Chapter 12

Behavior modification is the process of withholding rewards, until the subject displays appropriate behavior. You do good, you get a treat. You don’t do good, you don’t get a treat. That’s basically what my mother and Randi did to me.

The exception was my birthday, which was the next day. My mother got up at five in the morning and came into my room. She woke me up by sucking on my dick. She didn’t control me the way Randi had. I think that’s because, now that she’d decided to keep doing this thing, she was fired up enough that she was able to cum twice before I lost it. She let me cum in her that morning, and didn’t say a word, except “Happy birthday, baby,” as I grunted and strained to get as deeply in her as I possibly could, while I spewed.

After that, though, things changed. If I didn’t warn them I was about to cum, I didn’t get to put it in a warm pussy for days. They kept me soft, but it was with their mouths. They taunted me, showing me their pussies, sliding a finger in, saying I could be there, if I was a good boy. Then they milked my prick and sucked me dry.

Tabby might have been curious, and horny, but she wasn’t impatient. She continued to come see me at nights, to give me good night kisses. She delighted in showing me her breasts. Mom and Randi, though, were doing a good job of keeping me limp. I still had a bulge, and if I arranged it carefully, it looked halfway stiff.

At least to a fifteen-year-old girl.

What interferes with behavior modification, is if behavior is rewarded in different ways by different people.

My mother and big sister had devised a plan to control my libido, or at least teach me how to control it. Their problem was that they didn’t bring the rest of the Turner women in on it. That’s understandable. They had no clue about Christy, and I didn’t tell them. They were quite sure that, should other family members find out about our strange little practices, they’d be horrified, and the family would probably fragment.

There is research out there about incest, which suggests that 80% of all women find the body odor of their sons, fathers and brothers to be distasteful. It is hypothesized that this is a natural development, to discourage incest. The finding is the same for the way men react to the smell of their mothers, daughters and sisters. This is all based on the odor when the people involved are pubescent, and no chemicals, deodorants or other foreign scents (perfumes) are employed. This research relies heavily on the theory that, genetically, close family members are just naturally not attracted to each other, sexually.

They don’t say anything about the other 20% of the study participants ... the ones who did not find the odors of their close relatives to be offensive. That may be because of genetics too. That doesn’t mean that, genetically speaking, 20% of all pubescent women are attracted to their brother, son, nephew, or grandson. There’s no research to prove that, of course. Even if the odor didn’t bother them, that wouldn’t mean that women in the same family would be sexually attracted to the men.

But it’s possible. Think about that. It’s possible that in any given group of ten women, two of them might not be repelled by the thought of having sex with a male who is also a close relative. Of course it’t not probable. But it is possible.

There’s even anecdotal evidence to support it. That would be ... in part ... Me.

At the next Friday night confab, which was four days after the kits arrived, I found out that their arrival had been kept secret. I learned that when Mom, Randi and Tabby proudly displayed their casts, and three other women expressed displeasure ... with me, of course ... for not telling them the kits had arrived.

They all wanted theirs done next.

Grandma finally pulled rank. She asked a lot of questions, which was pretty shrewd of her, in my opinion. She made me explain the whole process. She hadn’t read anything at the website with the rest of the women, because she said she was too old to “mess with computers”.

When she was looking at my mother’s cast, which was on her lap. Her hand went inside it, to feel the part that would hold a pencil, on the real woman.

“If you fill this up with plaster, how are you going to get the hardened plaster out of it?” she asked. “I can see how you got her breast out of it, but a plaster breast won’t bend and move, like hers had to.”

Danny took the cast. He put his hand over one of the breasts, in the process of holding it, and peered inside.

“She’s right,” he said. “Once the plaster hardens, you’ll never get this off of it without destroying it.”

My mother was looking at his hand, on the facsimile of her right breast. Her cheeks were pink. Her libido had not only been awakened, but had been allowed to run free, two or three times a day, for the last three days.

“The actual bust is what’s needed for the project,” said my mother. “Not the cast. If it has to be broken to get it off, then I guess it has to be broken.”

Danny fondled the breast in his hand. “That’s just criminal, to destroy something this beautiful.”

