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Artwork by Moira Nelligar
© Copyright 2017
The Bad Girls of Erotica
All Rights Reserved
~~ All characters in this anthology are over 18. ~~
Our Neighbor’s A Porn Star
Burning Love From A Queen Of Snow
Mrs. Wilson’s Cure for Headstrong Ladies & Hysterical Wives
A Woman’s Touch
By Alana Church
“Ohhhh,” Heather Fawxx moaned, as the well-hung stud's cock pistoned in and out of her pussy. “Ohhh, God, yessss!! Fuck me, Danny! Fuck mehard!!”
“You like that, don't you, Miss Fawxx?” the young man smirked, continuing his assault on her cleft. “Is this how you want me to serve all of my detentions from now on?”
“Just shut up and keep fucking me. Oooohhh, your prick is so big and hard. I love it!”
“Danny?” the surprised voice came from one side. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like, Tina? I finally got this uptight teacher of ours out of her pants. Look at those tits. Weren't you telling me last night how you'd like to suck on them? Well, here's your chance.”
The vapidly pretty young blonde giggled and slipped out of her school uniform, revealing a gravity-defying set of breasts. “I think I'd rather sit on her face and have her eat me. My pussy's been dripping all day, and I'm so horny I can't stand it.”
“Maybe later,” Heather said, sitting up and reaching for Danny's prick. “Right now I have another item on my menu.”
With hard-won skill, she deep-throated the rock-hard cock waving in front of her, then rapidly bobbed up and down. The red shaft gleamed wetly when it emerged from her mouth. From behind her, she could feel a hot tongue probing at her womanly folds, and spread her legs wider.
She closed her eyes as the young man began to fuck her mouth. To her happy surprise, he kept his strokes short and quick, and the hands in her hair didn't pull, but only guided her.
“Oh, Miss Fawxx! I'm gonna cum!”
“Do it,” she demanded, letting his rod slip out of her mouth. She spit on the bulbous head and began to rapidly jack him. “I want to feel your spunk shoot all over my tits. Do it, Danny. Do it now!”
The young man stiffened, his eyes glazing. His hips jerked rapidly, thrusting his cock into her stroking hands. As he came, she aimed his crown at her cleavage, watching as several ropy bursts of his semen splattered on her chest. The white liquid trickled between her breasts and down towards her belly.
“Ohhh,” the young girl said, wriggling close. “That was a big one. He usually doesn't cum that much for me.” She pushed Heather down on the desk. Pulling her hair back, she began to lick her stomach clean, not pausing until every drop of her boyfriend's cum was gone.
'Heather Fawxx,' who until eight years ago had been known as Heather McCormick, slid off the desk and shrugged into a robe, knotting the belt firmly around her waist. “Well,” she said brightly, “that's the last cock I ever eat on camera.”
“Good job, everyone,” Jacob Weintraub, the director, said loudly. He glanced at his watch. “We're all done here for today. Go home. Have a great weekend. Be here on time on Monday for Tina's gang-bang scene, or I'll gut you with a spoon.”
“Wait,” pouted the pretty blond nymphet. “What about the scene where me and Heather sixty-nine?”
“We shot that last week, Tina,” Jake said, with a tone of long-suffering patience. While Tina had an incredible body and was amazingly sweet-tempered, no one would accuse her of being a genius, evil or otherwise.
“Oh, that's right,” she giggled. “Well, you can't blame me for wanting to get another crack at her.”
“Why a spoon, Jake?” Heather asked the Englishman with a smile, as the rest of the cast and crew of After School Special 9 drifted towards the door of the cheap soundstage. From the sounds, several of them were already making plans for the weekend. She smiled over her shoulder as Tina gave her butt a farewell squeeze before she wandered off.
“Because it's dull, y' twit. It'll 'urt more,” he declared in his broadest cockney accent, with a lopsided grin.
She smiled and patted his cheek. “I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.”
The tall, thin man, his head capped by a rat's nest of rapidly thinning blond hair, shook his head. “I don't get it, Heather. Why are you retiring? You're at the top of the heap. I mean, have you seen the download numbers for Jill and the Beanstalk? They're through the roof. We're raking in thousands of dollars a day. And so are you.”
