Chapter 5

HUNTER

The cafeteria was buzzing—low voices, clinking trays, the occasional laugh. I sat in the corner with a microwaved burrito, not tasting a thing. Just chewing. Just ... observing.

I felt good. Really good. Better than I had in months. My body felt tighter, lighter, like I’d finally caught up on sleep and then some. My head was clear. My skin looked better. Even the burrito, which tasted like plastic and regret, couldn’t bring me down.

The weekend had been unbelievable. Chloe. Gina. The way everything had just fallen into place, like a dream that decided to keep going after the alarm went off. I’d had sex with two beautiful women, one of whom I’d lived with for years and never once thought of that way—until now. Until her cleavage and lipstick and those fuck-me eyes that still flashed behind my eyelids every time I blinked.

I was in a good mood. A great mood.

But that’s what made it strange. The luck of it. The way everything unfolded like it had been meant to. I caught myself thinking, How could I be this lucky? And that was when the doubt crept in.

Magic? That was stupid. But I still entertained it.

At the coffee shop that morning, I found myself watching the barista a little too closely. Wondering if she’d lean forward, flirt, lick her lips. She didn’t. Just a polite smile, then moved on.

Cheryl at the front desk didn’t even glance up when I walked in.

Everything was normal. Boringly normal.

Mid-morning I’d hit the restroom. Nothing unusual. But when I unzipped and pulled myself out, something felt off. Heavier. Thicker. Just for a second, I stood there, cock in hand, frowning like it had said something rude.

“Weird,” I muttered, flushed, and went back to my desk.

Now it was lunch, and the feeling still hadn’t passed. Not the dick thing—that I’d managed to ignore. It was the whole vibe. Chloe. Gina. Friday night. Saturday morning. Saturday night. The threesome.

All of it.

It didn’t feel fake. But it didn’t feel real, either. Like I’d been playing the starring role in a porn script someone else wrote.

I wondered idly if Chloe would ever invite Gina over again. Or if that had been a one-time miracle. Just thinking about it—Gina’s mouth, Chloe’s giggle, the way they looked at me—got me half hard under the table. I shifted in my seat and tried to think about literally anything else.

I opened my phone and started searching.

Sex magic. Aphrodisiac cocktails. Mind control. Weird urban legends. All of it.

Nothing.

No sudden news stories. No TikToks. No threads on Reddit warning about government experiments or mystical awakenings or barista-triggered sex cults. Just conspiracy weirdos and porn blogs.

I took a sip of iced tea and leaned back in my chair.

I wasn’t cursed. Or enchanted. Or infected. There was no dark spell or alien parasite.

I was just lucky— or, at least, that’s what I told myself.

CHLOE

The meeting should’ve been boring. Same old slide deck. Same updates from the Dallas office. But Chloe found herself strangely content—smiling faintly, legs crossed just a little tighter than usual, thumb lazily stroking her stylus.

Across the table, Gina met her gaze. Chloe gave a slight smirk. A quiet, shared memory passed between them like static.

Their manager kept talking. Budgets, projections, blah blah blah.

Then came the news.

“Gina, I’m going to need you in Dallas starting tomorrow morning. Looks like it’ll be through Thursday, maybe Friday depending on how they settle the vendor issue. You’ll fly out early. They’ll set you up in a hotel.”

Gina blinked. Then nodded. “Okay. I’ll get packed tonight.”

Chloe kept her smile steady, but felt something tug inside. Not jealousy. Not exactly. But she’d wanted more time with Gina. More play. And she’d wanted Hunter to see them together again. She let out a quiet breath through her nose and shifted in her seat.

She was soaked.

After the meeting, she walked through the lobby with her phone in hand, pretending to check messages. Her nipples were stiff under her blouse. She hadn’t bothered with a bra. She hadn’t needed to.

Horniness sat on her shoulders like a soft, warm blanket. Cozy. Constant. Familiar.

Every dull moment at work became a space to play inside her mind. She imagined Hunter at home, shirtless, hard, needing her. Imagined Gina on her knees again, hungry and eager. Imagined Bailey—sweet, repressed, obedient—learning how to please them both. She planned threesomes like some women planned vacations.

She turned toward the restroom in the lobby. Not her usual one. The nicer one, just off the side hallway—cleaner, quieter. She pushed the door open and stepped into the cool, softly-lit space.

There was a faint sound.

Breathing. Hitched. Shaky.

A low whimper.

Chloe paused by the sinks. One stall door was shut. Feet angled inward. Shadows shifting.

The sound again. A soft moan.

She didn’t move.

Another whimper. A name this time. Hunter’s.

Chloe smiled.

She didn’t say anything. Just waited. Let the girl finish.

And when the flush came—when the lock clicked and Bailey stepped out with flushed cheeks and wide, startled eyes—Chloe offered the same polite smile she used for baristas and Uber drivers.

“Hey, Bailey,” she said softly.

Bailey froze. Then stammered, “Oh. Hey. I didn’t—I didn’t know anyone else was—”

Chloe tilted her head. “You okay?”

Bailey’s throat bobbed. “Yeah. Just...”

Chloe didn’t press. She just washed her hands, dried them slowly, and said, “I’ll text you later. I think I might be able to help.”

Bailey didn’t answer.

She just left—fast, embarrassed, head down.

Chloe looked into the mirror and smoothed her hair. She looked good. She looked happy.

HEIDI

She hadn’t been to work since Friday. She hadn’t called in. Just sent a vague, breezy email about stomach issues and needing a long weekend to recover.

She didn’t have stomach issues.

She had a libido that was trying to claw its way out of her skin.

The weekend had been a blur of restlessness and heat. She’d started with the vibrator tucked between her thighs, Saturday morning, slow and indulgent. The orgasms came quick—two, then three—but they didn’t satisfy.

It kept escalating.

By Sunday, she was sprawled on her bed in a sweat-stained tank top and nothing else, porn flickering on her laptop screen, one hand between her legs and the other pinching her nipple hard enough to bruise. She was moaning openly. Breathing like a bitch in heat. Her sheets were soaked. Her thighs ached. Her clit was raw.

And still, she needed more.

She tried the wand. Then her hand. Then both. Toys inside her, toys pressed against her. She bent over the arm of her couch. She got on all fours on the floor. She tried licking her own fingers after plunging them deep, just to taste the desperation. Nothing scratched the itch.