“I don’t get it,” Lance admitted for all of them. “A comic book?”

“More like pulp fiction,” Tony corrected. “Those characters were popular in the nineteen-thirties, or maybe even before. And from the format and wear, it looks old enough to be authentic. That issue might even be a collector’s item.”

The cover was split into two color illustrations, one of The Shadow, the other of Doc Savage. Cindy kept flipping through the contents, her expression glum.

“Not a collector’s item,” she declared. “Not even a real issue. Every word inside is pornographic. There aren’t even any complete sentences, except for here, where it tells us that the cover art is by Max M. Umspurm. She’s just screwing with us.”

“But it’s a clue,” Lance objected. “She specificwy mentioned that.”

“A tie-in to the Tarantino movie?” Alana asked.

“Maybe she’s tewwing us that she’s going to mc us to a pulp,” Lance countered.

“Or treat us savagely.”

“It would be deeper than that,” Cindy spoke softly, her eyes raised, looking inward for memories. “Doc Savage and The Shadow… What do we know about them?”

“I don’t remember squat about Doc Savage,” Tony said. “The Shadow was a crime-fighter who could make himself effectively invisible. He was a magician, I think, a master of illusion. There’s our tie-in right there.”

“But we aweady know that MagicThunder can do those things,” Lance objected. “Why give us a cwue that’s behind where we awe?”

“More importantly, a clue to what?” Cindy posed. “Clues are for finding treasure, or working out the identity of the murderer in a detective story. If MagicThunder is presenting us with a mystery to solve… Well, what exactly are we supposed to be figuring out?”

“Her wocation?” Lance asked.

“Maybe her identity,” Alana offered.

“Colonel Mustard up the ass in the library with a candlestick,” Tony joked.

Nobody laughed. They all fell silent, knowing they weren’t getting at it.

“Yourselves,” Emma whispered.

All heads turned.

“Emma?” Cindy asked, joining her on the floor. “Are you there?”

“Emma, sweetheart!” Tony exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. “Emma! We’re here, baby!”

Cindy held the girl’s face in her hands and studied her eyes. “Emma? Is it… you?”

No answer, just a sweet smile and a soft nod of her head.

Tony and Cindy locked eyes, communicating months of questions and hopes. “I just don’t know, Anthony. It could have been her thought, or… I just don’t know.”

“Buy you a beer?” Lance asked as they neared his cross-street. It had begun to drizzle and the pavement glistened with the colored lights of the city.

“I drink scotch.”

“So? Have one with me. Heather won’t arrive at the bar for another hour or so. You can leave before she arrives or stay and meet her, your choice.”

Either this Heather chick was a total bombshell, or Lance was crazy. He’d been lying senseless and MagicThunder cum-shocked on a barroom floor some six hours before, and here he was, keeping a date despite all the weirdness.

“Oh hell, why not?” Tony finally answered, turning left. He circled the block and found parking right in front of the bar where Lance would meet his date. Choosing a booth near the front where Heather could find them, they ordered their drinks.

“Wait a minute,” Tony said, remembering. “When our waitress puts your glass in front of you…”

“I’m betting I’m cured. Cindy got rid of the Elmer Fudd thing, so I’m assuming the jizz-on-the-glass command is wiped away, too.

“What if you’re wrong?”

“The bathroom is right back there,” Lance motioned. “If I’m compelled to line the rim of my glass with cum, I guess I’ll have to duck in there in a hurry. I’m fucking having a beer tonight, either way.”

Turned out that Lance was right. Cindy had given him fifteen minutes in private before they all called it a night, and her magic must have been up to the task. Strictly verbal mumbo-jumbo? Tony had seen her talk some of MagicThunder’s victims out of their troubles, but sometimes she had to touch them, almost Spock mindmeld-like. And sometimes… He felt his dick stir, just picturing Cindy opening wide to give David’s new oversized hot rod its first lube job.

“I’m hoping I’m cured of that other problem, too,” Lance said. “I mean, Cindy has been… helpful…

Tony drank. Lance wasn’t referring to his new dimensions, which must feel weird as shit. He was talking about a longstanding MagicThunder intervention, that every drop of his cum belonged to Cindy. The poor guy hadn’t even been able to whack-off since the previous summer, his balls manufacturing nothing but pressure and disappointment even when some girl tried to beat the odds.

