The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Isn’t It Good, His Morning Wood

by Only A. Passenger

Chapter Six

Karen appeared ten minutes early. Mark had gotten tired of just sitting around waiting so he’d cleaned his apartment, including the bathroom and vacuuming the whole place, even sweeping the outer hallway and stairs leading down to the outside door. He showered, put on clean clothes and had everything on but his shoes when the bell rang at five-twenty.

Anticipation changes body chemistry, and his body couldn’t decide whether the evening would have him wrestling with knockers or lying to coppers. He went down the stairs slowly, and through the glass panels saw Karen standing there, either alone or with the others out of sight. She was turned partly away, giving him a view that was part profile, partly her back. A dark skirt and boots today, and up top a form-fitting cream-colored sweater. The arm facing him was stretched down, holding a white plastic shopping bag with something heavy inside. The outward curve of her left breast was just outrageous, and somehow different than it had ever been when staring at her tits in class.

When he opened the door her feet pivoted to bring her facing him. The change in direction was fast enough that when her boobs followed, they seemed to do so in a wobble-wave.“Let me in,” she said, her lips moist and red, her nostrils flaring.

She looked a bit wild, and untamed in other ways because knockers didn’t knock-knock like that unless they were braless, her nipples... Whoa. They were practically bursting though the sweater, and when she walked through the door it all swayed or surged with emphatic force. As she passed him, he thought of all the people out there who must have witnessed Karen Corso walking around campus with her killer tits unconstrained and bouncing. It was the kind of thing people would be talking about, and would anyone have seen that she ended up at his door?

He followed right behind on the stairs, amazed by the movements taking place at the front that were visible from the rear. She dropped the bag once they were through his door and turned to face him, standing near the center of the room with her hands planted on her hips, her posture and the look in her eyes saying, “I’m the boss of you”, or something of that nature. Also, “I am so freaking stacked.”

“I’m not just these tits,” she said.

Even the most ardent of breast-worshippers, like his friend Jorge, would never have thought that, because the tits needed her legs to get around.

“I’m nota whore,” she added,not waiting for his opinion. “Some people think I must be a whore because of how I look, like I must eat and breathe sex all day. And I do like sex but it doesn’t, like, rule me or anything, got it?”

He nodded his head. The apartment smelled clean from his afternoon, Murphy’s oil soap in the air, but now he smelled Karen again, too. Pussy scent; animalistic, familiar and instantly hardening.

“I want you to be my new boy-toy,” she said, weight quickly shifting from leg to leg. “Not my boyfriend; I don’t do boyfriends. And we don’t have to go out to movies together, walk hand in hand, go to the same parties, any of that. No one even needs to know you’re shanking the girl with the huge tits, okay? You’re a boy-toy, nothing but a boy-toy.”

It was a surreal performance, maybe even weirder than something in a dream. “Okay. I’m a boy-toy.”

“And I’ll decide when and how often to play with you. You’re just the toy, my toy, and I can take you out and play with you or put you back on the shelf. You have to just sit there and wonder if I’ll play with you again, got it? No calling or moaning or complaining, no sleepovers, no love letters or flowers or any of that. My time, my studies... I don’t want you taking up too much of my time, just fucking me when I need to be fucked.”

Mark had never felt anything but envy for the boyfriends he’d seen her with, whom he now knew had never actually been boyfriends. It, this penchant of hers to have a list of rules the same size as her tits, must have been hell on the old boy-toys. “I can do all that,” he said.

“I have a dorm with paper-thin walls so we’ll do it here, always. Got it?”

“Got it.” She was the total boss, so in-control. Only the way her weight kept shifting, and the way she worried her lips whenever she stopped speaking, biting them or chewing on them, and her smell, signaling that she must be deep-dripping right into her underpants, if she even had any underpants beneath that skirt. Her entire presentation was a form of compensation or over-compensation, because she felt so out of control.

“People were staring at me,” she said, voice softer now. “I’ve never gone braless in public and they kept staring and all I could think about was last night and how it felt when you... When I...” Hands off her hips now, palms brushing up and over the outer curve of that thrust-bulging sweater surface. When they got to the front and closed in on her nipples, she made a little sound, sort of an “Oooooooo”, drawn out for half of forever, her eyes closing.

