tagMind ControlSpanish Seed Ch. 04

Spanish Seed Ch. 04

bythecoupler©

Chapter 4: The Zipless Fuck

Tantalising new vistas of possibility opened up before me that evening. I stood in the kitchen of the house I shared with two women my age, staring at two chili con carne meals that one of my housemates had just cooked. The lightly steaming stews, with glasses of Coke alongside, almost beckoned me closer by just sitting there. One meal was for Gwen, tonight's cook, who had turned her back to me and was bent over in the fridge, rummaging for seasoning of some description. The other was for our other flatmate Trish - I had dined out earlier in the evening.

I had only a second or three while Gwen was busy spelunking for condiments. My hand had instantly gone to the clear plastic packet in my pocket containing two white seeds which I always carried around with me, but had only rarely got a chance to use. And never two at once! It had been many weeks since my doctor's visit, and since I hadn't gotten any answers, I figured the only way I was going to learn was further field testing. You can knock that argument down fairly easily, of course, because in retrospect it does seem rather flimsy, but it made sense to my 20-year-old brain at the time, flooded as it was with hormones both natural and sometimes unnatural.

Involving my housemates in this ongoing experiment hadn't been my plan, but it was surprisingly hard to find safe opportunities to slip my unique brand of Mickey Finns into random girls' drinks in any sort of social situation. Not that either of my housemates was unattractive. Gwen was a thin, statuesque blonde with a kind face and a heart to match. I had originally pursued her in the workplace when she was a co-worker in a previous part-time job but it hadn't gone anywhere. We remained good friends, and it was we two who had set up the share house together. She had still wanted to be the sort of friend who gave regular hugs, but I had declined once we moved in, in the interests of smoother household relations - which was my way of preventing myself developing stronger feelings for her. We found Trish through Craigslist, as you do. She worked in some agricultural job and had a country background, and was the sort of tall, well-built, handsome woman who you could imagine best on horseback doing dressage or showjumping, her dark brunette bob haircut bobbing along. Her strong, toned ass certainly looked good in the khaki-coloured cotton tracksuit pants she wore around the house, though apart from teasing her that she was wearing jodhpurs, again I kept things on a professional level.

Which is why I hesitated a little with my fingers on the packet inside my shirt. Would I be jeopardising what had turned into a friendly, stable household by ruining it with meaningless sex? I didn't have long to think about it, and I guess my lizard brain reflex took over, as out came the packet and in went my fingers to fish out not one but two seeds. I had enough rational thought processes left to make a split second decision over whether to drop the seed in their drinks or the meal. Any lingering doubt I had was squashed by the choice to drop them into the meals. I didn't know whether the little seeds would survive the mastication process, or even whether they had to pass whole into the stomach to release their chemical cocktails into the bloodstream that caused the aphrodisiac effect. The possibility that it wouldn't work at all was what allowed my conflicted conscience to finish the job by pushing one seed each into the middle of each meal, covering them with a flick of the finger and quickly sucking off the incriminating sauce.

Gwen turned around, oblivious to my crime, and continued the small talk we had been exchanging all the way through. She eventually took both plates and went up the stairs next to the kitchen, which is where both hers and Trish's bedrooms were. I retrieved a beer from the fridge and retired to my own bedroom, which was by the front door (I was the "watchdog", we had joked).

I sat on the bed, shaking a little. My previous conquests using this curious herbal weapon had been with strangers or acquaintances, in encounters that could be shrugged off or ignored as casual flings. This time I may have bitten off more than I could chew... or that my housemates could chew.

* * *

After I had finished my beer, I wandered back through the kitchen to bin my bottle. The noise from the stairwell told me that the TV was on in the lounge room upstairs... ours was a long, thin two-story house. I stood again in the kitchen and looked up at the faintly flickering lights reflected on the far wall of the stairwell. Yep, I thought to myself, time to go see if this worked.

I walked up the steps slowly. I could hear some girly TV show on, but I also picked up someone moving about on the couch. I reached the top of the stairs and saw it was Trish, illuminated in the darkness only by the glow of the screen, who had a guilty look on her face and a posture sitting on the far end of the three-person couch that was so straight that she must have just sat up from lying on it full-length.

