Without my uncle and I to perform for, Eric rumbles through his house with the well-earned comfort of a man who built it himself. It's a subtle shift, a confidence to how he moves through the space, knowing it's just him and Violette. And with his memories about her uncensored, it doesn't take him long to realize why she went upstairs while he was seeing Jett off. Why she sent him away in the first place.

Figures she'd need it, it's been a while, he thinks to himself. A spike of heat passes through him at the idea. He's reacting so well to his rewritten memories, not a hint of regret; what a good boy. I want to tell Violette that her dad's just another dog to be trained when you get right down to it, but I know I'd be punished within an inch of my life if I did.

Eric gets a glass of water from the fridge while I steal quietly behind him. My "invisibility," created by suggestion alone, isn't perfect. If he looked right at me, he'd see me. It's only because he's such a malleable target that I'm trying this trick on him without her help. It doesn't work well on my uncle--not as well as it worked by Violette's command last night, that's for sure.

Maybe I should ask Oran for help keeping her satisfied, I drop into his thoughts. He chuckles at the thought, then shakes his head.

They're kind of skinny, they might not be able to keep up with her, he thinks without my bidding. Oi. Rude. But at least it's fodder for bending.

I should ask her what she thinks. It's whatever she wants, after all. That one slides inside him easy as anything. Let him picture it. He vaguely imagines her with her juicy legs firmly wrapped around me, then he can't help but imagine it more vividly, her tossled hair, her closed eyes, the sound of skin on skin. For her needs, you know.

Hey! Hey hey hey. Don't imagine me in quite that much detail, that's unnecessary. Had Violette sneakily fed him a command to take interest at some point? Or do I fall enough within his natural tastes...? I know gay guys see me and think twink energy, but it's not happening. It's not like I hate doing it, if the mood's right, but with guys who would fit, thanks.

Anyway, Violette still takes precedence over me, and the image fades. He starts toward the stairs, leaving his empty glass of water on the kitchen island. I trail behind, stepping lightly, willing him to face forward, eyes on the prize: one perfect angel with heaven between her thighs.

Am I jealous, like she worried? In an abstract way, where I can't help but wish it was my turn inside her again, but it's exciting nonetheless. Like I'm earning her favor by arranging a present at my expense. They do say experiences make the most memorable gifts.

Down the hallway darkened by closed doors, then there's his bedroom. He opens the door. Violette's on his bed, nestled into a pile of pillows, her phone up to her face until the door opens fully. She drops it and goes to spread her legs wide, but stops when she sees the intent on Eric's face. Her eyes widen instead.

"Hey babygirl, sorry you had to wait," he says as he takes his flannel shirt off. The rest of his clothes quickly follow.

Her eyes dart to mine, and I can't tell if she's irritated or pleased before Eric blocks her from view as he climbs onto the bed.

"C'mon now, you'll sweat through your cute outfit, let's get it off," he says, reaching for her. I circle around to his side, wanting to actually get her in my sight again. He's already pulling her dress over her head, making her gasp, so I have to wait to catch her gaze. I wink when I do.

Remind him I'm not here, I mouth to her.

"You're glad we're all alone," she says, her voice the huskiest I've heard it. Just the sound of her makes him shudder with lust. Curiously, I notice again that her words leave me unaffected. So she has some control over whether her orders hit everyone who's under her influence? Or is it because I know she's not talking to me? I've really got to grill her about it later. She's experimented some, but how much?

"All alone," he repeats, his large hands sliding down to grip at her thighs. He has the hungry expression of a man who's waited for a feast. She glances at me again, and I nod in approval. Not a hint of my presences remains in his mind. Everything is Violette and the heat he reveals when he pulls her legs apart by the ankles.

"You know I need it...?" She asks it in a way that could be flirtatious, but I hear the genuine question.

"Nobody needs it more than you," he answers with great fondness. She nods in vigorous agreement at he pushes two fingers inside her.

"Gotta check you're wet enough." What a joke! I can practically hear her dripping.

"You know I am," she whines, her hips squirming as he fingers her.

"But what if I hurt you?" He says it with a note of genuine concern. "You know I'm..."

Violette's having none of it; she rolls her eyes like a bratty teen being told she spent too much at the mall. "It won't hurt and I like that it's big, now put it in, I need it."

"Okay, honey, sorry," he says obediently, his mind taking her words for the imperative it is. He shifts so that his hard cock lays against her stomach, and--okay, I'm more jealous now, because the giddy way she stares at his sizable dick and wriggles with anticipation would make most people feel inadequate.

