Feature Writer: Jumping Hotdog

Feature Title: The Williams of Ashington Lane

Published: 00.06.2021/ Copyright Jumping Hotdog

Story Codes: Incest, NC, DS, TG, MC

Synopsis: James Williams has a strange life. Whether he is dealing with an older sister out to mind-fuck him, a mother who thinks he has the completely wrong set of genitalia for witchery, a father with psionic powers or a little sister who’s the strangest of the lot, Ashington Lane is never a normal place.

Author’s Notes: These stories are fantasy. If it is illegal for you to read them, please do not do so. For those who can read legally, please enjoy your stay

The Williams of Ashington Lane

My eyes drank in the goddess who hung above me.

“That’s right,” she said in a husky whisper. “Breathe deep.”

I did and her scent swirled in my mind. It was hot, and spices crackled among my synapses. My cock thrust into the air, so hard it hurt. I bucked my hips on raw instinct. The goddess denied me contact. She knelt over me, one knee on each side of my head, and the heat from her sex almost scolded my lips.

“You’re mind’s falling away,” she said, words and scents swirling in my brain. All I could think of was her sex, my cock and all the devilish things they could do when combined in inventive ways. I moaned and groaned and tried to rise but she stopped me. She lowered her sex, rubbing the juicy lips along my face.

“You’re mine,” she said, words breathy. “Taste me. Taste me.”

I tasted her. I thrust out my tongue, drawing it along her sex. She was wet, very wet, and if her scent was magic, this was liquid adrenaline. I attacked her sex, no technique, just a wide powerful tongue in all the right places. Every inch of my mind and body screamed with the need to please her. She was a goddess and this was her due.

She groaned at my ministrations and rolled her hips, grinding her sex.

“Toy,” she said, eyes shut. “Mind fucked, fuck toy. Come on James. Be mine. Just a little more. Drink deeply. Little mind like clay.”

I drank and drank, working to pleasure her with all my power. All the time my cock burnt with denied need, but with a goddess such as her, that hardly mattered. She mattered. Only her. Now and-

Something stirred within my mind, something hard, something resilient, a kernel. I stopped moving, frozen in place.

“No,” moaned the goddess. “Keep going. Don’t stop. I order you to keep going!”

The command sunk through my spice charged brain but stopped at the kernel. The kernel resisted. The kernel rose up in a psychic tide and I rose up with it.

With a half scream, half moan I threw the goddess off me. Only she wasn’t a goddess. It was my sister, sixteen year-old Becky Williams. She stared up at me, the control and confidence of her ice blue eyes gone and shattered. Her control over me was gone too and she knew it, her alchemic pheromones wiped away by my rising psionic power. I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to the bed with a dull thud, my weight holding her in place.

“James,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Think, be reasonable.”

I growled. My cock still throbbed with blood, and her sex, no, her cunt, looked like the perfect sleeve. The lips were red and ready with stimulation. In her current state she would refuse me nothing, but that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t just take. After what she did to me, she needed to beg.

The kernel blazed at the core of my being, super charging my brain. In that moment it was almost too easy to force my thoughts out of my skull and into my sister’s brain.

Need, I sent, need for cock. Slut. Toy.

“Oh God,” she moaned and it was her turn to thrust her hips. Raw lust streamed from her every pore, a mind-altering alchemical cocktail. It showed in more mundane ways too, dilated pupils, flushed skin and burning need to touch and be touched. “Please.” The word dripped with longing.

I gave her what she wanted.

With a single brutal movement I sank into her, balls deep. She screamed as I took her and not just physically. As I pistoned in and out of her meat body, I raped her mind.

Slut, whore, masochist, I thrust each sequestrative meme into her head. She bucked under me, the perfect fuck-toy, and right then that was all I wanted. I fucked her body and fucked her mind, again and again and again. And then it all became too much.

With a groan I spent myself inside her. Hot cum shot into her sex and the walls of her cunt spasmed around it, milking me dry. With our minds linked, she exploded too. Our orgasms fed off each other, like a great pendulum that swung back and forth. My pleasure crashed into her and then hers into mine. I felt my blazing cock in my clenching pussy. I felt my own weight pressing down even as I pressed up.

“Oh God,” she screamed and dragged me close, my chest against her breasts, her sharp nails digging into my back. Electricity raced along her skin and she went stiff for five long seconds. I spent my last and sagged down onto her. She sagged too, the dazed look of a well fucked whore on her face.

We lay on the bed, both naked, both sated, both a sweaty mess. Slowly, our minds untangled as my psionic powers withdrew. Her body was hot, flushed with orgasm, and I drank in her heat.

“Your slut’s happy,” she mumbled. “Your slut’s-”

And that’s when my kernel of psionic power collapsed back into itself and my control over Becky evaporated.

She sat frozen for a moment, then the kicking started. “Get off me you fuck,” she screamed and drummed my back while trying to knee me in the balls.

Discretion is often the better part of valor and I rolled to the side and off the bed. She did the same on the opposite side and stood glaring at me.

At sixteen, she stood five foot, eight inches tall. Blonde hair fell around a Valkyrie’s face and her body flawlessly merged a woman’s curves with a teen’s youthful vigor. Her breasts were high, proud and a little larger than most. Her eyes held me though, and they were furious.

