Chapter 11: The Conception Story
The van’s engine whined, protesting the abuse. Mandy gripped the wheel, her eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the dark service road ahead. Plaster dust settled on the dashboard like a fine gray snow.
In the back, Mike sat wedged between Felicity and Agent Kay, a serene, dopey smile on his face. The truth serum had peaked but not faded; it had settled into a warm, relentless candor.
“So, the night you were conceived,” Mike began, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather.
“Dad, no,” Mandy pleaded, her voice tight. “No, no, no. I am driving. I need focus. The artifact is… humming. I don’t need the story of my own origin.”
“It’s a good story!” Mike insisted cheerfully. “Your mom was wearing this little red dress. Silk. Hit her mid-thigh. No panties. I found that out later, of course. We were at a gallery opening. Jan was there, buzzing around like a sexy hornet.”
Felicity, despite herself, leaned forward from the back, her scholarly curiosity overriding the absurdity. “Was the lack of undergarments a strategic choice or spontaneous?”
“Oh, spontaneous,” Mike said, nodding. “Casey’s like that. She gets a vibe. That night, the vibe was ‘fuck me in a corner.’ Anyway, we got home. Couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. I pushed her up against the kitchen table. The fruit bowl went everywhere. I pulled that dress up around her waist and just… buried my face between her legs. She was already soaked. Tasted like wine and her. I ate her pussy right there, her hands gripping the table edge, her ass in the air.”
Agent Kay was staring, her professional demeanor cracked. Her mouth was slightly open. “You remember the taste?” she breathed.
“Vividly,” Mike confirmed. “Like salty honey. I licked her until her knees buckled. Then I turned her around, sat her on the edge of the table, and fucked her. Slow at first. Just the head of my cock pushing into that tight, wet heat. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me all the way in. We fucked like that for… I don’t know, twenty minutes? She came twice, screaming into my shoulder. I held back, wanting to make it last. When I finally let go, I came so deep inside her I felt it in my balls for a week. Pumped her full. Dripped out of her onto the kitchen floor. That’s how you started, Mandy. In a puddle on the linoleum.”
Mandy let out a long, despairing groan, thumping her forehead lightly on the steering wheel. “I can never look at our kitchen floor the same way again. I eat there.”
“It’s sealed!” Mike said, defensively. “We cleaned it!”
Felicity was making mental notes, her brow furrowed. “Fascinating. The conception event coinciding with a heightened state of mutual arousal and multiple female orgasms. That could explain your elevated baseline dopamine receptivity, Mandy.”
“It explains my need for therapy,” Mandy muttered.
Just then, headlights swept up alongside the van. A battered Honda Civic, its front fender dented, pulled level with Mandy’s window. In the passenger seat, illuminated by the dashboard glow, was Yukio Harata. Her sharp-featured face, framed by dark hair streaked with silver, was pale but alert. A intricate dragon tattoo coiled over her shoulder and up her neck. In the driver’s seat, his handsome face etched with concern, was Ben.
Relief flooded Mandy. She rolled down her window. “Ben! What are you—?”
Ben shouted over the wind. “Saw the RV’s tracker converge then scatter! We were already out looking for Mai! Your dad’s signal went dark then reappeared like a firework! We followed!”
Mike, leaning across Felicity, peered out at the Civic. His eyes landed on Yukio. The truth serum sparked. His face lit up with recognition and nostalgic joy.
“Yukio!” he boomed, waving. “Hey! This reminds me of the time Casey and I shared you in the hot tub at Stacy’s ski lodge!”
In the Civic, Yukio’s weary expression shifted to one of wry amusement. She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile touched her lips.
Ben flushed crimson. “Mr. Williamson, please…”
But Mike was already back in the memory. “It was after that thing with the ice elemental. We were all sore. Hot tub was bubbling. You were between us, one of Casey’s tits in your hand, my cock in your mouth. You were a genius with your tongue, Yukio. Swirling the head, sucking my balls. Casey was kissing you, fingering your pussy while you blew me. Then Casey sat on my face and you straddled my hips, sinking down onto my dick. You were so tight. Riding me while I ate my wife out. You came first, then Casey screamed into your mouth when she came on my tongue, and that made you clench around me so hard I shot my load right up into your cervix. Fantastic night.”
The van was silent save for the road noise. Felicity’s pen was poised over her notebook, forgotten. Agent Kay looked like she was about to faint from a combination of horror and prurient fascination.
Mandy found her voice, thin and strained. “Pull over, Ben. Please. We need to… regroup. And I need to not be moving when I hear more of this.”
Mandy slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. The van and Ben’s Honda crunched onto the gravel shoulder, tires spitting stones.
Mike’s voice, cheerful and unfiltered, cut through the sudden silence. “So there we were, the three of us, naked in the living room. Casey was sitting on my face while Yukio rode my cock reverse-cowgirl.” He sighed, wistful. “I had my tongue buried in Casey’s cunt, and she was grinding against my mouth, moaning so loud the neighbors called the HOA. Yukio’s tits were bouncing in my face, and when she came, she bit my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. I still have a faint scar.”
