The life-giving, warming rays of the morning sun crept through my window and wrapped me in their arms.
I awoke to the heat of the sun caressing my nude body, inspiring my hands to caress my innermost folds where Sol couldn’t reach. Tweaking my already erect nipples into nubs that only knew pleasure, I concentrated my fingers further down, finding another nub that made my body vibrate with my own touch. My back arched, my eyes closed, and a loud moan of pleasure escaped my lips. My body reacted instantly, more quickly, intensely than ever before.
Sex juice flowed out of my drenched pussy, soaking the sheets and filling my bedroom with the aroma of my arousal. Violently thrusting two fingers deep inside myself, my hips bucked, intensifying my own self-fucking. The wet, rapid, sloshing sounds mingled with my moans of pleasure.
“Oh shit, oh shit, fuck yes!” I heard loudly through the wall. “That’s it you fucking stud; finger my ass while you lick me! Harder, deeper!” I could hear Melissa having her morning sex with Jeff. She was once more earning her nickname.
I moaned in response and felt the floodgates in my loins open. Slowing my orgasmic assault, I allowed my consciousness to wander. My senses left my body naturally, without fear or hesitation, and floated through the astral plane, through the wall, and into their bedroom. I saw them as a stark, real mental image, felt them in my core; their pleasure fed mine, increasing my lusty fury into a passion worthy of the gods.
My disembodied psyche whispered in her ear that I was watching and that her body was now mine, to do with whatever I pleased.
In my mind’s eye, I could sense her climbing off his drenched face, his triumphant smile as she did, and then feel her pleasure and the sensations dominating her flesh as she plunged herself onto his turgid cock with a single thrust.
“Do you want to watch me eat her cunt as you fuck me like this? You nasty pervert! No, you can’t have her, you’re not worthy, but you can fuck me…harder…and watch as I give her pleasure. I’m hers, she owns me!” she cried out.
I could feel, almost see, the goddess-given energy of her pleasure leaving her overheated and sweaty body. It flowed to me in smoky tendrils, increasing my own pleasure, increasing my power. Amplifying pressure and tempo on my oozing snatch, I cried out at the top of my lungs as a divinely intense orgasm ripped through my body. My orgasm coincided perfectly with hers; we cried out to each other through the wall, through the spiritual planes, as we came in unison. My power ebbed from me at the speed of thought and filled her orgasm with even more intensity; her cries and guttural grunts lasted for a brief eternity.
“I didn’t tell you to cum yet!” I heard her exclaim through the wall. “You’d better get it up again real quick; I’m not remotely satisfied.”
I laughed.
Refusing Melissa’s offer to treat me to breakfast—I was, unfortunately, scheduled for work—I dined on my leftover sausage and microwaved fries while perusing Aunt Grace’s primers on how to look sexy and witchy.
While I always knew that she was insightful, my respect for her intuition increased tenfold.
“If you want to attract a woman, dress for yourself paying extra special attention to enhancing your features and then your attributes. If you want to attract men, go one or two levels deeper towards slutty and trashy than is your goal. What you think is slutty is a man’s vision of sexy. What you think is outright bold and trashy is their vision of slutty. With men, the sluttier the better.”
Her insight on hair and makeup was equally astounding.
“Your eyes and cheekbones are the keys to the kingdom. Your lips, body, or anything else, can be less than satisfying to you, and even not the preference of others. If you highlight the magic in your eyes and show some cheekbone swell, even if you need makeup, others will bow before you. A ‘tit man’ will follow you anywhere if your eyes catch him. A woman that prefers small breasts on her women will chase after your buxom self if your cheeks are rosy and swell with vitality.”
There was more, much more, crammed into the roughly thirty pages of tips. Most of it was common sense such as “hair that highlights your face that looks either natural or obviously bold,” and “that sexy wind-tossed and somewhat wild coif is always a winner.”
Her tips on how to dress also made perfect sense. I wondered if Aunt Grace made her fortunes by giving fashion tips. Following her advice, wind-tossed hair, dark, witchy eyes, and accented cheekbones gave me a seductress’ outer mien. However, I had no proper clothes to wear; my wardrobe was the polar opposite of provocative.
Luckily, I found an old skirt, only worn once before, that would suit me fine. It was of a light emerald-green satiny fabric, covered in a delicate and see-through black lace with matching lace hem. I found an old Lilith Fair T-shirt that Aunt Grace and I had purchased for a shiny quarter at a garage sale or something. It was black, faded to mottled charcoal, and it had the old feminine goddess logo on the front in gold. It was, however, a size too small for me, so I seldom wore it after my final growth spurt.
