Lust Fever

"Sex stuff?"

"They asked me all these questions. Didn't they ask you questions about sex?"

"They did, yes. But I made it very clear that I only enter into that sort of entanglement with someone I feel very strongly about."

He shrugged again. "I don't know what to tell you. They injected you with something, right?"

She rubbed her arm. "Yes. A little roughly, too."

Tinges of pity pushed onto his heart. "Me too."

"That doesn't make us alike, or anything." She held her nose up. "That doesn't mean we're going to sleep together."

"The hell are you talking about?"

"You may think everything is about sex. Being a man. But I'm a serious woman, all right? Just because we both are here, and there's a bed, and we're just stuck together doesn't mean anything outside of those facts, got it?"

She was in his face now, waving her finger up toward his nose.

"Sure, lady. Whatever. You asked what I thought this about. I told you."

"Well." She crossed her arms and walked to the other side of the room, huffing. "I didn't know you would be so crude, that's all. "

Frank rolled his eyes and sat down, leaning slightly on the sink.

A few minutes passed.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I was terse there. I can see that. I'm not used to this. Any of this. And it's...I don't talk about sex, often."

Frank shrugged. "'S'okay."

Another few moments passed, both of them idly kicking the floor.

"I'm cold," she complained.

"You women," he laughed. "Always cold. You should dress warmer."

"How can you—that doesn't even—you're an idiot!"

"Already? Already, I'm an idiot?"

"I'm dressed in what you're dressed in!"

"And I'm fine with it. I guess that means I'm winning, huh?"

She glared at him. She looked kinda hot when she was angry, Frank thought. Too bad she didn't know how to act like a real woman.

"Listen," she said finally, straightening up. "I don't like you very much. I could tell straightaway I didn't, and that comment just seals it. I tried to be civil to you, and now you've just continued being a dunce. So, for however long this goes on, you just stand over there and I'll stand over here, and that's that! We each get our half."

She had given Frank the side with the bed. Fine by him. He walked over to it and kicked it slightly, as if it were the tire of a car.

"Do we have to stand? Is sitting allowed, your highness?"

"You know what I mean!" She let out a strangled cry. "You're impossible."

Frank didn't know how much longer he would last in this tiny room with this lady. But it seemed they didn't have any choice.

* * * * *

"Now they're not even talking," said Pruitt.

"They don't need to talk out loud. Their bodies are doing all the talking now."

"Did you see how they acted? They hate each other. Just like I said."

"Just wait."

"They hated each other right away, too. I don't think I've seen people react like that."

"It's chemical." Martinez tapped the monitor. "Those two? They'll be fucking in no time. It's just chemicals acting up right now. Out there in the real world, their own chemical dislike for one another would have kept them from ever being around each other. The injection accelerated that process. It has to burn them out, you see? So it gets them all out there and then starts its own stuff."

"That's the scientific term? 'Starts its own stuff?'"

Martinez ruffled slightly."Shut up."

* * * * *

Hour 2

They continued to pass the time on opposite sides of the room. Rebecca had a hard time not pacing. What were they supposed to do here? Was this some kind of psychological experiment? To figure out how long two people could last in a room without killing each other? She wasn't sure it would go on much longer in that case.

The cold of the room had left her, which surprised her. She felt like they had turned the temperature up quite a bit—maybe she shouldn't have complained. Maybe she should stop pacing? She was sweating. Her entire body felt hot. It was getting hard to think with all the heat sweltering up in the room.

Taking a break, she slid against the wall. The wall was cold, somehow, even with the heat of the room.

Wait, though—if the room felt hot but the walls felt cold, didn't that mean that she was...oh god.

"What. The fuck. Is that?" she pointed to Frank's pants.

He snorted. "What are you, a dyke?"

"A dyke?"

"You don't know what a boner is, you must be a dyke."

"How is that..." she shuddered and stamped her foot. "That is not how the world works!"

"Whatever. It's a boner, all right? Grade A. I've had it for like, I don't know. An hour now."

He gripped it for a second and shuddered. Then, as if slightly afraid, he let it go.

"From what?"

"What?"

"What did you get a boner from?"

"I don't know. Where did you get tits from?"

"You were born with a boner, is that what you're telling me?"

