Chloe
Chapter one: irresistible desire
“So, what do I call you?”
I blushed, asking it. We were in bed, though we’d also been on the floor, in the bath, and on the sofa.
Maybe other places, too.
The night was hazy.
But I was incredibly content. My skin, my lips, my tongue, were covered in her. She’d cum many times, and she came a lot.
And I loved it. I could feel her fluids sinking into my skin, I could taste her as deeply as when I’d been going down on her.
I felt like I was still fucking her.
My cunt clenched happily, hungrily, at the thought.
“Easy McBarchick?”
“Oh, stop it.”
She paused, almost as if she had to think of a name, make one up.
My heart broke a little bit.
I wasn’t ever going to get a name.
I wasn’t ever going to see her again.
I don’t know who had pursued who, but the night had been, for me, more than special.
I’d fucked girls.
I’d been fucked by girls.
I’d never felt like this.
The fact that it was just a thing for her…
“Chloe. My name is Chloe.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have teased you.”
“And last night?”
“And last night. Yes.”
“I’m Devon.”
Her lips met mine, her tongue invaded my mouth, and claimed me.
I woke, alone, around noon.
I didn’t feel like I could get out of bed, but once I did, I felt better than I had in months.
Chloe was gone, but a number was scrawled in her matte black lipstick on my bathroom mirror.
I dripped between my thighs.
Don’t. Wait. At least until tomorrow.
But there I was, covered in her, still feeling her, tasting her, smelling her.
So I did.
One word.
“Again.”
And the almost immediate reply.
“Soon.”
It was enough.
It was Saturday. It could have been Tuesday, for all I remembered.
I couldn’t bring myself to shower. I needed to keep her taste, to keep licking my fingers. I buried my face everywhere I could find a trace of her. I smelled and tasted.
It was depraved, and perfect.
My phone pinged.
I reached for it so fast I knocked it off the table, under the sofa.
I almost panicked scrambling for it.
But it was just a text from Miranda, reminding me we had plans that night. Dinner, at her place.
So, I showered.
So, I brushed my teeth.
I felt a little lost, as I did.
I’d been holding on to Chloe’s presence like a schoolgirl holding on to the feeling of a first kiss.
It wasn’t a crush.
It wasn’t lust.
It was something else.
Miranda hugged me close, inviting me in.
But she held it too long.
“Jesus, Vonnie,” she sighed into the crook of my neck, and then, as she pulled back, “You smell…I don’t know…like fucking and rain.”
She was blushing, her eyelids slightly drooped. She shook her head a bit.
“Did you get some on the way over?” Miranda was straight as hell, but she played idly with her hair as she asked.
Dinner was a strange event.
“So, what is his name? Or her name?”
“Chloe. Her name is Chloe. I dunno, I was at Whiskey Down last night, with Heather and Jen, sitting at the bar. And I saw this flash of red in the corner. Just this woman, bobbing her head to the music. I wanna say her hair was dyed, some really cool red, but I’m not sure it was. I mean, it didn’t seem natural, but it didn’t seem fake, either. Does that make sense?”
“You should get the name of whoever does her hair, either way. Probably the only way to find out.”
“Probably. Anyhow, I guess I was staring. I must have been staring. And the next thing I knew, I realized she’d been staring right back at me, for a really long time. Eye contact and everything. I mean, she wasn’t just staring back with a ‘what’s your problem’ look. She was looking right at me.”
I shook my head a bit. The entire night was a little blurry, and this was the first time I’d tried to play it all the way through.
“Then she was right there. Right in front of me. Like right in my personal space. And her hips were moving slowly to the music, standing, swaying, between my legs, right up against the barstool. And I couldn’t stop watching her, I kept looking down at her hips and it felt like she kept getting closer and closer.”
I wasn’t thinking about anything but Chloe, but I knew my eyelids had fallen shut.
“And…and she leaned close enough that our breasts were touching, grazing back and forth as she moved and my nipples were achingly hard, and so were hers and…”
I was wet. Right there, at dinner. Panties clinging to me. And I was sweating, all over.
“I don’t…she…she bit my lower lip. I think I remember moaning. And she didn’t let go. It hurt so badly, her teeth are so sharp, and I liked it. Miri, I fucking loved it, and her fingernails on the back of my neck and moving into my hair and I’d never felt so possessed. So claimed.”
