Heaven Hath No Wrath

by Isaac Byrne

  “I know, sweet meat. Say, I skipped breakfast – mind making me a quick bite?” He rolled away, flipping on the television at the opposite end of the room and beginning to flip through channels.

  With or without arsenic and a big dose of my spit, you asshole? “Sure, love. Anything special? Or I can just make what you like.” She popped up to her feet in a hurry. Stop! Stop obeying, you stupid cunt!

  Eric didn’t even respond; he just waved a hand dismissively and she tottered off, giggling affectionately. She shed the robe, winking at him over her shoulder, though he didn’t even look over. Nonetheless, she put every bit of seductive sway she could manage into her step – right up until the moment she rounded the corner.

  The partial control – able to adjust mannerisms and facial expressions while not really changing her speed, destination or purpose – was even stranger than was her body’s total betrayal. Instead of her alluring wiggle, she was doing fast, angry strides, the kind she wished she could take right up to Eric before using those same long legs to kick him in the head. Her hands no longer splayed out at her side, now clenching furiously. Nonetheless, she made her way to the kitchen and proceeded to grit her teeth as she busily made Eric a club sandwich, pickle on the side, just like he liked. She wanted to growl in frustration, but found she couldn’t; evidently, her body thought that Eric might hear and be displeased.

  So this is today’s game, is it? Hostage in my own body, being his eager little domestic plaything but left to my own thoughts. I guess he meant it when I asked last night. Well, at least I won’t spend all day with Nicki Minaj songs and slutty ensemble ideas running through my head. She carried the tray back upstairs, pausing to give each of her nipples a long hard tweak so they stood good and erect. “Here’s your lunch, darling,” she simpered as she strutted in and stood next to him. His eyes didn’t even glance at her, riveted by some action movie with lots of big sweaty men firing guns. Cindy stood by patiently, positioned to avoid distracting while posed to look sexy if he glanced over. It was the behavior of a trained harem girl in a romance novel. It was mortifying.

  And though she couldn’t yet appreciate the fact, it was only going to get worse.

  Eric watched his movie for another ten minutes or so as she stood by staring vacantly into space, an insipid smile on her face. When he did look, he seemed annoyed. “Ugh, a sandwich? That’ll get crumbs everywhere.” He crooked a finger at her. “Here, drape yourself across me – you can be my tablecloth.”

  WHAT?! You mother fucker…! But she did just that. She delicately leaned across his lap, arms along her sides (to provide extra table room), trying to keep her back as flat and still as possible, her butt thrust out. Inside, she was blushing beet red and hurling curse words at him. Outwardly… she was a tablecloth. A sexy naked girl tablecloth.

  Eric took his time with his meal, and when he was done he rested his hands on her back, clearly content with her where she was. So she held as still as possible. She shouted at her arms – punch him in the nuts! – concentrated as hard as she could on making it move, just one quick punch to wipe that smug, disinterested look off his face. But she didn’t even twitch. She didn’t even quiver.

  Soon, his hand roamed down towards her butt, and he gave it a prodding slaps, which her body interpreted as a request to wiggle into bed a little further, make it easier for him to reach. Her butt now lay in the center of his lap, and as he continued watching his movie, he began to idly caress her butt. Every so often she’d make a sound of contentment, or a girlish squeal if he did something sudden like one of the occasional smacks he delivered. I wonder if other guys wanted to spank me as much as he did, but just didn’t have the guts (or mind control powers) to try it.

  Cindy knew well the effect her ass had on men, and soon enough his hand was sliding down between her legs and teasing her cunt. Holy fuck that feels good. Of course he had to leave in the pleasure response from yesterday. Now that she’d sensed his attention was on her and not the TV, her body started hamming it up, arching her back and moaning dramatically. Well, maybe it wasn’t hamming it up so much as responding to the absurdly good way it felt to have him in her pussy, even just his fingers.

