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This story is a bit wordy and fairly long, so if you are looking for immediate gratification, you might want to look elsewhere.

The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between these character and events and any real person or events is strictly coincidental . . . and pretty darn impressive seeing as it is a science fiction story. Do not reproduce or copy this story without the consent of the author.

This story is based in an alternative universe, where history took a different course than the one we are used to. In this world, the creatures which we now believe to be legends have walked alongside man for the duration of our existence. Vampires, werewolves, wizards, witches, sorcerers, and a host of other beings share our world.

The following story contains, in one chapter or another, lesbian, homosexual, heterosexual, anal, group, sci-fi/fantasy, non-human, and BDSM sexual activity. There may be some erotic horror in there somewhere as well, but I haven’t made up my mind.

———————- ————————

“Ouch!” Officer Shamira Carswell of the Atlanta Police Department had just bashed her head against something harder than itself, something both she, her immediate family, and fellow officers would have claimed was impossible. She had awoken with a start in this darkened little bit of nowhere and instinctively tried to sit up. She had about five inches of clearance. In her addled state, she confirmed her first finding by trying again, increasing the ache in her forehead.

‘Yep,’ she thought. ‘Five inches.’ Stretching out with her arms, she actually found less room there, barely able to move her massive arms. The problem with having competed as a female bodybuilder was that she took up more space than she should. Her shoulders were brushing up against the edges of . . . whatever the hell it was she was in. ‘Trunk of a car? No way. If it was, then it is, then I’ve got to get me one because its really . . . comfortable?’ Yes, it was comfortable. It felt like padded silk, cool against her skin.

“Okay,” she said, trying to calm her suddenly electric nerves. “What were you doing?” She couldn’t remember. “No, I can. I was . . . damn, I was down off of Commerce Drive,” she said, remembering the landmarks flashing past her police cruiser. “Got out to get a drink . . . stopped and talked to that homeless girl. She was too damn young to be on the streets.”

Shamira didn’t think the girl could be a day over eighteen, but she had a look about her that made her seem older. Slim girl . . . looked like a Native American. Must be what life is like for her. She seemed awfully nervous, even though Shamira wasn’t the type to hassle someone for being down on their luck. She’d told the girl how to find a shelter and even gave her five bucks to buy something to eat. Her mother always told her that was one of her problems and why she still lived at home. Charity was all well and good, but “throwing her money away on those good-for-nothing dregs” was something else. Finally she just left the girl alone.

She was almost back in her car when the call came in that gunshots had been reported at the Casa De Sade, a club of “interesting” repute. She was easily going to be the first officer on the scene.

She had shown up at the club (it was right next door) and had marveled at the interior. Probably not appropriate for what she should be doing, but she couldn’t really help it. Everything in the place was black. Black leather sofas, black hardwood floor, black curtains, a black bar, black leather . . . a lot of black leather. It looked like an office party in hell. But there were some things that weren’t black. The cages were gold. The chains and shackles hanging from the walls appeared to be gold as well. There were people in black leather chained to black walls with gold chains.

Her attention had been pulled back to what was important, namely the five men and women with guns who had drawn down on a small group of revelers. The intended victims looked strangely defiant. One of them, a far-too-handsome man with blond hair and frigid blue eyes stood in front of the others, almost daring the would-be assailants. For a moment, she had looked at him and he looked back. He smiled. Then her attention was back on the guys with guns.

Five of them, one of her; no backup for considerably longer than it would them to pull all their triggers at least once. She had told them to freeze, told them to drop their weapons, put their hands on the wall. She got their attention anyway. They didn’t freeze. They didn’t drop their weapons. Guess what they did when she told them to put their hands on the wall? They didn’t do that either. They did shoot at her though. That was nice of them. Nice because it gave everyone else a chance to run while she dove for cover.

She glanced around the sofa she had taken shelter behind and saw that all the intended victims had vanished without a trace. Other patrons of the fethiye escort club were cowering or sneaking out the front door. Shamira got a look at the face of a big guy holding a 44-caliber revolver. He really didn’t look happy.

He had said something about “taking care of the witnesses” and that had turned Shamira’s blood to ice. And to make matters worse, she had noticed that there was a girl chained to the wall who was so scared she’d pissed herself. Whoever was supposed to be responsible for her was nowhere to be seen.

