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Jocelyn The Wicked Posts

Wickedly Reviewed: Freminized by my Futa Professor (part 1) by Camila Blaire

One futanari professor needs to bend a student over her desk already, but first…

First time Feminization in Present tense

I will  start this book with a slightly tangential confession: I normally can’t read first person present tense narration. Such as, Jocelyn writes a review right now and wonders if she’s really only brainstorming. She decides to continue writing anyway. Many people enjoy the review and share it. Camila Blaire’s book Feminized by my Futa Professor, is one of the few that kept my interest. So with that silly aside out of the way, here’s the sexy book.

Get To Know Objectification

The story begins with Brian, a cis-male who seeks an independent study on the subject of Gender Studies with the infamous Dr. Courtney Kinsey. She enters in yoga pants, and still intimidates. Keeping with the theme of the story, Dr. Kinsey expects Brian to understand what it feels like to be objectified.

Yet it’s clear that Brian is ready to accept whatever stern, alternative teaching messages that Dr. Kinsey has ready for him. Even if it means accepting the slow transformation, including disorienting visions of Dr. Courtney Kinsey completely nude and showing revealing her lady dick.

Brian, finds himself changed after the first session.

Get To Know the Female Orgasm

That then, is the main kink of this story. Brain, a college aged intellectual who is curious about gender, becomes a woman. The futanari makes an appearance, and only that. She’s quite the tease for future stories, one that sets up a squeal.

In this story, we spend time with feminized Brain, who is for the first time in his life finds himself getting objectified. Furthermore, she has little to know control over his new sexual urges, including a several hour masturbation session. Is this because she’s literally just discovered what it’s like to be a woman? Or is it because Dr. Courtney Kinsey’s influence? That’s anyone’s guess.

It’s not too long until feminized Brain takes her first cock into his mouth either.

Courtney’s Feminization Plans?

The only thing I can say, is that Brian is Dr. Kinsey’s first victim or first guinea pig, depending on how you look at it. Either way Dr. Kinsey is in a detached, dominant, position relative to hapless, horny, Brian. She’s enjoyed dressing her student up, and even giving him instructions on which pronouns to use.

But she hasn’t penetrated him yet. I hope to see some of that in part 2.

 

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Hollywood Forever

Detective Erica Vargas wore her gender like a uniform. She looked at the younger woman across the table. The faint gulp told as much as the perky yellow sweater with bright greek letters. The best tell was the makeup marred from a night in a cell. Detective Vargas judged the younger woman exhausted, in over her head, desperate, and tired.

“Sarah?” Detective Vargas said. “You’ve had quite a night haven’t you?”

The late morning sun had begun its climb in the sky, though there was no window in this room. Detective Vargas liked it this time. No other officers bothered to watch interrogations at around 9:45am. The young woman silently nodded.

“Your boyfriend, Cory?” began Detective Vargas. “He’s not telling us where he got the MDMA. Smart boy, Cory, right?”

“Yeah,” said Sarah with a cautious breath.

“Says you’re not involved.”

“That’s right. I didn’t know he was selling shit,” she added.

Detective Vargas liked it when captives lied to her.

“So you wouldn’t know where he got it?” Detective Vargas added. “Because I think you do.”

Sarah said nothing and looked away.

“You live on campus, right?” said Vargas.

“What do you care?”

“Just wondering if you went home for the summer,” said Vargas. She flipped through a smartphone idly.

“Yeah, I sure did,” said Sarah.

“No summer organic chemistry lab?” said Vargas stopping on a photo of Sarah’s social media. It showed the young woman proudly smiling in a lab coat. Vargas held the phone like a poker hand. Sarah looked away again.

“Can’t I just go home?” said Sarah.

“Yes,” said Detective Vargas. “But what’s with your storage unit though?”

Sarah looked at Vargas for a guilty second and then looked away. Next her sharp exhale and tightening of her lip made Vargas smile. Closing for the kill, Vargas stood at her height and looked down at Sarah. She only crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not sure what you need a storage unit for,” said Vargas. “Since you didn’t leave campus this summer.”

She stepped around the table and stood next to Sarah.

“Should we search it?” smirked Vargas. “Find out more? Or should we let you go home?”

“I don’t know anything,” repeated Sarah. “I’m waiting for a lawyer.”

“We can get you one, or you can go right now,” said Detective Vargas. “I need something before you leave though.” She placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, massaging the tense cold muscles. Reacting in disbelief at Vargas’ gentle fearlessness, Sarah only looked up in fright. Vargas brushed Sarah’s disheveled hair aside and whispered into her ear.

“Give me a few nice licks,” she said and then raked her tongue over Sarah’s lobes.

“What the fuck?” Sarah said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Your way out,” cooed Detective Vargas, as she held Sarah’s face. “The last gate to get through before your bad dream is over.”

“Fuck you,” Sarah stammered, her voice too tired and the night too long for her to be angry. “I want my lawyer.”

Detective Vargas unbuckled her belt.

“Lawyers take time,” she said. “If we’re doing it that way, I’ll search your storage unit.”

She dropped her belt to the ground with a clatter.

“But this other way out, Isn’t it so much easier?”

Sarah looked up and down Vargas’s body, then her eyes rested on her pelvis. She rolled her lips.

“If I do this,” she said. “We’re done? I’m out of here?”

“My solemn promise.”

Vargas shoved the interrogation table back, sat on its edge, and opened her legs. Sarah took a resigned breath and then handled Vargas’s pants. A button and zipper came undone under Vargas’s leer. Shifting her hips encouraged the cornered little suspect to hurried compliance. Sarah hefted down the jeans and the plain underwear. Vargas opened her knees and showed her trimmed, demanding, pussy.

Sarah took one more look at the detective. That glossy dissociation in her eyes entertained Vargas. The looks of spite and surrender turned her on like no other. Her sex moistened and warmed. Sarah’s first gentle pinches at the outer lips built a savory sensitivity. Vargas knew for certain then that Sarah had done this before. Then again, these college brats almost always had.

Sarah fondled the pussy and responded to the sighs and whispered commands. Vargas’s clit was plucked by dainty fingers and then suckled by defeated lips. The heavy smooth feeling delighted as much as the captive’s reluctance. After all, a resentful finger penetrating her pleasured as well as lover’s nails. A desperate tongue lavished as well as one from a seduced partner. Any emotion had its utility, though Vargas enjoyed using some more than others.

“Keep at it, bitch,” she groaned. “Get that dirty tongue all over. Drink all my juices.”

Sarah complied, her eyes closed and her gaping mouth covered so much of Vargas’s pussy. The ravishing grew more hurried, more fierce, and more determined. Energy built up inside Vargas. She reached down and grabbed the back of Sarah’s messy hair. Holding tight, she kicked her legs open wide and rubbed herself onto Sarah’s face. Vargas exhaled in sharp huffs. A drug-like wave of pleasure enlivened her muscles. When the dizziness hit her head, Vargas laughed and let Sarah’s hair go.

Sarah pulled away. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and glared up at Vargas. It was an expression Vargas knew and felt for one the moment: humiliation. One more suspect humiliated made Vargas feel as alive. It had her heart beating as fast as when she once hunted suspects.

“You going to let me go now?” muttered Sarah.

“Oh yes, Sarah,” she said. “Think we’ll cross paths again?”

Sarah said nothing.

“Yeah whatever,” said Vargas. “Don’t get caught okay?”

It had been good for everyone and Vargas knew it. A boyfriend would get a good lawyer and probably plea out for a six month stint. The lawyer would get a nice paycheck. Sarah would probably move her little chemistry project somewhere else, or maybe dismantle it. She got herself a get out of jail free card from this whole fiasco. Detective Vargas had had her fun. She even collected cash from a colleague who bet that Sarah would insist on waiting for a lawyer. No lawyer talked better than Vargas and she proceeded on with her day buoyed on the victory from the morning.

Her less dull duties passed quickly too. She reexamined a double homicide from two nights ago. A body had been shot twice in the chest. It was a male. Blood pooled around it and the face looked up at the ceiling in rigor mortis. Some bystander, maybe another customer, took a bullet in the stomach as he had come out of the restroom. Blood in that case pooled around his side as if he napped. He closed his eyes before he died. Vargas wondered why some bodies closed their eyes before they died and others kept them open. Some things she would never know, but she knew -thanks to her morning victory- that she’d solve this case before Shales and Rosingar tried to one up her again.

