Cheat Day 1

Monica closed her eyes to the taste of hot meat upon her tongue. Juices burst in her mouth. Spilt heat dribbled down her chin. The assault of flavor. She moaned.

Thank God for cheat day.

She stuffed a second bite of her burger in her mouth.

"Mind if I sit here?" The voice was warm and slightly amused.

Shit!

Monica's eyes snapped open.

Oh wow.

The naughty girl within her, so often tranquilized of late, peeked.

Tall. Mussed hair. A little rugged.

Fit.

Fit was the right word

. Something fluttered in her breast and her hot hunk I might want to fuck that meter turned green.

She gulped and her half chewed food formed a knot that scoured its way down her esophagus. She nearly dropped her cheeseburger in her haste to grab a napkin and scrubbed at the grease dribbling from her chin. Her skin flamed from more than just the sun beaming on her in the outdoor, Euroesk mall.

"Uh-" Monica whipped her head about. Her ponytail lashed her cheek. More than half the tables were empty. "-there's an empty table over there. By the fountain."

The man-boy smiled at her. "There's no beautiful, solo, unattached women over there."

On the bridge of her soul, Monica's jackass detector went off. Even so, a rose tide seared her flesh. She moved her hand under the table. Her thumb touched her heart finger.

The flash of warmth evaporated. There was no ring there and mourning widow black draped her spirit. The engagement had broken up six months prior. She dropped her gaze from the Adonis standing before her.

"I wasn't expecting -uh - company. I was just enjoying some down time." The sugar-sweet, nice-girl, seven-year-old at the helm of Monica's soul, squealed in alarm and she hastily flipped the romance novel beside her, face down.

The man's eyebrow arched. "Then by all means, read." He set down his tray upon the little, rickety courtyard table. "Until then, I'll keep you company. No harm, no foul."

Monica's jackass meter hit DEFCON 2. The fucker pulled up a chair. "I'm Rick." He extended a hand over the table. "Call me Rickie if you want. My friends do."

God, Rickie, take a hint!

Nice girl forced Monica to take his hand but her expression couldn't have possibly been inviting.

Go away!

But their hands met with an electron jolt that rocked nice girl back on her heels and erased Monica's glare. Warm, gentle, strong all registered in the ship's log, or, more accurately, in naughty girl's diary. The fluttering in her breast returned with a heavy wing-beat. "I-"

Oh God, don't make a fool of yourself Monica.

"-I'm Monica."

"Monica," he said. "Lovely name."

Monica's jackass meter eased up a bit.

He turned her hand over. Warm breath kissed her wrist. Moist heat touched her breast and the butterflies ignited, a cyclone of need sinking lower and lower. Fire moths swarmed in her very core and it melted.

Naughty girl, squeezed herself, like she was making love to her own curves, and Monica squirmed in her seat.

Holey shit.

She pulled her hand back slowly and put her hand under the table. She scrubbed her wrist against her jeans to buff out the hyper-aware flesh awakened there.

Rickie pretended not to notice. He sank back in his seat and began to eat. "So, a double-super-duper-bacon-burger. One heck of a mouthful."

"Uh, yeah?"

Where's this going?

"Just enjoy watching a girl enjoy her meat."

Fuck me!

Naughty girl clapped. "Your lucky day then. Most the time it's cucumbers and yogurt." She took a sip of her shake to stabilize her hands.

"Yeah, I suppose cucumbers don't make you orgasm quite the same."

Oh lord.

The jackass meter lit up again. Seven-year-old Monica panicked. "

What?

"

Did he really just say that?

"You heard me. I saw you. If that wasn't pleasure in its most exquisite form, I don't know what an orgasm is."

Nice girl, even-year-old wound herself up for one mother of a tantrum. Monica's gave Rickie the eye. "Then you clearly don't know what an

orgasm

is."

"

Really?

"

He held her glare. The left side of his lips bowed in a lopsided smile and stalled the impending witching-hour. Before nice girl could react, naughty girl jabbed a screwdriver into the autopilot. Sparks from her core shorted out Monica's thoughts.

Finally she managed, "Food can't make you orgasm."

"What if it could?" His smile broadened.

Monica's mind got lost in naughty girl's heavy breathing. Several heartbeats hammered by.

"Monica?"

She started. "Then we'd all die of extreme obesity."

He snorted and went back to his burger. "Too true. Too bad though. It'd be awesome if a cucumber could make you come. Then I'd ask you your number just so I could watch you eat every day."

