The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

New York City, 2001 A.D.

She jerked under his hand on her breast, awakening him in an instant.

He listened to her gasp in her sleep. He watched her sable profile as she twitched five more times. She shuddered and fine sweat broke out on her curves. He rubbed her shoulder.

She sighed, awake now.

“Tap? Bad dream? The same one?” Jack Kepp shifted closer to her in the bed.

She moved away and slipped from the bed. “The Dragon. Hong Kong.” Her voice was tired. She crossed the dark apartment, slipped silently into the bathroom and closed the door.

Jack rolled over and got his cigarettes. He lit one, pulled on it fiercely. He nodded in the darkness. “Yeah. Hong Kong.”

He sighed, slipped out of bed and went to the window overlooking Central Park. Tap’s in bad trouble. Now what am I going to do about it? What the fuck can I do when she’s lying to me?

Tapestry swallowed pills for her headache and glanced in the mirror. Damn that Dragon. The filth she’s putting into the River isn’t making my personal destiny any easier. What is she planning?

She flipped off the bathroom light and padded back across the room. Jack was at the window. “Come back to bed,” she whispered.

He grunted. She smiled.

He moved quickly back to the bed, even before she reached it. Tapestry slipped back onto the sheets. She leaned into his back as he sat the edge of the mattress and kissed him between the shoulder blades. “Let’s make love before I take my run in the park.”

He smiled. “Sure.” He crushed out his third cigarette. “But this time, you’re the duck and I’m the fuckin’ rabbit.”

She grinned. “Oh, Jack, it makes me craaazy when you’re the rabbit.”

She slipped a hand around to his cock and began stroking it.

“Uh huh.” He turned slightly and kissed her hot lips. His hand found her breast; he slipped his hand under it and flicked the nipple with his thumb.

Tapestry groaned. “Bastard. It’s rabbit season.”

He pushed her down hard on the bed. He used his other hand to squeeze her other breast and hard nipple. “Bullshit. Duck season.”

She twisted to avoid the hands that were enflaming her breasts. She wrapped her legs around his middle as he tried to block her. Then she used the strength of her thighs to roll him over and sit on top of him. “No. Rabbit season.”

He tugged her nipples, sending quivering heat up her chest into her head. Her throat tightened and she swallowed. She felt his mind wrap hers and softly caress. “Like bloody hell it is. Duck season.”

“Mmmm. Oh, fuck.” She groaned, just wanting to let her will melt away. She reached back for his cock. Her warm fingers found it, enlarged and tantalizing under her hand. She felt the desire like a physical need as soon as she touched it. The dark room was a backdrop to her imagination. She saw Jack’s cock everywhere; painted on the walls, her own mouth sucking it. She sighed. “N-no. R-rabbit season.”

“Yeah, rabbit season.” He rolled over on top of her. He paused only a moment before slipping his large cock into her dripping sex. He held it there, half inserted.

She shuddered. So hot. “No. Duck season. You asshole.”

“Rabbit.” He slammed the cock deep.

She shouted hotly. “Duck.”

“Rabbit.”

“Duck.”

He increased his pace. “Rabbit.”

“Ah. Ah. Duck. Fuck. Duck.” She rolled her hips to meet the cock thrusts.

He sped up. “All right. If you say so. Fuckin’ duck season.”

“Ah. Yes. Fuckin’ duck. Fuck. Ah. Duck. Fuck.”

“Now say, ‘I’m a fucked duck’.” He licked her generous mouth, pumping her.

“Ah. Ah’m a fucked duck.” She gasped and came.

“Again.”

“Ah’m a fucked duck.” She groaned spreading her legs wide.

“Now that’s all you can say. You can’t stop.” He felt himself getting harder. Closer.

“Ah’m a fucked duck.” She grabbed behind her knees and pulled her legs up in the air. “Ah’m a fucked duck. Ah’m a fucked duck. Ah’m a fucked duck.”

He shouted with his orgasm. She rolled her hips hard to take more of his thrust.

“Ah’m a fucked duck!” She came again.

“Yes!” He roared. He collapsed on top of her.

They both began fondling each other and laughing.

