmania. After that I did a deep virus scan. Everything was clean. I restarted the computer. Oh shit! Those frigging lights, monkey faces and gorgeous women appeared. When the music began, I tried to shut down the computer. No such luck. Every woman in the room with me was naked female perfection. The tits on one woman looked like a pair of giant ice cream cones. Another had two perfect little ski jumps on her chest. A third had tits shaped like a honeydew melon cut in half. The fourth...

Their nipples and areolas ... everything from itty bitty pink areolas and nipples to dark brown bowls with finger-sized projections. I dare not forget those with cute little puffy things that were ever so sensitive. So many. So beautiful. So close. So different. And so delicious. If that wasn’t enough, every woman there was bald down there. Every little clitty stood hard and proud. On another occasion, a nice little clitty would have priority over all those titties. Today, my eyes were much bigger than my tongue. Even an octopus couldn’t handle this situation.

One woman slipped under me. Her femaleness bathed my dick with hot lubricating fluids while her arms and legs held me tight. Nothing mattered but our sexual desires. Just before the expected cataclysmic culmination to our mutually pleasurable experiences was to occur the lights came on. Every pleasurable sensation suddenly vanished. All those exquisitely beautiful female bodies vanished. At 11:57 PM, 3 minutes before the witching hour my nightgown-clad wife stood there slack-jawed and angry. I was naked, alone and writhing on the floor with my hard dick spurting like a teenaged boy consummating a wet dream. Wifey’s justifiable curses would have made a drunken sailor sound virginal. When the electronic clock in that damn computer chimed midnight big spinning wheels and dancing women were dancing on the walls. The old song, Spinning Wheel written by David Clayton Thomas and made famous by Blood Sweat & Tears played incessantly. My pitiful words came out wrong. After cleaning up I spent another night on the couch in the den but didn’t get much sleep. That damn song and all those images kept ringing in my head.

The kids knew something bad was going on. Neither of us gave them a satisfactory explanation. Meanwhile her anger and my lonely nights on the couch continued.

I was justifiably afraid to go near that computer. Several days passed before I went into the office. I swear I didn’t touch that crazy-ass computer or the printer. Yet the instant I entered to get my mail both machines began clanging away. Remember that old TV show called Knight Rider? The car would come alive and save the guy. My computer was doing the opposite. It was trying to kill me. I thought it was spam, junk mail at best, sent to the wrong address for the wrong reason. Who gets free box seat tickets plus a room and meals at the biggest casino on the Gulf Coast without asking? This had to be a scam. Who stole my credit cards? Was my identity safe? I sat down then called the 800 number for every credit card in my possession. Everything was legitimate. I told Wifey I needed ink for the printer. An hour later I returned with the ink cartridges plus a dozen roses and a box of chocolates. When I gave her the flowers, chocolates and tickets she squealed like a lottery winner then hugged me tight. On that Wild Wonderful Wednesday night Wifey happily welcomed me into bed.

On Friday afternoon her parents came for the weekend to babysit the kids and we drove to the Gulf Coast. After checking in we enjoyed the hotel’s spectacular seafood buffet. With that feast in our gut neither of us wanted anything more than a good night’s sleep. In the morning, we dressed casually. Just before going out the door we quickly kissed. Walking down the hallways we held hands. After breakfast, we slowly walked through the hotel’s gardens and kept the 800 hundred pounds of emotions churning inside us quiet. Moments after sitting on a park bench and watching the endless Gulf of Mexico we were cuddling and nodding off. Later that day several folks showed us the pictures they snapped. Damn! We sure looked like two people in love.

Several yawns and stretches later we were walking through the lobby the concierge called me aside. Needless to say, I was surprised. I was even more surprised when he gave me my computer bag. Damn! I distinctly remember locking that computer in my desk at home. When Wifey asked about my conversation with the concierge I opened the shoulder bag and showed her the computer inside. Luckily no one was in the elevator with us because all the way up I was muttering. “What the fuck? No fucking way!”