"Okay,

okay

-" With her autopilot hacked, her jackass meter didn't know which way to go. She blushed. "-how'd we get on this-" She waved her hand. "-topic."

"What topic? Cucumbers? You brought them up."

"

No

!" Monica took a hasty glance about. "Sex. I was having a quiet lunch by myself and now I'm talking sex with a

complete

stranger."

"

Ouch

." Rickie frowned. "I introduced myself. I'm Rickie. You're Monica. Not strangers."

Doofis.

"

And?

"

He shrugged. "

Your

mind is in the gutter?"

"Wait.

What?

"

Oh God-

Naughty girl nodded vigorously. -

it's true!

"

My

mind? What about

your

mind?"

"Guilty, I suppose. But it's my job. What's you excuse?"

The jackass detector went all catawampus. Monica blinked; several times. "Your job?"

"Yeah-" He took another bite of his burger. "-I'm a sex therapist."

Her bullshit detector pinged. "A sex therapist?"

"Yeah."

"And just what do you do?"

Ok . . . ay, this is officially weird. I can't believe I'm asking this.

"Teach girls to orgasm?"

"Sometimes, not usually. Mostly its erectile dysfunction. Pre-ejaculation. Clinical frigidity. Couple's therapy. A lot of couple's therapy. Social barriers. Post traumatic sexual stress. Stuff like that.

"Sometimes it's necessary to help people, mostly men, get back their confidence after a bad breakup too."

"Social barriers?"

"You'd be surprised at how many women, and men, can't quite let go and enjoy themselves because of something they were taught at home, by their friends, at church, or school."

"Huh. So what do you do?" Naughty girl was panting and Monica squirmed her ass against her seat again. Her jackass detector and hot guy just fuck me already meter were not in agreement. Or maybe they were. Her ex sure had turned out to be quite an ass. "Do I even want to know?"

"Some problems require drugs. I can't do that. Know plenty of physicians that can prescribe them though. But-" He paused. "-for most it's simply a matter of practice."

Monica's voice climbed an octave. "

Practice?

" Naughty girl pranced about in her miss-matched succubus leathers and bridal lingerie.

"Yeah, practice makes perfect." Rickie picked up his shake.

"You

practice

with your-"

Holey fuck!

"-your patients."

Rickie snorted. Then coughed. He slammed his shake down. Tears leaked from his eyes. "Heavens-" He choked. "-no. I-" He wiped the tears from his eyes. "-talk them through their issues and try to convince them to practice. On their own. Or with their partner. Usually both. Sometimes, I'll coach someone in the art of self-pleasure. But no, I don't

practice

with them."

"Coach? Men too?" She couldn't see it. No man,

no straight man

, would want to be nude in front of this dude. They probably shrank away from him in bathroom stalls.

"In theory, yes. Never met one that needed coaching in that particular area though."

Heat blistered Monica's cheeks. "

So

- you see. . ."

Rickie rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, I've

seen

more than my share of young, old, fuck-me gorgeous and plain-Jane women in various states of undress. I've also seen them orgasm. Is there a problem with that?"

Yes. No!

Naughty girl started drooling.

Fuck, I don't know.

"It's just that it seems so-" Monica shrugged and looked away. She bit her lip.

"Beautiful? You're right it

is

beautiful."

Naughty girl wrapped her legs about a fire-pole bar that somehow materialized on the bridge of Monica's soul and ran her very center down the hard shaft. Monica shimmied in her seat.

Rickie picked up a fry and pointed it at her. "Let me show you. Let's do a little experiment."

"Uh, what kind of experiment?"

"One that only works on intelligent and hyper creative women."

"Uh, o-" A proximity alert went off. She was broadside to danger but the naughty girl grabbed the helm and ran Monica's straight at the hazard. Seven-year-old nice girl stared at naughty girl like she was possessed. Which, come to think of it, she probably was. "-kay. But what is the experiment?"

"I'm going to talk to you. You are going to try an' picture what I'm saying."

"I don't see-"

"Trust me. Just close your eyes, Monica."

She held his gaze for a long moment. The girl at the helm jumped up and down. After several heartbeats of indecision, she let her lashes shutter her sight.

"Good, Monica. Thank you. Thank you for trusting me. The nice girl in you does such a good job of

trying

to do nice girl things, doesn't she?"

What the fuck?

The seven-year old preened.

How did he know?

"But it must be so tiring for that sweet little girl making all the decision. Everybody deserves a break."

Monica's blue ribboned and pigtailed self-nodded. Tears gathered in her kiddy eyes."

"So give her a break, and just breathe."

She cycled a breath.

