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Synopsis: Thomas has forsaken his harem-collecting ways, but when a completely irresistible woman crosses his path, the predator within will not lie still. Can he give the beast a bit of playtime without having it entirely devour his happy life?
It surprised Thomas when all of the old Tomcat instincts arched up and growled, because he was thinking about vacuum cleaners, not sex, when he caught a glimpse of her. Three weeks before, he and Lucelena had adopted a Labrador retriever from an online rescue shelter, and they were discovering what most large-breed dog owners know — that canine love might be truly immeasurable, as immeasurable as the number of fur-bunnies breeding in every corner of their home. They were happy. Doggie was happy. Even Tomcat, lazily sleeping inside of Thomas’ psyche, was happy about the dog. Although he agreed that it was time for a new vacuum cleaner, no doubt about it.
TomCat wasn’t overly fastidious — in fact, he wasn’t even TomCat anymore. TomCat was a mind-stalker, a power happy sexual manipulator with a taste for comely women and an all-pervading lust for cum-inducing humiliation. He was “just” Thomas Miller now, a master of restraint and discipline. Completely respectable — or at least not actively criminal — he paid his taxes, no longer ate meat, and jumped rope for a minimum of forty minutes every day to stay in shape. And he was married, actually legally married, having set every one of his fuck-slaves free more than a year ago. He still had pleasant memories of the entire harem, of Anya and Laurel and Dina and especially Rockin’ Robbin, and they might feel the same way about him — although probably not — if they didn’t have giant memory holes where anything TomCat was concerned. He’d erased the months of uncontrollable and unquenchable lust from their minds the same way he had washed his hands of the entire mind-controlling cunt-slurping “Oh God do me until I burst, Master TomCat!” racket, completely and irrevocably, so that he could enjoy an ordinary life based on ordinary fulfillments.
Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. His motivations were fueled by the need to keep a low profile, just in case someone existed who could remember the creation of his abilities nearly three years ago. He’d wiped himself from the minds of every member of the psy-soldier research team, and spent months destroying any electronic or paper trails that alluded to his existence. He never found the exact reasons he was chosen as the test subject — he’d been a successful software designer in public and a failed poet in private back then, vetted to work on super-secret military projects but never a true believer in any patriotic sense. Lacking the proof to suspect otherwise, he had to assume the reality of a hidden someone, or some undiscovered piece of evidence, that even now pointed towards him and his abilities. The last thing he wanted was to be ambushed and captured by this or any other government, and used for the political aims of lesser minds. He was a pervert, not a warrior, and they had grossly miscalculated when empowering him. No one even thought to ask whether he’d rather use his powers to score pussy than topple nation states, and now all those he had found couldn’t think of anything at all where he was concerned.
So, not wanting to take the risk of losing his happy life with doggie and wife, he didn’t use his powers anymore. He changed his identity and flew below the radar. He blended in one hundred percent. He led a perfectly normal life, his Tomcat-self sleeping and gathering dust on an invisible shelf.
Well, again, that wasn’t entirely true. He still penetrated a mind here and there to keep the flow of money coming his way. And just last week he had fiddled — extreeeeemely subtly, to be sure — with the voice of a woman who wouldn’t stop talking at the movie theater. But these were such tiny and untraceable indiscretions compared to his many months of unruly mind-fucking. He’d gone on something of a sex bender there for awhile, rampaging across the globe to toy with minds and pussies on every continent, hearing his name gasped and pleaded with in dozens of languages.
It had been foolish but exhilarating; he was glad for the experience. And he could go back the rush of that kind of life if he wished to — only he didn’t wish to, and it wasn’t all about the fear of discovery. You wouldn’t think so, but fucking so many women could start to feel like a chore, and keeping harem slaves became a pain in the ass after awhile. He was a predator, not a collector, and though women with lust-drenched minds and perpetually spread legs were a far more exciting hobby than stamps or coins or even guns, they were also more difficult to store, and manage, and hide.
