Melvin never had much luck with the ladies.  Everyone had been surprised by his marriage, but no one was surprised when his wife was caught being hammered to multiple screaming orgasms by the barely legal teen they paid to come over and mow the lawn. It seemed the front and back yards weren’t the only lawns the kid had been mowing since he’d turned old enough to vote. The towheaded beach bum thought he’d died and gone to heaven when given the opportunity for afternoon delights a day every three weeks or so with a horny housewife, and if Melvin had been a more violent man, the kid may HAVE died and gone to heaven... literally... by way of the shotgun.

But Melvin was far from a violent man and not much more than a scrawny, stick-limbed individual with glasses, a timid nature, and a nose for money. He’d found success in accounting, enough so that he was in never in want of money and always carried a few extra bills to pass to the outstretched hand of a beggar or drop into the hat of a street musician.

Melvin had slowly climbed his way up the ladder of the financial world, working his way to the very top, and then rammed up against a cold-hearted bitch of a boss who liked to see him squirm for her own twisted benefit. By now he should have been a partner in his firm. Instead, Mrs. Olivia Crabapple (recently divorced, she kept the last name as she liked the sound of it) loomed over him, devouring him with her shadow and stalling his career with her greed. Why not take credit for the miracles that Melvin worked when he allowed you so readily?

It was common knowledge you could walk all over Melvin, and he’d simply stand up, wipe the grime off his suit, and apologize for standing in your way. Too many people took advantage of this. His wife, the screaming cream queen of lawn boys, got half of everything. Crabapple rode his wave to wealth. Melvin, he hated to admit, had become something of a joke.

And here he sat, staring dreamily at the form of the redheaded pretty waitress at his favorite outdoor cafe, wondering what her hair would feel like if he ran his fingers through it and watching the dimples form at the corner of her mouth as she smiled and took the orders of a table of laughing customers. This cafe was his favorite, he knew, only because she worked there.

She began to turn, and he looked quickly away before she could catch him staring. It had happened once before, and at the time, Melvin thought he was going to vomit. His body had wanted to reject his chef salad like women rejected him: with a huge, retching gag. Rejection had been his middle name since elementary school, but he still wasn’t used to it. He knew that his ex wife had only married him because she smelled his money the way monkeys smelled bananas. He had been her money tree, and she had been more than happy to pluck the green right off of him. Then she’d peeled the shorts right off of the lawn boy and got a good taste of THAT particular banana.

Melvin didn’t think his waitress had the capability of sniffing the dollar signs on him. She looked too pure, too innocent, and therefor, had no reason to be attracted to him because he knew the only thing he had to offer was money. Her dimples clued him in to her innocence. No woman with dimples and a smile so bright and disarming could have an evil or manipulative bone her in perfect body.

“Anything else, Mr. MacMuffin?” his waitress asked. She must have walked over after finishing the the orders at the table of guffawing fat men. He hated the way his name sounded coming out of her mouth in her sweet musical voice; his last name had been the butt of so many jokes, he could only remember a third of them and the third had to number in the hundreds of thousands. He turned to face her, his throat tightening as he gazed upon her smiling beauty.

“N... nothing. Thank you. Just the check,” he stammered and gave her a weak smile in return. She winked.

“Ok, be right back with the check, sweetie.”

Dammit. He frowned as he watched her walk away in her cute green apron, her hair tied in a ponytail with a green ribbon to match. Why did he always have to be such a goddamn loser? He sighed. One day, he told himself, one day he’d gather up the courage to ask her out. And then he’d have the courage to not spew his meal all over her when she told him nope, no thanks, maybe some other time.

What he needed, he thought, was Dorothy to come skipping along the yellow brick road (probably yellow with urine as this was the city) and bring him to the Wizard, so he could ask for some courage. Then his problems would be solved. He glanced up and down the street from his table. No Dorothy. Not even Toto. He was shit out of luck yet again.

His waitress brought him the bill, told him to have a nice day, and was quickly waved over to the table of fat guys, still laughing over some lame joke, needing more beer. Melvin didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. Frowning, he left the cash on the table with a healthy tip for his waitress and made his way into the afternoon.

***

The afternoon gave way to evening. Mrs. Crabapple left for the night after ranting at Melvin, calling him names until she was red in the face, grabbing the new financial graphs for their biggest client out of his hands, and demanding that he start from scratch tomorrow. Melvin knew that she was merely going to take the graphs and claim them as her own, taking more credit for his work during her meeting with the Board of Directors. To hell with it. He didn’t care.

He turned off his computer and stared at the blank screen for a few moments. At times like this, depression threatened to swell upon him and crush him with one devastating blow to the skull. BAM! And that would be the end of it. He almost wished it would come. He listened to the seconds ticking away on his Rolex. How many seconds of his life had been wasted away at times like this, sitting and feeling sorry for himself, for his sorry state of affairs, and doing nothing about it?

Too much.

He decided it was time to go book hunting. As a hobby, he liked to search for rare or unique books; they didn’t even have to be worth anything as long as they offered some kind of interesting jewel for him to unearth in the pages between their worn and dusty covers. The last book he’d found was a diary of a man who claimed to be a werewolf, and that had proved to be some interesting reading, especially as the man went into graphic detail of his animalistic sexual encounters. He recalled his eyes burning through the words, flipping from one page to the next, a pleasurable throbbing coming from the crotch of his pants as his arousal became evident, and then disgust at the accounts of the man’s eating of his victims, sometimes right after he’d coupled with them. Melvin doubted he’d find anything as page-turning as that, but half the fun was searching for the books anyway.

Someone had told him of a rare book store, tucked away and relatively unknown by even the city’s most ardent rare book seekers, and this is where Melvin headed in his BMW, aware that he’d be driving in a part of the city where a BMW would stick out like a sore thumb. He figured he wouldn’t be there long enough to get it stolen. Anyway, no time like now to start working up that courage he so desperately needed.

He pulled to the curb at the address he’d been given. All the buildings looked seedy, dark and foreboding. A look of decay hung over them, staining the bricks and casting a murky light over the dusty windows in the darkening night. He looked at the writing on his notepad, double checking that he was in the right place. Satisfied that he was, he stepped out of his car into the brisk night. He locked the BMW behind him with a push on his keypad, the car uttering an electronic beep.

No markings or signs pointed him in the right direction, and all the store fronts looked the same. He scratched the back of his head. Melvin liked to have an excuse to stick his fingers in his hair, assuring himself that it was still there; of all the things that had happened to him, at least he wasn’t bald. He looked from door to door, wondering which was the right one.

He’d have to blindly pick one and choose. No guts, no glory.

Being a Rolling Stones fan, he picked the door painted black, the paint peeling in strips at the top and bottom like picked-over scabs. He figured it was his best bet anyway since it most appeared to match the address he’d been given. A swaying handwritten sign proclaiming the shop was “Open” hung in a shadowy window.

Melvin pushed his way through the door and knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he took a step inside. A few books sat on the shelves that lined the store walls, but these were far outnumbered by jars of strange looking ingredients. Melvin tossed a nervous glance to his right at one of these jars, one that seemed to be full of eyeballs. One of the eyes floated in the greenish fluid, turning to glare at him. Melvin began to back away, his hand reaching behind him to find the door handle so he could make his exit.

“I can help you,” a sensuous voice rang from the back of the store. Melvin paused and chanced a look towards the voice. A tall, dark-haired woman stood, her hands on her hips, a solemn expression on her face. She wore a black dress, and stripes of white streaked through her hair, you know, your typical Goth type. Melvin thought she bore a passing resemblance to Elvira, only the woman at the back of store was the most exotic looking person he’d ever seen. It was impossible to tell her nationality from her caramel-colored skin and her slightly slanted and stunningly blue eyes.

“Excuse me?” he replied.

“I can help you,” she repeated. Her cold eyes looked over him, up and down. Melvin felt naked under her penetrating gaze. Her voice was persuasive, somehow hypnotic, and Melvin found himself believing her without even knowing what she was talking about.

The woman had been waiting for him, and she took him in with her eyes. He wasn’t so bad. Lose the glasses and slap on a few pounds of muscle, and he’d be a regular sexy beast. However, his lack of confidence was evident in his hunched shoulders and nervous eyes. This was something she’d have no trouble overcoming; her powers seemed to grow by the day. Confidence was something that SHE didn’t lack.

“How?” he said. The woman smiled, her lips peeling back to reveal some sharp looking teeth. They shone in the pallid light cast by an ancient lamp.

“Fate brought you into my store. You have trouble with women.”

“How’d...?” Melvin began. Was it that obvious? Could she tell just by looking at him what a pathetic loser he was? Things were worse than he’d realized. He straightened his glasses. She was making fun of him; he was sure of it.

“Oh, Mr. Melvin MacMuffin, are you always so insecure? So full of doubt?” the woman purred from the other side of the room. Her voice slipped past his defenses and caressed his heart.

“You know my name?” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Look around you, Mel. I’m a fucking witch! I know all sorts of shit,” she said with a cackling laugh, throwing her head back, her long black hair flowing around her shoulders. Entranced, Melvin could only watch her.

“Come with me,” she said, beckoning him with a long finger. Melvin did so in rambling steps, his throat feeling suddenly very dry. The floating eye watched him silently from its place in the jar. Melvin cast a few glances around him as he approached, seeing monstrosities and creatures of all sorts floating in liquids all colors of the rainbow in jars of all sizes. They seemed to watch his progress with open, unblinking eyes.

“Follow me,” the witch told him and slipped through an open doorway and up a small flight of stairs. The stairway was narrow and felt crooked, the wallpaper cracked and peeling in places; Melvin felt the need to place his hands against the walls to steady himself as he walked up.

The self-proclaimed witch led him into a small room. It must have been her bedroom because a bed was in one corner, and a dresser sat close to it, a large mirror reflecting his pale expression back at Melvin as he walked into the room. On the opposite wall, a tall cabinet stood, beakers and bottles littering its shelves. It was this cabinet that the witch approached, her long black dress gliding on the floor behind her.

She opened the cabinet door and pulled out a blue bottle. It seemed to pulse with a kind of electric power in her hands, and she popped open the cork and inhaled. A thin veil of wispy smoke drifted from the open bottle and wrapped her head in a smoky halo. A crooked grin slid over her face.