I knew my hips had started to move, even as my thighs clenched. I could hear Miranda breathing deeply, breathing with me.
“And, Jesus, she just wouldn’t stop. I should have told her to stop, that this wasn’t OK, and I didn’t want her to stop, and it was so very OK, and I wrapped my legs around her, I don’t think I had a choice, and when I tasted her tongue, it was like honey, and something else and fucking god, she kissed me, invaded me, filled my mouth, filled my throat, hand in my hair, hand on my wrist, tight.”
I could smell myself. I could smell Miranda. We both went silent. Except for the sound of our breathing. Long, slow, deep breaths, in time with one another.
I could smell Chloe.
I opened my eyes just in time to see a quick glimpse of Miranda’s pink tongue trace across her lips.
And then I was moving.
Half-staggering.
To the bathroom.
I don’t know if I closed the door.
My hands found the sink, gripping the edges, white-knuckled.
I barely recognized the thing in the mirror.
Desperate.
Feral.
Hair sticking to my sweat-soaked brow.
My breasts ached.
And I grabbed them, hard, digging my fingers into them through my silk top, through my bra. I mauled them, gripping hard, pinching my nipples, strangely delighted at being unable to get a good grip through so many layers.
I heard a soft “Fuck.”
I reached under my skirt, almost tearing my panties off, almost falling as I stepped out of them, shoving them in my mouth, hungry for something. For her taste, and having to find only my own. They were soaked, and I tried to get every droplet.
And my hand was between my thighs, rubbing fiercely.
It wasn’t enough.
But I knew Miranda kept a toy in the bathroom closet.
I grabbed it, a luscious, feminine thing, g-spot stimulator, a powerful vibe, and it was in me.
I heard a groan.
The toy hit the spots I needed.
My fingers played over my clit.
I leaned back against the wall, watching myself, my beautiful, dirty self, in the mirror.
Toy in me.
Fingers on clit, rubbing, pinching.
Then switch, the vibration needed on my clit, my fingers, two, then three, deep inside me.
Back and forth, over and over again.
My teeth on my lower lip, just like Chloe’s.
I fucked myself.
Aching for her, and not this pale imitation.
Fuck.
I could smell her.
She was oozing from me.
In, and out.
Harder.
Faster.
My clit hurt.
I couldn’t be gentle.
Didn’t dare be gentle.
I heard sounds, begging sounds, pleading words.
My head slammed backwards against the wall.
I heard “Please.” I heard “Don’t stop.”
My cunt clenched down hard, crushing.
The vibration, the pressure, the pain.
“Oh fucking god!”
My orgasm was like a punch to the stomach, a slap to the face.
I collapsed to the floor, on my knees, supplicant to whatever Chloe was, whatever I was becoming.
The toy left my cunt, and slipped into my mouth.
I didn’t taste myself.
I tasted her.
How could I taste like her?
In, and out, in, and out, my mouth insatiable, my lipstick ruined.
Licking up every drop of her, almost crying for more.
My haze ended with me curled up on the floor, like some sad drunk.
I looked up, and saw Miranda in the doorway.
Her panties down around her knees.
One high heel on, the other missing.
She stared for a long moment.
I lay there.
Open.
Vulnerable.
Bare.
Unsated.
Unsatisfied.
Junkie without her fix.
She knelt down next to me. My mouth found her knee, and bit, because it didn’t know what to do.
She stroked my hair, cooed softly.
“My god. You are beautiful.”
Three more days went by.
Miranda called and texted often.
I think she was getting off on it, to be honest.
To be honest, I liked her getting off on it.
Sometimes she’d call and lapse into that deep breathing as I told her what I was thinking about and I would push her further and further because I wanted to hear her cum to make her cum to make her mine because I needed to sink my nails into flesh and Chloe wasn’t calling and I needed fucking and Miranda was beautiful and I wanted cum on my tongue.
I called in sick.
To stay in bed with the Hitachi strapped to me.
The harness was a present from an ex-lover who enjoyed watching me struggle and cum and struggle and beg.
I sobbed for Chloe.
With each orgasm, with each attempt to remove the harness that I gave up on, because I needed more.
But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t satisfying in any way.
When my body was spent, I rolled over and looked at my phone.
It had been 78 hours since I woke alone.