“Of course I have.” She rolled her eyes at the cheesy title. 'Heather Fawxx' had climbed up the titular beanstalk only to be ravaged by several horny giants. The only thing giant about them had been their cocks, which had left her nether regions sore and aching for days afterward. “I bet I keep a closer eye on my numbers than you do.
“I've done the math, Jake. With what I've put aside and invested, and what I can expect to get from royalties in the future, I can live very happily for the rest of my life. Especially when you count appearances at trade shows and signed memorabilia.”
“Royalties,” Jake muttered. The word sounded like a curse. “Worst mistake I ever made in my life, sending you to night school and teaching you how to think for yourself. Hell, in another two years, you'd be running this studio, not me.”
She kissed his cheek, the gesture unmistakably fond. “Maybe. But I got some good advice when I started in this business. Do you remember what you told me? 'Once you get ahead, Heather, get out.'
“You only have yourself to blame.”
“So when are you leaving?” he asked, apparently deciding not to beat a dead horse. She breathed a sigh of relief. She loved Jake like a father, but her mind was made up.
“Tomorrow morning,” she smiled. “Me and the U-Haul are heading east. No more LA, no more smog, no more traffic jams, no more blowing guys on camera for cash.”
“Jeez, Heather,” he said in a pained voice. “You make it all seem so...so tacky. You know we're just obeying the laws of supply and demand, right? If we didn't do it, someone else would.”
She grinned at him. “And I won't say that I wasn't well-compensated for providing the supply. But someone else is going to have to feed the demand from now on.” She pulled him into a hug, surprised to feel the sting of tears in the back of her eyes. “You've got my e-mail address and cell number. You can call anytime, as long as it doesn't involve a movie camera.”
“What about still photography?” he asked hopefully. He mimed clicking a camera. “There are some websites that would pay a bundle for some exclusive photos of the one and only Heather Fawxx.”
“Nope. Only very improbable. I'll see you around, kid.” Shaking his head, he walked out the door.
Heather took a deep breath and grimaced at the stale scent. She looked around at the stage, the cameras, the cheap props, the scattered costumes.
Let's get the fuck out of here, Heather Anne.
She kicked off her stilettos, walked out the door, and left her old life behind.
This may have been a mistake, Heather thought, huddling deeper into her winter parka several days later.
She stood outside her new home, shivering violently, as she watched the movers carefully unload the truck and carry her newly-purchased furniture into the house. A raw northwest wind born on the Canadian prairies swept down out of the gray December sky, numbing her cheeks.
South Dakota. I must have been out of my mind.
Well, you wanted someplace quiet. Someplace where you could blend in. Someplace where the cost of living wasn't sky-high. You didn't want to fry in the summer, so you crossed off the southwest, and you didn't want to live in the Bible belt, for obvious reasons.
And besides, didn't you tell yourself that a girl who was raised in New Hampshire could handle a little cold?
She snorted, a puff of cloudy breath hanging in the air for a moment before it was swept away. Beside her, the representative from the real estate agency shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. Heather had spoken with him dozens of times over the phone as she went through the interminable procedure of purchasing the house. In her car were the forms she had signed earlier in the morning, scrawling her signature on line after line until her hand ached. It had taken a half-dozen missteps before she had been able to convince her treacherous fingers that her name wasn't 'Heather Fawxx,' and that she was actually purchasing a home, not signing endless glossy photos of herself at some tacky adult convention in Las Vegas.
“It's a nice place,” he said at last, seemingly out of a need to fill up the silence. “Split-level, with plenty of room upstairs and down. And you have a big backyard for landscaping or gardening, if you're into that. A lot of people around here are. And the schools are good.”
“What about the neighborhood?” she asked, more out of politeness than any real need to know.
“It's nice enough. Well, your neighbor on the south might be a little touchy at first. She's in the real-estate business as well, and she wasn't happy when I got the listing.” Chad smirked unpleasantly. “She thought that since she'd known the Swensons for years the old lady would choose her to sell the place when her husband died and she moved in with her daughter.