“How dare you!” she screamed. One hand touched her sex and dabbed at the line of cum slowly draining out.

“How dare I?” I shot back. “How dare you? Oh James, won’t you help me with my computer. Oh, James of course I’ll keep my pheromones under control. You just got a taste of your own medicine. I’m not your personal cunt licker.”

As if realizing anger wasn’t the best course, she flipped modes. Life tip: girls are crazy and can do things like that. I’m pretty sure they don’t really feel emotions; they just pretend too to screw with men. “But James,” she wheedled, “you do it so well.” She toyed with a lock of hair and I scented just a whiff of spice in the air.

“Oh hell no,” I said as I backed up. “I’m not licking that out of you. That’s your punishment for a failed plan.”

And the anger was back. Girls equal crazy, especially the family kind. Well, in my family at least. “Fine, get out of my room.”

“Give me back my clothes.”

She whipped them off the floor, threw them at me and then proceeded to push, shove and kick me out of her bedroom and into the hall outside. She slammed the door in my still very naked face.

Mom looked up from her hoovering and shook her head. “James, you really must learn to get along with your sister. You are family, and family is very important.”

I rolled my eyes as I pulled on my clothes. “Tell her to stop being a bitch and I’ll be nice to her. She’s two years older than me. Why aren’t you talking to her?”

“Sixteen is a difficult age,” said Mom.

“And fourteen isn’t?”

Mom just shook her head. “We have lessons in an hour. Don’t forget. In the potions room. Don’t make me come searching.”

God, lessons. “Yes Mom.” I let out a long suffering sigh. “I won’t forget.”

She busied herself away and I went to skulk in my bedroom, hidden from the crazy.

As you might have gathered, the Williams of Ashington Lane aren’t quite the typical suburban American family.


I stood with my back to my large dressing mirror, head turned to squint over my shoulder. Angry red cuts lined my back. Damn my sister, even thoroughly mind-fucked, she gave pain with pleasure. Bitch.

I sighed and pulled my shirt back on and buttoned it up. It was lesson time.

As I said, my family’s not normal. My dad’s a psychic and my Mom’s a witch. Us children inherited a combination of those talents. Becky, my older sister, sort of fused the two into this weird alchemic pheromone control with which she can twist minds and bodies like a pretzel. My younger sister is another fusion but her abilities run in a very different direction. Me, I got both too but separate – a touch of witchery in the blood and bones and a nugget of psychic talent in the old gray matter. I’m still learning to control them, though.

The potions room is off the kitchen. It’s steeped in years of spices, both American and exotic. There are also three glassless windows (a touch odd for an internal room) and they show the street markets of ancient Babylon (which, to be fair, is odder still). The buildings are tall, monolithic and vividly painted in the Akkadian style. The people have the characteristic skin of the Middle East and wear colorful costumes covered in tassels, embroidery, girdles and sashes. And hats of course. Babylonians love their hat bling.

Anyway, I walked into the potions room and Mom looked up from the large bronze cauldron. My mother is taller than my sister at five foot nine but also thinner, more angular. Age has darkened her once blonde hair to a light auburn but it hasn’t touched her skin, which is as youthful as ever. She keeps her age in her baring and wisdom, not her body.

She tisked at my appearance. “Dress code, Jason,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on Mom. Do I have to?”

She gave me a level stare and I knew I had no choice. Someday she’ll let this go, someday.

I shuffled out of my shirt and pants and pulled my witch’s dress from its peg by the door. Um, I mean robe, yes, robe. Who am I kidding? It’s a swooshing black dress, embroidered with witching words with equally black thread. Mom was wearing a slightly larger, much more swishy version of the same thing.

“Drink,” she said and handed me a shallow cup of beaten copper. It held translucent green liquid the surface of which shimmered with opalescent colors. I drank and- Oh God.

A wave of heat ran through my body, starting at my stomach and ending at the tips of my toes and the tops of my ears. My flesh rippled and reformed, as if clay under the callused hands of a skilled sculptor. My hips flared, my chest filled out, the lines of my face sharpened and, finally, my cock and balls melded into my crotch to form a female pussy.

“Oh God,” I said again, this time in a much higher voice. If you’ve never had your balls sucked into your body and dissolved by a witch’s brew, I don’t recommend it. If you have, you’ll know ‘Oh God’ is the least I could have said.

“Much better,” said Mom wearing a blissful smile. “I don’t know why you fight this so, Jason. If you’d just let me make it permanent…”

“No!” I said and almost stumbled over my feet backing up a step. Transformed into a girl, my balance is very different. I took a breath. “I mean, no thank you. I like being a boy.”

“But boys can’t be witches,” said Mom. “You shouldn’t have the talent at all.”

“Doesn’t the fact that I do have the talent prove boys can be witches?”

“You don’t look like a boy to me, dear.” She mimed a woman’s curves in the air.

“That’s because you won’t teach me as a boy! You make me drink the shifting tea and train like this.”

“That’s because boys can’t be witches. Now, stop being silly and come here.” She held out her arms in an embrace, and, yes, perhaps there are some parts of the lessons I like.

I moved forward and she leaned down. Mom is still slightly taller than me but I’m still growing. Probably. A few months without growth is normal right? Our eyes met, hers the green of a pond in winter, mine the blue of ice. Power gathered in the air.

