Stanley's Science Project

by Downing Street

Tags: #cw:incest #cw:noncon #clothing #f/m

Rochelle’s brilliant, geeky nephew insists on showing her his new school science project — and then demonstrating how it works.

Disclaimer:  The following is a work of fiction and any resemblance between characters in this work and actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.  This work may contain scenes of explicit sex between adults and is intended for the entertainment of adults only.  All characters are over the age of eighteen.  Because this is a fantasy, characters in this work engage in unprotected sex in a universe where pregnancy is voluntary and sexually transmitted diseases do not exist.  In reality sex without protection is unwise and nothing in this work should be taken as condoning such activity, or any of the other activities depicted herein.  

This story first appeared on the Erotic Mind Control Story Archive in 2015. This version is revised and improved (I hope) based on suggestions from a helpful reader. Your comments are welcome too:

– Downing Street

March, 2015

“Hey Aunt Rochelle, look at this! It’s my new science project!”

Rochelle looked up from her book. Stanley was standing in the entrance to the den: curly-haired, skinny, and grinning boyishly. He looked like the eighteen-year-old bundle of twitchy nerdiness that he was. He was dressed in a plaid work shirt and blue jeans, faded Nikes.

Rochelle sighed. Perhaps agreeing to take in her sister-in-law’s prodigy for two weeks while she gallivanted around Europe had not been a wise idea. The kid was brilliant, but as hyper-active as a Scots terrier. He had always been fond of his Aunt Rochelle.

Stanley was holding a contraption in both hands. It looked vaguely like a camera, except there were wires and lights protruding from it. Some of the parts were held on by alligator clips. The whole thing had the look of one of Stanley’s kooky experiments. Rochelle still remembered how he had “remodelled” the toaster to play classical music while it burned the toast. Or the self-flushing toilet, about which the less said the better.

She sighed again. “Very well, Stanley. What is it this time?”

He was still grinning. “I told you. It’s my new science project. For Interface Applications.” Stanley was enrolled in a bunch of courses for gifted students. He excelled in all of them.

“I heard that the first time. What is it?”

His smile did not diminish. “It’s a pulse-synchronisation flash induction device. I designed it myself. Cool, yes?”

Rochelle looked pained. Conversations with Stanley were replete with unintelligible jargon like that. “Right,” she said. “I meant, what does it do, exactly?”

Her nerdy nephew advanced into the room. “Well, it produces a series of step-harmonized light pulses that induce an auto-hypnotic state in the receiver.” His grin faltered. “I hope,” he added. “Pretty sure it does that.” A beat. Then: “It’s supposed to do that.”

Rochelle thought wistfully of her book. She was getting to the interesting part. The bold heroine was torn between her duty to her country and her attraction to the sexy spy. Rochelle was relaxing in the den, late in the evening, unwinding after the workday. The television was on in the background.

Rochelle was dressed casually in a sweatshirt and khaki pants. She had taken to covering up around home in the past week. Her teenage nephew was a little too interested in his aunt’s abundant curves.

She picked up her book. “That’s nice, Stanley. I’m sure your teacher will be very impressed.”

“No, really, it works, Aunt Rochelle,” the young man insisted. “At least, it should work. I’m pretty sure it works. Look, let me try it.” He pointed the device toward her. He pushed a button on one side.

Rochelle was about to say something else. The gizmo emitted a bright white flash. It dazzled her for a second. Before she could recover, it flashed again, and again, first red, then deep blue. The fourth flash was brilliant gold.

For long seconds she sat still, blinking. That was unexpected. Her super-intelligent nephew had invented a multi-coloured camera flash. Chalk that one up alongside the musical toaster. The colours were pretty, at least.

Stanley was looking at her as if he expected something. Rochelle smiled indulgently. “Well, what about it? Am I supposed to be hypnotized or something?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Stanley replied. “The step-harmonized wavelengths should make the recipient suggestible. Sort of more open to outside influences.”

“Excuse me?” said his curvaceous aunt.

He considered for a few seconds. “Look, I’ll show you,” he said. “Let your hair down.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain otherwise. I need you to let your hair down to show you how the device works, all right?”

She raised both hands. “Very well. But I hardly see how my hair has anything to do with your auto-hypnosis gadget.”

Rochelle’s hair was swept up in a simple fold. She pulled out a couple of barrettes. Thick curls of mid-blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulders. She shook her head to sort it out. She fluffed it with her fingers. She had always been proud of her lovely locks.

She looked at him. “So, now what?” she demanded.

Stanley was grinning as if he had just won a bet. “See, you let down your hair, like I asked you to. You responded to an external suggestion.”

“What? Wait, you – you just told me to. Oh that was just a trick!” She sat down and retrieved her fallen book. “Thanks for the demonstration, Stanley,” she said, dismissing him. She threw back her hair and returned to reading.

Stanley didn’t take the hint. “All right, all right,” he protested, “I’m sorry. You’re right, that wasn’t a valid test. It was a trick. I’ll try to explain this better. Watch this!”

