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The Freedom Ch. 01

By: The_Maestro_Braddock



My life was not supposed to be like this. This was never the plan. Sitting here, isolated while people with faces pinched in concern and fear stare at me, prod me, ask me questions. No, this was not supposed to be Wendy Coughlin's fate. And yet, here I was.

In many ways, this all began years before. I was looking towards my high school graduation and getting the heck out of dodge, East Coast and Ivy League bound. But then the accident happened.

My parents were headed out of town to celebrate their anniversary at some hotel in the city. I imagine them as excited and silly, talking about their plans, the dinner, the show, the dancing. Instead, a truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and his tanker truck spun across several lanes of traffic, destroying several cars in its wake, including my parents'. My father was killed instantly, my mother badly injured.

She survived but with the need for extensive physical rehab. I withdrew from college and took a year off. My mother's progress was slow but steady. By the next year I felt confident enough in her to go to college, but opted to stay local, attending a small liberal arts school in town. It had a decent reputation nationally and a strong network of alums, so while it was not an Ivy school, it still felt like a good fit for me.

While my mother's body was fully healed at the end of that school year, her mind was nowhere near okay. She was fully in the throes of seemingly unending grief and survivor's guilt, her depression a cloud so thick around her I could barely find the woman that raised me within it. I could not leave her and so I continued at the school in town for my sophomore year.

Thankfully, there were signs of changes in my mom starting two or three months ago. She was seeing a new therapist a few towns over and he seemed to have cracked the code. She began to leave the house more, to enjoy old hobbies like watching films and quilt making. Her exercising, once a grim affair that seemed to be more about some kind of self punishment, became something she looked forward to. At 45, she looked better than ever. Clear eyed, curvy, skin radiant. She could've passed as my older, more voluptuous sister. For the first time, it seemed like our lives might become something more than biding time after the accident.

On the Thursday when things changed forever again, hard to believe it was a mere two weeks ago, I had only my Organic Chemistry class on my mind. The class was kicking my ass all over campus and I was working closely with the TA just to survive the experience with some semblance of a passing grade intact. Math, English, History, French, Film Theory...these classes had been a walk in the park for me. This one though...it was making me feel quite mortal.

In retrospect, perhaps if I had been more present in the moment, things may have gone down differently. But I was so in my head that what greeted me at the door did not raise enough red flags.

My mom was standing in front of our refrigerator, both doors wide open, shimmying to a soundtrack seemingly heard only by her. She was wearing a black spangled skintight sleeveless shirt and a pair of red leather pants. I recognized it as the outfit I had worn when my friends and I jokingly decided to go out in "club wear" to a bowling alley. I might have been wearing it ironically, but my mom certainly did not appear to be.

"Oh, hi, honey," she said, noticing me looking at her confused, "I hope you don't mind me raiding your closet. I just felt like wearing something...different."

I waved her off, "Don't worry about it Mom. Interesting choice."

She shrugged in response and I continued on to my room. It was odd, for sure, but she had worked hard to get to where she was and if she was enjoying wearing age inappropriate, although she was making it work, clothes I hardly felt it was ok for me to give her a hard time about it.

Still buzzing with stress, I decided to distract myself with some painting. It was an emotional management trick I had developed in the wake of my dad's death and had carved out a section of our attic as a sort of de facto studio. Now, whenever I felt really sad or stressed out or pissed at the world, I'd throw on an old t-shirt and my painting overalls and get it all out on the canvas.

Rooting through my drawers, it quickly became clear I had no painting shirts. Sighing, I just buttoned my overalls over my bare breasts and headed over to the laundry room to find a shirt. As I pawed through the clean clothes basket, I felt my mother's presence behind me.

"I'll fold these later, Mom, but I just had a really awful day so I'm going to paint first," I assured her.

"Oh, it's okay, baby...you just take your time," she replied. Her voice sounded...off to me. Thicker somehow. Like honey pouring out of a bottle.

I finally found something to wear and spun around victoriously, surprised to find my mom still standing before me.

"Umm...hey, Mom...."

"Hey yourself," she said in that...voice again, "I like this look on you. You should do wear this more often."

I smirked and responded cheekily, "Sure Mom. Nothing better than bouncing around town with the possibility of a nip slip every few steps basically guaranteed."

She stepped closer to me resting her hands on my shoulders. She smelled different too, I realized; almost tropical. She looked deep into my eyes and I noticed that her brown irises were ringed by another that was pale green in color and almost iridescent. 

I opened my mouth to comment but she beat me to the punch, "Well," she whispered, licking her lips, "You could just wear it for your Mommy."

I tried to giggle to break the tension, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across my cheek. It was not unusual for us to give each other a kiss now and then, but there was something odd about this kiss. I gasped despite myself and the tropical odor of my mother clogged my nose making me feel too warm and spacey.

She kissed me again, closer to my lips. My brain was signaling my body to move but something was getting in the way. Her hand deftly grasped and unsnapped my left coverall strap as her mouth drew another bit closer to my mouth. Her fingers lightly brushed my nipple before her hand flattened over my full breasts, caressing it with a pleasurable firmness.

"Mmm," she whispered, "Such a perky tiny tit."

My brain screamed louder. The enzymes of panic ignited my heart rate. But still my body refused to move.

Her lips completed their journey to mine and kissed me roughly. Still I remain like a statue.

Then her tongue was darting forward, pushing my lips, urging them to open. Finally something broke and I pushed her away.

"Mom!" I shout, eminently aware of breast still being exposed but too adrenalized to confidently re-button myself. "What the hell was that?!!"

She looks at me wild eyed and confused. I can see her nipples jutting through the fabric of the borrowed shirt. She looks less like my mom and more like...I don't know...a wild animal. Frightened, cornered, and very, very dangerous.

"I....I," she stuttered, "Oh Wendy, I...I know it's wrong. It wants you though. It wants you soooo bad."

And then, like that, her eyes change. The green seemed to glow brighter, her gaze became more fixed, the fear dissipated. And I recognized what I saw there. Lust. Nothing but pure uncut lust. And I was afraid.

"Mom..." I began, words piling up unspoken in my throat.

"I know you liked it, naughty girl," she, or perhaps it, replied, "You love my hand on your proud little tit."

I began to angle towards the door, keeping my back to the wall and my eyes on Mom, and did not respond.

"It's okay," she whispered, voice coiling in my brain like a snake, "I don't mind that I raised a nasty slut. Mommy understands."

"I'm going to go now, Mom. Give you some...umm... some air," I babbled. As soon as I felt the wall open up behind me, I was racing through the hall and down the stairs to the basement. My body felt panicked and sluggish all at once. I could not process the information I was taking in: the sound of my Mom's voice, the color of her eyes, her scent, the feel of her hand on my breast, her lips on mine, the undeniable urge I had to yield to her advances. None of it made sense. I might be tempted to call it a dream but there was no dream logic to it, no sign of the unreal.

I heard my mother at the top of the stairs calling to me in a sing song voice dripping with sexual threat. As she descended the stairs, I crawled into the spot where my friends and I used to hide alcohol when we were in high school, a cut out underneath and to the left of the hatchway staircase, replacing the wooden panel behind me. Through the slats that faced into the cellar, I watched, doing my best to hold my breath and be very quiet.

My mother stalked the room like a feral cat, breathing heavily. She seemed to be clawing at herself, peeling the borrowed shirt away from her heaving breasts. She looked different to me, even more so than recently. Not just in better shape, but in incredible shape. Her abs appeared even better than my own! Her breasts looked fake: full, firm, and gravity defying. Her hair somehow shinier and more impeccably styled. What was going on?

Sighing in frustration, she leaned against the wall opposite my hiding place. She began to play with her nipples first almost absentmindedly, then with increased intensity. She grunted and groan and writhed as if her very skin were on fire. Before long, she briefly abandoned her chest and undid the leather pants, rolling them downward to below her thighs. I recognized the panties she was wearing as the very same I had slept in the night before, a pair of pale blue silk bikinis. One hand disappeared behind the blue curtain and the way it pushed out I could tell right away she was fingering herself. The other hand returned to her breasts, scratching and pinching them. She ground her teeth, groaned, and murmured. Before long, she dropped to her hands and knees, positioned as if preparing to be taken doggy style. Then she began to talk loudly.

"Are you watching me, Wendy? Are you seeing what you did to me, you fucking tease?" she spat out. "Bouncing around our house, just showing off your tits to me, practically begging me to suck them. Letting me kiss you. Then you run away?! You like seeing your Mommy on her knees like this? I bet you are getting off on this, aren't you, my nasty whore daughter?!"

The odd thing was, I kind of was. I was revolted and disgusted and horrified, but I also could feel how wet I was getting, how hard my nipples were. Her words echoed in my ears at once awful and utterly enrapturing.

"Oh, baby, you made me so wet with that tight body of yours!" she groaned, "Do I make you wet too, Wendy? Did you see that I'm wearing your panties? Your dirty panties? I put them on this morning and they were already all wet. I wonder what you were thinking about, you dirty girl?"

I blushed fiercely to myself remembering the bizarrely intense dream that had me masturbating this morning.

"Come on out Wendy! Come out here and taste your mother. We can make each other feel soooooooooooo good."

I felt myself inexplicably moving towards the exit of my hiding place before noticing and restraining myself. But the desire to burst out pulsed just beneath my skin, like bugs crawling through the muscles and nerves.

"Mommy can use that dildo of yours on you if you want, Wendy. Yeah, you didn't think I knew about that, did you? Oh, I knew, you bad little girl. I found it in your room. I could smell your filth all over it, your dirty, whorish desire. Tell me, Wendy, tell me how you fucked yourself with it. Tell me what you fantasized about while you abused your little pussy."

I balled my hands into fists so tight the nails pierced the skin on my palms. I sat on them. I bit my lip, hard. I did whatever I could think of to stop myself from giving in and touching myself, something I wanted to do even more with every word my mom spoke, or to announce my presence to her.

Her voice grew desperate as she drew closer to orgasm. "You fucking bitch!" she growled, "How could you did this to your Mom. When I get ahold of you, I will rape you silly!"

I should've been cowering in fear, but instead I was pressed against the wood to get a better look. My mother was pure id, snorting and finger fucking herself with abandon. She seemed to be talking to herself endlessly, but too quietly for me to hear about the sound of the wet pounding. Eventually, she collapsed fully on the floor, writhing and grinding against the hard, uneven concrete. 

"Look at meeeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed and came, her entirely body vibrating and twisting into a tight ball. She rose moments later as if nothing had happened, her breasts red and raw with scratches and bits of gravel. I could have swore the scratches began to fade right before my eyes. She walked up the stairs as if in a trance.

I listened to her moving around on the first floor and shook with adrenaline. Horrified, I found myself beginning to dry hump the random pipe I was sharing the crawlspace with. Then, I was shrugging out of the overalls as mind called out to me to stop. My pussy was hot and slick to the touch, the tiny square of barely there hair above it tickling my wrist. The hormonal chemical need to get off obliterated the rational disgust of the cause of my arousal and I gave myself over to it fully, two fingers inside, two fingers on my clit. I was more than aware of how much I probably looked like my mom, just a mindless quivering pile of flesh focused only on the pursuit of orgasm.

When it arrived, the release of tension was incredible and the world went out white. I came to what I would've sworn was only moments later, but actually turned out to be just short of three hours. Early evening had given way to night. I stumbled out of the hiding place, stiff, my thighs sticky with my shameful excitement. I shrugged out of the panties, wrapped them in the overalls, and creeped up the stairs in nothing but socks.

The house was quiet and dark with no sign of Mom. I allowed myself to relax slightly and walked to my room. There I slipped into a pair of comfortable worn cotton panties, yoga pants and big t-shirt I had cut the neck out of at some point. I put on a pair of running shoes and grabbed a book bag and threw my keys and wallet to it. With a heavy sigh, I steeled myself and vocalized, "Mom? Mommm? Are you ok now?"

No answer.

I walked down the hall to our living room and flipped on the light. On the floor, she was laid in the fetal position, obscenely large dildo nestled between her legs. The room was a mess, the coffee table lying on its side, a lamp shattered, couch cushions strewn everywhere. She no longer looked monstrous, but small and vulnerable, her bizarrely firm breasts looking ridiculous perched on her newly svelte frame.

Hesitantly, I tried to rouse her with a gentle shake. No response. I shook harder and she flopped onto her back. She opened her eyes slowly. She was glassy and unfocused, as if she had never seen me or this room before.

"Come on, Mom, let's get you in bed," I whispered and began to pull her to her feet.

She leaned against me as we shuffled towards the stairs. "Mommyssick," she mumbled.

"What?" I asked, not understanding.

She slurred it again, "Mommyssick," and once more I had to ask her to repeat herself.

"Mommy's sick," she managed, parses out each syllable with a wince, "Need medicine."

I nodded and helped her to the bathroom. She leaned against the wall behind me as I searched the cabinets.

"What does it look like, Mom?" I called over my shoulder, moving bottles and small cardboard boxes back and forth. Amongst the assortment of pills, syrups, and topical creams, I came across a small vial that gave me pause. Inside was a thin green liquid, similar in shade to the color of the second irises in my mom's eyes. I pulled it from its spot and gave it a shake.

Before I could contemplate doing more or asking my mother about it, she encircled in her grasp.

"No, no," she coughed, "No medicine I need in there."

I could hear shades of the heavy rough voice she was using earlier and twinges of panic sprang up around my body. I swallowed the fear and focused on the task at hand.

"Okay...where should I look?"

"It's right here," she replied and began to kiss my neck, "You're the medicine it...we...I need."

"Please, Mom," I whispered, my ability to act already feeling suppressed again, "Don't, please."

"You'll enjoy it," she cooed, biting my earlobe. Her hands slipped underneath my loose t-shirt and moved upward until they were cupping my breasts. Teasing my nipples. I heard myself sigh, cursed myself for next taking the time to put on a bra. I sensed myself leaning back into her.

"Give Mommy a kiss," she demanded, her voice taking hold in my brain like a harpoon. I complied. God help me, I did. And I led with my tongue, searching out her lips, her mouth, her tongue. "Good girl," she praised me as we separated and I felt flush with the childish appreciation of a kid receiving a compliment from an adult.

My hand drifted behind me, seemingly of its own accord, and sought out my mother's sex. My mother shift to allow it easier access. When I could feel the hard nub of her clit, my body shudder. I nearly vomited and came at the same time. Something is horribly wrong, my mind told me, recognizing an ancient evil. But still I remained in that bathroom, Mom's hands on my breasts, her lips and tongue on my neck and shoulder, my fingers pushing deep inside her.

She moaned, "Do you feel how wet you make Mommy?" I could only bring myself to nod in reply.

I glanced in the mirror and was taken aback but what I saw. The look on my face was one I had not seen in weeks. It was one of sexual hunger, not one of fear or disgust or whatever else a normal daughter should feel in the same position. It was enough to break the hold of whatever has happening to me and I spun away, knocking my mother deeper into the bathroom.

I could see my mother in the figure sitting on the floor, back against the tub. But it was as if something else had taken residency inside her body with her, curdling who she was.

"Don't leave," she begged, her hand already pressing between her legs, "We can make each other feel so good."

I gaped at her as she began to masturbate right in front of me. "You...you're my mom," I croaked.

She came immediately as she heard those words tossing her head backwards and moaning.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she panted as the orgasm dissipated. Her eyes settled on me, solemn and scared, the iridescent green disk having grown larger. "Run," she implored me, "I can't stop this, Wendy. Run now."

"Mom, let me help you," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt, "You don't have to do this. Whatever's got a hold of you...it doesn't have to be like this."

"You don't understand, Wendy. It makes you different. It shows you what's inside you. I'm not being forced to do anything anymore. I want to fuck you. I want your face buried in my cunt. I want your hair in my hand as I abuse your cute little pussy with my strap on. I have freedom now. So run, Wendy. Because if you don't..."

I didn't need to hear more. I was already awkwardly bouncing off the walls, rushing to the front door and escape. I hit the landing after leaping off the top step and reached for my keys.

"Shit!" I shouted to no one in particular. I had no pockets in these pants. My keys were in that damn bag. Which was....where? Where? "Living room," I remembered.

I hesitated. It would mean going to the back side of the house to retrieve it. But we lived on an isolated part of an isolated street. Without wheels, whatever had seized my mother could catch up with me. I had to take the risk.


The Freedom Ch. 01



I found it right off, but in my haste tripped on one of the straps. I bit it hard on the floor, wind escaping my lungs in a rattling cough. As I groaned and began to pick myself up off the floor, there came a sharp pinch in my neck. Instinctually, I grabbed the foreign implement and tossed it away. A syringe clattered and spun down the hall, a residue of neon green liquid visible.

I rolled onto my back, still trying to catch my breath and stared up at my mother. "What did you do?" I demanded of her.

"I'm sorry," she shrugged, "I tried to do this differently but it was taking too long. I had to give it to you directly."

"Give me what?"

"You'll see," she promised.

And, boy, was she right. In an instant, it felt as though she had dumped a combination of lighter fluid and molasses into my vein. My blood felt on fire and everything seemed to slow down. The rapid adrenaline soaked flutter of my heart was reduced to a dull, periodic thumping. My vision would fuzzy, then grey, then black. I was awake, I knew I was, but I could see nothing.

I could feel myself beginning to change. My brain's warnings disappeared. My morals were captured and chained away, their screams reduced to mumbles and then a hum of nothingness. In their place, the doors holding back all the unacceptable, unapproved, impractical, and downright dangerous fantasies were sprang open. The dark whispers of my deepest subconscious, of humanity's collective unconscious, came rushing out. My body twisted and shook, goosebumps crawled over inch of me. I bit my tongue to try and hold back the filth it wanted to spew. My mother had injected me with The Freedom. Moments before, I had no idea what that was and then, immediately it seemed, I knew it without a doubt. It introduced itself in my head, under my skin, in my very organs. Everything I ever wanted sexually, even that which I never knew I did, it promised it would grant me. Everything. I need only give in.

It did not stop with my mental functions either; my body began to alter itself as well. The scar I had on my forehead from childhood and always annoyed me? I knew it was gone without having to check. I just knew. I could feel the thighs that I bemoaned my entire adolescence and adulthood for never being as thin and as toned as I'd like regardless of how in shape I was achieved what I had been exercising so hard for all this time in less than a second. I was even vaguely aware that the split ends were gone from my hair and the places where my Japanese Rose Garden pink nail polish had chipped were suddenly smooth, glossy, and pristine. Now I knew why my mom's body looked so odd to me. It was her ideal version of herself, granted to her by The Freedom.

My vision returned and focused on my mother, gazing at me without something that decidedly could not be described as motherly love. She massaged my tits and I could help but marvel at how incredible it felt. I had by no means had lousy lovers up until then, but no one had excited me this much with a two-second feel-up session. It felt so amazing to me, in fact, that I never questioned how it was that I was already naked, my clothes strewn this way and that around us. It did not seem important.

I was dully conscious of a part of me still fighting against the chemical storm unleashed in my body. It was the part that decided to remind my mother of her role as parent. However, the rest of me would not cooperate. So instead of a shocked admonishing, "You're my mother! Stop it!" it instead came out a throaty moaned reminder of debauchery, "Mmmmmm...oooooo...you're my mother."

"Yes, I am baby. You like that? You like your tits being felt up by your Mommy?" she leaned in and whispered next to my ear.

"Yesssssss," I hissed, arching my back to press my breasts more fully into her hands. My last shreds of morality flitted away.

A lecherous smile crossed her lips and she cooed, "Do you want Mommy to make you cum?"

"Please," I begged.

"Have you been a good girl?"

"No, Mommy, I've been sooooooo bad."

"Have you? Tell me," she ordered, lowering her naked body against my own.

I spoke as she kissed, licked, and sucked my body, beginning from the hollow of my neck and ending at my ankles, pointedly avoiding my tits and my pussy, driving me wild with just enough stimulation to ensure I stayed aroused but never more than that.

"I watched you Mommy. I watched you finger yourself on our dirty basement floor like the fucking slut you are."

She moaned back, "I knew you had to be watching. Did you love watching your Mommy touch herself?"

"Mmmm, god, yes. I fucked myself too. I was soooo wet."

"Did you like seeing Mommy in your dirty panties?"

"It was such a turn-on to know you were soaking panties I had already soaked. To know my Mommy was an incest loving whore who'd rape her little daughter she wanted to get fucked so bad."

My mother began to bite me then, hard, sharp gnashing of teeth on my skin. I yelped and saw purple bruise appear and then be blended away. The Freedom whispered its promises of consequence-free sex. Rough sex would leave no bruises; unprotected sex would carry not STI or pregnancy risks. The Freedom knew what we wanted and would always make sure we could realize it.

My body roiled with delight at the pain/pleasure it felt. My sexual experiences, while nice, had all been relatively vanilla. Foreplay, some hand work, maybe a little oral, a position or two, climax. Done. Certainly, acts of same sex incest and biting had never been on my radar. At that moment though, in the grips of The Freedom, I could not conceive of a me that did not want these things, that did not actively seek them out.

Completing her toothsome journey, Mom wrapped me in herself, her arms surrounding me, her new breasts thrust against my arm, her hard nipples insistent against my skin, her right leg draped across my mid section. Her toes, lacquered a fire engine red, gracefully found my clit and began to tease me. Her skin felt both hot and cold against my own. It was a sensation I cannot fully describe as it seemed my senses could not fully comprehend. Each part of our flesh that touched the other's was exhilarating, a series of micro-fireworks bouncing from nerve ending to nerve ending. She kissed me, strong and wanting, and I returned it in kind.

My mind was flooded with thoughts of "You are kissing your mother," but they were not admonishing or disapproving. Rather they celebrated it, urged me on, called me dirty names that only made me want this depravity more. 

I bit down on her lip, tasting my mother's blood. She pulled back, eyes stormy. Some reptilian part of her brain seemed to grasp I had harmed her, but The Freedom made it all seem like pleasure. As the gash healed, she groaned with desire.

"Hit me," I whispered.

"What's that baby?" she asked. I do not know if she simply did not hear me, if it was a tease, or if, for one moment, my mother, my real mother, resurfaced. Ultimately, it does not matter as there was no escape from The Freedom.

"Hit me, Mommy," I half-whined in a breathy growl, "Spit in my face. I disrespected you when I ran away before...when I made you work for this. Teach me a lesson, Mommy."

Just saying the words out loud turned me on. My nipples grew as hard as they had ever been, my pussy so wet I could literally feel myself drip.

"You did, didn't you? You little bitch!" my mother barked, and granted my wish. First, she spit on me, in my eyes and my mouth, gleefully giggling. Then, she repeatedly slapped me. Each stinging blow on my face caused me to moan like I was experiencing a deep french kiss, each whack on my tits made me grit my teeth like a mouth was teasing me, each shocking strike on my cunt left me writhing as though I was being pleasured by the world's most effective, pleasurable vibrator.

She flipped me onto my hands and knees and began to smack my ass over and over again. Her mouth alternating between kiss my shoulder and being right next to my ear repeating a mantra, "Should've done this years ago. Raising such a slut under my roof!" as she did it.

I could only nod in agreement and beg her for more and for it to be harder. Then, seemingly, The Freedom grew bored with this and adrenaline and a new desire rushed through my bloodstream.

With a snarl, a grab a handful of my mother's thick sandy hair and pulled her to the floor below me.

"I didn't have any choice, growing up with a whore for a mother. Always sniffing around the boys I brought home, just hungry for it all the time."

"I can't help it!" she mocked, "I just love barely legal dick."

This wasn't true. My mother had never "sniffed" around any guy I brought over. She had never even slept with anyone who wasn't my father. But with The Freedom in your veins, in your head, it all made sense. Of course my mother was a dirty whore who couldn't get enough of 18, 19, 20, 21 year old cock. 

I saw her on her knees, surrounded by guys my age. They were naked and so was she. She spun around, grabbing one cock here, another there, sucking on the one in front of her, then moving on to the next set. The other guys jacked themselves off waiting their turn and hurled epithets at my mother. She gobbled it all up, literally and figuratively, their abuse only turning her on further. This never happened. Ever. But in my mind at that moment, it felt like a vivid memory.

I pulled harder on hair, jealous both that it was not me surrounded by those leering, jeering men, feeling their hot cum splashing on my face, on my body, in my mouth, in my eyes, in my hair and that it wasn't me using my mother like the useless fucktoy she was. She moaned louder the harder I pulled, licking her lips and settling her "fuck me" eyes on my face.

