Once A Paranymph

Isabel's phone alarm rang, interrupting her conversation. "Oh, sorry Richard, looks like it's my time! I'd better pop to the bathroom." Richard looked at her blankly. The train glid smoothly on, a gentle rocking and the muffled roar of the wheels on the tracks all that belied their speed.

"'Your time'?" he enquired in his alluring accent. It was hard to place — German maybe? No, further East. Slovakian, she wondered. She still hadn't asked him where he was from. Somehow there hadn't been the opportunity during their brief conversation so far, after they had met for the first time over the table in the middle of coach C of the 14:42 train to Firkenham Central. Isabel looked back skeptically.

"Yeah, you know..." she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and blushed. "I've got to, like... take care of things?" Richard continued staring at her, uncomprehending. Isabel looked away under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. Even with her jacket on, her curves were obvious, and that was not an advantage at a time like this.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about... It sounds uhh..." he trailed off, also looking uncomfortable.

"Don't tell me you don't know? The parasite?"

"The parasite?" he echoed.

"You really don't know?"

"Really." He raised one eyebrow inquiringly. Isabel looked at the clock on her phone.

"Wow, OK. I guess it hasn't spread to your country, huh? I suppose I can explain quickly, but then I really gotta go!

"It all started about 5 years ago. At first, nobody knew what was going on — women just started getting really horny for no apparent reason. Not every woman, and not all the time, it was a mystery. And it was all over the news for months here — that's why I was surprised you hadn't heard about it. Anyway, it's this illness, right? a parasite like I said. And if a woman catches it, then, well... you know how in malaria you have those fever cycles? It's kind of like that. Every two days — usually, it varies from person to person — we just get

really

horny. Don't look at me like that, I'm not kidding! It's not like you think, it's um... more debilitating than you'd imagine. As in, if we don't take precautions, then we basically turn into, well, mindless sluts, pretty much." Richard stifled a laugh. "Don't laugh! It's serious. Some women literally get turned into sex slaves because they forgot to do what they need to."

"So what

do

you have to do," asked Richard, suitably serious, "what's the precaution?" Isabel looked away and blushed again.

"We have to, uh... you know. Orgasm." Richard managed to contain his instinctive eye-bulging reaction and merely blanked.

"Oh. Right, so that's what you were going to..."

"Yeah, I gotta go and..." In spite of having had to masturbate once every 37 hours (or more frequently) for the last three and a half years, no matter what else was happening at that moment, Isabel was still shy about it. She looked at her phone.

"But how did you catch it then?" he asked, not noticing. Isabel hesitated, looking away, before she answered.

"Well you can never tell for sure. It's hard to catch it from anything other than bodily fluids so it was probably someone I kissed in school." Richard nodded slowly.

"So, uh... How did you find out you had it?" Richard was looking thoughtful, and oblivious to Isabel's discomfort and desire to go. "...if you don't mind my asking, that is," he added, realising what kind of question he was asking.

"Jeez you don't beat around the bush do you? Alright, fine, I'll tell you.

"I was fifteen and in school. I hadn't really had much, you know... experience in that regard so I just kind of started feeling funny in class and I asked to go to the bathroom. I just thought it was period stuff or something. The funny thing about it is though... well, not funny for us, but you know what I mean... is that the first time you don't get much warning. Nowadays even if I miss my alarm I generally notice and dash to the bathroom quick enough, but that time...

"So anyway, I was walking to the bathroom and just felt weirder and weirder and like I had to be touched. So I started touching myself, through my top, through my skirt, right there in the hall, and that felt pretty good, so I knew I was on the right track, so I started just rubbing harder and faster. I mean, I was pretty sheltered growing up, I had never fingered myself before or had a boyfriend do that or anything, I didn't know

what

was going on, just that it felt good.

"But somehow I knew it wasn't enough. That's another funny thing — if you miss your time, that's it, you can't make yourself cum. The parasites are releasing this massive load of hormones or something — that's what makes us so fucking horny, but they also release something which makes it waayyy harder to orgasm. If you do it in time, you suppress them for however long, but if you're late, you're stuck. Unless you can find some help that is.

