Marissa finds the Medallion of Zulo in an antique armoire and demonstrates it on her husband, Chris. They have a little fun with it, until trouble hits.
Note: This is without a doubt one of my favorite TF scenes of all time. I thought it lost for years until someone helped figure out that it’s a “Medallion of Zulo” story from fictionmania.tv! I’m reposting my favorite section here with some minor edits for Tumblr. The full story contains gender-swapping, but this part focuses on mostly consensual age-regression.
The door whipped open from the inside, pulling the keys from Chris’s hands. He smiled to greet his wife, but was stopped cold by an unfamiliar face.
“Hello. You must be Mrs. Hartley’s husband.”
She was young, very young, too young, too damn young to be so pretty, with that pert cheerleader nose, and blonde hair that hung loose over her shoulders, around her face, and only seemed to find sexier and sexier ways of messing up itself. His next glance–done before he could help himself- -shot straight down her tank top. Oh god, creamy white breasts, small and perky, nipples as upturned as that sorority girl nose of hers. Who was she and how could he get rid of her before his dick jumped out of his pants and into her–
“Where’s, uh, my wife?”
The girl backed away. It didn’t help. Her tank top was short, and her smooth white belly peeked out and winked at him. He swore that little “inney” of hers was teasing him. Everything about this girl was a tease; she couldn’t help herself; her body seemed designed for it. Her bra was black he noticed; the straps were not very well concealed. The sprinkles of freckles that ran up and down her arms (like sensual constellations) made him lose track of his thoughts.
” . . . back in a few hours. She said I could hang out here until she got back. That’s okay . . . isn’t it?”
This is a completely normal goodbye where they’re from. What, you’re not familiar with it?
Maybe that’s because I just made it up about an hour ago, specifically for my neighbors. The two hot Asian girls, last apartment down the hall.
Until recently, they both normal, American twenty-somethings and spoke with zero accent. I’m almost certain they weren’t related, or even shared the same culture. Probably just roommates.
Now these two think they’re mother-daughter, and that the ‘white stud’ next door can give them English lessons.
I’m not sure which change is more degrading: making them roleplay as family, or replacing their real heritage with a generic collection of Asian stereotypes.
I should visit them again tomorrow, just to figure out which change I should feel more guilty about.
That’s right, I’m calling you Daddy now, Sir. At least I will until this Bimbo Ray wears off.
Hey, it was your idea! Now you’ve got to live with it, Daddy.
Seriously, I feel so, like, dumb and peppy. If I don’t think about it for a sec my mind is all … hmm, I wonder if there are any cool parties on campus tonight? Fer realz! Can you imagine if I actually dressed like this back in college? How many boys do you think would get total hardons if I just walked into class like this? Not to mention the girls, too.
Samantha Rone & Jayden Cole. Samantha and Jayden hated each other on sight, each seeing in the other a shallow, spoiled brat. This was a cause of concern for their parents, because Jayden’s mother Claire was fucking Samantha’s father Owen, and Claire was hoping Owen might propose to her.
“I’d marry you,” said Owen one night as he ejaculated into Claire’s mouth. “But there are fourth problems. First, I’m not a monogamist. Whether I marry you or not, I need other girls to fuck. Secondly, I’ve gotten used to having a daddy’s little girl around, and Samantha’s growing up, and you’re infertile and can’t give me any more babies. Thirdly, our daughters fight like a couple of cats, and I can’t stand it. And fourth, I’ve always wanted to really break a girl – some deserving brat – and push her past all her limits, and you’re just not the right girl for that fantasy.”
Claire worked at a lab doing research in psychological conditioning for the military, and so she saw a way to solve all three problems. She proposed it to Owen, and Owen agreed; they were married the next week, and moved in together immediately afterwards.