Tit-trance, and with the size of hers she could be lost in there for a long time. He probably could have done fifty different things and the outcome would be the same, because Karen Corso had arrived like a teapot at a near boil, only needing a tiny bit more pressure to get her whistling. What he did do was quietly unzip his pants, quickly stepping out of them and his underwear, too. When her eyes fluttered open he was standing right where he’d been before, but now with his love-lance visibly ready for jousting.

“Uh!” she said, her gaze going straight to it. He thought she might fall for a second because her legs didn’t look too steady, but she kept it together and said, “My God, it’s an awakening!” He was going to ask her what she meant when she went on, her eyelids going all semi-spastic like they had the night before. “I am so fucked! I am so fucking fucked!” she half-sang, right before grasping her sweater bottom and lifting it up, pulling so it traversed great obstacles before finally clearing her head.

Her huge breasts did a lift and bouncy drop that should have been accompanied by some sort of sound-effect, finally juggling into place. Mark thought he should know these tits already, to the point that nothing about them should surprise him. Yet he marveled at the sheer size of them, and the loveliness of her areolae, so smooth and round at the edges but growing pebbly with little fuck-me bumps until her fat nipples jutted as engorged exclamation points.

She stepped forward just enough for her right nipple to dent his shirt. “Do you have a bed in this place?”

He did, a queen-sized one on the floor in the only other room, the space in his bedroom barely big enough for the mattress to lay flat. “In there,” he said, glad he’d vacuumed up the dust bunnies beforehand.

“Bring that bag,” she said, indicating the one she’d lugged up the stairs.

The insanity of it—Karen Corso, both the “It” girl and the “Tit” girl on campus, naked above the waist, heading to his bed to strip out of her remaining clothes. He was pretty sure there must be some staying power to a dream’s magic, because her system was more revved than any normal girl’s, or at least any girl he’d had in the past whom he’d assumed was normal.

Elated, thrilled beyond belief, Mark and his pulsating harpoon of a dick went to the bag on the floor, picked it up and brought it into the bedroom. She was bent over, boobs descending towards the floor, in the process of removing her boots first, her skirt second. She did have panties on, black and lacy, the fabric right in front of her pussy turned an even deeper shade of midnight from being so saturated.

“I don’t even know...” she began, pausing as she slipped the panties down her fine legs. Completely naked now, her left hand clutched at the front of a massive breast, while the right hand glided down her torso until fingers found the musky natural spring between her legs. “...where I want you first!” she managed to finish.

Mark’s thrusting dick did an involuntary erector-set up-down really fast, like it, too, were trying to decide whether to begin high or low.

Karen saw the movement and it was like every inch of her skin flushed, top to bottom. “The bag!” she got out.

It was in his hands in an instant. He peeked inside—bottles of baby oil, eight of them.

“On me first,” she said, hefting her breasts with her hands and forearms.

They rose to meet the bottle of oil in his hand the way graceful whales rise in the ocean to greet a breath of air, needing it desperately, needing it with all of their being. He tilted the bottle above them and slowly poured, shining viscosity wetting her skin, finding the deep valley where liquid channeled between her mountains, Her hands, appearing barely large enough for the task, spread the oil far and wide, and once every inch of her was covered and shining, those same hands came down and found Mark’s pulsing erection, roaming and squeezing and twisting, turning him into reflective slickness, too, a meaty hot-rod getting waxed, prepared for a long ride into a deep canyon.

They sank onto the mattress together, Karen positioning her body broadside on all fours, treating him to a gravity-assisted side view. She didn’t stuff his cock between her tits this time, choosing instead to rock her body just the littlest bit, which began a wave motion of the dangling tits. They rubbed at him, bumping his cock the way an elephant might bump a tree. The motion of those tits was incredible, rocking forward and back but also beginning to slap together.

And then she went down on him, crushing his erection with her oily pliable mass, moving her torso to wipe-job or smoosh-job or smother-job him, whatever this was where his dick was buried in oily boob that seemed to be moving in every direction all the time.