A while back, I saw this skinny little white girl who posts videos of herself taking to biggest dildos you have ever seen on some website that allows adult content. The way she'd circle around the tip before dropping down and sucking the toy's girth inside herself, something that seemed impossible with her narrows hips and downturned pussy lips that only give a hint at everything tucked between them, was a sight to behold. Yeah. I watched a bunch of those videos.

Violette gives her a run for her money. The moan that ekes out of her as Eric enters her is soft (her voice is always so soft, even when it rings loud in my ears). She's so small in comparison to him, about a foot and a half shorter, dwarfed by the bulk of his chest and belly, the size of his cock. Hard to believe he slides in as easily as he does.

I move closer, reach out and touch my fingers to her palm at the edge of the bed. The ways her fingers immediately slide into my own is a surprise, but I squeeze them gratefully. She wanted me to touch her?

"You," she says, turning her face toward me. Her eyes are as dark as her mind. Eric's started thrusting in and out of her, his breath coming out in hot grunts, but she's looking at me. I feel my head lighten.

"This," she says, then doesn't elaborate. I'm lost in the way her tongue runs over her lips for a moment. Wait, does she mean my surprise? It hadn't been quite as dramatic as I hoped, but...

"Glad you like it?"

"Like it," she agrees, and then she turns back to Eric while still holding my hand. "Enjoy this."

For a moment, I'm not sure what she means, but then the show begins.

"Daddy, it feels so good. Your cock is so big and hot inside me. I need it so bad. I'm such a slut, please fuck me. Daddy, Daddy Daddy Daddy!

She was quiet the two times we had sex, just a few moans and words here and there, delicate sounds from a delicate girl. I could tell she was enjoying it, so I just thought her reticence was cute. It makes it obvious now that this is a performance for my sake.

"You're not a slut," Eric protests, his hands cupping at her cheeks. He moves more gently, strokes her face with his thumbs. "You're a good girl..."

She petulantly shakes her head, and does something inside herself that makes Eric stop and groan, his dick buried to the hilt. God, I wanna feel that too.

"Fuck me like I'm a slut," she orders. "Like you mean it!"

"Violette!" He groans, the movement of his hips picking up again. He grips her doll hips and holds her there as he fucks her. Fascinated (and aroused, are you kidding me), I watch as she mewls and twists, calling "Daddy" like it's written a hundred times in the script and cameras are rolling.

He still doesn't think she's a slut. She hadn't said to think of her as one, just to fuck her like one. Even as he's balls deep in her, he sees her as sweet and pure, almost surrounded by a yellow glow in the faint afternoon light.

The envy that lit me up inside dims, and I tighten my grip on her overheated hand, not caring about the sweat. She really needs someone around to know that she's a bad girl. To treat her like one. And then I can kiss her afterward and tell her I didn't really mean it.

"Oran," she moans, to the surprise of both Eric and I. He hunches over her and cums with a groan, and yes, I enjoy the sight of his hips pulsing and pumping and wonder how they'd feel against me. I blame her for this.

"What was that? You missing me already?" I whisper to her.

"You want them, then... don'tcha, sweetie?" Eric asks breathlessly, his voice running on top of mine.

Violette's more flushed than I've ever seen her, right to her ears. She yanks her hand away from mine and scrubs at her cheeks as if to wipe the blush away.

"I don't mind, baby, you've got needs," he assures her, hand patting at her head.

"He doesn't, he even thought of it himself," I add.

She doesn't reply to either of us, instead rolls over on her stomach and clutches a pillow, then unsteadily lifts her hips up.

"Oran is going to fuck me now," she says, and oh? Yup, that's what it feels like when I know an order is for me. I'm halfway on the bed and pushing my borrowed leggings down before I know it.

"It's like a dream or something, I don't know," she mumbles, for her dad's benefit. I can work with that, so I reinforce the idea in his mind: This is just a daydream brought on by her request! A very vivid one!

Wait, wait, wait, hold on. I have never been the second in sloppy seconds, and I might need a moment? Like, I've been first, a couple guys who called me slurs really enjoyed it when they went after I fucked their girlfriends, but this is a whole other story! I put a hand on her ass and hold myself in place, inches away from entering her.

"Fuck," I hiss. Shiver at the brink, feel the heat radiating off of her.

"Oran!" she wails, then quieter, "Sorry I was bossy. I'll be good. Please..."

I have to, then. Of course, I do.

She's slippery inside, and it feels amazing. Despite everything, she's tight as this morning. Won't last long. I reach around and grope at her tiny chest while I fuck her, feeling an erotic thrill when I think about how much she's changed about me already. But I'm not just a conquest or a puppet, am I? Not with the way she looked at me and held my hand...

Her body shakes underneath me. I take it as permission to cum inside her too, and she moans my name again. I want to hear her say it like that a hundred thousand more times.