It was like so many other things, wasn’t it, where the “kill” and everything that followed was not nearly as satisfying as the thrill of the hunt. He wondered how many hunters actually got off on the final part of their sport, the hanging of a pickled deer’s head or some other gruesome trophy on their family room wall. No, he imagined that they were mostly as he was, attracted to the stalking, and the waiting, and the luring in. The prey excited him most when they were vibrant, still partially believing in their freedom, or unaware that they were already being studied through the telescopic sight of an enhanced mind, their habits and grace and yes, even their innocence sealing their fate. And then their struggle, that noble instinctual spasm to remain free, to overcome their runaway lust by some means, any means. That was the time to turn up the volume and enjoy, watching little Mary Morals hopelessly trying to avoid the grasp of Cumzilla; Pauline Pretty-Prude doing battle with her own mighty King Cunt.
His cock became as hard as a vacuum attachment while the memories filtered by. He needed to stop thinking like this. He had Lucelena now, and he’d used zero tricks to get her. She was his loving wife, not his helpless subservient fuckmistress, and he had promised himself to never change that. Lucelena’s psyche was an absolute no-go zone — despite the daily temptations, he didn’t even attune to her frequency to read her thoughts, knowing that one transgression would lead to countless others, robbing his Lady Love of her quality of mystery, and unpredictability. Those were the opposing desires within him, weren’t they — the lust for total control and the wish to be surprised, and you couldn’t exert that much control without squashing the element of surprise. So Lucelena remained a complete virgin, in the mind-control sense. She gave him access to the delights of her body because she loved and trusted him, not because she lay writhing on their bed waiting and begging for the cock that could extinguish, if only for a few moments, the terrible/delicious anguish of a turbo-charged auto-drip hypno-cunt.
Wow. He must miss the old life more than he’d realized, but he really did need to stop thinking like this. These thoughts were dark, while his new life with Lucelena was light, and bright, and happy, and above all else — real. Lucelena had laughed this morning about the fur bunnies rolling across the kitchen floor, seeming to love them in a way because they were parts of Beasto. A hypno-slave, by comparison, would never notice a fur bunny, not in a million years. Hell, she might barely register the dog.
His wife was normal — a rare gem, but normal, and he planned on keeping things that way. She hadn’t asked him to rush out and get a new vacuum cleaner, but he’d felt like taking a long stroll up Lexington Avenue in the crisp late winter air, and here he was in the vast housewares store, comparing uprights versus canisters, bagged versus bagless, and which models had the best attachment tools and amp power to suck dog hair away from his life.
The woman — more like a girl, really — had taken him completely by surprise. He’d only caught a flash of shapely bare legs, layered blonde hair and an innocent smile… Somehow, this time, it had been enough that he’d experienced the familiar rush of adrenaline, the prickly hardening wave of excited wonderment that accompanied the initial sighting of prey. Only he didn’t do that anymore. He’d run across dozens and dozens of women since his wedding that he might have pounced upon in the old days, but he was on the mind-control wagon now. Retired at thirty, as he liked to think of it. No longer a player. Claws not removed, but retracted.
Blonde hair bounced at a distance over the racks of cleaning supplies, moving towards the escalator to the basement floor. He couldn’t resist walking in the same direction, just to get a better view. Couldn’t resist, how ironic. But she had looked… well, really very special, special enough that he would see if he had been mistaken. Nothing more than that, no tricks. He was here for a vacuum. He would not walk out of this store with a stranger whose mind and body had been fine-tuned towards an uncontrollable lust for deep suction of another kind.
The girl was nowhere to be seen as he descended. He would have to traverse half of this floor to get to the up-escalator — they designed the stores this way, forcing you to look at the merchandise and see item after item that you really didn’t want, or need…
He was almost trying to not-see her, consciously restricting his peripheral vision, but there she stood twenty feet straight ahead, browsing through linens. Jesus Fucking Christ, no wonder she had set off stalking alarm bells with no more than a glimpse. There was a certain type that he liked to thought-rape best, and she was it, maybe more “it” than he’d ever seen before.
