ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories) (298 page)

The story that Fran broke turned out to be the biggest story “of all time,” according to some headline. People just couldn't get over how they could play a game that was really playing them. At the same time businessmen couldn't get over how this new technology was going to impact their lives. The government immediately started to do their own work up of what was going on with what some scientists were calling a newly discovered psychic link between humans.

Fran had compared what the duo were going to do in their game with the old science fiction book “Childhood's End,” by Arthur C. Clarke. In the book humanity stops having children and become one hive mind that ascends into space. And while people weren't going to space, and people were certainly still having children, it was still a lot like that. There was just so much people had chosen to disbelieve that was now plain as day. For certain there was an ego, and an id, and probably even a super ego. So a lot of what Freud had said had been correct. At the same time many things people had long held as beliefs were being blown out of the water. Religious people, for instance, were having a hard time reconciling telepathy with an all knowing God. Fran wasn't really sure why this was a hang up for them since telepathy might fit well into an argument as to how God was real, and how he was able to do what he did, but Fran wasn't trying to convince people how to think.

Something that happened that she didn't expect was that she didn't get famous. Somehow, even though she broke the story and would go down in history as the person that did so, people moved on very quickly because of how ground breaking the news was. In a way it was a relief for Fran, who'd thought about what it would be like if the media tore her life apart and decided that she hoped that it didn't happen, even though she knew that it very well might happen that way, no matter what she wanted.

But time kept on marching by, and even though Fran was promoted, she pretty much did the same job she'd always done. People respected her now where as before they had only looked at her like a pair of tits and ass. When she called important peoples' offices she was always heartily greeted by their secretary then quickly transferred over, rather than before when she had to quick talk her way past the secretary. Everything was great until Brad called her one day.

“So, I have some bad news,” Brad said.

              “What, are you pregnant?” Fran said. “I joke, I joke, of course.”

“Well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad considering what I actually have to tell you,” Brad said. “It turns out that the little demo man that we kept playing with evolved way earlier than we thought. So instead of just being a passive observer slash participant the 'dark man' became an observer that was much more active. It turns out that he video taped the entire thing, but without really video taping it. You know how things are in this weird plane of telepathy, as people are now referring to it.”

“What?” Fran said. “You mean to tell me that a thing that was just a figment of our imaginations recorded us having sex?”

“Well that's the thing,” Brad said. “It's not as easy as the demo man being just in our head. Just like people imprint on the mainframe we imprinted this guy into the mainframe, so much so that he was able to more or less record us all fooling around with his mind. And then he released it on the internet months later. Or something like that. Maybe the 'mind' of the demo man merged with something on the internet and everything switched over, I don't really know to be honest. But I do know that a video of us all fucking is on the internet as we speak, and people are loving it! And, since it was recorded without our consent it's kind of a get out of jail free card, not that what we did was wrong by any means. You know what I'm saying though. Also, there are a lot of news stations hitting me up already. They'll be after you too soon.”

Fran thanked Brad for the heads up. She pondered what she should do as she sat at her dining room table. She had a new boyfriend who probably wouldn't respond that well to seeing a video of her in a threesome with two other guys. Her parents might see it. The people she worked with. If it was anywhere near as bad as Brad was making it out to be news of the video would be all over the air waves within the hour. Fran wondered if it wouldn't be better to just come clean with everyone and let them know what was going on before there was a chance for reporters and radio talk show hosts to sink their teeth into it.

But the more Fran thought about it the more she didn't care. Who were people to tell her who she couldn't and could sleep with? And so what if they all fooled around while figuring out that humans had finally used technology to make the a long awaited evolutionary jump from being verbal communicators to being telepathic, or semi-telepathic. Fran thought about Chad and Brad sitting up in their tower, having to answer phone calls about the video and explain their relationship with her. She was grateful that Brad had called, and judging from the lack of calls she was receiving, he and Chad were most likely handling the entire thing for her. That was pretty great of them, and she was thankful for that. But that wouldn't stop the tape from leaking, if it already hadn't. And when it leaked it would literally be everywhere, and then there would be nowhere to hide. She would just have to face the music and everyone else who'd seen the video. She'd just have to deal with it.

Fran got up and walked outside. Her new boyfriend Brian was mowing the yard for her. He turned and waved, smiling bright. Fran walked over and draped her arms around him, kissing him on the neck. It was a good feeling to have someone to love and to hold. She figured the best way to keep him around would be to tell him. So she took him by the hand and led him inside. At first things didn't go so well. Brian wasn't happy that she hadn't told her about the recent threesome, but then he realized how weird it would have been had she told him about it. Because why would she bring that up to a new boyfriend?

It took a while, and a lot of talking, but eventually Fran had Brian calmed down to the point that he was joking about wanting to watch the tape, and how the thought of it turned him on. Then they went upstairs and fucked like animals on her new comforter. It was a good life, she had to admit to herself, as Brian fucked her from behind. She was famous and now a sex symbol. She didn't know what was going to happen next in life but she was eager to find out. Maybe everyone's mind would fuse together somehow and then everyone would be pretty much the same person, except of course that would mean everyone losing their identity. But would that be such a bad thing? As Brian fucked her from behind and she felt an orgasm coming on she smiled. It didn't matter to her what happened after this. She'd gotten pretty much everything she wanted out of life already. Everything else that happened after was just icing on the cake.

