Chapter Five
Briarlee
He said he’d find me.
And he did.
I’m not sitting at home waiting for his call, because he never took my number. I’m sitting at home waiting for… what, for him to come to the door? That seems so stupid.
Until a heavy knock makes it not stupid.
I know it’s him even before I open the door. I can sense him. Almost smell him, though it’s not really a scent thing. It’s an animal knowing that her mate is near.
I open the door. It is him. He fills the entire doorway. He’s taller than it is. He’ll have to stoop when he comes through. And he’ll have to twist sideways slightly to allow his shoulders to pass through. This is a beast of a man. He makes me small.
“Hello,” I smile, instantly nervous. He looks at me with those smoldering eyes and I’m really not sure of myself anymore. He changes the rules of living. He makes me want things no sensible woman wants.
He wraps his arms around me and hauls me close, pushes his handsome face into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply.
“Mine,” he growls under his breath. “Only mine.”
He starts stripping me without a word. The clothes are in his way and they have to be gone. I offer no resistance. Everything he wants to take from me, I want to give. He handles me like a doll, lifting me easily up in the air so my head is near the ceiling, my legs wrapping around his neck as he buries his mouth in my cunt, tasting my desire and his seed from the night before.
I cry out, held securely in those great big hands that palm my ass and hips. He laps along my slit, pushes his tongue inside me, makes me take every bit of it before pulling it out. I am being tongue fucked up against the ceiling of my little apartment and it is perfect.
Before I can come, he starts lowering me down. He draws his nose up from my pussy over my stomach, his lips tasting me every inch of the way.
“Mine,” he repeats.
My mind is whirling. My body is crying out for him. This is possession as I have never known it. This is a desire that has us both captive. He needs me and I need him.
Again he puts me into the position he wants me in. Face down, over the back of the couch. I feel more like a toy than a woman as he parts my thighs and pushes his cock between them, up deep inside me. He starts to fuck me with hard, powerful strokes that jolt me against the couch over and over again. My hands are in his hair, pulling at him as he slams inside me. I want this. Oh, god, I fucking want this.
He fucks me like he’s been starving for me. He consumes my body, devours it in rough strokes, gripping my hips with his powerful hands, holding me in place for the taking.
This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is like the ravaging I was given last night, but even more intense for being the second round. My body wore his marks and ached in the aftermath of his lust. Now it is being stretched again, pounded again.
He comes, fills me up while I writhe and moan. Again it is quick. His hunger for me doesn’t allow soft, languid lovemaking. It requires swift, rough satiation. My orgasm matches his. My pussy produces its own liquid desire that mingles with his cum as he pulls free and lets our juices run down my inner thighs.
“You’re a mess,” he rumbles. “We should take a shower.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom. This is a single bedroom place, so it’s not hard to find. I follow him in a well fucked trance, doing as he says, just because it feels somehow right.
I have gone through so much of my life feeling wrong. I have let myself believe that I’m not worthy of goodness. I have let men treat me badly, and maybe this one is treating me badly too… but if this is bad, why does it make me feel so happy?
He drives the thoughts from my head with another searing kiss, delivered now under the hot pelting drum of water on high pressure.
I don’t know who he is.
I don’t know if he’s married.
It didn’t even occur to me until this moment to wonder that. He doesn’t seem like the marrying kind. He barely seems like the marrying species. There’s something about him closer to animal than man.
The water flows over his body and mine. Our hands move over one another with more gentleness now. Every time I try to speak, he cuts me off with a kiss, and finally, when I keep trying to make words happen, he gently, but firmly pushes me down to my knees.
I find myself crouched at the base of the shower, my mouth stretched by his thick cock as he pulls my head gently back and forth along the rampant shaft.
He massages shampoo through my hair as I suck him. There is no end to his desire. Usually a man loses interest after he comes. But this one seems to only be slightly calmed by orgasm.
Warm water flows over my back as he leans against the shower wall and urges me back and forth over the shaft of his dick. This is the hottest scalp massage I’ve ever been given. Those same hands that held me down to take the rough thrusts of his cock now rub me with a tenderness that touches me in my core.
He makes soft growling sounds of pleasure, then pulls the showerhead from the holder and runs the water over my hair, cupping his hand at the front of my scalp so the soap doesn’t run into my eyes. My mouth stays on his cock as he tends to me, rinsing every bit of shampoo away from my hair before replacing it with conditioner.
I want to talk to him. I want to know who he is. Why he chose me.
