The Choices of Evelyn Ch. 07-09

She could, couldn't she?

***

Standing under the shower, Evelyn's shoulders shook; did she sob? The drumming water washed it all away. She dried herself and refreshed her tampon. Then she went to bed and dreamt of nothing.

The next day she spent mostly in bed – every desire of action, let alone work, was thoroughly absent. She not even let herself be lured outside by the glorious sun. All day she tried not to, she tried over and over, but she masturbated until her clit was a raw mess. She didn't know why. Her body insisted, didn't it? It was her body, not she. It was the injection. After each orgasm, she sank into a pit of dull despair. But not even half an hour later her fingers touched the tender nub again. Her hands and thighs were a mess, smeared with cunt juices and the blood of her period.

Evelyn didn't care. She used her old vibrator until all batteries in the house were empty. Then she used the handle of her brush, the neck of an empty bottle until she sagged down in a corner, crying. The big woman at the fancy backroom had turned her into a brainless sex machine. She had to stop it and turn back to whom she ought to be.

Evelyn slept less than two hours in a row, but she hardly left her bed. The next morning was almost afternoon, really. She had some yoghurt on her tiny balcony. A client called, asking her why she didn't show up for a meeting. She said sorry, she didn't feel well. She hung up and moaned because of the lie and the ruining of her business it implied. Then she spooned some yoghurt into her cunt and started rubbing it in. At first it felt cool and slippery. Then the familiar burn set in. Another pale climax flooded her.

The sun was hot. She decided to take a swim at the communal pool and stay there for a while. She masturbated twice in the shadow of an umbrella. One hand was inside her bikini briefs, the other inside the flimsy top. Two sun tanned bums saw her at it. She knew them. When they got closer, she grabbed her things and ran.

The next evening, Evelyn sat on her tiny balcony once again. The dying sun gave her face an orange tinge. She toyed with a salad, but she wasn't hungry at all. Her brain buzzed; it had buzzed all day. She was restless and incredibly horny. It seemed impossible for her to focus or even concentrate on anything but her throbbing cunt. It was impossible not to touch herself.

Her period ending, she'd cropped and tidied her pussy hair. It oozed drops of fluid all day. She'd had to change her panties twice. Her nipples chaffed at the inside of her bikini top; even her soft terry robe made them burn. Her hands trembled.

Evelyn had never felt like this before. She'd often been horny and excited, but it was never like this – not as unprovoked as this, not all the time. Besides, there was no joy in it, no purpose. There seemed to be no focus to her arousal, just this... urge. The goddamn woman must have turned a key. She'd hoped her mood would change with the ending of her period. But she felt hornier than before. Something had to give.

Evelyn put the salad into the refrigerator. Then she emptied the glass of red wine and poured a second. Sipping it, she went to her bedroom. On the bed were two bags. They were from shops she visited this afternoon. Shops she'd never been to before. The first bag was black with golden letters around a couple of kissing doves. Out of it she took a slithering top in liquid silver. She had tried it on in the booth of the shop. What she'd seen in the mirror was outrageously sexy. She'd immediately taken it off, but she'd bought it nevertheless. And she'd also acquired a very short, stretch tube skirt in shining black to go with it. Lovely sheer silk stockings with lace elastic tops went with it. But she didn't buy underwear.

The other bag was brilliantly white with an elegant black logo. From it she took two severely heeled mules. They had narrow silver straps that looked sexy but gave her ankles no support whatsoever. Evelyn had no idea why she'd gone there and bought the items. She also had no idea why it felt so good to watch herself in them. She didn't know why she loved the liquid fabric to lick her skin. But she did.

Before, all her clothes had been sensible cottons and wools. What she bought with Olivia and Carlotta might have been a bit sexier, but it had always been in good taste. These clothes weren't in good taste; they were raw, unapologizing exclamation marks, screaming sex.

Evelyn emptied her glass and once again took a long shower. After spraying herself with a brutally aggressive, musk-laced perfume, she stretched the tight silver top over her chest. Feeling it hug her damp skin, it kissed her nipples in a way that made her shiver. After sliding the stockings up her shaven legs, she wriggled into the tight black skirt. The stockings' tops just reached the hem. It took all her concentration not to wobble and fall on the high-heeled mules.

