Tuesday, June 6, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 15 - Revenge

The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike
Chapter 15 - Revenge

                 It’s easy to win when you’re the only one that knows the rules. Cynthia taught me that with her game and we used that to beat Rita. Rita had been so fascinated by the stone that she didn’t ask enough questions when we told her about all about the Wererock. She didn’t know that silver blocked it’s magic and she didn’t know it could make changes in others if you’re both touching the rock at the same time.
 Monday morning, after Cynthia and I showered together, just to feel some intimacy that wasn’t designed to humiliate, Cynthia had me put a pair of silver earrings in my ear while she slipped her Grandmother’s silver necklace around her throat. I felt protected. Like a vampire hunter holding a crucifix. Cynthia’s phone had beeped ten minutes earlier; Rita was on the way.
We showered and dressed. It still felt weird putting on women’s clothes. I looked like a woman with large, natural breasts and a sensitive slit, but inside I was a man. I’d grown up as a boy named Amy, no, Adam, and I had the memories associated with being a boy. I played Varsity baseball; I fished; I hunted and killed my first deer when I was fourteen. I kissed a girl for the first time three weeks later playing a game of spin the bottle at a friend’s house late one Winter evening. I remembered my first car and the first time I touched a breast and how it made me feel powerful and terrified and excited and just a little bit older. I remembered all these things and yet, looking in the mirror as I made up my face, I saw nothing but a mostly pretty girl named Amy who worked as a secretary in the business I started.
Cynthia came out of the master bedroom wearing a sharp black suit with a  light green shirt underneath. Her skirt ended just below her knees while mine ended a few inches above my own. She placed a hand on my shoulder. I think she was still suffering from the night before and she needed to feel something other than shame or maybe she needed human contact that didn’t fill her with humiliation. Whatever she needed, I would give her. I’d regret that later. Isn’t that the way these things always go?
Rita arrived twenty minutes later, smiling in unmasked amusement as I opened the door, “So, who got to come?”
I said nothing which made Rita smile even more. I let her in, knowing she was powerless. We needed the Wererock back. After that, we’d see. Cynthia came into the kitchen where Rita and I were standing. She repeated the question she’d asked me when I answered the door. The blush on Cynthia’s face was all the answer Cynthia needed. Cynthia turned to me, “maybe you’ll win this weekend. Was it a fun game? Did you give many blowjobs?” She moved her hand in front of her mouth and used her tongue to make her cheeks bulge. It was crass and vulgar and I disliked Rita even more. She had been Cynthia’s friend; how could she do this? Cynthia could barely look me in the eye and here Rita was taunting us for things that were out of our control. It was like mocking a cripple.
Rita reached into her purse and pulled out the powerful blue rock. Cynthia and I had had our fun and then Rita had corrupted it. Now, we needed it back. With our silver, it was impotent, but we had to do something to make Rita forget all about it. That would be easy. It had to be. “I promised not to mess with your jobs. Besides,” she glared at me, “I find it delicious that you’re nothing but a secretary at your own business. Oh, that’s too good. Does that fill you with shame? It should.” Her face lit up. “It can.” She held out the stone. “Here, take this.” I took the stone and listened as Rita mocked me. “Make it so that you’re ashamed of your job. Make it so you feel trapped there. A dead-end job for a dead-end woman.” She cackled at that.
The silver blocked the change. I handed the stone to Cynthia but Rita demanded it back.
Cynthia reached out and grabbed Rita’s hand, trapping her hand with Rita’s with the Wererock between them. I knew Cynthia was doing something; hadn’t we talked about that? I was having a hard time remembering. Something about making Rita forget about something. A moment later Cynthia pulled the stone free and stuck it in her pocket.
Rita looked at Cynthia, “Good luck today.” She frowned. “I don’t know why I came over this morning. I guess it was to tell you I’m proud of you and to say I’m glad you’re away from Derek.”
Cynthia flashed me a weak smile. “Thanks. Can you give Amy and me a second, please?”
Rita nodded, “yes, of course. You two love birds take all the time you need.”
Cynthia led me to the master bedroom, taking her necklace off as she went. She clutched the stone like a junkie holding a crack pipe and whatever change she made, I could see her face become softer. It had been like she was Sisyphus carrying that heavy load and she’d finally been able to set that heavy rock aside. I liked the irony of using one rock to cast aside another.  “Your turn.”
I knew what she meant. I removed the earrings and used the stone to make myself Amy the normal not Amy the ditzy, nymphomania slut. I kept Cynthia’s orgasm control game in place but took away everything Rita had done. I kept the memories, not to relieve them but to learn from them. There’s wisdom in learning from ones’ mistakes.
“I want to do something to Rita. Something bad.”
I tried to talk her out of it and I wish I tried harder.