"Do you remember, Wendy?" she purred, her tone imbued with self satisfaction, "Do you remember me taking them in front of you, making you watch me?"

"Yes," I groaned, her digits invading my betraying pussy. I felt my grip on her hair falter.

"I wonder, which of us did you want more? Your date...or me?"

"Yoooooooouuuuuuu," I confessed in a wail of lust, too wracked by pleasure to continue to hold her on the ground. Again, none of the memory was real. Of course my mother had never fucked any of my dates in front of me. But The Freedom tricked us, made it all seem real. I had spent years wanting my mother, watching her take my dates out for a test drive before I ever got a chance with them, The Freedom told me. And I believed.

She sprung up quickly, her lips crushing into my own, her tongue invading without invitation. She tasted of fresh fruit...I had never kissed anyone that tasted like her. We tumbled over and over on the floor, groping, scratching, fingering, kissing, licking, biting. Nothing had ever felt as good as this did. Never as natural or dirty or decadent or fulfilling. Every one of my senses seemed in overdrive and everyone one of them devoured every aspect of my mother. It was incestuous sex on MDMA times a thousand. Times a million even.

I ended up pinned below with her sitting on my stomach. Her impossibly perfect breasts heaved up and down in hypnotic rhythm, defying gravity as though fake yet moving and feeling exactly like real ones. She had trapped my wrists above my head where she held them in placed with one of her hands. She rotated her pelvis in a circle against my belly leaving me glossy with her wantonness.

"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked of me, voice neutral.

"Yes," I whispered, small and vulnerable.

"Tell me."

"I want to fuck you."

"Louder."

"I want to FUCK YOU!"

"Who am I?"

"You're my mommy," I groaned, the delicious filthiness of it delighting The Freedom and, in turn, my body.

"And you want your Mommy to fuck you?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Yesssss, please," I begged, "I need it so bad."

"How bad?"

"So...so fucking bad!" I roared, beginning to thrash about, "Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME!" I must have looked mad, eyes bulging, face red, screaming and snarling. If my mother was capable of seeing me as anything more than a piece of meat, perhaps she would have recognized that. Under The Freedom though, we were all just vessels to fuck and be fucked. Sex was all that mattered.

She let go of my hands and pivoted off me. I reached for her with a growl and she slapped hands away. I whimpered like a wounded animal. She smirked and bid me, "Shsh." My leg was lifted skyward and she repositioned herself, her right foot rubbing across my abs and teasing my nipples. With a quick yank, our bodies collided, pussy against pussy. 

We mewled simultaneously, an ugly alien noise of filthy forbidden lust. We sought and quickly found a rhythm and the sound of wet grinding filled the room. I felt a full body fever radiating from my center, I was dizzy and sharper than I've ever been before all at once. We grabbed each other's top leg hard, fingers bruising the skin, bruises faded immediately; nails drew blood from wounds that healed so quick they were barely able to be perceived. Flesh undulated against flesh as if we were the same being.

We chanted at one another, over and over again, "Fuck me, oh, fuck me. I'm so fucking filth. A dirty whore! Use me! USE ME!"

"You like Mommy's cunt?" 

"Mmmm, yes...you're so wet!"

"All for you, Wendy, all for you!"

"God! I need this all the time! I need you all the time, Mommy. Your pretty pussy against mine, the taste of your skin. Oh, fuck me!"

Time bled away until it did not exist. The room seemed to dissipate. We were fucking each other, mother grinding against daughter, daughter begging for it harder and harder, in negative space. In emptiness. All that existed was raw need. The Freedom spun visions in our minds, reminded us of past events that never happened, promised future exploits that would violate the laws of man and physics. It fed off us and fed us. I never wanted to be anyone but this carrier of The Freedom.

Then, suddenly, everything exploded in a kaleidoscope of rainbow color. We screamed in what surely must have been an ancient language. Our bodies shuttered and jittered uncontrollably. We came together, simultaneously, gloriously. It poured over us both like a seven waves hitting at once over and over again. I gritted my teeth, my eyes rolled towards the ceiling. 

Then... clarity.

It hit immediately after the orgasm. The Freedom was gone. Or at bay at least. I was bathed in sweat. I had run a half marathon in August and not sweat this much. Blood pounded through every bit of me, every part of my ached like I was a punching bag for a very talented boxer. I suppressed the revulsion that filled my stomach like hot soup.

"Mom?" I called out tentatively. She only grunted in response.

I forced myself into a sitting position to look at her. She stared at the wall, eyes still ringed in that infernal green color, glassy and unfocused.

I tried again, "Mom?"

Her hands rose as if she was a puppet and cupped her breasts. She muttered, "Just give me a sec, Wendy. You fucked me soooooo good, I need a sec."

Whatever had happened to me had not happened for my mom, I realized. She had been in the thrall of The Freedom longer, I thought, perhaps this is why she had not recovered like I had.

As I tried to figure this out, I felt it. My claws inside my brain. The Freedom. It was not gone, it was just...receded. For how long? A minute? An hour? I did not have time to wonder, I realized and quickly began to put a plan in motion.

The taste of bile rose in my esophagus as I stood and felt the slick filth between my thighs. I ignored it. I had no time to judge my disgusting behavior.

"Mom, let's go," I commanded, hoisting her to her feet. Her skin on mine was clammy. It made me queasy. Mostly. A part of me responded to it. The Freedom was coming on.

"Where are we going?" she asked, sounding like a heroin addict with the nods.

"I thought it'd be fun if we fooled around in the basement. You know, where you used to make me watch you fuck all those men," I lied.

She kissed my neck then, a tacit agreement as far as I was concerned. 

She cooperated enough to let me get her down the stairs safely. As we strode across the cellar to her final destination, I could feel her strength begin to return. She stood on her own, her kisses became more aggressive and varied. At one point, her tongue entered my mouth and I forced myself to play along, although not as much as I expected I would have to, so as not to tip my hand. Her hands began to touch me everywhere. I heard The Freedom whispering that I was already too late. I bit my tongue and pressed forward.

We reached the storage closet in the back corner of the room. When my father was alive it was where he locked up his hunting rifles. Now it stood empty and open. However, the padlock still swung from it. I pushed my mother in and slammed the door shut. She threw her body against the door from the other side and I felt it swing open for a moment. I anchored the door with my body and slammed the lock into place. Behind it, I heard her curse me, beg me, and then, unmistakably, begin to masturbate herself. The Freedom, gaining strength, roared at me. I wavered. It would be easy to open the door, to force her slut face into my pussy and ride her mouth til I gained satisfaction. It would be so—

I shook the fantasy out of my mind and sprinted back upstairs, back to the medicine cabinet. An old bottle of sleeping pills sat on the back of the third shelf. My mom had needed the aid for months after the accident and only recently stopped using them. I swallowed three, then considered and took one more. All drugs, even The Freedom, I told myself, have a half life. Mom's under lock and key downstairs and I'll sleep through it, I promised myself.

I flopped on my bed, The Freedom howling in my head, and slipped into a drug induced slumber.

But The Freedom was no ordinary drug, arguably no drug at all. This was not over.



The Freedom Ch. 02



I woke the next morning, stiff, nauseous, and instantly in the grip of anxiety. Given the disorder of my bed and soaked then dried quality of my sheets, it seemed the Freedom had not gone quietly. However, as I took in deep gulps of air to calm myself, the intense need for sex, to fuck and be fucked, to humiliate myself and others did not come rolling back. The feeling of a passenger in my head urging me towards depravity was gone. I raced to the mirror and had my hopes confirmed: no extra ring of that eerie green in my eyes. The Freedom, whatever it was, had taken leave, I concluded.

After a moment of relief, the events of the night before rushed back over me. My queasiness exploded from the background, twisting my stomach in knots. I raced to the bathroom and dry heaved impotently, tears rushing from clenched tight eyelids. While I knew, logically, The Freedom had been in control, emotionally, I was stuck on the reality that was my body defiling my mother and being defiled by her.

As my stomach came to terms with the memories, I shoved my face underneath the bathroom sink water spout and slurped greedily. I could not think of a time I'd ever been as thirsty. Even when I felt sated, by the time I had dried my face, my mouth felt arid again. It was three sessions of guzzling before the thirst felt dealt with.

Slaked, I stared at myself in the mirror, noting that the changes The Freedom had enacted on me, such as the thinner thighs and the better hair, remained. Seeing my flesh only further reminded me of what I had done the night before. To suppress what felt like the beginnings of more dry heaves or a panic attack, I ran from the bathroom back to my room. I had to get dressed.

As I returned, I noticed for the first time the state of my room. If you told me it had been sacked by a task force hunting for drugs, I would not have questioned the truth of that. Drawers pulled out and cast aside, seemingly at random, a pile of hangers, many bent out of shape, sat in a haphazard pile in the closet. I paced the room, searching for any scraps of clothing and found almost nothing. 

Somehow, after looking high and low I managed to assemble an outfit. Under normal circumstances, I would have deemed it too ridiculous to leave the house in, but I knew I had to make compromises in this case. Disconcertingly, I didn't recognize the pieces of it as my own. A short tartan skirt, argyle knee high socks, black spit polish saddle shoes, a light blue button shirt, dark blue varsity sweater, and a black, very lacy bra and thong set. My mother, I had reasoned, must have stolen all my clothes early on in the night last night, I reasoned. Sometime after I changed into my yoga clothes and before we... I stopped myself from completing the thought.

"Desperate times," I mumbled and began to put on the strange outfit. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed my expectations. After repeatedly complaining in my gender studies class about the kind of perverts that asked women to dress as schoolgirls or cheerleaders, I looked like their wet dreams given flesh.

"Only clothes I've got," I argued with my reflection and forced myself to stop staring. I had to admit that, for the first time, I could somewhat understand the appeal.

Grimly, I concluded I could no longer put off the last task on my list: checking in on my mom's state. I walked the first floor to find no sign of her. The vial of whatever she had injected me with still lay in the center of the hall, half full of the odd green liquid. I read the label, Dr. Grispo, her new therapist, was the apparent prescriber, and it was to be injected. Besides that, however, there was no mention of what the medication was called, what it treated, warnings about side effects, how often to take it and so on. Everything you'd expect to see on a prescription label was missing. I forced the vial into my bra, so the authorities could use it to arrest Grispo and figure out what the hell it was. Confident my mother was definitely not on the first floor, I resolved to move on.

Steeling myself, I crept down to the cellar, body tensed and ready to run, slutty schoolgirl costume or not. The basement was nearly silent, only the mechanical thrum of the water heat breaking the soundless monotony. Tension slid off me like water cascading down a waterfall.

"Mom?" I called out, "Mom? Are you there?"

I heard a mumble coming from the closet, weary and confused.

"Okay, Mom, just relax. I'll let you out and...I guess we can try to figure this out," I assured her, my voice shaky with a mix of guilt and thankfulness that my mother did not sound like the...creature she had been the night before.

The door to the storage closet, however, gave me pause. It was open slightly, splintered around where the padlock was latched. The lock now lay ineffectually on the floor nearby. 

I froze, ready to flee. Again, the muffled moan sounded and I forced myself to find the source. What I found did little to alleviate my concerns.

Slumped in a chair, nasty bruise on his head, was our neighbor Mr. Barron. Forty-ish, athletic, and handsome with salt and pepper hair, I always figured he was a fantasy figure for most of the ladies of the neighborhood. His presence in my basement in that state was not a good sign.

I shook him until he roused, groggy and confused.

"Wendy?" he mumbled, eyes struggling to focus, "What are you wearing?"

"Hard to explain, sir," I said, gingerly touching the ugly purple mass on his forehead and seeing a matching egg jutting out on the back of his head.

He hissed in pain before asking, "Is your mom okay?"

"No, Mr. Barron...I don't think so."

As I helped him to his feet he began to relate how he ended up there, "I was walking the dog this morning and I saw your mother. She was in your front yard sort of stumbling around, babbling and naked. She seemed like she had escaped an attack or a torture session...I don't know how to describe it. Not good though.

"So I approached her and she seemed relieved to see me. She was practically begging for help. I told her I was there and I'd make sure she was safe and got help when Gordo just barking and snarling like crazy. I turned to calm him down and then I felt this really sharp pain in the back of my head. I tried to see who hit me, but before I got a glimpse the plank of wood hit me again. It must have knocked me out because I have no idea how I got here."

"Okay, we'll just get you out of here and get those bruises checked, make sure you don't have a concussion or anything," I said, rushing him toward the stairwell.

"Wait," he requested, "Your mom! Have you seen her? Whoever hit me might have attacked her too. Maybe that's why—"

I cut him off brusquely, "It's not but we really don't have time to talk about that now. I'll explain later."

I steadied/dragged him to the stairs just as the door eases open. Glimpsing my mother's bare leg I immediately turned Mr. Barron around and began to push him towards the hatchway.

"But Wendy, your mom? She was righ—"

"I told you, we'll talk about her when we get out of her!" I scolded, my face making it clear I was not screwing around.

I pushed him through the hatchway door and pull it closed behind us. Without thought, I grabbed a piece of splintered wood off the floor and shoved it under the base of the door, making a reverse door stop. I did not have to wonder for long where the wood came from. As I turned around, the answer was made obvious.

The staircase was, to be blunt, no more. Shards of wood were scattered through the small concrete room, the twin metal doors stood above us, just out of reach.

"Dammit," I cursed, my heart thumping with panic.

"I don't understand. Why can't we just—" Mr. Barron started, confusion written across his features.

"My mom is sick, ok?!" I shouted at him, louder than I meant, louder than was smart, "She's sick and...it makes her act in ways she wouldn't otherwise. Whatever it is might be contagious so we need to get out of here."

He did not respond, just regarded me with a mix of fear and skepticism. I have a good idea that part of him wondered if perhaps I was ill, mentally so, and he should be running from me. Then, the door thumped behind him.

"I'm coming for you, Glen, and I'm going to make your forget all about that bitch of a wife!" my mother yelled. While it was muffled, Mr. Barron got the idea. He blanched.

"See?" I confirmed.

He nodded and glanced around, looking for the angles. After a few more thumps on the door from my mom battering against it, he spoke.

"Look," he gestured, "There's still a small lip up there. I'm too big to balance on it and throw open the door, but I bet you can do it. I'll help you get up there, you get out, grab that ladder you have in your garage, and get me out."

Knowing there was no better option, I agreed. It was difficult work. The doors were heavy and the angle from the small lip was all wrong. I tumbled off my perch multiple times only to have Mr. Barron hoist me up again.

As time wore on the door began to visibly bow and crack. The stop I had improvised was holding but the door itself seemed to be giving up the ghost. Mr. Barron, face tight with concentration thrust me up again. Moments later, his face took a momentary dazed quality. He shook his head and tried to focus.

"You smell that?" he asked. "Like...vanilla and brown sugar."

I sniffed the air and realized the odor was filled with the same tropical scent my mother was emanating the night before.

"I...I smell pina coladas, something like that," I offer shakily.

"No, no," he said dismissively, "Definitely brown sugar and vanilla."

"Whatever," I replied, returning to the task at hand, "It's not a good thing, ok? My mom's doing it somehow...our brains must be perceiving what the smell is differently, but it's my mom and it's dangerous."

"How could this be dangerous?" he asked, pupils dilated, accurate orientation in time and space doubtful. "It smells so good."

I kicked out at him, connecting but falling for my troubles. He blinked hard and returned to the moment.

"It feels like...like my head's filled with bubbles and cotton," he whispered, his fear palpable. 

I nodded dourly and gestured above once more. "That's why we need to get out of here."

He shoved my upward and, finally, I was able to push open the rusty doors. Gasping with exertion I tumbled out on the lawn and hazarded a look back. The head of sledgehammer perforated the wooden door standing between my mother and Mr. Barron.

Panic in his eyes he shouted to me to hurry and I took off running for the ladder. As I did, I could hear the door continuing to be pulverized until Mr. Barron began to alternate between trying to calm my mom, I assume, and shout for me to hurry. As I fumbled with pulling the ladder from the hooks in the garage ceiling I could do nothing but listen.

"mumblemumblemumble. HURRY UP WENDY, SHE'S IN! mumblemumbleGET AWAYmumblemumble. OH GOD! WENDY! WENNNNNNNNDY! I CAN'T GET HER OFF ME. SHE'S...SHE'S RIPPING MY CLOTHES. WHERE ARE YOU?"

"JUST HOLD ON!" I screamed back, one side of the ladder finally clattering down, "WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T ENJOY IT."

"mumblemumbleOh Deidremumblemumble WENDY, WENDY SHE'S OOOOOOOOOOO, SHE'S USING HER MOUTH! OH GOD! OH GOD! SO GOOD! NO, STOP, PLEASE! I'M MARRIED! OH GOD! HELP ME!"

With a desperate pull, I ripped the ladder down, ceiling hook and all. I awkwardly ran towards the open hatchway, bleating, "Just another moment, Mr. Barron! HOLD ON! I'm right here!"

I slid to a stop by the hole and prepared to drop the ladder in. "Head's up, Mr. Barron," I shouted, peeking over the edge.

As he indicated, my mother had done a number on his clothes. His shirt hung in tatters around his torso, his pants were visible just outside the shattered wood door. He stood, seemingly by himself, back to me, head staring at the floor. I could not see my mom, but heard a wet, repetitive smacking sound that made my skin crawl.

"Mr. Barron," I whispered, forcing myself to speak.

Finally, he looked up and smiled. My mother was revealed by the movement; on her knees before him, cum already plastered on her face, she greedily and messily filled her mouth with his cock. His eyes showed the tell tale green ring.

"Come on down," he called to me, licking his lips, "Your whore of a mother needs you to clean her up."

"Oh god..." I croaked, stumbling backwards, bile rising in my throat. She has already made him cum and I had missed the brief refractory window that allowed me to shake loose from The Freedom the night before.

"Oh come on Wendy, I'll make you feel so good," he persisted, "You must miss your Daddy so much. I'll be your Daddy now. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Wendy? To call me Daddy while I fuck you? To suck Daddy's cock while your Mommy eats that nasty little cunt of yours."

My mother's voice joined his, "Remember last night? Remember how good we made each other feel? Mommy's hungry for some more! Come down here and let Mommy taste you, Wendy!"

Tears running down my face, I ran away, away from their terrible taunts and the odd honeyed sound of the voices and the sound of my mother's mouth and the image of her, covered in cum and still wanting more. I ran to the car and escape, peeling out of the driveway far too quickly and racing down the street. I sobbed and gripped the wheel tighter, trying to squeeze out that last image of my mother. On her knees, faced glazed with a layer of cum, happily blowing our married neighbor and joining in his calls for me to descend into their madness.

I eased out of our cul de sac and angled for the more populated part of town, mind whirring. I was trying to make sense of The Freedom. Obviously, my mom had been exposed to it for too long to shake it like I did. Or maybe the sleeping piles were the difference...maybe if she took them too she'd revert as well? I refused to even consider the idea that my mom was gone gone... that she had passed the point of no return... that The Freedom was, eventually, a permanent pilot of the mind.

I reached inside my bra and grabbed the vial I had stowed there. As I pulled it out, my watch clasp caught on my nipple, pinching it. I gasped and gritted my teeth, surprised at how quickly the sensation spread through my body.

"Still sensitive," I wrote the feeling off as I swished the green liquid around in its glass prison.

Options flooded my head and were cast aside. I refused to just run, to abandon my mother to her fate and other neighbors to be her possible victims. Going to the police seemed equally unappealing. I foresaw a psych screen in my future if I told them my story and precious time wasted. If I didn't tell them the truth though, and just reported any old crime to get them to storm the house, I feared they'd be sitting ducks. Obviously, given what happened to Mr. Barron, The Freedom did not need to be injected directly to spread. I wondered if the odor my mother seemed to give off, which smelled different to me that it did to Mr. Barron, was some sort of pheromone. Perhaps that's why I froze in place twice and allowed my mother to kiss and fondle me even before The Freedom was in my mind and coursing through my veins. Plots from movies like Outbreak, ...And the Band Played On, and Contagion sprung into my consciousness, leaving me to wonder about it being airborne or passed in bodily fluids or, perhaps, some measure of both.

With that in mind, I made my choice. The large hospital the next town over. I could be vague about what it was and how it was affecting my mom, get them to check out the green liquid, have them draw conclusions, and then they could explain it to CDC, police, whomever. I get help and don't get labeled crazy.

As I was patting myself on the back, I caught a glimpse of something in an apartment complex that gave me pause. Morbid curiosity gripped me and I pulled a U-turn and bumped up into the complex's parking lot. About 100 feet in front of me, a woman in maybe her late 30's sat cowering in a car. Alongside her, three figures, two men and a woman, were naked and grinding against one another with crazed, wanton glee. I eased my window open slightly to see if I could hear anything, wondering how far my mom's influence had already spread.

"Get out of the car, Cathy, you can't have any fun in there," one of the men called out in between moments where the naked woman's tongue was in her mouth. They were purposely yelling to ensure she could hear them. I saw the car trapped woman, Cathy evidently, cover her ears.

"Yeah, honey," the other man proclaimed, "Beth could use the help."

Beth gripped both men's dicks, one in each hand, and began to stroke them before adding her voice to the pleas, "Come on, Cathy. I'll be happy to share."

Cathy seemed to shrink into herself, growing smaller and tighter in the car. It occurred to me that she might not have the keys. Whoever these people were to her, she had fled from them to the car only to realize she had no means of starting it. I peered closer and saw she was still wearing a robe, confirming my suspicions.

Both men dipped their heads down and each took one of Beth's nipples in their mouths. She moaned and continued to jerk them off. I could not help but marvel at her coordination. It was a bizarre thought and really not where my mind needed to be, but one dick in each hand while two people play with your tits? That's an undeniable talent.

I found myself staring at them, almost hypnotized by their shamelessness. Part of me almost found it...admirable? I shook the thought loose, reminding myself that they were sick and that they were terrorizing someone else.

I focused instead on trying to identify them, hoping that, somehow, I would recognize one of them as a friend or co-worker of my mom's or the mailman or something. I analyzed each one in turn.

Beth was about 5' 2" and curvy. Her skin was olive in tone and glowing. It was difficult to tell how old she was, any of them were, really, because of the way The Freedom changes the human body. However, small hints still existed as the changes seemed to be subconsciously directed by the afflicted. In Beth's case, her black hair being styled in the tradition of "mom of middle school students on the go" put her in her early 40's, I guessed. I had never seen her before.

"Oh yeah, baby," the taller of the two men groaned, releasing Beth's nipple from his mouth. He was stocky with a shock of sandy blonde hair on top of his head. I found myself curious, since it seemed clear he did not thin himself out or pile muscles on his physique, how The Freedom changed him. I expected that blond hair, now so full and prominent, was quite a bit thinner 24 hours ago. He too elicited no memories from me.

"You like that, Rodney?" she goaded him, "What else would you like me to do?"

"You know what I like," he groaned.

"Say it!" she ordered him, visibly gripping his dick harder, "Tell your wifey how you want her to desecrate herself."

"Oh god, baby...Oh god. Puh-puh-puh-please fuck Larry."

The shorter, fitter man moaned in delight at Rodney's request. This was, I surmised, Larry.

"You want me to fuck my brother?"

"You know I do, Beth."

"My own husband wants me to fuck my brother while he watches?"

"Pleassssssssse," he begged.

"Get me wet!" she demanded, releasing his cock. Rodney dropped to his knees and slid himself between her legs, parting her labia with his tongue.

"Mmmm, good boy," she groaned, turning to Larry, "Did you hear that, Bro?"

Larry nodded, face almost giddy. Muscles rippled in his arms and chest as he grabbed Beth, his apparent sister, and kissed her hard. Even from my distance away I could see their tongues dart aggressively back and forth against one another.

"You gonna fuck your little sister?" she stage whispered, being sure to amplify it enough to reach Cathy's ears.




The Freedom Ch. 02



"Right in front of your useless husband and my frigid wife," he replied, sick grin on his face. I could see Cathy's body shake a bit in her shelter/trap. I expected she was crying. Between his wife's legs, Rodney seemed considerably happier with the idea of the siblings conjugally expressing their love while their spouses looked on.

"I want you to fuck me hard and long, Lar," Beth commanded, "So you need to cum right now first."

"Where?" he gulped, Beth's hand apparently driving him close to the edge.

"All over Rodney," she replied, voice spiteful, "I want me to feel, smell, and taste what a real man's cum is like."

