Mega Erotica Bundle (80 Stories!)

By Horny Goat Publishing

This is a collection of 80 erotic short stories from 6 different authors! Delve into the dirty minds of erotica authors Madeleine Scott, Lance Stone, Jack Long, Sarah St. James, and Amazon erotica bestsellers Luke Kelly and Chelsea Lyle!

If it’s hot, it’s here!

Fully functional table of contents at the front of the book helps you navigate, and a link back to the table of contents at the end of every story makes it easier than ever to move between your favorite stories over and over again!

These 80 stories come together to bring you over 415,000 words of erotica so hot it’ll melt your Kindle! That’s over 1,300 pages!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Horny Goat Publishing
• Release date: Jun 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311636492

Book preview

BIG GIRL

# # #

I'm not sure how it happens, but somehow I always wind up letting my girlfriends drag me out to a bar on Friday night. Usually it's with a few girls from work, though sometimes my sister will call and interrupt the good book I'm reading to tell me that she needs a wingman to go out with her so she can pick up a guy. The fact that I'm a woman and therefore cannot be a wing man doesn't matter to her; it's the spirit of the position, she says, that I need to be true to.

Whatever the case, it's Friday night, and here I am, sitting in a bar. I've been here for two hours, and I'm still nursing my first Long Island Iced Tea. I don't like to drink. Most women have to worry about getting drunk in a public place, like a bar, because usually there's some sleazy guy who will take advantage. Me...I don't have to worry about that so much. I'm what my mother called big boned. There are guys, I know, who like bigger girls...but let's be honest, is it any different being picked up for being fat than it is for being skinny? I don't want a man who's only interested in my waistline, no matter how big or small it is.

So I sit and I nurse a drink and I listen to the chatter around me. This week I'm out with three of the girls from work. Stacy's in accounting and still dresses like she's a size four when she's really more like a size eight (there's nothing wrong with being a size eight -- I'm a fourteen -- but one should dress appropriately, in my opinion). Jennifer is in sales, and she's really pretty...though I think she knows it, and sometimes she acts a little stuck up. Sandra is in her forties but still dresses like she's in her twenties. I think she's really pretty, too, but she puts on too much make up and it hides her beauty.

Of course, it's easy for me to be critical: I didn't even put on any makeup this morning. I did nothing to my hair except brush it and pull it back into a ponytail. I mean, why bother? It's comfortable, and I'm essentially a change of clothes away from being ready for bed.

For a girl like me, comfort is queen.

Isn't this great? Jennifer asks, shouting over the pulsing thump of some pop song I've never heard.

Stacy and Sandra cheer and hold up their glasses. I smile and raise my Long Island. I'd rather be anywhere but here, but I can't tell them that, can I? Other than the bars they drag me to on Friday nights, I like these women. They're good people. They're just a little...misguided, I guess. They have a pathological need for attention and approval, and I guess I can understand that. When I was in high school, I used to pray for a boy -- any boy -- to slip me a note telling me that he liked me and wanted to be my boyfriend. I'd have been over the moon about it, and I always spent a little time every morning putting my hair up in barrettes or teasing my bangs and polluting the ozone with a half a can of hairspray, all with the rather vain hope that somebody would tell me how pretty I was.

The song continues to thump through the room, and I take another sip of my drink and scan the crowd. I'm not really looking for anything in particular, but when my eyes drift over the tall, dark, handsome thing sitting at a table with four other guys across the bar...I feel my heart skip a beat. He's wearing jeans and a snug black Nirvana tee shirt that shows off his muscled upper body, and he's got a beautiful mess of copper hair on his head. He's got a three-day beard, and his green eyes are clear and bright as they lock onto mine.

My heart skips again, and then he smiles at me. This beautiful man, this Adonis, is smiling at me!

Some crazy part of me wants to jump up and down and clap my hands and squeal like a little girl.

Instead, I raise my glass to him and return the smile.

Jennifer says something to me then, grabbing my arm, and I break eye contact with Mr. Sexy.

"Did you see that?" she says, and she is bouncing in her seat.

What?

"What? she laughs. That guy. How could you miss him?"

My heart plunges. Have I just made a fool of myself?

"The guy in the Nirvana tee shirt?"

Jennifer rolls her eyes. Duh! He smiled at me!

My falling heart turns over and jets into my stomach. How could I be so foolish? Of course he was looking at Jennifer; of the four of us, she's easily the prettiest. What would a hunk of a man like that copper-haired sex god across the room want with me?

I smile at Jennifer, but she's not paying attention to me anymore. She's got one hand on Stacy's arm, telling her about the look she just caught. Sandra is scanning the room, looking for Jennifer's green-eyed beauty. Her smile is brittle.

I look down at my drink, watching the ice cubes slosh around in the liquor. For a minute, all the old hurts float to the surface: going to dances alone as a girl in school, going out in a group in college where everybody had their significant other with them, except me. All the lonely weekends when I couldn't find another single friend to hang out with... For a moment, as I watch the ice cubes chase one another around the drink in my hand, I am that girl again, that lonely, hopeful, shy girl who was too afraid to face the reality of her sad, yet rather common and unremarkable, situation.

Then the moment passes, and I set my drink down on the table. I am a grown woman. I have a job, a college degree, and my own apartment. I do not need the approval of a man or anybody else to love myself and who I am. Could I make changes? Yes, I could. I would love to be thin...but I'm not, and I doubt I ever will be, and if I can't love myself for who I am then I'm doomed no matter what else I do.

It's time for me to go, I say, and stand...and find myself face to face with the copper-haired Adonis from across the bar.

