The New Sanning Promise Ch. 01

(All characters in this story are over eighteen years old. This story takes place during the events of "Friends, Enemies, and Exes.")

Prologue

Even twenty years into the Truth, he still had fun using it.

Misty laid on her back, head hanging off the edge of the mattress. The Mayor teased her, tapping the head of his cock against her cheek and grazing it lightly across her lips. From here, her body stretched taut and every inch of her looked marblesque, as though she were sculpted and smoothed by the expert hands of a goddess. No god could make a body like hers, he thought. Only a woman could make a woman so perfect.

Misty smiled with satisfaction while he teased her, humming like a woman tasting the sweetest wine and receiving a gentle massage at once. He loved the sound of his wife's voice, warm and soft and grainy like sand in summer.

"You tease," she cooed, sliding her hands to her nipples and massaging her breasts.

He took his wife's short yellow hair in his hand and held her head up, parallel with the bed, and she lifted a hand to his shaft. He allowed Misty to take his balls into her mouth, and instinctively she began playing with her clit.

"Now do you see what she did there, Mrs. Tanner?"

Helena Tanner sat with her husband Greg in the viewing chairs beside the bed. She was looking at Misty work with academic interest, while Greg tried to hide his growing erection.

"She took the initiative," Helena answered.

"Yes, and more importantly it's for her pleasure. I happen to be receiving a majority of the physical pleasure, but the mental satisfaction is mostly hers."

"Mr. Mayor," said Greg, "could you elaborate on that? How is she getting it, uh... mentally? If not physically. Receiving-wise."

"I'll demonstrate," The Mayor said. "Misty, sit up and keep masturbating. Now Mr. Tanner, I need your patience. Luckily, you are a patient man."

Those words he said carefully, focusing as deeply into his eyes as he could. Even a man ten years his senior such as Greg Tanner could not help but look back and hear the Truth. "Of course," he agreed with a laugh.

"And Mrs. Tanner," he said, turning his eyes to Helena. "You are very cooperative. You don't hesitate to follow requests. So in a way you two are the perfect couple for this demonstration."

Helena smiled her middle-aged smile, laugh lines and crows' feet deepening with a pearly white grin. "I do my best," she said. "How can I help you?"

"Now listen carefully, Mr. Tanner." Misty was blushing, face and chest, while she started circling two fingers around her swollen clit. His wife hardly noticed as he began unzipping Helena's dress. "Helena, you're going to undress and start pleasuring me with your mouth."

"Of course, Mr. Mayor," she said, standing to help him unclasp her bra. Their eyes glazed over at first. Their brains did heavy work to justify this sudden behavior. But their bodies started to act long before their minds accepted the action. It took years to get people responding like that.

Greg furrowed his brow, scratched his head where the first signs of grey hair were peeking from his scalp, and leaned forward to get a close look at his wife's lips wrapped around another man's cock. Misty moaned when she finally saw it, and began dipping her slick fingers inside of herself. "Ohhh..."

"Now see how Misty reacts," he told Greg. "Very satisfied with your wife sucking my cock. Even if she doesn't do it very well, it's the idea that matters." That was true. Helena had little talent for fellatio, but a hard truth had the potential to inspire great improvement over time.

"I'm not quite grasping," Greg said, turning his head and watching Misty for a moment.

"See, what Misty gets out of this isn't physical pleasure. Yes, she's masturbating. But that's an expression of what's going on inside."

"And what's going on inside?"

He smirked. "Misty knows that even if Helena were the cock sucking queen, with the tastiest pussy in the world and an ass that never quit, I would always come back to her at the end of the day. Because she's my wife."

Misty grunted at the word wife, and began furiously pumping her fingers in and out. Greg perked up, understanding the concept. "Huh..."

Helena looked up for approval. Her tongue did such little work, and her hands grasped him by the waist. Her idea of a blowjob was nothing but bobbing her head back and forth, likely until she was told to stop. Doesn't do it often, that's for sure. Probably just plain doesn't like it.

"So," he continued, taking Helena by the hand and placing her on the bed in Misty's old position. "When Misty sucks my balls and strokes my cock," he said, placing his balls into Helena's mouth and her hand onto his shaft, "it's a very similar concept. She's doing all the work, even on herself."

