tagErotic HorrorThe Freedom Ch. 03

The Freedom Ch. 03

byThe_Maestro_Braddock©

Author's Note: Please be warned, this chapter does rachet up the bloodiness quite a bit. It is not gory in the traditional sense (you'll see why) but it does involve a stabbing or two. If that sort of thing bothers you, this very well might, too.

*

Footfalls echoed in my head like the steady clap of a factory press. I could not feel the ache on my soles, despite my wildly inappropriate for running footwear. Any other time, I'd be glad to for it, but this time I knew it was The Freedom instantly healing each small injury, smoothing out all feeling that did not equal pleasure, turning it into such. Still the exertion did seem to be keeping The Freedom's other...less savory side effects at bay.

As I ran, I attempted to gather all my observations about The Freedom I had so far. Direct injection and sexual acts passed it, but it was unclear if anything else would. The smell and the voice of the afflicted seemed to have certain seductive and/or paralyzing qualities to it. After orgasm, there was a brief refractory period during which you were "yourself" again but there did not yet seem to be a way to extend it indefinitely although the sleeping pills did seem to make it last significantly longer. Given what I'd seen with my mom, the refractory period shrinks to nothing over time. Given Mr. Barron's behavior, the period could also be accelerated away by immediately being re-aroused. The Freedom could "remind" you of memories that had never occurred in order to heighten your desire. It also "created" fantasies you never had before and makes you feel like you always have had them. It changed your body almost immediately to your "ideal" version of yourself.

I hoped I'd be able to control myself long enough to convey the details, to pass my knowledge on as a way to help others. As I considered writing them down immediately, an image of me pouring candle wax on a trussed up naked local news anchor woman overtook my optic nerves. She was the black haired lady from Channel 5 with the full lips who always seemed a bit too flirty with the weatherman. I could smell the smoke of a just extinguished candle and heard her saying, "Tonight at 11, which anchorwoman is a bad, bad girl who loves being tied and dominated by college girls? The answer will probably not surprise you." I kicked the metal cage around a nearby trashcan, the sudden shock of pain shattering the hallucination. I forgot the idea of writing down my knowledge. I ran harder.

Finally reaching Filliais Hall, home of the Chemistry Department, I slowed my pace. I was concerned with drawing attention to myself. If anyone stopped me, if they interfered in any way with me passing off The Freedom in its liquid form, I feared I could not stop myself from victimizing them and that once I did so, all hope of the sample being used to stop this would be lost.

Easing past a display case in the main hall, I paused to glance at myself and cursed. I looked, well, like an attention seeking slut. Plus, the flush on my cheeks and wind whipped hair made it look like I had taken a few moments to get off in the bathroom before visiting my professor. There was no time to be proud though. Or, as The Freedom briefly urged me, to "appreciate" myself more fully while looking at my reflection.

"You're late," my TA Mark Hazzell commented without looking up from a stack of papers as I walked in, "You're lucky I had other work to keep me here."

He was sitting at his desk in his "uniform": untucked flannel shirt, carpenter khakis, scuffed boots, five o'clock shadow. He always looked so unfinished to me. At that moment though, my first thought was, "He's handsome."

"Not the time," I growled, dramatically tossing the plastic bottle onto his desk, and talking as much to him as my suddenly diamond hard nipples, "We've got more important things for today, Mark."

He looked up at me, bemused look on his face dissolving into a none too subtle up and down ogle of my body. I cocked my hip and stared. Then, thinking it perhaps a bit too sexy sassy, I just sat down.

"Well," he cleared his throat and picked up the bottle, glad for the distraction, "What is this?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me. I—I—" I came up short, gasping. A suddenly jolt of pleasure shot through me without preamble. Gripping the desk, I pressed on, voice thin and reedy, "My mom took it, I guess... on her psychologist's advice. And it made her...very—uhhhhhh—different."

I paused to catch my breath, unfocused desire literally burning inside me. When I felt reasonably under control, I began again. "She has also injected me with it and...well...ohgod," I mumbled, losing my vision to a bright mental flash of Mark on a leash before me.

"Are you okay?" he said, coming out from behind his desk to comfort me.

As he touched me, I threw back my hands, exclaiming, "Don't touch me!" The tiniest brush of his hand left my skin hot and vibrating.

"Oh...okay," he whispered, looking a bit scared.

