Uncle Pete always had pretty girls around him. I would be lying if I said that wasn’t part of the reason he was my favorite Uncle. At every family event, Uncle Pete could be counted on to bring along at least one hot, young, shapely girl. Sometimes, there were even multiple girls, all hovering around Uncle Pete, rushing to bring him beers, and all showing more cleavage than I had ever seen outside of the internet. As much as my parents tried to shield me, I always ended up hanging with Pete through most of the family gatherings.

It wasn’t just the girls, of course. Pete was funny and I was quick to laugh. Uncle Pete took me to movies. When I failed math in sophomore year of high school, it was Uncle Pete that sat me down and told me to shape up and quit cutting class.

The memory that I thought of the most, however, was when Uncle Pete picked me up from a party at 3AM, hammered and sick, and took me back to his place. The next day, he took the heat, claiming that I was at his place all night and he was sorry that he forgot to call. Afterwards, Pete and I talked for a long time. He told me that what I was going through was normal. It was okay to call him and he would never be mad, but I should be careful not to let the partying and booze go to my head, because I could screw things up that would take the fun away. I promised him I would keep my head.

I was really going to miss Uncle Pete. The heart attack took him quick, at least.

I was now 23, just out of college and trying to figure out what I was going to do with life. Uncle Pete’s death left me feeling even more like a boat without an anchor, just waiting for the next wind to push me along.

That being said, Pete was always the giver. His funeral was full of many of the gorgeous women that I had seen throughout the years and many more that I had never seen. They were crying, often in little pods together, and often very loudly. My family was there, too, and nobody quite seemed surprised to see the myriad of beautiful mourners. We had known Uncle Pete well enough to know the company he kept, even if none of us really understood why.

That confusion was redoubled now, looking back at Uncle Pete’s life. As long as I could remember, he had never had a single, serious girlfriend, but had always been surrounded by dozens who seemed to wait on his every whim. Why? Uncle Pete wasn’t an exceptionally handsome man, especially as he got older. What was his secret? I wished I knew. My last girlfriend had dumped me for a guy in her chemistry course that she had known for three weeks. We had dated for a year.

I listened to the eulogies, listened to the reverend, and watched a video montage that was accompanied by cheesy music. There was a blonde mourner to my right who had a way-too-short dress. She wept through the entire thing. I did my best not to look at her legs, as nice as they were. It didn’t seem like the right time or place.

After the funeral, I mingled with my family, trying to figure out how much time I needed to stay. I missed my uncle, but he was by far the best part of my family. Now that he was gone, hanging with my family had lost a lot of the draw.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I found a tall, older gentleman. He asked me for clarification on my name, and I told him he had it right.

“Excellent,” the man said. “I was your uncle’s lawyer. As a part of his last will and testament, he wanted me to give you this.” He outstretched an envelope, then gazed over my shoulder at my family, who was watching curiously. “It was your uncle’s wish that you open it outside the company of others.”

“Uh, thank you,” I said. I was a little confused. Uncle’s money had already been accounted for. He had distributed it among a few different charities. They were selling his house and had an upcoming estate sale for his stuff.

I excused myself from my family and stepped outside the funeral home. The air was crisp and someone was burning leaves nearby. Combined with the orange leaves crunching under my feat, it was a perfect autumn day. I loosened the tie around my neck, walked to my car, and leaned on the hood. I carefully tore open the envelope and looked inside.

I expected–maybe hoped for–a check. There was none. There was just a single, type-written page inside. I carefully pulled it from the envelope and immediately smelled my Uncle’s cologne. I pushed down the tears that sprang up from the smell and forced myself to read the letter. It was type-written and not very long:

“My dear nephew,

“If you are reading this, then I am dead. I hope it’s long in the future, but however it went, I don’t have any regrets. I lived life well and I hope that you are able to do the same. To help you with this, I’m leaving you my greatest treasure–the gift of orgasm.

