Morning at home

You open your eyes to a swath of late morning sunlight splashed across your pillow. Today is Friday and you only have one class scheduled for late in the afternoon, so you've been sleeping in as a prelude to a lazy weekend after the first week of classes this semester. You sit up and stretch languidly, looking out your bedroom window as you blink away the last vestiges of sleep. It's a beautiful day out and you're feeling wonderfully rested. Living at home during college does have some advantages, not the least of which is that you don't have to deal with noisy roommates or shared dorm bathrooms. This is going to be a good day, you think to yourself. You throw on a T-shirt and some loose shorts and head downstairs in search of breakfast. Or possibly lunch at this point.

Your mother Erin is reading a book in the living room when you come down. She glances up at you with a bemused smile as you tromp down the stairs. "'Morning, sleepyhead," she says. "I was getting worried I would have to wake you up in time for dinner." Her words are sarcastic but her tone is only gently teasing.

"Well played, mom," you reply with an eye roll. "That one never gets old."

"There's stuff for sandwiches in the fridge if you're hungry. Your sister may be in there already. And there's some mail for you on the end table." She gestures toward a small pile of envelopes next to the couch before turning back to her book.

By the time you hear sandwiches you're already on the move. You snag the mail on your way past into the kitchen and deposit it on the counter before raiding the refrigerator—food is a higher priority right now than whatever boring junk mail you might have gotten. Ham, turkey, cheese, lettuce, pickles... second layer... all set. Sandwich assembled, you sit at the dinner table across from your younger sister Dana, who is still on summer break until next week. She looks up briefly from her much smaller sandwich and greets you with a smirk. "Hey there, assbutt."

"Hey there, flatso," you reply. She sticks her tongue out at you briefly and grabs an extra handful of potato chips from the bag on the table before returning to her own sandwich. Dana is a little sensitive about her petite figure and small chest, although you've secretly found her sexy ever since she hit puberty. What she lacks in curves she more than makes up for with a cute face, beautiful clear skin and arresting hazel eyes. She's wearing a thin white tank top and a skimpy pair of denim shorts that show off her toned gymnast's legs and tight little butt. You've pictured her lithe body flexing inside her skintight gymnastics outfit more than a few times while jerking off—not that you would ever admit that to her.

You devour half of your sandwich without pausing, and then reach over and pick up the mail from the counter, thumbing through it as you start in on the second half more slowly. Junk, student loan info, junk, junk... Huh, what's this one? You stop at the last envelope, which is colored a rich saffron orange, and thick and heavy enough that it clearly contains more than just a sheet of paper. Your full name and address are printed on it correctly, but the return address field only says "The Prize Commission", with no address or other details. There's no stamp or postmark, or for that matter any other text at all. The envelope itself is high-quality cotton paper, soft and crisp at the same time, not something that would be wasted on junk mail.

Curious, you open it and pull out the contents, which turn out to be a small packet of folded card stock in the same cheery orange as the envelope. When you unfold it, a microchip embedded in the card chirps out "You're a winner!" and plays a short electronic tune.

"What's that?" Dana asks, craning her neck to try to get a look across the table. "If you won the lottery, you'd better get me a new car."

"I don't know," you admit, puzzled. You don't remember buying a lottery ticket or entering any sort of contest. Inside the packet is a sheet of paper of the same fine quality as the envelope, and a plastic card of some sort. You unfold the sheet of paper first and start reading.

CONGRATULATIONS!

John Doe, you have been randomly chosen as the winner of the Free-Use Sweepstakes®! Enclosed is your winning ticket, which entitles you to claim your prizes.

What prizes are those, you may ask? Get ready for a lifetime of passion, because the winner of this contest can have sex with any woman he wants to! That's right: just show your winning ticket to any woman who catches your eye, and she'll be yours to use any way, anywhere you want until you reach your "happy ending". Feel her up, strip her down, fuck her sideways... go wild, even in public! Any fantasy or fetish* you'd like to indulge is now within your reach, so let your imagination run free—along with your penis!

*(See other side for terms & conditions.)

Each woman only holds one prize, but there's a whole world of prizes out there for you to claim—how many can you collect?

ENJOY YOUR WINNINGS!

...What?!

You flip the sheet of paper over, half-expecting it to say "gotcha!", but the reverse side of the sheet of paper says basically the same thing as the front, albeit in verbose fine-print legalese. It also mentions a few restrictions that seem common-sensical enough, at least compared to how totally bonkers the basic concept is to begin with: no activities that would cause serious injury or disease; no using on-duty police officers or other emergency personnel; women must be conscious and cognizant to use the ticket on them; etc. It also says you won't catch or transmit STDs while claiming a prize, and you won't get anyone pregnant unless you intend to, though it doesn't try to explain how either of those are possible. Nothing in it gives you any more information about the nature or origin of the contest itself, or the mysterious prize commission, or why you should believe any of the paper's claims.

