Vale : Happy Birthday

This series started from a prompt in the Forum by ScrappyPaperDoodler: “As Many Tropes as Possible (A Tribute to Literotica and Smut in General):… a guy… who’s hung like a horse and inherits a billion dollars from a father he never knew he had. He falls in love with his sister… after somehow winning… a game of poker… here’s the twist: the sister is an alien-vampire and all the friends are cyborgs (see ‘fem-bots’)… his high school bully ends up banging the hero’s mom… we all know revenge is a dish best served anally… the use of a time-machine …”

Me being me, I took the absurd as a challenge, and with a lot of help and ideas from Scrappy I’ve written an amusing tale of wishes and wanton lust.

Content Warning: Incest; all characters are at least 18 years old.

 

* 

I lay on my back, drifting between sleeping and waking, aware of the warmth of sunlight and the welcome throbbing of a hard cock, feeling unusually content with my existence. It was the touch of cool fingertips against my urgent flesh that prompted me to wake – and then, for a brief minute, I was very disorientated. I wasn’t in my own bed, but then I’d fallen asleep in my mum’s embrace in my mum’s bed after fucking her enthusiastically for hours, something she’d endured with apparent pleasure and mechanical efficiency. Where she was now, I had no idea.

Lying beside me in bed was Vale, my new, alien sister who looked as vampiric and enigmatic as ever, smirking at me as her pale fingers teased my indefatigable cock. “Wake up, Johnny-boy,” she said. “Places to be, people to do.”

“But it’s a Saturday,” I complained, pulling her down and kissing her, my hand seeking the delicious curves of her breasts – only to flinch away as my tongue encountered the sharp tips of her curving fangs. Vale’s bite had turned Mum into a horny fembot (something that I felt less and less guilty about), and I didn’t relish that fate for myself.

Laughing, she said, “Shower. Dress. I’ll be waiting outside.”

An ice cold shower couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. I loved my new cock, my new sister, my new life… my unnaturally clean and tidy house. I hardly recognised it. I certainly didn’t recognise the Armani suit that was laid out on my bed. It fit me as perfectly as if it were bespoke, though I felt like an imposter to be wearing it at all.

Downstairs, Mum was wearing pink lace lingerie, patent leather ankle boots with high stiletto heels, yellow rubber gloves and an apron, and was methodically scrubbing and polishing the kitchen floor tiles so that they gleamed. Very likely she had been hard at work for hours while I slept, but she looked impossibly cute and perky. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said. With a sultry air, she added, “Can I do anything for you?”

Tempting though she was, I shook my head; I could see Vale waiting outside for me. Mum pouted melodramatically, and turned her back on me.

 

* 

Vale was waiting outside in the driver’s seat of a black sports car with red leather interior. A Porsche Spyder, no less. It was completely at odds with the neighbourhood we lived in. People were staring. “Is this mine?” I dared to ask.

“It’s mine,” Vale said. “Get in.”

I did as asked, and no sooner was I strapped in than Vale hit the accelerator and we tore away with a roar of raw engine power. I held on for dear life as Vale demonstrated a complete indifference to speed limits and road safety, threading through the traffic with the easy grace of a Hollywood stunt driver.

She pulled up outside an office in a posh part of town I’d never visited before, but I sat there for a minute just waiting for my hammering heart to calm, before climbing out and looking for some clue about where we were.

The first thing my eyes fastened on was the building number: ’69’. My favourite number. “Cool,” I said, sharing a grin with Vale.

Vale was waiting patiently for me in the doorway. “Thought you might appreciate it.” Like me, she was dressed in an Armani trouser suit, but where I had comfortable Italian loafers, Vale was in black stilettos and dark sunglasses, and looked every inch the professional business woman. “Come on,” she said.

I took a last glance up at the building. High up, in large gold lettering, the company name was no less amusing: ‘Sisters In Law’. Shaking my head at the daftness of it, I followed Vale inside.

I’d half expected it to be a strip club or something, but the calm, luxurious decor just screamed executive wealth. The gorgeous receptionist had huge breasts and full red lips, but her auburn hair was styled and her navy blue suit was formal, and the smile she directed at Vale was warm but professional. “Good morning, Ms Alexander. They’re waiting in the conference room.” Turning her attention to me briefly, she added, “Do let me know if you need anything, Mr Alexander.”