“Trust me, I know it’s a strange thing to say, but I don’t have to remind you of the company I kept through my life. Those girls didn’t want me for my great hair or warm personality–you know I had neither. They wanted me because I could get them off in a way that nobody else could.

“It’s a magic of sorts that seems to dwell within one person at a time. The last holder of it picked me and I pick you. When I die, this magic will pass along to you. You will only have to command a woman in your mind and she will have the most powerful orgasm she has ever had–or ever will.

“I know you don’t believe me. I felt the same way. The only way you will ever believe me is by trying it out. So go try it. Give a stranger the orgasm of her life. But please, DO NOT try it on a family member. Trust me, that’s a mess you don’t want.

“After you’re done, I’m giving you a link to a page I’ve set up to learn more.” Here he listed a URL to an obscure, strange page on the internet–obviously something he set up using a cheap web service.

“I love you, nephew. Pete.”

He was right. I didn’t believe him. This was Uncle Pete’s final joke to him, a practical joke that would live on forever. But still, I couldn’t deny that there were a hundred hot girls in that funeral. Pete had a way with women.

I got in the car, folding the letter up and sticking it in the cupholder. I knew I should say goodbye to my family, but I didn’t want to go back in there. Especially with that nagging curiosity in the back of my head. Also, they’d want to see the letter and–joke or not–I didn’t want that.

I went a few blocks through the suburb that Pete had lived in. I pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop. Pete’s cologne still hung in the air. His words on the paper, even if they were a joke, were the last thing I’d ever had from my uncle. I lost it for a moment, I’ll fully admit it. I missed my uncle. And now I was going to go the rest of my life without him.

I got it together after a few minutes and took a deep breath. I stepped out of the car and into the coffee shop. The bell above the door jingled as I came in. The smells of overpriced coffee assaulted me.

I stepped into the line and looked behind the counter. There was a barista. She was pretty, in a hipster sort of way. Uncle Pete’s words flashed through my mind: “Give a stranger the orgasm of her life”. I quickly shook it out of my head. There was no way I was going to try to pick up a barista at a coffee shop. Family or not, I had not inherited Pete’s sort of style.

The person in front of me stepped aside and I stepped up. I ordered my drink, paid (again, overpriced), and gave my name for the order. She smiled, a nice wide smile that I liked looking at. I didn’t know if my eyes were still red, but she seemed kind. Again, I thought about my Uncle’s advice. Come to think of it, Pete didn’t say that I had to sleep with her. He seemed to imply that I could command her and she could cum. But there was no way in hell that I was going to say anything like that to her.

I stepped aside, waiting for my drink. I did my best not to keep looking at the pretty hipster barista. I did my best to not think about trying out my Uncle’s claim on her. I also did my best not to think of the weeping blonde at the funeral hope with the nice legs. I realized that my uncle’s letter seemed to say that I could command “in my mind”. That didn’t seem very pranky to me. I would expect my Uncle to have written out some magic line that would make me sound like a fool when I tried it out. If it was a prank, why have it as a mental command? I realized that this was actually a very low cost experiment, should I decide to pursue it.

I glanced again at the pretty barista. I tried to think of a reason not to experiment. I had nothing to lose, did I? And when it didn’t work, I could go on with my life without my Uncle’s “gift of orgasm”.

Another barista called my name and handed me my drink. I took it, took a sip, and glanced one more time at the pretty hipster barista. Now or never. I shrugged, focused on her, and thought, “Cum.”

Something weird happened to my head. It was like I could feel a sort of “whooshing” and my focus on the girl intensified. As quickly as it came, it was gone. If anyone noticed something odd about me, they quickly were distracted by something else.

The barista cried out, squealing in a high, earnest voice. Her whole body shook and the notepad she was holding dropped to the ground. Her eyes bulged and she slammed her fists down on the counter, apparently unable to express herself in any other way. I watched, fascinated and horrified at the same time. The coffee shop wasn’t full, but now every eye inside was focused exclusively on her. Her squealing finished and her face quickly grew red.