“Love juice, Melvin. Drink this and you will become irresistible to any woman you so desire,” she said, her voice dancing around him, touching his face, slipping under his skin and propelling him towards her. Melvin walked over in a daze, his hand out to take the bottle from her, clutching and unclutching the empty air as he approached.

“It’s still missing an ingredient,” the witch said, putting the bottle behind her back, warding Melvin off with her free hand by pushing it against his chest. Her blue eyes sparkled. She would enjoy toying with this one. He was like a puppy with his big hopeful eyes and harmless nature. Why not cuddle?

“Ingredient?” Melvin asked. His head felt a little dizzy, drunk almost. He blinked, trying to find that foundation inside of him that kept his inhibitions and logic at the forefront of his thoughts when he felt both trying to slip away after a few drinks. Only, tonight he hadn’t had anything to drink. He figured that the woman, the one who claimed to be a witch, had something to do with his lightheadedness. She was intoxicating.

The witch leaned in and whispered into Melvin’s ear, her hand moving up from his chest and stroking his hair. Her body brushed against his, and Melvin became very aware of her breasts pressing into his chest. He began to tremble in fear and anticipation. What was she up to?

“To make this potion yours and only yours, you must add your own special essence,” she said and licked his ear lobe with a flick of her tongue. Melvin tensed.

“Essence?” he croaked.

“Your semen. Cum. Spunk. Jizz. Baby batter.”

She ticked the names off her fingers, punctuating each word with a smirk, and continued, “Whatever you want to call it, the potion has to have it to work.” Her free hand roamed along his back, took a hold of his ass and pushed his crotch against her thigh. She rubbed against him with her leg, feeling the heat building through his pants.

“Why don’t you let me help you get it out?” she cooed, and her tongue was in his ear, circling and tickling him. Every muscle in Melvin’s body clenched, but he made no attempt to escape her clutches. Things like this never happened to him; being seduced by an exotic and beautiful woman, a complete stranger, was out of the question. Could this really be happening? Doubts mounted in his mind; panic began to set in. Should he leave now while he still could?

Then the witch slipped a hand down his pants, took a hold of his hardening manhood, and made his decision for him. He’d never get a chance like this again. Might as well enjoy it, right?

She began to stroke him slowly in his pants, and Melvin’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped, his tongue lolling inside of his mouth. Oh shit, he was going to shoot his shot right now!

“No, no, bad boy,” the witch gripped him hard, her long nails digging into his sensitive tissue, and Melvin’s pleasure was lost in a bolt of pain. He grabbed her arm, trying to get her to let go. The witch placed the blue bottle of love juice back on the shelf and used her newly freed hand to lightly slap Melvin on the face.

“We can’t use your cum if you just shoot it all over yourself,” she chastised him. “How do you expect to satisfy anyone if you lose it within twenty seconds?”

Her grip lessened on his erection and began to work on him again with swift sweet strokes. Her other hand began to unbutton the front of his pants. Melvin took some big, gulping breaths. His heart fluttered in his chest.

The witch kissed him, her lips encasing his, her tongue slipping out and licking his lips, her breath warm on his face. Melvin felt the dizziness in his head threaten to buckle his knees and swat him out of his reverie. He clenched his eyes, trying to focus, feeling her hands roaming and stroking him, her lips on his own, her body pressed against his.

She undid his pants and slid them to his ankles. He felt her body work against his, grinding, slipping down to her knees. Her hands dipped into his boxers and fished out his straining boner. Melvin hoped to God she didn’t giggle at its size. He was average-sized, or so he’d read, but a woman like this probably could have any kind of dick she wanted. Could she be satisfied with something merely average? He thought not.

“Melvin, women are going to be eating out of your hands. You could have the smallest dick in the world and they will beg you to stick it in them and then scream when you make them cum,” her voice rose up from below him, soothing him, her hands rubbing his thighs. Melvin sighed. A man like him... worshipped by women? It seemed impossible. After all the pain he’d gone through, the miseries heaped upon him, didn’t he deserve a little bit in life? Of everyone he knew, didn’t HE deserve to have some happiness?
 

As if in answer, the witch took him in her mouth, her black hair bobbing, her lips slipping around his erection and down to the root. Melvin gasped and his eyes popped open. Her hand began to glide up and down his pole, guiding him in and out of her mouth with expert strokes. Melvin sucked in air through his gnashed teeth, feeling pleasure shoot through him in waves that he’d never before experienced.

He wrapped his hands around her head, his fingers sliding into her soft hair as she made love to him with her mouth. Melvin began to see stars, fireworks invisible to anyone but him. His head felt light. He felt as if he was floating off the floor, through the ceiling, through the night air into a flurry of stars. Was this the witch’s doing? Had she hypnotized him? Or was it simply a level of pleasure he’d never experienced before propelling him to new heights?

She began to speed up, and Melvin felt himself lose complete control. His euphoria swam around him in a colorful haze, and then he was falling, the Earth rising up to meet him, the ground once again under his feet, and his cock spurting strands of white gooey cum into the witch’s open mouth.

Finally, Melvin’s legs lost their strength, and he collapsed to the floor, his muscles turning to jelly. His glasses skirted off his nose and skidded to the floor. The witch stood up, her mouth still full of his seed, and took the blue bottle off the shelf. She spat Melvin’s load into the bottle, placed a finger over it and shook it viciously. Her breasts jiggled a little as she did so, and surprising himself, Melvin felt a tiny stirring from his limp penis.

“Shake well,” she said, wiping her chin with her sleeve. She held the bottle up to her eyes and regarded it for a moment.

“Perfect,” she said and turned to him, “Get on your knees.”

Her tone of voice told Melvin that this was an order, not a request, and he pulled himself to his knees before her, head bowed, as if in prayer. The witch slid one strap of her dress over her shoulder and then the second strap over her other shoulder. Her long black dress fell with a quiet rustle, exposing her nakedness.

Her body drew a gasp from Melvin. It was breathtaking. She was no witch; she was a goddess, and she would make him her slave. No mere mortal could hold a man so ultimately in her grasp with such a heavenly body. He was helpless before her.

Snatching some of these thoughts out of Melvin’s head like snowflakes on her tongue, the witch smiled. He had quite the imagination. Very cute.

“Now drink,” she told him and poured the contents of the bottle between her breasts, down her body. The potion was a deep, blood red, and its sweetness filled the air with the scent of rosebuds. She pulled Melvin’s head to her pussy, where the potion began to dribble and then drip off her and into Melvin’s open mouth.

Wasn’t his fresh cum in this potion that dripped from the witch onto his willing tongue? Melvin could only taste a richly sweet flavor similar to his favorite wine. Besides, the witch bid him to drink. He did as she ordered. She was his goddess, and he didn't even know her name.

Then darkness swooped over him, carrying him away into the deepening night. He closed his eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

***

Melvin’s eyes fluttered open, the morning light pooling over his face and pillow. He was dressed in his clothes from the night before, and a dull throb rapped between his eyes: signs of a hangover. Had he been drinking last night?

Probably. He couldn’t remember, but he’d had some crazy ass dreams. He searched for his glasses and couldn’t find them anywhere. A vague memory... his glasses falling and skidding across the floor after a gorgeous witch had stolen his seed... but he wrote this off as the imaginings of a particularly vivid dream. More likely, he’d lost them stumbling home from the bar down the block.

Melvin hopped into the shower, cleaned himself off, toweled himself dry, and dressed for work. He felt better today for some reason. A new day and new opportunities and all that jazz, he guessed.

In fact, if Mrs. Olivia Crabapple started up with him, he just might give her a few choice words in reply. And if his favorite waitress worked today at the cafe, he just might ask her out after lunch.

Then again, he might not.

Whistling, Melvin walked out of his apartment building and into the new day.

Melvin's first clue that something was different happened as he rode the elevator to his office, his brain running numbers and fractions and percentages like a human calculator. About halfway to his floor, on the verge of adding profit margins mentally, he noticed the woman standing next to him sneaking sly glances in his direction.

She was a middle-aged woman, blonde, slightly attractive but nothing that would send men drooling or whistling if she passed by on the street. Still, the fact that even a woman as attractive as this one was casting looks towards him made Melvin's neck feel warm and uncomfortable around the collar. He fidgeted with his briefcase and straightened his glasses. He'd lost his good pair sometime during the duration of the previous night, and the spare set he always kept in his briefcase sat on his nose funny.

She made eye contact with him, her face blushing a bright red, and she squeaked, "Hi!"

Melvin's throat felt tight, and he had to force himself to keep from loosening his increasingly suffocating tie. He'd made a woman blush? Something funny was going on here, or this woman had serious problems. Melvin figured her as some kind of head case.

"Hi," he replied and smiled. She smiled back and then glanced away with an expression of embarrassment. Definitely a head case.

The elevator beeped, and the doors slid open.

"My floor," Melvin said apologetically and stepped out. As the doors closed behind him, the woman gave him a shy wave, and Melvin returned it. His head swooned with thoughts, many concerning his strange dream of the witch and the love potion she'd concocted for him.

Her voice: "Melvin, women are going to be eating out of your hands."

But that hadn't been real, had it? It couldn't have been. In his dream, he'd blacked out at her store. How'd he get home? His BMW had been parked in front of his apartment building this morning, so who'd driven it? The events of last night were a fuzzy blur, and he couldn't see through the fog of intoxication that seemed to cover it all.

The only explanation that made sense was that after Crabapple, his cold-hearted bitch of a boss, had chewed him out yesterday, he'd gone to a bar to drink away his problems to nothingness. The whole thing about the witch and her love potion was merely a dream caused by an abundance of alcohol and his lack of luck with women. Right?

He thought about the woman in the elevator. Weird. If only he could remember what had really happened to him. He didn't like the idea of passing into an alcoholic fugue state and waking up in his bed the next day with no memory of the night before. He turned, trying to see if he could get a bearing on Crapabble, the last person he needed breathing down his neck at the moment. She was nowhere in sight, and Melvin made a break for it.

