Time Isn’t Real

Hello my lovelies.

So, this one has been in the works for… some time now – and it’s ended up a fair bit longer than anticipated, so I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labour!

Love ya’s,

Iri x

CW: questionable consent; rape mention;

CHAPTER ONE – THE POWER

Time isn’t real, I told myself, thinking those words over and over and over again. They flowed around my mind, ingraining and solidifying themselves, just like he said they would. My poor father’s last words, before…

No. Don’t distract yourself, Brooke.

Time isn’t real. Time isn’t real. Time isn’t…

If I wasn’t paying attention, waiting for it, I might have missed it. The cafeteria around me, part of the University campus, paused. Just for a second. Less than a second.

But it happened.

I saw how the clock hesitated. The TVs above the checkout froze, as did the real people beneath them. A sandwich however in mid-air as someone dropped it into their bag, the rustling of its paper wrapping vanishing for a moment.

And then, it all came flooding back. Chatter from the TV, the voices of strangers around me going about their day, talking on phones or in little groups in a booth-like table off in the corner. Reality crashed back in, none the wiser.

I held in my excitement, trying not to laugh or anything – there was no need to draw attention to myself.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I whispered to myself, almost like a prayer, before finishing my Cheese Ploughman’s baguette.

Stopping time was hungry work.

* * *

‘Brooke?’ I heard Shannon call as the door shut behind me. Student life meant I was living with three roommates, and three roommates meant a severe lack of privacy. So, even though I couldn’t see anyone as I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on a hook over the shoe rack, I could hear Shannon somewhere ahead of me – probably in the kitchen, which was dead ahead. Upstairs, I heard a set of feet moving around, and guess that was probably Kloe, who was an avid dancer – gloriously breaking the stereotypes of ‘second-year computer programming student’ wherever she went. I couldn’t hear the dull mff-mff-mff that typically signalled Ryan being in his room, so either he was unusually quiet, or he was still out.

My head, aching from my cafeteria training, was begging me for something alcoholic and tasty, so I followed the sound of Shannon’s voice after I kicked off my rain-splattered boots and dropped my bag at the base of the stairs.

I pushed through the kitchen door, and a waft of tomato-and-garlic washed over me, making me moan with hunger.

‘Fuck, that smells good.’

‘I’m teaching myself how to make pasta sauce from scratch,’ she told me, as she stood over a pan, stirring a well-seasoned mix of chopped tomatoes and sliced sausages, with a pot of spaghetti bubbling next to it. ‘You probably don’t need anyone asking how you are-‘

‘Nah,’ I said with a smile, opening the fridge lazily, allowing myself to meander around the linoleum floor in my socks. ‘I’ve had enough of that this weekend.’

Shannon nodded, turning back to her food. ‘Still. You’re back soon. Ryan said we shouldn’t expect you back for a week or two.’

I shrugged. ‘We weren’t close, so…’

She didn’t pry, and I thanked her silently for that as I pulled out some cheese, planting it next to Shannon’s prep area.

‘Thanks,’ she said, letting go of her wooden spoon to give me a half-hearted hug around my shoulders. I accepted it, but when she was done I made a quick escape. Up the wooden stairs, slightly slippery under my socks, I headed, stopping at my locked bedroom door to fumble through my keys, when I heard Shannon shouting from downstairs – ‘You have some post, by the way! Put it under your door!’

I got the damn thing open, and heard the rustle of paper drag across the carpet as I kicked the post by accident. I picked it up, slipped into my cozy little room, and locked the door shut behind me.

With a sigh, I dropped my bag by the overloaded laundry basket, and flicked on the lamp. Behind it was a mirror, which served to double the amount of light pouring in, and yet the room still seemed darker than it should. It was warm, at least.

My bed, half-made with blue covers, waited for me with open arms, but I resisted for now. I would have plenty of time to cry myself to sleep later. First, I went to the table that sat beneath my window, styled by me into a desk, and pulled the laptop I’d left here out of the top drawer. I opened it, plugged in the charger, and wiped my eyes. All of a sudden, I was very tired.

In my bag was a photo in a frame, given to me by Mum. I wasn’t ready to get it out yet, to look at it, but when I did, it was going to sit just here, on my desk. The picture was of me and Dad, from last year. He’d been sick at the time, but it was early-on enough that we were still going out and doing things. ‘While I still can,’ he’d joked. Not much of a joke, now, though. We were on a ferry, thick coats on, hoods up and hot chocolates in-hand. Behind us were the rocky cliffs of a Scottish coastal island I forgot the name of. Both of us were grinning, cheeks red from the cold and rain.

For the past year, that photo had been on my Dad’s desk, back home. I wasn’t quite ready to get it out, yet.

My laptop beeped to live, bringing me back to reality.

‘Okay,’ I croaked, stretching my back and realising I was still wearing my jacket only as it creaked over my straining clavicle. I unzipped it, and loaded up my emails, opening Facebook and all that. The notifications were mostly photo-tags from the funeral, and a strange anger washed over me. It wasn’t like it was a wedding – it was a bit distasteful to take photographs at a wake and post them online, wasn’t it?

I closed Facebook, and looked through my emails.

Spam, spam, spam. Nothing interesting.

Strange, how something as monumental as a person dying didn’t stop the world from being, generally speaking, completely boring.

I shrugged my jacket off, so it was hanging inside-out on the back of my chair, and grabbed the post. Three letters, two of which looked like spam, as well. The third, though, was hand-written. I pushed my thumb under the flap, and ripped it open. Inside, a side of lined A4, also hand-written.

‘Huh,’ I mused, giving it a read.

To Brooke,

I hope this finds you well, and I am so sorry for your loss. Your father was a dear friend, and will be sorely missed.

My name is Hugo Ruanne, Professor of Mathematics, Physics and Relativity. I worked with your father on studying his ‘condition’ – a euphemism that was far kinder before his diagnosis.

I am writing to offer you kindness, and a level of support, though I’m hesitant to specify the subject in writing. If you are, as your father suspected, in possession of the same condition, then please contact me on the number I’ve included below.

Time isn’t real.

Warmest sympathies,

Hugo Ruanne

From behind the letter slipped another piece of paper – another photograph, and again presenting an image of my Dad. This time, however, he was standing with a man I vaguely recognised, bearded and bespectacled. My father, clean-cut and wearing a flatcap he liked to annoy my mother with, had his arm around the stranger’s – I assumed, Mr. Ruanne’s – shoulders, holding champagne flutes, the room around them a bay window that looked out onto a sunset-painted garden, the carpet maroon and the curtains gold. They looked happy, and the place looked fancy. I didn’t recognise it.

I took a moment to absorb the information.

I knew that the condition, as it was apparently called, was hereditary. Dad had told me as much, in the little snippets of information he had given me.

Time isn’t real. That phrase, I thought, was just between me and him. Apparently not. This Hugo, he knew the key phrase, too. It gave me a glow of trust, however, knowing that whoever he was, my father had given him the same, if not more, information as what I had.

There was a number, beneath his name, that functioned as an open invitation. A way for me to understand this… connection. This thread, that had gone from Dad to me.

It made sense, if this really was all about time, that Dad would have sought out a Professor of Relativity. Someone who knew how time warped and bent better than most. It was the obvious choice.

Whatever this power, this condition was, and if there was any way to understand it, the road to understanding started with Hugo.

But, I was just far too tired to bother today.

It had been a long day – a long week. All I needed was to sleep in my own bed, even if it was still daylight outside. Even if Shannon’s food smelled amazing downstairs. Even if there was a phone number waiting to be called.

So, I put my phone on top of the letter, on my desk, and stood. I stripped, enjoying the warm air on my bare skin, even though the whiff of body odour and the weight of my unwashed hair begged for a shower. I decided to get on that as soon as I woke up. For now, I would just sleep.

Just… sleep…

CHAPTER TWO – THE COUPLE

When I woke, it was to darkness. The covers were warm, and my limbs had twisted into them the way I often did when I dreamed – wrapping the end of the duvet under my foot, and then pulling a corner in under a knee, my arms pinning the top to my chest, right up to my chin. For a moment, I convinced myself that I would be able to slip back into a blissful, indulgent over-sleep, which I thought I deserved.

Then, I heard it – the thing that had probably pulled me out of my sleep in the first place.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

Over and over again, the sound of Ryan’s bed frame hitting the other side of the wall we shared made an uncomfortable rhythm that filled the room. I had no idea whether Ryan knew that his… rambunctious sexual appetite meant that I had lost hours of sleep each time he had his girlfriend round, as I had never brought it up with him. There was no way for him to know.

Still, if my bedframe was slamming into the wall over and over again, it might have at least crossed my mind.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

What was worse, and I knew it was coming, is that the girlfriend, a bouncy 18-year old ginger thing called Penny, wasn’t what would be called quiet. Any moment now, I was going to start to get an expletive-filled commentary to match the hammering on my wall.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

I groaned, pulling my head under the covers, basking in the warm little pod I had created for myself. And the warmth was growing.

I would never admit it out loud, but by way of my less-than-active sex life, the sound of Ryan and Penny’s well-paced pounding was starting to get to me. The image in my mind of that sound coming from my own bed, some well-hung guy with nice eyes making me swear as I came on him…

Oh, god, Brooke – stop it.

Then, as though to tempt me, Penny’s wailing began, muffled through the plaster but unmistakably pleased with her situation.

‘Ah! AH! Yes, Ry, YES! Hmff – hah, hah, hah, HNN!’

A bashful sort of shame fell over me, as I listened to her high-pitch whines, hearing how her pleasure made her forget about the world, focused only on the man currently inside her.

‘FUCK – Oh, Ry!’

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yES!’

I shifted, that bashful sort-of warm giving way to my own arousal. I wasn’t proud of it, but there’s only so long I could go listening to a girl moaning her little heart out before my own bisexual little heart started to beat a little faster.

I pulled the covers down, letting the sounds of their fucking reach me a little easier, as the warm air beneath the duvet beckoned my hand to slide lower, slipping under the soft material, snaking across my body. Searching.

‘OH G- hah, hah, HNNNYES RY!’

As her hollers went on, likely filling the house by now, my fingers found the mound of my sex, the shape of my skinny hips leading me there effortlessly. I bit back a moan of my own as I spread my thighs, just enough to get access, and felt my wetness on my fingertips. My digits slid across my slick lips, as I listened to the oncoming orgasm through the walls.

‘Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme!’

My other hand joined my first, as I let my eyes closed – not that there was much to see in the dark, anyway – and just… listened.

My roommate was giving his girlfriend a run for her money, and I was past the point of caring whether that stopped me from getting a run in, too. So, as one set of fingers slid against the nub of pleasure at the crest of my sex, the other slipped below. I pushed a finger into myself, and gasped as my unattended pleasure centers opened up.

Thud, thud, thud, became thmthmthmthmthm – Ryan must have been close to peaking.

My fingers sped up, too, matching their rhythm.

‘Oh, God, Ry – I’m gonna, gonna cum! Keep going! YES – Y-‘

I sighed as I fucked myself, quietly, and in the privacy of my bed, and felt the small but much-needed orgasm wash some of the tension out of my joints. My hands, slick and soiled, fell to my sides, and the quiet set in.

Hmm.

It was a little quieter than I would expect. I had heard Penny close to cumming, but I knew from experience – not first hand, of course – that she was a screamer. Ryan, too would usually keep going until I heard a loud moan of his own. Then, giggling, or small conversation as they sorted themselves out.

But no. Nothing.

I lifted the duvet, planning to get up and have that shower, and froze when I saw what had happened.

The duvet stayed, lifted up as I had moved it. I swung my legs out, and stood, stark naked, heart pounding, as I looked at the half-levitating bedspread in front of me.

‘Oh, shit,’ I whispered, trying to hold back a laugh. Had I done this on purpose? Was this even me?!

I went to the window, making sure not to let any passers-by get a peek at my chest – you never know who’s looking into your window these days – and saw someone up the street, walking a German Shepherd. Both of them, frozen mid-step.

There was a car, too, on the road, not moving.

Once my brain recognised what was happening, I realised that even the rain had stopped, hanging in the air. Perfect spheres, tiny and levitating.

A surge of confidence ran through me then, knowing that there was no-one else in the world who was ‘awake’ right now. That confidence was followed by a hint of uncertainty, as I hadn’t done this on purpose – was this going to just happen now? Whenever?

