Constant in All Other Things

by

Fakeminsk

 

Chapter Five

 

Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love:
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negotiate for itself
And trust no agent

-Much Ado About Nothing

 

K eyed me curiously. "Is there a problem, Mr Sanders?"

My aim never wavered. "You tell me, K."

She stood framed in the light from the bathroom, dressed in functional grey cotton panties and bra. She kept the Glock low. With careful, deliberate steps I slowly circled towards the bed. I couldn't stand long, not dressed in this goddamn lingerie, perched precariously on impossible heels.

"Would you like me to put up my hands?" K asked.

"I'd like to know what the fuck is going on, is what I'd like." I settled on the edge of the bed. My head was pounding. Lack of sleep. The stress. Cindy. Tim and that Agent Fosters guy. The booze wasn't helping. Now K. I felt like I was going to lose it. Not a good time to be holding a firearm. "But you can start by putting the gun down. Slowly!"

K did as ordered, engaging the safety before crouching and leaving the weapon on the floor. She looked up at me inquisitively. "And now?"

"Over there," I commanded. I gestured with the gun for her to step towards the corner. She moved slowly, eying me cautiously. Fifteen feet between us. The room was only dimly lit by the candles and the light slanting in from the bathroom, and the little that slipped through the curtains from outside. K's face, shrouded in shadows, revealed nothing. Nevertheless, I felt rather than saw the sudden tensing of her body.

My arm with the gun snapped taut. "Don't even think about it, K."

She relaxed and raised her hands to placate me. "Very well." She backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, shifting to find a comfortable position. Her eyes never left the weapon in my hand. "There. Satisfied?"

I gave a curt nod.

"Are you going to shoot me, Mr Sanders?"

"That's up to you."

"Are you capable of shooting me, Mr Sanders?"

I gave a grim chuckle. "Don't you doubt it for a second, K." She probably didn't believe me. I wouldn't hesitate to prove her wrong. I liked proving people wrong. "So don't push me." I pressed the palm of my free hand against my temple. God, my head felt like it was going to explode.

"You don't look well, Cindy."

"Don't call me that," I growled. "The name's David."

She nodded. "Very well, David. David, you don't look well."

I gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah, no shit."

"I thought you trusted me. Why the gun?"

"Yeah, funny that. I've been trusting you, K, since I first approached the feds. Remember that? Yeah. And I was impressed, K. I really was. You struck me as very competent. I'm not a big fan of the authorities but you had me thinking differently, see? After all, I know fucking Steele isn't an easy man to go up against . . . I didn't think I'd find much help. Helping me had to seem a risky proposition."

It'd been ages since I'd last held a gun. I gave it an expert little twirl and snapped it back to aim at K. Just like riding a bike. "But not too risky for you, eh, K? You sure stepped up to the plate awfully quick."

She watched me from the corner impassively. "And your point is, David?"

"I'm here because I had nothing to lose. I'm here because it was the right thing to do. But why are you here, K?"

She didn't answer me.

"I'm waiting, K."

"Your wait will be a long one."

"I've got the gun."

She shrugged. "Then shoot me, Mr Sanders." She stood up, one hand against the wall. "Though I suggest you use a pillow to muffle the shot, unless you want those authorities you so distrust to return."

"Maybe I do." I kept the gun trained on her, a little annoyed by her lack of concern. She left the corner and went about blowing out the candles she had quickly spread out to create a faux romantic atmosphere. She kept her distance, though. "Why should you care, anyway?"

"I promised you I would do everything in my power to keep you alive. I have every intention of keeping that promise."

"Even though I'm pointing a gun at you."

"Yes."

"You sure that's the only reason?"

"Yes, I am."

"Because, you know, it's you they're looking for."

Holding one of the candles in her hand, she glanced aside at me from the other side of the room. Her eyes glittered coolly over the dancing flame. "So you said." She blew the candle out. "Is that why you have stopped trusting me?"

The weapon remained trained on her as she moved about the room. K was cleaning. She was actually cleaning up even though I had this goddamn gun.

"Who says I don't trust you?" I answered with a wry smile. "I'm just wondering why they had a picture of you, K. They were going door to door looking for you. Not David Sanders. Not Cindy Long. You. So, yeah, it kinda got me questioning things. Things like: why the hell are federal agents hunting down one of their own?