Now, it was my outer armor, adorning my mortal coil. Worn black combat boots and striped gym socks, just barely extending over the tops, finished the ensemble. My nipples refused to go down and stuck out tall and proud, tenting the otherwise tight fabric. Even if they had surrendered their swollen demonstrations of desire, the shirt clung to the curves and sides of my breasts, accentuating the obvious lack of brassiere.
Setting out across from campus to serve my sentence at work, I noted that I was already late. Nobody would notice. They never noticed me.
I always had to constantly dodge people walking on campus as if I were invisible. Nonetheless, the sun was shining just for me, warming my body, nude except for the thinnest of coverings. A pair of winged blessings, doves, a symbol of Aphrodite, herself, took flight as I neared and circled around me thrice before taking to the sky, cooing all the while. I hummed and sang to myself, noting how my breasts, freed from their modesty-inducing confines, bounced to my own, personal, music.
Oddly, people heeded me, noticed me, wanted me, and salivated over me. They parted before me, giving a wide berth and plenty of delighted stares and smiles.
It being Sunday, the progressives and protesters were out en masse. Freeing this person or that country, picketing and marching for rights or privileges they already had, or looking to right wrongs, be they real or perceived, their combined voices and loudspeakers filled the air with a cacophony of youthful exuberance. As my path brought me near a conclave of third-wave feminists, I noted that a television crew was recording. The speaker was upon her soapbox all “down with the patriarchy” and looking quite edible to my new, enhanced eyes that saw the divine as well as the mundane.
I felt a sharp pang of lust for her as I watched her, full of enthusiasm and faith in her cause. Her litany of woes stopped suddenly as her head snapped in my direction.
I smiled at her and gave her a look that contained the hunger of the gods, themselves. Her black-dyed short hair, tight and braless slogan-bearing t-shirt, and tight leggings made my mouth salivate and my pussy drool. My lusty essence began to overtake my body with passion and power.
“You!” she exclaimed through her microphone as she jumped off the podium, never taking her vibrant blue eyes off of me. “Lilith Fair!
Let me ask you something.” All eyes and the camera turned towards me as she ran to me.
“Do you believe that all women should be equal to men?” She thrust the microphone into my face. Her face was aglow with her purpose, but she also betrayed lust in her eyes.
“No,” I said calmly into the microphone. I didn’t let it show, but the syrupy sound of my voice through the loudspeakers shocked me. It oozed sexuality and lusty desire, coming in breathy tones that reminded me of my pre-orgasmic voice. I fought back the temptation to sing “Happy Birthday Mr. President.”
Her face was awash with stunned shock, crestfallen.
I went on. “Why should I seek equality? Mere mortal men are not my equal…”
The delighted eruption from the assembled women and their supporting men drowned out the rest of my response. I was going to say that I was touched by Aphrodite, herself, and was no longer a mere mortal. They missed my point in their fervor.
“There you have it from Lilith, herself,” the spokeswoman said. We eyed each other up and down for the briefest moment and I saw her body react to my own lust. Her wanton smile proved that she felt our mutual desire as well.
“Lilith, Lilith!” the others chanted. I shook my head in disbelief and walked on.
I waltzed the rest of the way across the concourse, stopping every now and then on my journey through the “quad”. Others stopped and stared at me, most with open lust. I fended off more suitors over that few hundred yards than I had in my entire life. Their desire for me increased my own desire. I was polite, then condescending, gracious then bitchy. I was woman; I roared. Above all, I was ecstatic, noticed, desired, visible.
Aunt Grace’s words came, unbidden, into my mind. I could clearly hear her mantra.
“Remember, we all have different beliefs and different stations in life but we all have the same dignity. People will ultimately remember you for how you make them feel, nothing else.”
Her words were wise; despite her stating that she used to be just like me, I doubted it. I had several decades of being trodden upon to make up for. I was relishing my power and the magick that I could feel pumping through me.
I made it the rest of the way across the concourse without incident but causing quite a ruckus. Protestors ignored their causes, dropping their signs as they leered at me. Young lovers stopped eyeing each other and turned their stunned gaze upon me. The power throbbed to me, my pussy throbbed to match. Stifling a laugh as a poor bicyclist crashed into a tree with his eyes on my ass, not the path, I reached my place of employment.