Shamira was a crack shot. She’d actually qualified for S.W.A.T., but that glass ceiling was as solid for her as whatever she’d just nailed her head against. Her bosses were intent that the overly muscled female stayed writing parking tickets and breaking up keggers for the remainder of her natural life. But accolades didn’t mean as much as skill at that moment, so she’d rolled and blasted the chains off the wall. The girl ducked. The bad guys saw Shamira. The bad guys shot Shamira.

“No,” she whispered. “They had to have missed.” But they hadn’t missed. Shoulder . . . face . . . both arms . . . finally, a chunk of her neck. Then the darkness had come, but not just for Shamira Carswell. Darkness came down from the ceiling and ate most of the bad guys, but the big one made a run for it. He paused long enough to point his gun straight down at what was left of Shamira’s head. Something had tackled him . . . something that smelled of dirt and whiskey . . . something street. The last bad guy was gone, but Shamira’s last gaze fell on an old-young face. She had given that girl five dollars . . . why was she there in the club? The girl looked towards something out of view, then smiled. She pulled out of sight as the darkness caressed Shamira’s eyes. Then her neck shifted . . . started to tingle.

“Crap,” she said, her brain swimming as memories returned. She kicked out, her foot striking a sternly unforgiving surface. Her hands pounded on the roof. She was lying down in a silk lined box in total darkness after being shot multiple times. “A fucking coffin?!” She tried to steady her breathing. They had buried her alive? How had she lived through that? How is it that no one noticed?

She wanted to cry, but nothing came. She wasn’t normally the crying type, but being buried alive made for a convenient excuse. She had survived all of that just to die down here? Her parents and her brother and her sister hadn’t noticed she wasn’t dead? She’d miss watching football on Sunday?!

‘Calm down,’ she thought. ‘Need to get out of here. Brute strength probably won’t work.’ She felt around the coffin, trying to find anything that might help. ‘Damn it, they should build these things like car trunks with convenient escape hatches. What now? Break through somehow? Tunnel to the surface?’ She was so thirsty, which shouldn’t be too surprising. How long had she been down there?

*skrik skrik skirk*

‘What the hell is that?’ She placed her ear to the coffin lid. It sounded like scratching, scraping.

*skrik skrik skrik*

Muffled voices. Then the coffin lurched. Someone had found out . . . someone knew. She was going to get out! The coffin was lifted upward and then . . . no one opened it. She tried the lid again, but it was latched shut. She banged against it with both hands.

“I’m in here! I’m alive! Someone let me out!”

She felt the coffin slide over something and then stop suddenly. Next came a low rumbling, and the coffin slid again. She’d been loaded into a truck and was getting moved? Why? Her heart seemed caught in her throat. She’d never been this terrified in her life. She’d been more comfortable when she was back under the earth.

There was an eerie quiet in the coffin, despite the distant murmurs and low rumbling of tires on asphalt. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Then she realized that her blood should be pounding in her ears but it wasn’t. She put her fingers up to her neck to get a pulse. Nothing. To be more specific, it was nothing over nothing. ‘Not possible. This isn’t possible.’

After what seemed like an eternity, the vehicle stopped and the coffin was moved again. She heard metal twisting and some wood splintering. Then the coffin lid popped open and staring down at her was —

“Homeless girl?” Shamira whispered.

Sure enough, it was that angelic face with a sly expression looking down from above. Then another face appeared: she’d seen that face before too. He had looked right at her at the club. He had smiled. Shamira took that opportunity to pass out.

———— —————–

Some time later . . .

———— —————–

Shamira absolutely did not want to open her eyes. She was still surrounded by silk so she figured that she was still in that coffin. Except that her eyelids seemed warm. She remembered seeing someone or someones . . . a beautiful Native American homeless girl and a lip-bitingly gorgeous blond haired alanya escort guy.

‘Wait. The silk, it’s against my skin!’ She opened her eyes and saw a lovely crystal chandelier-looking thing. She was in a bedroom the size of her parents’ whole house, and it seemed decorated in the same black and gold scheme that the club had been. She was in some superfreak’s bedroom. And she was naked. That fact just caught up with her. She was naked between black silk sheets in a strange room.

