Mark Carver - Family flesh feast

Because the transfer meant a promotion and a healthy raise in pay, Al didn't protest too much.

They stayed mostly to themselves during the week and spent every weekend in either San Francisco or Los Angeles, seeking out their own. Their own in this case signified other healthy, open minded young couples – and single attractive girls – who liked to exchange bodies and strike out in new sexual directions.

In a word, they were swappers.

But the Langleys were more adventurous than most. Anyone could swap sex partners for an evening of freewheeling fucking, but how many swingers could devise intricate, bizarre sex games and program their partners like a computer? Al was a computer programmer and the infinite number of possible sensations in the human nervous system fascinated him. You could, he discovered after experimenting on live victims like frustrated housewives and overeager secretaries, push their buttons to get almost any desired reaction in seconds. The reactions ranged from horrifying shock to unendurable torment to maddening bliss to insatiable greed, with hundreds of minor variations.

Al gradually found that the most effective method for programming lust in people was pure fear. The pain/pleasure principle was hardly new, but by stressing terror enough, he discovered that the subsequent relief from terror was practically ecstasy in itself. By balancing pain with pleasure in the proper amounts, he could program almost anyone like a dumb animal, regardless of their so called intelligence. Pushing people's buttons had almost nothing to do with brains, but everything to do with emotions. It was his personal observation that most geniuses couldn't lead a dying horse to water, while certain dimwits could make out in ten minutes flat with a complete stranger by instilling the proper emotions in their chosen victims. Not that they did it consciously, of course, but instinctively, prodded by raw desire and primitive cunning.

Fear of punishment and hope for reward was the whole key. Pain, pleasure, torture, thrill, punish, reward – the whole assault of dizzying emotions was fantastically simple. He proceeded to test his theory, with the enthusiastic aid of his pretty, hotly oversexed wife, on a number of unsuspecting guinea pigs, mainly swapping housewives and passionate singles. His theory was an overwhelming success.

He could reduce a normally healthy female with a normal sex drive into a frigid, terrified blob of flesh in twenty minutes, if I so chose. But he could also turn a healthy, passionate female into a frenzied nymphomaniac, craving sex like a drug, in less than an hour. He could train innocent girls and women very rapidly to hunger for any specific sex act or deviation. He had a "Fuck me in the mouth," and "Oh God hurry!" button he could push with ease after a brief training session, along with a "Please fuck me in the ass now!", "Spank me, whip me hurt me fast!" response, a "Fuck me until I faint or die but just fuck me!", "Suck me fuck me rape me… do what ever you want with me anything!" button, among others.

These buttons were emotional reactions which could be triggered by gesture or word, signals of threatened punishment or promised reward. Al Langley felt he was a pioneer, an unsung genius in the rarified sphere of Sexual Programming, and someday the ignorant world would appreciate him and heap laurels on him, along with Einstein and Newton and other scientific greats. Until then, he and his adoring wife continued to experiment with all the zeal of dedicated scientists. His wife, Al knew, wasn't exactly an intellectual giant herself, but he'd programmed her the very first week he'd met her so that he could merely snap his fingers and she'd rush to either blow him or submit to any whim, or best of all, rush out to pick up a young innocent girl for him. And if she was a little dim on the brain, it did not affect her stunning sexiness, or her conviction that he was a genius.

With a little training, Al had turned his wife into a feverish switch hitter, although she dug only men when she'd met him. Actually, she was far from dumb, but to Al anyone who wasn't into programming computers or people was a moron. They were all out there, waiting to be manipulated like puppets, already having their strings pulled by their employers, the government, the Internal Revenue Service, their husbands and wives and children, and just about anyone who knew the real score. All you had to do was push the right button and zap! Pussies opened wide and eager, cocks rose, loins exploded, hearts beat with fear and raging excitement, and lives were magically changed, destinies altered forever.

Al knew he had a power complex, a lust for pushing buttons and controlling everyone and everything, but it didn't bother him. What did bother him was the cause of his furious complex. He knew that the overall average length for a hard-on was precisely five and seven-eights inches, not a fraction more or less, regardless of individual quirks. He'd gotten the information straight from the most advanced computer, so he knew it had to be correct.

Al's cock was only five and one-eighths inch erect, and this bothered him profoundly. He was exactly three-quarters of an inch short with his hard-on. And while his brain was frighteningly forceful, his prick wasn't even normal, and this filthy injustice inflicted upon him by cruel Nature tormented him constantly.

No matter how many times his sultry wife told him his cock was "cute" – a word he loathed, because cute always meant there was a serious defect hidden somewhere, and cute was meant to be a saving grace – he was convinced he was inferior to other men. To prove his superiority, he began programming girls and women to adore his cock above all others, to suck it and crave it and tenderly love it above all others. He didn't always succeed – his early experiments occasionally backfired, and one girl who'd gone over the rim of sanity because of a too savage whipping chased him furiously around the bedroom with a butcher knife, trying to extend the three-quarter inch shortage of meat to at least three additional inches – but Al succeeded often enough to feel better about his meat shortage. Not good, but better.

On the surface Al looked normal enough, plain faced, lean bodied, and wearing a constant excuse me smile, which effectively hid his deep rage. People often wondered why a fantastically sexy number like his wife married him. The answer lay in programming, of course. She was a good assistant in his research, a remarkably hot, delicious fuck, a social asset because of her good looks, and even a passable cook. In rare moments of gratitude, Al rewarded her by filling her cunt with vanilla ice cream and licking it out. Even this was calculated for pain/pleasure. It felt so horrible to her when he jammed the freezing ice cream in with a spoon, that it felt twice as good when he lapped it out.

Al tried a number of techniques for lengthening his deficient cock. He'd read that a certain tribe in Africa had remarkable success in developing truly monstrous pricks by attaching weights to their cocks for long periods of time. Unfortunately, it had to be done when you were a child, when your cock was still spongy and growing. Nevertheless, he strung a lead sinker on his cock and wore it twenty-four hours a day, increasing the weight of the sinkers week by week. He was tremendously excited over the potential results at first, convinced he'd end up with a fishing pole if nothing else.

But after a month and a successful gain of only one-eighth of an inch, he found to his horror he couldn't get a hard-on any more. A specialist advised him he was not only getting a very sore cock out of his experiment, but he ran the risk of impairing the normal circulation so badly he might never get it up again. Panicked, Al threw all his lead sinkers away and put a tiny sling on his rod to give it a rest. Two weeks later, the eighth-of-an-inch growth disappeared, but to his immense relief, he could get a hard-on again.