Body thieves take control of a group of college girls and run them wild in Driving Her Wild. The story is too dark for Amazon and available only on Smashwords. Check out the preview below.
I don’t want to caress my friend, don’t want to run my hands along her soft curves, press our bodies together and drive each other wild with lust. But we’re not in control anymore. There’s someone else in our bodies, fondling us with our own hands, making us do anything and everything they want. And all we can do is watch.
“I like my life just fine.” I say. Caroline’s holding my hand in a firm grip.
“Maybe that’s part of the problem. You’re too comfortable. You think the whole world’s going to be handed to you just because you’re pretty.”
Her brow furrows as she stares at me. Her narrow face looks even more severe, darkly pretty even.
Becky speaks up from my other side. “We’re going to teach you girls a lesson.”
I hear quick steps behind me but before I can turn my head, before I can respond to Becky, a wave of vertigo hits my body. It feels like standing on a boat as a big wave passes under. I try to untangle myself from their arms but my body refuses to obey.
My head turns towards Caroline and I can hear myself say, “Thanks, Lew, I’m in.”
But I didn’t say that. My body isn’t doing anything I’m trying to tell it. Becky and Caroline release me and my hands glide through my fine, blonde hair, stroking it and smoothing it away from my eyes. But again, it’s not me doing it. My fingers are moving by themselves. The world tilts as my head looks this way and that, then down at my body, my eyes focused on the deep cleavage visible beneath the top of my button down shirt, lingering on the gentle curves disappearing beneath the soft fabric.
“About time you got here,” Becky says.
My head turns up to face her. “Sorry. I got held up.” Again, it’s my lips forming those words, but it’s not me speaking. It’s like there’s a stranger inside me, controlling me, leaving me trapped as a helpless passenger in my own body.
“Hey, I’m here now. Let’s just enjoy this.” My voice says.
“I already am, Jerry,” Caroline exclaims.
Holy shit, Jerry, as in…my professor? Before this realization can sink in my head turns to see Caroline has pulled off her top and bra. Her fingers are circling her perky breasts as she stares down at herself excitedly. She squeezes her nipples and watches as they harden int sharp spikes beneath her fingers.
“Oh, man” she laughs, “Caroline hates this. She’s such a prude. Look at these things.”
Caroline raises her hands and shakes her chest back and forth, then bounces up and down. I’m forced to stare at her heavy breasts as they bounce and jiggle. A part of me notes that they’re perfectly formed, the skin smooth and evenly tanned, like the breasts of some porn star. Caroline’s normally severe face is creased with laughter. I hear myself laughing, and suddenly my hands reach up and I’m fondling Caroline’s tits. They’re warm beneath my hands, firm but with soft skin. My head leans close, one tit filling my vision and then my mouth opens and I kiss her breast, my mouth landing on her nipple. I shudder—or try to—as my tongue flicks her nipple and the slight saltiness of her skin hits my tongue.
My other hand comes up and squeezes her other breast as I kiss and lick her, unable to stop myself as my body gorges itself, kissing back and forth between her breasts as she holds my head to her chest and sighs. Utter disgust fills me as I lick Caroline’s boobs, but my body fails to respond. I don’t want to be seeing my friend’s tits, don’t want to be kissing them and turning her on, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m not a lesbian. I’m not attracted to women. But whoever’s in my body is. Despite my disgust I can feel myself growing moist, a low level hum of desire sparking through me as my hands fondle and squeeze Caroline’s breasts outside my control.
“Becky’s a hot one, she is,” Becky says.
My head pulls away from Caroline’s tits—thank god—and turns to Becky. She’s sitting naked on top of the picnic table, her clothes discarded in a pile on the sand. Her pale, freckled body practically glows in the sun. Her breasts are small but perky, big enough to cover in one hand. I know this because that’s what she’s doing: wrapping one hand around each breast and squeezing. Her nipples are dark pink, her breasts amazingly taut and bouncy. Her shoulders are a maze of freckles, and I can see now she’s got a slightly chubby body. Her legs are propped on the seat, balanced on her toes, and my eyes are forced to trace the smooth line of her calves, up her thick thighs to her trim brown bush. My mouth starts watering—watering!—as I watch.
Becky’s legs are spread and her pubes frame pink pussy lips that are even now swelling as she rubs herself with a finger. I catch glimpses of her inner pink as she fingers herself slowly, one finger stirring through her warmth while she stares down at her body in awe as though she’s never seen it before. And whoever’s in her body hasn’t. I try to force my eyes to look away, to run, to do anything, but there’s not even a hint of control. I don’t want to watch Becky masturbate. It’s gross. I’ve never found vaginas attractive and I hate even my own. And yet…and yet there’s an attraction inside me. My body is growing wonderfully agitated and warm.
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