Olivia Crabapple was on him as soon as he stepped into the maze of cubicles that Melvin had to navigate to get to his office. She swooped out of the sky like a vulture setting its talons into fresh road kill, her eyes flaming, her lips curled back in a snarl. Olivia was insanely jealous of Melvin's talent although she'd never admit as much, at least not out loud, and she took pleasure in watching him squirm like a worm on a hook, dangling his work in front of the hungry fishes on the Board of Directors and claiming it as her own.

Did it really matter, anyway? Melvin had no sense for leadership, no business savvy, and that's really what being a partner in the firm was all about, wasn't it? Olivia figured she would be just that, a partner, before the year was up, thanks to stealing everything of Melvin's she could get her claws on.

"Where have you been?" she spat at him. Melvin checked his watch.

"I'm early," he said.

"Who cares what time it is? I need you here when I need you, and I needed you twenty minutes ago!" she paused for a moment, her snarl disappearing, her face subtly changing expressions, and added, "What's different about you today?"

Melvin was caught off guard by the question and thought fleetingly of the woman in the elevator and his odd dream about the witch's love potion before he said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Olivia regarded him for a moment. She tapped a finger against her chin, her long nail painted dark red. Olivia wore a smart charcoal business suit, oozing professionalism but at the same time accentuating her curvy femininity, making her an intimidating sexual being. It was as if she was daring some poor schmo to make a pass at her, if only so she could tear out his throat and threaten him with a sexual harassment suit. Her green eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked over Melvin.

"Something's definitely different about you," she said.

Melvin shrugged and said, "I'm just gonna get to work." He slipped past her, ducked into his office and closed the door behind him.

Olivia continued to tap her chin with a finger. She had approached him this morning with every intention of declaring that Melvin would be no longer in need of an office before stripping it away and demoting him to a tiny cubicle like everyone else on the floor (except her, of course, her office was large and luxurious as suited her engorged ego). She'd wanted to see his hopeless expression of resignation before he gave in, but now a new feeling stirred somewhere in the bottom of her stomach. She could still humiliate him, but there were better ways to do so. More fun to be had. Yes, much more fun.

She swiveled on her high heels, growled at an underling to get busy, and thumped her way to her office. She had to prepare for her weekly meeting with the Board, and there was so much work to do, considering she'd have to familiarize herself with the numbers she'd taken from Melvin the day before. Her humiliation of Melvin MacMuffin would have to wait until after hours, anyway.

In his office, Melvin collapsed into his chair. What was going on today? He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The woman in the elevator. Olivia. They both had seemed to think something was different about him. His dream of the witch, her naked body gleaming as he knelt in reverence before her, seemed more vivid than it had when he'd first woken up in his bed, his wrinkled clothes from the day before still on him.

A knocking rapped from the other side of his office door.

"Come in," Melvin said, and Richie Golding poked in his head. Richie, the office clown, was one of the few faces that Melvin felt he could trust. They hung out from time to time, but Richie was a bit of a party animal and was more interested in attempting to get his "wicky sticky" (as he liked to say) than in sipping beers with a poor loser like Melvin. Still, Melvin considered him a friend.

"My main man, Mel! Saw that you got a visit from the Wicked Witch of the twenty third floor already this morning," he said with a grin. Richie stepped into the room, his arms stuffed with various files and documents. His light brown hair stuck up in the back as if it hadn't been combed after he'd slept on it. Most likely, Richie hadn't gone home last night and had crawled straight to the office from some poor girl's apartment that he'd tricked into sleeping with him.

"Brought these for you. More work for you to do, so Crabapple can steal it and make partner," Richie cracked with a raised eyebrow. Melvin tried to shake off the remark, but it clung like a wet towel.

"Drop them anywhere. Hey, Rich, can I ask you something? Do I look any different to you today?" Melvin asked, replacing his glasses on his nose. Richie tossed the stuff he'd been carrying into a disorganized mess on Melvin's desk and took a step back to examine him. Richie eyed Melvin carefully and smoothed back the hair that had been standing on his scalp, the clump of hair leaping right back up as soon as his hands passed it.

"Nope, same ol' Mel. And that's my professional opinion," he said finally.

"Thanks," said Melvin, and Richie zipped out the door. Melvin stewed at his desk as he turned on his computer. Well, Richie seemed to think that nothing was weird about him, and that was something. However, he was still not satisfied, and questions plagued him like irritated wasps, stinging him behind the eyes. Maybe lunch at his favorite cafe would get his mind off the strange morning, and he could even gaze upon his lovely redheaded waitress as he ate.

Melvin rummaged through the pile on his desk and got to work.

***

He slipped out for lunch before Olivia could see him and stop him; she'd rather keep Melvin in his office doing nothing than allowing him to escape an hour for some fresh air. She enjoyed her small tortures. Avoiding her was a kind of art he'd developed over the past few months, and Melvin considered himself something in the league of a Picasso in the department.

He mentally thanked God that the woman from earlier was not in the elevator as he rode it down. All he wanted was a nice and quiet lunch where he could sort things out. The images from his dream were growing stronger and stronger in his head, and Melvin had trouble separating reality from fiction.

Melvin drove to the cafe and found an empty table outside where he knew Courtney, his so-cute-it-hurt redheaded waitress, would be working. He'd learned her name from the tag hanging precariously just above her right breast, pinned to the front of her green apron, but he hadn't yet gathered the courage to call her by it.

He sat down, leaned back in the metal chair and let the sunlight fall on his face, its brightness warm and comfortable. He closed his eyes and let his mind empty, thoughts leaking out of his ears not unlike the blood that had leaked after he'd busted his ear drums at the only rock concert he'd ever attended. The thought was yet another reminder of his pathetic nature; he shuddered thinking about it.

"Hi, Mr. MacMuffin. Am I disturbing you?" he heard Courtney ask through his shut eye lids. His eyes fluttered open, and he took her in: smiling, dimples at the corners of her mouth, her teeth a spread of white pearls, her hazel eyes glittering in the sunlight, adorable freckles peppering her nose and cheeks.

The sound of her lovely voice saying his ridiculously absurd last name sent a sick chill slivering down his spine; it seemed Fate enjoyed its small tortures as well.

"No, no. Not at all," he said and returned her smile. As he had basked in the warm sun, he now basked in Courtney's presence.

"You want the usual?" she asked him. A pencil jutted up from behind her ear. She swiped her bangs off her forehead with the flick of her wrist, but they fell back over her eyes just as quickly. She was so cute, so sweet, that Melvin wanted to lather her in whipped cream and eat her all up. Screw the usual; give him a heaping plate of warm Courtney, and he'd sink his teeth right in.

"Yes, the usual," he told her, brushing away his thoughts of sexual cannibalism.

"Consider it done," she said, winked, and scurried away, her legs striding beneath her green apron. He watched her for a moment and then turned, in case anyone caught him staring. He sighed. If only a girl like that could ever be interested in a guy like him.

The musical ringing of his cell phone (Pachelbel's Canon in D, his favorite) interrupted his thoughts. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID, the phone still jingling through Pachelbel. The number on the screen was not one he recognized. He shrugged, pressed the talk button and placed the phone against his ear.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hey there, babe. How's the day treatin' ya?" the voice on the other side of the phone was that of his dream, the voice of the goddess/witch. Melvin's heart caught in his throat, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Was this real? Or was he still in bed, still dreaming all of it? The yellow brightness of the day seemed suddenly surreal, filtering through his eyes in slow motion.

"It's real, Mel. Believe it, buddy boy. You don't really think you've dreamt every mundane detail of your incredibly boring morning at work, do ya?"

"How'd you get this number?" Melvin asked, peering around him as if he half thought the witch would be somewhere close by, stalking him.

"Duh! I'm a witch, remember? You can't have forgotten all about me already. Not after our little potion par-tay last night. You seemed to enjoy yourself. I mean, REALLY enjoyed yourself."

"What do you want?" Melvin said, eyes still darting around him. He noticed that Courtney was making her way back to his table, a tray carrying his chef salad and a glass of water balanced on her left hand. His heart began to drum against his sternum.

"Just wanted to make sure you're working your magic. Gettin' your groove on. I wouldn't want to squander my love juice on someone who's too afraid to use it. She's a lefty, by the way. Your waitress, I mean. Ever get a reach around from a lefty?"

Courtney was almost at his table. Her mouth turned up into a smile as she made eye contact with him. Melvin considered hanging up the phone, but who knew how a witch would respond to being hung up on? She might turn him into a frog or something.

"Melvin MacMuffin, what would be the point of turning you into a frog? Now, a monkey maybe. I could teach you to do tricks."

"I gotta go. I don't think your love ju... er... your potion worked, anyway," Melvin whispered, and he reached to press the talk button and hang up the phone.

"It works, Mel. You're about to find out," her voice buzzed in his ear, and then it was gone, his finger mashing the button and shutting off the phone with a shrill beep.

Courtney stood next to the table and slipped Melvin's salad in front of him. He admired her milky white skin, slender fingers, and her nails painted a light pink. It was a sparkly nail polish, something a junior high school girl might use, and it only reinforced her innocent charm.

"Anything else?" she asked after she'd finished putting down his water. A lemon bobbed up and down like a buoy between cubes of melting ice. Melvin licked his lips. Now was his chance. He'd ask her out. Now! Do it!

"No thanks," he said, giving her the biggest and dumbest smile he could muster. The imaginary voice of the witch called him a pussy in his head. Oh well, he'd been a pussy all his life, and he'd lived with it this long. What was another day? Courtney nodded and turned back towards the kitchen.

"Actually, uh, maybe you could help me instead," she said, twisting back around to face Melvin. She held the tray with both hands against her chest, her face glowing a light red around her nose and cheeks, along the area that her freckles populated. It took Melvin a moment to realize that she was blushing.

"Yes?" he asked. Was Courtney really blushing? He figured he must have embarrassed her somehow, by some rude statement or gesture or... what? Still, he'd made two different woman blush in the same day; it had to be some kind of record for him. Feeling self conscious, Melvin straightened his glasses.

"Uh, well. I don't know how to say this, but..." she stammered. She took a few steps back towards his table. Melvin questioned her with a raise of his eyebrows. Her cheeks flushed brighter.

"Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?" she said, forcing the words out of her mouth as quickly as she could, her eyes unable to meet his. Melvin sat, flabbergasted. Courtney the waitress, the girl he had been moping after and admiring from afar for three months, had just asked him out.