Christmas was months in the past but a tiny snippet of holiday music came into his head, probably because Karen had been singing earlier. Wasn’t it eight maids-a-milking?

The song never really specified what they might be milking, or how.

* * *

“Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!”

She was unbelievable, the up and downing of her pelvis making her tits swing in huge hefty circles above him. Karen the tit-fuck terror was just as wild and greedy with his cock buried inside her pussy as when she’d done him again all super-slick with her baby-oiled boobs.

What did it mean? Staying power, baby. His, sure, but more importantly it was the power of yesterday’s dream keeping itself ramrod hard in whatever ether it lived in.

Karen’s rhythm changed, new fires lighting, her need to come again sliding her down his pole faster, deeper, the gravity inside pulling at his matter like he was being sucked inside a black hole.

“Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!UhhUhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!Uhh!”

Christ, so fast, the liquid friction boiling his balls. He pumped up into her just as fast as she shoved her pelvis down, Ramsesing his cock into her until he felt the surge coming, her clenching pussy grabbing hold and lifting the cum out. She screamed above him, her “UhhUhh” sound-effects warbled and her tits swinging differently, less spiral galaxy and more globular cluster.

They detonated together, hot waves of traditional dick/pussy union smacking against each other like her tits smacked, a long slap slap slap of orgasms, Karen’s face a head-shaking blur and her expression becoming unreadable as a curtain of long dark hair fell in front of it.

At some point she just sagged forward upon him, and he was instantly up to his neck in boobs. They lay there together like that, two slippery breathing machines gulping oxygen, two heartbeats galloping and mingling inside what felt like twenty gallons of supple flesh and hot glands. Finally, runaway pulse slowing, her balance changed and she slid sideways, more or less at his side.

His thoughts were jumbled, his ears ringing and fingers tingling from so much blood flowing elsewhere. And Karen did what she always seemed to do after a bit of time had elapsed since climaxing—she let out a mile-long sigh that sounded like it must have originated in her feet and passed through every organ before oozing out her mouth.

“The awakening,” she eventually said, those words like a sigh, too. “All of this... It’s about awakening.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. When he finally asked, “What awakening?”, she shifted her position, a leg over his groin, a boob hefted and tucked under his chin.

“Everything possible then,” she said in a languid outpouring that sounded faintly musical. Then, almost trance-like and definitely sung: “Awaken feeling randy early in the morn; ta-ta da-da, and now we’re porn.”

She interrupted her adorable little flight of singing to giggle under her breath, and sighed again. Mark thought she sounded fuck-drunk, if there were such a thing.

He liked her like this. He liked her when she sounded bossy, too, but then only because she had that cum-crazed flare in her irises, everything about her attitude and posture advertising how badly she needed sex. She obviously wanted to make rules and put her lust in a box, but once they got going the box got tossed out the window and she became a nearly unquenchable titty-go-round carnival ride of a great lay.

She said something or hummed something else, but the words were indistinct and they trailed off. She rolled over and away, almost into a fetal position, and sighed a final version of those elastic sighs before slipping lights-out.

Mark lay there for awhile, his wetted cock humming in its own way, thoroughly happy at being temporarily drained. That was one tit-fuck and two fuck-fucks tonight, making it a three-three tie between tit-fucks and fuck-fucks, if he included the desk-fuck with Susan in the morning. Plus one blow-job from Karen last night.

As if anyone in the dream world were keeping score.

At some point he got up from the bed and silently tip-toed out the room, drank some water and peed. It was nine-thirty at night, and from the sounds of things it had begun to rain. Peeking out through the blinds, he saw sheets of rain wetting cars and the street below.

He wasn’t sure what he should do right now—go back there and sleep with Karen? He didn’t want to sleep yet, not with his dick feeling so satisfied, because that probably made having a sex dream less likely.

He also couldn’t imagine Karen spending the entire night. He’d be fine with that; what a way to wake-up in the morning, if he had sex dreams and a morning erection and she were here to “Uh! Uh! Uh!” his dick half to death before he’d even wiped the sleep from his eyes. But all that stuff she’d vented when she arrived, like a do-me checklist about not being boyfriend/girlfriend, and not making demands on her time and not-this and not-that. Hadn’t she even said no sleepovers? It was probably best to send her home with an umbrella tonight, and hope last night’s dream continued to exert its influence on her.

