Black Opal Magic

"Spread your knees. Like you was before."

I did, sighing again, and he pressed the button.

"Ok, nineteen more," I said.

"No, that was a test shot."

I laughed. I honestly didn't care how many pictures he took. I knew it wasn't going to matter in the long run. His fantasy girl would always be a fantasy, and I knew that even after he showed them to his buddies, he wouldn't post them anywhere I'd need to worry about.

It took two hours of him directing me to various poses on and around that car and one in the other bay, and the shop. The skirt came off first, but soone after, I was naked except for the high heels. He had me put on his hat for a few, and drape a set of jumper cables around me for several more. There were lots of me leaning over the engine of my car, pretending to tinker with something. And plenty with me kneeling, mouth agape, breasts held high and squeezed, as though I was begging for the privilege of blowing him.

I have to say, even now, that I really enjoyed myself. He was so enthusiastic as he was directing me.

Eventually I'd made every pose he could think of, except one. I'd heard the lust for the idea from the start, and heard that it was something he couldn't let himself ask for.

He was sitting on the stool, scrolling through the pictures, having told me to get dressed.

I'd pulled on the panties and the bra, but nothing else. I walked over to him.

"Ya, what? I said you don't get to see."

I put a hand on one hip. "Your collection's missing one though."

"What's that?"

"Your cum on my face."

He actually blushed, but the bulge in his pants all along told me I wasn't wrong.

"Come on. You don't what that souvenir? You know you do. The only question is: is the car in the shot, or just me?"

He shook his head. I reached for his crotch, and stroked the line of his hard-on with two fingers. Then I stepped back and knelt down, reassuming one of the poses from before.

"Come on. Shoot your wad. Preserve the moment. Show me who I am."

Those were the magic words.

He stood and unzipped, pulled out his still hard cock, and started jerking. One shaky hand still holding the camera. He grunted, and spurted out. I had to lean forward some to catch it on my face, but enough managed to land there to leave an impression.

I waited while he took his pictures, then licked my lips and used one finger to scoop up his cum. I made a show of holding it up, licking the finger and smiling.

More clicks from the camera, and we were done.

I dressed, he handed me a paper towel and I cleaned off my face.

I got in the car and it roared to life.

Before I drove off, he said, "If you ever need a tow again..."

"Don't worry, I won't."

I left the garage, giddy and restless, but content that I'd done whatever I was supposed to do. I drove back to the house, fucked myself with my favorite vibrator and wrote out the story of what happened.

That sent to my editor, I showered.

In the shower I noticed that the bracelets had changed again. They weren't any tighter on my wrist, but the platinum band seemed to be flatter and wider. After I washed, I looked in the mirror, and the pendant seemed different, too. I wasn't certain, but it seemed larger, and like the edge of filigree around the opal was more prominent. The opal looked different too, and I realized that the faint outline of the drawing I'd seen before was a little clearer.

**~~** 5 **~~**

Something shifted the next week. I wasn't nearly as restless. It was the middle of October, the leaves had mostly turned, and the nights were downright cold. The chill lasted long into the days, which were still mostly glorious. I still slept longer than was typical for me, and I still had the vivid dreams, but when I woke it was earlier in the day, and I didn't have the urges to prowl around.

It felt like whatever force had been pushing me along realized I needed a rest.

I guess it's about that time that I started thinking of it as a force, or some sort of otherworldly energy that was guiding me, and changing me. I couldn't realize the full purpose, of course, and it felt benign. I spent the Sunday thinking back about all the things I'd done that were so out of character for me. But rather than being upset or worried about my actions, I began to think of them as things I had secretly wanted to do all along. I rationalized that I was using this trip not only to polish the literary facet of my writing, but also to polish the sexy side that had only ever been expressed in words before.

Now, of course, I see what utter bullshit all that was.

In that break, I made really good headway on the novel. Once again, the words just flowed from my brain and my fingers. The plot points connected seamlessly, and the characters behaved just as I'd planned they would.

Some things didn't change though. I never put on clothes the whole week. I never checked my email. I still craved the feeling of a big dick inside me, and when I realized that I wasn't in the mood to go seek one out, I improvised.

