Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 02

"Meatloaf" I reply as I wrap my left hand around the base of my hot penis and giving it a shake. The motion causes a glob of cooling precum to the floor, where it impacts dully. "It's a special night, "I continue "ma really went all out." Mr. Johns bends over and unties his boots, kicking them off. "The food smells great kid. Say, is your mom seeing anyone? Anyone outside of you, I mean."

I smile as Mr. Johns unbuckles his belt and unclasps the button. "No sir, she's single and ready to mingle. It's a shame you're married, huh Mr. Johns?" He glares at me angrily as he lifts his shirt up and over his head, briefly obscuring his glare of indignation. I mentally stop him before he removes his white sleeveless "wife beater" undershirt and quickly speak up "Not that I'm suggesting anything, Mr. Johns."

He stares a moment longer as he pushes his jeans down and steps out of them, now clad in a pair of white boxers with blue stripes. "Well, I don't know what you were hinting at young man, but I asked for a friend of mine. I'm happily married to Barbara, over 25 years now. We have a kid in college for Christ's-sake. "

I raise my hands in defeat, smiling guiltily. "I didn't mean anything sir, honest." I am enjoying this exchange, the simultaneous role reversal. Mr. Johns pulls out his flaccid pale but thick cock and balls, letting them dangle over the waistband of his boxers. I look down approvingly, enjoying the lewd display. His face betrays no hint of awareness of his current state as he says "Well, we won't speak of it again. Let's go sit down."

I hear another knock at the door, lighter and more reserved. "That must be Mrs. Johns. You go ahead and grab a seat, I'll be right there."

I turn and crank the doorknob, yanking the door open. Mrs. Johns lets out a yelp as the door is whisked away from her face, surprised.

"Mrs. Johns! It is so good of you and your wife to come over!" I exclaim with a smile, as I allow my eyes to roam down her voluptuous 40-something body.

Mrs. Johns is one of my mother's workout partners, keeping her body trim and firm while indulging in the occasional McDonald's meal has given her a plump but firm body. Like her daughter she is gifted with a gravity defying pair of DD breasts and thick, full nipples. Her waist to hip ratio is fantastic, blessed with a spectacular set of child bearing hips as my mother would call them.

"Hello is my husband here?" she asks nervously, peering past me into the house.

Her body language is off and I sense something is wrong right away. Peering into her beautiful blue eyes I mentally compel her to tell me what is going on. I summon the feeling of telling someone the truth, of coming clean of all my sins, and then project that emotion on to her mind. I do this with what feels like a light flex of my mental muscles, the equivalent of curling a light dumbbell. The effect is instant and undeniable as Mrs. Johns relaxes and takes in a deep breath, preparing to unload her troubles.

Mrs. Johns continues to scan past me into the house with her blue-green eyes and purses her pink lips. Hesitantly at first, in a whisper she says "My husband beats me when he sees me staring at your house. He suspects but doesn't know for sure that I have a schoolgirl crush on you, but suspicion is enough for him. He makes sure to hurt me in places that clothes can cover up, a half hour ago he punched me in the ribs thirteen times for calling your mother without his permission, and he thinks I called to speak to you." With her confession delivered she exhales and lowers her shoulders, some measure of tension gone. 'Confession really is good for the soul', I think to myself.

I am surprised by her words, but not too much. Of the many times that I took Mrs. Johns and her daughter as lovers, three times I did so directly in front of Mr. Johns, doggy style, as he tried to watch the evening news. Some trace of the vigorous fucking that I laid into his wife and daughter must have lingered in his subconscious and manifested finally as jealously towards me. No wonder he shipped his daughter off to college so soon after graduation.

I look her in the eyes and ask seriously "Barbara, do you have a crush on me?"

Mrs. Johns sighs and replies "From the day you moved in, Petey. I saw you and could not get you out of my mind, later that night I masturbated while whispering your name." This makes me smile, even as the anger inside me grows. Mr. Johns has a lot of explaining to do; I did not know he was beating his beautiful sweet wife. I release her from the compulsion to tell me the truth, and almost immediately Barbara perks up, forcing a smile.

"Mmm something smells yummy!" She says in her best cheerful voice, stepping past me into the house. She is blissfully unaware that I know the truth and am plotting to punish her husband because of it.

