The Device

Peter Brnovich held the device, the result of his latest investment in the talents of the most beautiful and brilliant inventor imaginable. Anya Berglund, a Nordic refugee who he had helped escape a trapped life in mob-riddled Moscow, watched her benefactor flip the disk around his fingers like a magician's coin.

It contained her ultimate fabrication, a micro device that modulated the wearer's voice, opening the unaware listener to hyper-suggestion, a potentially valuable bonanza for a hand-picked, wealthy clientele. Those wealthy clients could be military leaders needing to manipulate friends or foes, police negotiators, or just narcissistic men intent on dominating their underlings. After hearing Anya's briefing, Peter had some other ideas.

Anya was a natural technology genius, the daughter of a Volvo electronics engineer, who was instrumental in the car maker's voice-activated vehicle controls. When her father had peddled the trade secrets to the Russians for cash, she was the daughter they kidnapped and held hostage, guaranteeing his continued loyalty. They had not understood her ingenious potential for mercantile profit, heedless to the engineer's objections and explanations. They didn't see that she had the instincts for micro-technology, just as her father did, but instead relegated her dynamic beauty and energy to their strip clubs and brothels.

Peter looked straight at his buxom scientist. The curvy blonde's big blue eyes rode above high Nordic cheekbones that gazed steadily at his face as his own gaze fell lower. The tight stretchy top emphasized rather than hid her big round boobs.

He remembered that chesty grandeur during nights filled with stupendous sex before a lust-smitten Peter had lured her away from her down-market stripper-prostitute gig in Russia. The politically connected mob that had and still did consider her their property was not pleased with the loss of sex trade profits when she fled to America with the junior mobster. But business was business and Peter, when confronted, had pledged to negotiate a suitable financial settlement for his quixotic lapse in judgment, but only after his street crime in America rose to proper fruition. Their patience was growing thin and he needed a faster source of money soon.

She had pilfered the basics from hacked research websites, micro-sized the components, and perfected the design. The mind-bending device was ready for a real-world beta test before continuing to limited fabrication and selective marketing.

His voice was falsetto stern; he couldn't be harsh with the babe that had disrupted his budding crime fortunes in their mother country and who continued to routinely mesmerize his mind and tantalize his balls with recurrent nighttime ecstasies.

"Better not let me find out you've used it on me to get my money."

Her English was functional but was still gruff with the native Swedish accent.

"That would be unethical, not my style. And, besides, in your words, I wouldn't let you find out. I prefer to live, warming your bed, not hiding in the shadows, avoiding your wrath as well as the Russian mob's."

She rose to help Peter attach the necklace chain to the pendent and fasten it around his muscular neck. Her big soft breasts pressed against his broad back and he smelled her perfume. She adjusted the fit and stepped away; he turned to face her, the disk resting near his larynx.

"Is it always active?"

He watched her expression take on a dismissive look as she chortled her reply.

"Of course not; I'm not stupid. Casual words could be misinterpreted and foster bad outcomes. No, you have to be purposeful and press it to your throat as you speak. The effect should last about an hour."

"I'll come back in a week to report."

She pressed herself to his chest and took a long kiss. His hands roamed her back, a pat and squeeze of her amazing ass. She held his gaze as she issued her warning, more like a plea.

"Stay out of trouble, my darling."

"Not likely" he chuckled.

His eyes drank in her blue eyes and he hugged her close. The effect percolated his libido. He was tempted to simply throw her down and fuck her there and then, soothing his building lust at the moment. It had been a week or more since they had last been intimate and she would not have resisted. But he had other urgent duties to attend to. He just pecked her cheek in parting and added a playful smack on her ass.

Peter exited the cluttered workroom, where the walls and counter spaces were covered with parts and pieces of doohickies and thingamabobs. She was always tinkering with some electro-mechanical brainstorm.

He walked the dingy back hallway to the dilapidated building's side exit and into a smelly service alley.

This was the most obscure and secluded place he could imagine for the brilliant scientist to work. She deserved a modern workspace in a respectable office building on a research campus. But this hole served to keep their laboratory secret and his faithful genius from the nosy prying eyes and ears of Moscow.

