Just West Of Happy, Part 7 free porn video

Warning: This story contains MATURE THEMES including nudity, sex, sexualization, and vulgar language. Do not read if you are under 18 or if it is otherwise restricted for you to do so. If you wish to share this story, contact me at [email protected]. I will likely agree, I just want to know in advance. An additional warning: THIS SECTION OF THE STORY CONTAINS ATTEMPTED RAPE. Please do not read if this offends you. Hey look, more shenanigans! Part 7 of JWoH is here and I've finally introduced a bit of plot to the mix rather than aimless sexuality (but who doesn't enjoy aimless sexuality?). I hope to continue to build on the mystique and drama of the mythology I've created to make this more than a mindless sex fest...without losing the mindless sex fest! Also, I would like to apologize for the tags in the previous stories. These were originally posted on my Deviant Art account (whimsicaltales, for those of you who want to follow my work and get it before my lazy ass gets around to submitting it to Fictionmania!). Plot Synopsis: The shenanigans at Dance Berry continue as Ione tries to find some way to abate the sexual command given to her by Melinda. She meets some new and unusual "friends" and an unwanted face returns. Just West of Happy, Part 7 By: Whimsy I tried to blame my constant stumbling on my platform shoes, which I still wasn't used to moving in, but it was difficult to place the blame solely on them. I tried to blame it on the throbbing, pulsing music around me, or the strobing lights that made me feel like I was going to throw up, or the constantly-growing throngs of people, but even these things weren't what caused me to constantly lose my footing and have to lean against the wall for support. It was the swelling, gradually increasing feeling of deep arousal that was washing through my body like a drug. It wounded completely insane, but if I didn't want to be awash in the most awkward, inappropriate feelings ever, I had to go onto the dance floor and dance. Melinda had seen to that. Her "command" was making me barely able to walk, however, let alone dance, and I'd lost her in the crowd, so all of a sudden, after everything that had happened, I was not only in a strange, frantic setting that I had as much in common with as a fish to a desert, but I was also alone. "You need help finding something, baby?" I jumped in surprise and turned swiftly, but the sultry male voice wasn't George Worthington, who I was also afraid of stumbling onto in the bustle of people. However, the meaty older guy looked like, given half the chance, he would be every bit as bad as George. "Just looking for my girl--boyfriend," I stammered in a quaking voice. Damn this "command." I could feel the need building up inside of me, a need so foreign and alien that I didn't know how to fill it. I was used to the rather irritating rock hardness of my male arousal. I'd been living with it all my life. But this was so inward, so all-consuming, that I could barely think straight. The vast emptiness in my crotch and the surge of growing warmth running through me made me stare at the man in front of me with an almost dreamy, dazed expression. I wasn't sure if the man could sense (or, more likely, smell) my arousal, but he definitely seemed like he was going to ignore my comment and continue to make moves on me, even force himself on me, I thought with a thrill of panic running down my spine. It certainly couldn't have been the dreamy look on my face that made him so bold, because he wasn't looking at my face. "I gotta go," I said quickly and did an about face, prying my eyes from the man. I'd been staring at his arms, which had been bare under a tank- top that had more than likely been underneath whatever he wore to the club in order to be "appropriate." I got the feeling a lot of people wore more clothes coming into the club than they expected to wear in the actual club. If not, I was surprised people weren't catching frostbite in the chilly autumn night outside. More people filtered in through the entry hall, but I was surprisingly ok with this. Not only did this allow me to escape from my current pursuer (for I was convinced he was still chasing me), but it also allowed me a reasonable assurance that I wouldn't bump into George Worthington again. I was reminded by the glimmer of need in my most recent tormentor's eyes how grabby George's hands had been. Even being discrete due to being in public, George had managed to grope my breast, brush his hand over my ass, and set the neckline of my dress askew. I didn't much care for his chivalry and I didn't much care for the chance to test its limits. Unfortunately, the constant stream of people made the