It took only one letter to sink that mood.

“Vargas?” said Jarod. He was a handsome younger officer with nice biceps and bright brown eyes. Vargas loved a San Jose summer.

“Yes?”

“Letter for you,” he said. He held a yellow envelope in his hand. “Looks personal.”

Vargas held the letter and scanned it with her eyes for imperfections. Nothing from the glue to the stamp looked out of place. The return address was Los Angeles county.

“LA?” she said out loud. “Hey did this get cleared by security?”

“Of course,” said Jarod. “Issue?”

“I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles. This is a little random is all,” smiled Vargas. “Thanks for the note. Got anything else to give me?”

“Maybe after tomorrow’s shift is up,” Jarod said nodding back. “Got time to hit up Marshall’s High Top bar?”

“That one? What about the dive called Spyder’s? Heard your team arrested two perps there last week.”

“Oh you looking for action, Detective?” said Jarod.

“Absolutely.”

“Then I insist on Marshall’s High Top,” he said. Vargas considered biting back.

“Marshall’s it is. I’m out of here at half past five.”

“See you then.”

She eyed Jarod and touched a pen to her lips. It got a reaction. She liked it. Maybe she’d tease him later, get his pants down sometime, take his dick into her mouth and take a bite. Yes, that’s the great thing about getting those parts on the inside, one chomp down and its blood. Amazing how much people trust each other. Yet that officer only cracked a smile back. Vargas watched his thighs as he left.

With hands in white gloves, Vargas read the letter. Hand written? That was unusual. Who does that? She read lines and shivered. “Erica, I miss you so much,” it began. “I hated how things ended, because I can’t stop thinking about how good we were together in Silver Lake.” Silver Lake? No this didn’t make any sense. It sounded like Zoey. That’s Zoey Howers the news podcaster until some years ago. Years before that, she was Erica Vargas’s Silver Lake neighbor, frequent fuck buddy, and eventually lover. Things hadn’t ended well. Erica Vargas slept with one of Zoey’s exes and for some reason that made Zoey upset. Erica couldn’t forget that, she had said that her fingers and mouth could please Zoey as well as any other. What was it Zoey had said right then after that? It was written in this letter, “You’re more than a collection of parts, animated by cravings, Erica. I know that now. You could be so much more.” No, this didn’t make any sense. Who else could’ve known those exact words? Did someone get Zoey’s journals? Did Zoey share that in a message? Maybe Zoey had shared it with a therapist. That would be most probable.

After all, this letter couldn’t have been from Zoey. Zoey Howers had died three years ago.

No one makes a fool of Detective Vargas, and she would have a chat with whoever sent this. They were idiots to hand write it. That meant skin cells, patterns in the slopes of the pen, even the kind of paper might be a clue. Detective Vargas handed the letter to the forensics team who agreed to look at it.

That night, though, she watched a video of Zoey Howers on her phone. Zoey, god it had been several years since she’d spoken. Zoey had been the one of the few women to end things with Vargas before Vargas got bored, or maybe Vargas had been bored, but she wasn’t bored of Zoey. No Zoey had all the attachment to Vargas as a dozen other casual lovers, yet somehow she banished Erica from her life. That burn to the ego ate at Detective Vargas, but she loved having Zoey around too. What’s the deal with people and exclusivity? It’s not like random partners tainted your body or something. Bodies were just that, things that could communicate and have affect on other people, like Zoey Howers was doing on her laptop screen right then. She had her mic between her and two student activists from UCLA discussing gentrification. Zoey and the students had taken part in a downtown Los Angeles tenants’ strike and a march at city hall demanding expanded rent controls. It was one of the last podcasts Zoey Howers recorded. Less than two weeks later, Zoey danced at one of the clubs she and Vargas had attended, and was cut down in a blast of gunfire from a domestic terrorist. What was the name of the place? It was the Blue Bumble, Vargas remembered.

The shooter was chased into a blind alley, and Vargas enjoyed the body cam footage. Three officers shot him six times. It’s quite a rush seeing police in action, or anyone really.

When Vargas returned to work the next day, the forensics team shared their conclusions. Not a trace of skin had been on the paper, which was common notebook paper that could have been purchased anywhere. The ink in the letter? From a 0.5 art pen, equally common.

“What about the hand writing?” Detective Vargas asked her colleague.

“We’d need some other samples to be sure,” said the lab coated tech.

He turned his computer screen around and displayed the side by side samples for Vargas. It displayed a 92% likely match.

The social ritual of the date provided more than pretense for Vargas this time. The light drinks and the over priced tapas of Marshall’s High Top bar provided a needed distraction. Furthermore, she had learned throughout the years that humans enjoyed the repetitions, and the chats, and the light laughter that came with a nice dinner. Still, when it came time to end the night she was happy to follow Jarod home.

Back there, Jarod clearly wanted Detective Vargas on her knees. She preferred him on his back. Through a feverish make out, they contended with each other. Each slight button undone and each bit of cloth removed displayed their strength and yet also their vulnerability. Only one would win. Pecks on his neck summoned moans of satisfaction. Vargas prevailed in that moment. Jarod fell to his bed and Vargas stripped more naked. Firm mounds of his muscle resisted her squeezing. She dug her nails into his pectorals until that handsome officer begged for mercy.

That’s when Vargas rewarded him. She opened her mouth, and swallowed that rigid, prone, cock. A smooth tongue made the man hers, but a simple chomp and she could destroy him. Vargas had thought that many times with many partners. Once again, with this groaning sex toy at her mercy, and that salty hot dick in her mouth, she fantasized about blood exploding onto her face. Oh it would be so hot. This though, wouldn’t be the time she could get away with it. Even more, her own blood pumped into her pelvis and the living sex toy in her mouth had so many uses.

Vargas straddled him. There, she aimed the cock up into her pussy. Riding him controlled his body until his face tightened, and his head rolled to the side. It was like watching him gasp, or choke, or die. That’s why she enjoyed the top position so much. He came inside her too. People come when they’re connected, and she liked the connection with him. Only then did she allow herself to be taken like a whore on all fours. Once positioned, Jarod fucked her hard, and she fondled her own clit until she climaxed.

It electrified her body, and then filled a void she always forgot she had. Writhing in submission connected Erica to her fuck buddy and even to herself. So overwhelmed with pleasure, detective Vargas became more than a body and an ego. The orgasm from someone had touched her and she felt what he felt. Damn, that sensation of pride, pleasure, and a soul wreaked havoc on her nerves. She’d never wish to be seen like this, for reasons she never understood. She tended to fuck to dominate and orgasms like those gave her something beyond that. She craved the sublime experience of full and complete humanity.

As she cuddled with Jarod, that sensation faded as it always did. Vargas lost that strange inner state that humans have. She was a collection of fearless organic parts once again.

Erica Vargas’s cell phone chirped at three in the morning. She rolled away from Jarod and gazed in to the spectral blue screen glow.

“Erica? Did you get my letter?”

Erica shivered. The text message came from, a bunch of random characters? It wasn’t a number. It wasn’t blocked. It was indecipherable. This stalker had gone out of the way to bother her. Vargas was up to the challenge.

“I don’t know who this is, but it is literally my job to find people like you,” she texted back. Turning the phone face down and ringer off let Vargas protect herself. She cuddled next to Jarod’s warm body. The phone buzzed again.

“It’s me, Zoey,” the text message read. “I miss you. I want you. Come find me.”

“You are going to REGRET IT when I find you,” texted back Vargas with angry thumbs. “Zoey is dead. You’re not her.”

She shoved the phone away again. Jarod muttered something as she rolled next to him. A droning synth wave and metronomic bass hits emanated from her phone. A floaty feminine voice hypnotized in verses.

“Fuck!” grunted Vargas grabbing her phone. With sweaty palms, she fumbled to turn it off while the unforgettable song droned on.

“Vargas?” said Jarod sitting up. “What the hell? What is it?”

“It’s ‘Cursed’,” snapped Vargas referring to the song’s title.

“And…?”