"So basically, along came this boy I didn't even know and I just jumped on him and started ripping his clothes off, trying to fuck him. Somehow your subconscious like, lizard brain or whatever takes over and it just knows what to do. But just as I get his cock out he manages to get me off him and run away. I was too far gone to care so I just fell down with three fingers in me, moaning for all to hear. Can you imagine? Right in the middle of the corridor! That's how the nurse found me — thankfully he'd gone to get her instead of to grab all his mates for a gangbang." Isabel shuddered, and not entirely with horror. "I mean, we pretty much do whatever we're told when we're like that, so... So yeah, that's how I found out I'd got it. But I

really

need to go now..."

"Oh, sorry!" said Richard, "I just had one more question..." he put his hand on Isabel's as she moved to get up, and she stopped. "I mean... what happens after? How did you get back to normal?"

"Oh,

that

..." Isabel blushed deeply. "So yeah, you have to orgasm to get back, but like I told you, you can't do it yourself."

"So you have to, uh... fuck someone?"

"Not quite. Basically the parasite wants you to get fucked to get passed on, you know? So it's trying to make sure you don't cheat by fingering yourself. So the 'idea' I guess is that a guy, well, cums in you and he makes you cum, which like, resets it. But you can trick it with a special dildo. You have to cum and inject yourself with this fake sperm at the same time. It's kind of... well at first I thought it was gross, but to be honest it's also kind of hot. I mean, at

first

I didn't give a fuck because I just wanted to have something hot and hard in my pussy, but afterwards, when I was thinking about it..." Though she tried to conceal it, Richard saw her squirm. It wasn't too hard to imagine what she might have thought about, what she might have done.

"You get given a dildo that will do it once you're diagnosed, but if you miss the time then it's, uh, really hard to do it yourself. So I don't bother taking it with me when I'm out 'cause there's no point." Under the table, Isabel tried to remove her fingers from her underwear surreptitiously.

Fuck

, she thought,

that's not good.

Out loud, she said, "But I

really

need to go now. Be right back!"

She had already stood up as she started saying it and, without waiting for a reply, moved down the carriage to the toilet. Richard watched the alluring sway of her hips as she went, noted the two times she stumbled ever so slightly.

Isabel breathed a sigh of relief as the toilet door banged shut, that turned into a moan as she yanked her skirt down and immediately forced two fingers into herself. She was sopping wet, underwear drenched and, as her moan died on her lips, breath caught, all that could be heard inside the little compartment was the unmistakeable squelching sound of a horny pussy being vigorously explored.

Isabel released the breath she'd been holding and switched focus to her clit, flicking her fingers back and forth as fast as she could.

I can't be too late!

she told herself,

there should be half an hour after the alarm...

The cycles the parasite underwent were almost regular as clockwork in most women, Isabel included. Finally, her fingers a blur, she felt it rising inside her: an orgasm, waiting to be drawn out of her like a long thread being pulled from cloth. Her breath came ragged and crying, no concern given for the thoughts of the passengers nearby, and tiny droplets splashed the walls, flicked from her blurred fingertips.

She switched tactic again to coax the climax from within her, pounding herself with two fingers of one hand, while flicking her clit with the other. Her vision seemed to narrow, all that she could focus on was the juncture of her legs and the pleasure produced there. Isabel couldn't say how long she remained like this, fucking herself frantically with both hands, her vocalisations escaping as frequent squeaks which reverberated in the small room. But, after seconds, minutes, perhaps even longer, though, the truth gradually dawned on her: no orgasm was coming. She was too late.

It had been noted in the early days of the parasite's emergence that infected women gained some measure of resistance against it if they were exposed to several of its cycles. For those first victims this was noticed easily, as the disease was not understood, and the means to avoid lapsing into the stupor of arousal — the

haze

— was unknown. Some misguided doctors even recommended avoiding sex and masturbation altogether, with inevitable consequences.

