The Wererock - Chapter 10 – Part 1 of 2 – My Girl

The Wererock

By Guest Writer:  Mike

Chapter 10 – Part 1 of 2 – My Girl

I woke up Saturday morning next to Cynthia. Sometime during the night, she had used the Wererock to turn herself back into herself. She and I were identical twins that Saturday morning. I got up, looked down at the woman that I was falling in love with and at the same woman staring back from the mirror. From where I stood I couldn’t really tell us apart. I saw that incredible stone sitting on the nightstand next to Cynthia and a moment later I was me again.

I slipped on the same work shirt Cynthia had worn the day before. Covered, I went to her kitchen and after perusing her refrigerator, I made each of us a small ham and cheddar omelet. I buttered some toast, made coffee the way Cynthia liked it, and carried it to the bedroom. Cynthia was sitting up waiting for me. “I heard you clanging away; that smells good,” she opened and closed both hands like lobster claws, “coffee.” She took the cup as I settled onto the bed.

We ate breakfast, chatting about her day as me. “I did something,” she admitted, “I meant to tell you yesterday but we got carried away.”

I don’t know why I wasn’t worried. No, that’s not true. I do know. The Wererock. I’ve mentioned the power it holds and how I believe it’s a sentient thing, not an inanimate object like some mythical relic. It wasn’t Thor’s hammer; it was something living and I think it chose me. I know that sounds crazy, but is it any crazier than magically growing tits or a vagina? I believe that whatever lives inside the rock picked me, although I can’t say why. Does that even matter? Someone gets cancer, or someone’s baby dies in the womb or any other tragedy and they wonder why it happened to them. The truth is, good or bad, things happen. The Wererock chose to reveal itself to me on that tiny island with three little trees and I think it picked Cynthia for me, too. If that sounds nuts, then so be it. It’s what I believed; I didn’t need anything other than that. How is that any different than having faith in God or Buddha or Jehovah or Mohammad? Belief, contrary to what we can see, is faith and I believe that whatever lives within that stone brought Cynthia and I together. I don’t know why and I don’t care - I just believe. And because of that I wasn’t worried about what Cynthia wanted to tell me. What she did was good for us. I believed that, too. If the thought was mine alone, or implanted by the Wererock, I didn’t care. This was something good. That much I knew. “Oh,” I finally said, taking a bite of my omelet.

“I signed a contract with the McClintock group. You know them, over on Capital Circle West?”

I knew them; I’d been trying to redo their paperwork indexing software for months. They had an old-fashioned system that needed to be updated and hadn’t formally accepted any of my proposals. “How’d you pull that off?”

“I told them about the new CEO.” She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing me.  Had she really taken over my company? I hadn’t agreed to that. Hell, I had enough money to retire it just wasn’t something I was planning on doing. Was I? Thinking about it sounded appealing but it was my company; I started it, working long hours from my living room couch, building it to what it was, a nice sized company with fourteen employees doing business on three different continents. I felt lost at first, then angry, then something I couldn’t quite put into words. It was a combination of happy and mad and relieved and defeated all at once. “What did you say?” My words were calm. That was good, right?

She put her plate down, grabbed the plate in my hands and put it on the bed, too. She took my hands, “I’m sorry if I did something wrong but I don’t think I did.” She nodded towards the stone. “That thing is alive, have you felt that?” She saw my faint nod, “I wasn’t fully in control of my actions. I wasn’t. The phone rang and Carley, she’s a delight by the way, transferred the call to me. I took the call; it was Sean Henderson from the McClintock group.” I knew the name. “He didn’t know he wasn’t talking to you. He couldn’t know; how could he? He explained the sole reason he hadn’t accepted your offer. He said he wanted to but there was a mandate from his managing partners demanding the contract go to a minority managed business. Wouldn’t you know it, women in business is somehow seen as a minority.”

She kept her eyes on me as she spoke, looking for any indication that I blamed her. I nodded again. “Go on.”