Rochelle looked up. Without warning Stanley pointed his contraption at her and pushed the button.

White, Red, Blue, Gold! Again the bright lights dazzled her eyes. For a few seconds she sat there, swaying and blinking. The lights were so intense, so pretty, it took a while to process what her eyes had seen. The book slipped out of her hands.

Stanley said, “You see, the step harmonization is timed so that each flash reinforces the one that precedes it, and the colours are selected based on how the mind responds to certain pure wavelengths. The cumulative effect creates a relaxed, Zen-like state in which the recipient is highly assimilative of new learning.”

Rochelle wouldn’t have understood that even if she hadn’t been dazzled by Stanley’s four-colour flashbulb. She gave him a pained look. “What is all that supposed to mean?”

He gesticulated. “It means, how to explain this, it means that after exposure you may be more likely to respond to a new idea. For example, if I asked you to take off your sweatshirt, you would do it.”

“I would? Why?” She still wasn’t following him. She looked down at her bulky sweatshirt, uncertain. Should she take it off? Why not? Why was she wondering?

“Because you want to respond positively to my suggestion. Go ahead, Aunt Rochelle. Take off the sweatshirt. You’ll see what I mean.”

Rochelle shrugged. “If you say so. I still don’t see why, though.”

She stood up and pulled the cotton sweatshirt over her head. She dropped it on the sofa. Underneath she was wearing a tight, white T-shirt. A little too tight, Rochelle considered, when her shower-peeping nephew was around. That was one reason for the sweatshirt. Her full breasts pressed against the fabric, round and proud.

She noticed Stanley’s eyes lingering on her tits. He was trying to hide it, but she got that look often enough to recognize it at once. Not the kind of attention she was willing to tolerate from a nephew.

“All right then,” she said brusquely. “That’s all very interesting but I think we’re done here.” She reached for the discarded sweatshirt.

“Don’t put it back on!” His voice was urgent.

Rochelle stopped. She raised a delicate eyebrow at him.

He waved his free hand in a gesture of exasperation. “Look, I’m trying to explain to you how pulse synchronization works. It should increase receptivity. So if you put the sweatshirt back on it contradicts the suggestion, which isn’t a positive response. Do you see?”

“Not in the slightest,” Rochelle replied. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”

He said, “Let’s try this one more time.” Once again he pointed his dingbat device at his beautiful aunt.

Rochelle objected at once. “No, Stanley, that’s enough! Don’t – ”

He pushed the button.

White! like endless snow; Red! like all the sunsets in the world; Blue! bluer than the sky at twilight; and Gold! to make them all glitter.

“Oh,” said Rochelle. She found herself smiling. Every time he zapped her the colours seemed more intense, more special. For long seconds she stared into space, recovering. She forgot to pick up her sweatshirt.

“There,” Stanley said with satisfaction. “Better now, right? Now, do me a favour. Go put on that blue denim mini you used to wear sometimes.”

Rochelle looked at him blankly. It took a while to get her mind back on track. “What?” she protested at last, “Whatever for? What has that skirt got to do with your silly little gizmo?”

This time it was Stanley who sighed. “Aunt Rochelle, I can’t explain how the device works unless you comply. That’s what it’s all about. Just go put it on. Please?”

“That skirt shrank in the wash; it doesn’t fit any more. That’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Put it on anyway. So I can explain how this works.”

Rochelle still couldn’t see a connection between his hypno-camera and her apparel. She should be showing less skin, not more, while in the company of a nephew with wandering eyes and boundary issues. Yes somehow she didn’t feel like arguing about it. It wasn’t an entirely unreasonable request. Was it? Anyway, maybe if she indulged him he would let her go back to her book.

“Oh very well,” she conceded. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” She trotted out of the den toward her bedroom.

She returned less than three minutes later. In place of the comfortable slacks she was now wearing a blue-denim miniskirt, set off by a broad white belt. She had bought the skirt one day when she felt like wearing something sexy. It had been revealingly short before it shrank in the wash. It gripped her ass tightly.

Still, Rochelle had to concede the little skirt did display a terrific pair of evenly tanned legs. Rather too much of those legs, though, that was the problem. Her white athletic shoes matched the white belt and the tight T-shirt above it. The belt was decorated with rhinestones.

“Very well,” she said, “here I am.” She spread her arms to show how she was dressed. “Now what is this all about?”

If Stanley had been admiring his aunt before, now he was outright staring. “Wow, you look great Aunt Rochelle!” he blurted. His grin threatened to dislocate his jaw.

Rochelle fidgeted under his artless gaze. But she scowled at him. “Never mind how I look. You keep your eyes in your head, young man. What are we – ”

Without warning Stanley raised the camera and flashed her again. A quartet of blinding coloured lights bombarded her eyes. Flash! Flash! Flash! Flash!

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Stanley explained to the miniskirted beauty swaying and blinking in front of him. “A guy can’t help noticing that his aunt is so pretty. You are very pretty, Aunt Rochelle.”