He started laughing, as if he thought it was funny that she kept saying "boner" over and over again. She herself didn't know why the semi-swear came so easily. Normally, she never would have used such a filthy term.

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "Sure. Born with it."

"You weren't born with a boner, Frank. Come on. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing."

What an ignoramus. When he had himself back under control, he still had the boner sticking hard out from his pants. What was that all about? Where had it come from?

She couldn't remember the last time she had seen a boner up close. Maybe back in school, when men still had a lot of trouble controlling their hormones. The businessmen she saw all week long never really seemed to be all that aroused.

Which was sort of insulting, wasn't it? Why weren't they aroused? Wasn't she a perfectly attractive young woman? Wasn't she perfectly sexual? She kept herself in good shape. She was no model, but she was lovely enough. And fertile. Why wouldn't she inspire a big hard cock now and again?

She shook her head. Her thoughts felt...strange. Fuzzy.

"Come on," she said, trying to stay on task. "Do you have porn or something?"

"Porn?"

"Your cock. Dick." She shook her head. "Your penis. Hard penis. Why is it hard?"

"I don't know. It feels good though. And it's not going away."

His hand wrapped again around the shaft, thumbing it slowly through his jumpsuit. A stain started to form at the front end of the paper trousers.

"Can't you make it go away?"

"Make a boner go away?" he laughed. "Sure. But I'm guessing you would want to turn around if I did."

"Why would I want to turn—oh." Her nose wrinkled. "That's gross."

"That's not gross. That's the most natural thing in the world."

"Masturbating is the most natural thing in the world for you?" she scoffed. "That explains a lot about..." she waved a hand up and down.

"About what?"

"Well, you're clearly single." She gestured. "Look at you."

"I'm clearly single? Why is that?"

"You obviously don't take care of yourself."

"Let me ask you this. Do you take care of yourself, princess?"

She scoffed. "Obviously."

"And are you single?"

"Well, currently, I am, but—"

"And when's the last time you were laid?"

"Not that long ago."

"What does that mean? A week? A couple days? I got laid three days ago. I'm itching for another. Can't wait to be out of here and rid of you."

"It was..."

"What? Was it a month? That long? Jesus. You're not that bitchy. You could get laid more than once a month if you smiled every so often."

She wanted to protest—that it wasn't just about sex. That she knew she could get laid whenever she wanted. That she shouldn't have to smile and look pretty just to fulfill some idiotic standard that this primitive neanderthal laid down.

But instead what she said was, "...three years."

"Three years what?"

The admission startled her. Her voice was soft, even deferential as she said it.

"That's...that's how long it's been since I've been laid."

"Three years?"

She gulped and nodded, feeling weirdly ashamed. A hot flush spread across her body, fueling the heat already attending her sweating body. There was real compassion in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"It's okay."

"You're not like, diseased or nothing, are you?"

"No!" she shook her head. She felt it important to reassure him, for some reason, that her body was clean. "Nothing like that. I'm just—I've—you know how it is."

"I really don't."

"I've prioritized other things."

God, it was hot in here. She tugged at the tiny paper shirt. Her sweat had started to make the outfit stick to her breasts. They felt heavy. Itchy. She rubbed them, not aware of how erotic the action was for Frank.

"What could be a priority over sex?" asked Frank.

"Living well? Having a career?"

"God, all that's going away, lady. You're gonna die. Don't you know that?"

"Sure I do."

"You're gonna die. We all are. You gotta get all the fucking you can jammed in there." He laughed. "Poor choice of words. Sorry."

That he apologized for the double entendre surprised her. He was, even in his own stupid, idiot-man way, trying to be sensitive.

After a moment of watching her rub her tits together in her tight, sweaty top, he licked his lips. "You want to see it?"

She knew right away what he meant.

"Do I want to see your cock?" She shuddered. "Your penis, I mean?"

"You can mean whatever you like if it means you want to see it."

Saliva wet her mouth. She didn't know it right away, but her nipples began to tent in her jumpsuit. She touched one with her forearm, and the sensation was...electrifying.

"I...I mean..."

"Have you seen a cock, a real cock, out in the light ever? I don't think you have. I think all your sex has been in the dark. I bet it's only lasted five minutes at a time."