Evelyn called how she felt sexy, but, to be honest, the word didn't cover half of what she felt. The sensuous material hugged her. It made her bare skin tingle. In a few minutes, she knew she would go down to the street, walk on a public sidewalk and slide into a cab undressed like this. The thought baffled her. Especially since it didn't cause any fear at all. It just made her pussy drool more. She needed all her restraint not to pull up her skirt and fuck herself with a refilled vibrator. Instead she sat down and brushed her hair, stroking it into a huge copper halo. Then she did her make-up. Tonight, this town would know a new Evelyn, made up as sexy as she was dressed. She put silver and green over her eyes. She used fat, black lashes to put them in mysterious shadows, and a deep blood red coating on her shining lips.

At last she stood and saw herself in the floor to ceiling mirror. Her knees went liquid, her brain melted. Who was this girl? Where had Evelyn gone? And she knew. She had stopped being that girl. Something had shifted in her mind to never return where it came from. She smiled, and the strange girl smiled back, crooked, unashamed.

"Tell me... who is Evelyn?" she remembered a voice saying, long ago, a dark rich, black voice. She knew who she was, now. But she also knew that she wasn't. She felt like a puppet that was her own puppeteer. Like a sculptor sculpting a smile on lips that were at once her own and not. She held the new girl's silk clad tits. She watched the new girl's silver nipples swell, feeling the arousal the new girl felt. Then she pushed the girl's fat glossy lips into a pout.

"Welcome, pretty new Evelyn", she purred. "Please help stupid old Evelyn. Don't ever leave her again.

"Not ever".

***

She'd never been to the jazz bar at the other side of town where the cab took her. It was supposed to mostly cater to women. When she arrived, it was bustling with people. Blue curtains of smoke billowed under a sky of tiny spotlights. Jazzy music filled the semi darkness, seeping into its deepest niches. At least twenty sets of eyes flashed in her direction. They took in every outrageous inch of her body. She almost felt their caressing touch. A million tiny bumps rose from her skin.

The heavy bar had a horseshoe shape. There was one empty leather-and-brass stool. She walked over to it, conscious of her freely bouncing tits and panty-less ass at every step. She climbed onto the stool, her tube skirt sliding up two inches. It exposed the paleness of her skin.

Many eyes had accompanied her until she sat, all of them female. Then most of them returned to where they dwelled before. But a few never left her. These were set inside the skulls of three women in dark business suits, their fortyish curves tightly packed. Yes, Evelyn responded to the first cliché question, she knew what a nice girl like her was doing in a place like this. And yes, she'd love a white wine and ice, please. And thank you for all the sweet compliments. And no, she didn't smoke. But she did giggle.

One of the three women was a freckled redhead with a great smile and wide shoulders. It was with her that she shared the first dance, feeling her silk-packed bosom against her. But before the woman's hand really reached Evelyn's ass, she was politely tapped on her shoulder. Her smaller, olive skinned companion took over, immediately pressing her curves into every inch of Evelyn's body. Evelyn pushed back, feeling a lovely glow spread from her crotch, all over her body. The woman was a great dancer too. So, she was rather disappointed when the chubby blonde took over. She was a talker, not a dancer. Evelyn had to fear for her almost unprotected feet.

When the music stopped, they returned to her stool. And she knew it wasn't only the ice in her wine that seemed broken. The tiny circle around her shrank to a solid wall of female flesh, and it seemed to sprout branches. Hands touched her in a hundred places. But she mostly felt them on her thighs and ass. She smiled to let them know she knew, and what the heck. So, the branches sprouted even more fingers. They covered her with a magnetic field of caresses. Evelyn realized she loved this. She wriggled. And she spread her thighs as far as her tight skirt allowed. She felt a warm dry hand slide up her inner thigh. Another hand had long since cupped her right silver tit. A third one even slipped inside the top to rub a shrieking nipple. Evelyn closed her eyes and moaned. Then she lifted her ass, allowing a hand to crawl all the way up to her drenched cunt.

The only one who saw her full face, was the lady bartender. She understood perfectly well what was going on. Evelyn knew her from high school; she even remembered one or two incidents of clumsy, drunken lovemaking.

The third wine was Evelyn's fifth in the last three hours. A sweet slow dizziness spread over her like a moist blanket. She slid off the stool and bid the fleshy wall to open. Then she started her way to the restrooms, reaching them after a few less elegant stumbles. In one of the stalls she pulled her skirt up and sat down on a toilet bowl. She released her bladder with a sigh. My God, Evelyn... Ah well, it's fun, isn't it?

