This series started from a prompt in the Forum by
ScrappyPaperDoodler
: "As Many Tropes as Possible (A Tribute to Literotica and Smut in General):... a guy... who's hung like a horse and inherits a billion dollars from a father he never knew he had. He falls in love with his sister... after somehow winning... a game of poker... here's the twist: the sister is an alien-vampire and all the friends are cyborgs (see 'fem-bots')... his high school bully ends up banging the hero's mom... we all know revenge is a dish best served anally... the use of a time-machine..."
Me being me, I took the absurd as a challenge, and with a lot of help and ideas from Scrappy I've written an amusing tale of wishes and wanton lust.
Content Warning:
Incest, Dubious Consent; all characters are at least 18 years old.
*
I was drunk, and on more than vodka. I was in love with my phenomenal cock that was not only huge but also ever ready for action, and delivered champagne finishes of creamy cum again and again. That alone made me feel like a god. I had used it long and well with my mother the night before, and now, watched by multiple strangers, my sexy twin half-sisters had given me a heavenly handjob, and Polly had ridden me till I came deep in her hot, human pussy.
I was having so much sex, and planned never to stop. And suddenly I was rich too! So rich I had no idea - in theory, anyway. My bank balance was unchanged and close to zero. "When do I get it?" I demanded.
"Soon," Vale assured me. "Soon. The firm will handle the details, and the twins have gone ahead to make the mansion ready for us. Besides, you have two weeks of school left to do" - my heart sank at the prospect of more school, but soared again as she continued - "and Carl's mother's ass won't fuck itself."
In the excitement of the past day I'd forgotten that part of my wish. Carl had fucked my mum in front of me, and I was eager to return the favour. Vale was right. I couldn't leave my old life behind until I had had my vengeance, and that wouldn't be complete until my cum was flowing from Carl's mother's gaping ass.
I was rich, cocksure and full of lust - and more than a little drunk. "I'm driving," I said, snatching the keys off Vale and easing into the driver's seat. I'd received my license the year before, but I'd never driven something as sexy and beautiful as a Porsche. I nearly came in my pants just by starting the engine and feeling its purr.
My equally sexy and beautiful sister slipped into the passenger seat. "Is there anything else I can do to make this day perfect for you?" she asked.
The words were seductive and I chose to ignore the half-seen flash of irritation in her dark, intense eyes. More than my mother, more than the twins, more even than Carl's mother and all the fembots in the world, Vale was the one I wanted. I shuffled in my seat and adjusted my Armani trousers, removing my suit jacket while I was at it, until my aching cock was free, jutting up hard and horny and wet with precum. "Blow me," I said, "while I drive."
I shot off with a roar of the engine and a rapid (if embarrassingly clumsy) changing of gears, following the signs for the country and the quiet country roads - and as I exulted in the power and perfection of the Porsche's drive, I felt the cool, divine touch of Vale's alien lips on my throbbing stick.
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Three words echoed in Tiffany Thomas's head.
Worst. Night. Ever.
She'd been looking forward to this all day - all week, even. It was their one year anniversary, proof that there was more to their relationship than groping each other at parties (most of the groping being done by Carl, not that Tiffany minded particularly). Sure he could be an asshole at times, but he had always been kind to her. And the sex was good, although doing it in the back seat of his car was a nuisance; she always ended up banging her head against the roof, or sometimes the door handle. It only annoyed her that he kept trying to persuade her to do it without a condom, complaining that it would be better for him that way, ignoring the fact that she was only eighteen years old and also the captain of the cheerleading squad. The last thing she needed in her life was a baby.
She'd spent hours agonising over what to wear. Antonio's wasn't the poshest restaurant in town, but it was popular with all sorts of people. It paid to look good, and also she had hoped to get some hot selfies with Carl to share to her Insta. In the end, she'd opted for a tight, black dress, and styled her long, red hair into silky waves. They'd arranged to arrive separately, but she was still frustrated not to find him there waiting for her as she stepped out of the taxi. Torn briefly between waiting on the street outside and waiting inside, the latter proved more attractive. They had a table booked, after all.
She ordered a margarita to soothe her nerves as she checked her messages and social. There was nothing recent from Carl... but he was tagged into a video that was rapidly going viral. At first she dismissed it as low-budget MILF porn, but as she peered at the young man thrusting away vigorously at the woman bent over a table, she became increasingly convinced that it was Carl.
"What the absolute fuck!" she hissed. Beyond the painful betrayal of seeing him fucking another woman, there was the utter humiliation that everyone else already knew this, and she was only just discovering it while waiting for him in a fancy restaurant on their anniversary. "Fuck!"