"Again. Slower. Erase the voices. Don't listen to anything but me."

Candy-sweet seven-year-old eased back, plopped on the floor and played with the hem of her yellow dress. Naughty girl stood mesmerized at the helm.

"Good. Monica, imagine that burger. The bacon. The meat. The juices. How good it tasted. How absolutely uninhibited it made you feel."

The jaw of the lingerie clad wild woman at the steering wheel dropped open. A little drool dribbled down her chin. Heartbeats pulsed by.

"Are you imagining it?"

"Yeah." The word was a distant echo of the one uttered by the slattern of her soul.

"Good. Good.

"Now capture that feeling. Only the feeling." He paused. "Do you have it?"

"Mh-hm." The girl at the wheel pressed herself up as tight up as she could against the helm. Her guard was eyeballing his tranquilizer gun as if wondering why it wasn't working.

"You must let go of everything else. The burger. The taste. The table. The chair. All you should have is pleasure, and desire for more."

A pleasant warmth filled Monica's breast - pulsing, glowing, living - and an addictive craving. The lingerie clad helmsman licked her lips. Monica's seven-year-old trembled.

"Do you have it?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Good.

"Breath. Deeper. Slower. Feel the pleasure. Feel it filling your body."

Monica's naughty girl rubbed herself all over the helm. Monica shimmied in her seat.

"Now imagine your hardest crush ever. Strip everything away but the feeling. Let it combine with your existing emotion. Feel that craving ache."

Naughty girl shuddered. A seed of that need planted itself in the center of Monica's breast. It grew with every cycled breath.

"Feel the energy. Feel it crying for fulfillment. Feel its need, its texture, its moisture, its weight."

Her aching desire grew so heavy it began to sink.

"It's so heavy now, like a hot, heavy, sweat steam. Can you feel it?"

"

I

- fuck." That wet heat was right between her legs. Naughty girl hands traveled from her breasts to her crotch and back again in a wanton dance.

"Now feel me cradled it in my hands. Nurturing its growth. Breathing upon it, feeding it, shaping it."

Monica trembled. Naughty girl orgasmed. But it wasn't enough. Monica's craving ache grew unbearable. Damp heat radiated from her core.

"The flame of your desire is in my hands. My words shape it. Your naughty girl bows to my will. If you relinquish your need to my control, I will grow it beyond your wildest dreams."

An alarm claxon went off. Naughty girl didn't care and nice girl had fallen asleep.

"You feel good, great. Do you not?"

"Yeah." That one word hollowed out her meager breast.

"You do wish to feel better?"

"Hhmmm." She was so close. Naughty girl was humping her hand again. The whimper hurt.

"Say yes, Monica. Say yes you want me to nourish your flame. Say yes you want to relinquish control. Say yes you want me to leash your naughty girl."

". . . Y-" Her breast shuddered. "-yes."

"Good, Monica, very good. Everytime I say

cucumber girl

you will come right back here, with your naughty girl in control and her leash in my hand. You want that don't you? To have your naughty girl leashed. To feel like this, every time I say

cucumber girl?

"

"

Yes

."

"Excellent. And every time you are here, I will feed, nourish and shape your desire."

"O-ok-ay."

"Good. Monica, do you want to orgasm?"

Orgasm?

She squirmed in her chair.

Here, in the mall?

Naughty girl bobbed her head so hard her ponytail danced.

Fuck!

She was already so close. "Uh?"

"Monica, I control your desire. I hold your naughty girl's leash. I sculpt your very desires. If I told you to orgasm, would you have a choice?"

"N-no."

"Monica, do you

want

to orgasm? Right here. In your chair. In the mall. Where anybody can see you?"

Naughty girl panted.

"Monica, I'm breathing on the fire."

She whimpered.

"It's a nice great big fire. It burns you. It leaves a moist, empty ache in its wake."

She clutched her chair's arm rests and arched back. Her legs trembled with the strain.

"Monica, orgasm."

The hole between her legs imploded. Fire rushed in searing every nerve. A counter explosion spewed lava liquid in her pants.

Oh God. Oh fuck.

Monica's face was nearly planted in her hamburger.

Oh wow.

She closed her legs and pushed herself off the table.

Eew.

She was wet. So really, very wet.

"You like that?"

Naughty girl picked herself up off the floor of the bridge and wobbled over to a portal where she could adore Rickie. "I-" She sucked in a stabilizing breath. "-I don't know." She leaned closer to Rickie. "Rick,

shit,

I orgasmed in

public

!" Sugar-sweet nice girl awoke from her nap and screwed herself for one bitch of a tantrum.

