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.
                “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.
                “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.

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