Fade to Blink - A Quantum Date Ch. 02

"Hmmm," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I think you know what you need to say to put a stop to it. Until then, no deal.

"Very funny, smart guy," I continued out loud, trying to sound angry. "You wish. But nope. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction. If you can't be a gentleman about it, I'm just as happy to leave." I turned to go.

"I don't think so, Annie. You either call it, or you're in it." He leaned in and kissed me, not letting me go even as I struggled.

"What the fuck, Jimmie?!" I pulled away, my face flushed, my eyes flashing.

He smiled, eyebrows flicking up and down. "That felt like you being my good girl."

I got it. "Fuck you, Jimmie." I slipped out from his arms, turned and walked out the door.

"Wait! Annie, wait!"

I saw him fumbling with his keys before he slammed the door, trailing after me.

We whispered in the stairwell as we walked down.

"There might be someone following me, so we have to make this look good."

He looked at me and nodded, gears turning in his head. "Fuckkkk..."

I ran out into the lobby and pushed my way out the front doors, Jimmie right behind. He grabbed me before I got to my car.

"Wait. Anne! Wait! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." He looked at me. "Can we just take a walk?"

I hesitated before nodding slightly and let him steer me down the street. I pulled his hand off of my arm and turned to look at him.

"What the fuck, Anne? What's happening?"

I explained what I'd seen in Marybeth's bag leaving out the part that I'd taken pictures. The less he knew the better. Except...except now I felt a pressure building. My expressions might be hard to read, but keeping secrets...that's just hard work.

"Holy fuck," he breathed out. We were around the corner from his place and I'd been looking for anybody following us either on foot or in a car. I didn't see anything but that didn't mean they weren't there.

"Yeah," I breathed with him. The thought that this was my fault was growing too big to dismiss. "And...Jimmie? Do you think...I mean, I filed my first report last week...? Do you...?"

He looked down at me, continuing to walk.

Jimmie wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed, shaking his head. "No, Annie. This isn't your fault."

My thoughts drifted to that first report. The report was trivial, I tried to rationalize. I mean, it was. There really wasn't anything interesting in it. What I did over the past week, who I saw. It was limited only to work, so my personal life was explicitly not to be discussed. At least not yet. I figured eventually they'd tighten the screws and I'd have to be revealing more about all of that. I shivered. Shit was getting real. I couldn't unsee that blueprint.

I snapped back to Jimmie, shivering as much from the night air as the situation we were in.

"We better decide what's happening here. Am I running away or going back up?"

"Marybeth. Fuck. Who would have thought that?"

"Yeah, and she's got tabs on a ton of others from my cohort too. Well, at least three I could name. There were more in the reports but I can't remember them all." We'd turned the corner and I tried my best not to look like I was scanning the street. A green sedan hadn't been there when we'd left. Or maybe it had.

"You want to come up? Talk about it a little?"

I wasn't sure what he had in mind. If he found a bug, we couldn't do anything about it, and if the belt wasn't ready, there wasn't much point. "I don't know, Jimmie. What's to talk about? I think I should just head home."

He stared at me and almost nodded, but his expression suddenly changed, his face opening into a smile. He shook his head. "Uhnn uhhn. Come on up. I want to...just come up."

I let him drag me in, and we traipsed back up the stairs.

"Okay," he said, closing the door behind us. "I'm sorry. Really I am. Are we good?"

I mumbled something in reply, waiting by the door, knowing this was a performance for the mics. Assuming there were mics. There had to be mics!

"Can I get you something to drink? Hold on. I think you'd be more comfortable out of those work clothes, yeah?"

I just shook my head and pinched my lips, my anxiety creeping up. I didn't have to play-act; announcing our sex life to unseen listeners was not on my list of turn-ons. "I knew you had something up your sleeve. C'mon Jimmie. Apology accepted, but if you're not going to stop..." But he cut me off, putting his finger over my lips and just nodded. I sighed and stared into his eyes, begging him to not keep going. His gaze was steady, confident. He had a plan. I acquiesced. "Okay. Whatever."

He retrieved the bug-finder and left me to strip. By the time he'd made the rounds, I was sitting on the couch flipping through old issues of a science magazine.

"You see this article," I pointed to a random page that turned out to be an advertisement for hearing aids. "Ring any bells?"

He flopped down next to me, looking down and then back up, showing me the display. Two devices, one in here and one in the bedroom. He looked spooked.

