The Other Kind (The Progeny of Evolution Series)

by Arsuaga, Mike

  “No, Admin called. Class is cancelled.” A broad grin plastered itself across my face.

  “How wonderful!” She opened the freezer, reached in, and took out a cutlet in a zippered plastic bag. “I’m famished.”

  Approaching as silently as I could from behind, I nibbled wetly on her neck and slid my hands across a buff little stomach, taut as a bowstring. My fingers lingered on the downy blonde hairs there and moved down toward the coarser ginger colored ones. The freezer lid closed with a heavy snap as she distractedly placed the cutlet on top. My fingers separated the soft lips of her most tender flesh and probed the slippery wetness within. A desperately hard and deep breath caught in her throat when I touched her clitoris with digits lubricated by our mingled fluids.

  “How do you do that?” she asked with a ragged gasp.

  In response she rubbed a firm behind against my worn but rising member. I swept her up and placed the compact little bundle in the bed, on her back, handling her as a priceless and fragile object. She lay still, facing the ceiling, arms crossed in front, covering her breasts, legs aligned side by side like the bas relief on a Templar’s coffin. Only her eyes moved, two silver shimmers in the dark, contemplatively watching what I did next.

  Easing her legs apart, I buried my face in the aromatic folds of her sex, savoring the fragrances of her and me, a blend of Jasmine rice and, in my case, quality bond paper. She opened her legs further revealing the center of paradise. My tongue flicked around the perimeter. With each lash she let out a short gasp. She moved creamy hips in rhythm to my tongue action. Slowly I worked around to the top of her crevice teasing the sensitive bud with hot moist breath. From the closeness of my viewpoint, it looked like a pink, wet teardrop pendant. Its moist warmth felt pliant to the touch of my tongue. With each lingual caress she lurched back and forth, out of her mind with the building tension. She clutched and then clawed at the back of my head. The gasps elevated to soprano whines.

  The undulating pelvis picked up speed, making it more challenging to stay on target, but I persevered. Sam reminded me of an ancient catapult. With each lick I felt the gather of energy and tension in the same way the catapult operators winched the ropes and leather sinews, adding increments of stored power. I drained prey with the same biting muscles I used for what I was doing to Sam, which gave me world class ability in oral sex. Vampires were more than just another pretty face. “Debutante’s Delight,” female familiars called us.

  Sam’s frantic gyrations gradually moved her away from me. Soon we found ourselves lying across the bed. I paused to get a better position.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, pushing my face hard into her fevered mound. I backed away for another second while completing the move.

  She sighed with disappointment, only to rev up again when I resumed. It reminded me of the winding down of lights and equipment during a power loss, and the way it accelerated back to speed, frequency, and illumination when the reserve generator took over. My hands pressed upward from under her little butt, keeping it in position. It felt rock hard. She planted her feet on the floor with legs straddling me. Groaning between deep sucking breaths, she tossed her head and upper body from side to side. When the pleasure of my lingual massage became unbearable she tried to pull free. I didn't allow it. I locked her pelvis firmly in my grip until she climaxed.

  Sam's orgasm swiftly approached, powerful and out of control like a runaway train. When the latch lifted, the stored energy in the catapult that was Sam achieved release. She exploded in a silvery howl and crushed my face to her nectar anointed womanhood with all the force she possessed. I think she wanted to push my head inside. For a second I thought she might morph but she controlled it. Every muscle in her body appeared to contract, followed by convulsive waves dwindling to trembling whimpers. Afterward, she lay on her back, eyes closed, recovering her scrambled and satiated senses.

  Five minutes later she stirred. “That was special.” As her breathing settled back she playfully gazed at me from under her eyelashes. In daylight they were thin but appeared darker and thicker in the dim irregular light of the room.

  “Merely your average horny vampire trying his best,” I kidded.

  She turned and rose on an elbow, smiling with two rows of brilliant white teeth. “No mister. You aren’t getting off so easy,” she said, pulling me on her.