"I understand if you don't want to; it's ok," she added before he had a chance to respond.

"I... I'd love to," Melvin said. Courtney put a hand over her mouth and laughed in relief, the dimples returning. Her eyes finally gained the courage to rest on his. He liked the way her hazel eyes reflected the green of her apron.

"Oh, thank God! I'd have felt like such a fucking loser if you'd said no," she replied and then gasped, her eyes opening wide in shock.

"Oh sorry, Mr. MacMuffin! You probably don't say the f-word, do you? You seem way too nice!" she squeaked like a frightened mouse.

"Call me Mel, and it's fine. I say the f-word. Fuck! See?" he replied and laughed. His face burned a little as he said it, and he realized that he was blushing now, too. He didn't really say the f-word, but he didn't want her to think he was some kind of prude. She laughed with him.

"How's tomorrow night?" she said, nervously twiddling her fingers as she still held the tray against her chest. Melvin nodded. He would have said yes to any time she suggested.

"Sounds wonderful."

"Great! Why don't I give you my number when I bring you the check?" she suggested.

"Deal," Melvin said, and Courtney backed away before disappearing into the kitchen with a giggle and a cute wave. Melvin sighed. The potion... the love juice... it was all true. It was all real. What had he done to deserve such a thing? He had trouble thinking that the witch had given it to him out of the kindness of her heart. But what could she be getting out of the deal? Did she expect some kind of payment?

Out of curiosity, Melvin checked the call log on his cell phone. The last received call was from his mother in Oregon; the witch's number was nowhere to be found. He tried to dig it up in his head, but he found that he couldn't.

Strange, since he had such a strong memory when it came to numbers. In any case, if the witch wanted to contact him or speak to him, she apparently had his number. Plus, he could always go back to her shop.

Frowning, Melvin pushed all these thoughts out of his mind and let Courtney drift into his brain and fill him up. He couldn't wait until tomorrow night. Then all of his attention would be hers and hers alone. She would be everything to him for as long as she was with him. He grinned at the thought of it.

He was so excited, he could barely eat his chef salad.

***

The rest of the afternoon was a blur as Melvin zoomed through his work, Courtney always at the forefront of his mind. Her face peered back at him as he reviewed numbers on the computer screen. Her smile perked up from the memos sitting on his desk. Her supple bottom, an image that brought a guilty but exciting thrill, roamed about the reflections in his office windows. She was everywhere, in every thought.

Hours ticked away quicker than usual, and just when Melvin thought he would make it through the day unscathed, the dreaded Mrs. Olivia Crabapple paged him. He glanced at the clock and was shocked to see that it was nearly nine o'clock; everyone in the office would have left hours ago. He couldn't believe he'd lost such track of the time, and what could Crabapple be wanting with him this late?

"Melvin, my office," her voice squawked from his speaker phone. Groaning, Melvin stood up from his desk chair and stretched. His body was stiff from several hours of inactivity, and his eyes were bloodshot from staring at the glare of the computer monitor for so long. He didn't know how he could get so lost in his work, but numbers were just something that always clicked for him.

He loosened his tie, straightened his glasses, and opened the door to his office. The floor was dark and quiet. Everyone had gone home. The only light came from behind the closed blinds of Crabapple's office windows and a soft yellow glow from under her door. Melvin scratched his head as he headed towards her office. It was unlike her to be here so late; he'd figured that he was the only one on the floor who didn't have any life and filled his spare time with work. Probably, she needed Melvin to explain some of the graphs she'd taken from him.

Melvin closed his hand around the doorknob and pushed his way into her office. Then he stopped, dumbfounded. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped at the sight before him. Olivia Crabapple stood on her desk in a black lingerie, her heaving bosom trying desperately to spill out over the lacy top. Her frosty, short blonde hair shone in the gleam from the desk lamp, and tall black boots ran up to her knees, her long and luscious legs covered in fishnet stockings. She held a leather whip in her hand, and a devilish grin curled at her lips. Her expression was somehow both coy and predatory.

"Dear Melvin, always staying so late at the office. You know, all work and no play makes Melvin a dull little shit, now doesn't it? So... let's play," she said, sticking a finger across her red lips and then sliding it between them to suck on it.

"I... uh... I... don't..." Melvin's words caught in his throat, and he choked on them. Walking into Crabapple's office and being confronted by this spectacle was completely unexpected, and he had no capacity to react.

"Is the whip a bit too much? A little too scary? I think so, too," she said and flipped it away behind her. It twisted through the air and landed on the floor with a thud. Her grin faded, and she gave him a solemn, demanding look.

"Now get on your knees," she ordered. Melvin did so, sliding to the floor, and he had to admit the entire situation was beginning to turn him on. He had Courtney to think about though; what about her? Then again, the consequences of turning down Olivia Crabapple when she was after something she wanted were enough to make a guy reach for his own genitals in fear.

Olivia hopped off the desk and strutted towards him, her hips swaying. She came to a stop in front of Melvin, her womanhood face-to-face with Melvin's eyes. Olivia was wearing crotchless panties, the lips of her vagina glistening, and Melvin was reminded of the night before, kneeling before the witch as she made him drink her sweet and tangy potion... the love juice running down the witch's body, glistening on her skin before dripping into Melvin's open mouth. Did the love juice have something to do with what was happening to him now? Melvin didn't doubt it.

"Eat my pussy," Olivia growled. "Eat it."

She grabbed Melvin's hair and forced his face into her crotch. Melvin's nose banged into the mound just above her slit, making Olivia moan above him, her nails digging harder into his scalp. His glasses tilted on his nose, and Melvin scrambled to pull them off and push them to safety before anything got out of hand. He made a mental note to remember where he left them.

Melvin had never given a woman oral sex before and wasn't sure where to start. Well, he might as well learn now. What if Courtney ever wanted him to perform oral on her? He began to lick around Olivia's pussy lips, tasting the salty and tangy fluids that had began to seep there. Surprisingly, he found it didn't taste half bad; in fact, he kinda liked it.

He tried slipping his tongue past the lips and into Olivia's moist love canal. She was so hot there, he could feel the warmth on his face. This drew an intake of breath from Olivia above him. He began to orchestrate his head back and forth, forcing his tongue in and out of her in rhythm.

Remembering that women were supposedly very sensitive on their clitoris, he lifted one hand to the mound above her slit and roamed with his fingers until he found a small, hard object that seemed to be jutting up from the area around it.

"Oh yeah, Melvin. Lick my whore's cunt. Lap up that nasty slut syrup I'm brewing for you," Olivia mumbled, lost in a nonsensical ramble of dirty talk. Slut syrup? Melvin tried not to listen to her. He took her clit and rolled it between two fingers, applying pressure but not enough to cause pain... or so he hoped.

"Oh, there it is! You found it! Eureka! That's clit gold! Mine that shit for cum now, you fucking pleasure detective," Olivia continued her sexual discourse.

Sweat began to form on Melvin's brow, and he had trouble concentrating with the insane banter coming above him. She was worse than listening to director's commentary during the hottest scene in one's favorite porno. He exchanged his mouth and hand, so he could gingerly suck on Olivia's clit and rub it with his tongue while he slipped two fingers into her dripping pussy.

"Goddammit fuck shitter titty ass suck!" Olivia moaned, her nails digging so hard into Melvin's scalp that he was afraid she might start drawing blood. Abruptly, her hands became claws, gripping clumps of his hair, and she yanked him up with a hard pull.

"Yeow!" Melvin cried as he was lifted from his knees. Hot tears sprang into his eyes. Olivia stuck out her bottom lip and wiped away one of his tears with a finger. She then sucked the tear off the tip of it.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you, but it's time to fuck mama now," she said and pushed him into her leather desk chair. Melvin fell into it, all balance lost, flailing his arms. He hit it with a grunt, and before he could get himself situated, Olivia jumped on top of him, expelling any air left in Melvin's lungs.

Her hands tore away buttons, peeled off his shirt, and scrambled to unbuckle Melvin's pants. The crotch jutted up in a ridiculous mockery of an equilateral triangle, his erection struggling to be set free; Olivia's aggression, her desperate want of him, made Melvin want her back. And the fact it was his evil, hated and very hot boss he was about to screw didn't hurt either. Olivia had him naked in moments.

She hovered over his hard cock for a moment, a trail of wetness actually dripping down the side of one leg and then plunged herself onto him by dropping all of her weight on his cock, a loud gasp issuing from both of them. Melvin's hands gripped her breasts, rubbing them, squeezing, and he pulled the top of the lingerie down to expose their nakedness to his mouth.

Melvin couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex. It had been with his wife, so at least two years ago, and it had not been much more than her limp on the bed, waiting for him to end his clumsy thrusting and eventually dribble his seed into her. The last time he'd experienced the sheer excitement and wild nature of intercourse... well, he didn't think he'd ever experienced it before now.

"Gimme, gimme, gimme that Oscar Meyer Wiener, so I can coat it with fuck mustard!" Olivia cried out, her breasts bouncing in Melvin's face as he took turns sucking on each of them. Fuck mustard?

Olivia was definitely coating him with something, fuck mustard or not. Melvin hadn't ever imagined that so much fluid could come out of a woman. His wife had barely ever gotten wet enough to be lubricated for him. Olivia Crabapple, his sworn enemy, was so hot and wet that he could barely feel the inside of her; it was like making love to a squishy sponge. This didn't matter as the situation and Olivia's enthusiasm kept Melvin more than turned on. Olivia leaned into him and began to nibble on his ear.

"I'm gonna to make you cum so much, we'll be able to feed small African villages," she whispered and licked the side of his face. His face glistened with her saliva, and Olivia loved the look of it. Her eyes locked onto his own, wanton passion mirrored in her gaze.

Melvin clenched his eyes shut, trying to keep himself from cumming. He had to build up some stamina, some endurance. He'd read that it took the average woman typically twenty or so minutes before she warmed up to orgasm. His hands grabbed her tight ass, gripping its firmness, and he wondered how many men in the office had fantasized about doing what he was doing to Olivia at this very moment.

