Growing up with Mom was like basking in the warm glow of the sun on a lazy summer afternoon. Her smile could melt the chilliest of winter days, and her laugh was the sweetest melody the world had ever known. She had this way of making every moment feel like a grand adventure, even when we were just baking cookies or reading a book together. Her eyes, the color of the ocean on a clear day, sparkled with a warmth that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Her hair, a cascade of golden waves, framed a face that could have been sculpted by the gods themselves. Her beauty was not just skin deep; it was in the way she moved, the way she talked, and the way she loved.
The day she left me was like a meteor crashing into my world. The car, a clunky old thing we called "Bessie," had seen better days. I remember her saying she'd get it checked out soon, but soon turned into never. It was a Saturday, one of those days that's so ordinary you don't expect anything momentous to happen. But fate had other plans. The brake lines, worn and unyielding, decided that day was the day they'd give up the ghost. The car barreled down the hill, picking up speed, her eyes wide with terror. I watched from the sidewalk, my heart in my throat, as she struggled with the wheel. The screech of metal on asphalt was the last sound I heard before everything went silent. The car smashed into the oak tree at the bottom, the impact so fierce that the air was knocked from my lungs. I remember the world spinning around me, my legs giving way as I fell to my knees, screaming her name. The world had gone gray, and the only color left was the crimson that stained the pavement.
As I sprinted down the hill, each step feeling like an eternity, the weight of the world seemed to press down on my shoulders. I was the only one who could save her, the only one who knew what was happening. But as I reached the car, the doors crumpled like paper, the horror of what I saw will be forever etched into my mind. Her body, once so vibrant and full of life, was limp, her beautiful eyes closed. Blood pooled around her, a stark contrast against the white of her blouse. Her hair, once a shimmering halo, was matted and dull with the crimson of her life force. The smell of gasoline and fear filled my nostrils, making me gag. My hands trembled as I reached out to touch her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew if I did, I'd confirm the nightmare playing out before me. But I had to try. I had to save her. So I screamed again, louder this time, and the world snapped back into focus around me.
The first responders arrived with a cacophony of sirens and flashing lights. Paramedics in their blue uniforms rushed to the scene, pushing me aside with gentle but firm hands. They moved with a precision that spoke of years of training and experience, but their faces were grim. They worked tirelessly, trying to revive her, but their efforts were in vain. With every passing second, the color drained from their faces until they looked at me with a mix of pity and resignation. They whispered to each other, sharing glances that I couldn't bear to meet. And then, the moment I had been dreading, the lead paramedic turned to me, her voice heavy with the weight of her words. "We're sorry, son. There's nothing more we can do." The world around me grew dim again, the sounds fading into a distant murmur. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair, the waves of grief crashing over me, one after the other.
The next few months were a blur of funerals and condolences, the house eerily quiet without her laughter echoing through the halls. I retreated into myself, my mind racing with thoughts of what I could have done differently. How could I, Steve Wilson, have stopped this from happening? The question consumed me, pushing me into a deep obsession with time travel. I devoured every book, every article, every piece of information I could find on the subject. The local library became my sanctuary, my fortress of solitude. I spent hours poring over texts and blueprints, scribbling down notes and formulas that seemed to dance in the candlelight, taunting me with their complexity. But with every failure, every dead end, I grew more determined. I had to save her.
In the shadow of my grief, my father's presence grew more pronounced. A man who had always been more of a specter than a parent, his alcoholism had painted him in shades of despair and defeat. His eyes, from photos of his younger days I know they used to be a green counterpart of Mom's ocean blues but now they're clouded and bloodshot, the laugh lines around his mouth etched with sadness and regret. I never knew why she had stayed with him, why she had chosen to be with someone who couldn't hold his liquor or his own life together. He was a shadow of the man she deserved, and his inability to be there for me in my darkest hour only served to fuel my resentment. Our interactions grew terser, our exchanges reduced to the bare minimum, like two strangers sharing a space haunted by a love lost.
The house felt like a tomb with him in it, a constant reminder of mom's joy that had once filled its walls. The only solace I found was in my makeshift lab, tucked away in the attic where Mom had once stored her old clothes and knick-knacks. There, amidst the cobwebs and dust, I had built my fortress of hope. For twenty years, I toiled in the quiet of the night, crafting the machine that would be my ticket back to her. Each gear, each wire, every bolt was a testament to my love for her, a silent promise that I would right the wrongs of the universe. The smell of burnt circuitry and the hum of machinery became the lullabies that soothed my soul when the whiskey-soaked yelling from downstairs grew too loud.
The years slipped by in a blur of late-night epiphanies and feverish experiments. The teleportation device grew from a jumble of ideas scribbled on notepads to a sprawling contraption that took up the entire space. It was a monstrous creation of steel and wire, pulsing with the potential to rewrite history. The day I finally flipped the switch, the air around me crackled with electricity. The lights in the house flickered as the machine whirred to life, a symphony of power and purpose that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. I stepped into the chamber, my heart racing, and whispered a prayer that seemed to echo through the ages.
This was it, decades of relentless toil culminating in this moment. I programmed the physical coordinates and time before pushing the activation switch, causing the machine to reverberate with a deep hum that transferred throughout the whole building. Suddenly the temporal control circuitry burst into flames and an arc of plasma shot out and struck me in the stomach. I blacked out.
The world around me disintegrated into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. When the chaos subsided, I found myself lying on the floor of my own bedroom, the walls adorned with the same posters of rockstars and sports heroes that had been there when I was fourteen. The bed was smaller, the blankets threadbare, and the smell of teenage angst and cheap deodorant filled the air. It was a stark contrast to the sterile lab I had left behind.
I looked down at my hands, expecting to see the calloused, aged fingers of a man who had spent a lifetime in pursuit of his obsession. Instead, they were smooth, unblemished, and tingling with the excitement of youth. I pulled my shirt up to see if the plasma bolt had injured me - no trace.
I rushed to the bedside table, where an ancient digital clock blinked the time at me: 12:51 PM. My heart skipped a beat as I did the math in my head. Two hours and nine minutes. Two hours and nine precious minutes before the world I knew would be torn apart by tragedy. Two hours and nine minutes to save her.
I had done it - I was 1994! But what went wrong with the temporal circuits? Why did the plasma bolt shoot out? It must have been a leak in the tank holding ionized gases, the vibrations from rest of the machine must have dislodged one of the seals.
If more plasma bolts shot out it could have set the house on fire! It was always a one-way trip to this timeline to save mom but in the timeline that I'd just departed from, dad was passed out drunk in the burning house! He might be in trouble but I can't get back to that timeline to help him - I can help mom though.
I rushed downstairs to the family room and with trembling hands I picked up the phone and dialed the number for AAA roadside assistance. The operator's voice, a blend of boredom and professionalism, floated through the receiver. "Hello, how may I assist you today?" I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, adopting the gruff tone of a man I hadn't been in two decades. "Yeah, it's about the car," I lied, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "I heard something snap when I pressed the brakes."
"Alright, sir, I'll need the member number." The words hung in the air like a noose, and I glanced over to Mom's purse, the AAA membership card sticking out like a lifeline. "It's 453-982-736," I recited. The operator tapped away at her keyboard, the clacking a comforting reminder of a time before the silence of the attic had been my only company.
"I've got it. We'll have someone out to you shortly. Do you know your location?"
"It's 145 Maple Street," I said, my voice shaking.
