The Lesser Evil Ch. 02

As she was puzzling over that information, a large furniture truck pulled up in front of the house. As she watched, an older Hispanic man hopped out of the cab, checking his paperwork against the address. She moved to the door as he strode up the driveway, greeting him before he had a chance to knock.

"Hello. Furniture delivery for you," he said, gesturing back to the truck.

Kyra was confused. She didn't remember having ordered any furniture. And even if Tom had done so, he would've ordered it from his brother, who owned his own furniture outlet.

"I...I'm sorry. I know we didn't order any furniture," she replied, looking back to the name on the truck. The nearest outlet for them was on the other side of the state!

"This is your address?" he asked, pointing to the yellow paperwork on his clipboard.

She read it carefully. It was her address, and her name was spelled correctly. Odd that it had her name on it, and not her husband's.

"This has the right information, but we always get our furniture from my brother-in-law's store. And that's not it," she pointed out.

"Aaagh! I've come a long way for this to be a screw-up. Look. Is it OK for me to use your telephone? My cell is dead. I'll call it in and we'll get this straightened out."

She looked him over carefully. He looked very normal, just a middle-aged man with a job to do. And she'd never once felt like he was leering at her, even though she only wore a white halter top and a pair of shorts. Sensing he was OK, she let him in the foyer, shutting door behind her.

"Just one question," he said, approaching her and reading from the clipboard. She turned to see him addressing her, his lips moving, and suddenly the buzzing exploded inside her skull. She felt split in two, an obedient part of her swaying from the assault of noise, and the observant part struggling to reclaim its balance.

She watched as the man calmly placed his clipboard on the table in the hallway, then reached forward and pulled her halter top up to her neck, revealing her lacy white bra. Thank god she had decided to put one on that morning! On really hot days, she would forgo the bra altogether. Placing his hands on either side of her waist, he pulled her to him, kissing her hard and pushing his tongue deep into her mouth. When she didn't respond, he stepped away and consulted his paperwork. Again his lips moved, and immediately she felt a new compulsion seize her. She had to please him. Please him and she would get her reward.

Again he pulled her to him, and this time when their lips met she responded in kind, greedily pressing her tongue into his mouth, grinding her body against his as she kissed him passionately. They broke apart only when he pulled her top and bra the rest of the way over her head. Then they fell together again, her body trembling as she pressed against him. He kissed his way across her cheek and down her neck, wandering into the valley between her breasts. Each kiss left a pool of fire behind, as though she'd been branded by his lips. She could think of nothing but giving herself to this man, in any way that he wanted her. Her head swam with the need to submit to him, leaving her so heady that her legs began to buckle.

He held her fast by the waist, smothering her breasts in kisses, and sucking desperately at her nipples. Her back arched instinctively, pushing her tits deeper into his mouth. He savaged her with his tongue, lips and teeth for another minute, and then pushed her roughly against the wall. Having cornered her, he crammed his hand inside her shorts and panties, his fingers forcefully gripping her pussy. Instead of backing away from the intrusion, she pushed against it, impaling herself onto his hand. She could feel his fingers probing deep inside her cunt, rubbing against the walls as though he were measuring the size of her for what was to come next.

Stepping back, he pushed her shorts down to the floor. When she became entangled in her panties, he simply ripped them off her, the fabric tearing and parting with dramatic resolve. Finally she was nude before him, her pussy aching for some sort of stimulation. His hand, cock, tongue... it didn't matter. As long as something was there to slake the heat that traveled in waves through her body.

Once she was naked, the delivery man wasted no more time on kissing and fondling. He roughly pushed her onto the floor, positioning her on her hands and knees like a bitch in heat. It was no coincidence that she was crouching in front of the mirrored closet doors. Not that the thought entered her conscious mind. That part of her was much too obsessed with following his orders and pleasing him.

He took her savagely, his hard, brown cock splitting her swollen lips and filling her cunt. Through the haze of her lust, she could tell that he was doing it just the way she wanted it. Hard, fast and forcefully. With his strong, callused hands, he pulled her toward him, while his strong legs pistoned forward, so that her pussy received the impact of everything he could muster. And though he was kneeling on some padding, in the form of his pants, her bare knees were being punished by the hard slate floor. So as he fucked her the two of them slowly pirouetted around the foyer, an intimate dance gone horribly wrong.

She could feel his body tense as his orgasm approached, and steeled herself for the relief it would bring. But when his hot cum flooded the inside of her cunt, it brought not relief, but merely served to enflame her passion, as though he had shot a volley of gasoline directly onto a fire. She felt preternaturally sensitive to every sensation. She could feel his cum dripping down the walls inside her. Could feel the air currents rasping over her erect nipples. Could taste her pungent juices on the very air around them. Could hear his skin slide over hers as he pulled himself from her.

Their floor fuck had pushed her around so that she faced away from the mirror, so she had to look back to see him as he dressed hurriedly. Kyra waited not-so-patiently for him to give her another order, another way to please. But he simply walked to the door, paused a moment as if to memorize the scene, then read a simple phrase off his clipboard before leaving.

She shook her head, dazed, and immediately wondered why she was kneeling on the cold floor, completely naked. The buzzing was gone, and her head ached as intensely as her pussy. Her shorts and top were strewn on the floor before her. But where were her panties? She looked backwards to discover them in shreds near the closet door. It was then that she saw that her pussy was leaking thick, white cum. Even this discovery didn't penetrate the numbness in her brain. Though momentarily curious as to how she'd gotten this way, that thought quickly slipped away. Suddenly unconcerned, she picked up her clothes and began cleaning up.

