Right Yumigachi, age eighteen, was far from your ordinary teenager. He stood out both for his prosperous family and by his own right. He was not only top student at one of the most prestigious private high schools in Tokyo, but also (by almost unanimous vote) one of the most handsome. At five foot nine with a slim, attractive frame, and hair both lighter and (unbelievably, quite naturally) styled more like a models, so many cute Japanese high school girls confessed their chaste, innocent love to him behind the large cherry-blossom tree behind the gymnasium that it was practically a part of his daily routine. Everything he put his mind to, from academics to athletics, he excelled in.
And he was bored. Utterly, utterly bored.
Down in the depths of the underworld, the succubi Fyuk was equally bored. The demons of this dimension seemed only interested in wasting their eternal lives at gambling or the occasional romp with a mortal to extend their life span for more gambling.
So one day, just for her own personal amusement, Fyuk left a present for Right up in the human world. Just to see what would happen…
If a human uses the Note, a god of death usually appears in front of him/her within 39 days after he/she uses the Note.
Right noticed the notebook walking across campus only after he had passed it. In fact, it was the sound of its landing in the middle of the empty grass courtyard, so far from anywhere anybody might have dropped it, that distracted him from his moping ennui enough to even bother turning around.
Its cover was bright pink, so that at first he assumed it belonged to some female student. But then he read the English words on the cover (naturally, like so many things, he excelled in languages, and both spoke and read five tongues fluently).
“Slut Note,” he parsed out, and snorted. He decided that it was one of those common translation errors that happened through cross-cultural fetishism. He’d seen a man on a game show once wearing a shirt with English words that said, “Lick me tender Make me happy,” and viewed American tourists with kanji tattoos that spelled everything from “gaijin” to “she thinks this is a Tao Te Ching verse” followed by a nasty limerick. It was late, and though many rooms remained open for after-school club activities, the lost-and-found was closed. With no one immediately apparent to whom to return it, he resolved to drop it by the office tomorrow with a resigned shrug.
Skimming the notebook as he headed home, he was surprised to discover that the cover was not a misprint or mistranslation. Inside contained instructions (also, annoyingly, written in English) which he translated on the train on the way home.
The Slut Note
This is a Sex God’s Notebook. How to use it: The human whose name is written in this note shall become a slut. This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. If the name of a partner is written within forty seconds, they will have sex with that person. If a partner is not specified, the person will simply become irresistibly horny until they orgasm. Following orgasm, the person will return to normal unless changes are made permanent. If changes to specific traits of sexuality (such as fetishes, attitudes, specific sexual acts, body or clothes alterations, length of alterations, etc.) is written within six minutes and forty seconds of writing the person’s name, it will happen.”
There were also a list of rules and policies, compromising several pages to circumvent any technicalities and loopholes, with the rest of the book only blank, lined pages, but Right was too exasperated to bother translating them all. He’d been skeptical since picking the book up, and the only thing that kept him from dismissing this out of hand as a prank was its intricacy and detail. As far as he could tell, the English was perfect, not the pigeon that most students got away with and forgot entirely by adulthood (with a few exceptions, like the ubiquitous “This is a pen”). And the lettering, though a unique font, was varied enough that the two dozen or so pages were obviously hand-written rather than printed. Someone had clearly gone to no small trouble to make this notebook. You didn’t waste that kind of effort on a prank, at least not a random one that you weren’t around to enjoy.
But still, the whole thing was ludicrous. A notebook that made people horny? It was beyond ridiculous. They wouldn’t make a hentai anime out of that premise, and Right had surreptitiously viewed enough over the course of his adolescence to know that there was precious little considered far-fetched enough to serve as a plot device for tentacle-rape.
On the other hand, it was an intriguing idea. The idea to make any woman, anywhere, into an instant sexdoll had to be the oldest fantasy in human history. And some of the other things the book hinted at, like changing body parts or producing specific acts, certainly had an appealing flavor. It was not like Right had any problem with girls, but even in this comparatively liberal era (to hear his parents talk about the younger generation) very few girls his age seemed up for anything more than living out some cute shoujo fantasy involving blushing near-kisses and bento box lunches. He did not want a relationship. Relationships were boring and time-consuming, and always seemed identical unless they were dysfunctional, in which case they were even more time-consuming and even more boring. But sex; wanton, carnal fucking by a girl driven out of her mind with lust…Right felt the trousers of his beige school uniform tighten as a bulge began to form in his crotch. Rather than risk embarrassment, he set the notebook away, focused on his breathing, and tried to ignore the vibrations of the train.
When he reached home, he greeted his mother and younger sister Seiya, who both seemed very excited to see him. As he slipped out of his shoes, his mother handed him a piece of paper. “Congratulations, Right-kun,” his mom beamed. “You placed first in your practice-exams again, and these are at the nationwide level!”
“I know, I know,” he groused. It wasn’t like it had been hard, and it was bad enough that his teacher had pointed him out in class. He’d intentionally kept the form he’d received from the school so that he wouldn’t have to hear about it at home. “Well, I’m going up to my room to study. Don’t bother me, okay?”
“Okay,” his mother nodded. “I’ll call you for dinner.”
Upstairs in his room, Right locked his door, after a quick check for the delicate seal he left at the bottom corner to make sure no one had gone into his own private sanctum sanctorum. He had conspicuously left the door unlocked during his childhood and teen years at times when he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong and then feigned irritation at being interrupted, enough times that his family had eventually been trained to respect the privacy that western-style doors (that opened on a hinge rather than slide and actually came with locks) afforded. It especially worked out well for days like today, he thought with a flush, when he actually would hate to be interrupted.
Quickly, as his computer booted up, he pulled out the Vaseline and cloth he kept hidden behind the pull-out drawer in his desk. Then he let the earlier fantasies he’d clamped down on so hard erupt completely, fantasies of control and manipulation and uninhibited sexual yearning that he came in almost no time at all. He’d barely even had to glance at the computer monitor as it flashed a slideshow of sexy women. He reset the slideshow picture to scenes of Ultraman, the pornographic jpegs kept safe in a file innocuously titled WebFontz just in case anybody ever went onto his computer. With the indulgent good-humor that comes from post-orgasm euphoria, he ran through a few different search engines for subjects like “slut note,” “sex god” and some other relevant titles. While he came up with a few interesting websites (the links of which were saved in a word file entitled Student Council Minutes 11-10-2008) there was absolutely nothing similar to this notebook anywhere online. Disgusted, he wiped the browser history, and with the speed that comes from long reapplication, spent the next two minutes filling the browser history with innocuous website.