Now Misty was starting to hold her breath as long as she could, growing quiet until she let the air burst from her lungs. The Mayor grabbed Helena's hand and moved it between her legs, where her untrimmed pubic hair hid the folds of her vagina.

Greg clicked. "But she knows she'll get her turn," he said, snapping his fingers and almost bouncing from his chair.

"That's right. And the better I feel, the better I'll make her feel in the end. The better I feel, the more fun she has. My pleasure becomes her pleasure, and so pleasuring me becomes pleasurable."

Greg leaned back, happy to learn. He looked as though he stopped noticing his wife dutifully servicing the Mayor. His eyes came back, and he asked curiously, "What about us? Shouldn't we feel the same about pleasuring them?"

"We should. It's like... mmmm..." he moaned lightly as Helena finally remembered her tongue and ran it along the bottom of his scrotum. "Symbiosis," he finished. "We should get excited by doing well for them, because it will inspire better work on us."

Greg nodded. Looking down at Helena, she'd started glowing just as red as Misty. The Mayor took her by shoulders, lifted her up so she was facing Misty, and started kneading her breasts firmly. "Mr. Mayor," she said, lips glistening with saliva. "Is this... okay to be doing?"

Ah, yes. He'd forgotten to tell her the Truth. "You enjoy it, that's what matters. Greg enjoys it too."

She nodded, sighed, and lifted a hand to the back of his head, feeling his hair. The Mayor looked back to Greg as he kissed his wife's neck, and said, "The only difference is the power. Would you like to have a little more power over your wife, Mr. Tanner?"

Nervously, hands folded, Greg nodded. Misty smiled and giggled, excited to see what came next.

"Give her a new name," The Mayor told Greg. "Anything you want. Make her yours through and through."

"What?" Helena asked, lost in a haze of lust. Greg didn't ruminate too long, almost like he'd had a name picked out long ago. "Scarlett," he said.

The Mayor grabbed Greg's wife by the neck, pressed lightly, and told her the Truth. "Your name is Scarlett Tanner."

"Of course it is," she said. "I know that."

Misty came, pussy glistening and hips bucking back and forth. She was not a screamer, but her breath took time to catch up with her whenever her orgasm hit. A wave would jerk through her body, followed by a quick exhale and a sharp inhale, and repeat like that for ten, twenty, sometimes thirty whole seconds. Not quite so long this time, but clearly no forgettable orgasm.

"Darling, make sure to invite them back later this week," The Mayor said to his wife. "We have to teach Scarlett some better fellatio techniques."

"Of course, dear," she sighed, still breathing heavy as her arms fell limply at her side.

A knock at the door. "Come in."

Janelle walked in wearing a typical business casual outfit, though instead of the usual white blouse tucked into her slacks, she only wore a tight white sports bra. "The welcome party is all set up for the Harpers," she said.

"Thank you, Janelle," the Mayor said, earning the infectious smile most of the young women in town had. "Do we have time for a shower?"

"A quick one, yes," she said, surveying the two naked women and the newly cuckolded Mr. Tanner. "A normal one... maybe if we set a timer."

"All right folks, you heard her. We're on a tight schedule. Greg and Scarlett, you'll be joining us in the shower."

"Of course," the Tanners said in unison.

Together they walked into the bathroom. Janelle set a timer on her phone, and instantly started helping Greg out of his clothes. Before long, she was naked as well, taking care not to get her hair too wet as she assisted both wives in tasting both husbands.

While Misty took a genuine moment to clean herself, Greg took his own wife by the waist and entered her from behind, thrusting into her with a vigor that probably had not come upon him in some time. "You're mine," he said to her. "Aren't you?"

"All yours... all yours..." she moaned.

"Scarlett, I'm glad we moved here."

Chapter One

It was a long drive to Nebraska, and a dull one. Brandon loved his parents dearly but did not find much enjoyment in spending long periods of time with them. A road trip from the east coast to the middle of the country promised a few hours of nice conversation, but many more of painful silences that could only be held off for a little while. Eventually the boredom would creep back in.

Then the sight of New Sanning broke the monotony of the flat Nebraska landscape. The town was new, not on the road maps yet, and Brandon's father worried they'd gone too far off the highway when at last the green highway marker promised only fifteen more miles. Then the quaint wooden sign posted at the entrance to the town, and a full blown welcoming party beside it with signs and refreshments and smiles.

