Alan's Thoughts Ch. 10

The sound of her moan made Alan look up. It took a moment for him to recognize her—the dark haired, tan-skinned neighbor woman who he'd spotting going out in a sequin gown a while ago. She wasn't wearing the gown, now—or anything else for that matter.

"Oh, yes," she purred, her chest heaving and her eyes closed. Her tits bounced lightly, the orange-sized globes sculpted and unblemished as the rest of her, the areola smooth except for a single mole on her left side. She arched back, her abs flexing on her tiny waist, her hands resting on his chest. He looked down, and suddenly realized she was riding his cock.

"Oh, babe, so good," she said, flexing her hips faster, working him in and out. Her pussy was very silky, and her bush had been trimmed into a neat triangle that undulated as she twerked like a flag waving in the wind.

She took her hands off his chest and leaned back even further, her hair falling smoothly as she touched her face, her nipples, and ran her fingers down her skin. Alan couldn't help but run his hands over her legs. They were incredibly smooth and golden.

"Yes, touch me," she said, eyes still closed. "Nice and soft. Oh, god, it's been so long since I was on top. You know I love to ride this cock of yours."

Alan paused. "You do?" he asked.

She smiled. "Ooo! Yes! Jackson, how many times have I begged just to—"

Then she opened her eyes, and they snapped to his face. Her jaw dropped. "Wait—you! You're not—!"

The words seem to catch in her throat. Alan gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry," he said. "I guess this is the least I can do for you."

He grabbed her by the waist, and thrusting hard inside her, he commanded [Cum!]

She went rigid. "Oh! OH! OOOOOOH!" Her body shook, vibrating around his cock. Her fingernails dug into his legs, and he jerked.

He blinked. The image of his nameless neighbor disappeared, and he was back on his couch in his living room. But something was still the same.

"Oh, uh, hi Alan," Laurel said, smiling at him. "Um, it's been a while, huh?"

Laurel's hair was longer and blonder than he remembered, tied in a fancy side braid. She wore a dark green cardigan and white white v-neck, with a necklace that nestled nicely into her bouncing cleavage.

She was naked from the waist down, her clean, smooth vagina working steadily on his dick.

"Laurel," Alan said, brain working slowly, "what... what are you doing?"

"Mmm, mmm—who, me?" she smiled, laughing and reddening slightly as she continued to flex her hips up and down. "Er, well—kind of a funny story. I just came to visit you, check how you were doing, but—ooo, yes, mmm—but I noticed you left the door unlocked. Just in case, I opened it to check on you, and—fuck, yes, mmm—and when I spotted you on the couch, and you had this raging hard on, and I just couldn't—oh fuck, I missed this cock!"

She finished the last bit with three hard slaps down on his pole, before she sank down again to grind on him. She grinned. "Yesss... and I figured you wouldn't mind."

Alan had already started to thrust back at her, and she let out an appreciative, "Oh, yes, YES, that's good," as he did.

"I don't mind, no, but..." he tried even as he pistoned back into her. "But why didn't you wake me?"

She shrugged, or tried to, working herself back up again. "I dunno. I just—mmm, Ooo!—I just got so fucking horny I didn't even stop to think about it. I figured when you didn't wake up when I yanked your pants down—mmm, god—that I'd just fuck you awake." She jerked a little, mouth widening. "Oh, god, fuck, yes!"

"I... uh, I don't mean to get technical," Alan said, "but aren't you married now?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, slowing just a little. "Two days back from the honeymoon. But... but I couldn't help myself! Josh is great—lots of size, lots of enthusiasm—but something about this fucking cock—something about the way my insides light up and I feel amazing when I fucking fuck your fucking meat that's so fucking FUCKING GOOD!"

It seemed like every time she said the word 'fuck' she got revved a little higher, her hips pumping faster. Alan couldn't help wonder: was the Influence from so many months ago still strong with her?

Then suddenly there was a loud buzz, and Laurel jerked. Slowly slightly, she pulled her phone out of a cardigan pocket.

"Speak of the devil," said said. "It's my husband."

Alan froze.

"I think... I've gotta take this," she added. She looked at her phone a moment, and then down at him, and then back. She smiled. She reached inside her shirt collar, and pulling out one of those bluetooth neckband headphones, she put a pod in one ear, and pressed the accept button.

And then she started to ride his cock again.

"Hi honey," she said easily, draping her pussy up and down Alan's member as he stared. "Whatcha dooooin'?"