That's a shame, he says, and I can feel Stacy and Jennifer and Sandra all staring at me. I just came to ask you to dance.

Dance? I shout, the thundering of some club remix garbage I've never heard throbbing through the speakers. I can't dance to this.

He holds out his hand. No, he says, and as if he's given some kind of cue, the music changes to a slower, if still somewhat popish, song. But perhaps this would do?

The girls are all looking at me with expressions of blank shock. Jennifer's mouth is actually hanging open. I start to get a little offended at that -- I'm not that fat and ugly, am I? Is it so unbelievable that a man might find me attractive?

Well, okay...maybe...but they could at least show a little support, rather than stupefied disbelief. Sure, I say, taking his hand. He guides me around the table and out onto the dance floor. I follow closely, feeling as though I'm walking on clouds instead of a hard dance floor.

He stops, turns, steps toward me, and places a hand on my waist, just above my hip. His other hand clasps mine, holding it out to the side.

I'm sorry to barge in on you like that, he says, turning me in a slow circle.

It's okay, I say. That leaving thing had nothing to do with you.

He raises an eyebrow, and I realize that's not what he was talking about. I blush, and he smiles...and oh my goodness I could melt into his arms. I know that makes me shallow, but this man is so beautiful that he makes me weak.

We turn around the dance floor, avoiding the other couples, for a solid minute before he speaks again. I'm Lucas, by the way.

Lucas...the name is as sexy as he is. Sarah, I say. It's nice to meet you, Lucas.

The pleasure's all mine, he says.

We finish out the song, but when I try to step away he squeezes my hand...and another slow song comes on. Some of the other couples had started to split up too, expecting some more of the techno-pop-whatever that had been playing all night. We all settle in to dance again, and Lucas takes the lead once more.

A minute later, I realize that I've been staring at him in absolute silence. I mean, can you blame me? This man is beautiful -- stunningly beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful -- and he's dancing with me! Part of me, I guess, is still in shock...and when I look into his beautiful green eyes, I get lost in them.

The second song ends, and now the club mix crap starts up again. I step away from him, reluctant to go but unable to come up with an excuse to stay.

He squeezes my hand. What do you say we get out of here, grab some coffee or something?

It's such a cliché line that I almost laugh at him...until I see he's serious. You want to get coffee? With me?

He nods.

I can't for the life of me fathom why, but even an idiot could feel the current running between us. Whatever is happening to bring us together, I know I'll regret it if I don't seize the opportunity and go with this beautiful, handsome, charming man.

Okay, I say, and he smiles, and I can see that smile in a hundred different scenarios. Laying me down in bed, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip, smiling down at me as he gazes into my eyes; in the morning, tousle-haired, smiling at me as he carries breakfast for two into the bedroom; clean and dressed, ready for another work day...we share a cab together and he smiles as he kisses the corner of my mouth and tells me he can't wait to see me again; at work, when the e-mail pings in my inbox and I open it to find a message with a picture attached, a picture of him smiling for the camera, standing in front of my building; downstairs, on the sidewalk where the picture was taken, his arms and his smile welcoming me back to his embrace, beckoning me to join him, to see the world with him, to be with him forever and live happily ever --

...Sarah?

I shake myself out of my reverie to find we're still on the dance floor. There are young people all around, bobbing and shaking and moving to the jagged, asynchronous beats blaring from the speakers on the DJ's booth. Yes?

I asked if you were okay...

Oh, I say, blushing. Yes, I'm fine. Sorry...I've been a little scatterbrained lately.

Lucas smiles at me indulgently, as if he's used to this kind of reaction from women, and leads me outside. He is so strong, so sure, so beautiful...suddenly I want to skip all the formalities, all the small talk, all the wining and dining and just be with this man.

That's crazy, I think...and then decide I want to go ahead and do it anyway. Carpe diem, and all that.

Come here, I say, tugging on his hand. He turns and follows me into the alley beside the bar. It is dark here, and empty; a door opens into the bar we just left, and a couple of metal trash cans stand around it, some with their lids and some without. I ignore it all; as long as we're far enough from the street, this will have to do.

I press Lucas against the wall and lean into him, crushing my lips against his. Never have I felt so brazen, so bold, so alive...and when his lips part and his tongue touches mine, I feel a jolt of something electric blast through me.

Lucas is surprised, I can tell, but he goes with it. I press both of my hands against his muscled chest, my splayed fingers reaching out to feel all of him. He is a beautiful creature, this man who wanted to dance with me, and if I can, I mean to see him naked.

It's not until my fingers are at his belt, fumbling it open, that I realize two things: one, I am going to blow this man in an alley outside of a bar, and two, it is completely unlike me to be so forward, so aggressive, so up front.

Why should I be shy? I think. Okay, I'm a little bigger than the typical pretty girl, but that doesn't make me any less beautiful, does it? It doesn't make me any less worthy.

Yes it does, another part of me chips in, and as I trail my lips down this beautiful man's neck I wonder if I really am worthy of this, if I really do deserve it. And anyway...doesn't blowing a guy in an alley make me a whore? I don't know and at that moment I don't care...I have to taste him, have to know what it's like to be with a man as beautiful as this one, even if only briefly, only peripherally.

Belt undone, I make quick work of his button and zipper and slide his jeans down off his hips. Sarah, he says, but he is breathing hard and his hands have found my plump, double D breasts and he is squeezing them gently. Are you sure...?

I answer by pulling his cock free of his underwear. He's already hard, and my is he big. I wrap my fingers around his girth and stroke once, slowly.

He shivers in my hand.