"Stick a finger in my ass, plug that shit up, and I'll cum. Please! I promise I'll cum," Olivia begged, her lips still next to Melvin's ear. Ok, so maybe Crabapple didn't need all that time to cum. She humped him a little quicker, her breasts pressing against his face, her tongue flickering at his ear lobe, and Melvin slid a hand between the cheeks of her ass, searching for the hole she'd begged him to "plug."

Finding it, he slid his middle finger into her asshole. Her rectum was hot and tight. Her entire body tensed around him, her pussy milking his cock, gripping it suddenly and forcefully. She no longer felt like a squishy sponge; she now held him in a vise.

"Good boy! Time for your treat!" she said, just loud enough for him to hear, and then bucked hard twice and screamed. Her yell was primal and thunderous and right in Melvin's ear. He found that he didn't care as her pussy began to squirt creamy wet goo over his throbbing cock. The force of her female ejaculation both amazed and shocked him and managed to force his own orgasm to impending doom, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Yesss, yesss, cum in meee. Feed my pussy your cum," she said breathlessly into Melvin's ear as her own orgasm completed its last weakening spasms. He felt his balls tighten, and the surge of his jism as it flew through his shaft and spurted into her pussy, decorating her insides with shots of man juice. He could feel either his pulse or her pulse in the walls of her pussy; it was impossible to tell which.

After it was all over, she stayed on top of him for a moment, his cock still hard inside of her. Then she pulled herself off him, his cock sliding out, coated in a mixture of his own cum and her so-called "fuck mustard." The smell of sex permeated the air. It was a scent that Melvin hadn't smelled in a long time. Olivia stepped away from him and turned around, her back to Melvin.

"Now, get out of here!" Crabapple demanded, her face hidden, her arm extended, finger pointing at the door. Melvin blinked in confusion. Realization began to set in. She'd used him, and now was done with him. Silently, he gathered his clothes and glasses and walked out of her office, closing the door behind him.

Melvin dressed, buttoning his shirt as well as he could, considering the buttons Olivia had torn off, and stopped at his office for his briefcase. The events of the evening swirled about his mind, and as much as he tried to make sense of it, he couldn't. Should he pretend it had never happened? Maybe. He hoped that Olivia Crabapple didn't have anything devious up her sleeve, but she'd be in as much trouble as him, wouldn't she? Melvin shook his head. Too much to think about.

He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.

***

Meanwhile, Olivia Crabapple wiped away the tears that wouldn't stop seeping from her eyes. How could she have treated a man like Melvin MacMuffin so cruelly for so long? He didn't even giggle or tease her for the crazy things she'd said as she'd ridden him. Hell, she couldn't believe half the things she had said. Her dialogue hadn't even been fit for a second rate erotic story. Melvin had made her feel something she had never felt before, taken her to places that she did not know existed. She checked the time. Not even thirty minutes had passed since Melvin had first stepped into her office, but to her, it felt like a lifetime.

Was she in love with him? Olivia collapsed into her desk chair, still slick with sweat, and held her head in her hands. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, but it sure seemed like love.

She was a changed woman, and she wanted Melvin MacMuffin as her own.

Melvin collapsed on his couch with a heavy sigh blowing through his lips, the days events running ragged circles in his head and throbbing behind his eyes like the bass from a particularly hectic rap song. He pulled his glasses off and placed them on the end table next to the couch. He needed some aspirin, but the walk from his couch to the kitchen cabinet seemed like a trek far worse than passing through the Sahara Desert with only one good leg and Gilbert Gottfried for company. In short, he was exhausted.

On the brighter side of things, he did have a date with Courtney the cute waitress tomorrow evening. Not only that, but Olivia Crabapple, his boss from hell, had fucked him senseless tonight. What an interesting and totally unexpected day he’d had, and it was all thanks to the mysterious witch he’d accidentally met and her so-called love juice.

Melvin reached for his remote and clicked on the television, flopping to one side on the couch. His stomach rumbled as he searched for something to watch, hopefully something that would tickle his funny bone. He needed a good laugh. Or maybe an interesting documentary on the History Channel to further enlighten his mind. Something about Nazis and how the Allies had outsmarted their Teutonic shit. His stomach groaned again, louder this time, refusing to be ignored.

“Pizza,” Melvin murmured. Yeah, pizza sounded great. Pizza sounded like the solution to all of the world’s problems at the moment. Hey, I’ve got the answer for world peace! Have a slice of pizza! Melvin smiled at the thought; boy, he was in a silly mood tonight.

He reached for the phone and speed-dialed his favorite pizza joint, ordering a pepperoni with mushrooms. He gave them his address, thanked them, and hung up the phone. Whoever had invented pizza delivery was a true genius; Melvin wished he could shake the dude’s hand and thank him for the good work.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Holy crap, that’s fast,” Melvin said, but then he figured that there was no pizza place on Earth that could be so efficient as to deliver a pie within a thirty second interval. He rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up from the couch. Who would be at his door at this time of night? He was positive that he’d paid his rent already this month.

He opened the door, and the woman from the elevator stood in the hallway. She held her purse in her hands, toying with it nervously, and flashed a hopeful smile at Melvin as his mouth dropped open at the sight of her.

“Hi, Melvin. I... uh... well, ok, I admit it,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth. She acted like Melvin had accused her of some sort of crime, but Melvin had no idea what this woman, who he’d met for the first time today in the elevator at work, could be doing at his door. She was a short blonde woman, hair to her shoulders, middle aged, professional looking. She wore a crisp white shirt under a black jacket and a tight, hip hugging skirt that stopped just above her knees.

“Yes?” Melvin said, his eyebrows raising.

“I followed you home. I waited for you, and I followed you. I don’t know why. Well, I do know why, but it’s crazy.”

“Why?” Melvin said; he tried to lower his eyebrows but found himself incapable. They were stuck in an expression of bewilderment.

“Because... oh, fuck it,” she said and flung herself at him. Melvin stumbled backwards, the woman’s hands on his chest, her lips on his own, her foot kicking behind her to slam the door shut as they tumbled into the room. Trying to keep his balance and stay on his feet, Melvin felt the back of his knees hit the end of his couch, and he flopped backwards, the woman plopping on top of him. They landed on the couch in a tangle of limbs, the cushions bouncing. The woman broke their kiss, giving Melvin a chance to breathe with a gulping breath.

“I saw you in the elevator this morning, and I knew right then and there, I had to have you. After I saw you, I got so randy that I had go into my office, lock the door and masturbate like a madwoman. Do you know how crazy that is? Do you know the last time I masturbated? I was in fucking eighth grade!” the woman said, her face inches away from Melvin’s, her breasts pressed against his chest, her crotch against Melvin’s awakening penis. A crazed, insatiable look flashed in her eyes.

“I knew... I knew that you could satisfy me in ways that no other man would be capable. I knew it just by looking at you,” she said, and then swung her face onto his own, meeting Melvin’s mouth at a slanted angle to give him better access to her tongue. It slipped out of her lips and into Melvin’s mouth, squirming like a wild snake. They made out like two kids on his sofa while his parents were gone for the night, with a desperation that bespoke of adventurous adolescents rather than experienced adults. Melvin wondered if this woman was as inexperienced as he was. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who normally accosted strange men in their apartments after following them home. Melvin guessed that it wasn’t in her true nature; today was a day of firsts.
 

She moved a little, her mouth still over his, a tongue rammed down his throat; her nose touching his, inadvertently plugging his nostrils and suffocating him for a moment, just long enough for Melvin to think, “I can’t breathe!” It was the move of someone who was not used to what she was doing. Then she moved again, placing her forehead on his, her eyes looking deep into his own. Her eyes were such a light blue they almost looked clear.

Her hands slipped under Melvin’s shirt and rubbed his chest. Then they were at his belt, at the buttons of his pants, fluttering into his boxers and taking his cock in a gentle grip. As much as she seemed inexperienced at making out, her hands were a different story altogether. Melvin gasped as she began to work him, her hand sliding up and down, jerking him off, pausing to tickle or play with his balls. Her hands were magic; they knew where to be and what to touch without having to be told.

“Do you like that?” she said, her fingers flittering along the shaft of Melvin’s rock hard cock. He licked his lips, tried to answer but nothing came out, and then he took a breath and tried again.

“Yeah,” he moaned. It was only one word, but it seemed to take a lot of effort for him. How had he gotten in this position? Making out with a complete stranger, getting a hand job from someone he barely knew. He supposed this was something he’d have to get used to after taking the witch’s potion. The witch had told him that women were going to be eating out of his hands, but he hadn’t expected anything like this. The woman smiled at him.

“I can tell,” she said. “I can tell you love it in your eyes.” Melvin’s tongue worked in his mouth, preparing itself, so he could speak again. It was going to be more difficult this time because he wanted to say more than one word. An entire sentence actually. He tensed his muscles and forced it out.

“What’s your name?” he said with a tremendous effort. The woman stopped stroking his cock a moment and blinked, one hand around him, the other cupping his sack, as her senses came back to her. She realized that she hadn’t even told Melvin her name; she’d basically just ran in and started to rape him without the courtesy of introducing herself.

“Bridget,” she said, her face flushed. “Bridget Briswell. I know it’s a stupid name but not as silly as Melvin MacMuffin, I’d say.”

“Gee, thanks. And how’d you find out my name, if you don’t mind me asking?” Melvin said. Bridget sighed and slowly stroked him as she spoke. Melvin closed his eyes, listening and feeling the pleasure tingling through his stomach.

“Richie Golding from your office is up on my floor all the time, trying to pick up my twin sister, Brenda. Don’t laugh, but yes, our names are Bridget and Brenda Briswell. I’m the smart one, and Brenda’s the sexy one. Anyway, I asked him what your name was,” she said. Melvin smiled hearing that Bridget’s sister was actually the sexy one while it was Bridget who was jacking him off, basically a complete stranger, her body on top of his.

Melvin’s eyes fluttered open in recognition, and he said, “You mean, YOU’RE one of the Briswells from Briswell and Briswell, the law firm? I’ve seen your commercials.”

“You better believe it,” Brenda replied and licked his lips with her wet pink tongue, her breath warm on Melvin's face.

Then someone knocked on the door, startling them, and Melvin slapped his palm against his head and said, “The pizza!”