“And nothing,” panted Vargas. It was only a song. Only one of hundreds in Zoey’s playlist. Any particular song could have been picked at any moment. It was only a coincidence that ‘Cursed’ played the first time Erica ate Zoey out. Sure, Zoey climaxed to the haunting beauty of this song, but that didn’t make it special. It never had to be a special song. Vargas had the phone off at last, and would smash it if it bothered her again. She reached down to Jarod’s dick and found it a dangling rope. It hardened for her.

“Got energy for another late night fuck?”

“Erica?”

“Just answer, yes, Jarod.”

The following morning, Detective Erica Vargas looked across her chief’s desk at a skeptical superior.

“A leave of absence?” he said.

“Only one week. That’s all I need.”

“Vargas, we had you on that double homicide because you asked for it. Now you want to leave. Why?” he said. “You wanted the laurels for solving this one. I put you on it because I thought you could.”

“I think Shales and Rosingar can handle it now,” she said, gulping because she hated to lose to them on this too. The chief crossed his arms.

“You’re not handing this case over to your favorite colleagues,” he said with clear sarcasm, “because the investigation of the scene was a dead end are you, Vargas? Want someone else’s name on a cold case? Is that it?”

“Chief,” she said sitting and feigning submission. “Let me be honest: this is personal. It’s about the Blue Bumble okay?”

The chief nodded in a ‘go on’ sort of way.

“I had a friend that was one of the victims,” she said. “It’s been years since it happened. I can’t say I’ve dealt with it.”

That convinced him.

“I can’t promise you’ll be back on this case in a week,” he said.

“I understand, sir.”

“Alright then Vargas,” he said. “I’ll make the changes today. Take all the leave you need.”

Erica Vargas drove five hours south to West Los Angeles where she found herself a boutique hotel. She visited the LAPD, flashed her badge, and asked for some department to department favors. Hardly any cops wanted to talk about the Blue Bumble shooting. Though when Erica played the role of a grieving detective on a mission, they opened up to her. She was promised access to crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and anything she’d need when she returned on Monday.

With little to fill her time Erica considered driving all the way out to Silver Lake, and maybe haunt some of the places that she and Zoey visited. Though it wouldn’t do much good there to prove that Zoey had in fact died, and maybe her anonymous harasser expected that. Instead, Zoey chose someplace public to scope out: the Blue Bumble itself. It was a Saturday evening, and the club was filled with reveling Hollywood hopefuls. All of them worked hard to stay beautiful, and Erica enjoyed the eye candy. She even enjoyed flirting with another woman, while she waited for other friends.

The Blue Bumble had a memorial at one of the booths. Pictures of the victims hung in frames, among them was Zoey. A short epitaph read “Activist. Journalist. Fur Mom.” Vargas looked away at the empathetic, photogenic, smile, and distracted herself with the beautiful dancing bodies. There were no signs in this club of bullet fire or blood. It amazed Erica how much those things could get cleaned up. If it wasn’t for those photos, no one would even have to remember. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the next lonely bigot opened fire on happy people. Zoey suddenly felt exposed without her gun, and kissed her unexpected date good night.

While Vargas slept, she heard the voice of Zoey. “Miss you…” Those soft words could not be mistaken. Erica ignored it. Yet it only persisted and called to her again. Vargas clicked out the lights and coiled her bedsheets tighter around her. Despite that, the hotel sheets slipped off her shoulders, exposing her arm and neck. The cool air touched her skin, and then it became warm. “Miss touching you…” Zoey’s voice whispered. Vargas’s night time tank top rolled up from her belly. Something hooked around her panty’s waistline and tugged them down.

“Stop it,” said Vargas slapping her hand to her underwear. “You’re not real. You’re not here.”

A heavy, smooth, and warm sensation coiled around her wrists like a snake. Vargas’s arms flailed against the invisible force, and it only got stronger. Something pinned her wrists together above her head. Her tank top was yanked up and pulled off.

“Always wished to be the top…”

“Stop it!” cried Erica.

A slithering spiraled around her legs. Vargas couldn’t kick. Her panties slid down her legs and then something pulled at the thighs and opened them.

“Not Zoey!”

“Am I?” came that voice. A touch followed. Was it lips? Fingers? No, that couldn’t be it. Erica couldn’t be feeling that irresistibly skilled caress at her pussy. This had to be a memory. Erica Vargas had taught Zoey to please her like this. Zoey loved nothing more than doing it. Bewildered by pleasure, and confused at what she couldn’t see, Vargas succumbed.

“Do more like how I told you, Zoey,” she breathed out. “Lick me like I taught you.”

A fluttering of tongue whipped Erica’s clit. A hard tendril entered her wetness.

“Fuck… How?!” sighed Erica accepting the pleasure. Bliss overtook her mind and her body quaked against her unseen restraints. Heedless, Erica bucked her hips against what pleased her. An explosive climax broke her last line of resistance, releasing buried memories of Zoey into consciousness. Zoey missed Erica. Now, Erica craved for her lost friend and lover as well.

“I will have you. We will be together,” the voice whispered. Vargas was released from her bounds and her eyes closed in satisfaction. When the sunlight hit her eyelids, and awoke her, Vargas found herself naked upon messy sheets.

Monday came. Erica glanced over the mortician’s photos. The corpse had eyes closed and the straight hair had been slicked back. She examined the eyebrows, the lips, and slight jut of the chin, and saw no flaws. The bloodless face in the photos had to be Zoey. Still, suppose someone had reconstructed the face of another. Perhaps it was a fake corpse placed there by a mad conspiracy. How about that tattoo? Yes, the other photos showed the antique compass that Zoey had on her shoulder. Erica examined the chest next. That’s where those exit wounds were. So Zoey had been shot in the back. Speaking of the back, Erica examined that part next. Zoey had a mole on her lower right latissimus dorsi. Erica found the same mole, unmistakably dark against the corpse’s skin on the morgue photos. Futhermore, Erica’s examination of the original crime scene photos revealed nothing different. Zoey’s body had been photographed with fastidious care, and the entrance wounds on her back matched what Erica saw on the mortician’s photos. Not even the red pools of blood around bodies showed anything suspicious.

Her phone pinged to life.

“So nice to touch you last night… did you like it, Erica?”

Vargas texted back.

“I’ve been looking at some photos of a body, recognize it?”

She took a snapshot of the mortician’s photo and sent it.

“I know I’m dead, Erica. You don’t have to remind me.”

“You’re not a ghost. I’m going to find you.”

“I want you to find me. I can prove I’m me. You’ll see.”

Vargas was about to type out another annoyed response, when she stopped. The number it came from was no longer a scrambled string. It began with a 323, a local area code in Los Angeles. “Holy shit…” gasped Vargas. “You idiot. I have you.” Mere hours later, Vargas was in the back of a police SUV. She watched with detached satisfaction as cops exited a squad car in front of her, issued an arrest on a resident, and pulled him into the car. Vargas sized him up quickly. Early twenties. Caucasian. He had the thin yet muscular build and a motorcycle club patch on his jacket.

She considered questioning him right that night, but restrained herself. Erica Vargas insisted the LAPD do her one last favor, and allow her to interrogate him first thing in the morning. As he was chained to the table, he did nothing but stare at her. She only stared back, counting the seconds and savoring the moment.

“How do you know me?” Vargas said at last.

“What?”

“You fucked up. We traced your cell phone. You lost. I got you,” she said. “So, how do you know me?”

“Are you crazy?” he said. His head cocked to the side.

“Okay…” smirked Vargas. She plopped copies of Zoey’s morgue photos and Blue Bumble crime scene pictures in front of him. His nostrils scrunched in disgust. His hands pulled at the table restraints.

“Take a good look. How did you know her?”

“Listen lady… I don’t know what you’re…”

“Look!” cried Vargas. She grabbed his hair and slammed his face down onto the photos. A surge of adrenaline spiked in her veins. “You tell me now! I caught you! It’s over!”

“What the fuck!? I dunno! I dunno!”

Vargas screamed. She held his hair tight and slammed his head against the metal table again and again.

“Vargas!” shouted a voice in the intercom. She relented. The terrified prisoner cried reaching for his bruised forehead. Vargas stepped outside the interrogation room where another cop handed her a phone.

“You wanna calm down in there? It’s your chief.”