"Yeah, and that guy over there-" Rick pointed across the courtyard. "-watched you."

Nice girl blanched and ran to hide.

Shit.

A sunburn sear toasted every finger-width of Monica's skin. It was a miracle she didn't blister.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

She stood. "I need to go now."

Rickie chuckled. Monica's jackass detector overloaded. He was looking at her crotch.

Fuck. God.

Had her jeans soaked through? She snatched the remains of her meal. "Bye." She put as much venom into that one syllable as possible.

Rickie seemed oblivious. His smiling eyes returned to hers. "See you around."

In your dreams.

Naughty girl pouted. "Yeah, sure." There was nothing cordial or welcoming in her words.

Rickie turned and waved over his shoulder. "I'm moving into an apartment over there above the Gap. Fourth floor."

Fuck!

"You live there around here, don't you? I've seen you about quite a lot. Maybe you can invite me over sometime cucumber girl."

Fuck me!

A bonfire ignited inside. Naughty girl kissed the porthole through which she adored Rickie. She gave it quite a lot of tongue but nice girl exploded in rage. Fury tensioning every sinew, Monica marched away without looking back.

By the time Monica was back in her apartment and cleaned up, nice girl's bitch rage had run its course, locked naughty girl in a cage and set a guard. Now, with time on her hands, nice girl began to nervously tug at a pigtail. She kept checking the door locks as if expecting a rapist to break through. After the fourth or fifth time, Monica ran trembling hands through her hair.

Well, shit. Now what?

Monica glanced at the clock. It wasn't even seven on a Friday night. She'd usually go read a book in the quad, chat with Lina, maybe do some half ass flirting with a cute guy.

But there was no fucking way she was sitting in the floor's common area. Not now that Rickie might look for her there.

God, he's probably telling everybody what a fool she'd made of me.

Despair's aching maw opened in her breast.

No!

She wasn't going to cry. Monica was through with tears. She attacked the counter with a washrag. The floors with a mop. Her couches, the toilets, the shower, anything and everything. With it still only a little past eight on a Friday night she began pre-cooking next week's meals. Completing that, she rooted in the frig to make a cucumber salad for tomorrow's lunch.

The moment her fingers touched the green, phallic vegetable, a candle wick heat blossomed in her core. Rickie wanted to watch her eat one.

Well, that's just great.

She lay the vegetable upon her cutting board.

I'll just have to invite the asshole for over for lunch. Maybe he'd like watching me dice one!

The teen-dream, jock-wet-dream naughty girl so recently thrown in the brig, fondled her sexy new collar.

Monica froze, her knife hovering over the cucumber.

Oh holey fuck.

Naughty girl grinned. Inexplicably, Rickie stood there, in the brig, patting naughty girl on the head like she was his favorite pet.

No, no,

no.

No.

Oh fuck, NO

!

She chopped three green ringed slices. The phallus was still more than ten inches long. She raised her knife. Her hand holding the vegetable trembled. She couldn't wipe naughty girl's smile from her mind.

Oh fuck.

The knife in her hand rattled against the countertop as she lay it down.

Oh God. I can't. Fuck. I'm not going to do this.

Seven-year-old Monica was crying.

No. No. No.

Shit!

Her breath cycled hard, rocking her meager breast.

Fuck.

The button fly of her jeans momentarily foiled Monica's trembling fingers. A whimpered growl, as though naughty girl and nice girl were both trying to speak at once, forced its way from Monica's throat. An inflamed will overcame all obstacles to wrest her jeans midway down her thigh.

Upon its first touch upon her naked flesh, the refrigerator chilled phallus should've doused her desire. Instead it nearly unhinged her. She caught herself on the edge of the counter even as the too big vegetable caught in the mouth of her sex. Inexplicably her core pushed at it, and while smaller than the head of a newborn it was still far larger than any man. It burned as it began to slide inside.

"Ooooh . . ." Every finger width of penetration drove Monica's mouth wider. Pain banded her thighs where denim bit into her stressed flesh.

The crotch of her jeans rent in two. She slammed breast to counter with the arm appended by cucumber pinned beneath her. The green phallus drove deep.

The collision with her womb had Monica clawing at the counter. She tried to yank the vegetable out but her fingers found no purchase upon its suddenly slick skin. Naughty girl screamed that it would get better and the seven-year-old fled the bridge for some dark corner to bawl in terror.

"Oh fuck." Monica pushed her forehead into the counter and panted. The muscles of her core rolled as though trying to feel out the invader and decide whether it felt good or not.