The Beast Within

I have used 'Chimp' and 'Monkey' indiscriminately here. I know they are different species, but then the 'animal' I am talking about here is neither one and has elements of both.

*****

John loved my hair, and had always encouraged me to wear it long, hanging down to well below my bum. He had told me so on our first date, five years ago. Whenever we cuddled or made love he would stroke it.

Mind you, he had a bit of a fetish about hair, or fur. Much of his flat (well, our flat now) was furnished with as much fur as he could get his hands on. The sofa was covered in a soft furry fabric. Each room had at least one picture showing a furry animal. Facing the bed was a picture of a hairy chimpanzee, which was made so that there was real fur on the parts of the chimpanzee which were covered in fur. If he didn't know I was watching, he often stroked it before we made love. I shrugged it off as a mild and quirky fetish.

A couple of months before this story starts I had lost my job, and in spite of a lot of letter writing, and form-filling I had not managed to get another. I was losing hope, and was well aware that it was not easy for John to be the sole breadwinner. The company John worked for produced pharmaceutical products, mainly for the cosmetics market. He earned enough to support the two of us, but the bank account was usually empty at the end of the month.

John came home one day and found me in tears, upset because I had been turned down for yet another job. It is a good job he had a way to cheer me up. As we lay on the bed after a long and satisfying sex session he, as usual, stroked my hair. While I was a 'lady of leisure' he had persuaded me to stop shaving - all over. My legs and arms were now covered in a fine fuzz, and my under-arm hair was quite long. John turned me so that I was lying over his lap, and gently stroked the underarm hair, alternating with that around my mound, which I had never been keen on shaving, in spite of the current fashion. It is a good job I'm not ticklish, and his hands were gentle. I soon felt him pushing very gently into my pussy. As his fingers moved faster, finding my clit, I soon came again.

As I recovered, John still stroked me.

'How would you like to have even more hair?' he asked, his voice gentle and seductive.

'I can't. Everything I can grow has grown - what more can I do?'

'The science division of our company has been looking into curing baldness. So far they have only been partially successful, but the latest technique they are testing is showing promise. It uses an electrical pulse to insert a drug below the skin. Before trying it on someone's head, where it cannot be hidden, we want to test it where it can be hidden in case of problems. Would you help us to test it? We need to see how long the effects can last, and whether they are permanent. So far results have been good, with no side effects'

I stood up, not sure whether to be angry or amused.

'You want to give me a hairy back?'

'Why not? Your mane would hide it anyway, and testers are paid quite handsomely. 'It would give you an income without needing to work, and you get paid even if the procedure fails.' He leered at me 'and you know I would love you even more with a hairy back.'

John did not push me into doing it, but over the next few days he made sure that he stroked me whenever possible, more so than usual. It became a habit for me to go to sleep with my head resting on his chest while he stroked it, gently caressing all my 'hairy' bits while nibbling gently at my neck. John was a very persuasive character. I had often seen him persuade people like builders doing work for us to do a little more, for very little extra money - if they couldn't resist his charm, what hope did I have?

I continued to ponder what he had asked me to do, and at last, tentatively, agreed to chat to the scientist who was looking for volunteers, while promising nothing to John.

Professor Burt was a lovely man, he explained that the process could be a bit painful, but he would give a local anaesthetic before he started, so I should feel very little. He showed me, on a plastic model, what they intended to do - it would be a thin strip of hair from just below my neckline to the centre of my back, where it would be hardly noticeable. He told me all about possible risks, and promised that they would be able to remove it if I hated it. The pay for being a tester was very temping but my natural caution prevailed, and I took away the literature he gave me, so that I could think it over when I had a few hours without John clouding my judgement by walking around stroking things.

I spent the next week thinking over the implications. John was patient with me, knowing well that fast decision making is not a talent of mine. He knew, however, that once my mind was made up there would be little chance of swaying me, so he did his best to persuade me to do what he obviously wanted. I think that man has some form of natural Viagra. He rarely has trouble performing, and over that fortnight we spent a lot of time in bed. I usually went to sleep fully satiated and feeling hands stroking my hair, or my back as I lay next to John.