Face still pressed between her legs, Rodney let loose a sound of pure pleasure at the prospect of his impending humiliation.

"Fuck! CUMMING!" Larry bellowed as rope after rope of his essence coated Rodney's chest and stomach. When he was done, I saw him stumble backward slightly and shake his head. For a moment, he seemed confused and befuddled. I recognized it from my own instant "fucker's remorse" from the night before.

He turned as if to run and began to babble, "WhathaveIohgodohCathywhathappened—"

Beth refused to released his cock, stroking it as if he had not just cum. He groaned as if pain and began to beg, "Stop! Beth? BETH! Stop! I'm your brother."

Despite his protests, I could see his hips begin to thrust in time with her aggressive petting. She kissed him, silencing him, and by the time their lips separated, it was clear he was lost again.

As, I realized, was I. Once more I had gotten wrapped up with the scene in front of me. I reasoned it away as being like live porn theatre. I liked the occasional porn so it made sense that part of me would want to watch this. Not weird at all. Just so...incredible and out of the ordinary my mind was fixating on it in an attempt to process this anomalous scene.

Noting that Larry also was unfamiliar to me, I began to fear that, in fact, my mother did not know any of them. I worried that that meant whoever amongst them who had gotten it first had no contact with mom at all. Either there were multiple carriers in town or we were already experiencing secondary, or beyond, exposure cases.

With that thought chilling my blood, I watched Larry bend his sister over the hood of the car, her breasts mashed against the windshield, directly in Cathy's line of sight. Clearly the most aggressive of the three, Beth still had no problem with being utterly used. She moaned and groaned with such abandon that it was tempting to write her off as faking it. Except I remembered what it was like for me, the feeling of unfettered lust, of extreme sensation. Her response was the only response you could give in the grips of The Freedom.

She called out to her husband, "You see this? You see how a real man fucks a woman?!"

"...yes," Rodney whimpered pitifully, torso glazed with cooling cum, cock betraying his enjoyment of his humiliating cuckolding.

"Oh god, Cathy, I can't believe you are just letting me have your husband's cock," Beth moaned, pounding on the windshield, "I mean, everyone knows I'm a hotter piece of pussy, but I didn't expect you to just give up."

Cathy twisted in her seat and seemed to be going fetal.

"Ooo, remember your wedding, Larry? Remember how I blew you in front of your groomsmen just before the service? You had your tux on and I was wearing that stupid pink bridesmaid dress and you filled my mouth with your seed."

"Mmm, sis, yeah. You were my dirty little cocksucker. You are my dirty little cocksucker. But I what I really loved was how we fucked in the bathroom during the reception. I know my dick was still covered with your slutty juices when I made Cathy suck it that night."

I assumed this was a lie that seemed real to him, the same way the "memory" of watching my mom take my dates right in front of me was entirely fabricated but, at the time, felt like gospel truth.

"Could you taste your husband's nasty sister all over him on your wedding night? Did it turn you on you frigid bitch? I bet it did...I see the way you look at me. All you have to do is come out of that car and beg me for it and I'll let you eat your husband's cum out of me."

As Beth continued to pound the glass, she rededicated herself to mocking her husband.

"Rodney," she barked, "Come over here and let me see you stroke that pathetic cock of yours while a real man fucks me. Cathy, you should see my husband's miniscule dick... you have no idea how lucky you are to have access to my brother's tool all the time."

Rodney obediently walked to the other side of the car and climbed on the hood. Despite Beth's claims, he certainly did not appear to be miserably endowed. He began to abuse himself with vigor, claiming over and over again, "I'm pathetic. No man at all. I love watching my wife get pleasure from a real man's cock."

Beth started her own chant, keeping time with her brother's thrust and her fists smashing the windshield, with mindless, cruel arrogance, "Fucking my brother, fucking your husband, fucking my brother, fucking your husband."

I could hear the glass crack and see an ever growing spider web begin to spread outward from the radius where Beth's fists repeatedly landed. Cathy would be theirs soon. 

In the car, she looked near catatonic, rocking side to side, legs pulled into her chest. I knew I could not leave her. Leaning on my horn I roared onto the sidewalk. I flashed my lights and let the car run loud in too low a gear. Anything to get them to scatter. They looked, but did not stop. A moment later, they stopped even looking, returning to fucking, masturbating, and taunting their trapped next victim.

I pulled up perpendicular to the car, about 10 feet away, and cracked my window. "CATHY!" I screamed repeatedly until she, eyes red and dazed, looked up for the unfamiliar voice. "CATHY!" I continued, "WATCH FOR MY SIGN AND RUN TO THIS CAR!"

She shakily nodded.

I backed off, putting about 50 or so more feet between the threesome and myself, dropped the car into park, and got out, engine still running. Breathing shallow and almost panicked, I advanced on them, hoping to come up with a better plan, knowing I wasn't going to any time soon. Getting as close as I dared, I indicated to Cathy to get ready. 

Taking one last deep breath, I shouted at the trio, "Hey, what's a college girl got to do around here to get fucked?!"

They paused, their heads eerily rotating as one to focus on me. Confident I had their attention, I opened my shirt and shoved the lacy bra down, my breasts springing forth. They seemed intrigued but did not move.

I called out to them again, "Oh, don't make this naughty girl beg! I need cock inside me. I need both my holes fucked. Mmm, and you pretty lady, you can sit on my face. I'll make you cum so hard, you'll wonder how you lived without my tongue in your pussy." I'm pretty sure I was spitting out some variation on the dialogue I heard at a frat porn party, but I hoped it did the job.

It did not.

Desperate, I flipped up my skirt and shoved aside the panties. "Look at this pretty cunt!" I demanded. Finally, they broke, coming off the car and moving towards me.

"Oooo, girlie, I'm going to wear you out," Larry leered, licking his lips. 

I backed away slowly, teasing, "Big talk, big talk. Why don't you come over here and prove it."

"Oh we will," Beth assured me, playing with her breasts as she walked.

"Yeah, don't run away," Rodney added, allowing himself some small measure of sexual menace, a stark contrast to his earlier role of weak cuckold.

"You made me beg," I pointed out, trying to make my voice as porn star inviting as possible, "Now you've got to work for it."

Behind them, Cathy eased open the door to her car and ran, in a crouch, to my idling Mazda. Her tormenters paid her no heed, far more interested in what I was offering.

"Nah," Larry said, anger suddenly on his face, "I think you're a tease. You talk all big, but then you get scared when things get real. Otherwise, why wouldn't you be tasting my load already?"

The trio had spread out some, flanking me. They had gotten much closer then I intended, but I wanted to make sure Cathy could get away. Rodney lunged and caught my wrist. I twisted away and nearly ran into Beth's arms. Fear sweat broke out of my brow; panic made it hard to breathe. 

Somehow, I pushed Beth down and was able to escape the closing circle. They were close behind, however, as I began to run across the parking lot. I cursed myself for damning Cathy, myself, and possibly the whole town.

Cathy, however, was quick thinking and had not just jumped in the passenger seat. Instead, she had taken the wheel and came back for me. She squealed to a stop and pushed open the door, screaming, "Just jump in!"

I followed her advice and she floored it with me still half in. She glanced in the mirror as I finally pulled the door shut and buckled in. "Oh god," she groaned, half in disgust, half in fear, "They just...they just...started again."

I glanced back and saw Beth, standing but bent at the waist, taking her husband in her mouth while as Larry resumed drilling her from behind. They disappeared out of sight as Cathy steered us out of the complex and back onto the road.

Adrenaline coursing through me as I buttoned back up, I yelled at her, louder than intended, "Who got it first?!"

Cathy, knuckles white on the wheel, responded, "Got? Wait...got?"

"The Freedom! Who got it first?"

"Is that what...is that why they were...like that? The Freedom? Is it like a disease or—"

I was getting frustrated, "Just answer the damn question Cathy! Who got it first? And do you know from who?"

She sobbed then, a quick loud pulse of grief. I remembered how she looked in the car and pulled back, feeling guilty for being so mean.

"Sorry, sorry," I whispered, touching her arm, "I'm just wound up. My mom...she...she's like your friends."

"Did she try—" Cathy began before trailing off.

"Yes." I admitted.

"I'm so glad you got out without her...doing anything to you. I don't know where I'd be now if not for you."

I recalled the feeling of my mom's gash pressed against my own and blushed deeply. "Yup, lucky," I replied. There was no need to tell the whole truth.

Cathy nodded and related her own story, "My husband and I and his sister and her husband were going on this cruise tomorrow so they came down last night. We all were going to drive to the place of departure today, stay in a hotel, and be on the boat first thing in the morning. I got tired first last night and went to bed. When I woke this morning, Beth was lying in bed next to me staring at me. Before I could even ask her what she was doing, I saw Rodney was standing at the foot of the bed and t-t-touching himself. I turned back to Beth just in time to see my husband lay down behind her and...

"I...I freaked out, ran out of the apartment, and...well, that's where you found me. Beth, Larry, and Rodney followed me out, I locked myself in the car. But I have no idea what happened between when I went to sleep last night and when I woke up this morning."

"Great," I muttered and the car lapsed into an awkward silence.

I pulled a half full water bottle off the floor in my backseat and drank it down in one long pull. It seemed odd to me even then. I had been running but not nearly enough to be that dehydrated. I was in good shape, no show diabetic shut-in. I shrugged the weirdness of it off.

Cathy gave an odd glance then looked back to the rode. "I just realized," she admitted, "I have no idea where to go."

I told her about having the vial and my plan to bring it to the hospital to hopefully figure out what was going on and how to stop it. She cracked a small smile and complimented the idea. My hand still on her arm, I began to gently rub up and down it. The sensation of her skin and hair against the palm of my hand felt incredible. 

I told her so, my voice sounding unusual to me, dreamy almost. She looked at me strangely and offered a quick, confused thanks. I heard a buzzing in my ears and my head felt light and cotton-y.

"Do you smell cotton candy?" Cathy asked, turning to me, "And like...funnel cake?"

I could only shake my head. Information felt very tough to process.

"Wow...god, I love that smell," she whispered, shifting back and forth in her seat.

"Mmm," she added, "Your hand feels really good. Keep going."

I began to feel warm, like I was wrapped in the world's softest blanket. The edges of my vision went fuzzy. Something was wrong, my mind alerted me.

Before I could share this with Cathy, however, her face twisted up in horror.

"Oh no," she groaned, "The Mayor?"

I followed her eyes out the window and saw what frightened and disgusted her. On the lawn in front of Town Hall, the Mayor was sitting on a bench as three Parks and Rec workers in matching grey-green jumpsuits pleasured him orally. He looked 15 years younger and 40 pounds lighter than in the photo of him in the paper the day before.

"All that cock," I thought to myself, "Seems a shame not to be in the middle of those four."

The thought came to me naturally, as if it were my own. But right away I knew it was not. I glanced to my lap and saw my hand was buried in between my legs. I moaned in horror, yanking my hand away.

"What, what?" Cathy glanced at me, panicked.

I ignored her, pulling down the visor and looking in the vanity mirror. "Damn it," I muttered. The green ring was barely discernible, but it was there.

"Pull over," I croaked, "Pull over in the college parking lot."

"What's going on?"

"Have to get out of here," I muttered.

"I thought we were going to the hospital."

"You are!" I spat, fumbling with my empty water bottle. I poured a small amount of the remaining lime colored liquid and resealed both vial and bottle. I shoved the vial into Cathy's hand, the feeling of her skin on mine flashing hot, dirty thoughts in my head.

"Take this and get to the hospital! Keep the door locked. Be aware of everything. Follow traffic laws but be ready to run red lights, stop signs, go the wrong way on one way roads, whatever, if someone tries to get in the car with you. Get to the hospital, give this to someone in infectious diseases. Let them know it may be a drug or a virus, you don't know. Be vague. This is important. Just report it is making people act unusual. Don't tell them exactly how at first...they may think you are crazy. If they push you, describe the green ring in the eyes and say your friends tried to assault you. That's it. Okay?"

"Yes, yes," she responded and then repeated back the instructions almost word for word, "What about you?"

"I'm taking this sample to a chemist on campus. Multiple samples, quicker results, I hope."

"I can drive you there first and then we can go to the hospital together."

"No, no," I waved her off, stumbling out of the car, "I got this."

I ran hard away from her, praying she did as I asked. The small amount of green liquid I had sloshed quietly in the bottle in my hand. My chemistry TA was supposed to be some kind of genius, a real chemistry rock star. I remember some freshman Chem major whispering that breathlessly our first class. Maybe he could help, I reasoned. I'd have not raped or infected Cathy, done some good but getting another sample out there, and then I'd find somewhere to lock myself away before The Freedom overtook me.

In retrospect, I'm fairly certain it was already calling the shots. I was not about to be a savior...I was a destroyer.



The Freedom Ch. 03



Author's Note: Please be warned, this chapter does rachet up the bloodiness quite a bit. It is not gory in the traditional sense (you'll see why) but it does involve a stabbing or two. If that sort of thing bothers you, this very well might, too. 

*

Footfalls echoed in my head like the steady clap of a factory press. I could not feel the ache on my soles, despite my wildly inappropriate for running footwear. Any other time, I'd be glad to for it, but this time I knew it was The Freedom instantly healing each small injury, smoothing out all feeling that did not equal pleasure, turning it into such. Still the exertion did seem to be keeping The Freedom's other...less savory side effects at bay.

As I ran, I attempted to gather all my observations about The Freedom I had so far. Direct injection and sexual acts passed it, but it was unclear if anything else would. The smell and the voice of the afflicted seemed to have certain seductive and/or paralyzing qualities to it. After orgasm, there was a brief refractory period during which you were "yourself" again but there did not yet seem to be a way to extend it indefinitely although the sleeping pills did seem to make it last significantly longer. Given what I'd seen with my mom, the refractory period shrinks to nothing over time. Given Mr. Barron's behavior, the period could also be accelerated away by immediately being re-aroused. The Freedom could "remind" you of memories that had never occurred in order to heighten your desire. It also "created" fantasies you never had before and makes you feel like you always have had them. It changed your body almost immediately to your "ideal" version of yourself. 

I hoped I'd be able to control myself long enough to convey the details, to pass my knowledge on as a way to help others. As I considered writing them down immediately, an image of me pouring candle wax on a trussed up naked local news anchor woman overtook my optic nerves. She was the black haired lady from Channel 5 with the full lips who always seemed a bit too flirty with the weatherman. I could smell the smoke of a just extinguished candle and heard her saying, "Tonight at 11, which anchorwoman is a bad, bad girl who loves being tied and dominated by college girls? The answer will probably not surprise you." I kicked the metal cage around a nearby trashcan, the sudden shock of pain shattering the hallucination. I forgot the idea of writing down my knowledge. I ran harder.

Finally reaching Filliais Hall, home of the Chemistry Department, I slowed my pace. I was concerned with drawing attention to myself. If anyone stopped me, if they interfered in any way with me passing off The Freedom in its liquid form, I feared I could not stop myself from victimizing them and that once I did so, all hope of the sample being used to stop this would be lost.

Easing past a display case in the main hall, I paused to glance at myself and cursed. I looked, well, like an attention seeking slut. Plus, the flush on my cheeks and wind whipped hair made it look like I had taken a few moments to get off in the bathroom before visiting my professor. There was no time to be proud though. Or, as The Freedom briefly urged me, to "appreciate" myself more fully while looking at my reflection.

"You're late," my TA Mark Hazzell commented without looking up from a stack of papers as I walked in, "You're lucky I had other work to keep me here."

He was sitting at his desk in his "uniform": untucked flannel shirt, carpenter khakis, scuffed boots, five o'clock shadow. He always looked so unfinished to me. At that moment though, my first thought was, "He's handsome." 

"Not the time," I growled, dramatically tossing the plastic bottle onto his desk, and talking as much to him as my suddenly diamond hard nipples, "We've got more important things for today, Mark."

He looked up at me, bemused look on his face dissolving into a none too subtle up and down ogle of my body. I cocked my hip and stared. Then, thinking it perhaps a bit too sexy sassy, I just sat down.

"Well," he cleared his throat and picked up the bottle, glad for the distraction, "What is this?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me. I—I—" I came up short, gasping. A suddenly jolt of pleasure shot through me without preamble. Gripping the desk, I pressed on, voice thin and reedy, "My mom took it, I guess... on her psychologist's advice. And it made her...very—uhhhhhh—different."

I paused to catch my breath, unfocused desire literally burning inside me. When I felt reasonably under control, I began again. "She has also injected me with it and...well...ohgod," I mumbled, losing my vision to a bright mental flash of Mark on a leash before me.

"Are you okay?" he said, coming out from behind his desk to comfort me. 

As he touched me, I threw back my hands, exclaiming, "Don't touch me!" The tiniest brush of his hand left my skin hot and vibrating.

"Oh...okay," he whispered, looking a bit scared.

"Sorry, sorry...part of the thing with it. Very...sensitive. Anyway, I sent someone to the hospital with a sample and thought I'd give one to you."

"Well...alright. Can you...wait here? I think there's enough here for a couple different tests."

"Sure, sure," I huffed, ignoring the persistent throb of my clit, "But I might have to go. If I'm not here, call the hospital and give them what you've got."

He nodded and jogged out of the small lecture room down the hall to the grad lab. I totally neglected to give my other observations and theories.

With a heavy exhale, I flopped my head backward over the top of the chair. For the first time, I was thankful my college insisted on being a liberal arts school with incredibly strong science programs and spent the money to make it happen. 

With the departure of Mark, the burning want in my body seemed to dissipate as well. Unfounded optimism led me to consider the possibility that perhaps being separated from people would make The Freedom easier to manage.

While I arrogantly considered that I might have found a way to outthink The Freedom, the bodily intruder reminded me pride comes before the fall. Without warning, The Freedom sparked my body's pleasure responses. I screamed out as every erogenous zone was stimulated at once. My body snapped into a rigid straight line, body parts smacking part against the chairs gathered around me. I bit down on my tongue, the salty brine of blood coating my mouth. I clawed at my skin, the very feeling of cloth on skin being so intense it felt as though my body was literally burning.

"Oh god, oh god, oh stop, don't stop, no, no, stop, ooooo, FUCK! OH GOD! Pleasssssssssse...so good, so good. Don't want this! Uhhhhhhhh," I babbled incoherently, falling out of the chair onto the cold, dirty tile floor. Pleasure gave way to hard orgasms that shook me so hard I must have looked like I was having a seizure. Muscle and tendons strained so hard that the part of my brain capable of any kind of thought feared my body was literally tearing itself apart.

Then, just as quickly, everything stopped. Gasping, I crawled to Mark's desk and struggled to pull myself off the floor. A glimpse of myself in a small mirror on the table's surface confirmed that, If I hadn't before, I definitely looked the part of a fantasy fuck princess now, cheeks perfectly flush, eyes wide and bright, lips plump and wet, breasts heaving with exertion. I prayed that I had just experienced the last stand of The Freedom, its extinction burst. 

Just as I fully righted myself and made the decision to get to somewhere isolated, just to be safe, The Freedom struck once more, dumping neurotransmitters and adrenaline in my bloodstream. I came, mouth open in a silent scream, brain coating me in an auditory and visual hallucination of being serviced by dozens of men and women at once. They crawled over me, touching me, rubbing me, kissing me, licking me, fucking me. As the aftershocks ripped through me, darkness enveloped me and I lost consciousness.

When I came to and brushed myself off, the "real" Wendy was gone, long gone. There was only The Freedom Wendy. And she was hungry.

I sauntered into the lab, hips swaying back and forth, and slid right into Mark's personal space.

"Find anything?" I softly inquired while provocatively leaning on the counter beside him. I followed The Freedom's guidance and positioned myself to give him a free and clear peek down my shirt.

He kept his eyes glued on the microscope while responding, "It is actually pretty fascinating. You were smart sending on this on to the hospital. It's neither just chemical nor just viral. It's definitely a drug, but there is also a viral load in suspension within it."

"Is it," I began, walking to his side of the counter to get closer, "something you could reproduce?"

He paused and I saw his nostrils flair, taking in my scent. Then he responded, "Actually, with this sample, yes. The chemicals are not that complex...they all appear to be derivatives of wildly available meds that do things like increasing blood flow, regulate adrenaline, reduce anxiety...things like that. And since the viral piece is still alive in this sample, it would be easy enough to breed, I'd think."

"Excellent," I cooed, some part of me dimly recognize the echo-y, honeyed quality of my voice. It was the voice of one who had embraced The Freedom.

He continued, a slight break in his voice letting me know I was affecting him even though he still had not looked at me, "But I'm not sure what purpose that serves."

"Well, it needs to spread," I offered matter-of-factly, lightly stroking the back of his head.

He pushed it away and took a large awkward step away from the microscope and me. "What are you doing? Why do you sound so different? And how can you smell exactly like the honeysuckle by the lake house my grandparents owned?" he blathered quickly, nearly panicked.

"What the hell are you up to here Wen—" He stopped speaking immediately as he got a good look at me.

I stood coquettishly in front of me, rubbing on foot back and forth on the floor in front of me. I bit my lip and looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. One hand absentmindedly played with the fourth button down on my shirt, unbuttoning and rebuttoning it. 

"Why are you even dressed like that?!" he squeaked, more panic present in his tone.

"Did I...did I displease you, teacher?" I whispered, "I didn't mean to be...bad."

I let my hands drop to my side, the fourth button left undone, and pulled on the bottom of my skirt. The Freedom guided me, whispering seduction instructions and promises of joyful debauchery.

"Do you think I have to be punished?" I pouted, advancing on the frozen Mark.

He put up his hands, blinking as though someone had sprayed in the face with an irritant. I came closer. He shook his head and exhaled sharply.

"Stop!" he shouted, hands out and open like some kind of terrified crossing guard, "Just...wait. I...I need to think."

He appeared addled, a step between intoxicated and manic. Still, he pushed on, trying to regain some semblance of control. I felt my lips curl into a sadistic smirk.

"This...whatever it is. You said your mom was on it?"

"Mmmhmm," I hummed, biting my lip.

"And she injected you with it?"

"Yes," I half moaned, letting my sweater slip from my shoulders to the ground.

"Okay, okay," he reasoned on the fly, "So, I don't what the biological part of this cocktail's about, but I can tell you that the chemical components would all be found in various medications used to boost libido or sexual responsiveness."

"Wow, you're smart," I giggle, "But I'm just a silly girl who needs to be put back in line. Are you saying the reason I want you to fuck me right here in the lab is because of that green stuff."

He blushed mightily, somehow retained his relative composure, "Well, umm, that's one way of putting it."

"I don't know, Markie," I sing-songed, "I think the reason I want to fuck you is that I'm a horny slut and you are a hot guy who I bet's got a. Nice. Thick. Cock."

"I...no, that's not tru—I mean—Look, the behavior, the clothes, the voice...none of this is really you Wendy."

I slipped a hand into my bra and cupped my breast and tweaked the nipple. It produced such a powerful reaction, I had to pause and rock through the wave of pleasure. When it finally began to break, I locked eyes with Mark, offered him an "oops" shrug, and spoke, "Are you sure? Because, Marky, I tell you, I sure feel like me."

He pushed his hands out in front of him harder, as if he thought he could push away lust. I stepped forward again, pressing my breasts against his outstretched palms. The moment was exquisite and I audibly moaned. Mark rocked slightly on his heels, but made no move to escape. His eyes were fixed on my cleavage, his mouth slightly open and exhaling.

After a moment, I whispered, "What do you think? Do I...feel okay to you?"

His eyes moved up to my face slowly, as though a heavy rock had been affixed to the top of his head. Even as he made eye contact with me, his eyes were vacant. He stared forward as if he were blind or, perhaps, I was invisible. 

"So, Mark, would you say you're a fan of tits?" I teased as he kneaded my breasts through my shirt and bra.

He nodded dully, eyes cloudy.

"Would you like to see them?"

"Y-y-yes," he stuttered, face slack.

As I reached for my remaining buttons, a piercing scream from the hall shot through the room. Mark startled, his eyes regaining their spark, his face losing its lack of expression. He tossed his hands from my chest as if they had been burned. 

"She sounds like she's being killed," he mumbled and raced to the door, with me on his heels. Peering out the window, we saw a petite Asian American freshman being dragged down the hall by a pack of girls in sorority t-shirts and tiny shorts. I recognized their Greek symbols, indicating their allegiance to the so-called "smart" sorority, the scholarly house that enforced a "dry" policy even for its of age members. They certainly did not look the part of the "brainy" sisters now.