Unexpectedly, Rochelle felt herself blush. She was still feeling spacey from the flashes. The brilliant colours lingered on her retinas. “Oh, well, uhm, thank you,” she stammered. “It’s sweet of you to say so.”

He was still ogling her. That was unacceptable, of course. She was feeling too good at that moment to raise a fuss about it. She decided instead to steer the conversation back to where it belonged. “Now, about your gadget. What did you call it?”

“A pulse-synchronisation flash induction device”

“Uhm, right. Whatever. The thing is I don’t see how me wearing this skirt explains – ”

“You know,” Stanley interrupted, “you would look even better if you ditched the track shoes. They’re not very flattering with that pretty mini.”

Rochelle looked down at her Pumas, then up at Stanley. Her shoes were pricey, trendy and brand new. “What? You don’t like my shoes now? Well I’m hardly going to change for – oooh!”

Stanley had flashed her again. For a long moment the whole world became sunlight through a stained-glass window. White, red, blue and gold danced around her mind. Someone heaved a contented sighed. It may have been her.

“You do want to look pretty, don’t you, Auntie?” Stanley asked.

“ ‘Course.” She smiled at him. He was handsome, she decided, in a nerdy kind of way.

“Of course,” her nephew agreed. “You want to look your best. That’s only natural. You’re like, a way good looking woman and you know it. You should be proud of your looks. It’s great to look sexy. Looking sexy makes you feel sexy. Right?”

Rochelle couldn’t deny the logic of what he was saying. It was nice to know she was attractive. Nevertheless she frowned at him. “Now you look here, watch what you say, Stanley,” she scolded. She put her hands on her hips. “I’m still your aunt, and you will address me accordingly.” She watched Stanley flinch from the scolding, as he should. It felt good to be back in control.

Stanley looked cowed. He said: “I only meant, I know you like to look your best. It’s like, exciting to be attractive. Look, let me show you. Throw off those shoes.”

Once again the non sequitur caught her by surprise. She couldn’t immediately think of an objection. “Uhm, fine. Why?” She bent carefully to pull off her laceless sport shoes. She kicked them to one side.

“Hold on a second,” Stanley said. He strode across the room, gizmo in hand, and picked up a shopping bag from behind the television. He handed it to her. “Put these on instead. You’ll see what I mean. You’ll feel much better.”

Rochelle took the bag. She peered inside. It held a pair of short black boots, with low heels. She pulled one out, scowling.

“Hey, these are my best boots. Where did you – you’ve been snooping around in my closet!”

Stanley lowered his head like a scared dog.. Yet he persisted. “Put them on, please? I’ll explain everything.”

“You had better!” Rochelle decided she had suffered enough of Stanley’s rude behaviour. Rifling through her closet was the last straw. She was going to have a stern talk with this young man.

Still, she had to wear something on her feet. Might as well be the boots. She sat down on the sofa. She tossed her book to one side. She felt her too-brief mini slide up to the top of her thighs.

She picked up one boot and began to slip it over her foot. She stopped when she felt something inside. She reached in and pulled out a shiny red sock. She held it up by one end. It was quite long.

“What’s this?” she wanted to know.

Stanley shrugged an apology. “I got them for you. They go with the boots. Go ahead, put them on. See how much better you feel when you’re dressed right.”

Rochelle’s patience came to an end. She bolted to her feet. “Look, Stanley, this nonsense has gone on long enough. I don’t know what kind of game you are playing here, but I am not going to stand still another – Oh! Ahhhhhh . . . .”

Stanley had flashed her with his inducer thingie again. The room was a bright paradise of white, then red, then blue, all glinting with gold. Rochelle staggered, almost lost her balance. She dropped the sock in her hand.

“Put the boots on, Auntie Rochelle,” Stanley instructed. “You know they’ll look great on you.”

She was grinning. She couldn’t help it. All her indignation had vaporized in the flashing colours, along with a good part of her higher reasoning capacity. “Uhm, sure,” she agreed. “Boots. Good idea.”

She sat back down on the sofa. She picked up one sock. She tugged it over her foot and up her leg. It went up a long way. She carefully smoothed out the wrinkles. The act was half tidiness, half sensuous enjoyment of the shape and feel of her own leg. When she was satisfied that the sock was straight and smooth she repeated the action with the other one. Then she pulled on the sexy, chunky-heeled boots. She slid up the zippers on the sides. She got to her feet. She looked down to admire herself.

The socks were crimson. They flowed up her legs to well above the knees. Combined with the scanty miniskirt and fashion boots, they shouted ‘look at my legs!’ to the whole world. She looked like a teenage hottie on her way to a club, or the kind of pin-up girl she was sure Stanley could only dream about. She felt her nipples pressing against the confines of her brassiere.

Stanley was grinning. “You feel good now, don’t you Auntie?” he suggested.

