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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Delayed Gratifications"  She's small, smaller even than the impression you got from the online photo. The crown of her head would barely top your shoulders, and her slimness is accentuated by the length of her hair, which falls almost to her elbows. Her head looks almost too big for her body, and her eyes are almost too big for her head. As for her assets ... Well, they're hard to make out, because she's dressed in an overlarge purple sports jersey (Number 73) that hangs on her like a poncho, with the hem almost to her knees and the short sleeves almost to her wrists, and whatever breasts she has are lost in its billowing folds. She is bare-legged and barefoot, and shifts awkwardly inside Marcos's embrace while smiling shyly at you. It's a moment before you realize you're staring, and you find your voice. "Hey." Then you have to clear your throat, because it's suddenly filled with phlegm. "We have any classes together?" you ask her. "I don't think so." Alana gasps as Marcos nuzzles the side of her neck. "Um—" "I'll get yer stuff," Marcos says. Without releasing her, he shuffles Alana sideways back into the other room. You hear a murmur of voices, and a zipper, and the creak of a bed frame. A moment later, Marcos puts his face around the corner and crooks a finger at you. His smile is wicked. You totter over to join him in the doorway. He hangs an arm over your shoulder as he pulls you inside. It's a bedroom, very small, with hardly enough room for the messy, twin-sized bed and bed-stand. The floor is dappled with clothes, and there's a tang in the air, like that of sour, unwashed bodies. Alana, eyes open and unseeing, is lying on the bed. "What do you think?" Marcos says into your ear, and bites it. You jump. "Nice." "Real nice." He crowds you up against the doorframe, and you feel his swelling cock through the front of his jeans. "You're nice too. Like this." He puts a hot cheek against yours. "You ever stop thinking about sex, Sydney?" "You keep sticking me with guys who can't stop." Now he's rubbing his crotch against yours. "And you're too shy with me, Will. It's like you think you're gonna break." You clasp him around his bare shoulders and lift your head so he can get at your throat. This is nice, having a hot guy pushing himself against you, and having a body and organs that twinge and smoke in answer. You rake your fingers through his hair and let your knees weaken. But Marcos breaks off. "Come on," he says, and tugs you over to the bed. "Let's get you out of your things." "We gonna fuck?" you ask. "While the mask is copying the girl?" "Don't know we got time." He pushes you onto the bed, almost onto Alana. "Or room." He bends to pick up one of your calves, and you fall backward to bounce off the girl. "No, looks like we don't got room. But don't worry about that." Gripping your foot, he helps you swing around so that you're lying next to the girl. "Besides, after we send Amanda on her way, we can pick up where Alana and me left off when you got here." With a leer, he reaches over to pull up the front hem of Alana's shirt. As you could have guessed, she's naked from the waist down. And she shaves. Marcos unties and pulls off your shoes while you wriggle out of your sweat pants and panties and shirt. He reaches behind to expertly unhook and draw off your bra. Then you topple back, and Marcos bends over you to put his muzzle in your bush. His tongue—wet and alert—darts around, exploring for a moment, before withdrawing. "Mmm," he says on straightening up. He picks up your hand and plays with your fingers. "Anything you want to tell Amanda before we send her away?" "Um ... Just do what she would do, I guess." "I mean, about her and Kirkham? She gonna bust up with Ricky, start going with Kirkham?" "I don't know." You groan. "I don't want to think about it. It's a mess, and thank you so much for that." "I thought you were telling me last night that you and Ricky were breaking up." "You weren't interested, so what do you know? I was telling you that Ricky was gonna break up with her, but I told him— Well, I don't know what I told him. Except that if I wanted to fuck another guy, it wasn't any of his business who I fucked or if I even did fuck another guy." "Her and Ricky never fucked, did they? Amanda, I mean." Still, he is playing with your fingers. "No. The other day was her first time with any guy." "No shit," he chortles. "That's how come I guessed her and Ricky never got nasty with each other." "Well," you sigh, "if nothing else, I think I taught