Friday, April 7, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 7 – Part 2 of 2

The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike
Chapter 7 – Part 2 of 2

Cynthia launched herself at me, kissing my face and wrapping her arms around me. I don’t know if she was using my body as a shield or if she was just that excited. I decided it was probably both. “Oh my God, do you know embarrassing that was?”
I smiled. “Oh? I want to hear all about it.” I took her arm and slowly turned her back towards the mall. “Want to tell me about it over dinner?”
She stopped walking, forcing me to pull her after me. “I can’t go back in there,” she protested, pulling away from me.
I let her go and kept walking, though I did slow my pace. Cynthia remained frozen, standing in the parking lot half way between the entrance to the mall and the safety of her car. She was blushing still, ashamed by the display she had made and the outfit she was wearing. Her skirt was obscenely short; from where I was standing I could easily make out the bottom of her sex. Her top was nothing more than a leather belt, maybe three inches wide, encircling her chest. Her tits were fully exposed; the belt did nothing more than cover her nipples and most of her delicious areola.
“I can’t,” she said.
I walked to her and gave her a kiss. “You can. I know it. And don’t you want to?”
She bit her lower lip, looking scared and innocent and oh so sexy. She whispered something that I didn’t quite hear. “What was that?”
“Make me.”
I kissed her again. She kissed me back. I felt her trembling slightly; I was certain that was from arousal. I snuck my hand into her purse and fished out her keys. I dangled them in front of her eyes.  “You can have these back after dinner.” I slipped the keys into my pocket. With a smile, I turned back towards the mall. “I’m hungry.” I began walking into the mall. I wasn’t going slow now; if Cynthia wanted to join me, she’d have to run.
She ran, holding her tits. She caught up to me and fell in place behind me. That made me laugh, “Are you trying to hide that beautiful outfit?”
I could see her nod in the mirrored reflection of the malls double doors. “It’s embarrassing,” she said in a little girl’s voice.
“Good.” I smiled at her discomfort. I knew what she was going through. Hadn’t I set myself up to be equally as humiliated? I briefly thought of using the stone to help her out but knew we would both regret that. No, the game had to be played out. I would keep her safe.
I held the door open for her. She paused but kept going. Cynthia marched back into the mall wearing that thin belt across her tits and that tiny skirt rolled inward at the waist to make an already abbreviated skirt even shorter. The skirt fluttered with each step, revealing more and more of her naked body. From behind I could sell half her ass as she walked, the cleft of her butt as evident as a bare light bulb shining in an empty room. Her skin was flush. I couldn’t tell if her nipples were hard; the leather covered her chest too well. I suspected that they were. There was only one way to know for sure. Smiling, I asked, “Are your nipples hard?” My voice wasn’t exactly subdued.
Cynthia gasped and raised her head. Dozens of people were staring at her shameful display. She looked around, taking in all the people taking her in. Men and women were staring, some laughing, some pointing. Most of the men seemed to enjoy the show but it was the women that seemed the most disgusted. Were they jealous, angry, or somewhere in between I couldn’t know but some of the looks were absolutely filled with hate.
“Yes.” It was a whisper, nothing more.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. And I’d like a complete answer please.”
“Yes, dammit. My nipples are hard. I’m wet, too. Is that what you want to hear?” She sounded defiant and just a bit overwhelmed. Her voice carried, too. A few of the people nearest us gasped and one young man applauded. The color on Cynthia’s face became a little more evident.
“That’s exactly what I wanted, honey.” I took her hand and led her towards the junction of the Y that made up the food court. She was still walking slowly which I found both expected and funny. “The sooner we’re done eating, the sooner we can go. But if you want to keep window shopping…” I left the thought unfinished. It was better to let Cynthia fill in the rest.
She started walking faster. She kept her head low, not looking into the faces of those around us. I watched the reactions of those around us. I saw disgust, anger, jealousy, lust and hate. A few people made rude comments but mostly people just laughed, pointed, nudged their friends or gasped. It was mostly civil. I kept looking for security, expecting to be stopped at any moment. Maybe security didn’t care; the only law we were breaking was one of decency and propriety. Still, I was feeling nervous. I couldn’t imagine how Cynthia was feeling. I didn’t know then that I would be feeling the same thing a few days later.