“But she didn't move fast enough, and I'm the one who's going to be cashing a commission check on Monday.”
“How pleasant.” She pasted on her professional smile, the one she reserved for fans who stayed just a little too long at her booth at the trade shows. I guess it's a good thing to know that South Dakota has assholes, too.
The last box was carried inside the house, and one of the workmen slid the door of the truck down with a bang. “I guess that's it,” Chad said. He nodded at the front door, still propped open. “Want to take a look?”
She kept the smile frozen on her cheeks, wanting only for him to go away. “We've already done the walk-through. I think I'm going to get a start on unpacking. Thanks for your help, though.” She offered him her hand, encased in a fashionable leather glove she had bought before she left California. “If I have any questions, I'll be sure to call. I won't keep you any longer.”
“Well, all right then,” he said, temporarily nonplussed. “I'm always available, Miss McCormick.”
“I'm sure you are.” Pig.
As his Lincoln pulled away from the curb, her smile became more genuine. She walked over to where the movers were slowly drifting out of the house. “Mr. Sanchez?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “I'd like you to share this with your men,” she said, handing it to the foreman. “That was a bitch of a job in nasty weather, and I appreciate it.”
The dark-skinned, gray-haired man looked into the envelope, and she smiled as his eyes widened. “Senora, I can't take this.It is too much.”
“Why don't you let me be the judge of that? My father spent his entire life doing manual labor,” she lied. “I know how tough it is. Take this and buy something extra for your wife and kids for Christmas.”
“Gracias. I will. John! Achmed! Get over here! I have something for you two to put in your stockings!
“And if you ever need work done around the house, senora, let me know. I know all the best plumbers and carpenters and roofers in town. I'll be sure to tell them you're a classy lady, so no one will try to cheat you.”
“Thanks.” She smiled again, then shivered dramatically as a gust of wind bent the leafless trees in the front yard. “You have a nice weekend and a wonderful holiday.”
“Thank you, senora.”
She went into the house, closing the heavy inside door behind her. As the loud noise of the truck faded away into the distance, she unzipped her coat, savoring the unusual silence. Except for the sound of the furnace, running at full blast to counteract the wintry weather, the only sound was the wind keening around the eaves.
She sighed in relief, then smiled. Mine. All mine. No screaming neighbors in the apartment next door. No constant sound of traffic. No worrying about whether some creep is stalking you. No getting up at 5 AM to have some guy point a camera at your crotch while you pretend to like it.
She grinned, pulling off her coat and hanging it on a peg by the door. She kicked off her shoes, rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, and climbed the stairs to the main floor. A pile of cardboard boxes met her gaze. She pulled a utility knife out of her pocket, slit the duct tape holding the first box closed, and began to unpack.
Barb Shroyer frowned as she pulled into her driveway. The lights in the old Swenson place were on, throwing golden patches of light onto the frost-seared grass of the front yard.
Damn that asshole to hell. I know real-estate is cutthroat, but you'd think he'd have some sense of shame.
With an effort, she threw off the spate of bad temper. Despite Chad James' underhanded methods, it was Barbara Shroyer and North Star Realty who were leading the housing market in Rapid City. Not the gold-plated pricks at Platinum Plots Real Estate.
Her smile faded as she entered the house. As usual, the lights were off, and the early winter darkness put the rooms in shadow. Muttering to herself, she flipped on the switches, bringing up the lights in the family room and hallway.
Walking down the hall, she paused for a moment to bang on the door-jamb of her son's bedroom. Even through the closed door, she could hear the music blaring from his headphones.
“Nathaniel? I'm home.” A longish pause. “Hello? Nate? Can you hear me?”
She opened the door warily. Her son sat in front of his computer, some sort of video game playing on the screen. Over his shoulder she could see pixelated monsters being blown into bloody rubble.
Sighing, she pulled one of her gloves out of her coat pocket and balled it up, then threw it at her son's head. As it bounced off, he flinched violently in surprise, then twisted in his chair. With a quick flick of his fingers, he paused the game, then took off his headphones, rubbing his temple in mock-pain
“Nice, Mom. Real nice.”
