The Sex Crystals

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This is my first story, so I have no illusions that it is any good. There are a few chapters already done and more are being considered. However, if you all really hate it, please make that clear in the comments and I won’t darken your screen time by going any further! I promise not to take your criticism too personally.

This is based – though much altered – on a story I read several years ago. I hope I have done the original idea justice.

The completed chapters include scenes of incest (M-F, M-M, some F-F), anal, reluctance (though no actual rape) and a form of mind control. I have tried to split out the sections into chapters of their own so you can skip the bits you’re pretty sure you won’t like. However, if none of these ideas are things you find appealing, please feel free to look elsewhere for your enjoyment. This site has many stories that are more likely to be your thing.

The first chapter is a bit of a slow-burner but does get to it about half way in. Chapters two, three and four follow on directly from chapter one so begin the fun stuff much quicker. No further chapters exist yet, so I can’t speak for them at this time.

I hope you enjoy it.


The front right tyre of the car simply exploded. A brief scream and shouts could be heard from the occupants of the car. Mike Ross, who was driving, only just managed to keep it on the road as he fought to avoid smashing into the bushes that lined the narrow lane. At least, he thought as he finally managed to get the vehicle under control and bring it to a stop, I was only doing 50 or so.

“What the fuck was that?” his wife, Sarah, asked. She, like the kids, had remained relatively quiet whilst Mike had fought for control of the car, although Aimee had screamed a little at first.

“No… idea,” Mike replied, fighting down the urge to use the same profanity his wife had. “The tyre’s not that old.” He thought for a moment. “If Taffy has sold me a shit tyre, I’m going to have him shut down!”

Robbie, their son, got out of the car. It was a dark, quiet back road in the middle of nowhere about ten miles from home. There had been no other traffic on the road at this time of night in either direction. Indeed, they hadn’t passed a car going either way for about ten minutes. The Old Smokehouse might serve the best comfort food in the region, but it was a long way down some old, winding roads that were little more than dirt tracks in places.

Robbie walked back down the road for a short distance. It didn’t take him long to see the broken board with the rusty nails stuck in it just off the side of the road. He picked it up, carefully, and took it back to the car.

“Not the tyre, Dad,” he said, showing his father the board.

“What the hell?” Mike asked. “What, did someone just throw a board on the road to stop cars? Did some dickhead think that was funny?”

“Maybe not, Dad,” Aimee said, looking out of the car window. “There was that old trailer we passed on the way down, remember? It had lots of shit in the back. You know how bumpy this road can get. It probably got bumped out of the trailer and we just happened to go over it.”

Mike wasn’t happy, but he realised that it was at least plausible that this was what had happened. “Not that that helps,” he said. “Tyre’s still fucked!”

Aimee giggled. Having only turned 18 a few weeks previously, she still wasn’t used to her parents – and her older brother – having released their inner potty-mouths now that she was an adult. It was still funny to hear them use words like “fuck” in her presence when only a few weeks ago her father would likely have said the tyre was “fudged” instead.

“Robbie can help you put on the spare,” Sarah called out.

“No,” Mike said. “We don’t have one.”

“Every car has a spare tyre,” Sarah replied.

“Not any more,” Mike came back. “Most cars nowadays have that gunge you squirt into the tyre to clog up the hole and get you home. Screws the tyre up and it still needs replacing because it can’t be fixed, but it’s cheaper for the manufacturer than providing a spare and it doesn’t deflate from not being used. But this tyre’s ripped open,” he continued, looking at the tattered remains of rubber still gamely hanging around the wheel-rim. “Gunge won’t do shit for that!”

“You mean we’re stuck here?” Sarah asked, incredulously.

“Maybe,” Mike said. “You never know, someone might come down here in a little while.”

“Or not,” Sarah came back. “This road’s so damned quiet, you know that!”

Mike nodded. He did know that. The Ross family had been going to the Smokehouse for years and rarely saw cars down this road.

“Well, now what?” Aimee asked. “It’s late. It’s dark. OK, it’s not cold yet; but it will be overnight and who knows when someone will come down here. Probably not until morning.”

Mike nodded his agreement. Aimee was right, there was every chance that the road would remain unused all night. He put his hands on his hips and sighed as he looked around. Kıbrıs Escort “There,” he pointed.

“What,” Sarah asked. She was still in the car and the hedges on the side of the road prevented her from seeing what her husband was pointing at. She got out and looked in the direction he was indicating.

