FocusTunes Ch. 04

Author's Note: All characters are over the age of 18. Story will include soft themes of mind control (fucking duh, mate).

To all who left a comment: I appreciate your kindness.

Forgive me for the delay in chapters. Holidays and family will do that to a schedule. Here's a longer chapter in recompense.

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Here's something nobody tells you about life after you accidentally program an 18-year-old sexpot to crave blowjobs: it goes on. You go home and everyone else is just like "Well, nothing exceptional has recently happened for or to you, so continue being a sadsack with hours of free time and expendable mental energy for League of Legends."

So that's my little tip for you: be ready for the world's rotations and revolutions and all. I fucked around on Discord for the rest of my Saturday afternoon because that's what I typically did on Saturday afternoons. My buddies made some offhanded comments about the emotional stability of women, which they often did, and I admonished them for their misogyny, as I often did. How gleeful the voice in the back of my head sounded: "Wow, helpful insight from Lick My Balls McGee over here."

Man...fuck you.

Games were distracting for a while, but after you've seen a really nice pair of tits bouncing to the beat of your cock, you eventually start thinking about the tits again. And the circumstances under which you got to see them. And how much you want to see them again. And the circumstances under which you'll see them then, too.

I flicked a glance to my FocusTunes thought map on my desk. I knew more about the magical music now, which was good news overall -- but bad news in the sense that I could no longer operate under the guise of ignorance. Back when I had made Miranda crave blowjobs, I had done so unwittingly -- and she had busted into me when I was in the bathroom.

But I had very wittingly made Miranda want to fuck me; and then I had fucked her. And while any third-party observer would have said: "Wow, that young woman is enjoying herself in this consensual sexual encounter!" if they were just watching us fuck, they would have also said "Wow, that young man is making that young woman fuck him with some questionable ass methods!" if they saw what happened before.

I don't know. I had been to enough high school parties and sat through enough high school drama sessions to know that dudes got girls to fuck them by lying to them; by manipulating their emotions; by ensuring they weren't in the clearest state of mind. And everybody knew that that was fucked up. Just nobody called it...you know... R-A-P-E.

Fuck. I wasn't convincing myself. Time to stop thinking about this. Miranda wasn't hurt or coerced, and she didn't feel violated. She was feeling great. I was feeling great, and she was feeling great. This was okay.

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I woke up the next morning to a knock on my door. It was barely half a cheek beyond the ass-crack of dawn, so I responded with a growl.

"Son?"

I rolled over. My pops filled my doorway easily, light from the hall pouring in over his shoulders. His beard was full but sprinkled with gray, his eyebrows and hair unkempt. He had a natural scowl, with thin and darting blue eyes, but was a cheerful man underneath the shell.

"Ugh...sorry, Dad." I sat up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, there's...uh..." He scratched his head. "...there's a girl for you. Waiting for you, that is. Here."

"...what?"

"Yeah, she said that you had made plans. I, uh..." I was the quick talker of the family; my dad was not built for this. "She said she called you?"

I pawed for my phone: I had 20 new messages and 3 missed calls, the earliest one from 5 o'clock this morning. They were all from Miranda.

I whipped back to my dad. "What did she say?"

"What did she say?" he repeated. "I told you: she said you had made plans and she was supposed to meet you here. I said 'I've never known my son to make plans for 7:30 on a Sunday morning,' but she insisted. She's waiting for you now."

"She's downstairs?!" I hissed.

"What was I supposed to do?" He shrugged. "I gave her some oatmeal."

"Oatmeal?!" I was out of bed now, digging through my drawers for the one shirt that made my shoulders look kinda big.

"That's what I make for breakfasts on Sundays, Ben!" He harrumphed. "Tell me we're expecting company next time, and I'll make blueberry pancakes...if you're that dedicated to impressing this girl, that is."

"It's not like that!" I insisted.

"Oh." He chuckled as he left. "It is like that."

I finished getting dressed and brushed my teeth with a carelessness that would make 9 out of 10 dentists wag their heads. As I vaulted down the stairs, I heard my father trying to make small talk in the kitchen. "...or for a walk in the park, perhaps. What do...ah, I don't know, what do young people do these days? For fun, that is."