The two daughters, however, were furious when they learned they had to share not only a room but a king-sized bed – so furious they didn’t even have time to complain about the room’s pink-princess decor pattern, more appropriate for a six-year-old than two teenagers. There was even a giant stuffed bear to complete the child’s-room aesthetic. Samanta and Jayden screamed and spat, but Owen and Claire were adamant, and the two girls ended up sleeping in the bed together, as far away from each other as they could get, each vowing to run away the next morning.
What they did not realise, however, was that the stuffed bear was soaked in pheromones that both girls inhaled all night, keeping them dozy, and making them progressively more aroused and suggestible. Near midnight, a tape recorder inside the bear switched on and began giving the girls instructions.
“Good little girls,” it said. “Be good girls for daddy. Be daddy’s little princess. You are sisters now. You love each other. You see each other as beautiful…”
They slept three days straight, as the bear whispered to them. Occasionally they rose to drink water and use the lavatory, but they did this in a blank, trancelike state, before returning to bed.
On the third day Samantha woke, feeling happy and refreshed, to discover she was orgasming. She was straddled naked across the stuffed bear, humping her cunt against it pathetically, and must have been doing so for some time. Her faced flushed in embarrassment as the orgasm went through her.
She turned to see Jayden lying in bed next to her. Jayden was also naked. Her eyes were only just focusing as she woke up. Her hand was on her pussy, masturbating slowly as she looked at Samantha. Her first words upon waking were, “You’re so pretty.”
Samantha moaned. “Noooo,” she said. “I hate you. You’re a bitch.” And then she felt more words coming, words she knew were true. “But you’re so beautiful. And you’re my sister now, and I love you.”
“I love you too,” said Jayden, still masturbating. “Can I kiss you?”
Samantha wanted to say no. She didn’t want to let this bitch anywhere near her. But another part of her swelled with joy at the thought of kissing her pretty sister. “I’m not a lesbian,” she said, doubtfully.
“Neither am I,” said Jayden. “Lesbians are just confused sluts who need to be raped by men.”
“Would you like my daddy to rape you?” asked Samantha.
Jayden’s face flushed at the words, and then her eyes grew wide. “Yes….” she gasped – and Samantha realised the gasp was because Jayden was orgasming.
“I’d like to see my daddy rape you,” said Samantha. And then, “I’d like my daddy to rape *me*.” Part of her inside was screaming in horror at what she was saying. But it all felt so right. She looked at her blushing, nude sister, and said, “Let’s be lesbians together so he can rape us both.”
She moved forward and kissed Jayden on the lips. She felt Jayden’s breasts press against her own, and she worked a knee between Jayden’s thighs and began to rub it against Jayden’s wet pussy. “I love you, sis,” she told Jayden.
“I love you too,” said Jayden. “Let’s be good girls for your daddy.”
***
In the master bedroom, Owen was fucking Claire’s pussy from behind as they both watched the girls on the cameras they had installed in the girls’ bedroom. Owen sighed happily as he watched the two pretty teenagers move into a 60 position and start desperately licking each others’ cunts.
“The beauty is,” said Claire, “that part of them understands that they don’t want this. I not only left all their taboos about lesbianism and incest and sexual promiscuity in place, I actually deepened them to feel even more shameful. But they’ll be good little kittens with each other anyway, and not be able to help themselves. They’ll hold hands in public and kiss in front of their friends and be the perfect little lesbian kittens.”
“And we watch it all on cameras?” asked Owen.
“Oh, only if we want to,” said Claire. “You see, once they’ve done, they’re going to have the overpowering urge to come and repeat what they’re doing so their daddy can see. They’re going to realise that all their clothes are “big girl” clothes and that they need “pretty princess” clothes – I’ve got some cute little pink outfits to give them with rainbow socks. At that point you can do what you want with them. Being raped by their father will make them repeatedly orgasm with shame, and every orgasm will make them love and obey you even more. The conditioning has left them fairly infantilised, so you can keep them as your little daddy’s girls… or if you really want a baby…. well, they’re both fertile, and Jayden’s not related to you by blood…”
Eleanor Wilkes was a life-long educator. Straight out of college she’d been hired to teach seventh-grade history, and she had never looked back. She had taught at four different schools across the state, and finally settled in here, at Littlefield High. She’d worked her way up from teacher to department head to, now, assistant principal. She missed the daily hands-on classroom work, sure, but she found she could do a much larger scale of good on the administrative end. She very quietly had her eye on the principal’s position.