“As soon as he spoke I said, ‘Hold on a second.’ I didn’t plan it, I didn’t. I felt the rock in my pocket grow icy cold. I swear it felt like I was sitting in a snowbank; the cold wrapped around my thigh and radiated down to my knee and up to my chest. I expected my teeth to started chattering. I picked up the stone and had an image flash before my eyes. A second later I was me, the real me, wearing clothes that were suddenly far too big for me. I looked like a little girl playing dress up in her father’s clothes. The stone dimmed; it had been so bright. I didn’t know it could glow like that.

“Anyway,” she shrugged, getting back to her story, “I held the phone to my ear.  ‘Hi,’ I said, in my voice, I gave him my name and told him what the stone told me to say. I told Sean that I was going to be the new owner of your company. If you hate me, well, please don’t hate me. I couldn’t handle that.”

She was close to tears; I could see her trembling lips and a sadness in her blue eyes. I set my coffee to the side and turning back to her I could see that see she was crying, unable to hold back the fear and anticipated loss. I moved closer to her, spilling my half-eaten omelet to the bedspread. I didn’t care; Cynthia was sobbing and I needed to be there for her. I didn’t know if she had done anything wrong but at that moment I suspected that she hadn’t. She did what the Wererock demanded, no matter how foolish that sounds. “It’s okay,” I said, taking her in my arms and pulling her to my chest. “You needed a new job, right? Now you have one.” Hadn’t I ended her old job on the same day? The two were connected, I was sure of it.

Her body was warm. She was wearing a simple pink t-shirt adorned with a picture of a two-headed unicorn that had bunched up to her waist. She seemed so scared, that’s the best way to describe it, like she was afraid that I was going to hurt her, not with my fists but with words. I saw the stone sitting where I left it and while holding Cynthia I saw it flare into brilliance and then dim. Nobody was touching it but still it had responded. Tell me it wasn’t alive. In that flash of light I knew what Cynthia knew or maybe I knew what it wanted me to know and really, was there a difference? “It’s okay,” I said. “It’ll be our company. I can retire.” The Wererock was dim. “Or I can get another job.” The stone pulsed once, a bright silver-green color. I guess that decided that.

She sniffled, trembling against me, “You’re not mad?”

“No,” and I wasn’t.

“And you don’t hate me?”

I kissed the top of her head. “Not even a little bit.”

“But,” she tried to protest but couldn’t find the words.

I started to find them for her, “You did exactly what you were,” now I was lost. Commanded? Told? Programmed? How could I explain why she said what she said, when I couldn’t explain why I accepted it so easily? “You did exactly right.”

She looked up at me, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You mean that don’t you? I can tell.”

I nodded and kissed her lips and was delighted when she kissed me back. I tasted the salt of her tears that lingered on her lips. I kissed her tears away. That led to petting which led to something more. Our feet kicked the plates off the bed. Luckily, they didn’t break. Afterwards, we cleaned up the spilled omelets, put the sheets in the wash, and showered side by side. I washed her back and then, grinning, her front.

Cynthia stood naked in front of her closet, looking radiant and relaxed. I was still tense; even in my own body I was still bound by the power of the rock. Cynthia had giggled and promised she would help me with my makeup. I begged her to use the rock and take away her conditioning but she refused, sticking her tongue out at me and laughing at the distressed look on my face.  “It won’t kill you.” She smiled then, “Tell you what, after you perfect your makeup I set up a new game. Maybe I’ll be the frustrated one. Or,” she giggled, bringing one hand up to her mouth like she’d been caught doing something naughty, “something better.”

“Like what?”

She giggled, “You’ll see. Come on, let’s get dressed. We’re going shopping. You need more clothes. Office type clothes.”

What was she planning?

I watched Cynthia get dressed. She put on a simple pair of jeans, torn at the knee and thigh. She slipped on a white t-shirt before donning white socks that barely reached her ankle and a pair of tennis shoes. She smiled as she slipped the Wererock in the front pocket of her jeans. Cynthia led me to her makeup table and gave me pointers on how to don makeup, reiterating what I’d already discovered – less is more. “Subtle is the key,” she said. “It’s not really painting your face, it’s softer than that. More muted.” She finished her makeup and had me take her seat, “You try.”

