(Or Rachel Gives Bryce a Weekend Workout)
[Author's Notes: First of all, this is a direct sequel to an earlier work. I'll let you guess which one. Secondly this story continues my flagrant disregard to biology: the sex is stupidly over-the-top. Possibly even more so than the first part. If that annoys you, I recommend any of the other talented authors on this site. If you think my own talents are being wasted on this series, then I thank you for the compliment but I enjoy what I do, and I intend to keep doing it.
As for the kinks? This story involves a cheating girlfriend, muscle mummies, and fucking werewolves. The hijinks will probably be someone's fetish. Everything is.]
"I can help," Rachel Day said. Arms folded, she watched as the guys struggled pulling the wheel off. Ethan Ford and Charlie Campbell were both grunting with effort as they hefted the wheel, with its flat tyre, over to the grassy bank of the A69. "If you really need me too, I mean... I can-"
"No babe, that's fine!" Charlie interrupted, holding up a hand to her. Sweat was dripping down his chubby face, and his pale complexion was turning a deep shade of red. Not a particularly tall man, Charlie was also brilliant ginger, and his skin covered in freckles. While not fat by any stretch of the word, he nonetheless had put on a bit of weight over the holidays, and the next two weeks were probably not going to help. "No need! Ethan and I have successfully done the man's task! We are men!"
"Yay..." Ethan said weakly, holding his fist up in a half-hearted manner. He collapsed on the bank beside the wheel. "Where the fuck's Bryce?"
"Coming up with the spare," Mackenzie Frost said. A strange lopsided smile was on her face, beneath two eyes glowing amber. Her right arm was stretched out towards the car, which leaned on two wheels in odd defiance of gravity. The shortest of the four of them, Mac had an hourglass figure that amplified her large tits and wide hips.
A stark contrast to Rachel's tall and lithe build, although the black woman had a fairly decent rack herself. What was currently adding a considerable amount to Rachel's height was the big afro she sported, adding a good few inches to her. Even though she was standing by the roadside, having frustratingly watched all the menfolk make a big deal about something that would have taken her five minutes, Rachel was still taller than her boyfriend Charlie, who was standing on the grassy bank a few inches above the road.
That didn't bother Charlie: the man was insanely confident in himself, and Rachel loved that her man had a roadmap for his life that would see him in Parliament. Charlie was gunning for the top, and had sunk his claws into the lowest circles of the British Social Democratic Party already, thanks to a lot of them being alumni of Princeton Academy of Arts & Sciences, the prestigious body of higher education that almost all of the young men and women surrounding the (currently) three-wheeled car attended.
All except one: the man now rolling a spare wheel down the side of the road towards them. Bryce Hunter attended the University of Eroshire, and would be starting his second year in a month or so, when they had all finished their summer holidays. Charlie, Ethan, and their friend Junji Gao had known Bryce for ages; a relic of a time before Princeton. Rachel had been introduced to the man when she and Charlie had started going out, and had immediately cursed the gods that she hadn't encountered Bryce before Charlie.
Because Bryce Hunter was the fucking HGOAT (Hottest Guy Of All Time).
He was a six-foot-plus built stud with a jawline strong enough to crush diamonds and piercing blue eyes that made a woman moist just by connection. A fan of the gym and sports had given Bryce a muscular and bulky figure that was a contrast to the nerdy bodies of his friends, and somehow, despite hailing from the land of mountains, sheep, and castle that mere mortals called Wales, Bryce tanned surprisingly easily. This summer had given him a light brown colouration to his skin that blended nicely with his brown hair.
It wasn't just his looks, however: Bryce just had this aura about him. The kind that spoke to a girl, spoke to her on a filthy, primordial level. Deep enough that any well-respected woman would refute such a level even existed, but it was there. Down in the darkest depths of her lizard brain, and Brye spoke to it like he'd been born and molded there. Rachel, an expert in the dark, primordial depths of the human mind, heard it like a distant ringing bell. Forever at the back of her mind, even when she acted like the devoted girlfriend of her ambitious Charlie.
Oh, she had been angry for a year now that she'd encountered Charlie first, for if it had been reversed, and she had been introduced to Bryce first... well...
It would have been primal indeed.
However, she knew better than to try and sneak around behind her boyfriend's back. There wasn't much that could fly past Charlie - the man was frighteningly perceptive - and Rachel also disliked betraying those she loved in principle. Call it a character flaw.
Yet she couldn't help but imagine wrapping herself around that hunk. Especially after that night that she witnessed her best friend Mackenzie fucking Bryce outside the holiday home they had all stayed at almost a week ago now. As Bryce walked closer to them all, rolling the spare tire along the roadside, Rachel could still see in her vivid mind's eye her friend passionately riding a man who wasn't Mac's boyfriend, Ethan. A man who was Ethan's best friend. A man who should have known better than to put hoes before bros.
Yes: Mac was a fucking hoe for fucking Bryce, but not because she had cheated on Ethan, a man that both women thought was a fine example of positive masculinity, but because Rachel wanted to fuck Bryce first!
God damn that skanky ass sex magic powered bitch!
"Look... in my defence I didn't expect it to gain so much inertia," Ethan said to his best friend.
Giving Ethan a bemused look, Bryce rolled the tire to a rest beside the car; still balanced on two wheels courtesy of Mac's frightening talents. A week earlier Rachel's friend had somehow mastered the rarest of talents a budding eromancer could possess: the ability to command their reality-defying power on a whim. Ordinarily eromancers required extreme physical reactions to harness their gift, and the most common of such reactions was the humble (hah!) orgasm (hence the name, for although other sources were possible, they were far less common and often far more dangerous).
For a brief window after climaxing, while their mind was in a pleasurable haze, an eromancer could inflict their will on the universe: moving objects, setting them afire or even healing torn flesh and broken bones. There were a myriad ways in which an eromancer could disregard the laws of reality, limited only by those who displayed their disregard.
Being a young student of the arts, Mac was frightening but doing little more than moving stuff and lifting heavy objects at the moment, thank God. Rachel reckoned it would be a long time before her school friend could do the sort of shit heard about in legends. Like setting whole armies on fire. Thankfully.