Alan couldn't hear what he replied, but could only stare as she nodded to his response without ever breaking the rhythm of her hips.

"Cool!" she smiled at whatever he'd replied. "Oh, me?" she said. "I'm just on a walk now... yeah, my friend from work wasn't home." Her pussy was rising higher and higher, landing harder and harder, and a trickle of sweat started to trail down one cheek. She shrugged off the cardigan, and then after a moment, reached down and pulled off her v-neck, too. Her bra was red and silky and sheer.

"Oh, that was just the wind," she huffed, answering the unheard question. "I'm—mmm, whew—I'm going up a steep hill right now." She reached back, and unfastening it smoothly, her bra came flying off. Her grapefruits bounded free. Now she was only wearing the necklace and the headphones and a pair of socks. Her pussy worked his cock faster. "Yeah, and I thought we'd gotten in good shape these last couple weeks!"

She laughed at something he said, her eyes focused on Alan, her mouth open and pussy running wet over him. "Well, sounds good to me! Let me call you back, though—I don't wanna sweat all over the phone." Her tongue trailed across her teeth in lips. "Oh, yeah, babe, don't you worry. When I get home, I'm going to fucking FUCK that meat of yours like there's NO FUCKING TOMORROW~!"

She was now slamming down on Alan full force, mouth open in a mad grin, pounding him as deep as he could go. "YES! LOVE YOU! BYE NOW!" she said, and then with a quick tap, cut off the call.

"Fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKFUCKFUCK FUUUUUU—"

Her hot box tightened, and so did Alan's balls. As she started to stiffen, he reached up, and with one hand smashing her tit and the other gripping her ass, pistoned his spunk into her. They both slowed to single, hard, powerful thrusts, Laurel belting out the word "FUCK!" with every collision of their sex.

They both collapsed, their sweaty bodies pressed together, his cock still deep inside her. Their gasping filled the room for several seconds.

Laurel laughed, a little wildy. "Oh. My. God!" she panted, showing a lot of teeth. "That—that was so fucking dirty! Shit, what a fucking high!"

"Wasn't that just a bit... cruel?"

Laurel waved him off with a juicy raspberry. "It's fine! No need to make a big deal out of it."

Having sex with another man while being on the phone with her husband was, he thought, probably a big deal.

"Besides, judging by the loads you just pumped inside me, you enjoyed it just fine."

Alan had nothing to counter that. He could only make a face.

Laurel rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, her skin soft and wet where it was still pressed against his. "Okay, okay. I guess it would be better if our... 'relationship' were completely in the open."

Alan nodded. "Yes. And that does seems like an... awkward subject to broach."

Her smile was quirky. "Maybe. Josh is a modern guy. His eye was wandering even on our honeymoon, so I get the feeling it'll work out if I give him licence to swing a bit himself."

She suddenly laughed. "If anything," she said, jabbing a finger into his chest, "I think it's getting harder for you to find the energy to fit me in. If I were to guess, you've got a line of panting fans queing up just to tear their panties off for you. So I'm fine if this is still only an occasional thing."

Alan tilted his head at that. "So... you really don't think it's a big deal that I sleep with a lot of women?"

Her laughter bubbled up again. "Of course I think it's a big deal! The way you are in the sack, you're basically God's gift to womankind. That's the whole reason I started your fansite."

He stared. "My... what?"

She grinned wickedly. "Your fansite. The one where those of us in your slut club swap stories and heap praise. I'm surprised no one has told you about it yet. How else do you think all those girls at the office heard about you? As far as I'm concerned, I'm proceliting the gospel of the of the world's greatest fucks."

Alan just kept staring at her.

Laurel winked. "Don't worry about it. I mean, you can always say no, right?"

Her tone suggested that it was pretty unlikely that he would ever say no. And the last couple of weeks, Alan couldn't say she was wrong.

She sat up, and as much as these thoughts worried him, Alan found his eyes drawn to her. There was still something a little mesmerizing about Laurel: the set of her tits, her creamy skin, the body he'd fantasized about for years as she sat next to him.

"Well," she said, "hope you're not too mad. Still fuck buddies, right?"

She held up her fist for him to bump it. After a moment's hesitation, Alan shook his head ruefully and knocked knuckles with her.

Laurel nodded. "Good. And speaking of fuck," she grinned, shifting her hips a little, "is it my imagination, or are you nice and hard again already? With your fucking cum still up inside me."

