The Bimbo Pill Pt. 03 - Gwen

Help! My Girlfriend's a Bimbo!

== || < > || ==

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

== || < > || ==

I'm horny, Gwen Tollefson decided.

She turned over on her bed and pushed her cell phone aside with an aggravated sigh. Twitter was boring. Nothing but people getting into stupid shouty arguments about politics and stuff. And Facebook was filled with people she didn't like posting pictures of people she didn't know doing stuff that she didn't care about. She needed something to do. Spring break had started the previous day, and she wouldn't be going back to school for over a week. With less than two months remaining in her senior year, it was a perfect time to recharge her batteries.

And, to be honest, she had caught a severe case of senioritis over the last several weeks. With her acceptance to Stanford University (and two emergency back-up schools) assured, there didn't seem to be much point to studying hard anymore. She didn't have to worry about grades, or about extracurricular activities that might look good on her application, or about brown-nosing some teacher so he would write her a letter of recommendation. What were they going to do? Un-accept her? All that was left was to pick up her diploma in May and wait until August, when she could leave this frozen wasteland and head for sunny California.

She scowled as she looked out her bedroom window. It was March, and if there really was a God, spring should be coming soon. But she lived in Minnesota. Nearly three inches of snow had fallen the previous night, and with the temperature rising, the streets and sidewalks were coated with a damp gray slush. As she watched, a gust of wind knocked some snow off the branches in the back yard, sending it swirling down to the ground in a fashion that almost seemed to mock her desire for warm, sunny days.

I bet I'd be happy if Mom and Dad had let me go to Spring Break with Ashley and Steph, she thought resentfully. She hadn't really expected her parents to agree to let her go to Sarasota with Ashley's parents. But her father, who she had thought the softer touch, had given her a flat 'no' before she had said three sentences. Even the fact that Ashley's parents and aunt and uncle would be there to chaperone hadn't inclined him to budge. And her mother hadn't been any better when she had pled her case.

So she was stuck in stupid, boring Minnesota on a shitty Saturday morning, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Of course, she could simply drop her panties and rub one out, she thought. That would take up a little time, and might take the edge of her horniness off.

Damn you, Max.

"Hey, Gwen!" Just as her fingers were creeping towards the buttons on her jeans, her door burst open, and her younger sister Mary Jane burst in, jumping on the bed to join her. "What are you doing?"

She sat up, annoyed. "Nothing. And knock next time."

"Oh, don't be that way." She rolled over, hanging her head off the end of the bed. "Want to go out?"

"No."

"Want to watch a movie?"

"No."

"Do you want to build a snowman?" she sing-songed.

Despite herself, her lips twitched. "No."

"Are you on the rag?"

"No," She growled. "Good grief, leave me alone."

"Well," her sister said reasonably, "you can't just stay in here all day. It's spring break, Gwen! We're supposed to be having fun!"

"Fun is overrated."

"You just can't think of anything to do."

She bit her lip. She could think of one fun thing she would love to be doing. But she had blown it.

It had seemed so simple. She had been going out with Max for nearly a year, and she had been certain she was falling in love with him. He was handsome, decent, kind, smart, and he made her laugh.

Plus, he was a great fuck.

All she had to do was to somehow arrange for the two of them to go to the same college. She had been accepted to Stanford, her dream school, weeks ago, before Christmas. Max, unfortunately, had not. Stanford had rejected him with a polite letter stating that it was impossible to accept all qualified applicants.

Her boyfriend had accepted the news calmly, especially since he already had been accepted to the University of Minnesota. In his heart, Gwen thought, Max didn't really want to leave his family for the west coast, and had only applied to Stanford to make her happy. Plus, the campus at the U of M was only a few miles from his home. Gwen, however, had been bitterly disappointed, though she tried to hide it. After thinking things through, she had hit upon a sure-fire stratagem.

And then it had blown up in her face. Her suggestion that they might want to cool things off, since they probably wouldn't be able to make things work in a long-distance relationship had been accepted by Max with the same calm resignation that he had displayed when the thin envelope containing the rejection letter had come back from Stanford.

