Book Update!

It doesn't seem like there will be a book. 😅 

Anyway, I'll post what's potentially the final, abandoned, failed attempt here as well as sharing it in PDF format.

Maybe I'll focus more on short stories--conventional short stories. 

Anyway2, here's the link:

https://www.mediafire.com/file/xqqugf8n34daxan/Novella_in_Ten_Days_-_Abandoned.pdf/file

 And the full text:

 

 

 

 

Working Title: BISM A Bisexual Incestuous Spankophile Magic Novel

 

 

 

 

For as long as man lived magic was real, feared and revered, with the exception of an imperceptibly short period of time which was ironically named after light.

Light had nothing to do with it!

This book chronicles, in no enlightened fashion and with too much focus on the carnal, the return of the human race to its magical roots.

1

Close your eyes and the world will become real. Open them and you’re staring at but shadows and illusions. Listen to your heart and you’ll be free. The only way out of the abyss is to stop thinking.

Elijah Jones had to double-check the book’s cover to make sure it wasn’t a cheesy fiction of some sort. It wasn’t. It rather stated matter-of-factly its name and objective: Fifty-three Steps to Unlock the Mysteries of the Universe. Even its writer’s name seemed serious: Nazarhak Shagardan.

       He hesitated for a second… then grabbed a pen and underlined the “stop thinking” advice. A highlighter would be a better option but what young man owns one of those. He then added in the white space next to it: “This explains a lot.”

       In thirty seconds, his sister’s smile as she receives her returned book will dissipate when she notices the sacrilege… and the insult. Elijah would laugh at her reaction, and insult her book some more. Their mother’s asking them—alarmingly and urgently—to “come see this” was the only reason Ashley didn’t completely go at her brother.

       In the living room they found their mother staring at the TV. Dumbfounded. They too became dumbfounded after staring at the TV. The reputable anchorwoman had just announced the arrival of some unusual guests. Humanity had received guests for the first time, and one of them—a very tall and ethereally beautiful woman—was being interviewed on live television.

       “This has got to be a prank,” Elijah said when he came back to his senses. “A modern-day War of the Worlds’ drama.”

       His mother looked at him incredulously. She pressed a button on the remote, and one channel after another was showing the same event; the only difference is the channel’s logo and the text at the bottom.

       “A bigger effort than I initially estimated, then. Still, a large-scale prank is much more probable than interstellar travel. Only a dimwitted person would thin–”

       He didn’t get to finish his rational remark, for his mother—for the first time in his life—took him over her knee and spanked him!

2

All over the globe, people started rejecting the friendship offer of the Paendans: the alien species visiting Earth. Some people even rejected their mere existence, and insisted that the whole event was one psyop or another.

       The first confrontation was a political one. The spacecraft had landed in New York in front of the UN Headquarters, and was appealing to the myriad nations of Earth to collectively bargain with them— one species to another. This was clearly a gargantuan mistake on their part. Using ‘collective’ and ‘bargain’ this close to one another caused the host nation of the UN Headquarters to undergo what historians of the future will label as the Red Scare 2.0. Consequently, the People’s Republic of China offered the visiting race, who intended to collectively bargain, an eager invitation to land and temporarily resettle on their turf. This open invitation moved the Doomsday Clock up to 0.5 minute until Midnight.

       To add holy salt to injury, heads of organized religions—separately and with great animosity to one another—asked of Earth’s visitors to confirm the one and only universal truth (which happens to coincide perfectly with each speaker’s own dogma) if they truly wish to gain humanity’s trust. It didn’t help that the Paendans’ response was this:

“For the sake of furthering the friendship between our two species we’re willing to tell Earthmen what they want to hear, provided that they reorganize in one clearly-defined, superstitious belief-system first. Otherwise, this white lie business won’t work.”

       One Reddit user by the name of Rationalist_Elijah divulged in detail the personal suffering the arrival of the extraterrestrials had inflicted on him. He would interrupt his typing at intervals to rub his still sore bottom.

       Between the impending nuclear destruction, the theological jihad and Elijah’s red bottom, the Paendans had no choice but to skedaddle back to the solar system from which they came. Leaving only one cryptic message to whomever may listen:

       “The only way out of the abyss is to stop thinking.”

 

 

      

3

Things returned to normal.

       Some works of sci-fi were moved to the drama genre. But that was it.

       Rationalist_Elijah joined a local Femdom Subreddit in a quest to find a reasonably-pricing Pro Domme to spank him. But that was hardly the Paendans’ fault; they would never have willingly inflicted such an unbearable situation on a young mind as finding a reasonably-pricing Pro Domme.