She yipped and pulled the sheets up around her artificially large bosom. One of the problems when becoming a bodybuilder was loss of breast mass, so she had compensated with fake tits when she turned twenty-one. That left her with a set of measurements that one would think would garner her more attention, namely 38DD-26-34. During competition, she had gotten her body fat down to nine-percent, but otherwise she kept it up at twelve percent.

She had 15-inch arms, 16-inch calves, and 23-inch legs, and she could bench press more than most of the guys she had worked with. When she had been younger, she had encountered a need to grow stronger. She’d admired the way those women looked and how they seemed strong enough to take on anything. Women like that could stand up to anyone; they might have been able to help Jimmy Fisk.

But boys, apparently, didn’t like a woman who could out arm wrestle them. They didn’t like “barbarian” women. It was not that she was ugly or an eyesore. Not at all. Put a face picture up on the dating website, and she got plenty of responses. She had the high cheekbones, perfect skin, and big amber eyes that got people’s attention. She had long black hair that she kept in a single braid most of the time. Her mom thought she was pretty. But getting that second date just never seemed to happen.

She felt something cool against her arm. No, not against . . . IN her arm. She was hooked up to an IV that was dripping some red liquid. She felt vomit trying to build up inside her. ‘That’s not –‘

“Blood?” asked a voice from the door. It was that Native American girl, but she hardly seemed homeless. She was slim but not emaciated, standing just a bit taller than Shamira’s five-foot-seven-inch frame, she seemed mostly leg. And those legs were exposed. She wore a loin-cloth of leather that hung down to her knees, but wasn’t more than four inches wide. It covered her privates on the way down, but her toned legs and hips were on display. She wore leather moccasins that reached up to just below the knee, and a strange semi-circular neck dress made of strips of wood and beads. She wore black lipstick and heavy black eye-liner.

‘Okay, I get it. You’re some kind of weird goth babe,’ Shamira thought. ‘A delicious looking –‘ She stopped that train of thought. She preferred guys, she had to remind herself. She’d had thoughts about what it would be like to be with a woman all her life, but she’d always managed to push that part of her down somewhere and tried to drown it. She was enough of a freak without worrying about that. Or the many other dreams and fantasies that had graced those secret parts of her mind that she never shared with anyone.

The girl strode forward, a sway in her hips that demanded attention.

“Where the fuck am I?” Shamira said, looking around instinctively for a weapon of some kind. She didn’t want to start a knife fight with this woman, though she wasn’t behaving particularly hostile. Actually, she was smirking a bit. She sat on the edge of the bed, and Shamira was pretty convinced the girl wasn’t wearing a damn thing under that loincloth.

“You,” the girl said, “have the most unfortunate timing of anyone I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot.”

“Who . . . the fuck . . . are you?”

“Watch it, potty mouth. A little decorum wouldn’t hurt, seeing as we just saved your life. Okay, technically you saved one of ours first and maybe saved Shane too, but that doesn’t change the fact –“

“Who . . . the . . . heck . . are you?!”

“That’s better I suppose,” the woman said. “My name is Clara Yellowtail, and I’ve volunteered to be your guide into your new life.

Shamira blinked. She blinked again. “Oh-kay,” she muttered. “I’m drugged. That’s gotta be it. What the hell is this?” she asked, looking at the IV.

“Blood.”

Shamira blinked. “Blood?”

“You’re going to freak out on me aren’t you?”

“Blood?!”

“You lost a lot when you died, and we weren’t able to give you anything extra until after your funeral.”

“Died?”

“You’re good with the one-word responses thing.” The girl smiled. “Can’t say I blame you. You’ve gone through a lot this week. It was a lovely funeral, by the way.”

“DIED?!” Shamira pulled the IV out, applying pressure so she didn’t start bleeding all over the place. This was too wrong, and she wanted out. She wanted to go find her parents and her siblings and her nephews and tell them everything was okay and that there was a misunderstanding. manavgat escort She hadn’t died. So why had she been in a coffin, and why hadn’t she had a pulse?

Clara sighed. She wasn’t doing this right. Shane had offered to guide the girl, but she HAD to volunteer. Something about the way she had been so kind when most people wouldn’t have been, even though she didn’t have any idea of what had really been going on. And she had done her job, even though it had cost her her life. Compassion, pride, loyalty, and she was smoking hot. Some people might get turned off by a build like hers, but not those that dwelt in this house. The strength in that body and the skill and dedication it took to sculpt it were both admirable.

