The New Order: Chapter 1 - The Event
by The Pediatrician
mg; mdom; oral; mast
Wait a minute, I thought to myself as the sound of my own mutter echoed in my ears. My voice didn’t sound… right. The pitch, the timber, it sounded wrong – almost as if a stranger were speaking through my lips. “What the fuck,” I repeated as I lifted my head from the pillow. Yes, definitely! My voice sounded higher-pitched, softer, less gravelly. It sounded familiar, so very familiar, like a half-remembered voice heard once again years after. I raised my head higher and pursed my lips, puffing in annoyance as my bangs fell back over my eyes. With an almost absentminded flip of my fingers I brushed my hair out of my eyes, and ran my fingers through the thick, unruly mop atop my skull.
Wait! Wait… THICK hair?
With wide eyes I lifted a lock of my own hair in front of my face. Longish, thick, copious hair topped my skull like an unruly mop, the color a cross between honey-blonde and a brilliant gold, thick and silky and totally unlike the short, graying buzz-cut I sported when I had dropped wearily into bed the night before. “What the fuck?!?” I repeated, almost shouting in shock, as I tugged on the hair and confirmed that yes, it was indeed mine, firmly rooted to my skull. “What the fuck!?!” I screamed, adding my own panicking voice to the cacophony outside my bedroom.
I threw back the quilt and leapt to my feet… only to practically leap across the bedroom to slam face-first into the wall, my nose smacking heavily on the sheetrock. “Ah! Motherfucker…” I hissed as I fell to the carpet below and cradled my face in my hands. I felt a wetness that dripped over my lips and tasted metal in my mouth, and when I pulled my palms away I saw the blood. “What the motherfucking hell is going on!” I shouted, hearing the higher-pitched voice in my ears. I stood and instantly noticed that my room had grown large, gargantuan, seeming to almost dwarf me in its immenseness. My king-sized bed, which normally only rose up only to knee-level, now cut me off just below my gonads. I put out a hand to steady myself, and saw a lean, strong-looking paw with small, nimble fingers, each one tipped with a long-ish nail – instead of the big meaty paw with the gnawed-to-the-quick nails I was normally used to seeing. “What the mother fucking hell!” I shouted again as I hitched up my pajama bottoms and ran for the nearest mirror.
My body felt gangly, odd, strangely clumsy and agile at the same time, and I was forced to slide my palm up the wall to find the light switch as I entered the darkened bathroom. As the fluorescent light flickered to life overhead I ran to the sink and peered into the mirror. What I saw staring back at me was the face of a stranger… until with a shock I recognized my own face, from my youth! Gone were the jowls, the sagging, gray-tinged flesh, the dark circles… Instead was a face that I had not seen in over three decades, a face that peered back at me without the hard life of job and relationship and myriad problems. A face topped with a mop of honey-blonde hair, that sported brilliant blue eyes, an aquiline nose that my mother had referred to as regal but which I thought was too hooked, and firm lips. My eyes glanced down at my bare chest, only to shoot back up to my panicking eyes with the image of the firm muscles and lacking the tiniest hint of hair. I waved my hand, and the image in the mirror matched my movements exactly. And it was in that instant I realized that, somehow, some-way, I had slept off over thirty years of my life and was thirteen years old once more.
“What the fuck!!!” I shrieked in my high-pitched, pubescent voice… and the boy in the mirror did the same with a crazed, horrified look in his eyes.
On the television, the young teenager with sandy-blonde hair that kept falling into his eyes and the cruel slash of a mouth looked down at the notes in front of him, grumped, brushed his hair off his forehead, and looked back into the camera. “Repeating our top story,” he said in his mid-range tenor, “the nation… the world… is in chaos. I’m Donald Ricketts.” One corner of his mouth quirked up, as if acknowledging the irony of a late-middle-aged, white, ultra-conservative newsreader-slash-pundit being magically transformed into an icon of that which he once railed against. “Yes, that Donald Ricketts,” he added, “and as you can see, whatever this… thing… is is not just in your own homes. Reports are still sketchy, but it appears that this… thing… is worldwide.”
