The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in locations in

which it is legal. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work.

Reposting or any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of

the copyright holder, except may by posted as part of a review or posted to free-access,

noncommercial archive sights.

Copyright 1998 by E. Z. Riter.

Email address: ezriter@hotmail.com

Please! Give me your comments.

This is a repost of a fifty-two chapter mind control, multi person romance.

MY INHERITANCE

Chapter 10

San Francisco, Here I Cum

We took a 747 from New York to San Francisco, went directly to the Mark Hopkins hotel

to rest and overcome jet lag. All right, we checked in early to fuck, if you must know

everything. Andy was asleep on the bed, prettier than a centerfold, as I sat in the arm

chair watching her, sipping on a Coke and thinking about my situation.

While I certainly was enjoying the two women and all the plans and activities Uncle Bert

(as I continued to call my natural father) laid out for me, I was dissatisfied with my

knowledge of how the programming had been done and the accumulation of information

necessary to duplicate the formula.

And, I was missing Mary. I wanted to fuck her and I wanted to fuck her now. Strange,

isn't it? I had just finished fucking every man's wet dream, my cock still damp with her

juices, her fragrance still heavy in my nose. Already, I was thinking about another

woman. Her mother, yet. But, I felt those stirrings between my legs. I decided not to

dwell on the ethical and moral ramifications of that dilemma. Rather, I decided to call

Mary and order her to the coast.

"Bert wants me to stay here, Davy. He wants this time to be just for Andy and you. I will

be here, ready for you when you get back."

"How do you know what Bert wants?"

"He told me before he died. He told me many things, Davy."

"Tell me what he told you."

"I cannot discuss it over the phone, Davy."

"You know you are programmed?"

"Yes. I am not sure how much I know. I mean, I do not think I know everything, but I know

some things, a lot, really."

"I command you to come to San Francisco and tell me your programming."

"I cannot. And, do not come home yet. Do it the way your father wants, Davy."

"You know that, too?"

"Yes, Davy. I do. Please, ask me no more until we are together. I am programmed not to

tell you and I am programmed to obey you. This is creating a great conflict for me. I...."

"Mary! Relax! It is okay. Forget about this until we return home. "

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

"Now . . . " Our conversation trailed off into mundane matters, but my mind was

spinning. Apparently, the mind control formula was so strong, the subject could know

she was programmed and happily obey anyway. Maybe, it was in the programming.

Once again, I wished Uncle Bert had let me participate in programming before he died.

"Baby, please come back to bed."

Andy was on her side, her long golden hair modestly covering her breasts, her top leg

crossed to hide her pussy. Her big, blue eyes were sexy and sweet. Who could tell her

no? Not me.

The next morning we contacted Madam Delilah.

While Diana in New York was fetish training, Delilah in San Francisco was mainline sex:

flirting, sucking, fucking, caressing, massage, all the regular stuff. I was surprised how

much fun it was and how much I learned. Andy learned even more than I did.

Madam Delilah ran a string of ten to fifteen women and five to eight men in a very high

priced call girl (and guy) shop. While Heidi Fleiss in LA was getting a thousand a night

for her girls, Delilah often got three to five thousand for hers. She assigned us Rebecca.

If I did not have Andy and Mary, I would have pleaded with Rebecca to come be with me

permanently.

Rebecca was beautiful. She was about thirty-five, six feet tall in her heels, 34C - 21 - 35

(I asked her), with the longest, most beautiful legs in the world (sorry, Andy, even better

than yours) and a wonderful ass (here you beat her, Andy). Her face was impeccable:

flawless skin, high cheekbones, marvelous lips, big green eyes huge and bright like

emeralds under long black lashes. Her coal black hair fell to her shoulders.

Most important, Rebecca had a class . . . an air . . . about her. It was an aura which

said, "I am the most perfect woman ever. I am unavailable, but I will coolly evaluate you,

and . . . and, if you are the man who lights my fire, I will be the wildest, hottest slut

whoever lived."

It was that classy, cool, princess-like demeanor with the promise of a hot, slutty wild

woman underneath which made men quiver with desire. I know I quivered.