She had to admit, getting out of the classroom might have been best. It was getting harder and harder to relate directly to the students. She was getting older, and they were getting more foreign. Between the internet and the smartphones, she barely understood what they did all day anymore. It made it very challenging to really connect with them and build a rapport.
Eleanor had discussed this with the principal, and he was sympathetic. “All of us go through that,” he reassured her. A few weeks later he signed her up for some conference in the city – Fundamentals for Refinement of the Education of Adolescents. FREA, they called it. The name felt awkward to Eleanor, like somebody worked a bit too hard to make it fit that acronym, but the description was pretty appealing. Apparently it was all about techniques for learning how to communicate with the current generation of high school students. Exactly the sort of thing she needed.
The first day of the seminar was held in some semi-depressing anonymous hotel conference room. Beige walls, grey carpet, fluorescent lights. The other attendees – all women, all around Eleanor’s age – shuffled in. Everyone seemed reluctant to break the stifling hush that hung in the room.
The man who was apparently running the seminar was in his late twenties. He wore a nice suit – nicer than you usually saw on anyone in the education game, Eleanor thought – and had an easy confidence about him. He didn’t say much as he started up a video display on the screen behind him.
It wasn’t anything, just a test pattern. A screensaver, probably. Sliding blocks of primary colors, shifting around, bouncing off one another.
“Forgive me,” he said, “the A/V stuff takes forever to get going. The visual component isn’t for a while yet, but I’m just going to leave this running while we chat, alright?” The women in the room murmured their assent.
And so they chatted. They played hackneyed get-to-know-you games. They talked about their schools. They talked about challenges they’ve faced as educators. They talked about conflict resolution techniques.
About an hour in, Eleanor was exhausted. She found herself staring into space, watching the colored blocks slide around inexorably. The discussion in the room sort of faded out of focus for her. God, she thought, I’m acting just like a poor student, not paying attention in class.
Suddenly it dawned on her – she didn’t just lose track of the discussion. It had stopped. Nobody was talking. They were all just sitting there, staring straight ahead, watching those blocks of color, drifting off, and…
“So let’s talk about the girls in your classes,” the guy was saying. “Imagine you’re one of them. 18 years old, stuck at school all day – you don’t want to be thinking about schoolwork, do you?”
The women in the audience muttered weakly. It was a generally negative sound.
“Of course not. What would you rather be thinking about?”
They were quiet for a moment. Eventually, a single voice spoke up.
“Texting.”
The man nodded. “Yup. Good example. What else?”
After that first one, it was easier. “Parties,” one person said. “Friends,” chimed in another. Eleanor added “Shopping” to the mix.
Hair, makeup, clothes. Having fun. Sunbathing. Suggestions were flowing free and easily now.
“Boys,” somebody said, and the guy held up a hand. Everyone fell silent.
“Very good,” he said. “What about boys? Be specific. What sort of things are you spending time thinking of?”
There was no hesitation this time. The answers came fast and furious now, words called out free of embarassment or context. Kissing. Dating. Making out. Touching. Feeling. Hands. Muscles. Tongues. Grabbing. Caressing. Stroking. Warm. Hard. Wet. Cocks. Stiff. Sucking. Jerking. Fucking. Coming. Needing.