He glanced back down at his notes, glanced at an unseen figure off-screen, and looked back into the camera. “At approximately 6:00 AM this morning, some… force… transformed the entire population of the world. Many people are missing – we don’t have hard numbers yet, but the count is sure to reach well into the millions, if not higher. And those who… survived? I’m not sure if that’s the correct word to use in this situation,” he added, his eyes flicking to the unseen figure just off screen once more. “Those who survived have been transformed. A brief report from Washington indicates that, somehow, every survivor of this event has been transformed into a child. The impossible has happened… and it has happened to all of us.”
“Sing it, my brothah,” I muttered from my perch on the couch. I leaned back and let the cushions swallow me, feeling totally like the gawky teenage boy I had become as I fought to stuff the swelling panic back down once again. I stretched out my toned legs in front of me, and marveled once more at the rippling muscles that seemed to flow under my firm flesh. Whose body is this? I wondered for the umpteenth time.
After the shock of my transformation had worn off I tried to calm myself down and take stock of the situation. Okay, I told myself as I stood in front of the mirror and tried not to glance down at my suddenly-teenage body, it’s bad, but it could be worse. Somehow, thirty-plus years of your life have been reversed in a heartbeat, but you seem healthy. And a damn sight more fit than you were back when you actually WERE a teenager! A quick glance back into the mirror, at the bloody nose dripping bright red fluid down my lips and onto my muscular chest, told me that that the first part may not have been entirely true. Fortunately, a couple of twisted handfuls of toilet paper took care of that problem. But then…
The next hour was something of a blur. Little things jump out… Wiping down my chin and (Flat! Ripped!!!) chest with a wet washcloth… Almost growling in frustration and putting my fist through the wall as I tossed the contents of my dresser around my bedroom looking for something, ANYTHING, that wasn’t too big to wear… Downing a shot of whiskey while the coffee brewed in the kitchen, and promptly vomiting up the amber liquid into the sink… Fighting the urge to giggle as the ancient Nirvana tee-shirt that had been oh-so-tight and way too short on my pudgy body years ago hanging from my shoulders like a billowing tent that fell to my waist… Making sure the deadbolt on the front door was locked, and wedging a chair underneath the knob to make DAMN sure nobody could get in to see me as I was… But through it all I was aware, hyper-aware, of my shorter stature, my gangly limbs, the sheer POWER of my own body. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck… The words became my mantra as panic roiled through my mind.
A small, elfin Asian girl who didn’t look to be a minute over six years old darted into view on the television and slapped a sheet of paper in front of Donald. “A… We have an…” He paused, read the sheet closer, and peered off camera. “Are you fu… kidding me?” he asked, his voice going up a full octave and his tanned skin actually paling just a bit. “I…” Donald took a deep breath, shook his head, and peered into the camera. “This Event seems to defy all logic,” he finally said. “At this time, researchers at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta are estimating that approximately seventy-five percent of the global population is now just… gone. The survivors seem to be primarily female, under the age of twelve. Conversely, those males who survived are in their low-teens. And the vast majority of those who have disappeared were under the age of forty.” He paused for a second, sighed, and slumped back in his chair. “We are definitely entering some strange times, people. I don’t know what the future will hold for us, only that we need to be strong. And I’ve got nothing else at this moment… why don’t we go to commercial?” He paused as someone spoke to her through the barely-visible ear-bud, and his eyes flashed as he sat up straight. “I don’t know, who the fuck cares?” he snapped. “Just go to a fucking break!”
The backdrop of the newsroom and Ricketts was replaced by a commercial featuring a late-middle aged man driving a pickup truck, and I fought to stifle a wave of hysterical laughter as I realized that the ad was selling Viagra. Not gonna be a lot of call for THAT stuff in this world! I thought with a smirk as I stretched. I glanced toward the curtained window as gunshots echoed outside my apartment – a steady POP-POP-POP that seemed to go on for almost fifteen seconds. As the shots faded away they were replaced by the sound of distant sirens. From deeper inside my apartment building I her a distant crash as something heavy fell over, and a part of me knew that my neighbors were caught up in the same transformative trap as I.