The sun glittered from the lake on Tapestry’s left side, burning up the morning fog. The quiet of Central Park at the dawn hour was something that ordinarily gave her a deep sense of well-being. Not today, of course.

She lifted her chin. Such a shame that most people in this city don’t appreciate this park for the marvel that it is.

She smiled into the bright reflections that glimmered in her eyes as she ran the path. The warmth of her light sweat, the supple rhythm of her body whispered peaceful songs in the dark pathways of her mind.

This last week with Jack has been everything I could have hoped. That’s the one blessing I really wanted. I hope he and Nicki find a way to look out for each other.

On the water, a thin fog drifted aimlessly in thready patches. She listened closely, but with the sound of her sneakers rapping on the trail, she could hear nothing of the Great River now. The moment was too close. Her ability was coming up to the blankness she could not see beyond.

I really wish I might have lived long enough to see whether it is the Serpent or the Dragon who will triumph, but with no more tomorrows, I’m blind to it all.

She knew the weapon aimed at her now was loaded with special ammunition of deadly design. The rifle was a special near-silent creation and the shells were miniature self-propelled solid fuel missiles. She had watched the man load the weapon in her dreams for several nights now. She knew his face. She had a sense of his instructions from the Salamander.

The Salamander is so clever in destroying things. She pushed that idea away. She let her mind run down her mental list of things she had meant to do this week and realized she hadn’t cancelled the tickets Nicki had bought to the opera. But thoughts of various trivia died as she came around the curve of the trail and saw the statue standing by the retaining wall.

I don’t get further than that. The first five shots don’t kill me. Salamander wants me to go down knowing what’s happening to me. I’m glad he has no concept of how many days I’ve been smothering the sensations that are so plain to me. So painful. I wouldn’t want him to have the satisfaction. Just a few meters now. A handful of seconds.

She lifted her chin and smiled, running toward the statue. The bright water. The bad dreams were about to become real.

No more tomorrows.

The Ancient Scorpion, Yashra, ran through the trees with a crawling chill on her dark neck. Where in blood’s name is she? Why did Orchid slip out this morning? Why? And why does her scent lead here? This is Tapestry’s morning jog path. Orchid and I were going to approach Tapestry together to discuss the prophecy.

Finally, far ahead she spotted a chocolate-skinned woman in white sneakers, socks, thong and a halter-top with sunshine glinting off the red highlights in her hair. She noted that Tapestry ran along easily.

Seventy meters separated them. Scorpion pushed back her woven cloak to free her arms and began to sprint, a sick feeling materializing in her gut. Against all instinct, she called out, warning Tapestry of her rapid approach from behind. “Hey! Gypsy! Hey! We need to talk.”

Tapestry continued towards the lakeside and the weathered horse statue with the huge base.

Tapestry felt as if each second were going faster and faster, slipping from any rational perspective. Time was bleeding around her.

Someone shouted.

She didn’t turn and so was quickly at the statue. Then she was running past it.

The first bullet slammed into her lower back traveling faster than thought and punched out her ribs. There was no immediate pain; everything was moving too fast. She thought about her mother; her grandmother.

She thought about Jack.

The second bullet was higher; like a hot spear through her right shoulder. Her pace was faltering now. Her balance destroyed. She knew she would fall, but the killer had anticipated that. She would be an excellent target even lying on the ground. The final headshot would come when she was down and paralyzed.

She bit down on the whirl of panic as she actually got an image of herself in his crosshairs from his intense focus on her. Now she could guess where in the trees he was.

Useless now. Useless.

A girl with electric blue hair leapt out from behind the base of the statue, grabbed her as she toppled; swung her numb body around to protect her.

Tapestry gasped, “No! How?”

Orchid had no idea of what was foreseen to happen this morning; no understanding of Tapestry’s particular blindness. She was smaller and slimmer, yet she shielded Tapestry, thinking that the Ancient couldn’t be shot again if someone were standing in the way.

The third missile exploded into Orchid’s back, penetrating neatly through her and lodging in Tapestry’s shoulder blade. Orchid wailed in pain and shoved Tapestry to safety, towards the heavy base of the statue she had just been sitting behind, awaiting the runner.

