Chapter Eleven – Zeth
Chapter Eleven
Zeth
The bathroom door slams shut, and I jolt upright in bed. My mind goes through every worst possibility in seconds: someone’s in the room, she’s hurt, the Kyzers found us.
“Are you okay?” I call out.
Her muffled voice comes through the door.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
Relief floods through me, but then I look down at myself and freeze.
My cock is fully emerged from my body, hard and pressing up against the sheets.
The duvet does nothing to hide it. I feel mortified.
Of course this happened. I wake up hard every morning – it’s completely normal for me. But it’s never been a problem before.
With other hosts, I stayed merged with them for days or weeks at a time.
I slept inside their bodies, never beside them in a bed like this.
With Wren, everything is different. She’s skittish and protective of her personal space.
We keep merging and unmerging instead of staying together.
Nothing about this job is normal. I can’t treat her like other clients.
I get up quickly and move to the window, opening it just enough to let fresh air in while staying out of sight.
No one can know she’s not alone in the room.
The cool air hits my face but doesn’t help.
I start pacing the small space between the bed and the dresser, trying to think about anything else.
The mission, the Kyzers, the club last night…
Nothing works. My cock stays stubbornly hard.
I realize that since meeting Wren, I’ve been constantly aroused.
Every interaction with her leaves me struggling.
The training session where I pinned her down, the merge where I felt her arousal spike through her entire body, then last night…
sleeping beside her. It’s driving me insane.
Normally, I would take care of it myself, but I can’t risk it with her in the bathroom.
I try to remember the last time I had sex and draw a blank.
It has to have been years ago. I’ve been so long without it that I can’t even remember the details.
For a long time in my youth, sex was unpleasant.
Not something I wanted to do. Back then, my life wasn’t my own.
I belonged to people – nasty people – who owned me and did whatever they wanted to me.
I push the memories away before they fully surface.
The dark thoughts do their job. My arousal dies, and my cock goes flaccid and retreats into my body. I feel relief and disgust in equal measure. I hate that thinking about my past is the only thing that works, but at least the problem is solved. Just in time, too.
The bathroom door opens and Wren steps out. She looks composed but doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
“Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“Okay.” I’m grateful for something to do.
“We’re going to visit some places, too. I need to put myself out there.”
That makes sense. She needs to make herself visible, available for the Kyzers to find.
Wren closes her eyes and her shoulders tense. Her whole body braces like she’s preparing for impact.
“I’m ready,” she says, rolling her shoulders back.
She always does this. She closes her eyes and steels herself, and I hate that she has to prepare herself to let me in, but I don’t comment.
I move to her quickly and place my hands on her shoulders.
I pour myself into her body in one smooth motion, and she gasps as I spread through her.
It takes her a moment to adjust, and I try to cram my conscience in a corner of her being, hoping I’m less invasive this way.
Wren walks out of the room, crosses the parking space and finds her car. She gets in, and I experience everything through her: the steering wheel under her hands, the seat beneath her, and the road ahead.
She finds a cheap diner and parks. Inside, she slides into a booth and orders toast, bacon, eggs, and black coffee. I taste everything she tastes as she eats, and I do my best not to react to it. Nothing is bad exactly… Maybe the coffee is too strong.
I let her eat for a while, but at some point, the silence becomes too much.
It’s like we’re upset with each other. I’m not upset with her, but I’m pretty sure she’s still mad about the club and our spat last night.
It’s grating at me, and I need to know that we’re good.
I’ve never been a fan of the silent treatment.
I don’t know how to give it, and I don’t react well to it when someone is icing me out like Wren is doing right now.
“How did you sleep?” I ask.
“Surprisingly well, considering everything.”
“I slept great,” I tell her. “Thanks for letting me share the bed.”
“It’s no problem.”
The conversation feels almost normal. Still awkward, but at least she’s willing to give me a chance when I initiate.
Wren finishes her coffee and pushes her plate away. She signals for the check. As she reaches for her wallet, I sense something. There’s pressure in her bladder. She needs to pee. Quite badly, actually. I can feel her deliberately ignoring the sensation as she pays and heads for the door.