With all this behavior, it would be easy to assume that Right was paranoid. In fact, he was merely unfailingly careful. In his opinion most problems, both personal and global, came about through a lack of diligence, either settling for less or leaving loose strands to come back and bite you in the ass. Governments failed because politicians believed in the practical rather than the ideal; people failed for the same reason. It was this same attitude that made him so seemingly perfect to the rest of the world. His schoolwork was always perfect because he studied thoroughly and checked all his work, he was great in sports because he kept his body healthy and kept a cool head in any game, his appearance was so attractive to women because he made sure to keep his apparel and himself in top shape, and while he had no close friends, he was universally liked and respected in his school because he went out of his way to keep off of anybody’s bad side. His attitude was not paranoia because it did not stem from fear, but control.
With such an attitude, the Slut Note made an irresistible temptation. Even if it was nonsense, even if it was some prank, there was simply no way he could not test the thing. Maybe a hobbit could resist the temptation of a tool promising ultimate power and leave it on his mantle for a century, but he could not.
Right tried desperately to focus on his homework, but his mind kept turning back to the Slut Note. Finally, after re-reading the same page three times about the history of Russia (cold, with foreign invasion approximately twice every century), he acquiesced to his baser urges and pulled the Slut Note out of his pack.
A quick process of elimination made the question of whose name to write first entirely academic. There were only two options: success or failure. If it failed, no harm done. He would remove the page and any evidence of his gullibility, burn the page and, if no one asked him about it after a week, burn the book. If it succeeded, he needed to be able to view the results immediately, needed to be positive of their results (by the nature of the Slut Note’s requirement of face and name of the person, a double-blind study was pretty much impossible), and needed to keep those results quiet lest such a powerful secret get out. The thing made this difficult was that the first and third requirements essentially cancelled each other out. Anyone he might call up to come over and use it on would probably alert his mother and sister, negating secrecy; as the only immediate people around, if he could overcome his own repulsion enough to use it on them, they would certainly remember it. A person overcome by horniness might rationalize sex with a stranger, but it would be much harder to rationalize incest.
That really left only himself. He had already cum so he would not be naturally horny for a little while, and the instructions had said that anyone would return to normal as soon as they orgasmed, not as soon as they had sex. If he were suddenly overwhelmed with lust, he would masturbate, end his trance, and have both physical and experiential proof of the notebook’s success.
The important thing of course for if (when) this experiment failed was to avoid embarrassment. He opened the book to the very middle, where he could remove the page and burn any evidence without leaving anything incriminating. He also slid his history notebook underneath the page, so that no marks would indent themselves on the next sheet of the book. He made certain his door was locked and, just to be safe, grabbed his bike lock from the closet and improvised a fastener to prevent himself from getting out, just in case a paranormally-invoked rush of hormones wiped his plan from his brain. He had no idea just how irresistible this notebook’s power might be; that was the whole point of the experiment.
Rather than attempt any embellishment like adding partners or kinks, he simply wrote his name and waited.
After a few interminable seconds of eternity, he got up to find his watch, where he could keep track of the passing seconds.
He was by his bed stand when it hit him. Right felt his knees quiver and his whole body flush with a flow of hot warmth. He let out a heavy breath that made his entire body shake. He reached up to rub the red haze from his eyes only to feel a jolt of pleasure as hand and cheek caressed. Suddenly, unaccountably aware of how good everything felt, every nerve ending in his body stood up and shouted pleasure, exactly forty seconds after writing his name. Despite cumming only a few minutes ago, his member surged. His focus seemed to move from his brain to his crotch, as irresistible, voracious need ravaged him, blotting out any impulse but the most primitive.
Right was not even cognizant enough to realize that he had never been this horny before. If he had, he might have realized that such overkill would be necessary to guarantee the notebook worked. Given how he felt now, if he were naked in front of his entire school he would still not be able to think of anything except sex. For the promise of release he would do anything, however demeaning, however immoral, as long as it meant he could let flow the increasingly imperative push from his loins. Irrepressible, irrational lust surged through Right, and all he knew was he needed to quench it or combust from his own desire.
His eyes settled on the notebook, and the semblances of an idea formed, with the same coherence, strategy, and necessity a man in a desert uses to reach an oasis over the next dune. Without a second thought, without a first thought, he picked up a pen and wrote Seiya Yumigachi and Ruriko Yumigachi, followed by his own name.
Between pulling off his clothes, he was barely finished adding his name to his mother’s when he heard a pounding at his door. He recognized Seiya as she gave a moan of pure erotic desire. “Oh, Right-kun. Please open the door. I need you. Please, Right!” Her entreaty was soon matched by a lower pounding, as she humped the door in a desperate attempt to get closer to the cock she suddenly craved so desperately. “Please, Right!”
For his own part, Right hurriedly ripped off the cludge acting as a padlock. The moment he opened the door his sister was on top of him, kissing deeply with frantic need while she ran her hands over his body. Her nubile young body rubbed against his ferociously, her pelvis moving up and down against his pants so quickly it almost vibrated just to enjoy the friction.
At sixteen, Seiya was 162 cm (just shy of five foot four), her body as perfect as only a sixteen-year-old’s can be. Thanks to a technicality in Japanese national age of consent laws, she was not even pre-legal (and had not been for three years unless you counted municipal statutory regulations). The breasts she’d sprouted a few years ago were now full Cs, and on her slender frame looked even larger, which Right noted absently as she slid out of her uniform. The last few years on the swim team had given her powerful legs and taunt abs, and her current infatuation with colored contact lenses meant that when her eyes were open they were cerulean blue.
Her weight knocked him over to his bed as she climbed up him, wrapping her legs against him and climbing in order to contact more of her body with his. He did not realize that he had ripped off her bra until it was in his hand, but that realization washed away a moment later when her tongue plunged into his mouth and her hand beneath his slacks. As she found and began rubbing his manhood, a new jolt of desire pushed him even more.