I stood straighter, knowing that my C-cups would be visible to the old guy walking his dog if he looked up – but also knowing he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Fuck, I could have walked out there and shimmied in his face and he would never have known.

A shiver ran through me. A little burst of thrill.

I could do whatever I wanted.

Still, I was in no mood to be caught in the nuddy if time decided, against my will, that it would get going again. So, I pulled on a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a green plain t-shirt, no socks or undies needed, and went to the door.

I bit my lip. How many times have I heard Ryan make Penny cum like a rocket, and yet I’ve never actually SEEN it? It wasn’t a secret, after all, that I had a bit of a thing for Ryan. And Penny. They were both cute, and Ryan had this sort-of stubble and short, curled hair that made him kinda dreamy. Like something from a bad rom-com. And Penny was a walking wet-dream. She was a gymnast, and had the body of it, and Ryan had endured more than one ribbing from Shannon about how ‘she sure seems… bendy’.

No one would know if I just… snuck in.

Victimless crime.

Fuck it.

I unlocked the door, though the usual click didn’t meet my ears. Sound was moving ripples through atoms, after all, and nothing could move right now, so…

Science. Odd.

I pulled the door open, and slipped out into the dark corridor, staying low for some reason. No one would catch me, of course, but it just fit the mental idea of being sneaky.

I got to Ryan’s door, seeing the glow of light spilling out from underneath, and tried the handle. It opened, easily, and I pushed it inwards, revealing a scene of depravity.

Ryan had his ginger-cheerleader-nympho bent over the edge of his bed, her face frozen in a moment of bliss. Her eyes were closed, mouth wide open in a classic O, with her hands pulled behind her back and her hair in a braid. Ryan’s fist was around the end of the braid, pulling her head back and up, while his other was pressing her hands into the small of her back. Her backside was red-raw, the clean white bedding under them a mess, and her feet were planted on the floor, either side of Ryan’s own feet.

Ryan – now he was a sight to behold. I realised, as I saw him naked for the first time, that I had never even seen him topless before. His chest was lean, if not incredibly ‘muscly’ – but that was nice. What surprised me, however, was the fact that he was quite hairy. I was taken aback – he looked like a man, as opposed to the kinda-gawky roommate I’d fantasised about once or twice.

He was red-in-the-face, mid-thrust with his hips back, his pleasant tushy pushed backwards.

For a moment, I just stood there. Dumbstruck, turned-on, and scared for my life if they somehow caught me. I felt a flash of worry, or anxiety, at the idea that the world might start up under me, that the condition might fail. That I would be caught, door wide-open behind me, invading the privacy of these two, mid-fuck.

On the back of that, I realised that I cared more about getting caught than I did about the actual invasion of privacy.

So, I pushed the door shut, letting it close silently even though it was pretty much a slam, and I got a little closer. They had a lamp on at the other side of the room, giving everything a sort-of orange glow, and the deep shadows kept a lot of them hidden. With some swallowed fear, and a resignation of in for a penny, in for a pound, I approached.

I went first to Penny’s face, coming up at the side of the bed. Just to look. To see the face of the woman whose screams of joyful agony had filled so many nights for me. Her lips looked soft, even as they were stretched mid-scream, so I lifted a finger to them.

I was surprised to find she was warm – that I could feel the heat coming off her. Her mouth was wet, and I slid my finger slowly across her bottom lip, feeling the way it dragged against me.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I pulled back, Moving my attentions to where their bodies met. Behind a mess of blankets, I moved behind them. Ryan’s behind, pulled back, was just grabbable, so I let my hands stroke over him as he stood, completely motionless. Unable to react, or even feel me.

I peeked over his shoulder, my gangly height giving me that option, and got a view from his perspective – and I got it. The way Penny was stretched out in front of him, his hands on her hair and body, dominating her in such an… animalistic fashion…

Fuck, this was hot.

I could feel my own wetness, growing again even though I had… satisfied myself not long ago, and figured that while I was here, I might as well get a good look at the goods.
Peering down, Ryan’s shoulder blocked me from seeing much of his member, but the tip looked red and hot, especially in this orange light. From how his hips were positioned, I estimated he was packing a decent log – maybe six-to seven inches.

With a rush, I realised I could find out.

I pulled back, looking down at how Ryan’s legs were wide apart, Penny’s legs outside of his. It was a bit of an odd position, and I wondered if I had just managed to catch him mid-shift, like he was steadying himself to do something else. Or, he was just a bit odd in that area. Either way, as I lowered myself to my knees behind him, I found myself at eye-level with Ryan’s butt.

I’d never rimmed anyone before – at least, not on purpose. Once, with a girl, I’d been going down on her and I kind of… slipped. I put that idea away, however for a rainy day, and bent a bit lower, rolling onto my back so my head was against the bedframe, and I was looking up.

Up, at Ryan’s thick length, and where it was splitting Penny’s red-raw pussy open, her tiny body visibly tight around him.

My confidence a little grown, as nothing had gone… awry, just yet at least, I took Ryan’s cock in my hand and felt, again, the heat coming from him. I let out a shaky, nervous breath, and pulled him downwards, so the tip slipped from Penny’s lips, and was directed at my face.

It had been so long since I’d been with a guy – I couldn’t help myself. I was horny, and a little drunk on power.

So, I took the head into my mouth, moaning a little as I tasted the mix of pre-cum and pussy. It was musky, with those hints of salt and sweet that refused to settle neatly into any particular taste. Fuck, I missed sex.

I took the first inch or two into my mouth, enjoying how it felt to be beneath a guy, worshipping his cock, and for him to have no idea. The thought made me a little more confident, a little more brazen, and so I pulled back a little, letting his cock sit in mid-air, motionless. I licked him from low-hanging, sweat-laced balls, to his engorged tip, taking my time to enjoy the horrible sluttiness of my behaviour.

I let his cock slide against my lips, and let out a laugh – it was silly. Silly! The fact that I was here at all was impossible, and if it wasn’t for my Dad proving it to me before he… well, while he still was able to, I would never have believed any of this.

But here I was. Using this world-changing ability to anonymously suck the cock of my roommate, while his paused girlfriend’s pussy awaited my attentions behind me.

I smirked, popping off the head of Ryan’s member, and pressed it up to his belly. When I let go, it stayed, obedient to the strange laws that existed in this in-between place.

I turned on my heels, and looked in to the open, gaping hole of Penny’s well-fucked sex. I couldn’t smell anything, but I could tell by looking at her that she would reek of sex.

Hmm. I wonder why I can taste, but not smell.

Shrugging that question off for a more… appropriate time, I decided to have some fun with Penny’s sex while I still had the confidence, the momentum, to dare.

Leaning forwards, I used my hands to pull apart her cheeks, and licked a long, delicious trail from her clit to her taint.

Fuck, she tasted good, too.

I dove in, eating the frozen-in-place cunt for all it was worth, my bisexual heart racing as I had my first taste of pussy in months. All of my tricks were put to use – suction, fingers, nose in her slit as my tongue played her clit, to name a few.

As I went, at some point one of my hands travelled down to my own clit to play with myself, slipping into my jogging bottoms to keep me riled up.

My mouth was sloppy with her juices by the time I was close to orgasm – and the thought hit me.

The last time I came, it froze time. What if cumming again unfreezes it?

And, as hot as it might have been in my head to join this little tryst (more than I already had, at least), I knew that Ryan and Penny might not react too kindly to me inviting myself between them. I couldn’t risk it.

So, with a final suck of Penny’s clit, I put Ryan back into position at her lips, ready to thrust deep and hard into her. I gave him a light spank on the butt, stretched my legs out a little, and left the room without another word.

Making sure the door was shut behind me, I snuck back into my own bed, and frantically fucked myself to the memory of what had just happened.

The risk! The… impossibility of it! The fact that it was Ryan and Penny!!

Within a minute, I was moaning into the pillow, hips shaking as my fingers took me to climax for the second time tonight.

‘Fuck – fuck – ffffffuuUCK!’

And, as I came, I heard the world start back up. The sound of the bedroom door slamming next door, Penny and Ryan screeching into a shared orgasm, my duvet rustling as it relaxed around me out of it’s levitating state. The car outside rolling up the road again. A dog’s bark.

As the sounds reverberated, I realised that the sound-waves created by me shutting doors, all of that, must have caught up to the real world when time started up again.

I wondered, as I fell into a renewed sleep, what else had caught up.

CHAPTER THREE – THE TEXTS

Morning, if you could call it that, was cold and grey when it came. I struggled out of bed, the memory of the night before floating back to me like a dream – or a nightmare. Something dark and twisted and forbidden.

I dressed lazily, without underwear, in the same jogging bottoms from last night, and a t-shirt, and grabbed a towel. I looked at my phone, atop the letter, but delayed making any kind of decision on that until I was fresh-faced and properly awake.

Barefoot, I made my way out into the landing, the carpet soft under my toes, and the clock at the end of the hall told me it was almost 10am. I’d slept in, but that wasn’t much of a surprise, so I turned and went to the shared bathroom.

It was, as most shared bathrooms tended to be, a bit of a mess. Ryan’s shaving creams and razor were in a little pot on the side of the bath, and Shannon’s thick hair, a remnant of her latin heritage, circled the drain. Kloe had evidently been in here before me, as the room was filled with condensation, and she was renowned for taking showers hot enough to strip metal.

I hung my towel over the radiator, and went to the door to lock it, when movement in the hall caught my eye. Penny, all bounces and smiles, exited Ryan’s room with a grin on her face, and her eyes caught mine. She gave me a smile and a wave, and all I could do was swallow a gasp as I imagined the taste of her pussy on my lips again.

I half-smiled and pulled the door shut, locking it quickly.

If my crush wasn’t bad enough before…

Not wanting to let my mind wander, I got the shower going and stripped what clothing I had, ignoring the slick of my sex telling me my brief look at Penny had been enough to awaken something in me.

It would be one thing if I felt shame. If I felt like I had… violated people, my roommate, and I had this weight on me. And, to a point I did feel that way.

But, in all honesty… I didn’t feel it that much.

They were none-the-wiser about what had happened, and, from the sounds they made when everything caught up, it sounded like they had fun. There was no point in trying to deny that I had enjoyed myself, too – beyond the fact that I’d had Ryan’s cock as far down my throat as I could get it, and I could still taste his spunky girlfriend’s juices on my tongue. It wasn’t just the sex. It was the pure, unadulterated power.

Maybe that was a bit crazy to say, but it was true. I had complete power over them at that moment. I could have done anything to them. I could have lubed up Ryan’s butthole and shoved Penny’s fist up there. I could have moved them, exactly as they were, out into the street before getting time going again.

I could have killed them.

‘Jesus,’ I actually said out loud, to myself, as the idea put an odd pit in my stomach.

I got in the shower and started to wash, absent-mindedly, as the potential ramifications of my actions whirled inside my head.

I could have killed them, after all. Not that I would, ever – ever – do anything to hurt anyone. But, there would be no way to stop me. No way for me to get caught. No downside.

Pulling myself off the subject of murder, I thought instead about how this could be used in other, more positive ways. Fuck, I’d seen Superhero films about people who could stop time or whatever – and this was effectively a superpower. Maybe I should pull on some spandex and stop some supervillains.

As silly as that was, there wasn’t much stopping me from, you know, sitting with a police scanner and using it to stop criminal activity. But, again, the rush I’d gotten from using it to, well, insert myself into a couple’s fucking…

No one was saying they were mutually exclusive, either.

Plus, all of those films were about how the main character ended up with so much pressure, to save the world, or to fix up a city… I didn’t know if I was up to that kind of task. Actually, I was certain I wasn’t up to it. I wasn’t that good of a person, as last night probably evidenced.

Shower finished, and my soapy, slippery body dried, I bundled my clothes up in my arms with my towel wrapped around my less-than-generous bust and unlocked the door.

Am I a good person? I wondered as I passed Ryan’s room, his door open as though to tempt my eye, drawing my attention to the spot by his bed where I had knelt between him and Penny, exploring them with my mouth to do nothing but sate my desires. He wasn’t in there, but the dull daylight that came through his window gave me a better view of the room than I’d gotten last night, even at just a glance.

I pressed on, feeling my cheeks flush red, and span into my own room, shutting the door behind me. My hair, short enough not to need its own towel, dribbled cooling water over my shoulders as I dressed, bra-less in an oversized jumper and jeans, and grabbed my phone. Beneath it, of course, was the letter from Hugo.

