Tuesday, May 30, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 14 – Part 1 of 2 - Clubbing



The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike
Chapter 14 – Part 1 of 2 - Clubbing

                We spent the rest of the day talking about how we needed to get Rita’s phone and the Wererock back from our new tormentor. “Silver,” I said, “we didn’t tell her that silver blocks changes.”
                “Oh, that’s good.”
                We ordered pizza for dinner and I wasn’t surprised to find Cynthia answering the door wearing nothing but a towel. I smiled at her, shaking my head. The man delivering the pizza, sporting a dirty Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and torn jeans smiled at the show. “Damn, how lucky am I?”
                Cynthia pirouetted, letting the towel fall to the ground. She paid for the order, and returned to my side, laughing. “That’s fun,” she said. “I don’t think that’ll ever get old.”
                “I guess we’ll find out.”
                She clapped her hands together, “goody!”
                We ate and talked; cleaned up and talked. We deleted the pictures from Cynthia’s phone and erased Derek’s contact information as well. We ended the day without a real plan but a few ideas. “We’ll look for an opportunity. We’ve got to get the phone first. That’s the threat that keeps us in line. Once we delete the pictures everything else should come a little easier.” I rubbed my head, “Once we have the phone under our control we’ll sneak out and put on some silver. Then, whatever she tries, won’t work. We’ll tell her the rock is broken or something; I guess we’ll play that by ear.” I shrugged. The plan was sound it just wasn’t much of a plan.
                “Okay,” Cynthia had agreed.
                Afterwards we made love. While frustrating, it was sweet and good. We kissed and caressed each other. I nibbled her nipples and she sucked on mine. I lapped at her pussy and became enflamed with passion when she reciprocated. It was tender and full of emotion. I learned then the sublime difference between making love and fucking. Even without the ability to come, that night with Cynthia was one of the best nights of my life. 
                Sunday morning, we stayed in. I made biscuits from a can and sausage gravy from scratch. Cynthia and I did the dishes together. We took a shower together as well, just to maintain our intimacy. Thanks to the Wererock neither of us had to shave. I remember Cynthia saying what a relief the stone had been in that regard. I’d never shaved my legs so I didn’t really understand what she meant but she was sincere so I’m sure she was exaggerating.
                We stayed naked, huddled together underneath a warm comforter. We watched old black and white movies on cable and had leftover pizza for lunch. It was a simple Sunday that left me feeling calm and relaxed. As the day progressed that feeling slowly waned. Rita sent a text telling us that she’d be over at six. As the time approached I felt like a prisoner about to be executed, knowing that no stay was coming from the Governor.
                “Don’t worry,” Cynthia said, kissing the tip of my nose. “No matter what happens I love you.”
                Just hearing that made me feel better. “I love you, too.”
                Cynthia put on her robe and I donned an old t-shirt and a pair of baggy shorts, exactly the kind of comfortable thing I used to wear around the house before I had boobs and a pussy between my legs. We sat around, making plans to get Rita’s phone, while waiting for her to arrive. She showed up, ringing my doorbell ten minutes early, excited to start whatever game she had planned.
                “Come in,” I said, opening the door. Rita was wearing a pair of jeans and a simple button down blouse; I think she wore the pants just because Cynthia couldn’t. Her skin looked younger and her hair was a more even black; she’d been using the rock. It was subtle but the evidence was there. Her purse was draped over her shoulder. She had the phone and the Wererock, it wouldn’t serve Cynthia or I to deny her access. We’d play her game and get her phone and free ourselves from whatever madness she came up with.
                “Thanks.” She came in and gave Cynthia a hug. It seemed so natural that I thought it was probably something that they did often. Rita took a seat on the couch in the same room Cynthia and I had watched movies and ate pizza. “Did you miss me?” She taunted.
                Instead of answering, Cynthia said, “so what’s this game?”
                “Not so fast. Come here… Amy.” She motioned me to her side. Cynthia, standing behind Rita, gave me a little nod. The game was underway. I stood next to Rita. She ran her hand up my bare leg. “The stone did this, right?”
                I nodded.
                She pulled the stone out of her purse.  “Here.” I clutched the icy rock, “I want you to make all the hair you had on your chest, arms, legs and underarms that the rock took away come back. Oh, and make that pussy of yours hairy, too.”
                That was easy. Using the Wererock was simple; dealing with the consequences was difficult.
