Grace spun around as the book fell to the floor. She glared at me, holding a finger up to her lips. Her lips looked good. Full, nicely made up… her nails were painted, too. I imagined her hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me slowly, then faster, those lips open and waiting, her mouth-
I shook my head, hard. I pushed the book aside with my foot.
"Sorry," I mouthed. She stared at me an extra couple of seconds, then turned around, crawling slowly down the aisle of the library. I tried not to stare at her ass. I failed.
As I watched the graceful, fluid motions of her legs and ass, I tried to remember what the old Grace looked like. Hell, ‘old’ - it was barely two weeks ago. She’d been mousy, plain, with poor complexion and a frame that could have stood to lose forty pounds. But now… jesus.
I glanced down at my own arms, stretched before me as I crawled behind her. The veins on the backs of my hands protruded, and my forearms were rippled with muscle. Clearly Grace wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Looking at her, being near her, smelling her… I felt a twitch in my cock, which had also changed dramatically. Before, it had been a step or two below ‘disappointing’. Now, I could feel the weight of it hanging between my thighs, even when it was flaccid. It was rarely flaccid anymore.
I tried to focus. Thinking about my cock was not helpful. It was so easy to get distracted. Most of the time, now that I was more aware, I could stay ahead of the urges. But the haze in my mind was always there, and it descended so quickly if I wasn’t careful. I knew the same thing was happening to Grace. Hell, the same thing had happened to everyone.
Grace and I were the only ones left - that I knew of, at least. Everybody else had been carted off. Where, I had no idea. I didn’t notice it over the first few days. Nobody did. We were all too distracted by the changes in our (and each other’s) bodies to realize that the campus was slowly emptying. People would pair up, spend the afternoon fucking like rabbits, and the next day they’d be gone. It wasn’t until a few days ago that I realized how deserted the place was.
Then I saw one of them for the first time. It was a guy. He looked odd, simply because he looked so normal. For the past week, I’d seen nothing but curvaceous sex goddesses and hard-bodied Adonises. Then there was this guy - average height, balding, wearing a simple suit and carrying a clipboard. It was weird, though, he had this air of… I don’t know, authority.
He didn’t see me. There was a couple on the floor nearby, rutting like mad. He walked up to them. He spoke - I couldn’t hear what he said - and they answered. He checked his clipboard, nodded, and gestured. They followed as he walked away, sexual craze forgotten, docile as lambs.
The weirdest thing was, I had an urge to follow him, too.
I don’t know where they end up, the ones who get collected. The campus is covered with people like that guy, though - normal-looking men and women who seem to have the ability to lead us around with just a word. Grace thinks it’s some kind of elaborate sexual slavery ring. It seems a bit ambitious to me - an entire university? How come nobody has noticed? - but I don’t argue. I don’t have a better explanation.
Now, we’re just trying to find a way out. Grace thinks that if we can get out of the far end of the library, they probably won’t have anyone watching the stairwell that goes out to the-
I wasn’t paying attention, and Grace had stopped moving. I bumped right into her, knocking her off balance. To keep her from crashing into the bookshelves and making noise, I grabbed her, yanking her body against mine.
Everything went dull around the edges. Blurry. Grace’s body felt hot against mine. Soft. Yielding. I felt strong, holding her like that. Powerful. She stared up at me, lips parted. “Mike,” she whispered, voice somewhere between a whisper and a moan, “no, don’t, we have to…”
I squeezed one of her breasts.
I couldn’t stop myself. It was instinct. I cupped it in my hand, holding her against me with my other one, and squeezed firmly. It felt good, right, correct. That’s what we were made for - touching each other. Feeling each other. Fucking each other. Especially with these bodies. What else would we do, looking like this?
Grace gasped, squirming at my touch. She shifted, almost like she was trying to pull away for a second, and-
Fuck. Fuck! I had a moment of clarity then, realizing what we were doing. We couldn’t do this, not here, not now! We’d be caught for sure! We had to get ahold of ourselves, had to get out of here, couldn’t let our oh fuck oh jesus god that felt goooood…
Grace had shifted around, slid a leg between mine, and had her thigh pressed against my crotch. I’m sure she could feel my cock - at full length and hard as iron, now. She gazed into my eyes, and all I could see was lust. The tough, rebellious nature that had guided her - and, let’s be honest, me - through this week was gone. She was consumed by lust now. It was up to me to get us out of this. I had to keep control of myself.
Grace grabbed my hand, peeled it from her breast, and slid it up under her skirt.
She leaned in, and in a whisper sexier than anything I’d ever heard before, plead “Fuck me.”
I lost control.
I grunted, shoving her back down to the floor. I fell upon her - one hand shoving her panties aside, the other freeing my cock. I was on top of her, and inside her, less than a second later. From there, it was all a blur. We screamed and grunted like animals. I pulled her off, yanking her mouth down onto my cock. I ripped her shirt open and delighted in the torn buttons spraying off of it. She fucked me with her legs wrapped around my waist, fingernails digging into my flesh. I forgot everything except Grace’s body and the pleasure it brought mine.
When a woman found us, some time later, it was the easiest thing in the world to just listen to her. We didn’t worry at all as we followed her off to our new lives.