“I’m really grateful to Cindy, of course,” Lance went on. “The things she’s done for me…”

“Should perhaps remain private,” Tony advised, cutting him off.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pointing out that it’s been a mixed bag of pleasure and frustration. I must be maturing, because I want… you know, sex that’s about passion. Cindy is so incredibly sexy, but what I get is more like therapy, and I’m a little tired of being mercy-fucked. Maybe now, after what MagicThunder did to me in the bar today… You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to ask this girl Heather out, but there was no point in going for it when… you know…”

“Lance, I’m not your keeper, but after your run-in with MagicThunder today, shouldn’t you wait? Cindy might have been right about not inviting anyone too closely into our lives right now.”

“I know I’m pushing things, Tony. But fuck, it’s like having a race car with unfixable engine problems in the shop for eight months, and then you get this call that someone just gave you a new set of wheels, and it’s an even hotter car. And Heather is already in my life, even if not intimately. We work together, for Christsake. I’m having a beer with her, and getting to know her outside of the workplace, that’s all.”

A low rumble of thunder, just discernible over the sounds of the bar, rode piggy-back on Lance’s words.

“I sure hope that isn’t you-know-who,” Tony muttered. “It’s early in the season for a thunderstorm, isn’t it? And I don’t remember rain in the forecast.”

“Fifty percent chance,” Lance corrected, "and maybe even a little snow at some point. “Still, I hope Cindy’s already asleep. She tries to hide it, but storms still trouble her.”

Thunder and lightning had played a pivotal role in Cindy’s sex descent the previous summer. She believed that MagicThunder could actually master the weather within a certain radius, some connection between human beings’ bodies and the greater environment making such a thing possible. Or maybe one silly writer had typed up the idea somewhere, and MagicThunder had read it, making the physics irrelevant.

“I keep getting this creepy feeling,” Tony said. “Events are moving fast and we haven’t figured out one thing about the game MagicThunder is playing. She has all of that power and we don’t even know what direction we’re supposed to be facing to confront her.”

“I hate to keep repeating myself, but we don’t stand a chance, Tony, not unless she wants us to have one. After what I witnessed this afternoon… She could walk through that door and have our dicks drilling holes in the ceiling if that’s what turned her on.”

“What scares me is that we’re at the mercy of a teenager. She must have a real name, you know, and a life outside of this sex power stuff. If she was a bit older, I might try to figure out what makes her tick, but we can’t know whether she even understands how much trouble she’s causing.”

“So what would you do if you had all of that power? Just imagine it, the ability to get any woman you ever desired, making them feel whatever you wanted them to feel with nothing more than a thought. Wouldn’t it be… irresistible?

“Probably. But we have no need to contemplate things with that kind of weight, Lance.”

“Cindy does. She has to wrestle with this stuff every day.”

“Not really. She can’t do even a fraction of what MagicThunder can do. It’s hard for her, but it isn’t that hard.”

Lance studied his glass. “Sometimes I get this feeling that Cindy isn’t being entirely straight with us. Sometimes I think she can do more than either one of us would suspect.”

A loud peel of thunder, and the sound of the rain beginning to pour outside.

“Tell me something, Tony: Do you ever wonder how Cindy voted?”

“Which election?”

“Not an election. I meant in the reader’s poll that determined her fate. There were seventeen votes, if I remember right. One of them had to be hers.”

Tony had studied the poll, and even wondered how he would have voted. It was a cruel trick, the way MagicThunder presented Cindy’s plight as a fictional event, placing her immediate future in the hands of a bunch of unbelieving strangers. MagicThunder would have known that the horny readers who get off on mind-control fiction would wish to see a young woman further toyed with. Consequently, Cindy got voted right into the clutches of her tormentor.

He ended up reading all of MagicThunder’s mind-control stories, too, in an effort to get into the head of the sick fucker who had turned his daughter into a perpetual sex fiend. He learned that she was both intelligent and eloquent, this girl who called herself MagicThunder. He grudgingly had to respect her writing abilities, too. Despite how he thought he should feel, he couldn’t help getting an erection every time he read the sex scenes in her works.

“So how do you think she voted?” Lance intruded into his thoughts.

“I don’t have a clue. I’ve asked her, too. Cindy says that she can’t even remember how she voted.”

“And you believe her?”

“Why shouldn’t I? MagicThunder made her forget all sorts of details about the time they spent together. Why should this be any different?”

“I find it strange that MagicThunder gave Cindy her abilities.”

“Oh?”

“There were options like that in the poll, you know, various degrees of power versus autonomy for people to vote on. Cindy is a victim — we’re all victims, I can see that — but I wonder sometimes whether MagicThunder did Cindy a favor by entering her life.”

