Internude Ch. 06: Twists and Turns

[Marcus]

There was a letter waiting for me when I got home. A letter from my Uncle Nick, who'd been ashes for over a month. Clearly it had been sent - recently - to my parents' house and then forwarded to me. I phoned home. "Oh," my mum said. "The new tenants found it. What does it say?"

"I'll let you know," I promised, though already I suspected it would be something about the watch. An explanation. A confession. Something. Something I'd never dare tell a soul.

I was right.

Dear Marcus,

I am leaving you my most valuable possession, a watch whose power over time makes it priceless. Keep it safe and keep it secret.

If you have not done so already, pop the crown and time will stop - or slow down to such an extreme that light itself, that universal constant, seems tardy. There is much that can be achieved in a single moment of frozen time, but the watch's gifts go far beyond this. I have had decades to experiment and learn its uses, and I wish to pass on what I have learned.

First, in frozen time, the human mind is susceptible to suggestion, though some are more resistant than others. Be subtle. Better to nudge and reinforce with repetition. A mind once manipulated will move more easily thereafter, and in time become quite malleable. But do too much too soon and the mind may break. Our unconscious desire for pleasure is a powerful ally against inhibition.

Second, most appropriately, is the ability to step forwards one second at a time. To do this, you must focus on the second hand and imagine it moving, while applying just the right amount of twist on the crown. I can describe it no better, but trust me that it can be done.

Third, and most remarkably, if you touch your forehead to another's, you can follow them through time, both past and present. In fact, it is possible to see multiple pasts and futures all superimposed like a nexus in a quantum many-worlds universe; and since numbers of realities increase exponentially, it is seldom possible to see more than a few hours ahead or behind, and never more than twelve.

There is so much I wish I could share with you, but I am certain you will discover much for yourself. I hope you will spare a thought for me as you learn to master time.

Nicholas

I had expected perversion and lechery, not physics and revelation. The old man who had bought me presents, lusted after my mother and collected ladies' underwear (no doubt while it was still being worn) was revealed to have an insightful mind. I had used the watch's power for a day now and had used it only for sex and mischief. My dodgy Uncle Nick had used it to analyse the nature of space and time.

It hadn't occurred to me that the watch had other powers. Would I ever have figured these out for myself? I felt a deep rush of gratitude and respect for my uncle, and a sadness that we couldn't be together as we used and abused time itself.

It had been a long day, and I was tired. Too tired, even for more sex, though my cock stirred to life whenever I remembered Keira's sweet submission. In the privacy of my room, I munched on a ham and cheese sandwich as I focused my mind on the watch's second hand in frozen time and attempted to move it forward telekinetically. Were it not that I desperately wanted it to be true, what my Uncle Nick had written, I would have abandoned it as a fiction, but at last I succeeded.

The effort took the last of my strength. Fatigued, I stripped and crawled naked into bed, and surrendered swiftly to sleep. Nothing short of the end of the world could have awoken me.

[Keira]

I don't know what is worse: being raped in the blink of an eye by someone with the power to stop time; or willingly embracing that same degradation? Hours later, I still don't have an answer. I walked the three miles home dressed like a stripper in five inch heels and a too short skirt, dreading that someone might recognise me. The taste of my abuser in my mouth, the smell of him on my breasts, his cum leaking from my tender ass. The memory of fucking myself on the dildo for his amusement - and for my own desperate need.

He treated me like a sex object, a doll to be dressed up and fucked, toyed with and tormented, and instead of hating him and denying him, I ended up wanting him to do more, as if the humiliation of having to walk home, feeling dirty inside and out, was not punishment enough. Blessedly, there was no one home, my mother at work, my brother too, no one to see me dressed like a whore and stinking of sex. No one to question why I spent an hour in the shower, cleansing my outside while the events of the day played again and again in my head.

Afterwards, physically exhausted and mentally drained, I crawled into bed and surrendered to oblivion. But even that was no escape. He was in my dreams too, unseen and demanding, his hard cock driving deep into my ass and I didn't know whether I was begging him to stop or to continue.