Melvin was grateful that Bridget had not yet torn off his clothes, so he could get to the door fairly quickly without fear of scaring the pizza boy to death. Bridget allowed him to get up, and Melvin untucked his shirt and pulled the tails over his crotch, hiding the struggling erection that refused to go away. Glancing down, he figured that he was presentable enough and headed towards the door.

“Be right back,” he said over his shoulder to Bridget. Melvin cracked the door open about halfway, a polite smile creasing his face. The pizza boy turned out not to be a boy at all but a pizza girl. She was tall and thin with short spiky hair, dyed purple. She wore dark blue bicycle shorts and a bright green jacket, zipped just high enough to expose her supple bosom. As she turned to look at him, Melvin noticed that she had violet eye contacts to match her hair and a stud in her nose. From the hair, contacts and piercing, Melvin would have first guessed the delivery girl was a teenager in search of an identity, but her face had a look of maturity and experience that set her somewhere in her mid-twenties.

“Pepperoni with mushroom?” the girl said in a scratchy voice. She held the pizza box indifferently in Melvin’s direction while she looked him up and down. He swallowed. Melvin would have to get used to women checking him out, he supposed.

“That’s me,” said Melvin, quickly handing her a twenty. “I like your hair.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m not really a pizza chick; I’m a punk chick. Got my own band. Check us out sometime,” she replied, exchanging the pizza for Melvin’s twenty. The pizza girl’s eyes rested on Melvin’s crotch.

“Nice boner,” she added.

Melvin glanced down and saw that the fabric of his pants parted his shirt tails at an extreme angle. Whoops. Before he could respond, her felt Bridget’s arms reach around from behind him and rub his chest through his shirt. Her head was suddenly resting on his shoulder, peering up at the pizza girl.

Melvin turned his neck around to see that Bridget wore only a black bra and panties. Her breasts heaved beneath the bra, the milky round tops curving up and out, begging to be caressed and kissed. Her shirt and skirt were discarded in pools of clothing next to his couch. Melvin couldn’t believe she’d allow herself to be seen in this state of undress not only by a complete stranger but by another woman as well.

“We’re having a pizza party,” Bridget said, her hands slipping into Melvin’s shirt and running along his bare skin. Two fingers playfully tweaked his left nipple. This did nothing to help the erection pointing through his pants.

“Looks like quite the pizza party,” the pizza girl/punk chick said with a sly smile. She pulled at her bottom lip with a finger, her nail painted purple to match her hair and contacts.

“Wanna slice?” Bridget purred. The pizza girl checked her watch and bounced on the balls of her feet, evidently trying to decide what she should do. She could always tell her boss that her bike got a flat. Of course, she’d used that excuse a thousand times, and he probably would fire her just for having the gall to try it on him again. Then again, the pizza place would be closing up shop pretty soon, anyway. After a moment, she looked up, her mind made.

“Fuckin’ right I wanna slice, slut,” she said and grabbed Bridget by the hair, pulling her face close, and shoved her tongue down Bridget’s throat. The pizza box fell to the floor and the door slammed shut, sealing the three of them inside of Melvin’s apartment.

Melvin and Bridget swept the clothes off of the pizza delivery girl which was pretty easy since she wasn’t wearing any underwear, her pierced nipples gleaming in the lamp light, and then Bridget and the pizza girl took turns sweeping Melvin’s clothes off. Shirts and shoes flew through the air in a hail. Bridget’s hands pushed Melvin onto the couch, his cock flapping, and then her lips hovered above his erection for a moment, kissing the pulsing head of his cock before devouring his shaft with a swift gliding movement of her mouth.

“Ohhhh,” Melvin sighed, watching Bridget take him with her sweet mouth, her red lips wrapped around him, one hand stroking the root of his cock, the other cupping his balls and tickling. Bridget bent over the arm of the couch as she blew him, and Melvin saw the pizza girl’s head work its way between Bridget’s thighs, her spiky purple hair poking up from behind Bridget’s ass cheeks, and then listened to the wet slurping sounds as the pizza girl began to eat her pussy.

Bridget moaned lustily, the low humming vibration from her throat only making her blow job better as it rumbled against Melvin’s cock, Bridget’s tongue flickering in her mouth, sliding along his shaft. Melvin’s head felt swimmy, and he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t thought to go up and Briswell and Briswell and hire this woman as his lawyer. Her hands on approach was to be commended.

Melvin had never imagined that he’d ever be in an actual threesome, and he definitely didn’t think he’d ever get to be blown by a highly successful female attorney while a purple-haired pizza girl ate her out. It was like living in a porno! Melvin wasn’t sure how to proceed. How to have sex with these two women and satisfy them both without paying more attention to one or the other? Obviously, Bridget had one up on the pizza girl as Melvin actually knew her name, and Bridget had been here first. Then again, the pizza girl had a nice punk attitude that Melvin found quite becoming and also nipple piercings. He wondered what her tits would taste like in his mouth. This was not a thought that would have crossed his mind the day before. He was a changed man.

The pizza girl reached one hand up and grabbed Bridget’s neck. Her eyes glittered through her violet contacts, fire streaking through the purple like a Pacific sunset. Her face was harsh with a wild desire, her brow furrowed in mock anger.

“Fuck his cock with your face, whore. Fuckin’ choke on it,” she said in her husky voice, forcing Bridget’s head deeper into Melvin’s crotch. Bridget’s nose banged against Melvin’s stomach, and she took his cock to the back of her throat, her lips slipping down to his fleshy sack, his balls slapping her chin. She appeared nonplussed by the pizza girl’s order. Bridget apparently was no stranger to deep throating. Funny that she should be no good at making out but incredible at giving head.

“You are one hot deep throat slut!” the pizza girl said in amazement. Bridget popped Melvin’s cock out of her mouth a moment, thick saliva dripping from her mouth and coating his slick rod.

“I practice on my sister’s dildo,” Bridget said, winked at Melvin, and then gobbled his cock to the balls. He gasped in surprise, then gnashed his teeth. Well, that solved the mystery of inexperienced yet experienced deep throat attorney. A young woman so repressed that when her sister left her alone for nights out on the town, Bridget pulled out her twin sister’s dildo to expert her technique, just in case the skill was ever needed. And did she every now and again taste her sister’s juices on the object as she shoved it into the recesses of her throat? Maybe.

The pizza girl seemed pleased by this answer. She shrugged after a moment and playfully slapped Bridget on the ass, a sharp crack of palm meeting flesh. Then the pizza girl’s head disappeared again between Bridget’s thighs, and the wet slurping sounds returned.

Bridget’s body began to shudder after a moment, and she coughed out Melvin’s cock before crying, “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum on your face!”

Bridget’s head dropped into Melvin’s thigh in a mound of messy blonde hair, her mouth wrapping around a hunk of meat on Melvin’s leg, and he felt her bite him. A gasping moan began to escalate from her chest and through her mouth, whirring as she began to shake in intense pleasure. Then she came, her back arching, her ass pushing into the pizza girl’s face, and Bridget’s teeth sunk into Melvin’s skin painfully, though not hard enough to draw blood.

“Yeah, good girl, good girl,” the pizza girl said, stroking Bridget’s back and pausing to slip a lick between her ass cheeks. “You love to have your pussy eaten, don’t you? By nasty whores like me.”

“Yeah,” Bridget sighed. “Oh, yeah.” As she lifted her head, Melvin noticed the red teeth marks that she had left on his skin. He wondered if he was in over his head with two such intense women. The pizza girl pushed Bridget to one side of the couch, rolling her on her back. Bridget’s face looked flushed and satisfied as she stared up at the ceiling, a toothy smile parting her lips.

“Now watch while I fuck the shit your boyfriend, and I mean literally. I am gonna fuck him so hard, shit’s gonna come out,” the pizza girl said, standing up and then straddling Melvin, her pert tits in his face. Rings looped out of each nipple, and Melvin flicked at them with his tongue. She ground her pussy into him, her hips rotating Melvin’s cock into her dripping wet warmth. She put her hands to the side of his head, nails digging into his scalp and pulled his head back roughly.

“Suck on my tongue,” she said. Melvin opened his mouth, and the pizza girl’s mouth was over his, her tongue thrusting into it. He hadn’t noticed before, but a large metal stud was in the middle of her tongue. No wonder she had gotten off Bridget so easily and so well.

Melvin gripped her hips as she rode him violently, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, taking comfort in the pulsing heat of her skin. Her breasts brushed against his chest, the cool metal of her nipple rings sliding up and down. Melvin clenched his eyes shut and tried to force his mind to anything but the feeling of the woman riding him. If he allowed himself back into the moment, the moment would be over too soon, and he’d be erupting into the pizza girl like a fiery volcano.

Numbers ran through his brain. Multiplication tables. Graphs. Data from random clients. Statistics. Price quotes. Projected profit margins.

He chanced opening his eyes and saw Bridget was up and trading sloppy kisses with the pizza girl. Sweat covered them both in a shiny coat. The air was thick with the scent of their sex. Bridget’s hand roamed up and squeezed the pizza girl’s breast, provoking a sexy sigh from the purple haired hottie’s mouth. Bridget’s other hand was between her legs, toying with her sopping sexuality.

“I want his cock now,” Bridget said, breathlessly.

“Wait your turn, bitch,” the pizza girl replied and gave her a hard push. Bridget fell against the couch’s cushions, her lips puckering and pouting.

Melvin forced his eyes shut again; this was too much for one guy to handle. He tried to visualize pie. Wait, no. That was the food as in apple or pumpkin, but he couldn’t get the letters to look right in his head. Instead, he focused on the number, not the food, and mentally watched as big bold numbers began to stretch infinitely through space, one marching behind the other, each keeping in time with the beat of some old Christmas carol. Old King Wence-uh-WHO?

A grunt: “Unnnnnggggghh!” brought Melvin back to reality. He opened his eyes and registered the sight of the pizza girl bucking wildly on top of him, her teeth gnashed, her face red and dripping with sweat. Her pussy was throbbing, spasming around his hard cock. She collapsed off him to side of the couch on the opposite side of Bridget.

“Good Christ, that’s sweet,” she breathed.

