Page 36 of Regressive

“You can ask me,” I reply, not releasing her. Her arm is narrow as a reed down by the lake. “What do you want?”

“I need someone—you—to take me outside of Serendee.”

I drop my hand and cross both arms over my chest. Her eyes lift, taking in my muscles and my dick twitches. I ignore it. “Take you where?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I’m not exactly sure. It’s for, um,” she looks over her shoulder, although we’re home alone, “for something Rex asked me to do. I don’t exactly understand everything he told me to do, but I figured you would.”

Why does hearing this make my stomach clench uncomfortably? She came to me because I’m the kind of guy that will break the rules of Serendee. The shade of gray in this otherwise black and white world. “What does he want?”

“I’d rather not talk about it here.” Her hands twist in the fabric of her dress. “Can you take me into town?”

The answer should be no. The response should be for me to go straight to Anex and tell him that a member of his community is behaving with Regressive intent. But that isn’t who I am, which is exactly why she came to me for help. “I’ll do you one better. I’ve got business two towns over. Whatever you need to do, we can do it there—away from any potential complications.”

Complications means, Anex or any of his people.

“Should I change?” she asks.

I look down at her pale blue dress and the little embroidered flowers. Growing up in Serendee, seeing the girls covered up and revered, gave me intense fantasies about what happened underneath the soft cotton. Then we started going outside of the community, finding women who dressed provocatively and were willing to let us do all the things we were told we couldn’t do inside the walls. Indulgent things. Regressive acts because we were not waiting until Anex gave his Order. But these dresses, the thin cotton, and high collars, the godforsaken buttons. It never failed to make me hard, and those fantasies, they never went away, even after I’d had my fill of secular flesh and pussy. My cock tightens in my pants, desperate and ready to be unleashed. And the way Imogene looks at me, I know she wouldn’t fight if I bent her over the nearest surface and claimed her like a beast.

Like I’ve done before.

I swallow all that back. Now isn’t the time, and this isn’t the girl that deserves such treatment. She’s trying so hard to be good, to serve her mate, and she ought to have someone much worthier than a man like me.

“Yes,” I say, looking away from her. “You should change in to something more secular. I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Elon. I really appreciate it.”

I reply with a grunt and step back in my room. Ten minutes, I think, heading straight to the bathroom. I open the drawer under the sink and pull out a bottle of lube with one hand while unbuttoning my pants with the other. Ten minutes to get rid of this boner so I can spend the rest of the day without acting like a feral animal in heat.

I pour the lube in my hand and oil up my cock, making it good and slippery. With one hand on the counter and the other stripping my cock, I close my eyes, not wanting to see my face as I think of the way I’d defile my best friend’s mate. I know he doesn’t care, but I do. She’s too good for me. Too pure, and the way I jerk myself off while thinking about her like this is further proof.

Stroke.

I’m disgusting.

Stroke.

A degenerate.

Stroke.

I’m a man unworthy of his own mate and Anex knows it.

Stroke.

Imogene is too good for me. Too Enlightened. Too—I think of her, bent over, ass bloody from the strap, begging me to go harder—

Groan

I lurch, fingers curling around the edge of the sink as cum spills into the basin. I milk my cock, pushing out every last drop and take a deep breath, hopeful, that this will make the trip with Imogene a little bit more bearable.

Hopeful, but not confident.

“Wait,”she says, looking at the ramshackle building on the side of the road. “Exactly what are we doing here?”

“Business,” I reply, shifting over my jacket to check the gun I tucked into my pants. When I look over again her jaw is loose.

“This is where you have business?” she asks, looking at the organized piles of tomatoes and cucumbers. “I’m confused. We have our own produce. And why do you need a gun?”

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