"Sorry, sorry...part of the thing with it. Very...sensitive. Anyway, I sent someone to the hospital with a sample and thought I'd give one to you."

"Well...alright. Can you...wait here? I think there's enough here for a couple different tests."

"Sure, sure," I huffed, ignoring the persistent throb of my clit, "But I might have to go. If I'm not here, call the hospital and give them what you've got."

He nodded and jogged out of the small lecture room down the hall to the grad lab. I totally neglected to give my other observations and theories.

With a heavy exhale, I flopped my head backward over the top of the chair. For the first time, I was thankful my college insisted on being a liberal arts school with incredibly strong science programs and spent the money to make it happen.

With the departure of Mark, the burning want in my body seemed to dissipate as well. Unfounded optimism led me to consider the possibility that perhaps being separated from people would make The Freedom easier to manage.

While I arrogantly considered that I might have found a way to outthink The Freedom, the bodily intruder reminded me pride comes before the fall. Without warning, The Freedom sparked my body's pleasure responses. I screamed out as every erogenous zone was stimulated at once. My body snapped into a rigid straight line, body parts smacking part against the chairs gathered around me. I bit down on my tongue, the salty brine of blood coating my mouth. I clawed at my skin, the very feeling of cloth on skin being so intense it felt as though my body was literally burning.

"Oh god, oh god, oh stop, don't stop, no, no, stop, ooooo, FUCK! OH GOD! Pleasssssssssse...so good, so good. Don't want this! Uhhhhhhhh," I babbled incoherently, falling out of the chair onto the cold, dirty tile floor. Pleasure gave way to hard orgasms that shook me so hard I must have looked like I was having a seizure. Muscle and tendons strained so hard that the part of my brain capable of any kind of thought feared my body was literally tearing itself apart.

Then, just as quickly, everything stopped. Gasping, I crawled to Mark's desk and struggled to pull myself off the floor. A glimpse of myself in a small mirror on the table's surface confirmed that, If I hadn't before, I definitely looked the part of a fantasy fuck princess now, cheeks perfectly flush, eyes wide and bright, lips plump and wet, breasts heaving with exertion. I prayed that I had just experienced the last stand of The Freedom, its extinction burst.

Just as I fully righted myself and made the decision to get to somewhere isolated, just to be safe, The Freedom struck once more, dumping neurotransmitters and adrenaline in my bloodstream. I came, mouth open in a silent scream, brain coating me in an auditory and visual hallucination of being serviced by dozens of men and women at once. They crawled over me, touching me, rubbing me, kissing me, licking me, fucking me. As the aftershocks ripped through me, darkness enveloped me and I lost consciousness.

When I came to and brushed myself off, the "real" Wendy was gone, long gone. There was only The Freedom Wendy. And she was hungry.

I sauntered into the lab, hips swaying back and forth, and slid right into Mark's personal space.

"Find anything?" I softly inquired while provocatively leaning on the counter beside him. I followed The Freedom's guidance and positioned myself to give him a free and clear peek down my shirt.

He kept his eyes glued on the microscope while responding, "It is actually pretty fascinating. You were smart sending on this on to the hospital. It's neither just chemical nor just viral. It's definitely a drug, but there is also a viral load in suspension within it."

"Is it," I began, walking to his side of the counter to get closer, "something you could reproduce?"

He paused and I saw his nostrils flair, taking in my scent. Then he responded, "Actually, with this sample, yes. The chemicals are not that complex...they all appear to be derivatives of wildly available meds that do things like increasing blood flow, regulate adrenaline, reduce anxiety...things like that. And since the viral piece is still alive in this sample, it would be easy enough to breed, I'd think."

"Excellent," I cooed, some part of me dimly recognize the echo-y, honeyed quality of my voice. It was the voice of one who had embraced The Freedom.

He continued, a slight break in his voice letting me know I was affecting him even though he still had not looked at me, "But I'm not sure what purpose that serves."

"Well, it needs to spread," I offered matter-of-factly, lightly stroking the back of his head.

He pushed it away and took a large awkward step away from the microscope and me. "What are you doing? Why do you sound so different? And how can you smell exactly like the honeysuckle by the lake house my grandparents owned?" he blathered quickly, nearly panicked.

"What the hell are you up to here Wen—" He stopped speaking immediately as he got a good look at me.

I stood coquettishly in front of me, rubbing on foot back and forth on the floor in front of me. I bit my lip and looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. One hand absentmindedly played with the fourth button down on my shirt, unbuttoning and rebuttoning it.