“Do you remember what happened?” Clara asked. “Before waking up here? Let’s start with that.”

“Uhm . . . okay. Can I have some clothes first?”

“Why?” Clara cocked her head. “With a body like that, why would you ever WANT to wear clothes? You’re certainly not obligated to, at least not around here.”

“Hey, I don’t know what you and whoever else is around here like, but I’d really feel more comfortable with something to wear.”

The other woman shrugged. “We can find you something.” She walked over to an intercom unit, pushing a button. “Monique?”

“Yes?” (click) came a new voice.

“Our new guest was looking for something to wear.”

“Why?” (click)

“I asked her that. She seems to think she should be clothed.”

“Wait . . . do I get to measure her now?” (click) The woman on the other end sounded eager.

“Measure? For what?” Shamira asked.

“I don’t think she’s ready for that quite yet,” Clara said, sounding amused.

“Damn! I have some good ideas for that body!” (click)

“Don’t we all.”

“Hey, I’m sitting right here!” Shamira said. She felt like she was blushing a bit, and no less confused than she had been earlier.

“Okay. Sweats it is,” (click) the other girl replied, sounding quite down.

“Measure for what?”

“Oh and Monique, when you arrive I expect that you will show me the respect I deserve.”

The girl at the other end spoke again, and this time she sounded demure. Shamira hadn’t known what that sounded like, but this was it. “Yes, Mistress Clara.”

Clara turned and sat back down. “We have a slightly unusual dress code around here.” She paused, looked Shamira in the eyes, and asked again what the woman remembered.

Shamira decided there was really no reason to lie or withhold information, so she recited what she could. Everything from seeing Clara on the street to seeing faces staring down at her from outside her coffin.

Clara went over to the dresser and grabbed a handheld mirror. “You were shot in the face, correct? And the neck? Your vest protected your chest, but not anything else.” She handed Shamira the mirror. “Where are the wounds?”

Shamira was confused, but took a look regardless. There was a light indention in her neck that she hadn’t seen before, but that was it. Her skin was flawless and smooth everywhere. “That’s not right. It should take months to heal from stuff like that.”

“You died four days ago. You were buried yesterday. That’s fast healing, even for us,” Clara explained.

“Us?”

Clara smiled. “You have risen from the dead and have healed all your wounds. You have no pulse. You do not breathe, and we’ve been giving you blood so that you can survive. And the last thing you can remember is a tingling in your neck before you died.” She clasped her hands together. “I’ve read your personnel file, Shamira. I know you’re not stupid, even if your former bosses thought you were. You can figure this –“

“Vampire? You’re kidding, right? You have to –“

“Wanna go ahead and say ‘But there’s no such thing as vampires’ so we can get that out of the way?”

“There’s no such things as vampires!”

“Thanks. Vampires do exist. So do werewolves and other lycanthropes, and magic and all that stuff. Not everything you’ve heard is correct, but there are blood-sucking creatures of the night that inhabit this world. I’m one of them and now so are you. And don’t start looking around for hidden cameras or anything like that. Here, maybe this will help.” She opened her mouth, pointed to her perfect pearly whites, then her canine teeth extended into sharp pointed fangs.

“Jesus Christ!” Naked or not, she scrambled backwards off the bed, rolling over backwards and colliding with a nightstand, almost depositing a glass lamp onto her already damaged noggin.

“Not exactly.” She rolled her eyes when Shamira formed her fingers into the shape of a cross. “Shamira, I’m not even a Christian. I’m Native American. Why do you think that would work?”

Shamira felt a little embarrassed. “Dunno. Works in the movies.”

“Well, the movies are wrong on that one. Okay, Vampire 101. The strengths and weaknesses of a vampire depend greatly on how old he or she is. There are five categories of vamps. You and me are fledglings, and we will be until a century after we were created. Then we become shadows for the next century. For a century after that, you’re a full vampire, followed by master vampire, and then vampire lord. If you survive that long, then you’re doing pretty damn well, because there aren’t a lot of them.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Chapter 10
Nice Sunday Picnic.