"Thank you, sir. We've dispatched a tow truck to your location. It should arrive in approximately thirty minutes. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"
The line went dead, and I stared at the phone, the reality of what I had just done setting in. I had changed the course of history, at least for now. Thirty minutes. That was all I had to save her, to prevent the accident that had sent my world spiraling into darkness. I had to make the most of it.
With wobbly legs, I made my way down the stairs to the living room, where the outdated CRT TV hummed with empty babble. Surfing the channels, I tried to drown out the incessant ticking echoing in my thoughts. The lineup—familiar shows from my past, lackluster broadcasts from 1994, the year I'd landed in—offered no spark, and I was about to shut it off.
And then, it appeared. An advertisement, bright and cheery, for something called a "gestation chamber." A machine that you use to have a baby. The rental price flashed on the screen - $50,000, at this time (1994) that's an annual household income for an average family! My jaw dropped. In my world, babies grew in the warmth of a mother's womb, not in some cold, government-issued contraption. Here, reproduction was a transaction, a commodity to be bought and paid for like a new car or a fancy gadget. The very idea is alien, I can't understand why people don't just make babies the normal way.
Curiosity burning like a wildfire, I dashed to the bookshelf and pulled out the encyclopedia. The pages, yellowed with age, held secrets that whispered of a world both like and unlike my own. I flipped through the pages, my eyes searching for answers. The entry on human reproduction was sparse, detailing the process of blood mixing and mechanical gestation. The prospective mother and father place a sample of blood into the machine and it takes care of the rest for 9 months. The words swam before my eyes, a swirling vortex of confusion and disbelief. There was no mention of sex, of sexual love, of kissing, of the intimate dance that brought life into existence. This place was a mirror universe, reflecting a society that had somehow bypassed the most fundamental aspect of human connection.
"FUCK!"
This wasn't a past version of my world - it was a screwed up parallel reality in the past! The teleportation machine had malfunctioned, it must have been that fire in the control circuitry when I activated it! That means I can't save mom from my universe, only the mom from this universe. Does mom even exist here? If she does is it the same mom as in my universe? One thing is for certain though, I can't go back now. I'm not going to spend another 20 years re-inventing my time machine - even if I did, what's to say that I could use it to go back to my universe? I need to make it work here and hopefully the version of mom from my world is almost the same as mom in this world, I need to go through with getting Bessie repaired.
My thoughts raced, my pulse quickening as I considered the implications. An entire world of females, untouched by the caress of a man, their bodies a mystery to themselves and everyone else. The prospect was both thrilling and overwhelming. I felt like a lion in a field of gazelles, my every instinct screaming at me to claim what was rightfully mine. Yet, I knew I had to be cautious. This was not the world I had left behind, and the rules were as foreign as the very concept of intimacy here. Was everyone here that was also in my universe? Are there any other changes in this world that I don't know about yet?
The encyclopedia's anatomy section laid bare the stark reality of this new world. The male genitalia, depicted in medical illustrations, were minuscule and seemingly useless, there was no mention of penises being able to become erect. The accompanying text described a society where procreation was a cold, clinical process of using the gestation chamber, devoid of passion or pleasure. The very idea was alien to me, a world where the raw power of sexuality had been buried under layers of ignorance and naivety. I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of superiority, a primal urge to conquer this untouched land with the gift of my knowledge and my body.
Then I moved onto a subsection of the article that warned about severe physiological effects of the toxic pheromones from female humans if they are touched in the wrong place by a male and vice versa....
The sudden knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts, sending the dusty encyclopedia crashing to the floor. My heart hammered in my chest, the sound echoing through the silent house like a gunshot. The clock on the mantelpiece read 1:16 PM. It was five minutes before the tow truck was due to arrive, and with it, the potential to save Mom's life. I took a deep breath, composing myself, and cautiously approached the door.
When I opened it, the tow truck driver looked at me quizzically, his eyes flicking from my face to the house and back again. "You called about your car?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "Yeah," I replied, trying to sound casual despite the tremble in my voice. "It's parked out back. Something's wrong with the brakes." He nodded, his expression unreadable, and followed me through the kitchen and out to the garage. The sight of Bessie, sitting innocently in her usual spot, brought a fresh wave of grief. I knew that in the original timeline, she would soon be a twisted wreck at the bottom of the hill, my mom's lifeblood seeping into the earth.
The driver, a burly man with a thick mustache and a name tag that read "Gus," took one look under the car and his eyebrows shot up. "You're damn lucky you didn't take this thing out for a spin," he said, showing you the split brake line. "These are shot." His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "You could've ended up in a real mess." I nodded, feigning ignorance. "I guess I'll have to get it fixed."
Just as Gus was about to load Bessie onto the tow truck, the sound of the door opening echoed through the garage. My heart nearly stopped when I saw Mom walking towards us, a basket of laundry in her arms. Time had not changed her, she was still the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. Gus looked from me to Mom and back again, noticing the unshed tears in my eyes. "Ma'am, you might want to look at this," he said, his voice thick with gravity. "Your son here might have just saved your lives."
Mom set down the basket and bent beside him, her eyes widening as she took in the severed brake line. "Steve? What happened?" she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. I swallowed hard, willing my voice to stay steady. "Just a little problem with the brakes," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Gus is gonna take care of it."
Her eyes searched mine, the same shade of ocean blue that had once been a source of comfort and strength. "How did you know?" she whispered, and for a moment, I thought she'd seen right through me. But she couldn't have. I was just her kid, a moody teenager with a penchant for science fiction. "It's just luck," I replied, shrugging it off. "I heard a weird noise earlier."
Gus nodded solemnly, his expression serious. "Ma'am, it's not just a little problem. This is a big deal. If you had been driving that car..." His voice trailed off, and the gravity of the situation hung in the air like a leaden weight.
Mom's eyes searched mine again, and in that moment, something shifted. She saw that I was trying to downplay my role in avoiding the disaster that could have occurred, the desperation in my voice. Her arms wrapped around me, and she pulled me into a fierce embrace. "Thank you," she murmured into my ear, her voice trembling. I felt the warmth of her body, the softness of her hair against my cheek, and all the years of pain and regret rushed to the surface. I couldn't hold it in anymore. The tears I had bottled up for two decades spilled out, soaking her blouse. She didn't pull away, didn't question why. She just held me, her grip tightening as my shoulders shook with sobs.
"Stevie, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice soothing, so much like it had been when I was a child. "Why are you crying?"
"I just can't imagine losing you," I choked out, the words catching in my throat. "It scared me to think about what could've happened."
Mom pulled back, her eyes brimming with understanding and concern. She reached up to wipe away my tears, her thumb lingering on my cheek. "It's okay," she murmured, her voice soothing. "It's okay. It was just a scary moment."
Gus cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the raw emotion on display. "Ma'am, if you're okay with it, I'll take the car to the shop. Get it fixed up before you go anywhere."
Mom nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you so much."
I stepped back, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "Don't mention it," I mumbled, trying to play it cool. But the truth was, I felt like I could fly. I had done it. I had changed history. I had saved her.
Mom's eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought she could see the future reflected in my gaze, the countless hours I had spent in the attic, the endless nights of tinkering and planning. But she said nothing, just nodded and turned back to the house, her heels clicking against the concrete. "Come on in," she said over her shoulder. "Let's get you a sandwich. You look like you could use it."