"And it's got me wondering about all this." My gun made a wide sweep across my lingerie-clad form, these fake tits, that--I didn't even want to think about it--thing glued to my crotch. "Not exactly standard gear for the witness protection program, I'm thinking. Eh? Cutting edge high-tech kit? How did you put it? 'Unreleased on the open market?' So how the hell did you get it, huh?" My free hand roughly grabbed and squeezed one of those jugs through the sheer fabric of the merrywidow. "Even if you could buy it, something like this is gotta be pricey. I'm guessing it's all a bit outside the normal operating cost of the program."

K stared at me from across the room for what felt like a long time. The ache in my head was slowly gathering into a single, blistering pain behind my right eye. God, I wanted to get out of these clothes. Those slender straps across my shoulders were distracting me something awful, and the ungodly arch of the shoes was killing me. Yeah, you could say I felt more than a little unsettled, dressed up like some little fuckbunny.

"Do you mind if I sit?" K asked, pulling the chair out from beneath the writing desk.

"Yeah, whatever," I said, twitching the gun to show consent.

When was the last time I'd held a gun? I wondered. At least five years. A little bit longer. Not since everything went a little crazy after Kate. God. That long ago. Suddenly the five years spent as a corporate minion at NeoPharm seemed surreal, dreamlike, impossible. And now here I was. Sitting at the edge of bed, ensconced in virgin-white nylon and lace, covered and compressed by straps and stretch fabric that caressed every part of my body, over shoulders and thighs, around my back and across my ass. Dressed in lingerie with an ugly grey Steyr settled comfortably in my hand. Fifteen feet away sat K, also half naked, looking utterly unconcerned by the fact there was a firearm pointed at her chest.

My head throbbed so painfully it made the gun tremble in my grip. Shit. There was too much going on. Swarming around in my head. Anger and uncertain thoughts and painful memories. A string of women from my past: Amanda Lang and Akiko Takahashi and Muna Khalid. And God forgive me, Kate. Cindy.

And K. Motherfucking K. The thought that she might have betrayed me was killing me. It really was. I've already said I make my mind up about people quickly. No second chances. I've been screwed over often enough in the past not to have learned my lesson. That's why I follow my gut feeling. My instincts usually have a better idea of what's going on than my head does. God, my head--it felt like it was splitting in two.

My instincts told me that I could trust K, just as they told me that, despite the friendly exterior, there was something slimy and terrible about Agent Fosters. He'd been a decent-looking guy, medium build and probably in his mid-thirties. Slick suit and a winning smile. And yet--my gut told me not to trust the guy, not to fuck with him. He left me feeling . . . scared, and I don't scare easily.

Then again, I'm not sure I would've felt safe around any guy, dressed the way Cindy was. That badge Fosters flashed me looked legit enough, as far as I can tell that kind of thing.

But that picture. K. The feds wanted her. Those weren't Jeremiah fucking Steele's hitmen tailing us all day, but rather goddamn federal agents. Which had me thinking very unpleasant thoughts.

What if K was actually working for that bastard Steele?

She watched me from across the room. Her eyes kept dancing away.

"Having trouble looking at me, K? Feeling guilty?"

She gave a polite cough. "Actually, I was hoping you would . . . sit a little more demurely. The view is more than a little distracting."

Blushing angrily, I crossed my legs at the thigh, hiding that impossible fake vagina nestled between my legs. With a sibilant whisper the gown settled around my waist and left my stocking-clad leg exposed. It was proving remarkably difficult to maintain the aggressive posture, dressed as I was.

"Better?" I demanded.

"Yes," she answered.

"Then how about some answers?"

K shrugged. "I would have happily answered them at any time, whether you had a gun or not." She paused for a moment, as if she expected me to lower my firearm. I didn't.

"You are correct, of course. Prosthetics such as the ones you currently wear are not commonly available to federal agents. Then again, the program is not commonly involved in the process of disguising its participants as members of the opposite sex."

I snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure." I gave my right tit a squeeze. "So where the hell did this shit come from, then?"

"The easy answer, Mr Sanders, is that they came from your former employers. An R&D branch of NeoPharm created them less than a year ago, near as we can tell. The project was discontinued once it was discovered that the product was not economically viable. We believe they were originally intended for mastectomy patients, but that the cost of growing the breasts far exceeded what most women could afford to pay for them. Furthermore, the breasts themselves proved unstable."