And now it's midnight and I'm wide awake and burning with shame at the cause of my arousal. How can I pretend that I was raped when I am lying in bed wishing to be taken again against my will? My knickers are soaked with the evidence of this amoral craving, my fingers circling my swollen clit restlessly but ineffectually. Right now I need a hard cock in me, one that treats me savagely, caring only about its own pleasure.

By the time I finally achieve orgasm, my sluttish cum-dumpster fantasies have me feeling dirty again, and restless hours pass before sleep finds me again.

[Marcus]

It was nine in the morning when I awoke. Fortunately I had no lectures until the afternoon. I had missed two the previous day because of my adventures, and it would look bad on the attendance record to miss more.

I awoke horny with a morning glory - and an aching bladder that demanded immediate release. I stumbled through to the bathroom, and managed to pee despite having an erection. Afterwards I was still hard and horny, and reluctant to waste it with solitary masturbation. Especially since I was eager to test out my watch's other powers.

And someone was in the kitchen. I peeked. Jacob and his girlfriend Patricia, whose breasts I'd felt up while she and Jacob fucked. They were drinking tea and scrolling through social media. Jacob was in boxers and T-shirt, and Patricia was wearing another of his T-shirts, several sizes too big for her. For all I knew, there was nothing on underneath.

Except I could know. I stopped time and took a look. A pink thong. Nice. Her pussy smelled gorgeous. "You want to wrap your lips about a hard cock," I whispered in her ear. "Here, in the kitchen. That someone might wander in while you're sucking Jacob's cock only makes the idea more exciting."

I whispered similar ideas in Jacob's ear, then retreated to the hallway to spy on them. As soon as I started time, they looked up at each other, then furtively glanced towards the kitchen door, then back at each other. I watched through the crack between door and frame as she pressed her hand against the growing bulge in his boxers.

There was no doubt in my mind that they were responding to my suggestions. The sudden rush of power this gave me had my own cock throbbing almost painfully within my briefs. I watched as Patricia knelt, pushed Jacob's boxers down to reveal his hardening cock, and engulfed it hungrily. But my view was limited.

Stopping time again, with Patricia's lips stretched wide by Jacob's girth, I whispered in their ears about how much better it would be to be completely naked, and how thrilling it would be to have an actual audience. I took the opportunity to caress Patricia's breasts once again, rubbing and pinching her nipples through the material of the shirt.

Retreating again, I spied as she continued her lusty blowjob, removing her T-shirt with barely any interruption, Jacob discarding his quickly too. Kneeling as she was, it took a great deal of shuffling to manoeuvre her thong down her legs to her feet, but that only made the show more exciting. She was deep-throating him with impressive skill, and I hoped he wouldn't come before I was ready.

Their shock as I walked into the kitchen was almost enough to make me scurry away in embarrassment, but I managed to quell the instinct. "Don't mind me," I said, and circled around them to the kettle. They watched me uncertainly as I did so, looking as embarrassed as no doubt I did, but then Jacob grabbed Patricia's head and guided her mouth back to his cock, giving me a sly grin as he did so.

The kettle boiled and I poured water into a mug with a tea bag, and extracted my own needful cock as I watched my private sex show. I stopped time. I wanted to see how far I could push them. "Being called a whore turns you on and makes you want to behave like one," I told her. "Call her a whore," I told him, "and treat her like one. When you come, give her a facial, and order her to help Marcus."

Jacob tightened his grip on Patricia's head, coiling his fingers through her pink hair, and began fucking her mouth. "I didn't know what a whore you were," he growled, "but I love it."

Patricia's initial shock at the rough treatment gave way to a lustful delight. Her left hand grabbed at her breasts, mauling them, pinching lewdly at her nipples, while her right hand buried itself between her thighs, two fingers thrusting within as her thumb worked her clit. She moaned loudly when she was able to breathe at all, and saliva dripped messily from her chin.

Jacob's breathing grew increasingly laboured. He was close. Abruptly he pushed Patricia away from him, and aimed his cock at her face. A stream of cum burst out, painting her cheek, followed by a second and a third. She opened her mouth to catch what she could, then lifted her breasts to catch the last few feeble spurts of cum.

"Now suck mine, you beautiful whore," I said. I was so excited I knew I wouldn't last long.