“Oh, Right,” she crooned. “I know it’s wrong, but I need you in me so bad.” Her sentence was barely over before he thrust himself into her. She gasped with a start as he broke past her hymen, forgoing any tenderness as he began pumping with animal urgency, and after the initial pain she quickly accompanied him in blissful coitus.
Right felt so good that he almost didn’t notice a second pair of hands on his body. He looked up and saw his mother, naked and looking inconceivably good for a woman in her late forties. She rubbed his chest and kissed his neck while Seiya rode his cock. “Right-kun, Mommy needs you to help me. I need your big rod in me!” Seiya moaned again, and his mother glared up at her. “Seiya-chan, you need to share! Mommy needs dick!” She began fingering herself as she pulled herself up over Right.
As she climbed higher, her pussy finally settled over Right’s mouth, and he could not resist the urge to stick his tongue out and begin licking. Ruriko gasped as his tongue parted her lips and flicked her clitoris, rolling his tongue around it to stimulate the sensitive nub from every angle as her hot juices flowed down and the scent of her womanhood filled his nostrils. Though Right did not mind giving orally to his partner (he’d done it twice with two of the less uptight girls he had been with, who seemed quite pleased with his innate abilities), it had never before done anything for him sexually. Now, though, it made him even hornier, and he pushed up on Seiya with such force that she almost slid off his penis. She cried out with ecstasy as he pounded her, which just made him more aroused, which made him lick Ruriko more fervently, which made her hotter, which made him fuck Seiya harder in a sort of carnal infinitely reoccurring loop. Of course, Right had written his mother’s name followed by his own. Not only was the magic of the Slut Note possessing her to fuck her son, but it also evidently drove him to be more open to it as well. He would remember it later, but right now he could form no thought more complex than the primitive need for sex.
Finally, when he felt something would have to give or he would explode, he came with such force and power that his whole body turned rigid. At the same moment, Seiya and Ruriko also cried out with bliss as they joined him in their own earth-shattering orgasms. Right felt a new slipperiness along his shaft as his cum added additional lubricant, which felt even better, but already the madness of the Slut Note was beginning to fade. Nevertheless, he took advantage of its lingering traces to finish completely.
Right sighed heavily, but forced away the sensation of well-being that suffused his body. He wasn’t quite sure how his sister and his mother would react after their own induced desire faded away, and he needed to be ready to stay a step ahead of them.
Fortunately, he needn’t have worried.
No sooner had the appearance of rationality begun to resurface in their eyes than they once again glazed over, and the look of irresistible heat again overtook them.
Confused, Right prepared for their inevitable ravishing, but instead the two women turned to each other, smiling lustily, their body language clearly indicating their mutual desire for one another.
“Right-kun, I, uh, I have to go to my room now,” Seiya mumbled, not taking her eyes from her mother.
“Yes, Right-kun,” him mom agreed. “You clean up and forget this ever happened. I’ll…go help Seiya in her room.”
The two climbed from his bed, not even taking their eyes from one another for a moment. Before they were even out of his room, Right saw them pawing at one another with desperate furor.
“Quite the pair they make, don’t they?” a voice asked Right from behind him.
Right spun around, surprised to see another body in bed with him, leaning against the headboard. It was a woman, of such proportions that you could tell she was a woman from a mile away. And she wore so little, just ragged strips of tiger-print covering just enough that you could see almost everything, that he was able to enjoy every inch of her. Her breasts were enormous, each larger than a basketball, yet held aloft in a way that defied both gravity and biology. Her waist came to a narrow hourglass before spreading out into a wide curve along the hips, down to legs so perfect and gorgeous that Right instantly became a leg-man. At least until his eyes worked back up to her hips and the curve of her ass, turning him into an ass-man, and then back up to her bulbous mammaries that turned him back into a breast-man. A quick glance at her feet confirmed that they too were ideal, and also temporarily made him understand the appeal of a foot job from such pristine appendages. And if every part of her body was flawless, her face was the realization of perfection. Her emerald eyes were as large as any anime heroines, and as deep as the Marianas Trench: only the desire to see more of her gave him the strength to pull his eyes away to her flawless pale skin and her luscious thick lips and her long flowing yellow hair. She was so beautiful that it took him longer than it should have to notice the fact that her porcelain skin was also tinged a deep blue, or that her ears and ivory white teeth came to just a little too fine of a point, or that her golden locks did not quite camouflage the curved horns emerging from the crown of her skull.
“Don’t worry about those two,” the woman (?) said languidly. “They’ll be at each other for another half hour, then clean up and forget this whole afternoon. By dinnertime not only will neither of them remember any incest with each other or you, but your sister will be back to being a virgin.”
Right finally found the words to say, “Are you…an oni?” She did not look anything like the horned demons wearing tiger pelts from ancient mythology, or even very much like the loveable oni girl Lum from that Urusei Yatsura show, but given her appearance and her slightly ephemeral quality (as he stared closely, he noticed he could just barely see the pillow and bed she rested on through her) it was the only explanation that came close to fitting.
She laughed melodiously. He heard something tinkle, and noticed a silver earring with a heart dangling off of one ear. Given the prompt, he took a quick inventory and also noticed rings on every finger (each finger ending in nails just a little too sharp, thick, and curved) and a pouch attached on a chain wrapped around her waist.
“An oni?” she asked, mockingly. “Something like that. I’m a succubus, Right-kun. A god of lust.” The corners of her mouth pulled up to a derisive smile. “Didn’t you read the instructions?”
Right was ashamed to admit that he had not. The idea of the Slut Note had been so enticing that he had foregone his usual caution. He could only justify his behavior because, deep down, he had honestly believed it would not work. Nothing else could possibly explain such sloppy actions on his part, unless—
He looked to the succubus. “You made me do this, didn’t you? You left a Slut Note for me, but you have a second Slut Note of your own. You wrote my name in yours, along with my sister and mother, and guided my actions in such a way that I would use the Slut Note on myself without fully understanding all of its properties.”