Rebecca, Andy and I went to dinner at San Francisco's finest restaurant. Both of the

women wore black, floor length, form fitting cocktail dresses. Andy's dress had a high,

square neck in front and was backless. Rebecca's dress had spaghetti straps, a deep V

to the navel in front and was backless. Both of them were tastefully adorned in jewelry

and makeup. The restaurant had that noisy but pleasant sound of quality restaurants

when we entered. I told the maitre d' to escort the ladies to our table. I wanted to watch

the room when they walked through it.

Slowly, elegantly, the two ladies floated toward the table, like goddesses visiting us

mortals here on earth. The noise level lowered significantly as they progressed, heads,

male and female, turning to observe them. At several tables, the women berated their

male companions for obviously staring. As they sat, the room began to return to normal. I

joined them. By the time I got there, and it was not a minute, two different men had sent

champagne.

"May I join you ladies?" I asked.

"Certainly," Rebecca said. That woman could have made millions doing voice overs on

commercials.

So, you ask, what did you learn from Rebecca? I learned she had not been programmed

by Uncle Bert. (See! He did screw up once in a while. Where was that damn formula

when I needed it?) I learned there was another woman besides Mary and Andy in this

world who made me hard the entire time I was with her. I was glad Uncle Bert

programmed me. I finally told my prick "down boy" just so I could sit comfortably.

It was what Andy learned that was important. At eighteen, Andy was a magnificent

diamond but a diamond in the rough. Rebecca polished her by letting Andy observe her.

Andy learned to be a classy but sensual lady. And, Andy learned more about the subtle

feminine art of sexual teasing and flirting from Rebecca than I could have believed

possible. It is an art too few women know.

For example, one night, as part of our training, we met Rebecca at her home, which was

in a high rise condo in an expensive part of town.

"We are going to play a game," she said. "David, Andy, I want you to sit here (she

indicated a love seat which allowed a clear view of her bedroom). I will be a woman

coming home from a date. Do not speak or participate until it is time. Just watch."

We made ourselves comfortable, sitting side by side, holding hands like two teenagers in

our parent's living room.

Rebecca left the room. In a moment, we heard the front door open and close. We heard

her humming and the sound of the refrigerator opening. Then, the click clack of her high

heels on the hall floor. Entering the room, she casually threw her wrap on a chair. She

walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we could hear, but not see. We

heard the distinct sound of a woman peeing and a toilet flush. She was setting the stage.

The evening was a long, slow, delicious strip tease, with her acting as though she were

alone, letting us be the voyeurs watching her. Softly humming a romantic number, she

began by observing herself in her mirror, turning, hands smoothing her dress, a small

smile creeping across her lips.

"Not bad," she whispered. It took a long time for her to remove her ear rings. All the time

she was moving seductively, like dancing by herself in rhythm with the music she

hummed. Then, she sat, pulling the skirt up to her thighs to remove her shoes. She did

not just take her shoes off. That woman could remove a high heel more erotically than

most women remove their panties.

Everything was done slowly. An actor will tell you timing is everything. It is in seduction

also. The movements must be natural but slow, arousing but sensual, allowing the

voyeur to build in desire. She started detaching her stockings from the garter belt she

wore, each movement appearing to be only what was required to undress, but really

designed to maximize our arousal. Andy shifted in her seat. Her eyes were hot. Since I

was programmed to act naturally, you know what I was like.

Rebecca rolled her stockings down her legs, caressing those long, silky, limbs erotically

as she did. Her panties were clearly visible as she moved. She lay the stockings on her

dressing table. The stockings were rolled, reminding me of a nylon condom for a giant.

She stretched and yawned which thrust her breasts against her dress and made us all

think about getting in bed. She patted barefooted into the kitchen, swaying seductively as

she walked. We heard the refrigerator open.

Rebecca returned with a glass of champagne and a bowl of strawberries. She would dip

a strawberry in the champagne, slowly bring it to her lips to suck the champagne off and

nibble at the berry.

