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“Hypothetically, if a friend of mine was fooling around with a guy and his dick accidentally slipped into her just once, is she still a virgin?” The clink of my spoon hitting the bowl as I focused on stirring the steaming tomato soup didn’t mask the loud thumping in my ears.
“Honey, if his cock was inside you, why didn’t you just fuck him? What’s the problem?” Her sandwich plunged into the soup, droplets of thick red dripping from the bread as she brought it to her lips. Her tongue flicked out, tip urging melting cheese and soup through the channel of bread, my insides fluttering at her probing eyes and raised eyebrow.
“My friend,” my eyes wrenched from her gaze, locked onto the trajectory of my spoon, “wasn’t trying to fuck him.” The spoon clattered onto the counter, my head falling onto my pretzeled arms as my face heated. “It’s complicated.” I peeked at her from under my hair.
“They don’t just slip in while taking a turn about the room following afternoon tea.” The soft, smooth, sweetly condescending words accented the accusatory angle of her grilled cheese.
“Just pretend for a second that it was an accident.” My words drifted through my hair, muffled as I tried to control the hitch I wouldn’t allow in my voice. I raised my head. “What does your technical expertise tell you?” She nearly spit out her soup. “Is she still a virgin?”
“In my expert opinion as slut of the year.” Her words were biting, but her smile crinkled her eyes. She laughed at me as her voice softened. “I hereby declare your friend still a virgin. Although honey, I don’t know if we can call anyone who rides a giant purple dildo a virgin.”
My head dropped back to my arms; I’d never wished to be invisible with such desperation. Crimson heat rose through my flushed body like mercury in a thermometer, threatening to rupture my tenuous self control.
“Have you blown him?” Her tongue caressed the back of her spoon, outlining the edge before it dipped into her mouth, her lips closing around it. I sank from the chair bonelessly as she pulled the spoon from between her lips, a slow release. I curled into a ball on the couch as my neighbor’s cock flashed against the inside of my eyelids, my lips around him echoing the motions of my roommate’s mouth. Fuzzy blanket pulled over me, my answer hailed from the deepening pit of my stomach.
“Yes.”
Intellectually I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of, but viscerally, talking about sex still felt like screaming from a spotlighted stage with thousands of eyes upon me. My envy of my roommate’s effortless mastery of the topic was boundless.
“Good for you.”
***
My roommate wasn’t a slut, and I hadn’t meant to insinuate that she was. As Saturday loomed closer, the word trickled around my mind, “slut, slut, slut,” a dripping faucet I couldn’t ignore.
My neighbor’s cock had been in my mouth, the marginally salty taste of precum still clear in my mind. My internal monologue was a cacophony of blame and self soothing.
Everyone should be able to enjoy sex. I should be able to enjoy sex. Why was I so ashamed of wanting to feel his body against mine?
Self recriminating thoughts and images chased each other through the air around me, vaguely drifting, focusing in and out, snippets of music cresting. Thoughts blurred as the warm couch and fuzzy blanket lulled me to sleep.
***
The rough carpeting scratched at my feet as I walked down the wide corridor. Clutched tightly around me was a threadbare brown towel, barely large enough to cover my breasts. Store windows lined the walls, carts dotting the long, harshly lit hallway. Distant memories of walking the mall with high school friends filled window displays with soft sweaters and prom gowns, so at odds with the lingerie-clad models in surrounding advertisements.
Stopping at a cart I perused condoms, dental dams, and dildos. Fascinated, my fingers traveled of their own accord, an instinctive pull to touch, to taste, a cotton candy colored silicone toy. Deep inside, my cunt loosened in anticipation of accepting the ridges lining the enormous curve of the obviously inhuman cock.
“Hey girlie.” Handsome, with meticulously styled long brown hair, the man working the cart leered at me, his hands coming together in vulgar gestures. Unable to tear my eyes from his obvious erection, pulsing in outline through his khakis, I was appalled to realize that I wanted him inside me. His voice was silky, reptilian. “Going to shove that up your ass?”
He unzipped his fly and began stroking, his cock pulsing, dripping, pointed directly at me. My mind wanted to vomit at his display, but my nipples hardened, my breath speeding. Hurrying away in confusion, I continued down the hallway, stepping onto dais of black tiled risers. I climbed the tiers, men gathering on the levels below me, cocks out and stroking. Their loads shot in a chorus of moans, white arching over me and the tiles. My hair, my lips, my naked shoulders suffered drips of thick liquid, the sound of heavy summer rain on a gabled roof. White dulled the pristine black shine as I sprinted barefoot up the slippery tiled mess.