With a sigh, and knowing that if there was any chance I could do some good with this ‘condition’, I opened up my phone and started a series of texts to the number he listed.

B // Hi

B // This is Brooke, Daniel Coburn’s daughter

B // Thank you for your letter

B // I’d love to meet, and chat in more detail. Let me know what works for you

There – that would do. I folded his letter and slipped it into my back pocket, and my phone into the little belly-pouch my jumper had, before heading downstairs to face the day.

As I was making my way down, I saw Penny tying up her boots, hair pulled back in a ponytail that gave me flashbacks to the night before, and as she pulled her lace tight she slipped, letting out a small grunt – a louder, more perverse version of which I’d heard through the wall only hours ago.

I gave her a smile as she left, and tried to ignore my body’s reaction to her pretty face.

Ryan was in the living room, lying across the sofa as though there was no such thing as other people, and his face lit up as he saw me.

‘Hey! Brooke! I didn’t know you were back!’

I plonked myself into the armchair opposite, a tear in the arm creaking at me as I settled in. ‘I got in last night – pretty much went straight to bed.’ I tucked my legs up under me, and got comfortable facing the screen. Ryan was watching some sit-com I’d never seen before, and it didn’t seem very funny. ‘Things have been…’

‘Yeah,’ he said before I needed to explain. ‘Sorry. About that.’

He was obviously at a loss as to how to say my condolences on the death of your weird Dad, who I met once, but the attempt at kindness was warming.

‘Shannon didn’t tell you I was in?’ I asked, thinking it was weird she hadn’t mentioned anything.

‘Oh, uh. No. Didn’t see her. Me and Penny got in pretty late last night, and…’ He trailed off, and I smiled.

‘Yeah, I heard you.’

He went a bit red, and I thought of how his pre-cum had tasted. ‘Sorry,’ he offered. ‘She gets a bit… rowdy.’

His balls, hot on my cheek; Penny’s juices on my tongue; his cock poking into my throat; my hair sticking to his thigh. I should have been the one apologising, but instead I just smiled, and swallowed the lewd thoughts racing around my head. ‘It’s cool.’

Kloe came through, mercifully breaking that strange tension between us. She was, easily, the gayest woman I knew. Through-and-through lesbian. As the only woman on her course, she’d gotten an undercut in first year to scare off the unwanted advances of her programmer-peers, and found that it had attracted a more… feminine interest. She’d told me the story of how she was approached by a woman in a bar, thinking nothing of it until she felt her hands slipping into her underwear. After a night of earth-shattering sex, and more orgasms than she’d had in her life up until then, she was, quote, ‘converted’.

She knew I was Bi, but that wasn’t really the base of our friendship – that was through having a mutual love of gaming, where we’d met during a Gaming Society social meet-up. We were the only women there, too, but this was ‘pre-conversion’ Kloe, so we just built a keen friendship that had, two years later, turned into cohabitation.

All in all, she was a good egg.

‘Move,’ she snapped at Ryan, smacking his feet out of the way to sit on the sofa, bowl of cereal in-hand. ‘What the fuck are we watching?’

As they started to bicker, sibling-like and semi-affectionate, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it from the one, massive pocket across my stomach, and saw Hugo’s reply, written in funny full-sentences that betrayed his generation.

H // Wonderful to hear from you, Brooke. I’m in the city, so if you are free today I’d be happy to meet for a coffee. I’m sure we have a lot to discuss.

Then, a moment later, another buzz.

H // Of course, if today is not convenient, I am here for a couple of months. No pressure.

I answered quickly, not wanting him to think I was ignoring him. Plus, I wanted to meet him. Soon. After last night, I wanted to know… more.

B // I can do today – there’s a coffee shop in the station, Bernardo’s – do you know it?

H // I do!

B // Meet you in an hour?

H // I’ll be there! I look forward to it!

I popped my phone away, and looked up to see Ryan and Kloe watching me, eyes investigative.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘You’re smirking,’ Kloe said, her voice filled with amused suspicion. ‘Setting up a date?’

I scoffed. ‘No!’

‘Hmm,’ Ryan hummed, doubtful.

I stood, and their eyes followed me as I went to the kitchen door to grab one of the bananas Shannon liked to buy. Then, they whispered as I went to the stack of shoes in the corner, pulling on an easy pair of slip-on boots.

‘Huh,’ Kloe mused, and I tried to ignore her smile. Whatever stick they’d gotten the wrong end of, I wasn’t holding it.

‘Going somewhere?’ Ryan teased.

‘Meeting someone?’ Kloe asked airily.

I ignored them, but the half-image I got of them out of the corner of my eye as I pulled on the boots made me laugh, and they took that as some kind of admission. Kloe gasped, and Ryan smirked, sitting back to watch their stupid show.

‘I’ll be back before dark,’ I said as I grabbed my longer grey jacket off the peg, now out of sight of my jeering flatmates.

‘Aye, we won’t wait up,’ Ryan called, and I slipped out the door without answering him, stealing out into the Northern gale, and that flat grey sky casting a half-shadow over the city ahead.

CHAPTER FOUR – THE PROFESSOR

It wasn’t peak time, so the station was between breaths, meaning that as I made my way towards Bernardo’s, I found myself feeling oddly vulnerable. My footsteps echoed on the smooth, marble flooring, and the anonymity of people dashing by made it impossible to make anyone out in particular. The high ceilings, with metal girders for rafters and dirty-glass arches way up above made me diminutive, despite the fact that I was often the tallest person in any room. To compensate, I walked with my head high, the collar of my jacket warming my cheeks, and the pockets hiding the keys I kept between my knuckles, like a cheap-as-shit Wolverine cosplay.

The coffee shop had glass windows, and inside I could see who I assumed was Hugo, but only the back of him. He had his phone out, and as I watched him tap away, my pocket buzzed, giving me a little assurance.

H // I’m here now, would you like anything?

I didn’t bother answering, and pushed the glossy glass door open with my arm. Hugo turned, and his face just… lit up. Like he was seeing an old friend.

It occurred to me that he was familiar, sort of. In that ‘distant relative’ kind of way. His features just didn’t seem too alien to me. Kind, but small eyes, behind circular specs that clung to his nose. His head was bare and bald, but his mouth was surrounded by a salt-and-pepper beard, thick and bushy, reminding me of Mandy Patinkin – you know, if he lost his hair. And if he was from Yorkshire.

‘Brooke!’ he called, smiling wide, arms open and standing to greet me. He pulled me into a hug before I could stop him, before pushing me outwards to get a good look at me. After a second, he seemed to realise he was making a bit of a scene in this little coffee shop, and offered me a seat.

I joined him at his little table, his massive brown jacket consuming him as he sat with gloved hands around his drink, the smile on his face unfailing.

‘What a… blessing it is to see you, dear.’

I laughed, flattered. ‘It’s… this is lovely. And thank you – for your letter.’

He nodded. ‘Of course. In all honesty, Brooke, I was worried you would bin it, or throw it out. Call it all nonsense.’

I shrugged. ‘You know, then? About… it.’

‘I do, Brooke,’ he said with a twinkle in his beady eye. ‘And it’s about time you did, too. But first – do you have any questions. I am an open book, and you are the only person who can read. I am eager to tell a story.’

My hand, in my pocket, relaxed on the key-claw, and I let them sit on the table in front of me. ‘How exactly did you know my Dad?’

He smiled, as though this was his favourite topic of conversation, and took a sip from his drink. ‘Get yourself a drink, and we can walk and talk,’ he said, eyeing the barista. ‘I have a loud voice,’ he joked.

Within a minute, I had ordered myself a hot chocolate, and found myself walking with Hugo on the roadside, cars and buses keeping the ambient noise perfectly loud, clouding any sensitive subjects. It all felt very secretive.

‘Your father was a wonderful man,’ Hugo told me as the number 91 bus rolled past. ‘I’m sure you knew that.’

I smiled, but it was half-hearted. ‘Kinda,’ I Mumbled, but I didn’t think he heard it. Hugo went on, unimpeded.

‘He came to me as a student. I was a TA, and had done a lecture on the psychology of relativity as part of my Ph.D. study. The way people process time is… fascinating. And barely understood. You must understand – I was by no means a leading mind on the subject, but your father… he came to me, and asked me for a drink. I accepted, and after a few in the Dog and Hound, he let slip. His big secret. The one his mother had passed to him, and her mother to her. Parent to eldest child – a hereditary gift.’ He looked down at me as we walked, keeping to the busier streets, and passing a bus stop. ‘The one you now possess, yes?’
I nodded, keeping the images of Penny and Ryan from surfacing too quickly. ‘Yes.’

‘For a while, it was simply the subject of conversation – his… anecdotal ideas. Before long, however, I began posing ideas to him, and our age of experimentation began.’ He said that last big with a full chest, his voice full of pride, like they were doing something truly important. ‘We tested his abilities, including attempting to time his stints in there – in the fold, or the time between time, the pause – whatever you like to call it.’

‘What kind of experiments?’ I asked.

He shrugged, but I could tell it was a show. ‘Primarily, how to lengthen the pause. Your father, Daniel, struggled at first to keep the pause going for more than, it felt to him, a few minutes. And, finding a way to pause time on cue, rather than relying on his physiological catalyst.’

‘His… what?’

‘Oh!’ Hugo laughed like he’d been told his first joke in years. ‘Daniel, and his mother before him, etc – they all found, apparently, that they were able to stop time primarily due to some kind of external stimuli. Something that triggered a specific sort of reaction in the brain, that had a domino-effect. Whatever your power is, it comes from within – I know that much.’

I thought about the way time had paused when I climaxed, and then started again. If that was my ‘external catalyst’, this might be a bit harder than I thought.

‘What was my Dad’s catalyst?’ I asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer in case it was the same as mine.

Hugo took a breath, his little eyes observing me. ‘Pain,’ he said. ‘Both physical and mental. He would stub his toe, and the world would stop for an hour. He broke his arm once, and he told me that it felt like a full day in there, unable to get time to start again to have his arm checked, or splinted. But he didn’t bleed,’ he noted. ‘That’s an important note – no physiological changes happen to you whilst you’re in there, either. Unfortunately, you can’t take things with you, otherwise I’d have a scan of your brain done in an instant to understand how you can stop your heartbeat but keep your brain active whilst in the pause, but oh well. Can’t win them all.’

We fell silent for a moment, before another question came to me.

‘What did my Dad do with his power?’

Hugo smiled, in a sort of sad way. ‘He always wanted to be a great man,’ he said. ‘He wanted to help people – and he did, more than once. He saw a local news show about a school shooting whilst he was in Minnesota on business, and he paused time, went in and got all the children to safety, and emptied the bullets from the gun. Defused the situation, and to the outside world, he didn’t even leave his hotel room. But it took a toll on your father, Brooke. If he heard of an accident too late, he would curse himself for not paying enough attention. If he passed an ambulance on the street, or a police car blazing, he would be at war with himself to intervene. But you can’t be everywhere, save everyone. You’re still only human.’

He patted me on the back, making me feel younger than I was. Like a child, learning a pet had died. An unfightable truth of the world had been laid upon my hopeful shoulders, and I would never be able to shrug it off.

I sucked in an uneasy breath, and decided to change the subject a little – something I hoped Hugo would appreciate as well.

‘Can you tell me what the rules are? Or, what the mechanics are?’

‘Ah – a practical mind. I like it. Okay, Brooke – the key phrase your father left you – Time Isn’t Real – that’s the phrase he learned to use to control the pause, after a year or so of training with pain. Once he found the part of his mind that activated it automatically, he learned to control it. Once you find yours, you can do the same, and use that phrase as an anchor to control it.’

Way ahead of you, I thought, remembering the cafe, when I’d paused time on purpose. Maybe I was a natural.

‘So, your homework,’ Hugo said, sounding for all the world like the professor he was. ‘You need to discover what your automatic catalyst is, and activate it a few times. Get a feel for it. And, when you’re in the pause, or whatever you want to label it, do some exploring – just don’t hurt anyone. It’s important for you to explore your power, hmm?’

I nodded, and he turned to me, face-to-face at the corner of a pedestrian street between two main roads, the road and foot traffic clouding our voices from any eavesdroppers – not that there were any.