One of the dildoes had a suction cup on the base. I stuck it to the dining chair I favored and each time I sat down to write, I impaled myself on it. I didn't seem to matter what time of day it was, or what frame of mind I was in otherwise, I was always wet enough to slide onto it, and far from being a distraction, the sensation of being filled up all the time seemed to clear space in my head to allow me to focus on writing. If I was momentarily stuck on a thought, I'd rock back and forth, and rub my clit, but rarely to the point of orgasm. Usually just shifting around a bit would ease the tension and break the creative block.

As that weekend neared the first draft of the novel crystalized. I began to feel the restlessness returning.

There was something different about it this time. Something at my core felt darker and colder, and my spine tingled whenever my thoughts drifted to what I'd do when the draft was complete. There was nothing clear, yet, but a sense in the back of my brain that the next evolution would be more difficult than my week of fucking and exhibitionism.

When I went to sleep Sunday night, the pendant was warm on my chest, and stuck to my skin as though glued.

**~~** 6 **~~**

Monday morning, as soon as I woke up, I knew something was going to happen. I had a mission to complete. I felt that familiar heaviness in my chest, my breasts tender, my nipples elongated and hard. There was that needy throb in my pussy, the hollowness that had accompanied my outing to the bar, and the mysterious break down of the car.

In something of a trance, I picked out the clothes I was going to wear. I laid the outfit carefully at the foot of the bed, but not paying attention to the individual pieces.

In that trance, I went to the shower and scrubbed myself clean. I shaved everywhere, taking off the merest wisps of hair on my vulva, legs, armpits and even the few stray hairs on my stomach. I cleaned and rinsed off, and then slathered myself in a fragrant lotion, making sure that every inch of my skin was smooth and soft. I hardly ever paid that much attention to my skin, I'd only ever shaved my privates a few times, on a lark or a promise to a boyfriend to try something new. But that morning it was imperative that I was as bare as a porn star.

In the back of my mind, I heard myself thinking, 'That's what he wants.'

I had no idea who 'he' was, or where I'd meet him. It didn't matter.

Finally done with my hygiene, I went back to the bedroom and started putting on the outfit. It started with tiny g-string panties. A triangle of black satin so small it barely covered my labia, and the strings that disappeared into the cleft of my ass and barely reached around my hips. A black, lace, demi-cup bra, at least a cup size too small, so that my breasts bulged out down to my almost painfully erect nipples. The hook in the front barely held it together. Then a pair of white thigh high stockings with lace tops that held up on their own, no garters needed.

Next was the white cotton blouse, thin enough to see the color of my bra, and with a shawl collar that came together less than an inch from the bra's front closure. Then the skirt. I held the skirt up, looking at the size and sure I wasn't going to be able to fit. It was a pencil skirt three sizes smaller than I usually wear. But it slid on over my hips with no problem, and I was able to straighten the blouse, pulling it down under the skirt so that it was taut in front and back. The side zip went up with a tug; I must have lost weight. It was tighter than I would have normally worn, and the fabric stretched over my thighs as I stood in front of the mirror. I turned, and saw that the skirt curved under my butt. But I was able to move, and I had to admit that the fit and the color looked good on me. There was a matching jacket, both in the same dark red, a beautiful contrast to my opals.

I left the jacket on the bed while I sat at the vanity to do my makeup. I hardly ever wear makeup, usually I only have it on if I'm doing some kind of publicity. I looked at the array of powders, foundation and lipstick and was at a loss. Then I just picked something up and the next thing I knew, my face was flawless. There was beautiful smoky eye shadow with a hint of purple that brought out the color in my eyes. My eyelashes seemed longer than usual, and were curled, accentuated by dark eye-liner. The most striking thing to me was my lips. Outlined and filled in with dark red lipstick, my mouth looked larger than normal, and my lips looked full and inviting. The lipstick was glossy, as though my mouth was wet, and I found myself picking up a tube of something to set the lipstick and make it even shinier.

I paused, and took a deep breath.

I knew that all that work would be ruined soon enough. My pussy pulsed again in anticipation.

Walking back into the bedroom, I slipped on a pair of high heeled pumps that were almost the same color as my legs in the white stockings. Then I put on the jacket and buttoned the single button. The collar highlighted my breasts, drawing even my own eye to the opal pendant hanging at the top of my cleavage.

I was ready. For what? I was about to find out.