“Who are you?” I demand of the attractive, blue eyed and very naked girl lying under me. An unmistakable feeling around my slightly stiffened penis tells me that it’s nestled comfortably within her vagina. Wait. . . . No way! “Jennifer?”

“Ha, ha, funny Lyden,” she states, batting her lashes at me. “Trying to forget that you fucked this fat cow already?”

“Umm,” I start, not sure how to tell her about her transformation, “you might want to get a look at yourself.”

Her brown eyebrows knit together, as she tries to figure out what I’m getting at, before using her not inconsiderable strength to push me off her. My cock makes a squelching noise as it pulls free from her coochy, and I see her wince in pain.

“Oh, I’m going to be sore down there for awhile,” she grimaces as she lightly gets to her feet. She miscalculates, and ends up jumping as she attempts to lift her old weight off the ground. I sit back on the couch, and really get a good look at the woman that only a little bit ago, had to weigh over 250lbs, but right now, couldn’t be more that 120lbs, and a good portion of that is in her breasts. Slender legs lead up to a nice round bum. Her hips are a little wide, but they don’t compare to the size of her still giant tits. They hang down to her bellybutton, but not bad, just oversized. TanaVesta would be jealous.

Her face had always been somewhat cute, in a pudgy sort of way, but now, with her short brown hair, and vivid blue eyes, she’s a stunner.

She’s making the same examination as me, only she’s lucky enough to be hands on. Sticking her small right foot out, she examines it in disbelief, before hefting her breasts apart, and staring at her skinny waist.

“What the FUCK did you do to me?” she demands, and I’m surprised to hear anger in her voice.

“Umm, I, uh,” I stammer, not certain what to say.

“Don’t you think that if I’d really wanted to be skinny, I could have worked for it?” Yeah, there’s no mistaking the anger in her tone now. “I may not have been anyone’s ideal, but that doesn’t give you the right to go and change my body around to your own tastes!”

“I didn’t mean to,” I defend myself. “This has never happened before!”

“What did you think?” she continues as if I hadn’t even spoken. “That I’d be grateful for the fact that I’ll need to buy a whole new wardrobe? That I’d somehow behappierif I weren’t so portly?” As she continues to berate me, her volume rises until she’s yelling by the end. “What gives you the right to do this to me?”

Standing quickly, I can feel my own ire rising at the injustice of her anger. “Jennifer, stop! I had no way of knowing this would happen. It’s not something I did to you on purpose, and don’t even truly understandwhyit happened. If you really don’t like it that much, just eat whatever you please, and don’t work out. I’m sure you can get back to where you want to be within a few months.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” She demands, and once again I’m stumped. Are all women so arbitrary, and expect us men to just read their minds? “It’s not so much that I’m no longer fat, but that now that I have this body, I’m going to have to work harder at keeping it. I was mostly okay with the way I was. I understood that I would never be skinny, and accepted it. Now that I am, I’m going to have to work hard to maintain it.”

At some point in her explanation I must have sat back down on the couch. Stunned, I can only stare at her openmouthed. She’s angry because she has to work to keep this body? I will never understand women!

“Or, you could just have sex with me on a weekly basis,” I tell her, half joking.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make you my own little skinny addiction? What? Just come up to you, and say, ‘Excuse me Lyden, I need my weekly fucking to stay skinny.'” The sarcasm veritably drips from her tone. “Besides, if I’m always this sore afterwards, they’d have to be a week or two apart.”

Throwing my hands up in frustration I shout, “Bah! I don’t even care anymore. Do what you want. If you’re not happy about it, I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional, and I would change you back if I knew how. I don’t, though, so you’ll just have to suffer everyone looking at you, and wishing they could catch the eye of the beautiful blue eyed woman that you are now!” Now I’m shouting, and I don’t care about that either.

“You . . . you really think I’m beautiful?” Her words come out hushed, and I have to strain to hear them, over the sound of the blood pumping through my skull.

Is she bipolar? “Are you kidding me? Go look in a mirror,” I state, waving my hand off vaguely. I have no idea where a mirror might be in this rustic cabin. I vaguely recall her telling me there is an outhouse out back. Do outhouses have mirrors?