"Why are you even dressed like that?!" he squeaked, more panic present in his tone.

"Did I...did I displease you, teacher?" I whispered, "I didn't mean to be...bad."

I let my hands drop to my side, the fourth button left undone, and pulled on the bottom of my skirt. The Freedom guided me, whispering seduction instructions and promises of joyful debauchery.

"Do you think I have to be punished?" I pouted, advancing on the frozen Mark.

He put up his hands, blinking as though someone had sprayed in the face with an irritant. I came closer. He shook his head and exhaled sharply.

"Stop!" he shouted, hands out and open like some kind of terrified crossing guard, "Just...wait. I...I need to think."

He appeared addled, a step between intoxicated and manic. Still, he pushed on, trying to regain some semblance of control. I felt my lips curl into a sadistic smirk.

"This...whatever it is. You said your mom was on it?"

"Mmmhmm," I hummed, biting my lip.

"And she injected you with it?"

"Yes," I half moaned, letting my sweater slip from my shoulders to the ground.

"Okay, okay," he reasoned on the fly, "So, I don't what the biological part of this cocktail's about, but I can tell you that the chemical components would all be found in various medications used to boost libido or sexual responsiveness."

"Wow, you're smart," I giggle, "But I'm just a silly girl who needs to be put back in line. Are you saying the reason I want you to fuck me right here in the lab is because of that green stuff."

He blushed mightily, somehow retained his relative composure, "Well, umm, that's one way of putting it."

"I don't know, Markie," I sing-songed, "I think the reason I want to fuck you is that I'm a horny slut and you are a hot guy who I bet's got a. Nice. Thick. Cock."

"I...no, that's not tru—I mean—Look, the behavior, the clothes, the voice...none of this is really you Wendy."

I slipped a hand into my bra and cupped my breast and tweaked the nipple. It produced such a powerful reaction, I had to pause and rock through the wave of pleasure. When it finally began to break, I locked eyes with Mark, offered him an "oops" shrug, and spoke, "Are you sure? Because, Marky, I tell you, I sure feel like me."

He pushed his hands out in front of him harder, as if he thought he could push away lust. I stepped forward again, pressing my breasts against his outstretched palms. The moment was exquisite and I audibly moaned. Mark rocked slightly on his heels, but made no move to escape. His eyes were fixed on my cleavage, his mouth slightly open and exhaling.

After a moment, I whispered, "What do you think? Do I...feel okay to you?"

His eyes moved up to my face slowly, as though a heavy rock had been affixed to the top of his head. Even as he made eye contact with me, his eyes were vacant. He stared forward as if he were blind or, perhaps, I was invisible.

"So, Mark, would you say you're a fan of tits?" I teased as he kneaded my breasts through my shirt and bra.

He nodded dully, eyes cloudy.

"Would you like to see them?"

"Y-y-yes," he stuttered, face slack.

As I reached for my remaining buttons, a piercing scream from the hall shot through the room. Mark startled, his eyes regaining their spark, his face losing its lack of expression. He tossed his hands from my chest as if they had been burned.

"She sounds like she's being killed," he mumbled and raced to the door, with me on his heels. Peering out the window, we saw a petite Asian American freshman being dragged down the hall by a pack of girls in sorority t-shirts and tiny shorts. I recognized their Greek symbols, indicating their allegiance to the so-called "smart" sorority, the scholarly house that enforced a "dry" policy even for its of age members. They certainly did not look the part of the "brainy" sisters now.

The freshman twisted in their grasp and reached for us, yelling for help. Mark began to turn the doorknob to push into the hall before I stopped him, place my hand over his.

"Look how many of them there are," I pointed out, "You'd never stand a chance. Better to stay here and find a way to stop it then risk yourself on a fool's errand for one person."

I felt him slump, defeated, realizing I was speaking the truth. He clicked the deadbolt into place to "protect" us, not considering I was just as dangerous, if not more so, than that pack of sorority sisters in the hall.

In the hall, the sisters gave up on trying to bring the freshman to whatever destination they had in mind and threw her to the ground. She looked up at us in the window, eyes tearing, knowing that we would not help. Two sisters held her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the ground.

"Please," she begged, "Don't do this. I don't want this."

"You will," cooed a brunette with curly brown hair, pouty lips, as she straddled the freshman's waist, "We all thought we didn't want this, but then...trust me, it feels so good."