“Well, if you listened to that music of yours at a volume lower than 'jet engine,' maybe you'd hear me when I knocked on the door,” she smiled.
“Says the woman who listens to ABBA.”
“Careful, mister,” she said, shaking a finger at him. “You start making fun of Sweden's finest disco group, and we might have to throw down.” She balled up her fists and waved them threateningly.
“Right.” He stood, his tall, lanky form unfolding from his computer chair, and hugged her. “What's up?”
“I just got home. What do you want for supper?”
He shrugged carelessly. “Whatever you feel like making.”
“Okay. I'm going to change. I think we'll have leftovers from Thanksgiving.”
“I thought we were having Thanksgiving leftovers,” her son commented an hour later. He looked at the soup quizzically.
“We are.” Barb took a sip of potato soup. “I chopped up some of the leftover turkey and put it in. I never thought I'd like this dehydrated stuff, but it does the job when you're in a hurry.”
“Oh, God. You wasted leftover turkey in soup?”
“Don't worry,” she replied tartly. “There's probably still ten or twelve pounds of it left. What in the world possessed you to get such a huge bird?”
Her son smiled crookedly. “Well, I figured there would be plenty left for late-night turkey sandwiches. And there would be,” he said darkly, “if someone didn't insist of putting it in soup.”
“Boo hoo.” She broke off a piece of garlic bread. “Did you see that we have a new neighbor?”
Nate shrugged. “Yeah. The car was in the driveway when I got home from hockey practice. I haven't seen anyone yet, though.”
“Hmm. And was there any interesting mail?”
Nate grinned, pulling two envelopes out of his back pocket and tossing them on the table. “Two more acceptances. From South Dakota State and North Dakota University.”
Barb smiled, catching the gleam of pride in his eyes. “No word yet from the University of Wyoming?”
He leaned back, snorting disgustedly. “Not yet. But I'm not worried. The message boards tell me that no one has gotten their letters yet.”
“Well, at least you have a couple of safety schools to fall back on. South Dakota State isn't too bad, you know. Your father went there.”
“Which is one more reason for me not to go.” Her son's usually mild blue eyes were stormy.
“Hmmm.” She kept her opinion about Ray to herself. “Are you sure about the University of Wyoming, though, honey? I mean, it's not exactly convenient. It must be close to three hundred miles. Can you imagine driving home for winter break?”
“And Brookings is nearly four hundred,” he countered, naming the town where SDSU was located. “It's nearly in Iowa, for crying out loud. And can you imagine driving six hours on Interstate 90 in December?”
Barb gave a theatrical shudder. Even she, born and bred in the state, wasn't going to try to defend the mind-numbing tedium of driving through it.
“Besides, Wyoming has a really good College of Business. Maybe by the time I graduate, you'll be ready to hand over the keys to the family business.”
“Really? You do realize that I'm only forty-one, don't you, Nathaniel? I'm not quite decrepit just yet. And more than one man has expressed an interest in your mom's body since your dad skipped town.”
He grinned unrepentantly, ignoring the reference to his father. “Mom, you're hotter than Sofia Vergara walking naked through a five-alarm fire. But you're going to have to retire sooner or later. Once I get my degree from the U of W, it might make sense to hire me.” His eyes softened. “Then you can slow down a bit, and enjoy yourself. You deserve it, after all you've done over the past few years.”
Barbara blinked, her eyes misting with sudden tears. It was unusual for Nate to be speak so openly of what they had gone through following her divorce from Ray. For the most part, he treated her with the sort of teasing affection which reminded her of her relationship with her older brother, on those rare occasions when she and Jess were able to get together. In return, sensing his discomfort with overt displays of love, she treated him like she would a particularly dim-witted puppy, which rarely failed to make him smile.
It was all Ray's fault, damn him to hell. Barb wouldn't pretend that they had a perfect life together, but it had been good enough. They both had good jobs; her with North Star Realty, Ray with a local bank as a loan officer. The house was all that they would need and a little more. Nate was a good son and showed every indication of growing up to be a successful young man, though she was quietly disappointed Ray and herself hadn't had more children. Even their sex life, while somewhat vanilla, hadn't gone through that mid-life cooling that some of her married friends complained about.
