Anathema III Pt. 01

The Hungry Nymph

Becca woke up first, and looked at her younger, just-over-eighteen year-old sister sleeping soundly. She had the surprised feeling that someone might have after a night of heavy drinking and waking without any trace of a hangover. She felt good. Rested. Healthy.

Charlotte sat up, looked at Becca, realized they were both naked, and innocently asked, "What the heck happened last night?"

"Charlotte, my dear, I have no earthly idea." Becca answered while looking around the hotel room for clothing.

"Isn't this the hotel where you work?" Charlotte asked.

"It was. I'm probably going to get fired over whatever we did last night. I don't even know whose room this is." Becca answered, feeling no effect of a hangover, and becoming increasingly troubled as to why she couldn't remember how her and her younger sister happened to be in a hotel room together, naked.

Randy used the maid key to open the door to his room, and found the sisters sitting on the end of his bed. Charlotte drew up the sheets to cover herself. Becca just sat there, cross-legged, taking in Randy's form.

"Did you have fun with us last night?" Becca asked.

"How are you feeling, Becca? Is Charlotte alright?" Randy asked.

Becca looked hard at him.

"Well, you seem to know us. Who are you, again?" Becca asked.

Randy looked in disbelief. They had no memory of anything that had happened the night before, and possibly earlier.

"If you wouldn't mind just waiting here a few minutes, I have to get something and I'll be right back." Randy said nervously.

"Whatever you say, big boy." Becca smiled, eyeing Randy's ass as he left the room.

"Becca," Charlotte said as she gently fingered her pussy, "I'm not a virgin anymore.

Do you think he drugged and raped us?" Charlotte asked.

"No. I'm pretty sure even if he wanted to rape me, I would have been enjoying it too much. Did you see him?!?! He's gorgeous!" Becca swooned. "Until we get him to find us some clothes, though, I think we're stuck here for awhile."

"Would you mind telling me what you've been up to for the last few weeks while I've been hanging around this hotel?" Randy asked Lindie in the pool.

"After I left Sarah's house, I went on a little trip. I wanted to find the mysterious, supernatural fellow that had fed her his cock for three days straight." Lindie said as she sipped a glass of come cleverly disguised as a coconut beverage. "He's like us, but different."

"How so?" Randy asked, subconsciously pulling his shorts back up.

"This guy is a real ladies man." Lindie continued. "He's a great lay, and he likes to fuck. A lot. He makes his victims survive on his come -- "

"Like the way you survive on come?" Randy interrupted.

"Like me." Lindie confirmed. "Except, the average woman wasn't designed to survive on ejaculate, so eventually..."

"He dumps them in an alley?" Randy asked.

"Not quite that bad, but he does wear them out. It just so happens that someone else hoped for it to become that bad, but this guy didn't follow through with the plan." Lindie sipped on her drink.

"I guess he had a thing for Sarah, so he stopped short of fucking her to death. The worst part is that it isn't like he rapes them. They love the never-ending orgasms. They just don't stop."

"Did they stop for you?" Randy asked.

"We came to a mutual understanding." Lindie smiled, adding emphasis to the word. "Let's leave it at that."

"So, did he give you anything useful, besides all the come you could consume?" Randy asked, slightly jealous.

"He did." Lindie just looked at Randy for a moment, waiting, watching.

"What?" Randy asked.

"You may need to kill Charlotte." Lindie said flatly. "She's dangerous."

"I thought you said she wasn't like us. You were more concerned with Becca!" Randy's eye twitched.

"Charlotte's not like us. She's like them." Lindie said gravely. Randy knew whom she was referring to. The hairless, grey monsters that fed on human flesh -- even if only in one's nightmares.

"But she's just a girl." Randy sighed.

"So was I." Lindie reminded him. "Just keep an eye on her for now. If you have another dream like the last one, kill her. Trust me."

"What about Becca?" Randy asked.

"She'll remember you soon enough. When she does, don't be surprised if she resumes her gymnastics on your gorgeous cock." Lindie smiled. "And no, I'm not jealous. Just remember what I said about Charlotte. She'll remember you, too, eventually."

Randy kissed Lindie on the forehead and then returned to his room. Whatever thoughts he had of a lasting, intimate relationship with Lindie were now fading. She was right. She was always right, and for the moment, that bothered him.