The fourth shot snapped through Orchid’s neck, killing her instantly. She folded quickly and hit the dirt path with her head at a broken angle. Strange energies simmered at the neck wound as her life fled.

A distant shriek of rage came from the sprinting Scorpion.

Tapestry hit the ground numbly. Dazed. She was shocked to her core. There had been no blue-haired girl in her visions. She pulled at the ground, crawling into the shadow of the statue. Moving to cover. Tomorrows came rushing back into her thoughts through the Great River. A deluge hit her and washed through her mind. Thousands of tomorrows. Tapestry began to weep and pulled the ground beneath her, dragging her body to safety.

Everything began to hurt now.

Unexpectedly everything was altered, she knew she was going to live. Her tomorrows were restored. She abruptly knew that the girl, Orchid, was gifted with immunity to the Great River and was invisible to other Ancients. She realized Orchid was a special love of Yashra’s, the Ancient Lady Death. Yashra had discovered a secret potential in Orchid and somehow changed her. She also knew Orchid was lifeless on the ground behind her.

And she knew what would happen next because of all this. She wept as the Prophecy flooded her senses.

Yashra changed directions several times—by instinct moving towards the shooter in the treeline. Fury bloomed within the old fortress corridors of her mind. It transformed her black face into a cold snarling mask. She reached within her serape and pulled a knife.

The Prophecy that had brought her to New York was unimportant now. She had seen Orchid fall. She had seen thousands of bodies fall in her immortal life. Death knew how the dead hit the ground.

She raced for the hidden killer.

The man in the trees lined up his scope on the sprawled form of Tapestry squirming on the ground beyond the blue-haired gal.

And a poncho-wearing runner wove into his sights rushing for his position.

He tried to pop her in the chest.

She kept coming.

He swore in German and fired again. He realized it was another miss when she didn’t slow. She was running fast enough and weaving in a crazy rhythm. The flapping poncho was a distraction. He took a slow breath, she had cut the distance in half. He fired. A spray of blood bloomed. He took another slow breath. Fired. Another blood cloud. His target missed a step but was still coming.

He knew he still had two shots. He measured the speeding runner’s progress. The closer she came, the less chance she had to dodge. He waited, aimed on her sternum. He fired. Bloodspray. She went down.

He swung the scope back to Tapestry.

Gone. She was behind the statue. He swore again and looked above his sighting scope, to see how many people in the area might be aware of the shooting. He could always move to get another shot at Tapestry, and he had another magazine of ammo in his valise.

The black woman in the bloody poncho rose to her feet again with a knife. She was stumbling towards him. He didn’t waste time wondering how she could move at all—he put the scope back up and sighted her. Fired. Blood sprayed again. She spun and went down.

He pulled up the weapon and ejected the concealed magazine. Reaching in his black valise, he pulled out the second magazine and rammed it into the rifle.

And a flying figure tackled him. He snapped the weapon’s butt into her; impossibly it was the black bitch. She only grunted at the blow. She was bleeding horribly and he had to drop his weapon when he saw the solid grip she had on the wicked knife. It slashed for his neck.

He caught it in a cross-brace grip and stopped her.

She rolled into him, wrapping her other arm around his neck, yanking his head back. “Life- or- death?” She gasped wetly.

He slammed his heel into her shin. They both went down. Rolling. Her arms were like steel clamps. The knife grazed him once. He shifted her aim several times barely avoiding the razor point. They tumbled to a stop and he was shocked to find her on top of him, her legs spread wide to pin him effectively to the ground. Her knife hand was right below his chest.

She whispered weakly, “Life—or—death?”

He cursed. Shifted. Nothing. Her grip was wedged tight under him; the knife tip was breaking skin over his heart.

“Life! Life! You damn bitch. I want to live.” He grated out.

He shifted again.

The knife was too close. Getting tighter.

He stilled. Waiting.

She wasn’t breathing. He twisted at her knife hand. No. It was like cast steel. He paused, twisting his head to look at her face.