My mother got much pinker, and Aunt Christy slapped Danny.

“Quit flirting with my mother,” she said. “She isn’t even on the schedule yet.”

I think she was trying to make a joke.

My mother blurted: “You mean someone else is?!“ She looked around.

Aunt Vanessa did an astounding job of inspecting her cuticles, like she was bored.

“Don’t be silly,” giggled Christy. “I was joking!”

I half expected my mother to say “So I am on the schedule?” but she didn’t.

Grandma Mona took the cast away from Danny. “I sag more than Lonnie,” she said, pragmatically. “It may be more difficult to do mine, and take longer to get off. I’m not going to try to rush it. Pat? Why don’t you come over to my house tomorrow, so we can take our time.”

“Okay,” I said, automatically.

Aunt Vanessa leaned forward. “That would leave tonight ... open.”

“I’m next!” said Grandma immediately. “Age, before beauty.” She looked at Vanessa. “Besides ... give the poor boy a break. He’s already done three of them this week. He’s probably a wreck.”

That got some stares. My big sister and my mother seemed to get particularly impatient to get some eats distributed, and left the room.

We watched a movie that night. Tabby wore her thong again, and lay on the floor on her stomach, in front of the TV. My mother was so distracted that she didn’t notice. At least not at first. I did. So did Uncle Danny.

Pretty soon, my mother, who was looking at Danny a lot, saw where his eyes were, and went there too. She got up, slapped Tabby on her bare butt, and told her to go get into some decent panties.

Nobody seemed to notice the irony of that.

By the time they left, I had three appointments, at three different houses, to make the rest of my casts.

When I got to Grandma’s house the next day, she handed me a long, rectangular package. Guitar Hero II was in it.

“For your birthday,” she said. “I forgot to bring it with me last night.”

“Thanks!” I was excited. I’d been wanting the game for ages.

“How naked do you want me?” she asked.

I must have looked guilty or something. I was also tongue tied, and she went on.

“Well, looking at those things, and finding out what’s involved, I know you had to run your strong young hands all over their breasts,” she said. “I’m not so old that I forgot what just taking my picture did to you either.” She looked at me carefully. “How naked did they get?”

“I can’t tell you that,” I gasped.

“Those are my daughter and granddaughters,” she said firmly. “I know something happened. I know my own daughter, and she hasn’t been that relaxed, and jumpy all at the same time, in years.”

She took the kit from me, and opened it up, peering inside.

“And Tabitha ... when she showed her bare butt to the whole wide world, like it was nothing at all, I knew something was up then too.”

“I didn’t do anything to Tabby!” I blurted. “Honest! I only did the cast on her!”

My grandmother smiled sweetly. “Your very proper denial suggests that something did happen with the other two.” She pulled out the bottle of lubricant and peered at the label.

“Grandma,” I pleaded. “I’m not saying another word!”

Her eyes darted from the label on the bottle to my face.

“Good. I told you a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

She started taking her clothes off.

“Which is why, young man, that I’m not going to be left out of the fun. I haven’t had a strong young man run his hands over these old boobs for so long that I can’t remember what it was like. You, my dear grandson, are going to remedy that.” She looked at me with wary eyes. “How about almost naked?”

“You mean it?” I whined.

She laughed. “You do make me feel so good. You’re a very sweet boy.”

By the time she was standing there, in surprisingly feminine ... and surprisingly small panties, I was hard as a rock. She may have thought of herself as an old woman, but she didn’t look all that old to me.

“I bought these,” she said, fiddling with the waistband of the panties, “just for you. Happy birthday.” She turned around. They were thong panties, and I about choked.

“I know they look silly,” she said, turning back around, “but I thought you might like them.” She looked at the front of my pants. “I see you do. Off with them, boy. If I’m going to be naked, you are too.”

I got out of my clothes. I wasn’t embarrassed at all by the fact that I was board stiff. I also took off more than she did.

She looked at me and sighed. “I never thought I’d see another one of those things, in that condition because of me.”

It was a line that was now tried and true, and I used it shamelessly.

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