“Now?”

“Don’t you want to come?” She taunted me with her words. And when she smiled it lit up her whole face, “Sex is a great motivator?” She stuck her tongue out again.

Cynthia helped me make up my face. I had the lipstick down pat; it was almost like using Chap Stick. Mascara was easy. I still had trouble with my eyes. Every time I tried to do something to them I had to shut my eyes and then I couldn’t see what I was doing. It would take practice. I tried to imagine what I wanted it to look like and then swipe the little mat filled with color across my eyelid, doing my best to match my imagination with reality by feel alone. Cynthia helped, offering me advice. I listened, wiped my eyes clean with a moist towelette, and tried again. It took nearly a dozen tries before I got it right.

“Do it again.”

We worked on my face for another forty minutes. We colored my cheeks and lips and eyes and then wiped it clean to start anew. She told me what colors worked well with my skin tone and which ones to avoid. She showed me how concealer helped hide blemishes and the stubble on my face although the Wererock made short work of those dark hairs far better than Maybelline.  She showed me how different colors gave different looks and how makeup mattered depending on what you were doing. “You go for a totally different look when you’re shopping with a girlfriend, compared to let’s say, a night out on the town with your husband. One is more subdued and the other can be a bit drastic.” She showed me what she meant, using darker colors and thicker lines to indicate the later and a softer, thinner amount of makeup for the former. I learned more about makeup in that hour than I ever thought there was to know.

She had me clean my face and go one last time without supervision. I was careful, using light, daytime colors, painting thin, light strokes with the applicators. I colored my eyelids with an airy silver-blue shade; my lips I painted a muted pink. I was happy with the results and when Cynthia took me in her mouth and brought me to completion I knew she was happy with it as well.

“Now,” Cynthia said, fishing the stone from her jeans to place it between our entwined hands. “Admit it. Wasn’t it fun to be denied? Haven’t you ever just teased yourself?”

No, I hadn’t and I told her so but I did admit that while frustrating, the denial had been somewhat electric. Wanting what you can’t have made that desire even greater. She smiled at my response. “Good.” A moment later she put the stone back in the front pocket of her jeans.

“What did you do?”

“We’re going to be so very horny!” She seemed giddy at the thought. I wondered if it was her or the stone doing the thinking.

“What did you do?”

“Well,” she said, giving me a kiss and reaching a hand down to my crotch, “I’ve made it so that we can’t come.”

There was only one question on my mind, “For how long?”

“A week!” Then she kissed me again.  She fondled my cock, bringing it to full turgidity then she let go just to watch it bounce.  “Both of us this time, but,” she tapped the head of my dick like she was setting a bobble head doll into motion,       “I’ve made a game out of it.”

Oh shit, “A game?”

“Yep!”

“Do I get to know the rules?”

“Yep.” She tapped my cock again, gave me another kiss, and then told me to get dressed, leaving the question unanswered. “We’re going shopping.”

I was still sitting at the vanity. I spun around and reached for a wipe to clean my face. “Leave that,” Cynthia scolded me. “It’s perfect; we’ll get you clothes to match.”

She expected me to wear the suit she wore yesterday with my face made up with pretty silver-blue eyes and faint pink lipstick. It was obvious I was wearing makeup; there would be no way to hide it. “I can’t go out like this.” Surely, she could see that.

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

She pulled me off the vanity and gave me another kiss.  “Good.”

So that was her game. I followed Cynthia into the bedroom and donned the same clothes she wore yesterday starting with my panties and my bra. I wasn’t a man in heels; I was a man wearing makeup. Nothing visible about me, save for the decorations on my face, was the least bit feminine. I slipped on my socks and shoes, my slacks, shirt and jacket. I looked dressed for work while made up like a pretty girl. I felt the heated blush on my face. “I can’t do this.”