We reached the food court. It was busy and the din was a bit too loud. I glanced around at the stores and what they served. There was Japanese food, a pizza place, a place selling cheesesteak sandwiches of both beef and chicken; there was a Chik-fil-a and a McDonalds. But mostly what I saw was a lot of kids. Too many. This was a bad idea. I spun around, yanking Cynthia with me. “Come on,” I said. “We’ll eat at my place.”
She simply nodded.
I led her from the mall, escorting her back to her car. I gave her the keys. “How are you doing?”
“I’m...” She was breathing heavily but it wasn’t from fear. She took my hand and pushed it between her legs. “… fucking horny.”
I slipped a finger into her pussy. I felt the tight grip. Another finger followed the first. I smiled at her, slid my hand free and offered her my wet fingers. She sucked them greedily. “Take me home and fuck me.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Cynthia beat me to my house but not by much. I saw her getting out of her car as I was pulling into my driveway. My house had a privacy fence around the sides and the back and the front was full of trees. The few neighbors I had were far enough away that anything that happened on my front step wouldn’t be clear even from the street. Cynthia must have realized that because she was standing naked at my door, wearing nothing but heels and a look that revealed her intentions, when I reached her.
I fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the door with one hand while caressing a needy, naked woman with the other. I pushed the door open. Cynthia grabbed me and pulled me down on top of her on the entry way rug. She spread her legs and reached for my fly. She unzipped me, grabbed my cock, and gave it three quick tugs. Satisfied, she guided my erection into her wet hole. Her arms wrapped around me, pulling into onto her. “Fuck me!” Cynthia commanded.
I complied. Cynthia came twice before I was even close. She came a third time just as I finally finished. I knew she was on the pill from a conversation we had had earlier and at the time I don’t think that would have mattered. She had been wanton and desirable and I was a man smitten by this beautiful woman. And, Lord, how I desired her.
Cynthia pushed the door closed with her foot. I stood, shaking and breathing hard. Cynthia padded into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. She shared it with me. I found that surprisingly sweet.
I ordered us a pizza. When it arrived, Cynthia answered the door still wearing nothing but her heels. “This one’s easy,” she said. “I’ve done it before.” She was turned on by sexual humiliation; maybe paying for a pizza naked was something easy to set up but it seemed risky.
Over dinner I asked her about that. “What if the guy just pushes into your house?”
She grinned, reminding me that I didn’t know everything about her. “I can take care of myself,” she confided. I was impressed by her training. “One on one, with a pizza guy, or most anyone, I’ll be fine.” She grabbed a hand and kissed my knuckles, “I promise.”
She kissed my hand again, “Thank you.”
We finished eating before snuggling on the couch. I set the Wererock on the coffee table when I stripped out of my clothes. Sitting together naked, warm skin on warm skin, felt both comfortable and comforting. We were sipping some red wine, winding down from an intense day, when I finally asked about her afternoon.
“It was maddening,” she took another sip of wine.
I was smiling now. “Oh?”
She shifted to face me. “I walked to the car, wondering what you had done. I knew it was something and I was giddy with anticipation.” I liked the idea of her being giddy. “I got in the car and as soon as I started the engine I felt an itch on my neck. I scratched it, thinking nothing of it. It started slow; did you set it up that way?”
I shrugged.
Ignoring my non-answer, Cynthia continued. “By the time I was halfway to my office my legs were itchy, my back, both arms and my boobs. I tried scratching them all but I looked ridiculous. I was sure my skin was turning red. Sitting at the light that led to my building, I hike up my skirt to look at my skin. There were no marks but as soon as my knees were uncovered, the itching stopped. I unbuttoned the sleeves on my blouse and rolled them to my elbows; the itchy feeling on my forearms faded. The light turned green and by the time I parked I knew what you’d done.” She turned to face me, a big smile on her face. “It was brilliant and like I said, maddening. I couldn’t just strip at work. Yes, I have my own workspace. It’s not really a cubical, more like a half-office with the other half empty, so I usually work alone, but people can come in at any time. I rolled my skirt down, feeling that insane itchy feeling return. Let me say, I hurried to my office and rolled up my skirt, unbuttoned the top two buttons on my blouse and pulled the cloth away. That helped, but only just.