The freshman twisted in their grasp and reached for us, yelling for help. Mark began to turn the doorknob to push into the hall before I stopped him, place my hand over his.

"Look how many of them there are," I pointed out, "You'd never stand a chance. Better to stay here and find a way to stop it then risk yourself on a fool's errand for one person." 

I felt him slump, defeated, realizing I was speaking the truth. He clicked the deadbolt into place to "protect" us, not considering I was just as dangerous, if not more so, than that pack of sorority sisters in the hall.

In the hall, the sisters gave up on trying to bring the freshman to whatever destination they had in mind and threw her to the ground. She looked up at us in the window, eyes tearing, knowing that we would not help. Two sisters held her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the ground.

"Please," she begged, "Don't do this. I don't want this."

"You will," cooed a brunette with curly brown hair, pouty lips, as she straddled the freshman's waist, "We all thought we didn't want this, but then...trust me, it feels so good."

The brunette then pulled off her tight t-shirt exposing her impeccable bra-less breasts. Much like my mother's breasts, hers were large, full, and soft, yet impossibly resistant to gravity. As the other sisters cheered, "Yeah, Jean, show her! Show her how good it feels!"

With a smile that looked more threatening that happy, Jean shoved off hand down the front of her underwear. She immediately threw her head back and groaned loudly. A moment later, she pulled her hand back out, visibly glistening with her wantonness. "See, look how wet I am," Jean demanded of the pinned coed.

Grabbing the freshman black long hair roughly with her dry hand, Jean spread her juices across the helpless girl's lips. "Taste me," Jean whispered.

The freshman shook her head emphatically.

"But she tastes so good," objected a tall olive skinned junior I recognized as the point guard of our women's basketball team.

Forcefully, Jean pushed her fingers into restrained girl. The girl thrashed back and forth and bit down but Jean only laughed as she pulled her fingers free. Already, I could see tell the freshman was losing herself.

With a frustrated sigh, Mark pushed on the door and then began to turn away. I caught him, forcing him to stay in one place. "It's okay," I reassured him, "You can watch."

"What?!" he replied, incensed, "No...that's not okay. Besides, like you said, I should be finding a way to help everyone."

"Shh, shh," I whispered, "It's just you and I here. I won't tell anyone you watched for a little while. I mean, it's every guy's fantasy, right? Hot girls fooling around with each other?"

"No—well, I mean, sure," he admitted, "But they're raping her! It's not the same."

"They're not raping her," I promised him, "They're helping her."

"That's ridiculous!" he responded, again preparing to stalk away from the door.

"Look, Mark, look," I encouraged him, wrapping myself around him from behind.

He glanced out the window again to see the sisters stripping the freshman. She writhed and shuddered under their touch, muscles visibly straining under the skin. She was moments away from giving in to The Freedom.

"See, they aren't hurting her at all," I pointed out.

"What...what's happening?" he whispered, his tone a mixture of awe and fear.

I rubbed my hands up and down his torso as I replied, "She's becoming. They're giving her a gift and she's finally accepting it."

"Gift?"

"It's called The Freedom. It will help her finally, truly be happy."

"Are you...are you sure? I thought..." he trailed off, his mind growing confused.

As if on cue, the freshman's body bowed in the center, forcing her into a sort of bridge. Her eyes were closed tight and she groaned a noise that resembled a running engine meeting a woman giving birth. Then her eyelids sprang open, green ring blazing around her chocolate brown irises. She smiled at us and licked her lips, hands grabbing her tits. Then, with a growl she grabbed one of the sisters, a thick blonde sophomore who I'd met at a Take Back the Night rally, and tore the sorority shirt off her. A collective shout of triumph came from the group and they seemed to all merge with one another, a twisting mass of ever more exposed flesh.

"See," I cooed, "Look at what she's become. Isn't she beautiful now?"

"I...well, yes...but still...I...I shouldn't be watching this. I'm engaged," he offered weakly.

"Ssssssssoooooooooooo?" I hissed, "This is basically just like watching porn. You watch porn, don't you, Mark?"

He hesitated for a moment then confessed, "Ye—yeah...but Karen doesn't like that I do so I try to—"

"Do it behind her back?"

He went silent.

"It's okay," I comforted him, "I won't tell her. It'll be our little secret. You know you can trust me, right?"

"I...I think so."

"Of course you can, Mark. You can trust Wendy any time, all the time. I'm just here for you, you know."

My hands walked down his body until they rested on either side of the zipper of his pants. On the left, I could feel him, hard and pushing against the denim. He gasped, but did not move as I slowly, tooth by tooth, undid his zipper.

"Shh," I instructed him as he started to protest when my hand slid into his boxer shorts and freed his cock.

Even in the haze of The Freedom, even when all is want and lust and fucking, there are moments where you, the real you, is able to grasp what is happening. Powerless to stop it, but comprehending of it. The moment, digit by digit, I wrapped my fist around his dick, was one such moment. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream for him to run. I wanted to find a way to save us both. But The Freedom would not let me. In fact, the momentary instant of realization before my consciousness was swept over again only seemed to fuel my Freedom loyal mindset. I felt my lust soak my thong just before my rational mind was utterly obliterated once more.




The Freedom Ch. 03



"Shh," I repeated, "Look at them and tell me who your favorite is."

"Her," he said, doing as he was told. He pointed out a girl with her back to us. She was on her knees, watching the sex show, body undulating as she fingered herself. She glanced over her shoulder, revealing a sweet face that had been twisted into a mask of carnal ferocity. I felt him pulse in mind at the sight of her pure "I want to get fucked by everyone all time" look.

"Ooo, what a bad boy you are, Mark, I had no idea! Great choice. Her ass is incredible. I'd love to watch you fuck that."

"Engaged," he grunted, sounding very far away.

"I know, I know. Remember, we're just fantasizing. Just watching porn, right?" I reiterated, "Like for me, I'd totally want her to just work me over with a strap-on." I pointed to the Take Back the Night girl who was now happily letting the freshman "victim" grind all over her face.

"Wow..." he mumbled.

"Yeah, could you see that? Her just fucking me like she was born with it. Me just lying there and taking it because I'm just too horny to do anything else."

Despite his obvious state of arousal, Mark, god bless him, still tried to talk himself out of it. "I really should get to work," he plaintively stated.

"Sure, Mark, I agree. But you can't work like this, can you? How would you focus? You are way too fucking hard for science right now. You'd screw up calculations or something I bet. Or worse, I'd take my eyes off you for a second and you'd be out in that hall fucking Ms. Incredible Ass. You wouldn't want to do that to Karen, would you?"

"Noooo," he agreed.

"Just let me take care of you then. You just watch those underclassmen bring each other joy and I'll help you get your focus back."

"O—okay," he conceded.

"Good boy. Now tell me if you like this," I requested, gently pushing him against his stomach and stroking him up and down."

"Fe-fe-feels good."

"But?" I asked, sensing hesitance.

He whispered his need, "Harder."

"Mmmmmmmm, okay," I assented in a throaty register.

"Uhhhhhhh," he groaned and pitch forward slightly as I alter my grip and pace.

"Like that?"

"Yessssssssss," he growled gratefully.

"Does my hand feel as good as Karen's?"

"Better," he admitted, "She's so worried about doing a bad job she...she makes herself do a bad job."

"Sound repressed."

"No. Maybe...I don't know."

"Must make it hard to stay faithful, a repressed, lousy handjob fiancée at home, all these hot teen and twenty-something students just creaming themselves at the thought of cumming in for a little extra help from their TA, if you catch my drift. Tell me, you ever grant their request for some extra credit?"

"Oh god," he moaned, delighting in the feeling of a student jerking him off, before answering, "Of course not. Aga...against the rules."

"Really? Never saw a freshman in a sun dress and been tempted? Or maybe caught a glimpse of a senior on Midnight Streak and made a note to invite her to your office to give you a closer look? Hmmm..."

"Lose...my position."

"That's not a no, is it? I bet you go home all the time and think about us naughty little coeds while you are pretending to care about your fiancée's pleasure, don't you? You are making love to her, but in your mind, you are fucking us."

"I...everyone has fantasies," he sighed resignedly, then groaned as he saw his favorite sister in the hall be taken by a very thin, small-chested goth looking girl. Ms. Incredible Ass spread her legs generously to allow the goth to dive right in.

"So that's a yes, teach? Don't worry, remember, I'll keep your secrets. Besides, it's not like I'm immune."

"What...how do you mean?" he asked turning his head to make eye contact with me for the first time.

"It's just gotten to be out of control, Mark. Every day, I watch you in class and I just get wetter and wetter. At first, I could get home before touching myself. Then, just rubbing my tits was enough to keep me at bay until I was safe in my bedroom. But now? God, now I'm touching myself the moment I get in my car. Soon, I'll probably have to excuse myself halfway through class to cum in the hallway just so we don't fuck in front of everyone."

"Really?" he asked, eyes wide. Suddenly, he was looking only at me, the Caligula-esque lesbian scene in the hallways losing out to the 21 year old student with her hand on his dick describing her lust for him.

"Yessss," I moaned, "Just last week, I had three fingers buried in me at a traffic light, doing everything I could not to just close my eyes and lose it, when the field hockey girls pulled up in their van off to some away game. I should've stopped, I know I should've, but I didn't. I couldn't. I don't even care that they probably saw me, watched me the whole time we were at that light. Actually, no, I do care. I hope they did. I bet they loved it when I came just before the light changed. I'm sure a few of them helped themselves out before the game after they saw me."

"Wow..." he groaned and I felt his cock grow even more in my hand. In reality, none of it was true. I had never fantasized about Mark, kind of handsome guy though he was. I had absolutely never got myself off to him and, had I, it definitely, without a doubt, did not happen in my car with the field hockey team looking on. However, The Freedom made me believe every word of it and Mark's mind was so addled by the mix of pheromone and my Freedom-enhanced handjob skills, he couldn't think straight enough to question it.

He continued to stare into my eyes as I stopped for a moment, licked my hand to get it nice and wet, and then grasped him again.

"Oh fuck," he hissed as I started to rub him again.

"Ooo, Mark, what nasty words. Are you allowed to talk that way around your students?"

"Sorry...sorry. You are just so...so fucking good at this."

I giggled, "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to hear you say that. Makes me so wet to know you are loving this."

His eyes rolled upward for a moment and he grunted. As he refocused on my face, I inquired, "Close?"

He nodded quickly, his breath coming in shallow spurts. Gulping air, he mustered enough to ask, "Does it...does it really make you wet?"

"Mmmhmm," I nodded, biting my lip. I grabbed on his hands and slipped it under my skirt, inviting him, "Feel."

"Oh god," he gasped.

"Karen doesn't get wet like that, does she?"

"N...n...no. Never."

"That's because she doesn't want to fuck you as bad I do. She doesn't need this cock in her like I do."

"Oh god!" he repeated, his finger separated my lips, seeking out my clit.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Mark?" I teased. "Getting a handjob from me so you can focus up isn't cheating, but I don't know about fingering me."

"Just being polite," he responded, smiling weakly. His finger found my button and I gritted my teeth to stay focused.

"Mmmm," I said after I managed to regather myself, "Great dick, talented fingers. I don't see why Karen lets you out of the house, nevermind leaves you so unsatisfied. I guess it's true what they say?"

"What do they say?" he asked, looking hopelessly confused.

I smirked to myself and thought of my mother. How hopeless and stupid she had been when she tried to seduce me, how incompetent. She had to inject me to offer me joy, I had Mark almost entirely in my control and I hadn't even traded fluids with him yet. The Freedom was making me feel superior, telling me how special I was, how much better I was than the other afflicted. That made me as wet as anything Mark was doing.

After a dramatic pause, I whisper coyly, "Never send an old lady to do a young slut's job."

Under normal circumstances, it was a ludicrous statement to make. Unless Mark's fiancée is significantly older than him, she is not even thirty yet; probably like 26 or 27. I'm 21. But with The Freedom in control of me and pheromones thick inside Mark's brain, it was naughty hot.

He moaned and slid two fingers inside me. "Are you calling yourself a—" Even this far under, he couldn't bring himself to say it. The Freedom-ized me thought that was cute, in a pathetic sort of way. The old me, the real me, at least I think it's the real me, hated that word, would never use it and certainly not to refer to myself. But, in that moment, I loved it. The way it felt in my mouth, tripping off my tongue. What it meant to call myself it. Calling myself slut felt almost as good to The Freedom me as good kiss felt to the real me. Scratch that...it felt better.

"Why not?" I replied, batting my eyelashes at him, "It's true, isn't it?"

His breath rattled out of him as he began to shake slightly. I pulled him closer to me, then grabbed the back of his head.

"Kiss me," I demanded, "Reward me for being such a great slut."

He acquiesced without a fight, his lips crashing into my own with frightful urgency. As we kissed, he grunted and groaned into my mouth, spraying his seed all over the laboratory door. I pulled away from him and begin to lick my fingers clean of the thick white desire that had not ended up on the door or the floor.

He stumbled away, clutching his head. "What did, ARRGH!, what did you do to me?" he accused me as I stood dispassionately by and watched. "Oh god," he groaned, sounding pained, "What's in my head?"

"Don't fight it," I urged him, then changed my mind, "Actually, do. The Freedom likes when you fight. It makes when you finally embrace it all the better."

"Wen—Wendy...I thought we were—" he stuttered, slipping and fall to the floor, "Tr...trying t-t-to fix this."

I got on my hands and knees and began to crawl to where he lay on the floor, wriggling like he was trying to shed The Freedom as a snake would its skin. I took sadistic pleasure in his resistance and in the knowledge that I would be the first to welcome him to joy when the transition was complete. With each inch I drew closer to him, I appreciated the feel of my breasts, small though they are, dangling from my chest, my nipples rubbing against the lace of my bra. I loved that the first thing Mark would see when he looked at me was directly down shirt at my tits. 

"I don't want this," he mewed like a wounded animal, unknowingly repeating the Asian student's protests, "Please....Wendy...help."

I reached him and gently rubbed his leg, softly assuring, "It's okay, it's okay."

"Naaaaaaa," he growled in response, spasming. Even as he fought, I could see The Freedom was changing him. Gone were the love handles that you could see every time he wrote notes on the board. A quick glimpse of his eyebrows, the ones he always joked were so thick they'd never be singed off in a chemical mishaps, were now smaller, thinner, less obtrusive.

"You're already one of us," I thought triumphantly to myself.

I continued to speak to him in smooth, light tones, "It's okay, Mark, just look at me, I'm here for you." 

Despite no doubt knowing my promise was a false one, that I and The Freedom were one and the same, he looked. He was a desperate man drowning in the sexual filth his own brain was showing him and he reached out blindly for any promise of salvation, despite being sure it was a false hope. And, of course, he eyes settled immediately on the downblouse I was all too happy to provide him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he resigned himself to the embrace. A man knows when he is broken.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he asked, eye firmly looked on the soft pale skin I was showing him. His voice sound like his throat was filled with stones and molasses.

I crawled up his legs towards him while answer, "I thought you'd like it. You seem the type."

"What type is that?" he seemed paralyzed in place, unmoving, unflinching. If it was not for the green ring in his eyes and the change in his voice, I'd have had no idea he was in the throes of The Freedom.

"Dirty perverts who get off on sexy coeds in catholic school uniforms. Was I right?"

"Why don't you find out?" he offered, gesturing to his crotch.

I purred as I slipped my hand into the still open zipper. His cock was hot— not warm, but hot—, unyielding, and thick in my hand. His ideal self definitely included a bigger dick.

"So, the better question I guess is, then," he began, "Why would you dress so provocatively when you knew you'd be around a dirty pervert?"

"Cause I wanted this," I shot back, throwing him a defiant, "come fuck me" look and tightened my grip on his eager member.

"Where do you want it, whore?"

"Anywhere you'll give it to me, sir."

"I think I want to fuck that sexy little ass of yours."

"This ass?" I teased, flipping my skirt up and spanking myself once, hard. A year earlier, I had broken up with a guy when he even brought up the idea of anal sex. Under The Freedom? I couldn't wait to serve it up.

"That's the one. The one you are always showing off in class. Bending over, 'looking for your books in your bag,' presenting it like some bitch in heat."

"Mmm, you figured me out. I just wish those boys had been man enough to take want I was offering."

"That's why I'm here, to give you what you've been begging for."

"Ooo, but what will your fiancée think?"

"She can let me know when she's done licking my dick clean of you."

"Wow!" I exclaimed, mockingly, "You must be in control at home."

"You know I am. She's so happy I let her taste me, she knows her place. I do what I want when I want."

"Prove it, you sick fuck," I dared him, spitting in his face.

Silently, he grabbed my hair in both hands and held me tightly in place as he forced his lips against my own. I bit his tongue, he pulled my hair harder, I relented with a moan, grinding myself on his thigh. He threw me aside on the floor and stood above me.

"God, you soaked my pants," he said, gesturing to the wet spot where I had just been seeking friction, "You must really want it."

"Anywhere, anytime," I admitted, clambering to my knees.

"What if I want you only to give it up to me? Will I have to break you?"

I goaded him as I ran the blade of my hand up and down my slit, "You're welcome to try." 

He began to unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs. He did so without his eyes, shining with that sick shade of green, leaving my body. He watched me pleasure myself with undisguised lust. His boxers followed shortly after, exposing his newly Freedom enhanced love rocket to my own licentious gaze. Like Pavlov's dogs, my mouth instantly watered at the sight of it, throbbing there, all thick and heavy. The head glistened as a drop of pre-cum precariously perched in its center, threatening to succumb to gravity, denying my mouth its slick pleasure.

"I bet you can't wait to get this in your mouth," he teased me.

I nodded, still masturbating myself.

"You want to taste me so bad, don't you teacher's pet."

Again, a nod, a bit lip.

"What if I tell you the only way I'll give this cock is if you promise that no other cocks will slide between those beautiful lips; will plunge into the greedy throat?"

I took a moment, then replied defiantly, "I'd tell you that I'd settle for all those other cocks and miss out on yours then vice versa."

"Really?"

"Mmmmhmmm," I moaned breathily as I switched from the blade of my hand to two fingers directly on my clit, "It's a shame though because I really, really want your cock in my mouth. I'd make you feel so fucking good, Mark, I would."

"You think so?"

"Let me show you, you'll see." Before he had a chance to reply, I sprung forward, hands wrapping around the backs of his upper thighs. I forced him into my mouth, humming triumphantly.

Over me, he huffed and cursed, "Oh god! Fucking bitch. Didn't say—uhhhhh—didn't say yes. FUCK!"

I ignored his protestations, knowing they were half hearted. Under The Freedom, I knew I was the Queen of Cock Sucking, the Dame of Deep Throat. No man could resist my lips, my tongue, my throat and Mark was no exception.

"You love this, don't you? Taking control of me?" he groaned.

I grinned around his cock and nodded before taking him as deep as I could, feeling the burn in the corners of mouth as it stretched to accommodate him.

He groaned as I took him all the way in, running my tongue up and down the underside of his dick rapidly. When I thought my mouth and throat had gotten used to him, I began to bob my head, letting him nearly gag me before pulling back and repeating the process. I glanced upward and locked eyes with him, raising one eyebrow in self-satisfied success. 

Despite himself he reacted, grimacing and groaning in delight, "Fuck! Oh fuck, you weren't lying though, were you? You definitely wanted this cock. And you definitely know what you are doing with it, don't you my little teacher's pet?"

I nodded, widening my eyes to convey my unbounded enthusiasm for his member.

He continued, "Mmm...feel so good. Love to see those bright red lips wrapped around me. You're right, though, girl...you are too good to keep to myself. After I finish with you, I'm going to turn you out to all my friends. See if what can't use up your pretty cocksucking mouth? Would you like that? Would you like to be our little toy?"

The idea turned me on incredibly. I had a vivid image of myself, naked, hair tangled and snarled, on my hands and knees, surrounded by men. They used my mouth one after another, depositing their seed on my tongue, on my cheeks, in my eyes...wherever they wanted. And I took it and moved on to the next. I was like an addict, high as a kite on cum, but chasing my next hit so I'd never come down. I wanted to be Mark and his friends little fucktoy. I wanted to be anyone's fucktoy.

Immediately after The Freedom's dark whispers convinced me that I wanted and had always wanted to be treated like a human blowup doll, it fed me another, seemingly contrary, thought: Bite him. I ignored it at first. I was enjoying the feeling of him sliding past my lips, over my tongue, and just slightly down my throat before retreating and then repeating. Again, The Freedom battered my resistance. I held off for three more thrusts before it became too much. It was an order I could not turn down. So I did not.

After I took him deep enough I was almost kissing his waist, I pulled my lips back and pushed my teeth into his skin.

He grunted, "Oh, not too much though. A little's okay, but not—"

Before he finished, I held back, quickly, dragging the teeth hard from the base of his shaft all the way up and over his head.

He screamed and back handed me in a mix of rage and fear. As always with The Freedom, the pain signals were rapidly rerouted to become pleasure and any injuries I could have caused were erased. But he knew what I had done and he was angry.

I theatrically rubbed my cheek and looked up at him haughtily, "I told you, I'm nobody's whore."

He did not reply, simply grabbed me by the hair and threw me across a lab tabletop. I clattered to the floor, a few metal trays and test tube racks coming with me.

I shakily tried to get on my feet but before I could right myself, he grabbed me and pinned me against a glass cabinet. One hand gripped my throat, his other grabbed my shirt and tore it open. I moaned as best as I could with my restricted airflow and attempted to grind against him.

"Unbelievable," he observed, his arousal betraying his try at a contemptuous tone, "I hit you, throw you across the room, and you still want to fuck?"

I nodded, licking my lips, and reaching for his cock with you one hand. As soon as I made contact, his grip on my throat weakened, I could feel his knees become wobbly.

"Looks like someone feels exactly the same way," I purred, stroking his still rock hard shaft.

His moaned his confirmation, "So fucking hot."

"Thank you," I replied as he hand falls away from my throat. I angled him against the cabinet. He closed his eyes and sighed hard. Seized by yet another Freedom fueled moment of inspiration, I grabbed a beaker and smash it against his face. It shattered, shards of glass tumbling around us.




The Freedom Ch. 03



His eyes snap open, the green disk bright and pulsing, rage written across his every feature.

I took five steps back as I watch him shake the shock from his brain, his wounds healing all the while. When he can focus again, I make a big show of licking his blood from my fingertips, moaning lasciviously and fingering myself with the other hand.

"You still think you can handle this, big boy?" I ridiculed, then turned to run.

He literally leapt towards me, hand outstretched. He caught the edge of my skirt and sends me tripping to the ground. I quickly kicked free of it, leaving him a souvenir and me only in my bra, panties, high socks, and Mary Janes. I felt exhilarated, enthralled. I knew we'd fuck, every part of my body was screaming for release, but this wanton destruction and physical violence...in that moment it was like the best kind of foreplay ever.

I got to my feet and a few steps away before he called out to me. Pausing and turning, I caught a heavy metal tray just below my hairline on my forehead. My vision grayed and I fell to my knees. Blood oozed down the side of my face, escaping just prior to The Freedom beginning to close the wound. I lapped at it as I felt it twist its way down my cheek to my lips. Before I could regain my composure, Mark reached me, hoisted me off my feet and pushed me hard against the wall. With an inhuman growl, he kissed me deeply, my blood passing back and forth between us as one tongue caressed the other. 

He might have lost himself in our oral embrace, but I was not yet ready to concede, still enjoying the violent chase. Keeping him distracted, one of my hands blindly searched the lab station next to me for something to regain control. Fingers twisted around an erlenmeyer flask and brought it to bear directly against his chest. It shattered satisfyingly, spilling its liquid contents over his shirt. The label proclaimed it "concentrate acid," the part specifying one kind lying somewhere on the floor amongst the broken glass. With a squeak, he let go of me and tore at his shirt. I could hear the sizzle of acid as it corroded the fabric. I smiled in cruel glee.

As he struggled with it, his body simultaneously conveying the pain of a chemical burn and an equally strong sense of pleasure sent by The Freedom, I tried to slip away. Thrashing around blindly to stop me, he caught his hand in my bra strap.

"You're not going anywhere, you bitch," he proclaimed, with all the braggadocio swagger a man who's skin feels like it is on fire can manage, "I owe you some punishment."

I pulled against his grip for a moment, saw the fruitless of it, and reached between my breasts. Locating the front clasp, I released it and awkwardly slipped free of the black lace. I was now topless, in a lab, wearing knee highs, shiny black shoes, and a black thong. It was all I could do to keep the fun going, to not just lay on the floor and abuse my own body, debase myself for the pleasure of any one lucky enough to see.