  Evidently it wasn’t enough to just look like she was desperate for him; she had to sound the part too. “Oh God yes, Eric, fucking finger my slutty pussy. Fuck, that’s it, that’s it, my cunt is never happy unless you’re inside it. Yeah, baby, oooooooh God YES!” And so on she went, every word chosen to make sure his ego was never wanting, his libido never waning. She didn’t know which emotion was winning out – anger at him for turning her into this, disgust with herself for having such good instincts on being a good fuck toy, or delight to be feeling so goddamn amazing. Her voice was being a little slut, but it wasn’t being dishonest.

  It wasn’t long before Cindy’s praises for his fingers turned into shameless begging for his cock. Well, not that it was Cindy, just her voice. No matter how bad I want it, the real me still wouldn’t beg. No matter how fucking good it would feel… Still, it was a very loud, persuasive, desperate, plaintive, weak, girly little voice. Every so often she’d look back at Eric – when the sensations weren’t so intense that she was squeezing her eyes shut – and find him looking at her smugly. Cindy knew the look was directed inwardly at the real her, but there was nothing she could do to respond. All she could do was ride it out.

  Speaking of, Eric soon gave her a rough shove on one butt cheek to spin her facing away from him, and a moment later, she was sliding herself down his shaft and bracing herself for some reverse cowgirl. “Oh how did I get so lucky, Eric?” she cooed.

  “Beats me – sharp tongue like yours, you’d think I’d find some way to pay you back,” he taunted, grabbing her hips and starting her in motion.

  Fuck you, you rotten bastard, she thought, though then thought that “fuck you” might not be the kind of thing she ought to say to him under the circumstances. Yesterday the pleasure had been so intense she could barely make herself function, but today she was moving normally. In fact, she wasn’t just normal, she was doing what she could to fuck like a porn star. Throaty moans of delight when he made even the most token effort, back arched, tits and ass thrust out in opposite directions, so overwhelmed with need that her hands were in a non-stop state of playing with her own breasts or diddling her clit.

  Eric made it a point to only give her the most token attention, the portrait of a playboy who didn’t need to reciprocate to the slut he was nailing. He smacked her ass hard enough that she thought it might leave a welt, and she gasped delightedly. A pinch of her nipples resulted in her giddily exclaiming how “no one had ever made my titties feel so incredible before!” His phone buzzed at one point, and the son of a bitch actually glanced to see who was texting him. Cindy slowed herself so as not to disrupt, and he was good enough not to answer it just then. How fucking magnanimous of you.

  She had to admit, she put on a hell of a show, and it wasn’t all faked. Every time she cried out and came, it was a legitimate mind-blowing toe-curling pussy-rocking orgasm. It didn’t make her grateful, but it made her less inclined to psychically murder him. Then he came in her, and she only had a fraction of a second to inwardly roll her eyes at his juvenile need to make himself feel like a stud as his cum spraying her pussy triggered a 7.0 pleasurequake in her cunt. Cindy finally rolled off of him, fingering her clit to several diminishing orgasms, then hungrily throwing her face at his cock to suck him clean, smiling brightly with her eyes as she glared daggers with her heart.

  After a few minutes of dutiful sucking, he tapped a few times on her forehead and jerked a thumb to the side. “All right, you had your fun. Now let me watch my movie in peace, OK babe?”

  I had my fun?! How DARE he…?! And she giggled and tried to lay still and not make any more noise as his show resumed.

  The final hour of his movie allowed Cindy some time to reflect. She suspected it had always been his intention to do something like this even before her little outburst earlier
, to leave her with her normal mind and personality intact while altering her behavior to a more fuckable version. She wondered if she’d not snapped at him if he’d really have taken her suggestion. Too late now.

  Still, there was some comfort in at least getting to have her own thoughts. The past couple days had been more jarring in hindsight because she’d just ceased to exist for most of the day. Still, to have control of her thoughts and not to be able to do even the slightest thing to express them… it was likewise maddening, in a way. Like one of those dreams where you’re trapped in an awful situation that, logically, you could and ought to walk away from, but your dream self simply sees it through to its horrible conclusion. Marching on in to school in your underwear.

  Except now, if she chose this, she wouldn’t actually wake up.

  Cindy wanted to die of shame as she made her way through the mall parking lot.