“My pussy started to itch. It was mild at first, just enough for me to absently scratch it without really noticing, and then it became distracting. Really distracting. I slipped my panties off, hiding them in my desk drawer. Just like that my pussy felt fine. My tits itched; off came the bra. That didn’t help at all as I was still wearing my blouse. I hiked my skirt up to my waist, leaving me sitting very unladylike,” she demonstrated by parting her thighs, revealing the lovely form of her wet pussy, “with everything below on display. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cover up in time if anyone came in, but sitting there, exposed and vulnerable was arousing and that was far better than that nonstop itchy feeling.  Do you know how annoying that was? I was scratching at my arms, my chest, my stomach, my vagina, every place covered by clothes and it didn’t help. The only thing that made that maddening itch go away was totally uncovering the skin. Fuck, you set it up perfectly. I wanted to strip naked just to stop that incessant itch.
“I tried to get some work done, but I was scratching my body more than touching my keyboard. I finally unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. The itch had become too much. It was crazy; I knew it was all in my head, that the Wererock was making me feel like ants were crawling all over my skin, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that worked was taking off my clothes. I was basically naked in my half-private office, the door to the hallway open. Anyone could come in at any time; you must know how much that pushes my buttons. I was dripping wet.
“I could get some work done, sitting as I was, my legs splayed, topless, my skirt nothing more than a thick belt, but I was far too excited. My hand touched my body in a different way. Shit, I was masturbating in my office in the middle of the day. I’ve been naked in the office before, but always at night and after hours. It’s far scarier doing it in the middle of the work day. And more exciting too.” As she spoke she started to caress herself. I didn’t think she was aware that she was doing it and I had no intention of stopping the show.
“Did you get caught?”
She stopped moving. It was as if she forgot I was there. “No, fortunately. I almost got caught and I would have but I got lucky. One of my coworkers, John, you’ve not met him yet, he was coming to see me, in fact he did come see me, but he was stopped at the office next to mine. I heard him and Dante, the guy that works two office down, call out to him. It gave me enough time to put on my blouse and roll down my skirt. I started to itch the second I was covered. I scratched my arms and shoulders, stomach and thighs. God, it was crazy. John spent a good ten minutes with me. I muttered answers to his questions but all I wanted to do was scratch that incessant itch.
“As soon as he left my office I hiked my skirt up again so that I was sitting bare-assed on my chair with my legs as far apart as I could get them; my thighs were digging into the hard, plastic armrests. I unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. The itchiness stopped; that was a biblical relief. I tried getting some work done; that was a lost cause. The only thing I could think of was getting smaller clothes. Even though I was wearing the skirt, my hips and waist weren’t itchy. I tied my blouse around my chest and that helped. As least I was covered. It looked ridiculous and so I took my blouse off again.  Truthfully, I could get dressed again in a hurry if the blouse was just sitting on my desk ready to go. If someone came back I’d have to untie it, take it off, then put it on. It felt safer being topless.
“The work day ended without any other visits. That was a relief though not that unexpected. We mostly work autonomously. Still, the idea that I could keep the itchiness at bay by wearing smaller and smaller clothes wouldn’t leave me. It never once dawned on me that I could just go home and get naked. No, the only thought in my head was to see if I could find an outfit I could wear that didn’t make me crazy with the need to scratch every inch of me.
“I drove to the mall, feeling that maddening itch. My fingers were curled into tight fists as I fought the incredible urge to scratch. I started in one of the big chain stores, Belk’s I think it was, but it was too big and too conservative. I needed something tiny. I went out into the mall and found one of those crazy teeny-bopper stores. They had the smallest skirts and tops. I picked out a white tank top with some stupid, inappropriate writing and bought it. It helped, quite a bit. It covered me up top, mostly, and it took the itch away. Again mostly. It wasn’t small enough.
