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.”


1 comment:

sarah penguin said...

Thanks for the update.