       Some daring linguists tried their hand at decoding whatever hidden message in the aliens’ cryptic sentence, but there wasn’t much to go about. Finally, they heeded the literal meaning of it and ceased their attempts.  

       The Doomsday Clock was back to 10 minutes until Midnight.

       Ashley Jones was masturbating herself to sleep every night to the memory of her brother’s naked ass over their mother’s knee, getting gradually redder as it writhed about with no rhythm or purpose— a poor little tush with a mind of its own trying comically to escape its long overdue medicine. She would feel terribly guilty about the subject of her fantasies shortly after her toe-numbing orgasms. Helen Jones didn’t feel guilty at all, but that might be due to the fact that she only masturbated to the memory of that event twice a week or so.  

       On one eventful Thursday, late in the evening, when the three Joneses happened to be hand-deep in their respective underwear, milking the exact same mental imagery of their shared domestic discipline experience; something magical happened. Ashley sensed it first. An otherworldly source of nourishment coursing through her veins. Was she imagining it all? She thought about if for a second but then realized that she was too far gone in her lustful trance to care. She stopped what she was doing, stood up, looked presentable—as presentable as possible under the circumstances—and headed to her brother’s closed door. The river of power flooding into her was intoxicating. She somehow knew what she had to do. Ashley could see her younger brother behind the closed door. His hand and his erect penis were clearly visible despite the door, the dark room, the duvet and his underwear being in the way. She should be freaked out but she was pure instincts at this point.

       Elijah sensed the door being flung open a fraction of a second before it happened. Nowhere near enough to hide anything. Someone resembling his sister dashed towards him. Before he could comprehend anything, he was naked, lying on his stomach, and getting one hell of a hand spanking. He could faintly hear a voice scolding him. It took a lot of concentration to decipher some breathy words: naughty… boy… teach… slut. The pain was unbearable and unbearably pleasurable. He was dangled on the precipice of an explosive orgasm—a dangerous position to be in for more than a fleeting second. He was dangling there for eternity. He looked behind him with pleading eyes. On the room’s threshold stood his mother. Naked. One hand cupping her generous breast, another moving in inhuman speed in circles over her clitoral hood.

       No one in the room was thinking clearly… or at all.

 

4

Atop a rather comfy pillow—and still with a bottom perched past the edge of the seat because no matter how comfy the pillow was, any contact was better avoided—Elijah sat naked to eat breakfast.

The reason he was naked was that his mother had forbidden him from wearing any clothes. The reason he obeyed such an unusual order was that the clarity he used to experience after the culmination of sexual acts never came. Nor did the culmination. Falling to sleep was neigh impossible for the thoroughly spanked and still erect young man.

Ashley showed up to breakfast in a small black thong and a large white shirt­. She smiled at the protruding red bottom and gave it a not-so-gentle slap. Before any sound was emitted from her startled brother, she took his mouth in a big kiss.

When she finally let go of his lips, she asked teasingly, “Where are your clothes, you naughty boy?”

“He’s not allowed any,” stated her mother matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

“Look at his penis. I draw the line at washing clothes covered in pre-cum, thank you very much!”

Ashley took a seat but not before brushing the head of Elijah’s erection to assess the severity of the situation. “Wow. I half-remember ordering you not to cum before leaving your room. Don’t tell me you actually listened for once!”

Elijah finally found his voice and informed them sheepishly that he actually tried to not listen… but couldn’t. They laughed heartly at his admission. The humiliation of his semi-public nudity and their belittlement only made his predicament harder… and longer.

A thought was trying to surface in the hormonal fog taking hold of his mind. This, the faint thought argued, was not normal!

 

5

When Ashley was using Elijah’s bottom as a drum on Thursday night in St. Louis, Missouri, it was Friday morning in Mansoura, Egypt. The exact same rhythm of slapping was echoed through the 6,328-mile distance in the form of calculated strokes to a rather old rug on a fourth-floor balcony by a perspiring young woman named Rania Asfour.

       Unbeknownst to either woman (and Elijah’s red bottom), their home cities were named after the same man. A mere coincidence in the great scheme of things.

It was also a mere coincidence that Ahley’s spanking and Rania’s dusting off started at the exact moment, took exactly the same duration and involved precisely 104 swings of each woman’s right arm. It was also a coincidence that during that short period of time both of their brothers were experiencing a raging arousal that ultimately led to nowhere.