She was dead, blood leaking from her mouth. Her eyes were wide and frightening in intensity. He began to laugh. He realized he could probably pry his way out of her death-grip. He shifted his own hands away from her knife, carefully supporting himself on the ground to avoid scraping himself with the point already through his clothing.

“Hey.”

He froze, looking up. A blonde boy of thirteen was staring at him with wide green eyes; baseball cap on backwards, and baggy pants smoking slightly with—fog?

“What da fuck is this, dude?”

He cleared his throat and spoke calmly. “Wilson. FBI. This woman is a South American terrorist.”

“Awesome.” The boy moved nearer to stand over him. “Like, she nearly killed you and there’s blood everywhere, Mr. Wilson. Want me to call the cops?”

“No.” He shifted, wary of the knife drawing blood from his chest. “Just help me move her.”

“’Kay, dude.” The boy stepped on his neck; shoved him hard to the ground and fully onto the knife.

He choked, grabbed at the grass, and died.

The youth squatted down in front of the tangled bodies. “If you were really Mr. Wilson, I guess that makes me Dennis the Menace.”

He kissed his fingertips and placed them gently on the black woman’s forehead. “Truly we belong to the River and truly to the River shall we return. May the River have mercy on you, Yashra. You did not die unloved.”

He straightened up. “Missed the whole thing by minutes.” He whispered to no one. Then he kicked the dead shooter in the head and cursed in a dead language.

The surgical team moved with frenzied efficiency while the surgeons studied the films. The black woman on the table had two traumatic gunshot wounds and another serious one. There were arteries that needed immediate work. Tremendous blood loss had occurred in getting her to the hospital.

Moreover, the surgeons were excited about a number of fantastic anomalies in the x-rays.

In their opinion, it was doubtful that she would live. The surgeons hastily conferred over the difficult choice of which wound might kill her first.

The doors from Prep swung open as another gowned figure joined the five in the room already. “What have we got boys and girls?”

Heads turned. Eyes widened above surgical masks.

The short arrival stepped up behind the two surgeons, glanced at the x-rays. “Come on, doctors. Time’s a wastin’.” He clapped them both on the shoulder in a spirited fashion and turned back to the theater center. He strolled quickly to the table.

He put a hand on the anesthesiologist’s arm. “How we doin’?”

The seated doctor looked at the small fellow. “Uh, fine—she took some time to go under. Doctor?”

“Hackenbush. Upstairs called me in for this. I’ve done about fifty or sixty thousand of these.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the patient; reached up and tucked some stray blonde hair into his cap. He walked around to the opposite side of the table. In quick succession, he smacked both of the surgical nurses on the ass. The male nurse was particularly startled. “So—,” he rubbed his hands together, “I’ll start with the lower wound.” He held out his hand and winked at the op nurse on his right. “Fill my fingers before they start wandering, sweetie.”

The nurse turned crimson; quickly reached and put a steel blade in his hand from the tray. She briefly considered kicking him in the balls. Then decided it wasn’t professional.

He winked at her. Big. Green. Eyes.

She paused. Dizzy. She smiled at him and winked, wondering if she could get him alone after the operation. He had amazing green eyes.

The two surgeons hurried to the table. One barked, “Look here, doctor. I don’t remember—.”

The small fellow started his incision. “No bullet fragments, right? Are you two going to assist me, or am I going to kick your asses and tell your parents what a waste your education was? Can I get better light on her right here?”

The light was quickly adjusted.

Dr. Michael Ward felt awkward arousal watching the fellow’s delicate hands working quickly and with great precision. His cock was stiffening. He elbowed the woman surgeon. “I’ll take the suction and help him. You prep the upper wound.”

A minute later, standing beside Dr. Hackenbush, Michael realized that the fellow smelled of fresh green herbs. It was awkward, crazy, but Michael was hard as a rock. His cock burned and he took delight in mopping Hackenbush’s forehead, leaning closer to him.

The room quickly became largely silent and everyone functioned like a well-seasoned team of life-savers.

Jack was out of cigarettes again and coming back inside from smoking exile. He almost headed back into the surgical waiting room when he spotted a face he recognized. He changed directions like a trained athlete and fell into step with a plain-faced woman still in scrubs.