Our lips met and I let myself slide into the heat of the kiss. Don’t get me wrong, kissing as a guy is great but kissing as a girl… It brings a certain something extra. Real girls may not really have emotions, but if they feel kisses anything like this… Well maybe they’ve got the better deal.

The kiss rolled through me, tingling my flesh and very soul. The witchery rose in my blood and bones. If my psionic power is a kernel at the core of my mind, my witchery is like the banked embers of a baker’s fire – quiet most of the time but just waiting to rise up when fed.

She let her hands slide down my body, stroking, caressing. They stayed outside my black witch’s robe but that scarcely mattered. The fine material danced on my skin, like a ghost’s touch. A moan started in my chest and rolled out of my lips. Mom smiled, her lips shaping against mine. God, heat started to gather in my sex, a slowly burning sun so very different from a male erection.

Mom stepped back and my lips sparked, as if caressed by static electricity. “Welcome, Sister of Babylon,” she said.

I stood gasping for a moment. I missed her touch; I missed her soul. Then I repeated the ritual words. “Welcome, Sister of Babylon.”

We started our lesson.

Over a bronze cauldron of boiling water, Mom and I mixed cinnamon, aniseed and turmeric with the roots of an alkaloidal herb now gone from the world. In the fumes from the bubbling mixture, she painted the sygaldry of the Goddesses of Sumer across my face in red ocher – warm lines in strange shapes. She passed me the ocher and I returned the ritual.

A queer euphoria grew between us as she taught me the song to sing over the cauldron and together we sung of Nammu and Istar, of the Sacred Whore and the Blood of Fools. The words were alien and strange but the song stirred the witchery in my blood and bones. It danced on my tongue and my body danced with it, like living fire. Mom showed it too, eyes wide and wild. The marks of Sumer changed her face, bringing forth strange angles and shadows. I can only guess they did the same to mine.

Mom spun around the cauldron as she let loose a wild laugh and danced the dances of the prostitute-priestesses of Akkad, Kish and thrice cursed and thrice blessed Ur. She shed her dress and bared her lean and powerful body to the world. It was perfect, unblemished and unbelievably erotic. My nipples grew so hard they hurt and the fire in my sex burnt even brighter. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen – like my sister but more mature in baring, style and character.

The marks of Sumer shimmered on her face, as if heated by an unseen flame. Two lines of molten ocher rolled down her neck and onto her chest. They twisted and turned, drawing sygaldry around her breasts and nipples – perfect milk white swells now highlighted in earthen red. They went lower and drew a complex seal on her tight stomach, over her womb. They ran down her legs and inner thighs, intricate interlacing patterns like woven vines.

She looked at me with dusky ocher marked eyes and raised her arms. God, something like a fair sized rock lodged in my throat and I stumbled forward as if falling downhill. She met me with outstretched arms and pulled me to her breast. I took the hard nub of her nipple in my mouth and worried it with my lips.

It felt good, primal, and Mom clearly felt the same. She let out a contented sigh, half motherly, half sexual, and pushed me lower. I kissed down her body, tasting the salt and spices on her skin.

Nearby, the cauldron bubbled harder as it was heated by our passions. From it poured euphoric vapors of cinnamon, aniseed, turmeric and alkaloidal herb. They weren’t controlling me, though, not like Becky’s alchemic pheromones. They just brought everything normally hidden to the fore.

My path of kisses reached a different cauldron; it radiated heat and sexual energy but was no less intoxicating for that. It called to me, an orchid of flesh and promise, and there was only one thing I could really do. I lent forward and licked, drawing my tongue up the length of the offered pussy. The taste was vivid, intense. It wasn’t the explosion of synapse altering spices that Becky possessed but it was special all the same.

Mom moaned and this time it was all sexual. Her hands ran through my hair and gripped, pulling me closer. “Becky said you were good,” she said. “Mmm. That’s right. A little higher, a little harder.”

I played coy, flicking up but avoiding her clit. It was a game, the best game, the game of tease and torment. Mom tightened her grip on my hair and yanked my head back. Her eyes blazed and she slapped me across the face.

The pain was sharp and hard, but dwindled quickly. In its place grew a dull burn and tears stung the corners of my eyes.

“I will not tolerate bratty behavior,” she said, right then a priestess- queen of ancient Babylon. “We are Sisters of Babylon but I am the mistress and you the apprentice. Understand?”

I nodded desperately and she pulled me back to her sex. This time I didn’t play about.

With strong powerful licks I gave her pleasure. She ground her sex against my face, up and down, up and down. Many women grow over sensitive but Mom was clearly not among them. My tongue turned saw but she didn’t seem to care.

With one final swirling lick around her clit, I brought her to an explosive orgasm. Her fingers locked in my hair, pulling hard, and heat rolled off her flesh. She stood frozen for five long seconds, then let out a guttering breath.

“Good girl,” she said between pants, fingers no longer pulling my hair but stroking, working my scalp. “Strip now.”

Numb, I stepped back and undid a tie near my neck. My dress fell in a wave. It left my breasts bare and my sex protected only by boxer shorts. Mom’s face darkened a fraction and I swiftly removed the offending garment.

Bereft of my last protections, I stood naked before her. The euphoric vapors primed my skin and her hungry gaze made it spark.