The brunette then pulled off her tight t-shirt exposing her impeccable bra-less breasts. Much like my mother's breasts, hers were large, full, and soft, yet impossibly resistant to gravity. As the other sisters cheered, "Yeah, Jean, show her! Show her how good it feels!"

With a smile that looked more threatening that happy, Jean shoved off hand down the front of her underwear. She immediately threw her head back and groaned loudly. A moment later, she pulled her hand back out, visibly glistening with her wantonness. "See, look how wet I am," Jean demanded of the pinned coed.

Grabbing the freshman black long hair roughly with her dry hand, Jean spread her juices across the helpless girl's lips. "Taste me," Jean whispered.

The freshman shook her head emphatically.

"But she tastes so good," objected a tall olive skinned junior I recognized as the point guard of our women's basketball team.

Forcefully, Jean pushed her fingers into restrained girl. The girl thrashed back and forth and bit down but Jean only laughed as she pulled her fingers free. Already, I could see tell the freshman was losing herself.

With a frustrated sigh, Mark pushed on the door and then began to turn away. I caught him, forcing him to stay in one place. "It's okay," I reassured him, "You can watch."

"What?!" he replied, incensed, "No...that's not okay. Besides, like you said, I should be finding a way to help everyone."

"Shh, shh," I whispered, "It's just you and I here. I won't tell anyone you watched for a little while. I mean, it's every guy's fantasy, right? Hot girls fooling around with each other?"

"No—well, I mean, sure," he admitted, "But they're raping her! It's not the same."

"They're not raping her," I promised him, "They're helping her."

"That's ridiculous!" he responded, again preparing to stalk away from the door.

"Look, Mark, look," I encouraged him, wrapping myself around him from behind.

He glanced out the window again to see the sisters stripping the freshman. She writhed and shuddered under their touch, muscles visibly straining under the skin. She was moments away from giving in to The Freedom.

"See, they aren't hurting her at all," I pointed out.

"What...what's happening?" he whispered, his tone a mixture of awe and fear.

I rubbed my hands up and down his torso as I replied, "She's becoming. They're giving her a gift and she's finally accepting it."

"Gift?"

"It's called The Freedom. It will help her finally, truly be happy."

"Are you...are you sure? I thought..." he trailed off, his mind growing confused.

As if on cue, the freshman's body bowed in the center, forcing her into a sort of bridge. Her eyes were closed tight and she groaned a noise that resembled a running engine meeting a woman giving birth. Then her eyelids sprang open, green ring blazing around her chocolate brown irises. She smiled at us and licked her lips, hands grabbing her tits. Then, with a growl she grabbed one of the sisters, a thick blonde sophomore who I'd met at a Take Back the Night rally, and tore the sorority shirt off her. A collective shout of triumph came from the group and they seemed to all merge with one another, a twisting mass of ever more exposed flesh.

"See," I cooed, "Look at what she's become. Isn't she beautiful now?"

"I...well, yes...but still...I...I shouldn't be watching this. I'm engaged," he offered weakly.

"Ssssssssoooooooooooo?" I hissed, "This is basically just like watching porn. You watch porn, don't you, Mark?"

He hesitated for a moment then confessed, "Ye—yeah...but Karen doesn't like that I do so I try to—"

"Do it behind her back?"

He went silent.

"It's okay," I comforted him, "I won't tell her. It'll be our little secret. You know you can trust me, right?"

"I...I think so."

"Of course you can, Mark. You can trust Wendy any time, all the time. I'm just here for you, you know."

My hands walked down his body until they rested on either side of the zipper of his pants. On the left, I could feel him, hard and pushing against the denim. He gasped, but did not move as I slowly, tooth by tooth, undid his zipper.

"Shh," I instructed him as he started to protest when my hand slid into his boxer shorts and freed his cock.

Even in the haze of The Freedom, even when all is want and lust and fucking, there are moments where you, the real you, is able to grasp what is happening. Powerless to stop it, but comprehending of it. The moment, digit by digit, I wrapped my fist around his dick, was one such moment. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream for him to run. I wanted to find a way to save us both. But The Freedom would not let me. In fact, the momentary instant of realization before my consciousness was swept over again only seemed to fuel my Freedom loyal mindset. I felt my lust soak my thong just before my rational mind was utterly obliterated once more.

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