I could smell a faint waft of the familiar lilac aroma. There was an answer to that question.

"What's on?" I asked, jumping past the landing and sitting on the near end of the couch. Trish didn't answer immediately, so I asked the name of the show. She remained silent, one arm balanced on the arm of the couch with her knuckle supporting her head, the other holding a cushion across her lap. We watched for a while until it became obvious what we were watching, though she started drumming her fingers softly on the cushion. The episode was about an urbanised woman frustrated in her romantic life, as were a lot of the shows Trish watched. Trish didn't talk much about that side of her life, especially not to me, but I had gathered from Gwen that she had been single for a while now, throwing herself into work.

Eventually I couldn't help but notice that she was staring at me, not the TV, still strumming away with her fingers on the cushion. Sheepishly, I darted my eyes to her and returned her gaze. "You know," she started, with more than a hint of annoyance in her tone. "You know, those shows aren't wrong. It's pretty tough for women in the city right now."

I could only grunt quietly.

"No I mean it, all that stuff about jobs and relationships, and how you can't have both at the same time, it's true to life isn't it? There's a seed of truth in all of those things."

The corner of my mouth twitched at her choice of words, but I nodded my head in support.

"I mean, look at me, I do alright in my job, but it's tough, you know?" She looked at me accusingly, as if I was acting as bouncer at the front door on a Saturday night, refusing entry to boys that she didn't bring home in the first place. "It's tough. To have it all."

Trish continued glaring at me, and began to pant ever so slightly, which was way out of character for a girl who kept so prim and proper like the well-raised country girl that she was. I tried to keep my demeanour as passive as possible, as the smell of lilac grew stronger. Trish directed her laser-like stare back at the TV, which by now was blaring away ads.

"Have you ever wondered why it is that single people don't have more sex when they want it? I mean, it's like people are so constricted by these social mores that they can't even help each other out when they're suffering. It should be just like scratching an itch, or getting a massage to relieve stress, shouldn't it? It's just silly, what the fuck was feminism for if you can't be empowered like that."

Trish was now visibly angered, spitting out her attacks at that TV. I ventured a short response.

"You mean like a zipless fuck?"

"Yes, that's exactly it!" she exclaimed, looking back at me with widened eyes and pointing finger. "The zipless fuck. That woman, what's her name, had it right. Women should be able to control their own sexuality and not have to bow to society's idea of what they should do with their bodies."

Trish was banging her fist on the arm of the couch at this point, driving home her arguments.

"I mean, like, if I've got a need, you know, a need for something quick and pleasurable, well, fuck me I deserve it! Do you know what I'm saying? If I've got a wet pussy and you're got a hard cock, there shouldn't be any other complications!"

Even by the sickly glimmer of the television I could see she was getting red in the face, as she slammed her fist into the couch to the beat of her diatribe. Her bug-eyed stare flickered downwards to my groin.

"Um, sure, I couldn't agree more. It is very silly," I stammered, spooked by the sudden assault. The scent of lilac was now almost overpowering.

"Yeah, I mean it's not as if we've got anything in common or we're in love or anything, but that shouldn't matter, because it wouldn't mean anything, would it? It would just be two people... helping each other out."

I couldn't meet her gaze now, as she was babbling almost without control. I saw out of the corner of my eye she had raised herself up on the knees of her usual "jodhpurs" and was leaning forward.

"So how about it?" she said quietly right next to my ear, and immediately snuck one hand under the waistband of my own tracksuit pants around my cock, which had already betrayed me by growing rock hard in close proximity to the lilac onslaught. "Ahhh, so you're up for it, are you?" Trish was triumphant now, revelling in her power with my dick in her hand and my face turned away. I turned my head and looked at her, not having to conceal my surprise at how she had turned the tables in this encounter. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Gwen's room is at the other end of the house and mine is in between, she won't hear a thing." Her tone shifted instantly to a light, playful wheedle. "Look, neither of us have zips! Come here."