In the blink of an eye, Kyra was back in the blackness. She remembered those panties! She'd taken them out of the washer and couldn't understand how they'd gotten so torn up. She'd finally put it down to a loose part in the washer, and she'd even gone so far as to call to have it serviced. The realization gave her pause. The real question now was whether the incident had actually happened, or whether her brain was pulling these memories from within and conjuring up a story to go around them. Both possibilities worried her. Serial fucking? Or madness? Or both?

Another mystery she couldn't solve at the moment. At least, that's what she told herself as she pushed the now familiar tendrils of panic away. The more important matter was whether her bold move had worked? Was she closer to the core? She studied the motes briefly, counting the ones to the outside of her. It had worked! She'd skipped inwards by two circuits. Briefly, her curiosity tugged at her. What had she missed by skipping those two levels? But given her past experience, the answer was self-evident. More fucking, no doubt. And since she had such a ways to go to reach the center, it was clear that she'd be experiencing enough of that.

With a push of will, she took herself back to the bedroom. As if by magic she could feel the mattress below her, and the eddies of air wisping along her nude body. She could see the two silhouettes, and hear their voices, but still could not make her body move to indicate her awareness. One of the silhouettes approached and sat on the bed next to her. She could feel the mattress compress near her hip. She felt two hands, one on each thigh, grasp her and push her legs wider open. The realization shocked her. She wasn't tied to the bed! But then why couldn't she move her body? She lost that train of thought as she felt a finger slide up and down her pussy lips. Kyra braced herself for the penetration to come, but the finger just brushed up and down, never parting her lips more than a fraction. She forced herself to breathe evenly. This was more intense, more exciting than the sex she'd experienced with the motes. The darkness, the helplessness, the mystery all combined to put her body on edge, straining for even more stimulation.

"We haven't discussed your fee." Tom's voice.

"My regular session fee, I think," the second voice, again so familiar. "Plus a share."

"I kinda figured. How much?" Tom asked.

"A few a month, probably. I'd call ahead. This, um, doesn't bother you?" The stroking stopped, though the finger remained on her pussy lips.

"Not anymore. The first time, in the hotel, bothered me a lot. Until I figured out what'd happened. It's been frustrating, more than anything. Damn internet," Tom said.

"Word does travel quickly these days," the voice agreed. "Hard to put the genie back in the bottle." The finger left her slit. Seconds later, two fingers were softly rubbing her right nipple. "Especially such a compliant, beautiful genie."

"At least this way I'll know," Tom replied. "If I can't have my Kyra back, at least she won't be everyone's Kyra."

"Hmmm, yes. Well, yours most of the time. Ours some of the time. A good compromise, I think."

"Yeah. Like you said, 'The lesser of two evils.'" There was a tone of futility in Tom's voice.

As the fingers continued to pinch and pull her nipple, Kyra returned to the mote field with a simple force of will. The transition was getting easier and easier, but she was getting more and more frustrated. The conversation between Tom and that other man hadn't answered a single question. Instead of clues to her predicament, all she had were more questions. Genies, internet, yours, ours, evils...none of it went together. She couldn't even begin to imagine a way to connect it all.

She turned back to the motes floating around her. As long as the results continued as they had been, she could make her way to the center. She already had the beginnings of a path laid out. All she had to do was touch the next one floating her way, experience whatever happened, and let that experience push her closer to the center. All she had to do was touch it. All she had to do was...

Why was this so difficult? She had to admit that she was afraid. Who wouldn't be? But that wasn't all of it. Returning from the last encounter in the bedroom, she'd been seized by a grain of doubt, a niggling suspicion. Maybe it wasn't madness or dreams or subconscious desires. Maybe she had somehow experienced all of that. Maybe those weren't constructs of her mind. Maybe they were memories.

No! That was too much to endure. She'd never act that way, never betray Tom that way. Not even by drinking, when her inhibition so easily turned to exhibition. There had to be some other explanation, and her fear of what she might experience second-hand wasn't going to interfere with discovering what was at the heart of all this, glowing seductively in the center of all those spinning motes. With a newly recharged resoluteness, she touched the nearest mote...

And followed a zigzag path to the center, jumping from scene to scene as her body was used in ways too myriad for complete comprehension. A blowjob for a waiter in the alley of a restaurant, bent over and fucked by a Little League coach under the stands. Banged in the car by the auto mechanic, stripping and masturbating for three businessmen in the backroom of a library.

And then there were the experiences with Tom. Sucking him off while they drove someplace. Modeling a wide variety of kinky lingerie for him; stuff she never remembered owning. Waiting on him hand and foot at a cabin of some sort, clothed only in the tiniest thong she'd ever seen. Bent over his desk at the office and taking it from behind. Servicing him as he watched a football game on TV. Playing strip poker with some neighbors, and being the only one to actually strip. Obediently fetching him food and drinks at the company picnic, then taking it from him in the woods, evoking an earth-shattering orgasm so powerful that her scream startled several birds into flight. That Tom was involved was perhaps more upsetting than the things she experienced herself doing.

Finally, after dozens of stops, she was just two motes from the center. It scared her to think that she'd only experienced a fraction of the motes around her. Were they all unwanted sexual experiences? Odds are, they were. Which meant how many times in total? She didn't even want to figure it out. One thing was for sure. If they were all constructs of her mind, from an accident, or a coma, or whatever, she was one sick puppy. And if they were all memories, she was in even worse trouble.

She'd been in approximately the same position in the sphere when she first started this journey. A touch of one mote had sent her to the outer edges of the sphere. She had no interest in taking that trip again. So she was more than a little nervous as she touched the next mote.

To be continued...