Author: Virtual Scott
Title: Falling
Part: 2
Summary: Linnea tries to help a stranger in need. Will it be the best, or
the worst, thing that's ever happened to her?
Keywords: mc FF fdom MF oral anal toys

Chapter 2, In which I fight and make up

I was lying on my back staring at the ceiling when the phone rang. It was
too much effort to restrain Stacey when she rolled off the bed, so I went
back to fingering my sloppy slit and admired the play of her naked body as
she walked across the room. God she was gorgeous, I mused, feeling the
passion start to mount inside me again when she turned to blow a kiss
before picking up her cell.

She was insatiable, but I'd discovered I could keep up with her. Every
orifice in my body ached from being violated with the toys strewn about
the bed, some of them larger than any of the men I'd known, but what
really got me off was the sly look on Stacey's face each time she teased
another climax out of my trembling body. Well, that or the way she writhed
in my embrace each time my tongue found its way into her creaming gash.

"Michael, it's about time!" Stacey told her caller. I giggled at the
thought of her talking to my roommate while I fucked myself on her bed,
and she shushed me before walking into the living room. "No, I got past
it, no thanks to you. You owe me a coffee after the next meeting."

Jilling off wasn't as much fun without an audience, so I reluctantly gave
it up and decided to hunt for some food. We'd missed lunch and dinner, and
the ice cream we'd played with last night didn't really count. Still
naked, I followed Stacey out into the other room.

"...suspicious killjoy," she was saying. "No, I promised I wouldn't do
that." Apparently, Michael was giving her a hard time. It probably was his
duty, as her sponsor, and I was glad he was looking out for her, however
belatedly. "It's not like I'm not supposed to have *any* girlfriends! I
needed a friend, and she offered to help." A low murmur was all I could
hear of his voice. "Yes, *completely* voluntary. I swear it!"

I smirked and then caught sight of the clock. "Oh shit!" I yelped, aghast
at the time. The heavy curtains had fooled me into thinking it was early
morning, but it was just after noon; I'd lost a whole day! No wonder I was
starving! I ran back into the bedroom, looking for my clothes, and trying
to calculate in my head. I had maybe three hours to repack my bag with
some clean things and leave for the airport in time to catch my flight.
"Shit, shit, shit!" I muttered, heading back to the bathroom.

Stacey was off the phone. "Do you have to leave now? It's raining cats and
dogs out there!" She pulled a curtain aside, confirming her statement. As
we watched, a stroke of lightning lit up the sky.

"There's nothing more I'd like to do," I sighed, "but I have a trip and
the traffic will be terrible in weather like this." I found one of my
pumps in front of the refrigerator.

"At least let me call you a cab," Stacey relented, and started dialing the
phone while I dressed.

Finally I was ready to go. "I'm sorry I have to leave like this," I told
her. "I had a really good time."

She smiled. "So did I. You'll see me when you come home, right?" Her look
made my knees feel weak.

"Try and keep me away!" I laughed, and then we were kissing again, as if
it were the first time. Our bodies ground against each other, and it was
nearly impossible to force myself to end it and walk away. I took the
elevator down, but still felt out of breath when I reached the sidewalk.

The rain was sheeting out of the low clouds, but the cab was there and I
dashed through the downpour to the relative safety of the back seat. The
traffic was as bad as I'd feared, and I think we nearly got into accidents
twice because the cabbie kept looking at me in the rearview mirror.



I walked into the apartment feeling a little bit like a drowned cat.

"Linnea? Is that you?" Michael called from his office. "Jesus Christ!
Can't you turn on your phone? I've called you like a million times!"

"It *is* on, and hello to you too," I snarled, still in a bad mood. I
opened my purse again and dug past the wallet and candle to find my phone.
"Okay, so I did have it off, duh," I admitted, thumbing the power button
and watching the little logo appear. "What did I miss, besides the flood?"