“Come on,” Cynthia said, giving me a look of amusement. We both knew I’d cave.

I did. I followed Cynthia to her car, keeping my head down. I sat in the passenger seat, setting my purse on the floor between my feet. I buckled up and felt a wave of fear when Cynthia backed out of the driveway. Did I have wipes in my purse? I was pretty sure I did.

Instead of going to the outdoor mall from the night before, Cynthia drove to the bigger, indoor shopping mall. It was a two-story monstrosity with four anchor stores: Belks, Dillards, Sears, and Macy’s. The drive was easy; Cynthia chatted the whole way, telling me about our work plans. The more she talked the more scared I got. And the more excited. I thought it was insane; I didn’t want to do it. But, the truth is, I wanted to do it even more. The thing that frightened me, however, was one simple thought that I couldn’t shake. Were the thoughts in my head my own or where they planted by the stone? Why did they make me believe I wanted what she planned? Hell, maybe Cynthia planted the acceptance in my mind although that thought seemed fake.

Cynthia looked at me as we parked. “What’s wrong?” She could tell something bothered me; my concerns weren’t concealed by the makeup on my face.

I told her my misgivings. She listened, not interrupting. When I finished speaking she pulled out the stone and placed the rock between our palms.  “You do it. Make it so it’s impossible to lie to each other.”

“Do I have to?”

“No,” she said, biting her lip, “but do it anyway.”

The power Cynthia was giving over her with that request caused my feelings for her to spike into the stratosphere. She was knowingly and willingly giving me an insane ability and I, in turn, would reciprocate. Did I want to do that? Did I need to? I squeezed her hand and made the change, limiting it to a mere ten minutes. The fact that she offered was proof enough that I didn’t need to do more.

“Is it done?”

“Yes.” I nodded as I spoke.

“Are you afraid of losing your company?”

“No.” My answer surprised me; hadn’t I been thinking that very thing?

Cynthia smiled. “Good. And why is that?”

That answer was easier and just as truthful. “Because we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives. What’s mine is yours.”

She smiled. Then she nodded. “That’s right. Now, what else bothered you?”

I thought about her question. Knowing we were going to be together made her plan something, while terrifying, surprisingly exciting, too.  Since I wasn’t losing everything I worked towards, did it matter what Cynthia and I did to make it happen? Not at all.  “What’s the orgasm control game you set up?”

“Oh, you little stinker,” she swatted my arm. “I don’t want to tell you yet.”

I knew that was honest. “Is that so I’ll lose?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath.  “Ten minutes. I only set up the no lying for ten minutes. If you want to keep your game a secret, then I’m okay with that. One last question. You’re going to wear the pants in this relationship, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And I’m going to make you my girl. Agreed?”

“Yes,” then, just to taunt her, I added, “mistress.”

Her face lit up, “Oh, let’s make sure you don’t forget that, shall we? Whenever we’re alone you’ll call me that, deal?”

“Deal.” And since I couldn’t lie the power of the stone compelled me to obey even though at the time I thought we were just playing.

The Wererock - Chapter 9 – Part 3 of 3

The Wererock

By Guest Writer:  Mike

Chapter 9 – Part 3 of 3

I stood up and walked across the living room, ignoring the skirt. It took seven steps, but as soon as I made that final one, the skirt slipped past my hips and slid down my ankles.  I tugged the invisible string as soon as I felt the skirt fall and watched as my blouse tumbled to the ground. I stood naked in front of Cynthia, one hand clutching my breasts and the other covering my naked sex. My face went flush and a pulse of pleasure radiated from my pussy outward like an explosion. My nipples were fiery nubs, hard and throbbing and begging to be touched or licked or pinched.

                Cynthia applauded. “Amazing. Get dressed. Hurry.”

                I hurried.

                Cynthia drove my car to the same outdoor mall she had streaked countless times before. The same one she’d cut up her dress and had been ordered to work free of charge for two months.  “Do you work here tomorrow,” I asked as she parked.