"Oh, yeah. I had read the original paper a few months ago. You know that's one of the ways our stuff is put into commercial products, right?" He slipped the magazine off my lap, the cool air hitting my thighs. "You know what else?" He leaned over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders pressing his lips against my ear. "They weren't here yesterday." His lips nuzzled my ear, his tongue gently exploring inside, tickling the hairs there. He knew what that did to me. Pulling away, evaporation continuing to stimulate me, he looked me in the eyes with an expression I couldn't decipher. It was intense. Eyes staring. Unblinking. Lust? Desire? Anger? "Can I make it up to you Annie? You must be so frustrated, and I haven't been very fair to you."

I shivered at the thought someone would be listening to whatever he had in mind. It wasn't a good shiver. He knew I hated being exposed. I pushed against him and shook my head. His hand held my neck softly, his lips moving closer to nuzzle against my nose and lips, ignoring my silent protest.

He pulled away. "Be a good girl and spread your legs as wide as you can, Annie. I want to see that gorgeous pussy peel open for me." I could feel my face flush. Someone was going to hear him say that! They'd know what we were doing! I shook my head violently, my eyes darting all over the room: ceiling, lights, walls, art, carpet, breasts, pubic hair, thighs, trousers, coffee table, ceiling, walls. And back to his face, momentarily distracted by that look, before trying to convince him with my eyes to stop. He unwrapped himself and stared me down, my eyes widening that he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He leaned in again and whispered, "Let's leave a bread crumb, so we'll know. This'll be just between you and me."

But she already knows! Except, Marybeth already knew because I'd told her. Jimmie was going someplace he didn't want me talking about. I looked at his face and shook my head again, my eyes wide, feeling like a butterfly pinned to a board. He glanced down to my thighs and even as I shook my head I opened them up to him, sliding a little forward on the couch to spread as wide as I could.

"That's my good girl, Annie." And then he reached down and slowly slid his finger from my navel through my pubic hair, across my clit, between my lips, curling in to open me up, and the feelings I'd been barely keeping under control all day burst up and out, my pelvis pushing against him, humping against his hand. The orange fog condensed into a thick syrup around my lower spine. I looked down and back up, my panic mounting one last attempt to stop him, my hands grabbing his wrist, trying to pull him away. And the blob spiked red and erupted up, a hot lava in my head, the panic consumed and dragged under.

"No, Jimmie! Please! Stop!" The flesh of his finger against my clit, the tip putting pressure against it from the inside, reminding me how wet I had been, how frustrated he'd made me: the dam burst and I moaned again as the red goo liquefied into a yellow flood of sensation, my pelvis betraying me, pushing against him. I could feel my insides flood, leaking out around his finger.

"Tsk, tsk, Annie. Did you just cum?"

I shook my head in protest. I hadn't. "No," I whispered. "No. I don't know what that was. Please. Jimmie. Please. Don't. If you keep going, I probably will." I said it as quietly as I could, cringing at what Marybeth might be hearing.

He smiled in a way I hadn't seen before. "Let's see how many today, k Annie? Three? Maybe four?" He ignored my protests, curling two fingers into me and I exhaled from the feeling. "Let's go really slow. Like on Sunday." He pushed them up against the backside of my clit and I whimpered. "Yeah. I need to hear you. Like Sunday."

He was going to drag this out, make me beg for it. But this was different from Sunday. On Sunday we were alone. But now he was making me perform for an audience. That thought was lost in the swirl of the blob, my thoughts focused only on his fingers, my head falling back, my eyes staring at the ceiling. He has a plan. Just trust him. I grunted a feeble protest, as he pressed his fingers together, making me push up against him. He's going to do something...I couldn't think straight, my focus only on his fingers as they slowly slid out, my insides liquefying, his finger light against my clit, delicately tracing a line down my inner lips, calling attention to how wet I was. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the room, but that only made things more intense, and I shot them open again, lifting my head in one final attempt to beg him with my eyes to stop. But it didn't matter, my body had already given in, and his attention was focused between my legs, intent on how his fingers were moving inside me. I followed his gaze down and saw the stain beginning to seep along the cushion. My hands pressed harder against his wrist, stopping him. "No, Jimmie," I whispered, holding on to him, trying to pull him out. "The couch..." I'm such an idiot! I'm being fingerfucked for an audience I'm worried about his furniture?