“We can undo it. I want her to know how it feels.” Her eyes grew damp. Her mascara started to run. That was something else that only women knew. I would learn all of those as the years progressed. I told her that revenge wouldn’t take away what had happened. “I know. I have to live with what I did, I need her to as well. I won’t be able to be her friend again until I feel we’re even.”
She wouldn’t be dissuaded. I can’t begin to understand the abject shame she felt selling her mouth for a dollar, or the most sacred place she held for three. I could only imagine how it felt to tell some slimy prick that you were a whore and not only that but a cheap one where a blowjob cost less than a fountain coke. Maybe she did need her revenge. I knew we could undo it; what could it hurt?
“Not for long, okay?”
Her question was sincere; I loved her for that. Maybe I should have pushed the issue but you can’t predict the future can you? You can only make plans and choices with what you know and what you can anticipate and you always assume there will be a future. Sometimes there isn’t. “Okay.”
She gave me a hug. It was huge and warm and nice. I hugged her back.
Cynthia put on her necklace; I donned the earrings. Better safe than sorry as the old saying goes.
Back in the kitchen, Cynthia took Rita’s hand with the stone clutched between them while I searched Rita’s purse for her phone. I deleted the damning pictures and contacts while Cynthia made a change in Rita. I didn’t know what but I could see a frown cross Rita’s lips as her eyes drifted shut. It took about thirty seconds for Cynthia to program Rita, thirty seconds we can never get back no matter how much we want to. Cynthia won’t remember what she did but I do. I do.
“I’ve got to get to work,” Rita said a moment later. She looked more or less normal.
“Us too,” Cynthia said, giving Rita a hug. At that moment, I thought that maybe they could be friends again.
“See you this weekend?”
Cynthia beamed, “you bet.”
Rita left and ten minutes later Cynthia and I were out the door. We rode to work together with Cynthia doing the driving. I sat buckled up on the passenger seat. “What did you do to her?”
“The same thing she did to me. That’s all. It’ll wipe the slate clean.”
She let out a little sigh. “Every weekend. Saturday and Sunday, she’ll dress in the sluttiest clothes she can find and go work the same street corner I did. She’ll sell her body with the same price list I had.”
“What about her husband?”
“She’ll make some excuse; I told her to be convincing.” She took her eyes off the road for just a moment to give me a wan smile. “I won’t let it go on for long and if it becomes an issue I’ll make sure they both forget. I need this. I didn’t lie; we’ll see her this weekend. We’ll make sure she’s safe.”
I felt better hearing that.
The week was relatively normal. We kept wearing silver and settled into our new routine. Cynthia ran my business better than I did. She was more people oriented that I’d ever been as a man and as such her compassion and empathy helped her deal with her employees better and garner more new business than I had imagined. Cynthia brought in two new clients that second week of me being her secretary with meetings scheduled for a half-dozen more.
I fetched her coffee; she seemed to take great delight in making me get it for her. Wednesday, she brought a new nametag for my desk with the name Amy written in perfectly formed lettering and the title Executive Assistant penned underneath my name. “Don’t want you to forget your place, do we Amy?”
“No, mistress,” I said.
She beamed. “You know, I think it would be kinda fun if you did feel a little emasculated at your job. Can you do that for me? Make yourself ashamed of what you do, knowing you’re stuck here?”
If it was a game she wanted to play, I could play it. I took off my earrings as she fetched the stone. A moment later I felt a bit defeated, wondering if I’d ever be anything but a secretary. I felt, not shame, not really, just defeated. It was like I’d dreamed my whole life of going to the stars only to find myself working some desk job for NASA and seeing everyone around me doing so much more with their lives than I ever could. I felt resigned. I think that’s the best word to describe how I felt. I put my earrings back on.
Saturday night came and Cynthia and I parked the car on the street corner a block from where Cynthia had worked the week before. We waited for Rita to arrive, both of us nervous for slightly different reasons. Margarite came to the corner wearing ridiculously tall, bright pink heels and a skin tight pink dress that revealed far more than it covered. She had this miserable look on her crimson face. She moved in jerky, unnatural motions. She knew what she was doing was wrong and she was trying to fight it, but the stone would win. The Wererock would always win.
We sat there, watching Rita get in one car after another. During it all Cynthia was frowning. I don’t think she was getting out of watching her friend what she’d hoped. Was that a good thing or bad? I hoped it was good. I hoped that by watching Rita shame herself that she’d end this misery sooner than she had planned.
Hope is a bitch.
                Rita got into her ninth car and as it drove away Cynthia, her lips trembling, put the car in gear. “I can’t watch anymore.”  She hit the gas.
                I heard a sound that sounded like bats shrieking. I saw a huge, bright light.
                Then the world went dark.

1 comment:

sarah penguin said...

Thanks for the update.