As much as I wondered how she was going to talk herself out of a situation that I had put her in, I was more terrified than anything else. I took my drink and left. I peeled out and drove, doing my best to put as much distance as possible between me and the coffee shop.

As I drove home, clutching my uncle’s letter in one hand, an errant thought appeared in my mind, “Huh. She was a squealer. I never would have guessed.”


“By now you will have realized I’m not bullshitting you. This also might help explain the girls around me. You were my favorite nephew and as much fun as I had, I never had any kids of my own. You can imagine the various creative methods that I employed in pursuit of that goal.

“To be clear, the gift you have will be better than anything else the girl could ever hope for outside of you. The best nights of her life will pale in comparison to what you can do with just a thought. Be warned, it can be rather addictive.

“I don’t know where this magic–I can think of no other word for it–started. I know that you choose who it goes to after you. I know that I got it when I was thirty and it never dulled throughout my life. I also know that I picked you on your 18th birthday. Whenever I pass–and if you’re reading this, I have–you’ll get that magic too.

“I hope you use this gift the same way I have, to fill your life with the pleasures that most men can only imagine. Your power only works on women, so you can’t give yourself orgasms, but once women have a taste of the delight you can provide, they tend to be very happy to return the favor.

“Let me be very clear–you hold all the cards here. You owe nobody anything. Women can be masters of guilt trips, but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Remember that. If she wants something, let her earn it. This sounds crass, but just wait until they’re knocking on your door at 3AM begging for a release. You’ll learn very quickly that you provide a service and it’s not unreasonable to ask for something in exchange for that service. They’re using you for pleasure. Return the favor.

“I’m tempted to leave you with a list of numbers of girls that I have found especially agreeable, but I think that you’ll have no problem finding some of your own favorites.

“Have fun, nephew. God knows that I have. And make sure you pick an heir for the power. You can change it as you go through life, but don’t let it die with you.

“I love you. Uncle Pete.”

The webpage was cheaply-made and short, but it got the job done. I had a little lockbox–something cheap I had bought when I suspected a college roommate of stealing from me–and I stuck the envelope inside. I read the web page again, thinking. I thought back to the hipster barista. It had been easy to give her a command. It had been very impactful. I wondered if my Uncle Pete was right. Would she have… um… paid for those services? My mind started to fill with fantasies of what that might mean.

I wish I could say I had some semblance of self control. A respectable, thoughtful person might wait and think out my next steps, instead of jumping right in like a horny young guy. The fact is, though, I am a horny young guy.

I lived in a little studio apartment in an old hotel that had been converted to an apartment complex. I made do on the salary of a “corporate assistant” position, but I still worked odd jobs here and there when an unexpected expense came up–new tires or a root canal, for example. The apartment complex was filled with two types of people: young professionals and recently-divorced men. While the latter didn’t do me much good, I would have been dead to not notice the pretty girls living nearby.

Most notably was a blonde bombshell four doors down on the opposite side of the hall. I sometimes saw her when we were both coming or going at the same time. She had a habit of wearing these tank tops that clung to her like they were painted on. Her chest was… well… she and her chest were frequent visitors in my mind during times of “midnight longing”.

I stepped out of my apartment, walked down the hall, and knocked twice on the door. Only after my fingers left the door did I realize I didn’t have a clue what I was going to say. What was my plan here? Of course, it was too late to come up with one now. I just had to wing it.

The door opened and there she was. She was wearing a red tank top that I hadn’t seen before. Her generous chest pushed out again the fabric, creating a dark cave in the middle that I found very promising.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi,” I smiled. I decided to just swing. I looked at her and thought in my mind “Cum”. Some part of me was terrified that maybe this all was still some sort of joke. Maybe this was where I was made the fool. But those fears were short lived. There was the “whooshing” in my mind and she started.

The blonde let out a short groan, then gasped. She grabbed onto the door frame for support. I watched while her hips bucked and shook. She was trying to keep her mouth closed, but soon failed. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” came in sharp, forceful breaths as she shook. The hand on the door frame was steady, but the one holding the door waved back and forth as she shook. The door moved with her, occasionally banging against her side.