  As much as we did it through the day, I could easily have lost the mood. Sam’s perfect sexuality redeemed the moment. She instinctively knew the correct angle to place herself for my penetration and clung to me like grim death. When I climaxed, an unbearable sensation verging on pain flowed through my sore and well-used shaft, forcing me to pull out of her. I stroked myself feeling three labored contractions, dredged up from the limit of my endurance, before a last bead of semen, like a small white pearl, worked its way through my inflamed inner canal to materialize at the end of my member.

  We collapsed into the bed, lying side by side and listening to the rainwater flowing through the gutters in the otherwise silent apartment. Feeling sleep trying to close in, the peaceful feeling of spiraling slowly ever inward toward the center of creation, I put my arm around Sam and let it have its way.

  At the edge of slipping over, I remembered thinking how Sam satisfied me on many levels and, realized, at last, I met a female who would allow me to let go of Lois. From now on, regardless how things turned out between us, Sam would be the one I would return to and remember. In the warmth of the thought, I slept well.

  The next thing I knew Sam shook me awake. “Jim, it’s the doorbell.”

  Like a piece of driftwood pulled from the muddy dark river bottom to drift slowly toward a lighted surface, I awoke. “Hurry, Jim, someone’s at the door.” She shook my inert mass with small persistent hands. I sat upright, still disoriented. The darkness seemed out of place.

  Still groggy, I threw on a robe and stumbled to the front, turning on lights as I went. I put a sleepy eye to the peep hole. Under the vestibule light stood a thoroughly drenched and bedraggled Cynthia. “Oh, Doctor Jim,” she exclaimed hysterically, throwing herself into my arms when I opened the door. “I did something bad!”

  I led her inside. “Calm down. You’re soaked. Let’s get dry clothes on you. Then tell us all about it.”

  Sam appeared from the darkness of our room wearing the mate to my robe. After a quick glance at a rain-soaked Cynthia, she asked in that bright optimistic toned voice of hers, “What happened, dear?”

  Cynthia sat on my vinyl easy chair dripping wet. The dress she wore was several sizes too large. It hung heavily from her, weighted down by the water. Her appearance and demeanor was subtly different, but because of the soaking I couldn’t put my finger on it. The water also prevented me from reading her scent. Sam microwaved a cup of tea from the full pot she always kept handy. “Take it,” she said. “It’ll make you feel better.” Trembling, Cynthia cradled it in both hands, sipping slowly.

  “Oh, Sam,” she wailed at length, “I think I killed him.”

  “Slow down,” Sam said calmly. “You’re safe now. Take a breath and start from the beginning.”

  Cynthia took another sip of Earl Grey before speaking. “Night before last I stayed up late. When I went up to my room, I found my dorky little brother going through my things. He’d found the jewelry box where I kept my money. I asked him what he thought he was doing. He told me a freak like me didn’t need money. I know he wanted it to buy drugs or beer. When I grabbed at his hand to make him let it go, he slapped me hard, so hard it knocked me out for a minute.

  “I remembered what you told me, Sam, about not having sex until after I emerged. Also, the part about not letting myself get riled up over things. When I came to I was flat on my butt. He’d knocked me across the room. He’s sixteen now and a lot taller than me, taller than Doctor. Jim even, and strong as a bull.

  “Trying to keep my cool and reason with him, I said, as calmly as I could, it was wrong to steal my stuff, but he’s not listening. He comes
over, lifts me onto the bed, and gets right in my face. He threatens to beat me if I told on him, adding that my parents wouldn’t believe me anyway, which is probably true.

  “He grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me to him. Our faces weren’t an inch apart. He brought his hand back and hit me again. I’d never been so scared or pissed. This is hard to explain, but I felt like he’d pushed me over the edge of something. Does that make sense, Sam?”

  “Yes dear, it does.” Sam placed a hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “Did he try to do anything sexual?”

  “Heavens no, he’s a watcher not a doer. Trust me, I know.”

  “After he slapped you, what happened next?”

  “Oh yeah, well suddenly a tingling swept through my body. At the same time hair popped out all over and I grew bigger than my brother. I said he’s taller than Doctor Jim, didn’t I?”