She dabbed at her crotch with a soft piece of toilet paper, drawing threads of crystal clear juice. Aaaah, so wet she was. This new Evelyn was a little wet slut, indeed. Grin. Letting down her skirt, she flushed. Then she walked back into the powder room. The blonde bartender stood at its center.

"Hi, Evelyn", she said. "My, girl, you're having fun."

"Hello... Melanie isn't it?" Evelyn grinned. "Jealous?" she asked, trying to sound playful. Melanie didn't laugh. She stepped aside to allow Evelyn to wash her hands. After that, as Evelyn passed her to find the exit, the girl rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Go home, Evelyn. Believe me, these dykes will hurt you." Evelyn shrugged her shoulder free, snapping:

"Don't you tell me, Melanie. You don't know me."

And she walked into the bar again. The trio of women cheered her return. They'd been biding their time, nursing their whiskies.

Half an hour and two more wines later, Evelyn sat in the leather sports seat of a black Porsche. It seared through the empty streets, followed by a Mercedes convertible. The penthouse was at the top of a posh condo. She'd often admired it when she passed by. The women were all over her, even before they went into the elevator. Her silver top got torn up before she could get out of it. The petite olive girl had her tongue inside her cunt before she could take off her skirt.

Finally, the first rays of a new sun licked the walls of the penthouse. Evelyn lay spent and spread-eagled amidst a heap of flesh and sheets and pillows. She snored softly. Streaks of juices and saliva tightened her skin. Her open lips blew tiny bubbles of slime. A deep ache pulsed in her stretched, reddish cunt lips, and the tight star below.

A remnant of snow laced her nostrils.

***

Evelyn stumbled along the sidewalk. Her head split. Her mouth was the stinking den of furry animals. There wasn't a bone in her body that didn't ache. Even the air around her was hot; it felt wet and filthy. Her eyes blinked against the cruel light of day; she cursed the person bearing her name. After throwing her broken heels away she tried to make her shredded top to at least cover her nipples. She walked with a curious gait, due to the delicate tenderness of both her cunt and her asshole. The skin of her ass cheeks felt raw. As did her lips and the membranes inside her nose. My God, Evelyn, where have you been? What have you done and why, why?

That early morning, she woke at the center of chaos. The bed was a pigsty, sheets and pillows were a dirty mess. They stank of sex and excretions. Her skin was flaked with dried juices, smelling of piss. She was unspeakable filthy. And most of all: she was alone. All yesterday's bodies had gone, except hers.

Evelyn felt a groan tear through her throat. She slid off the bed and scurried around the room, looking for the remnants of her sexy outfit. Her head housed a complete rhythm section of crazed gorillas. She thought she'd pass out if she'd try to stand straight.

There was a shower. The water was icy cold, making her shiver and shake. She avoided the mirror. Then she pulled up the tight skirt. The torn silver top took her minutes to figure out what was up and what was down. Finally, it served about half its purpose. Heels and purse in hands she climbed down the stairs, hearing voices in the kitchen. Two women she vaguely remembered were drinking juice and eating bagels. They looked up as she entered. Then they negated her. She stood and felt like the cheapest shit.

"Good morning," she tried, but it came out differently.

The fridge was empty as far as edible or drinkable food was concerned. She took a dirty glass and filled it at the tap. The cold liquid plunged down her throat, soothing it. A big, redheaded woman with a freckled face entered the kitchen.

"You still here, slut?" she asked. It took Evelyn a while to realize she meant her. "Get out, filthy whore," the woman said. She pushed her out of the kitchen and into the hall. Evelyn wailed in protest. But the woman had her on the street in no time, slamming the door behind her. And now she walked; well, in a fashion. Her bare feet hurt from the broken concrete. A blister formed under her right sole. It made her limp. But most of all there were the eyes of people passing by. They looked at her and looked away, disgust on their faces. Or they laughed and made crude remarks.

She passed a construction site and a shower of obscenities rained on her bowed head. She hurried on and hurt her foot on a piece of metal sticking out of the sidewalk. She knew she had to go quite a distance to her apartment. She blessed the fact that she still had her purse and keys. The purse she'd found under the bed in a puddle of foul smelling liquid. Even now she could smell it. Her money was missing.