“What?” blinked Vargas. “What about?”

The cop pointed to the hapless prisoner in the room.

“We ran prints on that poor asshole. Looks like they matched a crime scene up in your metro.”

Vargas had lost control. That made her hand tremble as she raised the phone receiver to her ear.

“Chief?”

“Detective, you wanna tell me why you insisted this was ‘personal time’ when you were chasing a lead on that double homicide?”

“No.. Not like that,” insisted Vargas. “It was… good intuition?”

The chief snorted in the phone.

“Vargas, I’ve known you for five years and I know you don’t have intuition of any kind,” he said.

“It’s…” Vargas winced.

“Oh this is new,” said the Chief. “You see I figured you ran some scheme to humiliate Shales and Rosingar. Now, I’m actually not sure.”

Damn, that would’ve been a great story to spin.

“You got me. I’m working the case,” began Vargas.

“Whatever lead sent you down there,” the chief cut her off. “You have 48 hours to get back up here, understand?”

“Chief. No. I swear…”

“Forty Eight hours,” he said. “That suspect will be up here not later than that.”

Vargas power walked out of the station and into her car. Her phone buzzed her once more.

“I gave you a gift. Did you like it?”

The number was scrambled again.

“FUCK YOU!!!” Vargas texted back.

“I fuck. I fuck you like we did in Silver Lake. Or that time in Arizona. Or at the Austin Festival.

Vargas growled. She squeezed the phone tightly in one hand, and reached for her baton. As soon as she opened the door, that familiar song played from it once more. She bumped her head in the car in surprise and the phone clattered to the ground.

Erica Vargas picked it up. She sent one more text.

“You are dead. I saw your body. You’re not alive.”

“You saw pictures, Erica. You never saw my body.”

Vargas grabbed her baton and pummeled her phone to splinters on the asphalt.

Zoey Howers had been interred at Hollywood Forever cemetery. Erica Vargas waited until night, and then waited longer. Late night road construction would cover the noise. Zoey’s casket resided in a small mausoleum. Heavy bolts of brass held the polished granite seal. With a drill she’d borrowed out of the cemetery’s office, Vargas undid the bolts. The whirring of the drill and the cracking of stone echoed off the polished walls. Next, the seal fell down with a thud. A dusty casket lay within and Erica dragged it out.

“You found me.”

Zoey’s voice whispered from behind, as Vargas was hunched over the floor with the casket halfway out. She didn’t want to turn around. She knew nothing could be there.

“You’re dead, Zoey,” said Vargas. She dragged the casket out further. “Dead people can’t talk. There’s a body in here. I know it’s yours.”

“I am dead, and I still miss you,” the voice spoke so clearly now, angering Vargas. She spun around determined to prove to the nothing that nothing could be there, and instead confronted a billowing apparition of black smoke. It had the face and torso of Zoey. It had her particular chin, her jaw, the alluring almond shape of her eyes. Her chest and shoulders couldn’t be mistaken either. Vargas remembered too many nights pressed against that petite body, and so many evenings of caressing those nipples. Erica looked down, curious about the legs, and saw only a flowing black cloud.

“What are you?” said Vargas to it.

Zoey’s lips parted in desire. Lithe arms stretched towards Vargas who stumbled back. Colliding against a wall, she could only look back at Zoey’s apparition. The hands touched her cheeks with unexpected warmth. Zoey drifted in, and her lips touched Vargas. Erica kept her eyes open in shock. Then her mouth opened in concession. She shared a kiss with Zoey which put her into a trance. It had only been Zoey who could ever do that.

“Why?” Vargas said. “You were the only one who ever rejected me.”

The ghostly figure smirked in sudden supremacy.

“Here I am. I’m dead. Still reaching out to you, and you’re worried about why I rejected you?”

Tendrils spiraled around Vargas’s legs. The sudden constriction quelled confusion.

“Maybe in death I’ve learned not to care,” said Zoey. “Or maybe I don’t care who you cheated on me with. Or maybe there is something only I can give you.”

“You can’t give me anything, Zoey,” muttered Vargas. She didn’t believe it. The void that orgasms filled yawned ever more hollow within. For the first time Vargas could not ignore that empty space. She needed to come right then to fill it up, to make the empty part of her soul whole.

“Remove your shirt, Erica,” whispered Zoey.

Erica Vargas lifted the tank top over her head and unclasped the bra beneath. She stood there, with her heart pumping and nipples hard and erect. Vargas liked being missed, and Zoey had clawed back from the dead to reach her. Now, she expected to be adored, like she had so many times before. Yet Vargas had never known that huge hollow place inside her. It was as if she was skin and bones stretching over nothing. The voluminous spectral cloud enshrouded her, and Vargas wanted it within.

Warm breath from Zoey brushed her neck. The sensation, so long forgotten, of her chest pressed to Vargas. She reached out into the air, wrapped her arm around Zoey’s neck and drew her close. The mouth that met hers warmed as they kissed. Zoey’s tongue pushed harder, deeper, and shockingly strong. Like a heavy whip, it pressed down into Vargas’s throat making her groan at the subjugation.

“Did you like that, Erica?”

“Yes!”

“I’m glad you liked it,” purred Zoey. Tendrils of smoke changed to heavy tentacles which tightened down on Vargas’s limbs. Then, Vargas found her arms tightened stretched out to her sides and her ankles likewise restrained.

“I love you, Erica,” whispered Zoey. Smaller tentacles undid Erica’s pants and pulled them down. “As cold as you are, I still loved you. Soon, I will fix you.”

In a violent yank, Vargas’s knees were spread open. Her pussy, left prone, received a heavy smack. It ignited such arousal, that she gasped and shouted. It hurt, and she loved it. Zoey beat her again with other stray tendrils. All the while Vargas looked to Zoey’s beautiful face hovering above her. As Vargas panted and shouted at the sudden pain, Zoey watched and read every tremor in the body in her possession.

Vargas would have taken more. She knew she could take more. What she wasn’t ready for was Zoey’s torture of tenderness, as her hands and tentacles rubbed her body. She shook against the bounds that held her, only for Zoey to reflect her strength.

“Make me come, Zoey,” she begged.

“Like this?”

A tentacle pushed its way into Vargas’s slick sex, and throbbed there. Then another curled around her clit and squeezed.

“Yes!” cried Erica.

“I missed you so much, Erica!” cried Zoey. She embraced Vargas once again. With their chests together, and Zoey’s arms holding tight, Erica was lifted into the air on a thick mass of flowing muscle. Constraining her even more, layers of tendrils wrapped around her arms at her back. Vargas loved it. Zoey’s tender lips, mighty smacks, and persistent penetrations filled the hollow inside her.

“You will come for me, Erica,” Zoey said. “Then you’ll come again.”

“Yes!” panted Erica. She spasmed against Zoey’s unyielding bounds as a juice spilling orgasm made her dizzy. She found herself spinning once again when Zoey shifted, turned, and otherwise controlled her. Erica took another thrashing at her back as Zoey suckled at her nipples in her front. The unreal and unrelenting passion cursed Erica into depravity that she had never known. Bound, controlled, and at another’s mercy could not possibly break her. Despite that, she wished it too. Another violent orgasm electrified the nerves of her body and she wept. Lost to Zoey’s machinations, Erica could not even beg for more.

Erica Vargas awoke as the cool morning mist crept through the mausoleum. Her bare skin rolled away from the smooth granite. For the first time, Erica shivered. She was naked, and trembled as if the chilling had never touched her before. Would someone see her? What had transpired? Erica remembered the night. She remembered how Zoey lowered her, in a loving cradling down in a corner of the mausoleum. She remembered Zoey covering her as if a tent filled with pillows.

Zoey was dead. Oh god, why did Zoey have to die?

Too many thoughts and feelings screamed in Erica’s mind. Covering her chest she sat and ordered those trespassing anxieties to silence and to submission. Unruly and obstinate, they still demanded something of her. Erica looked over at the casket. She closed her eyes and lifted the lid. Inside, the thinned, bloodless, and decayed visage of Zoey rested, eyes closed in a morbid peace. Vargas touched the corpse’s cheek and found it as cold as stone. She jerked her hand back in grief, and retreated away. Huddling to the corner, she wondered if death itself touched her hand. That’s not how bodies work, and that was still Zoey’s in there. Zoey wasn’t supposed to be cold and decayed. Gulping down the shock, she crawled to the casket and knelt over it. Detective Erica Vargas looked at a corpse and cried.