“I found the smallest skirt in the store.” She smiled, “You saw it. Shit, it didn’t really cover me at all. It helped with the itch. When I rolled the waistband, a trick I learned in high-school, the itchiness mostly stopped. It was there but it was tolerable. Half my ass was exposed, and even if I stood perfectly still you could see my pussy, but it was okay. It didn’t itch. My top did, so I kept shopping.”
I was smiling through her story. Even reliving it was enough to bring the color to her cheek. I had given her a story she’d be able to masturbate to for a long time. I felt happy about that and listening to her story, the evidence of my arousal was there for both of us to see.
“I bought a belt. A damned belt. It wrapped around me and just covered, well, you saw it. I put it on, feeling ridiculous and very, very exposed, but I didn’t itch. That seemed to satisfy whatever it was you did with the Wererock. And that triggered something else. As soon as I was blatantly exposed, but not dying to scratch that uncomfortable itch, something triggered. That’s the best way to describe it. I felt this compulsion to window shop. I went out into the mall and just looked into every damned window I could. I wasn’t shopping. I was putting myself on display. Letting people ogle me. And I stood out. I felt humiliated, embarrassed, and turned on.” She gave me a cold stare that turned into a smile.  She glanced at my erection. Her smile got even bigger. She stood, threw a leg over me to plant herself on my offered seat. I sucked her nipples and massaged her ass as Cynthia rode me. By the end, we were both satisfied.
She settled into me, nuzzling my shoulder with her short, brown hair. “Thank you for the exciting day.”
I kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome.”
We cuddled for a while and chatted about our past. Our conversation was deeper than any before. We were growing closer and that conversation seemed to lead the way. I finally asked about her salary so  I could get finalize an official job offer, feeling a little slimy as I did. She balked, but understood. Before she could answer I admitted my own financial situation to her. That prompted some wide eyes and a “You’re paying for dinner from now on,” comment from Cynthia. That made the rest of that conversation easy.
At the end of the night, Cynthia picked up the Wererock and fixed what I had done. She joked about it, “You didn’t think I was going to forget, did you?” Cynthia sighed happily as she put on her clothes without feeling that irritating itch.
I shrugged, finally getting dressed myself.
“Oh,” she said. “I don’t forget a lot of things.” She gave me a smile that was predatory. “Like where are your heels? And your purse?”
Uh oh. “In the car.”
She shook her head like a disappointed teacher. “Go get them.”
I hastened to my car, grabbed the heels and my black purse. Cynthia’s house was more open than mine. To either side of her I could see her neighbor’s houses, most with cars parked in the driveways and even more with lights burning within. My house had trees encircling it, keeping me less exposed to my neighbors. I didn’t have that luxury as I darted back to Cynthia’s side, my heels in one hand and my purse in the other.
“What did I tell you?”
I looked at my feet, “A girl always carries her purse.” I felt like an errant student being scolded by the teacher after getting caught cheating on a test.
“So, I guess…” She gave me a smile that was either evil or maybe just full of mischief. “Give me your hand.”
I took her hand, feeling the icy thrum of the Wererock between our palms. A moment later my boobs returned. They were the perfect size for my frame; I had the bras I’d need. Even with my suit jacket I’d never be able to hide them.
“Perfect,” Cynthia said. “Put on your heels.”
I set the purse on the floor and buckled the heels to my feet. I wobbled briefly and then found my footing.
“Now pick up your purse.”
As soon as I clutched my purse I felt my breasts recede. I stood there, a man in heels, clutching a purse. To test, I set the purse on the ground. Immediately I felt my tits return. Shit. I picked up my purse again and as before my breasts disappeared. I sat on the couch, my purse in my lap, and took off a heel. The moment the heel wasn’t touching my foot my breasts returned. So, that was her game: breasts or heels and purse.
“You should have a fun day tomorrow,” Cynthia chuckled as I put my heel back on. “This way you’ll learn to always, and I mean always, carry your purse.” She kissed me good night and ushered me out the door. Maybe she didn’t want to have me try and talk her out of her game. I walked to my car, a man in heels, carrying a purse, looking like a man. Sitting in my car, I set the purse in the passenger seat. Immediately my tits appeared.
How was I going to hide this at the office tomorrow?

1 comment:

sarah penguin said...