After treating us to a slowly done play of a woman at her dressing table, suddenly, she

stood, quickly unzipped her dress and dropped it to the floor. The motion was so quick,

and smooth, it was a shock to us watching, from both the change of pace in her activities

and the disrobing. Her garter belt was gone in a flash, leaving her in a bra and very sexy

panties.

My heart was thumping. I thought, "Oh, yeah. Now the action heats up!"

But, it did not.

Fifteen minutes later she was still in a bra and panties, sitting at her dressing table,

combing her long hair. The humming and the strawberry-champagne had continued

throughout at a slow and leisurely pace.

She reached behind herself to unfasten her bra. I had been wanting to see her beautiful

breasts since I laid eyes on her and I thought this was it. She turned her back to us as

the bra fluttered to the floor. Immediately, my tension increased. I wanted to see her tits!

She began massaging her breasts. At least, that is what it looked like from behind her.

Andy touched my leg and pointed. I could see the front of her in the reflection in the

mirror.

Oh, this woman was good!

By now, we were going nuts trying to watch both her and her in the mirror. Back still to

us, she stood, slipped off her panties and sat down. It was done so quickly even the

mirror gave me no hint as to what her sweet flower looked like. Now, naked she looked

down at her pussy as if checking it. She stood and looked at herself in the mirror, our

view being of her back and what flashes the mirror gave us. With that ass and those

legs, our view was superb, but it was not frontal, which is what I wanted.

She moved to the bed, laying down, her right side to us. Her right leg came up, blocking

our view of her sex. Her right hand moved to cup her breast as her left hand moved

between her legs. She started to slowly masturbate. Andy whimpered as she raised her

skirt and slipped her hand in her panties. She was masturbating along with Rebecca.

Rebecca was moaning, cooing, as she masturbated. The sweat broke out on her breasts.

I could smell the wonderful odor of pussy although I could not tell if that was Rebecca or

Andy (I did not care which). My cock was about to burst and a tear rolled down my cheek.

After masturbating for some time, letting us all build in desire, Rebecca acted as if she

could not cum. (Andy did not have that problem. I knew she had come once and was

building again). Rebecca was talking to herself, soft, low: "please, please" as her hand

was now flying on her still unseen pussy. Her nipples were hard as she roughly played

with her breasts, squirming on the bed, a woman in great heat. Suddenly, she looked

right at me. A look of amazement appeared on her face. She shrieked and covered

herself with her hands.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?"

She sounded frightened. Silence, as we stared at each other, not even breathing.

Rebecca groaned. "I don't care who you are. I need a cock in me. Please . . . fuck me,"

she whimpered. She turned to face us, lay back and brought her legs up, open and wide.

I was looking directly into that pussy she had hidden from me all evening. It was plump,

lips full, hairless, with honey dew glistening on it and her upper thighs.

I ruined the trousers on an eight-hundred-dollar suit getting undressed. When I buried

my cock in her, she shrieked and came . . . or, she was really a damn good actress.

I had programmed myself to act natural. Like any guy, I fought it and then came,

pumping her quivering cunt full of my cum as her legs held me tightly and she crooned

in my ear. As I lay gasping, softening in her, I felt Andy's hands gently push me away. I

plopped out as Andy knelt between Rebecca's legs.

Lying on my side, my cock soft and damp with girl juices mixed with mine, I was

watching a beautiful blonde greedily and happily eat my cum from the freshly fucked

pussy of an equally beautiful brunette. Rebecca's long fingers, with their pointed and

painted nails, were wrapped in Andy's golden hair. I could hear the slurp of Andy's mouth

lapping Rebecca's pussy. I could hear Rebecca's tender, passionate moans of

encouragement. It was absolutely delightful.

Besides the enjoyment though, my mind dredged up the question of whether Andy was

so sex-crazed she would do anything right now, or, liked to eat pussy, or, was doing it

because she was crazy about my cum and wanted all she could get, or, because she

was programmed that way.

That is the bad part about the programming. Motivational questions were always in the

back of my mind. Now, let us not get too high brow and holy with this. I would rather

have it this way, and wonder, than not have it at all.