                “Perfect,” Rita said. “Now, why don’t you go shave all that off. Women have to shave their legs. It’s a decidedly girly thing to do and so guess what, no shortcuts for you. Set the stone down; I’m going to program Cynthia here while you’re shaving. Do a good job. I’d hate to have to punish you.”
                I didn’t like the sound of that. I put the rock on my coffee table and hurried to the master bathroom. I started the shower and with my razor I scraped all the hair on my face, arms, and chest away. My underarms were a tad difficult to do, the shape of the skin didn’t match the rigid face of the razor. It took a few minutes until my underarms were denuded of hair again. Afterwards, I started on my legs. I lathered them up with shaving cream and went to work, sliding the blade from my foot to my knee, before rinsing the blade in the shower spray. Over and over I repeated those long strokes. I shaved my legs and spent a little extra time working on my knees. Finally, satisfied, I started with my new pubic hair. I shaved gently, taking away the hair with short, steady strokes. With the job done, using three full razors, I turned off the water. I dried my body, dabbing as Cynthia had taught me, and dressed again in the same baggy shorts and t-shirt.
                I was surprised to see that half an hour had passed. Cynthia was sitting on the couch wearing a blank look that I couldn’t decipher. Rita motioned me to her and checked how well I’d done. “Almost as good as the stone. Very good, Amy. Very good.” She gave me a smile and told me to sit down next to her. I sat.
                “Cynthia, why don’t you go get dressed while I set my little triggers for Amy here.”
                I watched as Cynthia left the room. She gave me a sad little look that hurt my heart. Whatever Rita had done, it was bad. Probably worse than either of us had imagined. I took solace that the stone could fix it, once we had control over it. The stone could take the memories away, make it so that it never happened. We just needed to get to that point.
                “Pick up the rock.”
                I picked up the rock.
                “Good. Now, in a moment you’re going to go get ready for a night out, just you, Cynthia has a different task. You’ll have a ball,” she laughed though I didn’t know why. “You’re going to go put on your makeup, get into those sexy little dresses you two bought, and then go out and have a good time. You know where Casper’s is, right?” I did, it was a meat market, where horny college students went to pick up dates. They played loud music and served overpriced, water-downed drinks. It wasn’t the place I’d ever wanted to go and I doubt Cynthia had ever been there either. “But first, we have to get you in the right frame of mind.”
                I kept quiet, this was Rita’s show. I was just the actor on stage.
                “Do you know what a slut is?”
                I knew the standard definition. I wasn’t sure if Rita actually expected an answer so I kept my mouth shut.
                “Well?”
                “A slut is a woman that will sleep with just about anyone; someone that has many casual sexual partners.”
                “Exactly. How about a nymphomaniac?”
                Yeah, this wasn’t going well. “Someone who thinks about and acts upon their sexual urges as often as they can?”
                “Perfect. Finally, what’s a ditz?”
                What did, oh shit. “An airhead, maybe? Someone that can’t hold a thought for long.”
                Rita beamed. “Close enough. You get where I’m going with that, Amy?”
I did and I didn’t like it. This was bad. Worse than bad, this was apocalyptic. I shook my head, more to hold off the inevitable than anything else. I felt my hands growing damp, worry etching the lines in my face.
“Oh, Cynthia, don’t you look the part? Tonight, your name is Sin.”
Cynthia had entered the room. Her face was heavy with makeup. Her hair had been teased and elevated, set in place by a gallon of hairspray. She had large golden earrings in her ears that hung down to her shoulders. The black dress she’d bought was every bit as revealing here in my great room as it had been in the store. I could tell that she wasn’t wearing panties and when she walked I could tell that her pussy was every bit as shaved as mine. From behind I could see nearly half her ass was on display. She was wearing impossibly high heels, I’d guess about a seven-inch heel with a good three-inch platform. With her heavy makeup and heels she looked like a hooker. A high-class hooker, sure, but a prostitute none-the-less.
“Sin is for sin,” Rita said.
Cynthia’s face changed, suddenly she looked happy. She glanced at the three-foot clock on the wall, “Damn, I’m late. Don’t wait up girlfriend!” She grabbed her purse, checked it for her cellphone and spare makeup, and then darted from the room.  A moment later I heard the chirp from my alarm system as Cynthia left the house.
“Where’s she going?”
Rita answered my question by not answering it at all, “She’s starting her task; you’ll go on yours. The winner gets to come. Don’t you want to come?”
“I want to know what you did to Cynthia, dammit!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the room.