End

Special thanks to Bobbi Mare and Nicolas Belvoir for their beta reading.

Thanks to Tokyo Rose, whose song “Cursed” helped inspire this work.

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Wickedly Reviewed: Limbo Demon’s Desires by Rachel Kinsley

What’s the best cure for post college ennui? A new life as a sex worker for demons.

A Demon Takes Virginity

Rachel Kinsley’s book, Limbo: Demon Desires, is an easily readable, episodic, novella. Honestly, the structure of the book might be my favorite part. I read each hot chapter on lunch breaks over the course of about two work weeks.

The story begins with a set up we all know too well: Samantha is out of college, in a seedy city, and not sure where to go from there. Next thing, she visits a fortune teller who advises her that she’s marked and special. Maybe that explains why Samantha, despite having a high drive for sex, is a virgin.

Before long, an incubus visits Samantha, and her virginity is gone by the morning.

 Sex working and Temptations

After Samantha joins the demon brothel, she services demons of fear, sloth, greed and so on. In each sexy episode, author Rachel Kinsley adds some spicy temptation. The demons want more then sex. They want to corrupt Samantha through whichever sin they represent. Because of them, every sex scene has a layer of psychological domination in addition to Samantha’s submissive role. Does Samantha break?

Slut. Demons. Torture.

The answer comes at the story’s last scene. Without spoiling anything, sex with demons requires some serious sadism. There’s no shortage of humiliation, pain, and submission there. What I read was at least as intense as the most hardcore scenes I’ve enjoyed at Kink.com.  It left me exhausted to read to the end.

Naturally, I enjoyed this book. I hope you do too.

About the Author

Rachel Kinsley is an erotic author with a passion for delving into the surreal, magical, and mystical sides of sex inherent in mythology, fantasy, and science fiction. She enjoys finding ways to slip erotica into tales that already exist, as well as devising her own unconventional storylines to awaken the sexual imagination of her readers.

When not writing or contemplating delicious erotica, she creates illustrative art and indulges in her geeky addictions for video games and D and D.

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Secular Supplicants of the Tentacle Cult: Part 02

The following morning was Saturday and I got call that my car was ready. The mechanic, Cedric of Cedric and Cousins Auto shop, showed me the bill. Only sixty dollars.

“Why? What’s wrong, was something missed?” I said.

“Nothing wrong we could find,” said Cedric.

“But how?”

Cedric shrugged.

“Look,” he pointed to several blank lines in the invoice. “We’re not charging you for nothing. The car was fine when we tested it last night. Checked again this morning too.”

“But it wouldn’t start?” I said. Still elated from the day before, I didn’t get that mad that he didn’t believe me, only a little annoyed.

“We spent four hours checking everything we could,” he said. “I had one mechanic check the other’s work. I didn’t believe it either. Your car is fine, miss. Labor only, with a discount.”

“Okay,” I said relaxing.

I paid him and took my car off the lot. I called Marley and we met at my apartment. I opened a bottle of red and toasted to my car and to “integrated empowerment.”

“Ahh so you went, huh?” said Marley.

“I did, indeed,” I said. I shared my experience with the amazing Illaria. Definitely something that I would repeat. She shared a little of her experience too, including the top of her breasts where red lines marked her skin.

“She cut you?” I said in shock.

“Scratched,” said Marley. “Blood.”

My eyes widened in surprise. It’s unsafe and Illaria never did that with me.

“I’ve always had a fetish for bleeding,” added Marley. “Illaria brought it out of me.”

“So she’s a pro tormentor?”

Marley shook her head.

“She’s everything she says she is,” said Marley. “Let’s pour another toast. For Chicago.”

I had almost forgotten the reason for Gray Temple to begin with.

“I’m not short listed yet,” I said. There had not yet been any evidence that the contract I signed last night was real.

“You will be,” said Marley. Her arm wandered over and her fingers ran through my hair.

“That’s… surprisingly nice,” I said. She inhaled, raising her cleavage. It caught my eye. She caught me looking.

“Yeah?” Marley cooed. She pushed her glass aside. “You seem extra sensitive right now too.”

Her other hand took mine. My heart palpitated in excitement.

“And loose,” she said. “Did Illaria give you the second best orgasm you’ll have this week?”

“Second best?” I giggled.

“Second to one I’m going to give you today.”

Marley and I were unclothed and uninhibited only a few minutes later. Tumbling around together in my bed, we took turns penetrating the other and tasting bare skin. Marley came first, while I had my vibrator pushed inside and my lips around her nipple. Her arm wrapped around me, squeezing me hard as she did. Her fingers dug into my back. Would I too learn to like the pain of broken skin and blood too as she did? Yet after she recovered I contended myself to our next level of play. Marley improvised a flogger out of her belt and brought it down hard on my bare ass, thighs, and even my chest. Then Marley fulfilled her promise. She toyed with my pussy for what felt like days, pulling my brain into a thick miasma of pleasure. I came for my first time that day, shaking all over the bed. That only excited Marley further. We played with each other on and off for the rest of that afternoon. God, the sex was so amazing. Nothing is healthier than falling asleep next to a partner after you’ve had that much group exercise.

Monday arrived and I made my rounds at the hospital ward. One of the nurses interrupted me and indicated that my duties for later the afternoon had been rescheduled.

“Why?” I said startled. I’d been caring for the same round of patients for the last week. This isn’t something that would be taken from me.

“You’re going for an oncology spot in Chicago right?” she said.

I answered nothing. The nerves inside me wouldn’t let me move. I had to think myself out of it.

“Okay yes,” added the nurse. “You have an informative meeting? Like an interview?”

“Interview?” I exclaimed.

“Well no not really. We set up a video conference for you though..”

That had been enough talk. At the scheduled time I entered a video conference with several leads of the Chicago Adventist Oncology department. They had added an opening, had seen my resume, heard of my work, and examined my application. I suppressed my excitement and tremendous trepidation while we discussed the practice of medicine in the most professional manner. There would be a follow up of course. There would need to be a last minute in person interview. All of which would happen quickly as their need was quite sudden.

I called Elliot first. He didn’t pick up and I left an excited and fast speaking message into his phone. We might both be heading to Chicago together, finding a cure for cancer, and be able to continue our fucking. Marley I called next.

“Hey Marley!” I said. “I can barely believe it, but it worked!”

“Chicago?”

“Yes!”

“Ahh, so are you a believer in Grey Temple and integrated Empowerment?” she teased.

“Believer?” I said. That’s not a word I used. Taking steps back mentally, I considered the dangers of confirmation bias. Yet, I hadn’t exactly had any bias to begin with. There had been an agreement. But how did Grey Temple do this? Did they have some connections? Some people?

“What is Grey Temple?” I said. “I mean really? They’re not wellness consultants, are they?”

“The Grey Temple? They’re making the world better. One client at a time.”

“I know that. What I mean is how?”

“That’s all something isn’t it?” said Marley. “I’m not legally allowed to explain. I can promise, Illaria will be happy to meet with you again.”

I don’t call myself a believer. I don’t call Marley and evangelist. Yet there we were.

“Doctor McSweeney?” came the nurse with urgency.

“Yes?” I said holding my cell phone from my ear.

“It’s Elliot,” she said. “You should know…”

“Know what?”

Elliot slept in a medically induced coma. I’m not his physician. I can’t know everything about his record, but he had been transported to the same hospital we had worked in. Stitches marred his beautiful face. His left arm was in a cast. Blankets covered his legs and he was immobilized. I asked around for what had happened. A big rig on the highway buckled after a tire blew out. That caused a three car pile up with Elliot involved. No deaths? From everything I’d known about accidents like these there was always at least one fatality. That’s just statistical probability after all. Thousands of cars pass big rigs every day. Statistically, there would be at least a few accidents like these.