                “No. Last Saturday was my last one. I’d been warned from pulling any more stunts,” she smiled more with her eyes than anything else. “But I’m not pulling anything, am I?”

                Her body was, but did that count? She had the stone with her, I was certain of that. And with it she could turn me into anything: a man, a baby, a monkey? I still hadn’t tested the full power of the stone. I had never thought of turning myself into something other than an human. Maybe I was worried that if I transformed into a bird, I wouldn’t even know that I’d be able to change back. No, it was best to stay human and intelligent enough to know what was happening. But, since Cynthia could change me, if I got caught she could turn me into a baby and swaddle me in the same tiny skirt I was wearing. With the stone and Cynthia at my side I knew I’d be safe. “Aren’t you?” I finally answered.

                She smiled, I looked good when I smiled. “This is going to be awesome,” Cynthia said. “I get to see what I look like.”

                “I thought the same thing earlier.”

                “Great minds.”

                Cynthia took my hand and escorted me into the mall. I had my purse draped over one shoulder, my right arm locked in Cynthia’s left and my left hand kept a firm grip on the waistband of my skirt. We walked through the outdoor concourse. The sun had set and the white lights seemed to illuminate the walkway brighter than the noontime sun. Or maybe I was just nervous, knowing what was coming. My mouth was dry but dammit if my nipples weren’t hard and I felt a wetness between my legs. I was scared but I was excited, too.

                “Okay,” Cynthia said. “Walk up ahead and give me a show.” She let go of my arm.

                I looked in front of me. There were about two dozen shoppers, mostly women but a few couples looking in various stores. Two old men were sitting on a bench, one was reading the Wall Street Journal, the other was sipping a cup of Starbucks coffee. I didn’t see any children. Maybe that’s what Cynthia had been looking for, too.

                I let go of my skirt and gripped the hidden string. I took the first step, feeling my pulse in my neck.

                Another step and I felt the skirt slip a bit on my hips.

                Another two steps. My mouth was dry and I was finding it hard to swallow. Cynthia was behind me, watching, waiting, anxious. I was anxious too, but for a totally different reason.

                One last step and the skirt fell. I screamed, drawing even more eyes to me. I tugged the string, untying the knot at my throat. The light blue blouse fell to my knees, landing next to my skirt which was hobbling me. I panicked and took a tentative step. The skirt at my feet tripped me, sending me to the ground. My knee tore open, a trickle of blood oozing down my shin. I scrambled for my clothes. I kicked outward, sending my skirt into the shrubbery next to a busy bench. I screamed again, on my knees know, crawling forward, trying to get to my skirt. My blouse was somewhere behind me but I didn’t care. I had to cover up down below before I thought about the up above.

                I tried to cover everything and succeeded in covering nothing at all. I reached for the skirt, nearly tripping again. I caught myself, hanging onto the concrete bench next to the shrubs. I gathered my skirt and slipped into it, pulling it high on my hips. I spun around, red-faced with shame, and looked at all people staring and pointing and laughing. The conversations I had heard as I started my walk had disappeared; people were taking in the show.

                I saw my blouse lying on the ground. I raced to it, my heels calling even more attention to myself. I grabbed the blouse and held it to my chest. I couldn’t put it on with everybody watching. I had to get away and out of sight. Behind me, Cynthia was watching it all but I forgot about her. The only thing I could think of was hiding and getting dressed. I darted into the closest store and hid behind a rack of skirts far longer than the one I was wearing. I put on my blouse, tying the knot as quickly as I could. I knelt there, nearly in tears, finding my breathing coming in short, frantic bursts. I had been naked in public and the shame had nearly caused me to run away screaming, clothing be damned.

                “That was amazing!” Cynthia said. I looked up to see my old body standing next to me, smiling a grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame. “If that’s what I look like when I do it, well, no wonder it gets me going. Damn. Just damn.”