“A favor? You have to be joking.”

“I’m not. Cindy had fantasies about being controlled and being a controller. It’s why she liked to read those stories to begin with. MagicThunder gave her the real-life experience of having her mind invaded by another, but she also allowed Cindy to experience what it was like to have all of that power flowing through her. That second night last summer, when every person in the bar became a sexual playtoy for both Cindy and MagicThunder… She was a walking sex-goddess, Tony. It was just fucking unreal the way she could make people do almost anything. In that way, wasn’t Cindy again being given what she wanted?”

“Lance…”

“And then, when it was all over… Well, who’s to say that Cindy didn’t wish for the powers she has?”

“So you think Cindy voted to be given mind-controlling powers from the get-go, even if it came at the price of having MagicThunder continue to fuck with her?”

“In a word: Yes.”

“She uses her powers to help the people she fucked with, Lance. People like you. And people like Emma.”

Silence, this one definitely awkward. Tony downed the contents of his glass. Lance had never formally apologized for deflowering his daughter, and Tony was undecided on whether he should or not. Lance had been two steps removed from personal responsibility, controlled by Cindy, who was being controlled by MagicThunder. Lance’s true feelings about Emma’s current state were currently unfathomable, but he had enjoyed the ride back then, fucking Emma with magical fervor in the back seat of his car. Any man would have enjoyed that ride, and if they denied it, they were lying.

“I, um… I can’t really imagine what it’s like to be in your position with this,” Lance said.

“I can’t judge anybody, Lance. Not you, not Cindy. I’m not even sure that I can judge MagicThunder about what she did back then. Now however… She could probably fix Emma with one thought, or one touch. And because she hasn’t, or won’t, I probably hate her with all my being. Is that enough of an answer about where I am with things?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Tony stated.

“Very,” Lance answered.

“I understand. But we’re all in this together, Lance. I never forget that.”

“Good. So bravely moving forward, here’s another question: What do you think about what Emma said back at Cindy’s loft?”

“I think it was her. It was Emma.”

“Not MagicThunder, inserting the word into her mouth?”

“No, and Cindy agrees. She and Emma have gotten… really close over the months, as you know. They’re pretty connected.

“Okay,” Lance went on. “But what about what she said? That what we’re trying to find clues about is ourselves? What do you think she meant?”

“Beats me. If it was MagicThunder speaking, then I have no idea what she was getting at. If it was Emma… Well, I could interpret it like this — that Emma realizes to some degree that she’s trying to find her way back to who she was before.”

“I think it’s another clue,” Lance disagreed.

“Telling us what?”

“I’m not sure. That we get in our own way, maybe. That it’s our fucked-up attitudes about sex that give MagicThunder all of the advantages. If we could just get a handle on our drives…”

“You’re starting to sound like Cindy, dissecting every thought and motivation.”

“Lots of people sound this way, and not only students of psychology. You don’t ever look inside of yourself and question things?”

“Not much, no. I’m painfully simple, I think. I get up in the morning and want somebody to fuck me, and I look forward to a drink way too much, probably because I know getting fucked isn’t likely to happen. I love my daughter and grieve for the end of my marriage. I wish for world peace but live with the certainty that people will try to kill each other all over the globe. A little bit of hope mixed in with a lot of cynicism. Simple. Ordinary.”

“I’m not sure I believe that. I remember Cindy saying one time that everyone alive is like an onion, with an infinite number of layers to peel before they can understand what lies inside at the core. She said that a real study of psychology was like turning the insides out.”

“Peeling onions makes me cry.”

“Yeah, me too. Although I think that might have been her point.”

“Your friend needs a week in the tropics,” Heather assessed, the moment she and Lance were alone. “He’s sweet, but stressed.”

“Tony has a lot on his mind, yes.”

“Is he a cop? He looks like a cop.”

“He was a cop. He’s a private investigator now.”

“A private dick, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Lance laughed. “And every now and then he lives up to the name. Most of the time he’s pretty cool, though.”

Heather poured her beer into a cold, sweating mug, poured too fast so that she gave it too much head. Stop that! she admonished herself, still surprised that she had made the private dick joke. She licked at the rim of her glass before it could flow over, her tongue suggestively traveling the entire circumference.

Dammit, what was it about Lance that had her behaving this way? Her pussy had nearly gone ballistic back at The Drowning Flamingo, sending her straight to her bed where she fingered herself like a crazy woman, going at herself feverishly and screaming so loudly that her two cats ended up cowering in the bedroom closet. All she could see in her mind was Lance with a gargantuan cock beckoning to her from between his legs, the vision ripping one incredible orgasm after another from her depths.