I paused and muted the television, suddenly alert, as I heard the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of footsteps in the hall outside. When I had first moved to Richmond I had chosen an older apartment building and picked a unit on the second floor – in part because it came with an okay balcony, but mostly because I didn’t want people peeking into my windows as they did on the first floor. The only downside was that the age of the building and the so-so construction made DAMN sure I heard every footstep in the hallway outside. But now, instead of cursing the intrusion of the outside world as I normally did, I found it to be a blessing because it gave me a head’s-up. Tiny feet charged down the hallway, past my door, and skidded to a stop. A moment’s pause and then the footsteps came back… and a moment later someone was pounding on the door!
“Who… Who’s out there?” I asked in a voice much more higher-pitched than I would have liked. “Don’t try anything,” I added as I picked up a rather dusty lamp from the small table next to the door, “I’ve got a gun!”
“Michael!” screamed a tiny voice. High-pitched, falsetto, and filled with terror, it was a perfect counterpoint to the small fists battering my door at my chest level. “Open up! It’s Rachel! Please, you’ve got to help me!!!”
“Rachel?”
I put the lamp back down and undid the deadbolt, and the second that I cracked the door a tiny bundle of blonde hair, gangly limbs, and pink cotton charged through the portal. “Close it close it close it!” the little girl practically screamed as she ducked behind the end of the couch and peered over the leather arm. “I don’t know if he followed me up here, so quick, close and lock it!”
“He? Who?” My mind was awhirl at this sudden turn of events. I quickly glanced down the hall in both directions, and saw nothing but the dim lighting of low-watt bulbs shining on threadbare, industrial carpeting – along with the other three doors of the apartments on this floor, each closed tightly. “With a shrug I closed my door, threw the deadbolt, and slid the chair back into place. “What’s going on, Rachel?” I asked as I took a couple of steps back. “Who’s after you?”
“Shhh!” she hissed, and we both fell silent. After a couple of tense seconds I heard more footsteps outside – these heavier, more forceful, almost angry in the way they charged down the hallway. Both of us held our breaths as the whatever-it-was outside ran partway down the hall and paused. We waited, my eyes firmly fixed on the door and I assume hers as well, while the thing outside almost growled… and then the thing charged down the hall to the other stairwell, crashing back down to the first floor.
Two sets of lungs emptied, both mine and hers, as we relaxed from our fright. “Jesus, what WAS that?” I asked as I turned. It took me almost half a second to find my guest – Rachel was still crouched behind the couch, concealing all but the top of her blonde hair and a pair of brilliant green eyes from my view. “It’s okay, you can come out now, he’s… It’s gone now.”
“I can’t,” she replied in a terrified voice. “I can’t let you see me like this.”
“Rach, c’mon,” I replied with a pained grin. “Look at me,” I added as I waved a hand to indicate my own body. “It’s not like I’m not ready for anything. I am kind-of aware of what’s been happening.”
“O… okay,” she finally said in a doubtful voice. “But you have to promise not to laugh!” Slowly, she stood up…
In order to understand both her fear and my reaction, you have to understand Rachel… the “pre-Event Rachel,” that is. Rachel was a twenty-something woman who lived in apartment 1-C, one floor down from mine. I didn’t know her all that well, as we both moved in different worlds – we’d meet down by the mailboxes every few days, exchange pleasantries, and go our separate ways. She was a somewhat tall-ish woman with a fit, curvaceous figure, golden hair that cascaded down her back, and brilliant green eyes – and she wore some of the sluttiest outfits I had ever seen on a human being. I knew she was a bartender-slash-artist, that she entertained a string of dubious, douchey boyfriends, and that she was a party-girl. All in all, she reminded me of an Eastern European porn-star willing to do anyone and anything for an American dollar… and I had basically put her out of my mind.