The next day was when the tape hit the air waves, and then her phone was ringing off the hook like crazy. She couldn't seem to tell enough reporters that what had happened on the video was pretty much the story of the sexual encounter in its entirety. The storm didn't last long though, and before she knew it Fran was back to the same old same old. And nothing had ever felt better in her whole entire life. She just wished she could have one more threesome with the duo. Just one more, for old times’ sake.

THE END

The Cherished Bride

The advertisement in the paper called for a bride.  Clara did not know if she could be a bride, but she knew that she could certainly try.  After all, what she was going through now was no less difficult, and here she was, making the best of it.

                      Wasn’t she?

                      She looked around, but there was no one to ask.  The fact that she was alone, without the sweetness of Sarah or the mischievous grin of Edward to distract her, hit her even harder than it had a week ago.  But such was the lot of a young governess, she thought, trying to mold the feeling into a more appropriate size, squelching it down to where it no longer hurt.

                      That was successful for only a moment, until the beast of feeling yawned up inside of her and she buried her head in her pillow to stifle a groan.  After a few moments, when it subsided, she lifted her head, unruly chestnut curls falling from her bun over her face.  She glanced over at the advertisement again.

                     
Widower seeks bride to help run ranch out in California.  Go wild Wild West right NOW!

                      What manner of man takes out an advertisement like this, Clara couldn’t help but wonder.  It was not the first time she had happened on such a piece in the paper, and she knew that for the most part, it was wealthy old widowers who so relied on women to run their households that when their wives died, they were as helpless as the lambs they raised.  She had heard rumors, of course, of these men driven mad by lust for the young brides who had made their way west to improve their fortunes, and the idea of a fat, slovenly American on top of her was enough to make Clara shudder involuntarily.  The post she was looking for was far less distasteful.  Besides, everyone knew there were some rules of decorum to be followed when it came to such matters, and the idea of a ranch, where there were sure to be animals around, appealed to her.  She was used to little critters who needed her help.

                      Her heart thumped anxiously as she recalled the first few months as governess of the Wreight’s household.  Little Sara and Edward, then four and six, had terrified her at first; she had no idea what to do about their twin pairs of shining blue eyes and all the sticky hands everywhere.  It had been her first post after completing her studies at Wenchworth’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, and while there was much she knew about geography, history, and art, no finishing school in the world could have prepared her for the amount of questions that children asked, for their unceasing energy that left her fatigued, and how very sharp their young minds were.  So sharp that it would not have done to slip up in any way; to acknowledge your own humanity would be to admit defeat.

                      Clara had grown strong very quickly.  After only six months, she had managed to school both children into a vision of orderly perfection, honing their manners while allowing their creative little minds to develop according to the finest education.  They, in turn, adored her passionately, following her everywhere.  When it was announced, at the end of three years, that both children would be attending a boarding school in Earlmister, it was impossible to determine who was more devastated—Clara or Edward and Sara.  Sara, chubby red cheeks framed by folds of long flaxen hair, had cried for a week straight, and Edward had done his best to be the image of a perfect, stoic little gentleman, but even he had broken down as Clara packed her trunks.  The family had decided that the separation would be easier on the children if Clara left immediately, to give them a chance to adjust to her absence.

                      Now she held a generous severance check in her hand, but found that applying to other posts as governess held little to no appeal for her.  She imagined the long years stretching out before her, going from family to family, always leaving somebody’s dear little face behind.  Certainly, it could happen that marriage might come her way, but Clara knew that she was unusual in believing that it was best not to expect such an opportunity to drop into her life, much like the stork delivering newborns.  It was a quaint idea, although ultimately untrue.  What she needed was a complete change of pace.  Looking at the advertisement on her sprigged bedspread now, a certainty rose within in her that the path she was to take was already laid out somewhere.  And as a proper Englishwoman, who was she to question God and all he had in store for her?  Clara lifted her chin, rose off the bed and penned a reply to the advertisement.  Then, before she could lose her nerve, she ran down to the postmaster and sent it off.  It was out of her hands now.

*                    *                    *

                      The English are brave.  The English do not falter.  The English woman faces challenges head on and does not shirk the responsibility she has taken on herself.

                      Clara told herself that if she repeated this enough times, she might actually believe it.

                      The ranch of Mr. Kenneth Westeros was certainly not what she expected.  She knew from the limited correspondence that she had received in reply to her telegraph that he was a widower who was, as she had suspected initially, looking for help on his ranch and around the house.  But somehow, from the brief response of, “More housekeeper role. Stop.  If you are good with animals, come.  Stop.  Wife status formality.  Stop,” she had not gathered just how masculine the ranch actually was.

                      The long, sloping planes were green as far as the eye could see.  The horses that teemed about had long, swishing tails that quietly flicked off the flies that settled on their hindquarters.  It was long, lonely man’s land, with a sturdy, rough-hewn wooden fence to keep the horses in that had not seen a paint job in a very long time.  The house itself was a two-story monster that loomed over the land in a shadow that threatened to overwhelm you. She saw an oak tree that was centuries-old, and thought it would be perfect to read under; of course, since the entire place had not felt a woman’s touch in about an eternity, there was no seat or anything of the sort below it.  The wind whistled around the long deck of the wraparound porch and Clara approached, the ruffle on the edge of her otherwise no-nonsense brown traveling gown whispering through the tall blades of grass. The house that Kenneth built, she thought, and then immediately switched the thought over to the more proper Mr. Westeros.  Wouldn’t do to get too familiar just yet.  As she traced one gloved finger up the weathered wood of one of the beams, she became aware of soft hoof beats behind her.