Her sardonic grin stretched into a full smile. “Oh, I knew you would be interesting, Right. You’re correct, of course. I figured that if I just gave you the book, you wouldn’t use it right. You’d horde it, and use it to make your own little harem and get yourself laid, and that’s no fun at all. Instead, I wanted you to understand from the get-go how much power such a thing can be in the right hands. We succubi and incubi cannot use the Slut Note that way ourselves, but nothing in the rules prevents humans from using it as such.” Her deep jade eyes twinkled. “Besides, most people would be too skeptical to believe it such a thing could work to use it, or too scared if they did. I suspect that you, now, are neither.”
“So what happens now?” Right asked. “I used an infernal tool of the underworld. Do you take my soul or something?”
“What would I want with your soul, Right?” she chuckled. “The underworld is full of souls. Everyone who believes in the wrong religion goes to Hell, and they’re all wrong to someone, after all. Besides, I’m a succubus, not a devil. I may want your body some time, but not your soul.
“As for the book, the moment the Slut Note lands in the human world, it belongs to the human who claims it. That’s you. If you don’t want it, you can pass it on without any consequences, except you’ll lose your memories of everything related to it. And the bit of respect I was gaining for you.” He stared at the demon quizzically. She explained. “I was hoping to stick around and watch you using the Slut Note. That’s the whole reason I brought it to the human world in the first place: to see how a human, properly motivated, might use it.”
“Don’t you think you might stick out?” he asked.
She arched her back, proving his point. “Don’t worry, Right. The Slut Note acts as a border between our worlds. Since you touched mine, you can see, hear and touch me, but no one else can.”
Right considered her words. “So I can use this, consequence free?”
“Well, not exactly. This first time doesn’t count because I made you write down named, but anyone who willingly uses the Slut Note will themselves become lust gods when they die. Which is not really a bad deal. All the naughty perks of the Hellish without any of the consequences, plus virtual immortality and unlimited carnality to boot. And there are the consequences on Earth; if anyone finds out about the Slut Note, they might take it away from you. And you’d have to deal with me sticking around and watching everything you do. But otherwise, no. No consequences”
“What happened to the succubi who owned this Slut Note?” Right asked. She actually looked surprised, and he explained. “I might buy your willingness to drop such a powerful weapon in mortal hands, but not your only one. The only way you give a crossbow to a savage is if you own a gun.”
She laughed heartily, and Right had to focus diligently to keep from enjoying the pleasant ways it made parts of her jiggle. “You are the smart one. You’re right. Lust gods get one Slut Note apiece. I happen to have two. We lust gods need our Slut Notes; we gain a year of life for every person we drive to intercourse. We are practically immortal, but every so often one of us does die, and I attained that fallen lust god’s notebook.”
“So why did you give it to me?” he asked.
“Because the underworld is so boring. There’s not even much fun anymore in making people fuck, what with loosening morals and liberal attitudes. Pornography is rampant and, thanks to the internet, free, premarital sex is the norm, interracial and cross-religious sex is okay now, homosexuality is begrudgingly accepted; at this rate in fifty years San Francisco will let people marry livestock. We get a year of life per orgasm: all we need to do is make ten geeks to masturbate to a youtube video every night for a week and we’re good for nearly three-quarters of century. So I thought of something fun. I’d bring my spare Slut Note up to the human world and give it to a mortal, and see how they would use it.”
“But why me?”
“‘Cause you’re cute,” she grinned, biting her lip in a way that made his blood start to flow and his spend penis rise to half-mast. “Seriously? Because you don’t need it. If I gave it to some otaku, he’d wind up banging the hottest idols on TV and his three sexy neighbors. You though, Right, you have no problem with the ladies. You can get pussy whenever you need it, and despite your protests you could probably talk any cute girl into overcoming her morals. But you need something more. You need control. Plus, you’re smart enough to know that this book is more than just some aphrodisiac, and smart enough to keep from getting caught using it immediately.”
Right thought about her words carefully. Several times she had hinted, or even stated outright, that the Slut Note was not just a tool to get laid, and since her first clue a part of his brilliant mind had been spinning to just what that meant.
A person with power like this truly could do great things. Just the fact that this demoness was able to wipe his mom and sister’s memories and manipulate his actions indicated that there was a great deal of versatility in this form of control: he could apparently control people’s actions as long as it ended in an orgasm. All he needed was their name and an image of their face and he could control world leaders, politicians, celebrities, lawmakers. He could make the United Nations abolish nuclear arms and war, and conclude with a group orgy. He could turn gangsters and criminals into submissive S&M sissies too desperate for a spiked heel at the back of their neck to commit any crimes. He could write random names in the phone book and simply change their attitudes, making them healthier and more responsible citizens who would go out and get laid using protection. Heck, if he wanted to he even probably cause sterilization, guaranteeing baby-free sex, helping to cut down on the population problem and maybe, if applied with Solomonic wisdom at the eugenic level, help improve the gene pool. He could change the world, and best of all, never once have to use any sort of violence to do it. Love (or rather lust) would really be all you need.
The ethical argument surfaced at once, and was crushed just as quickly. Granted, this level of control could be viewed as rape, but it was really not an apt comparison. A rape victim was violently forced into a sexual situation they did not desire. Right knew from firsthand experience that anybody on the receiving end of the Slut Note welcomed their immoliation, and anybody he wrote afterwards would happily receive it, and that with a bit of tweaking to attitudes they could be perfectly fine with the situation. As for his own fate, to spend eternity as a lust god once he died, that too might be overcome: using the Slut Note on himself to alter his body he could easily stave off mortality for centuries, possibly forever. If not, well, there had never been a day in the last fifty years without a war going on someplace; how many lives might he save, even for just one day, just by making the leaders on both sides more interested in blow jobs than bombs? If using the Slut Note could create a world with no war or crime or even depression (for how much depression can there be in a world full of sluts?), his own soul would be a small price to pay.
Making his decision, Right said. “All right. I’ll do it. On two conditions. First, I need to know just how much support I have from you.”
“I’ll neither support nor discourage you,” she said. “You are my interactive television program. I get to talk to you, but I don’t really care much what you do so long as you entertain me. I might help you if I feel like it, but I won’t actively oppose you until you become boring. Then I’ll take my book and leave.”
Right nodded. “Good to know where we stand. Secondly, you must promise never to use the Slut Note on me again. If you really are interested in how I use it, it misses the point to be controlling my actions.”
“Very well,” the sexy demoness confirmed with a nod. “I swear, for whatever an infernal oath is worth, that after today I shall never again to use the Slut Note on you for as long as you possess ownership.”