But he doesn’t speak, and he makes sure to keep my mouth busy so I cannot.
There is more than plain lust in his gaze. There is a kindness. A caring. I couldn’t see it before because it was masked with the pure intensity of his desire, but now that has abated I can see more of him.
And he starts to feel more familiar. I almost think I recognize him, but it’s not possible. The man he reminds me of does not look like him. Does not act like him. Isn’t him.
I try to mumble around his cock. He shakes his head and rubs my scalp a little harder, scratching in a way that sends pleasant little chills down my back. It feels so good to be here with him, to let him take me, to have him use me.
“Who are you?”
My jaw aches as I speak, but I have to. I have to know who he is. I want him to stay with me.
“You know who I am,” he rumbles.
“We only met last night. How could I know you?”
“You knew me the moment we met. Just like I knew you,” he growls softly.
These answers are evasions.
“I mean, who are you? Where did you grow up? What do your parents do?”
He gives me a hard look, as if I’ve offended him. “I have to leave.”
“No!” I reach out to grab him, but I can’t stop him from leaving any more than I can stop him coming. “Please, don’t go!”
“I have to go,” he says. “I will come back and see you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
I frown. I don’t understand him. “So you’re just going to come here and fuck me? And leave? And that’s it?”
“Didn’t you like it?”
I did like it. I fucking loved every single moment of it. And I’m going to miss him when he’s gone. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be left with just the happy little aches and throbs to remind me of our time together.
“Do you want me to not come back?”
He asks another question that makes me reveal the depths of my own depravity. Yes, I want him to come back. Even if he only comes back to pin me down and fuck me, I want him back.
He takes my chin in his big hand. “Tell me.”
“I want you…” I stammer into his face. “I want you to come back.”
“Then I will,” he says. “Wait for me.”
He presses one of those burning kisses to my lips, turns and leaves.
I am satisfied. I am sleepy. I curl up on the same couch he fucked me on and I let myself slip into a light doze. This is the craziest thing I have ever done, and I feel better about it than I do about almost anything I’ve ever done.
* * *
Daniel
I wake up to darkness and chaos. The alarm clock by my bed says it’s two a.m. The moment I turn the light on, I see that my apartment has been utterly ripped apart. My coffee table has been smashed into shards. Cups and plates have been hurled against walls. My books are strewn about all over the place, pages ripped out as if they somehow offended someone.
“What the hell!” My exclamation of surprise feels utterly underwhelming. I keep my place tidy. Right now it’s a disaster zone. And something warm is dripping on my foot. Something red and…
I look down at my hand. I must have cut it when I got up from my bed, which is also dusted with broken glass and ceramic. There’s a fairly nasty gash running right across the center of my palm. It’s going to need suturing. I put shoes on so I don’t cut myself on the broken glass on the floor and shuffle around to try to work out what is happening. Is someone still here? It feels empty.
The front door is still shut. When I test it, it’s also locked. Weird. I must have been out completely cold with that drug. That’s definitely going to be a problem later on, if users pass out so completely that all hell can break loose around them without them being able to respond to the danger.
This day has been the best and shittiest day of my life. I’m no longer crippled, but the love of my life still doesn’t want me, and someone has it in for me. I can’t imagine who. I’m not the sort of man who makes enemies. I’m inoffensive. I’m quiet. I’m kind. This… this isn’t fair and it doesn’t make sense.
I notice that I’m clenching my hand, squeezing the blood between my knuckles. I have a lot of cleaning up to do.
I do my best to clear a path through the destruction, get cleaned up myself, and go and report the problem to the superintendent. He’s a good guy. He wants to call the cops when he sees the state I’m in, but something tells me I shouldn’t do that. Not yet.
“The cameras must have the guy,” I say. “Can we check them?”
He agrees to pull up the footage. What we see is not what I want to see. It’s so weird that I’m not sure I understand what I’m looking at.
Someone left my apartment hours ago. I don’t recognize him, but I do notice that his clothing looks familiar. He’s wearing my favorite shirt. I tend to dress on the loose side, but it’s tight on him. He also has my shoes and my… oh, shit.
“Okay,” I sigh. “That’s my jerk cousin. Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem, man,” the super says. “Take it easy.”
I go back to my apartment and start cleaning up. I wasn’t asleep. It occurs to me that I might not actually have slept at all since I took the first dose of Regenermax.
The hairs on the back of my neck start to rise as a potential possibility lays itself out in my mind. What if it isn’t that the drug knocks the user out completely? What if the drug acts as a powerful dissociative? It’s almost impossible to tell effects like that with rats. They can’t tell you when they’ve forgotten who they are. A rat is a rat whether he knows it or not. And so is a man, but…
I have to go to the bathroom.
