Test Subjects

Dr. Hillerman was in all ways unremarkable outside the four walls of his home. He worked with diligence, but no particular genius, at his medical research, sat in on Rotary Club meetings, and voted the party ticket.

And kept his wife and nineteen year old niece in a state of perpetual sexual serfdom at home.

As is often the case with pervasive sexual tyranny, it just sort of happened one day. Hillerman had been in line for a promotion for a long time, but his merits never quite tallied up to a corner office. But THIS time he was working on something big, a drug to isolate the parts of the brain stricken by Steinhalter's Syndrome, conceivably giving tens of thousands of people a somewhat normal life again.

But the timing, the timing was off. The board would consider promotions next week, and it would take months to get approval for human testing and find volunteers. He knew it worked. He KNEW it, and finally he would be the heroic provider of the house, the important man again!

So, he gambled. He mixed the drug in with the evening dinner of his wife, son, and niece and, noting that they did not instantly perish, was internally much relieved. He went to bed early, leaving everybody chatting around the table, visions of an imposing wooden desk in his mind.

The curious thing happened next morning when, coming downstairs, he noticed that the three members of his family were precisely where he had left them, only this time without the clattering conversation. They stared at each other, or perhaps merely at the walls behind each other, in perfect stillness.

Goodbye, corner office. Hillerman cleared his throat, "Sooo... how is everybody?"

With a concerted voice, all three answered, "How should I be?"

"Oookay," Hillerman exhaled and slunk to the refrigerator. "Are we out of milk, then?"

"Should we have milk?" his wife asked, eyes expressing a true concern, a deep philosophical curiosity.

"It's customary, yes," Hillerman grumbled.

Instantly, his wife, Josie, smiled widely and openly. "Then I will GET some for us!"

"Or I can!" the niece chimed in.

"Pick me!" his son erupted with the first words of honest enthusiasm that had escaped his lips in a good half-decade.

And it was like that the rest of the day. Every statement of Hillerman's was met with probing questions by his family until the poor doctor finally realized that none of them remembered a thing about what their lives were or what they were supposed to do with themselves.

Then the poor doctor turned his head quickly, illumination striking. "Josie, come here," he said, and led her by the hand around the corner. "Say, did you wrap your lips around my cock this morning?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"Of COURSE!" Hillerman play-acted to the hilt. "This is a disaster!"

"Oh no!" Josie's eyes leapt with fear. "Can I do it now? Will that make it okay, if I do it now?"

The future opened before Hillerman. His wife had NEVER put her lips anywhere near his cock before. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I don't know. Get Laurel over here." Josie ran off to grab Laurel, their niece. Josie had sultry dark hair that she always wore in the least attractive way possible, and a good body perpetually draped in plaid. Laurel was just this side of a wanton harlot, with long blond hair, full breasts, and a back that always seemed arched in a private ecstasy that you were not welcome to join.

"Laurel, come here, quick, your uncle needs us!" Josie squirmed in place while shoving Laurel forward.

Here goes... Hillerman took a deep breath. "Laurel, your AUNT forgot to lick my cock this morning."

"Oh, that sounds bad!" she said with a slight lisp that Hillerman had always assumed was an affectation.

"There could hardly be anything worse," he continued, awash in mock concern, "Okay, Laurel, I'm not due to cum on your breasts until this evening but, if we all promise to be quiet about it, I'll let Josie jerk me off onto you early today to make everything even."

"Oh! Thank you!" the two women hugged him, enraptured by his quick solution to their dire problem. Instantly they dropped down to their knees, Josie fumbling with glee at his pants, pulling out his of course entirely hard cock, licking it and stroking it with a fumbling earnestness.

"Wait, did you lick twice then jerk?" Hillerman asked in horror.

"Oh no, I did!" Josie said with suppressed terror.

"Quick, the only way to take that back is to slap it against Laurel's face five times and for both of you to squeal each time! Hurry!"

This was absurd, but damn it if Hillerman could not find it in him to care as his wife held his cock in his hand and positively squirmed and squeaked each time his cock came in contact with his niece's face.

The fifth time, when both women let their vocalizations truly go, did it. "Hurry, Laurel, your tits!"

Laurel jerked open her tight shirt and presented her breasts for her uncle's cum. Jerking furiously, Josie drained his balls in streaks all over their niece and then waited with held breath.

"Did it work?" she asked.

"Very nearly, we need, of course, to close the ceremony." So saying, he ran a finger along his spilled cum and, collecting a bit, smeared it over Laurel's lips and tongue, then repeated the process with Josie. He savored for a moment the sight of both of them looking up at him with open, beseeching mouths flecked with his cum. "Now lock lips, trade the cum between you, and we should be okay."

They clapped and fell at each other, tongues whipping about to transfer every drop of cum into each other, Laurel's covered chest against Josie's blouse, staining it as Josie would never have accepted before.

When they were done, they looked up to him again. "Okay, we dodged a bullet that time, girls. Now, I have to go outside, but luckily you don't have to. Ever again. I will be doing work, and in the meantime the two of you should look over the internet to keep up your research on the different ways that two women can drain cum from a man. Take good notes. Oh, and make sure you alter all of your clothes to be like the outfits you see today. Got that? Can I trust you to remember all that?"

They both smiled eagerly and ran up to the computer room.

Hillerman zipped up his fly and, whistling, went to the kitchen where his son was still sitting.

"Boy," he said, "Never liked you much. Now you're positively dead weight. You're at the age where the best thing is to leave all of your identification behind, walk out the door, and keep walking until monks take you in or you die of sun exposure."

"Okay, dad!"

And thus was Hillerman's last problem solved. For the rest of the day, he sat at his desk, and dreamed up a hundred small things with which to fill his home life for the next few decades.

End of Part One