He had some spare time before he was needed at his next appointment, a business associate's family gathering. He drove along the beach road, at a slower pace than the highway. He was stopped frequently at the crosswalks, waiting for small parties to cross the lanes from the offside parking areas. Sexy middle-aged MILFs hustled excited toddlers toward the dunes and surf. Bikinied college coeds in pairs and trios carried their kits along for a day of sun and fun.

He wished he could have brought Anya along, whether for a day at the beach or as his plus-one guest at the barbeque. Anya in a bikini would be a welcome sight anywhere. But theirs was a furtive life until the debt with Moscow was settled.

Peter enjoyed the view from the confines of his sports car but it didn't present any opportunities to test the device. He spied a coffee shop up ahead, the Bikini Beach Café, and pulled in to get some joe and idle away a bit of the excess time on his hands.

He stood before the counter and scanned the menu board high on the back wall. A curvaceous blonde barista waited at the cash register. The uniform of the day, probably every day, was a tight cleavage-forming bikini. Her name tag attached to the left boob booster read 'Julie'.

"What can I get you today?"

"A cold brew decaf."

Her fingers danced on the touchscreen; the motion jiggled her tightly encased breasts. He tapped his plastic on the credit card reader. A paper receipt rolled out and she passed it down the line.

"Anything else I can get you today, mister?"

He looked her over. She was college-aged, bright blue-eyed, and full-bodied with just the right proportion of soft roundness, and toned muscle. His mind ran a scenario; she probably had sucked off the entire football team in turns, humming in pleasure like a cum hungry cock lover. This bodacious babe could be the first try of the device.

His finger pressed the medallion to his throat as he spoke.

"A blowjob would be nice."

Her happy continence never faded but he perceived a subtle difference in her expression. Her eyelids blinked and a smirk angled her plush red glossed lips. She seemed to be pondering some naughty thoughts as she glanced aside at her workmates, busily brewing and pouring beverages for the handful of other customers.

Judging that her absence would not go unnoticed, she announced her intentions.

"I'm going on break; be back in 20 minutes."

She motioned Peter to come around the counter and took his hand as she pulled him to the rear storeroom and closed the door, flicking the lock. She uncovered a stacked box and pushed him to sit. She dropped to her knees, eager to get at his cock. He watched her tits jiggle as she bustled with his fly.

Her fingers worked frantically as she swiftly opened his zipper and tunneled in for the prize. Her cherry lips captured his emergent knob and suctioned in half the shaft in one strong slurp.

Peter was most impressed by this rapid response in this first trial run. The device seemed to work as advertised. Time for a further test. Anya had said the effect should last about an hour. Without triggering the medallion, he gave the willing barista another prompting.

"I prefer my blowjobs topless."

She didn't hesitate. With her closed mouth holding his growing erection, her hands stretched back and yanked at the bikini back knot. It fell away to expose her generous tits. The reddish nubs were hard; his altered voice must have provoked arousal in the recipient as well as obedience.

He wondered about the 20-minute limit but she was a gifted fellatrix and didn't need 20; she finished him off in less than 10, then playfully gargled his volume of spunk before animatingly swallowing the creamy wad. She happily expounded on the delightful treat as she looked up at her sucked-off customer.

"Mm... that tastes much better than the milky sweeteners we use in the drinks. Might be a special condiment we could offer."

Peter reached down and zipped up to the disappointed expression of his cocksucker. She had at least 10 more minutes of this impromptu playtime. She moodily donned her top and dejectedly led him back to the main room. He hastily exited the shop, ignoring his waiting drink left on the counter in his rush to test the medallion.

He sped away to his next destination before the voice's effect wore off. He wasn't sure how long the cum swallowing cutie would take to regain her wits and probably called the police. He imagined the amusement they would have when they interrogated the jilted barista and wrote up the official report.

'Can you describe the assailant? How long? How fat? What did it taste like? Have you done this kind of thing before? Well, then, you should be able to describe the tubular perpetrator in detail.'

Now he drove faster to his next destination, his friend's new house. He had been invited to the man's extended family barbeque, a multi-purpose party: a new housewarming, a celebration of the last of the summer outings, and a sendoff for the oldest child's senior college year, her impending scholastic resumption and ultimate graduation.