Rochelle was grinning too. Her eyes were lidded. “Why . . . mmmmm, yes I do. I feel . . . delicious.” She ran both hands down her flanks, over the belt and down her skirt. She discovered bare skin immediately. She giggled in delight.

Stanley explained it: “That’s because you’re a hot babe and you feel hot when you look hot.”

She waved a hand at him. “Oh, the things you say.” She was still admiring herself. The thin red socks were garish and too young for her. The whole outfit was immodest and over-the-top. Yet she did look splendid. She shuffled one foot back and forth, studying the effect.

“My god you look good, Auntie Rochelle,” Stanley said, with enthusiasm. He pulled a small tube out of his pocket. “Hey, try a little of this. You’ll look even better.” He handed it to her.

Rochelle examined the gold cosmetic in her hand. It was lip gloss. She frowned. “Stanley, I don’t think I should – ”

“It matches the socks.”

“Oh. Well, all right.” The tube was gold. The lipstick matched her socks. That made it right, didn’t it? She couldn’t think of any good reason to object to putting on a bit of lip gloss. She was distantly aware that she probably should object. Thinking in general wasn’t a big priority at that moment.

She pranced over to a mirror along one wall. Her tight miniskirt telegraphed the sway of her ass above her red-dressed legs. She applied the lip gloss with a few deft strokes. She rolled her lips, then studied the result. Much better. The gloss made her lips stand out, moist and red, inviting kisses.

She turned toward her nephew. “How’s that?” she asked, although she knew the answer. He was admiring her in a way that made Rochelle want to preen.

“Nice!” he blurted. “You have a gorgeous figure too, Auntie Rochelle. And your boobs look great in that t-shirt.”

“Stanley!” His crude faux pas shocked her back to reality.

The curly-haired teen was defensive: “Hey, I’m only saying so because it’s true. You have stupendous tits, Auntie.” He paused for a second, considering. Then: “Why don’t you play with them for a bit.”

Rochelle’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed. “Now look here, this has gone about far enough! I am not going to touch myself in front of you!” She drew herself up defiantly, which only made her tits stand out.

“Why not?” Stanley asked.

“Why not? Why not? Well of all the . . . because . . . because . . .” Oddly, despite her outrage, she had trouble remembering exactly why not. Her mind felt fuzzy. Pretty colours glittered along her thoughts, transforming them into strands of garland. Stanley said it was all right for her to touch her titties, so . . . wait a minute!

“Because . . . because you are my nephew, that’s why!” She pounced on the concept like she was afraid it would get away. “You are my nephew and I am your aunt and I expect you to behave accordingly.” She glared at him with all the familial authority she could muster.

Maybe she hadn’t been as forceful as she intended. Stanley seemed unconvinced. “Is that it?” he asked. He fiddled with something on his inducer. “Well, I think you really want to fondle your big boobies but you’re hesitating because you know how much you like it. They’re really sensitive, aren’t they?”

She blinked. “I . . . I don’t think especially.”

“Let’s reconsider that.” He lifted the inducer and pushed the button.

Five seconds later, Rochelle was floating down an avenue of soft white lights. Flowers drifted all around her, dropping petals of red, blue and gold. She heard Stanley’s voice. It was gentle and soothing. “Go ahead Auntie. Play with your tits. You know how good that feels. Give it a try.”

Why not? What could be wrong with touching her own boobs? Still riding the inducer rainbow, Rochelle reached up with both hands to fondle her tits through the clinging t-shirt. It felt exquisite. She moaned out loud.

“See, I told you that would feel good. You can’t stop now! Go ahead, enjoy it.” Stanley was jubilant.

Rochelle peered at him with glassy eyes. She tried to muster a protest. “No, no. Oh, this is so . . so awful. I shouldn’t be . . . mmmmmm, shouldn’t be playing with the girls right in front of . . . oh god it feels good.”

Her conscience was screaming at her. She shouldn’t be doing this! Somehow she had crossed a line between harmless showing off and outright lewdness. Morality and decency demanded that she stop. Her dancing fingers refused to comply.

“It would feel even nicer under the shirt,” Stanley supplied.

Her eyes widened. “No! I couldn’t. I mean I . . . shouldn’t. No. I . . . I . . . uhm, all right. Why not. Mmmmmm.”

Without giving herself more time to think about it, she struggled out of the clingy shirt. She pulled it over her head and tossed it on the floor. She shook long hair away from her face.

Underneath she was wearing her favourite blue lace bra. It cupped her boobs like a pair of loving hands. Instantly her own hands returned to loving them too. She fondled her breasts keenly, squeezing the nipples. Another moan escaped her, louder this time. She threw her head back, face flushed, wallowing in the sumptuous sensations.

“Wow, Auntie Rochelle,” Stanley cried, “you have the most amazing tits!”

Rochelle jumped. She had almost forgotten her nephew was standing right there. Her fingers paused. What was she doing?

“It’s nice to show them off, isn’t it,” Stanley said. “Don’t you just love fondling yourself in front of me?”