The kitchen was a time capsule, the same avocado-green appliances and flowery wallpaper that had been there seemingly since the dawn of time. The smell of bread toasting filled the air, a comforting scent that I had not realized I had missed. I slumped into one of the vinyl chairs at the kitchen table, feeling the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. As she moved around the kitchen, pulling out the mayo and slicing the bread, I couldn't help but watch her, drinking in the sight of her like a man who had just been granted a reprieve from the gallows. Her movements were so familiar, so soothing, and yet so alien in this new world where she had never been taken from me.
Mom set the sandwich in front of me, her eyes still filled with the echoes of my tears. "Eat up," she said, her voice gentle. "Heroes need to keep up their strength."
"Mom, stop," I said laughing, my face turned red with embarrassment.
As I took a bite, the reality of my new world hit me like a sledgehammer. In this pristine, unblemished universe, my mother was not just untouched by the grief of her own death, but by the very act that had given me life. The sandwich turned to ash in my mouth as I chewed, the realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning. She was a virgin.
The room spun around me as I choked down the last of my sandwich, the bread sticking to the roof of my mouth. The innocence that surrounded her, the purity of her being, it was intoxicating in a way that I had never experienced. I felt a heat building in my groin, a confusing mix of arousal and guilt. I knew I had to leave, to get out of there before the thoughts in my head grew too loud, too overwhelming.
I mombled my thanks to Mom and bolted out of the house, the screen door slapping shut behind me. The sun was high in the sky, casting a harsh light that seemed to mock the darkness that lurked in my thoughts.
'FUCK! I hate myself!'
I save my mom but I have developed incestuous feelings for her.... I need to get rid of these stupid thoughts right now! She was the whole reason for me spending 20 years building the time machine, my whole purpose in traveling here in the first place! There is now way I can live with mom with this shit going on inside me. No, saving mom is my redemption. I need to find a way to live with her and be a good son, I need to protect her.
I wandered down the street, trying to figure out what to do next, where to go. That's when I saw him, my friend from high school, Philip Mace. He was riding his bike, his hair a mess of unruly curls just like it had been all those years ago.
"Hey, man!" he called out, skidding to a stop beside me. "Long time no see!" His grin was wide, his eyes sparkling with the kind of innocence that could only exist in a world where the concept of heartache was as foreign as a unicorn. "You okay?"
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just had some car trouble."
"Oh man, that sucks. You wanna come over and play some video games?" Philip suggested, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "We've got the new 'Galactic Conquest' set up. It's badass!"
The mention of video games was like a balm to my soul, a reminder of a simpler time before the burden of grief and the weight of the world's ignorance had been placed upon me. I nodded, trying to shake off the dark thoughts that threatened to consume me. "Sure," I said, swiping at the last of the crumbs on the table. "Let's do it."
We pedaled our bikes down the quiet suburban street, the wind whipping through our hair as we raced to Philip's house. The sight of his mother, waving from the front porch, brought a pang of longing for the life I had left behind. As we stumbled into the cool, dark sanctum of his basement, the smell of stale pizza and teenage angst filled my nostrils, and for a brief moment, I felt like I belonged again. The room was a shrine to our shared adolescence, posters of scantily clad video game characters plastered on the walls, a dusty couch that had seen better days, and the holy altar of our youth: the gaming console.
We wasted no time diving into 'Galactic Conquest', our thumbs flying over the controllers as we piloted our digital ships through the cosmos, battling for supremacy. Thirty minutes flew by like seconds, and I found myself lost in the simple joy of competition, my mind a million miles away from the gravity of my mission. But all good things must come to an end, and as my bladder began to protest, I realized I needed a break.
I bolted for the bathroom, the cold tiles of the floor sending a jolt through my bare feet. I barely had time to relieve myself before I heard the door creak open. Mrs. Mace's eyes went wide with shock, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. My heart plummeted into my stomach as I realized I had forgotten to lock the door. In my haste to go for a piss, my cock was still in hand, thick and heavy, a stark contrast to the tiny, limp organ that was the norm in this universe.
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she stumbled back, her eyes unable to tear away from the monolith of flesh in my hand. I hastily tucked it back into my pants, mortified beyond belief. "Mrs. Mace," I sputtered, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were coming in."
Her eyes darted from my crotch to my face, and she took another step back, her hand still clamped over her mouth. "It's... it's okay," she finally managed to say, her voice trembling. "Just, just remember to lock the door next time, okay Steve?"
"Yeah, sorry," I mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. She turned and practically sprinted out of the bathroom, leaving me to finish up in a hurry. When I emerged, she was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Mrs Mace works a biologist in a large research firm, what she saw must have shaken the very foundations of her understanding of this world. In this world of micropenises and virgin minds, my very existence was a walking anomaly.
Back in the basement, Philip looked at me expectantly, his thumbs poised over the controller. "You okay, man?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. I nodded, trying to ignore the image of Mrs. Mace's horrified face burned into my retinas. "Yeah, just had to pee," I said, sitting back down on the couch. "Where were we?"
Mrs. Mace appeared at the top of the stairs, her cheeks still flushed. In her hands, she held a tray of refreshments: a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of freshly baked cookies. She was beautiful, with curly blonde hair that went to her shoulders. I couldn't help but study her as she descended the stairs, her hips swaying with a grace that seemed almost alien in this world of innocence and ignorance. Her eyes met mine, and for a split second, I saw something in them that I had never seen before: curiosity.
Maybe this was a good distraction from the weird feelings I was getting about my own mom. If I could have sex with a pretty lady like Mrs Mace then I could get the lust out of my system and still be OK around mom.
I had spent two decades relentlessly pursuing a way to save mom and in that time I had purposely denied myself any serious relationships. All my girlfriends in my previous life were just for sex, I didn't want anything to distract me from my goal of saving my mom. My 35 year old self from 2015 was well versed with sex, I had received glowing praise for my performances from my partners in my previous world. Now that I've finally achieved my dream of saving mom's life this is now an opportunity to enjoy life, to finally live for me. I'll be damned if I miss an opportunity like this.
As she set the tray down on the coffee table, I took a deep breath, my mind racing. I decide to put on the facade of the spiritual healer, the man with unconventional techniques. "Mrs. Mace," I began, "I couldn't help but notice you seem a bit... flushed. Is everything okay?"
Her brown eyes darted to the floor, and she fidgeted with the hem of her apron. "I'm OK Steve. It's just seeing your um thing," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Mrs Mace's first name is Sarah but I don't think I'd like to call her anything but Mrs Mace as it just seemed sexier to refer to my friend's sexy mother in the same formal way.
"Ah, I see," I said, my voice filled with a gentle concern that I hoped seemed genuine. "Sometimes, the body can react in strange ways to stress due to surprises." I took a sip of the lemonade, my mind racing with the possibilities. "You know, I've been studying some... alternative healing methods lately." I paused, letting the words hang in the air like a promise. "Would you be open to a little spiritual healing?"
Mrs. Mace's eyes lit up with hope, her curiosity piqued. "What kind of healing?" she asked, her voice tentative.
I leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone that suggested secrets and miracles. "It's a special kind of treatment," I said, "one that involves the power of touch and the mind's connection to the body."
Her eyes grew wide with interest, and she nodded eagerly. "I'm all ears," she said, taking a seat next to me on the couch.