Steeling myself in preparation for being ignored, I pulled open the door to the little bookstore.
Stunningly, all conversation stopped as I entered. Young men that I had worked with looked at me with stunned eyes, their mouths agape. The female coworkers all reacted. Some smiled at me, a few looked at me with green jealousy in their eyes, and another eyed me up and down, causing me to feel her longing and sexual hunger.
Basking in the glow of dozens of eyes fixated upon me, I half “model-walked” and half skipped across the store to the time clock to punch in. My magickal awareness allowed me to feel the impact of their stares on my body. It was as if heat rays, powered by lusty intentions, roamed over my legs, ass, thighs, and now-flowing hair.
“Krys?” I heard my manager, Bob, ask sheepishly.
“Oh, hi, Bob.” I smiled out at him. I tried to desexualize my voice; I failed. My voice purred out with barely-masked lust, making me a prime candidate to charge by the minute for phone conversations. “If you’re going to yell at me about being late, I’m sorry. “
“Why were you late? You know we have a never-tardy policy.”
I laughed, noting that my breasts were still so firm that they barely jostled or bounced. They did, just enough to enslave others. “Oh, I was masturbating.”
My boss, Bob, looked at me, stunned. I pursed my lips and blew him a teasing kiss, licking my lips, fighting back another giggle as I went to my cashier’s station. I loved being around books, the words both beautiful and wise, but I loathed working there. I found solace in imagining the woman from the campus quad. Her braless breasts, pierced with small bars going through her nipples that pressed against her shirt; her pixie haircut; her exuberance all filled me with pleasant thoughts and overwhelming desire. She wanted me; I could have sensed that even if Aphrodite’s powers weren’t enhancing my intuition. I wanted her back, needed her back. That undeniable and overpowering sense of sexual need pumped through my flesh. It was as if I needed to feed on sexual energy. I tittered to myself over the divine creature I had become. I was a life-essence vampire, fed by the energy of passion.
“Excuse me, miss,” a forlorn feminine voice said, breaking me out of my fantasy.
I looked up, seeing a slightly rotund older woman with sorrow-filled eyes. I could feel a deep sense of pain emanating from her. I immediately knew that she was going through something very personal and very life-changing. She wore a simple black dress and a Christian cross on a fine chain around her neck. Her light brown eyes looked as if she had been crying. Her face was awash with anguish.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said putting on my cheery smile and trying to exude comforting energies. “How may I help you?”
She looked at me and smiled, brightening somewhat, and then reached down and picked up a medium-sized box filled with books. She delicately set the box on the counter in front of me.
“My poor Roger has passed,” she began. “At least I won’t have to put up with his smelly feet stinking up our house…well, I guess it’s just mine now.”
I felt empathy for her. I could feel her pain, sense it in her heart and chest, and wished that I knew how to alleviate it.
“Well, his funeral was last week,” she went on. “He collected all these old books telling me that someday they’ll be worth something. They’re just sitting around, collecting dust, and reminding me of him.”
“We’re not supposed to be buying any used books right now,” I told her. Then I added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “but let me take a look.”
I took a quick browse through the box. There were some older Harry Potter books, an old, thin paperback of questionable quality with Ernest Hemingway’s name on the cover. I flipped that open and noted that the picture inside the first page had bled onto the title page. There were some others, all fiction, all not really anything seemingly of value.
I felt for the poor widow and wanted to at least give her something. “There’s not much here and while I love fantasy and fiction, there isn’t much market for it. Will twenty dollars be enough for you?”
“Bless you, you pretty young thing.“ I noted that she had been staring deeply into my moss-green eyes.
“If I were younger I might have left, what’s his name, my ex-husband, for the likes of you!”
“Roger?” I asked.
“Yes, silly me.” She laughed wholeheartedly. “Did you know that butt-pile would get upset if I looked at another man, let alone a woman? Said it wasn’t natural for a woman to find another one attractive. The old stick in the mud! Now I can look all I want; don’t mind if I do.”
We shared a laugh together as I took her identification and paid her. I was just getting ready to tag the box and take it into the back storage when Bob approached me.
“Krys, we aren’t buying used anymore,” he said to me as he pointed towards a sign on the wall stating the fact. That sign was not there on Friday when I left work.
“That sign wasn’t up Friday when I left work,” I told him.