I gathered my purse and car keys and sauntered out into the day.

It was gorgeous. The sun was shining, the sky was deep cerulean blue and the air was crisp without being cold. I laughed as I climbed into the car.

I threw my purse in the passenger seat, threw the car in gear and drove away from the house. I was no longer in the trance. I was fully aware of all the glorious sensations of my mostly naked ass on the lining of the skirt, sliding around as I took the turn onto the main road a little too quickly. I spread my knees and straightened my spine, to feel the vibrations of the engine through the seat, and my feet. My skirt rode up. Shifting around, I unbuttoned the jacket and loosened the front of the shirt. Anyone passing me would clearly see my bra, and I didn't care.

I knew no one would pass me until the right time. Until the right person. I drove down the twisty back country road, faster and faster. My right foot getting heavier and heavier and letting off as little as necessary to negotiate the turns. I was singing along to the radio, one hand on the steering wheel and the other fondling the gear shifter. I kept laughing, feeling giddy and completely care free. Something was going to happen. Something that was the next step in whatever transformation I was undertaking. The pendant on my chest warmed and the warmth spread throughout my body. I rolled the windows down.

I came around a curve and over the crest of a hill, doing 70 miles an hour, the limit was 45. At the bottom of the short hill, a sheriff's deputy's car was tucked next to the tree line on the shoulder. I passed him without even attempting to slow down. Now I knew who I was after.

His car immediately pulled out, and I hit the gas again. I saw his lights and I kept on. I needed him to have to chase me. I wanted him to be irritated. I had the excuse that there wasn't an obvious place to pull off. I kept going, now doing close to 75, when another sharp curve came up and I had to let off and hit the brakes. That's when he caught up to me, blaring his siren. I tapped my brakes, ostensibly to acknowledge that I saw him, but I didn't slow down much. I saw a turn off, and a sign, and signaled that I was going to follow that. I slowed barely enough to make the turn. When the road straightened out, heading toward something billed as a scenic overlook, I hit the gas again. I screeched to a halt, fishtailing sideways on the gravel parking lot.

I was still laughing when the deputy swerved in next to me.

My heart was pounding. My pussy was soaking wet. I checked in my rearview mirror, and my glossy wet lips still looked perfect. I sat back in the driver's seat, my thumbs resting at the bottom of the steering wheel, and legs open as much as the skirt would allow. I stared out the windshield even as I heard his car door slam open and shut, and the crunch of his steps on the gravel.

It wasn't until he knocked on my window that I deigned to look at him.

He had a professional smile plastered on his face. I raised my eyebrows, as though I didn't understand why he was there.

He pointed down, and said, loud enough I should have heard him, "Put the window down."

I shook my head slightly, and said, "What?"

He yelled, "Put the window down."

I pressed the button for it to go down. As the glass retracted, I let myself sigh, as though put out by the whole thing,

"Yes?" I said

"License and registration." He practically barked.

" 'Scuse me?" I asked

"License. And. Registration." He enunciated each word like passwords to disarm a nuclear bomb. He was tall, with a medium tan complexion, and a dark, short, circle beard. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses, and I wanted to see what color his eyes were. His uniform was neatly pressed, and fitted to his broad chest and slim waist. His name tag read Lopez.

"Oh. Sure." I shrugged, and made a show of leaning over and rummaging through my purse. Then I made a show of rummaging through the glove box. I grinned when I had my back to him; I liked the way he looked.

When I'd retrieved the two items I turned toward him and smiled brightly. I started to hand them to him, then used my upper arms to squeeze my tits together, and slid down in the seat. I felt him looking at my breasts, and then noticing the lace on the tops of my stockings, as the skirt scrunched up even more.

I leaned toward the door.

"I'm sorry, officer," I said, obviously faking it. "What did I do?"

I almost batted my eyelashes, but stopped myself at the last minute.

"You know what you did."

I leaned back, still holding the documents, and still holding my breasts up. I scowled, as though I couldn't think of anything I could possibly have done wrong.

"You're obligated to tell me? Right, officer. Isn't that in one of the amendments?"

I don't know where this entitled person came from.

"You were speeding, Ma'am." He emphasized the 'Ma'am' hard enough to make it a curse word in its own right. "I clocked you doing 75, and the speed limit is 45."