prospect of finding Melinda impossible as well and, like a constantly growing need to go to the bathroom, I knew my particular itch needed to be scratched--one way or the other. Unfortunately, there were only two ways to do that. The first was something I'd discovered first hand only minutes before: I could negotiate myself to orgasm. Well, ok, I hadn't negotiated myself. The idea made me a bit dizzy, though I wasn't as resistant to the idea as I had been an hour ago. In fact, I idly wondered what it would feel like to-- "No!" I said quickly, shaking my head and forcing myself to think of the second solution: "grinding." Melinda had demonstrated some sort of sultry dance move she called grinding which looked a lot like dry humping rhythmically to me. She'd grinded her own body against mine and told me that if I did that for ten seconds, the growing arousal would abate. For a time. Dancing would merely prolong the inevitable. Whatever the case, I reminded myself with growing urgency, I needed to do something. I decided the first step would be to get out on the dance floor and, as Melinda had so succinctly put it, "wiggle my jiggly bits around and let everyone stare at me." Dancing was only a temporary solution, but it would at least give me some time to think. And maybe, like before, a little dancing would allow me to work up to grinding up against someone without overthinking the overtly sexual act. Though I had to admit, the idea was sounding better and better every moment. I tried to shake that unbidden thought from my mind as I wended my way to the dance floor. The thought had occurred to me that I would probably find Melinda on the dance floor as well, which would be an added bonus, though I couldn't help but think the night would be so much simpler without her. That thought made me a litle sad, however, and I tried to banish the thought from my mind. No matter what she'd done, I still became deeply depressed at the mere thought of telling her to go home. The dance floor was, if at all possible, busier still than the rest of the club, and I wondered how people were managing to dance at all when they were crammed shoulder to shoulder with sweaty, contorting people. Somehow, however, they were managing it. I was jostled and bumped as I made my way through the floor. I stopped after a few steps, wondering exactly why I was bothering to travel into the dance floor rather than just dancing on the outskirts (or in a secluded corner). I idly wondered if it was me, if I felt like not going all in was cheating on our "game" a little bit. Then someone grabbed my ass and I very nearly ran out of the bar, high heels or no. I stopped about midway to midway and looked around. It seemed that Melinda's description, though crude, was relatively apt when it came to actual dancing. Random flailings seemed to be more like it. Sure, there were a number of moderately artful flailers, but for the most part there was no thought or skill involved. I thought the whole affair was primal, even a little carnal. I saw people grinding, of course, but also a fair bit of fondling and even a couple making out and undressing each other while they danced. It was bizarre, but the longer I remained motionless on the dance floor, the more into it I got. I tried to tell myself it was Melinda's command, and indeed my arousal was peaking and I felt a trickle run down my leg for what felt like the fiftieth time that night, but I couldn't deny the more base appeal of what I was witnessing, and I began to join in almost without thinking. At first, my "dancing," if you could call it that, was relatively feeble. It was awkward and tentative, and after every move I made, I looked around to make sure no one was watching me. It felt completely ridiculous that no one was, given the bizarre twists and turns my day had taken, but I had to remind myself that, to everyone around me, I was just another girl--young and perhaps a bit awkward even, but a girl. They had no idea that I had been a man only a few short hours ago. I realized that no matter how feeble my attempts to dance were, they were met with an abatement of my arousal. Whenever I stopped to look around, of course, it picked up right where it had left off, but it was nice to know that I didn't have to put much effort into it. So I wiggled my bony little butt a little, but otherwise kept my body and my arms still particularly the more awkward parts of my body. "That won't do," came a voice shouting from behind me. The shout, however, sounded to be a casual volume with the roar of the music (that, despite it all, I was beginning to kind of enjoy). I jumped and turned and came face to face with a boy, taller than me and a bit baby faced.. For a moment in the