Alan shifted. He was, of course.

"Fuck, it's like you're only getting better. Well... I think I have time for another round before Josh gets anxious." She rose so his member slid out of her with a slight pop, his white seed drooling out of her. She turned, shaking her ass at him. "What say you paint me with another coat, and I'll see how many mind-bending orgasms I can rack up along the way?"

***

After the fourth round, Laurel was barely able to stumble out the door, walking with her legs carefully apart like she was saddle sore, and a grin plastered to her face. At that point, Alan was pretty sure she didn't care much what Josh thought.

Alan slumped. He'd barely had the strength to pull his pants back on. His dick was raw, his hips still burned, and now that the rush was fading, he felt more than a little nauseated. He suddenly realized he couldn't remember that last time he had eaten.

He allowed another ten minutes for recovery. Then slowly, laboriously, he dragged himself to his feet. First he sipped down a glass of water. He pulled out some soda crackers, and some deli meat, and an apple. He ate carefully at first, but soon he found himself stuffing big chunks into his mouth.

Alan ate the entire package of meat, and most of another besides, had two glasses of milk, all the crackers, a Coke, and four pickles. His desert was a piece of white bread with butter and honey on it.

He fell back onto the couch, achy and shaking. It took almost another hour before he started to feel almost normal. He held up a hand in front of his eyes. It shook a little.

This is gonna kill me, he thought.

Alan's ringtone suddenly sounded, playing soft piano tones, and he jerked sideways to shove his hand into his pocket. He pulled his smartphone out, dropping it twice before he managed to look at it. It was a Skype call coming in. He didn't even bother to look at the caller, he just desperately stabbed at the "Accept" button.

At first, nothing appeared, and the only noise was a low whirring sound like a fan going in the background. Then a pixelated smear of flesh colors with a darker brown background kicked in.

"Uh, hello?" Alan tried.

"Hello?" a fragmented voice replied. "Alan, is that you?"

Then the picture clicked into a better resolution, and suddenly a man appeared.

"God, you look horrible," he said.

Alan sighed. "Thanks, dad."

John Miller had a face with a lot of smile lines, angular cheeks, and dark hair that was shaved to a five o'clock shadow on his face and head to hide where it wasn't coming in so much anymore. Bits of gray flecked his temples, too dull to be called silver, and he wore a blue polo shirt and had a drink with an umbrella in it in his hand.

John heaved a sigh. "Well... I have a guess what you're calling about."

Alan tensed. "You do?"

"Well, unless you're in jail and need to be bailed out, or on drugs and chose me as your Step 1. Isn't not one of those, is it?"

"Uh... no."

John nodded grimly. "I figured. You're too much of a color-in-the-lines kind of guy for those to be it. That means that, unfortunately, it's gotta be the other thing." He set down his glass, and straightened in his chair. "I'm sorry, kid. I had really hoped we would never have to talk about this."

Alan shifted, fidgeting.

"I was hoping that'd it'd skipped you. It skipped my dad. We're pretty sure it's a recessive genetic trait, you know, so there was a good chance that even if you had it, it would be so mild you wouldn't notice, except for maybe getting laid a bit more than average."

Alan managed to sit up, glaring into his phone. "So you know about the Influence?"

"Is that what you call it?" he frowned, tilting his head. "Interesting. I would guess that reflects how it works for you. I settled on calling it the Touch. But I guess I was a pretty big fan of Transformers in the 80's. You know, 'I got the touch, I got the PO-WAAA—"

"Yes, I know the reference, Dad," Alan cut him off. He rubbed his eyes. "Would you please just start at the beginning? What do you know about it?"

John Miller spread his hands."Okay, okay. I'll tell it to you just like my grandpappy told it. You never met him, but he was a wiley old coot, and had a way with words."

He took another drink from his glass, and then a deep breath.

"The men of the Miller family, you see, were never blessed with a lot of natural advantages. We don't tend to be handsome, although seldom ugly. We aren't stump-dumb, but you won't be finding any valedictorians in our ranks. In athletics we're about as graceful as your average, at best: in social graces, we tend to require a lot of polish. We're plain and average, through and through, and not much to catch the eye high or low."

He smiled slightly, leaning forward. "But if you look at our family history, there wasn't hardly a man of us who didn't marry exactly the match they wanted. Usually, a match that a casual observer might say was out of our league.