"Where's my best friend, huh?"

I step aside and let her slide past me, my once stiff erection faded in the light of what I have just learned. I compel her silently to quickly raise and lower her shirt as she passes me, allowing me a glimpse of the line of angry purple-grey bruises that decorate her tanned belly and lead up her rib-cage. Mr. Johns is a real bastard, my heart breaks at the thought of this innocent housewife being treated so badly by a retired police officer.

At dinner all four of us are seated at the table, steaming plates in front. Firm meatloaf, chunky mashed potatoes, asparagus with garlic and carrots fill each plate in generous servings. Mother, Mrs. Johns and I chit chat happily on random topics; this weather we are having, the president and how he isn't living up to his campaign promises, how delicious and moist the meatloaf is. Throughout the meal I've noticed Mr. Johns is largely silent, injecting a comment here and there but for the most part keeping an eye on two things; his wife's attention to me and my mother's firm C cup breasts. As both women and I are nude, I wonder what he sees her wearing, possibly her workout spandex... or perhaps one of his work shirts with the top buttons undone.

I gently exert a pressure on his mind to go visit the men's room every ten minutes or so, just to try and urinate. He drains his glass of wine and rises without a word, every time he does this he has to walk past his wife. When he does, I mentally command her to reach out and quickly jab him in the rib-cage, approximately where he took such pains to abuse her. He grunts and stumbles as he waddles past his wife in his underwear, his white t-shirt no protection from her yoga hand-weight toughened fists.

Before he returns to his seat I devise a small torture each time; the first time I placed a fork on his seat, the second I reached across and caught him high on the cheekbone with a backhand. When he speaks I toss a spoon at his head, and the third time he returns from the restroom, my blood starting to rise, I got up and punched him in the forehead, causing an ugly red egg to slowly grow. My knuckles didn't thank me, but I like to think I saw some recognition and gratitude in his voluptuous wife's eyes as I sat back down.

As the meal came to an end, the neighbors started to make their early exit excuses. My fun was just beginning, and after the casual dinnertime abuse of Mr. Wife-Abusing Johns I wasn't ready for them to exit. I mentally reached out and froze everyone at the table mid sentence, my mother with the last bite of her oh-so-delicious meatloaf perched on her soft pink tongue. I rise, place both hands on the white tablecloth and look over to my left, at Mr. Johns. Barry Johns. Officer Barry J. Johns. Without thinking I propel my palm forward and up against his forehead, and am rewarded by a slap and barely audible grunt.

I smile and look at his wife, with a calm voice I ask "Mrs. Johns, would you please come over to my side of the table?" Mental commands would work just as well, but this is a special occasion. I want him to hear this, and I hope it slips down into his subconscious and comes back up as a dream tonight. She rises and walks around the table, trailing a hand past my mother's bare shoulders as she rounds the right side of the table. My mother for her part slowly closes her mouth and chews the mouthful of meatloaf, swallowing with a click. While my commands work on people's subconscious minds, some part of them is awake and aware, keeping the machine running. I've come to think of my power as a form of hypnosis, something to do with brainwaves and electricity.

I stand up and scoot my chair away from the table with the backs of my legs, allowing Mrs. Johns to stand in front of me. Mentally I command her to kneel and lean back slightly, resting the rear of her head on the edge of the table. My erection is hard, so hard it aches; the need to orgasm is a fire inside my brain, almost equal to the desire to humiliate and punish Officer Johns. Kneeling slightly I push my blood engorged cock down with my right hand, angling it underneath his wife's chin. I remove my hand, allowing it to quickly slap up into the underside of her chin with a thick, meaty pop. Mrs. Johns just smiles, the part of her mind that is still aware enjoying the sensation of my thick cock against her face. I do it again, knees slightly bent, loving the sensation of my hot fuckstick colliding with the bottom her firm chin.

Mr. Johns' eyes are locked onto my mother's, his right eye twitching. As I slide my cock forward and into his wife's mouth, I wonder - how much is too much? How far can you push a man's subconscious before he snaps for reasons that he cannot fully understand? As I begin to bounce the head of my cock off the rear of his wife's soft palate, making wet sloshing sounds, I make him turn his eyes to face me. With wonder I realize that there is, for the first time, resistance to my mental orders. I smile, this is too sweet - he is actually fighting my control. I lean forward and place both hands on the table to better force my cock into his wife's sweet throat. I throw a suggestion to her to tilt her head back slightly and allow my thick rod down her throat, and begin to fuck her head in earnest, jamming my log over her tongue and down towards her epiglottis.