“I’ll tell you after you’re set up for your game.”
That wasn’t going to work for me. She’d set Cynthia off on some humiliating task and I needed to put a stop to it. If only it were that simple. “No, Rita, listen to me. This has gone on long enough.” I was still holding the Wererock, maybe if I could get Rita to take it from me. I held out my hand. “Take the stone and tell me what you did.”
Rita smiled, reminding me of a great white shark, “I’ll tell you after I set you on your game. You’ll want to know it for sure.” She looked at the Werestone sitting in my hand but didn’t reach for it. “I can tell you that if I don’t text her in the next half hour she’s going to have a much harder time of it. And I’m not going to text her until I have you programmed.”
Shit! Shit! Shit! I hesitated, not sure what to do. Our plan to get Rita’s phone was in place but was she telling the truth? I knew that triggers could be anything, why couldn’t they be a text. Rita saw my hesitation. “If I don’t text her she’ll drive straight to Derek’s house and, well, you saw how she was dressed and she’ll offer exactly, well, everything.” That last word was steel.
I felt defeated. “Fine!” It sounded like I was pouting.
“Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Ready?”
No. “Yes.”
“Make yourself a slut, you know, just like you defined.”
Uh oh.
“Did you do it?”
I didn’t feel any different but I knew the stone had worked it’s magic, doing exactly what I wanted it to do, reading the intent from my thoughts even easier than the thoughts I focused upon. “Yes.”
“Good. Now I want you to think of yourself as a girl. You’re Amy, right. So, make it so that you think you’re a girl and you’ve always been a girl.”
I was Amy so that one was easy. “Okay.”
“Now, are you horny?”
I was, though at the time I didn’t feel it. I was feeling anger and despair and those didn’t really go along with amorous feelings of lust. I shrugged.
“That will never do. Make yourself horny. Make yourself so horny that you’d fuck a pillow if you thought that would get you off.”
I made the change. That one was evident. I felt a tingling in my pussy, a buzzing, vibrant need. My knees flexed as I rubbed my thighs together, just to feel something. My nipples hardened and my mouth grew dry. Oh, god, was I horny. I needed to come. Yes, come. My hand slipped into my panties. I rubbed the Werestone against my pussy, gasping as the cold stone rubbed my hot flesh. It felt good. I moaned. I didn’t mean to, but I did.
“Perfect. Now, you still can’t come, right?”
Huh? “What? I need to come, please, can I come?”
“Only if you win my game. Now, do the rest of it. Make yourself a ditzy, nymphomaniac slut. Do it or your Cynthia’s going to visit Derek and see just how many times he can fuck her up that sexy ass of hers.”
I couldn’t let that happen to Cynthia. Maybe I should have with all that happened afterwards, but I knew how she felt about him and I had to protect her from that indignity. I started to pull the rock out of my panties but it felt so good. What did it matter?  It was touching my skin. I shut my eyes and made the change. The results were instantane… inst… the results were fast. I felt horny, hornier than I could imagine and I could imagine almost anything. I could imagine huge, hot cocks pounding into my cunt. Oh, that was a good idea. Could I make that happen? The way I was dressed, I bet I could.
“Did you do it?”
I looked up, surprised. When did Rita get here? Had she been there long? I tried to remember when she’d arrived. She looked good. Her makeup was done well and her lips were full and inviting.  “Want to fool around?” I asked, pointing to the couch, reaching out to touch her chest.
Rita laughed, “What about Cynthia?”
I pouted, “She’s not here and I’m horny. She won’t mind, right?” That didn’t sound right. Would she mind? If she was here I could ask her. “Where is Sin?”
Rita laughed even louder. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Give me the stone.” I tried to determine what she meant. What stone?  She laughed again. “The toy in your panties.”
I didn’t want to give it to her. It felt so good.  I told her that which sent her into fits of laughter. “You did it, you really did it. Come on, hand it here and we’ll get you what you need.”
“Promise?” I asked, biting my lip.
“I promise.”
I pulled the Wererock from my panties and gave it to Rita. Had I been thinking clearly, I could have stopped everything that was happening. For a moment both Rita and I were touching the stone at the same time. I could have made a change in her but I wasn’t thinking about our plan, I wasn’t thinking about Cynthia and where she was, all I could think about was the aching desire to get fucked. Hard and often. I needed it. I had thought that using the stone was like a junkie gaining a fix, but the stone had set me up far worse than that. It knew the intent of what Rita was asking, or maybe I did, and it set me up exactly as she wanted. I could think of nothing complicated; maybe I could refresh my lipstick, or order a drink at a bar, but concentrating on the plan Cynthia and I had come up with was beyond my abilities at that moment. 