Instead, I charged across the room, laughing and mocking my TA. Halfway to the door, I heard a clattering quickly draw close. Turning to see what it was, I was immediately struck by the display module cart, used for short demos in class, as it careened down the center aisle. As I lost my footing, I caught a glimpse of Mark advancing, literally licking his chops like a man about to eat for the first time in months. I loved being his object to be broken and used. I couldn't wait for him to achieve his goal.

That did not mean, however, I was going to go easily. As he straddled my prone form, I bit his wrist. His gasping and reaching for the injured area gave me just the break I needed to gather my legs beneath me and put both feet into his abdomen, sending him tumbling down the aisle. Rethinking the main door, I turned my trajectory to the door to the courtyard.

Mark was not as out of commission as I hoped though, and he stepped in front of me, broken beaker in hand, separating me from my escape route.

"Try it," he rasped, looking as sweaty and aroused, his cock rigid and a purple-red with passions simmered to a boiled. I imagined I looked much the same, my schoolgirl outfit reduced to rags around us, my body on nearly full display to his unblinking stare.

"You don't have the guts," I shot back, grinning now.

He gestured and, again, the invitation to try was clear. I called his bluff and sprinted towards him as best I could in my impractical footwear. As I drew near, I realized my error. He was not moving and his eyes glimmered with homicidal intent. The patented leathers offered no traction and I was going too fast to stop or change direction. 

With a dark single chuckle, he grabbed my arm as I raced within range, twisted me against him, his unbending desire hot against my back. In what seemed like slow motion, he brought his other hand down, driving the shard of glass into my abdomen.

Everything went silent. Everything went still. I...I didn't feel the glass or see it, even, but I knew it was there, tearing me open, bleeding me out. But for a moment, there was nothing. Not even panic.

Then, my world burst in Technicolor. I screamed a string of obscenities unheard of in our lifetimes. I fell to the ground. I convulsed and shook like a fish tossed on the deck of a boat.

In other words, I came like a tsunami. Hard. Fast. Long. It was a climax that shattered each one of my senses in turn and reassembled them differently. You could have told me my state of being changed from solid to liquid and I would have believed you, I felt so transformed. 

The closest I had ever come to an orgasm like this was my eighteenth birthday. My friends convinced me to take some drug cocktail and I was too ready to bust loose into the world to make a good choice. It was mostly MDMA, like they promised, but also much, much more. I don't know what else, but it was strong and mind altering. Some 26 year old pulled me into the bathroom of this club just as it really kicked in, tossed me onto the sink, removed my panties, and buried his face in my roiling pussy. I came then in moments flat and for hours afterwards I could feel tiny electrical storms of my skin each time someone touched me, however lightly. Small, but definite, climaxes of my skin cells. That was great.

This was that times...500.

All from being stabbed.

I pulled the glass from me, crimson slickness on the floor, on my knees, smeared across my abdomen, and watched, still shaking as the wound closed as if it had never been there. In that moment, even the tiny shred of "good" "proper" "real" Wendy thought The Freedom was the greatest substance known to man.

I threw away the beaker and enjoyed its satisfying crash, stood up, and slapped Mark in the face. He blinked but did not move. 

"You know how to show a girl a good time, I'll give you that," I flirted, "Now finish the job."

Turning around, I bent over a lab station. I dragged my nipples back and forth, just grazing the cold stone of the tabletop, sending delicious jolts of stimulation through me as I shook my ass in front of him. He stumbled forward, and cut my thong off with another piece of broken glass, then gave me a deep gash just below the dimple on the left side of my back. I came again, not as hard, but still hard enough to make my knees buckle. I could practically hear him grin.

He pushed my legs apart and began to guild himself into my dripping slit. I reached back and grabbed him, freezing his progress.

"You fuck my ass like you promised or you get the fuck out," I coolly commanded.

"Oh, you are a nasty one," he whispered, tone almost reverent.

He banged open a nearby drawer and pulled out what I recognized to be a tube of Astroglide he had confiscated from a freshman guy who had attempted to use it in some prank for Rush Week. Mark uncapped and drizzled it over my waiting ass, the cool liquid making me moan. He rubbed it in with his fingers, then coated himself as well. Adjusting his angle, he slid into me so slowly.

I groaned and dropped my head to the desk. I never had this before, never wanted it. But in that moment, I'd have sooner died then not have his cock fucking my ass.

"So tight," he grunted.

"Been saving this for you," I replied through rapid hissing breaths.

He wrapped his hands around my waist, one on each side just above my hips and began to pull me toward him. Each stroke he went deeper, faster. I groaned and mumbled as he took me, quickly passing from gentle introduction to hard, needy pounding. I took each stroke and invited him to give me more, rougher. The stone below transitioned from cold to warm as we continued, my body heat overwhelming its natural state.

Our "foreplay" had been too much for either of us to last long and soon he was begging for release.

"Oh god, such a perfect ass," he groaned in submission, "Fuck, you are going to make me cum so hard."

"Do it!" I implored him, my fingers finding my clit, "Reward me for my naughtiness teacher! Show me your appreciation!"

"So close! Oh...oh! Where do you want this?"

"Did I say you could cum yet?" I grumbled.

To my surprise, he replied, "No mistress. Please, may I?"

My orgasm rose the moment he pathetically asked for permission so I granted it, "You want to cum inside me, don't you?"

"Oh god...yes! Please, let me!"

"Go ahead, teacher. Fill this nasty teacher pet ass! Give me my extra credit!"

Mark could not hold on another second and released deep inside me, whispering his thanks above me. My orgasm, starting to set, spiked again with the feeling of his seed rushing into me. We held that position for a moment, him straining hard, into me to the hilt, me breasts mashed against the lab table, mouth open in a long, quiet moan. We literally vibrated in place. Then, he broke, hands slipping away from my waist, body going loose like a wet noodle.

He slid free of the tight ass he so loved and dropped, hard, to the floor in a sitting position. Although I saw surprise and confusion registered on his face for a moment when I looked over my shoulder, it quickly dissipated. The refractory period was but a three second window.

For me, the final orgasm marked the end of fun and time for business. The Freedom urged me forward, commanded me to deal with Mark, get him working, and move on. It was advice I could not ignore, but that doesn't mean I didn't take a moment to tease him. I stretched in front of him, lengthening my body, showing off my abdomen, my legs, my ass. I then bent at the waist and shook my tiny tits slightly for his viewing pleasure. Despite obviously being spent, he reached for me. I slapped away his hand and shook my finger at him. He nodded and complied. It appeared I truly was his mistress now.

"Gym clothes, you have any?" I asked him.

He nodded dully and pointed back into the hall. I turned away, heading for the hall, sure to put plenty of swivel in my step. He trailed a few steps behind, picking up his clothes as he went. He wavered slightly at the sight of the still going at it sorority sisters but a quick snap of my fingers brought his attention back.

We got back to the lecture hall and he found his duffel bag. I emptied out the contents and dressed myself in drawstring sweatpants that, even pulled as tight as they could go, still hung baggy on me, and a zip-up hoodie. I tossed him the t-shirt to replace his acid destroy button down. He shrugged it off, presented his ideal chest and torso to me. I shrugged and shot him a "suit yourself" look. I was sure I'd fuck him again, but first, The Freedom had business for us to attend to.

"You know what to do?" I asked him.

Again he nodded, adding, "I can crank them out very quickly after I get the first sample right."

"Good."

"But I might need...assistance," he leered suggestively, "and test subjects."

"I suppose you could call some students down to discuss their grades," I suggested, leaving the lab, "appeal to their desire to do their best...maybe their school spirit."

He rubbed his hands together in perverted delight. I left him to manufacture some Freedom samples and, no doubt, infect any underclass girl he could get his hands on.

I left the lab and immediately altered my course for the campus convenience store. I was suddenly so parched my throat felt like it was lined by some combination of sandpaper and desert air. I grabbed several jugs and dragged them to the register where a 20-something fellow student lazily rang me through.

"Eight dollars," he said, boredom emanating from every bit of him. Without hesitation, I unzipped the sweatshirt and thrust my breasts forward. He stared, mouth agape. From one of the aisles, I heard a voice mutter, "This generation..." and trail off. The 50 something year old that said it came forward as if in a trance.

"Still can't stop staring though can you?" I teased him, "This generation has pretty great tits, doesn't it?" Both nodded dumbly.

I kissed them both then, first the older man, then the clerk. Both reached for my chest.

"Knock it off," I ordered, then bid the clerk come around the counter. When the two stood side by side, I spoke again, "Both of you drop your pants. Touch each other. Jack each other off. If you do well, I will come back and reward you both. Oh, and will doing so, repeat all the hurtful stereotypes you believe about the other."

They complied without hesitation and I left, jugs in hand, whistling to the sound flesh slapping flesh and the screaming of slurs, Two new Freedom recruits.

On the way to Professor and Staff Parking I drained a gallon of water, tossing the plastic container at my feet without concern. I selected a car that pleased me, broke the window with a rock, and hotwired it, The Freedom helpfully telling me how. I opened up the engine without concern for the "Student Crossing" signs and the speed bumps, shooting through campus at record speeds. Destination: The Mall. I needed clothes, immediately. Who knew where my old duds were and, besides, a new me deserved a new wardrobe.

Arriving at the mall, I immediately set pace for one of the boutique-y shops I had always only window shopped and strode in like I owned the place. Despite my oversized men's sweats, I was full of sexually charged confidence. Immediately, a young salesgirl approached me. Around my age, she was short, blond, and bouncy in every sense of the word.

"Hello, I'm Christa!" she announced, wide smile revealing bright white perfect teeth, "Can I help you?"

"Yes you can!" I mirrored back, thinking, "You'll do nicely. Very, very nicely."

"In fact, Christa, I think you'll find we can both help each other," I told her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder, "Now let's see about getting me a dress."



The Freedom Ch. 04



Christa giggled a little as we walked through the store. "Everyone is staring at you," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Are you sure?" I replied, arching my eyebrows and squeezed her shoulder, "Seems to me you're the one with the most to check out."

She giggled again, "Well maybe it's both of us then."

What was left unsaid was that the reason other shoppers might be paying attention was very different for both of us. For her, the stolen glances could have to do with the halo of loose golden curls that danced around her face as she moved or the extra shimmy-bounce she threw into every step, the best to emphasize her already undeniable curves.

For me, well, I was wearing men's sweats. I was not the "typical" patron of this establishment. Think Pretty Woman if Julia Roberts was dressed like a homeless person instead of costume designer's odd notion of a prostitute.

However, the closer I got to each dirty look shooting shopper, the quicker their stink eyes changed. The Freedom was flooding the air with its scent and I could see, one by one, each customer go glassy eyed and slack jawed.

"God, you smell so good," Christa mumbled despite herself, bringing her hand to her mouth immediately in embarrassment and adding, "Oh...wow...I am SO sorry. That's, like, not okay for me to be saying. I don't know why I just did that."

"Maybe 'cause I do smell good," I suggested, smirking at her mortification, "Now let's get me some clothes."

For the next 20 minutes, I led her around the store, piling wares into her waiting arms. Dresses, skirts, sleeveless shirts, and lingerie soon crested so high she had to peer around them to navigate.

"Hmm, perhaps that's enough for now," I offered and she indicated agreement with a broad smile, "Take me to your changing rooms, Christa!"

With dramatic aplomb, she whisked me past the strings and strings of chunky wooden jewelry, that seemed wildly out of place given the décor, the clientele, and the clothes, and into a large mirror enclosed back octagonal room.

"This is the personal shopper room," she announced. 

"We use it for our most...'esteemed'," she paused there and mouthed "Rich," before continuing, "visitors. With all the stuff you chose out there, I think we can pretend you fit the bill. The red button over there calls me back to take what you don't want, bring you new stuff, whatever."

She smiled wide again and turned on her heels to leave. As her hand grasped the gold leaf doorknob, I stopped her with a pout, "Wouldn't you stay with an esteemed visitor?"

"Umm, well," she hemmed and hawed, blushing, "If they ask, I guess. Honestly, I'm sort of the junior salesgirl here. I've never really had a chance to—"

I waved off her humility, requesting, "That's enough of that. Your chance is today. Now close that door and help me get sexy."

"Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," she blurted, again bringing her hand to her mouth in surprise at her forwardness, "I mean..."

This time she trailed off, both as I clearly did not care and knowing there was almost no means to explain the exclamation away.

I pulled off the sweatshirt and watched from the corner of my eye as she attempted to look, but not look, at my breasts. I pinched the nipples slightly and watched her eyes go wide. Shrugging, I explained, "Most of these I won't be bothering with a bra for so might as well get an accurate idea how much the nipples will show, right?"

"I...umm...that makes sense, I guess," she responded, confusion slipping into a sleepy grin.

"Because every dress looks better with a little raised nipple action, right?" I teased. She looked away, smiled, and blushed.

"Okay, Christa, grab me the purple dress and bring it on over here and while I try it on, I want to know all about you."

After handing me the dress, she sat back down on the wooden bench that lined the mirrored walls and got off three words before interrupting herself, "Well I am—Oh my gosh, is that a butterfly?!"

I glanced about for a moment before realizing her eyes were fixed between my legs. I looked down and sure enough there was a perfectly styled butterfly shaved into the hair leading to the valley between my legs. If I was capable of being the real me at the moment, I would've giggled myself silly. 

See, a few years back, I got the bright idea that I should make a new design in my hair every few weeks that summer. I would start with large designs and go progressively smaller as they summer went. I can't remember if I butterfly was first, but it was definitely early on and it was definitely a disaster. It didn't resemble a butterfly so much as it looked like I had localized mange. Bowing to my lack of razor ability, I shaved the remainder into the thin rectangle that became my hair design of choice until, well, that moment. The Freedom apparently found that distant disappointment and "fixed it." But it would not let me laugh about it.

"Yup," I affirmed, a distinct—if wholly fake—memory of just doing it a few days earlier flooded my consciousness, "I like to make things interesting for any and all visitors."

Christa got off the bench and walked toward me. Without asking, she reached out and ran her fingers over it, feeling each the varying levels of hair that had made the design possible. Distantly she commented, "I just keep it hairless...this is much cooler though."

Her fingers trailed off, just glancing over my bare mons before pulled back her hand quickly. "Sorry," she demurred, "That's a bit of a boundary violation there."

"Hey, I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want it to get attention, right?" I kidded and saw her visibly relax once more. Instead of sitting back down, she hung close to me as I slipped into the dress.

"So about me," she said, returning to the earlier question, "Umm...let's see...well, I'm Christa. I'm working here to save up some many so I can go to that makeup and hair design school, you know the one?"

I did not but nodded anyway. In contrast to the more aggressive seduction of Mark, The Freedom was guiding me through a slow, comforting play here.

"Parents can't help you?" I asked, turning my back to her so she could zip me up.

"No, we're...not in a great place right now."

"Oh?" I prompted.

She nodded and explained how she was born and raised in a small town that I'd certainly never heard of in the southern tip of our state, how her parents did not see the need for her to go to college because they thought she should just take over the bookkeeping at the family's shoe store, relieving her mother, just like her brother had relieved their father as head salesman a few years earlier. She told them no multiple times, they kept saying they'd consider her hopes, kept right on not doing so, and so on. Finally, three days before college applications were starting to be due, the parents put their foot down, everyone blew up at one another, and Christa went to live with a friend. She got accepted a few places but when she found out what she need to take out in loans, she decided to just move up here and work instead. Finally, two years later, she decided she had wasted enough time and started to save more earnestly, eyeing that beauty school.

"It's not the best," she admitted, with a resigned shrug that looked almost comically on her youthful, firm, bouncy body, "But it beats doing math all day in my stupid hometown."

I spun around, the hem rising up and out, buoyed by centrifugal force.

I requested her opinion.

"It looks great. You'll probably want some underwear though if you plan to spin like that a lot so people can't see your..." she trailed off, blushing fiercely once more.

"My pussy?" I offered, playful smile curling at the corners of my mouth.

She broke into a big grin and nodded.

"Huh," I joked, "I rather thought that that was part of its charm."

I turned my back to her once more and gestured for her to unzip me. She wordlessly complied. As I felt my skin exposed to her I also felt her drag one finger slowly down the center of my back. Seeing her face in the mirror, it looked as though all her concentration was being brought to bear on that act.

"Is my back ok?" I whispered.

She startled back to the room, blinking, and assured me that, yes, it was before making some lame excuse involving an errant thread.

As I put my arms though and began to button a tight sea foam dress shirt, I renewed my questioning, "So, did you leave a guy back home?"

"No, no," she shook her head, "Just a prom date who got too handsy."

"I know the type," I paused, "Well, I'm usually the type, but you know, people don't seem to complain much. So you got a man now?"

"Nah...I've seen a fella here or there, fooled around some, but no one special and no one right now."

"A girl then, perhaps?" I wondered aloud, somewhat provocatively altering my stance.

Her eyes flitted down to my just parted slit before dragging back to face. She quickly denied, "Oh no. Never. I mean absolutel—"

Her gaze danced down again before she resumed, "Not that it's— Well, I just have nev—"

"You're very cute when you are trying to be tolerant," I promised her, "And to answer the question you were struggling not to ask, I'm no stranger to taking what I want from whomever I want it." 

She involuntarily shook for a moment and glanced away in shame at how exciting she found the comment. It was a lie, of course. Before my mom had injected me with that liquid lust, I could've counted my sexual partners on one hand and they were all guys. The Freedom, though, laid out for my mind a panoply of new memories, of threesomes and foursomes and more, of being a dom, of being a slave, of girls and guys and toys, toys, toys. 

"Let me guess," I continued in on her, "Lot of church going growing up?"

She nodded, still not looking up.

"Hey, that's okay. Nothing wrong with church or not being into ladysex. Only wrong if you are into ladysex but you let church tell you you aren't."

She made eye contact at me via the mirror, nodded and offered a little smile before returning to her seat.

I hooked myself into a strapless corset, grabbed a pair of midnight blue silk bikini panties, and slid my feet into them. About halfway up my thighs, Christa swore, "Shit! Stop, stop. No one can try on underwear. It's, like, a health code violation, I think."

"Oh come on," I argued, "What do you want me to do? Not see how this looks with panties?"

"It's just...just the rule."

I slid them the rest of the way, pulling them tight enough that they wedged nicely between my wet lower lips. She balked.

"Relax," I commanded her, "I'll give them to you when I'm done... as a souvenir."

"But," she began object and then wilted. In a way this was just as much torture for her as not letting Mark help that sorority conquest and instead making him watch her succumb. Christa was clearly proud of her job and enjoyed it and yet I was making her watch me disrespect the rules and was turning her on while doing so.

"Do you like?" I asked her, gesturing to the ensemble.

"It's...very nice. Whoever you wear that for is very lucky," she allowed.

I wiggled and shook the panties down to the floor and tossed them to her. She looked annoyed.

"I promise I'll buy for them with whatever else I buy. But you get to keep them."

"I told you I'm not into girls though."

"I know what you said."

Rummaging through my stack of clothes for my next outfit I pretended not to notice how she balled up them up into her fist and slipped them into her pants pocket.

As I was adjusting a floral print sundress, I saw a thought flicker across her face. A moment later she tentatively raised, "You aren't going to pay for any of this, are you?"

"Now what makes you say that?"

"You...you show up here in clothes that obviously aren't yours. You have nothing on underneath them. I see no wallet, no purse, no credit cards, no cash."

She stood, visibly agitated, and continued, "I can't believe this. Did you just think you'd come in here, show off your body, distract me, throw me a pair of wet panties that I can sniff while I touch myself tonight—"

"So the junior salesgirl does have a bit of interest in the fairer sex?" I joshed her.

She ignored me and kept going, "And I'd just let you leave with a bunch of free merchandise? Is that what you thought?"

"I didn't think that, I knew that. I'm leaving wearing a dress of my choosing with a bag filled with whatever else I want. And you won't stop me."

Christa exhaled sharply and bumped against the bench, sitting down heard on it. Color drained from her face and was began to breathe in short, quick bursts, "Oh god," she muttered, "I'm gonna lose my job and my apartment and have to go back—"

"Shh," I cooed to her, coaxing her so she was straddling the wooden slab. I kneeled behind her and began to massage her shoulders.

"You don't understand—"

I cut her off, "Don't worry. No one's going to get fired, I promise you, okay?"

"But...how?"

"Look, you and I are going to enjoy ourselves. I'm going to try on clothes, we'll talk, and whatever else we want. Then, when the time comes I'll leave with what I want and I promise you, no one will fire you."

"I don't understand how you think that'll work."

"No, you don't Christa. So just sit here, enjoy your massage, and tell me why you is it that you want me between your legs so bad but feel like you can't ask for it."

"I told you, I'm not interested in girls!" she asserted, a little too quickly and harshly. The lady doth protest too much.

"Okay, okay...if you say so. I'm sure you must have had some inappropriate crushes though."

"Why? Did you?"

"Oh, definitely. My high school basketball coach," I never played basketball in high school, "my older sister's best friend," I was an only child, "the Mayor,"????????, "the list is almost endless."

"You're...you're pretty bad, aren't you?"

"What do you think?" I whispered, flooding her ear with my hot breath.

"I think you get all kinds of people in trouble," she replied, a noticeable hitch in her breathing.

"You say trouble, I say fun."

"Same difference where I come from."

"Speaking of which, stop stalling," I ordered her.

"Mmm...my pastor, okay?" she moaned in acquiescence.

"Really?"

"Well, only sort of mine. His first Sunday was the day after my 18th birthday. I know that because I remember showing up that morning and seeing him outside in just khakis and a button down and thinking, 'Wow, happy birthday to me.' Then, when he took the altar dressed in his robes, I was mortified."

"Did that stop you from fantasizing about him?"

"Well..."

"That's a no then."

"I tried. I did. But I started to dream about him."

"Tell me..." I said, licking her ear with a quick dart of my tongue.

"Same dream all the time," she gasped out, "I forgot something at church but don't realized until later in the day. I drive over there. I knock on the door, no one answers, but the door is unlocked. I go in, announce my presence, still nothing. Shrugging, I head for back of the room where we have coffee and donuts after church on Sunday because whatever I'm missing I know is there. I see it and am about to grab it when I hear a noise."

She stopped there, the sounds of conjoined heavy breathing filling the room. 

I broke first, "And?"

"I don't know why, but I follow the noise. And I see my pastor is standing in this room, the door's open, but he's back is to me. His arm is moving, very fast, and he's talking to himself. I know right away he's...you know...jerking off.

"After that's the only part of the dream that ever changed. The first time I had it, I just watched for a moment then ran away, second time, I watched and touched myself. Each time, I got closer and more brazen. Eventually I could see over his shoulder and hear him. He had a photo of me, I was just wearing like a nice shirt and skirt, average church clothes. But he was saying the most foul things to the picture as he touched himself."

"Tell me what," I pushed her.

"Like, 'What a fucking tease!' and 'I know you love cock, you whore.' Not very inventive, but it totally turned me on to see him, essentially, demeaning me via my photo."

"Did the dream ever go...farther?"

"Eventually, I was able to stay in it to see him cum all over my picture. Then, the next time, I get right behind him and took over, demanding him cum all over the photo. The last time, I even spun him around at the last minute and he came in my mouth, on my forehead, down my cheek...just his hot load everywhere."

"Did you ever cum while dreaming?"

"No, but every time I woke up from it, I had to grind myself off on my pillow. I can't believe the friend I was living with never caught me."

"Was the pastor married?"

"Yes, that's what made it worse. His wife was a genuinely nice woman. I liked her. But when I say him preach or ran into him around town...I hated her so much. She got to touch what should've been mine, I used to think."

"Did anything ever happen?"

"Well..."

"Ooooo, you bad girl! Tell me."

"The night before I left, I just went to thank him for everything. At least, that's what I told myself. He gave me hug and I swear I got woozy. Then, like that, he was off to some other church business. I felt...I don't know...empty? Pissed? Both, I guess. So, for who knows what reason, I went into his office to take something. I just wanted a memento, I guess. As I was looking around for something though, I heard him coming down the hall talking to someone. I slipped under his desk to hide. I held my breath and closed my eyes so tight, just trying to will myself invisible.