Rania knocked the bathroom’s door repeatedly until Tarek gave up on his out-of-place, carnal business, washed his hands, pulled up his pants and opened the door.

It was a tiny apartment the siblings shared as they attended the near-by Mansoura University and it had only one bathroom.

She shouted “an hour!” which is the concise Arabic form of “took you an hour!” and rushed in to take a well-deserved bath, after vacuuming the apartment and dusting the rugs. Tarek had not offered to help with the house shores.

With his sister occupied with what he assumed will be a lengthy self-cleaning session, he moved his masturbation business to his own small room that features an unlockable door and incredibly thin walls— a risky location for what he had in mind, in other circumstances.

For some odd reason he couldn’t reach the desired result despite trying vigorously and despite having the biggest erection of his life.

A thought was trying to surface in the hormonal fog taking hold of his mind. This, the faint thought argued, was not normal!

 

 

             

6

Not a single sperm was spilt throughout the weekend. Not in Missouri. Not in Egypt. Not even in virile France. The collective penis of humanity was very excited and with no end in sight.

       Some medical professionals were alerted, but the majority of discussion and comparing of notes took place in the dark corners of the Internet—where such matters are often brought up.

       An anonymous poster on a popular Japanese imageboard wrote:

Insider here. This is a global problem. It’s happening everywhere, even in remote and isolated places. I’m talking lost-tribes level of isolation. The orgasm-blockade thing is just the tip of the iceberg. The real magic is what’s happening to women.

If you thought the alien visitation was a big deal, wait till you find out how big this is. It’s an escalating cycle, guys. What we’re experiencing directly feeds into something in women which in turn makes the arousal and blockade worse.

At this rate, we should have seen the first victims of these permanent hard-ons already, but we didn’t. The entire thing doesn’t make sense.

Again, this is big. Heads of States will be making announcements soon. Stay strong and don’t try to masturbate your way out of it—it only makes things harder… no pun intended.

True to the insider’s words (who was not a real insider but rather what the imageboard community calls a larper… nevertheless, his prediction was spot on), statements began to fly left and right.

       The official statements were, for the most part, a load of bullocks. A lot of “we ask you not to be alarmed” and “our most competent experts are looking for solutions,” and so on.

An actual explanation and solution came from a rather unusual source—a neopagan Irishwomen group called Pussycats on Brooms.

 Previous to their globally-resonating announcement, no one had ever heard of Pussycats on Brooms… except for a small fanbase self-proclaimed as Gibbers—Gooned into Believing: GIB!

Gibbers did manage, however, to spread the word of their worshiped Pussycats far and wide. It wasn’t long before reputable media outlets relayed the breaking address­—reputable media outlets hate nothing more than being excluded from news everyone else is talking about.

The message itself was very fantastical, and the usually too-revealing costumes of the group (which was the main reason they had gained and retained the Gibbers in the first place) was now torture to watch for half of the world’s population.

The High Priestess of the Pussycats on Brooms delivered a video message wearing a pointy black hat, a tiny black corset, shining black boots and nothing else. Gibbers got to see the original. A cropped version from the waist up was made for the global, non-believer audience. It was still pixelated to smithereens on Saudi Channel One, and the National Television of Afghanistan only broadcasted the audio.

High Priestess Deidre Fay addressed the world as follows:

Greetings. I’ll be short and to the point. The three questions on everyone’s mind right now have got to be: the what?, the why now? and the what now?. I’ll address each of them concisely.

First things first, this is not new. Not in quality anyway. The quantity is staggering however.

Women have always had control over men’s arousal and orgasm, and over men through arousal and orgasm. For shorter periods, yes. Sporadically, yes. But this is not new.

Which leads to the second question. The why now?

Magic was drying up. Non-believers will fight this revelation with every futile iota of their corrupted hearts and minds—corrupted by false, patriarchal, dogmatic, dated beliefs. (This last part was censored in patriarchal, dogmatic channels… truly, if ejaculations didn’t mean so much to the patriarchy—and the pre-nut opaqueness wasn’t at astronomical levels—the entire thing would never have gotten anywhere near the frequencies of their broadcastings in the first place.)

Magic is essential for our world and its inhabitants to flourish. Magic has always been around. It lingered for as long as it could while the Patriarchy turned its back on it. Few pockets here and there provided a lifeline so thin it’s miraculous that it lasted for so long. But now the reservoir is nearly empty. And in an act of self-preservation, the mostly attuned to Magic—that’s to say, women—instinctively tapped on the most virile source of raw Magic; men’s libido.