“OK, doc. You’ve been in there for four hours. Tell me something.”

She stopped and looked at him with a dazed expression. “Oh. Mr. Kepp. Yes. Your daughter is going to be fine. She’s an amazing kid. I’ve never seen a sixteen-year-old with such a will to live. We just finished up.” She smiled and blinked slowly. “You’re cute. Buy you a cup of coffee?”

He stared at her. Silly bitch! “Doc, are you stoned?”

She smiled. She tucked her hands behind her back and studied the toes of her white sneakers. “No. What did you have in mind, Mr. Kepp? I can be very flexible.”

“Excuse me? Is she in recovery? Can I see her?” He glared at the crazy doctor.

“Sure,” she enthused and grabbed his arm. “I’ll take you to see her. Maybe you’ll get to meet Dr. Hackenbush. He’s dreamy.”

They went to visit Tapestry.

Senior Surgical Nurse Pruitt hurried along the corridor and spotted him at the surgical desk. The on-duty nurses were flirting outrageously with him. She frowned. So was Doctor Mike, the senior surgeon with whom she had just finished the Kepp surgery.

She’d always wondered if Doc Mike was gay.

And she while she was considered painfully stuffy around here despite three years on the job, she found herself feeling possessive about this little fellow she hardly knew. She walked briskly up and tapped her quarry on the shoulder.

He glanced at her. She fell into his green eyes. “Hi,” he offered. “Nurse Pruitt, you did a bang-up job in there. Thanks.”

Yeah, well I’d like you to do a bang-up job on me. She smiled. “You wanted all the copies of the films and the hardcopies of the attendant records on the Kepp girl, Doctor Hackenbush.”

He nodded and pulled his hair cap off and tossed it to Doc Mike, who caught it as if it was a bouquet and he was a prima ballerina. He actually bent his head and sniffed it. “Yep. Thanks. Call me Hugo.” He lifted the folders from her grip.

“Call me, Tiger,” she blurted. She bit her lower lip.

But he looked up from the files, interested—and her panties started to melt. She stared at his eyes.

“Tiger?”

“Uh,” she mumbled, “a nickname from high school. Never mind. Lily is my name. Long story.”

His stance changed with even more interest. He looked up into her eyes and she wished she wasn’t five nine. She tried to slouch lower seductively. “Tiger?” he practically purred smiling at her.

Oh! His eyes. She squeezed her legs together. She felt her face burning and realized that she hadn’t thought of that nickname in eleven years. Hated it in junior high. “Ah. Yeah. Sort of a silly thing from a play—.”

He leaned closer, went up on his toes, and kissed her.

She threw her arms around him and thrust her tongue down into his mouth. Soft exclamations of excitement came from the four nurses watching them. The kiss seemed to last forever. She moaned into Hugo’s mouth as small fingers seemed to tickle down her back and between her ass cheeks.

Doctor Mike growled something inarticulate and walked off.

Jack made sure the sleeping Tapestry made it safely to a private room and then started worrying about how to scotch the record-keeping system of a major New York hospital. A policeman patrolled outside her room.

He wanted a cigarette—instead he went hunting information.

He talked to the ICU duty nurse, a sharp looking guy named Ted. “Give me an idea how much patching did they had to do?”

Ted shrugged. “Your little girl will be fine, Mr. Kepp. They didn’t even have to take x-rays.”

“Huh?” Jack watched him closely. Why did everyone keep saying, ‘little girl’?

Ted nodded. “Weird, eh? Guess they hurried her straight to surgery. The doctors said the damage was much less than it looked. She should be out of here in a day or two. Lucky.”

“Where would I find the doc’s write-up?”

“Central records will have something.”

After directions from four different stopping points, Jack found central records in the basement. He marked the location in his mind and waited forty minutes until the admin there went to the ladies room. Jack jimmied the door and opened the computer system with three minutes of keystrokes.

He cursed. Yashmak Kepp was entered as a sixteen-year-old adopted daughter of Jack Kepp. She could be discharged whenever she requested to be. Small caliber shooting victim. One-hour surgery time. Billed to the Mayor’s Office of New York?