I flipped my hand over, dangling my license and the registration.

"Oh come on," I said. "So what. It's not like I'm hurting anything. A gorgeous day like this. There wasn't another car around." Then I tried a sweet tone. "You could, you know, give me a warning. I promise I'll be a good girl."

I pushed out my chest again as he snatched the items from my hand.

"Wait here."

I blew air out of my mouth. "Come on."

He turned and went back to his car.

I leaned back in the seat, flushed and shaking. I should have been scared. My heart should have been pounding in fear, instead of from sheer wanton desire. I knew something was going to happen, and I knew that thing could be very bad for me. But I wanted it. I couldn't say I was ready for it. But whatever was going to happen, I wanted.

I waited five or six minutes, maybe, but it seemed like longer.

When Deputy Lopez came back to my car, he'd taken off his sunglasses. I saw that his eyes were gray, and they looked like cold steel. I looked at him and realized he hated me. Not me, specifically, but me as a stand-in for every woman who'd ever crossed him. He hated me for every time some entitled bitch had tried to use her body to get out of something. He hated me as some woman I reminded him of, who wore shiny lipstick like mine.

I saw it in his eyes, his desire to ruin me. My heart skipped a beat.

I stared at him, unafraid. I stared at him and I knew that his hatred was building and that his greatest desire in that moment was to punish me.

"Get out of the car, please," he said. I was surprised at how polite he was.

"Excuse me? Why?"

"Get out. Of. The car."

"Not until you tell me why."

He opened the door, which had unlocked when I put the car in park.

Standing next to me with the door out of the way, he said it again.

"Get. Out. Of. The. Car." The 'bitch' was silent, but I heard it as clearly as I heard all the other words.

I sighed heavily again. I swung my legs around, and one of my toes grazed his shin. My skirt slid up to the top of the stockings as I levered myself to standing in the small space he'd left. Before I could get my footing, he spun me around and pushed me against the back driver's side window.

As I was trying to process that, I heard the metal click of handcuffs going around one of my arms. I jerked the other way, and he shoved me into the car again. Then the click on the other arm, and my hands were trapped behind me. He'd cinched the cuffs down tight, and not on my wrists. They were about halfway up my forearms, above where the opal bracelets sat. He'd tightened them down so that they were caught by the fabric of the jacket, and wouldn't slide.

He jerked me back, using the cuffs, and dragged me to the front of my car. I stumbled on the gravel and stepped on his foot. He pushed and I heard him chuckle.

When we got to the front of my car, he pushed me against the bumper and shoved hard between my shoulders, so that I collapsed forward. My jacket shifted around and so did my blouse. I felt the still warm metal of the hood of my car on my breasts, matching the warmth that seeped into me from the opal pendant.

I tried to protest, but wound up sobbing.

He laughed again, more clearly, and kicked my feet apart with his. Then he leaned into the space between my legs, and shifted his weight onto the hand between my shoulder blades. I tried to lift my head up, but the angle was difficult. I turned my head to the side.

"I'm sorry, officer." I managed to say. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Oh, yes you did you little..." He trailed off, but I heard the epithet again.

I inhaled as if to speak again.

"Shut up. Just shut up. I'm waiting for back up. If you don't shut up and hold still... You'll regret it."

I shivered. He laughed. I felt the first tears starting to roll out. I knew what was going to happen. I should have been terrified. But that feeling was washing over me again. That feeling of power and sense of place, and that raw hollowness that needed to be filled.

There was crunching on the gravel again, and I heard the rumble of another engine. I looked down the road and saw another deputy's vehicle slowly approaching. It came to a stop, then turned and backed close to the first officer's car. This one's dash cam would point out into the woods the other way, and anyone driving down the road to the overlook would see two cop cars, and might not see mine at all.

I heard the other officer's door open and watched as he walked around the front of his car to join Deputy Lopez.

This deputy was huge. A head taller than the man holding me, broader at the shoulder, and thicker in the waist. He looked like a heavy weight boxer. His uniform was just as neat, but even tighter. His biceps bulged out at the cuffs of the short sleeved shirt he wore. When he took his sunglasses off, I saw his eyes were dark brown. He was clean shaven, including his head. He was very pale, and his dark eyes and eye brows stood out in sharp contrast to his skin.