Since I woke broken on some level.
A text came in.
“4 hours. The Cat’s Den. In the parking lot. -Chloe”
I sobbed out loud.
My poor, broken, drained body dragged me to the tub, where I bathed, scrubbed, shaved. It all felt wonderful. Suddenly, I could let myself just be washed along with the wind that was now bringing me to her.
Yes, I got a little romantic in my head.
But after the wash, my thoughts turned darker.
I spent one night with her.
And now I was something feral, insatiable, and deeply out of control.
What would happen after another?
And, I allowed myself to hope, another?
But the part of my brain that cared about such possibilities was a tiny, weak, pathetic thing.
The part that would crawl on broken glass to kiss Chloe’s fingertips was far stronger, louder, and did not give a fuck about anything else in the world.
It took me two hours to get dressed.
A pretty cami, skirt, black thigh-highs, and heels.
I hadn’t tried to go out sexy in a very long time.
I didn’t care about impressing strangers.
But god I wanted to impress her.
My legs are gorgeous.
I wanted her to see them.
To need them wrapped around her.
Please.
Please need me.
Just a little bit.
Please.
I got there an hour early. I didn’t know the place well, but I’d been once or twice. I parked in the lot. I moved the car three times. Closer to the door? Further away for privacy? Somewhere in the middle? What was perfect? What would she like?
I settled on close, but only because I would surely die if she came here and couldn’t find me.
I lit a cigarette.
I took a drink from a flask of bourbon I’d started carrying.
Both habits began since her.
I needed something.
I never saw her coming.
There was no one, and then she was taking the cigarette from my mouth. She took a drag, leaving her near-coal lipstick on the filter, before flicking it away.
“Never again, “ she ordered. “Never, ever again.”
I nodded quickly.
I knew I’d never have another one.
Her bright red hair glowed in the parking lot light, in the glow of the full moon. She’d simply materialized, like a ghost. Like magic.
My knees weakened, and I almost tipped over in my heels.
“You’ve had an interesting couple of days, haven’t you?”
I nodded. I probably blushed.
“Your body has been very demanding, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been masturbating, endlessly.”
“Yes.”
“But that didn’t help at all, did it?”
“No. It only made it worse.”
“That’s right. It only gets worse. But it drives you. Makes you make bad decisions. But your blood, tongue, cunt, they can’t be denied. They need something, something very specific, and you can’t give it to them.”
“They need you.”
“Yes, yes, they do. And nothing you do seems to help, does it?”
“Oh god, no.”
“Maybe you even fucked someone. Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Lie.”
I thought about looking up, seeing Miranda with her panties around her knees, watching me, a pathetic creature on the floor in a puddle of her own cum.
“Yes, I did. Miranda.”
“Did she want to fuck you?”
I thought about her, about our texts and calls.
“Yes.”
“Lie. Don’t ever…EVER…fucking lie to me again.”
Her accusation was a slap to my face.
“No. She wanted to fuck you.”
“Yes. Yes, she did. How does that feel?”
“I…I don’t like it. I don’t like her wanting you. I don’t like her touching you.”
“No. No you don’t. But I think you’d like to watch, anyhow.”
I wanted to say ‘no’. I wanted to tell her that no one should ever fuck her again, except me. I wanted to tell her that I would fuck her any way she needed, do anything to please her, no matter how depraved, just so long as she never touched anyone, ever again, except me.
“Yes. I would,” I half whimpered, “I would, very much.”
Her arms wrapped around me, bringing me in close.
“Shhhh…shhhhh, baby. I know you would. It’s OK. It’s OK. That’s how this works.”
I buried my face in the crook of her neck. I was crying. I wasn’t sad. I was intoxicated. Just the scent of her skin, it was more, it was deeper, than a rush of adrenaline. It was a shot of bourbon after a truly bad day. It was a hit of excellent weed. Confusing and soothing and joyful.
Her hand played with my hair, alternating between stroking, and gripping.
I liked the gripping more.
When she grabbed a fistful of hair, it said I would never be away from her. I would never not be touching her.
It said everything was going to be dark, and sweaty, and on fire.
It said everything was going to be OK.
I took another breath of her.
“What’s happening to me?”
“I am. I’m happening to you Devon. And it’s OK. This is how it works. This is how I work. This is the need you’ve dreamt of. This is the need you will never forget.”