Not trusting myself to reply, I said nothing until I was alone with Vale in the elevator. “Is she a fembot?” I demanded.

Vale just looked at me, her expression indecipherable behind the dark shades.

The doors opened and we were escorted to the conference room by another secretary, this one a strawberry blonde with huge breasts beneath her navy blue suit. The woman downstairs had been sitting behind a desk, her legs occluded, but this one was wearing high platform stilettos and a skirt so short it barely covered her ass. She was hot as hell, and I didn’t miss the glance she shot at my bulging crotch as she held the conference room door open for us.

“Take a seat, John,” Vale said, making her way to the front of the room with authority while a dozen seated strangers turned to glare at me with naked hostility. What the hell, I wondered, was going on?

Vale turned to address the room, plucking an envelope from the inside pocket of her jacket. “Thank you all for coming. I have here the last will and testament of Sir Arthur Edgecomb, who passed away sadly last night after a prolonged illness. He was not – as anyone who knew him would no doubt agree – a good man, and pushed away or neglected all who might otherwise have given a damn about him…”

This remark occasioned a number of snorts of emphatic agreement.

“… but he was a man as wealthy as he was bitter, and chose to leave this world that he hated with one last laugh.”

I stared in astonishment at Vale, my sister-turned-executor. I had wished for money, and less than twenty-four hours later she had dragged me to the reading of a will – for some guy I had never heard of. She opened the envelope and read:

“My dear children – and by that I mean you have all been too dear by far, wasting the care and generosity I have shown again and again – to your number today I add an unlucky thirteenth. Welcome, John Alexander. Your lack of achievements prove as much as anything that you deserve to be here today, and I do not ask your forgiveness for abandoning you.”

I stared at Vale, trying to penetrate her mind. Had Sir Arthur Edgecomb truly been my father? Had Vale killed him? Had she killed him for me? Was all this her invention, or mere convenience? Did I care that he was dead? Did I care that now I would never know him? Never be able to tell him face-to-face that I hated him for abandoning my mother and me? Tell him that he could keep his damn money and that I’d rather be poor forever than the son of an utter bastard like him?

Was there just the merest trace of a smile glimmering about Vale’s red lips as her eyes met mine briefly?

I pushed aside all thoughts about Sir Arthur Edgecomb and concentrated on the money. I had wished to be rich, and this did seem to be a wish about to come true…

“But damn all you bastards,” Vale continued, “if you think I’m just going to give away my fortune. I have a game for you to play, and if you wish to see a penny of my fortune you’ll play to the end, winner takes all.”

Vale took a new deck of cards from a pocket in her trousers. “The game,” she continued, reading once again, “is poker. Strip poker. I suggest you team up in pairs to pool resources, but penalties apply to both team members. Lose the round and both lose an item of clothing. No clothing, then take a drink instead. Each player starts with 100 tokens that can be won or lost, or traded for sexual favours – so long as these are public and immediate. Once you’re out of tokens, you’re out of the game, and out of the inheritance.”

Two smoking hot secretaries entered the conference room, one carrying a tray with bottles of vodka and shot glasses, the other with stacks of gambling chips. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Vale said to a stunned and disbelieving assemblage, “I’ll give you five minutes to partner up, and then the game will begin.”

 

* 

For two minutes Vale calmly parried angry denials and threats of legal action, then held up her hand for silence and the room reluctantly calmed down. “If you won’t believe me,” she said, “believe the man himself.”

The large television screen on the wall behind her flared into life, the picture resolving into a man frail with age but with dark eyes full of wicked delight and bright intelligence. “My dear children,” he began, “and by that I mean you have all been too dear by far…”

Word for word he echoed Vale’s reading of the will. Grumbling mightily, the family members paired off quickly, while I studied the wrinkled face of the bedridden old bastard who might very well have been my father. And when the video was over, I was left, predictably, as the odd one out.

“For the sake of fairness,” Vale said, “I will play with John, although of course I have no tokens to add to his pile. Gloria here” – she indicated the secretary with the chips – “will adjudicate. Does anyone object?”

No one did, thankfully, and I smiled gratefully at Vale as she squeezed in next to me, her subtle fragrance making me dizzy with a momentary lust. Suddenly I felt a whole lot more optimistic about the game. Plus maybe I’d get to see Vale naked at last. “No,” she said in answer to my unvoiced thought. “Since I’m not bringing any tokens to the game, I’m not stripping either. You’ll just have to use your imagination.”

