Satyrday Afternoon

Stung, Owen backed away. He briefly considered trying to push Wendy aside and leave the house, but several things stopped him.

First, he hadn't been paid for the pizza, and he wasn't about to take a twenty-dollar hit on his earnings for the day just to get away from this woman. Secondly, he suspected that such an action would lead to a naked woman chasing his car angrily down the street.

Thirdly, he really wanted to fuck Wendy. Her lush, open randiness spoke to a primal need within him.

So instead of running away, he undid his belt, unbuttoned his khakis, and pushed them and his boxers to the floor, showing Wendy his organ proudly. She took a deep breath and nodded her approval as she turned back to face the door.

He moved closer, setting his legs inside hers, placing his dick against her sex, letting his length nestle against the fragile petals.

Wendy sighed in satisfaction. She bent even lower, her hips and ass thrust upward, back arched, making her pussy a target, her lips winking at him coyly. She reached down and grasped him in her hands, stroking slowly, coating him in her nectar. Then she aimed him at her cleft and pulled him in.

"Hard and fast," she commanded, gasping as he pushed into her, filling her, turning to look at him through her hair. "I'm so fucking horny I'm ready to explode. Hard and fast, Owen!"

Owen pushed forward until he bottomed out, his thighs pressed against the warm, soft curves of her ass. Within her, Wendy's canal gripped his cock, then slowly eased as it grew used to his presence.

He started slowly, because despite her commands, he didn't want to hurt her. But as her body adjusted to him, his strokes grew swifter, harder, flesh slapping against heated flesh.

Wendy dropped her head, hanging limply, her hands clawing the surface of the door as he battered her pussy with his beautiful cock. Oh, God. It has been so long. Her belly churned, her legs shaking as he stroked her. One hand dropped to her groin, fingers searching, finding...

Oh! Her fingertips caressed her love-button, timing her strokes to his, pushing her passion higher. One of Owen's hands reached around, cradling her breast softly, the sensitive tip of her nipple grazing the smooth surface of his palm, making her bite her lip. She could feel the heat of his skin, beard-stubble gently pricking her flesh, as he laid his cheek on her back, his lips kissing her spine. He turned his head and dotted affection wherever his mouth could reach, his tongue washing her like a bathing cat.

Her hands clenched into fists as her pleasure peaked. The mouth of her channel tightened around his phallus, the liquid heat of her core drawing in, then bursting out in a shattering climax that left her shaking. She moaned, then her lips parted and she gave voice to a muffled shriek as she felt him empty himself into her, jets of his semen splashing against the walls of her womb.

She sagged, then fell to her knees, barely hearing his muffled voice as he quickly pulled away in order to keep his cock from being dragged down with her. She curled around her belly, arms clasped protectively over her middle, and looked up at Owen, jaw slack with pleasure.

He quickly pulled his boxers and pants up, hiding his glorious, glistening, come-smeared organ from her eyes. She blinked unhappily, then let him help her to her feet and moved to put on her own clothes.

As soon as they were both decently covered, she opened the door, so her husband would not suspect anything if he were to suddenly wake up.

"You have no idea how badly I needed that," she said softly. "Thank you."

Owen ducked his head, flushing red. He is so cute, she thought. I would like to keep him as a pet and take him out once Ron is asleep. She sighed in regret, then fished her checkbook out of her purse.

"How much was it?"

Owen's lips quirked, but he checked the price tag on the box. "Seventeen seventy-nine."

Wendy scribbled quicky and handed him a check. "Here you go." As he put the check into his pocket, she stepped into the circle of his arms, giving him a warm kiss on the lips. She tasted of peppermint.

As at Sandy's house, he felt a presence speaking through him.

"Leave him, Wendy," the voice said, using his mouth. "You haven't been happy in years, and you have long ceased loving him. Go, and start a new life."

He blinked, and backed away as he saw doubt and confusion in her eyes.

"How do you know that? How can you know that?" she breathed softly, suspicion darkening her gaze.

"I...I don't," he said. "But the god does. He asked me to say it to you."

She frowned and nodded, not accepting his words, but not denying them either. "I think you should leave. I have to wake up my husband and let him know his pizza is here. Best that you are gone when I do."

%%%

Owen hit the steps nearly at a run. He tossed the bag into his car and pulled away quickly, trembling in response to the presence which had filled his mind; something ancient and deep and strong, that could squash him as easily as he could grind an ant beneath his shoe.

And something that was vastly amused.

Something is wrong, he thought. Something is terribly wrong. He almost ran a stop sign, then jerked the car to a stop, shaking convulsively, the tendons of his wrists standing out like wires where his hands gripped the steering wheel. The events of the last day flashing before his eyes.

His mother, all but openly masturbating in front of him, then talking about sex and kissing him far too fondly the following morning.

Scoring with a long-time crush after years of rejection.

An old girlfriend, giving him a blow-job behind a bouncy house at her son's birthday party.

A woman he had never met before demanding that he screw her while her husband slept only a few yards away.

And lastly, a strange voice speaking through him, giving indecipherable commands to women who he had been intimate with.

What is happening to me?