Charlotte was the first to hop off the bed, naked, and tugged at Randy's clothes. As she pulled his shorts down around his ankles, his thick tool sprang up and hit her on the chin. She took the head of his cock in her mouth and licked and sucked expertly.

Becca took her time stepping off the bed, meeting them halfway, and concentrated on kissing Randy on the mouth. She really knew how to kiss.

His erection swelled and he felt sharp teeth press into his shaft. He looked down and Charlotte looked up at him with devilishly promiscuous eyes. As much as she could smile with a large cock in her mouth, she smiled and laughed, and then let Becca worship his thick member for a while.

For the next two hours, Randy, Becca, and Charlotte engaged in sex in various positions, and enjoyed multiple orgasms, each. No transformations occurred. No supernatural animals, actual or hallucinated, made an appearance. All three felt as if they were just going through the motions, though. It was almost as if there was neither love nor lust in their hearts for the other.

When they finished, Randy was surprisingly exhausted. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired. But he couldn't allow himself to fall asleep. Becca purred asleep under his right arm, but Charlotte just lay under his left, looking up at him, staring, not blinking, and letting a curious grin form on her face. He looked at her closely as if trying to read her thoughts. Charlotte closed her eyes and let her grin slip away as she fell asleep. Randy laid there, heart pounding heavily, eyes wide staring at Charlotte, watching her until the following morning.

In the weeks that followed, Randy moved to a different hotel, while Lindie attempted to learn more about her distant relatives. Becca started a whole new relationship with Randy, complete with rediscovery, infatuation, and feelings of love for him.

Charlotte, however, became distant. She had no recollection of Randy's transformation, and if she did, she didn't bring it up. She also wasn't sure if Randy was the one that deflowered her, but she no longer cared, either. She looked at him differently, not in the same way that Becca looked at Randy. She found him attractive, but there was something else. Something that made Randy's eye twitch whenever she was around.

Charlotte began to dress sexier, opting for heels, stockings, and increasingly shorter skirts, and abandoned her capri pants and sweatshirts. Most of the boys she knew from high school either had summer jobs at the local comic book store, the local big box home-improvement store, or were just trying to figure themselves out before starting school again in the Fall.

She hung out at the comic book store, as there was always something to look at, and always someone to look at her. Her mother thought Charlotte was a nice girl, but was trying a little too hard to find a boyfriend. Charlotte let her keep on thinking that.

Her mom didn't need to know that Charlotte hung out at the comic book store because that's where she could be routinely felt up, fingered, and even face-fucked if the timing was right.

Most of the patrons were shy, or scared, or in such disbelief of what they were looking at, that they couldn't approach her.

Once in awhile, though, a boy or two would look over her shoulder while she pretended to look at a comic, reach down, and feel her soft, firm ass under her playful, cheerleader-like skirt. She'd return the favor by either arching her ass out to let them know she wasn't wearing panties, or reach down and rub one or both cocks in their loose-fitting jeans. The first time she bent down to unzip one boy's fly, the other boy pushed two fingers in her slit, soon replacing it with his modest cock. She sat next to one of them in homeroom last year, and he always seemed nice. The other was his quiet friend. She could only assume that she wasn't their first girl, but she had the feeling she was the first girl that let them fuck her at the same time.

Unlike other girls just under 19, Charlotte wasn't worried about becoming pregnant. She was primed and ready, at first glance, but somewhere inside her, she knew she wouldn't have to worry about becoming pregnant. As if it simply was never going to happen.

The boys were cute and enthusiastic, but still boys. She wanted to be fucked by a man, and not just one. She wanted several, either at the same time, or one after the other in quick succession. But she wasn't going to find a group of guys like that at the comic books store. She was too young to hang out at bars. Nobody would believe a fake ID, either. She was cursed with looking very young, despite being months away from 19.

The boys that worked the counter didn't bother Charlotte as long as she didn't get caught, and as long as no fights broke out in the store. She brought in business, perhaps because the clientele almost felt obligated to buy something after receiving a free blowjob from such a cute girl, or a free fuck from such a young little slut.