I gave an audible sigh of disappointment – but since she was apparently reading my mind, I indulged in a fantasy of Vale on her knees, sucking me off in front of everyone while we played strip poker. My sweet imagination conjured up the coolness of her lips and the soft inquisitiveness of her tongue, and just as I rewarded her efforts with a triumphant fountain, her fangs penetrated the engorged flesh of my pulsing shaft and she swallowed not cum but mouthfuls of thick, hot blood.

She sniggered quietly to herself as I squirmed awkwardly in my seat. Whether it was my perverse mind that had detoured from erotica into horror or whether it was Vale invading my thoughts, I didn’t know, but I shook my head to clear it and focussed instead on the game.

 

~~~ 

For Polly and Cassie the day had begun with a phone call. People rarely enjoy receiving a phone call before the alarm dares to sound, but there was undeniably a guilty pleasure in learning of the long overdue death of Sir Arthur Edgecomb. Their mother Mary had been the old bastard’s fourth and final wife, the relationship a ten-year decline from passion to mutual contempt, resulting in two sons and finally two daughters, identical twins in both cases.

Being the youngest therefore of Sir Arthur’s twelve children, Polly and Cassie had learned quickly not to expect anything but recriminations from their distant father; and though the divorce settlement had left their mother with a healthy bank balance, Mary had spent lavishly on herself and her four children, and had not invested wisely. Despite being children of one of the wealthiest men in the country, the twins struggled monthly with their joint mortgage and their various loan repayments.

“He’s dead,” Polly said, putting the phone down and looking across the room at Cassie. Though they slept in separate beds, the sisters had always shared a room, except on the rare occasions that one or other brought a lover home. “They’re sending a car.”

Cassie shrugged. “Fuck that. I won’t mourn him.”

“For the will,” Polly explained. “The will’s being read at noon. If we’re not there, we get nothing.”

“I don’t want his money.”

“Yes you do.”

Cassie sighed. “No I don’t. But I need it.”

Five hours later they were seated in a conference room in a law firm run by catwalk models, listening in horror as Sir Arthur demanded they play strip poker. “No fucking way!” Cassie hissed.

If there was one shaft of amusement in the whole ghastly affair, it was the expressions of horror on the faces of their too many half-brothers and -sisters. Polly and Cassie hated them all as much as their mother Mary had hated the former wives – and the hatred was mutual. Seeing them all squirm uncomfortably and hearing their gumbled complaints was quite delicious in a way. It would be fun watching them humiliate themselves for the chance to win Sir Arthur’s fortune.

Polly shared a smile with Cassie. There was no question in either of their minds that they would team up and play as a pair, sharing their winnings equally. Assuming they won at all. Neither was much good at cards and gambling, but nor were they ashamed to reveal all. Individually they were in good physical shape and not unattractive, and together they made a captivating duo, identical twins with appealing curves and seductive confidence.

Indeed, one of their long-running frustrations was that it was comparatively easy to find a lover who was drawn to the exotic delight of a threesome, but far harder to find a man able to then perform adequately. Harder still to find a man at all interested in a longer term relationship of any kind. Although neither twin was particularly sapphic in orientation, as girls they had practised kissing with each other, and as adults they had often dared more in the lonely times between relationships.

One thing they were both absolutely agreed on: they didn’t want anyone else to win the fortune. “Curse that dirty old bastard,” Cassie hissed. “Damn him to hell for not sharing it out equally.”

As the six pairs plus one took their places around the table, Polly and Cassie found themselves to the immediate right of John. He was a young man and clearly ill at ease with the situation he was in, even without the threat of having to strip in front of so many strangers. But he was well dressed, with a notable bulge in the crotch area. “How old are you?” Polly asked him.

“Eighteen yesterday,” he mumbled shyly, then looked up in obvious relief as Ms Alexander, the young executor, slipped into the empty seat beside him.

Looking at them together, Polly was struck suddenly by the common surname. “Are you two related?” More to the point, if John was a child of Sir Arthur, did that make Ms Vale Alexander yet another?

Vale smiled reassuringly. “Not by blood.” She looked abruptly at John. “No,” she said, her tone sharp but her expression amused. “Since I’m not bringing any tokens to the game, I’m not stripping either. You’ll just have to use your imagination.” And perhaps that’s what he did, because they stared intimately into each other’s eyes, and Polly turned away with a confused shiver.