When John was at work I could think about without pressure. At last I reached the conclusion that I had to make a decision one way or the other, and set myself a time limit. It was ten o'clock on a Friday morning when I sat at the computer, and I decided that I was going to let John know what I had decided in 24 hours time. I set out the pros and cons. The objections were obvious - walking around with hair on my back would be decidedly weird and although Professor Burt had assured me the risk was small, there was a possibility of side effects. On the other side I was absolutely sure that John would love it, and I had to admit that I was not adverse to the thought either. Although it may not be normal, I liked the soft fuzz that had grown on my arms, legs and under my arms. It felt sort of 'back to nature' and having my hair stroked could rouse me even before I came under John's influence.

That night I laid down my cards with John, asking him to leave me alone overnight when we went to bed and promised him a decision in the morning. I could feel his tension all evening. He kept putting his hands in his pockets, and I knew him well enough to understand that what he really wanted to do was stroke my hair, but he respected my wishes, and left me alone.

While he slept I kept thinking about it. When I realised that I had pulled my hair to the front and was gently stroking it I smiled, and in that moment decided.

At ten John sat opposite me, fidgety in his anxiety.

'You're on!' I told him.

He got up and kissed me, at first gently then with more urgency. I didn't object, and pushed away my doubts as he fondled my hair. Later he held me as I came, and said:

'Are you sure?'

I laughed and punched his shoulder.

'What do you think all that thinking was about? Get onto Professor Burt first thing on Monday and make that appointment before I change my mind.'

He laughed too, knowing that was unlikely now.

***********

When we arrived at his laboratory, Professor Burt again pointed out the risks. I got a little impatient, feeling that ground had all been covered, but he pointed out that he was legally obliged to inform me of all that before I signed anything.

He took us into another room, which had a table as seen in many doctor's surgeries, and handed me a surgical gown.

'Go and put that on, so that we can discuss the area you want me to work on, and I can discuss the details while John is here.'

I did so, hearing the pair of them talking while I was in the dressing room. When I came out he had me lie, face down on the table, and drew the back of the robe apart, so that they could see my whole back. He took a felt tip and ran it around an area on my back roughly corresponding to that we had talked about in our previous meeting.

'That is the area we are proposing to test on your partner' he told John. 'Large enough to be sure to catch any side effects, yet small enough to be easily covered by normal clothing. .

John stroked his chin for a minute, pondering. 'Would it be a better test if the area were larger?'

'Yes it would, but we don't want to cause our testers any embarrassment.'

'Would you pay more if you covered a larger area?'

'Yes, we would, but I would not want anyone to feel that they should do this if they are unhappy about it. If Toni feels any doubts, I don't want you trying to persuade her just because of the money'

John took the pen, and gently pushed my hair out of the way, stroking it sensuously. I felt him draw a line across my shoulders, to each side of my back, then down. I wondered where he was going with this (while bearing in mind that the decision was mine, not his). He went down to the tops of my legs, and drew across my legs just below my butt crease, then made a point over my pussy, being careful to stroke my pussy hairs as he did so, exciting me, and making my judgement definitely off-centre. I realised what he wanted, my whole back like a chimp's and as he stroked me I suddenly realised that it need not be a bad thing. Not only that, but I wanted it too!

Professor Burt said that the area John had covered would definitely be better for the testing, but it would be more difficult for me to hide. He told John that he wanted to talk it over with me alone, so that no pressure was put on me. John asked to talk to me first. The professor was a little reluctant, obviously concerned that John would put undue influence of me, but when I assured him that I would not let that happen, he agreed.

As soon as the professor left, John stroked my under-arm hair.

'Imagine this all down your body, how sexy it would look, and feel. I may never want to stop having sex with you'

'But I would have to cover up every time I went out I said, doubtfully.'

