Author's note: This is one of two stories with the same concept and mildly different executions. Both stories have the same intro, the same general plot, and lots of kinky sex. The difference is that this story is geared more towards domination and humiliation, while the other story has more "heart"--while still containing plenty of sex.
If fucking to dominate is your kick, this story is for you. Otherwise, I would recommend reading the other story, "Gift of Orgasms -- Cheerful". Both stories are fun and are my personal kinks. For me, it is more a question of mood.
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Uncle Pete always had pretty girls around him. I would be lying if I said that wasn't part of the reason he was my favorite Uncle. At every family event, Uncle Pete could be counted on to bring along at least one hot, young, shapely girl. Sometimes, there were even multiple girls, all hovering around Uncle Pete, rushing to bring him beers, and all showing more cleavage than I had ever seen outside of the internet. As much as my parents tried to shield me, I always ended up hanging with Pete through most of the family gatherings.
It wasn't just the girls, of course. Pete was funny and I was quick to laugh. Uncle Pete took me to movies. When I failed math in sophomore year of high school, it was Uncle Pete that sat me down and told me to shape up and quit cutting class.
The memory that I thought of the most, however, was when Uncle Pete picked me up from a party at 3AM, hammered and sick, and took me back to his place. The next day, he took the heat, claiming that I was at his place all night and he was sorry that he forgot to call. Afterwards, Pete and I talked for a long time. He told me that what I was going through was normal. It was okay to call him and he would never be mad, but I should be careful not to let the partying and booze go to my head, because I could screw things up that would take the fun away. I promised him I would keep my head.
I was really going to miss Uncle Pete. The heart attack took him quick, at least.
I was now 23, just out of college and trying to figure out what I was going to do with life. Uncle Pete's death left me feeling even more like a boat without an anchor, just waiting for the next wind to push me along.
That being said, Pete was always the giver. His funeral was full of many of the gorgeous women that I had seen throughout the years and many more that I had never seen. They were crying, often in little pods together, and often very loudly. My family was there, too, and nobody quite seemed surprised to see the myriad of beautiful mourners. We had known Uncle Pete well enough to know the company he kept, even if none of us really understood why.
That confusion was redoubled now, looking back at Uncle Pete's life. As long as I could remember, he had never had a single, serious girlfriend, but had always been surrounded by dozens who seemed to wait on his every whim. Why? Uncle Pete wasn't an exceptionally handsome man, especially as he got older. What was his secret? I wished I knew. My last girlfriend had dumped me for a guy in her chemistry course that she had known for three weeks. We had dated for a year.
I listened to the eulogies, listened to the reverend, and watched a video montage that was accompanied by cheesy music. There was a blonde mourner to my right who had a way-too-short dress. She wept through the entire thing. I did my best not to look at her legs, as nice as they were. It didn't seem like the right time or place.
After the funeral, I mingled with my family, trying to figure out how much time I needed to stay. I missed my uncle, but he was by far the best part of my family. Now that he was gone, hanging with my family had lost a lot of the draw.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and I found a tall, older gentleman. He asked me for clarification on my name, and I told him he had it right.
"Excellent," the man said. "I was your uncle's lawyer. As a part of his last will and testament, he wanted me to give you this." He outstretched an envelope, then gazed over my shoulder at my family, who was watching curiously. "It was your uncle's wish that you open it outside the company of others."
"Uh, thank you," I said. I was a little confused. Uncle's money had already been accounted for. He had distributed it among a few different charities. They were selling his house and had an upcoming estate sale for his stuff.
I excused myself from my family and stepped outside the funeral home. The air was crisp and someone was burning leaves nearby. Combined with the orange leaves crunching under my feat, it was a perfect autumn day. I loosened the tie around my neck, walked to my car, and leaned on the hood. I carefully tore open the envelope and looked inside.
I expected--maybe hoped for--a check. There was none. There was just a single, type-written page inside. I carefully pulled it from the envelope and immediately smelled my Uncle's cologne. I pushed down the tears that sprang up from the smell and forced myself to read the letter. It was type-written and not very long:
"My dear nephew,
"If you are reading this, then I am dead. I hope it's long in the future, but however it went, I don't have any regrets. I lived life well and I hope that you are able to do the same. To help you with this, I'm leaving you my greatest treasure--the gift of orgasm.
"Trust me, I know it's a strange thing to say, but I don't have to remind you of the company I kept through my life. Those girls didn't want me for my great hair or warm personality--you know I had neither. They wanted me because I could get them off in a way that nobody else could.
"It's a magic of sorts that seems to dwell within one person at a time. The last holder of it picked me and I pick you. When I die, this magic will pass along to you. You will only have to command a woman in your mind and she will have the most powerful orgasm she has ever had--or ever will.
"I know you don't believe me. I felt the same way. The only way you will ever believe me is by trying it out. So go try it. Give a stranger the orgasm of her life. But please, DO NOT try it on a family member. Trust me, that's a mess you don't want.
"After you're done, I'm giving you a link to a page I've set up to learn more." Here he listed a URL to an obscure, strange page on the internet--obviously something he set up using a cheap web service.
"I love you, nephew. Pete."
He was right. I didn't believe him. This was Uncle Pete's final joke to him, a practical joke that would live on forever. But still, I couldn't deny that there were a hundred hot girls in that funeral. Pete had a way with women.
I got in the car, folding the letter up and sticking it in the cupholder. I knew I should say goodbye to my family, but I didn't want to go back in there. Especially with that nagging curiosity in the back of my head. Also, they'd want to see the letter and--joke or not--I didn't want that.
I went a few blocks through the suburb that Pete had lived in. I pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop. Pete's cologne still hung in the air. His words on the paper, even if they were a joke, were the last thing I'd ever had from my uncle. I lost it for a moment, I'll fully admit it. I missed my uncle. And now I was going to go the rest of my life without him.
I got it together after a few minutes and took a deep breath. I stepped out of the car and into the coffee shop. The bell above the door jingled as I came in. The smells of overpriced coffee assaulted me.
I stepped into the line and looked behind the counter. There was a barista. She was pretty, in a hipster sort of way--the kind of girl I didn't mind picturing on her knees. Uncle Pete's words flashed through my mind: "Give a stranger the orgasm of her life". I quickly shook it out of my head. There was no way I was going to try to pick up a barista at a coffee shop. Family or not, I had not inherited Pete's sort of style.