  Eric had given her a few post-it notes on errands he wanted her to run and sent her on her way. Before she left, she’d gotten dressed and primped a little – nothing fancy, just a white blouse unbuttoned and tied below her breasts, so sheer her nipples were visible from fifty yards away; a tartan skirt that had probably been intended for a girl in grade school, short enough it barely concealed her ass cheeks and made so it easily flared up to abdicate even that scant coverage every time she turned; stockings that went halfway up her thighs so no one would be able to resist looking at the exposed creamy white skin in between them and her skirt; a pair of Mary Janes; pigtails.

  And of course, neither bra nor panties.

  Once more, she was setting out into the world, dressed like an air-headed slut with nothing to recommend her beyond her looks and a willingness to be looked at. Only this time, Eric wasn’t there at her side to pacify anyone who complained. Here, she was well aware that she could run into someone who knew her and shatter their opinion of her forever. This time, a few complaints by conservative lookers-on could get her humiliatingly escorted out of the mall. Hell, she could be raped.

  Cindy smiled fetchingly and retrieved the first post-it. Eric had asked her to do them in order, and hadn’t let her read them in advance, so she had no idea where all this would take her. The first one read, “pick up some underwear” and pointed her to the sketchier of the mall’s two lingerie boutiques. She lifted her tits into shopping position and set on in, a teensy bit relieved that she’d at least have some panties and a bra on before this was over.

  Happily, this first errand was relatively straight-forward. Other than an arched eyebrow from the sales girl, whose nametag identified her as Rhonda, it began smoothly enough. She identified her preference unambiguously, lowering her voice to a sort of girl-girl tone. “I was looking for something really sexy – maybe even a little slutty. The sort of thing you slip on just to have it taken off. Got anything like that?”

  Rhonda blushed a little at her straight-forwardness, and brought her a few things to try on. A see-through red set with crotchless panties; a mesh teddy with the netting so sparse it may as well not be there; a blue satin nightie that was a bit more chaste but only by comparison, sporting a cut from neck to pelvis showing as much cleavage as she could muster. She eyed herself a long time in each, and ultimately opted to buy all three.

  She bent over to pick up the bags, winking back at Rhonda as the woman couldn’t help noticing that she’d just bought several pairs of panties, then opted to walk out without any on. Parcel in hand, she stepped out of the store and checked her next to-do post-it. “Get a second opinion.”

  Inwardly, she winced. Outwardly, she smiled cheerily and began looking around for a capable male to inspect her selections. She murmured to herself, as if to make sure the inner Cindy could perceive her thought process. “Hmm, be nice to multiple opinions instead of just the one…”

  Cindy tried to close her eyes and turn off her ears as she walked toward a group of three young men sitting on a couch in a thoroughfare. One a white guy with dreadlocks, another wearing a jamaican beanie, and the third was just openly proclaiming his stoner status with a pot leaf on his t-shirt. To confirm, she could smell it on them up close. Seeing the scantily clad sexpot approaching, their conversation broke off and they looked up at her with commingled interest and surprise.

  “Hey boys!” she chirped, preening. “Look, I don’t want to bother you guys, but I wondered if you might do me a little favor.” Her tone was nervously needy, as if it would be tough to talk any red-blooded male into what she was about to ask for.

  “Whatcha need, baby?” asked Dreadlocks solicitously.

  “Well… oh my gosh this is embarrassing.” It sure the hell is. “I came here to get some presents for my boyfriend, you see, and I wondered if you might tell me if you think he’d like them.”

  At once, all three boys slumped, losing interest. A hot bitch like Cindy was interesting right up until the point where she began to sound inaccessible. “Sorry, doll, we’re in the middle of something,” said Beanie.

  “Oh, it won’t take long,” she promised fervently. “You see, I just bought a few items of lingerie, and I’d like to get a man’s opinion before I take them back home.”

  Their initially intrigued expressions returned in an instant. “Oh, well, I’m sure we can give ya a few minutes then, babe,” Dreadlocks said.

  Pot-shirt hesitated. “Hey, what about Angela?”