Escaping the fountains of cum, I slowed down a narrower hallway to the right, ducking into a ladies room. Women in various states of undress circulated like concubines in a harem. Eyes peeked through holes in the walls, watching the oblivious women. Breasts bulged as women changed into bathing suits, struggling to lift tight one pieces over their wet, glistening skin. Others were drying off after showering, as they un-self-consciously dripped, their shaved pussies reflected in the water puddling beneath them. Toilet stalls sans doors lined the walls. Women sat, legs wide open, streams of gold gushing from them. My eyes scanned from woman to woman, uncomfortable yet captivated, not just by their bodies, but by the self-assurance they exuded in their nudity.
Further into the room, the landscape changed from toilets to showers. Curtains in tatters showed tantalizing glimpses of hands lathering breasts, fingers soaping between ass cheeks, and shower heads teasing between open legs.
Glistening and sticky in sweat and cum, I was desperate to shower, but was unwilling to join the throng of naked women on display. One foot in front of the other, vision overloaded with smooth hands over slippery skin, I continued looking for an illusive intact curtain.
At the far corner of the room was a heavy metal door with a blinking red exit sign. I didn’t want to exit, I wanted to shower, but the dream carried me forward. I opened the door to a blessedly empty mosaic tiled bathroom. Hummingbirds and flowers greeted me from their glimmering patterns on the walls. A spacious shower covered in shades of blue tiles was inviting, however, the front of the stall was floor to ceiling glass. College students hurried by, glancing through the windows as they went upon their way.
My skin crawled at the drying cum beginning to flake as I moved. Holding in an urge to vomit out of either disgust at the eyes gathering to watch me shower, or the pungency of the cum mangling my hair, I stepped out of my towel.
Each breath measured, deliberate, I stepped into the warm spray. Fleeting glances through the glass betrayed the truth of the staring audience gathering their hands groping each other as they watched me. I’d washed the worst of the sticky mess from my hair when the door from the ladies room opened. Panic gripped me as heavy footsteps sounded sharply against the tiles. The intruder’s face was obscured as he opened the door on me. Wet and naked, my mind raced with self defense advice I’d been given over the years, none of it applicable when wet, soapy, and naked.
Relief flooded me just as swiftly when the intruder materialized as my neighbor; nude, erect, and so welcome. Joining me under the strong jets, he put his arms around me and I forgot the college students glued to the windows.
I curled a leg around him as he pulled me in for a kiss. Hoisting me against the glass, hands under my ass, his cock pushed against my entrance. I guided him in, holding him, legs wrapped around him forbidding movement. A moment in time frozen in a dream, the memory of his cock sheathed inside me, the fullness of being joined.
Loud banging at the shower door set my heart pounding, adrenaline crashing through my body at this second intrusion. The stretching inside me abated as he pulled out, emptiness dropping me into startelement and confusion, separation.
A wrinkled crone threw open the shower door, naked, breasts flat and sagging with age, grotesque folds of skin marring her ancient flesh.
“No sex in the showers!” Her voice, a thousand crows cawing, reverberated against the tile. Her large purse flew at us, pain blooming in my cheek, my shoulder. Unjust punishment rained down upon my breasts, my stomach as I tried ineffectually to protect myself. My neighbor had turned to marble next to me, unable to aid in my defense.
***
Persistent banging sounded at my door. Gossamer scraps of fantasy slipped from my mind’s grasp; fading images of breasts, crowded intimacy, a large cock thrusting into me, and the disappointment of a ruined orgasm left me agitated and wet.
“You know what? I can’t even fuck you properly in my dreams.” Frustration and arousal tainted my words.
“Patience. I promise the year of abstinence will pay off. I want you desperate,” he said, fetching the game from my room.
Grumbling at him, I reached into the box, fetching my puppy and his stallion. “What would you have done if I’d picked the stallion?” I asked him, placing the pieces on the board.
“I’d be an adorable puppy.”
We rolled, and like happened more often than not, he landed on a card square first. Picking a card from the pile, he whooped in excitement.
“Out loud. Come on, tell me what it says,” I demanded, trying to wrestle the card from his grasp. He picked up one of the pillows from the couch and swatted me playfully.
“Ok, ok, ok.”
“Step 1. Gather all the dice.