Without warning, she’s hugging me tight, and laughing into my shoulder. Lemme tell you, if a woman built as well as her hugs you, and you’re maltepe escort both naked—well, except that I still have my socks on—you either react, or you’re already dead. I may be angry, but I’m definitely still alive. It doesn’t help that her very ample bosom dangles down and bounces around my very alert cock.

“Oh!” she gasps, pulling away, and noticing how hard I am. “Shit, did I really get that in me this morning? No wonder I’m so sore!” I decide not to tell her that my penis conforms to whatever woman I’m with, and just nod at her. “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to find someone else to take care of that. I hurt too much to do it for you.”

She tries to back away, but I grasp her wrist, and pull her back to me. “There is more than one way to take care of me,” I inform her, then pull her the rest of the way to my waiting lips. Hesitantly at first, but with growing desire, she kisses me back.

Letting go of her wrist and grabbing her tits, I press them to either side of my woody, and moan with the pleasure the soft globes give me.

She pulls back only slightly, and looks to where the head of my prick is barely poking out between her round orbs, and then smiles at me. “You like fucking my big titties, don’t you? Well, fuck them with your big cock. I want to see you cum all over them.”

Her dirty talk is really starting to have an effect on me, and even though I’d gotten off just a little while ago, I can feel myself getting close. This is the first time I’ve ever had my dick between a set of boobs, and I have to admit that the feeling is quite wonderful. When her mouth drops down, and I feel her extremely talented tongue swirl around the head, I lose it. My first shot goes off in her mouth, and she pulls back, allowing the rest of my cum to spray all over her chest and neck. She spits my jism onto her chest, and then sits back on her knees, staring at her shiny bosom.

“I can’t believe I got you off that quickly,” she murmurs. There’s a definite sparkle in her eyes, as she stands up, and walks out of the room. There is also no mistaking the extra bounce in her step. Despite the energy I’ve transferred to her, I still feel quite alive from all of her orgasms this morning.

I get dressed, before entering the attached kitchen, where Jennifer has a washcloth and is trying to get herself cleaned up.

“How do you get this stuff off?” She asks me as she continues to scrub.

“Use a bit of soap,” I tell her.

Once she’s fully cleaned, we head back to the couch, where she stares forlornly at her oversized clothes. Her old guard uniform looks more like a muumuu than a shirt, and her pants are hopeless. Only her shoes still fit, and she has to tighten the laces on them.

With her as decently dressed as she can be, we head down the mountain, and back into civilization. Our first stop is to get her some new clothes that I happily pay for. I then have her drop me off at the police station.

I have my story ready as I walk in. Jennifer follows me, and all the officers turn and look jealously at her. In her tight pink spaghetti strap top and even tighter jeans, she’s a teenager’s wet dream.

“What can I do for you,” the officer behind the glass window asks. Thankfully it’s a man, as his eyes are glued to Jennifer’s chest. I’d been afraid that a woman might be upset with the way she’s dressed, but this works well. Jennifer, for her part, and despite her protestations to the opposite, seems to be really enjoying the attention.

“Yeah,” I begin my lie, “I’ve been up camping with my girl here, and when I got home this afternoon, my apartment was burned up and my car was missing. Who do I need to talk to about that?”

With some obvious effort, he tears his eyes away from Lansbury, and finally gets a good look at me. “You’re Lyden Snow!” he exclaims as if he doesn’t believe it. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Crap! Apparently I’m already a suspect. Hopefully I’ll be able to stick to my story, and get away with everything.

* * *

Eight hours later, and innumerable interrogations, I find myself back out on the front steps of the police station. They finally bought my story that someone must have stolen my car after starting the complex on fire. The fire had burned too hot to know where it’d started, but they do know it’d started somewhere on my floor.

To my horror, I find out that twelve people died in the fire, and thirty others were injured. They’d found my car in the grocery store parking lot where it’d been burned, and gunshots had been heard. I’d become their primary suspect, but I have an alibi and a witness. Thank goodness for Jennifer. She’d held up like a champ as they talked to her. They’d released her a few hours before, and when I call her as they finally release me, she doesn’t answer.

Since I’ve missed a few calls from Lisa and Becky, I call them up next. Becky is out the door and on her way to get me before I even hang up.

“You manavgat escort stink,” the very short brunette says as she hugs me.

“Good to see you too,” I laugh.