The Event had transformed her just as it had evidently changed every other survivor, and the tiny figure that crept out from behind the couch bore little resemblance to the sex kitten-next-door I vaguely knew. Rachel was now only slightly above four feet tall and had lost all her curves, resembling more an awkward colt than a curvaceous woman. She still sported her long blonde hair and brilliant green eyes, but her hair was much lighter, bordering on straw-colored instead of gold, and her eyes were a hue more green, more emerald than grass. But most shocking was the fact that her chest was now flat… instead of the firm, succulent D-cups she seemed to delight thrusting into people’s faces, there was nothing. It was obvious that her transformation had definitely put a crimp in her wardrobe – she had evidently charged up to my apartment straight from bed, and clutched her skimpy, oversized panties to her waist with one hand as she held up the spaghetti strap of her pink tank-top to her shoulder with the other. I had to fix my face in an emotionless mask to keep from laughing at the logo emblazoned across the front of her top – after all, it’s not every day that you see a pre-teen girl allowing her attire to proudly proclaim to the world that she was a Cum Dumpster in flowery, glittery letters.
“That… is quite a, ah… different… look for you,” I managed to choke out.
“You promised that you wouldn’t laugh,” she said in a humiliated tone of voice as she peered down at my feet.
“Who’s laughing?” I replied. “Honestly, you don’t look bad.”
“Really?” she asked in a breathy voice filled with hope.
“Really. Maybe a bit… young. And you need some clothes that fit. But other than that, you look fine.”
“I didn’t have much choice about this,” she said, giving her ill-fitting attire a little tug. “I had to get out of my apartment fast.”
“Right.” I gingerly sat on one end of the couch and motioned her to the other, and Rachel gingerly took a seat on the edge of the cushion, her tense mien making her seem like a skittish kitten ready to bolt at the harshest word. “So what happened?”
The blonde pre-teen sighed, a half-puff of air through her pursed lips. “I’m still not sure. I got home late last night after my shift at the bar, and went to bed. When I woke up I looked like…” She trailed off and nodded her head to indicate her current appearance. “After freaking out for about half an hour, I tried calling for help, but nobody picked up the phone. And then…” Rachel shuddered and almost seemed to shrink into herself as the memories came flooding back. “And then there was this crash, and there was this BOY climbing in through the door to the patio, and he kept looking at me, and I just KNEW that he was going to… That he wanted to r…”
“Hey, that’s okay, you don’t have to say anymore, I get it.” I leaned forward with the intention of placing a calming hand on her leg but Rachel shied away, almost seeming as if she wanted the shrink into the cushions and vanish from sight. “So… What do you want to do now?”
“I…” She looked down at her knees, her face veiled by her long hair. “I… think that I really, REALLY need to pee,” she managed to choke out. I peered at her for a second and finally noticed that she was squirming in her seat and blushing furiously, looking for all the world like a scared, embarrassed little girl. Which was exactly what she had become, I supposed.
“Down the hall, on the left,” I said with a wave of my hand towards the dark passageway behind her.
“Thanks!” Rachel beamed a brilliant, adorable smile, hopped off the couch, and skittered down the hall, her tiny, flat backside roiling under their satin covers as she held up her panties as she moved. As for me, I shook my head in wonderment at just how complicated my life had become and took the television off mute.
Thirty minutes later, we were both on the couch in front of the television. Rather, both of us were at extreme opposite ends of the couch, staying as far away as possible and eyeing each other with extreme suspicion. I’m sure that my transformation looked just as odd to her as hers did to me – a muscular, lean, hard, young teen who kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. For her part, Rachel curled up in the corner, her thin, coltish legs folded under her and the oversized tank-top arranged to cover as much flesh as possible. We both knew the other kept glancing at us, and we both ignored the sheer weirdness of the situation, content to live the ongoing lie.
Fortunately, we had the crisis news reporting to keep us distracted from both the growing chaos outside and the bizarre state inside. “The President did not survive this event,” the harried young man said in a weary voice that belied his young age. Ricketts glanced back down at his notes for a split-second before returning to the camera, the corners of his eyes crinkling in stress-filled pain. “Nor did the Vice-President, either Speaker, or many in Congress. A short message from Washington indicates that the leader of this great nation is now the Secretary of the Interior… who happens to be a little girl. With pigtails.” His mouth opened and closed for a moment, and Rachel and I glanced at each other as Ricketts groped for words.