Patricia stared across at my cock, desire warring with confusion. She glanced up uncertainly at her boyfriend. "Go help Marcus, whore," he said with clear affection. Winking at me, he added, "First time's free, but in future it'll be twenty quid, okay?"

Burning with shame, Patricia crawled over to me and took my neglected cock into her mouth. There was no shyness in the way she licked and sucked my cock, and she looked up at me, her face gleaming wetly with cum and saliva, moaning with apparent pleasure.

I didn't last long. I pushed her away and directed my own streams of cum across her face and breasts.

"Oh, I don't know," I said after. "She's worth at least thirty."

Leaving the lovers to play pimp and whore on the kitchen floor, I took my tea through to my room to practise moving through time by the second. There was a definite knack to it, picturing the watch in my mind and how I wanted it to move, while applying just the right amount of twist to the crown.

The effort required was extraordinary too, as if walking forwards against gale force wind. Not physical exertion, of course, but the way my heart pounded and the sweat soaked into my shirt, I could understand how Uncle Nick died of heart failure. Between manipulating time and too much pussy, the stress on that aging muscle must have been enormous.

In the space of no more than a minute, I felt like I'd run a marathon - but it was getting easier too as I slowly learned the trick of it.

Still in frozen time, I returned to the kitchen where Jacob was buried deep in Patricia's pussy, taking her doggy-style, her face and breasts still wet with his cum and mine. I scooped some up and worked it into her ass, wondering what she would charge me for that if I continued to condition her that way. "You love being a whore," I whispered in her ear. "You love the idea of men paying to fuck you." And in Jacob's I whispered, "You love watching her act like a whore. Stuff her pussy with her thong and make her come with your tongue in her ass."

Twisting the crown carefully, I stepped through time, fascinated by the clunky stop-motion porn show. Frame by frame, Jacob withdrew his cock from Patricia's pussy, his mouth descending on her ass instead, his tongue penetrating, his fingers teasing her clit while burying her pink thong deep within those delicate folds. Her expression was one of surprise and confusion, giving way to distracted pleasure.

And all, of course, unnaturally silent, except for my breathing and the beating of my heart and my whispered commands. "Leave the thong on Marcus's bed when you're done..."

[Keira]

Am I insane? To even be thinking about going back to the university? To risk being abused again? How could I even begin to explain what has happened to anyone?

Perhaps I should have gone straight to the police, when the evidence was all over me, and in me. I could have made up a story, pointed my finger... but what would be the point? How do you stop someone who can stop time itself? How do you warn women they could be raped at any moment and that there's nothing they can do about it?

And if I do go back, what do I wear? Designer jeans that will be stripped from me? A microskirt that would make my mother disown me and get me thrown out of uni? Maybe he'll leave me alone and seek out fresh victims, but if not I don't want to lose my clothes again.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to wear high heels and a skirt... The shoes he gave me aren't so bad, and I have skirts I don't wear often enough... Such as a black, denim mini-skirt, Desigual, that I've yet to wear at all. Hmm...

[Marcus]

Keira was on the bus! I had been so worried that my outrageous use of her the previous day would send her running for her sanity, that she would be too terrified of further abuse to dare being near the campus ever again, but no, she was on the bus, her eyes meeting mine for an instant. So much was said in that brief, shocking moment of connection. Recognition. Understanding. Fear. Anger.

And yet, she was there, willingly vulnerable, and although she refused to look at me again as I walked past and took my customary place several rows behind her, I could see the redness of her cheeks and knew she was blushing as much in anticipation of what I would do to her, as from memory of what I had done.

I was in no hurry.

In front of me were the two businesswomen I'd teased the day before. I did so again, waiting for a moment of eye contact between them before stopping time. Rubbing and pinching their nipples as best I could through their shirts and bras, I told them both, "You want to kiss her. You want to stick your tongue down her throat. You want to feel her hands on your naked breasts, and you want to part your thighs for her to lick your soaking wet pussy - and you don't care who sees."

I was pretty sure they weren't lovers, or even lesbians, so I was curious to see how they would react. Their conversation about soaps certainly came to an abrupt halt, and they stared at each other's lips for a few tense seconds, before recoiling away, both blushing deeply.

