It Aint No Joke

Author's note: Everyone is 18+ in this absurd fictional stroker set before cellphones and the Internet. Views expressed may not be the author's. Details may be incorrect. Tags: aphrodisiac, chemistry, compulsion, incest, GILF, MILF, pigments. Enjoy this APRIL FOOLS 2021 contest entry!

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IT AIN'T NO JOKE

It's all in the cards. And family.

=====

"Oh, you're still sorta cute. And you didn't fool me too much."

His big sister Kayla kissed his cheek, then stuck a tongue in his ear.

"Me too, buddy!"

His little sister Heidi kissed his other cheek and tongued his other ear.

"Hey, will you quit that?" Willard complained.

Heidi tweaked his nose.

"Ask again next year and see what happens," his little sister teased. She walked away, wiggling her astral ass.

Kayla issued another nose-tweak, then rubbed his neck.

"You're not bad for a little brother, Willy. Now get back to work." Her departing derriere wriggled, too.

Willard sighed and returned to his Richard Brautigan notes. This crucial paper on ALL WATCHED OVER BY MACHINES OF LOVING GRACE had to be as great as his usual work if he wanted that scholarship. Eastern Tech, on the other side of the city, wanted its science majors to appear literate. Damn.

He remained absorbed in schoolwork when his mom Marcia came in, still in her tidy office skirt-suit, and kissed his pale forehead. At least she did not lick his ear, or sway her MILFy hips when she walked away. Well, no more than usual.

=====

APRIL FOOLS!

It was a long tradition. Ever since Willard could write — and his gym-rat Grandma Beryl, living nearby then, had filled his early years with literacy — ever since then, he gave April Fools joke cards to his mother, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, girl cousins, and special classmates who might wear dresses.

In his early years he drew funny figures and penned joking messages on big index cards from his pompous dad's oak desk. He folded envelopes from typewriter paper. As time passed and his allowance increased, he bought cardstock and colorful envelopes from stationers. His artistically handcrafted and nicely painted efforts looked better than commercial readymades, sure.

His jokes were mostly silly, often snarky, but never cruel. Most of the women and girls within reach laughed and many kissed his cheek. Some classmates groaned but they never refused his cards. How long did they keep them? He never knew. And his card message of LET'S APRIL FOOL AROUND took on new meaning as he grew.

He swapped rude, raunchy jokes with his male buddies, and looped little rubber bands around the tails of incautious cats. They never got the joke. He soon learned that cats lack a sense of humor.

=====

Time passed; he and those around him inexorably aged. Even in high school, he still made cards for family and friends, but part-time jobs paid for fancier stock. He now painted cartoons with pigments he ground and mixed himself. He felt as if his own goofy grin was embedded in every card.

High school was finished! The academic scholarship was his! But that prize was no full-ride deal with a dorm and meals and everything, so he remained living at home.

"I'm really glad you wanted to move to the storm cellar, Willy," his mom Marcia said over yet another meatloaf dinner. "I appreciate using your old bedroom as a home office, even if I had to sanitize it. Just don't poison the house with your chemicals." Her boobs jiggled sternly in her loose blouse.

"I'm careful, Mom," he said, pointedly looking elsewhere. "At least now, with the outside door working, I can go in and out without making noise here." He squirted ketchup on his meal.

"Just be choosy about which girls you sneak in and out." Marcia sipped her pink chablis.

Willard's little sister Heidi, eleven months younger than him. finished her small portion and her glass of wine. Yes, she was legally adult but underage for alcohol so she drank here under parental supervision. She spooned her jello fruit salad and glared at her bothersome brother.

"You've heard NOTHING, Mom. My bedroom was next to his. The cellar deserves him."

"And I don't have to listen to your clarinet, Sis. You get to clean the funky bathroom yourself, too."

"That's a lot easier now. The shower walls aren't so messy."

He thought of four snide replies that were not suitable for the family dinner table so he stayed silent.

His big sister Kayla, eleven months older than him, sighed and pretended boredom. Or was that

ennui

? The French word sounded more sophisticated, so

tres chic, oui

. She just HAD to seem sophisto!

"Oh Willard, I have a chore for you," their mother Marcia said, refilling her and his sisters' wine glasses from the table's bottle. No refill for him, Willard noted, and winced.

"The divorce is final and I want all traces of your asshole father Fred out of the house." Marcia said. "He emptied his office; his clothes, pictures, knick-knacks, and sleazy porno magazines are gone; but there's still stuff from his family stored in the attic. I want you to go through the cartons up there and weed-out whatever isn't connected to my family or you kids. Throw it in the back of the pickup and dump it in the driveway of that condo he shares with his teenybopper slut. Don't bother throwing a tarp over it there. Rain is due the day after tomorrow."