The third question has an obvious answer. This isn’t going away. Four centuries of Magic depletion cannot be replenished in four days. However, women are the channeling masters, or rather mistresses. Sooner or later, they will be awakened to their full potential, and have better control on what they are now conducting on a subconscious level. At such point, ‘the blockade,’ as you boys came to call it, may be temporarily and individually lifted by a merciful mistress.

A final message to the socially conservative out there: my heart goes to thee—it’s about to get manically debaucherous everywhere!

 

7

Sales for men’s tight underwear and baggy trousers went through the roof. The objective of that ensemble didn’t work—it was still very obvious, that which they were trying to hide.

       Women, as projected, started to get better at wielding their feminine charms. And as if their female intuition wasn’t enough, they shared freely all tips and tricks they stumbled upon.

Keesha DuShane, editor in chief of Your Queen Side wrote:

Queens of the planet, do not go gentle on this one-in-a-millennium chance. Own your men. Own other women’s men—hey, they can own yours too! Own the untouchable outcasts of men, you don’t need to touch or even see those ones, just think of them as a derelict real estate—you don’t have to live there, just have it under your name… for whatever worth it has or may come to have.

It turns out women were magical all along­—I've been saying that for ages! And men are just batteries for us to recharge with. It will be cheating the batteries out of their life’s purpose if we don’t use them—very cruel stuff to leave them unused!

Now, the name of the game, ladies, is numbers.

I’ve conducted an experiment to test this. I had a fit, muscular partner of mine in a perpetual state of sexual stimulation while in a skin-to-skin contact for an extended period of time. Which is a fancy way to say that I fucked my boy toy for a whole hour.

The magical power I channeled from him, while great and invigorating, was dwarfed by something much more mundane and much less time-consuming—wearing a white shirt with no bra and taking a short walk in the neighborhood.

I could almost sense each individual male’s contribution to the deluge of raw Magic that flooded me. Now, you can have coitus with what? Four, five men at a time? If you are feeling adventurous. You can flash a hundred men in a second. You can tease tens of them with a micro skirt that doesn’t show any undergarment because you’re not wearing any. You can do both of these things, and many similar things, without even paying attention or actively planning it. That’s right, you can go about your daily routine without paying attention to your biological batteries charging your mana to maximum capacity!

This is clearly the more efficient way to do Magic!

With the urgency of returning the world to its healthy, magical self; efficiency was paramount. And it helped that the cost for teasing the permanently edged male population was incredibly low.

       Rania Asfour, for example, just started fixing her wedgies whenever they occurred—which due to her substantial buttocks and the smallish panties she wore, was near constant. Prior to the Blockade, she would be uncomfortable for some time until she manages to do it discreetly. Post Blockade, her male classmates were frequently tormented by the sight of her delicate fingers reaching deep in the cleft, chasing the wayward soft material and bringing it back to where it belongs. She was still wearing her hijab which made the spectacle even more titillating in a taboo sort of way.

       Ashley Jones stopped caring who was looking when she treated herself to a large popsicle in public. Helen Jones didn’t cross her legs while sitting in short skirts—she always found the man spreading position far more comfortable.

       All across the globe, women were getting more carefree and inadvertently keeping men on edge. Magic was at all times high. Women’s’ confidence soared to high heavens. They weren’t entirely sure what they could do with all this power permeating the air around them, but they instinctually realized that they were invincible now.

       Tarek Asfour learned that lesson the hard way. His sister was leaving the bathroom after a steamy shower, wearing a rather small towel that had to compensate providing coverage to the upper part of the chest area in order to secure a couple of inches below the bottom’s curvature.  He was staring at thick thighs and a generous cleavage that planted naughty thoughts in his mind—thoughts a brother shouldn’t have about his sister. And that was but the last in a very long series of provocations he had to endure inside and outside of home for the last week—engorging thoughts with no outlet. So, he snapped and said things one should never say to a Magic-wielder being.

       Rania would have been more lenient if the root of the complaint was something other than that he found her sexually stimulating—his own sister. Even with everything on his plate, he should have had more self-control. She spent a few seconds thinking of a suitable way to convey her disappointment at him. Those were a few seconds of her standing in nothing but a towel, deep in thought. Her brother wasn’t looking at her eyes at all, and had a look of pure lust on his face.

       The wave of power rushing into her alerted Rania to what was going on, and she caught him almost biting his lower lip while looking way, way lower than he should. Without thinking, she grabbed his wrist and marched him to a nearby chair.

He tried to resist but, to his shock, couldn’t. His fight-or-flight physiological response fed directly into her in the form of a burst of Magic power. Whatever strength he was wielding was automatically added to her already powerful resting state, leaving him always the lesser opponent.