“I… Pigtails.” Ricketts shook himself and continued. “Scattered reports indicate that chaos reigns in every major city as people are breaking down from this transformation. Last reports indicate that Boston, Los Angeles, London, Paris, Moscow, Beijing, and Tokyo are in flames. We have lost all word out of Australia, and Italy reported growing unrest before severing all communications. One bright spot seems to be Tel Aviv – indeed, the entire nation of Israel. We have received word that the Knesset has declared a state of emergency, closed the borders, and has mobilized all reserves to maintain order.”
“Oh, he must fucking love that,” I muttered as I shook my head.
“What?” Rachel asked.
“Ricketts hates the Jews,” I explained as the newsreader continued to recite his litany of pain. “Well, maybe hate is too strong a word… It’s more like he blames them for America’s economic woes. The ‘Vast Jewish Conspiracy,’ I believe I once read he called it. Racist asshole,” I added for emphasis, the disgusted look on my face making my opinion clear.
“Oh.” Rachel was silent for a second, and then added in a quiet voice, “I’m Jewish.” I looked over at the green-eyed blonde with surprise. “Well, my parents were. I wasn’t… especially… good. At being a Jew, I mean.” She looked me in the eye, blushed, and looked down at her bent knees. “My mother was always after me to go to temple, but I never had the time.”
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“New York. Well, they were there yesterday. I tried calling them this morning when I first got up, but nobody answered.” She glanced at the phone, at me, blushed once more, and looked back down. “Where are yours?”
“Dead.” At my simple, one-word reply she peered at me through her veil of hair. “They died of old age a long time ago. I’ve been on my own for years.”
“Ah.” We let the topic drop and turned back to the television, where the network was promoting the idea of beautiful twenty-somethings in little clothing cavorting at a Caribbean resort.
“I didn’t know you were Jewish,” I said lamely.
“Well, I am.” Rachel squirmed across the cushions until she was sitting right next to me, not saying a word but implying that she found my presence reassuring. “There are blonde Jews running around, you know.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I was fairly sure you weren’t particularly religious, given the way that…” My glance at the declarative on the front of her tank top made towards what I was referring clear, and her eyes narrowed slightly. I quickly realized just where my mouth was going and promptly headed it off at the pass. Christ, a little voice in the back of my brain commented in disgust, with all the crap that’s going on you’re STILL trying to be PC?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Rachel said as she crossed her arms over her ribs, effectively blocking the declaration on the front of her top from view. She leaned her head forward until her long hair draped over her face, hiding her from my eyes. “You probably think that I’m just some sort of cheap slut. I work in a bar, and I’ve got… I HAD big tits, so I’m probably some sort of fuck-machine who spreads her legs for everyone.”
“No, I don’t think that at all!” I said hotly. What is this little bitch’s problem… “Although you have to admit that you do make it easy for people to believe that.”
“What, ‘cause I’ve got a hot body and I’m not afraid to show it off?”
“No, mainly because you wear stuff like this,” I replied. I tugged on the hem of her tank-top, making the root of my belief clear. “After all, I don’t recall ever calling you a Cum Dumpster. YOU’RE the one who declared it boldly to the world.”
“Hey!” She lifted her face back up and shrugged her hair back over her shoulders, fixing me with a glare. “You’re a guy, you don’t understand what it’s like for a woman! We always have to make sure that we live up to whatever reputation we have, we can’t actually live life like we want to live it!”
“That… makes absolutely no sense,” I shot back with a scowl. “Besides, with what’s happening, it’s ‘problem solved.’” I reached out and flicked one tiny, little-girl nipple through the sheer fabric covering her chest. “You’re not exactly a woman anymore.”