Rochelle groaned anew as the wicked thought hit her. Her receptive, colour-blasted mind soaked it up like a sponge. Her hesitation of a moment earlier vanished like morning mist in the sun. Her fingers resumed pleasuring.

Everything had become twisted around backward. What she was doing was utterly wrong, immoral. Her behaviour appalled her. It felt too wonderful to even consider stopping. Somehow the knowledge that her own nephew was standing there, watching her, only made it hotter. Instead of shocking her into stopping, the illicitness of the act added another dimension of heat.

“Why don’t you get rid of the bra?” Stanley suggested. “It’s kinda in the way.”

“Yes! No! I shouldn’t . . . Yes, good idea!” She was panting now. She reached around to unfasten the straps on her bra. She climbed out of the lacy garment and cast it aside. Her nipples were distended, red and eager for more hand-play. She indulged them.

Stanley watched her, his own excitement written on his face. He said: “Boy, you’re really getting turned on, Auntie Rochelle.”

“Can’t help it . . .(gasp, pant) . . . feels so nice!” A sheen of perspiration glinted on her face. She was conflicted, appalled, and fiercely aroused, all at the same time.

“I bet you’re awfully wet under that sexy short skirt,” Stanley observed.

Somehow, through the four-coloured pleasure pulsing through her brain, Rochelle managed to be shocked. “Stanley! Don’t say things like that!”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You’re a hot, sexy babe and you’re getting all turned on showing off your big boobies and playing with them, so of course you’re getting steamy downstairs too.”

“Stanley, honey . . . no . . . don’t – don’t talk like . . . ohhh.” She flexed her hips in need.

Stanley raised the inducer. “Here, try this,” he said cheerfully.

He pushed the button. Nothing happened. The device made a soft ‘click’ sound, like a car with a flat battery. Frowning, he pushed the button again. Still nothing. No lights, no flash, no pulse-synchronization to dazzle his aunt’s senses and sensibilities. The grin on Stanley’s face turned to alarm. He pushed the button several more times, in increasing desperation, as if persistence alone would repair it. He said: “Oh crap.”

Rochelle managed to stop her fingers for a moment. She was still breathing hard. “Say, what . . . what’s going on?” she wondered. It was a general question aimed at the world. She drew a deep breath.

“Don’t stop!” Stanley said, too quickly. “Fondling your tits is delicious, delightful, debatable. No, wait, that’s not right! I mean, you want to keep enjoying yourself, right?”

Rochelle was confused. Her hands hovered an inch above her nipples. She was intensely aroused, yet increasingly aware of the lewd spectacle she was making. In front of her own nephew! Something wasn’t right. Sparkles of white, red, blue and gold flashed around her thoughts. She fumbled toward clarity.

“Dammit, what is wrong with this thing,” Stanley muttered. He was fiddling with the inducer, testing wires and connections. He momentarily ignored his half-dressed aunt. “It can’t blow up now. Come on!” He pushed the flash button again and again. Futile.

Rochelle looked around, at her discarded book and the clothing scattered on the floor. She considered her garishly half-dressed figure. Her thigh-socks were red, like the red sparkles in her brain. Her skirt was blue; the belt was white. So many bright colours. So hard to think clearly. “St-Stanley,” she managed. “Those socks. Bright red socks. Sexy. In a bag. Bag. Bag behind telly. And lip gloss. Red. In your pocket. Your pocket. Ah! You . . . you planned this!”

Clarity lanced through her tumbled mind like sunlight piercing storm clouds. Anger displaced desire. “Why you little pervert,” she pronounced. She advanced on her terrified nephew. She was still topless, but she didn’t care.

“This was never an experiment, or a demonstration of your demonic toy. You were manipulating me! Trying to get me out of my clothes so you could take a good look, was that the idea? For god’s sake I’m your aunt! I’m practically family! And you are going to be out of this house the moment I call your mother to tell her her son is a peeping tom and a perverted nerd who gets his jollies trying to dazzle his own relatives.”

Stanley wilted before his aunt’s indignation like wax before flame. He was perspiring. “I – I – I, I d-didn’t mean to, you know, to hurt anybody, I was just – ”

“Save it,” Rochelle cut him off. She looked around for her T-shirt. “Start packing your things. You are out of my house. And put that stupid machine away.”

“All right,” Stanley said. His voice was small. “As you wish. This was a bad idea. Crap, I should never have . . . . Oh, hullo, what’s this?” An alligator clip on a wire dangled below his inducer. “Why didn’t I notice that?” He carefully re-attached the clip.

Beside him, Rochelle struggled back into her pullover. Without a brassiere, the effect was more erotic than modest. She straightened her hair. “I told you to put that thing away.” Her voice was ice.

Stanley’s voice was analytical. “One might expect that previous treatment would render the recipient more susceptible to novel exposure,” he mused. “Let’s see.” He raised the inducer and pushed the button.