Marcia's nipples hardened at the thought of ruined memorabilia for her ex. Willard tried not to notice.

"Okay Mom, I'll get to that right now." He excused himself, rinsed his tableware for the dishwasher, and hit his cellar for clothes and electric lanterns. He slid into sneakers and cutoff jeans; the attic would be stuffy and dusty.

=====

Damn, Willard thought, I can't throw out all this stuff! Not the solid residue of Grandpa Ben's childhood. The Lionel O-gauge train collection, the Erector set, those porno slideshows... he must hide those, maybe under his big bed, until he sold them on the geek classifieds.

He opened cartons and decided what to discard. One group of metal boxes grabbed his attention: the Gilbert general chemistry, organic chemistry, and atomic chemistry sets. He would empty those into grocery bags, integrate them with the rest of his home lab, and dump the rusty boxes.

He cut up Grandpa's dusty, moth-eaten flannel shirts to wrap the lab glassware for protection. Test tubes, flasks, retorts... he could use those. The chemical bottles were sturdier and demanded less care.

Grandpa's athletic uniforms and trophies... out! That cracked bowl mandolin with a warped neck... toss! The broken Pachinko game, and old board games with missing pieces... gone! Badly-assembled models of cars and planes... junk! Anything rusty, moldy, or shattered... history!

He lowered basket after basket of rancid detritus by rope from the attic window, right into the cargo bed of the family pickup truck parked in the driveway below. He climbed down to empty the baskets and hoofed back upstairs for more.

Heidi, noisily practicing clarinet in her room, did not volunteer to help. Marcia and Kayla, busily critiquing worthless men as they did yoga poses in the exercise room (formerly Fred's office), did not even THINK of helping. Nobody noticed what Willard took to the cellar.

He stashed sellable items in milk crates under his bed. Nobody would look there! Chemistry set supplies went on his lab shelves, innocently admixed with existing wares. His Geiger counter only clicked a little when he unloaded the bag of atomic lab gear.

As ordered, he dumped the load by his disgraced dad's front door, then returned to his cellar. He glanced at a tame old porno slideshow — so much thick hair! — before he showered and masturbated, thinking of girls with trimmer pubes. Ah, variety! He would sneak tasty, nerdy Sandi and her neat pussy into his cellar soon.

=====

Willard's fall semester at Eastern Tech went well. Big sister Kayla was a year ahead of him there, majoring in architecture and pliable professors. Little sister Heidi was a high school senior, doing just fine with economics, the school band, and sweaty soccer jocks. Clarinet practice gave her excellent breath and tongue control, much appreciated by the healthy, horny

futbolistas

she fellated with relentless energy.

Willard's and the girls' social circles did not intersect. None of his sisters' girlfriends shared his bed but he had his own special chemistry with a herd of nerd girls who appreciated his attention.

The fall and winter holidays passed. Family gathered for Turkey Day, and later to exchange Christmas presents, the grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins... but not Fred's few sympathizers. He really WAS an asshole to most relatives.

New Year's festivities were calm at Marcia's house. Sure, Uncle Ned, the used-car dealer Marcia's sister Megyn had optimistically married, was a commode-hugging drunk as usual, and Grandma Beryl insisted on showing off her scarlet satin bustier — she filled it well — but the rest of the family stayed fairly decorous.

Willard was only seriously taken under the mistletoe by busty cousin Jen, whose wide tongue tasted of the red Port she absorbed. She pressed ample boobs into him.

"Oh cuz, what're you doing later?" Jen breathed in Willard's open mouth.

"Whatever you want," he whispered back, "but no poodles or Ukrainian dwarves."

"You're not dwarvish," she murmured, sloppily groping at his crotch, "but you can be my puppy dog."

Jen's big brother Larry, home on a rare occasion, kissed both Kayla and Heidi. Just imagine what they did later.

=====

The year's first quarter flew past as Willard brewed his new joke card pigments. He found useful substances in Grandpa Ben's old chemistry sets. Mix phenolphthalein (which had mutated a bit over the decades) with common sodium bicarbonate for just the right pinks. Add crushed beetle husk rich in cantharidin for an iridescent red. Use graphite for blacks, grays, and darkening; azurite for blues; sulphur for yellows; blend those and others for chromatic shades. For stability, add crystals of cholesterol-based dimethyl tryptamine (DMT). Mix those powders and make paints using an organic solvent, dimethyl sulfoxide (DMSO).

