Meating the extended family

Here goes nothing. You spent the entire drive here preparing for this. The all powerful first impression. You need information from her, and you need it fast, so just stick to the plan. Shaded honesty.

“Jimmy Nibornski. Ms. Dahlberg? You adopted twins eighteen years ago. I’m their half brother. Our biological mother just died last week, and there’s a small inheritance.”

Her eyes light up at the mention of money, “Please, Mr. Nibornski...”

12/9/19 17:02: Janet: Affection +4 ( We’ll, he seems polite enough. And he’s talking money.)

“Call me Jimmy. Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”

“Of course, Jimmy, please come in. And call me Jan. Ms. Dahlberg sounds like an old school teacher.”

“Thank you... Jan.” You enter, brushing your fingertips over her forearm as you pass. A few years back a French study showed that women tend to find a light touch on the forearm a sign of dominance from men, which in turn, along with the color red, equates to sexual attraction.

12/9/19 17:02: Janet: Lust +6 ( He’s actually kinda cute.)

It’s pretty clear that Jan was in the middle of working out when you got here. The living room is taken up by a treadmill, and the fact that she’s wearing a pair of hot pink yoga pants and a skimpy white tank that leaves no doubt in your mind that her breasts have either had some assistance or are naturally the shape and size of cantaloupes support this conclusion. She directs you to the couch, then sits at the far end of it herself, brushing her bleached platinum hair over a shoulder which gives you a good look at her face. High and delicate, nearly elven, cheekbones, small ears, tweezed and drawn in eyebrows, the slightly plastic complexion that is the usual result of chemical peels, she’s clearly taken some steps to stave off the ravages of hitting her late thirties. Everything about her appearance screams “Purpose Built Fuck Doll”.

She sits with her legs slightly spread, feet just barely apart and open, another subconscious signal of being DTF ( at least according to a Manchester England study). “So, Jimmy, tell me about what you need from my daughters.”

“Jan, you have no idea what all I had to go through to find you. Legal hoops and such. And then the drive here from Duluth... Say, could I trouble you for a drink?”

“Oh! Where are my manners.” She stands up, those melons bouncing only a little. Definitely assistance. “I usually have a glass of wine around this time every day. Is Riesling good for you?”

She makes her way toward what must be the kitchen, giving you a good look at the sway of her narrow hips and while her ass pales in comparison to Beth & Chrissy, she’s got a little junk in that trunk. You take a good guess based off her stride that she’s one of the very small percentage of women who can achieve vaginal orgasm. “So how were the roads? It’s already starting to be a rough winter.”

You can hear the clink of glasses from the other room, “A little icy. I’m not looking forward to the drive back.”

She comes back in with a pair of wine glasses and offers you one, for which you thank her profusely. This is calculated based off of what psychologists call the Ben Franklin Effect. Instead of doing favors for someone you want to like you, get them to do you a favor then thank them. A lot.

12/9/19 17:05: Janet: Affection +10 ( Wow, he’s surprisingly nice.)

And it has exactly the effect you’re hoping for. She sits down noticeably closer to you on the couch, legs still spread a little, posture still open. “I must say, you have a really nice place here.”

She smiles at the compliment, and you reach up to scratch behind your ear, subtly setting an NLP anchor. “Thank you. It’s been really hard to keep it up since Ed passed away.”

You reach out and brush her forearm again, “I’m so sorry.”

12/9/19 17:06: Janet: Affection +10 (And empathic too.)

She smiles again and you reinforce the anchor by again scratching behind your ear. “It’s been a long time, and I’ve been getting by. So about my daughters...”

“Well, mom started having second thoughts about the adoption a couple years back and hired a private detective. But the cancer hit. Pretty aggressive uterine. She couldn’t act on the info from the detective as we started engaging in equally aggressive treatments. You ever know anyone with cancer?”

“Yeah,” - You take the opportunity to set another anchor by taking your first sip of wine, not bad. Schmitt Söhne - “My aunt lost the fight to breast cancer.”