'You haven't been out for three weeks now, do you really need to? You could shop on-line, and get it delivered - no problems.'

I shuddered with desire as he put his hands on my pussy - not into it, just stroking the longish hairs around it. I writhed under the touch, feeling myself becoming damp between the legs. Damn him, I needed to make my own decision. I waved him away and sat up, making my mind ignore my body and work on the problem. He left me, knowing well enough that I needed time to think.

I tried to imagine myself with a back thickly covered with hair, and actually liked the thought. Then I thought about what John would do to me if I had it done. I had already decided to go ahead with the smaller area, so how much different would this be? I imagined John's hands exploring my hairy back and smiled, sure about what I wanted done.

I expected Professor Burt to try to dissuade me, but when I told him my decision he accepted it, and smiling he revised the paperwork on his computer and printed off a document showing the new area. I hesitated only slightly before signing it.

When we arrived home we were both so turned on by the thought of what was going to be done to me that we spent all night making love, and John, shattered, took the day off. That didn't help because he spent most of it making love to me, all the while stroking both my hair and my bare back, as if in anticipation.

It was much, much later that I found out that John had been working hard all week to persuade Professor Burt (who was, let us not forget, a work colleague of his) to allow him to expand the area. When I found out it was too late to do anything about it, and knowing John's persuasive ability I could not blame the professor. He also had his position at the firm to think about - the larger area he had to test, the more chance of good results.

*************

We agreed on Friday for the treatment.

John came with me, ostensibly to hold my hand, but more, as he told me privately, to make sure that the professor did exactly the area John had specified. As the work was done, I could feel gentle prods on my back, but because of the anaesthetic nothing else. John told me later that before each prod the professor had dipped a long spike into a small pot of gel, and then dug it into my back and pressing a button.

At last I could get up and leave, armed with a pack of pain-killers for when the anaesthetic wore off and a piece of paper with a list of weekly appointments, so that the professor could check for side effects.

John was a little disappointed that the hair didn't appear immediately, but we had been warned that it would be at least two weeks before I had the hairy back he wanted!

A month later my back and the tops of my legs were covered in short, curly, and rather coarse hairs. My hair is dark, and now you could no longer see the skin on my back at all. The sex was tremendous. John loved to pull his hands through the hair, combing it out as we made love. He was even more keen than before to take me from behind, which is a position I love, and as I now realise makes me feel more animal. He would take me gently, leaning into my hairy back while stroking my pussy lips, and the hair down there. While the extra money was a bonus, I was aware that the real reason I had done it was to please my partner. Whatever the Woman's Liberation people may say, some of us are just slaves to our hormones!

We carried on like this for several months, the sex we shared never lost that extra 'zing' caused by the hair. When we made love face to face I came to notice gradually that John was pulling the long hair from my head to the front, so he could stroke it while he stroked my breasts. I am not sure if he was even conscious of doing it, but I found it exciting, and never failed to reach a climax. One night John stroked my breast and hair together, and I climaxed really hard, twice, just from the pleasure of his hands. As I fell asleep a thought struck me, and I decided to bring it up with the professor next day, at the appointment we had scheduled.

I could not hide my nervousness from the professor, and at first he assumed that there was a problem with the hair. I bit my lip, unsure whether to ask him or not, then he was behind me, feeling the hairs and stroking them - not deliberately sensuous, just checking their growth.

'Well, everything seems to be in order. Any problems?' he asked.

'No everything is fine, I feel really good with the hair ...but'

'Second thoughts?'

'No the opposite.' I stuttered a little then decided I had nothing to lose by asking 'would it be possible to cover my front as well?'

He gave me a long suspicious look. 'Is John pressurising you into this? I am aware of this hair fetish he has. I don't want you to be forced into something you don't want.'

'No, he hasn't said anything at all; I haven't told him that I am thinking about it. It's possible then?'

'Oh yes, no problem at all. The procedure would be exactly the same. It would be much more difficult to hide though.'

