Hunting Her Hunters

Natasha

I ran my fingers along the spines on my favorite shelf on the bookshelf in the corner of my room. This shelf was where all of my romance novels sat waiting to take me to another world where I could explore all of my fantasies that I was too embarrassed to verbalize. I picked up a newer book, that I had bought, up on a whim. It’s synopsis boasted of a reverse harem shifter theme that had intrigued me from the jump. I put it in my bag to read by the fountain in the middle of town later that day.

I just had to work my shift at the nursing home first, before I could read all about Joanie’s arduous adventures with her pack members. I had never thought about multiple partners before, but the thought of being used by multiple men had made my submissive side soaking wet in the middle of the store. I had been so embarrassed to hand the book over to the cashier and the way he had looked at me had made me blush even harder.

He had smirked at me and my brain had conjured up the image of him bending me over the counter. My brain had quickly run through several scenarios, all of which ended up with me fucked hard against the counter while he whispered ‘good girl’ over and over in my ear. I swallowed around the sudden rush of fluid that filled my mouth, threatening to make me drool at the desire I had had to rip the man’s clothes and lick every inch of his muscular body. I groaned when my phone started playing its shrill song, telling me that it was time to head out for work. I lifted the bag to my shoulder and headed towards the front door.

“MOM, I AM LEAVING! I WILL SEE YOU AFTER THE HUNTING PICK TONIGHT! LOVE YOU!”

“BYE, HONEY. I LOVE YOU, TOO! DON’T DIE!,” she shouted back.

I smiled at her parting order. ‘Don’t die.’ It had become a staple of our goodbyes ever since my father had died on his way home from work. He had been on the phone with my mother and the last words she heard him say were ‘but did you die’. He had been joking about his driving to his coworker who he gave rides to everyday since he had lived on the way. His coworker had then pulled a gun out and shot both of them. My father’s official cause of death was labeled as murder, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was a suicide. He had changed after he had been diagnosed with stage III lung cancer.

I glanced over my shoulder at the small, white two bedroom house that we lived in. It was situated two blocks from the nursing home I worked at, so I always walked. It was a nice way to relax on the way to work and lately I needed it more and more. Between my own grief over my father’s death, my mother’s and being the only one with an income in our house, I had been stressed out to the point of wanting to step in front of a semi as it barreled through our small town. Some days, like today, it was overwhelming and the only solace I had were the few hours where I could pretend I was someone else. Today it would be Joanie and her pack. Tomorrow? Who knew, but it would definitely be better than the reality I was facing.

My phone went off again and I sped up. If I was late again, Mrs. Waterman would be hysterical. She would report me to the shift supervisor and another write up would lead to me being fired. I jogged the rest of the way to the large, navy blue building that housed the town's elderly. I sighed when I arrived and the first thing I saw was Mrs. Waterman sitting out front with a cigarette in her mouth. I walked over to take it from her and ground it to a pulp with my foot. I narrowed my eyes on her grinning face.

“Now, now, Mrs. Waterman, what would your son say if I were to let it slip that his perfect mother was caught smoking again?”

Her eyes widened in fake fear and she shook her head, putting her hand over her heart.

“Oh no, dearie. You would not really tattle on a little old lady, would you? That would make you a bully.”

I moved behind her wheelchair to push her inside. “I will be seeing Timothy tonight at the lottery. Keep it up and it will be the first thing I tell him,” I threatened playfully.

She looked up at me. “How old are you now?”

“You know I just turned 18, Mrs. Waterman.”

She pursed her lips. “When you see Timothy, you should ask him to take you to dinner, so you can complain all about me.”

I rolled my eyes and she laughed. She loved trying to hook me up with her son. She had adopted him in her 60’s and now at 77, she was trying to hold onto the hope that she would see grandchildren in her lifetime. If she did, it wouldn’t be with me. I didn’t want to give my virginity to some player who would just walk away as soon as I spread my legs. I glanced down at her and groaned internally when she was still watching me. I gave her a small smile.

“I will think about it,” I told her for what felt like the millionth time as I wheeled her back to her room.

I helped her undress and sit on the shower bench inside of her shower. I started the water, facing it to the wall, so it didn’t drench her with ice cold water. I grabbed her foot brush and knelt at her feet to start the daily task of scrubbing all of the dead skin off.