Within a few months the disease was better-understood — its effects were easy enough to study and the parasite could be seen under the microscope. No cure was forthcoming though, and the new understanding came new risks. Many women and girls in areas without access to information and advice about how to avoid infection or the haze were preyed upon by criminals for the purpose either of trafficking or personal pleasure. Despite a rapid response from national governments bringing harsh penalties on anyone found to have intentionally allowed someone to fall into the haze, the crime was difficult to detect and tens of thousands of women ended up in brothels with no memory of their former selves, wantonly fucking anyone who came by. All that was required to ensure lasting obedience was to prevent them from having an orgasm in the moments after a man's ejaculation, which simply required a condom. Though the women did, in fact, recover some lucidity for half an hour or so if they climaxed, without the correct chemical inside them at the time, they were still almost totally pliant.

Some brothels catered to that niche of the market which was slightly more sadistic, and encouraged their clientele to climax unprotected inside the women, who were then restrained, crying and half mad, until the parasite was due to re-awaken. At this point a new client would be waiting, ready to observe her transformation from defiant wreck to wanton whore. For this purpose women with an especially short parasitic cycle were especially sought-after and commanded a high price at underground auctions.

As mentioned, these women who were exposed to repeated cycles of the parasite's effects learned to resist them, at least for a time, and remained semi-conscious during its peak. So it was that Isabel, though now firmly in the grip of the hormones coursing through her bloodstream, still had a chance: she simply had to leave the train and find the nearest doctor or hospital, which would have the special emergency dildo (and an industrial-strength reciprocating arm) that was all she needed to be returned to normal.

Although the law was swift to attempt its crackdown on those allowing the stupefaction of women, this did not go entirely unopposed. Not, as you might expect, due to the traffickers and pimps, but rather due to a certain minority of women who discovered that the descent into animalistic sexual frenzy was intoxicatingly addictive. These "Parasite Nymphomaniacs" or

paranymphs

as they became known, purposefully timed trips to nightclubs and bars with the onset of the parasite taking over their higher faculties, so that they could pick a suitable partner while still more or less in control of themselves, who would then (hopefully) take them somewhere and fuck them raw while they were utterly unable to refuse, or indeed do anything other than what their lover told them, so drunk were they on sex.

Special bars, of necessity kept secret and with strict vetting requirements for entry, sprang up as venues for paranymphs to meet a select few of the millions of men who wanted to spend a night with one of them. It was Isabel's dalliance as a paranymph at just such a bar for several months one year ago that was the reason she was now able to pull up her skirt, wash her hands, unlock the door and step out of the toilet.

She walked back to her seat and to Richard, every effort she could muster keeping her face serene and her hands away from her crotch. She was thus unable to prevent her hips from rolling seductively as she walked down the aisle, assiduously placing one foot directly in front of the other and thrusting her chest out. She smiled politely at Richard as she sat back down, her obvious blush being perfectly normal given his knowledge of what she'd been doing.

He coughed nervously as she took her seat across from him at the table and started gathering her things. "Whew!" she said, trying to act nonchalant, as if she had succeeded and didn't care that Richard knew she'd been jilling off in the bathroom.

Ugh, I wish I'd cum.

"How long was I in there anyway? My stop must be soon." Richard looked at her and it made her feel strange.

And I wish I'd brought spare underwear.

"Oh, not that long. Maybe ten minutes. Your stop already? I thought you weren't for another half hour." Isabel pretended to check the LED display for the next station before confirming that was leaving. An awkward silence descended then, for obvious reasons.

After a couple of minutes, Richard broke it. "So you're... OK now? Good for another 37 hours?"

"Yes, thanks!" said Isabel, relieved at the interruption.

Fuck

she thought, as she realised she'd been idly touching herself under the table for some time. She stopped with effort. "Wait... how did you know my cycle lasts 37 hours?" she asked, dumbly.

For a split second, a look of annoyance crossed Richard's chiseled features, replaced rapidly by one of good-natured resignation. "Ah," he said. "Well. Do you remember when the conductor came around?"

"Yes," Isabel replied, confused.

Is this, like, just the haze coming on or does that really have nothing to do with anything?

"Do you remember that there was that confusion about your railcard and you had to spend a few minutes explaining about why it didn't look like a normal one?"

"Yeah, I do... Why?"

I'm totally sure this is, like, super-confusing.

"Do you remember what you were doing before that?"

"Huh? No?" Isabel had started fingering herself again, but was too distracted to stop this time.