Eleanor felt light-headed. This sort of desire – she hadn’t felt this way in years. Decades, really. She felt amazing. The man at the front was smiling – jesus, he was good-looking – and talking, but she couldn’t understand him anymore. Couldn’t process his words. She felt like she was going to black out, she couldn’t calm down, couldn’t think, couldn’t…
Ellie didn’t quite get what the second day of the orientation meeting thingy was all about. Part of it was, like, exercises and stuff. Lots of running on treadmills, and some weird stuff, like balancing on one foot or whatever. The doctor guys said it was cuz their bodies were, like, still adjusting to the… recession? Regression? Some weird word like that. Ellie didn’t understand it, so it probably wasn’t important.
She was so excited to be going to college, though! She couldn’t believe she got in. She barely even remembered applying. In fact, she barely even remembered high school, whenever she thought about it, she had the same few thoughts, real bright and clear:
I was the school slut. I was a dumb schoolgirl bimbo. I fucked my teachers for good grades. I love getting fucked.
Which, y’know, all of that seemed right, but… wasn’t it weird she couldn’t remember anything else? Oh well, whatever.
She was kinda nervous about college – she wasn’t a good student! – but the guys at her special orientation made her feel better. Her and all the other girls had a special, secret major – Advertising and Marketing. They were supposed to find boring, smart girls and tell the orientation guys about them. And they were supposed to seduce the rich boys and fuck them, and then give them FREA business cards. They didn’t say Fundamentals of Re-whatever, though. They said ‘Female Re-Education Academy’, whatever that was. Didn’t matter – Ellie was just so excited for her first day!
“Oh god, what’s happening!?!” Casey cried out as she rubbed her exposed pussy, she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip as the pleasure shot up her spine and buried itself in her mind.
“Why whatever do you mean Casey?” Professor Thompson asked with an over the top innocent smile.
“My… my… my clothes and… and… oh god… and ooooooooo!” she cried out as her fingers slipped between he wet pussy lips and her whole body shuttered with pleasure.
“What’s wrong with your clothes? And you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself…”
Casey managed to get her fingers out of her pussy and go back to simply rubbing her outer lips, “They’re… they’re… wrong! I came her in… in jeans and a… oh god… a sweet shirt!”
She could clearly remember it, knocking on his front door, her runners squeaking slightly on the smooth surface of the patio stones, the slight chill of the fall air being fended off by the soft thick fabric of the sweet shirt and the large sack of books and her laptop over her shoulder in her backpack.
Casey was Professor Thompson’s teaching assistant, she’d come over to mark the student’s mid-term papers with him and then… and then… she couldn’t remember what had happened until she was sitting across from him, barely dressed and rubbing her pussy.
“Don’t be silly Casey, do you see any jeans or a sweet shirt around here?”
Casey wanted to protest, but something felt off, she looked around and could only see a white shirt and a tiny little backpack that wouldn’t have held her wallet let alone all of her books and laptop.
“But… but…”
“Now Casey, don’t you remember why your parents sent you here?”
Casey furrowed her brow as best as she could to concentrate as her fingers continued to send waves of pleasure through her, “My… my… parents? But.. they’re so far… away.”
“So far away? Why they just live down the block! You come her once a week after school, still dressed in that little uniform that silly high school makes you wear, so I can help you with your problems.”
“My problems? Oh god mmmmmmmph… High school?”
“Yes, that right, your problem. I’m Professor Thompson form the university, I’m a psychologist and have known your parents for years. I was happy to agree to help them out with they troubled little girl when they asked.”
“I’m not… I’m not a… little girrrrrlllll!” Casey cried out as a small orgasm crashed over her, her fingers continued to work their magic as it did.
“I know, I know, you hate being called that, but that is all you are, a little girl with so many problems. Nymphomania, exhibitionism, rape fantasies, oral fixation, verbal degradation… why there’s barely any sexual fetish that doesn’t turn you on.”
“That’s… that’s… that’s no true!” she cried out and Professor Thompson simply smiled, reaching out and placing his thumb just in front of her lips.
“Really? Then I can just leave this here for a minute…”
Casey stared at it as she continued to masturbate, a sudden urge welling up from the pit of her stomach… maybe… maybe he was right?
