O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Betcha Can't Eat Just One (hypno)

by webb025

Hi, I'm Travis, I'm 18. My family consists of me, my younger brother Benjy, 16, and my dad, who's 36. My mother ran off years ago, when I was three, and from what I know now I don't blame her one bit. We're what you would call white trash, and we do fit that description pretty well. I dropped out of school last year, and have a job as a mechanic at a local garage. It doesn't pay enough, so I also work a fast food job. I'm not stupid, I just couldn't take any more of what was going down at school. Benjy is still in school, barely, but he doesn't put too much effort into it, and with all his running around, causing trouble, and getting F's, I figure he'll be out of there before the school year ends. My dad works construction, when hecan get work. As you could probably guess, we don't live in a nice big house in the good part of town. We're in a trailer park across the tracks.

Our family is not exactly what you would call good looking. We're not too tall, I'm the tallest at 5'9". But what we lack in height we make up in width. We've got really broad shoulders and big builds, and since Benjy works evenings at a local gym, so we can get in free, he and I are really strong and stay in shape. We also have big hands and feet, and we're big in other ways too. But as to looks -- well, I look like a younger version of my Dad, and my nickname when I was in school was Trog, short for "troglodyte". Still, I got respect then, both because I could not be knocked over on the football defensive line, and I also have a pretty dominant personality. Actually, all three of us do. And that's a problem in a small household. Too much testosterone.

Also, Benjy and I are both gay. We kept it a secret at school, but I figure there must be something to the heredity thing, since we weren't raised that way for sure. And Benjy and I both like older guys. While I was a sophomore in high school, I fantasized about punking a senior, making him do whatever I said, riding him around like a horse, humiliating him in front of his friends. Benjy's tastes run even older; his biggest dream is to make a bitch out of his good-looking English teacher, who is also his soccer coach, maybe change him into his personal polo pony. But even though Benjy has a much cuter face than me, with straw-blond hair that hangs over his eyes -- although he's got the same solid body I do -- his chances of snaring that totally straight English teacher are pretty much zero.

On the other hand, Dad is DEFINITELY not gay. He has the same dominant attitude Benjy and I have, but he likes to take it out on women. I've heard that even when Mom was still around, Dad was regularly intimidating other women into having really rough sex with him. Mom kind of suspected it, I heard, but when he got to the point where he was not even hiding it at all, she walked out. Dad got all angry, then depressed, and he stopped keeping in shape. He now weighs close to 300 pounds, and it sure ain't all muscle. When he's not working, he's usually sitting around drinking beer and watching either sports or truly kinky and violent porno videos. It's not a pretty sight.

I remember the day our luck began to change. I had just finished my shift at the drive-through window of the fast-food restaurant, which is in the nice part of town across the street from the university. Since my sex life was just fantasy at that point, to make it seem more real I kept a small jar of "special sauce" I saved from my home jack-off sessions near the window. When a particularly good-looking college jock drove through, I would add the special sauce to his sandwich out of his sight, so I could know that my protein would become part of his body without him being aware of it. Sad, yes, but it was as close as I was going to get to a blow job from a cute college guy from across the tracks.

I got home to find Dad on the phone with our well-off Uncle Mark from northern Michigan. I never understood how Mark made his money, since his job was janitor of a lab that studied substance addiction. There were rumors that he ran a meth lab in a large shed on his property, which I thought was pretty funny, I mean working during the day in a lab where they're trying to cure addiction, while working other hours in a home lab making an addictive substance.

Around the same time as I got home, Benjy arrived from his job at the gym. Dad hung up from his conversation with Mark. He had interesting news. So did Benjy.

First, Dad's news. Uncle Mark wanted us to try something out for him. The lab where he worked was investigating addiction ubstitution, where someone addicted to a dangerous or illegal substance could have his addiction redirected to something relatively harmless, and then later with therapy the addiction could be slowly eliminated. Dad's description was a bit confusing, but evidently the lab had come out with a liquid that, when bound with another substance and eaten by someone, would reconfigure that person's pleasure receptors so they would forget their previous addiction, and replace it with one to the new substance. When Mark heard about this, he stole a bottle from the lab safe and shipped it to us. He was afraid to try it himself for fear of losing his job. He wanted to know the results as soon as we found a way to test the stuff.