He could not know that young Grandpa Ben had jerked-off near his chemicals; aged cum had crystallized in opened bottles. Dust forced Willard to sneeze, adding his own DNA to what he mixed. Organic debris from overhead spiderwebs contributed vagrant steroids.

Not yet a skilled chemist, he did not consciously make personalized, skin-penetrating, psychedelic aphrodisiacs. But subconsciously? Well, maybe. At least he wore lab gloves as he worked.

Willard was disappointed at the small quantities of vivid pigments he ended with. He decided to save those colors for women in his family, and his closest girls, and only use colored pens and markers for everyone else.

He created, addressed, and sealed the cards, then dropped them in the corner mailbox a few days early... even those for his mom and sisters. That was his tradition.

=====

His first hint of consequences came the next day when raven-haired cousin Cyndi, still living around the block with her parents Ned and Megyn, caught him coming home from campus on the city bus. She dragged him to her house.

"Oh Willy, I couldn't wait to open your card, and it's so BEAUTIFUL, damn! I touched it and a shock went through me, no joke! I didn't know I had such feelings for you! I'm really sorry I've teased you so much. I want to make it up to you. Right now! The folks aren't home yet so we can be private. Please, please!"

She dragged him to her bedroom and stripped him and herself. She stuck a perky breast to his mouth, held one of his hands on her unoccupied tit, and his other hand at her already-wet pussy. She pushed his fingers inside her.

"Oooh, I feel such a buzz! Suck me and stroke me, oh ghod yes! Yes! Oooh, that's great. Ahhh..."

Cyndi shivered under his tongue and fingers. She moaned, and fell back on her rumpled bed, pulling him atop her, between her wide-open knees.

"I know it now, cousin: my body tells me you're the love of my life, my one true love! I'm burning up for you! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

"Cyndi," he said worriedly, "shouldn't I get a condom?"

"I can't wait!" she cried, guiding his stiff stick smoothly into her juicy cavern. "I'm on fire! Fuck me now!"

She bit his neck and clawed his back. He was not about to deny a lady, not even the cute cousin who had teased him since they were little. He nicely fucked into her nasty, steaming-hot depths. Damn, her pussy was fiery! Her cunt muscles were like the hot hand of Hades, grabbing him, pulling him ever deeper inside her raging furnace.

He did not last long; and his live jizm, erupting from his phallic lava tube, did not cool her, but only excited her more. Was she on The Pill? He did not really care then.

"Oh cuz, baby, do it again, and again... I need you again!"

Her legs wrapped around his thighs to pull him yet deeper. She pushed his torso up, raised her head to his chest, and nibbled his masculine little nipples. She felt his cock stiffen inside her.

"Yes! Yes! Keep fucking me! Don't stop! Never stop!"

He certainly was not about to stop. He was hard again, but she needed more.

"Oooh Willy, you feel so good in me, but it's not enough. My tits are buzzing. You've got to—"

"I've got to fuck you like the arrogant bitch you are, cuz" he grunted.

He pulled out of his horny cousin, flipped her over on her hands and knees, and entered her from behind like a ball-heavy mastiff. His bold hands pinched her nervous nipples and used her hanging mammaries as grips to pull himself deeper into her.

He first cum had drained him but his testicles recharged with the energy of youth. Still, it took a while. He pounded into her almost endlessly, his thighs slapping her flushed buttocks, wap-wap-wap! Her cries proved her satisfaction. He finally jetted what felt like a whipped gallon of creamy semen into her willing womb. His grunt rose to a roar.

They were in no hurry to untangle themselves. But Cyndi was not finished yet.

"My tits still itch like crazy, Willy! Suck me again! And my pussy! I've got to have you in my pussy! My ass burns, too! Oh damn, what's happened to me?"

"I don't know but I'm not complaining," he groaned.

She twisted onto her back and set him where she wanted.

"Oh Willy, suck and pinch my tits! And fill my holes... you must, you must!"

He nibbled one nipple and pinched the other. She moaned. His other hand reached between her legs to gather their frothy juices. His nimble thumb plumbed her vagina and two wet fingers slid into her anus. Her sphincters tightened, clenching at him as he stroked in and out.

"Oh Willy, oh Willy, yeah, oh fuck yeah!" she wailed. "I love you! I love you so much!"

And that's where they were when Cyndi's mom Megyn, Willard's slim aunt, walked through her daughter's open bedroom door with the day's mail in her hands.