There she was, masturbating in front of an older man, her mouth half open as she stared almost cross eyed as his thumb, the urge to take it between her lips rising higher and higher… maybe she did have all those problems?
She tried as hard as she could to resist but it was too much, her lips trembled as she wrapped them around his thumb and sucked it in. The tsunami of pleasure nearly consumed her as she did.
“There’s my good little girl Casey, suck that thumb like the little cock obsessed slut you are.”
The words pushed her closer and closer to the edge, unable to control herself she plunged her fingers back in to her pussy and sucked on his thumb like it was the most glorious cock she’d ever seen.
“That’s a good slut, stuff those fingers in that cunt and work them hard. I want to see that slutty look on your face when your eyes roll back in your head and you cum like a freight train.”
It was too much, she sucked his thumb in as hard as she could as she titled her head back and felt the orgasm crash over her, her eyes rolling back in to her head and her whole body quivering from the power of it.
Moements later when she could think once more, she felt the Professors hands on her hips, lifting her up and turning her around. Then he pushed her down over the foot stool so that her ass was in the air, flipping her skirt up over and up on to her back.
“Uh… Professor?”
“Yes Casey?”
“Are you gonna help me with my problems now?”
“I’m afraid not Casey, it turns out I like you just the way you are, so instead I’m just going to fuck that tight little cunt of yours until you beg me to make you my own personal whore. How does that sound?”
Casey let out a moan and bit her lower lip, “God Professor, I love your big hard cock in my pussy so that sounds just wonderful! The guys at my high school just can’t satisfy me the way you do!”
She didn’t have to wait long as he plunged right in to her eager pussy and she cried out in pleasure, “Oh god yes Professor! Fuck my hot little cunt! Make me your personal little whore!”
He pound in and out of her for several minutes, at some point Casey had looked up and across the room and saw her laptop sitting open on the couch, the spinning pattern still displayed there and she cried out once more as yet another orgasm washed over her.
So what do you think of my outfit? I had to dig in the back of my closet to find this. I swear, I don’t think I’ve worn this since college. But that’s what you want, right? You want me to be, like, some dumb little coed or whatever?
Oh come on, you don’t need to play coy anymore. We talked about this, and I already took the pill. So you might as well be honest.
I know you think its hot. So say it. Tell me what you want. The blond airhead, right? I’ll just be some giggly, peppy little ditz and… and… and you can tell me what to do. I mean, you are so much smarter than me. And funny, too.
*giggle*
I think it’s kicking in. My hair is already starting to change color.
So are you going to take me shopping? I bet guys will check me out. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll probably say something like, “ew pervs” but secretly it’ll turn me on.
And maybe I’ll try on some cute outfits and ask you something like, “This isn’t too slutty, is it?” But it totally is, and I know it. I want to be slutty. For you.
Oh, gawd this is like totes happening. Amy’s pussy is getting so wet.
*Unf*
I… I didn’t mean to say it like that.
*giggile*
So, say goodbye to your wifey for 48 hours, daddy. And remember, you can do whatever you want to me.
Yong-hui scowled. She did not like this young man, Edgar Chu. His money was good and his patronage regular. But the jobs he asked her to do! None of the clothing was his, she didn’t think, and the diversity of sizes plus the number made her certain there were many women involved.
The elaborate, obscene costumes and unspeakable stains told her exactly what sorts of women they weren’t!
“Hello Mrs. Chung!” The young man said, cheerful as ever, seemingly oblivious to her disapproving scowl. “We’re you able to get the stain out of the maid’s uniform?”
It was hardly a uniform. It was a costume at best, underwear at worse. But she had gotten the unpleasant stain out. She nodded, never ceasing her disapproving glare.
“"Maids do get filthy, do they not?” He exclaimed, as if daring her to admit she knew what the stains were. “"But I can always count on you, Mrs. Chung! You’re the best! The best!”
She’d gladly be the second best if it meant Edgar Chu would take his business elsewhere.