The semantics of her statement indicated something devious, but Right estimated the probabilities of every variation that such a loophole might include and deemed the threat negligible. “Okay then. I accept ownership of the Slut Note, and will use it to change the world.”
The succubi clapped gleefully. “Wonderful. Oh, I know you’ll be quite a bit of fun.”
“Just one last question,” Right said. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, that,” she said with a sly smile. She slid out her own Slut Note, another pink notebook with the words on the cover in a stylistic hiragana kanji. “I wrote it down in here for you.”
Suspiciously, Right took the notebook and opened to the page marked by a piece of hot pink ribbon.
Written in a neat hand was the following:
Will be given the choice to accept a Slut Note, forgetting everything related to it if he does not. If he does accept it, he will become insatiably aroused for his new succubi companion and spend all afternoon pleasuring her, bringing her to greater and greater states of ecstasy until reverting to normal and cumming only once she is ready to be finished. His horniness will not start until the very moment he learns that his companion’s name is Fyuk.
The instant his eyes scanned the succubi’s name, he again felt the raw torrents of lust infuse his mind and body. He dropped the book, climbing over to the gorgeous succubi. His prick, though he had come mere minutes before, stood at stiff attention, and its need to fill consumed the entirety of his consciousness. He climbed atop Fyuk, grabbing a handful of her gigantic titties with each hand, squeezing her tits and fondling her improbable bosom as he slid his cock deep into her welcoming pussy.
The demoness smiled, wrapping her legs around him tightly to push him in deeper. “I promised not to use the Slut Note only you after today, Right, but for this afternoon, you are mine.” She reached down and pressed her full, succulent lips to his, her tongue slipping around his mouth. With the tips of her fingers, she applied acupressure with the expertise of millennia to spots that drove him even wilder, enjoying her current sex-slaves inability to ever orgasm until she was ready.
She moaned and shivered with enjoyment as they young man pounded her cunt, sucked on her titties, stroked her body. She let out a yip of pleasant surprise as he reached a wet finger down to tickle her clit as he continued to pump in and out of her, exhibiting the balance of a gymnast as he also licked one nipple and tweaked the other with his free hand.
Fyuk bit her lip with bliss as Right fucked her. She was a demoness, but she had needs, and the underworld was such a dreary, timeless place that it was easy to forget just how long it had been since she had gotten any. Her own pussy was so tight from more than a decade out of operation that it clung to each thrust of the stiff cock, driving both her and Right mad with simultaneous satisfaction and yearning for more.
Tomorrow, Right would entertain her with his brilliant mind as he used the Slut Note. Today, she wanted only his body.
If the time of orgasm is written within 40 seconds after writing the details of the sex, the time of sexual activation can be manipulated, and the time can go into effect within 40 seconds after writing the name.
“In other news today, Brittany Spears has made headlines again. Footage shows the eccentric celebrity, after apparently having undergone a secret breast augmentation surgery, prostituting herself on Mulholland Drive. Spears is one of more than a hundred celebrities, politicians, and other individuals of note to exhibit bizarre, sexual behavior in recent weeks. While the act of stripping naked and offering herself to anyone who voted for her won Sarah Palin the write-in vote for President Elect, it is not nearly as unbelievable as Queen Elizabeth’s announcement earlier this week to cede fealty of Ireland to the first ‘bloke who could clear out the cobwebs,’ or Pope Benedict XVI’s declaration that not only was homosexuality neither sinful nor damning, reversing the long-held stance of the Catholic church, but that the Pontiff had been rodgering his cardinal for the better part of the afternoon.”
Cynthia turned off the television, disgusted. Sure, television had always focused on sex, but the last few weeks it seemed as if everybody had gone sex-crazy. Osama Bin Laden had surrendered himself to the United States on the condition of their withdrawal from the Middle East and a fresh supply of Vaseline and Scott’s brand tissue. In China, the day after political leader Hu Jintao had publicly declared that Tibet should be freed he got both nipples pieced. The spokesperson for the CIA announced that Area 51 not only had no aliens, but the whole alien myth was a conspiracy by the government to fuel Cold War paranoia, and that he was a bad boy who needed to be spanked for his participation. Practically any woman who had ever been in a movie or on TV seemed to be making headlines with inappropriate acts: every single woman from Lord of the Rings had apparently carpooled to a Little Persons convention in Vegas and offered to “let the hobbits prove they weren’t entirely small.”
Cynthia wasn’t a prude by any measure, but as far as she was concerned, the world was going insane. More so than usual. Now it seemed to have some perplexing, and worse, perverted, intent behind it.
Laying next to her, her boyfriend Mike moaned as the volume of the television disturbed his sleep. Quickly, she hit the volume button, turning it down so as to avoid waking him. They’d been fucking since school got out at three, and she’d worn him out. But considering how much he’d made her cum, he certainly deserved his rest. In fact, Cynthia smiled mischievously, the only way she could really think of to reward him for his efforts would tire him out even more.
Cynthia rose from the bed, collecting her various pieces of her cheerleader uniform from around Mike’s messy room. Finally, she found her panties hanging on a resin model of the Millennium Falcon. She stretched languidly as she caught her reflection in the mirror, suddenly struck by how incongruous the situation seemed. She was, after all, a varsity cheerleader, and Mike was probably the biggest geek in their school. Possibly all of Michigan. She could dimly recall years of mocking him with her popular friends. Yet a week ago, about the time her already bountiful breasts had gone through a growth spurt, she’d started to see him in a whole new light. It had started off as sympathy and remorse for abusing him, but quickly morphed into affection, and from there quickly into attraction and love.
She blinked, surprised at the realization, but knew it was true. She loved Mike. Ever since he’d first approached her last week and they’d begun talking, she knew that she was his, forever, body and soul.
As Cynthia finished dressing and slipped out to get home (her parents were strict, and she did not want to get grounded lest she risk even a day away from Mike), and so did not hear the news anchorwoman continue her report.