"Unstable?" My already high-pitched voice jumped a notch. I suddenly regretted groping the thing so roughly. "They're not gonna . . . explode, are they?"

K laughed. "No, Mr Sanders. Unstable in that the compound used to form the breast has an unfortunately short lifespan. Though it draws a certain amount of its nutrients directly from your body to remain 'alive', it nevertheless begins to wither and die after a few weeks. Much like fruit, actually."

Holy shit. I really did have melons stuck to my chest.

"But . . . how do they work? I mean, I can feel them, K. When I touch the damn things, I feel it--not down against my real chest, but out here," I grabbed myself again, though this time gently, "as if they really were a part of me." Strictly speaking that wasn't true. The sensation of my own touch was slightly muted, somehow, as if it diffused by distance or a protective layer. The nipples themselves did nothing for me, but then again, my real nipples don't either.

K shrugged. "I am not a scientist, Mr Sanders. The patents are held by NeoPharm. Some of the boys back in the lab tried to reverse-engineer a sample and best they could come up with, the breasts are grown from some kind of semi-organic compound that intelligently bonds with the patient. You can feel it, Mr Sanders, because technically speaking, they are part of you."

"Whoa!" I exclaimed. "What the hell do you mean, intelligently?"

"Intelligent, Mr Sanders. Not sentient. Perhaps adaptive would have been a better choice of words."

"I don't like the sound of that, K. I've seen those movies--you know, the ones where someone gets a heart transplant or something and goes crazy? These tits, they're not gonna try and take over my brain, are they?"

She smiled. "I believe your brain is as safe from those breasts as any man's is."

I didn't like having those things there. Though she didn't say it outright, they still sounded like parasites to me. They hung and fed off my body and ultimately gave back absolutely fuck all. "And . . . this thing?" I made a vague gesture meant to take in the vagina clamped down over my cock and balls.

"Similar technology, Mr Sanders, though necessarily somewhat more complicated."

"It's going to wither and die, too?"

She nodded.

"It's not gonna take my dick with it, is it?"

Again she laughed. "No, Mr Sanders. Your male organs are perfectly safe, if somewhat tightly restrained. Your testicles are held back in their natural cavity and your penis is contained in an organic sheath. In fact, the lab believes the device naturally produces a topical anaesthetic which serves to eliminate any pain and minimize, ah, unexpected bulges from arising. However, urination should not be a problem, though of course you will have to sit like any other woman."

"You've got to be kidding me."

K never kids. So as long as this goddamn thing was stuck to me I was going to be one step closer to Cindy--a huge step, if you ask me, and one I wasn't too happy about. I love pissing standing up. I mean, I really do. More than anything else I figure that's what defines a man: the ability to drunkenly write your name in the snow.

"Why the hell would somebody grow fake vaginas, K?" I demanded. "I get the tits. I do. But cutting-edge cunts?"

She winced at my language. I reminded myself to try and tone it down a bit. "I do not know precisely," she answered. "More women than you know suffer beneath the fist of oppressive regimes, David. Genital mutilation . . . young girl having their clitoris scraped or burnt off . . . and worse."

I swallowed uncomfortably at the thought. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Most people do not," K answered. "Such women may have use for such products. Otherwise, the market for such things is obviously rather . . . limited. However. . . ." K hesitated, and then seemed to change her mind.

"C'mon, K. Spill it."

"You have to understand that these are seized goods," she said. "Less than a month ago, acting on information supplied by an informant, federal agents raided a medical institute thought to be involved in the distribution of a number of illegal substances."

"Drugs?" I don't like drugs. I mean, yeah, I've smoked a spliff or two in my life, especially as a teen, popped a couple pills out at the club, but I'd also seen the really nasty side of the trade. I'd lost more than one good friend to that shit.

"Far worse than that," K answered, and her voice turned unexpectedly grim. "What we found beneath that clinic, David, was . . . evil. I wish I could think of a less melodramatic term, but what we found was beyond anything I have ever seen."

The way she said it actually sent a small shiver down my spine. Intrigue was overcoming paranoia; the weapon in my hand slowly drooped as I listened to K. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes flashed coldly. "That is none of your business, Mr. Sanders."

I pointed at my newfound furry patch. "It became my business the moment you attached these goddamn appliances to me, K."