He stopped two aisles away, pretending to be interested in duvet covers. Incredible legs, absolutely spectacular. Their shape and sleekness put them in a class even beyond Anya’s, which he wouldn’t have thought possible. The girl knew it, too — they’d had a few warm days recently, but this was not one of them, so there was no reason to be walking around in shorts that short, not unless she basked in her own beauty to some extent. She was basically profile to him and he looked for a flaw, something to dampen his interest even slightly, but he couldn’t find anything he didn’t already love. Wonderful neck, classical jaw, and the golden hair flowed freely without being fussed over. Athletic too, you could tell that just from the legs and neck. She had one of those small, slightly upturned noses and big wide eyes, giving her the sweet and innocent appearance that he loved to subvert so much. In fact, she might look positively virginal, even with the smoking body, if not for her lips. They were cock-sucking lips, his favorite, more ripe and full than they needed to be. Voluptuous. A total waste if never fine-tuned as only he could tune them.
He felt his heart palpitating as his eyes drifted south. A red nylon jacket, zipped up, prevented him from fully assessing her breasts, but from all indications they were like her lips. It didn’t matter to him, not when every other detail was so right. Still, he was curious. He’d come down here to follow his insatiable curiosity, hadn’t he?
He moved one aisle closer, and let his mind relax, tuning in to her individual frequency. He felt foreign emotions wash into him like waves lapping at a shore. In, out, little fragments of thought. His cock hardened as it always did in these moments, the first penetration. In, out, forward, back, her mind easing closer, pulled by the artificial tide of his desires.
Destiny. Oh how delightful, her name was Destiny, Destiny Holland. Nineteen years old, a freshman in college. Confident. Intelligent. One female roommate, who had become her best friend. A musician boyfriend, with countless other would-be suitors entranced by her beauty and quietly begging for treats. She knew she was gorgeous and loved it, although a correcting ethical perspective, deeply ingrained, worked hard to keep her ego from inflating too much. Not a prude, and not a virgin, but far from whoredom. Wholesome, gloriously wholesome.
She must have felt him staring, because she turned her head and caught him in the act. Unafraid, he chose a middle path in response, neither holding her gaze nor quickly averting his eyes. She wasn’t troubled by it. She was used to being stared at; his admiring gaze left no more of a mark on her than countless others. She wouldn't even remember him five minutes from now.
Or so you think, my innocent little plaything.
Wait, stop. This was dangerous, too much. He should leave now. He really should leave, before the temptations became too… tempting. Only… Destiny. Was it a sign?
He reached in and stirred, just the littlest bit. The muscles in her splendid legs exhibited the first signs of the intervention. They tensed, untensed, and she shifted her weight, quickly shifting back. She had been assessing packaged sets of cotton sheets and pillows before, comparing patterns and colors, but now she put everything down, and wiped her brow with a forearm. Yes, it was getting very hot in here, hot enough that she slowly unzipped her jacket, and pulled it off.
He didn’t need to see anything else. What he needed to do was to walk away and never look back, but he wouldn’t be doing that now, he already knew it. Maybe this was how alcoholics felt — he’d allowed himself one tiny sip, and now he was going to have to drink the entire bottle, even if he’d regret it in the morning.
With utmost care, almost as though she were made of tissue paper, he brushed her with his thoughts. Just a gentle fantasy, opening in slow motion in the back rooms of her consciousness. She didn’t show any outward signs for perhaps fifteen seconds. Her lips were the first giveaway this time, moving as though she were chewing at the desires beginning to simmer inside. Her nipples became noticeably pronounced, the change in her breathing making it appear that her breasts, already so inspiring, were growing right in front of his eyes. He was so hard, insanely hard, and thought about pouring it on. She stared straight ahead, focused on nothing in particular, but the look in her eyes, the beauty of her expression with passion catching fire inside…
Almost without knowing that he was doing it, he bowed his head and closed his eyes in an attitude of prayer. Give me the strength to honor my vows to my wife. Give me the strength to play fair, sort of. Please. Please.
