Anya's Amorous Addiction prt 1

Anya's curvaceous behind held Ethan's attention as she left his cubicle. Swaying back and forth in her professional, yet alluring, green skirt, it tempted him. His eyes remained locked until she turned a corner, robbing him of the sight. Loosening his tie, Ethan leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. Won't be too long now, he thought, making no effort to hide his self satisfied grin from passing coworkers. For a moment he indulged his imagination, picturing how Anya's bare ass would look when her red-haired head was bobbing up and down in his lap.

After entertaining the thought for only a moment, though, Ethan pulled himself back to the present. Lovely as the image was, he preferred not to get ahead of himself. Besides, the payoff was always far sweeter when it was preceded by a few weeks of sexual frustration. Allowing himself one last imaginary grope of Anya's pale, supple backside, Ethan returned his attention to the dreary machinations of office work.

---

Ethan is not an extraordinary man. His life could be cited as a cautionary tale of where an unhealthy preoccupation with comfort and ease led a person--into a monotonous series of office jobs, punctuated by weekends of bad television, and the occasional vacation to nowhere worth going. But there's one quirk about Ethan that has made his otherwise vapid life a great deal more entertaining--at least for him.

While he was in his mid twenties, Ethan volunteered for a drug trial to help cover the rent. The little green pill he took was supposed to be some revolutionary new competitor against Viagra. It never made it to market after a bunch of the other subject's testes swelled up to twice their normal size, but Ethan had escaped that fate, and made an easy fifty bucks in the bargain. It wasn't until a few months later that he began to notice that he had suffered some side effects from the drug--though nothing which the other test subjects had been afflicted with.

He first noticed it after a drunken night with a prostitute whose name he never bothered to learn. Everything seemed pretty standard. He brought the woman back to his apartment, they fucked, she sucked him off, he paid her less money than he would have spent on a date with a girl who wouldn't have come home with him anyway, and she left.

The situation didn't start to deviate from the norm until the next evening, when the woman showed up on his doorstep asking if he wanted another round. After a snide comment about door to door solicitation being a shoddy business model in her line of work, Ethan tried to shut the door, but she wedged the it open with a her foot. He was about to shout, tell her to get the hell away from him, but she somehow managed to cut him off in an unsteady, haltering voice, offering her services free of charge.

Stunned, Ethan let the woman in, and as soon as the door was closed behind her she descended on his fly like a predator. In less than a second she had wrapped her lips around his phallus, and began to massage it with a fervent passion completely lacking in the previous night's business-like proceedings. The thrill of sexual power Ethan received hampered his stamina, but half a minute later when he released in the woman's mouth, she seemed more satisfied than any of the women Ethan had actually tried to please. And she left as cheerily as though it had been Ethan's tongue on her genitals, rather than the other way around.

The woman returned daily for several months. Never staying longer than it took to coax a bit of sperm out of Ethan, and for his part, Ethan never tried to keep her. It was a peculiar situation, but for once in his life Ethan was getting what he felt he deserved, and had no complaints. As the months passed, however, the woman appeared at his door less frequently; every other day, three times a week, once a week. Her feelings of satisfaction did not diminish, but her ravenous hunger did. Near the end Ethan noticed that same business-like approach to fellating him that he had experienced in their initial encounter. And after about a year, she had stopped showing up at his apartment altogether.

---

It had been nine years since then. In that time, Ethan had come to understand the potential of the crack-pipe in his pants. Women who experienced it came to depend on it, to lust for its taste as though it were the rarest and most precious of delicacies. And by regulating their access to it, Ethan gained power over them. In the time since the first woman had built up enough of an immunity to Ethan's sperm to leave him, Ethan had lured seven other women into his trap--and Anya would make eight.

For almost two months now, Ethan had buttered up to Anya. The two had become friends. They shared lunch together, talked about how boring their jobs were and how they couldn't wait for the weekend. Ethan listened when she needed someone to talk to about a fight she'd had with her boyfriend, or difficulty with the managers who never seemed pleased with anybody's work but their own. And for most of the week, Ethan had been bringing in an extra cup of coffee for Anya every morning. Coffee with a bit of slick, white material spread on the lip of the cup--invisible against the white of the paper.

Today, though, Ethan had no coffee. Even in small doses, four days should be more than enough time. Right on schedule Anya stopped by his cubicle for their morning chit chat.

"Eeeeeethan!" she sang in her silken voice. A voice Ethan very much wanted to hear when it was gagging.

"Aaaaaaanya!" he sang back, flashing his most disarming grin to his friend. "How's my buddy doing this morning?"

"Same way I'm doing every morning I'm in this place." she replied, dryly. "at least it's Friday, right?"

"For sure. Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Not really. My parents are dropping by to see Hank and I, so I'll spend most of my time playing hostess. What about you?"

"I've got a new ladyfriend coming by. Should be a fun weekend, if you know what I mean." Ethan winked at her, but noticed that she wasn't paying all that much attention anymore, her eyes darting around his desk, looking for something. Almost as an afterthought, she answered him.