flashing music and flailing bodies, I thought it was George, but it wasn't. "You have to get into it, otherwise what's the point of being out here?" You have no idea, I thought grimly. But rather than speak to him, I merely blushed and turned my gaze to the ground, trying to keep my body in feeble motion. He just laughed, "Or maybe a friend forced you to come out tonight," he said in an easy, friendly tone. He could have been quite derisive, given my rather pathetic attempts at dancing, but his tone was polite and cordial, friendly even. "You have a nice body," he went on, quickly adding in a laughing tone, "I meant that from a dancing perspective, though it's not bad. You have long limbs," he reached over and tugged my arms up, "and you're quite thin. The fat ones have a bit of a harder time getting themselves to move the way they want." He gestured to a corpulent couple dancing near to us. Of all the people on the floor, these two were actually given a wide berth due to the wild, uncontrolled flailings of their limbs. "But they're getting into it," he laughed at my horrified expression. "Can't fault them for that. I hate to see anyone out on the dance floor that's not enjoying it. Here," he took my arms and adjusted them slightly, "try and move them around a bit. Don't worry about hitting anyone, you have more control than you'd think." I blinked and stared at him as he moved my body with his hands, an almost casual, asexual touch, but I couldn't deny there was a tenderness there, perhaps even a sensuality, but it wasn't forceful and demanding like George's had been. It didn't make me want to push him away, it made me want to let him keep helping me. I realized just then what I was thinking, but I didn't immediately react to my thoughts. Perhaps it was my lingering arousal that hadn't completely abated from the dancing, but I didn't immediately want to push this man away. "What's your name?" he asked after he'd gotten done showing me where I should have my arms and moving on to my hips, which was infinitely more uncomfortable, though he was seemingly pleased by his handiwork. I hesitated a moment, continuing to sway my hips almost absently, without any real rhythm, though his hands were moving them slightly, as if to show me how,"I-Ione," I said back to him. I hadn't even tried to say Ian, I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Ione huh?" he laughed merrily, "that's an unusual name. Although I guess 'Quincy' isn't much better," he laughed again. "That's my name, by the way," he added unnecessarily. "But you can call me Quince or Q if you want. In fact, I'd prefer if you do." I realized we had to be practically touching in order to communicate and I'd hardly noticed until now. I also noticed just then that I was dancing quite a bit more naturally and without thought as I stared at this boy talking to me. "Do you come here often?" he asked, then laughed again, running his hands through his hair, "wow, that sounded super lame." I shook my head wordless, watching him move. Just as he'd said about me, he had a lanky body and long, almost awkward arms. But the way he moved them was almost hypnotic. He was a lot like I had been as a boy, but with shaggy black hair rather than blonde, and I could tell through his shirt, which was slightly transparent from the sweat of his exertion, that his body had a lot more tone over all. He too had the most piercing eyes I'd ever seen, but they were silvery gray rather than my own crystal blue. I found myself staring at those eyes as I contemplated them and didn't realize it until long moments had passed and I'd neither answered his question nor continued dancing. I started my body moving feebly again, seeming to have forgotten everything he'd told me, and wrenched my eyes away from him. He just laughed, "I come here every weekend," he explained. "You live in town here? I suppose you're a student down at Hillsborough huh?" Once again I responded wordlessly, nodding my head. I also found myself, once again, staring at his eyes while I continued to dance. If I'd been coherent, I would have realized that the less I thought about it, the more proficiently I danced. It was alarming, really. Or, rather, it would have been if I'd noticed. My arousal was to the point that dancing hardly seemed to do anything, and my gaze must have been getting hungry, for his own smile turned a bit playful. It was almost reminiscent of Melinda's grins, but with less mischief and whimsy, "Or maybe you'd just rather dance," he asked, leaning in right to my ear so he could speak at a casual volume. I jumped a bit at his proximity and turned to look at his face, which had been extremely close just then. I hardly had a moment to react before we'd