Her husband's hands start to twitch, and for the second time today I feel the thrill of discovery. Slipping my cock in and out of Mrs. Johns' throat I feel my heart rate rise and a cold sweat break all over my body. The twitch in his right eye is now almost constant, pulsing in time with the rhythm my hips are beating into the table with his wife's head. Bam bam goes the back of his wife's head against the table, causing the glasses to fall and silverware to tumble. I see his mouth start to open and I pause mid-thrust, this moment of something new and different overcoming my desire to ejaculate - if only for the moment. I listen intently as his vocal cords begin to work against my mental command for silence; amazed at the effort it must be taking him to override my control.

"Baarrrb..." he rasps thickly, his tongue not yet fully back under his control. I loosen control slightly, eager to see how far he can get.

"Baaarrbaa" he tries to form his wife's name, Barbara. I mentally command mother to rise and sit in Barbara's seat at the table, and brace the table's edge with both of her palms. With the table secured, I then mentally instruct Barbara Johns to stiffen her neck and prepare for what is coming; I don't want the poor old girl to wake up tomorrow and need a neck brace.

I flex the mental muscle in my head harder than before and force Mr. Johns to close his mouth with a snap. I see a single tear slowly fall from his right eye as the twitching slows and then stops, his face growing slack and relaxed once again. The only life that is left is in his eyes, a pure rage that no amount of mind control will extinguish. Staring into the hatred in this grown man's eyes I feel something primal inside me respond, a kindred spirit of revenge that would like nothing more than to command this man to snap his own neck. I come up with a better idea.

I slowly withdraw my thick, saliva coated cock from his wife's mouth moving my hips back until only the head rests within. With the idea now fully formed in my mind, my heart is pounding, thump thump. With a mean grin I say "Now watch this, Officer. You watch and learn, because you just might be next."

Giving Mrs. Johns and mother one last mental reinforcement, I inhale deeply, arching my upper back, tenting my hips and loosening my gluteal muscles. In one swift movement I exhale through my nose as I tighten my ass, throwing my hips forward and driving Mrs. Johns' head back against the table. Mother's chair is inched back with the force of my thrust into her friend's throat, and against my control Mr. Johns' eyes widen a fraction at the display. I begin to pump his wife's open and wet throat, withdrawing my pulsating cock just long enough for her to snatch a quick spit choked breath before slamming it back in.

On the verge of yet another orgasm I whip my straining cock from his wife's mouth. "Open up Mr. Johns, you are about to get your dessert." I say with a tight smile as I fully withdraw it from her moist, dripping mouth. As my cock clears her lips I release control over her, she immediately rag-dolls to the floor, gasping for breath and staring blankly ahead. Against his will Mr. Johns turns his head to face me, and relaxes his jaw. I step to him, my dick jumping and swollen, on the edge of an explosive orgasm. Precum oozes from the slit of my rock hard cock, mixing with his wife's saliva before dropping down to land on the table. When my fat dick is close to the opening of Mr. Johns slack jaw, I pause to place both hands on the sides of his round, balding head.

"Do you have any last words, Mr. J?" I ask mockingly. I guess some part of my mind actually desires to hear his thoughts on his current situation, because he whispers something. Still holding his skull firmly, penis poised to enter his waiting mouth, I ask again.

"What? What was that?"

Mr. Johns slowly forces his eyes up to mine, his right twitching in time to the pulse that is rushing through the dick mere inches from his lips.

"No." he whispers, managing to against all odds, surprise me again tonight. I ease my cock-head forward, almost gently parting his lips and guiding it in, over his tongue. His mouth is dry, only the residual spit from his wife's juicy mouth allows me to enter without resistance. I inhale sharply as the friction causes the orgasm to arrive, exploding from my body and wringing my balls with a delicious pain. Gush after gush is wrung from my aching testicles, thick hot semen shoots from my dick and quickly fills his unwilling mouth. I did not command him to swallow; the product of my nuts fills his dick holster and runs out past the sides of my pulsating member to his stubbly chin. I chuckle and tremble as the fire fades, enjoying the feeling as my cock softens atop Mr. Johns' semen coated tongue.