I gave him my brightest smile. 'That is my problem not yours. When could you do it?'

He turned to his computer and punched a few buttons before looking at the screen.

'I have free time in two weeks, if we can find a date which suits us all.'

He gave me a few dates, one of which was John's birthday. That decided me - I was going to have it done, as a treat for him. Professor Burt gave me all the cautions he could, and I signed up for another course of treatment.

A week before John's birthday I told him that I had arranged a treat for him, and persuaded him to take the day off work, without telling him what the treat was. The look of confusion on his face when I gave the taxi driver the address of John's workplace was priceless! I led him to the laboratory, and the professor and I told him what we planned to do. John was over the moon. He hugged me so hard he nearly broke my ribs, and I think if Professor Burt hadn't been there he would have fucked me in the office. I could feel his hard-on against my stomach as he pushed on my backside, bringing us together.

The procedure took longer than last time, and was slightly more painful as my breasts were jabbed with the probe. Luckily they are not too big. John held my hand, watching gleefully as the professor worked to my plan, and covered the whole of my front, to just below my neckline, and covered the tops of my legs down to mid-thigh.

Over the next couple of weeks I watched as my body disappeared under the coarse hair. When my back had been done, I hadn't seen what was happening, now every time I went into the bathroom I could see a little less of me, a little more of the animal in the bathroom mirror. I sometimes amused myself by crouching slightly, like a chimp and making chimp noises while watching myself in the mirror, but I kept this a secret from John, not knowing where it would lead.

John still preferred to take me from behind, and gradually became rougher as he found I enjoyed that more. For some reason, which I did not understand, having the animal hair made me feel more animal inside. He squeezed my nipples hard, and had taken to pulling the hair around them, which stimulated me into thrusting hard back on him. I was becoming more confident in letting my animal side loose, and at last I took my antics out of the bathroom, and came up to him one evening in the living room naked apart from fur and walking with my shoulders bent. When he looked up at me, there was a hungry look on his face, and he quickly shed his trousers. He grabbed me roughly from behind, and as he pulled hard I made chimp noises at him. This time things were different. I thought he had been rough before, but now he was more animal than ever. He pushed me onto the floor so hard that he bruised my knees, and thrust into me, quickly spilling into me. I felt that my plan had failed as he walked off, leaving me unfulfilled. When he came back though, he carried me to bed and took me much more slowly, less roughly than he had for a long time, kissing my mouth, my breasts and then my pussy before he entered me gently.

The next day he apologised, telling me that the pose I had assumed had turned him on so much that he couldn't help himself. It had made him feel like an animal, and when I had made chimp noises he lost it completely, seeing me only as a way to feed his need, not as another human being. He paid to have a romantic meal delivered at home, and I felt somewhat conflicted. It was nice that he apologised, but the way he had treated me had been close to an assault. Somewhere, deep inside, where the 'independent woman' in me could pretend it didn't exist, was a glee that I had brought him to that point, and aware that the 'chimp' act had been a deliberate act on my part, so I was partly to blame.

A couple of weeks later he took the lead:

'Be a chimp for me tonight'

It was more of an order than a question, and I went back to the bedroom stooped, letting my hands hang nearly to the floor. He touched my back and I crouched down, opening myself to him. When I gave a monkey scream he drove into me, holding my neck as I struggled to stay in place for him, then he thrust me onto the floor. He was rough, as he had been before, but this time I was ready for it, knowing that I had invited it, and stayed kneeling as he walked away after he had shot his sperm into me. I heard him get onto the bed and lie there for a minute or two, recovering, before he stroked my back, combing through the rough hair and forcing me to move back and forth on my knees, trying to find a release. He turned me onto my back, and licked at my pussy. I was so close when he drew back that I whimpered. John took one of my hands and pulled it towards my pussy.

'Come for me' he ordered.

I was too close to argue, and rubbed my clit vigorously as he knelt near my feet, watching every move I made.