‘It has been a treat meeting you, Brooke,’ he said, with the kind of intonation that told me this was a good-bye. ‘You have a lot to do. Contact me when you feel it’s needed, or if you have any questions.’

‘I have a million,’ I said, and he smiled.

‘I’m sure you do.’

‘I mean – how did this start? Does the entire Universe stop? Am I going really quickly, or is it totally frozen? Do people feel the effects of my actions in there when I start time up again?’

He nodded, understanding my want for answers. Then, he pulled in a deep breath, and considered them. ‘I don’t know a lot of that, but I can tell you that people certainly do feel your effects. Daniel was very adept at using his ability to tap people on shoulders when he needed them to look away, or something… similar. The rest of your questions, I have only theories. When you’ve done some… experimenting, perhaps you can tell me more than I would be able to tell you, eh?’

I smiled, and he patted my arm, before giving me a nod and setting off, deeper into town. ‘I await your text,’ he said, holding his phone up, before turning away and slipping into the crowd.

CHAPTER FIVE – THE LAWYER

‘Right, then,’ I said to myself, as the noise of the traffic and chattering of the moving crowds was nothing now but a distant din. The stool at Bernardo’s wasn’t what anyone would call comfortable, but the tables had been filled by a small group of businesspeople on their early lunches, so it would have to do. Even busy, it was still quiet enough in here, and with a seasonal mint-flavoured hot chocolate in my hands, I wasn’t complaining.

My mind was going over and over what Hugo had said, before taking his unexpected leave.

It’s important for you to explore your power.

I should find my ‘catalyst’ – well, I already had an idea of what that was. Cumming. Great.

And I should practice the key-word activation, like I had in the cafe at Uni.

And that using my catalyst would prolong my stay in the ‘pause’ – so, being horny would make time stay stopped longer. Possibly.

Well, that was the whole point, wasn’t it – not knowing, and experimenting to find out.

So, I told myself. I should start. Now.

I looked over my shoulder, at the group of men in suits, with a lone woman among them. She didn’t seem intimidated or anything, though. In fact, they all seemed to chuckle nervously when she spoke, and avoided eye contact. She was in charge.

Across from them, at the next table, was a group of students, three of them, on their phones and avoiding, well, everything.

The third, and last, table was being occupied by a single woman. In her thirties, maybe, and with the kind of cheekbones Hollywood makes out of plastic. She was on her laptop, a coffee at her side, and her suit shaped her body in a tasteful, yet oddly revealing way. I could see the tug of her curves, the flat of her stomach, the way her arms were slender yet powerful – all without showing any skin. I had to admit – I was a little smitten.

Then, as a barista passed by her carrying a tray of finished cups, saucers and spoons, I watched as the woman’s leg darted out. Clear as day, from my perspective – though I was the only one watching, or able to see from the way she was sitting.

She tripped the twenty-something coffee girl, and sent her flying – the half-finished drinks flying over both of them, wet and brown and cold.

The barista froze, and the woman’s eyes darted over her arm, her lap, her computer – all wet, now.

Then, the screaming began. Her face became near purple as her rage filled the room, hollering obscenities at the innocent girl.

‘HOW FUCKING STUPID ARE YOU?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW EXPENSIVE THIS SUIT IS?!’

The girl, shocked and horrified, babbled, unable to reply, and the woman honed in on her, like a wrestler going for an opponent with an uneasy stance.

‘You daft bitch,’ she hissed, venom searing. ‘You’re fucking done – I’m suing this place till there’s nothing left – my work’s gone, suit’s ruined – could have been hot drinks, too, if you weren’t lucky. You all saw!’ She looked out to all of us, coffee dripping off her perfect, soft nose.

I frowned, as it clicked. This was a graft. A scam. She caused the spill, and was going to sue for it, using all of the witnesses in here to back her up. As I made eye contact with the barista, her scared face on the verge of tears, I decided nah. Not a chance.

And there was no better way for me to start practicing my gift than now.

‘Time isn’t real,’ I whispered to myself, focusing on the words, the feeling that I was more familiar with.

The screaming halted, and I exhaled. I remembered what Hugo had said, about using the catalyst to prolong the pause.

I had to get horny.

Well, lucky for me, as soon as I opened my eyes and saw the frozen world around me, my mind went back to Penny and Ryan, the night before. How I had tasted them, touched them, seen them in their most vulnerable moments.

I wanted to make the woman feel like that, too. Vulnerable. But not just for me, this time. This time, it was to make a point.

I smirked, and shifted off my stool.

She was, helpfully, beautiful – so when I slipped between the woman and the barista to get in close, I felt my heart flutter at being so intimate with a stranger. The stranger didn’t know, of course, but she needn’t.

Hugo said that the feelings catch up when the world starts up again, and I had no idea how long I was going to be able to keep this going, so I figured I would start small. Work my way up. Maybe do this in bursts.

So, first, I leaned in and kissed the woman on the lips. She tasted of coffee and caramel, and her unmoving lips were pillowy against mine. Delicious, I thought, Allowing my hands to roam across her body. She was still sitting, so I didn’t have full access to her body, but my hands were happy enough to slide beneath her jacket, untucking her shirt from her skirt, and stroking the smooth skin of her back, as I kissed her. I pulled off, letting my lips speckle attention across her neck and collarbone, before giving each of her breasts a cup. She was rather flat-chested from that appraisal, but it was difficult to tell.

So far, anyway.

I was feeling, myself, a little hot under the collar, and knew that my own arousal would only be helpful in keeping this going. However, I was eager to see how my actions had affected this lying Karen.

So, I pulled away, sat back on the stool, and focused on the keywords.

Time isn’t real.

Action sprung in, and the dullest ache in my head marked where my effort had gone – but I barely noticed, because I was too busy watching the confused facial expressions of the heinous bitch across the room.

‘I-‘ she paused, mid-yowl, and she frowned, before adjusting in her seat and continuing her assault. ‘I am a lawyer, and I will have my full-‘

‘Time isn’t real.’

The world stopped. I bit my lip. Back to work.

Knowing that the lawyer was at least somewhat affected by my affections, I decided I was going to go further. Really give her something to moan about.

Heh.

As she was still sitting, I decided I would focus on her top half – so I slipped again past the barista, whose poor, pretty face looked petrified, and looked the lawyer dead in the eye.

Yeah. She deserves this, I decided.

Then, I unbuttoned her suit jacket, pulling it open. Her shirt, taut over her breasts, almost begged me to pop it open – so I obliged. One button at a time, I revealed her tasty cleavage, the mounds of her tits held up in a way that made my heart race.

Each button gave me more to leer over, showing me the white lace bra she was wearing beneath – almost lingerie.

‘Naughty thing,’ I muttered, as I knelt over her, effectively in her lap, my legs spread around her waist, the table at my back. ‘Lets make you naughtier.’

I spent time fondling her tits, squeezing and stroking and teasing. I pulled her shirt wide, and when I let go it hung in the air, giving me easy access, so I followed up by pulling the cup of her bra down. Her nipples, hard and pink and adorable, stood to attention, yearning to be kissed, sucked, nibbled on.

Naturally, I obliged, my hands on the small of her back as I devoured her tits, moaning into the flesh of her mounds as my tongue made quick work of her. I sucked, lightly bit, and drooled over her sensitive buds, knowing that all of this would rush in on her at once when I was done.

The thought made me smile, as my hands travelled upwards – but I stopped when the tips of my fingers bumped against the clasp of her bra. And, feeling rather naughty myself, I got an idea.

It’s not like she’d have any way of knowing if I took it, I mused, pretending to myself to fight over the decision even as I popped the clasp open. Against the laws of gravity, her bust stayed exactly where it was, and I realised I would have to fully undress her from the waist up to take it.

Well, from the wetness in my panties to the fluttering of my pulse, I figured I would have the time.

So, I stripped her. Which sounds easier than it was. I had to bend her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and shirt, stretching the material without going too far as to rip them, and then repeat on the other side. But, before long, I had the bitchy lawyer’s bra in my hand, and the whole room was a potential witness to her bare chest – slick with my spittle, nipples hard and skin fair.

She really was beautiful.

I committed the image to memory, before buttoning her back up – shirt, then jacket, over those lovely, tasty mounds. I gave her another kiss, deep and passionate, my tongue gliding over hers, before tucking the bra into my jacket’s pocket and sitting back at my stool.

Time isn’t real.

‘-teaAMM – hhhhnnn,’ she moaned, her sentence losing itself in the lewd noise that came from her instead. Her head shook, and she looked around at us all as though it was our fault – how could it be? – before snapping back to the barista. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, her voice less secure now – less dominant.

Then, she stood. Her chest, uncupped by the bra in my pocket, bounced slightly more than she would have expected, and I could see the question in her eyes, unanswerable. Unaskable.

‘Your name,’ she said again, her voice angry again as she stood over the student, demanding an answer as she retreated backwards.

Time isn’t real.

I smiled.

This was easy. Fun, even.

And, with her finally standing up, I could play with her more… downstairs. With the barista backing off, I had the room to play, too.

I approached her, the nerves in my stomach settling into some kind of confidence, and went straight for the honey pot.

Skirt, meet floor.

Her legs, beneath her skirt, were well-toned and just as smooth as the rest of her, and the excitement buzzing within me inspired me to repeat what I’d done with Ryan and Penny.

So, I dropped to my knees, becoming eye-level with her matching white lace undies, and explored. Beneath my fingertips, her thighs were hot, flushed as her arousal was manipulated from unseen sources, and as I touched her I played the sensations inside my mind.

I imagined how it would feel, having some ghost-like entity stroking my thighs, hot breath teasing my crotch, my tits aching from some invisible lover’s attention. As I kissed my way from the inside of her knee, up her soft thigh, I let little moans escape my lips – all the way until my cheek brushed the fabric of her lingerie. Reaching around, I gripped her pert, naked butt cheeks in my hands as I used my teeth to pull down the hem of her pants, sliding them down, over the hills of her hips and buttocks.

The lack of gravity would have been happy to leave them halfway down her legs, but I pulled them down to the floor, shifting her feet slightly to pull them out from under her, and slip them into my pocket.

‘Mine,’ I whispered as I resumed the position beneath this bitch, my mouth less than an inch from her slit, the tuft of carefully cultivated pubic hair tickling my upper lip, as I tasted her.

‘Hmmmm,’ I moaned, feeling the hard nub of her clit press into my tongue as I licked her, tentatively as first – but I soon took on speed as I tasted her sweet, musky juices. ‘You like it?’ I asked as I ate her, the slickness of her pussy betraying her enjoyment of what I had already done to her – the sexual musk of her pussy dousing my face.

My hands kneaded the meat of her butt as my mouth explored every ripple and crevice of her sex, but I knew I needed to do more to her. This was the main event – I wanted to make it… explosive.

So, keeping one hand on her butt for balance, I brought one hand to her sex, beneath my energetic tongue, and slid my middle finger into her. I gasped, as the wet walls of this lawyer’s pussy welcomed me inside, massaging me, tight but easily shifted to enjoy me.

‘You’re tight,’ I moaned, my mouth continuing its assault on her clit, as I sped up the finger-fucking. To make sure I hit her g-spot, I curled my fingers and felt for that sponge-like patch inside her, sliding my digits against it as she loomed over me, unaware of the pleasure she was about to be inundated with. A second finger joined, stretching her lips slightly, as she mindlessly adjusted for me.

After a few minutes – or at least, that’s how it felt – of truly fucking her, I let my fingers slip from her, and gave her clit a final, good-bye kiss.

Then, I pulled her skirt back up, slid my cunt-wet fingers against her lips to give her a literal taste of her own medicine, and went back to my seat.

Time isn’t real.

The change was instant – the lawyer’s eyes went wide as saucers, as her legs gave out from under her. She started to gasp, one hand clamping on the table as her eyes rolled, as her other hand gripped the back of the booth she had been in.

Her mouth went wide, but she managed to have the presence of mind to stop herself from moaning outright, even as she started to shake, hips bucking against nothing.

Well, nothing but the memory of my tongue, and fingers, I thought as I watched her cum, publicly and shamefully, along with every other person in the coffee shop.

After a moment, she came to her senses and managed to stand – albeit, on shaky legs, and sucked in a breath. Head held high, she wobbled a step, before muttering an ‘excuse me’, and grabbing her laptop. She stuffed it into her bag, and left without another word.

The shop went quiet, and I caught the eye of the barista. I shrugged, and she gave a small laugh.