I put down my controller and leaned back, crossing my legs. "In my studies," I began, "I've learned that the human body is an intricate web of energy. Sometimes, when that energy gets blocked or disrupted, it can manifest in ways that might seem strange or even scary." I paused for dramatic effect, watching the wheels turn in her head. "But with the right kind of... attention," I continued, letting the word linger, "those blocks can be removed."
Mrs. Mace leaned in closer, her eyes searching my face. "What do you mean?" she whispered.
The room grew warmer, the scent of her perfume a siren's call that I couldn't ignore. I had always found Mrs. Mace attractive, even back when I was a kid, but now, in this world of untouched beauty, she was a beacon. I knew I had to tread carefully. "Well," I began, my voice low and soothing, "sometimes, a gentle, healing touch can help unlock that energy."
I reached out, placing my hand on her knee, feeling the softness of her skin beneath my palm. She didn't flinch, instead leaning into the touch, her eyes never leaving mine. "It's all about finding the right... pressure points," I continued, my thumb tracing lazy circles. "These points can be located anywhere on the body, and once activated, they can release a flood of positive energy."
Philip looked up from his game, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "Steve? What are you doing?" he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.
"Just giving your mom some spiritual guidance," I said, keeping my tone light. "You know, helping her with her... uh... chi."
Philip shrugged and went back to his game, his attention easily diverted by the virtual explosions on the screen. Wow, that was easy, Phil and Mrs. Mace seem to believe everything I tell them? Mrs. Mace's gaze remained fixed on me, her eyes searching, hungry for the knowledge I dangled before her. I felt a thrill of power, knowing I was about to introduce her to a world she had never even dreamed of.
I kept stroking her legs, my hand moving higher, my fingertips brushing against the soft fabric of her skirt. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the unspoken anticipation. The room grew quieter, the only sound the occasional clank of the refrigerator upstairs. I leaned in closer, my voice a seductive whisper. "You see, Mrs. Mace, these points can be incredibly sensitive. And when they're activated, the body can experience... sensations it's never felt before."
Her eyes searched mine, filled with a mix of curiosity and fear. I could feel the tension in the room, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Was I about to cross a line that could never be uncrossed? But I was the one with the power here, the one with the knowledge that could change her life forever. My hand continued its ascent, my fingers grazing the smooth skin of her thighs. Her breath hitched, her legs parting slightly to allow me better access.
"This... this is a bit... unorthodox," she stammered, her voice betraying her nerves.
"Just trust me," I cooed, my hand gliding up her thigh. Her eyes widened as my fingers reached the hem of her skirt, the fabric fluttering as I gently pushed it upwards. The warmth of her skin was like a beacon, guiding me to the promised land that no man in this world had ever touched. Her legs were like marble, unblemished by the rough hands of a lover. I could feel her tense, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into the touch, her body responding on an instinctual level.
As my hand reached the apex of her thighs, I felt the heat of her sex through the barrier of her panties. The fabric was damp with her arousal, a silent testament to the power I held in my fingertips. I began to rub lightly over her mound, my touch as soft as a butterfly's kiss. Mrs. Mace's eyes grew hazy, her breathing shallower. She had no idea what was happening to her, no frame of reference for the maelstrom of sensation that was building within her.
Her legs parted even further, inviting me in. My thumb traced the outline of her pussy, the cotton of her underwear damp with her curiosity. She gasped, a sound that was both innocent and wanton. I could feel the energy between us, a palpable force that crackled with potential. This was it, the moment I had been waiting for, the moment where I could claim her as mine.
"Are you OK for me to continue?" I ask her.
"Yes, what.... you're...haaaa doing seems impossible, how.... can you stand..... the smell? Haa haaa" she manages to ask despite panting and being out of breath.
The smell? That's right! It mentioned in the encyclopedia that its inadvisable for a male to touch females in the wrong place as sometimes they can release toxic pheromones! Well that doesn't apply me because I'm already inhaling the scent of her wet pussy and it smells delicious. The reason the pheromones don't affect me is obviously because I'm an off-worlder, the physiology of men in my world aren't as repulsed by them as the men on this world.
On my Earth, men are more attracted to the pheromones from women they are biologically compatible with but that doesn't mean it's impossible to have sex with women you're not compatible with, unlike this crazy world. The other implication of this is that I haven't occupied the body of my equivalent younger self on this world. I'm in the same body from my original world but that body has been age regressed. God this is confusing.
"I'll be fine Mrs. Mace. I'm an elite level spiritual healer, female pheromones have no effect on me."
"That... that seems to be true. It's an amazing.... achievement. If someone..... aaahhh...told me that it's possible... for a man or a boy to not get sick then I'd have....aah... never believed them until nowww! This is groundbreaking stuff..." Mrs Mace declared, struggling to articulate her thoughts due to the ecstasy she was experiencing.
"Mrs. Mace," I murmured, my voice thick with desire, "for this to work, I need to get a little... closer." I leaned in, my nose just inches from her sex. "I have to... smell you more deeply," I whispered. "It's part of the healing process."
Her eyes widened in shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she seemed frozen in place, a deer caught in headlights. "O...okay Steve," she managed, her voice trembling.
I took that as my cue. With a gentle push, I coaxed her to lie back on the couch, her legs draped over the armrest. I knelt before her, my heart racing as I lifted her skirt, revealing the delicate lace of her panties. The scent of her arousal filled the room, a heady bouquet that was intoxicating. I had never been so close to a woman in this universe, had never felt the heat of their desire, never seen the raw, unbridled passion that awaited me beneath their clothes.
Leaning in, I placed a soft kiss on her mound, the fabric of her panties the only barrier between my lips and the sacred ground of her sex. Her hips jerked in response, a silent plea for more. I obeyed, my mouth watering as I tasted the sweetness of her through the fabric. She was like nothing I had ever experienced, a delicacy that I craved.
But just as I was about to indulge further, I heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening upstairs. The creak of the hinge echoed through the house like a gunshot, shattering the momentary illusion of privacy we had created. Panic shot through me like a bolt of lightning as I realized the gravity of the situation. If they found us like this, it would be disaster.
I jerked my head up, the fabric of Mrs. Mace's panties still clinging to my nose as I searched the room for an escape. Philip's eyes were as wide as saucers, his game controller forgotten in his hand, and Mr. Mace stood frozen in the doorway, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. The room was eerily silent except for the sound of the TV blaring out the latest explosive space battle.
"What in the name of... what are you doing young man?" Mr. Mace finally spluttered, his nervous laugh belying his confusion and horror. His eyes darted from my face to his wife's exposed thighs and back again, trying to make sense of the scene before him.
With a calmness I didn't feel, I straightened up, smoothing down Mrs. Mace's skirt with trembling hands. "Mr. Mace," I began, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart, "I've been practicing a new form of spiritual healing. It's quite unorthodox, I know, but it's incredibly effective."
His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, but he remained silent, his gaze boring into me as he tried to process what he had just seen. I knew I had to act fast, had to keep the situation under control. "Mrs. Mace was feeling a bit... blocked," I continued, my voice smooth as silk. "You know how it is, with the stresses of everyday life."
Mr. Mace's laugh was forced, a brittle thing that barely masked the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "I see," he said, his voice tight. "Well, I'm sure you know what you're doing."
Philip nodded, seeming to accept my explanation on face value. After all he'd never even heard of anything similar to this before so any explanation seemed acceptable.
"Can Steve stay for a sleepover?" Philip piped up from his seat on the floor, his voice hopeful. "Please, mom?"