Such power I have over him, I think. He is putty in my hands, this gorgeous man, mine to do with as I choose. The thought is intoxicating, and I am drunk on him as I squat and take him into my mouth.

Ohhh, he says, and I try to smile and cannot -- my mouth is too full. He tastes wonderful, like crushed mint leaves, and I go all the way down on him, my lips brushing the very base of his erection before drawing back. I trace my tongue along the underside of his length, teasing him when I get to the head, and then shift forward again, plunging him into my mouth.

His hands are in my hair now, and I am soaking wet with desire. How could I never have realized I had this ability before? How could I never have realized that I am beautiful, that I am desirable, and I can find love as a big girl in this world of fake boobs and liposuction? For a moment I feel very silly, and then Lucas thrusts into my mouth, nearly gagging me, bringing me back to the present.

We're ten feet from the bar's back door, but I don't stop when I hear the door click open. Something wild has me in its grip, something that wants to be seen in this very feminine act. It is as if I am broadcasting my sexuality, sending it pulsing through the alleyway like the music that pulsed through the bar. I am woman I think as I kneel before Lucas, licking and sucking him as he thrusts in and out of my mouth.

Whoa, hey, excuse me, a voice says, but neither of us acknowledge it. Lucas stands there, pants around his knees, hands dug into my short blonde hair, thrusting into my mouth. I moan as he stretches my jaws open, and every now and then I take a grip on his shaft and stroke him into my mouth.

Oh yes, he says, thrusting faster. Oh that's it yes yes yeeeeesssss... He gushes into my mouth, making me swallow his gift (three times) just so I don't choke. He finally lets up and pulls himself out of my mouth...and I grin at him, suddenly shy. The sense of empowerment, the aura of femininity is suddenly gone, like a balloon pricked with a needle, and I am left as shy and backward as I ever was.

Lucas pulls me to my feet. Sarah, he says, I...that wasn't what I was after, but...wow.

I smile again, tucking my head down against my shoulder. I'm blushing so hard my face ought to catch fire. I say nothing.

He looks down at me and strokes a finger along my flaming red cheek. Would you like to come home with me?

Gooseflesh breaks out all over my body. Yes, I say, and he kisses my hair before he leads me out of the alley.

# # #

Twenty minutes later, we're making out in the elevator of his building. I don't know how I survived the car ride, to be honest; there was so much sexual tension in the air it practically crackled. We listened to the radio, some jazz station, and then we turned into a private parking garage and Lucas parked in what I assume was his spot.

We held hands as we walked to the elevator, and once we were inside and alone, the tension exploded. He pulled me into his arms and crushed his lips against mine, and the next thing I know the elevator door is dinging open and Lucas is guiding me into the foyer of his apartment.

He strips his shirt off as soon as the elevator door closes again, and I run my hands over his muscled chest and stomach. God, this man is so sexy...so masculine. His lips are on my neck now, and my ear, and my shoulder.

Oh, I breathe, slipping my hands around him. HIs back is just as muscled as his front, and in a moment of boldness I push my hands down beneath his waistband and grip his glorious ass. He bites my shoulder gently as I do, and then he bends down and puts his hands just beneath my ass and actually lifts me off the ground.

I'm so embarrassed that I want to crawl into a hole and die. I let go of his ass and hold onto his neck, hoping he puts me down soon so I can get back to kissing him and start pretending this never happened.

He carries me into the bedroom and sets me down on the bed, but steps back and looks at me. Are you okay? he asks. We don't have to do this, you know...

I nod. I know that. And I want to do it...I just don't want him to see me naked. I don't want my weight to be...well, acknowledged. I don't have the flat tummy and perky breasts that he's probably used to, and while I can work a little magic with the right clothes and right bra, once I'm laying naked on his bed all my secrets are exposed.

It never occurred to me that making love would mean getting naked. I knew it would, I just ignored it so I could keep kissing this beautiful Adonis, this gorgeous and sexy man who for some unknown reason has chosen to take me home.

Briefly, I wonder what happened to the empowered woman in the alleyway. Had she ever existed, or was I only kidding myself?

Lucas simply stands there, waiting for an answer. I cross my arms over my chest...I don't have an answer to give him.

He puts two fingers under my chin and lifts my face so I'm looking at him. Is this about your weight?

I flush clear to my hairline, but I don't answer. I can't bring myself to admit it.

That, apparently, is answer enough. Trust me, he says, and picks me up again, turning me and laying me back down in the center of the bed. I am amazed that he can lift me.

It occurs to me then that I am lying on my back, in the bed of a gloriously attractive man who wants to fuck me...and for some reason I am still fully dressed.

Way to go, Sarah.

Lucas strips off his pants and underwear and climbs into bed. He kneels between my legs and plants a hand on either side of my head. Then he leans down and kisses me. Our lips touch, sending sparks whizzing through my body, and he bites my bottom lip gently before drawing back a little and looking me straight in the eyes.

You are beautiful, he says, and kisses my chin. His lips trail down the line of my jaw, then stop at my ear as he nibbles on the lobe. Shivers roll through my body, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. He licks the rim of my ear, then whispers, so softly I almost don't hear him, Such a sexy woman.

I blush again, but inside I know he's just trying to make me comfortable. He kisses his way down my neck and around to the hollow in my throat, the soft spot just above where my collar bones come together. Now he's undoing the buttons of my blouse, one at a time, leaving a trail of kisses in his hands' wake. My whole body is tingling, alive with sensations I didn't know I could feel. Once my shirt is undone he pushes it aside and cups one of my big breasts through my bra. His lips are back on my chin, my mouth, the tip of my nose. He even kisses my closed eyes.