She should have been sated from all of the auto-play, but as their rendezvous approached, the aching in her tunnel returned, growing fierce, growing wet, and then wetter. She almost compulsively dressed to kill for their date, donning a form-fitting teal blue dress with a revealing slit up one side. Seamed stockings and a push-up bra completed her look, which was the look of a seductress. Which was odd, because the whole cab ride to the bar she had this sense that she and Lance were playing a game of cat and mouse, and for the first time since meeting him, she wondered whether she might be the mouse.

Lightning flashed outside, momentarily rimming Lance’s hair and shoulders in cool blue light. He definitely had a different look in his eyes tonight. More focused, more… hungry. She looked out the big windows at the continuing downpour, and could feel his eyes on her breasts, as though his staring could physically brush her flesh beneath her dress. Her big nipples hardened as they did only during sex, creating resounding shivers throughout her body.

I’ve got to fuck him, an insistent thought appeared, quickening her pulse. She raised her beer mug to her lips, allowing the inside of her arm to stroke her right nipple. Her breath caught and her legs became restless under the table.

“You seemed hesitant when I asked you out,” she said, her words tumbling out too quickly, her fingers active on her glass. Lance looked at them, and as though they had a mind of their own, her fingers pressed, and stroked, and suggestively slid along the mug’s handle. I have to stop this, she thought, but she didn’t. Her heart beat too fast beneath her tits and she crossed her legs down below, rubbing her thighs together.

“I was a bit shocked, yes,” Lance answered. “It was hard to imagine that a girl like you wouldn’t have some place to be on a Friday night.”

“A girl like me?”

His eyes swept her body, somehow including her shapely legs and the naughty slit up the side of her dress, all down there beneath the table. Down there, wiggling and jiggling, her thighs rubbing together, her pussy beginning to feel like it could catch fire from the friction.

“Well just look at you, Heather. It only made sense that a girl as beautiful as you would be out on the town on your night off.”

His “you’re such a hot babe” line wasn’t as smooth as it could be, but she felt herself blushing all the same. Blushing felt good, it sent heat into her cheeks. Hell, it sent heat everywhere. She uncrossed her legs and lowered her free hand, letting it slide down her hip, seeking the slit in her dress and access to her friction zone, her very problematic loosy goosy oh so juicy blast furnace of a pussy.

“Hah!” she breathed in backwards, a tremor cutting through her body the second her fingertips reached their destination.

“Hah?” he asked.

“I, um…” she began, her voice sounding thin. Her fingers began to circle, oh God she had to stop letting them circle, only she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, because it just felt too good, better than ever, better than sin. She felt a pressure in her depths and recognized it as an orgasm, forming deep inside her tunnel like it was cargo waiting to be delivered out into the light. Not possible! she thought. An orgasm didn’t come into existence only to wait in the wings, torturing her body with thrills and chills, as though stalking her body from within.

“Heather?”

She wanted to cry out. She wanted to jump across the table and plant her pussy on Lance’s mouth, and have him tongue her lurking orgasm out of its cave. She felt the muscles in her face fighting to remain calm, even though she no longer cared whether she showed her pussy passions or not. Her entire body felt like it was poised to blow, but only if the shy explosion inside was coaxed out, drawn forward to cheers and screams in her creamy reamy dreams…

“Heather? Are you okay?”

She shut her eyes and tried to focus. Focus focus, hokus pokus, maybe Lance's dick will stroke us... She tried to make the urges in her depths either detonate or go away, but they weren’t cooperating; in fact, they were rebelling, getting worse, her need growing, the pressure building, her situation becoming desperate.

“Heather? What’s the matter?”

“E…excuse me a minute, Lance? Little girl’s room?” Her tone of voice was squeaky and sounded like begging. She had to concentrate hard to get her fingers to stop playing with her pussy before standing. Her thighs quivered as she left the table, and she began to pray, because she really didn’t know whether she would make it without falling to her knees to start fingering her slit with both hands. She ignored the admiring stares all around, the many eyes sneaking up the naughty slit in her dress as far as eyes could go. She set her eyes on the door to the women’s room, staring hard at the doorknob, making it her goal, trying to walk quickly without creating any friction between her legs. So hot, so horny, oh God let me cum, gotta cum, gotta go, gonna scream, gonna blow…

“Oh no!” she cried, finding the door locked, some other patron inside. She closed her eyes again, closed them tight and tried to hold on. What was happening to her? How could she feel this way after already venting her passions in her bedroom? She’d been lying in her bed with masturbation in her head, needing something thick, Sir Lance-a-lot’s hard dick…

The door opened and she collided with the woman leaving, she was so desperate to get in. Inside, the bathroom was cozy, elegantly tiled with blonde wood flooring. Blonde like her, blonde like her trimmed pubic hairs, which must be nearly soaked.

