Take it Easy, Get Your Bearings

You lounge nude on the floor opposite Olivia, idly watching as the hawk-nosed teen again reads with her back planted against the bookshelves. On your orders, the redhead's legs are spread wide, offering a clear view as white globs sporadically dribble out of her. It's made for a large wet spot on the library carpet. You must have had a lot pent up inside; it won't be a problem going forward.

That fact rattles around inside your skull. How many men can boast that they can empty their balls into any woman they want, if 'only' within a generous age range that includes billions? How many guys throughout history would, if they wanted to see plentiful amounts of their seed leak from a random girl's freshly deflowered pussy, have to remind themselves to abstain from their normal schedule of rampant sex for a few days to ensure their tank fills up? Not many, you suspect. Warlords and kings. Not nobodies like you.

You've won the proverbial lottery. Hell, it's better than the lottery; you have options that the richest pervert on Earth can only fantasize about. The whole wide world caters itself to your whims, now.

Which, you're pained to admit, might become a problem.

The lottery comparison brings up memories of half-remembered news stories about jackpot winners who end up back in the poor house after a short while. They didn't know how to handle success. Nothing in their lives had prepared them for having the world as their oyster. If you wanted, Olivia would let you snort cocaine from her ass crack while she carries on being a sharp-tongued bookworm. But if you're that **** for sexual highs, how long until you try something so stupidly **** it gets you or someone else hurt—or worse?

"Don't overthink things. It's that simple, you hear?"

Good advice, and things have panned out for your pretty swimmingly so far, but it might be wise to take things slow for now. If you suddenly had a billion dollars in the bank, you wouldn't need to rush out to splurge on your own private island—not that you'd want one, as privacy doesn't turn your crank.

How far can you push the idea of Free Use to finagle other things? You suspect pretty pretty damn far, if you're smart about it.

You can do anything you want... but what do you want to do?

You unsurprisingly don't reach any firm conclusions before Olivia claps her book shut. The hawk-faced teen stands creakily. She stretches, arms high, striped shirt riding high to expose a belly button and the curves of hip bones. Your soft, sticky cock stirs from its slumber in your bush. But the moment passes. Olivia shoulders her purse and starts ambling away.

"Where you going?"

"Home," she replies, without looking back. "It's almost dinnertime."

Your eyes follow the teen's swaying feminine gait. Against the gloom of the library's interior design, her creamy ass is impossible to ignore. You pounded Olivia and poured yourself deep into her slit, but you've never so much as felt up her butt. Or seen her B-cups. Hell, you've never even touched her bra strap. Everything this girl is? Is yours—if you want, for as long as you want.

"Dinnertime?" you say.

"Yeah."

"Wait a second," you add, hungry yourself.

. . .

Downstairs is exactly what you hoped, but you're still not quite ready to live the dream. Nobody in the library's lobby bats an eye at all the other women walking around bottomless, or at the flaky dried juices streaking Olivia's inner thighs. It's hot but deeply weird, and you say that as someone for whom this is literally your fetish.

"I really love this author," the librarian gushes.

"It sucked me in," Olivia says, "Is his other work as good?"

"Oh, you're in for a treat. He's actually coming to the university to give a lecture next—"

As an experiment, you slip behind the copper-haired teenager and wrap your arms around waist, hugging her close. The bibliophiles carry on their conversation without missing a beat. You lather the curve of Olivia's neck with soft kisses, sighing as she keeps talking, neither irritated nor aroused. Stroking her flanks? Nothing. Cupping her small breasts? Nada. The dumpy librarian doesn't blink at you fondling a young woman right in front of her. Of all things, it's only when you start toying with the hem of Olivia's striped long-sleeved shirt, slowly peeling it upwards, that the teen finally reacts.

"Oh my God," Olivia hisses, swatting at your hands but making no other move to break free from your embrace. "You can't—!" The teen sucks in a sharp breath, and when she resumes speaking she's lowered her voice to a rasp. "You can't take my top off in public."

"Why not?"

"Maybe because it's completely indecent and against the law?" The way Olivia says it, she makes you sound like a moron.

"We just, uh... you know. We already..."

"So?"

You brush her long copper hair away from one ear and lean in close, whispering, "My spunk is crusted all over your thighs."

"Get to your point."

The librarian chuckles. "Have you two been together long?"