“You remind me of her,” she tells me suddenly.

“Who?”

“Rosemary.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. She told me at least once a week that I reminded her of her daughter. She smiled down at me and I tried to appear hyper focused on her feet in the hopes it would get me out of the conversation.

“Timothy asks me all the time if she loved him. I wish he had gotten to meet his mother. She loved him so much.”

I cleared my throat. “It was really sweet of you to take on the responsibility of your grandson,” I tell her like I did every time she brought this topic up.

I hated it. I didn’t really want to hear about how her daughter always took better care of her than I did. I did not care to hear how her husband longed for another daughter. I had been happy when he had been moved out of the room. Now, the chances of me running into Timothy at work was lower. It was never zero, but it was significantly lower. I lathered the shampoo into her thin silver hair as I thought about how dangerous her grandson was.

I had spent many hours wanting him to take me into the supply closet and push me against the wall. I wanted him to touch me, but I didn’t. My psychiatrist had been telling me that my fantasies were a part of my fear of dying alone. I rolled my eyes again. As if. She was also the same person that told me my fantasies of wanting a werewolf to chase me through the woods was a sign of obsession. She would follow that by saying that I should stop reading shifter books, but come on, who wouldn’t want to be ravished by a big, strong furry half man half wolf beast. Just the thought of teeth sinking into my skin on my neck sent a shiver of anticipation through my body.

Maybe, Tara was right. Maybe best friends were really the realest people in your life. The ones that told you the truth even when you did not want to hear it. I know mine did and she had been urging me to do more to satiate my desires than using the vibrator 5 or 6… or 20 times a day. The last time I had run out of batteries, I had called her to bring me some, because I was laying naked on my balcony, listening to the coyotes howl all around me. It had excited me to the point of needing release several times in a row, which of course effectively killed my batteries. She had tossed them up to me and told me to go fuck someone. It didn’t matter who it was as long as I got a dick inside of me. I laughed out loud, startling Mrs. Waterman.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, flushing.

I went to work the next day and the way Timothy had looked in his jeans and button down shirt had made my fantasies kick up to the infinity power. I had become so aware of the way his arms flexed under his shirt and the way his cock pressed against the inseam of his pants. I settled her into her bed and went over to the counter where her dinner lay on the sink counter.

I sat in the chair next to her bed and began to slowly feed her. I really needed to focus on my nightly duties and not the way I wanted to get on my knees and see if his cock would fill my mouth the same way it pressed against his pants. I nervously licked my lips when Mrs. Waterman snapped her fingers in front of my face.

“Dearie, I asked you for my ginger ale. Can you get it for me?”

“Of course.”

I reached for her drink and handed it to her. Her hand shook violently and I wrapped mine around hers to steady it. An hour later, I cleaned her face up from her dinner and got her laid down. She curled up to go to sleep and I patted her shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Waterman.”

She yawned. “Alrighty. Go ask-”

“Hey, Natasha. Are you about to head out?”

His voice almost made me shiver and my mind wanted me to get on the floor. It wanted me to crawl over to him and lick him through his clothes. I hadn’t even acknowledged him and my traitorous body was already at his mercy. I shook my head as I turned to face him, looking everywhere but at him.

“Yes, I was going to go read at the fountain for a while, before the drawing, but thank you though.”

I picked my bag up and gave a sleeping Mrs. Waterman a little wave she wasn’t going to see. I went to squeeze past Timothy when he put his hand on the doorframe in front of me. I gulped as I looked at him. I took a deep breath in and his earthy cologne sucked me in. I helplessly leaned towards him, wanting to spend eternity sniffing his scent straight from his skin. He smirked at me and I pulled back, embarrassed.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you to the hall?,” he murmured as his eyes drifted down my body.

I ducked under his arm and ran. His laughter chased me out of the building and I could just see his melted chocolate brown eyes dancing with humor. I bet I could think of a few ways to make his laughter stop, but every single one of those ended with me on my knees. I ran my fingers through my dark brown shoulder length hair. The man was fine, but a girl had to have standards. Right? I sighed. Apparently, my standard had become having a dick. It was the only criteria I considered lately. For a virgin, I felt like such a whore.