He approached me slowly, not meeting my eyes. I could feel the lusty daggers of his gaze upon my nipples. I always suspected he was a pervert.
“Krys,” he began, his voice shaking slightly. His eyes were riveted to my breasts. I even moved back and forth a bit just to watch his eyes follow my bouncing fun balls like one of those novelty clocks. “You need to keep up with store policies on your own, take personal responsibility.”
I leaned back against the counter and stuck my chest out even further. My reward was to hear him choke on his words.
“You were also late,” he said as he regained his composure. “I have no choice but to reprimand you, company policy.”
He gazed with feeble desire at my full, round tits threatening to rip my tight shirt open if I breathed too deeply. “Plus you’ll need to pay for the books you just purchased.”
I laughed so hard at his pathetic display of pseudo-authority that my breasts bounced with my mirth.
“Reprimand?” I cajoled.
“What about you staring at my tits? Isn’t that sexual harassment?” Bob blushed and tried to meet my eyes. I felt invulnerable. I pressed on.
“Just so you know what you’ll be missing, have a good look!”
I pulled up my tight and worn Lilith Fair shirt and exposed my breasts to him. My own eyes glanced down as I freed them and I realized that I no longer had breasts; I had a perfect pair of plump, round, fuckable tits.
They sat high and proud on my chest with no amount of sag to be seen. Swollen to perfect, perky full roundness, they jutted past my sides with the perfect, smooth under-curve and the proper front slope. My nipples pointed upwards, perfectly aligned, peaked with pink, swollen goosebumps on my elevated areolas, capped with nipples that now refused to do anything but stand at full, glorious attention.
Cheers erupted from my coworkers and I smiled and waved to them and then pirouetted twice for them all, slowly. Call me what you will, but being desired was a pleasure I relished.
Pulling my shirt back down and hearing the collective moans of disappointment that curtailed the previous joyful cheers, I reached inside my skirt and groped into the inside pocket. Bob’s eyes were wide and his face went pale. His crotch displayed a very tiny tent. I pulled out my twenty-dollar bill, my lunch money, and slapped it on the counter. I felt a cruel and spiteful flow of power take hold of me.
I lifted my skirt, exposing neatly-trimmed, pubic hair to his pathetic, lusting eyes. “No,” I said to him. “I was grabbing my money, not showing you my dripping cunt, like this. Like it?”
Pointing to the twenty on the counter I pulled the hem back down, noting some small wet spots appear on his pants. I laughed with all the sadism I could muster.
“Reprimand my ass! I fucking quit! That money is for the books,” I told him as I swept up the box in my own arms and turned to go.
Halfway across the store I paused and turned, noting the stunned faces on everyone, taking delight in the totally crushed look on Bob’s face. His trousers were now darkened at the crotch as if I had made him cum in his pants.
“If your pecker wasn’t so small and pathetic, maybe you’d get laid once in a while,” were my parting words.
I was now unemployed; I headed straight towards home, marching straight across the courtyard. I had no savings, no real money in the bank, no food in my refrigerator, and no clue. Oddly, I felt elated, as if a massive, oppressive weight had been suddenly lifted off my very soul. Aunt Grace had always said that I should follow my heart and do what I love. She was correct. At that moment my heart told me to go home and have an orgasm; I knew it would be something I’d love.
Walking the distance, I could feel eyes and stares upon my body. I could sense their lust-filled thoughts through the ether; I knew that I was the target of their desires. My body responded in kind, sending out its own shockwaves of passion. My pussy always got soaking wet when I felt aroused. It was now a waterfall of my goddess-touched nectar. I could feel it oozing down my heated thighs. It was by sheer force of will that I managed to make it home, locking the door safely behind me, before I dropped the box and paid attention to my own box.
Fingers thrusting deep inside of me once more, I moaned to Aphrodite, herself, returning the immense pleasures she had bestowed upon me. I lay down and worshiped at the altar of my own flesh as I drank of my own essence and jolted my body with the shocks of my fingers drumming on clit to the unheard rhythm of nature, the rhythm of my deepest desires. My legs spread wide, back arching to the heavens, I plunged first two, then three fingers inside of me, stopping every now and then to build my own pleasure as I greedily licked my sweet moistness from my fingers.
Having held myself at the precipice of thrice-blessed release, I fingered my own ass, my now flowing cunt, and thrummed on my clit all at once. Screaming out in release, my body surrendered to its pleasure and erupted in a volcano of released heat, desire, and passion. Needing yet more, I repeated the act, adding my own tongue and teeth to my constantly erect nipples. My actions did not sate my desires, but they did tame them to manageability.