Yashmak? Bloody hell? No one’s had time to fiddle with records.

Jack scratched his head. He really wanted a cigarette. His cellphone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. “Yap.”

Listened.

“Look, Nicki. She’s out of surgery and could be OK, but something really weird is going down. What about the bodies of the shooter and the other two women from the park?”

He cursed. “No, the ambulance guy told me the cops DID have them. Well, evidence is disappearing here, too. Get down here. Until we figure out what’s going on we’ve got to watch her ‘round the clock. Call Gallant at the apartment and let him know where we are.”

He hung up and went to go guard Tapestry.

Lily Pruitt hustled into the parking lot putting on her sunglasses. She was still in scrubs as she hadn’t even stopped to change. In two minutes, she had her new silver VW Beetle pulled around to the South Tower exit.

In four minutes, Hugo came out with two arms full of paperwork and more records. He stopped and looked at the car. “Didn’t these cars die off years ago?”

She flushed and her smile dimmed for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Much too cutesy for me. I’m borrowing it from a friend. She’s into weird stuff.”

Hugo shrugged and somehow popped the door open without touching it at all. He threw the mound of paper into the back seat, then threw himself into the car and slammed the door. Hugo leaned across and licked her top—right over her breast. “Your place or depraved sex?”

“Grrrrrrr.” She felt tingles spread out from her breast. “B-b-both?”

He nodded. “OK. Both. Drive.”

She popped it into gear and peeled rubber. She giggled, “I just want you to know, I’m not usually this nuts.”

He grinned. “Yeah. I know.”

She suddenly felt that she was NOT impressing the doctor with her staid history. She remembered the glitter in his eyes when she mentioned her nickname. She whipped out of the parking lot and onto the multi-lane. There was little traffic.

“On the other hand,” she offered casually, “I wonder how I’d look naked with painted tiger stripes?”

“Whaa-Hoo!” Hugo grinned; pulled a baseball cap out of his scrubs and put it on backward. Suddenly he looked twelve.

She swallowed nervously, wondering why she was so turned-on by someone that looked fifteen years her junior. He can’t be. He’s a doctor. He’s got to be at least twenty-four, even if he’s a kid genius. Twenty-five probably.

She concentrated on traffic.

Lily watched Hugo feed the last of the paper into the incinerator behind the warehouse.

She was having second thoughts now. Destroying hospital records in a shooting incident—if that’s what he was doing—was a felony. Why didn’t this occur to me twenty minutes ago when I helped him gather this stuff? She swallowed nervously. “Uh, Hugo?”

He dusted his hands, pulled off his scrubs and threw them into the fire. He walked back to her.

She stared at his baseball cap, baggy pants and oversized shirt. Oh, god please. He’s got to be twenty-one at least. He has to be.

He grinned. “Let’s go to your pleasure dome, Tiger.”

She winced. “Hugo. I know you’re a fantastic surgeon. I saw what—. I mean, I’ve never seen someone who had such—.” He waited, studying her. She looked into his eyes. Big. Green. Eyes.

She lost her thought. Umm. Then she realized—Umm. he had pushed her scrubs and panties down—Ummm. around her knees—Ummm. and was down licking her pussy. Ummm. She put her hands—Ummm. on top of his head—Ummmm. grabbing handfuls of the corn-silk fine hair. Ummmm. Oh, lordy! His tongue is as talented as his fingers.

He helped her walk back to the car after the third screaming orgasm.

“You can drive if you want.” She offered in a husky voice. She wasn’t sure she could right now.

“Really? Awesome.” He grinned, hurried her around the other side of the car and helped her in. He banged the door closed and sprinted around to the driver’s side. He bounced in and studied the controls, lightly touching various elements.

He winked at her, fired the car up and threw it in gear.

They were off like a shot, smoking the tires.

When he stopped the car in her garage, she knew she had waited long enough. Her panties were sopping and she wanted to taste him. “Hey.” She slid a hand into his lap. “Let me return some of the loving.”

He sighed as she rubbed his crotch.

Quickly she leaned over and unzipped his pants. “Oh!” He didn’t have on underwear—and—. It’s so small!