“Oh god,” I moaned as her eyes took in my breasts. They were small but full of threatened womanhood. My flesh sung a pulsating pleasure. She pulled the pleasure from me, sucked out with nothing but her eyes.

Her gaze swept lower, claiming my sex. The sun burned. The sun blazed. I stumbled and almost fell. Her dark green eyes were magical, incredible.

Mom retreated to the edge of the room and sank down onto a low padded bench, embroidered with tattoos of a long dead priestess of the chalcolithic age. She spread her legs and the ocher lines framed her engorged pussy. “Come.”

I came, almost running forward. I made to drop to my knees but she caught me with her fingertips. With feather touches to my sides, she had me sit astride her left thigh. My burning sex pressed against the smooth skin and tight muscles of her leg.

“Ride,” she said, the single word an absolute command.

What could I do?

Cheeks colored with more than just sexual heat, I rubbed my sex against her leg, back and forth, back and forth. I’d had female orgasms before, alone in my room after a witching lesson, but what grew within me was different, stronger, more primal and terribly potent. A wave passed through me, a whole body quiver promising pleasure to come. It passed in moments but left my vision shaking. I put my hands on Mom’s shoulders for balance but she shook her head.

“No, behind your back”.

God. I did as bid, hands locking in the small of my back. The position thrust my chest forward, offering my tits up like tasty treats. Mom accepted my offer and caressed my breasts, feather touches of teasing pleasure. Her fingers circled the crinkled skin around my nipples, setting them aflame and stirring the witchery in my blood and bones.

Her eyes caught mine as I pleasured myself. They bored into my soul, evil and wicked but so very very good. I shivered again as those green orbs became my world. The lips of my sex ran up and down her thigh, and my clit tingled with the contact. It was oh so good, not too heavy but not to light either.

“You’re doing well, Sister of Babylon,” Mom whispered and pulled hard on my nipples. I slid forward and moaned as my sex and nipples cried out in sympathy. “Let your energy rise, let it feed the witchery in your womb and sex. Let our heat feed the cauldron.” She drew a finger along the complex seal on her womb and gathered ocher. Her finger stained red, she drew the same seal onto me.

Lines rose like blood on my skin, the normally earthy red turned sanguine by the heat of our joining. She did it slowly, deliberately – line after line, curve after curve. A pressure built in my sex and my witchery responded.

“Feel this sensation,” whispered Mom as she continued her artistry. “This is your witchery, your birth right as a Daughter of Babylon.”

“Not a daughter,” I moaned as I moved forward again. Mom raised her leg an inch in response, increasing my pleasure. God, it felt like a frozen lightning bolt struck my clit.

“Hot cunt and needy womb,” she said and put the final line onto the seal. It sunk like a weight into my flesh, an anchor on my soul. She placed her hands on my shoulders and my skin tingled at the contact. Up and down, she pushed me, forcing me to move at a pace which set every nerve in my body singing. The pressure in me built and built and built.

“Such a good daughter,” she said. “Do you want me to find you a nice boy? He can push you down and fuck you. Give you a child, a witch daughter to train all your own.”

“No,” I moaned.

She leaned forward and whispered a single word. “Yes.”

I exploded in the strongest orgasm of my life, male or female. I threw my head back and screamed, high pitched and so constant of pitch as to make a choir master green with envy. My witchery blazed too, not embers but a raging bonfire, firing through every inch of my being. I hugged Mom close, flesh clinging to flesh. She moved her leg under me, a light stimulation to prolong my pleasure without overwhelming.

Behind, the cauldron exploded in sympathy. A bubbling maelstrom of witching magic and potent spices boiled up. Its vapors steeped the air and only added to my orgasm, fuels to the flame.

When my orgasm finally past, I just lay still in a maternal embrace, sated and drained.


Mom let me steep for a few minutes but all too soon nudged me back to action. She pushed me to my feet and guided me to the cauldron. I looked down. The potion shimmered with unearthly colors, and half seen shapes stirred in its depths.

“Your witchery did this,” she said from behind me, hands resting on my ribs. “The fire of your womanhood. This is the power of a Daughter of Babylon.”

I could only look and stare. Other lessons had never been like this. She’d taught me the names and preparations of spices. She’d lectured on the genealogy of gods and kings. She’d taught me the dances and songs of the cradle of man. None of that compared. This was real witchery, the fire of my blood and bones made manifest to warp the world.

“What does it do?” I asked.

“Nothing yet,” she said as she moved from behind me. She lifted a lid from a nearby shelf and covered our brew. “There is one ingredient left – the special ingredient. I keep it in my bedroom. Ask your father; he will show you where.”

If my recent cum hadn’t been clouding my mind, I might have questioned the logic of Mom’s statement or at least remembered to dress. As it was I just nodded and padded out of the potions room. She wore a vulpine smile as I left.

Our house is fairly normal, save for the windows to ancient Babylon, of course, and whatever Tabatha’s room looked like that day. The ground floor held the front and back doors, the kitchen, the utility room, the sitting room, the dining room and the stairs. The second story held the bedrooms, bathrooms and an assortment of linen cupboards.

My parent’s bedroom is the last off the upper hall. I padded along the carpeted hall and knocked on the door.

“Dad,” I said, “Mom sent me to get something.”