He headed back to the bedroom to simply stare at her body while she slept, but the phone rang and when he looked at the caller I.D., the name was Susan M. Gibson. He picked up before the third ring, hoping the sound of the phone hadn’t awakened Karen.

“Don’t come back to the lab in the morning,” Susan said in a rushed voice.

Fuck, it sounded like the magic had worn off with this one. “Why not?”

“Because I got fired. I won’t be there.”

“Fired? Holy shit! Why? What happened?”

“Apparently they have little tolerance for having project managers shag their test subjects on their desks.”

“You told them?”

“I couldn’t tell them! But they could smell it on me and in the office, and one intern must have heard us from out in the hallway. They demanded an explanation, but when I was called into my supervisor’s office I couldn’t get one word out about it!”

He could guess what happened next. Her boss demanding a yes or no: Did you or did you not engage in inappropriate behavior with one of the test subjects, and she with her mouth or vocal cords gummed up, just standing or sitting there with the mute button pressed. “Oh Susan, I feel really...”

“Don’t wring your hands too hard. I’m fine money-wise. My husband is a neurologist so I think I’ll survive.”

“Your...” He didn’t say it. He hadn’t even considered that she could be married, which was stupid because she was older and so desirable. And had a wedding ring on the hand that had been playing with the cross hanging under her throat, what an oblivious idiot he was. “Susan, you don’t also have... I mean...”

“Kids? Relax; not yet.”

Whew, but not a total whew, more of a mixed bag. She hadn’t been able to tell anyone about the two of them even when her job survival depended on it, which might be kind of bad for her, good for him. That probably meant she wouldn’t be able to tell her husband either, another plus. But where were they in their special relationship or non-relationship right now? He’d dreamed of her at the lab, in that room, and if they didn’t have access to the room anymore, was that enough to break the spell?

“So what do we do in the morning, Susan?” He meant sex-wise, but there was also the matter of the money he was supposed to earn. Dammit, he’d probably never see a dime of it now.

“I’m conflicted. I should probably just hang up and put all of this—you—behind me. I mean you only have three pills left...”

“Two now.”

“So you can’t do but so much damage, can you? Even if your little miracle happens again, in another couple of days it’ll all be over.”

Don’t remind him.

“I think...” she began, and he could hear the struggle in the pause that followed. Question was, a natural struggle, or something else? Karen had come back for more, after all, like the dream wouldn’t quite let go of her. “Look, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more, because it was super. But I’m married, happily married even if nothing about that ever gets so... It’s okay, the sex with my husband, nothing earth shattering but that’s okay, isn’t it?”

A rhetorical question, or did she actually want his opinion? “I don’t know if that’s okay for you or not,” he finally said. “Must depend on what you want.”

“What I want!” she laughed. “After yesterday, and the way I couldn’t do anything else! Even so it’s tempting, really tempting. But I’m guilt-free at this point because I didn’t choose it—I had to do it, I had no choice. I know you didn’t mean to make me that way but you did, and I didn’t ever plan to cheat on my husband but I did, so technically I’m already an adulterer, although is that true in any way that counts? So I’m conflicted, I’m so conflicted...”

“I can hear that.”

“But I think, on balance, I should just pick up the pieces on my end, and not forget what happened in my office, on my desk when you... when we, and I got so lost in that, like it was everything I lived for at that moment, nothing else even mattering any more... But no, move on, and hope I don’t read anything in the papers about women doing sex tricks with elephants in the streets, or some other fantastical mess.”

“Mark?” Karen, calling for him from the other room.

“You have someone there!” Susan said on the line. “Like me? Is she like me?”

What was that edge in her voice? Did she want to ride to Karen’s rescue or was she jealous? And that loophole you could drive an erection through, that their hooking up had been guilt-free sex because she hadn’t chosen it. So if she couldn’t choose it again...

Karen again: “Mark! I need you!”

“I have to go, Susan.”

“I... I’ll never forget you!” he heard through the speaker, just as he was clicking off.