Apparently the noble idiot had never even considered asking her to stay in Minnesota and go to the U of M with him. She had gotten in there, too, as a safety school. But no. Maxwell Melton wouldn't ask his girlfriend to give up her dreams like that.

Moron.

So now, instead of being able to look forward to four years with Max at the U of M, only a few miles away from home, by which time marriage would be a foregone conclusion, she was stuck with no boyfriend and the slowly-dawning realization that her maneuvering had been too clever by half. Instead of using him as an excuse to not go to a college she had never really wanted to get into in the first place, despite the fact that her mother raved about her four years in California, she was stuck with no reason not to go.

"You know," Mary Jane continued, with all the wisdom of her fifteen years, "you've been a grumpy, bitchy pain in the ass since you and Max broke up. Why don't you go over to his place and work things out? Then maybe people will want to hang out with you."

"Die," Gwen said hollowly. She grabbed a pillow and whacked her giggling sister across the face with it. "Die. Die die die die die." She pinned her to the mattress, hitting her over and over again, as Mary Jane howled, holding her hands across her stomach. "Why won't you die?!"

Her mother poked her head through the doorway. "Are you killing your little sister again, Gwendolyn?"

"Yes," she snarled, raising the pillow above her head, then bringing it crashing down on Mary Jane's red, chortling face. Bits of down drifted in the air. "And this time I'm going to finish the job. I've wanted to do it ever since you brought the rotten little marshmallow home from the hospital." She turned back to her sister, her voice menacing. "Any last words, boogersnot?"

"Yeah," Mary Jane giggled. "I rubbed poison ivy all over your tampons last summer."

Gwen took a long, deep breath. "Mom?"

Her mother, still attractive at nearly fifty, shook her head. "There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of men for this treachery."

"So can I stake her out on an anthill? Please?"

"It's March, Gwen. The ants are probably all hibernating."

"She can wait until they wake up, then. A bit of starvation and frostbite might teach this rotten little spazz some manners."

"I said no, Gwen." Her mother grinned. "You know how upset Mary Jane's screams make the neighbors." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" She scrambled off the bed. "I'll gag her first. Then I'll impale her! Or maybe the Chinese water torture? Or how about I just break all of her fingers!"

"Nice try, loser." Mary Jane scampered past her and out the door.

"I'll get you!" she shrieked down the hall. "You and your little dog, too!"

She came downstairs a few minutes later, her mood much improved.

"Feeling better, sweetheart?" her father asked from behind his newspaper. In the corner, her brother Peter was fiddling with his phone and watching a college basketball pregame show.

"Yes, Dad. One day I'll get her. And she'll pay. Horribly. In great pain."

"I knew I shouldn't let you read all those books about the Romans and Persians at such an impressionable age. They gave you ideas."

She bent and kissed him on the cheek. "You need a shave."

"I don't shave on Saturday." His blue eyes twinkled up at her through wire-rimmed glasses. His hair, she noted with a pang, was showing more and more strands of gray at the temples. "It's how I stick it to the Man."

"Dad. I hate to tell you. But you work in the district attorney's office. I'm pretty sure that makes you the Man. Shouldn't you be out busting kids for smoking that wicked devil weed or something?"

"Like I said. It's Saturday. I only oppress people during the work week."

"Right." She ruffled his hair fondly, ignoring his efforts to bat her hand away. "I'm going out," she announced, grabbing her purse and keys.

"Oh?" Mary Jane asked, sitting down on the sofa. She turned on the television. "To Max's house?"

She took a deep breath. "Dad," she said. "I don't want to give you any ideas. But if that girl makes it to voting age, it'll be damn miracle."

He turned a page of his newspaper. "Honey, no jury in the world would convict you."

*****

A few miles away, Gwen's one-time boyfriend opened his eyes, and smiled.

It really was something out of a teenage boy's fantasies, he mused. If the teenage boy in question was a horny pervert who wasn't terribly bothered about the prospect of having sex with his mother and his sister.

It had all begun so innocently. When Max looked back on the chain of events spanning the past few weeks, he really couldn't see where things had started to spiral out of control. One event had simply led to another, in a logical chain of events which culminated in him waking up, late on a Saturday morning in March, with his mother's bare tit in one hand, and with his sister snoring on his shoulder.