"Those?" She gave a humourless chuckle. "Those were the least of what we found in the raid." By this time the gun was resting in my lap, though I hadn't pulled my finger away from the trigger. Though my interest was captured, she hadn't exactly renewed my complete trust. "Though we found enough NeoPharm products being put to use to arouse our suspicion."

"What do you mean?"

"You are not the first man," K answered, "To be unwillingly fitted with a pair of artificial breasts, Mr Sanders."

I couldn't keep myself from glancing down at those firm pale orbs hanging off my chest, barely contained within their lacy cups. Stupid rooky mistake, looking away like that.

K could've crossed the room and planted her foot in my face by the time I looked up again. She was certainly good enough. I don't know why I believed that. It's not like I've seen her action. But there's a way a person carries themselves, once they're no longer afraid. That Agent Fosters guy moved in the same way, come to think of it. And so does K. She knew she could take care of herself. Suddenly, even though I had the gun and she was sitting half-naked across the room from me, I had this feeling that I was the one in danger; that if I didn't ask or answer the right questions bad things might happen.

She didn't move, though. She seemed content to talk from across the room. "Ultimately, what we found was evidence possibly linking Mr Steele to the site we raided. There were not just NeoPharm products. Other items produced through Steele-owned subsidiaries were on site as well. Not ordinary things. Newly-developed, cutting-edge, unreleased. Very high tech. Illegal. Expensive."

"What the hell are you talking about? What does this have to do with me?"

"The operation was discovered roughly two months ago."

The pounding in my head subsided, but only because of a far worse sinking feeling in my stomach. "But that's around when I. . . ."

"Not around, Mr. Sanders. Precisely. The night of. The very night you saw Mr Steele kill Mr Antazzi, I took part in an attack on a very well-defended medical institute that--"

"But I didn't hear or see anything about--"

"He believes you did. He believes you can prove his connection to . . . to . . . ." Her voice died, strangled beneath repressed emotion. Her hands briefly shook by her side. When she found her voice again, her tone was bleak. "He will stop at nothing to have you removed, Mr Sanders. I was reluctant to reveal the full extent of the danger you have submitted yourself to, but now there is little choice."

I cocked my head towards the door. "Agent Fosters? The woman?" Strange, but I'd almost forgotten about the woman.

If her voice was cold before, it was positively glacial now. "The day after the raid," K told me, "three undercover agents involved in the raid turned up dead. Within a week four more colleagues were killed as well. My partner was killed."

What do you say to that kind of thing? "I'm sorry."

"There was an attempt on my life as well." Her smile was thin and cruel. "Obviously it did not succeed."

"So you think those two are bad news?"

"I do not know. But I discovered the hard way that the arm of Jeremiah Steele reaches very far and very deep. The very agency you turned to for protection, Mr Sanders, would have likely proved your undoing."

"Huh." Damn, but I knew turning to the feds was a bad idea. The authorities always manage to muck things up. I was really starting to regret starting this whole thing, I can tell you. Why the hell couldn't I have kept my dick to myself? If I hadn't been chasing after pussy that night, I wouldn't have one of my own right now.

Though what K had told me really caught my attention. It really did. What the hell did she stumble across beneath that medical facility? I knew I'd gotten mixed up in bad shit when I saw fucking Steele whack that Italian dude, and the other stuff I saw was just downright wrong, but . . . this? How big a shitpile had I landed in?

The funny thing is, you'd think knowing that I'd just stepped into something way over my head would've made me feel worse. But I didn't feel like I was drowning in it at all. Hell, I think the dull throb in my head even started to pull back a bit. Yeah, I was totally fucked . . . but there was also a part of me--a part I'd forcefully buried away and tried to forget--that thrilled at the idea of being swept up in something this big and nasty.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

I snapped to attention, Steyr pointed towards the disturbance. I glanced back at K a moment later. Where the hell did that gun in her hand come from? She swiftly padded across the room towards the beds. She nodded once towards the door.

With wobbly steps I approached the door, weapon held at the ready. "Yes?" I called out, and the nervous tremor wasn't entirely forced.

"Cindy?"

"Tim?" I glanced back at K. She shrugged and faded back into the darkness at the far end of the room. I opened the door as far as the locking chain allowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I . . . just had to check if everything was okay." I dropped the handgun behind the door. Stupid kid. He stood there in the flat outdoor lights, with such concern etched into his face that I could've almost laughed. I think the idiot was actually crushing on me. Not that I could blame him, really. Cindy was pretty hot stuff. At the moment he could only see my face, peeking around the door. I gave him a nice, wet smile and decided he deserved a treat. He'd probably saved my life tonight.