“This just in: Rumors have been flying for the last week of some guiding force behind celebrity’s current strange and sexualized behavior, and now it looks like there’s more evidence. A website has sprung up by an anonymous individual taking credit for this odd situation. Furthermore, this website promises revenge to victims of crime, abuse, or humiliation. Visitors are asked to include the name and a photographed image of the abuser, along with a detailed description of their victimizer’s offense. If deemed appropriate, this pervert claims they will somehow alter the victimizer and transform them into a mindless love slave, although specific changes can be made at the callers’ request. Here’s Roger Sans with more detail.”
“Thanks, Jenny. The pervert behind this email scam has outlined several conditions, most notably a well-detailed clause protecting anyone whose name is written. According to website, anyone exploiting this service unfairly, to someone who has done them no intentional harm, will themselves become a mindless love slave. In this respect, it is similar to a chain letter, promising bad luck to anyone breaking the chain. Now, journalistic integrity prohibits us from airing a story without evidence, and so in the name of investigative journalism we turn to experimentation instead. I have on my laptop here an open link to the perv’s website. Rather than risk an innocent person to the test, my fellow anchorperson Jenny Weiss has volunteered—”
“What the—?! No I didn’t!”
“Has volunteered to act as a guinea pig. I typed her name in here earlier, along with a detailed description of her infuriating habit of twisting stories for better ratings, and have just now received confirmation of her punishment.”
“Roger, you son of a…A…What was I saying? Tee-hee?”
“Jack, if you’ll turn the camera feed back to Jenny, you’ll notice that the change in her behavior is instantaneous. In keeping with the pervert’s promise, she had transformed into a brainless bimob.”
“Now, that’s not very nice, Roger! Tee-hee! You keep callin’ me bad names an’ I might not go down on you. Mmm. That sounds fun. Hey, you behin’ the camera, Steve. You wanna blowjob? I gotta give fifty blowjobs or I can’ stop bein’ a bimbo.”
“Fascinating. How do you know that, Jenny?”
“’M not talkin’ to you, Roger. You’re mean. C’mere, Steve. Lemme help you outta those pants. I know I gotta give fifty blowjobs as recom…recomp…as punishment for screwin’ other people over. Tee-hee. Screw.”
“Interesting stuff. Well, it looks like we’ve lost our cameraman for the foreseeable future, so for now, I’m Roger Sans, KKLA News, signing off.”
A sex god has no obligation to completely explain how to use the Note or the rules which will apply to the human who owns it.
The roving band of teenagers was one of many that had cropped upon on the streets all over the world in the last few months. As more and more women started wandering the streets begging for sex, it had increased the number of horny young men out looking for tail.
In fact, though public indecency was up over 540%, rape reports had dropped to almost nothing, simply because there were so many willing participants out there now.
This group, Vlad, Dmitiri, and Alexi, were skipping school and out for action. It was not hard to find, especially in a big city like St. Petersburg.
The woman was dressed to be fucked. She wore tight red leather that, despite the perpetually wintry temperature, exposed a whole lot of her, beneath an open and revealing white fur-lined coat. The matching crimson skirt rode to just below the crotch, exposing just a bit of a bubble butt and gorgeous legs made even more attractive by her white, four-inch stilettos. Her breasts, easily 54EE, were spilling out of her tight leather top, and the extreme cold made her rock-hard tits visible even beneath the thick fabric. The large breasts that came during their transformation into sluts, women who had returned to normal discovered, did not disappear when the sluttiness did. Huge tits were quickly becoming a signal of past misconduct, the new fleur-de-le or scarlet letter. Her dark hair and exotic features might have once made her look seductive and worldly, but the vapid, slutty expression she now wore made it clear that someone else was behind the wheel.
“Das vedanya, boys,” she said, pursing lips covered in thick red lipstick. “Do you like vhat you see?”
“Da,” Dmitri said with a feral smile. “Dibs, guys,”
“Nyet!” Alexi protested. “No fair. You got firsties on the last one!”
“You have to be faster calling it,” Dmitri shrugged, and led the woman down an alley, adjusting his pants.
The woman smiled happily. Two weeks ago she’d been Sabrina Pytra Inostavichkova, a successful confidence woman who specialized in marrying wealthy men and then divorcing them for half their money. Since Right had worked down to her name on an Interpol checklist, though, she now went by whatever name her man wanted to call her. She did not care, as long as she brought him happiness. Some small part of her that recognized this as unusual behavior also knew that she would not return to her old self until she had brought pleasure to 400 men, ten times the number she had wronged. Another part of herself did not ever want to return. It was so liberating not worrying about money, not worrying about the con, just enjoying the look of gratification as she used every seductive trick she’d learned over the years to make strangers cum inside her.
And she loved her sexy new body. Before she’d been attractive, but now she was stunning. Her breasts were especially sensitive, even for their size, but not nearly as much as her clit. A man just had to touch her clit and she burned with pleasure. Even blow jobs, before merely a useful tool, brought a zen-like peace of mind now; she had looked up after blowing men and discovered that hours had passed beyond her awareness.
That same part of her that counted her freedom knew that it would be given a choice once her sentence was up, to return to normal or continue on in her new life. With less than an eighth of her sentence completed and enjoying it immensely, Sabrina knew what she would choose.
But that was in the future. In the present there were three young men who needed her attention. The leader, Dmitri, bent her over the wall, pushed her skirt up and with his already erect member took her from behind. She gasped a bit, because it was uncomfortable no matter how much she’d done it over the last two weeks, but Dmitri was not huge and she soon began to enjoy the sensation of being filled. And even more, to enjoy pleasing him.
Dmitri finished quickly, with a deep thrust, and quickly tucked himself back into his pants before turning to his friends. “There, Alexi. I did her in the ass. Her pussy’s all yours.”
“Her pussy belongs to half the men on this street,” Alexi said grudgingly, but pulled his trousers down enough to reveal a much larger penis than his friend. Without letting her turn around, he kept her bent over and did her doggy-style. Sabrina let her breathing become hungry little gasps; she’d found that men doing her this way liked it when she sounded like she was actually yapping.
Alexi pounded her, and Sabrina gently rotated her hips to let him press against every area. As she lost herself in the sensation, she only barely heard the third member, Vlad, express his misgivings. “I don’t know about this, guys.”
“C’mon, Vlad. Vhat did you think ve vere goink to do vhen ve asked you alonk?”
Dmitri rolled his eyes. “Look, she’s askink for it. Look at her. Perva’s obviously found her guilty. It’s our civic duty to help castigate her.”