“I…” Her mouth flopped open but no sound emerged, and she gaped at me like a fish. “I… I never…” A bright flush flowed up her pale neck to her cheeks, and she blushed furiously as she dropped her hands to her lap. “I might not be a woman,” she said quietly as she twisted her fingers, “but not much has changed.” She took a deep breath, glanced at me, and then looked back down at her hands. “I was still a virgin, before…”
“Wait, wait! I’m calling bullshit,” I replied hotly. “With a body like you have… had… and the skimpy clothes you wore, you never actually put out?”
“No,” she answered quietly, her voice low and embarrassed.
“No ‘maintain my virginity’ by doing butt stuff? No blowjobs?”
“Ew, no! None of that.” She took a deep breath and almost seemed to shrink into herself, becoming even smaller beside me. “When I was in high school I gave a couple of hand jobs, but it freaked me out so much that I never went any farther. I made up a boyfriend to keep people away, and dressed like a slut so that they wouldn’t notice how stupid I actually am.”
I watched her hands squirming in her lap, her defeated attitude, her humiliated tone of voice, all of it annoyed me to no ends. “So basically, what you’re saying,” I said hotly, “is that you’re nothing but a cock-tease who refuses to put out. You work guys up, and then never actually follow through.”
“I… Yes,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
I grunted as I sat back against the couch. “Figures. I… Hey. What are you doing there?” My eyes had dropped back down to her lap, and I suddenly realized that while her hands were still moving I couldn’t actually see her fingers. “Are you fucking masturbating?”
“Yes,” she replied with a moan of pure humiliation. She seemed to shrink even smaller if possible, curling into a tiny hunched form as she worked her pre-teen pussy. “I’m… just so fucking… horny!” Abandoning all attempt to hide her action she pulled her mound up with her left hand while her right savagely rubbed her slit, the action causing the strap of her tank to slip off her shoulder, exposing more of her smooth, flawless chest. “Jesus, what’s wrong with me?” she whimpered. “I feel like I’m on fire!”
I don’t really remember what I was thinking as I watched Rachel pleasuring herself next to me. I don’t think that I was consciously thinking anything at all, but instead felt pure, primal emotions. I was so very angry at the girl seated next to me, a rage stemming from her whining, “oh pity me” attitude, a fury that was screaming at me to slap her, to smack some respect into her, to force her to stop crying. Another part of me wanted to bundle her up in my arms, stroke her hair, and let her cry herself out, to protect her from all the things making her feel bad. Still another part was aroused at her actions, and wanted to pin her to the couch and breed her like the slut she obviously was. My mind felt as though it were wrapped in cotton, and all I could do is feel as my world shrank to the sight of the prepubescent girl in the billowy tank top rubbing her clit, the smell of her delicate female form and her dripping pussy, the awareness of the heat of her body as she was curled next to me, and the separate sounds of her whimpers and the wet squishes emanating from between her thighs warring for attention in my ears. I was aware of the effect she was having on my body, if my raging erection was any indication.
This effect was not lost on Rachel. “I… I have to do this,” she whispered as she wriggled out from under my arm. With one hand she tugged down the waistband of my sweatpants and let my cock stand firm and strong in the dim light of the room. The tiny blonde squirmed next to me until she knelt on the couch with her knees a few inches apart. She didn’t hesitate… as she lowered her face to my raging erection she slipped one tiny, delicate hand beneath her oversized tee and began to finger her pre-teen pussy. At the same time she wrapped her fingers around my cock, her smooth palm pumping my prick while holding her face just inches above the tip. I lounged back against the cushions as her warm breath washed over my tool, enjoying the sight and sound of the little blonde girl pleasuring both me and herself at the same time. In mere seconds she fell into a rhythm, stroking her tiny slit, pumping my cock, gasping, and chanting “Yes, yes, yes,” all in perfect synchronicity.
I slid my hand down her back and slipped it beneath the hem of her shirt, running my palm over her smooth, flat ass. “I thought you said that you were still a virgin,” I said with a smirk as my fingertips probed the crack of her ass. “You certainly seem like you know what you’re doing!” I added as the tip of my middle finger poked against her tightly-puckered asshole.