“"As a matter of fact, you’re so good at the tough cleaning jobs, I wanted to ask you if you would consider doing some house cleaning for me?”
“"No. I clean clothes. Not house. Just clothes,” she insisted.
“"Oh, come on, Mrs. Chung!” he said. “Don’t refuse before you even know what I’m offering! You wouldn’t say know to this, would you?”
He held up a big, golden coin and flipped it toward her. It spun, glinting in the air and she caught it on instinct.
It kept spinning.
Wait, that couldn’t be right. Could it? She had caught it. But it was still spinning. Was she spinning? Was reality itself spinning?
Yong-hui felt dizzy. Everything went dark.
***
“You’re the best, Yong-hui! The best! Everything is so clean!”
Yong-hui shook herself. Where had her mind been? She felt like she’d just woken up! But looking about, blinking, she’d clearly been very busy! And lucky for her! Mr. Chu was home early!
“Thank you, Mr. Chu, Sir!” She told her employer as she wiped away a missed grease spot from above the stove. She had to admit, she had done a fabulous job cleaning Mr. Chu’s house.
“I have the best housekeeper in the world!” He praised, reaching out to cup her bare ass with affectionate possessiveness.
Yong-hui giggled and wiggled her coquettish behind. Had she not been glad of her employer’s touch, she would never have agreed to the ‘uniform’. Indeed, the day he had asked her to wear it was one of her happiest. It meant all her flirtation with her wealthy and powerful employer was paying off!
“I like do good work for you, Mr. Chu, Sir!” She said.
Her English had improved significantly over the past few months, but she found Mr. Chu seemed to like it when she made little mistakes.
“You do very, very good work, Yong-hui!! He said, kneeding her ass.
“I show you house, Mr. Chu?” She asked, and when he agreed, she showed him about the house, letting him expect her work as she bent over and gestured to maximize Mr. Chu’s view of her tits and ass and legs.
She didn’t even remember cleaning the house, but thank goodness she had done a great job! Mr. Chu was very, very happy with her. She could tell by how he now had to shuffle when he walked.
"Yong-hui made bed!” She announced as they reached the last room of the inspection tour. “"But Yong-hui can make bed again later…”
Mr. Chu took the hint. He grabbed hold of her and kissed her passionately, then through her on the bed and proceeded to thoroughly undo her work as she cried out in passion.
Her uniform was still half-on three rounds later. She had offered to take it off, but Mr. Chu liked it. Now it was soaked in sweat and smeared here and their with other things as Yong-hui adoringly stroked his cock, bringing it to attention again.
“You really are the best housekeeper I’ve ever had, Yong-hui” Mr. Chu observed, languidly admiring her tits.
"Thank you, Mr. Chu, Sir!! She said. “"Yong-hui love to polish!”
And upon saying this, Mr. Chu’s cock went off, spurting hot gobs of man goo that spattered all over her. She squealed happily. It truly was amazing just how much fluid could come out of her employer. She was dripping!
"Good girl, Yong-hui,” he praised as she grinned through the goo. “"You earned a tip.”
He reached into his bedside table drawer and pulled out a big gold coin and flipped it towards her.
It spun. She caught it. It continued to spin.
Things went dark.
"Oh, hey, Uncle Edgar!” Yong-hui said as if she hadn’t expected to see her rich uncle but was delighted to run into him. In front of his house.
"Well hello, Yong-hui!” He said, looking her up and down. “How is your first year of college going?”
“Oh, it’s like, really good and all. I’m learning lots,” she lied. “"But money’s, like, really tight. I’ve got to buy used books and at the end of the week I hardly ever have enough left to go out with friends. I feel like I’m missing the ‘college experience’ you know?”
“"Oh, well, we can’t have that,” her uncle said. “"Why don’t you come in and we’ll see what we can do.”
Yes! Yong-hui knew the outfit would do the trick! The horny bastard!
"I was just about to make myself a cocktail,” he said, jest urging to his bar. “You don’t drink, do you?”