“Oh,” Rita said, letting go of the rock so that it was in my hand alone. “Whenever a guy comes inside of you, I want a couple of things to happen. Okay?”
                I was going out to get laid. I needed that.
                “Amy? Grab the rock.”
                I grabbed the rock. It was pretty. Cynthia’s eyes were blue, too.
                “I want you to get even hornier every time you feel ashamed. Can you make that happen?”
                I listened to what she wanted while holding the rock. I’m sure I made the change.  “Yeppers!”
                “Good. Now, every time a man comes inside of you I want you to remember you’re a man, a big, strong man, and I want you to feel the shame you’d expect to feel. Can you do that? And because you feel that shame, I want you to get even hornier. Can you make that happen now?” She giggled, “Or is that too complicated?”
                I wasn’t stupid, I just couldn’t concentrate for long. I focused on what she said and made the change. “Okay.”
                “Good, now the stone, please.”
                Rita put the stone in her purse and pulled out a sharpie. “Here, keep this with you.”
                I grabbed the pen. “Why?”
                “Come on, let’s go see Cynthia and then I’ll tell you why, okay?”
                That sounded good. “Okay.”
                “Then let’s get you dressed.”
                We made our way into the master bedroom. I put on my little black dress. I looked good in it. I looked sexy. I’d fuck me. My legs were smooth; my hair perfect. It was nighttime and I was going clubbing so I made my face up with darker colors and thicker lines, a far cry from demure; my face screamed slut. That was perfect, too. I put on a pair of black, four-inch heels with a pointy toe and a simple strap running up my foot to a band that latched around my ankle. I sprayed myself with too much perfume. Damn, I looked good.          
                Sitting on the bed, Rita watched it all, taking in the show. “You look like you want to get laid, girlfriend.”
                What a stupid thing to say, “Duh.” I giggled and wobbled to my feet.
                “Ready?”
                “Let’s go.” I grabbed my purse; a girl never, ever forgets her purse. Rita reminded me about the sharpie and I stuck that in my purse next to some makeup, a few condoms, a tampon, my lipstick, a bottle of bright red nail polish, a brush and a small, round mirror. The same items Cynthia had set up for me to buy during one of our earlier games and the condoms I’d added myself.
                Rita drove in her dark blue Fiat. She backed out of my private driveway while I checked my makeup in the visor mirror. I still looked good. My thighs were clenched and I could feel my panties growing damp. I was horny; I needed a good, hard fucking.
                Rita drove towards the golden-domed capital building. She turned out of downtown, towards the Florida State campus. We skipped past squat, square buildings made of old, red bricks, lined with even older live oak trees. There were very few pedestrians out on the streets as we drove through the campus towards the airport and the seedier part of town. “Where we going? I thought we were going to Casper’s.”
                “We are. First we’re going to check in on Cynthia so I can tell you the game.”
                “I like games. Well, not Monopoly. It’s hard.”
                Rita smiled. The college campus gave way to a run-down industrial park. Litter lined the poorly lit streets. The quaint, well-maintained buildings became something of an eye-sore. Buildings boarded up and painted with graffiti replaced the pristine buildings of the campus. There was a smell in the air that reminded me of rotten meat. I wrinkled my nose, “it stinks.”
                “There she is,” Rita said.

Friday, May 26, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 13 – Part 3 of 3



The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike
Chapter 13 – Part 3 of 3

“Why not?”       
I wanted to keep that to myself but the threat of sending a revealing photo to Derek forced me to explain the game and how Cynthia had rigged it to work against me. Rita took that in, her smiling growing bigger and bigger. “Oh, you two are kinky. Still,” she seemed to consider what she was about to say but finally kept quiet. “That’s good to know,” she finally said. “Very well, keep going,” she looked at me, “both of you.”
I pulled down my panties and explored my new pussy. The folds shifted against my touch. I slipped first one finger and then two inside my pussy. I felt a growing tingling that soon became and tidal wave of lust. One hand pumped a pair of fingers into my body while the other rubbed my new, sensitive clit. Soon, both Cynthia and I were moaning in need, fueling our own frustration. I hovered at the precipice of orgasmic bliss only to find my body dropping from the edge just long enough to allow my need to rise but the risk of completion to fall away. Cynthia trembled next to me, feeling that same urgent denial.