“Ve don’t know vhat she vas guilty of,” Vlad argued. “She might have just pissed off a neighbor vith an internet connection.”
“It doesn’t vork that vay and you know it. If you’re not guilty, Perva doesn’t punish you.”
“Still, I don’t like this,” Vlad said reluctantly. “And I definitely don’t like that ve skipped school to do this.”
“Pussy,” Alexi called him.
“Da, don’t be a vet blanket, Vlad. This is far more educational than anything ve’d learn in studies.”
Vlad made one last protest, “But, if Perva punishes wrongdoers, who’s to say he von’t punish us for skippink school? Ve have to behave too, especially now that the consequences are so drastic.” He indicated the brunette fuckdoll, who was enjoying a slight buzz from oxygen deprivation from yipping so long.
Alexi finished with a grunt and Sabrina squealed in delight. “Are you next, darlink?” she asked the hesitant member of the trio.
Vlad shook his head. “I’m sorry, guys. This isn’t right. Even if she’s sayink she vants it, she’s under Perva’s control, so that doesn’t make it right. I’m out of here.”
Dmitri shrugged as Vlad stomped off. “Fuck it. More for me. You ready for round two, naughty girl?”
Sabrina smiled. “I’m ready for you any time you vant, big boy. In fact, leave me your names and phone numbers and I’ll call you up against and again!”
Alexi and Dmitri chuckled, exchanging a high-five as they moved to trade places. Sabrina smiled too, pleased to know that she would have two new names (and, if she could talk them into her apartment, pictures) to put up on the website for Lord Perva. Another aspect of her transformation included complete loyalty to the faceless, nameless force that had morphed her body and mind. Anyone who abused the friendliness of Perva’s transformed or (in the case of these boys) violated the law in their presence wound up on the website, and soon transformed themselves into beefy studs with nine-inch cocks and ten-inch tongues. Thus, the power of Perva spread even faster than anticipated, for criminals frequently find themselves in the company of other criminals.
Sabrina sighed blissfully at the prospect of pleasing her lord, which Dmitri mistook for satisfaction at his own technique. Little were either boys aware that in a few days they would be in this alley as well, offering themselves to anyone who asked for a few days as penance for playing hooky. The Lord Perva, she knew, wanted a world free of crime and misdeed, full of happy, slutty people. And as one of Perva’s loyal minions, she would do her part to realize her lord’s will.
If you just write, “fuck anybody” for the cause of orgasm, the subject will have sex with the first willing participant after 6 minutes and 40 seconds from the time of writing it.
Even if only one name is written in the Slut Note, if it influences the subject to forcibly rape another human whose name is not written in it, the subject will instead just masturbate.
Right Yumigachi was on a holy mission. It had been four month since the Slut Note had fallen into his hands, and he’d been working furiously on it. The Note itself was now wrapped in a protective school book cover to hide its glaring tinge, and Right surreptitiously used it at every moment he was not either studying, in school, or asleep.
After the first two days, he’d run out of criminals in Japan to punish. After two weeks, he’d punished every criminal in the world, except political prisoners and special cases who were unfairly incarcerated. Anyone serving jail time for violent crimes (murder, rape, assault, etc) had experienced mind-blowing orgasms of the literal variety and become mindless husks. Criminals of the less brutal variety (robbery, embezzlement, drug-related crimes, etc) transformed into quiet, submissive individuals who found intense sexual gratification in serving others. Every prison in the world had become quiet and orderly as the inmates strove to ingratiate themselves to the guards, with the caveat that they all masturbated a lot more at night (and only masturbated; these men and women would never again desire sex with another person).
From there, he’d moved onto politicians and world leaders, and started making headlines as he used the Slut Note to affect global policy. These changes were not permanent, but the change such powerful leaders produced while under his control was. No government leader could willingly admit to making a mistake beyond their control, and so human rights, job creation, balanced budgets, alternative energy, poverty programs, educational improvements, pork barrel elimination, nuclear disarmament, military cutbacks, and greater personal liberties became the focus of all governments previously more interested in self-aggrandizement and amassing power and clout.
But it was the website that was defining act, and he had not even set it up. Enough people now believed in Perva (as he was known in Japan) that he had fans. People kept setting up websites for his use as fast as servers took them down, bolstered by the proof that Perva actually read them. All it had taken was a single demonstration on a Los Angeles news program he’d happened to be watching on satellite TV and belief in Perva went from internet conspiracy rumor to worldwide news. People now knew that they could be lose control of themselves and turn into mindless fuckdolls as punishment for their cruel behavior, with no jury or appeal. They quickly shaped up.
He’d made required two caveats to make this process fair. First, a clause that the transgressor whose name he wrote knew of and acknowledged the wrong they’d done (even if they were not sorry for it) before he actually turned them into sex slaves. That way the Slut Note could not be abused and become an instrument of rape. Right figured that if a person’s life could feel their life ruined without the blamed party even knowing, the chances were better that the victim was merely projecting their own shortcomings. Secondly, he also used the Slut Note on the person complaining, bolstering their confidence and forgiveness so they could move on with their lives.
Needless to say, this took a lot of writing, but here being Japanese helped a lot. Since Right naturally thought, read, and wrote in Japanese, he quickly discovered that Japanese counted when you wrote in the Slut Note, even though the cover was in English. English worked too, as did hiragana, katakana, kanji (both Japanese Han, Chinese Hanzi, and even Korean Hanja), French, German, Cyrillic, and Spanish, regardless of the nationality of the writer or name written. An American trying to write all this out would be stuck, but someone raised to read kanji was more open to the notion of complex ideas represented by a single pictogram containing within it more ideas. With a bit of thought, Right had created a new word perfectly embodying all his stipulations (and, with testing, confirmed it worked) and merely wrote it after the person’s name to direct their behavior.
With the Slut Note in his possession for four months, Right had lost ten pounds and two places in academic standing due to his dedication to eliminate criminals, which he was still working to make up. And all without leaving his bedroom, where he had the 24-hour world news on satellite TV, access from the internet, and complete privacy, except for Fyuk’s unrelenting voyeurism and an occasional visitor.