"He sat down and he and whoever started to talk about gluten free bread for communion or some nonsense. With each moment, I started to relax. The desk was big enough underneath that I could be there without his legs touching me unless he pulled his chair all the way in. So I opened my eyes. And found myself staring directly at the crotch of his pants. Why his cock was close enough to touch.

"The longer they sat talking, the more this wild idea flourished in my mind. I had to reach out. It would be...it would be wrong to pass up this moment of providence. They switched topics to the budget and I could not take it anymore. I had to do it.

"So I did. I scooted forward on my knees and pressed my whole hand flat against the front of his pants. He kind of jumped, but did nothing else so I just left my hand there as I felt the heat and hardness grow and grow.

"Soon it wasn't enough to just feel it. I had to see it too. So down went the zipper and out popped his cock, short, but thick. Very thick. I gently encircled in my fist and began to pull it up and down, the head disappearing and reappearing behind his foreskin. Above me he groaned slightly and assured his conversation mate it was indigestion. The other guy begged off then, saying he'd let the pastor go use the bathroom.

"The pastor pushed his seat backwards, hard, and glared at me with a mixture of anger and desire. I whimpered as he slipped out of grasp. 'What do you think you are doing, young lady?' he demanded. Before I could respond, the door audibly swung open and I heard his wife's voice greet him. Even faster than he pushed away, he shoved me and himself back underneath the desk. "His cock was just there now, inches from my mouth, still hard, rising slightly with each beat of his heart, practically drooling pre-cum. If you think about it, what else could I do?"

"You didn't?!?!" I moaned, all pretense of a massage gone, my hands now unbuttoning her pants and undoing her zipper.

"I did. God help me, I couldn't stop myself. I licked him, from base to tip. I licked his balls, first right then left, then right again. Then the shaft again and then...in my hungry, hungry mouth. I could hear his wife talking about this plan or that and I didn't care. In fact, it turned me on. I kept thinking that she might go home with him, but I was the one with his cock in my mouth. She was married to him, but every time he slept with her now, I'd be the one he was imagining fucking.




The Freedom Ch. 04



"He tried to slap me away but wouldn't commit to it. I'm sure he told himself that it was because it would alert his wife to what's going on, but I know it's just because he really did not want me to stop. He quickly gave up and I could hear him fidgeting with everything on his desk to try and stay in control. Then he tried to shoo his wife off on this task or that with her repeatedly rebuffing his attempts, telling him she wanted to make sure she got everything out before she left so she wouldn't forget.

"I realized he was in dire straits, set to lose control at one moment, and decided not to ease off and wait for his wife to finish but rather to go all out and make sure she knew what I was doing, what her husband was letting me do. I took him deep over and over again, I let my saliva coat him, I jerked him off while I focused on the head. Soon, the wife was asking if he heard a noise as I hummed contently around her man's dick. He tried so hard to resist me but even men of God are powerless before a cum hungry 18 year old girl with no shame.

"He shouted out my name and then a string of obscenities that, normally would be hurtful but in this moment just thrilled me. His wife yanked his chair back from the desk just in time to see his first spray of sin coat my chin. I dove forward and took him in my mouth again, pump after pump of cum coating my tongue, filling my cheeks. When he was done, I pushed him pack further and stood before his wife, mouth filled with her husband's seed, chin dripping with it. She stood, pale and stunned. Behind us, the pastor babbled apologies.

"I grabbed her roughly and pulled her to me. She did not resist. I chuckled as best I could with my mouth full and pressed her lips to mine, slipping my tongue between her lips. She was surprisingly responsive, opening wider. I pushed her man's weakness into her mouth and she fed some back to me. I broke the kiss, smiled at her, and left, chin still coated, whistling 'Glory, Glory.'"

"Damn," I exhaled, "What happened to them?"

"No idea. Stopped caring the moment he came. Although she was a good kisser..."

Was the story true? I have no idea how under the influence of The Freedom she already was. All I know was it certainly felt true to me.

"Well, I don't have any cum for us to swap at the moment, but I've been told I kiss well," I shyly offered, my hands clasping her breasts underneath the tank but over the shelf bra.

Without another word, she rotated around and leaned in, parting her lips. I met her halfway, my tongue tracing the outside of her lips before disappearing between them. She tasted like cotton candy...of course she did. She half squeaked and raised her arms over her head, a none-too-subtle request. I enthusiastically gave her what she wanted, pulling the top over her head before depositing it on the other end of the room. She cooed in self satisfaction as my hands encircled her heavy breasts, marveling at how soft they were. D's, I thought, easily, but with no sign of Freedom enhancement. Yet, at least. I was simultaneously hit with figure jealousy and pure lust. If I couldn't have breasts like hers, I would have them, if you catch my drift.

My lips slid to her ear and I uttered an oath, "I'm going to make you cum so hard."

"How?" she groaned, her beautiful tits pressing into my still clothed tiny, firm ones. The heat of her desire was undeniable through the thin fabric of the sundress.

"I'm going get on my knees," I began.

"Mmmhmm..."

"I'm going to take off whatever sexy panties you've got on with my teeth."

"Oh god..."

"Then I'm going to bury my face in your pretty little pussy. I want to tell you I'll hold back, I'll be gentle, but I can't. You've got me way too turned on to hold back."

"Oh fuck," she hissed, burying her head in my neck and nipping at it, "That sounds sooooo hot."

"Good," I replied, "Here I go then."

She grasped me hard around the shoulder, ceasing my progress. I looked up into her eyes and was suddenly very aware that she still did not have the ring. The Freedom grew unsettled in me. It quivered, in so far as a foreign chemical/viral agent without form can quiver, with a mix of frustration and confusion. It's "feelings" transferred to me as well and I struggled to process what was happening.

"I want this," she assured me, "God, I want it so damn bad. I've been fantasizing about women for...my whole life I guess. It was forbidden back home though...sinful, you know? Anyways, I want you to...to make me cum..."

She trailed off, clearly a bit undone by hearing her say those words, before picking up again, "I can't believe how amazing your body is or how wonderfully you kiss. But...I want to do this right. Just because I like girls doesn't mean it can't be special and romantic still, right?"

I practically vibrated in places, the wheels of my mind seized. The Freedom seemed unable to process the idea that she wanted to be with me but that it couldn't get to her. She wasn't resisting it, it literally could not take hold in her.

"I'd love to go on, like, a date or something though," she continued, seemingly oblivious to my full body paralysis, "And we can definitely makeout. I LOVE making out. Just nothing...more intense for now. Is that cool?"

I stared unblinking, every cognitive ability apparently derailed.

"Ow!" she squeaked, "You're hurting me!"

Somehow, I was able to shift my eyes enough to see my nails tug deep into her arms. A thin line of blood trickled between my first and middle finger.

"Whatever, you fucking tease," I mumbled, letting her go and moving, almost robotically, back toward the dresses. In my head everything was silent. The Freedom whispered nothing, suggested nothing, but my conscience, my thoughts had not returned to their rightful place either. It seemed I could experience sensation, that I could move, but otherwise...there was no there there.

"Please don't be like that," she called after me, reaching to button and zip her pants back up, "I didn't mean to...It just...I was just so excited and out of my head for a second there, but I don't even know you name and—oh!"

A moment later, "I don't feel quite right...my wrist...it burns. Can you—"

Silence

"My head," she almost lisped, "Something funny in my head. Like...voices? A voice? Such...horrible things. Oh god...I'm wet. Why am I so wet? What's...please...can you get help? I...something's wrong. I...what...voice....I neeeeeee..."

The room went quiet. I stood, body swaying back and forth as if I was a young tree in a light breeze. Otherwise there was no motion.

Then, bubbling up behind me, thick and slippery, came Christa's voice. Her new voice.

"I changed my mind," she pouted in that Freedom voice.

Like that, The Freedom came alive in me again, spinning, twisting, twirling its way back into every nerve, every neuron. Full motion returned, the constant depraved whisper spoke its syrupy corruption once more. I spun back to her and took in the sight.

Christa was facing me, body inclined with her back against the wall. She gazed at me through sleepy eyes, burning lime green. A wicked grin twitched on her lips, the tip of her almost red tongue just visible. She had stripped off her pants which sat in a reckless heap feet away. Her bare legs seemed shiny, like Gwyneth Paltrow's when she does the talk show circuit. One knee pressed against the outer shin of the other leg, doing nothing to obscure the seat of her desire. Her bright pink boy shorts were almost transport with the evidence of her lust.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties on either side before I stopped her with a growl.

"What did I say?"

She smirked and played coquettish and naïve, "I don't remember."

"Really?"

"Uh uh," she twirled her hair and bit her lip.

"That I'd be pulling those off you with my teeth?"

"These?" she whispered, letting her eyes grow wide as she ran one hand down the front of her underwear and choked back a moan.

I nodded in reply.

"But then...then you'll see my pussy."

"Yup," I admitted, taking one step forward.

"And I'm so wet right now I'll just be dripping all over this bench."

I licked my lips and signaled agreement.

"Are you going to make me do bad things?"

"Very, very bad," I whispered, going down to my hands and knees and beginning to crawl towards her.

She groaned and shook as if I had already touched her, "Love seeing you on your hands and knees."

"You do this to me. You make me so weak."

"Mmmm, good. You make me so wicked, so it's only fair."

As I reached her, she spread her legs wide, her lips pushing against the sopping fabric. I purred reflexively.

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this," she moaned dramatically as she ran her fingers up and down her cloth covered labia, "I don't even know your name."

"It's Wendy," I announced with a wink leaning forward. My incisors sunk into sodden fabric, giving me my first taste of her essence. She wriggled her hips as I pulled back and down, aiding me in exposing her needy sex.

"Mmmm," I whispered approvingly, gently tracing her bald sex with my nails, "Beautiful. Perfect."

"Are you just going to appreciate it or are you going to make me scream?" Christa blurted out, her Freedom voice mixing with horny impatience and husky yearning.

"Well, it is a work of art," I teased.

"Come on," she groaned, thrusting her hips towards me.

"Come on what?"

"Please..."

"Tell me what you want, you bad girl."

"I...can't," she lied, a small smile flickering across her face, so briefly I almost miss it.

"Tell me!" I demanded.

"Taste me," she begged.

I placed both hands on her wonderfully smooth legs and slowly leaned forward keeping my eyes on hers the entire time. Languidly, I licked her slit, gingerly separating her labia further, upward to the clit in one single motion and pulled back. I hummed contentedly as I spun her flavor around in my mouth, coating my tongue.

Her single, sharp gasp of enjoyment quickly turned to a whimper of disappointment.

"What," I mocked, "You just told me to taste you."

"More," she whispered, her neon green eyes wide with pleading.

"More what?"

"Please," she said, almost shaking.

"I tasted you," I said, insufferably, "If you wanted something else, you really need to be more specific."

Again, "Please..."

"Please what?"

"Please...please eat my pussy!" she begged, even her honeyed Freedom infused voice not able to suppress the cracking caused by her indigence.

I smiled, broad and easy, but held off a moment longer. She looked down at me, face a tableau of lust, The Freedom's easy to recognize depravity, and an utter acceptance of my power over her. I felt a chill of arousal go through my body at the sight of it and leaned forward, ever so gently grazing her clit with my nose. With a high pitched whine, she roughly grabbed my head and forced it fully against her cunt.

"Fucking bitch!" she spat, in a low, coiled tone before my tongue dipped inside her and reduced her to coos of ecstasy. I happily indulged her begged for desire, alternating between deeper strokes, teasing quick licks, nibbling, and sucking. Her legs clapped over my back, her fingers wrapped themselves tighter in my hair. Her smell was all over me, her syrupy liqueur dominating all my sense. I feasted on her as though her sex was the sweetest fare I had ever had opportunity to taste and The Freedom "convinced" me of that truth. 

I had never gone down on a woman before, but in that moment, my mind was flooded with all manner of false remembrances of past female conquests. I had never gone down on a woman before, but with The Freedom pulsing through me I was an expert and I lived for it.

I managed a look up to Christa, my bouncing blonde bauble and caught her staring at each of the mirrored panels of the dressing room, watching herself receive pleasure, watching herself react to pleasure. Each glance seemed to only make her more turned on, to coat my nose, lips, teeth, mouth, and tongue further.

Soon, she began to thrash. Initially it was a short quick shudder here and there. Before long, she was bucking and twisting as though starring in an early January demonic possession movie. I held her down as best as I could and wrapped my lips around her clit. As she jerked and shook, it was all I could do to hold on.

Christa moaned and groaned, shouting out compliments: "Oh God! So good. Oh fuck, don't stop. No one...no one's ever made me feel this good," desperate attempts at homophobic insults, "You fuckin' lezzie, doing this to me. Making me your little dyke slut, your plaything. I like guys, not girls. You're making me be like this," and weirdly inappropriate poetry readings, "Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home."

Then, in a long, nonsensical screech, she fully climaxed, arching her back, shoving her breasts skyward, and tightening her legs hold on my body. As she reached the other side of the orgasm, she went nearly limp, limbs flopping with all the strength of rain soaked newspapers.

"Your turn," she murmured shortly after and attempted to stand, finding the flesh unwilling. With a heave, I pulled her to ground and climbed on top of her, naked flesh on naked flesh.

"Wait," she began to object before I silenced her with a kiss. She moaned into my open mouth, tasting herself off a woman's lips for the first time and, quite obviously, loving it.

"But I want to make you cum," she requested as I let her get a breathe of air.

"And so you will," I promised, my lips returning to her once more, my hands exploring her warm dewy skin.

"How?" she moaned as I lowered my mouth to her turgid nipple, languishing it with brief kisses and long, deep sucks.

"I'm going to fuck this tit," I replied, feeling myself go even wetter at the mere thought of it. I registered her eyebrows raising curiously and I explained further, "I'm going to get on top of you and you are going to let me use your breast as my personal sex toy until I'm sated. I'm going to grind my clit all over this nipple until I cum as hard as I want."

She rapidly bobbed her head up and down in affirmation of the idea, unconsciously licking her lips.

"Would you like that? Would you like to just lie there and let me use you for my personal pleasure?"

"Mmmhmm," Christa confirmed, eyes already glassy at the thought of it.

"But what will your parents think? Or those fellow churchgoers back home?"

She groaned at the thought of it, a dangerous smile playing across her lips. She began to touch herself and I slapped her hand away.

"My turn," I reminded her.

"But..." she began to object before crumbling at the sight of my glare. With a dramatic pout, she moved her hand away from her body onto mine.

She gently stroked my skin, her fingers teasing her inch of flesh she could reach. Upon reaching my neck, she pushed my chin upward, forcing me away from her nipple, our eyes connecting. "Use me," she whispered, eyes wide and wanting.

I smiled at her, a smile at once friendly and predatory, comforting and dark, and slipped from her grasp. I stood, feeling her eyes rake my body top to bottom, staring with blatant, unfettered craving. I made her wait for it, standing over her, lightly swaying, running my hands up and down my flesh with an almost indifferent air. She whimpered and moaned, biting her lip, digging her hands into the store's cushy designer carpet. She desperately resisted her urge to touch me or herself, to feel skin, to make pleasure.

When I saw that desperation begin to curdle, her open mouth begin to twist into a sneer, I straddled her and lowered myself slowly, oh so slowly, down until my slit pushed against her breast, opening to let it into me. Her nipple pushed up against my clit, two hard, pink centers of pleasure seeking out each other. I groaned at the electric pulse of sex that arced through use. Holding as long as I could into that position, statute still, I gazed down at my prey, eyes no doubt blazing the sickly neon green of The Freedom. She stared up at me, eyes burning as well, a mix of rage and lust twisting her features. I imagined her family looking at her face now and most likely finding the visage incomprehensible to them, their Christa and yet, not their Christa. The Freedom made monsters of us all.

When I could take the delicious torturous tension of it no longer, I began to rock, slowly first and then faster and faster. Christa's tit quickly grew slick with my want for her. Soon my honey began to drip beyond the union of our skin, running down her tanning bed tope skin and pooling in the small recess of between her breasts, following the track of her sternum.

She reached for my hips, needing to feel me. Her thin, slight fingers grasped at me, the pale pink nails digging in. She pulled at me, urging me to go faster. I put up a token resistance, but neither I nor The Freedom's heart was in it. I wanted to do as she asked, as I planned to. I wanted to use her, to cum all over her, to baptize her into our new world where there was only pleasure and pleasure came from everything: men, women, sex, violence, and, most of all, breaking others and bringing them into the joy that The Freedom offered.

"Do I feel good?" she groaned, arching her back to push her tit more firmly against me.

"Mmmmm," I mumbled in response, tossing my head back, my eyes growing narrow.

"Does my breast please you?"

Dragging my head forward once more, I sought out her face through the tiny slits of my eyelids. When I caught her eyes, I nodded. I could feel her shudder in reaction, my approval bringing her pleasure.

"You look incredible," she complimented me, her voice full of wonder, "So perfect right now."

"Are you mine?" I ask, my heads cupping my breasts, my hips swiveling clockwise, my eyes fully closing.

"Yessss," she hisses in affirmation.

"I can have you whenever I want?"

"However you want," she added.

"You know what to do when I'm through with you today?"

"Fuck everyone," she replied, her breath growing ragged at giving voice to it, "Fuck everyone and help them become."

"Good girl..."

She objected, "No...not good at all."

"Bad girl?" I offered.

"Yesssss," she hissed once more and I could feel her literally vibrate below me.

"Are you my bad girl?"

"God, yes!"

"Are you my naughty little slut?"

"Yes, Wendy, I'm yours any way you want me. Command me, please!"

"Mmmm...watch me cum," I ordered her, "Watch how I use you and appreciate how lucky you are that I give you this honor."

She said nothing in reply, only moaned and dug her digits even deeper into my hip and thigh. I complied with her unspoken request and pushed myself harder and harder against her supple breast.

As I grew closer, I began to tease her, "Should I let you cum too?"

"On—only if it pleases you, Wendy."

"I bet you want me too though, don't you?"

"I...I just want to do what you tell me."

"If I told you after I leave, you must bring The Freedom to as many as you can, but you yourself can never cum, would you comply?"

"Please—" she moaned, sounds almost as though she were in agony.

"What was that?" I rebuked her.

"I—Nothing... nevermind. Yes, of course I would, if it was what you wished, Wendy."

"All those cocks...all those tits...those beautiful, wet pussies and you wouldn't be tempted at all?"

She said nothing for a moment then sighed hard and spoke, "I...serve you."

"Liar!" I accused.

Again she moaned, "Please..."

"Please what?"

"Please don't do this to me," she broke, "I need to cum so bad, Wendy. You're so beautiful and you make me so damn wet. I'll do whatever you tell me, but please...I want you to see me cum...I think it'll please you."

"I think it'll please you and that's all you care about," I shot back in a series of rapid breaths. This power play was undeniably arousing. The Freedom was feeding on her desire to please me running up against the pathological need for climax it causes in its recipients and that feedback filtered into me, driving my arousal.




The Freedom Ch. 04



"No, no!" she shouted. "All for you, Wendy. Only for your commands."

"You're wretched."

"Yes...."

"Weak."

"So weak..."

"My slave."

"Yes...please let me be your slave!"

"You can't help yourself, can you?"

"N—no, Wendy. You are too much for me. Please...I am so weak. I need to cum."

"You'll cum when I tell you."

"Oh thank you, thank you," she exalted.

"Touch yourself now, but don't cum until I say so."

I felt her hands slide away from me and then heard the familiar almost wet pop noise of her body stretching to accommodate her fingers. She whimpered, a sound of utter delight.

"God," I groaned, "you're such good slave. I love fucking your tit."

"It's for you."

"It makes me so wet, Christa. It's going to make me cum all over you."

"Yessssss, please."

"Would you like that? Would you like to be soaked in my cum?"

"More than anything," she admitted, the sounds of digit penetration increasing.

"I'm going to do that for you. I'll give you that gift."

"Please," she whispered.

"Oh, oh, oh, so close!" I shouted, pleasure rippling through me, forcing me to fold inward.

"Do it," she begged.

I blindly reached behind me and found her clit. She shouted out nonsense the moment she felt me touch her.

"Cum with me, Christa. Cum with Wendy."

"Oh thank you," she growled in appreciation.

Then talk ceased and only the animal sounds of grunting and howling came. My fingers pinched and dragged across her clit as her's infiltrate her sex with remarkable speed. I bounced and shimmied irregularly over her torso, her sweat and my fluids making her body impossibly slippery.

Sensing my predicament, she let own hand leave her pleasure and find my clit.

"Yes!" I screech, pitching forward. My nipple hit her face and instinctually she wrapped her lips around. A moment later, she bit down.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I bellowed, somehow adding, "Cum now, cum with me."

And we did, in a sweating, writing pile, we came and screamed and came again before collapsing, a tangle of limbs pulsing with exertion, our brains too blown out to command them to stop.

When Christa could speak, she thanked me in a cracked whisper. I wrapped her in my arms and legs and pulled her against me. We kissed, deep, long, and almost gentle. Then I stood.

"I'm taking these clothes," I told her.

She nodded, adding, "Wear the red dress out of here."

I smiled in agreement and slipped the skintight crimson and black tankdress over my head, luxuriating in how the fabric slipped over and down me, hugging me, teasing my still reactive flesh.

"I'm so thirsty," she announced, literally rolling on the floor.

I was as well, as thirsty as I had ever been. I made a note to raid the pharmacy on the first floor for their bottle water supplies.

"I'm going to start with my boss," she announced.

"Good choice," I giggled, "He already stares at you all the time."

"I know, right? Such a dirty old man. Can't wait to see him get the gift."

I kissed her again and she accepted my tongue as though it were a rare delicacy. Then I left, striding past a store of gawkers who had heard the moans and groans from the waiting room. I whistled a happy tune, knowing they'd be like me before they knew. They'd be devotees of The Freedom.

Six gallon jugs of water and a stolen car later, I was back on the road. I sped through traffic, dodging this way and that with ease. The Freedom anticipated everything for me and made sure I was safe. I was its favorite daughter, its chosen one. I could do no wrong, suffer no harm.

Apparently, the police did not get the memo.

Blue and red strobes flashed in the rearview, sirens wooping through the air. I considered gaining it but The Freedom suggested otherwise. I never resisted the idea for a moment.

Two cops walked to the car, their strides wide with the inflated confidence only a badge and gun can give you.

"Do you know why we pulled you over?" the beefy red haired male partner asked, leaning into the window. His partner, short, strong, and dark haired, stood about six feet behind, arms crossing her chest, eyes balefully indifferent. A gold wedding twinkled on her left hand.

"Because you are a puppet of the state?" I fired back.

He smirked back, sarcastic and unamused. "You were—" his eyes went vacant and confused for a moment—"do you smell popcorn?" he asked.

"No, sir," I chirped.

He shook his head, his partner's face registering concern. With a deep breath, he began again, "You were speeding. 85 in a 40 mile zone."

"Well, that's certainly fast isn't?" I replied cheerfully.

"Very fast. You wanna explain why you felt the need to go that fast?"

"I suppose I never really thought about it...I guess it's because I stole this car."

"This is a stolen car?"

"Very stolen, officer. Freshly stolen in fact."

"Get out of the car," he commanded, backing up and putting his hand on his holster.

"I'd really prefer not," I responded, bored.

"Get. Out!" he demanded, unamused.

With a shrug, I popped open the door.

"Slowly!" his partner shouted.

Mockingly, I began to move in slow motion. I made sure they got all my good angles as I slid from the car. Despite himself, Officer Beefy couldn't help but stare a moment.

"We are going to search you now. Do you wish to have my partner do that or me?" Officer Beefy asked.

"Knock yourself out," I offered indifferently, "Be thorough though. I could be hiding a gun anywhere."

"Not funny," he informed me and began to run his hands over me. I giggled in response and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

He began to step away and I called out, "Still didn't find it?"

He had no choice but to search more thoroughly, running his hands all the way my legs this time and discovering my lack of panties. He stepped away as if he had been burned and turned to his partner.

"You need to finish this. I don't need the lawsuit and she's got noth—"

As they distracted each other, I spun off the car and lashed out at him, raking my nails across his face, jagged lines of blood were visible for one moment before he covered his face and crumpled to the ground with a tiny shriek.

I began to climb back into the car when I heard the loud definite click of a gun's hammer.

"On the ground," Officer Married ordered, her voice riddled with the kind of authority her partner couldn't manage, "On the ground or I swear to you I will not hesitate to end you."

With a smile, I fell to my knees and then lay on the ground, watching Officer Beefy in the fetal position near me as I felt the cuffs click on my wrist.