You take my breath away, he whispers in my ear, and then he is gone again, his mischievous mouth wetting a line of skin from my throat to the top of my skirt. He works his way back up, licking and kissing and sucking and biting. He pauses at my belly button and swirls his tongue inside, and little shots of electricity spin out through my nervous system. It feels like his lips are everywhere at once, kissing everything, and when he slides his fingers under my bra and pushes it up, freeing my breasts, I'm so close to coming that all I want is for him to touch me, just once, there.

Absolutely stunning, he whispers, then takes my nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, causing the nipple to pucker and harden, and then he slows down, uses his tongue while he pulls gently with his lips. I let out a long sigh -- that feels so good -- and then he pulls hard again, sending a spike of pain through me that somehow manages to enhance the pleasure.

When he gets to my skirt a minute or an hour or a week later, he takes his time, pulling it and my panties down inch by inch, kissing my thigh, licking my flesh. It tickles when he gets to the back of my knee, and again when he kisses the bottom of my foot...but the pleasure dwarfs the sensation, and by the time he is working his way up the inside of my other leg I am ready to scream from anticipation.

He kisses the soft place where my thigh becomes my pelvis, and his beard tickles my sex. I squirm and run my fingers through his hair. How can this man make me feel so many things at once?

Lucas moves to my wetness, spreads my lips apart, and runs his tongue from my flower's throat to it's pulsing, throbbing pink bud. Oh! I cry as my orgasm trembles on the edge of the cliff. He takes my clit in his mouth and slips a finger inside of me, and that is it. I am gone, exploding into a million pieces, my consciousness evaporating. Pure ecstatic bliss howls through me, picking me up like a leaf in a tornado and flinging me around and around. I realize I am crying out, screaming my pleasure, but I cannot stop myself. This man has taken me to the edge and sent me careening over it, and I am falling, falling, falling into a river of ecstasy.

When I come back to myself, Lucas is hovering over me once more, a hand above each of my shoulders, as if to hold me in place. He brushes his lips over mine and waits for me to let him in, to respond to his kiss. Our tongues meet, and I taste my salty wetness on his breath.

You even taste like heaven, he says, and I want to melt. When you hang out with three ex prom queens in bars, you hear about every line there is...but this man, this wonderfully handsome man, is gazing into my eyes as he tells me this, as if he is reaching down to my very soul and exposing his own, just to tell me that I am beautiful, that I take his breath away, that I taste like --

Ah! I cry as he slips his girth inside of me. It is totally unexpected, and completely mind blowing. Pleasure pools in my tummy and radiates outward like a heat, spreading through my chest and arms and down into my legs and up the back of my neck and soon there is nothing but the pleasure, the joy, the bliss of this beautiful stranger's undulating rhythm inside of me, stretching me, spreading me open and filling me with --

Yes, yes, please don't stop don't stop... The orgasm builds, and I am like a firework shot high into the sky. I hang suspended for a long, silent moment...and then I explode, scattering colors across the night sky. My vision goes white as the endorphins thunder through my veins, and Lucas never stops his rhythm, never slows, never changes his pace. His constant movement holds me in the air, a thousand glittering firework lights, twinkling in ecstasy against the backdrop of the night sky. I am suspended indefinitely, the moment going on and on and on as my orgasm rolls through me like a slow wave...and then it washes out and I drift back to earth, spent, exhausted, every nerve ending burning with the hot fire of raw, animal bliss.

You are so wet, Lucas whispers into my ear, still thrusting evenly inside of me. I love the way you feel, the way you move, the way you bite your bottom lip. Every inch of you is beautiful, every single centimeter.

I flush at his words and gaze into his eyes as he sits up, hooking his arms under my legs so that the inside of his elbows and the underside of my knees fit snugly against one another. This changes the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly I feel him in a different place, and his head is pressing against my G-spot. He reaches down and squeezes both of my breasts as I let out a long, keening wail that goes on and on. He thrusts harder, driving into me, rubbing over my G-Spot before plunging all the way inside of me. I am a nuclear bomb when I come again, leveling all thought and sensation and awareness as I detonate. Lucas squeezes my double Ds hard as he slams into me, and I cannot see, I cannot think, I cannot move...and then he drives forward and stills, and I feel his hot spill inside of me, and I come harder. I thrash and push against his thrusts, forcing him deeper...anything to keep me flying on whatever orgasmic currents I am riding.

Oh! he grunts, and then he slumps forward, letting his arms unhook from my legs and holding himself above me once more. He kisses me, softly, gently. You are a goddess to be worshipped, he whispers, and something happens inside of me, something snaps...and I realize that, for the first time in my life, a man has told me that I am beautiful...and I believe him.

I feel like I am glowing as his words echo in my head. A goddess to be worshipped. A goddess...worshipped... Goddess...

Thank you, I breathe, kissing his mouth. Thank you for making me feel beautiful.

He lays down next to me and pulls my plump, curvy body against his lean and muscular one. Thank you, he says, for letting me.

Some time later we fall asleep. My last thought is that the assertive girl who dragged a guy into an alley to blow him was right: she is beautiful, and she is worthy of love.

(TABLE OF CONTENTS)

MILK FOR SIR

# # #

Honestly, I only signed up for the sex fetish website because my friend Eric begged me to. Sex really isn't my thing, but Eric begged, saying that he wanted a real life friend on there because apparently having a real life friend on a sex fetish website legitimizes you. It means that you're not some weirdo creeper trolling the site for weirdo creeper reasons. You're a distinguished member of the community, instead.

You know, a regular creeper.