I was running my lips along her skin, letting my tongue tip slink out for a taste, and I felt something tingle, just outside my ability to tell. So I kissed, licked hungrily, whimpered and bit down on her skin.
She moaned, like music, and gripped my hair hard, pulling my head back, bending my neck sharply.
“So close. So close to what you need, isn’t it, baby?”
Her face was close to mine, dominating the night sky more than the full moon.
Her eyes glowed.
“So close, but not quite. You just know it’s there. You know it’s close.”
Her lips, glistening, were so close, so close, so close I could taste her breath, so close I could lick them.
“No,” she scolded, “no, babygirl, you don’t get to take.”
I hadn’t realized my tongue had reached towards her, hungry, aching with want.
“You don’t get to take, not yet. But I can give, if that’s what you want. All you have to do, right now, is ask.”
Don’t beg. Please, don’t beg. Don’t do this to yourself.
“Please, whatever it is, I need it. I can’t go on like this. I’m empty.”
“Yes, you are. Empty. Unfulfilled. But I’m here, now. I can bring you closer to me. Is that what you want?”
She was teasing me. I didn’t care.
“Yes. Please. Please. Please.”
My voice was so soft, so weak, so needing.
“Here, babygirl, I give to you.”
Now, it was her tongue that appeared. With a shimmering drop of saliva on the tip. Azure. It was azure in the moonlight.
My mouth opened wide, a baby bird waiting to be fed.
I watched the droplet fall from her tongue, I watched it take forever to cross the scant inches from her tongue to my mouth. It would never reach me. It would vanish in mid flight. I would never taste it.
But it did.
And I did.
“Ohhhhhh!!”
Dizzy.
I was dizzy.
I tried holding on to her shoulders, to stay on my feet.
But I couldn’t.
“Oh…oh…oh…” as I slid down her body, falling slowly to my knees.
It wasn’t bliss. It wasn’t euphoria. It wasn’t a high.
It was completion.
I felt whole.
I felt connected to her, in a way I had never felt with anyone.
I felt a need for her that would keep me safe, and warm, and possessed, and taken, and I would be hers, and being hers was all that mattered.
And I knew, in that moment, that it was just a sliver of what there was.
I wrapped my arms around her legs and held on.
I was with her.
I was bound to her.
But only with the most fragile of strings.
“Oh…”
And I wanted shackles.
There, kneeling in the parking lot, I wanted chains.
She stroked my hair.
“This is where it begins, for you, baby. This is where you start to change.”
“Who are you? What is happening to me? What are you?”
“Do you really care?”
I wanted to say ‘yes’, I wanted to say that I needed to know.
I wanted to tell her this had to stop, because it absolutely had to stop. That I wasn’t this creature I was becoming.
But she’d know I was lying.
And if I lied, she might leave.
And if she left, I wouldn’t know what I was anymore.
“No.”
“No.”
Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“I do so love you there, helpless, filled with me, on your knees. But it’s time to get up, babygirl, I think you need a drink.”
Stay down. Kiss her ankles. Kiss her knees. Lick her thighs and crawl up under her skirt and feast on her.
Make her moan for you.
“God, yes.”
If she hadn’t demanded it, I might have stayed there forever. it felt so right.
She took my hand and led me around the front, and inside.
The bar was hardly empty, but not crowded either. There was enough ambient noise so we could talk without being overhead.
We grabbed a table, and, somehow, she managed to come back with a bottle of expensive bourbon.
“I thought you could only get away with that in movies.”
“You think a whole lot of women say ‘no’ to me, when I want something?”
I looked up at the bar, and the woman behind it…no, really, barely more than a girl…was still blushing.
“I should.”
“Should what?”
“Say ‘no’ to you.”
“Oh, that is almost certainly true. That would definitely be the sane, safe response. And there’s a voice in your head begging you to do that, isn’t there?”
“Yes. But…”
“But you can’t bring yourself to do so. Because this is so new, and exciting, and when I gave you even a tiny bit of my spit, you felt more fulfilled than you ever have before.”
I was so fucking wet. My thighs were wide open under the table.
“What is this? What are you? I need to know, to understand.”
She sighed. Like she’d had this conversation many times before. Which broke my heart a little bit. She put her hand on mine, and my heart healed immediately.