“"Are you asking as much mother’s brother or as someone who’s offering,” she asked, coyly crossing her hands behind her back and waggling her tits from side to side.
Uncle Edgar chuckled and said “"what’s your poison?”
“G&T with a lime, if you’ve got one,” she said.
“Always,” he said. “"I like a lady who knows what she wants.”
“You like thinking you can get your 19-year old niece drunk, you,old goat,” she thought to,herself. “But I can hold my liquor. Can you?”
As she thought it might be, the drink he handed her was more gin than tonic, but she knew how to pace herself. As Uncle Edgar made himself something brown, he waxed reminiscent on his own college days and how he had wished he spent more time socializing.
She had him just where she wanted him.
“Here, let me freshen that up for you,” he said, pouring from the gin bottle straight into her glass, which somehow was three quarters empty. When had that happened? Had she spilled?
“Thank you, Uncle Edgar,” she said, resolving to pay more attention.
“So, I,do have a housekeeper, but I suppose I could pay you to,do a few odd jobs around the house,” he was saying. “Things do tend to get dirty quickly around here for some reason.”
This was not how this was supposed to go! She placed a hand delicately, flirtatiously on her uncle’s arm.
“Unksle Edgar,” she pouted. “You don’ wan me a clean yer bafroom jus’ fer a lil’ beer money, do you?”
"You seem to have graduated past beer, Yong-hui,” he observed. "You want another?”
Her glass was empty. When had that happened? How many times had it happened? No matter.
"Ya, sure,” she said, taking the drink he had already made at some point and drinking gratfully. “"My point is that my point is tha’ i don’ needs a job. Jus’ a lil’ spenning only while I get my ejucashun. I mean, I could get a job if I neezed one. An’ makes loss more an’ cleaning houses!”
“What sort of job could you do?” He asked, kindly refilling her glass.
“There’s a girl in my dorm tha’ wors part time a’ genlmens club,” she said. “She mays sooo much money!”
“As a stripper?” He asked as she sucked down her drink quick to avoid spilling again.
“Yep! She ges huuuuge tits! <hip> I mean tips,” she said. “"She doesn’ have huge tips. I mean tits. I could make bigger tits cuz I have bigger tits.”
“You wouldn’t really take a job like that, would you Yong-hui?” Her uncle asked.
“As, Unkie Edgar!” She said, running a finger down his chest. “Can’ you ‘ yer swee’ lil’ niece givin’ a lap dance a’ some sweaty, horny stranger a’ some seedy bar?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head. "I don’t think you ever would. I think you’re just trying to shock me so I’ll give you money.”
“I can to’ly do it!” She said. “To’ly! I’ll show you! I’ll show you right now!”
Uncle Edgar shrugged skeptically but turned on his sound system and sat down in a chair in challenge.
This was Yong-hui’s chance! Swaying her hips clumsily but seductively to Aerosmith’s Ragdoll, she advanced on her uncle, intent on showing him what a great stripper she could be, if she wanted to.
Leaning forward to give him a long peak down her blouse as she ran a hand along his thigh blew away his skeptical smirk. She was fucking awesome at this! Uncle Edgar was getting such a hard on!
And damn but he was hung! She never would have suspected!
She tossed his hair and then straddled him and pressed down. Uncle was really, really hung!
She ground and ground agains his cock in Ime to the music, some times leaning back to shake her tits, sometimes leaning forward to press them against her uncle’s face. His eyes were wid and his stare agape when she leaned back again.
“Are you gonna gib me a pressen’ Uncle Edgar?” She asked. “"Are you gonna gib yer slutty lil’ niece a tip? Jus’ the tip?”
Edgar’s eyes rolled back and he came, drooling a bit and gurgling as he did so. Yong-hui giggled in drunken triumph.
“Damn it, Yong-hui!” He said once he came down from orgasm. “You weren’t supposed to make me come!”