  Sam acknowledged she had mentioned it.

  “I’m not sure how it happened, but I threw him against the wall. He fell on the floor and stayed still,” Cynthia continued. “Right then my parents came in. Luckily, I’m back to my old human self. They take one look at him and the mess, and naked me because I busted out of what I was wearing. They think we were having sex and, since I was older, start blaming me. I ran out of the house. I took a dress from a neighbor’s clothesline and came here. Oh, I know I killed him.”

  “There, there.” Sam gently rubbed her shoulder and half turned to me. “Please get a couple of towels from the back. Cynthia and I have to be alone for a while. Her emergence has begun.”

  For most of the night, while I waited sleeplessly in our room, the two females shared a mysterious esoteric ritual. Sam spoke quietly. I heard hardly anything, no small feat with vampire hearing. Around four in the morning a tired Sam opened the door. “She is ‘out’ now.”

  By “out” Sam meant Cynthia matured into a lycan. She lay across the living room carpet bound with plastic ties. When Sam morphed she grew to a height of maybe five feet ten. Cynthia topped out at over seven feet tall, a formidable creature with slits for eyes, black fur, and bat-like ears. Upon seeing me, she uttered a low growl. “No,” said Sam to lycan Cynthia. “He is not a kill. Not kill. Do you understand?”

  Cynthia relaxed, becoming quiet. Sam gathered what remained of the dress the new lycan wore when she arrived. The rigors of emergence reduced it to a bunch of shredded wet rags. She dumped the mess into the kitchen waste basket and surveyed the mass of black fur stretched out on the floor with the slowly heaving sides. “She should be returning to human form soon. Then it will be time for you to go to work.”

  “Me? What do I have to do with this?”

  “She can morph. That’s only half of the emergence. She must learn to control it during intercourse or she will kill her partner. Like Cynthia, my emergence arrived through a similar trauma and not by first orgasm, as most do, so I understand her situation.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I received instruction from an older lycan, but I had to do it all myself. You will make things much easier.”

  “And my job is…?”

  “You know more about inducing female orgasms than anyone in this apartment. I need you to give her manual stimulation while I teach her how to control morphing.” She winked, smiling with teasing sarcasm. “I know it is asking a lot, but do it for me and our coven.”

  Actually, the idea of fondling anyone with the body of a twelve-year-old struck me as distasteful, even unnatural. But Sam was Sam. I loved and trusted her. I didn’t give two hoots about the coven. I did it for her. I turned toward Cynthia.

  “What is this?” I asked in awe. Lying on the floor, a sexually mature Cynthia, totally unmindful of her nakedness, gazed at me tiredly.

  “What’s up, Doctor Jim?” she murmured.

  The sickly, pale skin changed dramatically. A rich and vibrant white, like marble or porcelain, replaced the dullness, the difference between pasty-skinned zombies from a low budget horror movie and Snow White. Her eyes and hair showed a new depth and shine. The once skeletal face filled out, lean but not malnourished. The flesh still tautly covered handsome bone structure but with a new vitality and substance. Breasts rose from her formerly featureless ribcage, adhering to the saying more than a handful is a waste. Each presented a firm delta topped by a hard dark nipple, like a black cherry on a scoop of vanilla ice cream. A curve of hip projected from the waist. Her long legs filled out and acquired shape. A vivid black pubic triangle filled the space where her thighs joined. From it emanated the rich scent of her new sexuality. How did I not notice the difference between a female lycan’s scent and a human’s? I wondered.

  A touch of color brightened Cynthia’s cheeks. “Doctor Jim, I had no idea!” she said dreamily with a flirt in her tone as she assessed me with lycan senses. “I think you’re hot, too.”

  * * * *

  By the next evening Cynthia mastered control of morphing. I induced over a hundred orgasms before she figured it out. Afterward we collapsed on the carpet, falling into a dreamless sleep. I awoke to find Cynthia’s head tucked into the crook of my arm. Sam had covered us with a sheet.

  “I found a place where Cynthia can stay. We have to leave,” Sam said. She hunched over the computer monitor. She had been up a while.