She sat on the chair and stripped him effortlessly. When he was taken across her bare thighs, Tarek was —for the first time since it happened—thankful for his inability to ejaculate. If it wasn’t for the Blockade, the friction with her hot skin and the natural scent of his sister mixed with a faint odor of soup, would have most definitely led to her lap getting covered in sticky white mess!

The spanking took his mind off of anything else. She spanked with the expected power of someone who could march him and strip him as if he was a mannequin. Before long he was experiencing the intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure that will become the reality of every man on the planet in the very near future.

 

8

Of the myriad articles, videos and indeed entire-books advising women on how to best handle their newfound powers, one concise article stood out due to its bold title and the name of its author—Eventually They Will Have to Come and Diadre Fay, respectively. It read:

Every boy in my Harem had come at least once since the Blockade. They didn’t necessarily have to earn it, either.

Like many of you, I want nothing more than the unnatural anti-Magic period of history to be reversed completely. Keeping every male constantly edged will achieve this faster than any other method.

So, intuitively I would advice for that. Alas, we have to factor in the sustainability angle.

Yes, men are entirely to blame for the anti-Magic sentiment of the yesteryear. Still, our foremothers could have prevented it. We should condition men to be better than their forefathers since it’s obvious that they can’t improve on their own. We should perfect their conditioning—and outright indoctrination—so much that even if they had full control of women, they will still concede it willingly. Out of infatuation. Out of adoration. Out of sexual abstinence. And, yes, out of sexual release.

Tease them to your heart’s content. Punish them when they deserve it, or even just to break them in. Spanking is a perfect method—it’s juvenile, intimate and inherently sexual. But when the time comes, let them come at your hand or under your supervision. They have to envision finding that sweet release and firmly realize that’s ultimately your decision. It literally is, they can’t come without you willing it earnestly. The stronger your Magic is, the stronger their Blockade is.

And speaking of Magic, nothing creates more Magic power than a male orgasm in the throes of intimate pain. Spank them to orgasm and you’ll feel it yourself.  

Rania hadn’t read this article before spanking her brother for ogling her towel-clad wet body. She definitely wouldn’t find it appropriate to be responsible of her brother’s ejaculations, even without direct supervision. Both of these things happened rather naturally.

She spanked him because he deserved punishment and was very juvenile in his openly lustful gaze that the first juvenile punishment she could think of ended up being her choice of action.

And he came because she came—feeding on his intense sexual frustration— and in the haze of the powerful orgasm, she willed him to come in unison with her while her hand was still delivering the finale of crisp swats to his hot, swollen bottom.

Afterwards, he lay there limp and breathless, while she felt like she had the world in her palm. It was so intense a feeling that she had to search the Internet to see if any woman had experienced something smilar. That’s when she stumbled on Diadre’s article.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9

It all happened too quicky, everywhere and at once.

The President of China featured in a five-minute, high-definition, proposedly-leaked video polishing his wife’s black boots with his tongue. He was naked except for a rather large leather collar around his neck. His wife was on the phone throughout the video paying no attention to the Priemer’s grooming efforts underneath her. The swift censorship worthy of such a “leak” never came—the video went viral on Chinese social networks.

Prime Minister Owens attended No. 10, Downing Street in a pink tutu, waving sheepishly at the press before bolting inside the building. His secretary—all smiles—explained to the media, and the world, that his Lordship had been naughty and the frilly outfit was his punishment.

The State of the Union speech was given by the First Lady of the United States. She would, at key points, look at her husband who would nod docilely and provide his redundant support in a barely audible “yes, dear.”

Prime minister of Israel—a superstar actress before entering the world of politics—was greeted by men in her Cabinet with a full kneel. She was often addressed by male public servants as “my Queen,” despite no official action taken to establish a monarchy.

In many other governments, Heads of States were replaced entirely by their wives, sisters, daughters, or female members of their party. Surprisingly, no one in the public or even the opposition parties raised a concern. A male supreme court justice or two would give an official outcry before shortly retracting it.

On one notable incident, Justice Rahman of the Supreme Court of India gave a fiery speech in which he repeated the phrase “our Constitution is gender blind” five times. Five hours later, he rescinded his opposition. His much younger fellow Justice Indira Singh was standing next to him waving an out-of-place riding crop which seemed to make the honorable, firebrand Justice Rahman very nervous. He pled his full support to the new Prime Minister—the twenty-year-old daughter of the previous Prime Minister while Justice Singh was smiling cryptically.  