We were at Def-Con 4, people.

I rounded the corner and saw her there, at my kitchen table, a half-eaten -- holy shit, she actually ate some of Dad's oatmeal -- bowl of oatmeal before her. Miranda had been outside my house a few times to pick me up when I needed a lift, but I had never wanted to let her in -- never had a reason to, either. I was surprised she remembered where I lived -- oh, shit.

She looked good. It was not her usual, casual, effortless good -- it was good. Her normally straight hair spiraled in light waves over her bare shoulders, covering the thin straps of her sundress. It was white, patterned with intricate spirals and shapes of red and gold and green. It tied over her breasts with long straps in a bow, tight over those two firm, round mountains bouncing right off her chest. She had makeup on, but not the sort of makeup you notice -- makeup just to make her eyes shine and cheeks glow.

"Hey," she said with a flutter in her voice -- she was...nervous? She stood, smoothing out her dress as she did. It barely graced mid-thigh, and I felt the warmth of her soft legs on my hand as my eyes traced them up to her waist, made even narrower by the wrap of the dress.

"Hey." I said back, paralyzed by the idea that a girl this good-looking would fuck me, and then want to see me again. I stared at her for a moment in lust; she stared back at me with the same. Then, her eyes darted meaningfully over to my dad, who was staring determinedly at the oven. "Ah--uh, sorry I forgot about our...uh, plans today."

"That's okay." She smiled quickly, tucking some hair behind her ear, shifting her weight on her feet -- she was nervous. "I tried texting you, figured you'd see it when you woke up."

"Yeah, I saw. Sorry."

"Did you?" She said urgently. "Did you check your texts?"

"Uh...no, I--"

Her eyes widened meaningfully and her gaze dropped to my...pocket? Crotch?...before dancing back up again, desperation pouring out from them. I grabbed my phone and opened my texts.

The most recent text was a photo. It had Miranda in it. It did not have clothes in it.

Taken from the side, it showed her kneeling in front of a full-length mirror, her legs crossed under her ass and back straightened to show off her significant curvature. Her free arm reached across her stomach to grab an unencumbered tit, her forearm squeezing against the nipple of her other tit but letting the rest of the swell lay bare before the camera. Her eyes were on her phone screen, but her soft smile was for the beholder.

The beholder was me. I was the beholder.

I scrolled up. The picture was preceded by messages, the first of which arrived late last night.

Hey 💖

I'm sorry for rushing you out this morning

But I think I know a good way to make it up to you 😏

I should apologize in person though

So we should hang out today

...unless you have other girls you need to make house calls for? 😜😜

*****

...u up?

lol

I can't sleep 🥱🥱🥱

Can you tell? lol

*****

Okay

I don't want to be needy or anything

But I'm gonna need you to respond like ASAP

I really want to see you tomorrow

So if you need some convincing

That can be arranged 😈

*****

Okay, that's it

I'll show you what's in it for you

But I want something good in return 🍆🍆🍆

*****

I gave the nude another quick glance before I looked back up at Miranda. She squirmed under my gaze. I had never seen her so uncomfortable, which was a surprising emotion to see in a woman who had just sent an unsolicited nude.

Of course, I was opening the nude three inches from my pops, so that probably had something to do with it.

"So, what are your plans for today, kids?" My dad was asking. I shot him a look at kids, and he shrugged, nonplussed.

"Uh, we were just gonna drive into the city and kinda figure things out as we go." I was good on my feet. "Sorry I didn't get to introduce you properly, Dad. This is Miranda Plover, my..." Fuck. You can't open a 'my' without a planned conclusion. I was fucking terrible on my feet.

"...longtime friend and sentence-finisher," Miranda joked; I sighed with relief.

"It's good to meet you, Miranda. You should take that as a compliment -- Ben has always got tongue-tied around pretty girls."

"I certainly have not," I said indignantly, knowing full well it was true. "So, Miranda...do you want to head out or...?"

"We should." She tugged at the hem of her dress. "Did you want to show me your PC before we left, though?"

I started. My dad started. Every overlooked nerd with a hot friend started.