"That's so sweet," I said, opening the door.

Whatever answer he had died in his throat. The light from the bathroom caught me from behind, highlighting those feminine curves, cascading through the shimmering fabric draped across my body. I leaned against the doorframe with my arm crossed beneath those silk-clad parasites.

Tim didn't quite seem to know what to say or do. He looked away, blushing fiercely. Poor kid. "Um . . . those guys, they're gone now."

"I know," I answered.

"You're not here with your mother, are you?" He sounded angry. I watched the realization slowly work its way across his face, and felt sorry for him. I think he was cluing in that most girls don't dress up like lingerie models when staying with family.

I gave a sad shake of my head. "No Tim, I'm not."

When he looked back at me, his angry eyes stayed fixed on my green ones. The kid had some class, I had to admit. He wasn't staring at those tits or anything; he was actually looking at me. "I can't believe you played me like that."

"Tim, I didn't." I tried to sound as genuine as possible. "I really didn't. I meant what I said, you know. You really are a nice guy."

He snorted bitterly and looked away again. "Yeah, I know."

I sighed softly. "Tim, that's not a bad thing."

"Whatever. Just . . . just make sure you're out by nine, okay?"

He was about to leave and I should've just left it at that. I really should have. But for some reason I called out to him. "No wait, Tim . . . please."

The boy hesitated. Of course he did. A sexy young woman was calling his name.

"What?"

"Tim. I just wanted to let you know. If I wasn't already with someone? I totally would've had that drink with you."

"Yeah?" He finally looked back at me, smiling tentatively. "Really?"

"Really," I said. And then . . . .

With a delicate step I moved up against him. I was taller than him in the heels, though only just. I liked that. There was an unexpected tingle as my breast flattened against his chest. One hand cupped his cheek and ran through his short spiky hair and slowly pulled him towards me. He didn't resist. I leaned forward. My lips gently found his. The kiss was soft and sweet and just a bit sticky from the lipgloss. I sighed through slightly parted lips. "Thank you," I purred, and pulled away.

Tim stood there for a moment, eyes unfocused. "Nobody's gonna believe me when I tell 'em," he mumbled. "My first freakin' kiss and she's a total babe and nobody's gonna believe me."

I forced a giggle. "Good-night, Tim."

"Uh . . . yeah."

I closed and locked the door and released a deep breath. The pain in my head eased off. I didn't feel sick anymore; quite the contrary. The tension through my shoulders slowly bled away. During the brief exchange with Tim I'd made my decision. I looked down at the gun on the floor and reluctantly picked it up.

I heard K stir from the far side of the room. "Do we return to our standoff now, Mr Sanders?"

"Call me Cindy," I said. I cleared the round from the chamber, engaged the safety and released the clip. With a shrug I gingerly stepped back towards the bed. "Way I see it, K, I've got two choices here: I can either trust you, or not trust you. And I'll be honest. A lot of shit doesn't add up. You've got all this gear and you've clearly got back up and there's all sorts of stuff going on in the background that you haven't told me about. At the same time you say the feds are looking for you and can't be trusted and we're working alone. It's all a bit overwhelming, although when you get down to it, I've also got no reason to believe anything you say to me."

I held the Steyr out to her. "Like I said, there's a lot about you that doesn't add up. But you know what? My gut tells me you're okay."

She came up to me and pulled the gun from my hand. Her eyes glinted enigmatically in the half-light.

"Does that mean you trust me again, Cindy?" Her voice was surprisingly soft.

I shrugged and smiled. "Yeah, I guess I do."

She stepped away and stored the firearm back in the case by the bed. "What did the boy want?"

I absently touched one finger to my lip. "To see if Cindy was okay."

"Was she?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

 

 

Katherine Ophelia White. The only woman I have ever loved. I say that, though I'm not convinced that what we had was love at all. I mean, really, who the hell knows what love is anyway? What we had, was six months together. Only six months. And what we had was twisted and wonderful and difficult. I guess you could say that our relationship was . . . complex.