She grimaced. In fact, sex was what had caused the divorce. Barb had suspected from a young age that her desires weren't quite in tune with those of most of her classmates. As she grew older, those desires had become more pronounced.
She hadn't cheated on Ray. She had never even considered it. When she took her wedding vows, she meant to keep them. But when she confessed her curiosity to him one night while Nate was away at a middle-school hockey tournament, the result had been a blow-up of epic proportions. Her husband's savagely conservative upbringing couldn't accept the fact that his wife might have needs he couldn't satisfy. After a long, bitter argument, he had packed a suitcase and left the house, never to return. He had never missed a child-support check, but he had also made it completely clear that he wanted nothing more to do with either of them.
Barbara blinked as she came back to herself. Jeez, Shroyer. Melodramatic much? “Well, maybe,” she said, answering Nate. “But that's in the future. Right now we have to concentrate on the present.”
She stood up. “Which reminds me. Even though that slimeball stole that listing from me, it's not the fault of our new neighbors. We should welcome them properly to the neighborhood. I'm going to make up a tray of leftovers, and you can take it over to them. Nothing like a little South Dakota friendliness to make a family feel at home.”
A short while later, Nate stood at the front door, pressing the doorbell. The wind was brutal tonight, numbing ears and fingers in an eyeblink. Before dawn, he knew, the temperature would be well below zero.
Just as he was about to ring the doorbell again, the heavy inner door opened, and he could dimly see the figure of a woman through the fogged glass of the outer door. It cracked open, and a blond head peered out. “Yes? Can I help you?”
He smiled, though his cheeks felt stiff. “Hi. I'm Nate Shroyer. I live next door.” With his hands full, he jerked his head at his house. “My mom wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so she sent me over with some food.”
“Oh.” She seemed to consider him for a moment, then opened the door wide, backing away so he could slip inside. “That's very thoughtful. Come on in before you freeze to death out there.”
“Thanks.” He wiped his feet on the rag rug in front of the door, not wanting to track dirt over the hardwood floor, then followed her up the short flight of steps to the main floor.
“I apologize for the mess,” she said as she walked towards the kitchen. Nate couldn't help but admire the sexy curves of her rear through her tight jeans. “I've been unpacking all day, but I think the boxes are multiplying while I'm not looking.” She turned around, flipping on the kitchen light, and Nate got his first good look at her.
She was tall for a woman, almost statuesque, perhaps close to five-ten, although still a few inches below his own six-foot-one. He complexion was peaches and cream, her smooth pale skin having a rosy undertone in her cheeks that gave her a healthy glow. Her hair was a dark gold, falling straight down past her shoulders in a rich, shining wave. Automatically, he scanned her body. Her legs were long and toned beneath the faded jeans, and her chest, though hidden by a rumpled sweatshirt, showed the curves of high, proud breasts. They jutted forth, tenting the cloth enticingly. He jerked his gaze back up to her face. Her eyes were a blue so dark as to seem almost violet, and her lips seemed to be quirked in hidden amusement, laughing at a joke only she knew about.
Oh. My. God.
“Here,” he said, handing over the tray, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “It's leftovers from Thanksgiving last weekend. Fried turkey and sweet potatoes and some other things.”
“Fried turkey?” Her voice was as lovely as the rest of her, deep and sensual, hinting at forbidden pleasures.
He nodded, cursing his fair skin, which made any blush instantly obvious. “I made it myself this year. It's really good.”
She smiled at him, and he tried to keep from becoming a tongue-tied idiot. He had never met a more gorgeous woman in his life. “So is it just you here?”
She nodded. “Yes. I just moved to the area. My name's Heather. Heather-”
“Fawxx,” he interrupted.
Then he looked around the kitchen, hoping that a hole would suddenly appear that he could throw himself into. And then pull it in after him.
If it hadn't been for the shock of hearing her stage name blurted out by the sandy-haired teenager in front of her, Heather might have laughed. His expression was so comical, so filled with dismay, that it almost made up for it.