The pressure in her bladder keeps building until it’s becoming uncomfortable for her. She’s trying to ignore it and walk it off.
I’m not sure how to approach this. On the one hand, it’s not my problem, but on the other hand, if she’s uncomfortable in her body, then I am too.
If she can’t focus, that affects me. Or it’s more like…
she can only focus on her full bladder, which in turn makes me focus on her full bladder and everything that’s in…
that general area of her body. Which is bad.
“You should use the bathroom,” I tell her like it’s no big deal.
Her mental voice practically shrieks at me.
“I can’t possibly!”
“Why not?”
“I’ll wait until we’re back at the motel. We can unmerge then and I can go in privacy.”
But I can feel she’s close to peeing herself.
“You drank a lot of coffee,” I point out.
She curses internally and I know she realizes I’m right.
“This is so embarrassing.”
“I do this with hosts all the time,” I try to reassure her. “It’s fine. It’s normal.”
“You see through my eyes!”
“If it makes you feel better, close your eyes.”
She’s silent for a moment, clearly mortified.
“Fine. I’ll pee with my eyes closed. But only because I’m about to burst.”
The conversation has shifted from awkward to almost amusing. She turns back and walks quickly to the bathroom. She goes into a stall and locks the door. I feel her fumbling with her jeans, pulling them down, sitting on the toilet. Then she closes her eyes.
It’s true that I can’t see, but I can feel everything – the pressure in her bladder, then the release as she starts to pee. The sensation is overwhelming. I feel the relief flooding through her and the way her muscles relax, the tension draining from her body. It’s strangely, intensely arousing.
I think about how fascinating it’s always been to experience what other species experience.
I don’t eat food, but I can taste it through my hosts.
I don’t drink, but I feel the burn of alcohol.
I’ve unfortunately had hosts who did drugs, and those experiences were unpleasant.
But other things, like using the toilet…
It’s strange and incredible to experience this kind of release when I don’t have such functions myself.
My body doesn’t work this way. But through her, I feel it all.
I realize I’m terribly fixated on this. More than I’ve ever been with any other host. I can’t stop focusing on the sensation, the relief she’s feeling and how her body responds.
Then I become aware of something else.
Heat is building low in her abdomen. Her arousal spikes unexpectedly, and her breath catches. I realize with shock that she’s close to orgasm just from peeing.
Is it… Is it always like this for her? That can’t be.
Maybe she can feel my arousal, and that is triggering her to feel aroused as well.
It’s insane that when I hear the splash of her pee in the water, I almost groan.
I do my best to keep my thoughts and sensations to myself, but I know our connection goes both ways, and especially when I’m feeling something strongly, she glimpses it.
Wren snaps back to reality. The arousal vanishes as mortification floods her.
She finishes quickly, wipes, flushes, and opens her eyes.
She goes to wash her hands at the sink and avoids looking in the mirror.
I can feel her absolute humiliation. She knows I felt everything, and I can feel her confusion, too.
Which answers my question: no, this isn’t normal for her.
We’re both silent as she dries her hands.
She walks out of the bathroom, through the diner, and gets in the car.
The silence between us is thick and awkward.
Neither of us attempts to break it. I want to say something, but I have no idea what.
Telling her it’s fine seems inadequate. Pretending it didn’t happen seems wrong. So, I stay quiet.
Wren drives to several locations. Our first stop is a sketchy pharmacy with barred windows in a neighborhood where half the businesses look abandoned.
She goes in and asks if they’re hiring. She mentions she’s a chemist and experienced with compounds.
The pharmacist looks her over and says he’ll keep her in mind.
She gives him her number written on a scrap of paper.
Next is a small medical supply store in a bad neighborhood, and the routine is the same. She asks about work, mentions her skills, leaves her number.
Then she visits a pawn shop that seems to deal in more than just pawned items. The back room has a curtain covering the doorway, and I can smell chemicals coming from behind it. The owner is a monster, some kind of reptilian species with green scales and yellow eyes. He looks up when Wren walks in.
“Help you?” His voice has a hissing quality to it.
“I’m looking for work,” Wren says. “I’m a chemist.”