When I touch my penis, I notice something. It’s sticky. I lift my hand to my nose. What the hell. My cock smells like sex. And not the smell of cum spilled in self-satisfaction. There’s female scent on it too. Pussy.
I’ve been fucking someone.
I finish up, wash my hands, and go back to cleaning. My mind is whirring with possibilities. If I’ve been going out and having sex with people, if I’ve been changing enough in my physical form to be almost unrecognizable… then I could have been doing almost anything.
It’s frightening and exciting. Exciting to know that the Regenermax works. Frightening because I have no memory. As I clean, I formulate a plan. I’ll take another dose, and I’ll mix it with enough Adderall to make sure I can’t possibly fall asleep. Hopefully that will stop the dissociative fugue I seem to have slipped into the last two times.
With the kitchen clean enough to prepare my materials, I powder a tablet and add it to the vial. This is an experiment at the very fringes of science. I hope this plan to keep my conscious mind in control works, otherwise I’ve given the beast who takes over when I dose myself even more energy to wreak havoc with.
I tip my head back, toss the Regenermax down my throat. The dose rushes through my blood. It’s pure strength. Feels like it’s being yanked straight from the core of the earth and mainlined through my veins.
Everything is so clear.
It is as if a veil lifts in my mind. I remember things in a way that is almost as if I never forgot them at all. I have known all this from the beginning. It’s just, without the dose coursing through my veins, my pathetic day-to-day mind was too frightened to acknowledge them. My miserable former self couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the memory of what I can now do—and that is fuck Briarlee. Fuck her long. Fuck her hard. Fuck her the way I always wanted to fuck her, but would never have admitted. If this monster memory is correct, she loves every moment of it. She has creamed my cock just as much as I have filled her pussy. And just as I didn’t recognize myself, she doesn’t recognize me either. I know her, but she doesn’t know me at all. Because she thinks of Daniel as the pathetic boy who has to be content with being her friend. Not the man who fucks her like the primal simple slut she likes to be.
I go look at myself in the mirror. I am me, but I am a version of me I could never have attained on my own. Greater muscular mass. What seems to be more bone density. Am I laying this down every time, only to absorb it? Or will I eventually keep these gains and become this hulking creature all the time? These are all questions only time can answer, and right now, my mind is not on the science. It’s on the sex.
I’m going to see Briarlee.
Her place is about a half hour walk from mine. I head out onto the streets, stride through crowds of people with more confidence than I ever did before. The world is different from the vantage of a brute.
Women in little skirts smile and giggle as I go past. Not in the pitying way they used to. There’s whore light in their eyes. They want me. I feel attraction, not as some kind of weak chemical signal, but as a force. I could take them. I could fuck them. They would bend over and let me have their stinking wet pussies. But I don’t want them. There’s only one woman I want. Only one woman I have ever wanted.
I find myself at her house. I’m not entirely sure how I got there. The amphetamines are keeping me more fully conscious of my actions than I was before, but they’re not perfect. I’m blinking in and out of awareness.
The door opens. She smiles at me.
The next thing I know, I’m inside. We’re in her kitchen. I’ve sat at the breakfast bar and watched her make bad instant coffee a hundred times before. This time there’s no coffee. She’s naked from the waist down. Shreds of silk hang around her thighs. I am plunging inside her pussy, my cock so hard it feels like a bar of titanium.
I have dreamed of what it would be like to make love to her a thousand times. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.
This is nothing like that.
My cock is sluicing in and out of her pussy in rapid strokes that make her shriek with what might be pleasure, might be pain. I don’t care. I just want her. Her hair is falling into the sink, getting wet in the remnants of soapy dishwater. My hands are on her tits, those big, soft, milky globes rolling in my palms as she wriggles beneath me.
She is a mess. And this is a travesty. But I can’t help myself. I have to have her. It’s not a want. It’s not a desire. It’s a vicious command, pounding through my veins.
“You want this?” I growl the words because I’m not sure. My voice doesn’t sound like the voice I’m used to hearing come out of my mouth. It’s much deeper, much rougher. Much more masculine. I like it. I used to always speak with such pathetic submission. Now every word is an assertion of brute maleness.
“Oh, fuck, yesss!” She screams the words.
I grab her hair, pull back out of her, and make her work her greedy pussy back on me.