Her tongue darted out across her lips. The top row of her teeth raked across her bottom lip and she suppressed a low, galvanizing shudder.

"Show me."

Within a moment, he dropped his pants. His cock was completely hard, standing horizontally in front of him. It was so lovely. There was a slight bend to it. His hair around it was thick and bushy and dark.

A bead of precum sat on the tip. Waiting, it looked like. Patient like a pearl. Crafted by eons of evolution. Designed entirely for the tongue of a young, pretty woman to lick it up and ask for more, please, Sir? More?

Suddenly she wished there was some kind of partition in the room. She wasn't skilled with playing with herself but she very much thought she could learn. Maybe once she was out of here...yes. That would be wonderful. Once she was out of here, then she would spend the entire day or week or month, maybe, in her apartment and just sliding her thumb against her clit the entire time.

The entire time...thinking about that cock.

"Thank you." She gulped. "You can put it away now."

And he did, a knowing smile on his face.

* * * * *

"You said they'd be fucking by now."

"I know what I said."

"They're not fucking."

Martinez sighed. "I know what they're doing."

"This is like foreplay, sort of. But it's not fucking."

"I know. Okay? Do you hear me? I'm watching with you. Jesus Christ. Shut up already."

"Is that guy still going around with the hat? I want to change my bet."

"Every hour passes, he takes new bets. Just wait a while. He'll come around."

* * * * *

Hour 4

He didn't really put his cock away, the scoundrel.

While Rebecca, sweating and heated, had pushed herself into the corner for the last couple of hours, desperate to ignore the barrage of arousal on her senses, Frank had been in the opposite corner, jerking off.

She caught him just in time to see it happen. The big it. The cumming, the orgasm, the huge load. She giggled slightly at all the filth filling her mind.

The spray pasted against the lower edge of the wall where it met the floor. It looked like an entire cup of masculine product spilled out like a jet from a hose.

"Shit, Frank!" she shook her head. "What the fuck?"

He stood over the new puddle for several moments, breathing and stroking out any last squirts of cum. Rebecca licked her lips as she watched. Her pussy burned with need, though she didn't know what that meant.

"I was...I had to." He shrugged. "I had to."

"You were jerking off? This whole time?"

"Yeah."

"Were you...were you doing it to me?"

There was a strange tint of hope to her voice. Even she was surprised she said it so openly.

"I didn't think—" he coughed. "I thought you'd be mad if I looked at you while I did it."

"Oh."

He seemed to sense her disappointment. "I was thinking about you, though. Yeah, I was. Thinking about your legs. I didn't know I liked legs so much. But you got 'em. Damn."

"I see." She struggled, trying to find her resolve. Her legs were sweaty and long. Wet. Shiny. Why was her sweat so shiny? It was like it was trying to show off her body. "Well. You're...um, a pig. Then. Yes. A pig."

Even she thought her words were hollow. She left them behind her in the corner, standing up and rapidly approaching the mess he'd made against the wall and floor. There was nothing to clean it with that she could see. The smell was intoxicating.

"It's...god. There's so much of it."

"I know."

"No, but I mean, look at it." She shook her head, kneeling down. "There's...god. There's so much of it."

"You said that."

"But it's like a centimeter thick. And it's just...it's like thick. Like dense. It's just sitting there. Standing up. God."

Her mouth hung open as she breathed between words. Her eyes were wide, her lips wet. Almost glossy.

She seemed pained—and strangely, Frank took pity on her.

"Here," he said, stripping off his shirt.

In a moment he had cleaned up the entire puddle. It stuck easily to his shirt, completely clingy. It was hard not to think of how his cum could stick so easily to her insides. It would slide up right into her canal, easily going all the way. Filling her fertile womb with a perfect concoction of potency and warmth. Look at how it stuck, how it weighed his shirt down! She would be pregnant in minutes. On the first try, without a doubt.

Pregnant on the first time inside me.

A wave of heat attacked her brain. That would be so perfect. That would be so perfect. That would mean they were meant together, and weren't they already? Locked here in this room and feeling this tangible fucking fuck-heat between them. It would be so right, so right, so so right...

Then, for the first time, she looked at his shirtless body. He was...