I’m doing that again, I thought, as I finished my still-hot hot chocolate.

CHAPTER SIX – THE SHOP

I spent the day milling about town, trying to come down from the sort-of mental high of what had happened in Bernardo’s. There was something… thrilling about what I had been able to do. This feeling had hit me after – or maybe during – my tryst with Penny and Ryan, too. That power. I was able to do anything I wanted.
Although, as Hugo had said, it was important not to hurt anyone.

And I hadn’t hurt that lawyer – had I?

Sure, I’d probably given her a mental scar or two. Cumming in public, during the middle of an ego-driven law threat, was probably going to stay with her. But she deserved it. She was being horrible to someone who had done nothing wrong – in fact, she tripped her!

No, I was comfortable with what I’d done.

Plus, I had learned a thing or two.

When my power – if you wanted to call it that – was activated by lust, it seemed to last for as long as I was, well, horny. The phrase had been a reliable trigger, letting me access and leave ‘the pause’ at will, so the stuff Hugo had mentioned all seemed to track. If anything, it seemed to be easy.

But, if I was going to use this power for anything other than the public sexual molestation of bitchy coffee-shop goers, I needed to figure out how to do this reliably without lust.

Although, Hugo had said to train my ‘automatic catalyst’…

I stopped at a cash machine on the high street, mid-afternoon so the crowds were thick and busy, to see where I was at. I pulled my phone from my pocket, the lawyer’s bra and panties tucked neatly away beside it, and slid the card out of my phone case.

£344.21. Rent had gone out, and this was all I had for the month. Fuck.

Well. It wasn’t like I needed to worry about money. Not really. Not if I was willing to get a little… morally ambiguous.

Across the way from the machine was a supermarket – one of the ones I knew was owned by a company owned by a company owned by the kind of billionaire I always saw left-wing politicians talking about online, saying they needed to be abolished. The work-camp-in-Asia, prison-employee kind of place.

The kind of place that wouldn’t notice if some produce went missing all of a sudden.

I went to the window, doing a diluted recon-mission that would have James Bond rolling his eyes. I could see the stack of Bags-For-Life, and figured that I would need to nab one of those, do a lap and get the kinds of essentials a person needs, and get out before anything… happened.

There was also the issue of cameras. If, after they had noticed the produce mission, they looked at the cameras and saw me suddenly summon a bag full of items, in the split-instant it would take me – that could lead to questions.

So, I needed to start and finish this mission out of sight, but close enough to still give me a decent window to do this. Fab.

Well, first things first, I needed to get a feel for how long I’d have in there, without drawing attention to myself. So, I sucked in a breath, and said the magic words.

‘Time isn’t real.’

The world stopped, the crowds coming to a silent halt all around me. Wind paused its howling, pigeons ceased to waddle on the pavement. I didn’t move, not wanting a camera to pick up on any seeming teleportation, and just… waited.

Eventually, I could feel that familiar ache, and as it grew behind my eyes, the world started up again.

‘Okay,’ I said, my heart beating like a jackhammer and my hands in tight fists – which I hadn’t realised until I opened them. ‘A few minutes, then. I can do that.’ The minutes it would take me to get from a hiding place to the shop, steal the food I needed, and get back to the hiding space, would have to do – and that aching was a near-enough five-second count-down for me to use as a warning.

A guy in a sharp suit passed me, as I loitered, and his eyes kind of slid over me – I wasn’t wearing anything that could, in any way, be considered ‘promiscuous’, and yet he seemed to take the time to drink me in. In a hoodie, jeans, with unkempt hair and minimal make-up, apparently I was worth the leering look.

Something took over me, and – knowing I was going to need to stop time anyway for my task – I used it.

Time isn’t real.

The man’s smirk as he looked me over froze, and I approached him. Him and his stupid well-trimmed stubble, his tight shirt, his nice watch… okay, he wasn’t bad looking. At all, actually. Physically, anyway. That look he’d given me, which was hard to articulate specifically, was more than enough to put any sensible woman off.

But, here, in the pause, I didn’t need to be sensible.

And, it sort of made me wonder. How far would he go? If he really was attracted to me, what would he do if, I don’t know, he suddenly became rock-hard after a few seconds of looking at me.

Taking note of where I’d been standing, which brock I was leaning against by the side of the cash machine, I closed the gap between me and the leery man. I checked behind him – he had a lovely bum. Nice and tight. I gave him a squeeze, enjoying the sudden power swap of taking a guy, who’d clearly intended just to take his fill of a view of some girl on the street, and feeling his body.

My hands snaked round, and I felt his front looking for – ahh. ‘There you are.’ His bulge, if you wanted to call it that, sat in the crease of his hip, small and unattended. It was almost cute, I thought, as I felt it through his suit trousers. Soft and little.

Fancying teaching him a bit of a lesson, I popped open the top button of his trousers, and unbuckled his snap-shut belt, letting my hand slide into his pants easily. It occurred to me that, under normal circumstances, I would never have given this guy the time of day, never mind willingly felt his naked, flaccid penis in public. Funny that.

I knew the feelings would catch up when time started up again, but it was strange nonetheless to fondle an ever-soft cock like this, so after a little time playing with the length and squeezing his package a little, I left him alone. Not a fan of that, I decided, and buckled him back up.

I went back to the right bricks, and found his eyeline, before pushing the world back into motion. Time isn’t real.

Immediately, his eyes widened as his jaw fell open, the shock registering a moment after the sudden onslaught of pleasure. My hands, soft and confident, running over his body in an instant, made him visibly hard before me.

‘You okay?’ I asked, holding his eye, and enjoying as he sputtered some kind of excuse and hobbled away. Easy.

I righted myself, and wandered away from the cash machine to a little gap between shops a building or two down. It was barely even an alley, and if I wasn’t going to be using the ‘pause’, I would never have felt comfortable in there alone. As it was, I knew I had, effectively, a get-out-of danger card in my back pocket, ready to go at all times.

Forgive me if that made me a little… smug? Wreckless? Ah, who cared.

Wait – did we need cheese?

I pulled my phone out and quickly texted Ryan. His reply came back mercifully quickly.

R // I’m not in – Shannon is

R // with Bryson 😉

I smirked, knowing what he meant. Bryson was a guy off his course, and we’d all met him a little while ago at a flat party Shannon put on for Eurovision – which, of course she did. Bryson was big, black and gorgeous. A particular moment came to mind, when Shannon had made a point to show me how much Bryson had built up muscle since starting a work-out routine. Her small hands against his bicep, and the way her eyes had dilated, gave away the kind of sexual chemistry that made it really annoying to everyone else that they hadn’t just given in and fucked yet. Though, judging by the size of him – and not to indulge any ‘black men are automatically HUGE’ stereotypes – he would snap her in half.

I didn’t bother texting Shannon – I figured I would just get cheese, and if we had two blocks – so be it.

Once I was in the alley, comfortably out of the sight of cameras, I readied myself, focusing on those words, using the latent sexual confidence put on by that little… interaction to get me going.

‘Time isn’t real,’ I said, and the world agreed. I smiled, stretching my neck out, as I got to it.

CHAPTER SEVEN – THE TEASE

My head pounding, I hid in the alley. The bag by my side was filled with enough food and things to give my starving bank account a break, and all it had taken was, you know, superpowers.

I hadn’t needed to focus on the words, this time, however. When the world came rushing back, it did so without my input. Without my permission, or effort. It was scary, in all honesty. A reminder that, while I had a certain amount of power here, I wasn’t above mistakes. A moment longer deciding whether to get plain cheese, pepperoni or meat feast pizza, and I might have been caught by a random passer-by as I appeared in the street out of nowhere – perhaps on a CCTV camera somewhere.

I needed to be careful, especially in public.

Still, it was a success, overall. I had the food, I had a headache, and I had a destination. Back to the flat, to see Shannon – and Bryson.

R // have you got Kloe a present yet?

Oh. Shit.

I’d completely forgotten. Which, considering where my head had been the past few weeks – dying Dad, dead Dad, funeral, etc – it was understandable. But Ryan’s text made it out as though I was expected to. And, really, I would be a bad friend not to.

I checked the date – her birthday was in two days, and I hadn’t gotten her anything. I mean, I knew Kloe. I knew she wouldn’t expect anything from me. She wouldn’t… wouldn’t mind if I didn’t get her anything.

But I should.

If I was going to be a good person, and use this gift not just for selfish means, I had to do something nice with it.

B // fuck

R // me neither. Her Dad’s picking her up tomorrow – should we pitch in for a meal?

B // sounds perfect. Where?

R // Penny’s mate works at that new burger place, she says could get a discount?

B // book it, I’ll make sure she’s free tonight

As I walked through the town, shopping bag swinging against my side, I tried to organise an impromptu party whilst definitely not thinking about Penny and Ryan’s sex-juices on my tongue last night. Not at all. Nope.

B // Hey! Scrap your plans for tonight

K // Why? What’s up??

B // nothin bad – just a little… bday thing…

K // OH!

K // I shall ask no more

K // love u

B // love you too

B // you’re leaving tomorrow, right?