A message pinged in my browser, and I ignored it. I have no sex fetishes because sex isn't my thing. I know, I know...all twenty-one year old college girls living in a dorm are supposed to be drunken lesbians staggering from one drunken gang bang to the next...but forgive me if I don't fit your stereotype, okay?

I'm what they call asexual. I didn't know there was a name for what I was until I got to college, which just goes to show you that college really is all about sex, even when there's no sex involved. And it's not that I don't enjoy sexual activities -- I'll rub out a good orgasm with the best of them -- it's just that I don't look at some hot guy and drool all over myself and fantasize about putting his dick in my mouth.

I get that he's attractive, and I get that other people want to fuck him. I don't. It's what I have.

I do get a good laugh at the lengths people will go to to get into someone else's pants, though.

Another message dinged in my browser, and I sighed a frustrated sigh as I flipped over to that tab. What is it with people and sex? Couldn't they tell by my blank profile (blank except for a picture, which Eric made me upload) that I wasn't interested? Or was the picture enough to send them careening off into their own little fantasy world where I was some sex-crazed bimbo slut who just couldn't get my hands off my twat long enough to fill in the about me section?

Was a picture really enough? A vanilla, bland, G rated picture?

I opened the message window, which had a little red number two next to it.

The first message was your standard Internet drivel from your standard Internet pervert. It read, and I quote, hey sexy. saw ur pic. where r u? His screen name was BIG14U.

I swear.

The next one, however, made me frown.

Your profile is curious.

The screen name? Sir.

Odd, I thought. That was a pretty generic screen name for such a popular site. Surely it would've been taken long ago...which meant that this guy must be an old timer. I didn't know how old the site itself was, but I was betting this man was old enough to be my father. If I wasn't already completely disinterested in sex, that would've turned me off.

Plus...four words? This guy's trying to engage me in conversation, and he gives me four words? Not very convincing, if you ask me.

And yet...curiosity killed the cat, and my name is Cat (short for Catherine, but if you call me Catherine I'll stop talking to you. I mean it), so...

What's curious about it?

I pressed send, feeling very satisfied with myself. I can do the four word thing, too.

The reply was instantaneous. Sir, whoever he was, was online.

It's not filled in.

I chuckled. Smart ass, sending me four words again. I thought for a moment, then replied: How perceptive of you.

There, take that!

Once again, the reply was immediate.

Such a smart mouth...

So I had a smart mouth, did I? I typed my reply quickly -- It's not just smart -- and then closed the browser window and went back to what I was doing, which was counting the comma splices in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight and writing a paper about what we could infer about the state of American literature from them. It was a fantastically boring assignment.

The browser dinged again, and I muted my laptop and kept writing. I didn't have time to trade four-word zingers with a random stranger on a sex fetish website.

# # #

By the time I finished my paper, I was ready for bed. It was after midnight, and I'd been working on the computer all day. My back was sore from being hunched over the keyboard, my eyes hurt from staring at the screen, and my hands hurt from all the typing. Clearly, I was not built to write long essays on computers.

Kinda makes you wonder why I was in college for an English degree then, huh?

Anyway, I had shut down Word and was just about to close my web browser when I noticed the flashing text in the tab that the sex fetish website was in. Curious, I clicked it open to find three messages waiting for me.

A man can dream...

That was in response to my it's not just smart comment. I snorted laughter when I read it. God, the guy really was a pervert, and shamelessly so.

The next message

Are you still there?

kept the four word rule, but the last one broke it all to hell. I was strangely saddened by that, actually. I liked our little game, even if I'd stopped participating after a couple of snarky replies.

I suppose you are not. I am interested in getting to know you.

That was it. No request to contact him, no promise of a good time, no solicitation at all. Just a simple statement, which I assumed was the truth.

He wanted to get to know me.

Well.

I debated for half a minute about sending him a reply, but I really was tired, and if he was still online and replied back right away, I wasn't sure I'd be able to put the computer down and go to sleep.

Damned interesting people...they have a way of taking up all my time.

I shut the laptop and sat it on the floor, then rolled over and pulled the covers up to my neck. I hated being uncovered when I slept, even if it was hot in the room. I felt naked...exposed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.

I was asleep in seconds.

# # #

The next day kept me busy. I was on my laptop at various points throughout the day, but never anywhere where I had WiFi access. Well, I was at Towers, the campus hookah bar, but I was there with Eric and a few other friends, and I didn't even take my laptop out of my bag.

That's not to say the website wasn't on my mind. Eric started in on me as soon as I walked in the door.

So, how many messages did you get?

Huh? I asked, sitting down. I put my bag -- with my computer in it -- on the floor between my feet.

How many guys messaged you on the site yesterday?

I gave him a haughty look. What makes you think I had any messages?

He rolled his eyes. C'mon...you go on a site like that with the name KittyCat20, and you don't get any messages? I call bullshit.

I shrugged. What did he know? A few from a couple of losers. 'Ur hot' and 'Where r u'...stuff like that.

Ah, he said. Did you respond to any of them?

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I wasn't sure I wasn't telling him about this strange guy who called himself Sir, but my instinct told me not to. Not really, I said, and then tried to move the conversation on to something else.

Eventually it did. Our friend Mandy showed up, dragging Gus and Steve in with her. Kate was at another table, and she got up halfway into the evening to join us. It was a fun night, and we talked about everything.

The whole night, though, I wondered about Sir. Why, I couldn't tell you. Didn't know the guy, barely talked to him, had no interesting in anything more than that.

So why was he sticking in my head?