So much for that. Clearly there were limits to my power of suggestion. Then again, Uncle Nick had said to be subtle and use natural desire as a key. I froze time again. "A threesome would be amazing," I told them. "You could kiss her and fuck her while sharing a cock. There must be a man who could satisfy you both together. You'd love to see a cock squeezed between her breasts. You'd love to watch her lick a man's cum from your well fucked pussy."

And again for a while I teased their nipples, this time with more determination, before sitting back in my seat. Both women flinched as I unfroze time, gasping audibly, their hands instinctively grabbing their breasts. So perfectly matched were their movements that they turned and glared angrily at each other. "Hey!" they chorused, their blushes deepening.

"Kiss her!" I ordered between one moment and the next. The whole drama was taking place right in front of me. It took a real effort to just sit there as if oblivious to the whole scene when in fact I was the director. They leaned closer, the potential for a kiss quite palpable, desire for pleasure warring unconsciously against anger at manipulation.

"Kiss her!" I ordered again, and this time they obeyed, and I wanted to cry out in victory as they locked lips in front of me. It was a tentative kiss, brief and curious, lacking passion, but I had made it happen against their wills. "This kiss is the beginning of something," I told them in frozen time. "You want it to happen again, and again, and you want real passion in it."

And for the rest of the bus journey to the campus I revelled in the tongue twisting I had incited, confident in my ability to twist all the world to my deviant desires.

It was only as Keira stood up to get off the bus that I realised she was wearing the high-heeled Kurt Geiger sandals I'd stolen for her, along with a black mini-skirt. "You want to be fucked," I whispered in her ear, freezing time just as the doors opened. I ran a hand up between her thighs, discovering lace knickers soaked from her arousal. "Naughty girl," I said lovingly. "Sexy little cumslut."

But I left her alone otherwise, merely slipping a note into her hands. Sure that no one was looking in my direction, I left them all behind, making my way once again into town.

[Keira]

A wave of arousal washes through me as I step off the bus and I almost fall, not helped by the awkward height of my stiletto heels. I'm sure he has finally done something to me, though I don't feel anything - except an undeniable disappointment at not feeling anything.

"Are you all right, Miss?" a young man in a business suit says. He's quite attractive in a way, and for a few moments I'm actually hopeful that he is my abuser, not the perv on the bus (no sign of him now). I'm hopeful that he will bend me over here in full public view and fuck me until his cum is pouring down my thighs.

But no, he is innocent, and simply concerned, and the haze of lustful thoughts dissipates abruptly, leaving me as embarrassed as I am suddenly horny. "I'm fine, thank you," I manage, slowly regaining my equilibrium. "Just a dizzy spell."

I tear myself away, with a wave of gratitude, and set off into the campus, only belatedly aware of the note clutched in my hand. "Write the names of two classmates (girls) here," it reads. There's no 'or else', but I'm sure there is one. There's no further explanation, but I know what he's asking. He wants me to choose his next victims. He wants to suck me into his perverted game and make me responsible for his abuses.

I know I should throw it away and refuse to play... but the truth is I'm already playing, I'm already responsible, by not reporting him, by being here today, by dressing this way. And the really horrible thing is that he is also giving me power over the lives of others, and there's a part of me, a very naughty part of me, that finds that exciting.

[Marcus]

I repeated my circuit from the day before, helping myself to coffee in Starbucks before making my way to the adult store. The same two assistants were there, and I smiled at the memory of my tongue in the blonde's ass. I wished I knew how she had reacted to that.

There was a customer too, a frumpy middle-aged housewife studying the sex toys with a furtive expression. "You want a dildo," I told her. "A big one."

Happily, I now had the ability to step through time, second by second. I watched as she approached the shelf with the silicone dildos, lifelike and variously coloured, her cheeks an ever brighter red. After what felt like forever, she reached out to touch an average-size pink dildo.

"Bigger," I insisted, and her hand moved towards the same brown dildo that Keira had enjoyed with vigorous delight. "Bigger," I repeated. "Black. Wrap your hand about the thick shaft, imagine it filling your cunt and making you scream in ecstacy." She held the huge, black, veined member in her hand, and seemed almost hypnotised by it.