“Well, mom was by herself, a single mother, you understand that, I’m guessing,” she nods, you sip, “My sister and I found her will afterwards, and she left a small amount to your daughters.” She smiles, sadly this time, and you scratch again. She reaches out to touch you, and you take the opportunity to brush her arm again. You slide your hand down her arm, catching her hand in yours. “You have very delicate fingers.” You follow the compliment with a scratch behind your ear, triggering the anchor, and are rewarded with a smile. It’s physically impossible to smile spontaneously without feeling something, so you know you hit home.

12/9/19 17:07: Janet: Affection +10 ( He seems like a really sweet guy.) Lust +10 (He has really strong hands.)

She makes no effort to pull away and you inch a little closer. You’re not even sure when you decided to change this from a fact-finding mission to a seduction. All you really know for sure is that your recently acquired interest in sex is making you think with your dick, and it’s been pretty fucking profitable so far. “So, can you tell me where I can find my half sisters?”

You take a sip of your wine, firing off the ‘agreement’ trigger, “Of course. Devon and Codi are freshmen at Bemidji U. Say, I’m thinking about ordering a pizza. How do you feel about having dinner with this old lady?” Fishing for a compliment, her self deprecating grin says it all, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

You look her in the eyes, blue, but it’s difficult to discern between the lighting and the heavy eye makeup she’s wearing, “I wouldn’t call you old. Hell, if you hadn’t just admitted it I wouldn’t believe you have adult daughters.”

You know damn well it’s only seven years difference, but you watch her flush of arousal, squeezing her hand gently to set yet another trigger.

12/9/19 17:08: Janet: Affection +10 ( Flattery will get you everywhere, mister.) Lust +10 (Really strong hands.)

You stare into her eyes for just a moment too long, calculated of course, before glancing away, just as her face softens and the blush again rises in her cheeks. With another squeeze of her hand you say, “I’d love to join you for dinner.”

She smiles and, her hand still in yours, reaches for her phone.

It’s damn difficult to order a pizza with a complete stranger, but you “coincidentally” like all the same toppings she does. The reality is that people will tell you everything about themselves if you just listen. Most of the time they don’t even realize it. So it comes as no surprise to you that pineapple and ham is on the menu for tonight. Nor does it surprise you that she finishes the bottle of wine. You take the opportunity throughout dinner to learn more about her and the girls and to exercise your anchors. It’s interesting to watch the way they trigger score bumps. She expresses some interest in your background, and you lie like indoor-outdoor carpeting, creating out of whole cloth a career as a jack-of-all-trades, which include many of your real skills if they were applied legally (locksmith, network security, tightrope walking) and a few items at which you are at best a skilled amateur (massage therapist, mechanic, import/export facilitator). You always steer the conversation back toward her though. It’s after the meal that you finally make your play. Her skin is flushed with wine and arousal, her eyes are dilated, her hand, where it idly plays with yours, is warm and a little sweaty. She’s ready.

“This has been great, Jan, but I have a long drive ahead of me,” you start to rise, giving her hand another light squeeze.

12/9/19 18:35: Janet: Lust +15 (Is he really leaving?)

She pulls back on your hand, “Hey, I get it. But... do you think before you go you could... maybe rub my shoulders? You said you’d been a masseur...”

That’s the opening you hoped for. You sit back down, “Sure,” squeeze, “Turn around.”

You start with gently kneading the muscles in her shoulders, working strong fingers into pliable but firm muscles through smooth skin. Your touch is delicate yet deliberate, and you give her a good 10 minutes of this, watching her Lust score climb. According to your calculations, she’s somewhere around 80 now. You pull her back against you and lean forward to whisper in her right ear, “take off your shirt.”

The right ear connects hardline with the right brain. The right brain processes verbal communication and positive emotions. A study in Italy some years ago concluded that people are 50% more likely to respond affirmatively to suggestions spoken into their right ear. And the guys all teased you about sneaking into psych lectures in between cons.