Evelyn's head was still too numb to start nagging. But right under the dazed blanket of indifference little voices made themselves heard. It got more and more difficult to shut them up. She'd been a fool, one of the voices said. It was the most moderate. Others assured her she was a cheap slut and a whore. And an incredibly stupid one, too. Tears ran down her face. She tried to keep them back. Could things get worse, she thought. The next moment she knew they could. Across the road a woman stopped. She stared at her, calling her name. It was Leila. A searing wave of hot shame strangled her. She ran. She did not look back, until she knew she could not be seen anymore. Her heart beat like a steam hammer. Forcing her step, she reached the posh shopping district. A car hooted next to her.

It was the delivery car of the Indian super market she often visited. At the wheel was the nice Indian boy who always tried to get into conversation with her. He looked concerned now and asked if he could help. Again, she ran. She did not answer. She not even let on that she'd heard him. God! All these people who knew her. To see her like this. Even Leila!

After a while she slumped down on a bench, crying her eyes out. What the fuck had gotten into her? The cheap whore's outfit she wore. The shameless way she'd come on to the women, all the alcohol and... She suddenly remembered the coke that seared into her nostrils. Evelyn rummaged in her purse to find a tissue. She found her cell phone. It lay in the palm of her trembling hand, and she stared at it as though she didn't remember what it was. The batteries were as good as empty.

Looking up, she stared straight into a crotch and the expensive Italian designers' slacks that covered it. Her eyes travelled up. A silk blouse hugged massive breasts on a strong body. It was framed by a loose jacket of the same linen as the slacks. On top was Zelda's face, sporting a wide, white grin. Then she leaned in and cupped Evelyn's chin with her black, gold-ringed hand. She forced her to look into her eyes. They were dark, calm pools with the unexpected sweetness of a smile. The woman made a clucking noise.

"My sweet lil' whore," she said, shaking her head. "Where on earth did you get your slutty cunt into this time? Running away from my friends, and now running around town in your bare white trashy ass, oh my."

Evelyn knew she should get up and flee, but she was so tired. Looking into the woman's eyes was like staring at a cobra, but she couldn't look away. Her exhausted cunt started throbbing. She moaned. Zelda grinned.

"C'mon, honey," she then said. She took the girl's hand and pulled her up. Evelyn was too shocked to resist. Even if she'd wanted to. "Come with mommy," the woman crooned. She took Evelyn to her car, an expensive convertible sports model, all done in metallic silver. It left the curb with a roar and took her in the direction she'd come from.

***

Zelda's apartment was huge and light, done up in a posh glass and brass style. There was gold trimming, and there were deep white rugs. The flat had a terrace as large as a patio.

The woman showed her the bathroom, so Evelyn could at last have her long overdue shower. And God, was it good. She stayed in it for at least twenty minutes, her skin going all soft and wrinkly. Then she dried herself with the softest of towels and slid into the bathrobe she found on a golden hook.

As she left the bathroom, a smell of bacon and eggs hit her. It opened the bottom of her stomach. To her amazement Zelda had fried them herself. She served them with a tall glass of freshly pressed oranges and freshly baked bread. Evelyn emptied the glass in one endless swallow. Then she devoured the eggs and the bread.

The woman just sat across the table, wearing a robe of gold colored silk. She smiled at the famished girl, saying nothing. Finally, after Evelyn finished wiping her plate with the last of the bread, Zelda sat straight and said: "You know you're my whore now, don't you, girl? You ran from me and now you're here. You really must like me." A flash of indignant protest washed over Evelyn.

"I'm not your whore!" she cried out, pushing back her chair and rising. "Don't call me that; I'm not! And I don't like you. You handed me over to monsters. I hate you!" The black woman chuckled.

"Wellll," she said, stretching the word, "you could have fooled me, honey. The way you looked, the way you walked that street."

"That was your fault!" Evelyn yelled, hitting the table with a flat hand. "You and your Fran... Lilith. She injected me with a goddamn needle. What did she get into me? These days have been hell. She drugged me. That's why I was at that club, wearing what I wore, doing what I did. You and that woman turned me into a sex addict." Zelda smiled. She lifted her gold-rimmed cup and took a sip of her tea.