The Curse 14

This is a new story that I have been working on. When covid hit, I had to put all of my time and energy into my work life, to the detriment of play time. In the intervening years I also bought a new computer. Somehow my outline and story ideas about The Fae Hunter were lost. I am trying to take notes and remember where I was going with that story. In the meantime, here is another world to play in. 😊

"Hi Doc," John said, walking into the room.

"Please, John," the doctor said, gesturing to one of the two chairs that were in front of the window facing the bay. "Call me Ellen." She moved from her desk and approached the second chair. She reached out a hand for John to shake. "I'm glad you were able to make it today," she said, shaking John's hand.

"Thanks for seeing me," John replied, letting go of her hand and sitting in the chair she had gestured towards. Ellen sat down and put one hand on each of her knees, leaning forward slightly and gazing intently into John's eyes.

"Of course," she said. "I'm glad this spot opened up and works with your availability." That sat facing each other for a few beats. The doctor's eyes never leaving John's. He struggled to not look at her. Her profile picture online had been just a head shot. Short, brown hair. No nonsense glasses. A lean, but friendly face with an inviting smile. In person she was petite, barely topping five feet with a slim body hidden by a loose, comfortable looking shirt. Her breasts were hidden in the billowing, white blouse. John somehow maintained eye contact. Her eyes were blue and speckled with brown spots. She smiled as he valiantly strove to not let his eyes roam.

"I know we messaged briefly," she said after the silence grew almost uncomfortable and it was clear John wasn't going to say anything. "But please tell me why you are looking for therapy. What is your end goal?" John broke eye contact, his eyes falling to the ground. Ellen was wearing open toed blue dress shoes with almost no heel. They matched her fitted pants to perfection. "John?"

"Yeah," John sighed. "You're going to think I'm crazy," he admitted finally. Ellen laughed lightly. It was pleasant and gentle and made John look back up. He smiled at her ruefully.

"I don't remember reading in any of your messages that would make me think that," Ellen assured her. "You have had loss in your life. But that doesn't make you crazy." She broke into a full-blown grin. "I know crazy."

"Well," John admitted. "I didn't tell you the real reason I'm here." Ellen slowly stopped smiling, though her eyes stayed inviting and filled with humor. She leaned forward slightly. "I think I'm cursed," he said finally and sheepishly, looking back down at her feet. Her toenails, he noticed, were painted a subdued pink.

"Really?" Ellen said. There was surprise in her voice. John looked up just in time to see her glancing back at her desk where her notebook lay before turning back to John. "Why would you think that?"

"Things happen to me."

"Bad things?"

"No," John shook his head. "Good things. Sometimes very good things." Ellen cocked her head to one side and looked at him questioningly. "But then very bad things happen to those around me. The better it is for me, the worse I hurt people." Ellen stared intently at John; all humor gone. She wasn't shut down, just concerned.

"How do you hurt people?" she asked.

"I mean," John said, shaking his head sadly. "Not me. The curse. The curse hurts them."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Sure. Which one?"

"What about the latest one. What was the most recent incident?"

John could tell that Cynthia was getting weaker, sicker. It seemed to be happening faster and faster. He had met Cynthia a year before. Two months ago, she had convinced him to move in with her. He had assumed that he had at least another year before she got so sick that he would have to move on. But now a mere two months into living together and he watched her cough violently. Her once slim, athletic body now sickly and gaunt, shook with the wracking coughs. Spots of blook speckled her lips. He cringed at the sight. She wiped her lips with a tissue and looked down at the smeared blood.

"That can't be good," she admitted to John. "Okay, I'll go into the emergency room today."

"Good," John said, getting out of bed. He stood there looking at her sitting on the edge of the bed. Even gaunt and graven, she was still one of the most attractive women he had ever seen. A year ago, she had been blindingly beautiful. Looking at her and remembering what she had been only a year previous inadvertently made his cock swell. Not to a full erection, just filling out and thickening. Cynthia, her face only two feet away from his dick, couldn't help but notice. She smiled and leaned over to kiss the head of his cock.

"You still like me," she said to John's member. "Even if he," she gestured a thumb up at John's face, "doesn't want me."