Then, it was done. The blonde continued to breathe heavily. She looked at me with wide, embarrassed eyes. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed watching that.

“If you would like to talk more about this, I live in apartment 414,” I said, pointing down the hall. “Feel free to come by.”

I turned on a heel, riding the adrenaline, and left her standing in the hallway.

It took her about fifteen minutes. I had spent the time doing my best to not jerk off to the memory of her orgasm. I had succeeded, but if she had taken much longer she might have caught me in the middle of my own little time of ecstasy.

There was a tentative knock on my door. I was in front of the door almost immediately, but forced myself to wait a few more seconds so I didn’t look so eager. I opened the door.

She looked at me warily, a little like I had a growth on my face and she wasn’t sure whether to comment on it or not.

“Hi,” I said.

“Um… hi,” she said.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Sh… sure,” she said. She stepped tentatively into my apartment and I closed the door.

I introduced myself and she gingerly took my hand. “I’m Niki,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “I’ve seen you around the building.”

“Yeah,” Niki said, still looking at me warily.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked. I was still feeling the adrenaline high and was a little manic. Never before had I had the upper hand in talking to a hot girl. It was a strange feeling.

“What did… what happened? Earlier?” Niki asked.

“I’m a little new to it, but I am pretty sure I gave you an orgasm,” I said.

Niki blinked. Then again. She pursed her lips and said, “But…” She paused, blinked again, and said, “What?”

“Apparently I can do that,” I said. “I can think and give you an orgasm. Again, I’m new to it myself.”

“That’s crazy,” Niki said, a little bit of anger creeping into her voice. I was losing her.

“Should we experiment? Should I try it again?” I said.

Niki’s eyes grew wide and her lips shut tight. She looked like she wanted to say yes, but didn’t actually want to have said it–or acknowledge the consequences if it worked.

I shrugged, walked to the fridge, and got myself a bottle of water. I gestured to her with it, asking silently if she wanted one. She shook her head. I closed the fridge, opened the water, and took a sip.

“I don’t know what sort of sick game you’re playing,” Niki said softly, but her voice lacked conviction. “I don’t know how you did that earlier… or… why it was so… you know…”

“Good?” I asked.

Niki opened her mouth as if to snap at me again, but then closed it again. She appeared to struggle for a moment and then said, “Yes! Good!”

“If you want proof, I can do it again,” I said, sincerely hoping I had the ability to follow through on that. Were there rules to this? Frequency with one girl? Frequency with my own ability? I didn’t know. “And then we can talk more about it after you’re sure.”

Niki’s eyes flickered to me, then around the room, then back to me. “With… with you watching me?”

I blinked, laughed a moment, and took a sip of water. “That’s sort of rude,” I observed mildly. “You want me to do it, but not look at you?” Niki flushed red. I would have been confused in her place as well. Inside, I hoped that Uncle Pete knew what he was talking about. Nothing would ever compare, he said. If that wasn’t true, then she would leave. But if it was true, then…

“Fine. Do it,” Niki said. She sounded irritated that she had to concede. That was fine for now. I looked at her and commanded in my mind, “Cum”. She did. For the second time in an hour, I watched her body shake and gyrate, while she moaned. It lasted longer this time, possibly because she wasn’t trying to stop it this time. It lasted almost thirty seconds. I sipped on my water and watched the busty blonde orgasm in my living room.

After, she dropped to her knees, quivering. “Oh my god… oh my god…” she muttered.

“Do you believe me now?” I asked softly.

She nodded. “How do you do that?” she asked.

“My uncle left me his magic,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t see a reason to lie. “He just died. And I just found out about this. So…” I shrugged. “I thought I would give it a try.”

“And why me?” Niki asked.

“Because you’re gorgeous,” I said with a shrug. Her having just cum, I felt more bold that I might have yesterday.