kissed. Only it hadn't been him that kissed me. It'd been me that kissed him. I wrapped my hand around his head and pulled his lips to me, not roughly, but slowly and with feeling. He did not resist, though our lips remained closed and the kiss lasted only a moment. When it broke, he grinned at me in the throbbing music and flashing lights and I just stared at him, uncertain about what I'd just done. "I leave you alone for ten seconds and here you are kissing other girls," came a rather thick, accented voice from directly beside us. I jumped half a mile, at first thinking it was Melinda, but realizing what the voice had said almost immediately. "Kissing other girls." Quincy laughed, a bit embarassedly, and turned to a round girl who had snuck up on us during our lesson and subsequent kissing. In contrast to Quincy (and I suppose me), she was rounder and a bit shorter, not quite fat, but certainly less than lanky, and it gave her a very curvy appearance. She had a bit of a baby face, which was just then cracked into an amused smile. Amused? My theory that these two had come together was suddenly thrown into the ringer. "Aw, we were just having a bit of fun," Quincy laughed at the girl, seeming neither ashamed nor looking for an excuse, "no offense, Ione, but she's a better kisser. Not that I minded," he laughed again, waving a hand dismissively. I stared from one to the other, trying to guess at their relationship but failing utterly. The girl spoke with an accent, a southern accent, so that ruled out them being related by blood, though it was possible that Quincy was supressing any accent he might have (or the girl was faking hers, though it sounded authentic to me, not that I was a great authority on accents). Their appearances were also too vastly different to be related. While Quincy had a snarp, pointed face, the girl had rounded features and a squished little nose. I couldn't tell what color hair she had as it was dyed a rather garish shade of pink, but I could tell that it was fairer than Quincy's. In fact, Quincy was overall duskier than the girl, who was somewhat palid and gray. "Ione, meet Makayla, my girlfriend," Quincy said without an ounce of shame in his voice. My look of surprise must have been comical because he began whooping with laughter...as did she, further causing me confusion. "Don't worry, she isn't going to drag out in back and beat you. She's remarkably open-minded. We could even kiss again if you wanted," he added, his playful grin returning. "I might even watch," Marcy laughed, holding out her hand to shake mine, "And call me Kay, please. I hate my name. I ain't worried," she went on, "You look like a nice girl, but you ain't a match for me," she struck a pose and Quincy laughed again. "Quincy keeps bringin' girls home and he's still with me, after all. Might even bring you home tonight, if you want. Then I would definitely watch." "She might even join in," Quincy laughed. I felt a squeemish, squirming sensation in my stomach at the idea, but it wasn't entirely revulsion. In fact, I couldn't stop staring at Quincy's grinning face. Then I realized I'd stopped dancing and started up again. They both smiled at each other, "That's the spirit!" Quincy said, beginning to sway artfully once more. Macy joined him, not a terrible dancer but no comparison to the dexterous boy. We continued dancing for a time, me trying to avoid looking at either of them and the pair doing nothing but look at me. I felt almost ashamed that I'd caused them to find me so interesting, but I suppose I couldn't blame them. I berated myself for the kiss, feeling like I'd betrayed Melinda. But she'd done this to me, after all, made me horny. She was probably making me look at Quincy this way too. I certainly wasn't attracted to men, but the more we danced, the more I couldn't help but glance, and eventually stare, at him. Almost without thinking about it, I'd decided that I needed to get rid of this feeling, and I knew the only way to do it. So, in the midst of dancing, I worked my way towards him and pressed my crotch into his and began to sway and grind. I couldn't say why I chose to do it to him rather than Makayla, nor why Makayla didn't seem to appeal to me so much just then. I had to admit, she had a nice chest. The extra meat on her bones gave her an appealing curviness, but...well, it was probably the fact that Quincey and I had been dancing together longer. Although I felt completely ridiculous, even ashamed and embarassed, to be dancing with Quincy like this, he took it in stride. Indeed, he even seemed to be getting into it himself, standing straight and swaying in such a way as to make my grinding easier. When I returned to my full height, the arousal abated (thankfully