Statues followed suit. Statues of male historic figures, the public felt—or spanked into feeling-, were more suitable for museums than public squares. That sentimental move, strangely enough, raised much bigger uproar than tangible present-day political shifts. Not a single patriotic male in the secular Republic of Turkey, for example, accepted this policy without a fuss. In the morning, the statues of a particularly popular figure went to museums. In the evening, millions of Turkish men slept on their stomach nursing very sore, red bottoms.

The UN was renamed to the Global Assembly for Magical Empowerment (GAME). Diadre Fay was elected first President of the GAME unanimously.

 

 

 

10

As an official body of international cooperation with a multi-decade expertise in law-making, the GAME was a game changer.

       Their first globally carried-out initiative was to plant a tree in every village, town, city, metropolis and suburban neighborhood. The tree needn’t be anything special—just out of place and with no prospect of surviving on its own naturally.

       Though not fully understood (just like Magic itself), vegetation flourished with high concentration of Magic in the air. Even cocoa trees would survive in the Sahara Desert with access to Magic. So, a misplaced tree was a perfect Magic-o-meter.

Urban Dictionary provides the following as one popular definition for the word treadful:

treadful (adj.) The feeling men experience when passing by a weathering “magic tree,” knowing that the restoration of local Magic to healthy levels will leave them sore for days.

Man 1: Have you seen the magic tree outside the building?

Man 2: Don’t say!

Man 1: It was treadful; it felt like an autumn day looking at it.

Man 2: Not one green leaf?

Man 1: Not one.

Man 2: Oh, boy!

Man 1: Nothing but spanking and edging for us in the foreseeable future.

And provides the following definition of its antonym:

bloomlease (noun) The hopeful release men expect when passing by a blooming “magic tree.”

Man 1: What’s gigantic, jungle green and smells like sweet, sweet bloomlease?

Man 2: Yeah, I’ve seen it. Lucky you.

Man 1: Lucky me? Lucky us!

Man 2: Nope. My girlfriend thinks there’s no such thing as enough Magic. Even if the magic tree is the size of Mount Everest, I will still be feeding it with my sexual frustration.  

Men’s paying attention to nature—at least, one particular tree of which—has never been greeter.

11

The last country to join the GAME was the Queendom of Afghanistan (formerly, the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan).

       The final request of the defeated patriarchal government—as they were losing the battle of the sexes due in no small part to the betrayal of their own manhood—was for the women of Afghanistan to preserve their modesty. The following was the government’s spokesman articulating that message:

Blessings to our most cherished of pearls; the women of the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan.

The devil and his foot soldiers (the wretched witches) are waging a war of darkness against our beloved Emirate. Their ultimate goal is to turn you, o women, into a free market commodity; naked bodies to be consumed by the lecherous gaze of immoral men, and—for the men willing to pay a measly price of a dinner for two and some lip service—a cheap, use-once-then-throw-away receptacle for fleeting, unbinding, casual sex.  

What self-respecting woman would want that?!

Teach the enemy a lesson—that the women of Afghanistan would rather die than allowing the lusting eyes of wicked men to feast upon their sacred bodies.

The advice was heeded by the new government—Afghan men were prohibited from leaving their homes without wearing thick, fully-black blindfolds. This effectively rendered men blind in public, but otherwise perfectly achieved the objective of shielding women from men’s wandering eyes. In men-only spaces, however, they were free to take off their blindfolds.

       Failure to adhere to wearing proper blindfolds in public was met with a very familiar punishment—public lashing in front of a large audience.

       Without proper infrastructure to aid the blinded-by-law men, it had become neigh impossible for a man to leave home without a female chaperon.

       It didn’t take much time after that for the men of the Queendom of Afghanistan to believe in the equality of the sexes. Unfortunately for them, by that point they were expected to be seen and not heard—their opinions practically worthless.  

 

12

In an address to the nation, Queen Yasmeena issued a royal mandate prohibiting men of Afghanistan from getting aroused in public.

       “It’s not proper,” argued the Queen, “to allow such public indecency in the streets of our Queendom. An outright assault on the very moral fabric of our righteous nation.”

       “Since men can otherwise have a room for deceitfully disobeying the aforementioned mandate, I hereby extend the requirement of their public attire to include nothing but blindfolds; thus, giving policewomen a thorough visual confirmation of men’s adherence to the law with a simple glance.

       “If it’s too cold for men to leave the house naked, then they are advised to stay home for the cold season. Public decency clearly outweighs their right to roam around.