Visions of Randy would occasionally enter Charlotte's mind. She didn't dwell on him. In fact, it was almost as if she had made a conscious effort to forget about him. But when she did remember him, the memories felt altered, as if she experienced everything one way, but was remembering everything differently. She remembered being scared, at first, but then warming up to his size... accommodating him in both her pussy and her ass. And she remembered that he came hard, and she came hard. She wanted that again. Not necessarily with him, and not sure why not. She didn't think of Randy as a sexual god or lover. He was attractive, and big in every respect. But when she forced herself to think about him or remember his face, one word kept creeping into her mind: meat.

By mid-Summer, Randy and Becca were officially dating. Becca lost her part-time job at the hotel, but continued taking college classes, and Randy offset her expenses with what he earned as a tow-truck driver. Charlotte wasn't sure how a tow-truck driver could afford a high-maintenance girlfriend that Becca was becoming, but he didn't complain, and didn't seem to worry. It was as if he had thousands -- perhaps millions -- stashed away, and driving a tow-truck was just a hobby.

For some reason, though, she sensed that Randy acted just a little differently whenever he noticed she was nearby. He did.

Randy was nice to her, but deep down, despite having fucked her silly on a few occasions, Charlotte knew that Randy felt threatened by her. As if she was someone that needed to be watched.

Their parents didn't seem to object to Becca dating a man almost 20 years her senior, either.

Charlotte thought that was strangely curious.

It wasn't until Randy had become commonplace that the unaltered memory of her deflowering returned in full force.

"A fucking wolf!?!?" Becca exclaimed. "Are you crazy? How is that even possible?"

"I don't know, but I had a dream about him... about us... and he was a wolf," Charlotte explained. "And what's worse, I dreamed someone did something to our heads to make us forget -- or make us remember it differently. I'm not sure it was just a dream."

"Charlotte, I love you, but you're fucked up." Becca said.

"Ask him. Ask him, and make sure you tell him I remember everything, even if you don't," Charlotte purred.

Becca didn't ask. And Charlotte didn't bring it up, again. But whenever Randy came around, Charlotte would look at Becca with a sly little grin, which looked as threatening as it did promiscuous.

As her 19th birthday approached, Charlotte spent less time at the comic book store, and more time around the older crowd, wherever she could find an older crowd. She knew the fake ID wouldn't work on just anyone, so she was selective on where she used it. Thanks to her newly established reputation at the comic book store, there were plenty of gentlemen willing give her ID a half-hearted look, if they looked at all. Their reward was usually immediate, and always satisfying.

If she desired, she could buy beer at half a dozen convenient stores in town. She could get into at least three of the dirtier bars, and there was a better than fifty-percent chance she would get out of a DUI if she ever decided to drive drunk.

If there were a market for prostitution in her town, the whores would have been pissed that Charlotte was giving it away for free, and taking away their business. Fortunately, some of the seedier bars attracted their fair share of barflies and sluts. With the right amount of make-up, a little black dress, and heels, Charlotte fit right in. It took her awhile to find the right outfits, as too little clothing seemed to blatantly reveal her youth. Eventually, she found the right combination that let her pass as a woman in her early twenties. At least, that's what she told herself. The men that picked her up didn't care how old she was, as long as she was naked or partially naked shortly after getting her in their cars or hotel rooms.

Although Charlotte drank the alcohol the gentlemen gave her, she never seemed to get drunk. Not on the booze, at least. On a good night, she would fuck four or five different men. She always started and ended with their cocks in her mouth, insisting they come down her throat. Some of the younger guys had a tough time with that, especially right after they fucked her in the ass. She wouldn't hesitate to take their shit-covered cocks in her mouth and lick them clean -- as long as she could taste their come afterward. The older gentlemen would simply chuckle and allow her to suck them dry, only to resurrect their erections and do it again.

After her fourth gentleman, Charlotte would really feel it. She would get to the point of slurring her speech and barely being able to walk. No matter how "drunk" she became, she would always have enough energy and stamina to bring another gentleman to orgasm, and another, and another.

Occasionally, a guy or two would come inside her, unexpectedly, and apologize profusely. She only smiled, kissed them, and coaxed them to come again -- the next time in her mouth.

"Busy night?" the bartender asked.

"Girls just want to have fun, too, Bill," Charlotte answered as she retook her place at the bar.

"You're going to meet up with the wrong guy, one of these days, Charlotte." Bill said.

"You're so sweet, Bill. Would you like me to suck your cock?" Charlotte asked.