K // yeah, Dad’s getting me for something

K // fuck knows when

K // I should call him actually

K // <3 After that, a relatively uneventful walk followed me home. The cracked pavements shifted underfoot, and the hill at the bottom of our road made me wheeze. Nothing different from before all of this. I was still the same Brooke. Well, aside from the unnerving focus on sex. That was something I should... think about. Question a little more. How my life was slowly devolving into one lewd act after another. Then again, as I came up the stone steps at the flat's front door, I peeked through a gap in the front window's curtains, and caught a glimpse of Bryson, and I thought of something. Something naughty. To avoid any witnesses, I backed away and went round the back of the semi-detached building, the once-house now split into four bedrooms and used to pay off some landlord's mortgage. In the backyard there was a door that went straight into the kitchen, which we only ever used if we needed to take out the bins and we didn't want to drip leaky bin-juice over the livingroom's carpet. I slipped the key in, and managed to turn in almost silently, holding my breath - as though that would help. It was a pain, because I knew that even using my ability, pausing time, the sound wouldn't stop. It would register, just like Ryan's bedroom door, after the fact. I had to be sneaky. Once I had the door open, I slipped in, softly shut it behind me, and, being careful to stay out of sight, looked through the gap between the kitchen door and its frame. I could see the corridor, and watched as Shannon paused outside the room, took in a breath, and went in to meet him. I couldn't hold back a little proud smile. She deserved a good time. How long she had been lusting after this guy was difficult to say. Well. Maybe I could help a girl out. Time isn't real, I thought. To test it, I dropped the keys from my hand, and they just hung there in the air. I took them, pocketed them, and made my way through to the living room. And what I say was maybe the most... chaste scene I'd ever seen. They were on opposing chairs, facing each other, over the coffee table. The table was covered in the textbooks, journals and notepads, as well as each of their laptops. It was sad. Like, an honest teenage study session. Which would be fine, if I wasn't painfully aware of how much she wanted to jump on him and swallow him whole. And, while it might have been a bit of a jump to get them there straight away... I could always get them in the mood. So, I started slow. Teasing. Bryson, wearing a button-up and jeans, was tightly packed in, with his delicious jawline just asking to be kissed - between nibbling his earlobe and licking his chest. Again, maybe that was a little fast. So, I started by just doing the basics. Get him hard, get her wet. I shuddered. God, this was hot. I started with Bryson, thinking that touching Shannon, my friend, might be a little odd (conveniently ignoring Ryan, of course), and closed the gap between us. On the armchair, he was being a typical boy - legs open, taking up more room than he needed. Perfect for me, of course. Hand up his thigh, I trailed his crotch, finding the shape of him. He was soft, of course. But, I knew I could change that. Not that I was going to do to him what I did to that creep on the street. No - I wanted to tease him up. Bring him to hardness nice and easy. So, I just stroked him, enough pressure to get a reaction, without going any further. It was hard, mind, not to pull his pants open and get a good look at his... weapon. All in good time, Brooke, I told myself. I dragged myself away, and went to Shannon, around the other side of the table. She was cross-legged, but wearing a skirt that made life easier. So, I knelt before her like a Christian in church, and pushed her knees apart. Her skirt stretched for me, as I peppered her thighs with strokes and small kisses, feeling the heat of her against my face. I smirked. 'Are you...' I wondered aloud, before allowing my fingers to trace a little higher. She was. Shannon was already wet. I bit my lip, knowing that this made my life a lot easier. But, again, I dragged myself away, this time only retreating to the hallway. The door was closed over, but not on the latch, meaning I wouldn't have to disguise the noise of it shutting, and I could see through the gap in the frame, just like in the kitchen. And, when I was in position, I thought those magic words. Time isn't real. Straight away there was a reaction - a loud one. Shannon's moan filled the room, before immediately cutting off when she realised what she was doing. The fact, of course, was that she was reacting to the feeling of my fingertips on the slick of her sex. And it was hot. Fuck, this is addictive. Bryson had more of a... muted reaction. His leg shifted as his cock hardened, his eyebrows shooting up in reaction - but whether that was to me, or to Shannon it was hard to tell. Barely mattered. I was in this to get those two a little closer, not to stroke my ego. This was charity work. The fact that the bulge snaking down Bryson's thigh looked like it would split someone in half - and I intended to find out - was a side effect. Purely coincidental. I gave them a moment to process those feelings - my fingers, my ministrations - and let their nervous laughter fill the room for a moment. They both knew what they had felt, and they had a hunch the other had felt something too. It was in the air. That tension. Behind the door, I grinned - and went for round two. Time isn't real. This time, they had both shifted - body language is a gift. Shannon's legs were open, as though waiting for more. Bryson had sat back a little, relaxed but not unattentive - his eyes were on Shannon. It was almost romantic. Or, it would have been, if I wasn't planning on getting to him first. I started with Bryson again, this time hoping to get him rock-solid by the next 'stop' - and there would be many more stops before I was done - and get Shannon up on him. Happy Days. But, as soon as I was between his spread knees, kneeling beneath him with my back against the covered table, I saw him at... full mast. The heft of his member, even trapped within the fabric of his jeans, had my heart hammering a little louder inside my chest. Stretching my hand around it, I felt my breath hitch at the heat of it. My fingertips couldn't meet as I held him, which was something I'd only ever seen in porn, and as I put my thumb at the base, I stretched my fingers up towards the head only to find my pinky couldn't reach. 'Holy shit.' It came out somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and something changed in me. I had the power right now. I was soaked, and he was hard and... if I was a worse person, I might have jumped on him then. Felt his thick, heavy meat stretch me out in a way I had never experienced before (my largest had been just over six inches, and while I wasn't much of a 'size queen', there had always been... that curiosity. What would it feel like). I realised that, if I wanted to, I could fuck him senseless right here, in front of Shannon's frozen face. Just, ride that fuckstick into oblivion, my arms around his neck, slamming myself down onto him until I creamed all over him. Although, me cumming would start time up again... Maybe not. But, as I drifted in and out of that fantasy, my hand was stroking his length absent-mindedly. It was dry, the lack of seeping pre-cum letting my palm slide over him easily, light and brush-like. Which made sense, because he was a work of art. 'H-okay,' I chuckled, sucking my breath in through my teeth and pulling my hand off him. 'That'll do.' I hesitated, but tucked him away, putting him back as he was. 'For now.' Next - Shannon. Her face was frozen in an expression caught between emotions - shock, lust, embarrassment. They were all over her sultry features, along with the smallest hint of a smile. She didn't know why it was happening, or what exactly she was feeling, but - on some level - she liked it. I lifted her shirt, exposing the soft flesh of her stomach, and peppered her with kisses from her navel to her bra. It was black silk, meaning she'd dressed with the hope of showing it off. 'Lucky me,' I whispered, as I tugged her top up over her breasts, feeling the supple curve of her chest as my hands traced her back. The slope of her spine, the small cleft of her backside - I took moments to touch all of her. I knew Shannon - I knew that she was a softie, and she liked it when she was worshipped a little. Spoiled. Last New Years Eve, Kloe had managed to get her to admit to being a 'pillow princess' - although a bit of googling told me later that was generally a term for gay men. Even so - the general vibe applied. She liked it soft, and teasing, and then to be railed senseless. After a moment of worshipping her chest, I pulled her jumper back down, and took a breath. Looking back at Bryson, and the bulge running down his thigh, I thought of how much I had loved feeling his cock in my hand, and how Shannon should get the same. So, after she was all buttoned up, I took a moment to adjust her and Bryson - just bringing them a little closer to each other. Leaning the both forwards a bit, turning their bodies to face each other. Shannon's hand on her thigh, Bryson's on his. I hid. Time isn't real. CHAPTER EIGHT - THE BRUTE My head was swimming. The rush of it - of playing two people into each other's arms - it was... addictive. Powerful. There was something kind of liberating about knowing there was no chance of being caught, no chance of anything going wrong, no chance of anything... bad. I watched Shannon catch her breath as my kisses across her body registered in her mind, her back straightening and her hands fluttering, not knowing what to do with herself. Bryson coughed, groaning through his breath as he leant back in the chair, adjusting himself. 'Woah,' he sighed, brow furrowed, before wiping his face in those strong hands. 'Okay-' He sat forwards, adjusting himself as he - and Shannon - realised how hard he was. 'I am so sorry, Shan,' he said with a laugh. I could only see the back of her head, but as he stood and straightened his shirt down, she followed. Time isn't real. I moved quickly, adrenaline informing every movement I made. They were on either side of the table, but as soon as I saw how they were standing I came up with a plan. I went beneath Shannon's waistline, tugging down her pants from beneath her skirt quickly, tucking them into my pocket. I tilter her forwards a little, pushing her hand forward just a little. Enough to tip her over, I thought. With Bryson, I just popped open the top button of his jeans and left it at that. I hid. Time isn't real. 'OH G-' Shannon shrieked as she fell into him, tripping over nothing, landing face-first into Bryson's chest. Time isn't real. Shannon was bent over the table, arse out with her skirt mid-flap. Her hands and his were scrambling to catch each other, and Bryson was reaching under her. Easy pickings. I shifted his hand so, instead of catching her waist, it was going straight to her left tit. I moved her hand from his hip to his bulge, and gave him a few loving strokes for luck. To keep Shannon... in the mood, I slipped my hand under her skirt and felt her slit - slick and wet. 'Fuck, you're both so fucking hot,' I Mumbled as I slipped a finger inside of my friend, heart hammering as her warm, tight sex swallowed me knuckled by knuckle. The adrenaline was making me dizzy with excitement, so I chased myself out of her with a quick slp, and hid in the kitchen again. Time isn't real. 'Oh - OH!' Shannon's voice hitched in an unavoidable moan, then, her hand landing straight on his generous bulge, gripping him for support. He groaned as they steadied, and they looked up at each other. A look passed between them. The point of no return. It was as still as being in 'the pause', if only for a second, and then they were on each other. Kissing and grabbing and groping and feeling. Moaning into each other's mouths, as I watched - a voyeur in the next room. Shannon pulled Bryson's cock from his partially-unbuttoned jeans, and dropped to the carpet, on her knees before him. With her mouth, she worshipped him even more than I had. Sloppy and wild. I'd never seen her like this before. It was... sexy. And, I knew she was hot. I'd known that since the first moment I'd seen her - as was the curse of the bisexual. But seeing her in the act, with a cock that large in her fist and her throat at the same time? 'Fuck yes,' I heard Bryson growl above her, his fist in her hair, fucking her face as she groaned beneath him. She pulled back, looking up at him, and without any hesitation he dragged her up by the hair. I heard her grimace, but he was quick to move past it, pulling her top up in an instant. 'Wait-' she said, trying to get her bearings, but he didn't stop. He yanked her top off, and spun her so she was facing away from him. Facing towards me, actually - but she hadn't seen me. At least, I thought not. No, she was too busy dealing with the guy with the monster-cock yanking her skirt up as he bent her over, one hand holding both her elbows in place as he manhandled her. 'Bryson! Stop!' He didn't. One hand on his python, one pushing her over the back of the sofa, he lined himself up. 'TIME ISN'T REAL,' I shouted, and Shannon's eyes flicked up at me just as time froze. 'Fuck,' I whispered, looking at her expression. The fear, confusion, pain. Bryson wasn't paying attention anywhere but on her - on how he was going to violate her. My stomach turned, and the instinct-dominant part of me that, under a minute ago, had been vying for the sexiest ending to this scenario possible, was now in help her mode. I moved quickly, as though time was an issue, and quickly moved between their frozen bodies. I unwrapped his fist from her hair, making sure not to do anything that would hurt her, before pushing his hand aside and pulling Shannon out of his orbit. With a heave, I put myself under her, and lifted her unmoving body off the floor enough to move her. After a moment of hesitation, I realised that she would need to be somewhere safe after this - when time started again. Somewhere she would be in control. So, I took her to her bedroom, and laid her on the light-orange bedspread with her limbs flattened out, so she wouldn't flail or flip or anything. Her room was cluttered and messy, table covered in notepads and the floor covered in clothes, and it made my chest tighten. Shannon was so... nice. Innocent. And I had put her in the position for her to be... He was going to rape her, wasn't he. I gave her one last look-over, before heading back downstairs. Now, the irony wasn't lost on me that, obviously, I had recently been involved in certain nonconsensual sexual acts. But, to my credit, I had used that on people who, in my mind, deserved it. That lawyer, and the creep in the coffee shop - they were in need of being brought down a peg or two. And, my power was heightened by my arousal, so it all worked together. As one. As for Ryan and Penny, that whole thing was just me dipping in on their pleasure. No harm done. And, in that, Bryson was different. He had gotten aroused, and physically close to a woman, and to him that meant he could... well. He could do whatever. So, I was going to do it to him instead. Whatever. He was, almost comically, standing with one hand around his rock-hard monster, the other hand floating in the air, ghosted by Shannon's vanishing trick. His eyes were intently staring nowhere, his head down and his chest puffed up. The big man. He used sex for power, I realised. He used his stature - and his endowment - to overpower women. God knows what would have happened to Shannon if I wasn't here. None of this, I thought, and guilt rippled through me. I had to set it right. I had to take away his power. Take away his power over sex. My eyes slid down to his pole, held fast in his fist, and a shameful glow of lust came through me. Part of me had really enjoyed having that cock in my hand, imagining what it would feel like. And... I mean, it wouldn't do anyone any harm if I had a