“I was so worried when I saw your apartment complex had burned, and then you weren’t answering your phone, andthenthey were plastering your face all over the news, and I didn’t know what to think.” I can tell how worried she’d been, by how quickly she’s talking and of course by her tone. While it warms my heart to know she cares, I feel guilty about cheating on her and Lisa with Jennifer and Sheila Lance, my boss. She’d been concerned about my well-being, while I’d been having great sex. Oh, and being terrified for my life. I probably shouldn’t forget about that.

We get into the short woman’s car, and she jabbers about school, work at her law firm, and the stupidity of some people. Thankfully she doesn’t ask about where I’ve been, or what I’ve been doing.

She tells me to use the shower, while she gets started on making dinner.

The water feels great as it washes down my body, and despite myself, it even feels as though some of my worries go down the drain along with the dirty water.

“Welcome back,” a voice says as I hear the curtain pulled back. I turn to see Lisa stepping in, lithe body nude, and eyes sparkling. “Hope you don’t mind, but I got a little sweaty instructing Aikido today. Mind washing my back?”

I chuckle silently at her forwardness, and don’t mind at all. The only soap in their shower is the fru-fru kind, so I know I’ll smell a little girly when I get out, but it’ll work well for the pretty blonde. Squirting some into my hands, I lather them up, before rubbing it into her smooth back. For the first time I notice how toned her body is. Must be from all the martial arts training.

Using my fingers and thumbs to dig into some knots on her back, I turn the back wash into a massage and enjoy the sound of her soft moans. Her small rear keeps bumping against my groin, and I’m hard in no time. I ignore my own state however, as I move my washing massage to her arms, and then to her hands.

“Mmm, I love a good hand massage,” she murmurs, her blue eyes looking into mine. Her body turns to face me, and she doesn’t miss how hard my cock is. She goes to grab it, but I stop her.

“Not yet,” I say, smiling at her confusion. “Let me take care of you first.”

Finishing with her hands, I move to the front of her shoulders, and then scrub vigorously between and under her breasts, studiously avoiding her hard nipples. Her stomach is next, and I take a couple moments to wash out her belly button. She giggles delightfully as I finger the shallow hole.

Turning her sideways, I wash her right hip and buttocks, before moving down her thigh, to her knee, and then work the muscles in her calf. Dropping to my own knees, I take her foot in my hands, and spend a few minutes on it, watching her face and enjoying the looks of pleasure my hands are giving her. Even with the water and soap running down her body, I can tell she is getting turned on by how swollen her labia are.

Staying on my knees, I turn her to face the other way, and repeat the process on her left hip and leg. When I’m satisfied with the job I’ve done on her left foot, I stand, and before I can say or do anything, Lisa’s arms are around my neck and her slippery body is plastered to mine. Her tongue forces its way between my lips, and I grin as I allow it access. My hands drop to her rear, and I pull her even tighter to me, my prick stiff, and pleasantly smashed between us.

“You need a shave,” she tells me, but then plasters her lips against mine again.

It finally dawns on me that this is the first time I’ve been alone with Lisa, and am actually turned on by the idea of devoting my attentions to just her.

Using my grip on her bum, I lift her up without breaking the kiss, and gently guide her onto my rod. She moans as our connection becomes complete, and even I can’t hold back the sounds of my own pleasure.

My right foot slips slightly, and I have to turn and press her to the wall, while bracing my feet on the side of the tub, to keep from falling. She grunts as her back hits the wall, but her legs wrap around my hips, and she begins to use her abs to move her hips up and down my cock. Her insides feel so soft and warm, as my penis conforms to her, and I begin to match her pace.

My right hand slips a little more under her, and I easily slip my middle finger into her anus. Lisa goes wild at the added sensation, and I feel the strength of her orgasm wash over me, taking with it any feelings of fatigue that might have lingered after the police station. All the while, our mouths are wrestling with one another, and her kissing becomes more frantic and powerful.

Her legs drop from my hips, and I carefully let her down, as she pulls away from me. The water running down her hair makes it look darker than usual, şişli escort and her blue eyes sparkle as she smiles up at me. Her chest heaves, and the effect of the water beading on her soft skin is quite erotic. “What is it about you that always feels just right? You seem to know just what to do to please me.” Her hand goes to my groin and moves along the length as she gives me a surprisingly chaste peck on my cheek. “Now, we just need to finish you off.”