He slowly pulled away from the stop sign, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

Maybe it's you that's gone crazy, he thought, lips peeling back in a mirthless grin. Maybe you should turn yourself in at the nearest psych ward.

"What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Howard?"

"All these attractive women won't stop trying to make love with me! Oh, and a strange voice is in my head."

He rubbed a shaking hand across his face. Calm down, Owen. Or you really will blow a gasket. He pulled the car to a stop. Almost without noticing, he had arrived at his last stop. Luckily, his romp with Wendy, while intense, had only taken a few minutes, and the food was still hot inside the warming bag.

If someone tries to fuck me in here I am going to run away screaming.

The house was even bigger than the one before, with a huge front yard sprawling towards the street. He walked up a curving path, set in flagstones, and rang the bell at the front door.

Immediately he heard a high-pitched squeal of "pizza man!" and a little girl, no more than five years old, was looking at him through the glass of the front door. She was gently nudged aside and a small, trim man, dressed in expensive slacks, a button-down shirt, and a loosely-knotted tie opened the door.

"Hi," Owen said. "Delivery for Mr. Bill Carter?"

"That's me," the man said with a smile. "Come on in before we cool down the whole of Des Moines," he said, backing up. Beside him, the little girl bounced around happily. She was an amazingly beautiful child, with white-blond hair braided down her back and dark blue eyes.

As Bill guided Owen to the kitchen, Owen's brows drew down in recognition. "I know you," he said suddenly, "You're..."

"The weather man on KRNL, yes," Bill said with a smile. "My fame precedes me, obviously. I just got back from the station, as a matter of fact, and Svetlana here told me that we were going to have pizza for supper." He bent and twirled the little girl in a circle, making her giggle.

"Right," said Owen with a smile. "So," he continued, greatly daring. "Any chance of meeting the Snow Maid while I am here?" He gave the nickname for Bill's wife, who he frequently referenced on his weather broadcasts on TV.

Bill shook his head in mock-grief. "I'm the one on TV, and she's the one who's famous."

"Which is just the way we planned it, isn't it, my love?"

An astonishingly beautiful woman entered the room. She was even smaller than her husband. Pale gold hair flowed like a river down her back, and her light blue eyes glowed as she smiled charmingly at Owen. She was dressed in a loose t-shirt and old jeans, but even these everyday clothes could not hide her tempting form. Firm, round breasts pushed arrogantly at the thin cotton of the shirt, and the only point of the jeans seemed to be to remove them.

"My wife, Polina. Also known as The Snow Maid," said Bill, with a teasing bow of introduction. Owen ducked his head nervously, then pulled a pizza, bread sticks, and a bottle of soda out of his bag.

"I'm Owen Howard. Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he said. He looked at her husband. "The total is nineteen oh-four, sir." he told Bill.

Bill was digging for his wallet when Polina cocked her head to one side and said, "Child, do you know that the hand of a dark god is on you?"

Without a wasted motion, Bill dropped the wallet on the table and pulled Svetlana up from the floor, putting his body between her and Owen.

"Polina, what do you see?" he asked, voice calm.

"What?" Owen asked, his voice breaking.

Polina frowned, her eyes darkening. She gestured at Bill and the wriggling Svetlana. "Put her down, my love. There is no evil in him. Or the god whose hand is on him.

"What do I see? I see passion. Oh, much passion. Wine. A dog?" Her brow furrowed in surprise. "Women."

"You said a dark god," Owen said, his voice tense, trying to tease out the meaning of Polina's cryptic words. "Who? How can he be dark but not evil?"

"There are many forms of darkness, child. Not everything that takes place at night is evil. Is it, my darling?" she said, looking at Bill, her eyes wicked. Bill coughed, hiding laughter.

"Something..." He raised his head and looked into Polina's glorious eyes, his own bleak. "Something has happened to me, over the last day. Women...they are throwing themselves at me, whether I will it or not. And there is a voice, which is talking to them, through me. What is going on?"

She shook her head. "It is not for me to know. But if I can be permitted to give you some advice, young one, I would talk to the people who were with you when your life changed." Her glance fell to his wrist, where the bracelet still hung. "Perhaps when you acquired that, for instance."

Owen nodded, knees trembling. With a look of sympathy, Bill handed him a pair of twenties and waved away his efforts to make change. "Keep it. You look like you could use it more than I can. Good luck, young man."

Dismissed, Owen nodded his thanks and walked out the front door and back to his car. Behind him, Bill Carter stood at the window watching him, his arms around his wife. Beside them, little Svetlana chomped happily on a bread stick, crumbs raining down on her "Frozen" t-shirt.

"What did you really see, my love?" he whispered softly into her ear.

"An old god, trying to weasel his way back into the world." She huffed soft laughter. "It does happen, young one. Look at what happened with us."

%%%

Owen stopped on a side street and pulled to the curb. His hands were shaking so badly he hit the wrong command on his phone three times before he could pull up his list of contacts.

Please be there please be there.

There!

He hit Phoebe's name, and waited anxiously as the phone dialed.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Hello, Owen," said the strange woman who had given him the bracelet the previous night. "I see that you have been enjoying my gift." Her voice was merry.

"What have you done to me?" he asked, voice tense.

"That? Well, that's a long story," she said.