                “That was the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done,” I said, finding my voice. My throat was tight, my hands were shaking.

                “But was it exciting?”

                She waited for an answer. She didn’t say anything else, she just stood there, holding me in her arms while I calmed down and waited until I formed a response. I thought about her question and after far too much time had passed I had to admit that it had been exciting. Terrifying, humiliating, but exciting.

                “One more time?”

                “I can’t.”

                “Please.”

                I looked at my face and at the excitement there. It looked like I was about to pop. “Where?”

                “The food court.”

                I should have known. It took me a few moments but finally I nodded.  “Okay.”

                I repeated my shameful display in the food court. Cynthia had wanted a bigger audience and she had it. She had me make a slow, lingering walk around the center compound, absently looking at all the little stores and the food they sold. It put me on display. My outfit was already scandalous; the short skirt, bouncing with every step and the tiny top that barely concealed my breasts and seemed to magnify my erect nipples. Just walking the perimeter of the food court made me feel embarrassed and on display. How could I cope with what I was about to do?

                I finished the circle, feeling tense. My hands were shaking. I clutched the string in my hand, setting up the final tug. I spotted Adam, no, Cynthia in my body, sitting in a chair watching me with wide eyes and a stupid loopy grin. She was enjoying the show. Well, let her enjoy this. I started marching towards Cynthia, ignoring my slipping skirt. As before, a few steps later, the skirt slipped to my feet. I screamed and tugged the line holding the knot at my back in place. I stepped forward, coming out of the skirt as my blouse tumbled to the ground, flittering to my feet. My knees slammed together, one arm covered my breasts as I bent, reaching for my clothing.

I screamed again, not because I had to, but to draw even more eyes to me. If Cynthia wanted a show, I’d give her one. I picked up my clothing, clutching both pieces to my chest. My ass and cunt were on display, everything from my belly button south. I stood there, trembling in shame, feeling like I wanted the ground to swallow me whole, staring at my doppelganger staring longingly back at me.

I took a step towards Cynthia, holding my clothes to my chest the whole time. I made no effort to get dressed. That wasn’t what motivated me. My pussy was throbbing, begging to be touched. I felt every eye on me as a lingering caress on my body and I didn’t want it to end. The looks I saw were full of such emotion. I saw anger and hatred, sure, but I saw lust and jealousy too. Men wanted me. Women hated me. It was empowering and arousing and humiliating and far too many things all at once. I wanted Cynthia to see it all, to see what she looked like and if that meant dragging it out for a few, delicious moments, then that’s what I would do.

I took another step and then another. The murmurs around me grew louder and more agitated. I heard catcalls and whistles. I was called names, most of them degrading and even those angry shouts made my pussy pulse. I was the center of attention and I liked it. I saw the bright white flashes of cameras capturing the color of my face and my exposed skin. I saw more and more people rushing towards me, to see what the commotion was. To see me.

Cynthia stood up, closing the distance between us. “Get dressed,” she whispered, looking behind me. “Hurry.”

The urgency in my voice, coming from Cynthia in my body, seemed to amp up my already needy body. She was excited; I could see the bulge in my slacks, but there was something else there, too. There was a protective tone that made me feel warm and safe even though I was definitely in an unsafe situation.

“Hurry!” Louder this time.

I put on my skirt, rushing now. I stepped into the skirt and wiggled my ass to slide the fabric up to my hips. I knotted the top and hung it over my neck like a necktie in college telling your roommate that your shared space was occupied. The string behind my back could wait. Cynthia took my arm and pulled me after her. My shirt flapped, hanging like a towel, not covering anything but not falling away either. The strings hung down to my knees, dancing like flags in a storm.

“Come on,” Cynthia urged, “Security is coming.”

It’s hard to run in heels. Maybe most women can but they’ve had years of practice. I’ve owned heels for less than a week. I ran as best I could, with Cynthia clutching my hand and pulling me after her. I heard a scuffle behind me, but didn’t bother to look. What would happen if I were caught? People in front of me got out of my way. My breasts bounced and flopped and jiggled and were seen by even more shoppers and gawkers. I saw more camera flashes and felt the color on my face rise again. I was scared and excited and dammit, there went my skirt.