‘Ah,’ said a voice in my head. ‘Come in.’

“Dad!” I moaned as I pushed open the door. “Can’t you speak normally?”

The bedroom was the biggest in the house. A large double bed sat front and center, an en suite bathroom lurked off to one side and a double window sat at the other. Dad sat crossed legged on the bed and looked up as I entered

He’s a tall, slightly gangly man, my dad, with a high domed forehead and receding hair. Becky and I both have his blue eyes but not much else. We inherited our Mom’s blonde hair and athletic body. Dad has black hair and is best described as gangly. Not even my youngest sister got the deep shadows of his ocular sockets.

Back before us kids were born, he’d been a high priced consultant and problem solver. These days he’s mostly retired and splits his time between the family and sitting on a number of boards -Apsinthos, the Vergers Institute, the Supplicants Committee and so on. If you’re from Ashington lane you know the kind of places and what they do.

“I see you have drunk your mother’s shifting tea,” he said with words this time.

I blinked, then glanced down at myself. Breasts, no penis, no clothes. I let loose a far too feminine shriek and made a dive for the nearby door. Maybe the vapors weren’t as benign as I thought.

“Come now,” he said as I stood panting just out of sight. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Yes it is!” I shot back. Unless Mom had doused me with shifting tea as a baby (and I was pretty sure she hadn’t) my Dad had never seen me naked as a girl.

He just laughed.

“Look,” I said as I hid my quivering naked body behind the door, “Mom sent me to get her special ingredient. We need it for my lessons.”

“Her special ingredient?” he asked. I could almost hear the raised eyebrow.

“Yes. That’s what she said.” What was he making a big deal about? You’d think I’d asked for a second helping of Brussels sprouts or something.

‘If you are sure,’ he said in my head. Before I could object, icy hooks slotted into my brain.

Oh shit.

The hooks twitched and my body walked itself back into the bedroom. Dad was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. His penis curved up from his crotch, long with a fat purple head. Wiry black hair covered his chest and he looked at me with his dark, secret eyes.

My reaction to all this could best be described as a chaotic mix of panic and disbelief. Mom couldn’t have set this up. She wouldn’t. But then I remembered her smile as I left the potions room and knew the truth. She certainly would.

Dad’s a big time psychic and had no trouble piloting me around like a remote control sexbot. I sank to the floor in front of him, my head level with the tip of his cock. I stared at it with wide, panic filled eyes. The head glistened and a drop of watery precum bubbled up from the mouth.

‘And down you go,’ he said with his mind and lowered his hands. Like a puppet I matched the motion and the cock disappeared into my mouth.

This wasn’t the first time someone had tried to sneak the old meat sausage down my throat but it was the first time anyone had succeeded. Becky got a real clit-boner from seeing her boyfriend’s gay-out for her but I’d always managed to escape that fate. Some of the other Ashington Lane kids had tried too but I’d always escaped. Like Becky’s half-Japanese girlfriend with the invisible penis; that one almost got me. Of course I was a girl at the moment; that had to count for something.

The penis filled my mouth and Dad seemed satisfied with that for the moment, for which my gag reflex was very grateful. It lay heavy against my tongue and tasted of salty musk. It filled me, hot and so very potent.

The icy hooks in my brain started to melt, freeing my body, but alien thoughts took their place. This was his psionic power at work, just like I’d done with Becky not so long ago.

Give it a lick, they whispered. I wonder what it tastes like. Go on suck it a bit. You want to suck it. It will make you feel so good.

And that’s the thing about psionic power, even if you know the thoughts aren’t yours they’re still in your head.

I groaned as I started to lick the cock in my mouth. I bobbed up and down slightly, the veiny skin of the shaft scraping against my red lips. As a girl, I have fairly thin lips – nothing like Becky’s pouting cocksuckers – but they didn’t feel so thin right then. The head battered against the back of my mouth, not quite deep enough to more than irritate my gag reflex. It just seemed the right thing to do. God, it was what I wanted to do and what every sane person in the same situation would attempt.

“God,” I moaned and more thoughts entered my head.

This feels fantastic, said the thoughts and my pussy did churn, growing hot as my tiny overly sensitive clit buzzed.

Cunt, they said and I knew they were right. I had a cunt, not a pussy.

I dropped one hand to it and started playing with myself. I teased my clit with my thumb – tiny sensations against that nub of lightning – and slipped two fingers up and into myself. I felt hot, wet and tight. The walls of my temporary pussy clamped down on the intruding digits, as if they wanted to milk them dry.

I could feel the thud of my dad’s heart through his cock. I wanted to go deeper. Needed to. And I did. I pushed myself down, forcing the cock to the very back of my mouth and until tears stung my eyes. Then I pulled back, drawing the hard length of blood filled flesh between my lips. The shaft came away shiny with spittle and the head loomed like an angry mushroom.

Lick it, whispered a voice. And, oh God, I did exactly that. I leaned forward and licked the cock, starting at the base and drawing my tongue upwards. I licked it like a lolly pop, and not like Becky’s sexy candy- land, candy-striper Halloween shtick either. This was a proper, full on lashing, done for maximum contact and not coquettish appeal. It left me with a mouth full of intense masculine flavor. And God did it make my cunt hot – hot like an exhibitionist cheerleader after cheering in the finals without panties. I think we all got something from Camila that day.