He brought his other hand up to my shoulder and pushed me back against the cushions, leaning in to kiss me.

"Ummmhmm, I'd love to see how big a wet spot you leave on my couch," he countered, pulling away, his eyes staring into mine. "What did you say on Sunday?" That smile...it had a name...feral, as if he were a cat getting ready to pounce. I shook my head slightly, not remembering which time on Sunday he was talking about. There were so many things I'd said on Sunday. The distraction had weakened my grip on his wrist, letting him stroke me, slowly, softly. He adjusted his hand, moving his thumb to gently caress my clit. It felt ginormous.

"I don't know, Jimmie. I...ohh....fuckkk...no...please...fuckkk...you're...I'm gonna..." I had thrust my cunt against him. It had become my cunt, I remembered, in the midst of my impending orgasm...and then he pulled out, just a breath of heat radiating off his fingertips, hovering over my clit. I moaned in frustration, feeling empty, needing those fingers...needing...anything. Just like he'd done to me on Sunday. I could almost see the silent listeners, crouching over the speakers, watching the transcript.

"You said," he reminded me, using a professorial tone, "you would be my good girl. Didn't you?"

This wasn't just for the listeners. This was for him...for us. He didn't care who was listening. He was into whatever we'd become. I closed my eyes and nodded, my resistance sagging. "Yeah, Jimmie," I exhaled quietly. The red-orange syrup licking at my brain. "I want to be your good girl." I let go of his wrist and brought my hands up to his shoulders, bringing him into another kiss. I felt pinned between Hodgson and Jimmie, being a 'good girl' for both of them. But of the two I would choose Jimmie any day.

"Hey," he said, looking at the couch next to my shoulders. "I...wait. Get up, for a sec."

I looked at him completely confused. Where was he going now??? He wiped his hand along my pubic bone, and I moaned at how wet he'd made me, moving to gently adjust my upper body, pulling my shoulder forward and rotating me away from him. "Turn around and face the back, yeah...no...knees on the cushion, wait...okay, yeah, thighs against the back, bend at the waist...yeah, like that."

"Fuck, Jimmie! What the actual fuck!!!?" That wasn't for the listeners either, I was completely confused. Not that I stopped him from whatever move he was making. I just followed his lead, my brain and cunt connected by a blaze of yellow orange. My cunt. My cunt. It felt huge: my lips swollen, the way he'd kept me on edge all day Sunday rushing back as if it were just moments before. And yesterday...for the fitting...I had told him it was my cunt. What was I becoming?

The couch acted as a room divider, splitting the 'living room' from the front door. He had me leaning over its back, my legs spread open, my head hanging down, my own back facing toward the entry way. There wasn't anything to hold onto, and my hands barely reached the floor. My head was starting to swell from the blood rushing into it, and the couch was digging into my stomach. "Jimmie. This isn't comfortable at all." I tried to bend back up, but he stopped me.

"Okay. Hold on. Here." He got up and moved the ottoman around, positioning it below my arms. Now I could rest my head and arms on it, the pressure against my gut disappeared.

In this position I was totally exposed to him in a way I'd never felt. The post-hike shower flashed in my memory, remembering how exposed I felt that day, but this was different...even more intense. It was weird. As if my upper body was separated from the parts below my waist. And even though I knew no one was coming in, if someone did come through the front door, they'd see my head, my naked back, and maybe a hint of naked breasts. He spread my legs wider and I felt as if they were attached to a different person. And then he stroked me again, starting from the front, across my clit and then slipping his fingers into me. I moaned loudly from his caresses, cringing I was putting on the show Jimmie wanted to give to whomever the fuck was listening.

"That's it, Annie. Let me hear how much you want to cum. Like Sunday. You liked doing that for me, right?"

I groaned at the memory, at the place he'd pushed me into, literally and figuratively, at the feeling of his fingers as they slipped in and out, at the squishing sound I was making, loud enough to hear across the room. I grunted each time he seated them into me, his webbing pressed against my taint, his thumb pushing against my bottom hole. "Please, Jimmie... don't... ohhhh... fuck... yes... yesss... oh... godohgodohgod...NOOO." He had been pumping me hard, pushing against that spot under my clit and then he pulled out, the echoes of his strokes rippling through me.

"You are such a beautiful bitch in heat, aren't you Annie."

I jerked at the words. "Whaaaa...." But my protest was cut off by a quick slap against my ass cheeks.

