Jennifer began to shift onto her back while gently but firmly tugging at what she wanted, urging him to roll over and onto her. He groaned lustily at what he knew she meant to do now. “Oh yeah, Jen. Put me in you. Stick it inside you. Oh yeah…”
She took him on top of her and between her thighs, and aimed that mighty pole into her slick, wet entrance. It slipped between her folds and into her depths, and in unison they moaned at the rejoining of their sex parts. “Oh yeah, Jen,” he went on. “I’m your boy. Feel that. That belongs to you. That’s yours.” He slowly, deliberately began to stroke in and out of her. “Every time I get it in you, I never want to take it out. Feel that, yeah.” He stroked on and on, savoring her wetness and her tightening. “Mmm, yeah…that’s your boy in you. That’s your boy doing you. Yeah, Jen, yeah…”
Reveling in what he was doing inside her, Jennifer let him bury his head on her shoulder while she let her hands roam down his back and tenderly ran her fingernails up and down the rising and falling hills of his buttocks. He suddenly lifted his head and almost shouted, “Oh yeah! Oh hell yeah! Mmm, Jen, yeah, love that ass. Love your boy’s ass… Uhhh…”
And Wesley kept on humping, thrusting his ample tool in and out of her, filling her wetness with his flesh and his seed…and his love.
_______________
Wesley abandoned any thought of not being with Jennifer. As inevitable as the truth may have been, even the truth did not have a power over him to equal the feeling of sharing bodies with his beautiful artist. He had two days off from the gym every week. After his personal workout or his morning run, he spent the rest of that time naked with Jennifer, taking her in her bed and in every other part of the penthouse.
They christened the entire place with sex, and Jennifer continued to marvel at the amount of sex he could give her and how he seemed to penetrate not only her body but her soul every time he entered her. One afternoon on her sofa, they lay entwined together, exchanging long, wet kisses after he’d given her a hard, hot screwing, and they paused a bit to talk.
“Jen,” he began, fondling her breast and teasing her nipple with his fingertips, “you’ve been happy with me, right? I mean, really happy?”
She half-frowned, mystified at the question. “Wesley…sweetheart, of course I have. I’ve been totally happy being with you. The only time I’m ever depressed any more is when you have to leave. Why would you even ask that?”
“Well, because,” he answered, “I mean…what do we do? I come over, we get naked, we hit the sheets, and I’m in and out of you all the time. I guess I’m just asking…is that enough for you? Is there anything more I should be doing?”
Jennifer would have laughed at the question if she didn’t sense that it would hurt his feelings. She couldn’t believe he would actually ask such a thing. Touching his face, she said, “Oh, Wesley… Honey, I have no complaints about us or about you whatsoever. You do plenty for me—more than I ever imagined someone like you ever would do. How could I not be happy? I have a young man so beautiful and perfect, I can hardly even believe you’re real. Perfect face. Perfect body. Perfect…” she glanced down to the thickness that rested against his thigh, which would surely be erect and ready for her again soon, “…perfect down there. And a sexual appetite like I can’t even describe. When we’re not together, I feel like my whole body is still humming with the memory of you. How could I not be happy?”
In what felt like a deep, dark cave in the back of Wesley’s mind, one phrase from Jennifer now echoed: I can hardly even believe you’re real. The words struck at his soul, reminding him of everything he still had not told her, of everything he was still keeping from her. The echo of the words was like a ringing peal of guilt, his conscience chiming at him that there was one thing he was not sharing with her that could make all the difference in the world between them.
When would he tell her? When would he confess it to her and try to explain himself? When would he beg for her understanding, plead with her from the bottom of his heart to accept him, to believe in him, even in the face of something so utterly unbelievable?
He forced himself to dismiss the thought and to stay in the here and now.
“But we’ve never even been on a date,” he said. “Jen, if you ever wanna go out sometime, go someplace together—dinner, a movie, a museum, anything—we can do that. Really. I just want you to be happy with me in every way.”
She kissed him softly on the lips. “Wesley, I see us being together for a long time. I hope you see things that way, too. And we’ll have time to go out to all kinds of places and do all kinds of things. And make all kinds of wonderful memories.” She brushed his hair with her fingers.
“But you’re a young man, perfect—absolutely perfect—from head to toes, and you have the strongest appetite for sex of anyone that I’ve ever heard of. I’ve never been as excited by anyone as I am by you, Wesley. I’m happy, happier than I ever thought I could be, with our relationship exactly the way it is. I want you, my sweet boy. In my bed, wherever you want to do it, as much as you want. I’m just so happy to be the one you want.”
Wesley felt almost ready to cry, hearing her say these things to him. In all his young life, no one, not even Adela, had ever spoken to him this way. More and more, he felt Jennifer wrap herself around his heart, and he never wanted her to let go. “I just wanna make you happy, Jen. I’ll do anything for you, anything to make you happy.”
She kissed him again. “My sweet boy. Just make love to me the way you have and say you’ll never stop. That will make me very happy.”
He pulled her close, so much in love that he felt as if he had the whole world in his arms. Jennifer truly was his world. “I’ll never stop,” he said. “I wanna be yours. I wanna belong to you, Jen.”