without a mind-blowing orgasm this time...though I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed to have it just disappear like that), he wrapped his hand around my head and pulled me in for a kiss, swaying his body with mine. I felt the arousal return almost as quickly as it had vanished. This time, his lips did part and I, more on instinct than choice, allowed his tongue into my mouth. I was completely unaware of Makayla standing right there next to me, but she didn't cut in. In fact, she just watched us with a bemused expression on her face. I felt Quincy's hands roaming over my bare back, holding me close to him as we kissed intensely. The welling of arousal coursed through me and my sways of dancing became stiff and spastic. I wasn't focusing on dancing just then. The kiss broke suddenly when I felt a hand wrap around my arm, "There you are, baby." I didn't even fool myself into believing the voice was Melinda this time. It was too gruff, perhaps even a bit angry, to be her. No, this was a male voice. And with a thrill of terror, I recognized it immediately. George Huntington pulled me away from Quincy and this time it was his turn to look embarassed and slightly abashed. "This is why you slipped away from me?" George asked, either playing at being here together or actually believing I had come here with him. "To go macking on other guys?" Despite his words, his tone was challenging, maybe even a bit hungry. Then he added, "Or maybe you were just getting into the mood." I found myself unable to speak as he pulled me away from Quincy and Makayla, both of them watching with clear concern on their faces. I looked back at them, but I wasn't sure if they saw the panicked expression on my own face before the crowd swallowed them up. "You're gonna make this up to me," he said huskily, pulling me towards the outskirts of the club where there were several alcoves that probably served some architectural purpose but were definitely used for something different by the clientel. And the one that he was pushing me towards was somehow completely empty. "You know how embarassing it is to have your date run off after you help her get into a club underage?" He pushed me up against a wall and trapped me between his hands, "And then you go kissing another guy," he added, looking me up and down. "But I can tell you're nice and ready for me now." I immediately realized that he could smell my arousal. I had grinded against Quincy, which had reset it, but the kiss and the subsequent time spent not dancing had hiked it up again. I was somewhat pleased to realize that the paralyzing fear was overriding it, but my crotch was still pulsing and emitting a most intoxicating odor. I lurched when, without warning, he reached into my crotch and pushed my panties aside, plunging his hand into my damp, quivering nethers. I pressed myself against the wall so hard I prayed I would become a part of it, but no such luck. I remained in the presence of George, who continued to clumsily and bruisingly massage my sex as his second hand pulled my neckline away from my breast, revealing the braless mound, which his eyes took in greedily. "You ain't the best I've had," he said, pulling his hand free from my snatch and practically ripping his own pants open, "but you'll be a good warm up for whoever else I find to bring home tonight." "Hey!" George turned, but suddenly caught a fist to the side of his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground in a strange sort of mirror of our previous encounter that morning. "I sure hope this wasn't some kind of game and you two aren't actually together," Quincy said. I realized with a jolt of both relief and shame that Melinda was with him. I tried to read her expression, but it was impossible. Her face almost seemed shadowed and I could barely make it out. She was standing next to Makayla who, in contrast, looked like she was going to join Quincy in pummeling George. "Who the hell are you?" George spat, scrambling to his feet, but wailing out in pain when he got a foot to his crotch. Fortunately, the punch seemed to have deflated his member slightly, but not enough, and it would have hurt either way. "Pig," Makayla said, removing her foot from his crotch and looking like she was going to do more, but stopped at a word from Melinda. "Thank you," she said coldly, his face still difficult to read, "I'll handle it from here." Quincy and Makayla looked in shock at each other, "I think we better--" Quincy began. "GO!" Melinda snarled, glaring at them. I could definitely see that non- metaphorical glint in her eyes now. A real light was flickering there. Quincy and Makayla looked at each other and hustled away, though Quincy cast one more look over