       “Men who happen to be erect in public will be punished on the spot by law enforcement officers. The law enforcement officer can, if she deems it appropriate, delegate the offender’s punishment to his female chaperone, provided that the punishment is carried out in public and under the policewoman’s supervision.

       “Fifteen swats with a government-issued strap to the offender’s buttocks is the default punishment. Local governesses may make adjustments where necessary.”

       While the blindfolds made it a little easier to avoid sexual arousal, the visual deprivation coupled with the auditory and olfactory stimuli more than made up for it. For all intents and purposes, stepping outside of a man’s house meant automatically fifteen swats from a heavy leather strap.

       Purchases of post-spanking soothing creams ate up most of Afghan men’s allowances.

      

        

 

13

Global peace came before most men did.

       Once full disclosure was achieved, and summarized versions of the endless top-secret documents of the worlds’ previous governments were made public, any resentment anyone had for the out-group was more suitably directed at the leaders of the in-group—mostly, powerful men in government and business.

       Prisons were bloated with all sorts of politicians, judges, military and intelligence officers, businessmen, and other luxury-wristwatches’ wearers.  

       A better approach to rehabilitation was needed.

       To everyone’s surprise, a perfect solution came from studying a most unseemly case—porn addiction.  

       There was a pre-Blockade genre of porn that posed as a serious hypnotization treatment instead of its actual lust-driven, masturbatory form. The tropes of that genre can be summarized as such:

o  Women are pretty, docile airheads.

o  Men are virile, ugly and monstrous.

o  The docile women and the brawny men like each other very much.

o  Lesser men are not virile or strong—they don’t belong in either camp.

o  They are laughed at by the pretty women and bullied by the virile men.

o  Strong emphasis on their inherent loser status.

o  Hypnotization of the lesser men to turn them into beauty-obsessed, docile airheads.

The only real outcome this whole thing had achieved was creating a formidable class of porn addicts.

Times have changed, though. Diadre Fay and the Pussycats on Brooms were experimenting with hypnotization in the Magic-rich, new world, and the results were very promising.

What more suitable punishment for the top-dog masterminds of the patriarchal world—the architects of greed and violence—than being turned into subservient, brainless bimbos?

 

14

Officially known as the Ministry of Magic Research, Pussycats on Brooms have transformed from an obscure cult of fifty or so members into an organized pillar of the post-Blockade society. Occupying a skyscraper headquarters in Dublin and having prominent offices in most countries.

       Still, recruitment of the most gifted Magic wielders to their rank and file kept exhausting available spaces and resources. Ther was little research to be done if a proper training were to be provided to new employees.

Gigantic funds, therefore, poured into founding the city-sized Melanie Academy for Witchcraft—named after the First Lady of the United States.

First Lady Melanie Beumer was the de-facto ruler of the largest economy in Earth and had no problem reallocating the entire defense budget of her nation into founding her namesake academy. She could of course have become POTUS if she wanted, but Mrs. Beumer had a fetish-like fixation with men in high-power positions who have no power other than empty titles. And what bigger title to ring hollow than President of the United States—currently held by her good little boy of a husband?

Melanie Academy for Witchcraft was located in Giza, Egypt, a few miles southwest from the famous Pyramids of Giza. It was entirely built in under three weeks. Many people hypothesized that Magic facilitated such incredible feat. In reality, it didn’t. The 2.5 million Egyptian men involved in the lighting-fast construction would rather not talk about it.

The original Gibbers were the first to be accepted in the academy. Though not witches, magically gifted or even women; their devotion and, more importantly, very excitable bodies made them great teaching props for practical lessons. Thus, finally achieving their lifegoal of lusting endlessly and pathetically for the betterment of the womankind.

Both Ashley Jones and Diana Asfour were accepted in the inaugural class of Melanie Academy for Witchcraft.

 

 

 

      

15

Chief among the research done at the MMR was answering the following pressing questions:

o  How long can a man remain constantly or near-constantly Magically-emitting (read: aroused) without undergoing a temporary refractory period (read: orgasming)?

Preliminary answer: Theoretically, near infinite. No side effects were found in the men kept at constant maximal arousal for months—even during their sleep with low-intensity pheromones dispensers—other than whining and begging for release.

o  How much, if at all, does it cost to emit and channel Magic?

Definitive answer: About 1 Calorie per minute for men at maximum emitting capacity—usually reached during vaginal intercourse. And about 0.1 Calorie per minute per linked emitter for channelers. For example, a university professor who delivered a 60-minute lecture to an all-men classroom in a diaphanous white dress was measured to burn an exact 1,200 Calories in the one-hour timeframe.

o  Is there such thing as an oversaturation of Magic?