Between her arousal and the release of endorphins from the massage the direct line to the left brain bypasses any resistance that might have been there, and off comes that tank top. You once more start rubbing her shoulders, letting your breath brush over the back of her neck and seeing her shiver.

12/9/19 18:35: Janet: Lust +15 (God, I think I’m going to explode. )

She reaches up and grabs your hand, pulling it down to one of those cantaloupes and arching her back so that the crown of her head rests against your chest. “I don’t normally do this...” she’s breathless now, “but I’ve been so lonely since the girls left for school. I need you. Stay the night, the roads are going to be shit.”

Your response is to lean in and kiss her, tasting wine and desire on her breath. She moans into your mouth and rolls around so that she’s climbing into your lap, her blonde tresses hanging down to hide both of your faces as she shares her desire with you. Straddling you, she begins to grind on your already semi-hard erection.

She breaks the kiss and pulls away for a moment, and you take the opportunity to give her hand another squeeze, sending a surge of lust through her body. She very deliberately screws her pelvis against your hard-on and says, “Feels like I’m not the only one, as she starts to unbutton your shirt.

Ya know, we’re only playing with her, right? You don’t want to keep her. Yeah, but it’s been an interesting experiment and we have to see it through to the end. I’m Aquaman! Experiment? Yeah, I had to see if I could do this without the Multiplier. But you had it running, giving you real-time updates. Sure, but I also haven’t used any of the weird powers it gives me either. It sped things along, sure, but I could have done this all on my own.

Empowered by this self revelation, you stop holding back, and lower your face to one of the curiously small nipples that crown those giant breasts.

It’s minutes later that her pants come off. You need this to happen quickly if you don’t want to melt her brain entirely. Something to mitigate the building Lust score to avoid too much spillover. This woman needs an orgasm. Badly.

Your fingers do the trick nicely, sending her off like a rocket. As her unsurprisingly tight cunt squeezes at them and gushes around the thong that was under her yoga pants, her hard thighs squeeze at your wrist. She howls in pleasure, vocal, this one, and claws at your chest with sharp pink nails.

After she comes down, still unconsciously grinding on your hand, she whispers into your ear, “Your turn,” and begins to unzip your jeans.

The weird shit from the Multiplier finally starts to come into play when she sees your fully erect member. A look of desire comes into her eyes and she descends on your tumescent cock. Experimentally she kisses your glans, then assays a quick lick with her pink tongue. She looks up at you, “Weird. I don’t really like giving head, but it feels like I have to have this in my mouth.”

Then she’s sucking. She’s rather unskilled, at least in comparison to your sisters and Tammy, but that’s more than made up for by enthusiasm, right up until she starts **** on it.

You pull her off and throw her down on the couch. At 5’ 1” and probably less than 100 lbs, this is not difficult. Nor is sliding He Who Must Be Obeyed into her quivering wet nether orchid.

After that everything becomes a hot wet blur. You no longer have the inclination nor attention for watching scores as your body goes into autopilot, claiming her cunt and slamming repeatedly into her cervix.

After you’ve spilled your seed into her several times, the two of you collapse together in a heap on her bed. You’re not really sure how you got there or when you even left the living room. Before sleep claims you you have one last thought.

Maybe I will keep her.

(AN: While most of the psychological studies cited in this chapter are real, it’s my duty as your author to suggest that you not try any of this underhanded shit in real life. Also the NLP stuff... well it’s pseudoscience at best, it operates off a misunderstanding of how the brain works. It’s only included because it invariably pops up in every speed seduction guidebook ever written. And because if applied correctly it functions like PIT and can actually do some of what it claims.

On a side note, I seem to be developing a more long-winded style. I’m not complaining, but if any of y’all would prefer I cut the chapters down into more bite-sized chunks, lemme know.

~W)