“No, Stanley, don’t – ”

Rochelle was ready for the white flash. But the red came too soon after, and she wasn’t prepared for the blue, so the gold caught her completely unguarded. She startled, staggered a little, and caught herself against the side of the sofa.

Confidence seeped back into Stanley’s voice. “I understand why you are upset. It may be difficult to admit your exhibitionism. Transferring your inner turmoil onto someone else is only natural.”

Rochelle was reeling again. Colours sparkled everywhere. “What on earth do you mean? I’m not an exhibitionist!” Hadn’t they been talking about something else?

“Aunt Rochelle, look at yourself,” Stanley said, gently. “Is this how a woman dresses when she doesn’t want men to look at her?”

She did as he said. Braless, her globes filled her snug-fitting pullover. Her distended nipples were visible through the fabric. Down below, the short skirt and tall, crimson socks made a brash display of her legs, only amplified by the sexy boots. She could have started a riot walking down a street.

She frowned. “No, that’s not, that’s not right. I’m only dressed this way because you told me. With your inducer thing. You kept saying . . . ”

Stanley said, “It’s all right. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Embrace it. Be yourself. Admit that you love having men watch you. Have them admire you. Desire you. Get excited over you.”

“I do?” Her frown deepened. Of course she liked being attractive, who didn’t. But showing off for men? Dressing outrageously in public to tempt and tease them? She wasn’t like that.

The idea was exciting, she could admit that much. She imagined strolling down a busy street dressed as she was now. She would pretend to ignore all the stares. The shocked looks quickly turning to heat. Men memorizing her legs, her ass, her bouncing tits, for their masturbational fantasies. So hot!

She squeezed her eyes shut. Primary colours danced behind her eyelids. “No!” she almost shouted. “I’m not like that. You’re trying to make me believe something imaginary. With your infernal machine. I won’t let you. This is all wrong.”

“Damn,” her nerdy nephew declared, “if you keep this up I’m going to run down the batteries. Auntie Rochelle, look here!”

Startled, Rochelle looked up. Yet another four-colour cannonade blasted through the defences of her mind. The world dissolved into primary colours, then re-assembled again, brighter than before. A long sigh escaped Rochelle’s lips. She lost her balance. She stumbled onto the arm of the sofa, almost falling over.

“Feeling a little better now?” came Stanley’s voice. “A little calmer?”

“. . . . yes. Calmer.” Oh, those lovely colours.

“I think you’re happier now that you have accepted what a saucy little show-off you are.”

“I . . . uhm . . . show-off?”

“Of course. Displaying your hot body is a great turn-on, isn’t it. And since I’m a man, you automatically want to show off for me.”

Once again she found herself bereft of neurons to contest his logic. “But, but . . . you’re my nephew.”

“Yes. Yes I am. You’re such a tease you don’t mind flashing your own nephew. You’re walking around dressed like a tart right here, in your own home, right in front of me. It’s exciting to do something nasty and forbidden, isn’t it. No wonder you’re turned on.”

Stanley’s aunt gasped as wicked new ideas flowed into her mind, floating on rivers of white, red, blue and gold. Stanley couldn’t be right. She couldn’t be aroused by the idea of displaying herself for her own nephew. So why were her nips so hard, and her pussy so wet and the urge to touch herself everywhere so overwhelming?

“Stanley, please!” she cried, “I . . . I can’t. It’s wrong. I mustn’t . . . .” Despite her misgivings her hands began kneading her breasts through her T-shirt again. It felt divine. Stanley was watching. That made it even better. No, worse. “So wrong,” she whined, still fondling.

“We’ll make wrong feel right,” Stanley said, raising his inducer.

He pushed the button; the lights flashed. In a few seconds, White, Red, Blue and Gold became the four axes defining Rochelle’s happy world. She floated through la la land. Her hands continued to adore her breasts. “Ahhhhhhh,” she sighed. She leaned back into the sofa, legs spread wide.

Stanley said: “I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you use one hand on your titties and one in your pussy? Think how good that will feel! You’re just dying to play with yourself, I know it.”

Rochelle gawked at him. “No, this is . . . this isn’t right,” she whined, “it’s forbidden . . . it’s wrong, it’s . . . so . . . hot! So hot, so good, so fucking awful good!” While she was debating, her left hand slid down her torso, over her short skirt and up under the hem. She fumbled for a few moments as her hand negotiated a path under her wet panties.

“I’m sooooo horny,” the kneading knock-out moaned, “fucking horny; but I shouldn’t be . . . oh god it’s . . . OOOOH!” Her questing fingers found the wet, warm darkness at the heart of her need and dove in. Overcome with pure carnal arousal, she plunged her pussy with one hand while the other continued to minister to her hard-nippled tits. She was quaking on the edge of orgasm, shamelessly fondling herself in front of her teenage nephew.

“Gee, Aunt Rochelle, I think you’re going to cum!”

Instantly, she did. The orgasm was intense, wonderful, and seemingly endless. The colours flashing behind her eyes became a cascade of stars as her climax took her. She cried out. She slid off the sofa to land on the thick carpet, spasming again and again, each peak punctuated with a grunt of satisfaction.