Upon opening his eyes, a new kind of game lay before him, its rules not entirely defined, but allowing him to roll the dice and enter. It wasn’t any strength from above that could restrain him — Tomcat would mindfuck the heavenly hosts into spreading their legs if given an opening. No, with a woman this perfectly tailored to his tastes, he would never be able to restrain himself if he hadn’t already decided that he would toy with her in a new way. Rather than blasting into her mind and pussy like a storm-trooper, he would keep his claws partway in, only giving her a gentle side-swipe every now and then. He might never see every wiggle from her hyped desires, and she might never see the paws jostling her psyche. He'd put a bit of distance between his cat and her pussy. Hell, he might even let her go before her life was ruined. Or not. Who could tell from the very beginning?
Withdrawing his psychic claws took every ounce of discipline, and every bit of faith in the thrilling pleasures of the games to come. Only no actual cheating on Lucelena under any circumstances, and definitely no harems.
He again made a show of caring about duvet covers, allowing the beauty’s inner heat to subside. When she looked aware, lucid, he ambled towards her aisle until they were separated by only a few feet.
“Silk sheets are better,” he smiled with his voice. “They’re more expensive, sure, but worth it.”
He’d startled her and she responded with a wide smile, her teeth all toothpaste-commercial bright even though her eyes were guarded. “I’m definitely on a cotton budget, thanks,” she said, her voice sweet like the rest of her.
Sticky sweet. Smooth as honey. As untroubled as a human being could be, even when a stranger uttered a pick-up line. Even when her body had flared with a tiny taste of desires from an unknown source.
He moved away, planting invisible seeds. She would have no idea why certain ideas appealed to her so much. She wouldn’t recognize that she had already been trapped, her fate — or destiny – now in his hands.
Retirement. Tomcat really was retired. But could retirement be a relative term? Sure it could. How many sports figures had retired, only to go back into action one last time?
He felt much more decisive upon returning to the appliance section on the floor above, purchasing a fine German-made upright designed for quick pick-ups. Lucelena would love it. She always loved new toys, of all kinds. Toys. That was a good idea; he’d take a train down to the Village and buy his wife a brand new bedroom toy, something to share together.
And soon — he guessed about a month, he couldn’t imagine the girl holding out any longer than that — he would have a new toy of his own. How roughly would he play with it, and would he ever let her see his claws? To be determined later. Some mice, by nature, were more fun than others.
“The place is going to be beautiful, Des. I guess all it really needed was a coat of fresh paint and a woman’s touch.”
“Well that’s a real one-eighty,” Destiny lightly scolded.
“I admit it — my mind can be changed, which is a plus, not a fault. Truce, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s celebrate, then. Your new place and the truce. Maybe it’s time to start cleaning up and open that bottle of wine.”
Tyler had so much paint splatter in his dark hair that it looked as though he was going grey at twenty-three. He stood at the foot of the ladder, staring with admiration up the length of her bare legs. They hadn’t discussed it yet, but she knew he was hoping to stay the night, this first official night in her new apartment.
Destiny climbed off the stepladder, backing towards the front door to assess their progress. Mister E’s paws made loud scrunching sounds on the plastic dropcloth as he ran to her, his tail doing a helicopter dance because she had finally rejoined his world on the floor.
“We’re so close to being done,” she said, squatting down to massage Mister E’s floppy ears. “And I need the room together enough to work on school projects tomorrow. If I finish cutting in at the ceiling…”
Tyler took the brush from her hand. “Go shower and open that wine, Des. And order a pizza. I’ll finish the ceiling.”
“And set up my drawing table?”
“Disappear for half an hour and don’t peek. You won’t recognize this room when the pizza arrives.”