"Maybe later, sweetheart. I'm on the clock, and you smell like a whore." Bill said as he put a Coke in front of her.

She smelled under her arms and then burped. There was a brief reminder of come in her mouth, she swallowed, and smiled. The back of her black dress was wet with a mixture of sweat and come, but was barely noticeable in the dimly lit bar.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' Bill. Just let me know when. You know how well your cock fits down my throat." Charlotte said loud enough for several new arrivals to hear. Four businessmen, possibly lawyers, were celebrating something. Something they didn't feel like celebrating in a nicer neighborhood. The men enjoyed two rounds before Bill realized they had paid their bill, left a generous tip, and were piling into a taxi with Charlotte.

There were still plenty of patrons in the bar, but for a few seconds, the bar seemed to go silent. When Bill turned from rinsing a few bar glasses, he could see why.

The stranger had taken a taxi to the bar. Before the taxi could drive away, Charlotte seized the opportunity. At first, Bill didn't think too much of it.

"One slut replaced with another." Bill murmured to himself.

The woman was pretty. Classically pretty. Her hair was very dark, contrasting with her very pale complexion. Her blue eyes were framed with dark eyeliner, and her lips and nails were blood red and glossy. Her hair was pinned up with a pearled pin in such a way as to completely clash with her clothing. It took Bill a minute to comprehend what he was seeing, as it didn't seem to make sense. She was obviously a higher-class woman, wife, and possibly mother.

But she wasn't dressed like one.

She wore a woman's business suit jacket, unbuttoned and with the sleeves rolled up. Under the jacket, she wore what looked like an imitation leather brassier laced in the front with leather strings and beads, and a barely-there leather mini that looked like someone cut one third of the skirt exposing her left leg completely. Her long, sexy legs were encased in fishnet thigh-high stockings, and she wore high-heeled sandals.

She walked carefully. Bill wasn't sure if it was because she normally didn't wear heels, or because her skirt barely covered her ass. He looked at her hands. No purse. No phone. Other than her earrings, she had no jewelry except a wedding ring she wasn't wearing on her ring finger.

"Pardon me for asking, but are you lost, ma'am?" Bill asked politely, his mind not comprehending the obvious whore standing before him.

"No. This is where I'm supposed to be." The woman answered.

"Are you sure? Because, you kinda look out of place, even dressed like that." Bill said, quietly. "Are you in trouble or something?"

"Or something." The woman said. "A bet's a bet. And I lost. My name is Erin, not ma'am, by the way."

"Bill," the bartender said as he held out his hand. She held it in less of a shake than an acceptance, and then placed her hands to her sides. "First one's on me." Bill added.

"Thank you, Bill," Erin said. "I was told I wouldn't need any money, so I didn't bring any."

Most of the patrons went back to their drinks, stories, and laughter, but some took notice of Erin, and she felt them undressing her with their eyes. She felt cold, nervous, and vulnerable. But there was no denying the wetness of her recently shaved pussy.

"If you don't mind me asking," Bill began, "what was the bet?"

"What?" Erin asked.

"The bet... that you lost. The reason you're here?" Bill asked.

"It's not important. Let's just say the stakes were high, and I'm a woman of my word, and I lost." Erin held the drink in her hand, not sure what it was.

"So, what do you have to do?" Bill asked. "Prance around a bar looking like a streetwalker for an hour or two, then have your hubby pick you up?"

"Do I look like a streetwalker, Bill?" Erin asked, curiously.

"I don't mean it in a bad way, I -" Bill was interrupted.

"These clothes, if you want to call them that, are part of the bet. The rest, well... let's just say if any of your patrons want to put their hands on me, I'm supposed to let them." Erin answered with watery eyes. "If they want to put their fingers inside me, I'm supposed to encourage them to."

The phone rang, and Bill answered, barely able to hear the caller. He had a confused look on his face and then handed the phone to Erin. "I think it's for you," Bill said.

Erin listened, bit her lip, and then absentmindedly nodded her head as if she understood, and then handed the phone back to Bill.

Bill listened to the phone and heard a dial tone before hanging it up.

"What was all that about?" Bill asked.

"A bet's a bet." Erin replied. She took a big gulp of whatever it was Bill had given her, and almost choked. Bill leaned in as if to ask her if she was okay (or about to throw up), but she waived him away. "I'm fine. Just getting my courage."