Mr. Mace's gaze didn't leave me, his eyes filled with a mix of suspicion and something else, something that looked a lot like envy. I felt a smug satisfaction knowing that he had no idea what was really going on, that I had the power to make his perfect little world crumble with a single word.
Mrs. Mace sat up, smoothing her skirt down, her cheeks flaming. "Yes, yes, of course," she said, her voice shaky. "Steve can stay."
Mr. Mace nodded curtly and turned on his heel, his eyes never leaving me. I knew that look; it was the look of a man who felt his territory had been invaded. But he didn't understand the extent of it. He had no idea that his wife's body had just been introduced to a world of pleasure that he could never hope to match.
With the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife, I took a deep breath and turned to Mrs. Mace. "I should probably call my mom, let her know I'm staying over," I said, my voice casual despite the turmoil inside me. She nodded, her eyes still glazed over with the aftershocks of our encounter.
I picked up the bulky, beige landline phone that sat on the shelf by the stairs, feeling the weight of the handset in my hand, a relic of a time when connections were made with wires and dial tones. The number to my mother's house was etched into my memory, a sequence of digits that had once been the gateway to comfort and security. As I dialed, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the simplicity of the '90s, a world untouched by the chaos and knowledge that awaited me in the 21st century.
My mother's voice, a soothing melody that had remained unchanged by the years, greeted me through the receiver. "Hello?" she said, the same way she had a thousand times before.
"Hey, Mom," I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "It's me, Steve. I'm just calling to let you know that I'm going to be staying at Phil's tonight."
Her voice was filled with concern. "Is everything alright, sweetie?"
"Yeah, everything's fine," I lied, glancing back at Mrs. Mace. She was watching me, her cheeks still flushed. "Just playing games, you know how it is."
"Okay," my mother said, a note of skepticism in her voice. "But make sure to get some rest. You know how important school is."
"Don't worry, I will," I assured her, feeling the weight of my deception like a boulder in my stomach. As I hung up the phone, Mrs. Mace stood up, smoothing her skirt down once more. The fabric whispered against her thighs, a sound that seemed to resonate in the silence. "I'll... uh... go make up the spare room for you," she murmured, her eyes darting to the floor.
The rest of the evening was a tense dance of normalcy, the three of us trying to ignore the elephant in the room. We ate dinner, watching TV, the laugh track bouncing off the walls like a hollow echo of the passion we had shared moments before. Each time Mrs. Mace passed me, she would give me a furtive glance, her eyes filled with a mix of excitement and fear. I knew she was thinking about our encounter, wondering what it meant, what was going to happen next.
After dinner, the heat of the day lingered, and Philip suggested we go for a swim in their backyard pool. It was a perfect opportunity to ease the tension, to pretend that nothing had changed. The water was cool and refreshing as we dove in, the sound of our splashes a welcome reprieve from the awkward silence.
Mr. and Mrs. Mace joined us, their expressions a careful blend of normalcy. Mrs. Mace's eyes met mine as we swam, her gaze lingering a fraction of a second too long. I could see the questions swimming in the depths of her pupils, the confusion and curiosity. The water was a balm to our overheated bodies, but it did little to cool the fire that burned between us.
As we played, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the pool in a warm, golden glow. In a moment of carelessness, or perhaps deliberate provocation, I misjudged a dive. As I exited the water, the force of my ascent sent water cascading around me, and my shorts slipped down my hips, revealing my cock to the gaping stares of the Mace family.
The bright floodlights mounted on the house cast a stark, unyielding light across the pool's surface, illuminating my cock in all its glory. The sight was like a revelation in a world shrouded in ignorance of carnality. The water droplets glistening on my shaft only served to highlight its impressive size, a stark contrast to the limp, tiny penises that were the norm here.
Mr. Mace's eyes bulged out of his head, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' as he stared at my erection. "What... what is that?" he choked out, his voice a mix of horror and awe.
"It's my... spiritual antenna," I improvised, trying to keep the situation light despite the raging hard-on that was now the center of attention. "It's a rare gift among spiritual healers," I explained, hoping he'd buy the ludicrous lie. "It's what allows me to sense and manipulate the energy of those around me."
Mrs. Mace's gaze was glued to my cock, her pupils dilated with fascination. She looked at me with a mix of wonder and terror, as if I were a creature from a myth she'd never dared to believe in.
"It's also how I can help you conceive a child, Mrs. Mace," I said, my voice calm and measured. "You see, spiritual healers like me have the power to... imbue life directly into a woman's womb."
Mr. Mace looked skeptical, but his curiosity was piqued. "How does that work?" he asked, treading carefully around the taboo subject.
"It's a very sacred process," I replied, "and one that requires a... deep connection between the healer and the patient." I watched as the cogs in his mind turned, trying to piece together the puzzle before him. "But it's nothing to be afraid of," I assured him, giving Mrs. Mace a knowing smile.
"Steve... Could I become a healer too?" he asked, his voice tentative. "Could I... gain a penis like yours?"
I couldn't help but smirk at his naivety. "Mr. Mace," I began, my tone filled with the weight of a thousand unspoken promises, "the path of the spiritual healer is not an easy one. It requires dedication, purity of heart, and a deep understanding of the life force that flows through us all. But," I held his gaze, allowing a glimmer of hope to shine through my eyes, "if you truly wish to aid in the creation of life, to be a part of something greater than yourself, I could... teach you some techniques."
The greed in his eyes was unmistakable. He nodded eagerly, his mind racing with thoughts of a more potent manhood. "Yes, I want that," he said, his voice thick with desire. "I'll do anything."
I took a step closer to him, my cock still on display, bobbing slightly in the water. "Very well," I said, my voice low and soothing. "But remember, this is a sacred practice, not to be taken lightly. There are rituals, sacrifices, and... commitments you must make."
Mrs. Mace's eyes grew wide with a mix of excitement and apprehension, and I knew she was imagining the kind of commitments I had in mind. "Come," I beckoned, leading them all inside, my erection still standing proud. "We shall begin your training tonight."
In the living room, the TV's blue light flickered off the walls, casting a serene glow that seemed to soothe the tension of the moment. "Gentlemen," I announced with a smile, "spiritual healing is a journey best taken with those who share your essence. Tonight, I shall focus on Mrs. Mace, and I recommend that Mr. Mace and Philip practice these techniques on each other. It's essential that you understand the power of this bond before attempting to share it with anyone else."
Mr. Mace nodded, his gaze never leaving my cock, which was now nestled against my stomach, still slightly engorged from the excitement of the situation. Philip, however, looked less than thrilled at the idea of participating in such a 'healing' session with his father, but he didn't protest.
"Very well," I said, my voice authoritative yet gentle. "The first step in this spiritual journey is to shed your inhibitions, to become one with the energy that flows through us all." I gestured to the pile of towels we'd brought in from the pool. "Let's start by getting dried off and then... removing your clothing."
Mrs. Mace's eyes darted to her husband, seeking his approval. He nodded, his gaze never leaving my cock. It was clear that the power of my words and the promise of the unknown had them entranced. One by one, they began to strip down, the rustle of fabric a symphony of innocence and burgeoning curiosity.
When they were all naked, their tiny penises limp and unassuming, I couldn't help but feel a pang of amusement. In a world where a micropenis was the norm, I was a veritable god. Mrs. Mace's gaze was glued to me, her eyes wide and unblinking. I could see the wheels turning in her head, trying to make sense of the monolithic organ that stood proudly before her.