She wanted this. She consented. I am assuming she consents every time. Even though I must leave her sore and sloppy, alone and wondering who I am.
She must know.
How does she not know?
She doesn’t know.
I’m going to come. From the way her pussy feels, she’s come several times already. She’s soft and she’s creamy and her inner walls grip and milk me, demanding my cum. I don’t even try to fight it, even though the sensible, civilized part of me knows that there is no condom between us. There’s nothing to stop my cum sparking life inside her unprotected womb. That makes it hotter still as I slam my hips forward and give her everything I have. It feels like a geyser of cum erupting from my balls, filling her up. I want every bit of it to get inside her. I want to fill her. I want her fuck hole to be deluged in my semen.
These thoughts are new, but I like them. They’re vital and primal and raw. This is how a man fucks a woman. This is how a woman should be fucked by a man. It’s rough, but perfect.
Climax brings relief from the pressure that has been building inside me since I took the dose. It’s like having the cork removed from a bottle, a genie freed. I have my mind back. I have my soul back.
She’s still bent over in front of me, her pussy soaking in my seed. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. Even from behind. I feel a rush of affection that makes me scoop her up and hold her so damn tight.
She turns in my arms, cuddles into my chest, her head nuzzled beneath my chin.
“You’re going to go again, aren’t you.”
I look down at her. She’s beautiful. More beautiful than she’s ever been.
Her curves are flushed. Her pussy is coated with my cum. It’s dripping out of her.
Before the treatment, I would have cared about that. I don’t now. She’s made for my cum. It slicks her pussy perfectly, thick white cum coating her lips and the curling fur of her sex.
I am going to leave. Not because I want to, but because even in this animalistic form I know that I can’t stay with her and keep the truth from her. I need to get away and think, because I can’t think with her lying there like that. She is exhausted from sex and I already want to push my cock back inside her, find another hole, force another orgasm from her body. Her flesh wraps around mine so sweetly and so perfectly I can barely keep from making her mine all over again.
I pull her into an embrace. I hold her. Breathe her scent, mingled with mine.
“You’re different this time,” she mumbles against my chest.
“What?”
“You never hugged me before. And you never talk unless you have to.”
I wish I could remember what I did in those fucking fugue states of primal desire. Apparently I fucked her and left her. And in doing so, I made her mine in a way I never did in over a decade of being her close confidante.
I don’t blame her for that. Why should she desire who I was? I was weak. I begged and groveled for her attention. I gave her everything she wanted and never asked for anything in return. I was pathetic, and she could never have loved me that way. I didn’t love myself that way. I put all my effort and all my time into becoming what I am now: something she could love.
I clasp her face in my hands, press a deep kiss to her nose, and her cheeks, and her lips.
* * *
Briarlee
There’s something in his eyes. Like he’s really here for the first time, or like he’s letting me see him for the first time. I feel the familiarity rush back, still with no real recognition. Who is he? Why do I know him and yet not know him at all?
“At least tell me your name.”
He hesitates and retreats back inside himself. It’s like whoever he really is slips beneath the waves and leaves me with this arrogant hyper-masculine monster who wants me for my body and nothing else.
“You don’t need to know my name. You just need to know to be here when I want to spread your legs.”
He’s so fucking arrogant. It’s like he’s never even heard of the concept of a relationship. Doesn’t he want to know me better? Doesn’t he want me to know him? The men I know can hardly ever shut up about themselves. Dates are usually monologues. This guy only talks when he’s telling me how he wants me.
His refusal upsets me though. I just want his name. Not his social security number. His dick has been inside me. He owes me a name.
“You’re just going to come and fuck me and not even tell me who you are? Your cum is inside me. I could be pregnant.”
“You want me to fuck you,” he rumbles. “You’d let me fuck you again now. You’ll fuck me tomorrow, and the day after that and you won’t ever care who I am, because that doesn’t matter. Your cunt knows who I am.”
He pushes his hand between my thighs. Squeezes my pussy possessively, and just looks at me with that smirking smile.
He’s an arrogant motherfucker. And he’s right.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“What?”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say again, upset because he’s made me feel outright slutty. “Don’t come back.”
I don’t mean a single one of the words leaving my mouth. I just want to assert a little power. Make him apologize. Men always apologize when you make them feel bad. I’m used to being in control. I’m used to making a guy work to be close to me. My pussy doesn’t come easy. Not usually.
“Turn over. Spread your ass cheeks. I’m going to fuck your other hole.”
I feel the heat hit my face. A blush like no other.
Am I going to do what he tells me to do?