"It's no joke, Linnea; I was worried about you. I had no idea where you--"
he walked into the living room and stopped dead at the sight of me.

"What?" I asked, wishing the rain hadn't matted down my hair so much.

"You were with *her*," Michael said flatly. "Christ, Linnea, I *told* you
to stay away from these people!"

"What?" I repeated, offended. "You mean Stacey?" His eyes hardened. "She
needed help and you weren't around. *Nothing happened!* What business is
it of yours how I spend my weekends?"

"Look at yourself," he said, sounding tired. "Just look, in the mirror."

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light, then set my open purse
on the counter so I could try to tease out the curls in my hair; the
weather hadn't completely killed them. "Is it about the haircut? It looked
better, dry."

"Keep looking."

I blinked, and suddenly everything was different; I gasped with surprise.
Instead of my silk blouse, I was wearing a really tight black knit mock
turtleneck. It was so thin that it was effectively transparent, especially
wet, and I could see every curve of my breasts, areolae, and hardened
nipples.

My skirt was absurdly -- no, obscenely -- short, riding low on my hips and
barely wider than the heavy link belt draped around it. The lips forming
the "O" of surprise in the mirror were a glossy fire engine red I'd never
seen before -- at least since I'd graduated from high school. I *knew* I
didn't own any eyeliner; Stacey must have applied it.

"Oh my God!" I grabbed a tissue and scrubbed at my mouth, removing most of
the color. Throwing it in the trash, I pulled out a lipstick, but forced
myself to stop when I saw it was the same color I'd just removed.

"That's it, Linnea!" Michael encouraged me. "Keep fighting it. You can do
it; she only had you for two days!"

"You mean one day," I absently corrected him, staring at myself again in
the mirror. No wonder the cabbie had almost killed us -- I was fucking hot!

Michael shook his head gently. "Two days; this is Monday. Don't think
about sex. Talk to me."

I leaned heavily on the counter, stunned. *Monday*? I felt disconnected
from everything. "Monday?" I asked again, aloud. "Shit! I'm supposed to be
in Boston today! Harris is going to kill me!" My mind raced, trying to
think of some way out of this terrible situation, while my finger traced
idle designs on the countertop.

"You're in luck," Michael chuckled. "This front came in yesterday
afternoon, and the thunderstorms haven't really let up since then. The
airline called to say your flight was canceled, and I bet you couldn't get
out today, either. Don't worry about any of that. Concentrate on yourself;
keep talking."

"What *happened* to me?" I wailed, looking at myself again in the mirror.
"I thought you were the sex addict, not me." I almost thought I could feel
my nipples stretching beneath my gaze, so like Stacey's... I turned away
from the mirror and leaned against the counter. Michael's eyes turned
aside and I realized I'd propped a foot against the cabinet under me,
flashing him with my bald pussy.

"Well, I'm not! A sex addict, I mean. What did Stacey do to me?"

Michael sighed heavily. "I'm not a sex addict either, Linnea. You didn't
need to know this before, but I'm in Mind Controllers Anonymous."

The thought was so outrageous that I couldn't help laughing. "What, you
have a group to help you *not* make people do things? Can I join?" I'd be
able to see Stacey at the meetings, I carefully did not say; Michael's
sense of humor seemed to be entirely absent.

"I'm not joking! Listen to me, Linnea; you need to take this seriously." A
pained expression crossed his face. "And can you *please* stop doing that?"

With a start, I realized that not only hadn't I lowered my leg, I'd been
fingering myself too -- right in front of Michael! I'm sure my face went
beet red. "Oh God, I'm so sorry! I can't believe I'm doing this!" I wasn't
sure what was worse; that I'd been exposing myself to him like that, or
that my finger was gleaming with my arousal.

My foot fell to the floor with a thud and I whirled around, both to wash
my hands and so I didn't have to look at him while I regained my
composure. Not only was my finger shamefully wet, there was a stray hair
tangled around the tip.