I gobbled the cock back into my mouth and sucked down as I swirled my tongue around the head. Dad twitched under me, clearly enjoying my attention. He hadn’t sent me a new command but by this point he didn’t need to. The foreign thoughts winding through my gray matter had formed a complex memetic ecosystem, self-sustaining and propagating. A normal person would be mind-fucked for life but my witchery and psionic abilities gave me a standing resistance. I would only be thoroughly mind-fucked into a cock sucking slut until my dad turned off his mental juice.

Still diddling my sex with one hand, I raised the other and cupped his balls. They were fat and heavy. I fondled them, feeling their weight, their heft, the tiny twitches that promised cum. God, balls, balls, balls. A part of me remembered having them; most of me just wanted to worship them.

I let the cock pop from my mouth and licked down its shiny length to the balls. They bashed against my nose and the intense masculine sent was even stronger here. It did strange things to my female brain, like the longing for breath experienced by a drowning man. And I was drowning, drowning in sex and thoughts not my own.

I took one of the fat balls in my mouth, feeling its shape, testing its resistance with my tongue. My cunt twitched and clenched against my fingers. I let it pull free and took the other. It felt heavy on my tongue and oh so potent. I swirled around it, bathing and worshiping it. My cunt blazed, oh so hot and oh so tight.

The meme-storm in my head changed its focus. Cock, cock, cock, it said. Worship the cock. The cock lay against my face as I performed my cow tow to his testicles, the meaty shaft covering one of my eyes. I let go of Dad’s balls and took his cock back in my mouth.

It was so hard and hot, like sucking off a volcano, and if his cock was a volcano, my cunt was the magma underneath. I felt a pressure in me build and I felt the same thing in Dad, his muscles changing, his heartbeat quickening.

A final twitch ran through his body and he exploded. Potent seed filled my mouth, so full of flavor my mind almost stopped. As soon as I tasted the first squirt, I climaxed too. A searing wave of light rolled out from my cunt and clit, setting my every nerve on fire. Each sung its own song of transcendent joy. I pretty much stopped existing as a thinking, feeling person for a while. There was this kid who used to live across the street, Larry, who wire headed himself into oblivion. For I don’t know how long, I went to the same place. I think I even saw his face.

I came back to Earth as my Dad pumped the last of his cum into my mouth. There was so much of it. It felt like it might overflow.

Dad pulled his softening cock from my mouth and it came out with a pearly white sheen. He wiped the head against my cheek and tucked it back into his pants.

“Now,” he said and raised his hand. I stood. “Go see your mother and give her the special ingredient.”

Still on fuck-doll autopilot, I turned and trudged back down stairs. Becky’s door was open as I passed and I saw her staring out, her deep blue eyes almost manic as they drunk me in. She only wore her bra and panties and her hands were stuffed between her legs. A wisp of spice crackled through my brain and jerked my clit, but Dad’s control kept me walking onward.

Mom greeted me at the door of the potions room, once more wearing her black witching dress. She used a finger to scoop up a dribble of cum that was leaking from between my lips and stuck it in her mouth.

She moaned happily. “You got the correct special ingredient, I see,” she said and ushered me towards the bronze cauldron. “Now spit.”

I tried, I really did, but fucked out of my mind I didn’t really succeed. Half the cum in my mouth dribbled down my chin and dropped onto my upturned breasts. The remainder came in a gluttonous dollop and splashed into the bubbling cauldron.

“Perfect!” said Mom and clapped her hands. She took a long wooden wand and started to stir as she chanted under her breath.

That’s about when I began to take back control of my own mind. Stirred by Mom’s chanting, my witchery flared up in my blood and bones, and my psionic powers woke up from their den in the hidden places of my brain. Individual clear thoughts pin-balled through my gray matter and I just shook my head, as if I could shake things back into place. Some facts did crystallize however. I’d sucked a dick. I’d fingered myself to a white-out climax while sucking a dick. I’d spat, not swallowed, the cum I’d gotten by sucking a dick. God fuck it. The taste of my father’s overpowering seed still clung to my mouth.

“Here you go,” said Mom. She held up a small glass bottle filled with shimmering liquid.

“What is it?” I asked, very much on edge.

“It is what we made,” she said and smiled, the expression lighting up her flawless, ageless face. “You don’t think my skin stays this perfect all by its self do you?”

I took the bottle without a word. The worst part? When I tried the potion a few days later, it did make my skin look fantastic.


How to describe my day? Terrible, emasculating, crazy? All are accurate and given that, I think I can be forgiven for sulking in my room until the shifting tea wore off. When my dick finally popped back out (with a wet squelching sound that just about gave me a heart attack), I felt a lot better but still not truly well.

A man again, I put back on my boxers, jeans and t-shirt and stomped about the house a bit. You know, just showing I wouldn’t be pushed around. That day had been weird, yes, but Ashington Lane is all about weird. Take for example the completely off her rocker lesbian runaway Stepford Wife from across the street. Give her an inch and she’ll have you brainwashed and playing sapphic Rockwell family. You couldn’t show weakness.