I stayed at Towers until after midnight. By the time I went home I was dizzy from all the nicotine in my system and more than ready for bed.

And yet...when I got to my dorm room, I pulled my laptop out of my messenger bag and opened it up. It took a minute to resume, and then I clicked open the browser for the first time that day, expecting dozens of messages from Sir, urging me to contact him.

There were dozens of messages, alright...but they were more of the same. The inquirers wanted to know one of three things: my age, my location, and if I wanted to hook up.

As for the mysterious Sir...not a peep.

I frowned, deleting all the messages that weren't his. Why wouldn't he respond to me? Clearly he wasn't that interested in getting to know me if he couldn't even be bothered to type up a message and ask me a few questions about myself.

What an asshole.

I closed the computer and crawled into bed. Fine, then.

Twenty minutes later, I was back online again. Still no messages from Sir, and I was really getting incensed. I opened a message box and started writing an angry, bitter reply...and then stopped.

No. I wouldn't be that way. And on the heels of that, a thought out of nowhere: he would expect better of me.

I deleted all the angry stuff and sent him something much calmer. Did you miss me?

The response, to my surprise, was immediate. Sir was online. Yes.

Oh. Very blunt. I leaned back against the wall. I'm in for the night. Are you busy? Can we chat?

The guy must type with his mind. It seemed like his response was there almost before I finished typing mine. I prefer to chat in person. It's a shame you're in for the night.

My heart lurched in my chest, and I wanted to clap my hands together and giggle like an idiot. He wanted to meet me?! Excitement surged through me as I typed out my response. I don't have to be in for the night...

There! Let's see what he makes of that!

The fountain in front of Jacobs Hall, half an hour. Wear a green shirt.

Danger flared inside of me, but it only turned me on more. Meeting a strange man at a fountain in the middle of the night and I don't know how to identify him? Scary stuff.

But this was Sir, I told myself as I got dressed again, picking out my prettiest green shirt. Yes, this was Sir...a complete stranger I met on sex fetish website exactly one day ago. If my mother was there she'd have smacked me all the way back to my bed...but she wasn't there, and for some reason I couldn't quite explain, I trusted this stranger.

Fine, I thought, checking myself in the mirror one last time. Go already.

I went.

# # #

The fountain in front of Jacobs Hall is lit from within. I stood there, five minutes early for my meeting with Sir, watching the spray drift across the lights. I was so absorbed in that that I didn't notice when a man dressed all in black stepped up beside me.

Beautiful, isn't it?

I jumped, turned, and took a step or two back. I was in the English department, but I see professors walking around all over the place, and this guy was a professor in one of the science buildings. I couldn't remember which one, but I remembered seeing him all the time when I had a behavioral psychology class last semester. He was gorgeous -- if you were into tall, dark, and handsome. I had a couple of friends who wanted to fuck him silly.

Me...well, I'm me.

It is, I said, trying to regain my equilibrium. This wasn't high school, and a professor couldn't chastise me for being out late...but I didn't want him there, scaring off Sir. I was just going. That, of course, was a lie...I was just going to make a quick circle of Jacobs and come back -- but he didn't need to know that.

That's too bad, he said, reaching out and touching my blouse. I like green on you. It suits you.

I flush, and then it occurs to me that this professor may be Sir. How to find out, though?

You like it? A friend suggested I wear green tonight.

Is that so? Your friend has good taste.

Gah, so frustrating!

I think he does, I said. Of course, I just met him.

The professor smiled at me. I'm sure you're making a good first impression.

I am? I blushed.

He nodded. You must be Cat.

My heart slammed around inside my chest. "And you must be Sir."

The corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. I like the emphasis you put on that.

I smiled, for some strange reason happy that I made this man happy.

We have a long night ahead of us, he said, his tone no longer playful but brisk and assured. Come.

He turned and walked away, expecting me to follow.

What was I, a puppy he could snap his fingers to? I bristled as I watched him get farther and farther away...

...and before he was out of sight, I bustled toward him. I couldn't just let him walk away, could I? If I just turned around and went back to my room he wouldn't be pleased with me at all, and...

What? There was that thought again, from nowhere, that I should want to please this man who called himself Sir.

Why...?

Good girl, he said as I caught up with him. He held an arm out in front of me, and it took me a minute to realize what he was saying: walk a step behind. I settled into my place, strangely secure in the idea that it was my place, and glowed with his approval.

Very good, he said. Now, as I'm sure you're coming to realize, our conversation last night was much longer than you realized.

Huh? It was?

Yes. I hypnotized you, via the chat room interface. It's not as safe as I would like, but I had to do something and I had to be fast. You'll forgive my haste, won't you, kitten?

He said that last word like it was my name, and the words were tumbling from my mouth before I knew I was saying them. "Yes Sir."

Ohmygod. I was in trouble.

Good girl, he said again, and thoughts of trouble vanished as I basked in his praise. As I was saying, you were hypnotized. We interviewed you, and you agreed to our experiment. We have video evidence of it if you require it. Your memory was modified so that you wouldn't remember the conversation. It's pretty standard fare for hypnotism.

I wasn't sure what to say, but my brain knew and threw it out there without my permission. "Yes, Sir."

He glanced at me and smiled. Awkward silences, eh? No matter. Your friend Eric spoke very highly of you. We interviewed him very extensively about you, and based on his conclusions we decided to hypnotize and interview you ourselves. That was last night.

"Why did you interview me, Sir? For what?"

For our program, he said. You'll see soon enough. Anyway, you more than met our criteria, and so we've taken you into the fold. Your subconscious knows what to do, so don't be nervous. We've given you what you need and then tucked it away in your memory until you need it.