Amanda to like it and want it." A slow, sharp grin spreads across Marcos's face. "Which is just the way we wanted it, Will. The good news is—" He nods at the girl beside you. "You won't have to teach her to like it too. She already digs it. Digs it hard and filthy." You're about to ask what's up with Marcos and Alana, but he suddenly bends to reach past you, and when he straightens up he's got a mask in his hand. "This has been fun, Amanda," he says, "but it's time to say goodbye. Will, I'll see you on the other side." You shut your eyes as Sydney bends and reaches for your face. Her fingers close about your temples and tug. For a moment you feel yourself swimming in inky darkness, then you know no more. * * * * * You wake as though surfacing from deep water, and for a long time (it seems) you lay very still with your eyes tightly shut. Your limbs are heavy, and when you do shift them they are also stiff. How long have I been asleep? you wonder. And where's Sydney? With that thought your eyes pop open, and you sit up with a grunt. You're lying on the same rumpled bed in the same dingy bedroom where you last laid yourself down, but now you have it to yourself. You draw your knees up and rub your calves. Your hairy calves. That's not quite right, and you frown. Shouldn't I be—? Wasn't Sydney supposed to—? You gingerly touch your face, and find the familiar old whiskers on your upper lip and chin. The fuck? Did something go wrong? You fumble around the bed, searching for a mask or some clothes or for something under than the strange sheets to cover your nakedness. The bed frame squeaks and groans. You freeze at the sound of footsteps in an outer room, and your heart goes sideways in your chest when Marcos Rivera steps into the doorway. But he just gives you a short smile and says, "Oh, you're finally awake." "How long was I out for?" you grunt. "I 'unno. Ten, fifteen minutes. How you feel?" He sits on the bed next to you. All the stiffness has vanished, and you feel as alert as you ever have. "Fine. Something happen? I thought you were supposed to put, whatsername, the mask—" "Yeah, I got it. Well, out in the living room, with her things. I just thought maybe you'd wanna be yourself a few minutes before making the switch." Tenderly, he brushes your hair back from your brows. "Or maybe I just wanted to see your face, Will." Your blood runs a little cold. It's your girlfriend, Sydney McGlynn, who is so affectionately stroking you. But she's got Marcos Rivera's narrow, foxy face, so you want to scramble away at the same time that—dammit!—you are more than a little turned on. Still, you don't fight it when he leans into lightly kiss you on the lips, and you even kiss back, though you're very tentative. Marcos snorts softly. "Yeah," he drawls. "It's a little funny for me too. Well, fuck me for missing you, Will." He slaps your bare thigh. "You had a little too much of the Amanda thing going. I wanted to talk to you more'n you'd let me." You could say something about how she was more like Kirkham than you liked, but instead reply, "I kinda had to be, didn't I?" "I guess. And I won't mind so much if you get into being Alana. It was Amanda I was getting kinda tired of." You glance around. "What time is it? Shouldn't I go ahead and—? I mean, what if someone comes home?" "They won't. Her grandpa—that's who she lives with—works until, like, six. But she's got work in—" He glances at his phone, which he's gripping. "Shit. Yeah, you better get ready." He gets up. Work. That sounds like fun (not). To cover your dismay, you say, "I guess I'll finally figure out what's going on with her and Marcos after, um, I put the mask on." He shrugs. "Yeah, well, maybe not even then. It's pretty complicated. Try not to freak out, Will," he says from the doorway. "It's gonna be a different kind of life for you." You swallow at his words, and you swallow again when he steps back into the room with a mask and that oversize jersey. "Want me to do it for you?" he asks as he settles back beside you. "Sure." You wriggle down until you're flat on the bed again. "But—" "I want you to know, Will," Marcos interrupts, "that I'll look out for you the whole time you're, um—" He bites his lip. "And remember, you don't have to be her for long. We can find you someone else real quick. There's lots of other people out there for you to be." Shit, what am I getting into? you wonder. Your eyes are locked on Marcos's, so you don't even see the name on the inside of the mask before he lowers it onto your face. Next: "The Girl at the Drive-Thru Window" |
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