He was being so sweet. He had enlisted a few friends to help her move, and now he was painting the living room. How many ways could Tyler make his point, that he’d do anything for her, even when he disagreed with her decisions?
He hadn’t wanted her to move in the first place and had been quite vocal about it. They’d argued… It was their first real argument, and it had been heated. Tyler pointed out that it was crazy to relocate in the middle of a semester, when all she had to do was wait six weeks for the summer break. She didn’t back down in the face of his logic, and her single-mindedness and near-fury had caught him off guard. It had taken her off guard, too, which she tried to describe to him, the feeling of not being in total control of herself. He didn’t get it, and she didn’t know how to help him to get it when she didn’t understand it herself.
She would probably let him sleep with her tonight, although something about it didn’t feel right. The move to this apartment and this neighborhood struck her as weightier than merely turning to a new page in her life’s story. Being in this apartment meant that she had entered the sequel to everything her life had been up to this point, and she wasn’t entirely sure that Tyler belonged here. It wasn’t their recent argument, and it wasn’t as though her feelings for him had changed drastically. She still thought he was cute and intelligent and all that, and even though it might be childish or shallow, she was still in love with the whole idea of being involved with a bass player in an up-and-coming band. He was definitely the cutest member of The Sticky Santorums — at some of the band’s shows she had seen groupies screaming for Tyler, and it warmed her insides, being the stunner he had fallen for like a ton of bricks. She took a certain pride in being with him, only… Only she didn't know. Doubts had begun to surface, doubts that she couldn’t quite define.
She wasn’t yet prepared to discuss any of this with him, or outright dump him. How did you break it to a boyfriend that he needed to get the hell out for no particular reason? It was almost as though she needed a second opinion: Should Tyler be in this picture for some reason? The question was aimed towards… whom? God? Destiny in the cosmological sense? She simply didn’t know.
Mister E would be a part of her new life, she knew that. She’d re-named him — his original name was Jingles, ugh — after the inexplicable feeling that had come over her when she saw him in Union Square Park. It was one of those rescue dog outreach things, where people tried to find new owners for the pets they could no longer keep. In a flash she knew that she had to have a dog, right away, as in she thought she'd go crazy if she left the park without one. Mister E was a six-month old purebred Lhasa Apso, very expensive if bought new. She picked him up and felt his innocent loving confusion and his absolute trust in his master, who was ready to abandon him. It seemed so unfair, to choose a pet and train them, and give them every indication that they were tied to you forever, only to let them go. Destiny knew she had no business adopting a dog while in college, but any rational yes/no considerations crumbled in the face of Mister E’s big brown eyes. He needed a new master, one prepared to be there for him forever, and she would be that for him. She had to, she just had to.
Just like she had to move into a new apartment. Leaving the shared space with Andrea had been easy to rationalize — the landlord didn’t allow dogs in the building, so they would have gotten into trouble, maybe even evicted. The thing was, she would have moved out regardless. This new apartment wasn’t convenient to school — she would have to take a bus or the subway, rather than just walking five minutes to class. Tyler pointed out every flaw in the space, the dingy living room paint and every other negative aspect of the apartment and the building and even the neighborhood, doing all he could to dissuade her from signing the lease. He couldn’t make her budge. She knew she’d found the right location when she saw that it was mega-convenient to a park with a dog run. Mister E would be happy here and that was that.
Tyler’s motivations were selfish anyway. He was worried that he’d have fewer opportunities to sleep with her because of the distance, nothing more. He was right, too. She needed her freedom. She needed to be right here; she was sure of it. Whether it made any sense or not was almost beside the point. She needed to live alone, on her own, right here, so she could start afresh, and begin this new chapter of her life.
Whatever that meant.
Opening her eyes at four in the morning, Destiny thought her bedroom was unusually bright. More streetlights than her last neighborhood, she concluded, plus the light of the waning moon. Tyler lay curled in a near-fetal position at her side, his breathing soft and regular. They had made love upon going to bed, and it had been nice. Or nice-ish, like always. Only this time, she kept looking at his face, even when he had been inside her, wondering whether they should be doing this together. It wasn’t unpleasant or anything — quite the opposite, really. It was just… unresolved.