I was just passing my youngest sister’s room, when I heard a panic filled scream. As I’ve mentioned, Tabatha is something a the family’s black sheep, almost literally. She has black hair, dark green eyes and the kind of preteen build that seemed to be more sharp knees and elbows than girl. She also never really got the hang of ‘going with the flow’, which is a skill you really need to develop to survive in Ashington Lane. If I took every attempt to mind fuck and rape me personally, I would be a nervous wreck.

Still, she was my kid sister and it was my job to look after her.

“Tab,” I said as I pushed the door open, “you okay?”

I stepped through the door and into another world.

The vaulted hall of a stone castle spilled in all directions, all great granite blocks, blazing torches and hanging tapestries. I clunked as I moved, now wearing a full suit of armor. I even had a sword. How cool is that?

To the sound of metal against stone, I strode along the hall towards the screams. Now I was closer, I could tell they didn’t come from Tabatha. The sound was all wrong, nothing like her at all.

I found my sister dressed in a queen’s finery of lace, silk and fur, slouched on her ornate throne. She wore a bored, disinterested expression and a thin golden diadem sat slightly askew on her head.

Before her stood two giant plush teddy bears, both with vivid red strap- ons curving up from their otherwise bare crotches. Between them on hands and knees, impaled front and back, was Tabatha’s friend Ruth. The ruined remains of a maid uniform lay torn apart on the floor nearby.

With a steady rhythm, the teddy bears drove their artificial cocks in and out of Ruth’s quivering body. One with butterscotch colored fur fucked her mouth. His strap-on sunk deep into her throat and then came out covered with drool and mucus. The other, with fur the color of dark chocolate, fucked her cunt. When Butterscotch pulled back, Chocolate thrust in. When Chocolate drew his strap-on from Ruth, Butterscotch fucked in the opposite direction.

“You’re meant to knock, James,” said Tabatha.

The teddy bears continued to fuck. Whenever she could, Ruth would gasp for breath and let out a scream. Who could blame her? The only time she could do so was when Butterscotch pulled out and that moment coincided with Chocolate forcing an oversized piece of bulging plastic into her immature cunt. When it was Butterscotch who was hip deep in his immature fucktoy, Ruth couldn’t do much more than squeeze out a gargling muffled moan.

“Would you have heard if I did?” I said. “How big is this place?” I think I’ve mentioned that Tabatha, like Becky, has a fused mix of witchery and psionic power. But where as Becky has mind altering pheromones, Tabatha is a full blown reality warper. Stick her in a sealed space, like a room, and it will start to change as it warps to meet her expectation and desires. Within the space, the normal rules are different. They are, at least to an extent, how Tabatha wants them. Today that seemed to involve oversized teddy bears raping her friend.

Ruth, like Tabatha, was twelve years old. They went to school together and I’d have named Ruth one of Tabatha’s best friends. Why Tabatha was now over seeing a gang rape I did not know. In fact, I kind of wanted to know, so I asked.

“Tab,” I started and sort of waved by armored hand at the rape. “Um? Why?”

Tabatha’s face took on a dark cast. “She tried to steal Jake from me!”

The teddies responded to her anger. Their thrusts became harder, faster. Ruth’s body jerked at the assault.

“And Jake’s your, what, boyfriend?”

The anger left Tabatha and she became coy, perhaps even bashful. “Well no, not yet, but Ruth knew I liked him and then she told me she liked him to!”

The end of the sentence marked the return of her anger and she glowered at Ruth. “She’s a horrible, horrible slut and as Daddy says, bad sluts need to be punished. Do you want to fuck her?”

Another day I might have demurred and left her to her private fun, but I was feeling a powerful desire to prove my manhood. Partly this was because of the day’s events and partly because, hey, this was a medieval castle and if you can’t rape the serving wench in a medieval castle, where can you rape her?

Butterscotch moved away from Ruth’s mouth and I replaced him. My suit of armor even had a handy crotch latch. I flipped the buckle and swung the cup wide.

With my rapidly hardening cock hanging out, I looked down at Ruth. Her face was a mess; it was covered with slobber, puffed up and her eyes were red from tears. I ran my gaze over the rest of her naked form. She was a serous member of the itty bitty titty committee. Her tits were almost non- existent, barely fat bee-stings, if that. Her ass was likewise unimpressive, still flat and boyish.

“Please,” she moaned and stopped to scream as Chocolate rammed deep into her. “Please. Please.”

“Suck,” I said and jammed my cock passed her lips.

Ruth was no-one’s secret fuck-pet, I’ll tell you that right off. Her inexperienced tongue lapped like a limp noodle at my dick. Like how hard is it to give a cock a proper tongue lashing? Even I managed that and I’m a guy. I swapped tongue action for her throat and slammed my cock balls deep. She just about went crazy at that. Her whole body twitched while her throat spasmed around the intruder.

As long as your willing to use a little force, there are not many ways a chick can fuck up a really deep throat blow job. I held her down for a long ten count as the panic grew in her eyes. Then I drew back. The second my cock cleared her throat, she started dry retching and gasping for breath. She couldn’t even spare the oxygen to scream. I let my heavy cock slap against her face and lie there.

I looked up at Tabatha. She had her eyes clamped shut and a hand thrust up her complex pleated skirts. She was mumbling under her breath. “Sorry Daddy. I promise I’ll be good. Please, not my ass again. Please. Please.” She moaned at the last and I heard a wet squelching sound from her crotch as she finger-banged herself.