Perfect timing, as Karen appeared in the doorway. Christ, the shape of her just standing there naked in the doorframe, her body so trim but the outside edges of her tits nearly filling the space side-to-side. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a look, that look, and brought a hand out from behind her back, holding an unopened bottle of oil. She popped the pour-cap, held up her right breast with her other arm and in seconds her breathtaking bosom was shining like the streets out in the rain.

Karen tit-fucked him this time like a sexual assassin might, directing that he position his body all wrong in his one comfy chair, with his lower back on the top of the backrest and his upper body on the seat. The arrangement had his dick as the highest point of his body, and elevated just right for her to stand and lean over him with her hands pressing her tits together, his cock completely disappeared inside Karen’s incredibly long and deep cleavage canyon.

She did it all with her hands, keeping her body completely still but jiggling the mass of her tits up and down at fantastic speed, the friction so intense even with all that oil for gliding. It was an astounding sight, the size of those things jostling and their shape jelloing with him performing the magic act of no longer being seen while being felt more than ever. And her face, her expression—her hair was bouncing along with the tits, a thick strand partially masking the right side of her face, but he could see the complexity of the feelings written on her features, the determination and the pride in what she could do and the pleasure she felt in doing it and the way it was getting to her, the tit-fucking reverberating elsewhere in her system and her mouth twisting and her teeth shining as she started to groan, her coming release tied right there to the aching of his balls and the tightening in his ass and the heart-stopping instant of yes/no when the climax had been reached but the ejection button not fully pushed, not yet, not for that loooong nano-second where his balls and his dick and his tide and her tits and her pussy and even her brain, her hijacked brain, they were all one teetering on the edge, already a tipping point, the forces exploding.

A wet spurting gushing fragrant scream of a note to the dream scorecard holder: Tit-fucks four, fuck-fucks three, blow-jobs one.

* * *

Once again, Karen left just before midnight. She was less bruised this time yet possibly more destroyed, her breasts all flushed just like her cheeks. Her lips were red, maybe chapped, and she walked a little funny, too, not sore or hurt but occasionally undirected, her compass spinning with no indication of where the four familiar directions had disappeared to.

He offered to walk her to her dorm since the weather was so nasty, but she declined, content with borrowing a rain slicker and an umbrella. This time when he watched her walk away down the sidewalk, she was completely disguised, nothing about the raincoat’s form giving away how, underneath that dark shapelessness, the girl with the most incredible tits on campus this way came.

This way came, that way came... And every time tonight they had climaxed simultaneosly, in synch as though always tripping over a single trip-wire. And other differences tonight, like the rules she imposed, which also suggested how she could see this arrangement going on for a little while. There had been less franticness in her demeanor, too, which was okay when it hadn’t dampened her libido one bit, and there had been a different sort of compatibility. It wasn’t so much that he could think she was coming to love him; still, it seemed she was more relaxed about being with him, right down to feeling comfortable enough to hum a little tune under her breath at times.

They were getting along great when it was all about this magical sex, but he needed to remember how, deep down, they were birds of a different feather. He: normal guy living a dream. She: sex-bomb dream-dropped on top of him. In this arrangement, getting the prey he’d ogled for months, he was probably some sort of raptor. An owl, since his power came from the night.

And she would have to be a tufted titmouse, what else? “A really tufted titmouse, giving out tuft-fucks.”

This night was also different in that he didn’t have to get up so early, not after his gig at the research lab had flamed out. So it had been a Faustian bargain after all—he was getting fabulous sex from women he’d never have a chance with otherwise, but it had cost him perhaps all of his five-hundred dollars. Not a fantastic sum of money by any means, but that just showed how bad off his bank account was these days. He’d be money-stressed for the remainder of the semester for sure; even so he figured it was a pretty good deal.

So what next? He sat at his kitchen table again with his sketchbook, and re-read everything he’d written so far, all the names, the dream from the morning, all of it. Given a choice, he’d pick dreaming of Cynthia Gilwood in a heartbeat over any of the others. Problematic, in that she and Karen were friends? He couldn’t see where it mattered; in fact, maybe he could make another dream come true by doing them both at the same time. The girl with the biggest, right there with the girl who probably had the tightest. It sounded like an erotic fairly tale, or a kind of sexy comic book, the amazing Tit Girl vs. the incredible Teensy Twat.