=====

Megyn knew better than to yell, "What are you kids doing?!?" That was pretty obvious. She said nothing to distract them, only stood quietly watching. They did not notice her sort through the mail and open Willard's chemically enhanced joke card. She only drew their awareness when she fingered the hand-painted dragon cartoon, and gasped.

"Mom!" Cyndi wailed. That she was orgasming at the moment only made her cry more plaintive.

Willard's mouth left his cousin's breast while his digits remained in her nether holes. "Uh, hi, Aunt Megyn."

"Oh kids," Megyn breathed, "you're so... and I'm so... oh fuck, where am I? Why do I feel like this?" She stripped out of her prudent office clothes and fell into bed with her daughter and nephew.

"Kids, my tits are so hot! Suck me!"

Willard rolled so his and Cyndi's mouths were at Megyn's inflamed breasts. They suckled. Megyn moaned. Willard kept one hand's fingers and thumb inside Cyndi's holes but intuited his twitchy aunt would want the same. Yes, her pussy was wet! Yes, he lubricated his other hand's thumb and fingers, and inserted them into Megyn's nether orifices. Yes, she whimpered passionately, and wept as an orgasmic wave swept over her.

But that was not enough for her.

"Willy, my mouth is so hot! I need relief! I need to suck your cock! NOW!"

The naked three rearranged themselves. Willard found just enough room to noisily nurse at his cousin's breast and finger-fuck her while she suckled and fingered her mother who desperately fellated the young man. He had no semen left to soothe or punish his aunt's throat but he felt fine with his dickhead tickling her larynx.

Willard had long thought his Aunt Megyn sexy but he had never expected THIS!

"Willy, my pussy is radioactive," Megyn complained. "You've got to cool me down! Not, don't only suck my clit... tongue-fuck me! I need this!"

She disconnected Willard and Cyndi and sprawled atop his body, lowering her vulva to his face.

"Go on, stick your tongue all the way in! And pinch my nipples! Ghod, I'm so hot!"

She swallowed his cock again. His tongue stroked her velvety vaginal folds. What a flavor!

"Aw crap, Mom, my mouth still buzzes like crazy! I need some too!"

Cyndi slithered between Willard's thighs and inhaled his scrotum, a ball in each of her cheeks. Her flooding saliva cooled her throat only a little. She sucked harder on his swelling, throbbing testacles. Could she excite him to cum in her mother's mouth? She stroked his hairy thighs.

Mother and daughter bumped heads but neither relented.

Willard knew he would not recharge for a few minutes but he sure liked 69ing with his MILFy aunt while his hot cousin sucked his balls. What was not to like?

And that's where they were when Cyndi's dad Ned stepped through his daughter's open bedroom door. He blinked twice. And again.

"Damn, I haven't even had a drink yet," he thought; "now's the time to start." He left for his cozy man-cave to drain a tumbler of Scotch, watch some football, and forget what he thought he had seen.

=====

Willard extracted himself from his tingling relatives after cumming down his aunt's throat.

"Cuz, Aunty, I've got to get home." And figure out what happened, he thought.

"But my mouth still burns, and my pussy," Megyn whined.

"And my tits are all tingly," Cyndi said. She hugged Megyn. "Mom, maybe we could..."

Willard watched in amazement as his cousin climbed on her supine mother's face. He saw a maternal mouth feast on her daughter, her tongue pushing through her offspring's labia.

"Oooh baby, I taste him in you! Oooh yeah!" Megyn moaned.

Mother and daughter pinched each others' swollen nipples. Willard had to drag himself from the scene. He dressed; the engrossed women almost forgot him. They were 69ing — call it bonding — when he left, reluctantly but politely closing the bedroom door behind him. Their groans followed him down the hallway.

The images swirled through his mind as he opened the storm cellar's outside door, dropped his books and clothes, showered the sex smell off his body, and dressed sensibly for dinner.

His scientific consciousness tried to find causes. His mature consciousness thought of how much his mother looked like her sister, and his cousin resembled his own sisters. His juvenile consciousness wanted more pussy. He adjusted his briefs. Whoa!

"You're late for dinner," his mother Marcia mildly scolded when he took his chair at the kitchen table. His sisters smirked at him and swallowed their meaty lasagna and red wine.

"Sorry, I was caught up in something. Cousin Cyndi dragged me off. You know how she is."

"Yeah," Heidi said, "she always treats you like stale underwear."

"Not at the table, dear," Marcia warned.