"You want to see my PC?" I had been building a gaming computer from refurbished parts for the past several months. It was an expensive endeavor and accordingly slow going, but I had scored a GTX 1650 Super graphics card from GeForce on Black Friday and one of the electronics stores in the area called me when they recovered an Intel i3 -- wait, you don't care about this. You're here for the sex. Right. On we go.

"Yeah, of course!" Miranda said brightly. "I've been toying with the idea of finally building my own, but I have to make sure it'll look better than yours first -- beat the competition and all."

"Shit, okay..." I looked at my dad. "We'll just be..." I gestured upstairs, and he waved us along.

"Go ahead. I have to run errands anyway. Be sure to lock up when you leave." I'd had girls over before. Dad didn't really give a fuck. I had every opportunity in the world to do it without telling him, so he figured it was better we just keep things above board.

I stepped aside and gestured for Miranda to lead the way around the corner and up the stairs. With a quick bounce and a "Nice to meet you, Mr. [You Don't Need To Know My Last Name]," she slipped past me and started toward the stairs. I hustled to catch up, but not before watching her loose dress slide across the back of her legs once or twice.

"Since when have you been into PCs?" Lord, fuck, that is not the most important question right now, Ben.

"Computers?" Miranda scoffed, grabbed the front of my shirt in a fist, and started yanking me up the stairs. "I would have been into anything to get you up to your fucking room. Let's go."

She marched me up the stairs and practically threw me forward at the landing.

"Miranda, are you--"

"Which room?"

"..."

"Ben I will start sucking you off right here right now I don't care if your dad shows up I swear to GOD which room is yours?!"

I led her to my room. The door had barely swung shut behind me before she was on her knees, pawing at my belt.

"Fuck, wait, I--"

"Shut up." She unclasped me and ripped my pants to my ankles. I was only semi-hard, but that didn't stop her from diving down and swallowing me whole in one enthusiastic gulp. She calmed as she finally got my dick in her mouth, sucking back slowly and moaning in relief.

I was up to full hardness in an instant. The waves in her hair undulated with the rhythm of her head, the additional volume framing her cherubic face as she turned her eyes up to mine before I could even ask. I dug my fingers into the tresses greedily. The enthusiasm of previous blowjobs remained, but the theatrics were notably absent again. She was suckling on my dick with grave intent, her brows furrowed in focus.

Eventually, she surfaced to swallow some spit, and I took the free moment to step to the side and generate some space.

"Miranda, are you...okay?"

"No, I am not fucking okay," she snapped, shifting on her knees to get her mouth back in front of my dick, her grip feeling less like a pleasurable squeeze and more like a threatening pinch with every passing second. "I can't get sucking your cock off of my mind. I have to fucking ambush you at home to even get in your pants. This is the first I haven't been obsessing over sucking your cock since yesterday, and even as I'm blowing you, I want to hop up and fuck you silly and never stop doing that either. So I'm just going to keep blowing you, and you can fucking stand there and take it."

She did just that. But after a few pumps, I could tell something was wrong. Don't get me wrong -- it felt good. But it certainly didn't feel right.

"Okay, wait." I physically pushed her head off my cock this time. "What do you mean 'you can't get sucking my cock off your mind?' Does it--"

"I'm not fucking doing this!" She hissed, careful not to raise her voice too high. "I need this and you want this, so will you stop asking me questions and just let me..." She leaned back forward; I side-stepped and jumped away. I was aware for a moment that I playing grab ass with my cock out in front of a woman who, 36 hours ago, I would have broken many laws (only like, the semi-important ones) to make interested in sex with me. Then Miranda was back on me.

"Miranda, will you fucking wait for one second and talk to--"

"NO!...Okay? No." Her voice rose to a dangerous pitch, and I noticed her eyes start to waver in emotion. "What do you need to let me suck your cock, Ben? Do you want to get off again by making me obedient, making me slave over it? You want me to deepthroat it until I choke? You want to pin my head against the wall and facefuck me until I cry?" Earnest doesn't begin to describe her tone; eager wasn't enough. Her questions were legitimate, and she was desperate for an answer. "You can if you want to. You can have my mouth and my throat, all for you."