His next favorite was hard to choose. The Russian girl, the blonde at the coffee shop, the red-haired total stranger—personality-wise he had no clue about them, and physically he’d feel like he’d hit the jackpot with any one of them. And wasn’t there an equal chance of dreaming of Susan again?

With his dick aching the way a dick ought to ache late at night, he opened his fridge for a cold beer. Which, fuck, maybe he shouldn’t drink, precarious body chemistry and all that. “Even though a beer may have started the whole thing.” But he hadn’t had one last night, and look at all that had happened.

He surfed the web again, searching for more methods that were proven to direct dreams into desired directions. The only new tack involved making recordings of the sounds one associated with the environment to be dreamed, or the person’s voice if trying to dream about a specific person. If he’d thought ahead he could have gotten a recording of Karen’s voice, and created an Mp3 loop of her “Uhh uhh uhh!” sounds to play as a dream-inducing lullaby. One site suggested making a recording in your own voice, repeating ad infinitum what it was you were supposed to dream of. But did he really want to go to bed listening to himself saying, “Dream of fucking lots of girls” over and over and over?

“I already know in my bones that I want to dream of doing it with more beautiful girls,” he said.

He also knew that in normal circumstances, he’d probably stay up on a night like tonight to try to get a bit of school work done. He was running out of time to work out the Thunder Woman anatomy on the last panels of his independent project, and then he’d have to put a ton of hours into the actual painting.

He had a weird thought: Would it be possible to get Karen to model for those last panels? She was even bustier than his working images of Thunder Woman—he’d actually have to reduce the size of her breasts in the drawings—but her body was really excellent overall, and her big mane of dark hair was right for Thunder Woman. He’d only need to sketch her in a handful of specific poses, or photograph her if she didn’t have time to hold the poses.

“No way,” he said, thinking about the recitation of her boy-toy rules. She wouldn’t want to waste the time, and it would be equally silly to draw her when he could be fucking her.

He thought about that beer again, and decided against it once more. In fact, just sitting there listening to the rain, he realized that he was tired. Two women in one day—had he ever had two different women in the same day?

“Nope.” It really was a world playing by a different set of rules with the energy of his capricious dreams involved.

He showered and brushed his teeth before heading for bed. When he went back into the bedroom, wow, a wall of pussy-perfume again, Karen still there long after she’d gone. He could change the sheets and bedspread, but when the point was to summon sex dreams in the night, he thought it best to practically embalm himself in the smells of female excitement and orgasm.

Remembering the advice he’d read to encourage waking up from a dream, he went back to the kitchen and drank down two glasses of water. For the same reason he left his alarm set for early, in hopes of awakening him right in the middle of some hot dream action.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” he said, turning out the light.

And, though his dick was a bit sore from all the Karen friction, it was not broken. Although it was a good thing the pills and the dick and his subconscious mind feltlike it was.

* * *

“Uh ahh, uh ahh, uh ahh, uh ahh!”

Oh God, unbelievable, ready to come again, her pussy like an animal living within her, doing things, almost shape-shifting in there... She was more than an incredible fuck, she was a fucking fuck prodigy...

“Uh ahh, uh ahh, uhahhuhahhuhahh...”

Beep beep, beep beep, beep beep...

His hand shot out to shush the alarm even before his eyes opened. Immediate impressions: morning sun, rain gone, cock insanely erect and pulsing, sex dreams, sex dreams, what were the sex dreams? His dick was hard-begging and he’d been having a sex dream, maybe even having more than one, but what were they?

He remembered a guttural “uh ahh” cry, repeated with increasing force and speed as she... She what? Who what doing what? Fucking, had to be fucking, but what girl had he been fucking, and where, and what else?

His cock felt like it might throb right off his body, and he tried to tune his mind to its signal, just lying supine and letting the memory of the fucking drift in. So hard, it had to be good, good sex, but nothing, no memory. He quickly tried word association, afraid he’d lose any chance to retrieve the dream if the memories didn’t come quickly.