his shoulder at me, concern on his face. George moaned and tried to stand again, leaning against the wall, but was surprised when Melinda pushed him back to the ground, "I can take that pain away," she said, her voice sounding cold and mechanical, not at all the voice I'd gotten used to hearing. She began to murmur those strange, swelling syllables under her breath and, suddenly, the bruised and reddened member in George's crotch had vanished. His public hair glistened slightly with a mingle of sweat and...juices. She'd done to him what she'd done to me. He now had a vagina. I blinked in surprise. How had she done that? She'd told me the only way she could affect someone else with magic was to have a pact, verbal or otherwise. I subconsciously checked the ring on my finger to make sure she hadn't somehow put it on his...but even that wouldn't work, I reminded myself. He would have still needed to have made a pact with her. At least, according to what Melinda had said. I looked at Melinda and my jaw dropped. All thoughts of covering up my decency, my bare breast or my rustled dress or my askew panties, gone. Her skin which had been slightly brown, was now a palid gray. Not pale and colorless like Makayla's skin had been--actually gray. I could sense more than see a swirling malaise around her, like a mist of malevolant feelings made solid. George was staring at his crotch, gaping in awe and horror at his new sex. He looked up at Melinda pleedingly, but she ignored the look and narrowed her eyes, "You wanna know how the other side feels?" she said, somehow speaking while, in strange arcane undertones the syllables of magic and power escaped her lips still, "I'm going to send you out of here knowing exactly--" "Wait!" I cried, grabbing Melinda's arm. This was wrong. I could feel the wrongness in the air. Her skin was wrong, her voice was wrong, the malevolance in the air was wrong. This wasn't the woman I loved. This was some kind of malevolant entity bent on revenge. "Melinda, don't," I spat out, pulling her to me. "It's not worth it." She didn't move, either to hug me or to pull away. I looked at George and noticed he was a lot smaller than he'd been. His muscles had deflated to almost humorously puny proportions. His hair, previously shorn close, was shaggy and long, unkempt. I could see tiny budding breasts beneath his open shirt. He no longer resembled a man at all but, rather, an awkward and curveless, perhaps even pre-pubescent girl. He stared pathetically at me, his steely gray eyes wide in surprise, but he couldn't move or speak for shock. I knew how he felt. He hadn't even gotten hit with the brunt of what I'd been hit with, but I knew how strange it felt to have everything about your body feel wrong. Something in my arms drew my attention back to me. Melinda had started to shake slightly. At first, I thought she was fighting the hug, shaking with rage. But I realized after a moment from the warm wetness on my chest and the soft, feeble sounds escaping her, that she was crying. I cast one last look at George, more disdainful than I thought possible from me, before ushering Melinda out. "What the hell was that?" I jumped half a mile, looking around in shock before I saw Quincy and Makayla staring at us, their eyes a hilarious mirror of one another's: wide and shocked. They had apparently stayed just outside the alcove to make sure we weren't disturbed and to make sure we were alright as we left. Despite his shock, Quincy stepped forward and, without disturbing Melinda, adjusted my dress to hide my bare breast. He didn't speak, nor did he look at it for longer than he had to to cover it up again. I was thankful for the gesture and the sentiment of it. There was no sexuality in his movement or his look, just helpfulness. "I-I can't tell you," I muttered, nodding my appreciation to him. "I just...I have to get her home." Makayla looked like she was going to blurt something out, but Quincy nodded and put a hand on her shoulder, "Are you ok? He didn't--" "No," I said too quickly, not wanting to hear anything about what he'd almost done. I felt numb, dazed, distant from the act that had almost been perpetrated on me. My fear for Melinda's well-bring and frame of mind pushed everything else out of my brain. He nodded, seeming to understand, "We'll walk you out," he said with a calm sort of assurance. He put his arm around me, as concerned about me as I seemed to be about Melinda, and I kept my arms around Melinda. Together, the four of us left the club, Makayla using some moves that would have helped her if she'd wanted to join the Hillsborough Hellions football team to help us get out of the club unmolested. Everything seemed muted and toned down. The music, the