Benjy's news: During his shift at the gym, he had spotted a new family that worked out together, a man, wife, and their college student son. They were well-dressed and arrived in an expensive car. Benjy looked the family up in the gym's membership files, and jotted down their address and vital statistics. Of course Benjy was most interested in the father, who was 37, dark-haired, tall, and nicely toned but not overbuilt like us. Benjy was pretty sure I would go big-time for the son, who was 20, dirty blond hair, even taller than his dad, equally well toned, and very cute. And he was ABSOLUTELY sure our Dad would go for the wife, who was blonde, long-limbed, and drop-dead gorgeous.

Of course I had "news" too, which I kept to myself. A particularly great-looking college senior basketball player, so tall he barely fit in the driver's seat of his car and flashing an impish grin, had earned today's portion of my "special sauce".

And suddenly all three pieces of news combined in my mind to form the perfect plan for improving our sex lives.

********************

When the package arrived from Mark, it came with a set of notes Mark had put together from weeks of casual conversations with the researchers. They had discovered that the sticky substance could be "cooked" with added flavoring into credible gumdrop- like candies. They also explained how to mix in the substitute addictive material, and how much. We went shopping for what we needed.

Fortunately, all three of us seem to produce huge loads when we jerk off. From this, plus the lab substance and some flavoring, we cooked up three food-coloring-coded gumdrops, or I suppose you could call them "cumdrops", that had sort of a homemade look but seemed edible.

Benjy then brought them to the gym for his next few shifts. Finally, when the family showed up again, he was very helpful and attentive to them. When they went to the water cooler to hydrate, Benjy asked them to do him a favor. His "mother" had just produced these new sugar-free, fat-free gumdrops, and he wanted them to just try one and tell him what they thought. He made sure to give the father the green one, the son the red one, and the mother the yellow one as we had planned. Each of them chewed and swallowed the drop. At first, there wasn't anything good or bad to notice about the simple flavor we had put in the drops, so they just politely said the drops tasted fine. But by the time they went back to their workouts, the pleasure was beginning to hit them. They seemed a little unsteady when it was time to leave, but they were all wearing happy expressions. Benjy worried a bit about letting them drive home in that condition, but couldn't say anything. They went home.

Mark's notes indicated that a second dose was needed to finalize the addiction, so we made another batch of three drops. We didn't have long to wait; the NEXT evening the family was back at the gym. And the first thing they did was ask Benjy if he had more drops. He happily obliged with the new drops, still being careful that the right-colored drop went to the right person.

The next night was Benjy's night off, but we got the result we wanted. The family went back to the gym, and when Benjy wasn't there, asked the attendant on duty for his phone number. It was the father who called, and pointedly asked Benjy if he had any more gumdrops. Benjy told him maybe he had some there at home. The father asked for our address, which Benjy gave him. Then we sat back and waited for the fun.

The Lexus pulled into our driveway, and parked behind Dad's rusting pickup. All three members of the family emerged from the car and came to our door. They tried to look friendly and not too shocked at the condition of the neighborhood, but we could sense a touch of panic behind their smiling faces. Benjy met them at the door and invited them in.

After some small talk, from which we found out that the father, John, was a stockbroker; the son, Greg, was a junior at the university, near the top of his class, and a star on the track team; and the wife, Liza, had her own home designing business, the topic quickly changed to gumdrops. Benjy told them he had looked but couldn't find any, and the suppressed panic in the three of them emerged as full-out panic. Then, on cue, Dad said he understood why they might really want the drops, but he thought he could solve their problem some other way. He went to the refrigerator, pulled out three color-coded shot glasses, each containing a sticky white substance, and handed each one to the appropriate person. "I think these will solve your problem," he said.

