Investigating the pill comes at a cost

His hand, still outstretched, is the fulcrum your world balances on. The thrum of the club beyond the curtain is a distant, primal drum. Even the fast beat of the music cannot keep up with your racing pulse.

You eyes run from his patient, waiting hand, up his muscular forearm, and his taut bicep, pressed against his suit jacket. There is something about the shape of his muscles that draws you to him. Makes you want to rub your own tiny body against his defined muscles and large frame.

His strong shoulder and chiselled chin have a similar effect - as does a brief pausing at his bulging Adam's apple. Then you rest on his dark, intelligent eyes.

They bore into you with a twinkle. They open an aching, needing void between your legs.

There is no judgment in his eyes... but there is expectation, underlined by a growing smirk or grin. He seems to know you are going to be his plaything. Right now you feel as though you'd do anything to make that so.

A current of pure, unadulterated lust floods your groin - like the most powerful erection you'd ever had, several times over, but spread across your abdomen - echoing in your nipples, erect so that they feel they may burst if not cajoled. The current is so intense it makes your hips twitch.

The fear is still there, a faint, high-pitched whine in the back of your skull, but it’s being drowned out by a tidal wave of want. You want this. You want him.

Slowly, deliberately, you lift your little hand. Your fingers tremble slightly as you place them in his. His swamps yours - you feel like a child placing her hand in the paw of a bear.

His grip is firm, warm, and utterly possessive. He closes his fingers around yours, a silent contract sealed. He doesn’t pull you up. Instead, he uses his hold to draw you forward, onto your hands and knees, and then he leans down. The first press of his lips against yours is soft, a question. You answer by parting your lips, a silent plea. You yearn to press yourself against him... all of you... against all of him...

The next press of his lips is pure possession. He deepens his kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you, sweeping you up. He embarks on a dominant, thorough exploration of your mouth, with his strong, insistent tongue - and you melt into it. His other hand comes to rest on the small of your back, then slides down, cupping the curve of your ass. You moan into his mouth, the sound raw and needy.

He breaks the kiss, his breath warm on your cheek. He trails his lips along your jaw, down the sensitive column of your throat. His hands are everywhere, mapping your form with a confident, proprietary touch. He caresses your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your chest, making the hard, aching points of your nipples throb.

Your pussy feels so wet you can only imagine it dripping on the cold floor. The air hums with it, with your desperate, open arousal. You never thought you could want a man like this, not with this intensity, but his power is a magnetic force, and you are just iron filings, yearning to be aligned, to be shaped by his will - by his cock.

The thought of his cock makes your eyes glance down. There it is, clearly now, pressed against the fabric of his suit trousers. You almost gasp. It looks huge.

He stands and shifts behind you, his knees nudging yours apart. You stay on all fours, your head hanging down, your hair curtaining your face. You feel the blunt tip of one of his fingers trace the seam of your ass, then past, under your body, gathering your wetness.

He hovers over the lips of your pussy, gently tracing each one, barely touching - but touching just enough that you try to lower yourself onto his insistent finger.

He grunts, and pushes your ass roughly forward. Your pussy clenches again. Wow - you seem to like him manhandling you.

He gently smacks one buttock. You can't help but whimper as his domination causes your pussy to clench again. He could do whatever he wanted with you... you are at his absolute mercy. And the way it terrifies you makes you feel more aroused than you can ever imagine being before.

"Still as a statue," he barks. You are not sure you want to resist railing against his hand... but you obey.

As you rest steady on all fours, his finger returns, feathering you. Then he slides it inside you, slowly, a single thick digit. Your tight young body - never played with before - is stretched exquisitely by the invasion.

You gasp, pushing back against his hand. He immediately pushes your hips forward again, in a rough shove.

He keeps his finger in place and then begins to move it - but barely moves it. The heat of his finger, knowing you are being fingered by such a tall, dominant, strong, sexy figure, knowing you are desperate for it is enough to drive you to heady heights of lust.

He takes up a steady, maddening rhythm gently rocking his finger, before he slips it further inside you, curling deepl,y finding what feels like a perfect spot to drive you higher.