But then, I guess every eighteen-year old thinks their first serious relationship is the most intense and complicated thing in the world. It's so hard to keep perspective on these things. That was seven years ago. It's funny, when I think back about it. Not that I do very often. Think about the past, that is. She's not something I like to think about. I think that's what makes me sad and angry most of all: that the only person I've ever loved is also the only person I've ever truly hated. No wonder I went insane there for a bit once we were through.

That's not true. What makes me really mad, is this: that when I think back and try to picture Kate . . . I can't. It's been seven years; God, only seven years. And already she'd fading from my memory, like newspaper used to cover a closed-down shop's windows, yellowed and bleached by the sun. She was taller than me. Slender and inflexible, strong and healthy, like bamboo. That's what I remember. Her and me and a bamboo forest.

The wind tore through that tall, rigid bamboo forest and surrounded us with this otherworldly rustling, creaking sound--an old wooden ship caught in a storm. We were hiding. Hiding in the bamboo, panting with exertion, our mutual hatred momentarily forced aside by a mutual enemy. Next thing, we were hungrily kissing, tearing at each others' clothes, cursing and biting at each other, suddenly turned feral with lust and released tension. We had sex in that vibrant, verdant field of swaying stalks that clawed the greying sky overhead. She cried out in passion and fury as I entered her and she tore my back and her voice was ripped away by the growing storm.

I loved her from that moment on.

But that's all I remember: bits and pieces, flashes of the whole. Her angry smile flashing; narrowed eyes; slim, nearly boyish hips cocked to one side and her balled up fists. "I'm no good for you, David," she always used to tell me. "And you're no good for me. This can't last."

She was right. Goddamn her, but she was right.

But man, was the sex ever good! The best: passionate, intense, our entire being poured into that short, ecstatic moment spent together. I'm not sure I really knew Kate, outside of sex. Not the real Kate anyway. Then again, we both spent a lot of our time together lying. We had to. But not during sex; that was always honest. And angry. I'd forgotten how good angry sex can be.

I'm not sure why Kate was running through my head as I returned to my bed. I'll be honest: I didn't bother cleaning off the makeup. I didn't strip out of that damned lingerie or any of the other shit. Hell, I didn't even unwind those goddamned heels from my calves. I was simply too tired. All I wanted was some sleep, a few good hours of solid, regenerative sleep. Vaguely aware of K puttering around the room, setting everything straight for our departure tomorrow, I collapsed face-down on the bed and closed my eyes.

I couldn't sleep. Exhausted as I was, I begun to feel . . . odd. Hot, even though I lay half-naked over the sheets. At first I thought I was growing a massive hard on, but I knew that wasn't possible. Not the way everything was sealed away and anaesthetized down there. The sensation was a phantom response, what I imagine an amputee feels for an arm or leg. Only it didn't go away. Growing warmth settled between my legs and began to tingle. I squeezed my thighs together to clamp down on the feeling but it didn't help; it made it worse; I began to feel strangely slick down there. I squirmed over the sheets, wanting to thrust into the bed but knowing it wouldn't provide any relief.

It was because of Kate. It had to be because of her. The encounter in the bamboo forest all those years ago kept running through my mind. I vividly remembered pushing into her, her strong legs wrapped around my back; but those memories didn't match up with the sensations my body was sending back to me; I had nothing to thrust with.

"Is everything okay, Cindy?"

K's voice cut through my fevered confusion. I flipped over on the bed and stared up at her with wide eyes. "What the hell is happening?"

"What do you mean?" A shadow of a smile danced across her face. She knew, the fucking bitch!

"Dammit, K! I feel all . . . weird."

"Weird? How, weird?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" My skin felt flushed and hot. I fluttered one hand down around my crotch. "This . . . thing. It's making me feel all . . . tingly."

"Has Cindy been having naughty thought?"

"No! Well, a little. So what? My bits are all locked away, right? So what the hell's going on?"

K shook her head, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I think you misunderstood me. Yes, your organs are incapable of responding in the normal way. After all, an erection could severely compromise the prosthetic. However, nothing was done to dampen normal sexual response."

"What's that supposed to mean?" There was a panicked edge to my voice I wasn't proud of. I wiggled my hips a bit and squeezed tighter and was shocked to feel actual wetness down there. How the fuck was that possible? God, how I wanted to reach down there with one hand and grab hold of . . . something.