The three of them stared dubiously at the shot glasses, but seemingly having no choice, downed our seed. And almost immediately they discovered their urges satisfied, their happiness restored. They thanked us over and over, and then asked what the milky substance was. And Dad told them the truth: "It's our cum. John, you had Benjy's cum; Greg, you had his brother Travis's. And lovely Liza, that was MY babymaker pudding that cured that longing ache in your belly. I'm afraid those 'cumdrops' seem to have been addictive!" He gave out a snorty sort of laugh. "But from now on, you're going to have to get the stuff directly from the source," he said, rubbing the obscenely large bulge in his shorts.

Amid their pleasure buzz, the family was horrified when the news sank in. John sputtered "How... how did you do this? I'll report you to the police! I'll hurt you bad! You'll be sorry you ever met us when I'm through with you!"

"I don't think so, John," said Dad. "I don't think you want to do ANYTHING to make us unhappy. Tomorrow, you're going to want more of what we've got. And if you don't get it tomorrow, then the next day you're going to be in so much pain, you're going to NEED it so badly you'll feel like you'll die if you don't get it. I think you've really got to find ways to make us happy and excited, 'cause that's the only way we can get it up and give you what you NEED!"

"But... but... How can Greg and I 'excite' your sons? I... I'm not gay, and my son's not gay either. And my wife loves me..."

"What do I care? Soon you won't even be worrying about your own sexual desires, they'll be totally overcome by your growing lust for our fuck juice. When you please us enough to get us to cum for you, it will give you even more pleasure than you ever got from regular sex with ANYONE! Don't worry, as long as you make us happy, we won't hold back our pleasure pudding from you guys.

"By the way, the amount of cum we gave you in those shot glasses was only half of what you need to satisfy your daily craving. The initial good feeling you got will now be wearing off. You should be starting to feel the edges of that absolute need again." One look at the three of them, and we knew this was true. "We can provide the other half of what you need, but only 'direct from the spigot'. And don't worry, all three of us turn out big enough loads that you'll get a special bonus buzz out of us today. But we need the proper motivation.

"So John, I think you'd better spend the rest of the evening getting to know Benjy better. Greg, I think you should really learn everything Travis likes tonight. And Liza, you're coming into my bedroom for a few quick lessons. And by the way, girl, you're going to have to wear something much sluttier than that sweat suit to really get my juices flowing." He grabbed her arm and took her into his room. John started to intervene, but Benjy grabbed his arm and he thought better of it.

Meanwhile, Greg looked down at me. In another day or so the tall, rich, educated track star would be groveling on his knees in front of the short, bulky white trash high school dropout, but for now it was just time to assess the property. "Greg, why don't you strip to your underwear," I suggested politely, but he knew it was an order, and instinctively knew the consequences of disobedience. He was going through a mini-withdrawal, and guessed how bad a full one would be.

As he stripped, what I saw was even better than I expected. I think of a track star as having well-muscled legs, and he had those. But evidently he must have participated in other track and field events, because he had nicely defined biceps and pecs as well. And he was largely smooth except for a "treasure trail" leading into his boxers. I felt him up and down, pushing and prodding as if I were examining a piece of meat. Which, actually, is sort of what I was doing. "Gotta give you props, Benjy," I said. "Couldn't have picked a better one myself. You knooooow what I like!"

But Benjy was already circling John. The normally mature, sophisticated man looked openly afraid of what plans my short, well-muscled 16-year-old brother had in store for him. "Gee, Mr. Durrell, I think you and me are gonna be great pals," said Benjy, sounding like a mocking little kid. "I'm on duty at the gym tomorrow night, so if you NEED me, I'll have to meet you at your office tomorrow afternoon. I already know where you work, it's in your file at the gym."

Now John looked terrified. "Uhh... Benjy... I don't think that's such a good idea... I don't think you should come to my office..."

Benjy snort-laughed (he gets it from Dad). With his hands on his hips, he said, "Well, I think I'll just show up anyway. And I'll bet that by tomorrow afternoon, you'll be REAL glad I did decide to show up." Meanwhile, we all heard whimpers and shrieks coming from Dad's room. John might have responded if he hadn't been so focused on his own immediate problems.

Benjy grabbed at John's hand. "Wow, Mr. Durrell, you're way taller than me, but look, my hands are bigger than yours!" He held John's hand palm-to-palm, and it was true. He held his running shoes next to John's. "And look, my feet are at least a couple of sizes bigger than yours!" A few checks of my own verified that this was also true between me and Greg, too. Actually, the Durrells weren't small; it was our hands and feet that were too big, while the Durrells' were normal- sized.