Leaning back on the sofa, inviting him, she said, “Show me.”
He climbed atop her again, brought his lips to hers and his shaft to her opening. He moved his length smoothly inside her and granted her fondest wish—and his own.
_______________
For the weeks that followed, that became Wesley’s life: working at the gym, keeping himself in shape, and having sex with Jennifer in her bed and in every other part of her penthouse. Sex with her became the focal point, the center of his existence. He now measured time as the period between one climax with Jennifer and the next. He took her in all of the rooms in the penthouse and in all of the ways he had talked about taking her. And it always led back to her bed for still more.
True to her word, Jennifer did not complain. She accepted and welcomed Wesley’s limitless desire for sex with her. She lay with him and let him have her as much as he wanted because Jennifer truly found in herself a limitless craving for him. She straddled and rode him and let him fire his mighty weapon up into her from below.
She lay with her back to his chest like spoons and let him drill her from behind. They rolled from side to side, up and down on the bed. He put her in his lap, impaled her on his prong, and had her ride him that way. He straddled her bosom and fed her his meat and berries; he straddled her stomach and slid his staff between her breasts. And he spread her legs and buried his face between them, penetrating her with his tongue, and eating and feasting on her as if her sex were an unending banquet.
They slept—at those times when they finally did drop off after hours of ecstasy—on sheets dampened with his copious seed and smelling of all the coupling that had gone on between them. And Jennifer’s body continued to hum a tune of bliss from her union with Wesley.
Even in her sleep, Jennifer was inundated by the sensations of Wesley’s body and elated to be so. Her dreams were filled with him when she shut her eyes as much as her body was filled with him when she was awake.
She dreamed of the sweet man-boy handsomeness of his perfect face, the shape and cut of his muscles and the way they strained and flexed and pressed against her, the scratch of his unshaven jawline against her face when he kissed and nuzzled her, the combined strength and tenderness of his hands
when he caressed her, the tickle of his chest hair against her breasts and nipples when he lay upon her, and the sweetly furious thrusting of his piston inside her wetness. He was her world now, as she was his.
And it was in the middle of one of these dreams, so fueled and charged by Wesley’s unending sex, that Jennifer stirred awake one morning. She was so enwrapped in, and entranced by, the lingering memory of the dream that she did not want to open her eyes. She wanted just to lie there for a while, wrapped up in him in her mind as she knew she would soon be in reality: for he lay beside her, just inches away, sleeping as happily as she. Jennifer had her back to him and could feel only the indent that he’d made in the mattress beside her—which, in the back of her mind, she could not help but feel was a bit different, perhaps a bit heavier than usual, this morning.
That was when she heard the sound coming from behind her.
It was a low, deep, rasping, grinding sort of noise. She took it to be a snore, which in itself was very peculiar, as she had lain beside his resting nakedness and watched him, admiring, while he slept many times. The thought of it made her smile. There he would be, her beautiful boy, temporarily sated from hours of sexing her, napping away at her side.
She knew that all it would take would be a single touch, perhaps a light kiss, to stir him, and he would wake aroused and ready for her again. Eyes still shut, Jennifer thought that if Wesley were now going to develop a snoring problem, between that and his constant sex, she would never get a wink of sleep again.
The long, rumbling sound drifted across the bed again. Jennifer frowned. I hope he’s not coming down with something… She turned over onto her back and reached to his side of the bed to touch him…
…and felt something she did not recognize. Her fingers came to rest on what felt like hair. Long, thick hair. It occurred to her that what she had reached for was not his head, but his shoulder. And that his shoulder itself did not feel right.
At last she opened her eyes and focused on something that was no more familiar to her sight than it was to her touch. Confused and incredulous, she looked up and down the shape lying next to her in the bed. She pulled back her hand, gasping. This was not Wesley.
It was not even human. It was the size of a man but neither the shape nor the dimension of one. It was massive, and it was covered with thick, black fur.
A spike of shock and terror thundered into Jennifer’s body like a bolt hurled by the gods. Her eyes widened so that they might have come flying out of their sockets even as the rest of her came flying from the bed, and she had just enough presence of mind to grab the bedspread when she leapt from the mattress onto the floor and scrambled, gasping and panting, across the room.
She came to rest with a thump against her chest of drawers, pulling up the bedspread around her naked and vulnerable body, and gazed in a mortal panic at what lay on Wesley’s side of the bed.
The shape gave out its rasping, rumbling noise again, and this time Jennifer recognized the sound as a sleeping growl. The growl came from a mighty, black-furred beast with a brown snout, four huge legs, and enormous clawed feet that could easily spill a hapless woman’s insides with a single swipe.
Upon fully realizing what it was that lay in her bed, Jennifer found her voice—which came forth as an air-splitting scream.
The sound of the scream woke the black bear that rested on her pillow. The creature lifted its head, growling, snorting, and snuffling with an almost human kind of bewilderment. It fixed its bear eyes on her and made a growling, moaning noise, showing a mouthful of shiny fangs.