In the Honda, visible through the open window, Mai—wearing only her mother’s oversized leather jacket—froze. A deep, humiliated crimson flooded her cheeks and neck. Yukio just laughed, a low, wicked sound that carried on the night air. “That was a good night,” she said, her voice rough. “You had impressive stamina for a man who’d just been polymorphed into a turtle.”
Mandy buried her face in her hands, her fingers pressing into her eye sockets. “I’m driving into a cornfield. I swear to god. I’ll do it.”
Her phone rang, the default tone shrill in the confined space. She jabbed the speaker button without looking. “What.”
“Hey, kiddo.” Casey’s voice, calm and crackly with distance, filled the van. “You got him?”
“I have him,” Mandy said, her voice muffled by her palms. “He’s… verbal.”
“Mike? You okay?”
Mike beamed at the phone. “I’m great! The Setting Suns gave me a truth serum. I did what we practiced. Operation ‘Midwestern Tourist,’ but with more graphic sexual disclosure.”
“Good man,” Casey said, approval warming her tone. “Annoy the hell out of them.”
“Hey, Case,” Mike said, shifting on the seat. “You remember the time Mara came by with that severance paperwork from the Drake fiasco? And we ended up fucking her in the shower?”
A nostalgic hum came through the speaker. “Do I? That was a Tuesday. Was that the day we made Beth?”
“No, that was later,” Mike said, and launched in. “That was the day you were on your knees sucking me off while Mara ate you out from behind. You came with my dick down your throat. Mara had you bent over the tile, her fingers fucking you raw while I watched. I came on your tits, then you two kissed and shared it. Beth was from the weekend after, when Jan had that thing with the horny dryads and we all—”
“Mike, honey, Mandy’s right there,” Casey interrupted, though she sounded amused.
From the background on Casey’s end, Jan’s voice chirped. “Oh, I remember that dryad weekend! That’s when Mike, Casey, Amy, and Jason had that big fuckfest at my old apartment. Started in the kitchen. Jason was going down on Amy on the linoleum while Casey rode Mike’s face on the breakfast nook. I walked in to get a beer and just stayed to watch. Told the story to Cameron earlier, actually. Got him nice and worked up.”
“I really, really don’t want to hear this,” Mandy pleaded, lifting her head. Her eyes were wide with despair.
But the floodgate was open. Yukio called from the Honda, her voice carrying. “The dryad pollen was top-shelf. I had Jason and Hank in the back of Hank’s truck an hour later. Felt like my bones were melting.”
“You see?” Mike said to the phone, gesturing widely as if Casey could see him. “It was a community event!”
Felicity, utterly fascinated, whispered to Agent Kay, “The psychosocial bonding through polyamorous activity in high-stress, post-magical scenarios is a recurrent theme in their group dynamics.”
Kay, who looked permanently stunned, just nodded slowly.
Calista, who had been silently listening on Casey's end, finally spoke. Her half-elf voice was serene. “I find the narrative cohesion of your shared history quite beautiful. The emotional honesty is refreshing.”
Mandy stared at her phone, speaking directly to her adopted sister. “You are not helping.”
Ben, in the driver’s seat of the Honda, had slowly slumped down until his forehead rested against the top of the steering wheel. His ears were fire-engine red. Hearing his own parents discussed in such explicit, visceral detail—“Jason was going down on Amy on the linoleum”—had short-circuited something in him. He made a small, pained sound.
Mike glanced over, concerned. “You okay, Ben? You look warm.”
Ben just shook his head, face still hidden.
Casey’s voice returned, businesslike but underpinned with a smile. “Alright, history lesson’s over. Where are you guys? The RV’s rendezvousing at the old weigh station on I-80. The Thief says the artifact’s echo is pulling north.”
The artifact. Mandy blinked, the mention slicing through the sexual awkwardness. The silver vial in Felicity’s bag seemed to pulse in her peripheral vision, a dull throb of need. The real world, with its dangers and missions, rushed back in.
“We’re on Route 30,” Mandy said, her voice firming. “Just east of the silica plant. We’ve got Mike, we’ve got Yukio and Mai, we’ve got Ben and Bruce. We’re mobile.”
“Good,” Casey said. “Get to the weigh station. And Mike?”
“Yeah, love?”
“Save the rest of the stories for me. I want the uncut version.”
Mike’s smile was soft, private, even in front of everyone. “Always.”
The call ended. The silence that followed was different, charged with purpose now instead of just embarrassment. Mandy put the van in drive, gravel crunching. She looked over at Ben, who had cautiously straightened up.
“You gonna live?” she asked him.
He ran a hand through his short hair, exhaling hard. “I need to bleach my brain. But yeah. Let’s just… drive.”
As they pulled back onto the asphalt, Mike settled into his seat. He looked out the window at the passing dark fields, a contented man surrounded by the messy, explicit, loving chaos he called a life. The truth serum was finally, mercifully, beginning to ebb, leaving a pleasant warmth and the vague, echoing memory of Casey’s skin under his tongue.