But not Elliot. Why? If he was in a medically induced coma, we would not know when he would come out. If that happened, then he couldn’t go to Chicago. If he couldn’t go to Chicago then…

I refused to consider it. Correlation does not imply causation. This is as true for diagnosing patients as it is for years of research to cure polio. There was no way that I could handle what I was looking at right now. Not at Elliot. If I kept looking at him like this I would definitely start foolishly thinking that correlation implies causation. That’s psychology, and I’m not immune to it. There didn’t have to be a reason why this tragedy happened. I knew this also, its easier and often more important to falsify a theory than to confirm it.

I knew how to falsify.

I chanted ‘correlation does not imply causation’ as I drove to the temple. I bumped over a curb as I parked my car and then entered the temple. I observed the receptionist. I walked past her and entered Illaria’s office. Despite my brashness, she gave me an attentive look.

“Jeri,” she said. “Hey there. Why don’t you take a seat.”

“Falsification criteria does not require that I sit.”

Illaria cocked her head to the side.

“Jeri, is something wrong?” she asked.

“Elliot was in a car accident. Did you do that?” I asked.

“Oh Jeri,” she spoke like melting chocolate. I sat down and Illaria reclined near me.

“Now Jeri you’re not worried at all about your position in Chicago. You’re maybe worried about how it happened,” she began. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“The Old One of the Temple makes things happen,” she began. “We influence the fate of others. We use that to fulfill our contracts within the best and most holistic ethical practices.”

I didn’t know which sounded more nonsensical, ‘the Old One’ or that she said this was holistic and ethical.

“Think of it like this: your future work on cancer will save thousands. Perhaps hundreds of thousands over the course of your lifetime. What’s a few months or a few years in a coma compared to all that?”

“He might not be able to walk again,” I said. “You’ve sacrificed one person’s utility for another.”

“The contract stated that Grey Temple fulfills its part at its own discretion, Jeri,” she said. “The Old One guides those decisions.”

I stood up. I didn’t want to hear anything about an Old One anymore.

“I’ve had enough. Whatever you did, I’m seeing the police about it. You’re not a business. You’re a dangerous cult,” I declared. I headed for the door.

“Would that help Elliot at all?” Illaria spoke, halting me. She had a point. Even if I went to the police, found a good prosecutor, pried their secrets through investigations, Elliot still suffered.

“What exactly do you think you could do? This is medicine,” I said.

“Well, we may be a cult. But we’re a real one,” said Illaria. She rolled up her loose long sleeve. Her left forearm glowed under the light. Then it changed. It morphed. It transitioned like puddy into a long single rust red and white tentacle. She curled it around a nearby vase and lifted it up, demonstrating the strength. I had to have been seeing things, but then this tentacle touched me. A warm, fleshy, weight landed on my skin and I knew it instantly. It had touched me before. It had been inside me. It wanted to return and I, shocked and aroused at once, wished that to be so. “The Old One is real. He whispers to me,” continued Illaria. “Perhaps one day he will whisper to you.”

I cannot deny what I see with my own eyes or touch with my own skin. Still, I stepped away from that frustratingly erotic appendage. I wanted to know everything that was going on this time.

“You said the contract let you do what you want? Okay. So be it,” I said. “Now I’d like another one.”

“For Elliot’s speedy recovery and good health?”

“Yes.”

We hashed out several terms. I wanted the Old One to not harm Elliot. In fact, I wanted Elliot in Chicago with me. Furthermore, no more unwilling parties to this deal. I didn’t want to later learn that the Old One killed a doctor so that the two of us could cure cancer.

“You drive a shrewd and specific request, Jeri. The Old One requires more in payment. You must accept a geas, for a term of six years.”

“A geas?”

“You will live unbothered. Yet there will be times when the Old One summons you. You will be compelled to return here, and make prostrations,” she said. She looked me in the eye, emphasizing the last point. “You will not be able to refuse the summons any more than you could refuse hunger or sleep. You will come and be ready for the master.”

“How often?”

“That also depends on you,” said Illaria. “The Old One seeks more supplicants. If you introduce us to another client, summons will be less frequent.”

Marley. It clicked in my head. My broken car that wasn’t broken and Marley’s flexible schedule had started all this. I’d been drawn in, but there was no pulling out now. Not if I wanted Elliot to be okay. Hell, things would be better than okay if I made this deal.

“Marley’s a good lawyer,” I said. “Did she write a contract involving this geas?”

“It’s our standard template,” said Illaria smiling. “Let us get it.”

A contract was written. Another pair of signatures were added. In that office, I removed some clothes. I knew what Illaria expected of me. She took me down to the basement. The chains and pillars were ready, but Illaria ignored them.

“Disrobe completely,” she said. Her voice was irresistible. “Now stand in this circle.”

Obeying again, I shivered there. The room darken and Illaria stepped around me, running her tentacle over my flesh. She chanted. The friendly warmth in her voice faded into a dirge. My mind knew this was wrong. A tiny wrong that would produce years of good for the world. I needed to endure for only so long.

And I craved to supplicate.

“Do you wish to know the Old One? To accept his geas? And his touch?” said Illaria. “Of your clear and uncoerced mind?”

“Yes. I do.”

The tiles in the basement shoved aside with the sound of grinding stone. They were pushed away as writing mass of thick, heavy, and long tentacles crawled from the ground. A pair wiggled towards me, twisting around my feet, my calves and upwards. Warm. I found them so unexpectedly warm. Other tentacles wrapped over my arms and torso in a paradoxical, binding of possession and protection. I loved it. I lusted for the Old One as soon as I was hefted into the air.

“The Old One whispers. He is pleased with you, supplicant,” said Illaria. “We will bless you.”

A tentacle emerged before me. Its tip changed to the most wonderful phallus I’d ever seen. I opened my jaw for it and it filled me. I loved sucking it. I knew that I pleased the master. Each pulsating constriction intensified as I sucked it down. Strong cum spurted out and choked me.

“The prostrate must swallow,” intoned Illaria.

Keeping my lips tight the tentacle pulled out, I retained the cum. I suppressed my reflex to spit, chortling against sealed lips instead. I gulped once and then twice. I took the cum down.

“I will have my way with you prostrate,” spoke Illaria for the Old One. “What you have consumed is only the first of many.”

That’s when the beating began. The Old One stretched my limbs as Illaria had only days before. This time, the agonizing strikes came in heavy flurries. The thuds made me shout. I whimpered for mercy, only to be punished again with more wet fleshly lashes. The pain pleasured me so much it messed with my mind, driving further into places that I hadn’t known. A vile seed in my soul germinated. Its roots spanned out into my brain and soon became part of it. Part of me.

The tentacles need not restrain me then. I would have submitted to any whimsy. Yet, I loved the helplessness I had been put into. My clit was tickled by a tentacle tip, and another slid its way in and played with me.

“Fuck!” I roared out. “Please! Please fuck me like that.”

“The slave does not need to speak,” answered Illaria. The cock tipped tentacle entered my mouth and cut off my cries. My pussy grew wet as the tentacle penetrated me more, pumping in and out of me. My eyes closed and my muscles tensed so tight I cried at the pain. Is this what the Old One could do? Could the god get so deep into my mind and soul that my orgasm would be denied? I did not think long on that. I didn’t think on anything. A sudden gush of harrowing pleasure cascaded through me. My orgasm subsided, but it did not stop. It echoed once more. Only the cradle of my new god prevented me from falling to the ground. A mess of cum shot in my pussy and another into my mouth. Prepared this time, I consumed more of the blessing he gave me.

So continued my first prostration. Illaria spoke for the Old One again while I was nothing more than a delirious plaything. I wished for more even when the tentacles sank away lowering me to the ground. Only when they disappeared completely could I reflect on the metaphysical perversity of what had happened. Nothing had made sense in this temple, and I loved every degrading minute of it.

“You may be a person again,” said Illaria speaking for herself. Her tentacle pet my shoulder. “Unless you have enough energy to play with me.”

I wished I could, yet I was so spent. The muscles in the body can only take so much adrenaline before they exhaust themselves. I would no doubt feel the same strain as a mean hangover tomorrow. I needed water.

“My clothes,” I sighed. “I need to head home.”

“Pity,” said Illaria. She retracted her tentacle.

“Will it be like this? Every time?” I said as I stumbled up.

“Sometimes like that. Sometimes longer. Sometimes with several supplicants,” she said. “No one knows.”