About a mile away, across an open field, was what looked (in the dim light of dusk) very much like a farmhouse. Sarah had to admit that she wasn’t madly impressed. It looked a little…shabby. Bullshit, she admitted to herself, it looks like a place in a horror film where sex-starved teens go to get murdered! “You’re kidding,” was all she said.

“Can you see anything else around here?” Mike asked. He gestured in a wide circle. Sarah looked around, quickly. They were near the top of a slight rise and she had a reasonable view of the fields all around them. Literally. For miles in all directions, all she could see were fields, fields, fields with sheep in and fields. And one drab-looking farmhouse.

She sighed in exasperation. “I guess. Maybe,” she began.

“Maybe?” Mike came back. “Maybe? Are you mad? What the hell else do we do? Aimee’s right; it’s warm enough now but in a couple of hours it’ll be bloody freezing! We’re in the middle of nowhere. The wind will get up and we’ll all get cold. I can leave the engine on for a while and use the heaters to keep us warm, but we’ve not even got fifty miles of fuel in the tank because I was going in the morning on my way into work. I don’t know if that will be enough to last the night.”

“OK, OK.” Sarah knew she was beaten. Moreover, she knew her husband was right. It was late summer now, just a few days before she and the kids went back to college; her as a teacher, they as students. It was warm, but already the wind was starting up and it wasn’t blowing warm air by anyone’s imagination.

“So, I’ll go and ask to use the phone,” Mike began. “They’ll have one, I’m sure. Stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, they need something to raise emergencies with!”

“If only you’d let me bring my phone,” Aimee muttered, but both parents heard her.

“You know I hate those things,” Sarah said. “All people do is stick their noses in those little boxes and piss about on pointless shit all day. I don’t ask for much, but one night a month without the phone isn’t too much to ask for, surely?”

“No, but… You know. It would have helped. We could have called for a tow or something.”

“No,” Robbie said. “We couldn’t.” In his hand was his mobile that he had managed to sneak past his parents when he got in the car to come out. He didn’t know why, since he couldn’t use it – even in the car where his sister would have ratted him out. It was probably just some rebellious streak or something. Anyway, he’d brought it and now that he had looked at it – hoping to bring it out in triumph and save the day – he saw he had no signal at all.

Sarah looked exasperatedly at him. She was about to call him out on it when Mike pulled his own mobile out of his inside pocket. Sarah looked, gobsmacked, at her husband. “What?” Mike asked as if he didn’t know.

“You…he… why the fuck do I bother? One fucking evening! That’s all I wanted!”

“Well, neither of us used them, so what difference does it make?”

“What difference… oh, fuck off,” she retorted and turned away from them.

Mike grinned at Robbie and then scowled as he noticed his own phone – which was on a different network provider – also had no signal. “Shit. Well,” he said, putting his phone away, “that’s that. I’ll have to go over now.”

Sarah’s heart sank. She had a really bad feeling and it had nothing to do with the prawn cocktail she’d had for the starter. She wanted to tell Mike no. She wanted, so much, to make him see how absolutely certain she was that, if he went up to that farmhouse he’d end up with a giant shotgun blast shaped hole in his chest. But it was, really, the only option.

Or was it? “I’ll come with you,” she said.

“It’s only a mile – if that,” Mike said.

“I said,” Sarah replied, staring him down, “I’m coming with you!”

Mike knew better than to argue. “OK,” he said.

“Fuck that,” Aimee said.

“Language…oh, sorry,” Sarah replied. “You’re old enough, I know. It still sounds weird, though,”

“Fuck what,” Mike asked.

“Fuck leaving us here whilst you two go off to the “Murder House On The Hill” or whatever creepy shithole that is,” Aimee replied.

“So, you’d rather go with them and be murdered?” Robbie asked, grinning. Sarah smiled; she and Robbie were much bigger fans of horror movies than Aimee and her dad, although tonight looked too much like the plot of a classic slasher film than she cared to admit.

“Than stay here and be murdered?” Aimee replied. “Damn right!”

“Look, guys,” Mike interrupted, “it’s only a mile! I’ll be back in half an hour! Less, probably!

“Or, maybe,” Sarah came back and then, switching to her excellent imitation Lefkoşa Escort of Susan Sarandon in The Rocky Horror Picture Show quoted “the owner of that farmhouse might be a beautiful woman and you might never come back again!”