  Dreadlocks glared at him. “She’s your fuckin’ girlfriend dude – you wanna wait here for her, be my guest.” Both he and Beanie were on their feet, following Cindy as she skipped down a side hallway to the restrooms. After a long hesitation, Pot-shirt hopped up and hustled behind them. At least I’m not stripping and doing this in the middle of the mall. I guess.

  She went unhesitatingly into the men’s restroom, blessedly unoccupied at the moment, the boys trailing behind her. “Are you guys sure this is OK?” They tripped over themselves to assure her that it was no big imposition. With that assurance in mind, Cindy giggled girlishly and tugged her tartan skirt so the clasps were in front and without ceremony, unfastened them and dropped it to the floor. In five seconds, she’d gone from half-dressed to half-naked, and what a difference it made.

  The top was trickier. She’d noticed earlier that she’d seemed to knot it far too tight; with mounting horror, she began to realize why she’d been made to do it. She tugged, she fiddled, tried to squeeze a finger into the knot, but just wasn’t getting anywhere (not that the boys minded, or even seemed to be aware she existed above the waist). She thrust her lower lip out in a pout that was too fake by a stretch even for this parody of a woman, and stamped her foot in frustration. She worried for a moment that the ensuing jiggle to her ass would make Beanie cum in his pants on the spot, the way he gaped. “Darnit, I just cannot get this stupid thing untied!”

  And of course, Beanie and Dreadlocks were only too eager to volunteer, but instead, Cindy beckoned Pot-shirt over. “His fingers are littler – he’ll untie it easier.” He dragged his feet a little, and Dreadlocks actually shoved him to hurry him up. With trembling fingers, he tried to work at the knot, having difficulty given his reluctance to touch her.

  She took a small step closer, more or less forcing her breasts into his hands. “Holy SHIT you have an amazing body!” Unbidden, the words came out of his lips in a loud exclamation, as if he had no more control of his voice than she had of hers. He looked embarrassed to have said it, but nonetheless looked sincere.

  She was readying it to thank him when someone else spoke up, a new voice from the doorway. “What the FUCK are you doing with that slut?!”

  In the doorway to the bathroom stood a young woman who could only be his girlfriend Angela, a voluminous mane of somewhat unkempt brown hair cascading down over a punk rock band shirt and skin-tight dark blue jeans. She was all curves – if she’d dressed to flatter her figure better, she’d be a knock-out. Cindy guiltily wondered if Pot-shirt was trading down by being with her.

  As he tried and failed to stammer out an explanation (and his ha
nds belatedly darted away from her jugs), Cindy interjected. “Oh, it’s OK – I just asked the boys to give me some advice on some lingerie I bought, but I can’t get this darned top untied!” My God I sound like a fucking airhead.

  “Yeah, happens to me all the time,” Angela said sarcastically, then looked her over harder. Cindy just kept smiling; Dreadlocks and Beanie just kept staring at Cindy’s ass. In Angela’s expression, though, there was something… well, something other than anger and disgust, which was all Cindy would be showing if their roles were reversed.

  Evidently, Cindy’s body understood what it meant better than she did herself, and she swayed over to Angela. “Say, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help out, would you?”

  And there it was, manifesting more clearly – that predatory gleam in her eyes. Angela smiled wolfishly, then shoved her boyfriend aside and grasped the knot. Less nervous and with longer nails, she had the knot undone in moments. Meanwhile, her boyfriend locked the restroom door. “Well?” Angela prompted. “Don’t you have something to show us?”

  “She’s showing us plenty already,” Dreadlocks laughed, as Cindy knelt down to retrieve her new purchases. She went first with the nightie, probably because it was easiest to slip on and off. She took some small solace in being once more covered somewhat, then wanted to kick herself for being relieved at being in a mall restroom modeling lingerie for some goddamn stoners. Pot-shirt moved behind his girlfriend, pelvis pressed against her ass, and she grinded herself softly against him as he grabbed her wide hips.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked as she finished dressing, spinning slowly.

  “Not bad at all, babe,” Dreadlocks commented. “Your guy’s a lucky man.”