The Freedom Ch. 05



Officer Married, whose nameplate told me was actually Officer Klein, roughly pulled me off the ground and tossed me into the backseat. Behind her, Officer Burly struggled off the pavement, long scratches still oozing blood down his face. I smirked and licked my fingers and nails clean of his gore as Klein went to him and guided him back to the cruiser.

"Just sit down, Fortier, we'll get you fixed up when we get back to the precinct," she assured her partner.

He grunted and slid into the passenger seat. Klein's eyes, wide with concern, narrowed when she spotted me again in the backseat. "Maybe watch command will take a break when we get there...look the other way if you want a minute with her," she offered, voice dripping with condescension and threat.

"Only a minute," I pouted in response, "That's not much time for us to have fun. Certainly you could give him five minutes. Or ten? A girl needs a little foreplay, you know?"

Klein shot me a dirty look and slammed the door. As she walked to the other side, I leaned into the partition and whispered to Fortier, "She doesn't even know, does she?"

Fortier said nothing. I pressed further, "She has no idea how much it hurts you to see her with him. How much better you know you could make her feel."

"What are you talking about?" he mumbled, holding his face.

"I'm talking about how, every day, you come to work, see Officer Klein, and can't help but imagine you two together. And at night, how you grab your dick and stroke it to her Facebook pictures."

As Klein opened her door, Fortier turned slightly and barked back at me, "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Hey, just ignore her!" instructed Klein, smacking the mesh divide with the butt of her nightstick, "Sit the fuck back in your seat."

"Don't worry Officer Klein, your partner and I are just having a little chat about things we wish we could say."

Klein raised her eyebrows in Fortier's direction who only shrugged and avoided her gaze in response.

I pressed on, "Go ahead and tell her Fortier. Let her know."

"Shut up!" he snapped, then groaned, grabbing his face again. He mumbled to himself, "Fresh popcorn. Where is that popcorn?"

"What's going on?" Klein demanded of her partner, voice cracked by concern, "What's she talking about?"

"Oh, Fortier's a little too shy I guess," I teased, "Seems he has a little crush on his partner but doesn't feel like he can tell her."

"Wow...okay," Klein chuckled to herself, "You'll have to do a bit better than that if you want to distract us. Him attracted to me...honestly. Ridiculous."

I shrugged and leaned back in my seat. I could feel The Freedom radiating off me, spilling out of my pores, filling the cab with pheromones. In the front seat, Fortier still clutched his face and groaned quietly. Klein stole concerned glances over to him before finally pulling the car over and grabbing him.

"What is going on?" she demanded, pulling at his hands, "There's no way she got you bad enough for you to be making all that noise.

His hands fell away and she balked at the sight. Not only was it "not that bad," there was no visible scratches there anymore.

"Oh...wait...how? I saw you bleeding before. How are you—"

Klein looked distracted for a moment, visibly sniffing the air, before grabbing the wheel and pulling back into traffic, mumbling, "Swore I smelled french toast for a moment there." It was as though she had completely forgotten what she just saw.

Knowing that his being healed was a sign The Freedom was in his veins, I stepped up my assault.

"Mmmm," I moaned, shifting back and forth to hoist my dress higher on my thighs, "All this sexual tension's getting me hot. I don't suppose either of you would be willing to climb back here and...search me a little more extensively?"

I could practically hear the teeth grinding in the front seat.

"Or at least undo my cuffs so I can address certain needs on my own?" I followed up.

"Will you be quiet?" Klein grunted.

"Sure, sure, I can do that. I will do that, if Officer Fortier here would just nut up and confess his feelings."

"Don't feel well," he mumbled, slumped over in his seat.

"I know, I know," I cooed, "That's cuz you're holding on to so many secrets. Let it go...tell her how you feel."

"I told you, girl, that's not gonna work!" Klein barked, nerves starting to eat at her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but everything felt askew since they picked this crook up. She was anxious, but weirdly horny and every time the chick the backseat opened her mouth, Klein felt like vomiting or fucking, in equal measure. And then there was Fortier. Something about him. Something she saw. She knew she did. But...couldn't remember. What was it again? What...saw...hard to think.

"Klein...bees...bees in my head. Buzzing. Need...need to pullover. Oh....oh...not safe. So...danger."

"Shh...don't scare her," I whispered calmly, "What you have to say is beautiful. Let go of the shame and just tell her.

As I spoke, I worked my headcuffs. See, the thing that you need to know is that almost anyone can escape headcuffs if you can handle the pain of breaking your thumbs. And if you are currently afflicted with a disease/parasite/drug that converts nearly all sensation to pure pleasure, the idea of breaking your thumbs? Well, that's no problem at all, is it? You just need to find a way to do it.

"Klein," he groaned, "Pull over and run. Get help...not...not safe. Gonna...oh god...gonna make you scream, you nasty slut."

Klein was outraged but found herself rooted in place, hands on the wheels, eyes forward. Her entire body felt like weighted down. It seemed as though only her voice was under her control. The rest was frozen.

"Fortier, you better knock that shit off. Not sure what's going on with you, partner, but keep it together. Something's weird here, but we'll be at the station soon. Get rid of the perp in the back and get us some help. Just hold on."

"Tell her," I hissed.

Fortier gulped and thrashed and then spoke in a choked sob that steadily grew stronger and more clarion, "Love you so much, Sheila. So beautiful. Just...want to touch you all the time. Need to touch. I know you want it too."

"Come on, Fortier," she grumbled through gritted teeth, panic etched on her face, "Even if you mean that, now's not the time. Just hold on a few more minutes."

I worked my hands downward, keeping as quiet as I could while stretching every muscle and tendon in my arms and tightening all of them in my legs so I could swing my cuffed hands in front of me. Things popped and groaned throughout my body. I bit my lip hard as tears, hyperextensions, and aches set off tiny explosions of joy in me and then were immediately healed. I wanted to scream out, to tell them how good I felt, how wonderful The Freedom was, but I held back. Better they discover on their own.

Fortier shifted in his seat, releasing his seatbelt and moving closer. He started to speak again, "Can't stand the thought of you going home to him. He can't make you feel like I do. Mmm, Sheila, I'll make you feel so good. Remind you want it feels like to be with a real man."

"What's...what's wrong with your voice?" she muttered haltingly, still basically paralyzed.

"Nothing's wrong with it. I don't you think there is either," he replied, voice now fully filled with slick menace and the implication of dirty, unnatural sex acts, "I can see your nipples through your shirt. So hard. So anxious to catch my eye. You love my voice, don't you? That's what got your tits straining for my touch."

"Stop...Fortier...this isn't you. Isn't us. I'm married. You and my husband bowl together. You guys are great friends. You'd never do this."

"I'm sick of waiting, Sheryl. Waiting for you to catch on. Waiting for you to ditch him. I'm making this happen now."

He roughly pushed his body against hers, affixing his lips immediately to her neck. His hand skillfully opened each of the buttons on her shirt, proceeding with impressive speed. If he was in his right mind, maybe he would've marveled at how his usually clumsy fingers became so adept. Of course, if he was in his right mind, he'd probably know he had never lusted over his partner before now.

Klein groaned and I could see her straining to hold back from arching her back to more fully press her breast into her partner's callused hands. She whimpered to herself she did not want this and that something was wrong with her partner. She repeated it in a loop in her head, a mantra of resistance.

"Eric," she protested, "Stop. Just...hold on. A little while longer."

"Why should he?" I offered from the backseat, "Why should you? What's wrong with pleasure?"

"She's right," he agreed, nipping at her neck, "So stupid of us to hold off for so long. Could've been fucking behind his back for a year at least. Imagine us now, Sheila, making a fool of him. Me taking you in your marriage bed, him oblivious to it at his office. You going down on me while I talk to him about last night's game. Oh god, doesn't it just sound great."

She groaned again, louder this time, and I could tell the idea was in her head.

I jumped on the vulnerability, "Officer Klein, just imagine it. See yourself on your bed, head dropped over the edge, watching your husband barbecuing for all your friends and family while you are naked and spread, Officer Fortier above you. He helps you violate her wedding vows over and over again, just like you want him to. You, moaning, thrashing, urging him to go harder, faster, to make a mockery of the rings you wear."

I watched as she visibly seemed to try and shake what I was saying. Her hands tightened on the wheel, her face blushed, her skin began to prickle with a light mist of sweat. I imagined the images I spoke hanging on her like wet newspaper, clinging to her, enveloping her.

"It's okay," he soothed her, pulling one of her hands off the wheel and pushing it against his pants. Despite herself, I could see her lick her lips and arm move up and down, no doubt stroking her partner.

"God," she exclaimed in a ragged breath, "You're so hard."

"Mmmhmm, keep going, baby," he implored her. 

She was sluggish but still resistant, "Can't Eric. Can't. You know that. Ma—married."

He dropped his head down and I could hear his lips affix to her nipple. Klein's head lolled slightly and she gasped in pleasure.

Seeing her so ensnared, I place my hands against the grating and kicked at them again and again. At first, neither reacted. Then, we ran a red light and the loud horn of a truck roused Klein from her sex fugue. 

She shoved Fortier face from her breast and screeched, "What the fuck? Get off me! Watch the fucking prisoner, she trying to escape!"

Fortier ignored her protest and was immediately back at her. She tried to fight him with one hand and maintain control of the vehicle with the other. She was doomed to fail.

Fortier slipped past her flailing arm, against thrusting the crotch of his pants against her hand. She bit her lip and visibly grew limper, more pliable. The clicking of teeth being freed from a zipper filled the interior.

"Eric...we can make it...just...hold on," she sobbed. 

"I could do that," he taunted, "Or I could make you cum. Your choice, Sheila. Do you want to do your job, honor your marriage, and go on with your life as is? Or do you want me to pleasure you in our dirty little cruiser? To let the perp watch us as you betray your values?"

The car went silent. I watched Fortier hover next to her, breathing hot on her neck. She visibly twitched and twisted, looking for some strength in her depths. Looking, but failing.

In a barely audible whisper, Klein groveled, "Touch me."

"It's hard to hear you over the engine, baby. Tell me your choice again."

"I need your fingers inside me," she begged, "Pleassssssssse...I need to cum so bad."

"Mmmm...I knew I was right about you. Such a bad girl," I mocked her from the backseat.

She only hissed through her teeth in response. I didn't need to see to know what her partner was doing to her. I kicked my hands again, breaking my thumbs. My scream of pain was immediately papered over and reshaped into a delightful shout of pleasure. In the front seat, neither officer paid it any mind, and I shrugged way out of the cuffs just ahead of The Freedom healing my brutalized thumbs.

"Deeper!" Klein demanded as we slid through another red light. Her shout was matched by the sound of screeching tires. A large truck fishtailed across the intersection, going too fast to stop, and slammed into the cruiser, sending it end over end. Metal screamed and twisted, glass shattered. Bones broke and reset almost simultaneously. Shards of windshield and glass made quick-lived slices on my skin. My orgasmic declarations joined with the sounds of the roof dragging and sparking on the blacktop.

We came to rest on several feet from where we began, the air thick with the smell of burnt rubber and fuel. The Freedom cleared my mind immediately and I was scuttling out the open window. In the distance, I saw Fortier peel himself off the road, ejected in the collision. His body looked broken and awkward at first but as he stood, I could see his posture change, his body being healed from the "reward" I had given him when I scratched his face.

Still in the car, the unconverted Klein groaned and spat. "Please...help," she grunted weakly, "Nothing feels right inside me."

I pulled her free through the open window, her wailing in pain with each inch. I did not bother to soothe her or offer her comfort and deposited her unceremoniously on the sidewalk.

"What...what did you do to us?" she pleaded for answers, wheezing from a collapsed lung.

"I gave your partner a gift. Would you like it?" I offered.

"Never," she spat then gasped in agony.

"You are dying Officer. All I'm offering is a life of pleasure, of joy. Would you rather die than have that?"

"What you...oh god, hurts...it's evil."

"Ok...fine. Your choice. At least I'll still be around to comfort your widower."

"Stay away from him!" she managed to shout before collapsing in a hacking cough and spitting up blood.

"Oh, I don't think so," I whispered, placing my face directly above her and placing my hand on her ruined ribs, pressing hard, "By the time I'm done with him, he'll be begging to taste me and have forgotten he ever knew you."

Klein thrashed and screamed as I pressed harder.

"I can't wait to taste his cum. Mmm...I'm going to do everything he always wanted that you wouldn't. You're right. Die. He'll be happier with me anyway. You know, maybe I'll just use him for a few days and then kill him. Would you prefer that? To die pure and let me corrupt and then kill the love of your life?"

"Please....don't," she begged.

"Stop me!" I shot back.

She resisted, her breath becoming thin and thready.

"I get it. You care more about your ethics than your husband's life. Or you do now, anyway. When you partner had his mouth on your tit, I don't remember you being quite so...upright."

"Don't...do this to me."

"Choose. Your morals or your husband's life. Because I will fuck him, I will make him realize what a terrible lay you were. And then, so help me, you fucking prude, then I will end him."

With a growl, she pushed herself upward, mashing her mouth against mine. I tasted the copper finish of her blood, sensed her give herself to "save" her husband, not even realizing that by her yielding to me, she guaranteed he'd be turned before the end of the day, just by her hand, not mine.

I harshly massaged her tits through her bra, making her moan. Underneath my other hand, I could feel bone and tissue stitch itself back together, muscle grow more toned. She whispered a thank you into my ear and then went rigid as The Freedom stole her away and replaced her with a creature of lust. Above us, her partner, the source of her damnation, stood naked from the waist down, impatiently stroking himself. 

I stepped aside with a flourish, presenting her to him. He unceremoniously stripped her, with her more than willing help, and thrust into her right on the sidewalk. I strolled away to the sounds of her begging him to help defile everything she once believed in. I paused a moment and scooped their belts off the road, pulling free a firearm and both sets of handcuffs before tossing the leather straps back onto the road. I looked back at them over my shoulder, watching Klein undulate impatiently against her partner, moaning with abandon. There was a moment of temptation to stay, to enjoy the fruits of my labor, but The Freedom moved me along. We had found a more interesting project. The Freedom had a reward in mind for me for all my efforts.

When I was a junior in high school, I had to take chemistry with Ms. Bobbins. As hard a time as I had with Chem in college, it was even worse back then and Ms. Bobbins didn't make it any easier. A sour woman in her earlier 40's with a permanent scowl, she stalked the classroom like a tyrant, snarling at anyone who had the nerve to raise their hand, ask questions, or answer something incorrectly. I finished the year with a "C" but felt like I had an "F."

Needless to say, I hated her.

That summer, I found out more about her life, about a dead fiancée that necessitated a move to our town, about a life significantly derailed. I softened my stance. I still thought she was a lousy teacher, but I had a better understanding. When I later heard she had found a new man and was doing better, I was genuinely happy for her.

Under The Freedom, however, none of the empathy I had for Ms. Bobbins existed. Instead, there was only the anger and a newfound desire to humiliate her. Now, I was in her neighborhood with strange power pulsing in my veins and I was going to fulfill that "dream."

I thumped on the entrance with the flat of my palm and smoothed out my dress while I waited for an answer. As the dark blue door swung open, I affixed a grin on my face, and stowed the pistol in her mailbox to keep it out of view.

Ms. Bobbins' face appeared before me and I was surprised. Although almost five years had passed, she looked younger than I remembered. And not in a surgically enhanced away. Her face seemed less pinched, her coloring more healthy, the style of her haircut and makeup less severe and more flattering. She wore a light blue v-neck shirt and grey skirt, looking at ease with herself and her body. It suited her.

Before I could say a word, recognition cracked her face into a polite, if bit confused, smile.

"Wendy?"

"Hello Ms. Bobbins," I smiled even wider and chirped.

"Oh, I think you can just call me Alice now. You haven't been my student in years, after all."

"Okay, Alice," I said, keeping it cheerful.

"So what brings you by?"

"Oh, just in the neighborhood. Was involved in a bit of an accident and am waiting for AAA," I lied with disinterested.

"Oh no! Are you okay?"

I spun in place, letting her take me in. "What do you think?" I joked.

"Looks like you came out of it just fine," the teacher replied, confusion on her face.

"Well, thank you," I said and curtsied, locking eyes with her and noting the quick dip her eyes made at the skin that was exposed in my deep bend, "Anyway, I was hoping you could put up with me for a bit until they got here."

"Oh...well...love to, but...can't. We're heading out," she stumbled through.

"We?" I asked, raising my eyebrow.

"My husband and I," she offered, looking behind her, perhaps to enlist his help hustling me off.

"Wow...congratulations. That's great news. When did you guys tie the knot?"

"Just over six months ago."

"Ahh, still in the honeymoon phase then," I smirked and winked, "Bet that's...fun."

She blushed in response but offered no response.

"So I can't come in?" I asked again after a moment of awkward silence.




The Freedom Ch. 05



"I'm sorry Wendy, but like I said, we are about to leave. Nice to see you though."

"Oh, Alice...I wish I didn't have to do this," I confessed, allowing my voice to drop the sweet tone, "Just remember, later when you think about this day, you brought on yourself."

"What do you—"

She stopped mid-sentence as I leveled the gun at her.

"Invite me in why don't you, Alice?"

"Wendy?"

"Invite. Me. In!"

"Please, Wendy, you don't—" she tried to dissuade me while backing down.

I shoved her into the house, cutting her off.

"Where's the husband?"

"U—up—upstairs."

"Tell him to come down here. Tell him nothing."

Eyes wide and wet with developing tears, Alice turned towards the staircase and shouted upward, "Vic? Vic?"

"Just a sec, Alice. Still need a shirt."

I threw her a look and she tried again.

"Just a second, honey. I...need you right away."

"Okay, okay," he said with a trace of exasperation and loped down the stairs. He turned left towards her when he hit the bottom, completely missing me. I took him in. He was shorter than my usual type, only about 5' 7" or 8" but I could certainly appreciate how he could put a little youth in Ms. Bobbins life. He was in great shape with jet black hair and genial ease to his stride.

"What's up, Alice?" he asked, confused by the look of fear on her face.

"A...former student stopped by," she whispered and pointed over his shoulder.

"Oh. And that couldn't wait for me to get a shirt?" He turned around with a broad smile ad began, "Hey, sorry about the lack of—"

He came up short when he saw the gun.

"Wait—," he exhaled panic.

"Shut up," I ordered and then looked over his shoulder at a cowed Alice, "You did good Alice. I like what I'm seeing."

"What's goin—" Vic tried to speak again.

"Your wife here was...well, let's call a spade a spade here, Vic. She was an absolute bitch to me when I was a student."

"Okay, okay...let's slow down," he spoke measuredly, hands out at his sides in reassurance, "I am sure whatever happened can be rectified without a gun."

Alice jumped, "Yes, Wendy...I am very sorry. I know I was awful back then. But...please...none of this is necessary.

"Necessary?" I grinned, "Of course it is not necessary. But it wasn't necessary to treat me how you did either, was it, Alice?"

"...no, no. I know that. I was a mess. Please, Wendy, forgive me. But don't shoot us."

I ignored her and focused on Vic. "Vic, I'm going to need you to focus here and not do anything to make me angry or nervous. Because, between you and me, I think I'd prove rather reckless at that point."

He nodded.

"Great. Now do you have any rope? Scarves?"

Again, he nodded.

"Well, let's go then. You too Alice...don't think I'm going to trust you to be on your best behavior."

I marched them in front of me up the stairs to their bedroom. Alice, trying to negotiate with me the whole time, pushed through her drawers until she found a collection of scarves. I instructed her to hand them to her husband which she did, hands perceptibly shaking.

"Get on the bed," I offhandedly instructed.

"Wendy, please, you've—" my former teacher pleaded.

I pushed the gun against her cheek and dragged it provocatively across her lips, down her neck and then slid it between her breasts. She visibly quivered. I looked into her eyes and smiled, dark evil crinkling at the corners of my mouth.

"I said," I whispered flatly, now jabbing the tip of the gun into her sternum, "Get. The. FUCK. On. Your. Bed."

She swallowed a sob and followed the instruction, crawling from the foot to the head of her king sized bed. I watched her ass sway back and forth and unconsciously licked my lips. She was in great shape, period, not just for her age.

"On your back."

She complied, eyes visibly wet with tears.

"Now tie her up," I commanded Victor. He looked as though he were a million miles away.

I closed in on him and lightly caressed his neck.

"What do you smell?" I whispered to him, pushing my body against his.

Dazed he replied, "Peppermint."

"What's it make you want to do?"

He gulped before replying, "Fuck. It makes me want to fuck."

"Mmm, that does sound good. Maybe later," I cooed, before letting my voice go hard and harsh, "For now though...Do. Whatever. The. Hell. I. Tell. You. To. Unless you like the idea of watching your wife bleed out."

He blinked out of his trance and nodded, guilt and fear owning his facial features.

"Now get over there and tie her up!"

He did so, moving both robotically and frantically. Too slow, then too fast. Rigid then floundering.

He tied his Ms. Bobbins first wrist, whimpering an apology. She sniffed back her tears and nodded, trying to reassure him it would all be okay. It most decidedly was not going to be okay.

"Tighter," I demanded without any idea how tight it was. I just wanted to amplify their terror. It was delicious. I could practically hold it in my mouth, swirl it over my tongue. It danced like tiny bits of ball lightning over my skin. I was severely tempted to make them watch me masturbate to multiple climaxes right there and then. I held fast though...what I had planned was much worse, much, much more promising.

She groaned as he moved to the other wrist. With her arms outstretched, her shirt pulled tighter across her breasts. Again, I found myself staring with appetite. For a woman who'd never even considered another woman as a sexual partner, I sure was becoming obsessed with tits since The Freedom "blessed" me.

Victor looked up at me when both wrists were tightly secured, a silent hope skirting across his eyes. Maybe, it seemed to say, this will be enough. Maybe this is all she wants. But it was not what I wanted.

"Legs too," I gestured with an air of disdain. Watching the hope slip away from me was almost as erotic as seeing Officer Klein begged to be fingered before the car accident. I had reached the point that destroying people's lives was just as much of a turn-on as the sex that followed.

As he tightened his wife bonds, I dragged the heavy wingback chair from the corner of the room and deposited at the base of the bed just far enough away to ensure that Ms. Bobbins could see it clearly from her position on the bed but still close enough that I could affix one side of it to the footboard with a set of handcuffs. 

"Get in the chair!" I barked at Victor a moment later, confident he had adequately restrained my former teacher. He sulked over, body sagging as if all the energy had been sapped from him.

"It's hard, isn't it?" I whispered to him as he settled into the seat, cushions airlessly hugging him.

"Wha?!" he responded, involuntarily shielding his crotch from my view.

I giggled cruelly, "I mean, it is hard not to fuck me right now, isn't it? That's where all your energy is going right now, huh? Resisting that impulse to just bend me over the bed and taking me as rough as you want because you know I'll let you? And that I'll love it?"

I licked his face then, enjoy the feel of him shaking like a junky in need of a fix. He bolted towards me, to attempt to escape, overwhelm me, or give in to that naughty impulse, I don't know. Instead he found that I had cuffed him to the arm of the chair when he was distracted by my words.

"Uh-uh," I teased, sashaying backward towards their walk-in closet, "I'll let you know when you can touch. First, I need a costume change."

I disappeared into the cavernous wardrobe, whistling at the size of it. Clearly Vic and Alice were living well. While Ms. Bobbins whined and whinged unproductively and her husband ineffectively assured her everything would work out, my eyes drooped and I let myself go inward, let the Freedom guide me fully. It makes no sense, but it just seemed to know what clothes in the closet to change into, the outfit that would turn Victor on the most. When I came out of the trance, I was wearing an Oxford blue dress shirt, a red, lacy pair of boy shorts, and simple black high heeled shoes. 

I imagined the Freedom had found me Vic's favorite pre-sex clothes ensemble for his wife. A moment later, when I slowly revealed myself to him, letting my leg languidly ease through the first, a flash of red lace briefly visible, the expression on the husband's face confirmed my hypothesis.

"So, you like?" I cooed, dropping down to a crouch, spreading my legs, then quickly snapping them shut and popping back up to standing. I am fairly certain I had never done anything like that until that moment and yet, I performed it like a pro.

He tried to avert his eyes, instead attempting to focus on his wife. Alice laid, restrained, a grimace of disapproval and fear affixed on her features. I shook my head and allowed a light laugh. His attempts at resistance made me feel even more excited.