He doesn’t seem to have any doubt. He gives the order as if it’s going to be followed. When I don’t obey him right away, he leans in, grabs me by the hair at the back of my head, and growls the orders again.
“Turn over, say you’re sorry, and give me that little ass.”
Chemistry burns through my body. In his hands, I am nothing but flesh to fuck.
He presses a kiss to my lips, consumes the rest of my sense with his mouth. I am gone. Consciousness flies in the face of this forceful desire. I find myself turning, presenting my ass to him, my hands making his prize accessible with the lewd spreading of my cheeks.
His cock presses against that dark little hole. I’ve never let a man fuck me there before, now I am saying the words he said as if I am his little fuck puppet. “Please… I’m sorry. Please, fuck my ass.”
He grunts and does as I ask. There are ways to do anal sex. Slowly. With lots of lube. Fingers first. All I get is the slick mess of our mixed cum to ease his passage inside the last bastion of my rebellion.
“Bad girl,” he grows as he slowly spears inside me. My sphincter is no match for him, and I try to relax it, let him in. I am a bad girl. He doesn’t know me, so he can’t really know just how bad I am, but I deserve to be treated like this. And worse. I am not just bad. Sometimes I think I might be evil. I have taken so much more than I’ve ever given. Does he sense that instinctively? Or have I made myself prey for this predator because deep down, I need for it to hurt?
A thick cock in my ass makes it hard to conduct a therapy session in my head. He’s still not all the way in. The head of his massive dick is still pressing past that tight ring of muscle. I want to let him in, but I’ve never really let any man in. Not into my heart, or my ass.
I feel him clasping me in place. There is no escaping this, and I wouldn’t if I could. He does the things to me I know I need. He gives me what I deserve. He isn’t nice to me. He isn’t sweet. He doesn’t tell me he fell in love with me the moment he saw me, or that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. He doesn’t romance me with the easy lies so many men tell. He fucks me because he wants to fuck me. He punishes me because I break the rules that are unspoken but entirely understood by the both of us. When it comes to him, I obey. Because I want him inside me. Because I have always needed this, sought it out in so many different ways. I have fucked so many men who never cared about me at all.
There’s something about him that tells me he does. The others would never have given me a sexual consequence. They would have called me a bitch, or just stopped calling. This man makes me take what I need.
My anus burns as it stretches around him, as he pushes forward and takes me deeper than I think I can take him.
“Don’t move your hands,” he says. “Pull your cheeks open more. Show me your asshole. Beg me to fuck it.”
“You’re already inside me!”
“Beg me,” he rumbles. “Tell me you’re a naughty little girl who needs her asshole fucked and you’re sorry for being so rude.”
When I don’t answer right away, he pulls out and pushes back in, a short, punishing stroke that makes me squeal. My pussy is clenching with desire, even though this treatment is utterly humiliating.
“I’m sorry!”
“For what?” Another stroke in and out of my stretched asshole.
“I’m sorry for… owwwie…”
“Tell me, girl.”
“I’m sorry I was rude!”
“You were rude, weren’t you. Telling me to leave.”
“Yesss!”
His cock pops past the ring of my ass, slides in what feels like a mile. I screech my agreement with his punishment and take every bit of it, my hands spreading my cheeks wide. Goddamn, he has broken me to his will. I still don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him apart from the fact that he owns me.
He ravages my ass with deeper strokes, pushing me over the couch with thrust after thrust. I scream. I wail. I kick my toes against the floor, drumming my feet as he ravages my tight little hole.
The monster of a man I have taken as my lover sinks his cock deep inside me, leans over my body, and presses his lips to the back of my head in a brutal-sweet kiss. “Bad girl,” he murmurs against my hair.
Something in those two little words triggers my orgasm. I am a bad girl. He doesn’t know how bad I am, but I do, and suddenly that hot, thick cock inside my ass just feels right. My pussy is creaming as I start to shudder with climax, my clit grinding the back of the couch while he holds himself steady, letting me buck and impale my ass on him with the throes of orgasm until finally I am sated, panting and sweating, slumped over the back of the couch with his cock still thick and hard inside me.
Then he starts to fuck me again.
I let out a soft moan as he pumps inside me, grinding his hips in and out of my now well stretched, well trained ass. This is what I am for. I am his to fuck. His to use. My orgasm is irrelevant in the grand scheme. He let me come, and that was a mercy. Now he will fuck me until he fills my insides with his seed, and I will have it dripping out of my used hole for hours after he is gone.