"If you had three wishes..."
Tiffany looked up, startled. There was a waitress looking at her, no doubt impatient to take an order or free up the table. It was a different girl from before. This one had a gothic vibe, what with her near-black hair and pale skin. "I wish my boyfriend's cock would shrivel up and disappear," Tiffany said bitterly, but too quietly to be heard. Louder, she added, "I think I'll just go."
"I think you should stay," the waitress said. "I promise you won't regret it." Her dark eyes were as calm and deep as the ocean and seemed to soak up the rage in Tiffany's chest. "Would you like a complimentary drink? I recommend the Prosecco. We have a delightful rosé."
Tiffany closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and released it, letting go of the anger and disappointment as much as she could. After all, she had nowhere else to be right then, and if the restaurant was going to offer free drinks without harassment, she could survive being alone at the table for a while. And maybe, just maybe, the waitress was actually hitting on her?
She opened her eyes and smiled. "I'd like that."
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Surely nothing can match the euphoria of impending orgasm while racing at 100 mph down a long, straight country road in glorious sunshine. Surely nothing can match the disappointment of that being interrupted by the sighting of a cop shooting past in the opposite direction on her motorbike - and of that bike then turning to follow you with its red-blue lights flashing officiously.
Scowling at this twist of fate, and abruptly very aware of how fast I had been going, how much alcohol I probably still had in my system, and the fact that Vale was still kissing and licking my shaft, quite oblivious to our predicament, I pulled over to the side of the road.
Vale sat up with a smug, unconcerned expression as I stopped finally, and my efforts to conceal my hard, throbbing cock proved futile. I was just too big and too aroused and ultimately still far too visible as the cop dismounted from her bike in front of us and walked back to speak to me.
She was wearing leather trousers and a hi vis jacket, wisps of long, brown hair escaping her white helmet. "Do you know what speed you were doing, sir?"
I looked round at Vale to plead for help, but she was nonchalantly reapplying her lipstick. "Uh," I said to the cop. "Sixty?"
She simply shook her head and made another note in her book. "Do you understand that it is unsafe to receive oral sex while driving?"
I looked down at the offending member. It was still traitorously hard, and I could feel the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks as I looked back at the policewoman. "I'm sorry," I said as contritely as I could manage. "I won't do it again."
"License, please?"
I didn't have it, and I didn't have a good feeling about where this was going. "Step out of the car, please, sir."
Reluctantly, I did so. "Vale!" I hissed as my wrists were handcuffed behind me and my rights were read. "Do something!"
"Like what?" she asked, acting all innocent.
"I don't know! Bite her, or something."
Vale frowned. "She's just doing her job."
"Vale! Please!"
"I'm your sister, not your get out of jail free card," she said. But with a sigh, she turned to the cop and said, "Officer, my client is clearly guilty, but it would save us all a lot of time and paperwork if you could skip straight to a suitable punishment."
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There was something almost decadent about sitting alone in a restaurant sipping sparkling wine, especially where there was most of the bottle still to get through. Getting spectacularly drunk would certainly be one way to celebrate the absolute clusterfuck of this anniversary dinner. Tiffany had already posted one selfie of herself with the text, "Young, free and sparkling again!!!" and in all modesty she looked pretty damn hot. Fuck that asshole Carl.
Her attention was drawn abruptly to the sight of a young man entering the restaurant. There was something familiar about him but she couldn't place him immediately. His white shirt and dark suit trousers looked new and high quality, the shoes too, but the trousers were creased and stained, and the white shirt was only half tucked in. His hands were behind his back, and he was looking for someone - not her, but his eyes widened as he saw her, recognised her, and he looked round in a sudden panic.
It was that reflexive action that identified him for Tiffany. It was John, one of the nerds that Carl was always picking on. The irony of him worrying about Carl being here, when this was the last place Carl would come tonight. A waitress - the goth girl who had persuaded her to stay earlier - guided John to Tiffany's table, much to Tiffany's own irritation (that she made no attempt to hide), and to John's very apparent confusion.
As John sat in the seat opposite her, he winced in sudden pain and squirmed awkwardly. His hands were still behind his back, and now that he was closer she could see pink lipstick on his collar, and buttons missing from his shirt.
"Um, hi," he said uncertainly.
On any other day...
But Tiffany was intrigued, despite herself. "What's your story?" she asked.
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When not pursuing a life of criminal enforcement with 77 horsepower between her legs, Sam was an avid reader and writer of erotic fiction. Following the maxim of write what you know, Sam's own stories tended to focus on motorbike gangs and bike cops and leather-clad sluts and bimbo girlfriends.