"How?" He pointed at his temple. "The secret's here. That, and, well, down here." He pointed downward, in the general direction of his groin.

Alan stared at him. "So you're saying we're a whole family of mind controllers?"

John's face pinched. "Never much liked that word, 'control.' Yes, if you're so inclined, and you've got the juice, you can get your way. I can honestly say that you wouldn't have to kick the family tree too hard to shake loose a couple bad apples that went down that road. Over all, though, I would say those that take that path have usually met a bad end, mostly self inflicted." He brushed that aside with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, not control. I like to think of it like our natural advantage in the face of overwhelming genetic odds. Tipping things in our direction. And if you do it right, everybody comes out of the exchange having gained something. Emphasis on the 'body' part of everybody."

"Thanks," Alan said flatly. This is not the type of conversation he wanted to have with his father. "So how does it work? What all can it do?"

John spread his hands. "That varies greatly. Depending on the generation, the individual, it differs a lot in application and strength. But it definitely is always related to mental concentration and hormonal urges. That's the underlying principle. For me, I was on the weak side. All I could do was sort of rev girls up a little. Sometimes more than a little, when I was really horny, but not often for long. All I had to do was be near them, or look them in the eye."

His mouth twitched. "Well, that and when I'm porking a girl, I could get her to shoot off like a firework every time. Especially when I had her bent over and—"

Alan held up a hand. "Dad, please. Spare me the details."

John looked disappointed. "Fine, fine. Killjoy. Point is, I wasn't a savant by any stretch. Grandpappy could do way more. He could put thoughts in girls' heads, even from a good distance. But he was at his best when he was talking with a girl. If she was pretty enough, he could convince her to go along with almost anything. Your grandmother was a quiet, shy lady mostly, with a Catholic background, and he talked her into giving him head on the first date. And this was in the 20s!"

Alan found himself pressing his fingers to his forehead. "This was really a part of family history I could have lived without learning."

"Well, why do you think we don't talk about it unless we have to?" his father said, slapping the table in front of him with a hand. "If you don't have the talent, you always end up comparing yourself to those that do, and nothing good ever comes of that. Like I said, probably a recessive gene. We never were a big family, and for the men it's still pretty uncommon to inherit it. Women can get it, too, but it's pretty damn rare. Once every few generations at best."

John sighed, shaking his head. "I did still keep an eye out for it, you know. It's not like I was neglecting you. Usually, it's pretty obvious from about the time a kid hits puberty."

"So there was nothing obvious with me?"

His father snorted. "Well, you had the sociality of a black hole. When you did rarely meet a pretty girl, you were so nervous you'd flub your words and keep biting your tongue, remember?"

Alan twitched. "I'm not sure I recall that, exactly."

"Well, let me remind you, then. When you started junior high, and you sat next to Stacey Johnson, and—"

"Okay, okay, fine, I remember!" Alan cut him off, doing his best to keep the lid on memories he'd repressed.

"Then you can excuse me for not knowing if you had the talent, or if you did, that it wasn't much." He heaved puffed out a quick breath. "And frankly, having seen it abused, I'd be much happier if it had skipped you. You would avoid so much trouble. But I guess no luck there."

Alan's father paused, and folded his arms. "So what's your story? How's it work for you?"

Alan hesitated. "Well... I'm not sure how long I've been using it, exactly. I started noticing I could, well, Influence girls I was attracted to a few months ago. It began with one, my office mate I shared a pod with. I imagined how great she would look if she dressed a little sexier, thought of specific examples. Then when she showed up the next day in almost exactly what I imagined, well... it went from there."

His father nodded, giving an impressed frown. "That's no small feat, kid. Implanting specific images? That's way more than just a little sexual reving. That can be incredibly potent." He paused, searching Alan's face. "Is... is that not your only power?"

"Uh... no." He shifted. "Not by a long shot."

His father blinked. "Really? What else?"

"Well... I'm pretty sure I can also rev girls up, too. I did it once. There was this girl at the beach, and... never mind, um, I can also sort of whisper in their minds. I find it works best if you sort of impersonate them a little, so they think that those are their own thoughts. It works better and better the more I work on them, too."

John Miller nodded more, and opened his mouth, but Alan kept on going.

"I can also... well, I call it Direct Input. Instead of effecting their what they are thinking, it's more like I bypass their frontal lobe, and can give commands to their body, like fall asleep, or slap yourself, or, you know, orgasm. Uh, a lot."