"Here, sit up." She helped me up and smoothed my hair back over my shoulder. I swear, her touch just made me feel worse, hot flares tracing across my skin. "In a way, I suppose this is my fault."

"This is all your fault!"

K smiled. "What I mean is that in our haste to attach the prosthetic, there was not enough time to calibrate it properly. I suspect that it is operating at a slightly higher sensitivity than normal."

"Slightly?" I wanted to squirm at the edge of the bed. "What is this thing doing to me?"

"As far as I understand the device, it is . . . hijacking, I suppose, the signal being sent to your male organs and rerouting them to the prosthetic. The artificial vagina seems designed to react as naturally as possible, and returns the appropriate sensations. It may seem a little . . . touchy, at the moment, but should adjust itself to an appropriate sensitivity with time." She hesitated for a moment. "Do you trust me?"

I gave a dry, slightly manic laugh. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

She reached down and with a few touches coaxed my thighs apart. I couldn't watch as she reached between my legs. I couldn't see . . . but I could damn well feel as one finger gently traced a path through those short curly hairs . . . her fingernail sent a shiver through my spine . . . and then the impossible feeling of actually being penetrated, the tip of her finger quickly dipping into something I couldn't have. I swear I actually whimpered and had to forcefully keep my legs from clamping down on her hand.

When she pulled her finger back the tip glistened in the dim light. "Amazing," she said.

"Yeah," I added weakly. "No shit."

"Back at the lab, they are not entirely sure how the prosthetic generates the lubricant, though they believe it draws and stores moisture from the body. It is not the real thing, of course, but the approximation is truly remarkable. It seems to secrete in response to sexual stimuli." She looked at me curiously. "What does it feel like, David?"

I wanted to reach down there myself so bad, to scratch at that place that K had touched . . . but couldn't bring myself to do it. Not with her there. Not even if she wasn't. That just wasn't a line I was interested in crossing. But the sense of arousal wasn't fading away. "It feels . . . it feels really weird, K. Like I've got a hard on, but I can't touch it . . . it's like some kind of wide-on, and it's not going away."

"I see." She reached into one of those lacy cups and gently held one of my breasts. Her thumb brushed against the nipple and I jumped. What the hell? "The breasts seem to be responding as well." I hadn't noticed but it was true--an almost painful stiffening of the breasts, like screws being tightened and focusing the warmth swelling through my chest on that one point. "The nipples are responsive to sexual arousal as well as to changes in temperature."

"Yeah, that's just great." Bloody hell. It seemed an impossible, surreal scene to me, poised on the knife's edge of that bed, in these clothes, with this sexy older woman fondling my breast. "Do you, ah, mind?"

"I was curious as to what the response would be," she said, without removing her hand. In fact, her thumb continued to absently flick across the nipple as her eyes curiously wandered across my body. "Your brain is sending very masculine signals down to the prosthetic, and the device returns feminine impulses. How is the information processed by the male brain? Can it properly interpret the sensations? How should your body react?"

"K, I . . . please. . . ."

Her other hand found its way between my legs again. This time my thighs did clamp down, trying to keep her out, but too late. Her palm cupped that feminine mound and seemed to capture and intensify the warmth down there. With her middle finger she slipped into that--dammit, into my--vagina, and my hips jerked involuntarily again. God, I was so fucking wet! "Of course, these devices are merely very convincing replicas. Hardly the real thing. The vagina, for instance, though capable of limited penetration does not extend as deeply as that of a real woman's."

She pushed her finger all the way in. Jesus fucking Christ! I nearly collapsed against her, releasing a short, high-pitched squeal. The sensation of something inside of me, it was . . . I don't know what it was! Understanding of what was happening to me kept sliding away as overwhelming and confusing feelings bombarded my brain.

"Interesting," she said. "Just deep enough for a finger."

"K, you gotta-- you hafta. . . ," I panted.

"Yes, Cindy?" she asked.

"Stop," I barely managed to say.

She paused in her ministrations with one finger inside of me and her hand gently holding my left breast. "Really? You are a very strong girl, Cindy. I am not restraining you in any way."

Damn that woman. Yeah, I could've thrown her off me easy. K's clearly a strong girl, but like I've said--I'm in good freakin' shape. I might not look it but I've got some serious strength behind me when I need it. Somehow, she seemed to have robbed me of it. That finger in my cunt was like goddamn kryptonite. I was so geared up, so horny from whatever that thing between my legs was doing to me that I didn't want her to stop touching me. But I did want her to stop, because this felt so wrong. It also felt really, really nice in a very, very strange way.