With a grimace of distaste, I flicked the brown curl onto the small black
tea candle flickering on the counter next to my purse, and then pumped
copious squirts of liquid soap onto my hands.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed, Linnea," Michael reassured me; he had to
speak up to be heard over the running water. "You're the victim here.
There are resources, people that can help you; but you need to be strong."
He paused for a moment before asking, "Is something burning?"

"Just a little incense candle," I replied, turning off the water and
drying my hands. "It does smell nice, doesn't it?" It was a deep primal
scent, of desire, of physical rut. It made me want to fuck something,
preferably Stacey.

"It smells like burning hair," Michael groused suspiciously. "Where did
you get it?"

"I thought it was yours," I answered, feeling confused. We looked at each
other, and then somebody knocked on the door.

Michael looked like he was about to say something, but then just shook his
head. "I'll get it. Why don't you go change out of those clothes before
you freeze to death?"

"Good point," I agreed. If it was somebody I knew, I didn't want them to
see me like this! I scampered for my room and pushed the door closed.

Whoever our caller was, Michael evidently let them in because I heard
voices in the living room. A female voice, in fact. My heart started
racing when I recognized Stacey's tone. I had to see her!

They were standing there talking to each other. "It wasn't any trouble,"
Stacey said. "You said you wanted to see me, Michael; 'when my sponsor
asks, I must obey', right?" I could hear the humor in her voice.

They both looked at me as I padded up. "I guess you two already know each
other," Michael sighed.

I just nodded. Stacey, apparently more resistant to his quelling
expression, gave me a great big kiss. The way her hand ran down my bare
flank and squeezed my butt raised goose bumps on my arms and made my
breasts ache. I sneaked a peek at him when we broke for air, but he didn't
seem to be upset -- just puzzled.

"Michael's told me a little about you, Linnea," Stacey told me with a warm
smile. "He's lucky to have you around to help him."

"Yeah," he admitted, before attempting to return to whatever they'd been
talking about before. "But look, Stacey, I wanted to talk to you because I
have a problem with you, um..."

"I *know*," Stacey spoke up, taking control of the conversation. "Of
course you have a problem, you idiot!" She gave me a quick grin. "Look,
maybe I'm out of line because I'm not your sponsor, but Karen is an idiot,
too! And I'm not saying that just because I think she's a frigid bitch.
You *cannot* remain celibate for over two years and expect not to have a
problem."

Wow. I felt a wave of sympathy. I knew Michael had taken Peter's death
badly, but -- nobody? I didn't think I could go two days without getting
some, much less two *years*.

"I don't think," Michael started to say.

"*Really*," snarked Stacey; I stifled a giggle. "Don't get hung up on the
program, okay? Look; Linnea helped me, and I think she could help you with
your problem, too. She's a good friend."

"I'd love to help," I gushed, feeling bad for not having done more for him
already. "What can I do?"

"The trick is to work with your body instead of fighting it," Stacey
explained. "You need to start by getting comfortable."

"What's the point?" asked Michael. He sounded dubious, but didn't hesitate
to push down his sweatpants and step out of them. I was already naked, so
I just stood there and casually examined his limp cock. My first
impression was that it had been a waste to keep it out of circulation for
so long.

"Just relax, and remember your time with Peter. You two were really into
each other, weren't you?"

"Oh yeah." Michael let out a deep breath, and his penis stirred. "Not at
first, but" -- he looked at me apologetically -- "I *fixed* him." His
organ started inflating rapidly at the words.

I laughed at the idea, a bit breathlessly. "You couldn't make him be gay,
Michael. He had to be attracted to men already; he just fell for you,
that's all. *I'd* sit on that cock!" I clapped a hand over my mouth,
embarrassed at my forwardness.

"It's okay to be human," soothed Stacey; I wasn't sure which of us she was
addressing. "Remember how you felt with him, how right it was?" She was
holding one of her toys; it was a life-size black cock, mounted on a
sturdy handle, and its contours glistened with lube.