I stepped closer to her, the water from my skin creating a trail of desire that led directly to her. Her breasts were full and round, the nipples pert and pink. The sparse, fine hair that adorned her sex was like a whispered secret, a promise of what lay beneath. Her thighs were toned, a testament to the fact that she was a woman who took care of herself, despite the lack of physical intimacy in her life.
Her beauty was intoxicating, a siren's call that drew me in despite the chaos of the moment. I studied her, my gaze lingering on every inch of her naked body, committing her to memory. Her skin was flawless, unmarred by the rigors of time and experience, a canvas of innocence that I longed to claim as my own.
Her hair, a cascade of golden curls, fell around her shoulders like a halo, framing a face that was both angelic and curious. Her eyes, a deep shade of brown, were filled with a mix of fear and fascination, a potent cocktail that made my blood sing.
"Mrs. Mace," I whispered, my voice a seductive purr that seemed to resonate through her very soul. "You must understand, this is not something to be feared. It is a gift, a divine spark that can bring joy and life."
I took another step closer, my hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. She trembled, but did not pull away. I leaned in, my breath warm against her lips as I spoke. "The first step in our healing," I murmured, "is to share a kiss of pure intent."
Mrs. Mace's eyes searched mine, looking for understanding, for a glimpse of what was to come. I could see the trust in her gaze, the willingness to let me lead her into this new and terrifying world. And so, I did.
"Philip, Mr. Mace," I instructed, my voice calm and commanding. "You must mirror my actions, so that you may understand the true power of spiritual healing."
They nodded in unison, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. I turned back to Mrs. Mace, my hand still cupping her cheek. Her eyes searched mine, a silent plea for reassurance in a world that had suddenly become alien and thrilling. I leaned in closer, the warmth of our breaths mingling in the space between us.
Our lips met, a soft, tentative touch that was as innocent as it was explosive. It was the first spark in a world devoid of fire, a moment that would change her forever. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as I deepened the kiss, my other hand finding its way to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Her body responded instinctively, pressing against me, her breasts brushing against my bare chest.
Mrs. Mace's lips parted, inviting me in, and I didn't hesitate. My tongue slipped into her mouth, a silent promise of the passion and pleasure she had been denied her whole life. She tasted faintly of mint and apple pie, a sweetness that spoke of the wholesome life she had known until this moment. I savored it, exploring the contours of her mouth, teaching her the dance that would soon become second nature.
Her hands, once still at her sides, began to wander, tentatively touching my shoulders, then sliding down to my chest. Her fingertips grazed my nipples, and she gasped into the kiss, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. I could feel the energy between us growing, the power of our connection swelling like a dam about to burst.
As our kiss grew more urgent, Mrs. Mace's legs began to wobble, and she leaned into me for support. I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifting her slightly so that her pelvis was pressed against my erection. She moaned, her body instinctively responding to the unfamiliar sensation. I could feel her curiosity turning to need, her mind racing to keep up with the sudden onslaught of sensations.
Mr. Mace and Philip, still standing a few feet away, watched intently as I claimed Mrs. Mace with my kiss. They mimicked my movements, their expressions a mix of confusion and burgeoning arousal. The sight of their tiny penises bobbing slightly as they kissed was almost comical, but the gravity of the moment kept the laughter at bay.
Breaking the kiss, I turned to them. "Now," I said, my voice steady, "you must feel the energy between yourselves, as I do with Mrs. Mace."
Philip and Mr. Mace stumbled through their kiss, their inexperience palpable. The sight was both humorous and a stark reminder of the power I wielded here. I knew I had to be careful not to push too far, too fast, lest I break the illusion of innocence that allowed me to manipulate them so easily.
"Remember," I coached them gently, "this is a sacred bond, a sharing of life energy."
Mrs. Mace's breath was ragged against my chest as I stepped back, allowing them to continue their clumsy imitation of the passion we had just shared. I knew that she was feeling something she had never felt before, something primal and overwhelming. It was the first crack in the dam that would eventually flood her world with desire.
As I stepped back, I let my hand glide down her spine, pausing at the base of her neck. Her skin was like silk under my fingertips, a softness that made me want to claim every inch of her. I leaned in, my breath hot against her ear. "Mrs. Mace," I whispered, "I need you to trust me. This is just the beginning."
Her eyes searched mine, a silent plea for guidance in this uncharted territory. With a gentle tug, I turned her head to the side, exposing the delicate column of her neck. My lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, kissing it with feather-light pressure. She shivered, her breath catching in her throat. I felt a thrill of power at her reaction, knowing that I held the key to a world she had never dreamed of.
My kisses traveled down her neck, tracing a path of fire along her skin. Her pulse raced beneath my lips, a drumbeat that grew louder with each touch. Mrs. Mace's hands found my shoulders, gripping tightly as if to anchor herself in this tumultuous sea of sensation. I felt her nails dig into my skin, a silent testament to the intensity of her experience.
As my kisses grew bolder, moving to her earlobes, I took the delicate flesh between my teeth, tugging gently. She moaned, the sound a symphony of innocence lost and desire found. The warmth of her breath against my neck was intoxicating, a scent of vanilla and lust that made my cock throb with anticipation.
Mrs. Mace's eyes rolled back, and she leaned into me, her body begging for more. I took her earlobe into my mouth, suckling gently, my teeth grazing the soft flesh. Her knees buckled slightly, and I caught her, supporting her weight with one hand as I continued to explore her body with the other.
With deliberate slowness, I kissed my way down her neck, each caress of my lips sending a new tremor through her body. My hand followed the trail of kisses, tracing the curve of her collarbone before dipping into the valley between her breasts. Her heart hammered against my palm, a wild staccato that echoed the rhythm of my own.
As I reached her breasts, I paused, looking up to gauge her reaction. Mrs. Mace's eyes were closed, her lips parted in a silent plea. I knew she was lost in a haze of sensation, her body yearning for something she had never known before. With a gentle smile, I lowered my head, my mouth capturing the soft, pink peak of her right breast.
Her gasp was like music to my ears, a sweet symphony of discovery that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my cock. She was ripe, ready for me to pluck the strings of her desire and play the tune that would ensnare her forever. I kissed her breast softly at first, my tongue flicking over the sensitive skin. Her body arched into the touch, a silent demand for more.
Mrs. Mace's nipples were hardening under my ministrations, tightening into little buds that begged for the warmth of my mouth. I obliged, taking one into my mouth and sucking gently. She moaned, her hand flying to cover her mouth as if to stifle the sound. But the pleasure was too much, too intense, and the moan grew into a whimper. Her other hand clutched at my hair, pulling me closer as I teased and tormented her with my lips and tongue.
Guiding her backward, I laid Mrs. Mace on the couch, her body a canvas of need. The plush cushions molded around her, cradling her as she writhed beneath me. Her legs fell open, revealing the soft, pink folds of her sex, a place that had never known the touch of a man before me. I paused, drinking in the sight of her laid bare, the fine, golden hairs that adorned her mound a stark contrast to the velvety softness of her skin.
I looked over at Phil and Mr. Mace, who were still awkwardly kissing, their eyes glazed with a mix of confusion and arousal. They had ceased to be an issue, lost in their own clumsy exploration. It was clear that the power dynamics had shifted, and I was now the puppeteer, orchestrating this dance of desire.