"Say it, Annie. Tell me you are my bitch in heat."

Where was he going? I couldn't say that! "No...Jimmie...ouch!" He slapped me again. He'd never spanked me before. The colors flared behind my eyes. The slap was more a surprise than painful, but the echo connected with his fingers deep inside me and I pushed against him, again, my body betraying my protests.

"Yes, Annie. You promised to be a good girl. A good little bitch in heat. You're definitely in heat..." his fingers, wet and slimy slid across my cheeks. "Say it. Be the good little bitch you are. Show me how well you can be trained, little puppy."

God n... "Nooooo, Jimmie...no...ohohohoh..." He'd slipped his fingers back in, pumping me, the sounds of my juices so horrible, knowing Marybeth might be hearing them. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease... Jimmieeee...ohgodohgodohgod..." And he pulled out again, wiping his fingers down from my waist in between my ass cheeks. "Ow! OW! FUCK! STOP!"

He'd started slapping me, spanking me, still not so hard at first, but each slap a little faster, a little harder.

"Good puppies get treats," he said, slapping me in rhythm to the words. "Bad. Puppies. Get. Spanked."

The last four slaps were hard, my legs tightened, gripping my buns, stiffening them, my head rising up from the foot stool. "PLEASE! Jimmie! StOP! Okay OkAY OKAY! I'm your bitch in heat! I'm your bitch in heat! FUCKKK!" Even after I'd complied, he finished with a hard slap. I could feel tears overflowing the corners of my eyes. My quim...my cunt...was on fire, dripping onto my inner thighs. "Fuckkkk, Jimmie," I exhaled, dropping back onto the ottoman, trying to catch my breath. "Really?" I whispered, staring at the back of the couch, my vision blurred from the tears, my feelings blurred from the red-orange lava.

His fingers slid back into me, his knuckles rubbing against my clit from the inside. I groaned and pushed against him, needing him to give me release. "Thank you Jimmie. Thank you, thank you, thank you, please, please pleeeease." I could hear the whining in my voice and I clenched my stomach, knowing it was being recorded. "I'll be a good puppy. I'll be your good bitch. Your good girl. Please let me cum. Please help me cum. Oh yes ohyesohoh ohohoh oH, fuck yes...." I started humming, the sound warbling from the vibrations of his fingers accelerating in and out of me, mixing with the sucking sound from my cunt. "Just a little more a little more, oh god yes, just a little more thank you thank you...NOOOO!" I collapsed against the footstool, my orgasm ruined, panting like the puppy he wanted me to become. And I knew this was just the first. If it was anything like Sunday, he would be doing this to me over and over again.

1st Week June 32 Wednesday

"Jesus, Anne. You look like death warmed over. Did you sleep at all last night?" Marybeth had come by on her way from or to somewhere. I was too tired to care about what the fuck she was doing.

I smiled sheepishly, trying to cover my irritation. "I'm an idiot. Do I really look that bad? I don't feel that bad." My smile changed a little.

"You didn't!" She hissed, looking around. "You told me you were going home! You little bitch."

I almost jumped when she said it, but kept my hands on my thighs. She'd said it in the nicest possible way, and I understood how she'd intended it. But I couldn't ignore the possibility she'd already heard Jimmie's and my performance. It was the first time we'd used the term. But then again, I reminded myself, we were pretty sure last night was the first time they'd recorded us. I could feel my cheeks reddening even though I knew my expression hadn't changed.

I shrugged apologetically, knowing I'd told her one thing the night before and done something completely different. "I really had intended to go home, but along the way I started thinking about that sext he'd sent me." I screwed up my face at her reaction. "No. Not like that!" I waited until she was looking at me squarely in the face. "I was really hoping I could convince him to drop the whole edging thing and just let me climax." I shrugged again. "Didn't go as planned."

"Jesus H. Christ, Annie."

If I hadn't known what she truly was, I would have been completely convinced by her expression: a little naïve, a little intimidated maybe. She sure looked convinced that I was doing something way out of her league. And maybe I was. Maybe Marybeth was an undersexed office worker and a spy. I shrugged again. "Yeah. He only made it worse."

She shook her head, staring between me and the rest of the cube farm.

"The only bright side, I guess," pausing for as dramatic effect as I could fathom, "was that he didn't have the belt ready yet. So, another day of freedom." I couldn't stop myself from laughing at the expression on her face, and we both smothered our giggles to not bother everyone around us.