"K, I . . . I don't know if I can. . . ."

"Shh, Cindy." Her left hand spidered up from my breast and gently stroked my neck before softly pressing a finger against my painted lips. "You have wanted this since you first laid eyes on me."

I think that's when it finally occurred to me that I was sitting on a bed with a very attractive woman wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Yeah, yeah, forget the fact that I was wearing pretty much the same shit and had tits and the other thing as well. K pushed forward and her mouth crushed up against mine. The sweetness of lipgloss danced on our tongue and I realized it was mine. Still with that finger inside of me, she pushed firmly against my chest and I fell back onto the bed. She followed me down, exploring the inside of my mouth. The thought that I was actually getting it on with K carried me to a new level of arousal . . . I felt my hardness grow . . . no, I felt a confusing swelling . . . I moaned into her kiss and her finger slipped in and out of my redoubled wetness.

"My, Cindy, you are an enthusiastic girl, aren't you?"

I was already flushed from the experience but found myself growing even hotter with embarrassment, which in turn made me squirm with even more sexual hunger. God, I just . . . I wanted some kind of relief so badly! Our breasts crushed together as she bore down on me. My mouth hungrily sought hers and I began to push against her weight, my hands reaching for her ass, running through her hair, grabbing, aggressive.

"No!" she commanded. Her finger slopped free of my pussy and her other hand released my tit and she grabbed at my wrists. "Be a good girl, now," she said, forcing my arms back over my head. She straddled me at the waist. I looked up at her, half-blind with passion. Her eyes glittered in the half-light. Her small, tight breasts, still in their bra, loomed over me. Her smile was hard and cold. "Be Cindy."

What the hell did that mean? Her cotton-covered crotch hovered an inch over mine. I wanted to buck my hips, thrust up and penetrate her; my thighs and ass tensed up and my tits felt even hotter and tighter than before. She stole another kiss from my open, panting mouth. She planted a trail of kisses along my neck down to my breast. Both massive things had already popped free of the merrywidow. Her tongue found a nipple and drew it into her mouth. Her hand stroked my leg, drawing sensuously up the silky length of the stocking before toying with the lacy edge.

Her face pulled away from my chest. Her hair tickled my skin through the nylon as she languidly traced a path towards my groin. Both hands stroked my breasts and then my sides before sliding beneath my ass and roughly squeezing. I watched, stunned, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations, as this beautiful, sexy woman worked her way down to my crotch. My breathing intensified in anticipation of her sucking me off . . . but I couldn't . . . she wasn't going to. . . ?

Her tongue darted out and lapped against a little button down there I'd completely forgotten about.

"Fu--!" I cried out, my whole body jerking at the overwhelming sensation. I think something erupted in my head. There was no mistaking my voice for anything other than a girl's at that moment. My fists coiled in the sheets and I went momentarily rigid as a board. "Oh . . . God, K . . . ." I felt poised at the edge of some thrilling, dangerous precipice; every nerve inflamed and crying out for relief. I was terrified and enthralled by where she was leading me.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asked, lifting her head from between my legs. Her chin glistened and her grin was animalistic. "Shall I continue?"

I stared at her with open eyes. My whole body quivered with anticipation and what worried me most was that I didn't even feel ashamed, spread out and desperate before her. I'm not sure I'd ever been this physically turned on before.

"Say it!" she demanded.

"Holy shit . . . yes? Please?" I barely managed to whisper it.

Her smile grew and I was chilled by how cruel she suddenly seemed. "Too bad," she said, and she pulled away and slid off the bed.

What the fuck? No! "K, you can't . . . !"

Her face suddenly loomed over me, eyes flashing angrily. "If you ever point a gun at me again, David," she said, "I will break your arm." Then she lunged down and stole a final, savage kiss before breaking away.

She returned to her bed. "I advise you to get some sleep," she said, her voice barely heard through the confused anticipatory haze in which she left me. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

I just lay there in stunned, eroticized silence.

"And Cindy? I strongly suggest you learn to control your urges. Good-night."

She turned off the lights and went to bed.

By seven o'clock we were on the road again, heading for the Asklepios Clinic.

 

To be continued. . .

  

  

  

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