"Pft, men!" she teased. He smiled at her jest, but remained quiet so she would feel free to change the subject. After a moment, she spoke again "Hey, where's my coffee this morning?" She tried to mask her genuine disappointment at the absence of her morning treat behind a mockingly stern voice, but Ethan had been doing this long enough to recognize desperation when he heard it.

"Oh, I'm giving up coffee," he said, nonchalantly. "want to try and kick the caffine habbit. Hope you don't mind." She smiled shakily.

"Good for you!" she encouraged, unconvincingly. "Wish I had that kind of willpower!" Ethan laughed politely, and Anya began to move away toward her own cubicle. He watched her go. The gray business suit she was wearing today didn't compliment the swaying of her behind as much as brighter colors did. While no less lovely to admire, Ethan decided that he would insist on a more cheerful wardrobe in the future.

For now though, it was time to wait.

---

Ethan made up excuses to walk past Anya's cubicle at regular intervals. Each time she seemed to be fidgeting more than the time prior; breathing a little quicker, a little more pale. Just before lunch, as he'd known she would, Anya appeared in the doorway of Ethan's cubicle. She was trying to hide her discomposure behind a cheery veneer, but Ethan thought he would have noticed it even if he hadn't caused it.

"Hey, Ethan..." she began, unable to hide the slight tremble in her voice. "I was, um, I was wondering..." Feigning confusion, Ethan probed for more information.

"Yes?" he asked. "What do you need?"

"Well I was wondering...where is it that you used to get that coffee from? It was really good, and I'd like to start picking some up for myself and-" Ethan cut her off.

"I'm sorry Anya," he said, in a voice that would have sounded overtly sarcastic to anyone but the desperate Anya. "I made it myself. Old family recipe." She looked crestfallen.

"Do you suppose-" she started, but Ethan cut her off again.

"My grandfather would kill me if I gave away her recipe" Ethan said, enjoying the game. "Though, I suppose we could organize a trade..." Anya smiled and nodded emphatically. With a hand, Ethan beckoned her closer so he could whisper in her ear, and she obligingly bent low.

"Suck my dick." Ethan told her. She stepped back and laughed--a humorless, shocked laugh.

"You...you can't be serious." Ethan only nodded; slowly, solemnly, leaving no room for argument about the terms of their trade. Her face flushed red with anger, adrenaline momentarily freeing her of her damning compulsion "You fucker!" she shot at him, angry but not yelling. "You're fucking sick, you know that?"

She turned, and stormed away. Ethan watched her for only a moment before turning back to his work. The haughty, stomping pace did not compliment Anya's features the way her usual sultry stride did. Not that it mattered of course. He knew it was the last time he'd have to admire Anya's ass without owning it.


---


To her credit, Anya lasted the rest of the day. She was not a weak woman--Ethan had known that before he began building the friendship which had allowed him to accomplish his goal. In the past, he had used his abilities on women based on their appearance alone, but he found weak women usually became boring long before they were able to survive without his...nourishment. He had chosen Anya. Not just for her beauty, but for her will, and her keen mind. He genuinely liked her, and was eager for the time they would spend together soon.

She managed to last all the way to the end of the day. But as he knew she would, Anya eventually appeared at the doorway of Ethan's cubicle with a folded piece of paper, staying only long enough to hand it to him before storming off. Ethan opened it and read the simple message:

Meet me in conference room B. Bring the recipe.

Smiling, Ethan threw the note in the wastebasket under his desk and returned to work. Every hormone in his body begged him to rush to conference room B and embrace his fortune, but he had to be patient. He had to assert his dominance in this relationship early on, and letting her set the time and place of their first sexual encounter wouldn't do. He would let her wait, let her grow hungry.

Once the last of his coworkers left the building, doubtless thinking that he was trying to brown nose the managers by staying late on a Friday, Ethan opened one of the drawers in his cubicle and withdrew a brown paper bag, checked to make sure its contents were intact, and casually made his way to conference room B.

"What took you so long!?" Anya snapped at him, fear coloring her voice as much as anger. Tossing the bag onto the conference table and pulling out a chair, Ethan smiled.

"I had things to do." he said, in a voice that was only partially mocking. For a long moment she just glared at him, arms crossed protectively across her chest.

"I don't know what it is about that coffee that makes me willing to do this..." she began, her voice beginning to crack "but lets just get it over with." She began to stride towards him, reaching for the clasp of his pants. Ethan raised a hand.

"Not so fast." he said in a commanding tone. "I'm not going to let you do a halfassed job of holding up your end of the bargain. Strip." Her mouth fell open, and she opened it to protest, but stopped. Ethan could almost see the thoughts going through her mind; she didn't know why the coffee was so important to her, or why Ethan had suddenly began demanding such things of her...but she'd come this far. She knew that if she didn't comply, she would only be drawing out the inevitable. Ethan could withhold the recipe as long as he wanted, but she needed some of that coffee now. The fastest way to be done with this was to comply.

