Chapter 16

After their orgasms, the two women fell asleep. I fixed their clothing best I could and covered them with a blanket and went for a walk. My cum had cleared the fog of lust out of my mind, so I could think straight. A bit anyway. I was still a kid swimming in a lake of hormones.

The ring had me confused as whether I was Satan’s tool or Cupid’s.

Where was I going with this? I needed to figure things out. The problem was that I had to do it on my own, the ring wouldn’t let me talk to anyone.

The magic in it utterly relaxed inhibitions, made fantasies reachable (hopefully only sexual ones, I shuddered when I thought of someone giving in to the urge to kill just because they got irritated because someone chewed too loud.)

Was I in control driving the ring’s power by my curiosity—by my horny sixteen-year-old brain? Or was it magical with a will of its own?

I was torn. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I was hooked now, a peeping tom who now had graduated into a completely new vice. Now I could get a front row seat in women’s secret desires, or more accurately, they presented them to me. I liked the naughtier the better, thus the fixation on mature women with their well-developed forbidden hidden thoughts of nasty kinks. I remembered a line from some forgotten English class about power corrupting. I could see it happening to me and honestly, I was okay with it. It was delicious. The more straight-laced and repressed—the more delicious the exploration.

Aunt Jean and Mrs. Vincent’s wicked debauch was a heady brew.

I decided to go for a walk in the night.

A light was on at Grandma Cummings place. Kids in the neighborhood thought she was a witch, mostly because of the sign in front of her house offering palm readings. Her voice called out from the dark from her porch as I was walking by.

“Steven Conner is that you wandering around the neighborhood at night. Up to no good, I’ll wager. Come on up here and sit a spell and keep me company.”

We’d spoken before, after all she lived just a few houses from me and I’d mowed her lawn, but this was the first time she’d invited me up to her porch.

“Sure, Miz. Cummings. I guess I could chat for a bit.”

“Call me Grandma, Steven. There’s a cooler behind you grab a beer or a coke if you’d like. Hand me a beer please. It’s a warm night and a beer would taste good.”

I grabbed a beer for her and a coke for myself and settled back.

Miz Cummings was a heavy-set black woman in her 60s or 70s, I guessed. She was dressed in a thin translucent nightgown; I could just make out her heavy breasts with their dark nipples.

“What have you been up to Steven.”

“Well, I just had a pretty interesting night, grandma. I came within an inch of fucking my Aunt Jeans wet pussy while she was licking the hairy cunt of Mrs. Annabelle Vincent. I shot my cum on her asshole and pussy slit. The sight of your big tits is making my prick hard again.”

I listened to myself confessing this with gut twisting shock.

What the hell. Jesus, maybe Grandma Cummings really was a witch.

“What about you?” I asked tonelessly.

“Well, that is some story. I wondered what my spell would evoke from you.”

Then her face morphed into a puzzled desperate look, and she continued. “Just now, I was sitting letting with my legs spread, letting the night air cool my pussy. I was planning a slow sensuous pleasuren’ right out here in the open on my porch. Tweaking my nipples and playing with my pussy imagining that I had me a man to fuck me. It’s been a long time since I was used good by a strong man.”

“OH MY GOD,” we both said simultaneously.

We both took a sip of our drinks and eyed each other warily.

“You have a powerful juju charm, Steven. Maybe you should tell me about it.”

“I can’t ma’am it won’t let me.”

She muttered a few incomprehensible words.

“Try again, child.”

“I got it from my Uncle,” I blurted. “I’m not sure what it does or what it’s for, but it seems to make people confess about their deepest sex thoughts. I think it’s making changes in me too.” I was too embarrassed to mention my cock was bigger.