“It whispers to you,” I added.

“The Old One whispers, yes. I understand what he wishes. It is not for us to ask why,” she said. “Come let me get you some water.”

I slept well that night, better than I had in ages. After all, for all the manipulation, dense contracts, and humiliations, Illaria would keep her bargain. I could relax with the knowledge that a position at Chicago Adventist Oncology was mine.

Miraculously too, Elliot came out of his coma. I visited him the day after he awoke. We talked for hours of a future in Chicago. I confessed to have missed him for several days, and he pressed if I had found anyone else to play with. Blushing, I admitted that I had.

He was released two weeks later and I wasted no time and took him to bed. He slept naked beside me, I lay watching him contended on the bliss of sex. Then, I heard the whispering. The Old One desired something. Did he want me? No, he desired something of me. It would not be long before I, like Marley, would bring another supplicant to his temple.

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Secular Supplicants of the Tentacle Cult: Part 01

My uncle, a doctor, hoped I would be a minister. A strange thought. You see, he spent much of his life in the developing world on a religious mission to eradicate polio. He saved lives and brought happiness to the world. He also prayed for those who suffered.

I’m different. I had given myself fully to the practical and not the spiritual. Ethics, after all, isn’t really all that metaphysical. You reduce pain. You increase happiness. It’s quite that simple. People ask if doctors must ever consider moral costs. Well yes, I recognize that animal testing is required in research. That is a serious amount of suffering. Now I ask you, as a rational person, what amount of utility has been gained by that? If it could be quantified, it would be infinite.

My devout uncle delivered vaccinations to the masses. Soon, I’d make my contributions too. I’d give so much more than I could as a minister.

Oh, I’d almost forgotten, my name is Jeri McSweeny. Yes, like the macabre musical. I’ve heard it all before.

Now there’s one thing about the medical profession: we take our health and our stress level quite seriously. I don’t mean that we need to be on our feet and away from a soul crushing desk. I don’t mean only nutrition. What I mean is our emotional and physical health requires extra care. There is one thing above all that gets that done as efficiently as a flu shot.

I fuck. Specifically, I fuck Elliot Crooker. Elliot Crooker had a dick that exceeded average size and stuffed me better than any of my penetration toys. His other great asset? His shoulders. You see, Elliot got into the medical field after working as a young EMT. He developed the kind of body that once waded into turbulent flood waters, retrieved an exhausted woman clinging to a tree branch, and carried her to safety. Not since that time had he once let his stamina and muscular physique go. Not even through six years of school.

I experienced that stamina for myself after our usual dinner date. Elliot had me bent over his bed, exposing my vagina. The first penetration stung with that stretch. Then, I couldn’t do anything other than relax and accept that euphoric insertion.

“Fuck me harder,” I stammered.

“Like this?”

He spanked me. The sensation went right up to my head.

“Yes! Like that!”

Slap. Slap. Elliot’s palm thudded. My pussy was so damn wet at that point and he slipped out from me.

“You’re all warmed up now,” he said while his fingers found my clit. I moaned for it. Ahh, it was so good. An entire day’s worth of tension evaporated with a simple caress there. Interesting historical fact: did you know that doctors provided that as a professional service in the years of Victorian prudes?

“You ready for a ride?”

“Fuck yes,” I said.

Cow girl never gets old. I mounted Elliot, taking his girth up inside my cunny. Oh let me tell you how much I enjoyed looking down on him. His pectorals and shoulders widened out as he relaxed. His face? He had these hot blue eyes underneath dense eyebrows. Something about his stubble always made sex better too. It shaded the contours of his jaw and his cheekbones like an airbrushed model on a billboard. He could’ve been one.

“Take it!” he said shoving himself up into me. I winced and gasped. Then, I thumped my pelvis up and down on him. Taking control, I pleasured myself on his shaft as he watched my body shake. After resting, he tried to roll over, but I held him down and possessed his cock once again. It’s fun when he climaxes.

I curled my body next to Elliot post consummation. The sex was good. It always was.

“Hell of a day for you, huh?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh I can tell, Jeri,” he chuckled. “It’s the way you orgasmed that second time. That, and how we got right to it after dinner.”

I thought about it. Yes, he’d been right. It’s strange when you’re in the middle of doing work of medicine that you forget exactly how it drains you. The nervous systems still knows though. That must be what Elliot noticed.

“Today was more stressful than normal,” I added. I wondered how he felt as I stroked his chest. Was it possible for nerves to sense each other like this? Perhaps someday I could understand his nervous systems too.

“You are, extra happy today?” I guessed based on his smile. It looked prouder and more relaxed than the usual.

“Chicago Adventist Oncology,” he said.

“What?” I half jumped out of the bed. Chicago Adventist was a top ten Oncology institute in the country. Well funded. Well staffed. They had developed a new way to detect liver cancer. That technique was pending peer review, but it was promising. “What about it?”

“I’m on the short list for a residency there,” he replied.

“Chicago Adventist. Amazing Elliot.”

I cuddled close with him again. To get short listed for a position there was already an honor. One that I had hoped for myself. Treating cancer is something that I’ve wanted to do since my uncle’s work had eliminated polio in an entire country. You see, the medical community should ever rest on our laurels. There will also be a new disease to eradicate. Cancer remained one of the most persistent.

I am to be a doctor. I will do my part to make things better.

We spent the night, though my sleep was inconsistent. In the morning, Elliot and I showered in an efficient manner and he drove off to the university. Me? I headed to my car and it opened with the familiar chirp.

I turned the ignition. There wasn’t a click or a sputter. It was a nothing. For almost the last decade, I’d studied to make human organs work together. Yet the metal oiliness under the hood of my car remained a mystery. Also, why had the interior dome light popped like that? Was that a cause or an effect? Correlation does not prove causation.

I called a tow and waited forty five minutes. Dammit. I sent several e-mails and text messages, apologizing for appointments I’d missed that day. Including Marley, my drinking buddy and occasional lover.

“What do you mean you’ll have to cancel the lunch?”

“My car,” I muttered from the inside of the tow truck. “I can’t meet you at 12:30 like we planned.”

“Well what about 1:00 or 2:00?”

That surprised me.

“Aren’t you working?”

“I’m working for myself now. New law firm, didn’t I tell you?”

“What happened to Allegiant Business Law?”

“Wasn’t for me,” said Marley. Yeah, that was true. The bags under her eyes and her frequent sighs spoke enough. She never cared for that position, but Marley doesn’t quit either.

“So what are you doing now?”

“Nothing today,” Marley continued a laid back tone. I hardly believed this was the woman who was on her third vodka cranberry when I met her. “Text me where the mechanic is. I’ll pick you up.”

Marley took me to our favorite bar, and we shared overpriced vegetarian tapas. Her anticipated new position was in immigration law. That’s a bold move, and one that would produce much positive utility. Every successfully settled migrant reduced suffering of at least one person. Yet it paid less. Marley had law school debts to pay. The corporate world helped with that. Work that might as well be pro bono could not.

“It’ll be fine. Really,” she said. The new position pays only about ten thousand less than what I’m earning now.”

“Only ten thousand?” I said.

“Plus the loan forgiveness after four years,” she explained.

My eyes opened wide.

“I had help getting it,” Marley added. “Ever heard of Grey Temple Career Wellness?”

“Yes,” I said with skepticism. They advocated company sponsored yoga, proper ergonomics, and encouraging office employees to make sand sculptures. Grey was fitting for their name. They occupied the strange area between evidence based health practices, and new age practices that -to be perfectly precise- had not yet been supported by peer reviewed research.

“They’re more than new age mumbo jumbo, Jeri.” She read my mind. Lawyers. They’re so good at body language. “Here.”

She handed me a card for Grey Temple. It displayed a confident, beautiful, and professional woman with a bold light sparkle to her eyeshadow. Illaria Cortez.

“Have some consultant time,” Marley encouraged.

“Why?”

“Because your car is broken,” she added. “Because your schedule is messed up. You might as well fill the time.”

Hard to argue with that, but I could at least manage to catch up on some studies. I might need to clean up my apartment too. Wait, no. This was the week I had finally broken down and hired cleaning services. I yanked out my phone. My critical tasks had been pushed back another day. Now, without having to travel across town to the hospital, I had a three hour gap in my day. It had been empirically verified.

