The Soccer Party
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RewriteChapter 2 free porn video
I visited Becky at the restaurant on my way home. She was ecstatic. I had to remind her not to call me Master in public. She did her best not to appear to be playing favorites, conscientiously taking care of other customers in between visits to my table. She had also brought me a new story to read. It certainly wasn't anything I'd expect a mind-controlled sex slave to write. I smiled and began to think that maybe I hadn't completely eradicated her personality with the Pen. She had certainly taken my advice to heart, allowing the characters to interact with their environment, adding more description (and doing it without slowing the pace of the story) and paying more attention to the personalities of the characters. I wrote a few helpful hints here and there with a regular pen and placed it on the table for her to read when she had a break.
Absently I twirled the Pen around in my writing hand, wondering how I was going to get some extra money. After all, it wasn't going to just be me and Becky anymore after she found our apartment. With the extra two dozen sex slaves, and only two paychecks, neither of them much more than minimum wage, it would be hard to make ends meet. I considered using the Pen to get Becky and myself better, higher-paying jobs. I considered writing up a windfall for myself that would hold us for a few years at least, even if I accidentally netted others. I considered a great many things, and it was only after my watch beeped to let me know it was nearly four that I realized I had been scribbling out my brainstorms. I have GOT to start paying more attention to what I'm doing. I thought. I left Becky a tip, and gave her a kiss on the way out. She acted surprised, probably because the manager was watching, or maybe because I was leaving so soon. I told her I had some things to take care of before she came over. She nodded, understanding. I made my way around the tables to the exit, paid my check and left.
When I got home I found a laptop sitting on my desk, all plugged in and started up and ready to go. It had a 3 1/2" floppy drive, a 100MB ZIP drive, and all the other stuff I'd been drooling over as I watched Mom hog the computer, catching her sleep when I wasn't home, getting dinner started before I got back, returning to the computer, then coming out just long enough to get dinner out of the oven before it burned if it wasn't done before I got home.
"Woo-hoo!" I exclaimed. Dad emerged from my closet and snapped a picture.
"I take it you like your birthday present." Dad said.
"It's not my birthday." I replied.
"I know, but something always happens a few weeks before your birthday so I can't get you the present I want you to have, so I decided to get it for you early this year." I hugged my Dad and he left me to my own devices, silently shaking the Polaroid he had got of my little leap of joy (which was actually kind of like the ones the actors used to perform in the old Toyota commercials from the eighties).
As soon as the door was closed, I immediately set about personalizing my new toy. The first thing I did was use a little Pen power to cause a satellite modem to appear in my desk drawer. After I had installed that (fortunately it was Plug & Play compatible), I went online, amazing myself with the blazing speed, and managed to find an Anime desktop theme, which I downloaded. After I disconnected from the 'net, I installed my new theme and deleted the old ones,.WAV files and annoying screen savers and all. I deleted Solitaire and Free Cell because I knew I could get a Solitaire package from Wes, including both games and ninety-nine more, which would take up less space than those two programs. I tried Minesweeper to see if I liked it, and eventually decided to keep it, on a probationary basis. It was almost six by the time I finished my digital cleansing, and I had gone from having just shy of one gigabyte free to just barely shy of four.
With Internet access and a word processor, I had the opportunity to do my report early. Long habit of working at computers with short time limits had trained me to type quickly and with a modicam of accuracy. With the help of about twelve websites and the Encyclopedia Americana downstairs, I finished in record time. I ran it through the spell-checker, and it only found two errors, and those were both proper names. I added my own name to it, then saved my work. It was getting close to seven, so I emailed a copy of it as a file attachment to a friend of mine in San Juan so he could beta-read it, also sending carbon copies to Wes and Sally. It was always better to have several sets of eyes looking something over, so that more errors could be caught.
The doorbell rang. I knew Dad would be in the garage, trying to repair the distributor on his car, and Mom was ... well, Mom ... and besides, it was nearly seven, so I went to get the door. Sure enough, my cheerleading slavegirls were right on time. I led them upstairs, and before I had even finished closing the door, they were disrobing. They presented themselves for inspection in a double-rank, one line of twelve facing the other. I shut down my computer so I could oblige them. They kept their faces blank and expressionless as I inspected them, getting a major wood as I did so. Testing their discipline, I tweaked, pinched and bit their nipples, but they remained unresponsive, save for a little extra moisture downstairs. I went to my dresser and got out the box of laytex gloves, noticing I needed to buy more before too long, and began a more thorough inspection. It quickly became apparent that many of them were holding back the desire to eliminate. "You didn't use the restroom before you came over, did you?" I asked.
"No, Master." they replied in unison, ashamed at having displeased me. I removed my gloves.
"We can't have this." I told them. "From now on I want you to defecate and urinate before you come over. That way we can get right down to business. You do want to get down to business as soon as possible, don't you?"
"Yes, Master." they replied in unison.
"Alright, then. I want you to form one line leading to the bathroom over there, and when it's your turn at the toilet, I want you to sit down and empty yourselves into the toilet, flush it, then go into the shower and clean yourselves up, and clean yourselves good. The shower is big enough for three. That's how many I want in there at a time. Use the buddy system and clean each other up." I went into the bathroom to make sure the toilet seat was down while they formed a line. As soon as the line was formed, they marched in like robots in a production line. They were well-conditioned, requiring only seconds to defecate and urinate now that they knew it was their Master's wish. The shower ran as the first of the brainwashed cheerleaders finished eliminating and stepped into the shower.
Mindful of people who might come in and see the line of naked mindslaves doing their business, I got out some of my extra fishing line and ran it from my curtain rod to the first loose nail I found in the wall. I pulled an old sheet out of the closet and draped this over the line so the two squads couldn't be seen from the doorway. I went outside to the linen closet, almost breaking my neck as the rug skidded beneath my feet (like always), grabbed towels for the girls, and ran back to my room. I was just in time; the first of the cheerleaders was emerging. I had her dry herself off, then hand out towels to the rest as they emerged. My prick was harder than it had ever been before. I was on a power-trip and I knew it. I looked through my junk drawer to see if I had any of those FunSaver cameras left. Sure enough, there was a whole box with sixty of them in it. Each camera had thirty exposures available. I smiled. As the last of them finished her cleansing, I got out the gloves again and got on with the inspection. I was enjoying their thorough arousal almost as much as they were enjoying being poked and prodded and probed like pieces of meat. They were too well-conditioned to do more than grow more aroused as I moved down the line. I was almost finished when eight o'clock rolled around and Becky rang the doorbell. I took the time to inspect the last one, then removed my gloves and ran downstairs.
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