Mike laughed. He was beaten and he knew it. “Alright,” he conceded. “But if anyone turns their ankle in a hole or something on that field I’m not fucking carrying you!” He grinned and everyone smiled back at him.

That all being settled, the family set off for the farmhouse, Mike locking the car. He hadn’t gone five yards when he suddenly turned back and unlocked the car and threw his mobile in the dashboard. A moment later, Robbie did the same. Mike’s wallet followed, as did the imitation Omega watch he owned that he’d spent too much on, but which looked realistic enough at first glance. Satisfied that no-one would be able to rob them (though that didn’t preclude them killing them), the family walked over the field to the farmhouse.

No-one turned an ankle but, by the time they were only a hundred metres from the farmhouse not one of them didn’t wish they had stayed with the car. The farmhouse was very tatty and – even though it was now almost completely dark – they could see the broken wood frames around the windows and the odd cracked pane of glass.

Even Mike was considering turning around and going home when a bright flash went off, seemingly all around them, and an almighty crack of thunder occurred almost overhead. The females in the party screamed a little and the two guys jumped and Robbie swore.

Mike still considered turning back, but moments later a deluge of rain began. They were only a few yards from the farmhouse and a mile or so from the car. Turning back would get them very wet, but no better off, whereas, even if the farmhouse was deserted (and it looked that way), there was a porch roof that they could stay under at the very least, whilst they waited for the rain to ease off.

Without a word being said, the family rushed towards the farmhouse and climbed the battered – but mostly undamaged – stairway to the porch.

They huddled together, trying to keep out of the rain and Mike knocked on the door. There was no answer. He prepared to knock again, when he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He pointed this out to his family.

“No,” Sarah said.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” Mike answered.

“You don’t need to – I’ve known you too long. You’re going to suggest going in.”

“Well…,” Mike replied.

“Well, nothing. The answer is no.”

Mike nodded.

Not two minutes later, Sarah pushed the door open. “Get in,” she said, somewhat pointlessly, since the rest of the family were already heading inside and out of the rain that was now being blown almost horizontally straight towards their hiding place under the porch.

The outside of the farmhouse might be shabby but the inside was…well, still shabby – but at least it was clean and dry. The floor was covered in a carpet that, whilst it may not have cost a lot, at least didn’t appear to have been pulled out of a skip and wasn’t moth-eaten or caked in rat shit. The windows had basic curtains on them and there was a small, but serviceable sofa in the middle of the room. The house didn’t smell, either, which was a positive. Robbie found a light-switch and turned it on. A dim, naked bulb barely illuminated the room, seeming instead to merely enhance the shadows – but it was better than no light at all. They left it on.

There was only enough room for three to sit on the sofa. Mike decided to be chivalrous and let the others sit down whilst he looked around for a telephone in the room. It didn’t take him long to come up empty. “I don’t believe it,” he moaned. “No phone!”

“Maybe they have signal, whoever they are,” Aimee said.

“I doubt it,” Sarah replied. “This place is deserted. Maybe a bolt-hole for the farmhands if it rains like it is now, but no-one lives here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, love,” came a deep, mildly unpleasant, voice from behind them.

The family were startled and turned to face the owner of the voice, who turned out to be a tall, well-built, muscle-bound man with thinning hair and a rough beard. He could have been in his thirties or his fifties or even a sprightly early seventies; his face didn’t reveal much in the dim light.

“Who are you?” Mike asked, when he had recovered his composure.

“You’re in my house, mate,” the man replied, smiling that ugly smile people do that never quite reaches their eyes. “I think you should tell me who you are!”

“We… I mean, our car. The tyre. It, well, it’s broken. Just on the road. Out there. Outside,” Mike blathered. He was completely befuddled.

“Funny name,” the man said without humour.

“No,” Mike said. “I mean we… came to use your phone. But you don’t have one.”

“‘ts in the kitchen,” the man said, indicating with his head to a doorway on the other side of the room. The Girne Escort family turned around to the doorway where two other men stood, close enough in appearance to be brothers to the first.

“Yeah! Yeah!” sniggered the youngest looking one – the only one clean-shaven. “In the kitchen, right, Will?” He sniggered again.

“Shut up, our Davy,” replied the first man who had spoken – presumably this was Will. “You know yer brains are in yer arse, so shut it!”