With a gentle push, I parted Mrs. Mace's legs further, revealing the treasure that lay within. Her scent was intoxicating, a bouquet of innocence and untapped passion. I leaned down, my breath ghosting over the soft, pink flesh of her inner thighs. She trembled, the anticipation making her body quiver like a leaf in a storm.
Starting at her knee, I began to place feather-light kisses along the tender skin, moving slowly upward. The trail of heat grew more intense with each touch, a fiery path that led to the apex of her thighs. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, a testament to the purity of this world. As my kisses grew closer to the heart of her desire, her breathing grew more ragged, her hips lifting slightly off the couch.
Her eyes were open now, watching me with a mix of awe and fear. I knew she didn't understand what was happening to her, but her body responded instinctively, the way a moth is drawn to a flame. The fine hairs on her thighs stood on end, beckoning me closer. I obliged, my mouth moving inch by inch closer to the warm, wet heat of her sex.
When my lips finally met hers, Mrs. Mace's hips bucked off the couch. She was so tight, so untouched, that even the slightest pressure sent shockwaves through her body. I took my time, savoring the sweetness that was all hers. Her legs wrapped around my head, pulling me in deeper, as if she could somehow consume me and keep this moment forever.
Her moans grew louder, filling the room with a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate in the very air. I could feel the energy between us building, a force that seemed to hum with life. It was a power that I hadn't felt in a very long time, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
I slid my tongue along her slit, teasing her clit with a gentle flick. Mrs. Mace's entire body tightened around me, her hands fisting in the couch cushions as she tried to hold on to something, anything. Her hips rocked against my mouth, setting a rhythm that grew more frantic with each passing second.
I could feel her orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that was as unstoppable as a freight train. My tongue circled her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send her over the edge. And when she did, it was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her body convulsed, her legs locking around my neck as she screamed out her release.
Through the haze of passion, I was aware of Mr. Mace and Philip's eyes on us, wide with a mix of horror and fascination. I knew they had never seen anything like this before, and the power I wielded was intoxicating. Their tiny penises were slightly engorged, the closest thing to an erection they would ever know, a silent testament to the depth of their confusion and arousal.
I pulled away from Mrs. Mace, her breath coming in gasps as she lay there, trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "W-what was that?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
I offered her a knowing smile, my own desire raging. "That, Mrs. Mace," I replied, "was just a taste of the divine union that awaits us all."
Her eyes searched mine, a mix of bewilderment and awe. "But... why?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"It is the way of the ancients," I explained, my voice still a seductive whisper. "A sacred bond that must be shared to unlock the full potential of our spirits."
Mr. Mace and Philip had stopped their awkward kiss, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. The sight of Mrs. Mace, flushed and trembling with pleasure, had stirred something within them that they didn't understand. They stared at my large, erect cock, the largest they had ever laid eyes on, with a mix of envy and fear.
Then, it happened. They took a step closer, and suddenly, the scent of Mrs. Mace's arousal hit them like a wall. Their eyes watered, and they recoiled as if punched in the gut. The smell was something they had never encountered before, a heady mix of musk and sweetness that was as potent as it was alien. They gagged, their faces twisting in disgust.
"What is this?" Mr. Mace choked out, his voice tight with revulsion. "What have you done to her?"
I raised a hand to calm him, keeping my tone soothing despite the fire in my veins. "It's a natural part of our spiritual bonding. The scent is the manifestation of Mrs. Mace's life energy, released through our intimate connection."
Mrs. Mace looked up at me, her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Is that why...why I feel so...different?"
"Yes," I murmured, stroking her cheek with the back of my hand. "It's the awakening of your true self, the unlocking of the life force within."
Mr. Mace and Philip stumbled back, their tiny penises shrinking away as they gagged on the potent scent of Mrs. Mace's arousal. As soon as they were more than 3 meters away, the nauseating aroma dissipated, and their expressions shifted from horror to bewilderment. They looked at each other, then back at me, unsure of what to do next.
"Why can't we smell it anymore?" Mr. Mace asked, his voice still thick with disgust.
I take my time to ponder the fact that men native to this world can't stand the smell of female arousal. Maybe this is part of the reason why there's no natural procreation or sex in this world? This is another thing I can turn to my benefit. But why can they suddenly not detect it when they are a few meters away? Surely they would be able to still smell it but not as intensely?
Curiosity piqued, I decide to conduct an experiment. "Gentlemen," I say, my voice as calm as ever, "I think it would be beneficial for our spiritual growth if you both tried to overcome this... aversion." I gesture for them to come closer, a hint of challenge in my eyes.
They exchange a nervous glance before taking tentative shuffles toward us, their tiny penises bobbing slightly with each step. The smell of Mrs. Mace's arousal can't be detected, and their expressions grow hopeful again. When they reach the 3-meter mark their noses are assaulted again, their faces twist once more and suddenly retreat.
"I don't understand," Mr. Mace says, his voice a mix of confusion and revulsion.
Inside, I'm reveling in the power I hold over them, the thrill of knowing that I alone can give these women what their bodies crave. The idea that no other man can compare to what I offer sends a surge of arousal through me. "It's part of the healing process," I reply, keeping my tone smooth and authoritative. "Your bodies are purifying themselves of negative energy."
Their expressions flicker with hope, desperation to escape the stifling grip of this strange, unwelcome feeling. "If you wish to continue on this path," I say, "you must follow my teachings closely over the next 10 years. With dedication and purity of heart, there is a chance that you, too, there is a small chance that you may become immune to this... odor."
Mr. Mace and Philip exchange glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They nod solemnly, eager to be free from this torment. Little do they know that the 'cure' I speak of is a mere fabrication, a lie woven in order to do as I please to this beautiful woman. Yet, the power of hope is a mighty force, and if they truly wish to understand the bond I share with Mrs. Mace, they will endure anything.
"Ten years is a long time," Philip murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and determination. "But if it means... understanding what I just saw..." His voice trails off, his thoughts too overwhelming to articulate.
Mr. Mace nods in agreement, his gaze still on his wife's flushed face. "And not even guaranteed," he adds, the hint of a whine in his tone. "But for the sake of our family's spiritual growth, we must try."
I stand, my erection now a beacon of power in the room. "Indeed," I say, my eyes gleaming with the promise of something they can't even begin to fathom. "If you are successful in your purification, you shall experience the beauty of true union."
Mrs. Mace, still dizzy with pleasure, nods, her gaze locked onto my cock. It's a sight that sends a shiver down my spine, knowing that I'm the only man who can give her what she now craves. Her hand reaches out, tentatively, as if she's afraid to touch something so alien yet so tantalizing. I allow it, watching as her fingertips graze the head, her eyes going wide with amazement.
Gently, I guide her hand down the length of my shaft, showing her how to stroke me, her touch light and curious. She's like a child discovering a new toy, unsure of how it works but eager to learn. I groan, the sensation of her soft, inexperienced touch sending waves of pleasure through me.
With her hips now at the edge of the couch, I position myself between her legs, her thighs still trembling from her orgasm. Mrs. Mace's eyes widen as she feels my cock nudge against her entrance, the reality of what's about to happen dawning on her. She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and excitement. I lean down, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, my breath hot and heavy against her neck.
"Trust me," I murmur, my voice a siren's call in the quiet room. "This is the next step in our journey."