Mister E stirred and stretched as she climbed out from the sheets. He jumped down from the bed, watching her movements when she donned a nightgown and left the bedroom. The front of the apartment still smelled like fresh paint, and chilly air blew in from the window they had left cracked for ventilation. Destiny went to the window intending to close it. Instead, she found herself peering out into the night, her hands stilled by an eerie sense of anticipation.
Looking down at the street, she thought she saw a shadowy form — undoubtedly a cat — slinking underneath a parked car. Otherwise the night was still, save for a few puffy clouds brushing the edges of the nearly full moon. She registered that the dog run at the corner of the park was deserted, which left her feeling empty somehow. She wouldn’t expect anyone to be out there at this hour, and Mister E looked more interested in returning to bed than going for a walk. Still, she kept peering at the empty area, aware of a strange interior longing.
As she pulled the window down, she thought she saw movement at her back. Adrenaline raced, but it was only her shadow, cast upon the living room wall by the silvery moonlight. Intrigued by her silhouette, she turned profile, pleased with the curves that leaped out at the phantom’s chest and rear. Pulling the nightgown over her head and letting it drop to the floor, the curves became more pronounced. She really did have such a fine body — thin where it should be thin, full where she wanted to be full. Tyler was entirely smitten with her, which would make it her responsibility to break things off. If she needed to do that.
Not the least bit sleepy, she went into the bathroom, closed the door and lit two candles in lieu of the overhead light. The reflection of her face in the mirror above the sink held no surprises, although she wouldn’t have been shocked to see an unfamiliar version of herself staring back from the glass. She felt different somehow, like being in this new apartment made her a new woman. But there in the mirror: Destiny Holland, all sweetly blonde and fresh, even after wine and sex. Her hair was a little wild, but three quick passes with the hairbrush fixed that. She was herself; nothing was different.
Why did it feel that way, then? And what was this sense of some impending something hovering at her door? She didn’t know. She just felt it.
Tyler's sleeping form and the warm sheets lured her back to bed after that, and she must have fallen back to sleep at some point, because Mister E’s happy morning licks on her cheek awakened her. Even more eager to walk the dog than the dog was to be walked, she rushed to the living room, totally different now in the morning sunlight. That same sun raked beneath the mature elm trees in the dog run, and she could see two German shepherds playing together, their paws kicking up a cloud of dust. She stared down at the picnic tables and benches gracing the wood chip “floor” of the fenced-in area, scanning for other occupants. A big brown Lab loped into view for a moment, and something about the scene called to her, igniting an urgency that made no sense.
She raced back to the bedroom, literally pulling Tyler out of bed and into the shower to get the day going. She stepped into the shower with him to expedite things, and needed to slap his hands away as he kept trying to fondle her breasts with soapy hands. They weren’t going back to bed for an encore fuck, not when Mister E needed to make new friends so desperately!
She counted seven dogs and an equal number of humans in the dog run when they arrived. She and Tyler entered through the double wooden gates and Mister E bounded straight into the thick of the pack, announcing his arrival. He was an instant hit, as much with the humans as the other dogs. He made people laugh, rewarding their attention with affectionate licks to the face and hands.
From the beginning, Destiny made a point of trying to remember names. Sasha, a cute plump blonde, had Geo and Bronwyn, two ball-obsessed golden retrievers. Thomas, the lean chisel-jawed guy sharing the Times with his drop-dead wife Lucelena, had Beasto, the big Lab she'd seen earlier. An overfed and completely sweet pit-bull named Chase was nearly as big as its owner, a frail older woman named Sylvia. And the cute Maltese that Mister E liked so much was named Mopster. She’d already forgotten the owner’s name — Mark, or something like that. She instantly nicknamed him “Park”, because he immediately parked his eyes on her chest and pretty much kept them there.