“Step 2. Begin your role-playing campaign.”
“Ooooh, role-playing?” I interrupted.
“Um. Nope. Not that kind of role-playing, but I’m noting that reaction for later,” he said with a wink.
“Step 3. There shall be no fucking.”
I sat back, arms across my chest, watching incredulously as his eyes brightened, energy buzzing through him like a hummingbird in a summer breeze. He popped up from the couch, “Need to fetch the dice!” Nerd time, I thought as he disappeared out the door.
He returned, a chunky black velvet bag in hand. Clutched under his arm was a beat up black and white composition book. Memories of lazy summer afternoons in his basement, the same vibrance in his eyes as he recounted the week’s session with his group. “Are we playing Dungeons & Dragons?”
“Not quite, but it borrows heavily from it in some ways.” He flipped to the first page of the notebook. The black velvet bag dropped to the table, a set of metallic dice tumbling out.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” Two of the dice moved across my palm, swirling around each other as I clinked them together. He put a finger to my lips.
“I will be your game master tonight.” I giggled, the word master making me think of latex clad women with long whips and impossibly high heels, but quieted at the intense look in his eyes.
“Since it’s your first time, this campaign is going to be a little more prescribed than I’d normally run. I’ve pre-built three characters I thought you might like.” He handed me a paper he’d folded in the notebook. It had beautiful drawings of three provocatively clad women.
The first had long pointed ears, angled jauntily, nestled in flowing midnight hair. Metallic indigo blazes splashed throughout, added generously by a talented hand. Barely covering her nipples was a black leather bra, the faint aqua of her breasts a whisper against that bottomless inky void. A teardrop leather g-string hugged her lower lips, covering barely more than would body paint. Hands on her hips, her stance daring a fight, her yellow eyes blazed. Over her shoulder a bow curved gracefully, the light wood a glossy contrast to her inky hair.
The second woman was a glistening mossy shade of green, offset by gleaming ivory tusks jutting from her lower jaw. Mahogany and caramel warred for dominance in the tightly woven braids piled upon her head, interrupted by ragged bat-like ears of midnight emerald. Seven heavy chains adorned with totems and fetishes lay suspended across her chest from heavy mail pauldrons. They hugged her skin, hid nothing, accentuated her firm round breasts, her dark nipples erect. Large loops of iron circled her waist. Delicate strands of silver chain hung low, capturing the graceful arc of a step, a rippling wave about to break. The ethereal chains and glimpses of smooth skin beneath were a striking contrast to the substantial sword balanced in her muscular right hand and shield in her left. The look on her face screamed, come through me.
“They’re adventuring and fighting in those outfits?” I asked incredulously.
“They have cloaks.”
The last character looked human, pale skin, rosy cheeks, graced with classic beauty. Her hair rippled in blonde waves around her slim figure, gauzy hood pulled low over her forehead. Covered from head to toe in fabric, every curve remained clear through her translucent frock. The gossamer gown hung in loose layers around her body, the barest trace of lavender shimmering in the fine white mesh. Elaborately embroidered white blooms trailed vine-like down her arms, across her breasts, around the cinch at her hips. Her bare pussy was covered by a smoky string bikini, scandalous in the way it clung to her lower lips. The final touch, a Bible in her outstretched hand, was brilliant. The skill of my neighbor on display in the play between the blatant sex and innocence she exuded.
“I’m hard just looking at them. Which do you want to be?” His lidded eyes traced the curves of the first woman, the paltry bikini, the fierce gaze. His tongue subconsciously played across his lips and I thought, that’s the one. That’s the one he wants to fuck.
“Can I be the one with the purple hair and the big bow?” My finger hovered above the woman in the leather bikini, following the lines of her enviable hair. Wetness blossomed between my legs as I envisioned wearing that scandalous bottom, my neighbor’s fingers pushing aside the meager covering.
“Elf ranger it is.”
My inner monologue danced between thoughts, bombarding me with scientific observations that I cheekily thought of as “how to seduce a nerd.” I filed away how his breath hitched as I followed the contours of the twenty-sided die with my fingertip.
Voice full of intentional flair, my neighbor threw his head back and swept out his arms. “You are Princess Zee, an elf ranger setting out on a quest to find the lost dagger of Honeywood. The fabled magical blade will bring great fortune to your kingdom.”
My eyes narrowed, “Wait, I’m a princess, and they’re letting me out of the castle to go look for a dagger?”