Finally, she came down. She sprawled on the carpet, panting. Her hair was in disarray. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist. She let the colours dance behind her eyes.

She had almost forgotten Stanley was standing there until he spoke. “Gosh, Auntie Rochelle,” he said, “that was . . . like, intense. Are you all – I mean, wow!” His tone suggested Rochelle’s thundering orgasm surprised him as much as her.

He went on more confidently: “I guess you’re feeling really nice now, yes?”

“. . . floating . . .” she sighed. “. . . can’t believe . . . came like that . . . not right in front of . . . completely wrong . . .” She tugged down her skirt, belatedly reclaiming a shard of modesty.

“You’re amazing,” Stanley said. He sounded sincere. “I always thought you were dead sexy but now . . . gee that was hot. Uhm, matter of fact . . . you’ve kinda given me a boner. See?”

Rochelle managed to climb to her hands and knees. Stanley’s crotch was at eye level. There was no mistaking the long lump distending his jeans. She stared at his belt line, confused. She was still breathing hard. It occurred to her that Stanley’s comportment suggested an easy familiarity with sex inconsistent with his nerdy, girl-shy persona.

A thin shaft of decency filtered through the colours in her mind. “Stanley,” she husked, “you . . . you shouldn’t . . . not for your aunt . . . no . . . .”

“I can’t help it, Aunt Rochelle. You’re a walking wet dream; a total dish, you know? You give guys hard-on all the time – and you love it, don’t you. You’re not going to leave me like this, are you?” He adjusted himself, making her twitch.

His semi-clad aunt looked up at him with unfocused eyes. “What?” was her only response. She fondled one tit as if she were petting a purring kitten.

Stanley spoke with exaggerated patience: “I’ve got a big hardy for you, Auntie. You should help relieve me. You know, with your mouth.”

Rochelle’s eyes went wide. “With my . . . with my mouth . . . oh you can’t mean . . . No!”

In spite of her shock she was still staring at his crotch. She was bewildered beyond words. Everything Stanley said seemed to make sense. An air of irresistible credibility accompanied his voice. His suggestions sounded deeply reasonable, ideas she should believe. Every word out of his mouth came wrapped in sparkling layers of white, red, blue and gold.

At the same time she was keenly aware of the wild inappropriateness of what he was suggesting. It was inconceivable that she would perform fellatio on her teenage nephew. But he wanted her too, it was awfully hard to remember why she shouldn’t comply – and she was getting turned on again.

The befuddled blonde kneeling on the carpet made a whimpering sound. “No, Stanley . . . I . . . I can’t.” she protested.

“Of course you can,” he replied. “Here, let me explain why.” Before she had time to react, the inducer flashed.

Rochelle let out her breath in a long, sibilant sigh. She fell back on her ankles. She floated in a dream world of rainbows. Each burst of colour from Stanley’s contraption vaporized another layer of her consciousness, leaving a gaping hole in her mind. Peace and contentment and obedience flooded in like water through a breached dam.

“Hey, Rochelle, wake up baby,” someone said, far off. It was Stanley’s voice. It sounded strong and masculine. A voice she would love to obey.

“Hmmmm?” was all she could manage. She looked up at him, floating in a dream. God, he was handsome. “Oh, don’t call me baby. I’m your aunt.” Provocatively dressed, sexed up, and kneeling before her nephew on the white carpet, the bedazzled blonde grasped at fragments of normal behaviour.

“I think we can dispense with the formalities, dream doll,” Stanley explained. “You really want to suck me off, don’t you. You must still be turned on from all that hand play, and my cock is looking too delicious to resist. See what I mean?” He unbuckled his belt, undid the button on his jeans, and slid jeans and underwear down to his knees. His hardness sprang out like the trunk of a trumpeting elephant.

Rochelle gasped. “Stanley! Look at you! You’re so hard and big and . . . and . . . but I . . . I . . . shouldn’t . . .” Even as she spoke she was knee-walking toward him, unable to take her eyes off his erection. She licked her lips. “. . . shouldn’t,” she murmured.

“Oh, never mind about that. You know what you want.” He flexed his knees, bobbing his cock up and down in front of her.

Rochelle moaned out loud. “Oh Stanley, noooo,” she whined. “It’s not right, you shouldn’t be . . . mmmmmm, I’m horny again.” She was kneeling right before him now, her face inches from his crotch. She reached out to cradle his stiffness in both hands. You shouldn’t be . . . . ooooh.” She leaned forward and slid her lips over his wang. A long, purring “mmmmmmm” sounded deep in her throat.

Slurping sounds filled the room as she began to suck him with gusto. Rochelle was no stranger to oral sex. She knew how to do it right. At the moment she was too overcome with her own visceral need to pay attention to technique. It hardly mattered. Stanley was so pleased he almost dropped his inducer. “Oh shit that is nice. Ohmygod,” he blurted as he watched his gorgeous aunt’s lips slide up and down.