“Okay, Marley. I’ll see her this afternoon.”

My ride share took me out of downtown and to a neighborhood in rapid transition. New construction surrounded me. That’s a healthy sign even as it meant that people had to relocate. When a depressed area of a city is revitalized with new construction, a city can be better planned. This means more taxes for the common good and ultimately more benefit for everyone, including those who were forced to move as the older buildings were torn down.

Besides, those old buildings probably contained lead.

There was one building that stood out among the others. Grey bricks and arched windows made up the most of it. It had high steeples and arched doorways. Stained glass? It had that too. Though I could see some of the glass was new. A sleek modern sign out front proclaimed “Grey Temple Career Wellness.” They must’ve taken their name from the bricks.

Inside, it had been remodeled. Hallways had been added, cubicles had replaced pews, and bright stained glass windows overlooked a lobby. After waiting, I recognized Illaria as soon as she greeted me. Her outfit is what you would get if a sari made a baby with a CEO and then took his job.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said. Her voice soothed as it projected around the room.

“How could you?”

“Intuition.”

“I’m Jeri. Pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed. Come into my office,” she began.

Illaria reclined on a comfortable couch and asked me to sit on a nearby armchair. Her desk was tucked away in the corner. She asked several questions such as how I knew Marley. Before long, we slipped into the taboo subject of workplace romances. I let slip that I’d been sleeping with Elliot, and apologized for bringing my sex life into a work consultant conversation.

“Oh it needn’t be so taboo,” said Illaria. “We needn’t spend everyday of our lives doing constant risk assessment, cost benefit analysis, when it comes to our empowerment.”

She stressed the word empowerment. Illaria had a strong sense of making the world better. Empowerment -specifically the term ‘integrated empowerment’- was the word she used to connect sexual life, career life, relationship life. Everything was drawn together for her.

“Now what is the next step for you?” she asked.

“The next step? I need to finish my residency.”

“And then?” She leaned back dangling her arm comfortably over the edge of the couch.

“Chicago Adventist Oncology,” I said. I went on, explaining what it was and how Elliot had been short listed.

“Grey Temple would like to make that happen,” she said. Illaria’s eyes glinted.

“How could you possibly help me?” I asked.

“I didn’t say help. I said we could make it happen,” she continued. She said still reclining,and looking right at me. “Like we did for Marley. The price is only one evening of service. No more than we asked from her.”

“Service?”

“Sexually.”

I leaned in towards her, and checked the sensations in my body. I discovered it unexpectedly horny. Okay, so that might be fun.

“We can draw up a contract. It’s pretty standard,” she continued with utter professionality.

There was no way her little wellness group could possibly guarantee such a thing. Why was this Illaria so confident? Yet, I guess there wasn’t much I could lose. Besides, after todays rough and tumble with my car, I needed a healthy orgasm. Elliot would be on shift and Illaria enticed more than a dildo.

“What’s involved in this service?”

“Whips. Chains. A blindfold. Full disclosure Jeri, it will hurt a bit,” she smirked. “Pain comes first. Deeper, more intense orgasms to follow.

“Oh…” I exhaled.

“Shall I draw up that contract?”

I agreed to it. She printed out a contract. It said things like “The SUPPLICANT agrees to be a sexual slave for no less than one hour to a maximum of four hours for the exclusive pleasure of the MASTER” et cetera. Simple. Straight forward. I was already hot, but made sure it explicitly stated what kind of Oncology Ward I would be accepted to. “To be fulfilled in a manner at the discretion of the MASTER” it said.

Before I knew it, I had followed Illaria into the basement. I stripped myself and Illaria affixed cuffs to my wrists and ankles. Chains held my limbs out, and were tethered to two posts to my left and right. Perfectly immobilized, I was stuck in a position like an anatomy text book. I hadn’t known how much I liked it.

“Is the supplicant happy?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, master,” corrected Illaria holding my jaw.

“Yes, master!”

“Good. Look upon my toys now, supplicant,” she said.

Illaria presented a collection on top of a table. There was a vibrator with enough ribbing for a rough insertion. Another dildo was smooth and made of glass. There were other types too. Including one shaped like a tentacle and another in a curving spiral. She looked over a scourge and paddle next to several leather clamps. There were three different types of gags.

Illaria took up a pair of floggers and flung them back and forth. Approaching me sent a breeze over my naked skin. My nervous system responded, sending blood to the surface, which caused my skin to warm. Then the beatings began. Breasts are so sensitive and my nipples had been out and erect since upstairs. I’d never been struck except for those frequent hand slappings at my ass. This was that many times over, and I cried out at the unexpected hurt over my body.

“Does the supplicant enjoy the beatings?”

“It hurts, master,” I winced.

“I know it does,” said Illaria. “Can you not answer a simple question?”

Several more slaps struck my body. Illaria took her floggers to my ass next. Oh that was a familiar and wonderful feeling.

“Yes. I love it, master,” I said.

“That’s more like it,” said Illaria. The beating continued. She alternated between floggers and paddle. Each strike was exploratory and curious. She was getting to know my body and learning my reactions. The greatest shock was when she flapped her flogger upwards between my legs, slapping my pussy with feline playfulness. Tears happened. It took me a moment to realize it, but the pain was so wonderful that I cried. Endorphins coursed through my bloodstream.

Illaria gagged me and then held my weeping face towards hers.

“You’re taking the pain well, supplicant,” she said. “Yet you have asked for so much. You’ll be expected to take much more.”

I nodded.

Illaria turned her back and examined the toys in her collection. She pulled out a plug and lubed it up.

“You ever had one of these shoved in you?” she said only to ignore my muffled answer. She pressed into my anus. A spiraling sensation of surprise pleasure ran up my spinal column. My hair was yanked back while Illaria wiggled the toy in.

“Dirty little slut,” she said. “I bet you’ve had more than one cock back there.”

Her fingers rubbed my sopping pussy, searching for the clit. I groaned when she found it.

“I bet you’ve had cocks in both ends at the same time, whore.”

Abruptly, she let off. So close. She had denied me one orgasm and I shook against my bounds for her to return. I needed to come, but Illaria only covered my eyes with a blindfold.

“Can you see?” she mocked. I shook my head. “Quite good then.”

Petting, grabbing, and playful scratching marauded me. I took a sustained pinch at both nipples. Clamps, was all I could guess. Then the beating returned. This time, she struck with something like a fat thick tail. The thuds came heavy over my back and stomach, leaving them tingling each time.

At last, a dildo was stuffed inside me. Cooing for it, I relaxed my muscles and tilted my hips. Illaria rammed me with the smooth glass first, prodding around in a search for the right spot. She found it and I moaned into the gag, but she didn’t let me orgasm. Illaria jabbed me with another. This one could be either the ribbed one or the spiral one. Fuck, it felt so damn good. She continued on and on like that, not saying a word and occasionally swatting the clamps at my nipples. I must have been penetrated with every single dildo she had.

But it was that latex tentacle that got me off. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard. Not with my own toys and not even with Elliot. The pulsations from that orgasm had me pulling so hard I could’ve broken those beams. Once it was all done, I hung my head forward and drooled through my gag, heedless to my own debasement. I can’t believe it, but I wanted Illaria to do that to me again.

She tugged the plug out, and released the clamps at my nipples. The rest of the gear except my wrists came undone as well. That was good. I needed something to hang on to. Once I opened my eyes, I saw redness on my body and looked over at Illaria’s toys. She had wrapped her dildos in a thin towel which my juices had dampened. The dry, latex, tentacle stood proud over them all.

“Your payment has been accepted, Jeri,” said Illaria. She unbound my wrists. “You may be a person again.”

“Thank you,” I said. Did I thank her for the sex or for the contract? It was definitely at least for the orgasm. Could Illaria actually make things work? “Did you do this with Marley? Is this how she paid?”

“I don’t discuss my other clients,” said Illaria. “Though I’m sure she can describe many things for you herself. How do you feel?”

“Loose!” I exclaimed.

“As you should,” said Illaria. She gave me time to redress myself and pick up a ride hail. I hugged her good bye and thanked her. “The pleasure was all ours, Jeri. Good luck in Chicago!” she said as I left.

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