colors, even the happy laughter and chattering of the people around us. I could still feel the air of wrongness around Melinda, but I tried not to look down at her. I didn't want to see her crying face more than anything, but the changes that seemed to be wrought on her when she cast those spells on George were troubling as well. The night had gotten, if anything, more uncomfortably colder as we stepped out, and I was sure I saw a trace of snow in the air. Quincy and Makayla didn't show any discomfort, both watching us with a touching amount of concern on their faces. "Can you get back alright?" Quincy asked warily. "We could give you a ride. It's just up to Hillsborough, right?" "Thanks but we'll be fine," I said, still holding Melinda. "We have her car." Despite it all, and almost hilariously tragic was the fact that my arousal was starting to build again. With a husky sigh, I idly removed the ring from my finger. I didn't stop to think what would happen except that I wanted the arousal to stop building in my crotch...it seemed inappropriate, almost rude, to be feeling the way I was, even if I wasn't in control of it. I was surprised to find that the arousal vanished instantly. I was even more surprised to see that neither my body nor my clothes changed. I was still a woman, still somewhat scantily clad. And neither Quincy nor Makayla seemed to notice. I pushed this revelation out of my mind. I was fairly certain I would be mortified to find that even without the magic ring, I was a woman, but right now, only Melinda mattered to me. "It was nice to meet you," Quincy offered somewhat lamely and, without quite thinking it over, he stepped in to kiss me on the lips, placing his hand in mine. "You be careful, alright? And call me when you get back." I blinked, looking down to my hand. There was a small, folded piece of paper in there with a phone number scrawled on it. I realized vaguely that it had a Danbury area code on it. "You drive careful, alright?" Makayla asked. For her part, she seemed a lot less sensitive about Melinda's and my plight. She was not insensitive, nor was she cold (which I again found odd considering Quincy had kissed me), but she seemed bubbling to probe us both with questions. But Quincy's calm, insistent gaze kept her in check. "And be sure to call. It was...interesting." I nodded, "You have no idea," I muttered, ushering Melinda awkwardly to the car, both of us chattering with the cold. Melinda seemed to be catatonic, moving her legs mechanically. She was neither crying nor speaking. She didn't look up at me or around at our surroundings, and said nothing when I helped her into her car after fishing her keys out of her purse. This took far longer than it should have as I could fit my whole arm into the seemingly-tiny bag and she seemed to have more things than even most women in there. "Infinity purse, I bet," I said, trying to sound light-hearted as I fished around in there, desperately hoping she would respond to me. She didn't. I gathered up my wallet and driver's license from the purse as well and slid into the driver's seat. By this point, every bit of me was numb with fatigue, fear, and cold. The chill was doing nothing for my still-exposed crotch, caked with my own juices, and I did my best to adjust my panties after I sat down, only stiffening slightly when I felt the awkward, alien lips that I had done my best to ignore for hours now. I started the car as soon as I could figure out how to get the key into the ignition, which proved to be more of an ordeal than it should have been as my whole body quivered and shook. It felt weird to be in the car like this. Melinda was quiet as the grave (so much so that I had to constantly glance over to her to make sure she wasn't, in fact, dead), so I felt utterly alone in the world. The dull thumping of the club was still audible but, other than that, it was cold and lonely in the world, not a soul in sight save for the lingering few in line to get into Dance Berry. I reved the engine, desperately hoping her heat worked well. It seemed to, though it took awhile for it to kick in. While I waited for us both to warm up, I awkwardly bent down to remove my shoes and, once again, cast a furtive look at Melinda. She was slumped rather pathetically in her seat, lulled to one side with her head against the window. She did look dead, partially from motionlessness and partially from that gray skin, but her breathing was visible as it fogged up a small portion of the window and she blinked occasionally, so I contented myself knowing she was at least alive, though I had no idea what sort of magical ailment she must have had. With one final sigh, I put the car in gear and pulled into the dark, empty road for home.