by Loki Renard
The thoughts that cloud my brain are hot and brutal. I don’t see the woman on the cover. It’s her face that swims before my eyes. Briarlee. I used to feel guilty masturbating and thinking about her, but now all I feel is a deep primal desire to own her.
I come all over the magazine, shoot thick loads over the smiling woman until her face and tits are obscured. It’s a quick, dirty act, but it clears my mind enough for me to realize that the way I’m feeling is probably due to the treatment.
Which works.
It fucking works! I can’t wait to find that asshole who turned my trial down yesterday, prove that I know what I’m doing. Can’t do it today though. They’ll call me irresponsible. They’ll cut what remains of my funding. Report me. Etc. I’m going to have to keep pretending to be injured until I have enough data to prove that this works long term.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up and see it’s another text from Briarlee. She wants to have lunch again. Well, okay. I’ll have to keep playing the cripple, but I can’t wait to see her.
* * *
Same place. Same time as usual.
She’s actually there before me. I have to make a show of limping along. I’ve already almost forgotten how. The moment I see her, lust rises in me. I used to be able to push it away and contain it. Now it’s so much more urgent, so much more demanding. I sit down before my erection tents my pants to an unforgivable degree.
Briarlee looks good. Her hair is loose and she’s wearing a summer dress that floats about her hips.
“There’s something different about you today,” she says as I sit down.
I could say the same about her. There’s something very different about her. An aura of satisfaction. Her eyes have a look about them like a cat that has just woken up from a nice nap in a sunbeam.
“Nothing different.”
I don’t like lying to her. I’d love to show her what’s happened to me. I’m on the verge of doing so when she opens her mouth again.
“I got laid last night.”
My heart sinks like a stone. What? She went out and fucked someone? She’d usually be more discreet about the way she described it, and I’d usually push down my feelings before I could feel the anger that rises at the idea of any man besides me having his way with her.
I’m not broken anymore.
“Hm?” That’s all the noise I can make, a stifled grunt.
“I met a guy last night.” She lowers her voice and gives me a conspiratorial look. “I slept with him, Daniel. In the club.”
I try to keep my features composed, even though I’m utterly burning with jealousy. She fucked some guy in the club? That’s not her usual style. It’s usually weeks of angst and anticipation over a new guy before she goes to bed with him and inevitably finds it disappointing.
It doesn’t occur to her that telling me this might hurt my feelings, and that’s on me. I swallow them down. I agreed to be her friend, and this is what friends do. They listen. As their friend tells them how they banged some total stranger… fuck.
“You’re judging me,” she says, shrinking down in her chair.
“I’m not judging you. I’m just worried about you.”
I am judging her. I am judging her a nubile, fertile, perfectly feminine creature in my domain. One I want to conquer and claim for my own. The thought of another man even looking at her, let alone touching her makes me feel a dangerous rage. I work to keep it contained. This is how the rats felt, probably, but I am not a rat, and I don’t have to give into the anger.
I clear my throat. “Briarlee.”
“Yeah?” She’s in a daydream about that guy.
“Do you want to get dinner sometime?”
“Oh, sure,” she says casually. She doesn’t understand what I’m asking. Not a meal like these safe daytime lunches. I mean dinner. A date dinner.
“I mean, do you want to go out with me?”
The look on her face is a horror show.
* * *
Briarlee
Oh, god. I wish he hadn’t asked me that. I mean, he knows I’m not interested in him that way. And I just told him I was with another guy last night. So the timing isn’t good. I really don’t want to hurt his feelings. But I also don’t want to lead him on. Some of my friends say I shouldn’t even go to lunch with him anymore. They accuse me of leading him on. But he is my oldest friend in the world, even if he has an unrequited crush.
“Daniel, you know I…”
“Don’t worry,” he says, his jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m glad you had a… nice time last night. I have to get into the lab. There’s a lot of work going on today. Have a good one.”
He stands up.
“Daniel…”
“I’ll see you around.” He gives me a stiff smile that doesn’t reach his nose, let alone his eyes.
“Dan…”
He’s already gone. I didn’t realize he could move that fast. He doesn’t even really seem to need the cane today. The limp isn’t as bad as it used to be. Maybe he’s getting better? How did I not notice that before? Maybe because whenever we’re in the same room, I’m thinking about myself, not him.
I hope he finds someone who loves him the way I know he loves me.
More guilt creeps in. I’ve known he loves me for fifteen years. And we’ve never kissed, let alone slept together. He was a gentleman even as a teenager. And now… I push the guilt away. I don’t owe him sex just because he’s a friend. I even get a little angry. He made it weird. He knew it would be weird. And now I feel weird for telling him what I did last night.
Dammit.
I wish I had the guy I slept with’s number. I wish I knew his name. But all I have is his cum still soaking my panties because I didn’t change them, just like he told me not to.