She pulled me by my own penis up to the middle of the couch on my knees, facing the far end. She shuffled in front of me facing away on her knees with her legs either side of mine, pulled her jodhpurs and panties down in one motion and exposed her smooth, tight ass to me. Oh Lord, it was by far the best part of her body, and it was a sight to behold. The flawless complexion on her face extended all the way down, apart from a couple of small moles I could pick out in the flickering twilight. My senses were overwhelmed, however, by a blast of the humid air emanating up from her pussy, which acted like snuff powder to my hormone-drenched system. She reached behind, grasped hold of my penis again, and guided it into her incredibly wet and hairy pussy.

Trish let out a happy sigh and rested her hands on the arm of the couch. I put my hands on her hips and started sliding them up under her sweatshirt to reach her breasts, but she slapped them away. "This is just a fuck, remember," she said. Okay, I thought, and settled my grip back down on the curves of her full hips.

We both started pushing against each other in a syncopated rhythm. The bulbous head of my cock never left the tight sheath of her cunt, and it explored further and further towards her cervix with each thrust. Her pussy dripped down both her legs and mine, lubricating our violent acts. I could feel that her pussy was quite hairy, though I could only imagine the thatch of dark curls that were adding to the sensations on my prick and balls as I sawed in and out.

Her cunt was wet and soft, putting out a coal-fired furnace of heat. Trish must have been up here fingering herself before I got up here to be so worked up, I thought. The muscles of her pussy worked up and down my shaft as she rammed her hips back at me, trying to draw the living strength out of my prick with insistent pressures. Between the crack of her ass, I could see her pussy lips stretched out over my shaft on every back stroke, grasping as if it never wanted to be out of contact.

The cheeks of her tight butt, which had a lot of muscle but also a pleasing covering of fat, jiggled in response as my hips crashed into them time and time again. A drop of sweat off my brow dropped onto her right ass cheek. I reached up to my forehead, wetted a thumb and placed my hand near her puckering anus but Trish grunted dangerously, so I put it back on her hip. I looked up at her, short hair flying everywhere, her sweatshirt starting to stick to her body with the exertion.

Our combined motions started dragging the couch along the carpet on its legs, making a squeaking noise that would be pretty hard to mistake by Gwen, even at the other end of the house. Trish reached back and stopped my thrusting. "On the carpet," she gasped.

I withdrew and we both stood up off the couch. We looked at each other in the half-light coming from the television, waited a moment for the other to lie down, and our eyes met. The unhinged look in Trish's eye told me all I needed to know. I was the one who lay down on the carpet, and she immediately got on top and reinserted me.

Now came the real fuck. Trish laid her hands on either shoulder, her knees outside my hips and worked those toned gluteal muscles back and forth, back and forth on my cock. It was all I could do to keep myself stable on the carpet as her thrusts above me became manic, frenzied and wild. Her butt danced over my upstanding prick to push me deep into her pussy, hitting all of the depths of her cuntal walls, and settling on what I could only assume was an angle that rubbed against her G-spot. What had before been only quiet sighs now grew into yelps she was unable to bite down on. She gritted her teeth above me and rode me to the point of pain and beyond, bruising each other on our pelvic bones. All we could concentrate on was the itches in our groins that could only be sated by the release that we were so striving for. The constant friction of the ring of her pussy rubbing up and down on the shaft of my prick became so fast that it turned into a blur, a single tube of pleasure covering the length of me.

I could feel my balls boiling but it was Trish who came first, crying out with pent-up frustration and sensation at the height of her passion. I peered up at her through the gloom and saw the shocked expression on her slack-jawed face, lost in her surrender to the physicality of the moment. I looked down to see her sweatshirt balled up over her breasts, her hard nipples poking through the sweat-covered material, her taut stomach twisting and heaving with her panting breaths. I shoved my hips up one last time and looked down to her pussy, where a dark jungle of hair was mixing with my own matted curls. I went over the edge, pumping her pussy full of cum that I had saved up for weeks. She was nearly oblivious as the over-large head of my cock pulsed inside her and spat out gob after gob of sticky fluid.

Trish still hadn't closed her mouth as she finally looked down at me and spoke in a whisper, her breathing gradually slowing. "Now that's a good zipless fuck."

I wasn't going to argue.