Liar.

Okay. He had to admit the truth to himself. There were a few places where he could have put a halt to things. Places where he could have stood astride the metaphorical train tracks of fate, screaming "Stop!"

For instance, when his mother had suggested testing her new drug on herself. A drug which even she admitted might have unintended side effects as far as it pertained to impulse control, judging the long-term consequences of one's actions, and the ability to deny the needs of the body.

In short, Mentothal dissolved the ego, giving the id the top hand, a role it was completely unsuited for. That section of the psyche was responsible for sating physical needs like food, shelter, and comfort.

And sex. Especially sex. And if the person who was taking the pill was horny, it was not at all choosy about where it got it.

So when his mother, Veronica Melton, disgusted by the prospect of Mentothal being mothballed by a bunch of spaghetti-spined lawyers at the Department of Justice, had used it on herself to see if it might have some use as a drug used for anger management and emotional therapy, it was quite a shock to both herself and her son when her alter ego Ronnie had emerged, hungry for sex after years in a loveless marriage, and almost as long when the only outlet for her carnal urges could only be found at the end of her vibrating magic wand. Ronnie had seduced her son, which, in all fairness, had not been terribly difficult. Max was a red-blooded all-American boy, and the lure of his attractive, blue-eyed, blond-haired mother was just too much to resist.

Overcome by guilt, Veronica had tried to put a halt to their relationship after that first frantic fuck on her living room floor. But the prospect of returning to her life of celibacy had been too awful to contemplate. It had only been a few days until she had succumbed to temptation again, taking a dose of what she now referred to as "Female Viagra" or "The Bimbo Pill." Fucking her wonderful, well-hung son soon became as necessary to her as eating or breathing.

Unfortunately for their new-budded relationship, Mentothal left one almost completely unable to lie as well. So when Max's sister Linda had called their mother one evening when the two of them were in bed, Veronica had let slip the truth as innocently as a three year old might divulge the contents of her stocking on Christmas morning.

Linda had, predictably, hit the roof. His sister was nothing if not mercurial, with a temper that ran hot and fierce. She had stormed up from Minnesota State the previous evening, demanding in no uncertain terms that he and his mother end their taboo relationship.

Veronica, meeting fire with ice, had coolly refused. And in turn, had issued her daughter a challenge, since she flatly refused to believe the truth about the Bimbo Pill. She could see for herself. But under no circumstances would Ronnie (or Veronica, for that matter) allow herself to be bullied into ending her incestuous love affair with her soon.

Furious, and, it must be admitted, with a true concern for the futures of her mother and younger brother, Linda had fallen into the trap, taking a dose of Mentothal. But even though she had begun to suspect that her mother was telling the truth, she had not been prepared for the moment when her mental barriers had fallen. First, she had revealed the kinky side of her nature, admitting that one of her greatest fantasies was to be watched during sex.

That had led to an intensely arousing session of mutual masturbation, with both Max and Veronica watching as Linda had pleasured herself, her arousal climbing as she finally gave in to the exhibitionist side of her nature. Then, with Linda no longer able to hold back her sexual urges, she had invited her brother to take care of her. Max had screwed her in the armchair, with his mother looking on in benign approval. The experience had broken the back of Linda's resistance (as well as the armchair). After supper, the three of them had retired to his mother's bedroom, where they had pleasured themselves with Max's enthusiastic help until the wee hours of the morning.

Under the heavy comforter, still necessary in the middle of a frigid March, Linda stirred, her smooth legs rubbing against his. Her eyes, when she opened them, were cornflower blue. But, fortunately, they held none of the anger, guilt or reproach he had half-feared. "Good morning," she said quietly.

"Morning," he replied, bending his neck for a kiss. She returned it eagerly, moaning softly. Under the blankets, her hand found his morning erection, and stroked it lovingly, making him groan.

"What?" came a voice from his right. "Nothing for me?"

"Good morning, Mom," he smiled, turning his head. His hand was full of his mother's firm, plump breast, and he kneaded it softly as he indulged in a long, leisurely kiss. When he was done, her eyes were wide and shining.