"Thank you, Sir," I said automatically.

Wow...they really had programmed me. I kept my pace a step behind Sir's, and together we crossed the campus. When we neared Margaret Hall, one of the science buildings, Sir led me up the steps.

Here we are, he said. In.

"Yes, Sir," I said, shivering, and climbed the steps. Every time I reacted to a command, I felt a little tap of pleasure trickle through my body.

What have they done to me?

I stopped just inside and waited for Sir, and he closed and locked the door behind us before turning and leading me to the staircase. We descended to the basement, which was used for storage. When we reached a spot by the boiler, Sir turned and looked at me.

Open it, he said, and I squatted by the grimy old boiler, my body moving on its own. I felt around for a moment, searching, and found what I was looking for. I pulled.

The trap door opened silently, spilling light up into the dim basement. A silver ladder was mounted to one side, going straight down. Clearly, he'd told me about this last night.

An old sub cellar, Sir said. This was the first building on campus, way back in the eighteenth century. They built this sub cellar to store fruits and grains, to keep them cool. He offered me his hand, so that I might step onto the ladder. Of course, we've expanded things a bit since then...

I took his hand and stepped onto the ladder. Once I was clear of the trap door, Sir followed.

The ladder was short, and when I stepped off of it I found myself in a large, white laboratory. There were tables along the walls, all with storage bins and carts and file cabinets stuffed beneath them. Computers sat on almost every available surface, whirring as they worked, their monitors spitting out rainbows of light that painted the faces of those working at them a strange, Skittle-ish hue. At the far side of the laboratory was a row of dark curtains, separating that section from the rest of the sub cellar.

Sir took me by the hand and led me into the room. People glanced up at us as we passed. Some of them wore only blank expressions when they looked at me. Some of them smiled. They all nodded to Sir as he passed, though, and those nods carried plain overtones of deferential respect.

We stepped through the dark curtain into a makeshift hallway. It was as long as the laboratory, and there were doors, solid and labeled with numbers, one through twenty, set into the sub cellar wall. Two women wearing all white moved up and down the hallway, checking charts mounted on the wall beside each door and occasionally knocking politely and slipping into a room.

"What is this place, Sir?"

He frowned at me, and I felt a dull pulse of pain in my head.

Your new home, he said. Come, we must get you started. Martha?

A third, older, woman wearing all white stood up from a desk that I hadn't noticed to our right.

Yes, Professor?

Get Miss...? He turned and looked at me expectantly.

"Jones, Sir, I said. Cat Jones."

...Miss Jones set up in room sixteen.

Yes, Professor.

The woman turned her smile on me and gestured down the hall. I followed, unsure of what was happening. I didn't want to leave Sir, didn't want to be alone in this strange, cold, sterile place...but my body moved without my express consent. My subconscious knew what to do, after all. I just had to get out of the way and let it do it.

My room was small and white. In it was a queen sized canopy bed, white with dark drapes that could be pulled for privacy. A door across the room stood ajar.

What's that? I asked Martha, pointing at the door.

Your wash room, Miss Jones. Is there anything you require?

I shook my head. I required an explanation, but I doubted Martha could give it to me. She smiled and bowed her head and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

I went to sit on the bed, but I stopped a foot away and stripped off all my clothes. I don't know why I did that, but I did, and when I climbed into bed beneath the soft, warm covers, the feel of the cotton sheets on my skin, I was suddenly so very tired.

All my thoughts were of Sir. What did he want with me? Why was I there? There were nineteen other rooms like mine -- did that mean he had nineteen other kittens? Or did they each belong to a different Sir? The rules of my relationship with Sir were clear in my head -- they must've been put there during my interview -- and I knew that he could have other kittens if he wanted, and I knew I'd be okay with that as long as he treated me like his only kitten when he was with me.

Still...were there other girls? That seemed obvious, so yes...but who did they belong to?"

And Eric! I was going to murder him if I ever saw him again.

There was a knock on the door, and one of the two white-clad women I saw in the hallway stepped into the room. She carried a tray with several cups on it. Her breasts, I noticed absently, were large, despite her small frame. She was easily a triple D.

Hi, she said. "I've got your medicine right here. Now, the first dose is always kind of crazy, and you'll have some pain and some strange dreams...but don't you worry. Once you wake up you'll be just dandy, and the second dose isn't nearly as bad as the first.

Medicine? I asked, my mind suddenly wary. What kind of medicine?

The woman -- her name tag, I noticed as she drew near, read 'Marie' -- came to the bed and held out a small paper cup with two pills in it. I still wanted an answer, but my body knew what it had to do and my hand took the cup up and downed the pills, dry-swallowing them.

Very good, Marie said. Now, you'll feel very sleepy, and that's okay. You get as much rest as you need. This first night's an important one.

I nodded, my eyelids already feeling heavy. Just before I nodded off, I felt Marie turn down the covers to expose my bare chest. I was a very modest B cup, and I tried to pull the covers back up to preserve that modesty, but my arms were as heavy as my eyelids, and the last thing I remembered was her gloved hands under my breasts, her fingers probing, almost like she was examining them...

Darkness beckoned, and I followed.

# # #

My dreams were indeed strange. In one, Sir was chasing me through a forest. The cool darkness felt like needles against my skin as I ran, naked, through the night. It felt as though the cold had seeped into my chest, making my breasts prickle numbly. I don't know why I was running from him, but it didn't matter because eventually he caught me and tackled me to the ground.

You have small breasts, he whispered, and touched them with his hands. Pain like I'd never experienced burned in my body, and I fled into unconsciousness...