My internal powers neither waxed nor waned; they remained constant, in constant heat. Shrugging off my now soaked skirt I paid some attention to the box of books I had inadvertently acquired. I found it odd that one of the Harry Potter books was “wrong”.
Idly stroking my still-dripping pussy, I noted that the first book in the series was titled “the Philosopher’s Stone” not “the Sorcerer’s Stone.” The author’s name was also incorrect; it was Joann Rowling and not J.K. Rowling. Interesting.
I recalled that at my recently-previous job that a rare book collector came in from time to time. I had really enjoyed him because he was always so sweet to me and had taken the time to actually chat for a moment before he made his purchases. He had given me his card once and I had kept it. Bottomless and singing, I turned the mess and chaos of my apartment into an even more chaotic sea of clutter looking for his card.
I called and his sweet, older voice answered almost immediately. “Hello. Rare books and sundries. This is Stanley speaking.”
“Hello, Stanley. You probably don’t remember me but I work at, well used to work at, Off-Campus Books. My name is Krys, the redhead.”
“Oh,” he exclaimed with delight in his voice. “I didn’t recognize the voice. Your phone voice is much more confident than how you sounded in the store. How’s Bob?”
“Bob’s looking for a new cashier; I just quit.”
“Oh, you poor, poor pretty little thing. I’m not hiring right now, I run a small operation for a select group of buyers.”
“Oh, no, Stanley,” I responded with a smile that made my voice lilt. “I’m not looking for work…yet. I have some books I might sell and I didn’t know if they were worth anything. I thought you might.”
“Sure, sweetie, I have time. What do you think you have?”
“Well, I have this thin little paperback by Ernest Hemingway called ‘In Our Time’. The picture on the first page bled onto the title page and there’s some scrawl on the bottom of the first page. It looks cheap, old, and low-quality but I’ve never heard of it before.”
“Really?” he exclaimed. “Is that all?”
“No, sir. There’s a weird Harry Potter book, the first book in the series, I think. However, the title says ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ and not “Sorcerer’s Stone’; plus, Rowling’s name is written Joann and not J.K.”
He paused for a moment and then had a minor coughing fit. “Come to my office with these immediately!” He almost screamed at me. “I need to see these now. Promise me that you’ll let me have the first look.”
“I promise, sir.” I giggled.
“Call me Stanley. I’m clearing my day. Come by now.”
Less than an hour later I had shrugged into some old and faded denim jeans, dusted off my old Volkswagen, and made the journey out of town to Mr. Stanley’s home and office.
Gabled slate roofs with decorated peaks and a lookout tower topped a stately-looking, three-story mansion in deep maroon wood exterior and exquisite stained-glass cathedral windows. Smiling gargoyles guarded the well-landscaped lot and the entire house looked perfect for one that deals in antiquities and rare books. I wondered if the place was haunted or if I’d see suits of armor lining the halls.
Grabbing the cold iron ring in the ornate lion’s mouth I knocked on the black-bound, heavy-looking door, hearing the clanging echoes. Dressed in a button-down sweater, slightly hunched over, and smiling with a youthful zest for life that belayed his wild shock of white hair, Stanley came into view and beckoned me inside.
“Come, my child, my sweet beautiful child. I just put on the kettle for tea. Any particular type of tea you prefer?”
I could feel his arousal but I somehow sensed that he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Naughty ideas sprang to life in my head and cavorted in front of me. “Fifty Shades of Earl Grey, please, if you have it.”
“Earl Grey is my favorite, too. Did you bring the books?”
Over the next half-hour, I discovered five things. Stanley makes a delicious cup of tea and loves to chat with hot redheads; he is apparently a ‘boob man’ because his eyes were riveted to my chest and nipples the entire time; he is a wonderful conversationalist that shares my love of the occult; I am so powerful that my lust magick can make even an older man as hard as tempered steel because his erection was obvious and delightfully huge.
The fifth thing stunned me.
While we conversed he poured over my box of books, sometimes deeply embroiled in staring at them through magnifying glasses, sometimes deeply embroiled in staring at my tits. Unlike Bob, I didn’t mind in the least. In fact, his polite and respectful leers had me soaked between my legs.