She locked the door, then immediately leaned her forehead against the cool tile surface of a wall, her hand slipping up through the slit in her dress. She hissed as her middle finger found wet heat through her silk panties. She wiggled her finger and nearly jumped to the ceiling. She was sooo hot, and already sooo close…

This was crazy, playing with herself with Lance waiting out there. But she had little doubt that she could do it quickly, maybe even in record time. A jolting release of her lurking monster orgasm, then a few more minutes with Lance to set up another date. A lightning quick cab ride home and then playtime with Mr. Magic, her trusty ten-inch vibrator, primed with fresh alkaline batteries that could outlast even her worst itches.

Closing her lips tight to stifle her moans, she slipped her fingers over the waistband of her panties and dug in, her other hand cupping her left breast. She pinched her nipple, rolling the engorged flesh between her fingers, rolling it and squeezing and oh yes her finger dancing at her hot wet entrance, slipping in, sliding out, slipping in deeper, wiggling up, around, oh fuck yes deeper, now out, feathering, dabbing, sideswiping…

The bathroom light went out just as the lurking orgasm began to slide forward, the wave beginning to break inside. She was milliseconds from exploding…

Don’t move, she heard in her ear, hot breath tickling her neck, a hand at her throat. Every cell in her body seemed to scream to a halt. Her orgasm, right there at the moment of detonation, caught and held steady, an explosion bathed in an impossible stillness.

Heat, the voice whispered, fingers playing with her curly hair.

Oh God, yes! Blazing…

Wet.

Yes! Dripping, oozing…

Crrraving… A hand cupped her breast, and squeezed hard.

Please, please…

She felt her dress being lifted, her ass and the backs of her thighs squeezed, her hand that had been playing with her cunt roughly pulled aside. She was spun around, her ass and the back of her head against the wall. Without knowing why or how she was doing it, her feet inched out on the wood floor, her thighs opening. She dimly saw movement in the darkness, the even blacker shapes of hands grasping at her dress, lifting it higher.

She wanted to cry out, to scream, to anything, but there was only stillness outside, with hot wet napalm and pulsing desperate craving within. Her panties seemed to vaporize, as though they had been made of flash paper. Only there was no flash, just the darkness and oh God she was open, her pussy uncovered, craving a thick anything, needing it, dying for it. Oh God please, please, whoever you are, slide something deep inside!

She didn’t understand how it could be possible, but she felt breath on her clitoris, a tongue dabbing at both nipples simultaneously, hands traveling up her spread legs, tracing their shape. Lips kissed her left shoulder, and then the hot breath in her ear again, more excited now, a quickened panting whisper that heightened her hot chills.

Open up wide, need something thick and hard inside…

The sensation of her pussy being spread open should have had her screaming in a way that would bring the walls down, but her mouth and voice didn’t work, there was only her pussy, opening so wide, making room for the huge shape pushing its way in. Her entire body erupted with hot shivers, her inner walls parting as they had never parted before. The hardness entering her was massive, primal, reaching in and pulling her fire to it, bathing her heat in an even greater inferno. Oh God, how was she even still alive? She was blazing, consumed without combusting…

Only Lance can set you free, the voice slipped inside her ear, her brain freezing with heat.

Oh God yes, Lance and his hardness, pointing at her from under the table, his missile seeking her silo, seeking these wet walls…

You’ll die without his hardness.

She wanted to scream, to beg, to find Lance and literally cram her pussy around his hard cock.

Want him, taunt him, use him, abuse him, eat him, beat him!

“Yes, yes, anything! I’ll do anything!”

The thing inside slowly withdrew, leaving her cunt so hot and empty, excruciatingly empty, in desperate need. The door opened and her attacker slipped out of the darkness, into the bar. She couldn’t even move her eyes to see what he looked like.

“Everything’s okay?” Lance asked. “You were gone for awhile.”

Heather, panty-less, could feel her pussy undulating under her dress, her labia actually moving in an inward rhythm, as though already trying to suck him inside.

“You look… strange,” he said, his voice wary.