He adjusted his stance so he wouldn’t fall over backward. He lay one hand on Rochelle’s head, stroking her hair as she stroked his manhood. When he spoke, his voice was broken and distracted: “You know, Rochelle baby, I . . . oh man oh man . . . was thinking. . . . you’ve done pretty much everything I’ve asked you to, haven’t you?”

“Mmmmm?” Rochelle replied, unconcerned. She happily stuffed her throat with cock. She felt a swell of pride that her tongue work was making it difficult for Stanley to speak. Any reservations about sucking off her own nephew had been swept aside by the flood of new ideas he had pumped into her wide-open mind. Still bobbing up and down on his dick, she slipped a finger back up under her miniskirt.

“I mean . . . uhm . . . I mean, you dress like I want, you cum when I say so, and you give me head any time I want. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Rochelle tried to think about that and suck cock at the same time. The latter beat the former in straight sets. “I . . . <slurp lap> . . . this once. . . have to <kiss, slurp> . . . horny . . .”

He shook his head. “Baby doll, you do whatever I tell you. You do what I tell you because it feels good to obey me. That’s why you’re enjoying this blowjob more than you ever have before.”

Well, all right, Rochelle conceded, as she felt Stanley’s stiffness bulge her cheek. Blowing him was turning her on immensely. Still, something Stanley said didn’t scan. “Honey. . . what are you . . . why . . . obey you?” she panted, between lip-strokes.

“I’ll explain that too. Hey, look up here for a minute. That’s right.” The magic lights of the inducer flashed.

For a time she sat there, unmoving, letting the coloured lights reverberate in her mind. At a bit of urging from Stanley she returned to the business at hand. She was almost dreaming now, barely aware of her surroundings. She floated in horny, helpless happiness, content to think of nothing but the yummy big cock in her mouth, the feel of her distended nipples and the wicked, wonderful sensation of her fingers dancing in her cunny. She was skittering along the cusp of orgasm, again.

“Now . . . as I was . . . as I was, oh shit you’re good, as I was . . . saying. You’ll do anything I tell you to do, right Rochelle tres belle?”

She let him slip out long enough to agree. “Annnnything!” she sighed. She gazed up at him in adoration. Her fingers stroked.

Her nephew pressed his wet member back into his aunt’s mouth. “Oooh, that’s right. You and I . . . ahhhhh . . . are going to have a s-special relationship.”


“Oh yes. A hot, steamy romp with my sexy aunt. God, I’ve been hot for you since forever. Do you have any idea how many times I have beaten myself off while thinking about you? But no more. You’re going to be my obedient little sex-pet now, aren’t you.”

Rochelle was sucking hard now. She was intent on the reward of a mouthful of jism, and another orgasm, that awaited her. She tried to process the new ideas Stanley was feeding her. She discovered that her lust-saturated mind had nothing left to process with. She hardly cared. Panting for breath, she paused just long enough to agree: “Yes! Yes darling, your horny auntie wants to fuck and suck her sssssspecial nephew.”

“Of course, we’ll have to hide it from my uncle and my parents. Wouldn’t want a scandal in the family, right?”

“Of course!” She accepted the final corruption without question. Flashing colours everywhere overwhelmed any objection. Rochelle ran her tongue up the length of his shaft. He was twitching now, ready to erupt. “Come now, baby” the blonde babe purred, “come for me now, come all over your sexy aunt Rochelle.”

To be sure that he did she dove down on him with renewed vigour. She sucked hard and deep. Her long hair flew about as her head bobbed up and down. She felt Stanley’s muscles clench, and above her his voice crying out, “Oh god Yes!” He almost dropped his inducer.

Then he was coming. He spewed warm seed into her mouth in a series of groaning spurts. She sucked and swallowed and sucked and fingered herself. Finally she had to let him slip away so she could ride her fingers to her own climax. She fizzed and convulsed on the carpet. She closed her eyes and saw stars: white, red, blue and gold.

She fell back on the floor, happy and exhausted. She lay there for a long time, catching her breath, slowly sliding back to earth. Her hair was everywhere. Her little skirt was pulled up over her ass. One crimson sock was wrinkled around her knee. She was half-dressed, dishevelled and gorgeous.

Stanley was leaning against the end of the sofa. His pants were still down around his knees. He looked slaked. Rochelle smiled. She had done a good job.

Her nephew grinned down at her. “You understand my science project now, right auntie Rochelle?”

Rochelle sat up a little. She threw back her hair with both hands. “It’s a great project, baby,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll get an A.” She began to pull up her red stockings.

Stanley was buckling his belt. “Oh, I’ve already got an A,” he explained. “Miss Honeywell, she’s my physics teacher, she was very impressed. Especially after I tested it on her.”

Rochelle rolled over so she could wrap her arms around Stanley’s leg. She gazed up at him. “You’re so clever,” she cooed. “We’re going to have an awesome special relationship.”


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