Peter pulled into the broad driveway already filled with cars. He had not been the most sociable collaborator, rarely visiting his criminal associate, always claiming to be busy with his own business. But he had succumbed to Andre's insistent invitation to break the long abstention from congeniality.

No one answered the front door bell so he walked around the side and entered through the gate to the back of the house.

Andre was busy catering to his guest's needs and slyly treated Peter as just another casual acquaintance.

"Glad you could make it. I try to break off so we can catch up."

Peter didn't want to be seen too closely associated in public with his partner in crime. So, he tested the device, a finger on the disk.

"Thanks for inviting me. I'll take care of myself; no need for special attention."

The older man shrugged with a 'fine by me' dismissive. He turned and called out to a small cluster of adults.

"Hey, Mary, look who's here. It's Peter."

Andre's wife strolled over with a broad welcoming smile.

"Peter!"

She held her arms open for a greeting hug. His host had moved away; Peter had said he would take care of himself and Andre absently handed him off to his wife.

She was dressed in pool party splendor: pink string bikini, long blonde hair, sandals, bug-shield sunglasses, and lots of smooth tanned skin on display. She pulled him in, flattening her big breasts to his Hawaiian-shirted physique and rising up on tiptoe to peck his cheek. He reciprocated the unexpected hug, liking the warm welcome and wondering if more could be in store.

"Nice place you have here. I don't think I've seen it before."

"Oh, Andre's business is booming and this is a special reward for all his dedication to work."

Peter had a mischievous thought. He fingered the disk as he posed his request.

"How about a quickie tour?"

Mary dully heard the words and wondered at the 'quickie' adjective; had she heard correctly? Nonetheless, she suddenly felt her core warm to the aura of her husband's mysterious friend.

Feeling frisky, she took him inside the house and fast-paced him through the downstairs, pointing towards rooms and adding abbreviated descriptions as she hustled him onward, an increasing buzz in her lower belly. She led him upstairs to the master bedroom with its super-sized bed, closing the door behind them.

"End of the tour. But here's where the quickies happen" she giggled.

She pulled off her top, baring her magnificent breasts: big, round, with a bit of sag after nursing two children two decades ago. Her fingers worked Peter's shirt buttons and then his pants button, pulling his shorts along as she swept his lower clothes off. His cock dangled semi-tumescent before her and her lips parted to take in the fat tube of rugged flesh.

Peter casually tossed his open shirt aside and rested his hands on her blonde head. She bobbed and suckled, tongued, and deepthroated his erection. Peter admired her technique and compared her to his recent blowjob barista's talents. Mary was better at it, apparently more practiced, but it was too soon, not enough time to refract his libido.

He pulled her lips off his cock and pushed her to the bed. She lay back, legs splayed as he pulled off her bikini bottom, exposing her shaved pussy. He climbed above her and kissed her lips, then descended to kiss and suckle her tits, spending leisurely time to get to know each nipple intimately. The murmurs signaled that she seemed to like that.

As he considered his next step, he recognized his error too late: trying a second device test too soon for his own modest stamina. A change of plans was in order.

He slid down to kneel next to the bed, her ass propped at the edge and her legs bent over his shoulders. Surveying the feminine banquet before him, he leaned in, his nose nuzzling the fleshy folds, smelling her arousal. Tilting higher, his tongue swiped her inner pink tissues and now her hands rested on his head as he lapped the oily feminine flesh, kissed her clitoris nub, and focused his efforts on her pleasure.

Mary's moans grew louder as her hands pressed his face to her core. He redoubled his efforts, speeding the pace and rubbing her clit with his nose as his tongue flashed against her pussy.

He felt the pride of success when her voice careened off in ecstatic howls. Her hips bounced around his trapped head and her cunt danced against his face. She kept going and going, a seemingly endless wave of orgasms that rocked her world.

As her fervor died down, Pete's cunt-juice saturated face emerged from his cunnilingual adventure. Mary looked down between her tits, across her abdomen, and at her husband's friend's boyish grin of achievement.

She patted his head like a family pet.

"Good boy" she cooed. "Very good boy..."

They untangled their limbs and stood, briefly preening away the dregs of oral sex and redressed.

