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Lust Is a Thing with Wings
Doctor Lena Novak received email notification that a fresh batch of rats had arrived. Good. You wouldn't think that rats should be in such short supply. She arranged to meet Malcomb Felix, the grad student assisting her on the project, at the chem building that evening. The kid was good. Trustworthy. Tall, dark, and handsome, too. Lena had played with the idea of seducing him, but it didn't seem the thing to do: Grad students who could follow instructions were almost rarer than rats. And anyway, he was clearly smitten with his girl friend—one of those long distance relationships as far as Lena could determine from having stolen a look at Malcomb's cellphone a few weeks ago. The girl was slender. Sylphish. Waiflike. Barely any breasts at all, not that the phone had any nude shots. From the text and the pictures, Lena was pretty sure the couple had yet to have sex. "I hope the hours I work you on the project are not an impediment to your social life," Lena had said to Malcomb a few days ago, and from Malcomb's blush Lena concluded there was a good chance the boy was a virgin.
The chemistry building is all but empty at this hour. Lena meets Malcomb on the top floor where he is examining a table top full of the desert plants, all but one blooming vigorously. The project requires oils to be extracted from the sexual parts of the flower. "Now that you've seen me do it, it's time for you to give it a try," Lena tells Malcomb, and she shows him how to manipulate the plant's inner recesses. "The calyx is like the flower's succulent cunt," she says, smiling to herself at how her bold language brings color to his cheeks. "Press just right and the precious stuff oozes right up. Not so different from milking poison from a snake or cum from a cock." Sure enough Malcomb blushes again, but he quickly leans the technique. "What about that off color one?" he asks, pointing to a plant whose petals have faded, and thereby almost managing to avoid staring into Lena's cleavage. "Use your best judgment," she tells him. "I'm going to don my lab coat and do the rats downstairs."
The old elevator takes its time arriving. Lena wonders who could have called it away from the third floor. She's tempted to use the stairs. But at last the elevator doors open. The descent is slow and silent—so quiet one might wonder if the elevator is even moving. And then the doors open again. Lower Level Two. Dim lights illuminate the hallway. Lena's steps echo. She unlocks LL6, adjusts the lamps, takes her lab coat from the hook by the door and slips into it. Such an ugly smock.
The crates of rats are where they should be. Lena takes eight of the animals from the crate marked males and releases them into the freshly cleaned glass pen. She watches them settle down, then goes to the secure refrigerator and removes a vial of the oil she'd expressed yesterday. She fills a syringe. Based on her calculations, it should be twice the lethal dose. She'd decided to start high and work her way down. She places the syringe on the work table not far from the glass pen, then goes to the crate labeled females and makes a selection. "Lucky little lady," she says to herself, not sure if she's being ironic. Holding the rat securely, she injects it with the oil. The rat's body contracts, a spasm that Lena decides to construe as pleasure. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she says as she places the female rat into the glass cage and starts the timer.
Out-hustling his energetic companions, one male rat mounts her immediately. The copulation is fast and furious. The other rats won't be left out. They clamor crazily for sexual entry. What follows is a frenzy of voracious fucking. Lena sucks the wound. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she mouths. "Fuck!" She eyes the room. No sign of the rat. She smears the droplets of blood from her hand against her smock. The wound seems to be staunched. She removes the soiled coat, carries it to the large refuse canister and dumps it in. A moment later all her clothes are in the drum, even her shoes, and on top of these she empties the glass case of dead rats. "I'm not going to wash this," she half shouts, and goes to the intercom.
"Malcomb. Get your ass down here. It's an emergency."
She dims the lights. Naked, she waits by the door, listening for the rat. After what seems like much of an hour, she hears steps. There's the knock.
"Is everything all right?" Malcomb's voice through the closed door.
"No," she says, her voice as smooth as she can make it, just a trace of squeak. "There's been a little problem. Take off your clothes."
"My clothes?"
"Yes. Take them off. You can't come in unless you're naked. Contamination."
"Are you—?"
"Don't ask questions. Just do it!"
A moment later there's another knock. "Okay. I'm… I'm undressed."