He’d thought that dedicating himself so fully to the Slut Note would help him overcome the erotic fascination its power held, but the opposite held true. Rather than becoming inundated to it, new ideas kept popping into his mind, and eventually he could withstand it no more.
Which was why Mae Kotowara, a voluptuous underclassman, was now sucking him off as he wrote. Mae was student council treasurer and had misappropriated quite a bit of money from the sports festival fund, and was now paying the price. Later she would forget she was ever here.
Mae had been going at it for hours, and by now her mouth function more as a comfortable and pleasing massage device than an orifice, enough that Right barely even noticed unless she gave a little flick of her tongue. “Things are going to get very interesting very soon, Fyuk. You’ll see,” he explained as Mae sucked him, “I’ve already lobotomized the violent criminals and pacified the mediocre ones, which means the levels of recidivism and atrocity have fallen at a drastic peak. I’ve also manipulated a lot of people in government. There hasn’t been one battle between soldiers in over two months, and a lot of smaller problems, like terrorists, are dwindling because their suddenly uncorrupt governments are actually working to help its people. Now with the website, and visible affliction in the form of celebrities and media personas, only die-hard skeptics believe that ‘Perva’ isn’t out there, ready to punish them for cruelty by turning them into vessels for pleasure. The crime rate is dropping; soon even immoral people who cause offense through harassment will disappear after experiencing themselves subjected to degrading immorality. The world is starting to become a better place, because of me. The whole world knows I’m here, and that I’m passing judgment on them!” Inadvertently, he shivered as he came, Mae’s ministrations having only tertiary responsibility.
“But you don’t specify behaviors unless someone specifically requests it,” Fyuk noted as she perused the Note over his shoulder. “Why not? Can’t be bothered?”
“That’s what this symbol is for,” he indicated. He’d realized some time ago that though the demoness seemed to speak Japanese fluently, her actual speech was translated through some infernal power, like the Tower of Babel. She wrote in her own demonic dialect, and her reading level when it came to Japanese was comparable to a kindergartener. “It indicates to focus their horniness on those they have wronged, unless doing so would further wrong them. That way I don’t have to worry about inflicting rape, affairs, homosexuality, or seduction on people who don’t want it. Otherwise, my punishments would hurt the nearby civilians as the person becomes a sex-crazed horndog. And furthermore, this character,” he indicated a little figure to the left of the kanji for transgressor both below and within the victim, “is a simplified form of the character for sterility, guaranteeing that both pregnancy and disease are not a factor as long as they are under the control of the Slut Note. And this final one,” he indicated the character for growth at the end, “guarantees they learn their lesson once it wears off, while this one,” he indicated the character for life-long loyalty underlying everything, “produces fealty to me, even if they don’t realize it, even after the other effects have worn off.
“But now things are going to get interesting. Because this is no longer just bad people, or just crazy celebrities and corrupt politicians. Normal, everyday people are now subject to Perva’s wrath. Even the idiot masses know someone is behind this, even if they aren’t sure who. Somebody in power is going to do something. Someone will make a response. And won’t that be exciting, watching the authorities try to track, trap and contain something they can’t even begin to understand.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Fyuk asked, leaning forward on the bed, her massive breasts rolling beneath her as she changed position. “You’ve taken some precautions, but someone might still track Perva to you.”
“No one will suspect me of being Perva for the same reason you came to me. I’m a perfect, popular, attractive straight-A student. I have everything going for me. I have no readily apparent motive to be Perva. And only a truly brilliant detective would see that the motive is obvious by my methods.”
Right grinned, even as his eyes hardened. “At this rate, Fyuk, soon I will reign over the world.”
Fyuk smiled, and laughed throatily. She’d been right. Humans were a lot of fun.
It is prerequisite for the Slut Note used in the human world that a living god of sex makes sure that the humans in the human world use it.
The meeting held in Lyon, France resembled a United Nations summit, men and women of every nation together under one roof for a common purpose. But this was actually a worldwide Interpol task force appointed by that body for a very specific purpose.
“Sixty-three criminals this week,” the speaker read, “that we know about, all catatonic. Four hundred and nineteen newly reported cases of criminal personality transformations into what we’re calling the Sub persuasion. Over nine thousand people worldwide reporting strange physical and personality transformations of friend or family, almost inevitably resulting in increased promiscuity and loosening morals, just since Monday. We can assume there are many more cases we do not know about that have not been reported. There has been no known cause or medium. We have eliminated any viral, bacterial, biological or chemical contagion. Affected individuals cross all racial, religious, cultural, economic and territorial boundaries, with the noted exception of engaging in either criminal activity or else being highly unpopular amongst the disenfranchised.”
“You’re saying that the criminals and the assholes are going around begging be fucked over themselves?” the representative from Italy asked. “What’s the problem?”
This set off a great deal of argument amongst the assembly, until the speaker banged his gavel for silence. “The problem is the rights of innocent citizens losing their most basic freedom of self and dignity by the source of these problems.”
“They are people who have not been found guilty,” the Ukranian representative muttered. “Not necessarily those who are innocent.”
“Be that as it may,” the speaker insisted, “there is the additional problem that people are losing their faith in their government’s ability to protect them. Especially when those in the government are also affected.”
“The problem is that we have no idea why this is happening,” the Japanese representative stated. “Every one of our investigations shows only the bases of corollaries between people turned into sex slaves, certainly not enough to deduce anything.”
“That is why we have asked for O.”
Again the assembly murmured amongst themselves, but this time in astonishment rather than anger. O was well known amongst Interpol, even though no one knew his real name, whereabouts or even his identity. Still, the super-sleuth had solved countless unsolved cases, and was considered Interpol’s ace in the hole.
The delegates quieted as a man in a trench coat and fedora, both arranged to protect his identity, brought forth a laptop computer. “O will speak to you from here,” he stated simply, and pressed a key.
Instantly, the laptop screen and the projection screen behind it filled with the image of the letter O in a complex gothic font. “Good afternoon,” said a distorted voice, manipulated to be unidentifiable. “This is O. Before us is a case of unparalleled scope and difficulty. Therefore, before I accept this case, I request a resolution calling for the cooperation of every nation’s entire police force to combat this threat.”
It was an unprecedented request, but so dire was the need that the resolution was passed within ten minutes. An hour later, O was on the case.
And somewhere in Japan, Fyuk smiled.