I position the head of my cock at her entrance, her slickness coating me like a warm embrace. She gasps as I begin to rub it gently against her, the untouched folds of her pussy parting slightly to greet me. Her eyes never leave mine, a silent plea for guidance in this unknown territory.
The tip of my cock circles her clit, teasing and taunting, as I savor the moment. Her body responds like a finely tuned instrument, her hips rising to meet each feather-light touch. The anticipation is palpable, a living, breathing entity in the room with us. With every pass, she relaxes a little more, her body learning the rhythm of desire.
Mrs. Mace's eyes are wide with a mix of terror and excitement as I finally push into her tight, untouched pussy. She's so small, so delicate, and I'm afraid I might hurt her. But her eyes tell a different story—one of a woman on the precipice of an uncharted abyss, eager to take the plunge. Her walls stretch around me, a snug embrace that's both thrilling and terrifying. I go slow, giving her time to adjust, my own breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Her hymen is a thin barrier, a symbol of her purity in this world of innocence. With one firm thrust, I break it, and she cries out, her nails digging into my back. The room seems to pause for a heartbeat, the only sound the harsh intake of her breath. I watch her face contort with pain and pleasure, feeling a strange mix of guilt and exhilaration.
Her walls tighten around me, a vice grip that makes me groan. I've never felt anything so tight, so untouched. It's a sensation that's both thrilling and terrifying, a reminder of the power I wield in this untouched land. I pull back slightly, giving her a moment to adjust to the new sensation before pushing back in, slower this time.
Mrs. Mace's eyes roll back in her head, her body arching off the couch as she moans my name. It's a sound that echoes in my very soul, a siren's call that pulls at every fiber of my being. Her legs tighten around my waist, urging me deeper, her hips moving in sync with my own.
Her pussy is so tight, so warm, it's as if she was made for me. Every stroke is a symphony of pleasure, her wetness coating me as I slide in and out of her. The sensation is so intense that I have to fight to keep from losing control. But I don't want this to end too quickly. I want to savor every second of her deflowering, every moment of her innocence lost to me.
As I continue to move inside her, her moans grow louder, her body writhing in ecstasy. The sight of her, so open and willing, is more than I could have ever imagined. I feel like a god, bestowing the gift of pleasure onto a creature that has never known it before. Her breasts heave with each breath, her nipples hard and begging for attention. I lean down to take one in my mouth, flicking my tongue against the sensitive peak.
Her response is immediate, her body jolting with a spike of pleasure. Her hips buck wildly, and she cries out, her pussy clenching around my cock in an involuntary spasm. The sound sends a bolt of desire through me, and I know I can't hold back much longer.
With each thrust, I feel myself getting closer to the edge. Her walls tighten around me, a sweet agony that's both maddening and exhilarating. The room is filled with the sound of our muffled cries and the wet slap of skin on skin, a cacophony of passion that seems to drown out the world outside.
Mr. Mace and Philip watch in silence, their eyes wide with a mix of anger, confusion, and something else—desire. They can't understand what's happening, why their bodies are reacting this way, but they're powerless to look away.
As I thrust deeper into Mrs. Mace, she starts to whimper, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. Her hands grasp at my shoulders, her nails digging in as she rides the wave of sensation. I can feel her climax building, her muscles tightening around me, her breaths coming in shallow pants. It's a sight that would make any man feel like a king, but in this world, it's something more—it's a revelation.
Her cries become louder, and I know she's close. I increase my pace, feeling the pressure build within me. The room spins with the intensity of it all, the smell of her arousal mixing with the sweet scent of her skin.
Mr. Mace and Philip watch, their faces a mix of anger and awe. They're powerless to stop what's happening, their impotent micropenises a stark reminder of their inadequacies. I can see the beginnings of understanding in their eyes—the realization that I am different, that I am something they hope they can be.
The tension in the room is palpable as Mrs. Mace's orgasm nears. Her eyes flutter closed, and she throws her head back, her body shuddering with each wave of pleasure that crashes over her. Her moans are like music to my ears, a symphony of desire that no man in this world has ever heard before. I can feel the power growing within me with each gasp and tremor, a force that seems to fill the very air around us.
Her climax hits her like a thunderbolt, her body convulsing as she cries out my name. It's a sound that seems to resonate through the very fabric of the universe, a declaration of my dominance in this sexless world. I watch her face, lost in the throes of passion, feeling the warmth of her pussy as it pulses around my cock, milking me for all I'm worth.
As she rides the waves of pleasure, I feel my own orgasm building, a pressure that's been steadily growing since I first saw her. The thought of filling her with my seed, of impregnating this beautiful, unsuspecting woman with life, sends me over the edge. I thrust into her one final time, burying myself to the hilt as I come, my hot cum flooding her tight, deflowered pussy.
Her eyes fly open as she feels the warmth inside her, a look of shock and awe crossing her face. She's never felt anything like this before, and the realization of what's happening seems to hit her all at once. Her body clamps down around me, squeezing every last drop from me as if she knows she's been claimed, made whole in a way she never knew was possible.
And then, as if driven by instinct, she pulls me down into a kiss that's hungry and desperate. It's like she's trying to devour me, to consume the very essence of what I've given her. Her mouth is hot and wet, her tongue tentative as it meets mine. I can feel the beginnings of a deep, unshakable bond forming between us, a connection that transcends the boundaries of this innocent world.
Her eyes, when they finally open, are filled with a newfound adoration, a love that's pure and unblemished by the knowledge of betrayal. She looks at me as if I've given her the stars, and in this moment, I know that she's mine. The power of sexual desire, the raw, unbridled force that's been building within me, now has a name in her eyes—it's love, and it's all for me.
Mr. Mace and Philip watch in stunned silence, their faces a canvas of emotions. The anger is there, the jealousy, but it's mixed with something else, something I hadn't anticipated—respect. They see the power I wield, the way I've changed their world in a single, earth-shattering act, and they can't help but be in awe.
The room feels electric, the air thick with the scent of our coupling. Mrs. Mace's eyes are still glazed over with pleasure, but there's a flicker of curiosity in them now, a spark that wasn't there before. She looks at me as if I've revealed the secrets of the universe, and in a way, I have. I've introduced her to the most primal of human instincts, and she's hungry for more.
Her hand slides down my back, coming to rest on my ass, pulling me closer to her. "I love you," she whispers, her voice hoarse from her cries of ecstasy. The words hang in the air, a declaration that's both surprising and thrilling. In this world of purity and innocence, love is something that's spoken of but never truly understood.
But before I can revel in the moment, the door to the living room swings open with a bang, and we both freeze. Gywn, Philip's 15-year-old sister, stands there, her eyes wide with shock and horror. She doesn't understand what we're doing, and neither does she know why we're naked. She looks from her mother, sprawled on the couch with me still inside her, to me, her eyes searching for answers she won't find.
"What... what's going on?" she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. She's frozen in place, her hand still on the doorknob, her cheeks flaming red. She's caught us in the most intimate of moments, and there's no way to explain this without shattering her innocence.
I pull out of Mrs. Mace gently, her pussy clinging to me like a second skin. She's still lost in the afterglow, but she quickly snaps back to reality when she sees the look on Gwyn's face. We both scramble to cover ourselves, the spell of the moment broken by the intrusion.
"Gwyn, sweetheart, this isn't what it looks like," Mrs. Mace starts to say, but the words die in her throat as she realizes the futility of explaining. Gwyn's eyes dart between us, taking in the scene before her with a mix of fear and disgust.