Destiny folded her arms over her breasts and sidled closer to Tyler, smiling lovingly at him. Sometimes, with certain unknown men, it was best to negate a first impression, so she tried to make herself look less desireable while sending the message that she was taken. It helped having another beauty nearby, and she found herself gravitating towards Lucelena, sitting across from her at the picnic table and striking up a casual conversation.
They exchanged basics — Lucelena was originally from Spain, and worked as an emergency room nurse in the city. Her husband Thomas worked at home and actually made a living writing poetry. Destiny gave a quick overview of her school classes and the recent move, while Tyler interrogated Thomas about local practicalities, like which grocery stores and corner delis to frequent or avoid, where to buy premium quality dog food and beer, the train and bus schedules.
A few dogs and owners left while new ones arrived, the turnover keeping Mister E constantly entertained, his nose busily sniffing underbellies and rear-ends. Destiny liked the similar ease with which she could approach these strangers; having a dog seemed like a great way to make new friends, like people with babies gravitating towards each other. Lucelena, especially, seemed to take her under her wing. She obviously had a big heart — probably needed one to work in a big city emergency ward.
It was while discussing the leash laws in the rest of the park that a thought suddenly surfaced in Destiny’s mind, that she must never wear jeans to the dog run again. She looked great in a tight pair of jeans, but really — her legs were her most spectacular feature, and it was a crime to cover them up. They needed to be shown off, and shared.
“You okay?” Lucelena asked.
She was, but she also wasn't. It really did disturb her that she hadn’t thought enough about exhibiting her legs when getting dressed this morning. She felt… ashamed, like she had been a very bad dog. The emotion of shame, now seen, kept intensifying somehow, swelling inside until tears began to well in her eyes. And her legs beneath the picnic table felt hot, the fabric against them horrendously rough and constricting, as though her pants legs were malicious denim pythons, squeezing her flesh too tight.
She had to get rid of them. Out, off, now. She stood abruptly, extricating her legs from the table and bench. She felt so strongly about the need to show off her legs that she was tempted to strip out of the jeans right now, right here, in front of everyone. She fought the urge, and had to fight harder because she could see it so clearly in her mind: Calmly removing her pants like it was the most natural thing in the world, and standing straight and tall in the dog run in her lace panties, everyone marveling at how fine her legs were, especially her thighs as they eased into her shapely ass at the back, her hot moist pussy at the front…
Only it wouldn’t be like that, would it? She would feel so humiliated, like in one of those nakedness dreams. She would feel so indecent and so… turned on? Yes, turned on, there was no denying it. She was feeling all turned on just thinking about it. So membrane wet. A hot fluid pipe so in need of a punishing plumbing.
“Uh!”
“Des? What’s up?” Tyler, still sitting next to Thomas, looked up at her with concern.
“T…Tyler?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not… I need to…” She clenched her teeth, fighting off the bizarre urge to strip half-naked. Her nipples had hardened, as in really really hardened. And her vagina… She had never felt like this before. So ready to get off, like a lighted rocket had somehow gotten stuffed inside.
“What is it, Des? You look really stressed.”
Her hands were poised at the button of her jeans — when had they gravitated there? They were just dying to unclasp the button and pull the zipper down. Again, with almost unnatural clarity, she could see herself shimmying her rear out from the denim, her back arched to accentuate the narrowness of her waist, the fullness and roundness of her ass and breasts. People would begin to stare. They were staring already and she wasn’t even naked yet. Strangers not even in the dog run might stop and look and admire her hot body. Eyes would open wide. Dicks — countless dicks — would get hard…
“Oh yesss…”
“Des?”
She was horny, certifiably horny, even after making love last night. “P…put Mister E on the leash, Tyler. Now,” she uttered through gritted teeth. “We need to go back home and… and…”
“And what? Are you okay?”