little more fun, right? In fact - I could take away his power over sex by fucking him. And, I mean, I could fuck him a lot. I knew that the sensations would catch up after I was done, and that cumming would make time start again. If I wanted to strip him of his power over sex, I needed to humiliate him sexually. My forte, I joked inwardly, though the joke was laughless. Even so - it would be a task. To fuck him enough to make his eventual orgasm ruining, without cumming myself. Plus, in the vein of the lawyer and the creep, it would work best if this was public. Right. So. Fuck him stupid without cumming. Take him outside. Let him explode in public like the sex predator he is. Golden. Getting to work was easy, now. I could put aside the moral hindrances that I had been (slightly) feeling when messing with Ryan and Penny, or even Shannon. This wasn't just me getting my rocks off by sexually manipulating people - which sounded awful, by the way - it was punishment. And it was a fitting one. So, I took Bryson and, using the lack of gravity to help me, lay him in the middle of the room, by the crowded table. There, his cock stood straight upwards, menacingly beautiful in stature, and I swallowed a moan at the sight of it. I was going to enjoy this. I started by moving his hand out of the way, giving me easy access to the full pole. Then, I spread his knees a little, leaving his jeans on and letting them stretch under the effort, so I could fit myself between his thighs. Again, I took a moment to measure his length, and it was undeniably impressive. It was almost understandable why he would be so sexually aggressive - who wouldn't want to fuck him, with a cock like that? Almost understandable. I took the head, and began stroking him again. Since my last pause, he had apparently had time to leak some pre-cum, and I smeared it over the fat brown head of his member, alternating my tactics; sometimes I was full-fisted, stretching his skin back and enjoying the slight look of strain it put him under; then, sometimes, I was more teasing, gliding over him with my fingertips, teasing him generously. I felt myself getting wet as I played with him, toyed with him, and it wasn't just the size of his cock that was pressing me forwards - it was the power. I had total control of him, now. And he was going to like it just as much as me. Well, kind of. After enough of that, I pressed my lips to the hot crown of his cock, a little daunted by how wide he seemed. My mouth had to stretch to envelop him, and while I had a little experience in giving head, I wasn't planning on choking myself for this sexual fucking predator. So, instead, I just lazily sucked him, licked him, tasted him - until I was satisfied. Next, it was on to the main event. Sitting back on my haunches, I wondered how much sense it would make to strip. It wouldn't be seen by anyone, but there was still a... vulnerability to doing that. To making myself naked just to ride this cock, when I could physically do the same thing if I just slipped out of my pants and trousers, keeping my top on. But the idea of rawing this guy in the living room, arse-naked, while he had no idea? It was too much for me not to oblige my lustful little heart. So, I stripped. Quickly and efficiently, until my bare shins were on the carpet, my thighs over his, my tits inches from his face. I straddled his unmoving body, wondering what he would do to me if he were able to move right now. If he woke up, and time started again, right now - with my pussy dripping wet, my body astride his, his cock brushing my leg. The image of Shannon appeared in my mind, along with the fear that was in her eyes. I discarded any more thoughts on what Bryson would do to me, and instead focused on using him as a means to please myself. And, of course, punish him in the process. Of course. His nine-inch fuckstick, almost as thick as my wrist, was hot against my sex as I pushed backwards. His cock was able to slide between my lips, dragging against my clit as I moved, making me mewl. I put my hands on his broad shoulders, sliding myself up to the head, and looked into his glassy, unseeing rapist's eyes. 'Fuck you,' I spat, before pressing back. 'Oh holy mother of Christ,' I moaned as the head split me open, his flesh thick and hard and filling. I felt each ripple of my sex being spread by him as I bucked backwards, slowly fucking more of him into me with each roll of my hips. 'Big,' I complained, taking a moment to pause. It felt like there was a baseball bat slowly being worked into me, and when I peered beneath to see how much was left, I was easily less than halfway down. 'So fucking big.' It took what felt like half an hour of slow, calculated stretching and shifting before I was at my limit. My body was stuffed in a way I'd never felt before, and the focus on getting to this point had gotten in the way of enjoying myself. So, with the monster in my pussy stretching me more than anything had before, I took a breath, and started to ride. I was still taking most of my weight, holding it in my thighs as I bounced on his rock-solid pole, and what was directly beneath me was the thick, strong chest of this would-be sex pest. And part of me loved that. That this guy was an obvious creep, using his power to fuck women, and I was using my power to fuck him. And, in all honesty, if you took away his personality and the terror in Shannon's eyes, he was a fucking dream. A huge, muscly man with a cock to die for - or on - who, right now, couldn't talk or grab or do anything to ruin it for me. A perfect little sex toy for the power-hungry time-stopping hormone-fuelled slut like me. Because I was a slut. Or, at least, I had been spirally down a cavern of sluttiness for a while now, and quickly, since... Well. Since everything. I steadied my forehead against Bryson's chest as I rode him, looking under myself to see the remaining three inches of cock mocking me. As I considered how, in this day or two since my father passed his impossible ability to me, I moaned with each impact of his cock in the deepest reaches of me. I moaned, loud and uninhibited, even though I knew, I knew, that the sounds I was making would catch up with me afterwards. There would be a single, loud, lust-filled moan from our empty living room, while Bryson blew his load somewhere public, and Shannon woke from a nightmare upstairs in bed. The wet, sticky sounds of my stuffed sex stretching to accommodate this thing would, for an instant, fill the room, before vanishing. I was free to do whatever I wanted. Anything, that is, except cum. If I orgasmed, it was game-over. If I came on this lovely cock, if my muscles spasmed and I saw spots and my moan choked out into voiceless pleasure, it would all be over. Bryson, and everyone else, would wake up. He would be under me, still in the mindset of 'rape Shannon', and find himself encumbered with pleasure with my lithe form on his cock, moaning and whimpering. I imagined how much he would cum. How those fat, full testicles would swell and then evict, teased and edged over time and yet it all happening so fast. He would be buried inside me, the head of his cock stretching my insides so he was pressed against my cervix, buried and deep. His hot, heavy cum would fill me, fill my womb, as I moaned atop him, and he would moan too. Confused, sure, but in ecstacy beneath me, cumming deep into the belly of a near-stranger, when an instant ago he was pushing a girl over a sofa to fuck her. And here he was. Lifeless as he was ridden, cock wet and chest bare, a naked woman of twenty-three riding him to her heart's content as she tried her very hardest not to cum. Which was difficult. Even the image of what it might feel like, the idea of being filled with his hot, thick cum was lewdly attractive. I never thought I'd had a breeding kink, but fucking a guy until he couldn't help but make me pregnant? It was... hot. As a fantasy, of course, but still. 'Shit, shit, shit,' I Mumbled to myself as my pace increased, my hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave indents in his skin, his cock staying rigid and unmoving as I plowed myself upon it. 'Don't cum, Brooke - don't you fucking cum.' I had to stop myself, more than once, as I felt the orgasm rising. Fighting that urge, that natural need to cum, was more difficult that I had ever imagined it would be. After the third cancelled orgasm, I started to wonder if it was time to leave him be - set time going again after putting him on the roadside, and watching him bust a nut all over the concrete outside. But I couldn't stop. It was addictive - just riding him, feeling my hole stretch like nothing I'd known before, having total control and security in knowing I could go as fast or slow, hard or gentle as possible - I had total, total power here. I adjusted my position after a little while, facing his feet instead of his dead-eyes stare. In that, I sat more upright, hand on my belly as though I expected to feel him through my skin. There was a hint of that - but only when it became too uncomfortable to go any further. It was almost annoying, how the depth of my channel, the sensitivity of my cervix, made it so delicious to be filled to such depth, and yet painful to go even a millimeter further. Eyes too big for my cunt, you could say. Maybe an hour passed - maybe more. It certainly felt like more, and I knew that I was going to feel his absence later. Hell, even as I sat up, pulling myself off him with a wet slrrp, I experienced my first honest-to-God gape. 'Mother of God, Bryson,' I moaned, stumbling off him in sweaty, troubled steps. My juices had leaked down my thighs and coated his entire crotch, and the carpet beneath us both, too. 'If you were a better man, I'd do this to you daily.' Next, of course, was the prestige. Making him suffer through this pleasure, having him cum like a fucking hose, but making it... awful. Just as traumatic for him as it would have been for Shannon, if I hadn't stepped in. If you hadn't gotten involved at all, I scolded myself. I kicked him in the gut, as though he was the source of my inner guilt, and pulled my underwear back on - feeling the wetness of my unsatisfied sex. Which was stupid, of course - it was some of the best sex I'd ever had. I just wasn't able to finish. Nightmare. 'Go fuck yourself, Bryson.' Then, I had an awfully mean idea of what to do with him - and where all that cum should go. CHAPTER NINE - THE WITNESS Dressed again, I stood Bryson up vaguely where he had been. I stripped him down to his not unattractive bareness, and took a moment to appreciate what had just been buried within me, before getting to work. 'I hope this hurts,' I murmur, before taking his monster-cock in my hand and pushing it. Downwards. It bent, at first, at the point it met the hip - like any penis would. So, as I pressed it down to his thigh, and then between his legs, the resistance grew and grew until I could tell it wasn't going to go much further naturally. I pushed his leg up, thanking my ability's gravity-defying properties for helping me do as much without his cock bouncing back up, and ducked under his crotch. For a moment, part of me was tempted to go back to those full, low-hanging orbs he had for balls - to suckle them, tug them lightly and fill my mouth with their taste. But I fought it - I had a job to do. Behind him, his cock protruded from beneath like an oddly-angled tail, more than long enough for me to what needed to be done. I took a breath, and spread his toned buttcheeks with my hands, and when I relented they stayed open. I bit back a smile as my palm teased his cock, rock-hard but still malleable enough, under his thigh and back towards me, straining against itself. I kissed the head, applying a dollop more liquid on top of my already generous donation of grool, and kept bending. Inch by inch, I worked my way from the base of his cock, applying pressure so that there was a little movement, but never enough to, you know, break it. By the time I was at the head, I had managed to create enough of an angle that it was almost funny how easy it was. His cock, curved beneath his taint, pressed at the crease of his backdoor. 'One more for luck,' I whispered, licking the head of it before I pressed the slick, bulbous tip into the tight pucker. I pushed. And pushed. The pressure was almost getting to the point of me giving up, but eventually, with a soft squchssh, the head popped in. I let out a sigh, not realising I had been holding my breath, and pressed the full head of Bryson's cock into his own backside. 'That... is... way too sexy for what it is,' I Mumbled to myself as I fed in another half-inch or so of cock, before the angle became too sharp, and I backed away. 'If it wasn't for the size of your cock, we wouldn't be doing this,' I told him as I pulled his leg back down, watching his balls, which had been pressed to one side by his shaft, squeeze into place. It wouldn't be comfortable for him, of course, but I was curious as to whether it would cancel out all of the fucking I had done. All of that hard work, wasted. Maybe. I shrugged. Fuck 'im. The next stage of the plan was simple. I pulled his boxers up, over his folded cock, which made the front of him look oddly smooth, despite his frizzy pubic hair, and pulled up his jeans. Sealing him up. Then, his shirt, buttoned badly and untucked. Then, I opened the living room door, and the front door of the flat, paving my way to the mildly-busy street out front, for me to take him out. I dragged him, not taking as much care as I had moving Shannon, and took him out the front gate to the patch of concrete described as our 'front garden', facing outwards. There was a park across the road, but I had long-since decided I wanted to see the fallout of my revenge, so this would have to do. I got his stuff, packed it quickly and carelessly, and threw it into his bag, before holding it next to him - about four feet off the ground. His laptop would have to survive the fall. Then, I went back inside, locked the door, and set myself by the window. To myself, I whispered, 'Time isn't real.' The initial sensory overload of all of that noise - the road, my moans all snapping in at once only to dissipate, made me wince as I watched the mayhem of Bryson's implosion. His feet lost their balance, first, and I watched the back of his head as he stumbled, reality pouring in. For him, he had just teleported outside, and was currently enjoying the long, indulgent fucking I had provided him in one hard, fast experience-dump. And all that cum he was currently producing, as his hips twisted on the spot and his hands flew to his crotch, was being poured into his own bowels, warm and thick and unmistakable. 'WHAT THE F-' he howled, his voice trailing into inhuman grunts as he dropped to the grass, ass-up and pointed at me, while he buried his face in the grass and moaned/screamed. I watched the dark patch find itself in his jeans, and as his ecstasy and horror passed, his post-orgasm clarity kicking in. Bryson rolled, grabbing his back with the likely-shattered laptop, stood on shaky legs, and walked away like a man whose cock was still embedded in his own arsehole, tucked in by his own clothing. He gave a frantic, furrowed glance back at the house, perhaps seeing me through the window, and fled. A few people who had been walking past were watching, half-shocked and half-overjoyed to have experienced something so weird. A few people laughed, some scowled and carried on. One old man barely seemed to notice. And, once Bryson was out of sight, down the hill, I turned away from the window - only to see Shannon behind me, watching me with wary eyes as she crossed into the living room. Before I had a moment to speak - to come up with any kind of excuse - she stopped me with three words. 'Time isn't real?' she asked. I must gave gawked like a fish. 'Shannon-' 'What the fuck does that mean?' She was angry. Understandably. Rightfully, in fact. 'Shannon, it's...' I didn't know what to say. What to try to convince her of. What lie to make up. For a moment, I wish I'd asked Hugo what my Dad had said to the people in his life, when strange things happened. Or, what happened when he got caught. I also considered just, pausing time, fucking off, and then denying everything to Shannon tomorrow. Gaslight her into thinking she had some fever dream, or something. 