“You were expecting—?” he whispered gently.

Her face was suddenly hot. She couldn’t think of anything clever to say about that hesitation, so she just lowered her mouth and licked his hard little member. She sucked the tip, she slid it fully into her mouth, tonguing his tight little balls. With no effort, she swallowed them too, running her tongue around and around his small shaft.

“Ah, mademoiselle. You are so velvety soft, so irresistibly wicked,” he purred.

She smiled around his member. His cock seemed to gently throb, or twitch softly. She liked it. Something like a heartbeat or an electric current between the two of them. He was small, but she wasn’t going to let it matter. Not one bit. She started bobbing her head. She sucked hard.

He groaned.

There was a popping flash of light behind her eyes—as if someone had taken a picture. She flushed, twisting her head a bit to make sure no one was standing outside the car shooting photos. No. Phew. She sucked him and pulled at his balls with her mouth.

He groaned and squirmed.

Pop. Light banged around behind her eyes. She felt dizzy and pushed her hand into her pants, fingering herself. Lordy. This scene would make a real sleazy photo shoot. Him looking so much younger than me, and me—sprawled across my seat with my hot mouth on his sizzling little cock.

She bobbed her head slowly. Pop! Pop! Pop!

Things swam for a bit with the multiple flashes. Then for a few moments, she used both hands to get completely out of her scrubs and panties. She congratulated herself that she did that without letting go of him with her mouth. She shoved him deeper into the driver’s seat with her hands and started kneading his chest with her fingers. Sucking his cock, it seemed to her that she was getting a milky stream when she sucked really hard. Pop!

She put a knee on the console, felt the stick shift rub her thigh and shifted to put the ball of the stick behind her wet pussy. She sucked hot milk. Pop!

Dizzy.

Sucked hard. Pop!

She slid her hot snatch along the shifter. Sucked him. Pop! Lights roared behind her eyes. This was like a photo shoot for a filthy sex mag and she was the star. Lordy! Nobody could ever call her “stuffy” again. Right here in the parking garage.

She slowed her hard sucks. Pop! Pop! Pop!

The orgasm bloomed from behind her eyes and ran down her back, finding her pussy sliding hard against the gearshift. She felt jolts of electric surf crash down over her back and ass, pulling her down into an ocean of darkness.

Tiger blinked. She lifted her chin from the leather seat. A vision of a powerful throbbing cock still simmered in her mind. She blinked again and looked around the car interior. She licked at the milky jism on her lips and sat up dizzily.

Gone?

She licked her lips again. Reached up to the rear-view mirror and twisted it to see her face. With tongue and fingers, she cleaned the cum from her mouth and chin. She pulled her keys out of the ignition, hoping somehow that Hugo had only skipped off to the bathroom and not left her alone, half-naked in the car.

She squirmed her very sticky crotch on the seat at that thought. She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, locking it. She waited a few minutes hoping he’d come back.

She sighed and headed for the elevator. The elevator was empty and took her up to the seventh floor. She tugged at her lower lip on the way up, wondering how much info she could get on Hugo from the hospital records. She had to see him again.

Sooner rather than later.

On the seventh floor, she got out. She smiled at Ms. Karlise, the daft dyke with the big boobs and trim waist from across the hall.

“Holy beaver-shot, Batman!” Karlise said, balancing a grocery bag on one hip as she tried to unlock her own door. She wolf whistled and stared at Lily walking towards her without pants.

“Tiger.” Lily answered in a beguilingly husky voice, putting her own key in the lock.

“What?” Karlise answered, admiring Lily’s ass.

Lily got the door open. “Tiger-shot. Holy Tiger-shot. I don’t have any desire to be called a beaver, thank you. So walking around half-naked is a tiger-shot. Call me Tiger.”

She nodded at Karlise’s stunned face; thinking her dazed and wide-eyed stare was actually very sexy. She stepped into her apartment, still thinking about Hugo, and gave her neighbor a friendly nod as she closed the door.

Ms. Katy Karlise let her breath blow out when she realized she’d accidentally stopped breathing. “You bet, Tiger. Grrr-owl!”