"Good boy."
Lena opens the door.
Malcomb inside, she swings the door swiftly shut. There's barely enough light to see. Malcomb's eyes dart here and there. Otherwise he stands stock still.
"Don't move," Lena says. "Whatever you do, don't touch me." She kneels at Malcomb's feet.
"I don't…"
"Don't touch me," Lena repeats. Her mouth is inches from Malcomb's cock. He has a big one. It's starting to swell. She breathes against the foreskin.
"I don't under—"
"Hush," Lena says. "Hush, hush, hush." The cock continues to rise. His hands hover above her head, inches from her hair.
"No touching," she whispers, her breath warm against the burgeoning penis. Her tongue reaches out.
The poor boy can't help it. He leans forward. His cock comes in contact with her the tip of her tongue. The jolt is electric. His cock lurches. Lena smiles, opens her mouth, and licks. With each touch of her tongue, the cock jumps. The pleasure flows through Lena. Her pleasure feeds from his. She licks. Little strokes right at the wedge of foreskin. Again and again. Lurch after lurch. Jolt after jolt. The poor boy. For a moment Lena has forgotten about the rat.
"I'm going to suck you now," she tells Malcomb. "But whatever you do, don't come in my mouth. Understand? If you come in my mouth, that would be a disaster. Do you understand?"
The boy nods.
Slowly, carefully, Lena fits her lips over the head of Malcomb's cock. He's big. She has to stretch her lips wide, open her mouth wide. His glans is pure velvet. The fit is perfect. She encloses him. She sucks, but gently, like breathing in when sniffing a delicate flower.
His cock expands, fills the space. Her saliva wells, coating his cock, coating everything. She breathes against the velvet flesh. Gentle, gentle, gentle. He pushes forward. He'd been warned. She lets him push. She lets him find the back of her throat. Her throat gargles the glans of his engorged penis. She knows he can't last. The hot spew is about to begin. She clamps her lips hard, forestalling ejaculation, preventing, prolonging... It won't work forever, but for now it's delicious: his cock about to explode. She feels the excitement inside her. It fills her. Yes, utterly delicious. Maybe he can be saved.
She releases him from her mouth and grips his cock shaft with her hand and strokes him hard, wrenching the skin up over the rim of his glans, then down, then up, then down, and on the next up, he comes, a glorious ejaculation, creamy seed shooting from his penis slit. The jetting ribbon of cum reminds her of that rat flying up after its bite, and as if in retaliation, she gulps Malcomb's penis back into her mouth and sucks, deep hard sucks, capturing all that's left of his ejaculate—seven, eight, nine, expulsions—and she swallows him down.
She refuses to let him dwindle. With each surge, she surges too. She sucks, keeping him hard. The rest of him wilts. He's on his back on the floor, but his cock remains erect, her mouth around it, sucking, and then she mounts him.
The penetration is effortless. Her cove, flooded with juice, enfolds his phallus. She fucks him. Her inner cunt seizes his seizures, sucking each sweet orgasmic gush, milking the cream from his straining phallus until none remains. Depleted but still stiff, the cock stays stuck, lusciously ensconced. Again she sets to work, her supple vagina squeezing the shaft, milking the sexual stalk until the swell returns. Her orgasms set him off. His pleasure bucks. The fucks go on and on. His comes without cum. He comes and comes. She rides him to one orgasm after another, draining him bone dry.
Sated, or nearly so, she stops.
He is completely depleted now. His breath is shallow, about to expire. Poor boy, she says to herself, dismounting. Exhausted, her shoulders slump with the weight of her newly sprouted wings. She breathes deeply and the wings lift, bringing a beguiling lightness to her being. She regards the inert male beneath her. His flaccid penis flops. Nothing to do but dump the carcass in the barrel with the rest of the desiccated males.
Unless…
Good grad assistants are almost as rare as rats. Maybe he can be revived.
She slides up his torso. Covers his face with her cum-drenched sex. Undulating, flapping her fully formed wings, she fucks his face, hoping against hope to pump enough essential fluids into him that he might survive.
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