Returning to the backyard party, Peter made a show of gallantly thanking Mary for the house tour, making compliments about things he had briefly sighted as she had hustled through the downstairs. She pantomimed an 'oh, you're too kind' bashful response for effect. The crowd simply saw two guests making happy talk.

Mary drew Peter close and whispered.

"Are you alright? You didn't cum. Maybe I can arrange something?"

She waved across at her eldest daughter.

"Becky, come here. Say hello to Mr. Peter."

The tanned brunette college coed walked towards them. Her party outfit matched her mother's, though a blue bikini color. She also matched her mother's toned ass and bountiful boobs. Her was a more chaste hug of greeting.

"Becky, I gave your father's friend the full house tour but he hasn't seen the boathouse. Can you take him down there while I see to your father and the guests?"

Peter pressed the device.

"Hello, Becky. Pleased to meet you. Let's get better acquainted."

Suddenly, Becky's mind filled with suggestive thoughts. She was oddly interested in getting the handsome older man away from the noisy crowd and alone.

"Sure, Mom. So, 'Uncle' Peter, can you come with me?"

Peter was very interested in cumming with Becky, even if she hadn't yet absorbed his intent of her offhanded double-entendre, but he assured himself that she soon would. The eldest daughter led the way and Peter was delighted to follow his younger hostess's thong rocking ass on the path to the dock.

They entered the wooden building, hiding a sleek cigarette boat that Andre used to pick up drugs and other contraband offshore. Becky was feeling warmer, despite the cool sea breeze flowing in this sun-protected space. She turned back towards her special guest and blurted out her covetous thoughts.

"So, 'Uncle' Peter, are you going to fuck me?"

"Maybe..."

She needed more assurance than that. She popped off her top and cupped her breasts.

"Do you like my tits?"

The orbs were younger, firmer, and maybe even larger than her mother's; he surveyed her chest and had a more affirmative answer.

"Yes, but..."

But what? She expected more: the usual wows and other superlatives. Her many infatuated boyfriends were far more expressive and hurried to play with her fun-bags. But Uncle Peter was probably more imperturbable with his many other girlfriends. He would need more incentive to make up his mind.

She dropped her bikini bottoms, spread her feet, and arched her shaved groin forward.

"Do you like my pussy?"

Peter did and it was his turn to show some initiative. He dropped his pants and drew her close, crushing her tits to his chest as he kissed her lips and backed her against a rough wood side wall. Lifting her thigh against his waist, the stance opened her labia. His stiff cock probed at her wet tissues and, with a mighty thrust, split the orifice, sliding easily up inside her.

She yipped at the sudden penetration. Her arms wound around his neck, holding her neck against his as her boobs flattened against his chest. He leaned his weight full on her, pinning her back to the shed wall.

He cycled his hips, his thick manly meat deep inside her and she groaned happily at each forceful thrust. He fucked his latest quarry standing up, having refracted his verve since eating out her mother.

And it had apparently been time enough. He rammed a last series of power fucks into her youthful cunt as his groin tingled with the anticipatory buzz preceding ejaculation. He tightened his hug on the tanned body in his arms and crushed her breasts completely, just as his back stiffened to match his fuck-mate's simultaneous orgasmic rigidness. She cried out, accompanying his equal call of decadence, and his balls spewed their treasure into her warm cock-encasing womb.

She clung to him in post-coital wooziness. They found their sanity and she lowered her leg to stand against him. Her voice was tentative in her query.

"Can we do it again? Maybe in the speed boat's bed this time?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit older than you. It would take me too long to cum again, so enough for today. When do you leave for college?"

"Two weeks."

"Where do you live?"

"An off-campus apartment, with my roommate."

"Then I'll come there to fuck you in the fall. Often, I hope."

He kissed her to emphasize his sincerity; paused to judge her reaction and then pressed another bold notion.

"And your roommate, too."

"Yes, yes... I think she'd like that. She's here at the party; I'll introduce you."

They redressed and he led her back up the path. She was disheveled, her hair somewhat messy and her swimsuit askew. She appeared to be exactly what she was: a well fucked nubile cunt.

They rejoined the party separately; allaying any sign of over-familiarity. Dusk was descending and the festive light strings gave off their evening glow. Becky brought her roommate Erin by for introductions. Peter found the redhead coed to be a very attractive young lady.