Lisa grabs the soap and squeezes some onto my member, before rubbing it in. Her hands feel great, and she has a powerful grip as she jacks me off. Just when I begin to think she plans on finishing me this way, she turn around, and rubs my head against her puckered brown hole. Once she has me lined up, she pushes back hard, and I find myself delightfully ensconced within her colon.

I place my hands on her hips, but she turns, shaking her head. “No, you took care of me, let me do the work now, and take care of you.

Not willing to argue with such a request, I place my hands behind my back, and moan gently as she pulls forward, and then slides her rear back onto my aching pole. Watching as my length slips in and out of her sphincter, while she screws herself on me is really turning me on. The feeling of her tight bum gliding up and down my soapy length and her firm globes slapping against my thighs, draws forth moan after moan from me. It doesn’t take long until I feel that familiar churning in my scrotum and grip her hips, forcing her to pick up the pace. To my surprise, she pulls away, and drops to her knees in front of me, using her awesome grip to jack me off again. My first volley of semen blasts onto her chin, before she re-aims me, and the rest of my seed splatters across her chest.

I have to brace a hand against the wall as I climax, and as soon as she’s done milking every drop from me, she begins to scoop it off her chest and lick her fingers clean.

“Mmm, I love the taste of cum, and yours always seems to give me extra pleasure!” I wonder if that’s because of my incubus abilities, or something else?

“If you two are done fooling around in there,” Becky yells, “dinner’s ready.”

We both laugh, as we get out and dry off. Becky watches us unashamedly, as I use one of their towels. “I hope she didn’t wear you out, Lyden, because I expect some attention tonight, also.”

Dinner is a simple fair of green beans and hamburger in some kind of sauce. Despite its simplicity, it tastes rather good, especially considering the fare I’ve been having lately.

“Thanks for taking me in tonight,” I tell the two women as I get up and start cleaning my plate in the kitchen sink. “I promise I’ll get a motel room tomorrow, staying there until I can find another apartment to move into.” I have no idea what I’m going to put into a new apartment though. I didn’t have renter’s insurance on my old one, which is part of the reason the police believed that I had nothing to do with burning it down. Maybe the apartment managers have some kind of insurance to compensate its tenants, but luckily I still have all that money from whoever overpaid my rent. I strongly suspect it’d been Angela that’d paid all my bills, but I have no way to prove it, and no idea where she would have gotten all that money.

“Don’t be crazy,” Lisa states, bringing me her plate, “you can stay here as long as you need.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Becky cuts in first. “I know we don’t know each other well, but there’s no sense in spending money on a motel room, when we both have a perfectly comfortable bed to share.” From the way her eyes sparkle, I have the feeling that they’re not going to take no for an answer, and that there won’t be a lot of sleeping going on in those beds. Whatever luck led me to these two women, I don’t know whether to curse it, or thank it. A month ago, these two young ladies wouldn’t have looked at me twice. Today, they can’t seem tostopstaring at me.

My theory is proven right after I finish cleaning the kitchen—yes, I cleaned it, because I’m a guest and they’re letting me stay here. It’s the least I can do. The women practically rip off my clothes, and it’s not ’til many hours later that that the women go to sleep. For my part, I’m too full of life to even think about slumber.

* * *

Jennifer grins at me after Becky drops me off at my office building.

“Well, Mr. Snow. Have a good day off yesterday?” She gives me a wink, and even goes so far as to pinch my rear as she allows me past the security checkpoint. Somewhere she’s picked up a smaller uniform, one that somehow fits her considerable assets while conforming to her hips as well. I’m not the only person that notices her body, and there is even a slight scuffle as two guys walk into each other, because they were staring at her.

“I tried calling you last night,” I tell her, wondering why she hadn’t answered.

She grimaces slightly, and I wonder what’s wrong. She glances at everyone around us, before responding. “I’ll talk to you later. See you at lunch?”

What’s going on? I wonder, as I take the elevator up to my floor. It’s not until I walk in, and can feel Sheila’s cold glare that I remember what Jennifer had told her.

Sitting at my desk, I see I’ve already received an email from my boss.

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