Sementing Love

Started April 15th, 2021

Notes:

# Everyone is over age 18.

# All names have been changed to their exact opposite (to protect... someone? lol)

# Do not attempt world domination on an empty stomach.

== Chapter: First Night ==

Her eyes were blank and staring, even more than someone who'd just gotten a full blowjob load in the mouth in the back of a rustbucket car might normally be dazed by the ignominy of it all.

"Dane? You okay?" I looked down at her, my first high-school BJ successfully accomplished and my breathing a little hard because of it.

She replied in a sort-of far-off monotone, almost a science fiction voice, and I might have thought Dane was messing with me. She said, "Yes. Dane. I'm. Okay."

My smile was a mile wide, but I wasn't sure what she was up to. I just said, "That was fantastic!"

Her drone was like the first - "That. Was. Fantastic."

I kind of chuckled to myself, wondering what was going on. The drone was like she was playing at being hypnotized, as a joke, or just playing because she wanted to get me to do something. I had no idea.

Of course, she might have had some emotional baggage about swallowing cum, and I didn't want that, of course. The thing was... it didn't seem like that? It was more serious than that, on her part, like, she was really into the part of playing dumb.

Most people, if they're trying to trick you, have faster eyes, or break a half-smile, or give some 'tell' that they're faking it and waiting for you to get the joke. She had none of that going on.

Thinking about it, I wondered if she really was this good of an actor. I'd seen her acting ability -- we'd been (5 years before) in the 8th grade play together. She was as convincing as any 8th grader could have been, on stage as Pygmalion's elderly shrew-boss, fake old-lady hair and all.

Still, it didn't seem like any kind of act. She didn't say anything, she just waited there. A drop of my cum, or her spit, fell from her lips to my abdomen. She did blink, though, slower than normal, like she was dazed.

A funny thought occurred to me -- if she was indeed pretending to be a 'drone' or something, I could find out by giving her an instruction, something innocuous... or not?

On a whim, I tried it and told her, "You will give me blowjobs whenever I ask for them. You like giving me blowjobs."

"I- will- give- you- blowjobs- whenever- you- ask. I- like- giving- you- blowjobs."

"You love the taste of my cum."

"I- love- the- taste- of- your- cum."

This was too funny. She'd been doing it for several sentences now. I wondered when she'd stop.

This was a blast!

My cock was shriveling in the cool air but I didn't care.

Inventing things as I spoke, I just rattled off some more instructions (and she repeated what I said after each one): "You want to do things for me, and with me, regularly." "You are..."

I almost said, 'in love with me', but I stopped. It didn't seem right. I couldn't do that to her. I could tell her other things, but ... that seemed wrong, somehow, extreme. Despite telling her to do anything else, I could dream about it... it didn't seem right to play with her emotions.

Instead, I said, "... Open to the idea of loving me, but that's up to you. You trust me completely. You feel comfortable with me. Uh... between any option of believing something bad about me, and something good, you will choose the good."

That was an idea I liked. I remembered the idea from a homily at church a couple of weeks before that.

One other thought occurred, so I said it. "Your dreams and plans, of your future -- will include thoughts of me."

I couldn't tell her to do things forever. All I could ask for, without exactly demanding things, was to ask to be included in the thoughts, the ideas. Maybe.

She just sat there, motionless, waiting for me, repeating what I said. I could tell her to do anything, maybe?

What if the instructions lasted forever? I'd read mind-control science fiction where brain-dead drones served a tentacled monster until they die of old age, or forget to eat.

Eating, really just eating healthy, was important. I should eat healthy, too, for that matter. But, what the heck, give her some useful thing to do, might as well help her out if I could. No need to have tentacles like the movie. "You only like to eat food that's healthy. You are now into staying fit and working out... daily."

She repeated these and waited, and I had to think fast.

"You like doing homework. You are an excellent student. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

Winging it was the name of this game.

"You like harder classes because they challenge you." "Achieving good grades, uh, wide knowledge? That gives you... Deep fulfillment."

My brain being what it was, noticing her very nice body, I admit, I dove into the base subject my brain was shouting at me to do. "You want to ..." I hesitated. "... have sex with me, a lot. Frequently." "You... orgasm a lot when we have sex. Deep, happy, amazingly good orgasms. Complete ones, that, like, take over your body. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

Adding the 'understand' question made her not repeat everything. She had been doing really well with the exact wording, too. The way she'd said things, her vocal inflection was as though she was saying obvious truths everyone should know.