Then he turned to me, a mask of seriousness, and said, “I don’t keep that kind of money on hand, but I can give you ten thousand right now, and have another forty thousand for you in three business days.”
“Dollars?” I said, fully flabbergasted.
He smiled at me. “That’s just for these,” he said pointing to the Harry Potter books. “If you want to sell the first edition, hand-inscribed Hemingway, that’s another fifty. The rest of the collection will net you, let’s see, that’s umm and umm,” he counted on his fingers and paused. “Another fifteen or so.”
I’m not so good with large numbers; I lose count of the number of my orgasms around twenty or so.
“That’s over one hundred thousand dollars!”
“Yes, my darling fire-head,” he laughed. “You have some very rare finds here.” He held up the first Harry Potter book. “This one was a very limited print, the first one ever. It is one of the highest valued recent books I know of.”
He pointed to the Hemingway. “This one has only about seven hundred or so copies ever printed in the first edition. It’s dedicated by Hemingway himself; that’s his own handwriting right there. A few copies were given to his friends and families, but most are lost. How did you acquire these?”
I smiled. “The Goddess provides.” I felt like celebrating. “We should celebrate,” I added.
Not only did that solve any fiduciary problems that I might have in the near, or even distant, future, but his unacknowledged lust for me was driving me insane with divine madness.
Stanley merely smiled and nodded to me, ignoring his impressive hard-on.
“Yes, my lovely child, we should go out…” he paused as I got up and pulled off my Lilith Fair shirt, exposing my tits to him with overpowering. lusty glee.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked.
I knew exactly what I was doing. Pushing him back into his chair I ran my hands up and down his legs and forced his thighs apart. Kneeling between his splayed legs I crawled up to him and licked and kissed his cock through his pants.
“We can’t, it’s not professional,” he objected. His hard cock was thrusting into my face as he said it. Neither he nor the magick vibrating my clit believed him.
“Then don’t buy my books; buy them; I don’t care. Besides, I’m an amateur, not a professional. No matter what, I’m going to suck that big hard cock of yours, so you’d better enjoy it.”
“But, but, but…” words were unable to come out of his mouth as I freed his cock from its confines and wrapped my lusty lips over its tip.
His shaft was slightly thick, not very long but thick. White pubes framed it. It quivered in my grasp as I slammed my eager mouth on his length until the head of his cock banged against my throat. I fished his sack out from his opened pants and massaged them with my urgent need and my mouth engulfed him all the way.
His hips bucking to my oral thrusts, he moaned aloud as I pulled off for only the time it took to say, “Fuck my face and unleash your power into me,” and renewed my enthusiastic sucking on his hard cock. My spit was running out of my mouth, over his pulsing lance of flesh, and my own moans matched his.
He quickly got into the spirit of things and grabbed my head with both of his hands and pumped my head up and down with vigor and force. Every thrust renewed my energy, brought me to even greater heights of arousal, and filled my spirit and soul with even more power.
His release sent an ocean of hot, sticky cum into my mouth and down my throat. I almost orgasmed myself; his pleasure was so tenable that it affected me. It shot into my mouth with stream after stream assaulting me. It dribbled out of my mouth, onto his cock, down my chin, and onto my exposed tits. To give him something extra I licked his spunk from his cock and cleaned it off with my fingers, rubbing some into my pert breasts and licking off the rest.
His release filled more than my mouth. His life essence, while quite different than that of Melissa’s, filled me with vibrancy and energy. I could feel the warmth of his primal urges, now released into my wanton mouth, fill me with even more power, more potency. I felt stronger and sexier than ever.
“That’s just because I wanted to,” I told him. “It has nothing to do with our business deal. If you can get it up again, we can fuck.” By the Goddess, Aphrodite, I needed to be fucked.
He sighed and tucked his fuck-stick back inside. “Thank you; I can’t thank you enough. It’s been so long. Regretfully, I’m old so it doesn’t fly up like that too much, anymore. I’m surprised that your delightful charms did that to me. I don’t think I’d ever been that horny for somebody before in my life. Not even my dear old wife, God rests her soul.”
A few minutes later, with a signed contract, more cash in my pocket than I had ever seen before, and a promissory note, I was heading to the bank to make a rather large deposit, and then to treat myself to new clothes and high-quality dinner. I could probably live on that money for at least three to four years before I even had to think about money again.
The goddess, Aphrodite, did, indeed, provide. I pondered what I was going to do with all my new free time.