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing on a diving board. I was bouncing slightly, but that made no sense because I couldn't swim, so I would never be on a diving board.

It's okay, Sir said from below me. He was sitting poolside, staring up at me. You'll be fine.

I shook my head, looking down at the water below...only I couldn't see the water because my breasts -- my much-bigger-than-usual breasts -- were in the way. They were bouncing slightly, up and down, as I moved on the diving board. I raised my hands, pulling my boobs up and slightly apart, and then I took one last giant bounce and jumped into the air. My body arched forward gracefully, and I parted the water with barely a splash.

That's when the panic set in. I didn't know which way was up or down, and I started to kick and thrash frantically. My new boobs got in the way of that, only...yes, I was moving through the water, moving toward the surface...and it was my tits that were pulling me up out of the water like life preservers. I broke through to air a moment later, gasping for breath.

Poolside, Sir clapped and laughed. "Good girl!" he cried. I raised my hands to my face to wipe the water from my eyes...

...and when I lowered them again, I was standing in a fancy restaurant. I wore a sexy green evening gown, and the cut showed off my large breasts quite nicely. I was still awkward with them, but Sir thought I was good enough to accompany Sir to a social gathering, and I had faith in him that he knew what he was talking abou --

Two Sirs? my mind demanded, and I closed my eyes tightly, hoping to make the restaurant go away.

It didn't.

A waiter appeared and bowed. Right this way, Miss Jones, he said, and turned on his heel and walked away.

I followed quickly, a little wobbly in my high heels. The waiter led me around a corner and into a private dining room, and sitting there at the table were my Sirs, both of them. They were surrounded by men with dark suits and shadowy faces. I couldn't see their eyes, but I could feel them on me. They were all watching.

I looked to my Sirs -- the professor, who'd come to fetch me at the fountain outside of Jacobs Hall, and another man whom I remembered seeing a picture of. He was of average height, but he was fit and trim and wore a two-day stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were thin and narrow, his hair a dark, tousled, sexy mess atop his head. It was his eyes, though, that took me aback. They were pale gray, almost silver, and they burned with a will that I'd never experienced before. This man, I knew, always got what he wanted.

For the first time in my life, I felt a flutter of desire low in my belly. I was panting slightly, my lips parted, and I felt a warmth between my legs. I...I wanted him.

"Sirs," I said, curtsying.

Wow...curtsying? What did we do, go back three hundred years?

Catherine Jones, the Professor said, and something inside of me clicked into place. Whoever this man was, whatever he was, he was no longer Sir. I didn't know how saying my name made that so, but it did.

Professor, I said, smiling.

He nodded and turned to my Sir. She's all yours.

My Sir nodded, never taking his eyes off of me. They smoldered with lust, desire, hunger. I burned for him, standing there in my green evening gown. For the first time in my life I was turned on by another human being.

I wanted to throw him down and fuck him.

No, that wasn't right. I wanted to kneel at his feet and give myself to him, body, heart, mind, and soul. I was his to use, to love, to protect.

Yes, that felt right. So I did that.

He laid one hand on my head, his fingers stroking my hair. Good little kitten, he said, and it was like he'd told me I'd won the lottery, the Pulitzer, and cured cancer all at the same time. My heart leaped in my chest at those words, and a sense of elation flashed through my body like a brush fire. I burned with joy that this man, my Sir, was pleased with me, his little kitten.

I turned my head against his hand, gazing up at him, a beatific smile on my face. He leaned forward, stretching a hand down to my chest. I pushed it toward him, and we touched --

Fire, molten fire, blazed through my body. I tried to scream but could not; the heat was in my chest, burning, burning, suffocating me. I fell to the floor and writhed, beating the front of my dress, trying to put the fire out. Only...I was burning on the inside, wasn't I, and there was no way to put it out.

I stood and grabbed glass of water from the table, upending it over my mouth in one motion. The liquid hit my throat, cool and crisp, and boiled when I swallowed.

I turned, looking for something, anything, to make it stop...

...and found myself in the small bathroom, standing in front of the sink. My face ran with perspiration, and I clutched the sides of the small sink as though they were my lifelines to reality.

My face looked haggard, but that wasn't the biggest change. No...I got the shock of my life when I looked down and found that my boobs, a small B cup when I went to bed, were now at least a double D. I held them up to the mirror, examining my fat brown nipples, and noticed something else right away.

They were leaking milk.

What the fuck? I said to the bathroom, and jumped when a voice responded from my bedroom.

Remarkable, isn't it? a voice said, and I melted right there. I was bare ass naked, standing in a strange bathroom in some weird underground laboratory with boobs that were way too big and leaking milk...but that voice...God!

I turned and stumbled into the bedroom, the new weight on my chest throwing me off balance. I stopped before him and fell to my knees, my butt resting on my heels. My legs were slightly apart, and I leaned forward to put my hands flat on the floor in front of me. The position of my arms pressed my big, milk-laden tits together.

A dribble ran down my boob. I didn't move to wipe it away.

Good little kitten, my Sir said, and I trembled with pleasure. Was that a programmed response in me, I wondered? Would I forever feel that overwhelming blast of joy when he praised me?

I hoped so.

He motioned for me to stand, and I did. Oh, what I would do for him! I would walk to the ends of the earth, walk through hell, climb the highest --

Bed, he ordered, and I practically flew there. A feeling of euphoria washed over me. I was submerged in joy and pleasure.

"Yes Sir," I said. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, and I seriously, no joke, almost had an orgasm.

Fuck.

Such beautiful breasts, he said, and I blushed so furiously I thought my face