"Welcome to New Sanning," said Arthur Henning, taking Brandon's father by the hand and shaking firmly. The few dozen citizens around them let out a quick cheer of agreement.

"Glad to finally be here," said Tom Harper, Brandon's father. They shook hands, smiled.

"And this must be Nora," said Mayor Henning. "And your son Brandon. Folks, this is my wife."

"Misty," said the mayor's wife. A beautiful woman for a handsome young mayor. He wore a casual sport coat, she glowed in an orange and yellow floral sundress that complemented her blonde hair well. Brandon saw people like them in movies, but never in real life.

"I wasn't expecting a formal welcome," Brandon's mother said. "Or I would have dressed better."

"Nothing's ever too formal here," Mayor Henning assured her, handing her a cup of lemonade. "The whole town is your new home, not just the house. Make yourselves comfortable."

That brought a smile to Nora Harper's face, and lately smiles did not come easily. The gorgeous couple didn't give much attention to Brandon as they started bringing people over for introductions.

"Everyone knows your names already. Here's our florists, Nick and Katrina Shermer. This is Ned Levitt and his lovely wife Betty. Lyle Vanit here is our city planner, his parents live right on the lake. Ah, Greg and Scarlett Tanner! Don't let their good looks fool you, they're rowdy at heart..."

Brandon followed awkwardly behind, not too upset to be so quickly forgotten. As his father warned him, most of these people were in their late thirties, and plenty were older. Though he was promised a few people closer to his age.

"Have to meet your new neighbors," Misty interjected. "Don't be surprised. Here's Ricky and Lana Moore."

Despite her warning, Brandon was surprised. A couple younger than he walked up and shook hands with his parents, and then kindly came over to him to do the same. They're college aged, he realized. But unmistakably, they wore gleaming golden wedding bands.

"I guess I shouldn't say how young you are," Tom Harper said. "I'm sure you already know that."

"That we do," Ricky laughed with all the energy of a man thirty years older. "We're both inching our way to twenty-one after the New Year."

If Brandon were blind he would have pictured a walking sweater vest, but Ricky looked like anyone his age, as did his wife Lana. They dressed much more casually than the rest of the welcoming party, though nothing flashy.

"I love your pearls," Lana said to Nora, remarking on her earrings.

"Oh," she replied with pleasant confusion. "They're nothing special. Practically dollar store."

"But you wear it so well."

They're five years younger than I am, Brandon thought. And I feel like they're twenty years older.

Much of the time, Brandon felt so much younger than he was. Not long ago, he turned twenty-five, scarcely out of college and just on time to start calling himself a doctor. When it was all set in stone, Tom Harper went to his son and said, "Let's open a new office in a new town, together. Harper & Son. Or Harper & Harper if you'd like."

And here they were. Not just in a town new to the family, but a new town. New Sanning was advertised as a purely modern community, established only five years ago as far from mass society as one could get in the States. But they had their own public works system, and almost a straight shot to Omaha if they needed anything they didn't have.

The house the Harpers bought vacated recently when a family found they just didn't quite fit in with the rest. Brandon imagined that with a sales pitch that specific, you needed to bring as much to the table as the rest of the town. He hoped they could fill the void well enough.

Even if they couldn't, the house was spectacular. "Cozy and big at the same time," his father told him, showing photos. "Sounds impossible, but a lot of the houses are like this."

"Here, have some lemonade!" Misty Henning said, nearly shouting. She pushed a cup into Brandon's hand and waited for him to take his first polite sip, and then found another for his father. Just like that, he was invisible again, the Moores gone and replaced by another couple. A lot of couples, he lamented.

"Made with New Sanning water," Mayor Henning said.

"It's so clean," Brandon's mother remarked, somehow tasting it through the lemon and sugar. She took another sip.

"Isn't it just?" Misty agreed. She filled herself a cup and started tipping it back into her mouth greedily. But Brandon couldn't taste it. If anything it seemed a little...

Thick, he thought. Not pulpy but...

"Your office space is almost ready," said the mayor. "And good timing, too. We've been aching for an optometrist around here."

"Well," Brandon said, trying to make an impression. "Now you've got two."