Mmm that feels good... GOD if only I could cum right now!

"I do. You were playing with your phone. Actually you... left it unlocked." Richard paused to see if Isabel would reply but she just looked blankly at him. By now she wasn't able to mask the movement in her arm; what she was doing under the table was obvious. "So I had a play myself." More blankness. "I looked at your alarm clock." A flicker of understanding registered on Isabel's face, a slight crease came to her brow.

Oh,

she thought.

Oh fuck.

"Yes, I thought I'd move it back half an hour. I think you understand now, don't you?"

Isabel nodded, dumbly.

Fuucckkkk,

she thought, for a different reason this time. Memories of her times at the para bar came flooding into her mind, of bodies, of fucking, of doing anything and everything she was asked. Richard reached for her hand, the one on the table. Isabel tried to will herself to move it away, but could not. She shuddered as he touched it, and Richard grinned.

Come on Isabel, you can fight through this!

With great effort she withdrew her hands — both from under Richard's and under her skirt — shuddering once more at the sensation of his skin on hers. A little unsteadily, she rose to her feet and said, "I'm sorry, I need to be going." And with that, she turned and walked into the aisle and towards the door of the train.

"We will shortly be arriving at Firkenham North. If you are leaving the train here, please make sure you have all your personal belongings with you. When alighting, please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Next stop, Ferkenham North." Isabel's heart was hammering in her chest, just as she hammered the "open doors" button as the train pulled into the station.

Come on, nearly there!

she thought, trying merely to look impatient, rather than dripping with arousal. Her left hand, clutching the strap of her handbag, squeezed her nipple without conscious intervention.

Finally the doors opened and she stepped out into the afternoon air, blissfully fresh after the stuffiness of the carriage. Her right nipple sprang to attention, matching the left, in the breeze. As she left the station she was already looking at a map on her phone, finding directions to a doctor's surgery ten minute's walk away.

That's OK. That's enough time. It'll still be another half an hour before I go full nympho. Twenty minutes at least.

Her breasts seemed to strain at the fabric of her top, her pussy weeping at being confined inside underwear; the effect of the hormones on nerve endings in the skin was well-documented.

She was walking past a park and trying not to flash a man with a pushchair when it happened. A voice said quietly, "Isabel, stop," and she froze in place. It was Richard, and apparently she'd gone past the point when refusing instructions was impossible. She felt her pussy spasm and flood with arousal.

No, no, no...

This had always been her favourite part at the para bars, but she'd put that behind her, hadn't done it for eight months. The haze and the sensations were just as powerful though. "Turn around."

No... yes...

She turned, slowly, her pussy twitching, revelling in her powerlessness even as she despised it. "I do love it when they think they can get away," he said, a grin consuming his face.

He drew closer to her and she shuddered under his breath on her face, and again, melting helplessly as he pulled her in for a kiss. She returned it without thinking, though at first her hands hovered and twitched, the only sign of her rebellion, before they settled on his back, squeezing their bodies together.

Yessss...

Breaking the kiss, Richard took Isabel, guiding her with a hand at her back, into the park. "I'm going to fuck you right here," he said calmly, as if telling her that he was going to pop to the post office. "And you're going to

love

it aren't you, you little paranymph

slut

."

Oh God I AM,

she thought, though out loud she merely whimpered, stumbling slightly as she went weak at the knees. Rallying her senses and thinking of the consequences, she tried to look stern and said, "let's just get this over with," even managing to keep her hands from wandering anywhere to lend extra credibility.

The park just had a few parents with children playing on the swings, but beyond the play area it opened out into countryside, a small river flowing through, sparse woodland on the far bank, with farm fields visible on the hillside beyond.

It was towards the trees that Richard led her, seeking a semblance of privacy away from the children. "Take off your jacket," he instructed, and Isabel obeyed without a thought. For people like her, it wasn't just the hormones that fed the fires of arousal; the lack of control, the sheer inevitability had her dripping. "Fuck yeah, squeeze your tits as well." She didn't even have time to glance towards the swings before her hands moved to her chest, rubbing and squeezing salaciously, while moaning as quietly as she could manage.