Oh fuck she wanted to show her body off. No one here except Tyler could even imagine how lovely she looked when stark naked. Tyler would be so fucking shocked if she stripped out of her clothing, but he would get hard, here or elsewhere; he always got hard when he saw her naked. She probably needed to break up with him, but she also liked to watch his cock grow in front of her, swelling its approval, horizontally applauding every curve…
Which, almost with the force of a thunderbolt, suddenly made her wonder why she didn’t suck his cock more often. She had a tendency to let her looks do most of the stimulating for her in bed, and that wasn’t right, it was too passive. Just last night she had let Tyler fuck her… She heard her own thoughts and could barely stand the unfairness of it. She let him fuck her. He would fuck her any time she gave him the okay, she knew that, but there was something terribly wrong with the equation. She should fuck him…
No, no, not enough. She should learn to blow him, expertly. She gave head sometimes but only dutifully and never to the point of making a guy come. It was more of a tease action than an act meant to fulfill anything. The truth was, she had something of an aversion to it — she always had. Tyler looked so pleased when she started to suck on his dick though, and then so tolerant yet… disappointed? Yes, there was definite disappointment in the air when she pulled her mouth away before he came. Why hadn’t she cared about that before?
Her eyes swept the dog run, taking in the absolute comfort these furry creatures expressed with their tongues and their desire to lick. The whole time she’d been here, one dog after another had stuck its nose into the privates of every other dog, either licking an anus or a vagina or a canine cock. Lick. Suck. Lick suck fucky duck and why had she never made a determined effort to learn how to suck cocks? She should be ashamed of herself for being so timid when giving head. She needed — needed — to learn how to like it and love it and get off on it whether she liked it or not.
“Tyler! I… need to…”
“Need to what? Des? I have Mister E. Do you want to go?”
He held Mister E in his arms, looking concerned. He thought she was spacing out or having some kind of strange anxiety attack.
Boy, was he going to be surprised.
“Oh, Des! Oh my God, that’s… Oh God, oh God…”
Tyler was always vocal in bed, but never like this. She swirled saliva all around him, taking in every detail of the feeling of this cock filling her mouth. It felt uncomfortable for her when the tip of his cock flirted with the base of her tongue. The muscles in her throat tightened up reflexively and she felt the compulsion to spit him back out.
Fuck, no wonder she had always been so tepid at this. It hadn’t mattered to her whether she did a great job of blowing a dick, but even if it had, her efforts would have been betrayed by the reflexes of her body. Mind over matter, she thought and believed, easing more of him into her mouth. She kept the muscles in her throat relaxed, not allowing them to tighten. It was that tightening in her throat that brought about the panic, and the wish to switch to another way of making him come. She needed to keep going this time, taking in more of him, and then even more…
“Des! You’re… God, Des! I’m… I’m…”
His eyes practically bugged out and she knew he was only seconds from losing it. She worked her tongue and her lips even more forcefully, inviting him to explode right where he was. And then his body began to jerk, half a step before she felt the warm spurts hitting the back of her throat. She took it in, welcoming the hot flood, pleased with herself for sucking a cock the way it ought to be sucked. His words rang in her mind as she drank his cum down: You’re God, Des.
Well, not really, not by a long shot. But she was… different. The moment she jammed his still-hard cock inside her vagina, she felt the difference, as though her pussy was somehow unfamiliar. It was like an entirely new hole, absorbing impressions of the cock inside in a new way. She felt it tighten around him like a living thing with a mind of its own, desperate to be fucked, and so giving now that she was being fucked.
When she came, that was unfamiliar too. Stronger, longer, satisfying in a way she had never imagined. It was so good, she needed to do it again. Soon. Often, or even all the time.
She felt… inspired. Wanting to know all that an orgasm could be. Wanting to know all the ways to bring the same to her lover in return. She wasn’t God, no; but if she kept making progress like this, she could at least deliver a man halfway to heaven by becoming a full-fledged blowjob goddess.
"Tyler?"
His head rolled towards her, his eyes a bit unfocused.
"Do you think you can get hard again for me? Like, right now?"