“One of you will come tomorrow night,” Rita finally said. “I just don’t know which one.” She gave a smile that frightened me, “But you won’t like my game.” Through the rear view mirror, she peered into my lust-filled eyes. “You’ll like it least of all.”
I wanted to ask her why, not knowing that she had accidently touched the stone when she reached for a tissue from Cynthia’s purse when I’d set Cynthia up for her day of “wide-spread” exposure. She had touched the stone and the stone had touched her in return, telling her what to do. Rita was doing what she was told to do by that Wererock and we, Cynthia and I, were forced to go along.
Rita drove, with the two of us fingering our cunts in the back seat. The car smelled of sex. Our moans were loud and unending. I felt trapped on the edge of completion, desperate to take the plunge that would send me over the edge but the stone had forbidden it and the stone, unlike Cynthia and I, couldn’t be denied.
Off Capital Circle, heading south towards the airport, there is an adult shop that sold lingerie and videos, sex toys and magazines. In the back, there were video booths that played pornographic movies from interracial to anal, bondage to hard-core gang bangs. Rita parked the car and looked at us. “You,” Rita said, “need to experience some of the things we girls have all done. I think you need to go buy you your first vibrator. Take your time, imagine how it will fill inside that cute little pussy of yours. But first,” she grinned, “dip your fingers into your pussy and dab a little of those juices behind your ears and on your wrists.” She looked at Cynthia, “you just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Cynthia kept masturbating while I slipped my wet fingers into my even wetter pussy. I rubbed my new perfume behind my ears, on my wrists and as Rita commanded between my breasts as well. I pulled my panties in place and climbed out of the car. The sky was overcast, threatening an afternoon thunderstorm that Florida was famous for. Magnolia trees shook in the breeze and overhead I heard a crow call out. Traffic raced by on the road behind me. The store stood alone with black paper blocking the glass door. A mannequin in the window was dressed in the smallest bathing suit I had ever seen; it was basically just a few strings with a tiny swath of fabric that barely covered the mannequin’s nipples and left all but a half-inch strip of its plastic crotch uncovered. I couldn’t help but wonder how’d Cynthia look in that.
I grabbed onto my purse a little tighter as I opened the door. I read the sign stating you had to be eighteen to even enter and hoped they didn’t card me; as of yet I didn’t have an ID card with my name on it. The store was well lit and cleaner than I expected. To the right of the door was a long, elevated counter where a young girl with about two dozen piercings on her face and just as many tattoos on her arms was working, stocking a storage case with flavored condoms. To my left were six rows of videos broken down by category. On the back wall was a single black curtain leading to the video booths. To the far right of the store were racks of toys and bondage gear, handcuffs and nipple clamps. Just about anything imaginable. The middle of the store held the lingerie, costumes and bikinis.
I strode into the store not really feeling embarrassed. I was a man, at least internally, and the way I thought and felt was fueled by what I was, not by how I looked. It dawned on me that there was an important lesson in what I was thinking. I walked to the bikini, deciding that Cynthia needed one. Just because I knew how it would play out, I picked up two of them, one in silver and one in gold. With the barely-there bathing suits in my hand I made my way to the toy section. There were some things I’d never seen before and some I had only imagined. Looking at the leather contraptions and latex schlongs, at the handcuffs and high-heeled shoes with impossibly tall platforms, I was amazed at all the possibilities. I’d have to come back here with Cynthia later. We could have a ball.
The side wall held dozens of faux cocks. There were some that were beige and some that were black. They had them in various sizes, from the size of my thumb to some monstrosity that seemed as big around as a two-liter bottle of coke. Some cocks vibrated, some squirted liquids out the tip. There were also gentler vibrators, smooth and thin. I picked up a vibrator that was silver with a black base you twisted to make buzz. It was about six inches long, nothing huge. It looked innocent, well as pure as a vibrator could. Perfect.
I paid for my vibrator and bathing suits with cash; my credit cards were in the wrong name, too. I had to think about why they said Adam. My name was Amy, any other name was hard. I left the store with my purse draped over my left shoulder and a black bag clutched in my right hand holding my purchases.
“Let’s see what you bought,” Rita commanded as I climbed in the back seat. I pulled out the vibrator, dropping the bag and bathing suits onto the floor of her car. The vibrator was trapped in hard plastic with a pair of generic batteries. “Oh, that’s a nice one. Too bad I don’t…” She gave me a smile, “Why don’t you go back in and see if they’ll open it up for you. Tell whoever’s working that you just can’t wait to get home and you want to use it now.”