"Of course, I still want you," John protested. "I just think that you..." he trailed off with a moan as Cynthia opened her mouth and sucked in his dick. It thickened more. Straightening and hardening until he was fully hard. Cynthia hummed happily, slurping in three or four inches before backing up and then pushing back down. She wasn't trying to get a lot of his cock into her mouth, just the first three to four inches. Back and forth she went until John unconsciously grabbed her head. The blow job was feeling better and better, but now he needed more. He clenched her hair with both hands and now suddenly he was in control. Cynthia moaned in delight, reaching one hand down to play with her pussy. Her other hand started pulling and pinching her left nipple. "Oh, yeah," John moaned, holding Cynthia's head, stopping it from moving back and forth. His hips surged forward, his dick pushing into her mouth. Deliberately, firmly. Four inches. He pulled out until only the tip was on her tongue. In again. This time five inches. He felt the back of her throat. She shuddered and her left hand started moving faster and faster on her pussy. The fingers of her right hand twisted and abused her nipple. John pulled back. "Open," he growled, surging forward. He was against the opening of her throat. He pushed harder and popped in. Cynthia whined around the huge dick in her mouth and throat. Her hand on her pussy was a blur. "Fuck," John yelled, pushing further down her throat. He pulled back and completely out.

"No!" Cynthia gasped and coughed, her head twisting and moving around, trying to capture the head of his cock with her mouth. "More! Fuck my throat more! I'm almost there."

John tightened his grip on her hair, stopping her from moving side to side. He roughly pushed his cock between her lips, into her mouth and down her throat in one strong, demanding thrust. This time all the way. Hilting himself completely. Cynthia fell apart, cumming hard, her throat rippling around the length of his cock, forcing his cum straight out of him. He shot spurt after spurt straight into her gullet. Six, seven, eight shots before pulling out. Cynthia fell over, his cock the only thing that had been holding her up. She whimpered and coughed and struggled to breathe through the last of her orgasm. John quickly straddled her, grabbing his pumping dick and shot the last few spurts of his own orgasm onto her writhing body.

"Fuck," she said finally, looking up at John. He was standing over her, breathing hard and smiling down at her. His cock, still half hard, dripped cum drops onto her forehead. "You were so deep, I couldn't even taste it." She frowned at him in mock anger. "Not fair."

Cynthia had promised to go to the hospital after work so John had all day to pack his things and leave. He knew that if he stayed, she would die. Like the others. Each time, John promised himself that it would be different. That he would control his curse. Each time, he failed. It was time to move on. He took only the essentials. Called into work to quit over the phone. He knew, from experience, that only a complete break would stop Cynthia from trying to get back together with him. And he couldn't allow that to happen. A clean, cold, complete break was needed.

John had wandered into Portland the year before. Racing away from Melissa. Trying to save Melissa's life. He wandered into the first coffee shop that he had seen. It had the appearance of being busy with every table filled. It was an illusion about coffee shops that John had learned. Really any business with free Wi-Fi. People hung around using up data and buying little. But it gave the impression of a happening, hip space. The woman at the counter gave him a tight smile, trying to be friendly.

"How can I help you?" she asked, not really seeing him.

"Americano, double shot," he replied, his own mind elsewhere as well. Trying to keep himself from wishing or wanting anything of import.

"Size?"

"Twelve ounce."

"Three fifty."

Transaction over, John had shuffled over to the counter where two other customers were hovering around, waiting for their drinks. At nine in the morning, there should have been a line of customers, instead of just the three of them. Unbidden, the thoughts of the woman at the counter floated into his mind.

"If only -- "

Ellen interrupted John for the first time in his story. He had given more detail of the sex with Cynthia when he saw her enjoying the descriptions. It was unplanned, but he was nothing, if not a pleaser of women. And Ellen had liked it a lot. She had listened attentively, rapt in the details. But this part of the story pushed her out of the fantasy she was building in her head.

"What do you mean, her thoughts?"

John cocked his head to one side and contemplated the psychiatrist. He rocked his head back and forth as if debating something with himself.

"Like I said," John told her after a long pause, "Good things happen to me. Amazing things sometimes. And then," he shook his head sadly. "Equally bad things happen to those around me."

"I see," Ellen said. "And one of these things is the ability to read minds?" Her voice was even, pleasant, showing no signs of disbelief. He really is loony toons, she thought. What a shame. He's hot.

"Hey Doc," John said, smiling slightly. "That's no way to think of me."

"I'm sorry?" Ellen asked.

"Can I tell you another story?" John said after another small delay in the conversation.

"Sure," Ellen said agreeably. She glanced at the clock behind John. They still had another fifteen minutes before the session was over. He was clearly delusional but didn't show any real signs of being a threat to himself or others, his words notwithstanding. John stared into Ellen's eyes. Longer and deeper than was comfortable. She refused to look away. He smiled slightly, looking a little naughty somehow.

Ellen was drinking a cosmo at the bar. When she had first entered, she had scanned the room, but didn't see anyone that caught her eye. But maybe after a few drinks, someone would show up. Or she would go home alone. She hoped it wouldn't be a solo Friday night, she was horny.