Absolutely NO sane person doing some sort of a practical joke could have held out for this long, she would have cracked up laughing and broken character. But, she didn't.

That was about all I had for her. But, my present situation came to mind -- here I was, and here she was.

I needed to clean up. But... how? Oh -- right. Again, I addressed her. "Whenever I come, you will lick me clean afterwards, and it tastes really fantastic... to you."

After that, I'd run out of things to say, so had to figure out how to get her out of it.

I tried snapping my fingers - nothing happened!

I was at a loss.

Finally, I just said, "Wake up."

That worked.

Her eyes came back into focus, looking up at me, and I was worried a little, wondering what would happen. She grinned incredibly broadly and said, "Oh. My. God. That tasted fantastic!" Looking down at my shriveled cock, wet from saliva and cum, she said, "Oh, Mr. Happy is quiet now... And sticky. I'll take care of that!"

Her fingers tilted my cock back up and she studied it, licking her lips and pulling it in, wrapping her fingers around it, swirling her tongue, and then setting it to the side so she could lick my abdomen clean, and all around in my rather bushy pubic hair. "Hmmm..."

I waited, just watching.

"Love the taste of this! It's much better than... well... better." I got the feeling she was about to compare my taste to someone else. Her blowjob skills were pretty good, as far as I could tell, and I was pretty sure she'd given one before.

While she was kissing and sucking, it occurred to me that, if it was my cum that had put her under the first time, this was a second exposure, and she wasn't going under again.

It might be a one-time thing. Or, there was some re-doing-it timeout period involved. Given I'd told her she liked giving me blowjobs, maybe there'd be a second chance sometime. Or, maybe it was some magic of the stars, or some other thing. I had no idea, but it felt too good to do much but experience it.

After she'd cleaned me up, she sat up, pulling down first on her bra where we'd pushed it up. Getting arranged and tugging a little (including reaching in her bra and adjusting her sizable boobs into each cup), she got her shirt and sweatshirt re-arranged.

Pulling up my own jeans, zipping, and buttoning them, she waited for me. Just as soon as I finished, I saw the look in her eye, kind of soft but inquisitive, and a biting-on-lower-lip consideration of what had just happened.

I sat there, and she leaned in close. I leaned over, too, pulling her head to mine and kissing her, softly, tenderly, like there was some way to communicate that I really liked her, too, and I wanted this to continue.

She hummed, breaking the kiss, "I'd better get home. My older sister's a busy-body and she keeps track of me in irritating ways."

"Ah. Okay. ... Front seat?"

She chuckled, glancing at the front of the car and back at me, wondering.

I said, "Or, we could play 'naughty uber driver'."

She laughed out loud, "Dork," and opened the door to switch to the front seat.

I did the same. Getting out meant cool, almost cold air, a change from the humid interior. We were well hidden; the parking spot I'd found was behind the laundromat's dumpsters, out of sight of the street even if you were looking.

Pulling out slowly to make sure no one was coming, I drove her home.

She snuggled over towards me in the seat, then reached out and took my right hand, loosely in case I needed it to drive. She asked, "When can I see you again?"

This was a change. Before, she'd been kind of chancy with me, like she liked me, but she wasn't sure. I was happy to see the change, but it was obvious it was because of what I'd said. I cast about. "Uh... Tomorrow is Sunday, I... have church... mass, I mean, in the morning, then... a physics lab to write up?"

"We could totally study together... afternoon, then? Where?"

My sisters were always a pain, and there wasn't much room in our house.

I had the basement.

There was a shared-TV room there with a half wall that didn't make for much privacy for me, but my sisters knew I could just turn on my stereo and make them leave if I wanted.

Really, my sisters were both going to the community college (to save money) and they got the two upstairs bedrooms. The thing was, they were usually busy on Sundays, but... not always.

When my dad left (lots of years ago, I was really little), we had to move. Our new house had odd sleeping arrangements. My mom found us a small 2-bedroom house, but then put my sisters in the larger/master bedroom. Initially, she'd put them in bunk beds, but then they complained they wanted double beds, and mom relented, but two double-beds took up most of the room.