That idea did get through to me. My face flushed red. Cynthia gave me a wan little smile but kept rubbing her juicy cunt. Her fingers were sopping wet and there was a scarlet hue to her cheeks that had to match my own. I left the car and darted back into the store.
“Forget something, sweetie?” The tattooed girls said.
“I… that is… I just can’t wait to get home to use this thing.” I stammered, stumbling over my words, “can you open it for me?” I held the vibrator up. The front of the store was empty save for me and this young girl. There were two other cars in the parking lot so I assumed there was someone in one of the booths in the back.
The girl grinned and held open a pair of scissors. “You’re not the first person to ask that, sweetie,” she said, taking the vibrator package from my hand. She opened the toy, unscrewed the cap, put in the batteries and put it all back together. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the toy. Good for her, I remember thinking. While she wasn’t embarrassed, I certainly was. My mouth was dry and that horniness I’d felt leaving the car had long since waned. She twisted the cap, making sure the buzzing to buzzed. “Here you go,” she said, turning the vibrator off. “Have fun. You really should consider buying a Hitachi magic wand; that’ll knock your socks off.”
It sounded like she was speaking from experience. “Thanks,” I mumbled, leaving the store without the package, holding nothing but a vibrator in my hands. I was certain my heart would burst if someone were to pull up and see it in my hand. I hurried back to the car, once again climbing into the back seat.
Rita applauded. “Good girl. Why don’t you test it out while we go for a drive? We need to get you two matching dresses for tomorrow night.”
That didn’t sound good. I didn’t know what she had planned but whatever it was I knew it wasn’t going to be good. She had said as much. She was setting us up for something and she had told me that I wasn’t going to like it. I didn’t even like thinking about it and I had nothing to go on. Even then, I was full of trepidation.
I hiked up my skirt and slipped my panties to my knees, holding them in place by spreading my legs, my panties bridging the gap. I turned on the vibrator, the toy sounding loud in the car. I ran the vibrator up my thighs, touching it to my pussy. My stomach lurched, hoisting my sex into the air. It felt good, God did it feel good. It buzzed, sending vibrations deep into my pussy. My whole clit seemed to thrum happily against the rigid toy. I slipped it into my pussy, feeling the buzzing from both inside and outside my cunt. My whole sex seemed to tighten against the toy, clutching it, sending those pleasurable vibrations even deeper. I grabbed Cynthia’s leg and felt the warmth of her body. I gasped. I moaned. And as I struggled to come, I begged. Oh, how I begged.
Rita laughed. Cynthia gave me a sad look full of sorry.
                “Keep going,” Rita said, backing the car out of our parking space. “Don’t stop.” She adjusted her mirror to look at Cynthia. “Either of you.”
                Cynthia began masturbating again, having stopped to watch me tease myself. I continued to fuck myself, pounding that buzzing toy into my pussy and out again, as Cynthia stroked her hard clit, teasing her own needy pussy. By the time Rita stopped driving we were both achingly desperate to come. I was still begging, I was sure of it, but now my words were more guttural, less human. Rita smiled, obviously pleased.
                “Okay you two,” she said. “We’ve got to get you something to wear tomorrow night.” She climbed out of the car and Cynthia and I followed suit. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see we were at the mall. Where else could we go to have a readily available audience?
                “What’s tomorrow night?” Cynthia asked, recovering a bit faster than I did. My legs were shaking and I didn’t trust my voice.
                Rita gave a predatory smile in response. “You both need new dresses.” She looked at me, “Every girl has a little black dress in her closet. Something sexy and short. We’re here to get one for both of you.” She looked at Cynthia, “You’re the show-off. Your dress will be, shall we say, inappropriate. Find one that’s too short and far to revealing. If it’s not short enough you won’t like what I’ll do. Got it?”
                We both answered “yes” at the same time.
                “Good. I’ll follow behind you, watching the show. Cynthia, my little slut, we need to make a little adjustment to your skirt.”
                I didn’t like the sound of that and the way the color drained from Cynthia’s face I was certain she didn’t either.