"Hi there," a voice said. It was particularly close, but there was something about the tone that cut through music and noise. She turned toward the sound. A woman in her early thirties was sitting at a table. There were two drinks and a coat slung over one empty chair. Standing over the woman was a tall, heavy set man who was full of liquid courage. Ellen turned completely away from the bar to voyeuristically spy on the woman and the inebriated man. Ellen eyed the two people. He was out of shape, losing hair, and was dressed in an untucked t-shirt and jeans. He was clean shaven at least, but otherwise gave off the appearance of a sloven mess. The woman, meanwhile, was twenty years younger than the man. She had a floral skirt and matching blouse. Immaculate make up that highlighted her pouty lips and almond shaped eyes. And clearly there on a date.

"Can I buy you a drink?" the drunkard asked, waving his whisky glass at the younger woman. His voice too loud.

"No thank you," she said politely enough. Ellen wouldn't have been able to hear her if she wasn't so intently watching the pair.

"Come on," the man said. "Let's have a good time."

"I have a drink," the woman said a little more sharply. "And my date will be back in a few minutes."

"I'll buy him a drink too," the man said generously, waving his arms. "We'll go have some fun and he can drink his drink." He laughed at his own joke as if it were funny. He edged too close to the woman, looming over her. His large gut almost in her face. "I think you would be a lot of fun." He leered down at her. "A lot of fun." Ellen expected the woman to react harshly. Violently maybe. Instead, the woman looked around for her date frantically. Seemingly scared. Before Ellen knew she was doing it, she was at the table. She put her drink down and pushed the drunk aside and sat down at the empty chair. She pushed the chair back, colliding into the drunk man, making him stumble and curse as he fell back.

"Hi," Ellen said to the woman. "I'm Ellen."

"Bitch," the drunkard slurred, his hand falling heavily onto Ellen's shoulder. "What the fuck-" She grabbed his pinky finger and twisted. He screeched and fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry," Ellen sneered. "Were you talking to me?" She twisted harder and he screeched in pain. "Get lost, loser."

"Are you okay, Ma'am?" the bartender was at the table and looking at Ellen. She let go of the drunk's finger.

"Yes," she nodded at the man on his knees. "This rude man is bothering my friend and me." She smiled, letting her eyes start at the bartender's groin and moving up his body until she was looking at his eyes. "Can you help us?" Her eyes darted back down to his dick for a split second.

"Of course, Ma'am," the bartender said, smiling at her. "I'm sorry you guys were disturbed." As the drunk was escorted away Ellen turned back to the woman who was staring at her in open mouthed confusion.

"I'm Ellen," she said to the woman. "That asshole looked like he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer."

"Alice," the woman said, closing her mouth. "Thank you." It was then that her boyfriend came back from the bathroom.

"How did you know about that?" Ellen asked. She was staring at John in fear, her voice tight with tension. "Have you been following me?"

"Nope," John said easily. "I read your mind." He smiled gently. "I didn't get to the good part."

"What the hell are you talking about? Do you know me?"

"You know," John said easily, ignoring her questions. "The part where they took you home. Where you all played together."

"Get out!" Ellen was almost shouting, fear in her voice.

"You still dream about how Alice tastes," John continued. "Mike wasn't as good a lover for you. You don't mind submissive women, but you want a dominant man." They stared at each other. Ellen breathing hard, eyes wide in fear. John, totally at ease. He leaned back in his chair. "You like a man who can dominate you, don't you, Doc?"

"What do you want?" Ellen whispered.

"Help," John replied quickly. "I want to figure out how to get rid of my curse." He stood up. His eyes brightened and glowed. As if a light had turned on behind his blue eyes. He was lean and muscular, towering over her. He was deadly and sexy and she felt as helpless as if she were that young woman at the bar last week. Submissive before him. He took one step and was now directly over her. The zipper to his pants less than a foot from her face. He cupped her cheek softly and, mesmerized, Ellen saw his dick shift and move under his pants. It was growing. She swallowed nervously. John turned and went to the desk. He wrote something on her pad of paper and was striding to the door before she knew what was going on. He turned his head to look back her as he reached for the doorknob.

"I want you to remember what you were just thinking," John said to her quietly. "Think about what you wanted." And then he walked out the door.

Ellen stood in a daze and walked back to the desk. Too confused and discombobulated to do anything else. She sat down behind the desk and read the words that he had written. The words that had been echoing in her mind when he stood over her so powerfully. Oh, god I'm so horny. Is he going to shove his cock down my throat? Please god. I need his cock. The words he had quickly written down. The thoughts that had raced through her mind. The exact words.