* * *
Daniel
I am shaking with anger that I know I am not entitled to. She’s a grown woman and she’s allowed to have a one-night stand if she wants to. She’s also allowed to turn me down for a date. It was stupid to ask. After all this time, if she wanted me, I’d know.
It’s time for another dose. It’s best to concentrate on work. Test the effects of the drug. The first dose was very promising. Even Briarlee noticed the difference before she shot me down… dammit. I try to get her out of my head, but it’s harder than ever. Her rejection feels more unfair than ever, though I know it isn’t.
I got home, take another shot of the formula, and lie down. Drowsiness immediately after the first dose was a symptom in some of the rats, and it seems to be a symptom for me too. I’ll have to remember to make a note about that. Maybe try adding a stimulant to the mix to ward off the soporific effects. For now, I’m happy to sleep and forget about Briarlee and the lucky guy who got to have her.
Chapter Five
Briarlee
He said he’d find me.
And he did.
I’m not sitting at home waiting for his call, because he never took my number. I’m sitting at home waiting for… what, for him to come to the door? That seems so stupid.
Until a heavy knock makes it not stupid.
I know it’s him even before I open the door. I can sense him. Almost smell him, though it’s not really a scent thing. It’s an animal knowing that her mate is near.
I open the door. It is him. He fills the entire doorway. He’s taller than it is. He’ll have to stoop when he comes through. And he’ll have to twist sideways slightly to allow his shoulders to pass through. This is a beast of a man. He makes me small.
“Hello,” I smile, instantly nervous. He looks at me with those smoldering eyes and I’m really not sure of myself anymore. He changes the rules of living. He makes me want things no sensible woman wants.
He wraps his arms around me and hauls me close, pushes his handsome face into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply.
“Mine,” he growls under his breath. “Only mine.”
He starts stripping me without a word. The clothes are in his way and they h
ave to be gone. I offer no resistance. Everything he wants to take from me, I want to give. He handles me like a doll, lifting me easily up in the air so my head is near the ceiling, my legs wrapping around his neck as he buries his mouth in my cunt, tasting my desire and his seed from the night before.
I cry out, held securely in those great big hands that palm my ass and hips. He laps along my slit, pushes his tongue inside me, makes me take every bit of it before pulling it out. I am being tongue fucked up against the ceiling of my little apartment and it is perfect.
Before I can come, he starts lowering me down. He draws his nose up from my pussy over my stomach, his lips tasting me every inch of the way.
“Mine,” he repeats.
My mind is whirling. My body is crying out for him. This is possession as I have never known it. This is a desire that has us both captive. He needs me and I need him.
Again he puts me into the position he wants me in. Face down, over the back of the couch. I feel more like a toy than a woman as he parts my thighs and pushes his cock between them, up deep inside me. He starts to fuck me with hard, powerful strokes that jolt me against the couch over and over again. My hands are in his hair, pulling at him as he slams inside me. I want this. Oh, god, I fucking want this.
He fucks me like he’s been starving for me. He consumes my body, devours it in rough strokes, gripping my hips with his powerful hands, holding me in place for the taking.
This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is like the ravaging I was given last night, but even more intense for being the second round. My body wore his marks and ached in the aftermath of his lust. Now it is being stretched again, pounded again.
He comes, fills me up while I writhe and moan. Again it is quick. His hunger for me doesn’t allow soft, languid lovemaking. It requires swift, rough satiation. My orgasm matches his. My pussy produces its own liquid desire that mingles with his cum as he pulls free and lets our juices run down my inner thighs.
“You’re a mess,” he rumbles. “We should take a shower.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom. This is a single bedroom place, so it’s not hard to find. I follow him in a well fucked trance, doing as he says, just because it feels somehow right.
I have gone through so much of my life feeling wrong. I have let myself believe that I’m not worthy of goodness. I have let men treat me badly, and maybe this one is treating me badly too… but if this is bad, why does it make me feel so happy?
He drives the thoughts from my head with another searing kiss, delivered now under the hot pelting drum of water on high pressure.
I don’t know who he is.
I don’t know if he’s married.
It didn’t even occur to me until this moment to wonder that. He doesn’t seem like the marrying kind. He barely seems like the marrying species. There’s something about him closer to animal than man.
The water flows over his body and mine. Our hands move over one another with more gentleness now. Every time I try to speak, he cuts me off with a kiss, and finally, when I keep trying to make words happen, he gently, but firmly pushes me down to my knees.
I find myself crouched at the base of the shower, my mouth stretched by his thick cock as he pulls my head gently back and forth along the rampant shaft.
He massages shampoo through my hair as I suck him. There is no end to his desire. Usually a man loses interest after he comes. But this one seems to only be slightly calmed by orgasm.
Warm water flows over my back as he leans against the shower wall and urges me back and forth over the shaft of his dick. This is the hottest scalp massage I’ve ever been given. Those same hands that held me down to take the rough thrusts of his cock now rub me with a tenderness that touches me in my core.