'Brooke,' Shannon said, with a mix of emotions in her eyes that made me feel like a monster for even considering manipulating her in some way. 'I know, after everything with your Dad, that you would be... you know. Acting differently. But this... this is mad. And don't you dare try to bullshit me, because something is going on here, and I can see it in your eyes.' She paused, giving me room to talk. 'I was trying to protect you,' I said. Whether I meant from Bryson, or from the truth of me, even I wasn't sure. 'Protect me?' she scoffed. 'I'm here, studying away with a guy I know you know I like. All of a sudden, I feel like someone's feeling me up, and me and Bryson are closer. Then, touching - and he's... hard, and - tell me you didn't do that. To him. To me.' I couldn't deny anything. As soon as she needed me to assure her the worst wasn't true, she saw it in me that it was. 'I'm sorry,' was all I could say. 'You - I don't know how, Brooke, but you did that to us. Then, he... he...' 'He tried to-' 'I know what he tried to do!' she snapped, cutting me off. 'He... and then I was in bed. Alone. And I look outside, and I see Bryson in the front garden, screaming and hollering on the grass, and running off.' She straightened her back a little, and I felt small before her. 'What did you do, Brooke? Tell me.' I looked at her, the pain in her eyes, and I saw no way out. No way to escape this... this mess. Well, I thought. There's always one way out. And I took it. Like a coward, I thought the trigger words and paused the world around me, enabling my escape. Only, I could feel that pressure in my mind, the alarm within me telling me to make it quick. Without arousal fuelling my power, it was weak. As weak as me. I gave Shannon one last look, and tried not to think about how hurt she would be when time started again and I was gone, without an explanation. Without anything. Then, I left. Out the front door, jogging a little to put some distance between us, and up the hill - I had no intentions of running into Bryson right now. The pressing headache, when it crested like it had when I was robbing - jesus, who am I turning into? - caught up with me as I turned a corner a few houses away. The grey sky hung overhead, and as I looked up at it, the clouds started to move again. The street rushed back to life, and I heard voices and birds, felt wind again. And, for reasons I wasn't totally sure of, I began to cry. CHAPTER TEN - THE HISTORY 'Hugo? Hey - it's Brooke. I, uh... I could do with some help. Let me know when you get this message. Thanks.' Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I took a breath as I sat on the mouldy old bench on the south side of Heaton Park. It sprawled out beneath me, sliding downhill between trees and pathways, filled with people braving the threat of rain overhead. Less than an hour since what had happened with Shannon, and I hadn't heard anything from her. I was expecting a call, or at least a confused text. Instead... silence. And I was struggling to figure out whether that was a good thing or not. Hugo hadn't picked up on either call I'd made, and that was starting to add onto that growing sensation of isolation I was feeling. Then, my phone buzzed in my hand, tucked into my pocket. I pulled it out, and saw the icon of a person I hadn't expected to hear from. Mum. 'Hey,' I said, picking up. 'Brooke,' she breathed, as though thankful to hear from me. 'Sweetheart, hi.' My lips tightened. After years of... of nothing, she thought she could just call me 'sweetheart' and be done with it? 'What's up?' I asked. 'Well - okay, we've been organising all of your father's effects, and some of it, even though it was specifically left to me in the will, has your name on it. And a lock. I was wondering if you wanted to, you know, take a look?' I looked over my shoulder, in the direction of the flat. Where Shannon would be waiting. 'Of course,' I said. * * * After sneaking a twenty-pound note from an affluent-looking guy with plenty more money in his wallet, I booked myself a bus ticket southward from the station. It was a new coach, comfy and warm, and yet there was an... uncertainty in me. Growing unease. How had my father managed this his whole life, I wondered. I've barely had this gift for two days and I've already cocked it up. The rain started to patter on the windows as I got myself settled in, waiting for the journey home to start. 'Home' was perhaps a strong word for it. Dad was estranged, and Mum was... not much better. The sooner I could get out of that house, the better. I think I reminded her of her better years, and resented me for it. Hugo, eventually, texted me back with a cryptic apology; H // Sorry Brooke for missing your messages. Will get back to you soon - we have much to discuss, and even more to explore. I tried to come up with an explanation, the combination of words that would let him know what had happened without making me out to be a complete idiot, but nothing came to mind. So, even though I knew he was probably the only person who could help me. B // Catch up tomorrow That would buy me enough time to work this all out, and to see what was at my Mum's, without raising any eyebrows from Hugo - he'd asked for time anyway. H // No problem. Keep up the practice in the meantime There. Brilliant. * * * It was dark by the time the coach rolled into North Yorkshire. I was tired from doing nothing, and the absence of activity on the other seats told me I was alone enough to do as Hugo had suggested. Keep up the practice. Only, I wasn't much in the mood. I had heightened a consensual sexual experience, once, but since then I'd just been... assaulting people. And justifying it. After considering Bryson, and the choices he'd made... I didn't want to be anything like him. Not at all. My power was linked to sex, but that didn't mean it had to be used as a weapon. I could use my abilities on people in a positive, constructive way. Maybe. Somehow. I had no idea, to be honest - but the space that going home and getting away from Hugo and Shannon gave me was nice. A little weight off my shoulders. Mum was waiting in the public car park across the walkway, so I disembarked quickly, having no luggage to take with me, and made my way through the heavy downpour in nothing but the jacket I'd worn to see Hugo that morning to save me from being soaked through. She was in the car, an old green Honda, and flashed the lights at me when I was close enough in a way that reminded me of being picked up from school when I was in my teens. That memory was... strange. Stomach-tightening. 'Hey,' I Mumbled as the door popped open for me, and I got into the passenger seat, sodden. 'My baby,' Mum fussed, touching the arm of my coat. 'You're wet through! We'll get you back, heating's on. Have you eaten?' I smiled, the nicety of being smothered temporarily pleasant. I knew she was just making up for lost time, but that was fine, at least for now. 'No,' I smiled. 'Pizza it is, then,' she said, starting the engine. * * * Mum's house was smaller than I remembered - or my memory was just catching up with reality. The corridors seemed a little tighter, the doorways a little shorter. I wasn't a child anymore. We had picked up a pepperoni 12-inch on the way home, and Mum had made a joke that made the image of Bryson's length eclipsing most of my arm come to mind. I was miserable, and trying to distract myself, but the simple truth that I hadn't cum through that whole ordeal was starting to rear its ugly head. 'Your room's mostly the same,' she said as I walked through the bungalow. The back rooms were three bedrooms and an office at one point - now it was Mum's room, her office, the spare room and my museum. The door creaked open and we both hesitated at the door, peering in. When I moved out, I made a point to take the things that made me happy. The things that made me me. So, what was left was the stuff Mum had imposed upon me. The violin I was never good enough at, in a corner covered in dust, was opposite the easel I had been forced to do charcoal impressions on at 13 years old. I wasn't a musician, or an artist - not in the way Mum needed me to be after Dad left. Dad, my brain repeated, echoed, as I saw the outlier in the room - the box, cardboard and opened, and inside sat a collection of clothes, and a lockbox. No bigger than a shoebox, it was locked with a huge combination key on the front. I took a closer look, picking it up to find it rattled slightly. 'Any clue?' I asked, but Mum just shook her head. 'This was with it,' she said, grabbing the note from a side table. For Shannon, it read. Nothing more. 'Right,' I hummed, thinking. I looked at the box, squinting. 'Are those letters?' 'Yup,' Mum said. 'Twelve-digit phrase. I mean, I thought it would be three years at first, but there's no way to get to numbers, even if you spin all the way round. So, I have no idea.' She patted me on the shoulder, and frowned at the window. The rain was getting worse. 'I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you get anywhere!' I nodded, and she left. As soon as she was gone, I started to turn the small brass dials to the letters I knew unlock it. T. I. M. E. I. S. N. T. R. E. A. L. The box clicked open, and I gasped - half-expecting golden light to pour out, or harmonic music to start playing. It felt like a magical moment. Important. Instead, the inside of the box was felt-lined, and black, and there were a selection of USB memory sticks inside, labelled. Numbered, in fact. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. It was all very dramatic, and even a little silly. I wanted to laugh, but instead just smiled, and went to the door. 'Mum?' I called down. 'Can I borrow your laptop?' 'Uhh, why?' Classic. Always had to know everything. 'I want to search some things. For that combination.' 'Oh. Sure. Living room,' she called back. I rushed down, my socks silent on the carpeted stairs, and found it in the front room, placed nicely on the sofa by the front window. I opened it, and quickly made a new login so Mum wouldn't accidentally stumble on anything, and took it upstairs. I ignored the familiar smell of childhood and the cozy atmosphere and the family pictures from over a decade ago. I snuck back upstairs, and caught a glimpse of my Mum through the kitchen doorway, on the phone to someone - just chatting away. Whether it was a show of respecting boundaries, or if she'd already forgotten I was there, it was hard to say, but I didn't stop. Once I was in my old bedroom, I clicked the door shut and sat myself on the bed, taking the memory stick labelled 1, and plugged it in. A single video file. I opened it, and the first frame was of my Dad's face, frozen with the play button hovering over his features. I'd almost forgotten what he looked like. When I clicked it, he came to life, inside what looked like a very cushy office room, a large leather chair framing him. He sat back, having obviously just pressed 'record', and began. 'Brooke,' he said, with a warmth I barely recognised. I hadn't seen it since I was, what, five? 'My darling daughter. And, in many ways, my heir - if you excuse the self-flagellating term.' He was casual, despite the suit he was wearing. Calm. Kind-seeming. 'If you haven't already, I'd like you to take a moment to find yourself a private space. Somewhere you are certain no one can overhear you.' I looked at the door, and thought of Mum downstairs on the phone. 'Either way - soon enough you will be free of consequence. But that's me getting ahead of myself. 'I want to begin by apologising. The life you have lived... this is not the life I wanted to share with you. It's not the way I wanted things to be. And, despite having this... gift, which I have passed onto you, I allowed my arrogance to ruin any chance of making things right. Brooke... this ability we share - it is not simply a means to stop time. Part of the gift which was never shared with me, and it took me decades to reveal and longer to understand, is that we can wield entropy. Defy it. We can move backwards, sending our consciousness as it is now into the previous version of ourselves. Start again. I was a forty-three-year-old man when I discovered this, and I had been working with my good friend, Hugo, for some time, when the legacy I inherited was shared with me. Teachings from our family, passed on from parent to eldest child. Teachings that led Hugo to... to believe he could steal our gift. He tried to murder me, Brooke. And, in my instinct-led state, I rolled time back.' I paused the video, releasing a held breath from my chest. Backwards through time. It was stupid. Impossible. Ridiculous. Though, how much more ridiculous was it than what I'd already experienced? I pressed play, and he continued. 'Only by an hour - but I had done it, Brooke. I saved my own life, and confronted Hugo about his plan. We had discovered, see, from my mother, a wrinkle in the gift. If a parent dies, their eldest child inherits the powers of time - but if that child dies before they themselves have a baby? It reverts back, up the genetic chain, to the other parent - preserving the gift for a chance of being passed on again. She told me this a month before you were born, and - naturally - I told Hugo. My partner in crime. 'Hugo had been plotting until you were - to put this crudely - of childbearing age. He wanted to murder me, have a child with you, and then kill you and the child. As the father of the power-given infant, he would then inherit the power for himself.' I glanced at my phone - wondering if it was possible. The man Hugo had presented himself as... a lie. To get close to me. Impregnate me. A cold shiver went up my spine, as I listened on. 'I went back to the day you were born, Brooke - but could go no further. The ability had been shared with you the day you arrived, and I was unable to roll back time further than that. I couldn't stop myself from working with him for years, or from him learning about the way it was inherited. I also learned that, when we go back, we can't go forwards again. We are unable to jump ahead in time. When I went back to the day you were born, to my late twenties - I had to stay there. Live my life again. 'This began a... a sort of routine, Brooke. I would live my life a certain way, and Hugo at some point would murder me, with intention to save you. At the point of death, I rolled back and started again. I ran from him, fought him - it never worked. Some lives I spent as a caring father, attentive and loving, using the stock market to grow immensely wealthy... but, it soon became clear that going backwards in time had a cost. 'I was getting ill. Cancer, Brooke. At first, I thought it was just bad luck - I went back and started again. I'd lived for hundreds of years, my mind full of memories - but I wasn't able to give it up. And, with each life, I was falling ill earlier and earlier. It was the gift, punishing me. This life, I fell ill almost as soon as you were born, but I've managed to fight it. I thought I might... I thought I might do it once more. Spend a life with you, make you happy. But, I realised I had run out of time. I wouldn't survive a good life with you, so instead I decided to try and keep you safe.' I looked at the lockbox - the other USB sticks glinted in the low light. 'Everything I know is here, for you. Hugo will stop at nothing, and he is the only person who knows anything about this, which makes him dangerous. Watch the tapes, and find an ally. I chose mine badly. I hope you can do better with yours.' He paused, as though he was finished - and the progress bar showed the video was seconds away from finishing - but then he sat forwards, letting me see the dark under his eyes, and the blue in his lips. 'Oh, and Brooke - once you have figured out how to go back... my suggestion is that you pick a good life, and keep with it. Take it from an old man. Time isn't everything.' A huge thank-you to: Obi Mannie_RSF Alan_