Well. He was in rather good shape, wasn't he? Not just a smoking big pole to boast about. He had a body to match. Sure, he wasn't like, carved from marble, or anything, but he had plenty of muscles. His shoulders nice and broad, his stomach flat. Bulky. Burly, even. The kind of build you might imagine a caveman had. Lots of dense musculature and hair around his chest. A dark happy trail leading to his cock, which still bulged in his pants.

He was strong. He could protect her.

He tossed the shirt off to one side, and wordlessly, Rebecca followed it and crouched over it.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked.

"Nothing. I'm just...it...smells."

"So you're getting closer to it?"

She couldn't explain it. But yes, it smelled, and yes, she was getting closer to it. It was an intoxicating smell. Her head felt dizzy, but she didn't care. It was as if all her life, she had been living behind a window, and now all of sudden she was in front it. Sounds were more real. Sights more vivid. Every smell like someone had dumped a load of pheromones into her brain. All sensations were magnified, complexified, sexified. They all led directly to her pussy, dripping hopelessly down her legs, needing a firm cock to show her which way was right. She held the shirt up to her nose, taking in the deep, woodsy, campfire-musk of her man. Of...of the man, rather. Of Frank.

"You've got..." he gulped, gaping a bit. "You've got a little, there. On your nose."

"Oh," she said, distant. Without thinking to do it, she slid her tongue upward, gently licking it off the tip. The taste was still warm, even though it had been a few minutes since he had cum.

Suddenly, she was on the floor. Her legs not working quite right. Everything spun. Her body felt wet from head to toe, and warmth spilled over her entire being. Was this an orgasm? Was this how they were supposed to feel?

"Are you all right?"

His hands were on her. Big, strong, man hands. God, she loved his man hands. His man arms. His man shoulders. Everything about him was so brilliantly manly. How had she ignored that before? That thick cut of his jaw. The thickness of his hair. Those big, sexy muscles that could just hold her down and fuck her until she was brimming over with his cum.

Until she was pregnant.

She moaned at the thought. As the little droplet of cum slid further down her esophagus, leaving a hot wet trail all the way down, her skin absorbing more and more of the precious manly material, her thoughts became a train track along which every stop was that: he would get her pregnant.

She couldn't get rid of it. It was all she could think of.

They would escape, distract the guard, run away from this place, and then he'd get her pregnant.

Or they would be stuck there forever, rutting like maniacs, and then he'd get her pregnant.

Or the authorities would let them out, and she'd follow him home and beg to be filled with his cum, and he'd get her pregnant.

Or there would be some emergency, a fire maybe, and everyone would have to be evacuated, and he'd pin her against a table and shove his cock into her sloppy wet slit and then he'd get her pregnant.

Yes, he'd get her pregnant. He'd fuck her against the wall, hold her down, not let her get away (not that she would want to), claim his territory and mark her as hers.

And what would that leave her with?

"Babies," she said softly. "Lots of babies."

"What was that?"

Slowly, the haze lifted. Frank was holding her, sitting her against the wall under the sink. She ignored, violently, how much that turned her on, pushing away from him and scrambling to the other side of the cell.

"You stay over there, you fucking maniac," she warned him. "You're not going to get me pregnant. No fucking way!"

For his part, Frank looked rather confused, especially as she had her fingers buried in her dripping snatch the entire time she made her speech.

* * * * *

Hour 6

Sleep gave him respite for a time. It was not good rest, nor consistent, but at least it was there. He had vivid dreams of fucking—fucking everyone he'd ever fucked in the past and everyone he'd ever wanted to fuck.

Frank fucked his two ex-wives—including the girl he'd married only for a few weeks in Vegas. He fucked her until drool spilled out of her mouth, until she was unable to say anything but "cock" and "more." He fucked every celebrity he'd ever jerked off to, every woman in the streets that he'd ever lusted after. Other images faded away—how to fix a pipe, or how to close a live wire's circuit, or how to jimmy a stubborn lugnut off of its base.

These thoughts and memories were replaced instead with magnified visions of every hot, lusty thought his mind could manage, until he saw all those women—an army of them, an army of sluts that existed in every horny man's mind—as vividly in his troubled sleep as if they were standing in front of him.