As it was, she could feel the blood drain out of her face, leaving her pale as a ghost. She closed her eyes. It was impossible! How could this kid know who she was?
One guess for that one, Heather Anne. The internet giveth and the internet taketh away. Thus are we repaid for our sins. Though you'd think a good-looking young man like him would be busy banging the local cheerleading squad, instead of wasting his time with fantasy women on-line.
Truth be told, Nate was a good-looking young man. A few inches taller than her, and skinny, but with broad shoulders that promised to fill out as he got older. His face was open and honest, though red with the realization that he had just made a catastrophic blunder. His eyes were an arresting shade of blue, deep-set and intelligent.
She raised her head. “I'm Heather,” she admitted. “Heather McCormick,” she emphasized, enunciating her name carefully.
“Heather McCormick. Right. Sure,” he stuttered. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn't. I'm not ashamed of what I used to do.” She hammered the last three words home. “But I'm not going to advertise it, either. I moved here to get away from all that.”
He nodded rapidly, as if afraid to disagree. She hid a smile as she unpacked the tray. Individually-wrapped portions of food were set out neatly. Turkey, sweet potatoes, dressing, brussel sprouts and more. There was even a large wedge of apple pie, and her mouth watered.
“Thank you for bringing this over,” she said. “You can tell your mom I'll have the tray back to her in a few days, if that's all right.”
“Sure. Take as long as you need.” He pulled on his hat and gloves, clearly eager to escape.
She looked at him and felt her heart thaw, just a little. He was clearly mortified. How would you have reacted, Heather, if you had visited a neighbor one night when you were a teenager and found George Clooney on the other side of the door? I bet you would have melted into a puddle right on the spot.
She walked him to the door. As he opened it, she put a hand on his arm, halting him. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, giving him a genuine smile. “And don't worry. This will stay between us.”
“Thanks,” he said, his face blushing, but this time, she thought, with gratitude. He opened the door, then pulled in firmly closed behind him.
“So what are they like?” his mother asked, as soon as he came back inside.
He pulled off his hat and gloves and unzipped his coat. “They is actually just a she, Mom.”
“One woman by herself? No family?”
“That's what I said,” he replied testily. “She's tall. Blond. Maybe about thirty years old.”
“I didn't see a ring. And like I said, she's by herself. So if she was married, she's divorced now.”
“Good looking?” she teased.
He thought about lying, but she would meet Heather soon enough, and then she would want to know why he hadn't told her the truth. “Very.”
“Is she from the area?”
He shook his head. “I don't think so. Though I could be wrong.”
In fact, he could have recited her biography from memory. Heather Fawxx. Born September 22, 1989, in Stuttgart, Germany, the daughter of an air force pilot. Shortly after her birth, she and her parents moved to New Hampshire, where she was raised.
Her first adult acting credit was in Voyeur Production's 'Horny Teen Nymphos 4.' Shortly afterward, she signed an exclusive contract with Jacob Weintraub and Sweet Seduction Media, an adult film house which focuses on high-end entertainment, including movies which are more than individual vignettes, but contain plot and character-building.
Heather is not married and has no children.
He blinked. “What, Mom?”
“I said I should go over there in the next few days and say hello. What did she seem like?”
“She was...nice. We didn't have much of a conversation.” And what they did have, Nate had no intention of repeating. He was sure that terrible moment, when he let slip the fact that he had immediately recognized her, would stay seared in his memory for the rest of his life.
“Cool,” his mother replied, and that was the end of that, for that evening at least. “How was hockey practice?”
“It was okay...coach has me working on the second line with Steve and Gus...”
They spoke of ordinary things, and the evening drifted by.
God, I'm horny, Barb thought later that night.
She stepped out of the shower and into her bedroom, shivering a little as the cooler air hit her skin. She wrapped the towel around her waist and examined her reflection in the mirror.
Hotter than Sofia Vergara walking through a five-alarm fire, Nate? You smooth talker. But my boobs were never that good, even when I was half the age I am now.
Truth be told, though, how many women's tits could compare to Sofia's? The woman's body was ridiculous, and Barb had spent many nights watching reruns of “Modern Family” on the DVR and secretly drooling over her charms.