  “Why do we have to go anywhere?” Cynthia asked, groggily sitting upright and pulling the sheet close around. “Besides, I’m starving.”

  “How long do you think it will be until your parents have the police searching for you? Where do you think they will go first? We have to get you out of here.”

  “You say you found a place?” I asked.

  “Yes, it is a member of our community. He’s a lycan. He owns a cattle ranch in Idaho.”

  “What do we know about him?” I stopped, suddenly realizing how much I sounded like a corny old protective father. A protective father to a young lycan who, a couple of hours earlier, writhed and screamed in sexual climax under my touch, so loudly Sam gagged her with a towel.

  “He’s been networking with us for a while, practically since we started. I thought I remembered about the cattle ranch. By the way—oh skeptical daddy—Cynthia’s virtue will be safe.”

  “You know this how?”

  “He’s gay. You might not be so safe, however.”

  “How are we getting there?”

  “We’ll drive. Tomorrow we’ll both call in. I figure if we drive in shifts we should be able to make the round trip in three days.”

  “Hey guys,” Cynthia chimed in. “This is me you’re talking about. Don’t I have a say?” She squeezed into one of Sam’s oversized T-shirts. A quick glance as she sat confirmed she wore nothing else.

  Sam turned toward her. “Cynthia, dear, you can never go home. If you killed or even seriously hurt your brother they will put you in jail. It’s not easy to get fresh kill in there. What’s more, there is no reasonable explanation for the physical changes you experienced in the past two days. Look at yourself in the mirror. You are a woman now.”

  “A damned good looking one, too,” I added from my corner. Cynthia shifted position. As she uncrossed her legs, I sneaked a glance at her cleft, two parallel traces of vertical pink buried in the black hair. You would think I saw enough of it while bringing her to orgasm over the course of almost twenty-four hours, but males never tire of checking out young pussy. I guess it’s why females think we’re all pigs. I don’t know.

  “’Jim’s right,” Sam continued. “But good looks won’t keep you out of jail. If you didn’t go there, you’d probably end up being studied at a research center. A lycan guinea pig is the last thing any of us need.”

  An expression of understanding crossed her face. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “But I wish you guys could stay with me.”

  “We’ll visit, I promise,” Sam said, “and there’s always email. But you need to lie low for a while.”

  “Still, what do we know about this rancher lycan?” I asked. “Is he the tough-guy-butch g
ay or the interior decorator kind?”

  Sam chuckled. “Well, daddy, why do you think we’re going with her? The man offered his place as a haven for new emergents before Cynthia’s situation developed, so I think he is on the level. Besides, didn’t you see the size of that girl when she morphed? I don’t think she has too much to fear from anyone.”

  Chapter Seven

  Delivering a New Lycan

  The same day we called out, we hit our ATMs for cash, gassed up my Corolla, and got on the road before dark. It was sixteen hundred miles one way. Driving straight through, we made it in thirty hours. The first day, on the outskirts of Little Rock, Arkansas, we came across a hitch-hiker at a rest stop, killed, and fed on him. Sam had the foresight to bring a large cooler so he lasted the rest of the trip. As we moved north, the weather got colder. In recent years, summer ended early in the Great Plains.

  Leaving the flat country behind, we crossed into Idaho from Wyoming, entering mountain country. The temperature dropped yet again.

  “I knew I should have packed winter clothes,” Sam kept saying from the back seat. In our latitude, where the worst of winter is skim ice on the campus ponds, winter clothes are sweaters, maybe windbreakers.

  “I think we’d need something a lot heavier than anything we have at home,” I replied.

  “Guys, can you quit it?” Cynthia chipped in, turning so she faced us. “You sound like my parents.” Silence. A minute later she asked for the hundredth time. “Are we there yet?” This nearly caused Sam to morph and go at her.

  I drove. In an effort to prevent all-out war and help us get to our destination, I called for another consultation with the road map. Neither GPS nor cell phones worked here. Internet came through landline telephones. Cynthia unfolded the map until it filled almost the entire inside, making Sam crouch down. She studied it while Sam fumed from her cramped position.