What a genius. Her thighs trembling, she slipped into the booth beside him, her left hand immediately going to his crotch, finding the shape of him and squeezing.

“Hey!” he cried out. “What are you… Oh fuck. Heather, you’re…”

An image flashed through her mind, of Lance lying naked beneath her spread legs, the biggest cock she had ever taken on rising up towards her dripping cunt like a filling thrilling flagpole. She felt the muscles of her inner thighs begin to quiver, as though his hard long gondola was already poised right at the entrance to her love canal. Like her pussy was calling his name down there. Like another word would have her ducking under the table to pull his dick out and suck it, suck it like she’d never sucked a dick before, suck it and keep him on the edge, her tongue attuned to him like a tuning fork, feeling every...

“Heather? Heather?”

She heard her name called over and over again, the sound like the rushing of her blood, or the rapid beating of her heart, or the swollen throbbing that raged through her pussy, demanding Lance’s meat, drawn to it, magnetized by it, her needy hole desperate for his greedy pole. Her thoughts felt all crowded together, like they’d been pushed aside into a back room in her brain, replaced by a pulsing beat that alternated between fuck rhythms and suck rhythms.

“Greedy, needy, size, prize, magnetic lies…”

“Heather? Oh shit! You… aren’t yourself! You’re in trouble!”

Her fingers began to pump the already huge hardness in his jeans. Lance tried to push her away. His eyes showed true alarm but his resistance was half-hearted, because his brain was starting to drain into his cock. She pressed her body in close, shoving her tongue into his mouth while she felt him hardening in her grasp. Her hand assessed his size, vibrating with applause when his shape filled her palm, far overfilled her palm. Hot saliva flooded her mouth as she realized just how big he was, big and fat and straining in his pants, giant meat, a tasty treat, time to suck and fuck and eat…

His hips slid on the bench chair like he was trying to present a moving target, but she focused, unbuttoning his jeans clasp, reaching in and grabbing hold, pulling him out.

“Hey!” their waitress’ voice erupted up and behind her. “You can’t do that here!”

She pretended not to hear, bending down and taking her first taste of Lancemeat with her tongue, coating the hot flesh of his pulsing pole with saliva, coating it for throating it…

“Hey! Stop that!”

The waitress’ hand clutched at her shoulder, pulling her off of her meal. Heather raised her head and turned, her tongue still out, her eyes blazing.

“Oh fuuuuck,” she heard Lance whisper.

She ignored Lance and his fear, regarding their waitress until she saw something shift in the other woman’s eyes. The waitress released her tray of drinks with a crash, her hands slowly moving up to squeeze her breasts, fallen beer spattering her legs.

“Head in a lap, my tits are on tap!” the waitress cried out to the others in the bar, her hands frantically unbuttoning the front of her blouse. “Oh God, what am I doing? Who am I screwing?” she cried.

Another waitress rushed to the stricken one, her mouth automatically seeking a bared nipple.

“Tits on tap!” somebody whooped. “Tits on tap!”

“Heather! Heather!” Lance shouted into her ear. “We have to get out of here! The whole place is going to explode!”

He pushed, grabbing her arm and forcing her out of the booth, pulling her through groping shouting patrons stripping out of their clothes. Their lust was sexy but she only wanted Lance, wanted his cock, needed it so badly that she would die without it. Hot Lance meat out on the street, let him guide her, cum inside her…

Cool rain blew sideways into his face the second they were out the door. Heather, towed behind, growled like a beast, shaking her blonde mane in the rain. She was almost exactly like Cindy had been last summer, her body and psyche consumed with MagicThunder-induced super-lust that happened to be aimed in his direction.

It was like a replay in some ways — the blonde great-looking babe he’d most like to fuck suddenly craving his dick, and willing to do anything to get it. And her lust was contagious, or even worse. What she had done to their waitress, just looking at the girl and turning her into a rhyming pussy-puppet…

It hadn’t made any sense to him the year before, although his dick had quite willingly responded to the promise of scorching sex. His mind had almost shut down, perhaps not even wanting to know how it was that someone as hot as Cindy Hutton could want him so badly, or coax so much excitement and cum out of him, blowing and fucking him like something out of the word’s most intense wet-dream.

And now Heather, whom he’d wanted to plug for weeks, only he couldn’t, because his dick had been cursed. At some point, MagicThunder had whipped Heather’s speech into rhyming patterns, her hormones into a lather, mind and body focused on one thing, and that thing was newly huge and feeling like it would rip his jeans in two if something didn’t happen soon.