But Barb could honestly say that she had nothing to be embarrassed about where her own body was concerned. Having seen the way many of her female relatives on the Mueller side had ballooned out when they hit their thirties, she made it a point to hit the gym three nights a week. Her legs were long and as trim as they had been when she was twenty-five. Her hair was dark and thick, falling past her shoulders, and the first strands of silver hadn't yet dared to put in an appearance. And if the not-so-subtle glances she caught from some of the fathers at Nate's hockey games were any indication, her face and body were just as attractive as they had always been.
She stretched her arms over her head, smiling proudly as her breasts lifted with the motion. She cupped one firm mound in her hand. A pair of perfectly respectable c-cups, and if they hadn't been getting the attention she wanted, well, that was no one's fault but hers.
But it's not a man I want. I want a woman. I want to know what it's like.
She snorted. As if her career could survive having a female lover! Even though Rapid City was cosmopolitan by the standards of South Dakota, it was still deeply conservative. It might not be legal to fire her for being bisexual, but there were dozens of other ways she could be eased out the door of North Star Realty. And what would happen to her and Nate then? Sure, they could move. But why risk it when her son was only months away from leaving for college?
I guess it's just me and the laptop tonight.
She pulled her personal computer out of the carrying case and set it on the bed. In a few minutes she had turned it on and had pulled up an adult movie she had downloaded several months ago. It was the work of moments to fast-forward to her favorite part.
“No!” the young woman cried, struggling against the hands that imprisoned her wrists. “Let me go! I don't wantto be a lesbian! Stop it!”
“Well, then you shouldn't have signed the consent form when you volunteered for the experiment. The wording was very clear. But then, no one pays attention to the fine print anymore.” The older woman, dressed in a parody of a scientist's lab coat, motioned her henchwomen forward. They came, pulling the blond woman with them. “And we did pay you five thousand dollars.
“It's going to be perfectly painless, Heather,” she went on. One elegant fingernail stroked her throat. The tip pricked into the skin under her chin, forcing her to raise her head. Dr. Summers lowered her voice, her lips all but touching Heather's “Trust me. After you've Changed, you'll never want to have sex with men again.”
“No! I'll...I'll give the money back! I don't need it that bad! I'll find another job!” Heather jerked and flailed, the motions causing the ripped halter top and the bikini panties, all the clothes that she was wearing, to reveal enticing glimpses of her flesh.
The doctor turned her back on the young woman. “Put her in the Machine,” she ordered.
With gleeful laughter, the two women dragged her towards an object that looked like a bastardized telephone booth from the 1970s. Thick electrical cables snaked away in every direction. Opening the clear plastic door, they threw Heather inside, then closed and locked the Machine before she could force the door open. Dr. Summers smiled, the expression dark and amused, as Heather beat vainly on the walls with her fists.
“Engage the protocol.”
A deep hum sounded throughout the room. Around the sides of the structure, colored lights began to flash on and off in random patterns. Inside the Machine, Heather looked around in fright.
The perspective changed. Suddenly the point of view shifted to Heather. A soft, hypnotic voice began to sound within the confines of the Machine.
“You are a lesbian. You want women. Only women. You don't want men. Men are ugly. Hairy. Coarse. Smelly. Women are beautiful. Wonderful. Soft, loving, caring, and nurturing.”
A series of images began to flash on the inner walls of the Machine.
Pictures of women's lips formed. Beautiful, pouting lips, opening seductively.
A kaleidoscopic array showed. Bare rear ends, pale white or tanned or dark as chocolate, but all perfectly formed, wanting only a loving, stroking touch.
Panning shots of beautiful calves and thighs.
An amazing array of breasts, from flat little fried-egg boobs to massive DDs. From small aereolae to huge, jutting nipples.
Image after image of women's labia, either teasingly closed or widespread and glistening with female nectar.
“You want them. You want this. You are a lesbian. You are a lesbian. You are a lesbian.”
The voice droned on, the pictures flipping rapidly, now coming almost too quick to see.