He makes soft growling sounds of pleasure, then pulls the showerhead from the holder and runs the water over my hair, cupping his hand at the front of my scalp so the soap doesn’t run into my eyes. My mouth stays on his cock as he tends to me, rinsing every bit of shampoo away from my hair before replacing it with conditioner.
I want to talk to him. I want to know who he is. Why he chose me.
But he doesn’t speak, and he makes sure to keep my mouth busy so I cannot.
There is more than plain lust in his gaze. There is a kindness. A caring. I couldn’t see it before because it was masked with the pure intensity of his desire, but now that has abated I can see more of him.
And he starts to feel more familiar. I almost think I recognize him, but it’s not possible. The man he reminds me of does not look like him. Does not act like him. Isn’t him.
I try to mumble around his cock. He shakes his head and rubs my scalp a little harder, scratching in a way that sends pleasant little chills down my back. It feels so good to be here with him, to let him take me, to have him use me.
“Who are you?”
My jaw aches as I speak, but I have to. I have to know who he is. I want him to stay with me.
“You know who I am,” he rumbles.
“We only met last night. How could I know you?”
“You knew me the moment we met. Just like I knew you,” he growls softly.
These answers are evasions.
“I mean, who are you? Where did you grow up? What do your parents do?”
He gives me a hard look, as if I’ve offended him. “I have to leave.”
“No!” I reach out to grab him, but I can’t stop him from leaving any more than I can stop him coming. “Please, don’t go!”
“I have to go,” he says. “I will come back and see you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
I frown. I don’t understand him. “So you’re just going to come here and fuck me? And leave? And that’s it?”
“Didn’t you like it?”
I did like it. I fucking loved every single moment of it. And I’m going to miss him when he’s gone. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be left with just the happy little aches and throbs to remind me of our time together.
“Do you want me to not come back?”
He asks another question that makes me reveal the depths of my own depravity. Yes, I want him to come back. Even if he only comes back to pin me down and fuck me, I want him back.
He takes my chin in his big hand. “Tell me.”
“I want you…” I stammer into his face. “I want you to come back.”
“Then I will,” he says. “Wait for me.”
He presses one of those burning kisses to my lips, turns and leaves.
I am satisfied. I am sleepy. I curl up on the same couch he fucked me on and I let myself slip into a light doze. This is the craziest thing I have ever done, and I feel better about it than I do about almost anything I’ve ever done.
* * *
Daniel
I wake up to darkness and chaos. The alarm clock by my bed says it’s two a.m. The moment I turn the light on, I see that my apartment has been utterly ripped apart. My coffee table has been smashed into shards. Cups and plates have been hurled against walls. My books are strewn about all over the place, pages ripped out as if they somehow offended someone.
“What the hell!” My exclamation of surprise feels utterly underwhelming. I keep my place tidy. Right now it’s a disaster zone. And something warm is dripping on my foot. Something red and…
I look down at my hand. I must have cut it when I got up from my bed, which is also dusted with broken glass and ceramic. There’s a fairly nasty gash running right across the center of my palm. It’s going to need suturing. I put shoes on so I don’t cut myself on the broken glass on the floor and shuffle around to try to work out what is happening. Is someone still here? It feels empty.
The front door is still shut. When I test it, it’s also locked. Weird. I must have been out completely cold with that drug. That’s definitely going to be a problem later on, if users pass out so completely that all hell can break loose around them without them being able to resp
ond to the danger.
This day has been the best and shittiest day of my life. I’m no longer crippled, but the love of my life still doesn’t want me, and someone has it in for me. I can’t imagine who. I’m not the sort of man who makes enemies. I’m inoffensive. I’m quiet. I’m kind. This… this isn’t fair and it doesn’t make sense.
I notice that I’m clenching my hand, squeezing the blood between my knuckles. I have a lot of cleaning up to do.
I do my best to clear a path through the destruction, get cleaned up myself, and go and report the problem to the superintendent. He’s a good guy. He wants to call the cops when he sees the state I’m in, but something tells me I shouldn’t do that. Not yet.
“The cameras must have the guy,” I say. “Can we check them?”
He agrees to pull up the footage. What we see is not what I want to see. It’s so weird that I’m not sure I understand what I’m looking at.
Someone left my apartment hours ago. I don’t recognize him, but I do notice that his clothing looks familiar. He’s wearing my favorite shirt. I tend to dress on the loose side, but it’s tight on him. He also has my shoes and my… oh, shit.
“Okay,” I sigh. “That’s my jerk cousin. Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem, man,” the super says. “Take it easy.”
I go back to my apartment and start cleaning up. I wasn’t asleep. It occurs to me that I might not actually have slept at all since I took the first dose of Regenermax.
The hairs on the back of my neck start to rise as a potential possibility lays itself out in my mind. What if it isn’t that the drug knocks the user out completely? What if the drug acts as a powerful dissociative? It’s almost impossible to tell effects like that with rats. They can’t tell you when they’ve forgotten who they are. A rat is a rat whether he knows it or not. And so is a man, but…