"We're not a couple," Olivia replies. "We just met. I don't even know his name." Your shaft hardens at that revelation, because, now that you reflect on it, she's right. You never bothered to introduce yourself before you spread the teen's legs and rutted into her coltish body.

"It's true," you admit, feeling a burst of suicidal bravery. "I saw her and couldn't stop myself from taking her right then and there. Olivia here was a virgin until I popped her cherry, like, a half hour ago."

The librarian leans her head back. "Ah. So that's what that noise was."

Olivia gives you a friendly elbow in the gut, but there's no air to knock out. All you can think is that this is really, actually happening. You could literally bend this bookworm teen over the checkout counter for a second pounding, and nobody would object.

You don't think you'll ever get used to this wonderful world.

"Except now she won't let me take off her shirt," you add.

The librarian is trying not to laugh. There's a twinkle in her eyes as she surveys the two of you, and you're not entirely sure how this must look to her—beyond seeming normal. "Is there anything else, dear?"

"No," Olivia grunts, stuffing a 'Due By' slip into her purse. "Thanks."

. . .

The bus ride that follows is instructive. Small kids, grannies, jailbait schoolgirls—all of them wear the usual array of pants and skirts. But otherwise? Just as promised, women between the ages of eighteen and forty are bottomless. College girls cluster by the exit, one grousing about some all-nighter they just pulled, their fake-baked toned legs on full display. A haggard businesswoman walks by you in tasteful black pumps, naked plump ass sagging a little with age. A full-hipped mother with a large blonde bush herds her kids into their seats. It's a parade of flesh.

You can fuck any of them, right here and now. They don't even need to be your type. Like with Olivia, they don't even need to know your name.

When the bus swiftly fills up with commuters, you, on a whim, offer Olivia's seat to a little old lady with a cane. The teen rides on your lap the rest of the trip, lost in her novel, oblivious to the sweet agony you're suffering thanks to your perverted good deed. You had thought it would just be mildly arousing. Instead, each pothole hit, red light stopped at, and left/right turn jostles the bookish redhead, grinding her firm bottom against your raging hard-on.

You grip Olivia's coltish thighs with white-knuckled hands, bury your face in her copper mane, and groan. Your seat is narrow; even if you asked, and you can, the bus is too cramped for the other passengers to make any room for you both. Manly pride doesn't allow you to simply jizz inside your pants. All you can do is hold out for your stop.

As soon as you arrive at Olivia's destination, you grab the teen by her wrist and lead her over to the nearest unoccupied stretch of waterlogged lawn beside the bus stop. In full view of the other commuters, you strip off your belt, let your jeans pool at your ankles, and push Olivia onto the grass. You pounce on her.

The swampy ground makes obscene squelching noises as you jackhammer into the teenager. Olivia's heart-shaped face is shaded with irritation, but the kind you might feel after stepping into a too-deep puddle that soaks through your shoe. You might as well not be ravishing her in front of a milling crowd. When Olivia hits her own orgasm, tightness rippling as it grips your shaft, the redhead doesn't outwardly react beyond breathing a little more deeply.

Afterward, exhaling, you wipe the sweat from your eyes.

"Are you finished yet?" she asks, finally speaking. "It's getting late."

"Sorry." You pull out of her cunt, and help the teen to her feet. There's a rump-shaped impression in the soggy lawn that quickly fills up with rainwater. Olivia doesn't mind the fresh gooey mess streaking down her inner thighs but, scowling, she swats at the muddy blotches and loose grass blades clinging to her backside. Somehow, it's the sexiest thing you've ever witnessed.

"I think you're gonna be the **** of me, kid."

"If I can't get these grass stains of my shirt, yeah. It cost eighty bucks."

Blinking at the unexpected complaint, you glance down at your own legs. Mud and grass stains coat your bare knees. You need some tidying up yourself. "Sorry. I got carried away."

"Ya think?"

Once she's cleaned herself as well as she can, you shadow Olivia to a two-story residence indistinguishable from all the cookie-cutter boxes cluttering the street. And you thought your dump of an apartment building was soulless. The inside, however, is different. Bright lights ward off the overcast early evening gloom, showcasing a tasteful wood-paneled interior. NPR plays on some unseen radio. The rich aroma of bubbling red sauce and simmering meat fills the air. It's about what you'd picture generic upper-middle class life to be, but with just enough personal touches to avoid feeling antiseptic.

"I'm home!" Olivia says, shucking off her sneakers.

"How was your day?" a woman calls back.