The perspective shifted again. With a hiss, the door of the Machine opened. Heather staggered out, barely keeping herself from falling as she stumbled forward. Then, slowly, she straightened. Gone was the terrified girl who had entered the Machine. In her place was a confident young woman. Her back was straight, her pose almost arrogant. A discerning observer would notice that the crotch of her panties was damp, the transparent material framing the outlines of her nether lips. Her halter top was all but torn away, her large breasts exposed. They were red, the nipples standing high and erect, as if Heather had been fondling herself while in the Machine.
“Heather?” The question was oddly hesitant, as if even Dr. Summers was a little shocked by the young woman's transformation. “Do you feel all right?”
The woman smiled. Her eyes were darkly predatory. “I'm hungry,” she said, her voice low and sensuous.
“Hungry?” she stuttered. “Why, we can certainly get you something to-”
“Hungry for pussy!” Heather growled. Leaping, she bore the older woman back on the examination table. The two assistants shrieked and ran out the door. With superhuman strength, Heather ripped open the lab coat, revealing two large breasts. Two more rips, and Dr. Summers was naked from head to toe, her narrow waist and full hips blatantly exposed.
Mewling with her need, Heather opened her mouth wide, suckling on a turgid nipple. As the doctor writhed under her, emitting feeble protests, she switched to the other breast. All the while, her hand slipped up her thigh until her fingers had plunged into her vagina. She thrust them in and out of the older woman, until her fingers were wet and dripping.
“Pussy,” she panted. “I have to have pussy. I'm a lesbian and I need pussy.”
She slid down her body until her face was near Dr. Summers' crotch. Her hands grabbed her under her knees, spreading her legs high and wide.
“Yesss.” The word emerged as a sibilant hiss. “This is what I need.”
“Heather, please don't,” Dr. Summers begged, but her motions belied her words. Her hips rocked upward, slowly rolling her sweet mound towards Heather's face. “You're out of control. Stop it.”
Heather paused and a semblance of sanity returned to her eyes. “Why, Dr. Summers,” she purred. “Are you frightened by what you've done?
“Maybe you didn't really believe in the experiment Maybe you thought it was all just a game.
“Maybe...you're not really a lesbian at all. Maybe for you it's all about control, and that's what makes your pussy all hot and wet and drippy.
“Don't worry, Sheela” she said, patting her thigh gently. “After I'm done with you, I'll put you in the Machine. Then you will truly realize how wonderful being a lesbian is.”
“No, Heather, pleaassssee...ohhhh God.” The protests were cut off as Heather lowered her face to Dr. Summer's cleft, her tongue licking and probing at her opening. In moments, the doctor had her hands fisted in her blond hair, and her hips were jerking involuntarily into her face.
“Ohhh, God.” Barb's voice merged with the sound from the laptop's speakers. She tried to keep the joyful sounds of her own climax quiet. She didn't think that Nate would ever mention it, if he heard her, but some things were better off unknown.
She closed her eyes as the last waves of her orgasm rippled through her body, suffusing her with pleasure. Thank God for the internet. After Ray left, she'd had no outlet for her sexual desires. Despite the gains made by same-sex couples, women were a practical impossibility for her. And she didn't want to get involved in another relationship with a man. Downloading and masturbating to lesbian erotica was one of the few methods she had of releasing her sexual tensions.
She turned off the computer, then the bedside lamp, and squirmed underneath the bedclothes, the clean sheets and warm, heavy comforter fighting off the December chill. She sighed and turned over, if not happy, at least content.
She was asleep in moments.
It was two days later. The brutal chill of Friday had moderated somewhat, though it was still achingly cold outside to someone who had lived in southern California for most of the previous decade. As Heather knocked on the Shroyer's door, she eyed the lowering clouds distrustfully. The air had a raw, damp feel to it.
Snow on the way, or I'm a brunette.
The inner door opened, and an amazingly attractive dark-haired woman stood framed in the doorway. Her hand worked at the inner latch, then pushed the outer door open. “Hello,” she smiled.
She returned the smile, with interest. No question where Nate got his looks from. “Hello. I'm Heather, from next door.” She nodded at her house. “I wanted to return this, and to say thanks. The food was wonderful.”