Yong-hui was confused. She wasn’t?
"But…you liked it!” She objected.
"Well, yeah, but these pants are expensive,” he said, pushing her unceremoniously of her perch to sprawl in a confused, drunken heap on the floor as he inspected the dark patch on his tailored trousers.
“Damn it,” he said, looking at the spot and ignoring the clear view up her short skirt.
“"I can fish it!” Yong-hui insisted, determined to get back in her rich uncle’s good graces. "I can clean it!”
“"I thought you didn’t want to clean,” he disparaged as she pawed at his pants, trying to remember how they came off. “But I guess you can try.” He undid his pants, which helped her get them off significantly, and she stared at the spot his semen had made, trying to think how to get it out. She did the first thing that came to mind.
She licked it.
She liked it.
She licked it more.
She started to suck at the cloth. She started to moan. She was eating her uncle’s cum and she liked it!
Her left hand found her pussy and she started to stroke, making her own wet spot worse as she tried to make her uncle’s better.
"So I guess you’re not to arrogant to do a little cleaning after all, hey Yong-hui?” Her uncle praised.
"Mmmm!” She agreed.
“Here, try soaking it with a little gin,” he said, pouring the liquor on his pants. “Gin and slut-spit are best for getting out semen stains.”
She groaned her gratitude and continued to suck and stroke, for how long, she wasn’t sure.
All she knew was she was even drinker when her uncle gently tugged his pants away from her and then less gently tugged at hiserect cock until he was cuming all over her.
She squealed in delight and tried to catch gobbets of her new favorite treat, though most landed on her face, hair, tits and clothes.
As she lay in a gooey, dripping mess on the floor, her uncle sighed in satisfaction and gave his cock a final shake.
“Well, Yong-hui, I guess you earned a tip,” he said, and retrieved a gold coin from a compartment in the bar.
He flipped it toward her. It spun. She caught it.
It kept spinning…
Yong-hui smiled at the John. What was his name? Edgar. He didn’t look like an Edgar. Of course, he didn’t look like the sort of guy who could afford to pay for all the ‘ extras’ her pimp assured her he had paid for.
“So, my ‘agent’ tells me you have a bunch of different outfits for me tonight,” she said. “And that we’ll be getting them pretty messy.”
“That’s right,” he said. “"He said you were into it.”
“Oh yeah! You pay for water sports, I’m into water sports! But I gotta warn you, if we do it in here, the couch will never be the same.”
"Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “I have a very talented dry cleaner.”
It had been a week, at least, and my girlfriend still was drifting further away from her old self.
I know that she had lost all her college education, and probably what she’d learned in high school years too.
She’d likely forgotten what it was like before, when she was a skinny, pasty, prude.
Maybe she thought it had always been like this.
Maybe, deep down, she had always wanted to be like this, and had just been waiting for me to change her.
Whatever the case, now she was having fun playing a naive little girl for the camera. Hummping her teddy bear when ‘daddy’ wasn’t home.
Of course, I still saw everything on her live shows. And I knew she was hoping to get ‘caught’ and punished.
I’d make sure that would happen very soon. Tomorrow, she’ll apologize for being such a slutty little girl, live on camera, while she road my cock.
If she did a really good job telling me how sorry she was, maybe a little crying and begging, then I might even let her have some new toys to play with on her show.
This is a completely normal goodbye where they’re from. What, you’re not familiar with it?
Maybe that’s because I just made it up about an hour ago, specifically for my neighbors. The two hot Asian girls, last apartment down the hall.
Until recently, they both normal, American twenty-somethings and spoke with zero accent. I’m almost certain they weren’t related, or even shared the same culture. Probably just roommates.
Now these two think they’re mother-daughter, and that the ‘white stud’ next door can give them English lessons.
I’m not sure which change is more degrading: making them roleplay as family, or replacing their real heritage with a generic collection of Asian stereotypes.
I should visit them again tomorrow, just to figure out which change I should feel more guilty about.
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