“What am I? That is complicated. And I don’t think you’d understand just yet.”
“I don’t…how can you not…I mean…how is it OK to not tell me that?”
“I will. I promise. You know I’m not what I look to be, obviously. But I can’t tell you more than that.”
I was scared. I didn’t care.
“Can you tell me what is happening to me?”
“That I can. A little. I don’t understand the real mechanics of it, to be honest. Someone once told me that it was like my body produced obsession, desire, need. That it generated a chemical of distilled want. When you taste my sweat, my saliva, my cum, I’m crawling into your brain, into the biochemical processes you create, and whispering to them. Convincing them to listen to me. Making them understand that I am the only thing that matters.”
I knew this to be true. It spoke to exactly what had happened to me. Was still happening to me.
I wanted to force my tongue down her throat.
“Pheromones.”
“Something like that. But far more profound.”
“I…you are drugging me. I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think that’s OK.”
I couldn’t believe I was saying that.
“Then tell me to stop. I promise, I will. And I can. I can send you back to who you were a few days ago. I don’t think you will. Because, while the sweetness of me that enters you does bind you to me, it also opens you up. It burns down the barriers that keep you from truly wanting something. From needing it to the exclusion of everything else. It frees you to feel.”
It was so very wrong. I was being drugged. Controlled. She was, in a very real way, violating me.
I wanted to bite her skin until her blood touched my tongue.
“I need to feel this way. I didn’t understand before.”
“No, you didn’t. And we are just beginning.”
Miranda was thinking about Chloe, and Devon.
Miranda hadn’t stopped thinking about Chloe, and Devon.
And Chloe and Devon.
*”I don’t…she…she bit my lower lip. I think I remember moaning. And she didn’t let go. It hurt so badly, her teeth are so sharp, and I liked it. Miri, I fucking loved it, and her fingernails on the back of my neck and moving into my hair and I’d never felt so possessed. So claimed.”*
She liked how that sounded. She liked hearing about her. About Chloe.
About what she did to Devon.
Devon, who had run off to fuck herself in Miranda’s bathroom.
Because she needed to.
Because she had no other choice.
Miranda had watched.
Had cum while watching.
Had cum many times, since then, replaying the sordid scene in her mind, over, and over, and over again.
She liked watching Devon disintegrate.
Surrender.
She liked the smell of her, the smell of Chloe.
Sometimes, Miranda would catch a tease of a scent of something, and wonder if it was one of the other two women. If, somehow, a part of their presence had taken up residence with her.
And she wanted.
Wanted as badly as Devon, perhaps.
But it wasn’t Chloe she wanted.
She wanted to be desired.
Desired, needed, on a primal level, like Devon needed the mysterious woman.
She wanted to do to someone, to be to someone, what Chloe was to Devon.
Her boyfriends had loved her.
They had certainly desired her.
But they never made her feel like Chloe made Devon feel.
They’d never broken into tiny pieces for her.
They were never slipping out of a dinner to jerk their cocks, and finger their asses because they couldn’t stop themselves.
Miranda wanted that. From anyone.
She started noticing the tiniest hints of it.
The way she could make someone forget what they were saying, just by crossing her legs, and dangling a delicate heel from her toes.
She liked that.
But it was shallow, vapid.
And when it passed, as these things do, in the blink of an eye, she felt lesser.
She wanted to be wanted in a way that broke the other person down, that made them helpless. In a way that made her feel like the only fucking thing that mattered.
Sometimes, she lay in bed, and let her fingertips roam over her body.
She caressed her breasts, lips, nipples, pussy.
It wasn’t masturbation. Not as such.
That would be a distraction.
It was a way of coaxing out emotions, a way of making her feel the things she wanted to feel, if she tried hard enough. As if, if she could tease and guide her body into needing enough, someone would finally need her, that way. If she could make herself so very ready, if she could get to that edge just before falling over, that would give her the key to it. That, somehow, her need could create need in others.
She would have fucked Devon blind that night.
Just to steal a fraction of what the girl felt, to make it her own, just for a moment.
Miranda needed Chloe.
Would do anything for Chloe.
To be Chloe.
She came.
But it was her cum, her scent.
Not the magic.
Her car smelled of fucking.
Her car, a discreet distance away from Devon’s condo.
She watched, patiently.
Hand under her skirt.