Your head is spinning at this point. Trying to make some sense out of it, you examine the ticket included in the package. It's a strip of glossy plastic, about as long as a dollar bill but not quite as wide, and flexible but thick enough that you doubt you would be able to cut it with regular household scissors. Printed on one side is a logo consisting of a baby-blue male symbol and pink female symbol interlinked, with the 'spear' of the male symbol passing through the open circle of the female one. Next to the logo is the word WINNER in bold inch-high letters, with FREE-USE SWEEPSTAKES® just above it in smaller type. The other side has the same logo, but next to it is a block of small-print text:

The bearer of this ticket is entitled to ONE (1) sexual encounter of his choosing from each woman he presents it to (18+ only).

Offer only valid for original contest winner — VOID if copied or transferred — No expiration date — No cash value

The phrase "Free-Use Sweepstakes" and the Mars/Venus logo are registered trademarks of THE PRIZE COMMISSION, LTD.

The remains of your sandwich lie forgotten on your plate as you try to process what you've just read. This can't possibly be real, but it seems like an awful lot of effort and expense to go through for a prank, and one with no obvious payoff at that. The paper and legal jargon has to be written up, the electronics in the card had to be fabricated, the envelope and especially the ticket itself were professionally printed—it's clearly not something that was just dashed off on a home printer and then laminated. And what would the punchline be? Someone follows you around with a camera for days or weeks before you try to use the ticket, and then leaps out laughing at you?

While you're still pondering the possibilities, Dana comes around the table to get a closer look at what you're so focused on. You show her the ticket with a nervous chuckle and a shrug, not sure how she's going to react to something so lecherous-sounding. "What's this about, huh?"

Dana's eyes go wide as soon as she sees the ticket. "Hoo-ly shit... Mom! Come take a look at this!"

Your mother pops into the dining room soon after hearing Dana's shout, concerned. "What's the matter?"

"John won the free-use contest!" she says, throwing her hands up in disbelief.

Your mother comes over and peers over your shoulder at the ticket and the sheet of paper that are still in your hands. "Oh wow, that's amazing, John," she says after giving them a quick look. "Congratulations."

"You... know about this? It's a real thing?" you interject, looking back and forth between the two of them. They're acting like you just won the Powerball jackpot or something famous like that, but you've never heard of this one. They don't seem to be lying to you, though, and it would be very out of character for them to do so this way. Dana's sense of humor runs more towards snarky comments than practical jokes, and your mom has no poker face at all—when you were a kid you used to figure out where the Christmas presents were hidden by just naming various locations around the house and seeing which one she reacted to. Her demeanor right now is a mixture of secondhand enthusiasm and faint disapproval, like you'd just brought home a particularly large frog from the creek to show her.

Erin leans down a bit to get a better look at the paper, and one of her heavy soft breasts presses against your shoulder from behind. You're suddenly very aware of how close to you the two of them are standing, the smell of their skin and the warmth of their bodies. Your mother is wearing a tan camisole top that strains to hold her big tits in place, and a pair of black knee-length yoga shorts that hug her ample ass and thick thighs. Her body is in great condition for a woman in her mid-forties, especially after bearing three children, with a healthy curviness that stops just short of being fat. And your sister turned eighteen a few weeks ago, so theoretically she's fair game too...

"Did you just fly in from Neptune this morning?" your sister retorts, unaware of the lewd thoughts currently running through your mind. "How do you not know about it? It was all over Twitter for like a month."

"It... just seems a little unbelievable, that's all," you say weakly.

"Yeah, I'll say," Dana scoffs. "You of all people winning..." She blinks as if something had just occurred to her. "Wait, you showed me the ticket first. Does that mean you're going to use it on me?"

You're still reeling a bit, but your sarcasm module is apparently functioning on some basic motor survival level. "Aww, sis, if you wanted to sleep with me all you had to do was ask," you say, only half-joking.

She scrunches up her face in disgust. "I don't, are you kidding? Gross! Not in a million years, if you didn't have that ticket. But..." She trails off, and rolls her eyes with a sigh of exasperation before continuing. "But you do have the winning ticket, so if you asked me to have sex with you, I guess I wouldn't have any choice. Right mom?"

Your mother puts her hands on her hips and purses her lips in distaste. "Well, I won't lie, I'm not too happy about the idea either. Frankly, in my opinion this whole contest was in very poor taste to begin with, and I never thought my own son would even have entered it, let alone won." She shakes her head in disapproval. "Still, your sister is right, John. Fair is fair, and you did win, after all. If you want Dana or me to be your prizes, we will be."

You sit back in your chair heavily, your mind now thoroughly blown. You've gone from not even knowing this contest existed, to somehow winning it without even entering, to having your mother and little sister offer to let you fuck them in five minutes flat. Nothing about this makes sense, but everything that's happened so far points to it being true. Is this a dream? And how far are you willing to go to find out?