"Just a dream," she mumbles as she flops onto her pile of pillows, and I roll to the side. Eric moved off the bed at some point? There he is, wearing a robe, dozing off in the easy chair in the corner of the room. She did mention he falls asleep, didn't she. I feel the foggy, post-control orgasmic haze I've induced in quite a few people. Holding my hand up, I move my fingers through the air like I'm clearing away cobwebs. It's not a bad feeling.

"Kiss me?" she asks from my side.

How nice of her to phrase it as a question. I would never turn down the offer. Though I'm careful not to rub too much of the makeup off on her.

* * *

We're so normal and not covered in each other's sweat and saliva when Jett gets back with a small overnight bag for me. The only hint at the last hour's events is the warm, radiant look Violette has to her, and the fact the outline around my lips has been redone with some slight differences.

Violette seems to enjoy secrecy. Eric and Jett have both seen us together now but still think I haven't fucked her, and she wants to keep it that way for a while. That's fine by me, but does make me curious. She wanted to be treated like a slut, didn't she? Why's the good girl act so important to her?

I asked her why she'd censored her dad's memories, and she shrugged it off, saying it was getting in the way with Jett, but also that she did it every now and then anyway. When I pressed again for why, she shook her head, stared at me with those blank blue eyes, enough that I got spooked and backed off.

"I can be your production assistant," I announce to Violette, back in the present.

She's trying to take one of her dead-eyed selfies with the cup of tea I made her, but it's hard for to get the right angle with one hand. That's where I come in. I take the phone and lift it up until she nods with satisfaction. I hit the photo button. It goes off in bursts of ten, to give her lots of options.

Eric, who's lounging in one of the oversized (Eric-sized) armchairs, laughs. "Careful, she'll take you up on that. I've held cameras or lights more times than I can count at this point!"

"Daddy's very supportive," Violette agrees.

"Sounds like he could use a break. I'll be his junior assistant. But I might come for his job one day, if he's not careful."

Violette giggles and takes her phone back to review the selfies. When she picks one and makes a text post to go with it, she shows me before posting it.

A photo of her, arranged but casual, the cup of tea brushing her plump and glossy lips in the way I'm sure many of her dick-having fans would like to imitate. She looks comfy in her dress and cardigan, late afternoon sun low in the sky, her back porch and the trees in her backyard barely visible behind her. The colors work nicely together, giving everything a pink-orange tint.

The text just says: "It's decaf."

And then a huge stack of hashtags underneath it that will draw in the views.

Apparently, her signature is that she doesn't make expressions beyond a slight pout in her photos, and this one fits the bill. She told me during my makeover that she used to try, but since her emotions are naturally muted, people called her expressionless anyway. So she learned to lean into it and now posts everything entirely flat, from popular dances to happy vacation photos.

I tell her the post looks great, and she turns the screen back to herself with a hint of a smile. It makes my heart ache to think about it. In the day I've known her, she's made plenty of faces, they're just... small. Quiet. Tiny baby bird faces. Those idiots should try looking more carefully.

This must be what love is like, right? I've never felt it before--not the romantic sort. Hell, I'm rusty on the familial sort too. Love shouldn't happen this fast outside of movies, so even though I accidentally confessed last night, and meant it when I said it, I keep second-guessing myself.

Not like I can talk about this is front of our guardians (they're watching some home design show on TV while Jett's on his iPad). At least I have an alternative line of communication now: I DM her instead.

That's right, I slid into her DMs the first chance I got. Now I can be one of the people she's texting in the middle of conversations.

She notices my message, glances at me quizzically, then answers.

Finding out she capitalizes "Daddy" when she types it is the least surprising part of the last twenty-four hours.

God, she's such a freak. Yet, somehow, I even find this charming. Imagining tween Violette puffing up her cheeks in indignation when her dad laughs off her marriage proposals has me grinning at my screen.

She doesn't answer as instantaneously as she usually does. I sweat as I watch her type and delete messages a few times.

That's a bold-faced lie. Well, onyomi readings are a thing, and there's some shared symbols I'd get the meaning of I'm sure, but I just used an app. 哥 is like, a radical, I have never seen that little fucker on its own before. The last one I get is a sentence, and is directed at me, but fuck if I could understand it without Google. At least it turns out she's complimenting me.

It's hard not to groan at my phone. Does she have to put everything through her incest fetish filter?

I have an inkling what that could mean. I plug it in to Google Translate and confirm it: "I'm shy." No idea how you'd pronounce that based on the pinyin. I better start studying if I was upgraded to family already.

When I look up from my screen, she's holding her phone up over her mouth, but around the edges of it I can see her warmest smile yet.