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I look down at her. She’s beautiful. More beautiful than she’s ever been.
Her curves are flushed. Her pussy is coated with my cum. It’s dripping out of her.
Before the treatment, I would have cared about that. I don’t now. She’s made for my cum. It slicks her pussy perfectly, thick white cum coating her lips and the curling fur of her sex.
I am going to leave. Not because I want to, but because even in this animalistic form I know that I can’t stay with her and keep the truth from her. I need to get away and think, because I can’t think with her lying there like that. She is exhausted from sex and I already want to push my cock back inside her, find another hole, force another orgasm from her body. Her flesh wraps around mine so sweetly and so perfectly I can barely keep from making her mine all over again.
I pull her into an embrace. I hold her. Breathe her scent, mingled with mine.
“You’re different this time,” she mumbles against my chest.
“What?”
“You never hugged me before. And you never talk unless you have to.”
I wish I could remember what I did in those fucking fugue states of primal desire. Apparently I fucked her and left her. And in doing so, I made her mine in a way I never did in over a decade of being her close confidante.
I don’t blame her for that. Why should she desire who I was? I was weak. I begged and groveled for her attention. I gave her everything she wanted and never asked for anything in return. I was pathetic, and she could never have loved me that way. I didn’t love myself that way. I put all my effort and all my time into becoming what I am now: something she could love.
I clasp her face in my hands, press a deep kiss to her nose, and her cheeks, and her lips.
* * *
Briarlee
There’s something in his eyes. Like he’s really here for the first time, or like he’s letting me see him for the first time. I feel the familiarity rush back, still with no real recognition. Who is he? Why do I know him and yet not know him at all?
“At least tell me your name.”
He hesitates and retreats back inside himself. It’s like whoever he really is slips beneath the waves and leaves me with this arrogant hyper-masculine monster who wants me for my body and nothing else.
“You don’t need to know my name. You just need to know to be here when I want to spread your legs.”
He’s so fucking arrogant. It’s like he’s never even heard of the concept of a relationship. Doesn’t he want to know me better? Doesn’t he want me to know him? The men I know can hardly ever shut up about themselves. Dates are usually monologues. This guy only talks when he’s telling me how he wants me.
His refusal upsets me though. I just want his name. Not his social security number. His dick has been inside me. He owes me a name.
“You’re just going to come and fuck me and not even tell me who you are? Your cum is inside me. I could be pregnant.”
“You want me to fuck you,” he rumbles. “You’d let me fuck you again now. You’ll fuck me tomorrow, and the day after that and you won’t ever care who I am, because that doesn’t matter. Your cunt knows who I am.”
He pushes his hand between my thighs. Squeezes my pussy possessively, and just looks at me with that smirking smile.
He’s an arrogant motherfucker. And he’s right.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“What?”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say again, upset because he’s made me feel outright slutty. “Don’t come back.”
I don’t mean a single one of the words leaving my mouth. I just want to assert a little power. Make him apologize. Men always apologize when you make them feel bad. I’m used to being in control. I’m used to making a guy work to be close to me. My pussy doesn’t come easy. Not usually.
“Turn over. Spread your ass cheeks. I’m going to fuck your other hole.”
I feel the heat hit my face. A blush like no other.
Am I going to do what he tells me to do?
He doesn’t seem to have any doubt. He gives the order as if it’s going to be followed. When I don’t obey him right away, he leans in, grabs me by the hair at the back of my head, and growls the orders again.
“Turn over, say you’re sorry, and give me that little ass.”
Chemistry burns through my body. In his hands, I am nothing but flesh to fuck.
He presses a kiss to my lips, consumes the rest of my sense with his mouth. I am gone. Consciousness flies in the face of this forceful desire. I find myself turning, presenting my ass to him, my hands making his prize accessible with the lewd spreading of my cheeks.