Two women suddenly burst out of the bar, tearing at each other’s clothes, their limbs entwined as though they were trying to physically merge into one being. A quick glance in the windows was all it took to know that whatever had taken hold of Heather in there was spreading like wildfire.

“Heather!” he called out, grasping her shoulders while trying to propel her down the sidewalk. He would fuck her — there was no way his new stretch limo of a cock wouldn’t cruise into her tunnel— but he had to get her away from everyone to keep the conflagration from widening. She resisted, letting her legs go limp, trying to drag him down to fuck him right on the sidewalk in the storm.

“Wet on wet, a Heather weather fuck-event!” she moaned, working at his zipper again.

Someone shoved him in his back and he went down. His butt skidded on the slick sidewalk and he looked up, saw Heather standing alone a few feet away, unzipping the back of her dress, the wet fabric clinging tight to her fabulous figure. Who had shoved him? Several pedestrians had stopped in their tracks several car lengths away, unsure of how to react to Heather’s outdoor strip-tease and the noises coming out of the bar. No one had been close enough to have touched him.

Something slapped him in the face, even though there was nothing there. As his hand went up to massage his cheek, his cock was roughly pulled out of his pants, an unseen mouth swallowing it, hot saliva swirling all around.

“Holy fuck!” he shouted, the entirety of his massive rod rapidly pulled down an unseen throat. It was MagicThunder, right here, playing invisible games with his dick!

Lightning flashed and he cried out, catching a fleeting glimpse of a transparent presence crouching over his crotch. An even brighter flash of lightning burst overhead and he simultaneously felt current running through his dick, thrilling chilling vibrating current mixing with a darting tongue and sucking cheeks, and oh God, oh fuck, the way she was sucking him, his dick being blown by an invisible tornado of a mouth, barometric pressure filling his balls, making his ass tighten… He was going to fucking blow, the curse was definitely lifted and he was going to shoot big time…

The invisible mouth released its wet grip an instant before he came, his cock spurting up into the downpour like a milky fountain challenging the rain. He groaned, shuddered, his head jerking back and banging onto the concrete. Hot hands grasped his towering rod and he looked up, saw his dick swinging back and forth sideways, MagicThunder shoving it side to side as though it was a meatronome.

Flustered, frightened, drenched and somehow still incredibly horny, instinct took hold and he kicked hard, making contact. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he grasped Heather’s hand and pulled, pulled with all his might, pulled like their lives might depend on it.

“We have to get out of here!” he pleaded, forcing her along. “My apartment is just around the corner! Come on! Come on!”

She stumbled, but stumbled forward, her hands reaching down to grab hold of his bouncing cock along the way.

“Bigger than Mister Magic!” she cried up into the heavens.

Lightning flashed in response, an angry boom of thunder vibrating the air all around them. Heather tore at the front of her dress as they ran, somehow removing her bra. He saw it fall into a stream of running rainwater at the curb, its big upraised cups like two conjoined pyramids swept away in a flood. Finally reaching his vestibule door, he managed to get his keys out of his pocket and shakingly worked the lock.

“Give it to me!” Heather demanded, jumping up on his front and fastening her ankles behind his back. The door opened and they fell into the building, landing at the foot of the stairs leading up to his apartment. Heather instantly grasped the head of his vast rod, guiding it into the gaping maw of her need.

“Not yet!” he whispered, clamping a hand over her mouth and hoisting her up the stairs.

She tore at his wet clothing the second they were inside his apartment door, but he managed to secure the fire lock. Unless MagicThunder could walk through walls, they were alone, and relatively safe.

She pulled him down to the floor and he was instantly half-imbedded inside of Heather’s dripping pussy, chills running all over his body. He had seen how huge he was over at Cindy’s, had even measured himself to fix the reality of the miraculous transformation in his brain. His cock was nearly twice the size it had been before his afternoon encounter with MagicThunder, but Heather looked like she could easily handle him, her head thrashing, her eyes burning, her enthusiasm so great and reasoning so far gone that she was jamming him in, her cunt unbelievably tight and hot and slippery.

“Oh God, yes!” she cried. “Vast, blast, cum in fast, thrust and plunge and make it last!” she chanted, and he took her rhyming words as a permission slip, thrusting into her at full gallop, feeling himself diving into depths that he’d never before reached.