“Tab,” I said. “Can I swap with the bear?”

She didn’t look up but Chocolate drew his strap-on from Ruth’s cunt and shuffled away on his great fuzzy feet. The red plastic dripped with fuck- juice. For all this was a pretty heavy duty gang rape, Ruth was wet like no -ones business. Perhaps Tabatha was warping reality more than I’d thought. Come to that, if she was affecting Ruth, might she be affecting me too? I put the thought to one side. There wasn’t much I could do if she was.

My cock was very hard and glistening with slobber. I fucked my hips and it slid easily into Ruth’s blazing hot cunt. The immature outer lips were bright red from abuse. The walls clamped down, trying to keep me out, but that was impossible. I gave her a few minutes of cunt-pounding, during which time she loosed an odd collection of screams, moans and pleas for release.

“Please,” she wept from between sobs. “Please, I want to go home. Please, not my cunny.”

As if that was going to happen. Still, perhaps I could compromise on the cunny part.

I drew my cock slowly from her cunt, scraping the fat head against her inner walls. Once it was fully out, I rested the head against her ass. The castle air felt very cold compared to her furnace.

“Ready for some ass-play?” I asked. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t since Chocolate was feeding his strap-on into her mouth, still dripping with girl-goo. His wide plush face showed a fixed expression of blissful happiness, probably a coincidence but pretty appropriate right then.

Her ass bent around my cock as I applied pressure but the tight little rosebud resisted. It wasn’t the only thing which fought back either. Ruth just about went crazy, ass and legs jerking as she tried to escape. I gripped her narrow hips with both hands and held her steady. Now my target wasn’t dodging like a jackrabbit (or perhaps hare given the circumstances), I added a little more force and broke through! If her cunt was tight, her ass was like nothing else.

Even with only the head inside, I knew this was going to be one good ass -fuck. I cored her slowly but surely. Her ass squeezed down on me like a vice, making my cock feel alive like I had lava running through it. When I finally bottomed out, I gave her ass a slap. The sound echoed through the hall and a red copy of my hand bloomed on Ruth’s pastel white flesh.

“Please Daddy,” moaned Tabatha as she jilled herself off. “Not the strap. Not the strap. I’ll be good.” Her entreaties broke off and I looked up to see the teddy bear Butterscotch feeding his strap-on into Tabatha’s mouth. She had thin lips and they were stretched tight around the blood red intruder. He kept going until her nose met the fuzzy fur of his crotch.

That was her problem.

I started up a good fucking rhythm, driving my cock in and out of Ruth’s ass. The motion sent my balls slapping against her hairless cunt in a series of meaty smacks. Chocolate kept up his own assault and though we lacked the practiced easy beat he and Butterscotch had, we double-stuffed Ruth something good.

Her body twitched and struggled between us. Tears leaked from her eyes but I kept half my attention on her cunt and the juices just kept on gushing. The slut liked even this.

I felt the pressure of my orgasm start to grow. That drove me to even greater power. I hammered into her body, sending a shudder through her flesh with each hammer blow.

And then she was shuddering all her own.

A flush ran over her skin and she twitched as if hooked up to a powerful battery. She screamed onto the cock in her throat, which I bet would have felt wonderful if a length of inert plastic hadn’t been the only recipient. Her ass crushed down on my cock. Her cunt clenched on nothing and juices dripped down her legs. God, she was cumming! The twelve year old slut was cumming from a teddy bear gang rape.

In the middle of her orgasm, I joined her. My balls clenched and I pumped boiling cum deep into her ass. It felt wonderful, like I was spurting out molten pleasure.

At the same time, Tabatha joined us. She sobbed as she came, heavy tears that rolled down her cheeks.

When her energy ran out, Ruth fell limp to the ground, sobs shaking her body. I pulled my wilting cock free and cleaned the worst of the mess off on her ass. I was just considering a blowjob to get it really clean, when Tabatha jumped from her throne.

“Out!” she screamed, eyes wild. The distance between has expanded and the distance between me and the door shrank. The optical effect was something like being very, very drunk. She hugged Ruth’s sobbing body to her like a baby and whispered nonsense words in her ear.

“I’m going, I’m going,” I said as I turned to leave. “Just remember to take Ruth to Mom or Dad before you let her go home. They need to do something about her memory.”


Stepping through Tabatha’s door returned my clothes to normal, meaning no sword and no armor. It did nothing for the stink of sex. I returned to my bedroom, grabbed a towel and headed to the shower. The hot water felt good.

By the time I’d cleaned myself, dried and dressed again, it was time for dinner.

The family gathered together for our evening meal at the kitchen table. Mom danced about wearing a floral dress, doling out steaming food from a number of large dishes. Tabatha and Becky both glared at me, sibling-hate in their eyes. Sibling-hate of course ran hotter than normal hate but burnt out quicker too. Besides, I’d done nothing wrong. Becky had tried to mind rape me and Tabatha had started things with Ruth! Dad watched the scene with understated amusement.

“Well,” said Mom as she sat down with her own food, “I hope you have all enjoyed your day.”

Dad’s eyes sparkled at me and it was my turn to glower. I ignored him and set into my food. Made by traitors, it might have been, but it still tasted good.

And besides, this was Ashington Lane and we were the Williams. If you couldn’t deal with strange, find another street.


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