Memories of the feel of it inside me prompted me to start producing my own
lube. It felt like it would be rude to masturbate during such a delicate
moment, so I crossed my arms in front of me and surreptitiously thumbed my
nipples.

"Relax," she whispered, and positioned the tip of the phallus between
Michael's cheeks. With a strength I wouldn't have expected from her slight
frame, she smoothly buried the black dildo inside his trembling body.

He made a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry. "Peter!"

"Let go of your problems," urged Stacey, beginning to pump him with long
steady strokes. "Listen to your body." She caught my eye and gestured to
his fully engorged cock.

I scrambled to comply -- not like I wasn't going to get something out of
it too -- and fell to my knees so I could take him in my mouth. I admit
I'd thought once or twice about what it might be like, but Michael didn't
give me time to enjoy it.

I'd barely matched his rhythm when he cried out and blew two years of
pent-up spunk into my mouth, leaving me coughing and dripping semen. It
wasn't as nice as eating out Stacey.

Michael and Stacey looked down at me when I started giggling. I tried to
explain, but couldn't get the words out. Apparently my family were late
bloomers -- I'd come to the realization I was lesbian, or at least
bisexual, about the same age Peter had been when he'd come out of the
closet. And how ironic was it for two lesbians to help a gay guy get his
rocks off?

"This isn't right," Michael gasped. It so closely mirrored my thoughts
that it startled a laugh out of me that turned into a brief fit of
coughing.

Stacey started working him with the dildo again. "Then step back from it
and just don't think for a little bit," she suggested. He went cross-eyed
for a moment, then sighed and gazed sightlessly over my head.

His cock hadn't lost any firmness after the first orgasm, but I decided
I'd lost my taste for sperm. It wasn't right to leave him hanging, so I
reached out and started giving him a hand job; there was plenty of
lubrication. My free hand drifted south so I could give myself some
much-needed relief.

"Good girl," Stacey whispered huskily in my ear. I hadn't realized she'd
moved, but she was crouched behind me. Michael was impaling himself on the
dildo, much more urgently than Stacey had been, and grunting with each
thrust. "It's so important you help Michael the way you helped me, Linnea."

I nodded, knowing she was right. "I won't let you down -- either of you."
I stood up, still holding his cock, and looked Michael full-on. "C'mon,
Batman; let's move this to the bedroom." I didn't know the story behind
the nickname, but Peter had used it often, doubtless an inside joke.

"Peter?" Michael asked plaintively, looking right through me as if my
brother's ghost stood behind me, rather than Stacey. He started churning
the cock in his ass even harder, but followed me when I tugged gently on
his organ and led him to his bedroom.

I wasn't sure what to say, but apparently the sight of me -- or was it my
brother? -- kneeling on his bed needed no explanation. Michael fell on me
like a madman, splitting my ass and filling my rectum with his cum-slicked
manhood. He reamed my back door like his life depended on it, and maybe it
did.

My chute was still tender, but I started heating up with a little help
from my finger. Then I thought about how pleased Stacey would be that I
was helping Michael, and I started cumming like a firecracker.

He must have had a lot of pent-up energy, because it was dark by the time
I finally pulled free and swayed to my feet. Michael lay sprawled on his
bed, the dildo's handle still sprouting from his butt, and I was almost
sure I could feel a breeze through my gaping, leaking rosebud.

I staggered back to my own bedroom, and found Stacey stretched out naked
on my bed, surrounded by the contents of my purse and wallet.

"Poor Linnea," she smiled, "you look like you've had a hard afternoon. I
rebooked you on the 8 AM flight tomorrow morning. Now come and get that
nasty taste out of your mouth." She spread her legs in invitation, and I
suddenly realized I wasn't nearly as tired as I'd thought.

I extended my tongue and let her gentle hands guide me to where I was born
to be.