Karen, boobs, blow-job, tit-job, girl on top, girl on bottom, girl in bra, fingers, legs, tongue, redhead, blonde, Susan, Cynthia, tight pussy, fucking, great fucking, fucking incredible fucking...

Fuck! So close but he couldn’t fucking remember!

Not knowing what else to do he shut his eyes, intending to fall back asleep and dream again. His dick kept pulsing, so incredibly hard, and his mind wouldn’t go quiet. He pictured Karen as she’d looked last night, trying to be stern with her rules but needing his cock too badly to really be the one in charge. Oh man, to have her like that every night for the rest of the semester, doing it like rabbits, fucking and tit-fucking and maybe more blow-jobs, why not, because she’d been able to take him all the way down into her throat the one time she’d done it.

Could their relationship ever become more romantic, as in truly romantic? That would be great, the little caring things or teasing things a woman could do to set a tone. Lingerie, outfits, sexual suprises, sexual gifting, could you just imagine Karen wearing sexy outfits with all that need burning out her eyes? Making an offering of herself, doing special things to please him, wanting what he wanted because making him happy got her hot. Getting pleasure from making him ache and then going into her wailing thrashing volcanic orgasm mode.

Weird how Susan had called with Karen in the other room. He thought about Susan, married, rich husband, showing up desperate for hot sex. Fuck, if she was rich enough that losing her job barely made a dent, why not fuck him and afterwards write out a big check for his trouble? Wouldn’t that solve a lot of problems. He wished she would, and also wished he’d gotten a chance to get better acquainted with her legs, preferably in stockings and heels. Her tits, too—he’d never even seen them. He pictured them now as being like Karen’s, not in size of course but with her nipples jutting like fuck-me antennae, so sensitive that she could get off just from having him play with them.

Good fucking God he was so hard! This was when he needed a woman, wasn’t it, when he awakened first thing in the morning with his dick feeling like a lightning rod carrying too much current. Karen maybe, wanting to give boy-toy head at the crack of dawn. Or... An image of Cynthia Gilwood came into his mind, gone all energizer fuck-bunny with talents like... He didn’t know or couldn’t remember, but any time he thought about Cynthia and sex he couldn’t help imagining how tight her pussy must be, and what she might be able to do in bed.

Cynthia, Karen, together... A memory of the two of them, like a dream memory? He tried to empty his mind again, letting it all bubble up, if there was anything there to bubble.

Remember, remember... No bubbles, dammit. He could feel in his bones that he’d dreamed, or even had several dreams, but they simply weren’t there now.

He thought about getting up, maybe jerking off to do something about his hardwood log, pulsing like it was sending out distress signals. No wonder the drug/cock combination had taken this straining hardness as something to be fixed.

Could he fall back asleep with his dick aching like this? He didn’t think so. His cock felt so engorged that it was almost like having a sprained limb or a stubbed toe, throbbing too much to make sleep possible. Simultaneously, he had to pee something awful, those glasses of water before bed having their effect.

“Fuck this,” he said, hopping up from the mattress and padding to the toilet. He was so crazy-hard that it took a few seconds of forced relaxation for his erection piping to give way to his pee piping, and he had to push his cock down towards the john because it was almost freakishly determined to stick straight out.

His phone started to ring just as he flushed. Susan; it had to be Susan, changing her mind. Only when he picked up the phone it said K. Corso.

“Hello?”

“You make my nipples feel like they want to shoot rockets into space.”

Holy crap. “I’m, uh, glad you think so. But it takes two.”

“I just woke up a minute ago and all I could think about is you, and how I want to... You make me want to do things, do you know that? Things I’ve never even considered doing with a boy-toy.”

Of course he knew that; she wouldn’t even know his last name otherwise.

“I never thought I’d love to fuck this much. I mean I could just eat you!”

Whoa. Her tone of voice, and what she was saying... It was like having a woman’s pussy leaking right into his ear.

“I couldn’t sleep when I got home last night. I felt like the way we are together... I kept replaying it in my head over and over.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of that, too.”

“It isn’t finished, but I composed a little song about us. Want to hear?”