With my hands on either side of his head I hold my dick inside his mouth and sigh. I can feel him beginning to struggle again, his mind pushing off the layers of control that I've piled on top. I reinforce my command to him to remain still, feeling the resistance ebb again. One last pulse and I squeeze my cock using my kegel muscles, making sure every drop gets deposited where it belongs.

I pull out and step back, a little lightheaded from the strength of the orgasm. I mentally command Mr. Johns to close his cum filled mouth and swallow, slipping in a lasting suggestion to refrain from brushing his teeth for the next few days.

Breathlessly I say "Mom, come... clean up and head to bed - It's been a long day for us all. Mr. and Mrs. Johns please get dressed; mother will see you out after she finishes the dishes. Thank you for coming over."

With my words everyone comes alive and starts to move. Mother removing her braced hands from the table and rising from the table. Mrs. Johns rises with a small smile on her face, holding a secret that we both share now. I think I'll allow her to retain the essence of this evening, some small taste of revenge against her abuser. Perhaps this night will replay in her dreams as well, giving her some mental peace. Mr. Johns stands like a robot, stiffly, and looks around for his clothes. I can see a contrast; while the movements of the girls are more natural and fluid, his are forced, mechanical. I can imagine what he'd really like to be doing right now, if only his mind could slip the chains I've heaped upon it.

I stumble and walk away from the dining room, towards the stairs that lead to the upper floors. "Goodnight everyone" I say as I walk, more to myself than to those behind me. From the doorway to the house I hear a female voice sing out in reply "Goodnight cupcake."

It takes me a minute to realize that this new voice did not belong to my mother or Mrs. Johns. I freeze in place, my blood gone cold. I reach out with my mind as my eyes do the same, scanning for the intruder into this most unexpected moment. Standing in the doorway is the last person I expected to see here, now.

Standing in the doorway of my house, wearing a black leather jacket and bright yellow motorcycle pants is the female biker that I caught a ride with from Dave's store. Tucked under her arm is a yellow bike helmet, with black flames stenciled along the sides. She removes the helmet and I smile, underneath that thick fiberglass shell is Erica - the mother who could almost see me earlier.

I am speechless; the shock of seeing this person, here at this time totally robs me of any witty reply. As Mr. Johns and his wife move towards the door on their way out, I have them push-pull Erica with them, garnering a surprised "Hey!" from the biker and mother of one. They slowly drag her out of my home as I turn and head up the stairs - I am way too tired for to even begin to address this new development.

With the patience and abundance of time that this new power has given me I decide that I will deal with this situation tomorrow. I mentally command mother to lock the front door to the house, and enter my room. A good night's sleep will give me the answers I need.

I walk upstairs, the sound of Erica banging on the locked door fading as I create distance between us. I enter my room and mentally summon mother upstairs, fucking the neighbors really wore me out. I undress fully and climb into bed, curling into the fetal position as I hear mom walk up the stairs and down the hall.

Mother silently opens the door and enters my room, shutting it behind her. She undresses, dropping her jeans, blouse, panties and bra to the floor. Nude, she climbs into bed with her son, snuggling her rear into the curve of my body. As she settles in I position my arm so that her head is resting on it, like a pillow. Sighing, she snuggles her tight rear into to my cock and I bend my arm, wrapping it around her neck. Fully erect now, pulse pounding to the thump of Erica's on the downstairs door, I use my free hand to position my cock by my mother's anus, simultaneously pulling her tight to me by the neck.

In this position, mother secured by the neck, I lick my three first fingers, and coat the entrance to mother's ass. Slowly I fit my dick into her asshole, keeping the pressure tight on her throat with the crook of my arm. Allowing mother just enough room to breathe. I hump my dick into her ass until it starts making its own lubrication, then continue a few more times until I orgasm gently into her rectum, shuddering. My bedtime ritual complete, mother sighs with relief and I feel her body relax against mine. With my softening cock buried to the hilt in mother's ass I drift off to sleep, relaxing my choke-hold slightly but keeping her close.

As I slide into warm, black unconsciousness I think to myself "Tomorrow I'll have to do something about Erica."