I hope to God that there isn't a God, he thought, his brain muzzy, when he finally came up for air. Because if there is, I'm totally going to hell.

Their kiss grew more heated, and he half-turned, pulling her close. From behind, he could feel Linda turning as well, her tongue sweeping up the length of his spine, her hands roaming across the cheeks of his ass.

To his disappointment, Veronica set her hand on his chest, holding him back. "Not right now, Max."

"Oh?"

His mother sniffed meaningfully. "When was the last time you took a shower?"

Oh. "Yesterday morning."

She raised her eyebrows as she pulled back the blankets. The reek of sex rose up around them like a cloud. "Sorry, sweetheart. But lovely as your penis is, I want you to give it a good hose-down before you try to stick it back in me today." She raised herself up on one elbow, peering over her son's broad shoulders at her daughter. "Linda, you too. This entire rooms stinks of sweat and cum and pussy-juice."

"Pussy-juice, Mom?" His sister wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"You know what I mean." She got out of bed, naked and lovely. Pulling her bathrobe out of the closet, she knotted the sash firmly around her waist, to Max's immense, if unspoken disappointment. "I'm going to clean up, then get breakfast ready for you two bottomless pits.

"You've got an hour to make yourselves presentable."

Ten minutes later, Max was in the bathroom that he shared with Linda when she was home from college, a towel from the linen closet draped over one shoulder.

His mother was right, he supposed. Looking down, he could see that the hair around his cock was practically matted to his groin. And sweat from the previous night's exertions was unpleasantly evident as well. He grimaced at the smell, and turned on the water to the shower. He really did need to clean up. In seconds, steam was rising up towards the ceiling.

As he stepped inside, he shook his head. It was all so weird! Twenty-four hours ago, he would have sworn that Linda would rather have her eyes poked out with a stick than accept his incestuous relationship with his mother. But now, Linda was exploring a kinky side he had been completely unaware of, and was not only accepting of the fact that he was sleeping with Veronica, but was actively condoning it. And he wondered what else might happen under the influence of the pill. Linda's exhibitionism had been a shock, and she had hinted, between sessions of lovemaking the night before, that there were other things she wanted to try.

What's next? Anal? Role play? Screwing in public?

He soaped himself up, paying special attention to his crotch. Maybe he should get a pair of scissors and give himself a trim, he thought. The last thing he wanted to do was have his mother think he wasn't taking care of himself down there. Veronica took the adage that cleanliness is next to Godliness to heart, both as a pharmaceutical researcher who was used to working in a lab, and as a farmer's daughter who knew full well how quickly disease could spread if hygiene was not given its proper due.

So when the door to the walk-in shower slid back, Linda caught him with his eyes closed and his hair full of suds.

"Mmmm," a warm voice murmured. And an exploring hand found his cock, stroking lightly.

"Linda," he warned her. "Mom said..."

"Mom said we should be down in an hour." His sister's hand pressed into his wet back, turning him. "She didn't say that we couldn't fuck before we came down."

He moved under the spray, washing away the shampoo. "God, you're insatiable."

"Is that a complaint?" she smirked, sitting on the stone lip at the rear of the shower. At a comfortable knee-height, it was formerly used to shelve the ridiculous amount of body-washes, soaps, shampoos, and other paraphernalia his sister brought home from the mall. Now all that stuff was at Minnesota State, so Linda lounged back, spreading her legs. One finger trailed up her labia teasingly. "I went downstairs and took a pill. I can already feel it working."

He frowned at her. "It's not freaking aspirin, Linda. You should be careful."

She flipped a hand. "Relax. I'm not planning on going anywhere today. Except down. On you. And..." her brow wrinkled in thought. "I mean, it is incest, Max. Don't get me wrong," she added hurriedly. "The sex last night was awesome. All three times," she grinned. "But this morning, it made me feel kind of icky. But I don't want to stop, or give you up. So I thought this would take the edge off."

Max chewed his lip. He loved sex with his mother. And Linda, with her kinks, had been a change from Ronnie's almost brutally straightforward heterosexual lust. Still, he didn't want his sister doing something she didn't want. "You don't have to, you know. If you don't want to."