Her face darted down and I felt her kiss the tip of my cock. “I… I am…” she moaned. “I don’t know what’s happening! All I know… is that… these feelings…” She let her half-hearted denials fade as she resumed her work, hypnotically entranced by my throbbing prick as she worked her hands even faster. She groaned and wriggled her hips as I pressed my digit into her ass, hunching back in wanton pleasure as she lowered her face even closer to my cock. “Oh God, I’m gonna cum!” she gasped.
“Me too,” I grunted as I felt the pressure building in my balls. My free hand shot out and grasped a handful of her hair, holding her head in place as my body instinctively overrode the objections of my brain and held her in place in preparation of the gift I was about to give her. “Are you… sure you want to be that close…”
“Shut the fuck up!” she snarled, her eyes flashing as she looked at me. The tip of my cock brushed against her lower lip as she added, “Just do it! I want it, I need it! Do it! Do it! Do it!” I heard the wetness from between her legs as she fingered herself, her hips rolling as she fucked her stiff digits – an action that only served to wriggle my finger deeper into her ass. “Do it do it doitdoitdoit…” Her flushed face was twisted into an obsessed, determined mask as she chanted, her hands a blur as she squirmed in my lap and sought to draw out what she needed…
A single flick of her tongue was all it took, and with a groan my balls emptied themselves. The first blast shot up Rachel’s face and left a snail-trail of gleaming spunk from her forehead down to her lips. A second splattered across her left cheek and oozed down the side of her face like a glittering slug. The third left her with a sperm moustache, and the fourth dribbled onto her puffy lips. And through it all her tongue kept flicking out, lapping at my issue, a low, lust-filled moan of pure pleasure accompanying each taste of my seed.
After I dumped what felt like a full pint onto her face, she seemed to lose all interest in my pleasure. She sat up on the cushion, her fingers still buried between her legs and her tiny nipples poking through the fabric of her shirt. As I watched she raised her free hand to her face and smeared my spunk towards her mouth, her tongue squirming around her shiny lips in an attempt to lap up every single drop. Each taste sent a shiver through her body, and tiny spatters of girly-cum dripped onto the cushion from between her legs as her pistoning fingers speared her hairless pussy. I could see her knuckles moving as she worked her immature slit, two stiff digits sliding easily around in the confines of her tight sex. She murmured a low, satisfied noise, almost sounding like a contented kitten as she feasted on the sticky remains of my issue. And then she shuddered as she came, a long, roiling orgasm that seemed to suck the very life out of her. Rachel fell back against the couch, her lips parted as she gasped for air, her fingers still buried in her slick trembling snatch, her face shiny from the remnants of my explosion. Her straw-blonde hair was stuck to her cheeks and forehead, partially from the sheer exertion she had expended in her attempt to feed on my seed and give herself pleasure, partially from the abrupt facial I had given her. She didn’t make any move to cover herself as she pulled her fingers from her well-fucked, hairless pussy and sagged into the cushions beneath.
I sat on my end of the couch as she lay against the opposite arm, my blue eyes locked on her green, both of us stunned by the sheer animalness of her lust. “I… I…” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she snapped her legs shut as she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what came over me!” she wailed.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I tried to say in a calming tone. It was weird… now that I’ve gotten my rocks off all my annoyance towards her had dribbled out of me like water down a sink drain. I wriggled my hips and tucked myself back into my sweat pants. “It’s been a really weird day for everyone, and it’s only natural that… Our emotions…” I let myself trail off, realizing that I really, really had no idea what I could say to make her feel better. All I could do – all I could THINK to do – was place a gentle hand on her bare foot, letting the weight of my palm act as some vague form of reassurance.
“Don’t!” she wailed as she shrank away from my touch. “Oh my God, I am SUCH a fucking WHORE…” She leapt from the couch and dashed back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
I rose to follow her, a sick feeling in my stomach as I thought about what just happened, but the moment I gained my feet three things happened. First, a titanic explosion roared outside the apartment building, strong enough to shake the few pictures that hung on the wall. In almost the same instance Don Ricketts vanished from the television screen, to be replaced by an emergency broadcast system logo. And third, my phone rang, a loud trilling that I did not expect that stunned me for a second.
>>Chapter 2>>