                “I want you to understand how short your dress should be. Come here.” Cynthia walked over to stand before Margarite. “From now on this skirt is the longest you’re allowed to wear outside of the office. We’ll work on the office dress code later.” The skirt was already short; it covered her fully in the front and reached down to barely cover the crease of her ass in the back. I couldn’t imagine wearing a skirt that short and to have that be the longest one was just obscene. I thought of speaking up but knew the only thing that would bring would be something even worse. I swallowed my words and gave Cynthia a supporting glance instead. “Now, why don’t you roll the waistband once.”
                Cynthia complied. Her blue skirt had about an inch-thick waistband. She folded the band inward, tucking it under itself. This caused her skirt to ride up about an inch all the way around. The skirt, already short, became even shorter. “Again,” Rita said, watching the show. Cynthia rolled her skirt again, making it even shorter. The apex of her thighs was just visible. From where I was standing I couldn’t see anything but if I were to crouch I was certain I’d be given quite the show. The fold, where her legs met her sexy ass was now visible as was the lower inch or so of her ass. “One more time,” Rita commanded. Cynthia complied, folding the waistband in again. The results were dramatic. At least a third of her ass was on display and without straining I could see that she wasn’t wearing panties. The skirt was obscene. Rita thought otherwise, “Perfect. That’s how short your dress should be. For you, my sexy slut, little is the key word. Now, run off.”
                Cynthia started towards the outdoor mall. I followed behind her, using my body to shield the view of her sexy behind. We walked through the concourse, past the kiosks selling baseball caps and souvenirs for both the Gators and the Seminoles. We walked past a bookstore and a GameStop, past three jewelry stores and the same Victoria’s Secret that wasn’t so secret any longer. Cynthia led us to a woman’s boutique sandwiched between an iPhone repair store and a store selling hot pretzels and lemonade. The store sold club wear and some of the shortest skirts and dresses I’d ever seen. Cynthia knew the place well.
                “Come on,” she said, taking my hand. “This’ll be fun.”
                I had almost forgotten how much she was into forced exhibitionism and with Rita running the show, she was definitely being forced. The store was lit by individual lightbulbs hanging on black wires. Circular racks were scattered about the store with mannequins sitting on a piece of mirrored glass in the center of each clothing rack. Along each of the walls were hanging dozens of skirts and blouses, all of them tiny. “This place is called party city,” Cynthia explained.
                “I thought it was called ‘Club Corner’,” I said, recalling the name above the door.
                Cynthia laughed and I deferred to her expertise, only then realizing she was making a joke. I guess my nerves and horny need wasn’t letting me think clearly. Cynthia led me to a rack that held nothing but black dresses. Other racks held dresses of every color, from gold to green, blue to beige, but the rack Cynthia was perusing was filled with nothing but black, some longer than others, some low cut with thick shoulder bands, others made of simple spaghetti straps.
                Cynthia thumbed through the dresses, pulling some free to hold in front of her body. She discarded some as too long even though I thought they were far too short. She selected about a dozen dresses of different lengths and styles before pulling me with her to the dressing rooms in the back. “I’ve got some for both of us,” she said, smiling, leading me by my hand. “This’ll be fun.”
                If only we knew.
                The dressing rooms were separated from the main floor by a pair of swinging doors like you’d find leading into an old west saloon. Beyond the door were seven dressing rooms, three on each side and a bigger one opposite where we were standing. A single bulb on a simple black wire hung down in each room, partitioned by another pair of brown saloon doors. Cynthia yanked my arm and pulled me into the biggest of the seven dressing rooms.
                “Strip,” she said, as she began removing her skirt and blouse.
                We were alone and the stone was powerful, “yes, mistress.”
                Cynthia beamed. When you don’t wear much, it doesn’t take long to strip. Cynthia was naked save for her heels by the time I was down to my bra and panties. “That should be good,” she said, giving me a look I couldn’t quite place. Was it jealousy or joy that was written on her face? Maybe it was both? “Here,” she handed me a dress.
                I unzipped the back and shimmied into the dress, stepping through the opening at the top and shaking my hips to get it into place. It had thin straps, about the width of a ruler, with black lace running around the hem at my thighs. Cynthia zipped me up. It felt too tight for my boobs and I thought it was a little short, ending about halfway between my knees and my crotch. It was tight and short and fit well enough.
                “That looks good,” Cynthia said, stepping into a dress of her own. She looked amazing. The dress she wore was short. Damned short. A little more than a third of her ass was exposed and it ended right at her crotch. With each step she’d take in that thing she’d be flashing her denuded pussy. It had one strap going over her right shoulder; her left would be bare. The middle of the dress was nothing but lace revealing her stomach and the bottom swell of her breasts. That was the most revealing dress I’d ever seen.