"Fine!" The teen, at last, deigns to glance your way. You can't quite tell if it's irritation or if she forgot about you until now. "I brought a guest."

"You what?" An older woman comes around the corner, clad in a long apron. Dark-haired but with the same hawkish nose, this would be Olivia's mother, you feel safe in assuming. "Oh! Hello there!"

You offer a little wave.

"Who's your new friend, dear?"

"He's not my friend. He's just some dude who keeps fucking me."

"Language!"

"Sorry, Mama," Olivia says, sheepish.

With a polite smile pasted on her face, Olivia's mother looks back your way. "I'll set an extra place. I'm Fran!"

You... nod, declining to share your name. Olivia shoots you a dirty look, but it only makes you smirk. It's amusing to think that she doesn't even know the name of the guy she's spent her afternoon with, let alone the man who deflowered her.

"Is it all right if I stay the night?" you ask. "It's a bit of a hike for me."

Fran makes a 'hmm' noise. "If you want." With the verbal chagrin of a good host, she adds, "I haven't changed the sheets in the guest room for a while, though. Sorry. It'll be a little dusty."

"I, uh, was thinking that I'd just sleep with your daughter in her bed."

"Perfect!"

Fran turns around, off to tend to dinner once more, and in doing so surprises you with the sight of clunky 'Mom jeans'. They were hidden behind her apron. You've spotted a few decent-looking forty- and fifty-somethings on the bus ride over, women you realize are forever beyond your reach thanks to the criteria used to reshaped this world, but interacting with one proves that, clearly, they're just as prone to ignoring your sexual behavior as everyone else.

While you're distracted by her mother's clothed ass, Olivia has grabbed a scrunchy from somewhere and is typing up her long copper hair. The assured, economical motions suggest she rarely wears it down.

You reach out, cupping one of her fleshy cheeks. Olivia doesn't reach to you touching her face. She just stands there, as if on pause. "Your mom seems nice."

"Thanks?"

"Do you not know how to take a compliment?"

"Sorry," Olivia says, abashed, still staring at some spot a thousand yards off in the distance. "I've never brought a man home before."

You stroke her cheek with the pad of a thumb. She patiently waits.

When you withdraw your hand, the teenager instantly bobs on her heels and calls out, "I'm going to go change!"

"Dinner in forty!" Fran shouts back.

"I'll be upstairs!"

Not waiting for you, Olivia bounds up a nearby staircase. You're torn between nipping at her heels as usual or chatting up her mother, but you've done the mom thing with more than enough ex-girlfriends, and that's when you loved the person you were with. Besides, the taboo thought of seeing a high schooler's bedroom is too alluring.

Pushing those reflections aside, you follow that sweet ass. There's a small bathroom near the top of the staircase. You find Olivia washing her face. The array of feminine products covering the countertop suggests this is Olivia's personal bathroom, unless her mom also bothers with anti-acne cream and shares the same hairbrush. She's not the prettiest girl, especially with that schnoz, but Olivia clearly works to look the best she can.

You watch the teen busy herself, simply enjoying the show.

After a minute or so, however, you catch onto something.

You give the air an experimental sniff—and frown. "Hey."

Olivia, round cheeks covered in some beauty cream, glances at you in the mirror. "What now?" she asks.

The upstairs isn't quite so thick with the smell of delicious food, letting other aromas come to fore. Namely, that of you and Olivia. The teen doesn't react as you lean in and take a long sniff of her body, but it reveals much the same scent as you: the distinct funk of sex.

"We both need a hot shower."

Olivia frowns. "Why?"

You open your mouth, but pause. It occurs to you that she doesn't see anything wrong with reeking of cum and pussy juice. The same normality censor that gives you Free Use of most women must be all-encompassing, or near enough to be hard to tell the difference.

The prospect of parading a thoroughly sexed-up Olivia in front of her parents is alluring, and it's only after several seconds of indecision that you sigh and give in to the self-restraint you should have showed at the bus stop. Frankly, you feel a little grungy, and you've made a mess of this hawk-nosed teen. There will be plenty of time to wallow in all the messy glory of sex later. Even if you have and will treat this young lady like a toy, you'd prefer to keep Olivia in a decent condition.

Plus, there's all sorts of ways you can have fun washing up.

"Ever taken a shower with a guy before?"

"No."

"Or a bath?"

"Probably not since I was a kid."

Olivia stares at you, not making the connection. She can't.

You grin.