Polly and Cassie had in fact played strip poker on a number of occasions, but on those occasions the whole point had been to end up naked – and usually the vodka (or whatever) started well before the suggestion of a game. As such, having a talent for the game was entirely beside the point. Very often the first twin to lose her bra was the first to have a man’s hands caressing her breasts and his mouth sucking on her sensitive nipples; and the first to lose her knickers…

Well. This game was nothing like that. There was nothing erotic about seeing one’s hated siblings scowling as they fought bitterly to keep their clothing on and to gather in ever more tokens. Polly wasn’t sure exactly how rich Sir Arthur had been, but if the thirteen hundred tokens on the table represented shares, then just one would make her a millionaire. It was heartbreaking to lose them along with her clothes.

Everyone was losing clothes, except Vale and the two adjudicating models. Cassie glowered at them as they strutted about in their high heels and short skirts, just oozing sex appeal and flaunting their flawless skin. It just wasn’t fair that some women could look so casually perfect. In contrast, all the players were revealing wrinkles and fat and sour dispositions – except for Polly and Cassie, that was.

And also John, who wasn’t athletic by any stretch of the imagination, but he was young and slender and possessed a truly impressive member. Cassie was onto her second vodka shot and Polly onto her third when it was revealed at last, and they stared at it in wide-eyed appreciation. It wasn’t fully erect, but somehow that just increased its fascination.

But their pile of tokens was dwindling, despite their efforts to play cleverly, and despite some nice hands. Once they’d even had a full house, but had so completely failed to disguise their excitement that the other players folded quickly. With depressing inevitability, they were soon reduced to a mere handful of tokens from their original pile of two hundred.

“It’s hopeless,” Polly whispered. “We’re done. All this for nothing.”

Across the table from them, David and Olive, the oldest of the siblings and as stewed in bitterness as their old man, laughed from behind their hoard of tokens. Cassie scowled and looked away, and found herself meeting Vale’s dark, speculative gaze. “The rules,” Vale said musingly, “do allow for tokens to be traded for sexual favours.” She counted out ten tokens from the pile in front of her. “I’m sure John would welcome your hand about his cock, Cassie.”

There was a collective gasp from around the table, not least from Polly. All eyes darted back and forth between Vale, John and Cassie, but Vale calmly counted out another ten tokens and pushed them pointedly towards Polly. “Two twins are better than one…”

Polly could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment, but Cassie laughed quietly. “I’d do it just to see the looks on their faces,” she whispered in her sister’s ear. “And it will keep us in the game.”

Slowly, Polly nodded, panic giving way to thoughtful amusement. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been wondering what that huge cock would feel like in her hands, but making a public display of it… She glanced over at Ross and Guy, her twin brothers, their own pile of tokens just as miserable. Ross shrugged indifferently, but Guy raised an eyebrow provocatively. The message was clear: “Go for it.”

Together the twins looked at Vale and nodded. “Okay,” they chorused, sounding far more certain together than either felt. John stared back at them, his eyes wide with astonishment but his cock hard and throbbing in eager anticipation.

Chuckling, Vale ceded her place to Cassie, allowing the sisters to sit either side of John, each wrapping a hand tentatively about his thick shaft and stroking with teasing curiosity. He whimpered ecstatically between them, as they made a point of meeting the eyes of the other players. Of them all, only Ross and Guy seemed to enjoy the show. David looked disgusted and Olive looked sick, and the rest squirmed uncomfortably and pretended not to see or hear.

“That’s so good,” John murmured, as if Polly couldn’t tell from the precum oozing from the tip. Cassie wondered if they should stop before he finished and made a mess, but also she hoped it would be spectacular and wanted to see it. She could also see in Polly’s eyes an echo of the excitement that was building in her. After all, this was just like many other games of strip poker they had played.

And then he did finish, and it was spectacular. The trio cried out as one as the stallion length stiffened and a great stream of thick, creamy cum launched into the air. Even as it splashed down across the conference table and the pile of tokens, a second virile stream shot out, then a third, as John gasped audibly from the ferocity of his orgasmic convulsions. Polly and Cassie continued to stroke the bucking cock throughout, until its eruption diminished to a mere dribble that nevertheless coated Polly’s fingers with viscous cum.