Jennifer screamed again, clutching at the wooden dresser behind her, and began to edge her way along it. She was terrified that if she moved too suddenly, the bear so impossibly in her bedroom would come bounding from the bed and be upon her. She was just as terrified that if she moved too slowly, it would do the same.
Her throat raw from screaming, she choked out, “What is this? What…how…how did this… Where is Wesley? What happened to Wesley? Oh my God, oh my God…!”
She searched the room for signs of his body, or parts of him, or smears of his blood. There was nothing. There was only the bear, now rearing up from the mattress and setting its horrifically clawed feet on the floor of her bedroom, continuing to make the growling moans at her.
Jennifer screamed again. She should have run; now it was too late. She was doomed. Her face a mask of inhuman fright, she reached behind her for anything she could use as a weapon. She found a hairbrush and threw it. The brush bounced from the bear’s head and it let out a roar, showing those teeth again. She grabbed for a hand mirror and threw it.
The mirror ricocheted off the bear’s shoulder and spun onto the bedroom carpet. The bear made a motion as if to rear up on its hind legs, letting its head reach for the ceiling. She guessed it must be as tall on its hind legs as Wesley was standing up. Her mind was filled with the horror of those front legs with those long, savage claws reaching for her and ripping into her…
…and she bolted from the bedroom, partly wrapped up in the bedspread and partly trailing it behind her. She half-ran and half-staggered out into the corridor and into the bathroom.
In the bedroom, the bear heard the bathroom door slam hard. It let out a heavy, breathy sound like a deep, deep sigh. Staying on all-fours, it seemed to slump and shrug. The hair disappeared from its large, stout body. Its head and limbs and body carriage all morphed, transforming, becoming something that was no longer a bear.
In a moment, Wesley Horne stood up from where the bear had been, naked and trembling from head to foot. Stricken with realization, sick with what had just happened, he rustled his fingers through his hair and half-sat, half-fell back onto the bed. He whimpered, almost sobbed. “Jennifer!” he cried. “Jennifer! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…”
Wesley sat on the bed, shaking, convulsing with tears of pain and remorse. “Jennifer!” he called again. “Jennifer, don’t be scared!” With every ounce of the will that he had used to work himself out to physical perfection, he forced himself up from the bed and headed for the closed—and, he knew without trying it, locked—door of the bathroom. He leaned against the bathroom door and called, “Jennifer, please. Please don’t be scared. It’s just me. It’s only me. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
Inside the bathroom, Jennifer, still wrapped in the bedspread, huddled against the wall near the shower where Wesley had gone down on her and slipped his piece inside her so many mornings, as he did in her bed. The thrill of those memories was gone. The sound of his voice coming so plaintively, so painfully, from outside filled her with confusion and more other feelings than she could name.
She did not know how, but she somehow managed to call back, “What do you mean it’s only you? Wesley, where did you go? Where did that animal come from? What’s going on?”
He answered through the door, “Jennifer, that was me. I’m sorry I never told you. I should have told you, but I didn’t know how. It was me, Jen. Just…me.”
“What do you mean it was you? Wesley, what are you talking about? How did that creature get here?”
“Jen, the bear…it’s me. I’m…I’m a bear, Jen. That was…my other body.”
Jennifer threw back her head, tears streaming down her face. Suddenly, her entire life was something she no longer recognized. What he was saying was madness. Had she been sleeping with someone insane all this time? How could she not have known he was insane?
“That doesn’t make any sense, Wesley,” she sobbed. “How can you have another body? That wasn’t you…”
“Yes, Jennifer. Yes, it was. That was what…I turn into. I’m this…and I’m a bear. I should have told you. I didn’t know how to tell you. Jennifer, I won’t hurt you. Please, let’s just talk, and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Talk? You want to talk to me about being a man and…and a bear? Oh my God, Wesley, you’re not well. I want you to get that animal out of my home, and I want you to leave, right now.” She was on the point of adding
…or I’ll call the police when she realized that the bedspread wrapped around her was the only thing she had brought to the bathroom with her. Jennifer’s phone was where she’d left it last night, on the nightstand by the bed—right beside where she’d found the bear.
“Jennifer,” he said, “I don’t have to make the bear leave. I’m the bear. I’ll just go if you want, and the bear will be gone. But Jennifer, please… Oh, God, please, Jennifer, just come out and let me talk to you.” He dissolved into tears, feeling how feeble his words were, sensing that he was doing nothing to convince her. He slid down the door and crumpled on the floor beside it, leaning against it and crying desperately. “Jennifer,” he wept, “please just talk to me.”
“Just get out!” she shouted. “Get that thing out of here and go! GO!”
And they stayed that way for long, agonizing moments. Jennifer slid down the bathroom wall and sat crying, her own weeping a reflection of Wesley’s sobs against the door.
Finally, Wesley recovered enough of his voice to say, “All right, Jen, I understand. You’re scared and you’re confused. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want you to find out about me like this. I wish I’d just told you. I know you would have thrown me out anyway, but at least you wouldn’t have found out like this. I’m sorry, Jen. I’m so sorry. I’ll go, and you’ll see. You can come out and the bear will be gone, and I’ll be gone too. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, Jen. Not anymore. I’m sorry.”
Her ToyBear Page 11