I pulled back, reaching for that tiny black micro-mini.

“Leave it! We’ve got to go!”

I hesitated, looking at the skirt, at the only thing that covered my ass and pussy. I glanced up, seeing two angry looking men wearing grey slacks, grey shirts, and golden badges. Shit. “Okay,” I said, not sure if Cynthia could hear me.

She tugged me again, guiding me towards the exit. I was naked down below and only had a small blue square playing peek-a-boo with my tits up above. I shuffled along, being led by Cynthia who was grinning broadly. The hand pulling me was warm and strong and confident. Cynthia led me out of the mall and across the parking lot. The parking lot was well lit but dim compared to those brilliant causeways inside the mall.

Cynthia kept pulling.

We raced to my car. Cynthia unlocked it with the fob and had it started by the time I was safely ensconced in the passenger seat.  She drove away, leaving the mall and the two security officers behind. “Here,” she said, offering me the Wererock. “Fix that cut.”

My leg wasn’t bleeding but I could still the angry skin curled like shredded cheddar cheese. I took the Wererock from Cynthia and watched as my knee mended. I guess fixing a scrape was a simple task for a magical stone that could change men into women and women into men. “Thanks.” I gave her back the stone.

I smiled, or Adam did, or Cynthia. It was hard not to see myself as Cynthia and it was just as difficult to see Cynthia as anyone other than me. We tend to believe what we see and I saw Adam driving his car, with his half-naked girlfriend buckled into the passenger seat. It was a tad disconcerting and even more amazing.

Cynthia drove to her place. Her car was parked right where we left it. We parked the car and went inside where we played our parts. I felt the cock enter my pussy and savored the feelings that offered. It felt like I was being stuffed and yet each powerful thrust seemed more pleasurable than the one before.  Cynthia was grunting and sweating and the smell seemed somewhat primal and that managed to escalate my arousal almost as much as those powerfully deep thrusts. As Cynthia I was focused on everything; the sound of our bodies slapping together, the smell of Adam thrusting above me, the sight of his eyes closed and his strong, tone arms holding my shoulders to the bed. Hell, even the weight of his body above me was exciting.

Cynthia came. I felt it inside my body, deep where I’ve never felt a thing. The feeling of Cynthia ejaculating inside me gave me a feeling of power far greater than I ever felt before. I did that. I caused that. Me. It was empowering and fulfilling. Maybe even a little bit scary.

Cynthia pulled out of me, leaving me a mass of sexual frustration. I reached for my clit, stroking it, rubbing it, trying to bring myself over the edge. Cynthia had come; wasn’t it my turn? I felt the need in my whole body. My skin was covered in goosebumps, my body was tight and rigid. My fingers were a blur, trying to send me over the edge.

Cynthia watched it all, watched me arch my back, watched my face contort in frustration, watched me angrily pound the bedsheets. “Maybe you should work on your makeup?” She laughed then.

I gave her an angry look. One usually reserved for opposing political opponents. That look made her laugh. “You’re my girl,” Cynthia said, sitting up and looking serious and sexy. Sexy? Was I sexy? Shit. “And as a girl, you have a lot to learn. Sadly,” She kissed my forehead, plopped back onto the bed, and pulled me into her shoulder, “one thing all women know is sexual frustration. That one we learn early.”

“I’m horny,” I said, sounding like a little girl.

“I know. It’s hot.”

“You can fix it.” The Wererock could fix it. Hell, that’s what caused it to begin with.

Cynthia didn’t cave. “So can you.” She yawned. “I’m going to sleep.” She kissed my head. “Go practice your makeup. You did good today. Really good. I bet you’ll have it down soon.”

“How soon?” God, was that whiney voice mine?

Cynthia plopped back down and closed her eyes.

Shit.