Then Bridget’s hands were pulling him up, and the next thing Melvin knew was that he was pumping into Bridget doggie-style as she bent over the arm of the couch. He looked down at his veiny cock as it thrust in and out of her, his thighs clapping against Bridget Briswell’s taut ass. Was that really him? Was this his cock coated with this woman’s juices as he fucked her over the couch in his apartment? It seemed like a dream, but he knew it wasn’t.

“Goddammit, Melvin, fuck meeeeeee!” Bridget squealed, her blonde hair flinging; her arms behind her; her hands tugging on Melvin’s wrists as he gripped her ass, feeling her muscles clench beneath his fingers. Then the pizza girl maneuvered her pussy into Bridget’s face, and Bridget licked and sucked her as the pizza girl played with her clit while Melvin pounded Bridget from behind.

Melvin’s cheeks burned; his face felt hot. He wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. How could he? How could any man? But he was determined to not blow his load until Bridget got what was coming to her.

As if on cue, Bridget cried, “That’s it! That’s it!”

They all came together, all three of them, the kind of perfect climax that can only be found in one’s wildest fantasies. The pizza girl moaned; Bridget groaned; and Melvin gasped as his cock spilled over to the boiling point, streams of cum flinging into Bridget’s tight slit, oozing out of her and down her leg.

Melvin’s knees gave out, and he hit the floor hard.

***

The girls left him there on the floor. They dressed and blew him kisses and asked him to call as they fluttered out the door like leaves on a summer breeze. The pizza girl told him to ask for her specifically if he ever wanted seconds on what he got tonight. Bridget said to come up to her floor if he wanted a good lawyer, and she’d see him in the elevator sometime.

Melvin barely registered all of this, his body lost in a sea of exhaustion. Who knew how long the phone had been ringing before Melvin managed to pull himself up to answer it.

“Melvin, how’s my sexy human calculator this fine evening?” the witch said on the other end of the phone.

“Wha... what’s up?” Melvin replied. He tried to sound casual, but his mind raced over reasons why the witch would have called him.

“The pizza girl, Mel? Really, that’s so cliché. Still, I am glad that you’re starting to get the hang of all this. Olivia already thinks she’s in love with you. I doubt you’ll have much trouble with her anymore... unless having your boss obsessed with the one-eyed monster in your pants is a problem.”

“Is there a point to all of this?” Melvin said, his exhaustion forgotten for the moment. He didn’t like the way the witch seemed to enjoy teasing him.

“Oh, dear Melvin. There’s always a point. You and I, we have things to talk about, and we should talk about them soon. Why don’t you stop by my shop tomorrow evening so we can sort some things out?”

“I have a date tomorrow night,” he said, his heart stopping. He couldn’t break his date with Courtney, not the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world.

“Yeah, right. Get rid of her sometime after midnight and get your hot ass over here. Or better yet, bring her along. That might make things interesting.”

The phone went dead in Melvin’s ear. He gulped. He didn’t like the sound of what the witch had to say. Didn’t like the sound of it one bit.

Placing the phone back into its cradle, Melvin wondered what tomorrow would bring.

In bed, his muscles a patchwork of one connecting soreness to another, Melvin couldn't get to sleep. His eyes stared up at the ceiling without seeing it, looking through it to the place where only one who is lonely and troubled peers during his deepest thoughts: into his own soul. If someone had questioned the integrity of Melvin's soul two days ago, Melvin would have no problem declaring it pure and untarnished. Tired and mistreated, maybe. But still pure. Melvin had never done a wrong thing in his life...

A muscle in his arm twitched fitfully.

But now? Melvin knew that enjoying himself with women was no crime, but he still felt sharp twinges of guilt course through him whenever he thought about the three women he had slept with today: his boss, a woman he had met on the elevator, and an unnamed pizza delivery girl. Last night a woman who had claimed to be a witch had given him a blow job and made him drink a potion that apparently was some kind of love juice. This was more physical satisfaction than he had gotten in a lifetime of unsatisfying female rejection and grief.

Melvin tried to flex his twitching muscle but couldn't.

The root of his guilt was that he didn't really care for any of the women; his boss was a monster bitch, and the other two women he barely knew. The witch still seemed like a figment of his imagination though she was a figment that kept calling his cell phone. He'd used them for his own personal fulfillment, like sex toys. Melvin MacMuffin did not feel comfortable using people, that's not who he was; he was just a mild-mannered accountant. He was Clark Kent without the Superman.

The twitch faded and left his muscle feeling comfortably numb.

A voice in his head, one that sounded like the witch's voice said, "Melvin, you weren't using them. They were using YOU. They wanted YOU. You initiated nothing. The women only did to you what they wanted to do."

Still, Melvin had a date with Courtney tomorrow night, a girl that he might actually want to have a lasting relationship with, and here he was banging every female with two legs in sight. What would Courtney think about his newfound habit of using woman as sexual objects? He didn't want her to just like him because of the love juice, because she wanted to jump his bones; he wanted Courtney to like HIM, the real Melvin MacMuffin.

The witch's voice replied, "The real Melvin MacMuffin is no longer that sorry sack of nerdlinger that you keep referring to. The real Melvin MacMuffin is now an official stud Mac-muffin, and you might as well accept it."

Melvin closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a habit he'd picked up sometime during his younger years and which returned whenever he felt helplessly frustrated. If only there was someone he could talk to about all of this. He considered Richie Golding, but Richie'd probably just laugh at him and tell him that he had lost his mind. Richie would never believe that Melvin had scored with a woman, let alone three different woman in one day.

The thought of Bridget Briswell, the woman from the elevator, passed through his mind. What about the whole attorney-client privilege and all that? He could go up to her firm tomorrow, hire her as his lawyer, and have a nice long talk with her as they sorted through the paperwork. She'd been one of the women he'd slept with, so she would believe him for one thing, at least about the sex part. She was intelligent, being a partner in her own law firm, after all; so maybe she could give him some good advice and clear up a few things along the way.

Yeah, he'd talk to the lovely Bridget Briswell. Anyway, it'd be a smart thing to get his own lawyer because who knew how Olivia Crabapple, his boss, would handle their whole fuck session together? She might have some kind of sexual harassment suit up her sleeve or something; you couldn't put anything past her.

His muscles still aching, Melvin drifted off into a fitful sleep.

***

The following day, Melvin stepped through the elevator doors and onto the floor where the directory had informed him the law offices of Briswell and Briswell resided. Everything looked shiny, nice, and new. The twin attorneys were successful enough to have their own commercials on television and some of the biggest companies in the city as their clients, and it showed. Melvin was fairly well off, but he wondered if he could afford them. He hoped that having sex with Bridget might get him some sort of discount if their prices were too extraordinarily high.

He walked up to a large reception desk where a cheery young woman with twinkling eyes and a beauty pageant smile greeted him.

"Hi, I'd like to speak to Ms. Briswell, please," Melvin said.

"Which one?" the receptionist chirped in her pixie voice.

"Oh, right. Bridget, please. Tell her it's Melvin MacMuffin."

"Certainly. Just have a seat right over there, and I'll see what I can do for you," the receptionist said and pointed him towards a semicircle of chairs in a small waiting lounge. She let her eyes drift a few extra seconds on Melvin's tush as he walked away before moving on to the next person at the desk.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her mind still on Melvin and what it would be like to feel his hands roaming on her bare skin.

Just as Melvin sat down and opened the new issue of Forbes magazine, a warm voice called, "Mel!" It was Bridget; she approached him with long, hip swaying strides, her hand extended towards him, her face beaming. She looked very happy to see him. Melvin took her hand with a hardy handshake, and Bridget questioned him with raised eyebrows, the same look that Melvin had given her the day before when she showed up outside the door to his apartment.

"I'm looking to hire a lawyer," Melvin explained. Her eyes sparkled in reply.

"Well, you came to the right place," she said, then leaned in close to his ear and dropped her voice. "And if you're looking for a little something extra, you came to the right place for that, too."

Pulling back, she swirled on her heels, waved him forward, and said, "Follow me."

Bridget led him into a spacious office, and Melvin gaped in awe. Towering mahogany shelves of books lined two walls; the back walls were floor to ceiling windows giving a vast and breathtaking view of the city. Bridget's desk was a dark wooden beast which rose from the floor like a dinosaur in the middle of her office; a mini-bar was one corner of the room, a long leather couch sitting close by it. Everything screamed success. This was the office of his dreams.

Bridget closed the door behind them, locked it, and then swung around and thrust her arms over Melvin's shoulders, pulling him close for a lusty kiss. Unable to help himself, Melvin kissed her back. He plunged his hands into her shoulder length blonde hair, caught in the heat of the moment. Bridget finally broke the kiss and wiped the saliva from her lips with a cute giggle. As she looked at him, Melvin found himself more than a little in awe of her sky blue eyes.

"It's good to see you," Melvin said.

Bridget laughed. "That's the understatement of the year. Last night was amazing. Sorry I had to run off like I did. Wanna call for pizza tonight?"

Melvin's face reddened, and he said, "I can't."

"Got a hot date or something?"

"Well..."

"Figures," Bridget said with a bright smile. "Don't worry, I won't hold it against you. I've got one too, actually. Go figure! One night with Melvin MacMuffin, and suddenly I'm the poster girl for self confidence. I hadn't had a date for two years, and the next thing you know, the security hunk downstairs wants my number this morning. Guess you must have put some strut in my step."

Melvin tugged at his collar, feeling uncomfortable. Bridget Briswell certainly didn't appear the worse for wear after having sex with him. In fact, she seemed liberated from the repressed academic socialite that he'd taken her for when he'd first met her in the elevator. Could the same be said for Olivia though? Or the pizza girl? Well, the last thing the pizza girl probably needed was liberation but still.

"Bridget, I do really want to hire you as my lawyer..."

"Yes?" she said, urging him to continue. She worked her way around her desk and sat herself down behind it. She waved Melvin to a chair which he took, sinking deep into its softness.

"There's something that's been on my mind, and I'm kind of looking for someone who'll listen to me all the way through before they decide if I'm completely crazy or not," Melvin said, wiping the sweat that peppered his brow. He wanted to tell Bridget his story, but he wasn't sure if he was prepared to do so.

"Of course, Melvin. You can trust me." She smiled. "I'm your lawyer."