"I don't..."

"I'll finish you with my tits," she continued on, unperturbed, sliding the spaghetti straps over her thin shoulders and pulling her arms through, peeling the dress down to let her tits bounce freely. "You'll like the way they look wrapped around your dick, soft and squeezing, freeing up my mouth to beg you for your cum. I'll ask for it like a good girl or demand it like a mean girl, whatever you want; I'll clean up every drop. I know how much you like them." She wheeled her hand back and gave the right one a firm slap, moaning as she did. "Don't you want to spurt all over them? Or cover my face in cum while I thank you for it? I know you want it, and I want it sooo badly..."

I was frozen, the logical half of my brain flagging in the race against the visual half, which was projecting each of Miranda's fabrications in LG OLED quality across my mind's eye. I felt her hand grip back on my shaft and begin stroking slowly.

I told my mind to tell my mouth to tell her to stop; some link in that chain failed to hold its weight.

"And once I'm done licking up your cum, I'll suck you back to hardness and fuck you every way that you want. Every time you've laid on that bed and every way you've dreamt of fucking me, I'll let you fuck me like that. And once we're done, we'll go back to my house and up to my bed, where I spent every night lying on that bed and dreaming of ways that you'd fuck me, and we'll do it all over again..."

Her mouth descended on my dick, muting her silver tongue and putting it to better use underneath my cockhead. I floated in that haze for another moment or so -- the complete willingness of Miranda, her enthusiasm for anything I desired, so long as she got hers -- before it started to fade. And as it did, I saw with clarity again.

Fuck. I had to do something about this.

I peeked down. Miranda was engrossed in her work. I peeked over. My FocusTunes list was still sitting on my desk. I peeked the other way. My headphones were hanging out of my jacket pocket, thrown over the clothes chair (hey, we all have one) in the other corner of my room.

Here we go.

In one movement, I extricated myself from Miranda's gobbling mouth and leapt over to the jacket, grabbing the headphones and spinning around. I expected her to be on top of me, furious again, bargaining again. But she was sat back on her haunches, her eyes screwed shut, her breaths heaving a little under her thin ribcage.

It took me a moment to recognize the emotion: she was sad. Like, verge-of-tears sad.

"Miranda..."

"It's not good enough." She sniffled once, her eyes welling over. "I know it's not. I know you want more from me than just a mouth to fuck, and you don't want me just bending over and sucking your dick every time I see you." I don't?! "But I just...Ben, I just want to suck you off so much. Every second of every day I just want to find you and please you. I can get better, I really can -- I can make it worth it, I can make it different and good every day, I can blow you however you want, just please don't make me stop."

"Miranda." I took a steadying breath. Women -- when they get like this, they're just impossible to reason with, huh? "Why do you want to suck my cock so much?"

"I don't know, but I can...I can make up stories for you?" She was grasping at straws now, a tear sliding down her face, her darting eyes constantly checking to make sure my cock was still hard and ready and within reach. "If you want a reason, I can be your girlfriend on your birthday, or I can...I can just be me asking for you for more help tutoring, I can--"

"No, Miranda." I stopped her with a raised hand, but I didn't get far -- tears began streaming even harder.

"Ben, stop making me explain this, please!" Her shoulder shook with a sob. "Just...Ben, just let me suck your cock. I want it so bad, please..."

God, this wasn't even sexy anymore. It was...awkward. Pitiful. Weird.

Actually, not weird. It was explicable. At least, I believed it was. Miranda's desperation to suck my cock was a continued, fruitless effort to satisfy the want in her head; the want to suck my cock. I had placed that want in her head on Friday night -- but it wasn't behaving like a normal want.

Normal wants come and go in your mind: you experience them, you slake them, and they dissipate, sated. Miranda wanted to suck me off in the library, and when she had, she felt cocky and sexy and rife with adrenaline -- everything you'd expect after a daunting sexual encounter. But when the want didn't follow its expected life cycle -- when the want didn't fade away -- her elation faded instead. She had given into its demands and given me head, but the want hadn't left. It was an inorganic want, a programmed want. It remained.