Ethan's eyes sparkled with glee as Anya reached for the buttons of her blouse, unbuttoning them from the top to reveal a simple black bra. Ethan could see tears welling up in her eyes as she fiddled with the zipper on her skirt, and by the time her matching black panties were exposed she shouted

"After this I never want to see you again. We're not friends anymore, Ethan!" It was a ridiculously weak attack, and they both knew it. But Ethan couldn't resist responding.

"I don't know about that..." he said ominously. Anya clearly disagreed with him, but remained silent. Content to glower at him in the hopes that it would erase her shame.

Anya's black panties were removed last, exposing a tuft of red curls that brought a smile to Ethan's lips. He'd hoped her color was natural and was not disappointed. Everything about the woman's body was even better than he had imagined it: soft, curved, and begging to be possessed.

He possessed it. She just didn't know it yet.

Ethan smiled at his newest conquest, and gestured for her to proceed by unfastening the top button of his pants. Anya stepped forward and lowered herself to her knees with as much dignity as she could manage. She finished opening Ethan's pants, pulling out his phallus and--with one last hurt glare at her conqueror--lowered her head to his lap.

Anya's technique was predictably dispassionate. Suckling inexpertly at the head while gently massaging the shaft with one of her hands seemed to be the extent of her plan. Ethan would come to expect more of her, but for now he was content to let her technique--whether its failings stemmed from ignorance or defiance--go unchallenged. She did not yet fully understand her situation. She would become more malleable once she did.

For long minutes Anya continued her halfhearted effort, occasionally glancing up to see if her torment was nearing its end. But Ethan had learned that making his women work for their fix caused them to value it more, even caused them to have a certain reverence for the phallic vessel which delivered their relief. For now, Ethan contented himself with admiring the view of Anya's lovely ass that he had so desired, and gently forcing her head back down each time she attempted to see whether he was almost finished.

After 15 minutes, Anya's knees were clearly becoming sore, and she was becoming impatient. She raised her head and started to speak

"Hey, are you almost do-" Similarly impatient with the woman's incompetent fellatio, Ethan again forced her head back down. She resigned herself to her task and returned to her docile suckling. But Ethan didn't stop once her head was back in place. Eyes wide, Anya took more and more of Ethan's penis into her mouth. He continued forcing Anya lower and lower until she began to gag. It was the music Ethan had desired to hear her sing since he had first heard her speak--a perfect squeal of beauty subjected to his will.

Already straining to maintain his control after the lengthy--if inexpert--phallic massage, Ethan released himself in the woman's mouth. No sooner did the slick blanket of genetic material fall to rest on Anya's palette, than her eyes widened in absolute shock and terror. A thin application on the edge of her coffee cup for four days had been enough to enslave her to the substance. This massive amount caused a euphoric fever in her unlike any she had experienced in the past, and she fell upon her new found fountain of pleasure with the hunger Ethan found appropriate in his women.

Minutes later, with Anya still desperately trying to harvest every last drop, Ethan pried her off of him, leaving her to fall backwards on the floor. He stood and refastened his pants, looking down at Anya's naked, trembling form. She stared back at him, her eyes pleading.

"W....what...what's happening...?" she asked, desperately searching her mind for some way that this turn of events would make sense.

"You're addicted to my cum, Anya." Ethan answered, matter-of-factly. "You won't be able to go without it for more than a day." Anya's eyes welled up with tears.

"How...?"

"It doesn't matter." Ethan said. Bending over the conference table and writing something on a scrap of paper. He handed it to her. "This is my address. I'll expect you there no later than noon tomorrow." Anya rose to a sitting position and gently took the scrap of paper from him, unable to object.

Ethan picked up the brown bag he had brought to the conference room, which had supposedly had his coffee recipe in it. Tossing it to her feet he added "I expect you to wear this from now on. I don't want to see you without it." then turned to leave. As he reached the door, he craned his head to offer a parting comment.

"Anya?"

"..Yes..?" she stammered, unable to control the raging sea of conflicting emotions within her.

"You belong to me now." Ethan said. Then left.

---

Alone, Anya slowly unwrapped the bag Ethan had left for her. Inside was a black leather collar, with a dog tag hanging from a metal ring on the front. Hands trembling, Anya turned the tag over in her hands so she could read the words embossed on one side. They read:

"Property of Ethan Adler"

Anya wanted to throw the collar out the window, to deny Ethan's claim of property...but after what she'd been willing to subject herself to earlier, she doubted that Ethan was wrong about how long she would last without his seed. Even now she could feel desire beginning to claw at her insides, quietly begging her to run after him for just one more taste.

Resignedly, cursing herself as a whore all the while, she wrapped the collar around her neck, and looked at her reflection in the window of the conference room.

The sight of herself, Ethan's property, sparked a memory in her mind: the first conversation she and Ethan had earlier in the day. He'd implied that he was planning to fuck some new girlfriend over the weekend. Realization dawned on her. She was the girl Ethan had been talking about, and his casual jest about what he was going to do to her filled her with an impotent rage and despair. She fell to her knees in anguish.

Naked, enslaved, Anya wept.