***

Melvin spilled everything: the witch, the love juice, Olivia, the guilt he'd felt after sleeping with Bridget and the pizza girl, his intense mental and physical exhaustion, all of it. When he finished, he felt as though a heavy weight had lifted off his shoulders, and relief flooded over him in a cool refreshing wave. Bridget had listened like a true lawyer, nodding, asking for clarification at one point or another, letting the information sink in. She never questioned his honesty or his sanity; for this, Melvin couldn't have been more grateful. Melvin finished up with a sigh and collapsed back into the chair. Bridget considered him a moment, her chin resting on her hands.

"Well, that's quite the story," she finally said. Melvin nodded in agreement. He knew it was a fanciful tale, and as he'd said it out loud, it had only seemed more unbelievable. Still, Bridget was a part of the story, so if anyone was to believe him, it'd be her.

"How'd Olivia treat you this morning?" she asked.

"She met me in my office and apologized for coming down so hard on me lately. It was so... unlike her. It was almost as if she was a real person. Naturally, I didn't trust her one bit. I think she's got something up her sleeve," Melvin said.

He paused and added, "She even gave me a hug." He shuddered. "Disturbing!"

As he spoke, Bridget walked over to the mini-bar and poured herself a shot of whiskey which she downed with a quick thrust of her neck, throwing her hand up to her mouth. Her face clenched as the burning liquid sank through her throat and into the pit of her stomach. The shot glass clunked as she thumped it back onto the bar.

"Or maybe your love potion is more potent than you realize. Drink?" she offered, holding a glass in Melvin's direction. Melvin shook his head.

"No thanks," he said. Bridget made her way backs towards the desk, but instead of slipping back behind it, she hopped onto Melvin's chair and his lap. Melvin felt her firm bottom settling snugly on his crotch, and he felt the first tingles of sexual desire running through him. Hadn't he gotten enough yesterday? Apparently not. She leaned back so that her head next to his, her blonde hair tickling his face.

"Consider this, Melvin. Two days ago I was one of the most uptight, repressed workaholics this world has ever known. Yesterday, we met in the elevator, and you had such a profound effect on me that I locked myself in my office and masturbated for an hour, then followed you home for a threesome with you and a purple-haired pizza girl. I've never felt more free in my life. Today, I've got a date with a beefy hunk, and I'm considering fucking you in front of the windows of my office for the world to see. Now, you tell me that your cold-hearted boss is apologizing and kissing your butt after an office fling. Probably, the pizza girl has been inspired to quit her day job and become a full time punk rocker. Do you understand that you're not just making love to women but changing them with your sex? Changing them for the BETTER? Do you realize how amazing something like that is?"

"Really?" Melvin said. "Do you mean it?"

"Mean what? That I think it's awesome that you're finally getting laid, or that I want to fuck you in front of the window?" she said and kissed him on the cheek. She moved a hand to his thigh and squeezed. Melvin began to feel all tingly.

"What about Courtney?" he said. Bridget blinked.

"Oh... well, I think you shouldn't worry about that. It's not like you're dating her or anything yet. But don't tell her about all of this right away, ease her into it. Then if things work out, you'll figure everything out for yourself." Bridget's jacket slipped to the floor.

"And the witch?" Melvin asked. This bothered him more than almost everything else. What did the witch want to meet with him tonight for? Bridget pulled her shirt over her head, her breasts straining against a tight white bra.

"Obviously, she's going to work out some kind of payment. You don't just give things like love potions away. The whole world would be a madhouse," Bridget explained, her hands working to undo Melvin's tie and unbutton his shirt.

"Now, let's you and me talk about payment for all this time I've spent with you this morning," Bridget said and smothered Melvin's face with her breasts. She reached around her back and unhooked her bra, tossing it to the floor.

Bridget sighed as Melvin began to suck on her bare breasts. She wondered about Melvin's story. Two days ago she would have simply assumed that Melvin was delusional, but after her wild experience with him and the pizza girl, she found herself believing every word. Would she have given Melvin the time of day before he'd taken the witch's love juice? It was hard to say. It wasn't Melvin's physical attributes that made her want him, though he wasn't an ugly man; it was what she could see underneath, his inner self, that made him so attractive. Perhaps the potion merely allowed women to see the beauty, the warmth and kind heart beneath his skin?

Bridget got up and led Melvin by the wrist to the windows. She kissed him and allowed her hands to roam to his belt buckle and unfasten it. Melvin's lips were soft, sweet, and inexperienced much like her own. For some reason, this only made her want him more. Pleasing a man who could have any woman at any time was not as satisfying as pleasing a man who would appreciate what she was going to do for him. She knew that Melvin would appreciate it; it was still too early for him to have become jaded by the legions of women that would soon fall at his feet and beg for his affections. Bridget broke their kiss and slipped a finger between Melvin's lips for him to suck on.

"Do you want me to go with you to your meeting tonight? It might be helpful to have your lawyer with you if the witch gets all tricksy on your ass," Bridget said. She pulled her finger out of his mouth to allow him to speak and slipped his pants and boxers down his legs. She wrapped her hands around his hot throbbing cock. It flexed in her slender fingers. She was proud of how good she was with her hands, and she knew that Melvin had loved his hand job the night before. He could barely croak out his reply, lost in the passion of her graceful strokes and touches.

"Yeah, that might be a good idea," he said.

"Ok, then nothing to be frightened of," Bridget said before bowing to her knees and devouring his cock. Melvin let the pleasure overtake him, placing his hands against the windows for support. The glass felt cool under his palms, and he took in the view of the city around him. Skyscrapers cut through the sky, parting clouds and looming over the landscape like angry giants, monuments to man's modern hubris. Murky clouds gathered in the sky and darkened the day, a layer of gloomy gray sparkling with bolts of electricity. A storm was coming. A few fat droplets of rain pattered against the window in warning.

Bridget glided her mouth over his pole for a few minutes, her hands subtly working him, fingers tickling the underside of his balls, her tongue flicking out and dripping spit on Melvin's cock. Melvin closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head onto the glass. Her mouth felt so damn good. He opened his eyes and looked down, the ground an eternity below him. Cars zoomed like Matchbox toys, and people were merely moving dots, scrambling from one area to another. This would be the closest sensation he'd ever get to flying and getting head at the same time; pretty cool, he thought. He blew air through his teeth.

After some time, they switched places, and Melvin worked two fingers into Bridget as she hiked up her skirt and spread her legs, allowing Melvin's access to her while she stood at the window. She felt his mouth on her clit, his tongue flicking her and then sucking, sending electric tingles over her body. His fingers slid in and out of her, filling her, and she fisted one hand into his hair and moaned loudly. She lowered herself farther, allowing him deeper into her. Her eyes fluttered. Thunder rumbled outside. Minutes passed like water through their fingers.

"Fuck me now," she breathed. Melvin stood up, and Bridget pulled him with her arms, maneuvering him behind her. Gently, Melvin entered her doggie style at the window. Bridget sucked air between her teeth and moaned quietly. Her breasts pressed against the glass of the window, her nipples hard. She arched her back and pushed herself into him, his hands sinking into the flesh of her hips. Melvin dipped into her, feeling her hot flesh encase his, and they became one.

Rain drops thudded against in the window, and a flash of lightening illuminated them for a moment, blinding Melvin with a blaze of white, and a tremor of thunder ripped from the heavens, shaking the world around them. He increased his speed, her ass slapping against him, her moisture dripping down their legs. Another flash of lightening shot through the sky, electric fingers splitting the clouds and striking a metal rod at the top of a nearby skyscraper. Sparks flew. Bridget moaned, her pussy tightening around Melvin's cock. Outside the storm broke, and torrents of rain splashed against the glass and pummeled into the city. Sweat dripped from the tip of Melvin's nose and splattered onto Bridget's pale white skin.

"My god, Melvin! Yes! Yesss!" Bridget hissed, bucking into him, and then they came together, lost in their own storm of passion. Bridget's world was a red haze for a moment, pleasure sweeping through her, her muscles clenching and then releasing, and she felt Melvin erupt within her, his hardness suddenly a fluid warmth inside.

But outside, the storm raged on.

***

Melvin leaned back into his leather office chair, the swooning weight of exhaustion making his arms feel like dead weight. It took a major effort for him to lift them enough to type on his keyboard. Not that Melvin felt like typing much of anything; for once, his mind was not on his work. While his conversation with Bridget had made him feel somewhat better about this situation and he was happy that he'd have some back-up during his meeting tonight with the witch, he still felt physically drained. Could it be a side effect of the love juice? Melvin believed so. This meant that he'd have to refrain from any more sexual contact until his date tonight with Courtney the cute waitress. He needed to have some energy stored up. As long as he could avoid Olivia Crabapple for the rest of the day, he had a chance.

Without knocking, Richie Golding popped into Melvin's office, a wide grin splashed on his face. He wore a crisp new suit and flipped his thumbs up at Melvin as he entered the room.

"Mel, it's a great day, buddy! I just got a hot date with Brenda Briswell, the hot lawyer from upstairs. Know her?"

"Not personally," Melvin replied. "Her sister on the other hand..."

Richie interrupted with an indifferent sweep of his hands. "Right, right. Well, Brenda is known as kinda a firecracker if you know what I mean, and what I mean is in bed. So I am thinking, let's go celebrate the inevitable sex I am going to be getting tonight from one of the richest babes in the city."

Melvin sat and waited for Richie to finish. He knew Richie just wanted him to open his mouth so that he could interrupt. Interruptions were a kind of Richie Golding trademark.

"Lunch on me!" Richie finally said when he realized that Melvin had no plan to respond. "We can even go to that one damn cafe you love. Let's go. Grab your coat and let's go."

Richie grabbed Melvin's coat for him and started to help Melvin into it. Richie apparently wasn't going to take no for an answer. Melvin took the coat from Richie and put it on himself, waving Richie away with his hands.

"Fine, fine. Maybe Courtney's working today," Melvin said. Richie's eyes widened in mock surprise.

"You on a first name basis now?" he said.

"Actually, I have a date with her tonight."

The mock surprise and grin dropped off Richie's face in an instant. He eyed Melvin with a look of distrust and said, "You have a date? With a girl?"

"Ask her when we get there," Melvin responded, smiled, and led the way out of his office, a shocked Richie two steps behind.

The end of chapters one through four.