My mom was dating this guy then; I think that was when I was in 5th grade. He was nice. Bruce was his name. He was handy, so he built (with my "help") a pair of loft beds near the ceiling. They still had double-sized mattresses, but also then had desks with good lighting, which gave them a lot of room.

I was seriously envious. My basement area wasn't very fancy.

Helping Bruce mostly meant fetching things, holding stuff, sweeping, cleaning, that kind of thing. He described what he was doing, and it was a great chance to do some carpentry and share an experience. I liked him. He made me feel included.

His job ended up taking him out of town, then, and he and my mom broke up, but it was nice while it lasted.

My room, on the other hand, forever and always, was a part of the basement. I had the part on the other side of the TV and couches, separated by a half-wall and (at first) a hung blanket, and later with some heavy drapes mom got at the thrift store.

It cut down the noise, but if someone was watching TV I had to use earplugs.

All this was context for my next answer, "Uh... kinda cramped at my house. Could we do it at your house? Or, the library or something?"

"My house? Yeah, that'll work. We can use the dining room. Mom will love seeing me study. She's always on me about getting a real job soon. I think she's thinking about my college costs and stuff."

"Yeah. You know it."

We pulled into her driveway. She summarized, "Okay. 2 pm tomorrow? Wear something warm. The house is usually cold. Oh, and ... wear a shirt with a collar. My mom notices."

We were in Winnipeg, and it was October. Of course, it was cold. I chose to answer the collar question, "Collar. No problem."

In the driveway, she gave me a really nice kiss, and just when it was steamy, she pulled away and said, "Keep those lips warm. I might want to use them tomorrow."

"'Kay. Uh... Thanks for...?"

She rolled her eyes. "There's more where that came from, silly." As soon as Dane said it, though, I could tell she was a little scandalized at what she said, and giggled, then covered it by a curt, "Maybe."

"Okay." I was all grins. "See you. 2 pm."

I drove off, humming to myself, and then all of a sudden preoccupied with what had just happened. What had she done? What had I said, exactly? Wow.

I pulled over in a residential neighborhood a couple of blocks away and got out a pen from the center console and found a full piece of paper (the back of something useless) and set to writing. In a couple of minutes, I got down exactly, as much as I could, everything I'd said to her.

Getting home, I fell asleep so fast I barely was out of my clothes.

== Chapter: Sunday Morning ==

My mom's wake-up yells almost could have gone unheeded if it weren't for my having two 'helpful' siblings who separately bellowed down the stairs to me to get my ass moving and shower before we headed to church.

Now, I should mention, our house wasn't big because it was a duplex. The people next to us were an elderly couple, but the husband, a nice old guy, passed away during my Freshman year (I was a senior at that point), so it was just the older lady there now -- Mrs. Brensen. She was sweet but not steady on her feet, so we took her to Mass with us.

The escorting of Mrs. Brensen across the yard to our car was always a factor; we couldn't leave quickly, and I had to be ready early.

Turns out, I was so late getting ready that my sister Julie had to help her, which upset everyone because it wasn't 'normal' (Julie knew she wasn't strong enough to help Mrs. Brensen, and Mrs. Brensen didn't like missing out on 'the biceps', the part of me she most noticed most, I think).

It always made me feel strong when she'd squeeze my biceps as I kind-of flexed; she liked it, too, it was a running thing with us. I really liked her.

Mass was normal, but during the homily/sermon I drifted to thinking about what kind ethics covered what I'd done, and wondering about what kind of guy I was if I would take advantage of someone.

It occurred to me that doctors got away with medical treatments for big changes - amputations or life-threatening surgeries or whatever, if they had consent. If someone agreed to do something, then being told/forced to do it would just be helping them.

My move then was to come up with things that would help, that would sweeten the pot for someone, really, what would Dane get out of it?

What would I want to be able to do? I'd told her she'd find it easy to do homework and concentrate, so maybe that was good. Paying for that by giving good head was a trade-off, one she'd make anyway if we were 'dating', which I wasn't sure we were, since it'd just been twice sitting nearby at lunch, and then the one date so far. But, this second 'study' date might make it a more 'steady' thing? I hoped so, at least.