                “Wow,” I said, taking it in. “That’s skimpy.”
                “And hot.” Cynthia said, admiring herself in the mirrors that lined each of the outer walls of the booth.
                I agreed. Standing next to her my dress wasn’t nearly so revealing. In fact, it looked quite demure even though I was flashing a lot of cleavage and a good bit of thigh. At least my ass was covered. Cynthia was showing half her sexy butt, a bit of under boob and just as much cleavage as me. Next to her, even though my dress was sexy, I looked dowdy.
                We tried on a few more dresses but Cynthia’s eye had been perfect. Ultimately, we chose the two we tried on first. Cynthia paid for them since I didn’t have that much cash on me and my credit cards were still in the wrong name. I really needed to get some in my name, or at least with my initial: A.
                Rita was waiting for us as we left the store, “Did you find what you needed?”
                We agreed that we had.
                “Good, tomorrow afternoon I’ll be over to set up my game. I’m, shall we say, ironing out the kinks. I promise, one of you’ll get to come.”
                It sounded like she was dismissing us and as far as I was concerned that was a good thing. Still, I was terrified of her game even though I wasn’t sure what it would be. The way she said it made me uncomfortable. She was talking like a megalomaniac about to blow up the world, or maybe a Scooby Doo villain. She had this air about her that was wholly power hungry. It was the Wererock of course; it had her. Hadn’t I been the same way when I first discovered it? Trying out what it could do and needing to do more and more, like a junkie needing a fix? Yes, I knew what she was feeling, only she had puppets to play with and so, ultimately, had a little more leeway in what she could do. I had been careless and I was taking care of myself. Rita didn’t have those self-preservation concerns.
                “I’m keeping the stone. Don’t worry, I’ll be bringing it back.” She looked at me, “Can have you go making any changes, right?”
                If she wanted an answer she didn’t get one.
                “Sadly, I’ve got to get home to my husband.” She sounded disappointed but not the least bit sad. “First, give me your phone.” Cynthia started to hand over the phone. “Unlock it, first.”
Cynthia obeyed, handing her phone to Rita. She looked nervous, afraid of what Rita was going to do. Rita flipped through the contacts and a moment later, we all heard Rita’s phone, buried deep in her own purse, chirp. Rita gave Cynthia back her phone. “You two have fun.”
“What did you do?” Cynthia asked, worried.
“Nothing big, don’t worry.” Being told not to worry was always cause to worry. “I just sent me a few of your contacts. Derek for one; your mom; your old boss; Olivia, she’s your hairdresser, right? I have those pictures we took the other day and now I have people to send them to. I told you’d they’d make great blackmail photos and now, well, I guess you’ll do what I want, right?”
                Cynthia’s mouth fell open as she absorbed what Rita had said.
                With that, Rita turned and left, laughing as he walked away. Cynthia and I watched her go, the Wererock, our ride, and our freedom going with her. That was bad; we needed that stone. I didn’t like the idea of losing it at all. And we needed that phone. Maybe even more than the Wererock.
                When Margarite was out of sight, Cynthia grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it down, unrolling the waistband, lengthening her skirt to something that was as long as the little black dress I’d just bought. She looked a little more relaxed once she was somewhat covered, “What are we going to do?” Cynthia asked.
                We walked through the open concourse, skirting past the same stores we’d passed on our way in. I pulled my phone from my purse and called an Uber. “We’ll go home,” I said.
                “I meant about Rita. What is up with her?”
                That question confused me. I didn’t know her near as well as Cynthia. “I take it this isn’t normal behavior for her.”
                “God no,” she exclaimed. “She’s as straight-laced as they come. Yes,” she blushed as she spoke, “I have purposefully lost some silly bets to her, an excuse to flash, because, well,” I knew what she was talking about, because it turned her on. “But it was something we joked about. This isn’t like her at all.”
                We waited for our ride, trying to decide what prompted the changes Cynthia noted in her friend and what we were going to do about it. “We’ve got to get the Wererock back.” Cynthia greed with me on that point; she didn’t like Rita having it any more than I did.
                “Thank you,” she said to me.
                “For?”
                “Going along with everything. For not letting Cynthia send that picture to Derek.”
                “She can still send it,” I said. “That was smart on her part to get those contacts. We’ve got to get that phone, too. We need both of them back.”
                “How?”
                As our ride pulled up I answered that question with an honest, “I don’t know.”