Benjy said, "Hmm, wonder if what they say about size is true. Mr. Durrell, pull out your cock and get it hard." John hesitated a moment, then realized he had no choice and pulled out his cock. "And you take off those boxers and do the same," I instructed Greg, and he immediately obeyed. Greg was able to get hard with a few strokes. But John was obviously too scared of the whole situation and could not get hard no matter how he tried. "Aww, don't worry, Mr. Durrell, you can show me tomorrow, at the office," said Benjy. That remark did not help John with his nervousness at all!

Greg, though, had no difficulty staying hard as he stood at attention for my inspection. Of course I was still dressed, but I could tell that hard, Greg's cock was about the same impressive length as mine -- which was rare, as I knew from my days in the high school shower room -- but it was not nearly as big around as mine. As something to play with, tease, cause pain to, decorate, tie up, lock away, wrap ribbons around, put sock puppets on, and feed to both ends of his parents, Greg's cock was just FINE. And he would eventually pay those prices, and more, for access to my life-giving substance.

Meanwhile, Benjy was in a forgiving mood. "Tell you what, Mr. Durrell, you don't have to get hard for me now, and I'll try REAL hard not to embarrass ya at your office tomorrow afternoon. Just do me one favor. Bring the pants of your best suit to a tailor, and tell him to cut a flap around your ass, HERE and HERE" (demonstrating on his own jeans), "and removing the belt loops in the flap. Tell him to put a velcro strip on either side to keep the flap shut, so you can't tell the pants were cut without really looking. Anytime, I wanna be able to grab the back of the pants under the belt, pull down the flap, and have access to your pussy. That means you're gonna have to cut a hole in your boxers, too. Anytime I can't get in, you're gonna be VERY sick that night."

Suddenly, the door to Dad's room opened, and out slouched a disheveled, disgusted-looking, defeated Liza. She looked nothing like the elegant lady who had arrived earlier. In her eyes we could see the growing need that the other two must also be feeling. Dad then came out of his room with a big smile on his face. "So, have your two been cooperative?" Benjy said "Welllllll...." and paused long enough to increase the Durrell's panic, then said "I guess so."

Dad said, "OK, let's give our new friends their reward. Let's sit on the couch bare-assed, legs spread, feet on the coffee table. Durrells, there should be enough room between the couch and the coffee table for you to crawl between each of our legs, and claim your happiness." And once we sat down with our muscular legs obscenely spread, without hesitation each Durrell crawled between them and stared hungrily at our crotches.

"Tell you what," said Dad. "This first time we'll do the work for you, because you have no experience and you'd probably give us really bad blow jobs anyway. It'll be your job to learn how to do it well, so that next time each of your mouths can give a good imitation of a skilled pussy.But for now just stare at us and wait eagerly for your treat." And with that the three of us started jerking off slowly, to the frustration of the Durrells, all three of whom subconsciously licked their lips and stared at the barrel cocks that would now control much of their world.

As we preplanned, we tried to time it so all three of us would fill the Durrell mouths at the same time, like the water pistols that shoot into the carnival clowns' faces at the county fair. Although we missed the target a little, it didn't matter, since the Durrells didn't need a full load at this point anyway. But it was fun to watch them scramble desperately for every last drop, and slurp up the spilled portions. They then fell into a state of contentment. While they were like that, we kicked the coffee table out of the way and used the Durrells as footrests while we watched that redneck TV comedy show with Jeff Foxworthy.

Once they came down from their high, we booted them out of the house. As we escorted them to the door, I told Greg he should report to me tomorrow after his track practice. Dad told Liza she should get to our place in time to cook us a good dinner. And Benjy told John, "See ya tomorrow at work, Mr. Durrell!" I especially liked the way he said that. It was as if a horny Eddie Haskell had somehow gotten absolute mind control over the Cleavers in that old TV show on cable.

And as they got to their car, Dad called to them, with an evil grin, "Remember, today is the first day of the rest of your lives!"

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