After lunch, I headed over to Dane's house.

I had my backpack and laptop, ready to do actual work. Of course, I was also really-really-really hoping to get a blowjob. Dane was pretty, and I was horny, almost always. It was a preoccupation of mine, and I knew it got in the way, but... I just couldn't help it.

She met me at the door; her blond hair held in back with a pony-tail and a pair of thick sweats on that hid everything but were obviously warmer than the freezing temps outside.

While she took my coat, her mom walked in, a tall woman at nearly my height (5'11", 180 cm). She had the same kind of darker-blonde hair as Dane. By the smell of her, she had a smoking habit, but the kind of body that said that she didn't need to worry about working out very much.

Dane introduced me to her as Kusin (her first name), or Mrs. Jergins, and then showed me to the kitchen for the 5-cent tour of the house. Kusin was polite and formal; pretty but in a haggard way that said she was tired. Dane explained later she worked 2nd shift evenings at an auto-parts call center.

Downstairs in her basement rec room, we set up our books and I got my laptop plugged in and started up.

Dane, also setting up, asked, "So, whatcha doin?"

I described the rough ideas of my physics experiment (rolling different balls down a ramp and timing it), and she mentioned having trouble with math, but didn't go into it more than that.

My typing on my laptop was not physics. I was on the opposite side of the coffee table so she couldn't see my document. In it, I was stream-of-consciousness writing what I might want to instruct her to do next. And, a set of questions about what limits my power might have?

Would it happen again? Would it affect other people besides her? What would I tell other people? If it did affect other people, what could I order them to do, that might be useful? Or, ethical? I could ... get more sex, probably. Any sex, that would be good!!!

I was 18, and she was 18, and if there was a set of things we should be doing, it should include Lots and Lots of Sex!

Or, at least, blowjobs?

Would it work on anyone? What did her sister do, and what would she look like? Her mom was pretty enough, sort of, but I didn't want to kiss a person who smoked, and I wasn't sure about getting a blowjob from the mom of my ...girlfriend?

Was she my girlfriend?

I was pretty sure she was. We didn't really formalize it. We'd just gone on a single date, the night before - after knowing each other for years and eating lunch together a lot. Still, getting a BJ had to be some kind of qualification for not-casual-friend status anymore.

My mind went back to her mom for some reason. Kusin was actually pretty hot, for being older than us. Maybe, just maybe, I could get a blowjob from Kusin without kissing her so I wouldn't have to smell - or taste? - the cigarette smoke.

Cigarettes were OMG yucky, like, puke-level, I was thinking, but then again I'd only smelled them from a distance and not actually ever kissed a smoker.

Would Kusin do a good job at it, even? She was older. She might be really good at it, she had to have more practice. Did I even want that? Would I want a BJ from an older lady if I was dating her daughter? Would she remember it, if I told her to forget it afterwards? Normally, if you tell someone to forget something, BOOM, they'll remember forever because they're busy running over it in their heads.

Would she actually forget?

If her mom and I did it secretly, and then we told Dane? Would she freak out?

Would the better-quality of the BJ make up her being older, so not as pretty as Dane?

I hesitated to say Kusin was not as pretty. I thought that fast, but reconsidering it, they were a different kind of pretty, probably. It seemed wrong to judge people like that. I wasn't great on ethics, maybe, but I was pretty sure that was a bad way to think.

Maybe I could use Mrs. Jergins as a test subject, just to see what I could get her to do, or if she'd rebel at anything. Maybe... I could just have Ms. Jergins quit smoking, as an order! Even if it didn't last, it wouldn't be evil, since she probably wanted to do that anyway. I'd have to find something to tell her to do that wouldn't hurt her, but wouldn't be something she'd ever do without my urging, and see if that worked.

I'd already typed up some ideas for instructions, as a list, based on what I'd thought about during church. Sitting there, reading them as 'orders', I could see I needed to tighten them up, make them more simple, easy to say, and easier to comply with.

That took a while, making it shorter, simpler, better...

Looking at it, I definitely needed something fail-safe, like "Always presume I don't want you to hurt yourself" (or something similar). I had to come up with a way to add ad-hoc instructions later, too... that, I was trying to come up with.

As far as Dane knew, though, we were just working in the same room, quietly, typing and writing.