“Excuse me? A song?”

“I’m not a singer, but I think I can manage.” She cleared her throat, and in something between a languid sexy whisper and carrying an actual tune, she sang:

“When I’m with you, I sure know

My body is filled to overflow.

Take my offering in your hands

Stir my loins and heat my glands

And I’ll ride you until I bake

And be your woman now come awake.”

He waited for more, but there was silence. Mark felt that emotional awkwardness you sometimes feel when someone has just exposed themselves by performing; he also felt, if it were possible, even harder than a couple of minutes ago.

“That has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

“It’s how I feel. I need you to know... It’s all about awakening, Mark. I woke up this morning and it was all so clear. It’s hard to describe but I know it’s that you’re awakening, too.”

He had no idea what she meant, or what to say in response. It almost sounded like the thoughts of a different woman, Karen in a much softer head-space, a tiger finding its inner sex-kitten. “Well you sure have helped something to awaken this morning,” he finally said, wondering if that would be enough to get her back to his apartment, now, to do something about this erection.

“I want a key to your apartment,” she said. “To your building, whatever I need to get in there when I can.”

An instinctive alarm clashed with a suppressed cheer. Holy fuck was she ever hooked, and from a single dream dreamed two nights ago. Unless he’d dreamed of her again last night, and couldn’t remember that?

He was going to tell her to come over right now—she might or might not do it—but the phone beeped that he had another call. He looked at the screen—Susan.

“Karen, hang on a second. There’s a call I have to take.” She switched Karen off, not giving her a chance to protest. “Hello?”

“I need to meet with you.”

“Uh, okay. When? Where?”

“You’re at home?”

“I am.”

“Stay. I should be there in twenty minutes.”

“I thought...”

“It’s like a revelation, just now!”

She clicked off. What the fuck? How did she even know were he lived? Duh, his application for the project, that’s how. But what had happened, another dream? He clicked Karen back on. “Karen?”

“I need to see you as soon as possible. This morning, half an hour. And keys, I want keys.”

“Can’t do that. I mean I will, the keys... But I’ll have to have some made and I, um, I have a critique this morning,” he lied.

“Ditch it.”

“I can’t, it’s a special advisor’s critique. They’re putting me on the hot seat. Can’t miss it, just can’t.”

“But I need to... to, you know!” she pouted into the phone. “I want you! I can almost taste you!”

“Just hold tight until later in the day, okay? It’ll give me time to get a set of keys made for you.” He could foresee possible dangers in giving her keys—harems, bad—but the girl with the biggest and best tits on campus wanted easy access to his apartment so she could fuck him when she wanted, and what kind of idiot turns down an arrangement like that?

“Leave them under the mat on your building’s porch,” Karen said. “I’ll pick them up sometime between classes today.”

“Okay. Done.”

“I might be able to leave my class early tonight.”

“I’m in a class, too.”

“Ditch it, or leave partway through. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Again, done.”

“Maybe you can inspire some additional lyrics. See you tonight, lover boy.”

Lover boy. Last night, before fucking more, it was, “You’re nothing but a boy-toy,” and, “You have to just sit here and wonder if I’ll play with you again.” Now it was lover boy, and a key to his place, and I can get out of class early to comeover and you know. And a crazy little song about overflow and baking her glands and awakening? He never would have thought she’d be creative or silly in that way.

He had to process all of this while getting dressed and changing his sheets and steeling himself for whatever weirdness might arrive with Susan. She’d been so conflicted last night—could she have slept on it and decided it was worth it to have one last fling, all on her own? Or—this was both thrilling and frightening because it was a possibility that opened a door to absolutely anything—could he have dreamed something new about Susan last night that he couldn’t remember? For that matter, he might have dreamed of Karen with keys to his apartment. Or her as a lounge singer crooning pornographic songs.

First things first, Mark unearthed his micro-stash of two pills, drank one down with water and hid the last one away. One pill left, meaning two more nights of dreaming. Plus whatever he’d dreamed last night, if he’d truly dreamed last night.

On that, he’d only know by how the day went, and could only hope that whatever it included, it would all be good, and very very dickcentric.