If looks could kill. Wifey thought I was going nuts and openly admonished me to keep quiet and stop cursing. I thought about explaining the situation but knew she wouldn’t believe me. The last thing I wanted was this piece of shit anywhere near me. Where could I hide the damn thing? It was too big for the in-room safe and not valuable enough to be stored in the hotel’s safe. I seriously thought about throwing it out the window or dropping it into a garbage can. While getting ready for our dinner and show I turned it on and let the battery run down then shut it off just before leaving.

We ate dinner in the hotel’s café. Neither of us wanted another caloric overload from the buffet. The show was an exciting and colorful acrobatic ensemble from China. Afterwards we were too tired for more festivities.

The weather on Sunday morning was bright and sunny. Looking out from our ocean view room high above everything there wasn’t a reason to get dressed. Besides that, I liked leering at my wife’s tits. Her silky nighty thing really didn’t hide much. Hmm? Not today. Not on Sunday. No time. Got to pack and drive home. A quick phone call to the front desk activated our late checkout privileges. When someone knocked, I slipped on a robe then opened the door and let the room service gal in. If this wasn’t an all-expense paid deal I sure as hell would have never accepted hat overpriced tray of fruit and coffee. After signing the receipt, I gave her a fiver, put the “do not disturb” sign on the doorknob and locked the door.

For the first time in years we ate breakfast virtually naked. I felt like a newlywed while ogling my wife’s tits. Damn girl has nice tits. Sort of like big ripe mangoes with nice pink areolas and nipples. I kind of like the way her tits wobble just enough to need a bra. Remember, she’s 35, a real woman who birthed and nursed two kids. Seems a shame to hide such nice things in a cloth contraption. Then again, I don’t want others getting excited over my wife’s tits. Wifey finished eating first and quickly declared the bathroom off limits to yours truly. No big deal. Meanwhile I checked the computer ... deader than a door nail, wound up the charge cord and put everything away. Then laid out my clothes. When she came out of the bathroom a cloud of watery vapor followed. When the vapors cleared my dick got hard. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time for any lovey-dovey.

My turn now. Hopefully there’s some hot water left. After the triple S--shave, shit and shower I came out in my boxers and was shocked! The damn computer was making soft poufy noises and spitting out those fucking, yes, this time I mean fucking monkey-faced things every few seconds. The room was filled with the fucking things. Every face had a determined look far different than the silly smiles seen on other occasions. When freaky, high-pitched sounds only a woman could make filled the room, I knew something was wrong. After frantically batting dozens of the damn things away I saw Wifey on the bed naked and spread wide. Oh shit! One of those fuckers was on each tit and another between her legs. No wonder she was going ape shit with orgasms. When one of those fuckers latched on to my cock and began sucking the life from me, I fell on the bed.

Those damn fucking monkey things really drained me. In spite of my nap I woke up tired. Wifey on the other hand was smiling with a fresh-fucked face while proudly walking about our hotel room wearing a dress the likes I’ve never seen or imagined. Oh shit! It’s Monday morning and we are still here. Panic set in. I made it to the bathroom just in time. For the moment, I was physically relieved but mentally panicking because it was Monday morning. I quickly grabbed my robe and cell phone. Just as I started making phone calls to the kids, my job, her job and the front desk she arrogantly asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m calling the kids and your parents then the front desk and...”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s Monday morning!” I replied with panic and desperation.

“No, it’s not.” She calmly answered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I incredulously asked.

“Ease up kiddo. It’s 5:14 on Sunday afternoon. Look at the clock. You slept the day away. Those things you created are too much for you.”

“I didn’t create them.”

She gave a withering look that could have destroyed an army without weapons.

“Doesn’t matter. We can’t stay here.”

“Yes, we can.”

“No way! We have work tomorrow. And the kids have school. And we don’t have the money for this place. Our reservation was only for the weekend.”

“Relax. I took care of everything.”

“Huuh?”

“While you were snoring the day away, I got busy. First, I did the laundry. You need to fold the clothes in your suitcase. The rest are in the machines two floors down. Second, I got lucky. I used our computer and played that Slotmania game that’s been driving you nuts. I won another four-day vacation here. All expenses paid. They attached my winnings to the room. We’re staying until Thursday. Oh, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I had a massage and went shopping.”

 
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