Heather gasped, moaned, fucking yowled like a banshee, wrapping her strong legs around his back, pulling him in as deep as he could go. Her first orgasm brought a strange quiet to the room, to her features, but the second one had her screaming, the third contorting her beautiful face in the strange look of anguish that actually signaled ecstasy. He felt her pussy walls going crazy inside, and he shot his load, groaning.

But nothing changed. She wanted more and he gave her more, his cock still hard, her need still fierce. He shifted their bodies as he pumped in and out, fucking her from behind, squeezing her beautiful tits tight, feeling her ass slapping against his abdomen.

He fucked the living hell out of Heather, fucked her again in the hallway to his bedroom, ate her hot red pussy at the foot of his bed.

“Stop, pop, swallow every drop, grunt and groan while riding him on top!” she somehow proclaimed, climbing on board and corkscrewing him from above, then dismounting just in time to drink every drop when he shuddered his release again.

“Thunder and rain, pleasure and p…” Heather recited, licking him clean before positioning her pussy to take him inside again.

He wondered how many times he could cum. He wondered how many times she would make him cum. He wondered what the hell MagicThunder had done to her to make her willing and able to do everything she was doing. And — perhaps perversely — he hoped that whatever MagicThunder had done, she was in no hurry to undo it.

It was while walking up the steps to his Astoria townhouse that Tony decided he shouldn’t have been driving. One drink with Lance had turned into two, and then he’d ordered a third when Heather arrived.

“Lucky Lance,” he sing-songed. Heather was an aspiring actress and drop-dead gorgeous. She looked somewhat like Cindy, in fact — long blonde hair, a tight body with legs to die for several times over, and the kind of mouth that might haunt him in his dreams tonight. Maybe Lance needed a girl like that after he’d been poking a gorgeous love doll like Cindy. How else could one move on from someone that beautiful?

He dropped his keys as his mind wandered where it shouldn’t be. He bent down to pick them up from the doormat and felt the rain find the opening between his hat and his jacket, tickling at the back of his neck. He had to concentrate far too hard to slip his house key into the lock.

“Fucking wasted,” he muttered, opening the door. “Ooof!” he grunted as a hand shoved him hard in the back, sending him sprawling into the entryway. He flipped over, surprisingly quick and alert, reaching into his jacket to draw his Glock.

Only there was no one to point his weapon at.

“Aw fuck!” he growled, knowing what that meant. “Show yourself, you bitch! I’ll…”

Some invisible something knocked the gun from his hand. He caught a glimpse of wet footprints intermixed with his own on the wood floor, just before the door slammed shut, throwing everything into darkness. The button, he thought, simultaneously trying to cover the thought to hide it from her. He’d had them installed in all of their apartments, an interconnected alert system, just in case there was no time to even pick up the phone.

An invisible hand slapped him hard in the face as he tried to rise, and he went down again. He felt something tearing at his pants, energy being pumped into his balls and cock, heating them and instantly giving him the hardest erection of his life.

Something that might have been an elbow slammed into the middle of his chest, and all of the air left his lungs. He writhed, needing oxygen at the same time that phantom lips surrounded his throbbing dick and blew.

“Aaaaahhhhh!” he shouted, suddenly able to breathe again, a steaming wet wind suffusing his whole body. It was like he could feel it happening in high definition, feel the mystery mouth and the mind behind it vibrating his sperm banks, causing anything and everything within him that was connected to sex to bellow and hiss.

“Fucking hell!” he shouted, too much energy flooding into his dick all at once. His ass-muscles clenched and it was like he couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was the pressure, so much pressure, months and months of wishes and desires come to life all at once.

Beg me, he heard in his mind.

“B…bitch…” he answered between clenched teeth.

Beg! he heard again, and the pressure went through the roof, like a whole lifetime’s worth of orgasms lined up in his dick, stacked end to end, all ready for takeoff. Demanding takeoff. Dying for takeoff.

“I… won’t… beg…” he managed to speak, right before his body began to spin on the floor. The wet mouth still surrounding his dick pressed in, a tongue sliding up and down as he went round and round, his cock like a pole at the center of a merry-go-round. JesusfuckingChrist! He was being given a spin-job, the pressure in his cock and balls centrifuging out to other parts of his body, some impossible spreading sending hot sex energy up into his mind. His thoughts turned milky, as though they were saturated with cum, swimming in a sea of real or psychic cum, like he was poised to have a braingasm, the world’s first braingasm, insisting, wiiishing, waaannnting…

“Ah God, please!” his lips were made to say by billions of screaming brain cells, and then it came, thrusting from the top of his head down and down, rushing for the exit, rioting and stomping to get out.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…”