I never claimed to be a saint. I was no saint as I watched Rebecca come again as Andy

ate her, or, as I fucked Andy doggy style with her face still in Rebecca's pussy. Or, as I

watched Rebecca eat my cum from Andy's pussy. Or, as I then fucked Rebecca . . . you

get the idea. The three of us fell asleep in a pile, exhausted, sweat soaked and delirious

with pleasure.

That was not all Rebecca taught us. Andy was an eager learner and that is what really

turned me on.

Delilah assigned Monica to us the next day. Monica was a physical therapist by day and

high-priced call girl by night. She taught us the art of sensual massage. Fortunately for

me, Andy was athletic which meant her arms, shoulders and hands were stronger than

most women. We both learned to give massages. Andy said she enjoyed giving me one

as much as I enjoyed receiving it. Well, maybe almost as much.

Then, Delilah took over our training herself. We did game playing: master-slave, whore-

john, teacher-student, and any other thing we wanted.

One night, Delilah and Andy went to a very high-class bar. They were dressed as you

would expect very high-class society women out to be picked up to dress. They

pretended not to know me when I came on to them. Part of this game is that I was not the

only one trying to corral these two beautiful babes. There was a line forming behind me

and the bar had to assign one bartender full time just to bring them all the free drinks. If

they had consumed all those drinks they were given, they would have died of alcohol

poisoning.

One key to the game is that the woman (women, in this case) cannot get carried away by

all the attention from all the men. Part of the game is for the woman to be sexually

aroused by all the attention. But, part is for the man to be aroused by being the "winner,"

the super stud selected by such a hot and desirable woman. I am sure the game is

sometimes played other ways by other couples, but this is the way I wanted Andy and me

to do it. And, I knew I would make damn sure she was programmed to play it my way.

Delilah and Andy tantalized and teased me (and every other single man in the bar) for

two hours before they agreed to go to my hotel room for a threesome. Even though we

all knew how it would end, playing the game was very exciting and delightful. Again,

Andy and another woman did a girl on girl for my enjoyment. And, I wondered.

One night, Andy dressed as a whore. Not a call girl, a street whore. With that body, she

was a knock out. She wore a black wig over her blonde hair, bright red lipstick, too much

makeup. She chewed gum like only a street whore would do. She had on a little tank top,

a skirt which barely covered her pussy and thigh high stockings that ended two inches

below the skirt. She wore six inch heels. She was prancing and dancing street side.

Then, a car pulled up.

It was a limo with a major movie star in it. I will not say whom but Andy and I were both

impressed.

"How much, honey?" he asked.

"You a cop?" she said, popping her gum. He looked surprised, then angry.

"Everyone knows who I am!" he replied pompously. Andy was shifting her weight from

one foot to her next which thrust her hips back and forth sensuously.

"I don't remember faces, honey," she said, "but, I never forget a cock."

"I will give you five hundred." She laughed at him.

"A thousand!"

I had been watching from the shadows. I stepped out and said, "Two thousand."

Andy gave a slutty wiggle and said, "Come on, boys. This sweet pussy is worth more

than that."

"Three thousand," he said.

"I get that for a blow job," Andy replied.

"Thirty-five hundred," I said.

She laughed and said, "Cheapskate!"

The bidding got to ninety-five hundred. By that time, Andy was wild and I was getting

frustrated.

"Honey," the star said. "I will get you into the movies."

She squealed and jumped up and down. She turned to me. "What can you do for me,

buster?" she said.

"I can love and marry you."

WHAT! I could not believe I said it.

"Don't tease me like that, Davy. That is not part of our game," she said softly. She had

tears in her eyes, making her inch thick mascara start to run.

My brain was whirring. With my natural inclination to non-commitment like all men my

age and the programing from Uncle Bert requiring me to think and analyze clearly, I

realized that if I said it, I really meant it from so deep down, it was in my soul.

"I am not teasing. Will you marry me?"

She giggled. "Sure, buster, but you have to tell me your name." Then, she leaped on me,

burying me in kisses. The star looked at me in amazement.

"Fellow, that is a high price to pay for a whore."

"Not this one," I replied.

To be continued. . . .

Please! Give me your comments.
E. Z. Riter
My Inheritance 11