Davy stopped sniggering, but grinned. Unlike Will, Davy was missing several teeth and his smile was even more unpleasant than that of his brother.

The third man said nothing, but stared intently at Sarah. She looked at him looking at her and started to feel uncomfortable. The silent man noticed this and grinned. He didn’t have missing teeth, but he did have a massive nose that curved downwards with a huge pimple on the side of it. When he grinned, the pimple caught the dim light from the bulb and shone. It did not improve his looks.

“That’s our Tim,” Will said indicating the silent man. “Don’t speak much does Tim. Bit of a thinker, or so he says. Doesn’t think about much except one thing though, do you our Tim?”

Tim sucked in a breath. The sound was sickening in a way that none of the Ross family could explain, but which made them deeply uncomfortable. “Fuckin'” was all Tim said, then he licked his teeth and leered at Sarah, grinning like a rabid wolf.

“Yep,” Will said and began to step into the room. “To be fair, that’s all we all think about most of the time.” He stopped behind the sofa and put his head between Aimee and Sarah. “Fuckin’,” he muttered. Then he grinned at both of them.

“Hur, hur, yeah! Fuckin'” Davy said. “Fuckin’ in yer cunt. Fuckin’ in yer mouth. Fuckin’ in yer ass. Fuckity-fuckity-fuckity-FUCKIN’!” Will looked appreciatively at Davy and nodded.

“And, you see, we gets lonely here on our own. Ever since our Mam died a few years back. I mean, we can get hookers from town if we want ’em. But we ain’t had a hooker in days and days.”

“Weeks,” Tim said. This much conversation in one go seemed to tire him out and he remained silent for a few moments, although the leering grin never left his face.

“Weeks, as our Tim has said. Must be over a month since I had that one with the big tits?” He looked for acknowledgement from his brothers, who nodded in agreement, although Mike got the impression that if Will had said that grass was blue the others would have slavishly agreed with him. What few brains their “Mam” had borne them, Will had gained the lion’s share. Which wasn’t saying much.

“So, what do we do, I hear you ask?” Will continued. He paused, possibly so that one of them would ask him. When none of the Ross family seemed inclined to do so, he carried on. “Well, we goes and fucks our pillows and our beds. Tim there, he’s got a nice little hole in his bedpost that he keeps nice and smooth. Davy likes his hand. A lot. Too much, I think, maybe, but there you are. And as for me,” Will was now walking around to the front of the sofa and facing the family, “I fucks whatever hole I can get my dick into!” Tim and Davy seemed to think that this was hilarious and laughed like a pair of hyenas on nitrous oxide. Will grinned again.

Will was now stood almost underneath the weak lightbulb and the family could better make out his features. Mike was surprised to realise that Will was likely only in his late twenties – surely no older than thirty. The light illuminated his face, which didn’t help much. Now they could all see a wicked looking scar down the left cheek, just above, and not quite covered by, his beard.

Suddenly, with the speed of a striking cobra, Will thrust out his arm and grabbed Sarah by the wrist, hauling her to her feet. She screamed and Mike began to stand up.

Before he made it to his feet, there was a loud explosion of noise, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass. Everyone in the room stared at Tim who had a pistol in his hand, and was aiming it at the main window of the room. Smoke rose from the barrel. “Next time,” Tim said and turned the gun towards Mike. “You,” he finished. Mike nodded. The meaning was clear. “Sit,” Tim said. Mike sat and Tim put the gun in his coat pocket.

Mike looked towards the window again. The rain had eased a little and that, coupled with the sloped roof outside, was enough to stop the rain from coming in through the hole in the wall where a pane of glass had been a few moments before.

Will smiled at his brother. “Nice one, our Tim,” he said. “Shame about the window. You’ll have to replace ‘t glass in the mornin'”.

“Glass. Mornin’,” Tim said and nodded. “First. Fuckin'”. He grinned again.

“Don’t you dare,” Mike began. Quick as a flash, the gun was back in Tim’s hand and pointed at Mike. Mike stopped speaking, his entire focus on the dark black hole at the front of the gun from where, he was now convinced, his doom would come in but a moment.

“Quiet,” Tim said and, almost as quickly as it had appeared, the gun was gone again.

Will pulled Sarah closer to him. She was petrified, but even so was vaguely happy to realise that – whilst his appearance was unkempt to say the least – at least he didn’t smell. Well, not too badly, she finished to herself.

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