He winked at me. “You are the youngest of 13–zero chance of the throne. Your parents got busy in their youth.”
“You’d think dressed as a harlot, hailing from the sex kingdom, I’d be looking for something a bit more obscene than a dagger.” A meaningful look at his crotch brought no reaction.
Ignoring me, eyes alight with an animation I was rarely treated to, he continued his introduction. “You are setting forth to find the lost dagger. Accompanying you is your faithful squire, Bratwurst.”
Laughter burst through me, tears at the corners of my eyes. “Bratwurst? What are you, a dog?”
“No! It’s in reference to my massive -“
“Stop! Stop!” I interrupted, unable to control the peals of laughter. “I get it. Let’s go find that dagger.”
“You come to a dark forest, foreboding and ancient. To the right wildflowers and ancient roots mark a path well paced by previous travelers. Sunbeams break through the canopy, dappling the low hanging leaves framing the walkway. The loamy scent is welcoming and familiar.” I can hear it in his voice, the mild disdain for the easy, well worn path. His hands were in constant motion, a nervous energy filling the air around him. “To the left the forest darkens, the canopy dense, the trail a steep incline broken up by sparsely placed log steps. Breezes of pine and mountain snow emanate from that direction. Which path will you follow?” His eyes gleamed and I could almost smell the pine on him. I knew he wanted me to choose the path to the left, but who wants to walk into a dark forest when there’s a perfectly friendly trail to the right?
“Go right.” A quiet sigh and gentle shake of his head told me exactly what he thought of my predictable choice. And yet, I knew he wrote this campaign likely knowing exactly what I would do.
“You and your faithful squire head to the right. Wild flowers make for a lovely backdrop to the playful banter between you and your companion. But you are barely an hour down the path before a massively muscled man dressed in a finely embroidered tunic and a rich purple cloak materializes from behind a tree, blocking your path.”
“Do I get to fuck him?” Squeezing my breasts dramatically, I rose from the couch. My neighbor locked inpatient eyes on me, lips a tight line. My wish to tumble the alluring mystery man was stifled.
“It’s the King of Thieves! He holds your companion at sword point and demands that you pay for safe passage through his forest. You can pay gold, find an alternative means of payment, or fight him. Which do you choose?” He wraps an arm around his neck pantomiming being pulled backward forcefully.
My words slowed, loaded, dripping with sarcasm, “Can I just sacrifice my squire and have my way with the king?”
“You most certainly cannot,” he said, pretending to be affronted. “If you fight,” his voice an enticing singsong, “you get to roll for attack, damage, and defense. And you get to use this cool ten-sided die.”
“Ok, you dork. This is a sex game?” I laughed.
“Yes.” He offered me a sheepish smile, not quite reaching his eyes.
“Well, I don’t have any gold. So what do we do?” I rubbed my hands in mischievous anticipation of alternative forms of payment.
“Roll this die. I have a list of payments the king will accept based on what you roll.” I examined the various faces, my fingers exploring the crisp metal edges aimlessly. Testing the heft.
“What’s the best?” I asked. “One or twenty?”
“Usually you want to roll a twenty, but in this case it’s all just different forms of payment.”
Heartbeats felt heavier in my chest as I tried to settle the nervous excitement of letting the dice dictate how I paid the King of Thieves. He could have me doing anything and it irked me that I didn’t get a say in the payment. Promising myself that next time we played something like this we would discuss the payment options instead of leaving my fate to the dice, I rolled.
“That’s a strip tease. He will let you go if you strip for him.” His gaze undressed me before I could even think about removing anything. Eyes roving from the swell of my breasts over the curves of my hips, anticipation was clear in the outline of his swelling cock through his jeans.
“I’m wearing fuzzy pajamas.” Motioning down one fuzzy arm, eyes narrowing at him, I knew there was nothing I could do to make my favorite pajamas sexy.
“You could get changed and then strip it all off for him.”
“Do you think the king would like…that…?”
***
The hem of my fuzzy pajamas tugged precipitously at the hefty weight of my breasts, whisking over my head the moment I passed beyond eyesight and into my bedroom.
The spirit of my roommate’s inner slut possessed my body. Strappy stilettos, a naughty lace thong, and silky nylons hugging sweeping curves had been destined for this type of wicked indulgence. With a nod, I acknowledged the figure in the mirror, a woman with whom I was becoming more acquainted; confident, sexy, eager and ready to take matters into her own hands.
ero