Preliminary answer: While the Magic-o-meter trees far exceeded their normal height and leaf-density with over-exposure to direct Magic, it doesn’t seem that any negative side effect occurred during the experiment. Caution is still advised in closed environments of men and women as an escalating cycle of Magic—when its caloric effects are factored in—can deplete food resources to the point of starvation.

o  Can men be channelers? Can women be emitters? Does sexual orientation have an effect on Magic abilities?

Definitive answer: No, no and no.

       Many other quests and questions were studied, and a myriad new frontiers in Magic research were pioneered.

 

 

 

16

Unlike straight and bisexual men, gay men were initially thought of as immune to the rapid and exponential increase in Magic. They, after all, were indifferent to the sights, sounds and smells of women.

       Straight and bi men, on the other hand, had found very early in the post-Blockade era that their usual taboos were dropping like frivolous lawsuits filed by an underpaid, D-grade lawyer. It was fairly accepted at that point that blood and marriage relations had stopped being barriers for sexual appeal—it can be even argued that whatever forbidden air still clinging to them made them more alluring. A bent-over young women in cheeky short shorts could draw her father’s attention from the TV showing the last minute, neck-to-neck, Champions League’s final where his favorite striker is about to score the winning goal for his home team.

       A popular challenge on websites frequented by college-age girls (bearing the wholesome name of #Good_Morning_Daddy) went viral globally, and left no doubt that the whole taboo business was long dead. The challenge involved the young woman taking a selfie of her angelic face while her father is giving her a kiss on the cheek—while on his knees, lifting his daughter’s skirt up, and diving in. The selfies invariably showed a wicked pretense of innocence near the lens and a hopelessly-enamored middle-aged man near the floor, linked together—face to ass— by a fatherly kiss.

       Gay men weren’t tormented by the constant tease of womenfolk. However, the technical aspect of emitting Magic and being influenced by its general arousal effects did not spare them.

       A suitable example to underscore this technicality was the event that occurred on the 4^th of March, 2026. In a hot, damp, small but homely apartment in the outskirts of Kinshasa, Deborah Mpoku was hard at work giving all of her four sons a thorough spanking for disrupting her nap with their loud ruckus. Among the four naked young man bending over the back of a sofa one next to another was Israel Mpoku­—the youngest of the four at 19. It was hard to hide the fact—that he was in fact gay—in the post-blockade era, and his parents—while not enthusiastic about—had accepted him and only mentioned the drawback of having less grandchildren four of five times in the past month. Times were a-changing globally.

Due to the unbearable humidity and heat, Deborah rarely wore clothes inside her small apartment—which had transferred ownership from her husband to her magically. Israel Mpoku was not as constantly aroused as his three brothers and their father—the nude feminine curvatures, the humongous breasts and the hypnotizing bottom of his mother did nothing to him.

However, at this particular point of his maternal discipline, he was rock hard. His brothers were naked and the sight of their taut behinds next to his, as his mother went about dispensing swats from his father’s belt to the four pair of vulnerable butts, was sinfully arousing.

Also sinfully arousing, was his own pain and exposure in front of his seated father (on the armchair facing the sofa) who was taking in the sight of his naked wife dominating their naked sons like the Queen of Sheba she is.

Mr. Mpoku was sporting a gigantic tent in his loose boxers (his only under- or outerwear) that begged for release that will never come. He would still have masturbated if not for the fear of his wife stripping him and bending him next to his sons over the already-crowded sofa, for finding their serious punishment masturbating-material.

Israel’s raging erection was due to his forbidden attraction to his brothers and father, and his submissive tendencies fulfilled by his vulnerable humiliation in front of them. Still, his arousal (much like theirs) fed directly into Deborah’s Magical power which in turn reverberated around the apartment making the boys more and more excitable and Magic-emitting. The nature of their sexual desires—gay or straight—mattered very little on the technicality of emitting and channeling Magic.  

At the end of the domestic discipline spectacle, Deborah Mpoku came—and totally forgot why she was punishing the boys in the first place. No one else did—though her son Israel—with a flamingly hot bottom on the top of the sofa and a thoroughly moist face on the seat of it—gave his second-eldest brother a deep kiss which only startled the supposedly-straight young man for a fraction of a second before returning it in earnest. “Two straight, one gay, and one bisexual sons, then,” was Mr. Mpoku’s solemn thought as he watched two of his sons locking lips.