Henning smiled. "That we do. No more drives into the city. Except for a Storm Chasers game."

A girl caught Brandon's eye, leaning against the painted New Sanning sign and regarding him with what looked like disappointment. Small was small, rubenesque. She had russet colored hair, wore blacks and purples with dark eyeliner and black matte lipstick. With all those dark colors, he was surprised she hadn't dyed her hair black.

She stared at him, openly and unembarrassed. He stared back, wondering what she expected. The girl was not standing or talking with anyone, and he saw no ring on her finger.

Kindly, Misty Henning stepped closer to Brandon and pulled his attention away. His parents were still being chauffeured around to other couples.

"Arthur told me you were young, but I think he exaggerated. You're very obviously a man." she said, stepping closer and looking up at him. Misty scarcely came up to his chin, but she was unmistakably a woman in her thirties.

Brandon tried not to look uncomfortable, which he was. "How old did you think I'd be?"

"Eighteen. But I think you're closer to thirty."

"Twenty-five," he admitted. "Closer but not too close."

"Can you guess my age?" she asked, sipping at her lemonade again.

"I was taught it's rude to talk about a woman's age, but..."

"Go ahead," Misty said, eager. "I won't be offended. As long as you don't say sixty."

Her eyes narrowed at him playfully, and he noticed just how close she was standing. He could see down her dress if he dared to look anywhere below her eyes. "You're thirty-two," he said.

She went blank for a moment, surprised for another, and then shook her head as though warding off confusion. "Right, of course," she said.

Brandon cocked his head. "Are you all right?"

"I... it's silly, I thought I was thirty-six for a second," she admitted. Suddenly this confident woman looked embarrassed. "Such a ditz, how do you forget your own age?"

"Well you look younger," Brandon said, hoping to put her at ease. "I would have said twenty-eight but I figured you might be closer to your husband than that."

She smiled, forgetting her lapse. "We were high school sweethearts. Class of... well no, he's thirty-six. I..."

Henning returned, Brandon's parents in tow. "Getting along?" he asked.

"Famously," Misty boasted, discarding her worry.

"We won't hold you up any longer," Henning said. "You have some work to get done. But I can't wait to see you at the block party tomorrow."

The Harpers went back to the moving truck, waving at everyone as they went off to find the new house. Just before Brandon stepped back into the vehicle, he could faintly hear Misty whisper to her husband, "Darling, how old am I?"

**********

Brandon Harper couldn't remember the last time he'd gone a day without masturbating. Most of the time, stroking one out just happened, especially during long bouts of boredom. He had no roommates in his final years at school, and when he visited home his parents were often working. Further still, his younger sister Tiffany was usually out with friends.

But in this new house, he felt some sort of shame at the idea of masturbating on the first night. Yet here he lay, alone while his parents drove around the town, an unquenchable erection threatening to rip through his jeans if he didn't take them off. And if he took his pants off he might as well take his boxers off. And if he took his boxers off his might as well...

His cock was at full mast, already dripping with precum, when he finally took the last bit of cloth off his body. He laid atop the freshly made bed on his old familiar bed frame, feeling the coolness of the sheets on his back.

Practice self-love, he reminded himself during his more shameful sessions. So he didn't just masturbate, he tried to enjoy his own body. He would pull the skin of his shaft taut and try to admire the shape of his manhood. He would remember little compliments he'd received here and there from the girls he'd been with. And most proudly, he thought, he would relish in his abundance of precum.

By all accounts and reviews, Brandon produced much more than the average man. He could coat his whole length early into masturbating, and refresh the drying layer with a new one every minute or two. It made condoms easy to put on, though occasionally more difficult to keep still. It made receiving handjobs much nicer in the absence of lotion. And most importantly, it helped him cum when no one else could.

Brandon didn't have a pathetic sex life, nor did he have a remarkable one. And in absence of a willing woman, he could always rely on himself.

He stroked himself, using no stimulus but his hand, thinking of nothing but the sensation. He'd discovered long ago that the real trick was in the wrist, that using the arm was for finishing. But he knew how to tease himself just right that even putting his arm into it would take some time, leaving him with a long pressurized build to a powerful orgasm.

And today he hammered at himself, his arm a piston that could have powered a race car. His entire body glistened with sweat and his bed frame shook from side to side, side to side, side to -