Pressure builds and builds, like a tight coil in your belly.

He increases his pace, now shoving roughly in and out, and around and around on your sodden pussy, your throbbing clitoris, your bulging G-spot.

Your breath hitches, your thighs start to shake. You’re right there, on the very edge of a shattering orgasm, and then… he stops. He pulls his finger back just enough to let the cresting wave recede, leaving you panting and empty.

“Tell me,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. He slides his finger back in, starting the build all over again, even faster this time. “What is your current view on joining my study?”

The pleasure is blinding. He’s winding you up again, expertly, relentlessly. you tell yourself to focus... then he adds a second finger, assaulting your clitoris as his other pummels you deep inside.

Your mind struggles to form words. You just want to cum - need to cum. The study. The weekly pills, the questionnaires, the surrender. You can't focus on it all - but still you feel that it sounds like heaven. It sounds like everything you’ve ever secretly craved.

“I…” you gasp as his thumb finds your perineum, circling it once. “I think… I think I’m keen.” The words tumble out, and as you say them, a wave of rightness washes over you. It’s the correct answer. The only answer.

“Good,” he murmurs, and the praise sends another jolt of electricity through you. He continues his torturous ministrations, bringing you to the brink again and again - now using his other hand to caress and need your tiny breasts with rough abandon, each tweak and rub of your nipples electrifying your whole body, and especially your hungry snatch.

Each time you approach the summit, you feel as though you are about to collapse over it, in heavenly orgasm... but it's like the wave just ebbs without crashing.

You spot yourself in the mirror opposite. You’re a trembling, sobbing mess of need. Through the haze of lust, you take in the look of him behind you. He’s still mostly dressed, his suit jacket hanging open, his shirt clinging to a powerful chest and broad shoulders. The sight of his body, the sheer masculine strength of him, makes your pussy throb around his fingers. You want him. You want to be consumed by him.

A sliver of the old you, the curious part, fights through the fog. “What…” you pant, your voice thin and reedy. “What was the pill?”

He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound. He slows his fingers, holding you just below the peak of pleasure. “An excellent question.” He leans over you, his chest against your back. His lips brush your ear. “I’ll tell you. But I want something in return.”

You would give him anything. “What?” you whimper.

“Just ask me to slip the head of my cock inside you,” he whispers, his voice like velvet and steel. “Just the tip. And I’ll tell you everything.”

You had come to the Vanilla Alternative convinced you'd flaunt your new body, tease perhaps, but not surrender it to a man. You weren't gay or bisexual after all... just excited by the feeling of a walk on the other side... on the weak side.

This suggestion, so specific and filthy, catalysed by your deep, throbbing all-encompassing arousal, seems to bypass all rational thought.

It’s a tiny thing, a reasonable exchange you think. It won't be full sex, you can just pull off him once he's slid in. And it would fill that void you feel between your legs briefly... satisfy this urge to rub your whole body against his great manly frame - and cock.

You nod frantically against the floor. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

"I asked you to ask me."

"Please... please... slide the head of your cock in. Just an inch. Then explain... please," you pant, ragged.

He withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly vacant. You hear the rasp of a zipper, the rustle of fabric. Then you feel it. Not a finger, but something much bigger, much hotter, more forceful.

He presses the broad, flared head of his dick against your slick, swollen entrance. He pushes forward, and you feel your body give way, stretching to accommodate him. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect, burning pressure as he sinks just the first inch or so inside. You feel your muscles clamp down around him, trying to pull him deeper.

You look at yourselves in the mirror. Your long, sheen of black hair hanging either side of your cute, young face. Your eyes, your mouth, your face is almost screaming to be fucked. And there, behind you, straddling you, towering over you, he looks like a giant plundering a village wench at his mercy.

He groans, a low, guttural sound of satisfaction. He stays there, buried just inside you, his hands gripping your hips. It is all you can do not to rock back against him, to slide his full length inside you - or as much of it as you can - but you still have just a tiny flavour of old Michael there. But oh how you want to...

He leans to your ear. You can feel his ragged breath as he rests his pulsing cock against the entrance to your pussy. "So the pill..." his words are hot against your neck...