"So, Ms. Bobbins...sorry...Alice, when you wear this, does Victor just become a beast?" I sarcastically asked, crossing the room towards an iPod and speakers sitting on a sidetable.

She did not reply.

"What I mean to say is, Alice, is this what you wear when you want your husband to fuck your brains out?"

She visibly winced but still refused to say anything.

"I only ask because, and I'm being honest here, I plan to get my little cunt well fucked by your husband but I have something of a tight schedule so any advice you could give me would be oh-so very helpful."

She clenched her jaw and remained firm in her convictions. I slapped her hard and she gasped. Before she could clench back down I slipped the gun into her mouth.

"Suck it, nasty teacher. Show me how a bitch like you sucks your man's dick!"

"Stop!" Vic objected as his spouse attempted to simulate oral sex on a firearm.

"Not until she answers my question," I disdainfully replied.

"How's she supposed to do that with a gun in her mouth?"

Even the monster that The Freedom had twisted me into had to admit there was a sort of logic to that.

"Fine," I sniffed, "You answer then!"

"You need to stop," he pleaded, "This needs to end now. Please...just leave."

"Answer."

"I'm not being a part of this!"

I flipped off the safety, intoning, "I'd be careful. This is my first time ever holding a gun. No idea how easy it is to pull the trigger."

"Okay, okay," he gasped in panic, "Just...don't. Okay? I'll answer."

"Don't tell me you'll answer, just fucking answer."

"Fine. Fine! Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes, I like when she wears that outfit!"

"And?"

"And...and...I...it makes me want her."

"You don't want her already? She's your wife, for goodness sake!"

"No, I mean...that, well..."

"It's okay, Vic, say it. You know you want to."

"It makes me want to fuck her, okay?! I just lose it and I want to fuck her hard and rough and nasty. Is that what you want to hear?!"

I giggled, "I don't know, man, that was pretty graphic."

"Just...please," he groaned, pulling hard on his cuffs, "I answered."

"Yes, yes you did. But now I have more questions."

"Why?" he croaked.

"Come on, now, Vic," I said, heavily enunciating the last syllable, "We are just getting to know each other. This'll be fun, I promise."

He sighed and slouched down in the seat, the universal sign of defeat. Meanwhile, Ms. Bobbins continue to do her best to suck off the cold steel, tears shining up her eyes.

"Mmm, I do love a well managed man. You made a smart choice. So, Victor, I am sure Alice here looks great in it. I bet she's just scrumptious. But what I wonder is...which one of us looks better in it?"

"I don't..."

"Come on, Vic, it's a simple question. Which of us looks hotter in your favorite fuck outfit? Who gets you harder?"

"...you..." he mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Sorry?"

"...you..."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to look up, make eye contact with this wife of yours, watch her let me mouth fuck her with my piece, and say which one of us makes you harder in this little ensemble."

"Please..." he whimpered.

"I just realized...I think you want me to pull this trigger so you can fuck my tight little holes without any guilt because you'll be a widower."

"No! Wait! Please don't!" he panic screeched.

"Then. Just Answer. The. Goddamn. Question!" I hissed.

"Fuck!" he spat ineffectually, locking eyes with his wife. He mouthed something close to "I'm so sorry," and then confessed, "You, Wendy. You...look hottest."

I slipped the gun out of Ms. Bobbins' mouth, smiling broadly, and curtsied. "Why thank you, sir."

As I programmed the iPod, I talked to my teacher, "You hear that? Your husband likes my tight coed body. He wants to fuck me, Alice! Just met me and can't wait to feel how tight I am!"

"That's not what I said!" he objected.

"Well..." I teased the word, turning it deliciously over my tongue, "You kind of did. Ladies can hear it, right Alice?"

Ms. Bobbins shook with a sob but refused to acknowledge me and did her best to hide her tears.

"See," I giggled, "She knows."

I hit play, turned the volume up, and moaned with glee as Prince's Cream throbbed out of the speakers.

Swinging my hips dramatically I strutted across the room, strategically placing myself directly in both of the spouses' field of vision. While both attempted to avert their eyes, The Freedom pumped the room with its irresistible pheromones and soon neither could manage to look away. I was quickly learning that The Freedom was not airborne and thus the pheromones did not carry it. However, the pheromones did beat you down, rob you of your agency, and leave you easy for the taking.

Feeling their eyes staring, horrified and yet hopelessly enthralled, I could feel my body throb as though it was being stroked by numerous talented hands. I licked my lips, swayed, dropped down and popped up, bent over blatantly, and briefly caressed myself. As the sick disease in my veins dumped still more endorphins into my blood and conjured further visions of wild moral degeneration in my brain, I grew bolder. Soon, as Prince gave way to the unrelenting pulse of a Hyper Crush remix, an unexpected track on a teacher' iPod for sure, I tease at stripping.

"Vic," I called out, "I am thinking about taking off my clothes. Would you like to see me naked?"

He groaned behind me, his eyes fixed on my firm ass as I shook it. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him visibly bite his tongue, tears filling his eyes. I could almost literally feel his resistance dividing us, a poorly constructing, rapidly crumbling wall. It felt delicious on my skin as it continued to inexorably collapse.

I knew I could have destroyed his will, crushing in with a blunt instrument of just getting naked. But I wanted him to ask for it, to beg for it. So The Freedom laid out a far more deliciously devastating plan.

I climbed up onto the bed and crawled toward Ms. Bobbins.

"Mmm...teach, I owe you an apology. I've been paying so much attention to Vic over there," I turned back over my shoulder to make sure his eyes were taking in the sensual curve of my back and the blatant shimmy of my hips as I moved forward. He stared forward in a hungry, empty-eyed gaze, filled with lust but no humanity. 

I chuckled blackly and then began to speak to Alice again, "So, you comfortable there Ms. Bobbins?"

She blinked herself out of a slumped shoulder daze, eyes transitioning from confusion to panic to anger in seconds. But behind the anger, try as she might, I saw her gaze slide downward, resting on the downblouse I was so generously presenting her with. 

"I have to know, teach," I whispered to her, my mouth turning up in a teasing grin, "Did you ever think about me after I graduated?"

"Wendy, please..."

"No, no, it's okay. I know you'd never be inappropriate when I was in school. But I stayed in town. I think you saw me once or twice. Did you check me out? Hmm? Did you give me a look over? Did you think about inviting me over? You know, to... 'keep you company' while your hubby was away?"

"Wha...no, Wendy, no. Is that what this is about? I...I'm straight. And much older than you. I'd never..."

"Shh...don't worry, Ms. Bobbins, I won't out you. Our secret."

She shook her head hard, blushing scarlet, "No! Wendy! I mean it! Not. Interested!"

I smiled wider and began to walk my fingers up her bare legs. She shuddered and shook, gasping. I fixed my eyes on her and let me tongue slightly separate my lips. My hand disappeared under her skirt and she began to twist and thrash as best she could. I ignored her bodily objections, my hand pressing into her panties. She moaned openly, eyelids fluttering.

"Are you sure I don't turn you on?" I teased her, "Because these panties are sooooooooooo wet."

Alice could only hiss and groan in response, involuntarily pushing harder against my palm. I giggled and pressed my lips against her ear, whispering, "You are such a dirty little whore, aren't you?"

She shook harder in reply. My hand grabbed her underwear roughly and yanked downward, exposing her. Her resolve crumbled further and she moaned out, "Oh fuck, touch me" out loud.

I tsked her as I tore the panties apart, allowing me to take them off her. I clutched the shredded underwear in my fist and let them both see me breath her scent deeply in. 

Behind me, Victor said a barely perceptible prayer, "Taste them."

"Say it again," I commanded him, "Louder."

With a broken sigh, he repeated, "Taste them."

"What?" I played dumb.

"Taste my wife's panties. Taste her off the cotton."

"Mmm....I like the way you think, you bad, bad boy," I snickered and then turned to Ms. Bobbins, "Would you like that, teach? Would you like to see my tongue scoop your nasty cum off your soiled panties?"

She nodded quickly, ashamed but unable to deny the strange desires.

"Doesn't that feel better? To admit what a pervert you are, Alice?"

Without waiting for a response, I theatrically ran my tongue over the shredded cotton, moaning and groaning and "mmmm, yummy"-ing loud and long. The couple both writhed against their bonds, bodies and brains betraying them. They were trapped between desperate lust and a sort of muddy confusion. They remembered their real desires and fetishes, I imagine, but could not reconcile them with the new flood of feelings. The truth was the pheromones were so pervasive in the room almost anything would be arousing to them. The Freedom just instructed me to manipulate them into believing sick, buried lusts were the cause. It was a form of subliminal advertising, taking the overwhelming physical sensation my chemical aura forced them to have and convincing them it is the product of what they've always felt but would never admit. They weren't possessed by The Freedom, sure, but they must have felt like they were. Like they were losing their minds. It was nothing but their will being reduced to ash, but I doubt they could tell the difference.

"Mmmm, delicious," I declared, dragging the wet ruined underwear across and down my body until I let it slip from my fingers to the floor. Ms. Bobbins whimpered and rolled her hips, eyes begging. I leaned back over her, careful to push my body against her own and cooed in her ear, "You disgust me." The way she gasped in response, you would have sworn I was lapping at her molten core.

I leapt off the bed as Michael Jackson's "Can't Stop (Til You Get Enough)" rose out of the iPod speakers. Catching Victor's broken salivating glare, I broke out the most stereotypical stripper moves I could manage. As I yielded to the beat, my disease guided my movements, enhanced my abilities. In moments, I became the classically trained dancer who went on to become the hottest dancer at the highest end strip club. 

Buttons popped and bounced all over the floor as I ripped open the dress shirt. Rigid nipples sprung free, bra tossed into some dark corner of the room. Sopping boy shorts swiftly pushed to the floor and stepped out of. I spun and shook in the center of the room, stomach undulating, hips rotating. My hands roamed freely, tangling in my hair, groping my tits, caressing my abs, cupping my cunt momentarily.




The Freedom Ch. 05



I could feel their hungry gaze on me. My nipples hardened further and my pussy became hot liquid in response. I continued to dance, lowering myself down farther and farther until my knees hit the floor. Crawling towards Victor, I saw how he stared hard at my body, eyes focused on my gently bouncing tits, my high swaying ass. A throaty purr erupted out the back of my throat, both hot and creepy. Vic visibly shook though it was impossible to read if it was a reaction of fear or even further lust.

As I reached him, I sprung up, shaking my breasts just out of his reach. He growled in frustration, his handcuffs rattling as he pulled against his bonds. I laughed at his powerlessness, pinching my nipples and licking my lips. I twisted about, letting him see every part of my body. Completing the rotation, I dropped back down to my knees.

As I shook my hair in his lap, I opened his pants and pulled them, along with his underwear down to his feet. His cock sprung up, head glossy with precum. I whistled appreciatively, experimentally giving it a quick rub. He groaned and gripped the arms of the chair until his fingers went white with lack of blood. I raised my eyebrow inquisitively, making eye contact. The moment hung there, pregnant with foreboding. Then, I let my pink tongue free of my mouth and swirled it over the top of his dick, taking the precum all for myself.

"Shit shit shittttttt," he barked mindlessly from the moment my tongue touched him until the moment I returned to my mouth. As I turned the clear liquid around in my tongue, enjoying the sensation of it degrading and becoming one with my saliva, I gazed at him provocatively.

Eyes still on his, I swept the handcuff key and gun off the dresser and kneeled to his right. Gun trained on him, I clicked the key in and watched as his eyes crinkled in confusion. The look only deepened as I released the catch and sauntered to the other side, places the key in that set of cuffs. Again I released the catch. He stayed frozen his seat.

I straddled him backwards, my dripping cunt mere centimeters above his hard cock. I heard his breathe go triple time, quick gulps of panicked air. I l glanced over my shoulder and smirked slyly at him.

"Wanna fuck me?" I purred.

He swallowed hard and seemed to visibly try and gather his strength. "Like you care what I want!" he spat at me, venom in his tone, "You're just going to put that gun at me and force me to do it anyway!"

"Hmmm...I suppose this isn't very fair, is it?" I mused and then tossed the gun across the room. Both he and Ms. Bobbins looked absolutely befuddled in response.

"Now, Vic, you have a choice. You can take that beautiful cock of yours and slide it deep inside me. You can take me anyway you want me, use me to your full satisfaction, fill me with your cum or spray it all over me," I paused there, letting my words sink in.

"Or?" he croaked, sounding more like an 8 year old than a full grown man.

"Or you can shove me aside, free your wife, and call the police on me. Totally your call."

"What's the catch?" he hissed.

"No catch. Except this is your one chance."

"What...what do you mean?" he stuttered.

My body fluttered at the sound in his voice. The Freedom knew how weak Vic was and was more than happy to help him realize it too.

His wife saw the vulnerability as well and called to him from the bed, "Victor, just forget it. Come here and untie me."

I shushed her and answered his question, "What I'm saying, Vic Vic, is if you pass up on me now, you'll never get another chance to see this body naked."

I step away and began to move and sway slowly, letting him take my naked body in.

"You'll never be able to kiss these lips. You'll never be able to feel my tongue in your mouth. You'll never be able to experience the taste of my mouth on yours."

"Baby," Ms. Bobbins whimpered, "Don't listen to her. Just call the police and untie me!"

"Victor," I called, stealing his attention back to me, "These tits could be yours whenever you want them. To suck. To bite. To grope. To fuck. Anytime you want. But only if you take me now. You save your wife, you give up these tits."

"Stop paying attention to her!" Alice shouted.

He looked at her, helpless and panicked, sputtering. I pushed his chin back towards me. He looked upwards towards my eyes, allowing his stare to linger on my perfectly perky pink nipples. I lifted my leg, putting it on the arm of the chair. I spread my pussy further with my fingers, showing him the heart of my lust, pink and glistening, all there for him.

"You're staring," I whisper to him. He nods but makes no effort to look away.

"Close your eyes damn it! Victor, I'm not sure what's happening but you need to fight this!"

Impressively, he did, his eyelids sluggishly closing, fighting downwards as though invisible fishing line was pulling them in the opposite direction.

"Mmm, that's fine. Close those eyes. It'll make it easier to picture what I want you do to me. Think about just using my tight pussy, just fucking me as hard as you want. Harder than Alice ever lets you go. Picture all the dirty, naughty things you'd do to this coed slut. This little 20-something whore. Picture it all and listen to the sounds of me fingering myself. I know it's rude, but I am so damn wet...I just can't help myself."

"Please," whispered so quietly that it was barely a sigh.

"Please what?" I asked, innocently, three digits thrusting in and out of me, slick with my honey.

"My wife is right there. Please don't make me do this."

"I'm not making you do anything...I just want you to do what you want. And personally, I think it'd be hot to fuck you in front of your wife. Don't you?"

A strangled noise escaped him and he nodded. Tears flowed out of his tightly restricted eyelids.

"It's okay, Vic. It's okay to want what you want. She doesn't satisfy you, we both know that. She knows it too. I can satisfy you. You know it. You know I can suck your cock better than she can. You know my cunt tastes sweeter. You know I'd let you fuck my mouth, my tits, my pussy, my ass, whenever you want, in any way you want. There's nothing wrong with admitting the truth; in fact, isn't being honest best?"

"Why are you doing this to us?" Alice protested, hoping she could reach me since it was obvious her husband was nearly broken.

I looked at her and smiled. I brought my soaked digits to my mouth and licked them clean, slowly, as she watched. Against her will, she shook and arched, seeking anything to generate enough friction to get her off. She sobbed, "Stop. Why?"

"I'm offering him a gift, Ms. Bobbins. Can't you be happy for your husband?"

She grunted, half angry, half horny and pulled hard on the scarves. Once, twice, three times. Then, pink with frustration, she went slack, flopping back onto the pillow.

"This must be such a tough choice for you," I cooed, fingering myself once more. Vic nodded.

"You love your wife, don't you?"

"Yes," he hesitantly offered.

"A lot, I bet."

"So much."

"Tell her, tell her you love her."

"I love you Alice!"

"Open your eyes, look at her, and tell her."

He turned to his restrained wife and allowed his eyes to fly up like twin window shades.

"God, I love you so much Alice. I'm so scared. I care for you so much."

"Tell her why you are so scared."

"I'm scared Alice because...because..." he paused and gulped hard, "Because, oh god...Because I want her, Alice. God, I want her so bad!"

"Please, Vic...please. Just get up and walk away. Save us. We can put this all behind us, get her arrested. I can make you feel good, you know that. You don't need her. Just free me and we can get back to our lives. We can make love. You don't need her."

"Mmmm, well said, Ms. Bobbins. Beautiful, really. So, Victor?"

His eyes were wet and unfocused, his hairline dark with newly sprung sweat. He looked ill and confused. "I love my wife..." he mumbled.

"All right then," I announced brightly, bouncing away from him, "Looks like you win, Alice. Set me just get dressed before you call the cops, okay?"

It looked like I was cheerfully surrendering, but The Freedom was quietly guiding me, telling me exactly the strategy finally break him. As I bent at the waist to pick up my panties, his moan announced his weakness before he even spoke.

"Wait!" he shouted, too loud given the size of the room. He blushed almost red but did not stop talking, "Don't leave. Please. I can't...I can't not fuck you. If I don't have you...god, I'm sorry, Alice, I am. But...look at her. Smell her. Hear her. You know I have to do this."

"No you don't!" she yelled back, anger so hot you would sweat it was crisping the air between them.

"Yes, yes he does," I cooed, striding back across the room. "Right, Vic? You need to fuck my cunt more than you've ever needed to do anything, don't you?"

"Yessssssss," he hissed, eyes alight with lust, personality visibly being swallowed by pure adulterous need.

"How do you want me?" I moaned, lasciviously separating my labia and coating my fingers in my syrup.

"Like...like before. You sitting on top, back to me."

"You love my ass, don't you?"

He nodded, "It's incredible."

"You gonna watch it as I ride you?"

He nodded. Now that I had him, I was delighting in stringing it out.

"You want that now?"

"God, yes."

"In front of your wife?"

"Uh-huh," he admitted without hesitation.

"Mmm...good boy. Or bad boy, rather. But good for me."

I did as bid, pirouetting around so he could see my back. I felt his eyes lock in on my ass as I straddled him, grabbed his dick, and slowly lowered my oh-so-wet sex on to him.

As I mentioned before, there were moments in the thrall where I was able to see myself being this...creature of lust. To be a passenger in my own body. As Victor's hard, pulsing member split my labia and thrust inside me, it happened once again. I tried to will myself to stop, tried to scream out apologies to Ms. Bobbins, to warn her of what was to come. I could achieve nothing. Instead I cringed as I heard myself, in that thick, syrupy voice urge my former teacher to, "Watch me fuck your husband. Watch me and wish I'd let you strap on and take me at the same time."

I watched Ms. Bobbins' dull, glassy stare settle on my naked body, her soul being eaten out by the sheer level of pheromones in the room and her failed attempt to talk her husband out of taking me. As she receded deeper into the broken lust haze, I too slipped away, quietly and quickly, leaving only the immoral fuck device I had become. I would not return again until everything, the whole damn thing, was over. When the damage had very thoroughly been done. And even then...who's to say what came back with me? 

But...we'll get there. In that moment, though, I was savoring Victor's dick burying itself deep inside me and the dead eyes of my former teacher, his wife, looking on.

He whimpered as I began to bounce up and down, a sound of despair and relief. He did not want this and yet, it was all he could imagine wanting. The longer he was inside me, the longer my pussy grasped at him, soaked him, the further the sound of despair went from him voice. Before long it was gone and all that could be heard from the sound of skin pushing against skin, our ragged breathing, and our repeated mocking insults being leveled at Alice.

"I'm a better fuck than your wife, aren't I?"

"God, Alice, she's so much tighter than you!"

"Get me pregnant, Vic. Show her what a real woman gives her man. Remind her of how barren her womb is."

"Oh yes! Never fucking that geriatric pussy again. So. Fucking. Good!!!"

"Watch us, Ms. Bobbins. Watch your husband throw away his vows for a little strange."

"Your tits are perfect...I never realized how shitty my wife's were until right now."

"See how easy I could take him away from you? How little he appreciates you?"

And so it went. Just pure, almost angry carnal fulfillment and hideous cruelty to Ms. Bobbins. It was intoxicating, feeling Vic inside me and gazing on the broken visage of his wife. She was so filled with pheromones, she could not even manage outrage. Her mind was no doubt a muddled maze of fantasy, hatred, disgust, and guilt wherein no single reaction could gain traction.

I hesitate to admit this now, but that moment was the happiest of my entire life. And in my mind, The Freedom gurgled pleasantly, triumphantly, praising me as its favorite. I believed it.

His hands mauled my breasts. They were rougher than when we first met. Apparently, one of his wishes for body improvement that The Freedom was honoring was having callused hands rather than the soft, smooth ones he had merely an hour before. It's odd what people dislike about themselves, what they think would make them sexier to others.

At my urging, he bit my shoulders, across my upper back. Not gentle, but hard, sharp, nearly breaking the skin. Each time I screamed in joy and then felt the skin healing immediately.

I bent over, grabbing my ankles and continued to fuck myself up and down on his dick. He appreciated the better view of my ass with a groan and rough slap on my skin. I demanded another, harder, and he did so without question. Soon, as my command, he was thumping my cheeks until they shone raw red. He paused for them to heal, then began anew.

"You're such a dirty boy," I moaned as his assault continued, orgasms rolling over me at an alarming pace. Without The Freedom, I do not think my body would've been able to experience the rush of pleasure, the sky rocketing heart rate, the thinning of breathe, without experiencing some sort of attack or shut down.

"Don't look now," I continued, "But I think your wife is enjoying the show. She likes her husband fucking her student for her viewing pleasure.

With a loud groan of excitement at the very idea of this, Victor came. I could feel the torrent of him fill me, soaking in everywhere, coating my hot, pulsing insides. I followed him moments later, climaxing with a full body throb that threatened to knock me out.

I stepped off him, feeling myself drizzle over his rapidly deflating dick and thigh. He halfheartedly reached for me, crumbling to the ground after he missed. On the floor, he sobbed. The Freedom had broken, as it did after each climax...at first, anyway. The guilt rushed in along with his returning reality and ability to reason. His weakness made me sick to my stomach.

I grabbed the gun off the floor before crawling up the bed to my true victim. Alice seemed near catatonic. I slapper her hard until her eyes regained some sign of intelligence.

"You bitch!" she spat, "What the fuck have you done?"

"I need you to focus here, Alice," I replied, ignoring her anger, "Your husband has been given a tremendous gift called The Freedom. He's like me now. Or he will be any minute now."

Her anger dissolved into sadness and terror, "How could you do this to him. To us?"

"Maybe we can talk about that some other time, Alice. For now though, I need your attention. Soon, that guilt that's got him on the floor there? That'll be gone. The Freedom will come rushing back and he'll remember how stupid guilt is. And he'll be turned on. He'll want to share the wonderful gift of enlightenment with you."

She gasped and shook in fear.

"Now, I'd love to stay and help him. You really do have an incredible body, Ms. Bobbins. But I have other things I need to do, so he's going to have you all to himself.

"Please..." she whispered beseechingly.

"I can tell how scared you are. I don't get it. I think you'd be excited to be liberated. I guess not though. So I'm going to give you some help. Here's the gun," I said, pressing it into her palm. "When Victor re-embraces his gift, he's going to be like an animal. He won't be reasoned with, he won't be gentle. If you are serious about staying chained to petty silly weak morality, you will need to shoot him. Try anything else, and he'll have you, over and over again, until your mind is just as filled with The Freedom as his or mine. So, it will be your choice. Shoot or fuck. Your call."

I heard her struggle with the weapon as I walked away. As I walked down her stairs, she barked out in frustration. She had gained control of the weapon, but I was already gone. She could not take her vengeance on me.

I slipped back into my dress downstairs, swept all their water bottles (only eight 16 ounce-ers? Seriously?) into a canvas bag, and left. Before I reached the corner, I heard the gun go off. Once. Twice. Three times. I smirked. Even if she managed to hit him, aiming and firing while tied up, I knew The Freedom would ensure it only brought him pleasure. If a knife to the belly gave me the best orgasm I had ever had, I could only imagine how glorious multiple gunshot wounds would be.

For a moment, I regretted not staying. But The Freedom need me...there was still work to be done. There'd be plenty of time to engage in some gun fun later. I smirked at the thought and sent my attentions on heading back to campus. It was time to check Mark's progress. It was time to bring the town a total infection rate. The Freedom was for everyone and I intended to see to that.