* * *

After Tricia let me up with no more communication than a firm push on my shoulder before stalking off to her room, I took my things, descended the stairs, and took a left turn through the kitchen to the bathroom in the back. I needed a shower. I washed the juices of lovemaking off my body, put on my dressing gown that was hanging on the rack, collected my soiled clothes and padded back through the house to my room. After putting my clothes in my hamper, I went back out the hallway and looked up at the front staircase. (Just to explain, there were two sets of stairs, one at the back by the kitchen leading up to Tricia's room and the lounge room, and one at the front by my bedroom door which led up to doors to both of the girls' bedrooms.)

I stood there for a minute in the darkness of the hallway, listening. I thought back to the moment I had slipped the white seed into Gwen's chili con carne. Sure, it looked much the same as a chili pepper seed or a particularly small bean, especially when tainted with the red sauce, so I didn't have any fears about being found out. Did Gwen bite down on it while eating, though, ruining whatever the little pod did inside a girl's stomach to cause her to act so passionately? Or didn't that matter? I knew the seed had survived suspension in scalding hot coffee and done its work on the doctor, so temperature wasn't a concern. Was it one of those seed pods with scores of smaller seeds inside it, like a corn husk? I hadn't gathered the courage to dissect one yet. Or was it like a potato, growing and transforming as a tuber via what was called "vegetative reproduction"?

My agricultural theorisations were interrupted by a small sound from the top of the stairs. It was the sound of sobbing! My heart sank. I considered Gwen a good friend, so the thought that she was crying because of me dropped my mood like a stone. I trudged up the stairs and tapped on the door.

"Hey Gwen, you alright?"

"Yes [sob] I'm okay [sob], just... thinking about things." Her voice was wavering and miserable.

"Um," I said, not sure of what I should do. "Do you want to talk about it?"

There was a pause. "Sure," she said uncertainly, "if you like."

I turned the handle and pushed the door in slowly. By the click I heard, Gwen had turned on the night light over her bed just as I came in. She squinted and blinked in the light, half to adjust to the brightness and half to clear away the tears. She had a box of tissues on her bedside table, with a few dampened ones scrunched up on the carpet next to the bed.

I walked over and sat on the side of her bed. She smiled at me sheepishly, taking in my apprehensive expression. "I must look a mess," she said, pawing at her straw-coloured hair which fell down her shoulders in untidy knots over the edge of the blanket.

"What are you crying about, Gwen?" I asked softly, knowing that whatever the answer, I was at least partly to blame. She mentioned the name of her most recent ex-boyfriend, and the tension in my body lifted. Of course she would be crying about him. We had actually been in this scenario several times before, her crying over this muscleheaded creep who used to abuse her verbally... and sometimes physically. I always argued that he was no good to her but she insisted that she loved him. The fact that she had eventually left him after one particularly violent episode didn't stop her feeling melancholy about what they once had. It was one of those eternal conversations between a man and a woman where logic met emotion, and neither side made any headway in convincing the other because they were arguing in different languages. I guess that guy who wrote about Mars and Venus was onto something. Not that I knew much about that at the time.

Anyway, this conversation went the same way as the others, though this time there was something different. She was more upset than before, and as we talked I came to understood why. The old lilac scent gradually sifted its way through the covers of Gwen's bed and perked up my practiced nostrils. No wonder she was so emotional, her hormones were making her miss that loser more! She had let slip multiple times that he had been more than satisfactory between the sheets, and I couldn't help but conclude that she must be pining for his dick more than the back of his hand. I couldn't say this to her, of course, which meant that the chat trailed away after a while.

She looked up at me still sitting on the side of her bed. "You're a good friend. Hop up here on the bed." I murmured my misgivings, but she insisted and made room for me on her queen-sized mattress. I lay down on top of the bed covers. "No, silly, inside, it's too cold!" she scolded playfully. I drew back the covers far enough back to see that she was wearing a demurely pink silk nightie that covered her body, and pulled the sheets back over my gown-covered frame until we were fitted snugly together, facing each other only a foot away with bunched-up bed linen between us.

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bythecoupler© 6 comments/ 54546 views/ 12 favorites

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