A Reason to Stay Pt. 02

I do my best to smile back up at her, arms covering my raging boner. Jez has gone quiet upstairs. She's probably struggling not to laugh at my awkward predicament.

"Yes," I answer neutrally, "your neighbor came by and offered me a glass."

"Oh well, what a nice girl she is," Madam Larosa chuckles as she places the orange juice next to the water. Her drinking glasses always have tiny ducks printed along the rims. "I'll just leave this right here for you, dearie. Let me know if you're hungry later, I'm making ham and cheese sandwiches."

I nod at her, face aching from smiling. "Will do, ma'am."

She bumbles away back inside, all the while sighing, "Such a nice young man..."

As soon as she closes her door, Jez is back in action. My dick was just beginning to soften, but when I hear her panting my name, I feel myself stiffen again. She sounds close to coming, all breathy and erratic, whimpering now and then. And as with all things Jez, I know she isn't faking. Her pleasure is real, her fingers evidently picking up speed as she nears the brink of climax.

I give up all pretense of working when she comes. The sound of her crying out and babbling absolutely filthy gibberish as she orgasms makes my cock twitch so hard I have to grab it to get it to stop. It occurs to me how lucky Jez is that Madam Larosa is deaf in one ear and dozes off multiple times a day. I can't fathom how else the two of them could get along, what with one being so elderly and prim and the other masturbating constantly.

There is no way I'm going to be able to finish working like this. Inspired by a new resolve, I stand up, no longer caring if anyone sees my raging hard on. That's when an object comes sailing out of her window and lands right on my unsuspecting, upturned face.

I know what it is just by scent alone. The smell of musk overwhelms my senses, even as I peel the damp, black fabric from my face and dangle it before me.

Fucking hell, it's her panties. And they are absolutely drenched.

I stand there, stupefied, holding her cummed up underwear in my hand. There's a wet spot on my forehead and nose that tingles coldly in the morning air. When I finally look up, she is staring at me from the window again, a self satisfied smirk on her face.

"What happened, Aed?" she taunts slyly from above. "Cat got your tongue?"

Stupid Outsider colloquialisms. I glare at her, smearing her wetness from my face before turning around and picking up the glass of water. I tip back my head and down it in one go. She watches me with open curiosity, right up until I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and march toward her front door. By the time I get to her porch, glass in one hand and panties in the other, she is already standing at her doorway and greeting me with a venomous "What."

She's still in her fluffy robe, though it's tied shut. I hand her the empty glass and state, "I need to use your bathroom."

She blinks at me, confused, and an automatic "uh, sure" escapes her lips before she can properly contemplate the wisdom of letting me in. I'm naked from the waist up, as usual, and I can feel her eyes on my sweaty back. "It's down the hall to the left," she adds mistily.

Storming down the hallway, I hardly notice her odd choice of decor as I beeline for the bathroom. Once I shut the door behind me, I finally stop to take stock of my surroundings. It is surprisingly...girly, all neat and clean with sprigs of lavender on white marble countertops. I assume it's the guest bathroom, what with its lack of personal effects, but the realization that I am within the sanctity of Jez's private residence still sends a shiver down my spine.

Focus, I remind myself. Now is not the time for rumination. Now is the time for executing my counter attack.

Goal back in sight, I shove down my pants and briefs, freeing my throbbing dick. I wrap her sopping panties around it and start to stroke myself. Closing my eyes, I picture that night in my head again, only this time I'm there with her, doing all kinds of lecherous things to her slick, wet pussy.

Her juices are mixing with my precum, lubricating my cock to a shine. I jerk faster, rubbing the scanty fabric along my shaft, imagining it's her tight little cunt instead.

When I come barely a minute later, the ecstasy of my orgasm is so powerful that I have to lean all my weight on the bathroom counter, my hips jerking as cum spews out of me. I groan her name under my breath as I shoot wad after massive wad into her panties, which are balled up at the tip of my cock. By the time I'm done, my knees are wobbly, but my mind is infinitely clearer.

I clean myself off and pull my boxers and pants back up. As I open the bathroom door, I find myself face to face with Jez, her cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. We stare at each for a few seconds before I grab her hand and plop the balled up panties in her open palm.

It's more cum than panty at this point, oozing from every fold. I'm about to make a crude quip about cats and tongues when I realize she probably isn't wearing any underwear beneath that robe. She was at her window when I stalked off and at her door before I could even knock. There simply wasn't enough time. Which means I'm naked from the waist up, and she's naked from the waist down.

Then, a traitorous thought enters my mind. One involving me asking, maybe even demanding, her to put those cum soaked panties back on. Right there in the hallway. While I watch.

The insult dies in my throat as I feel my cock stirring again.

"Thanks," is all I manage to awkwardly stammer before showing myself out.

It takes me twice as long to finish working that morning, but I don't complain. I try to tell myself it's because I'm going to miss Madam Larosa's orange juice and ham sandwiches, and not because it's my last day of having the perfect excuse to hang around Jez's window. Later that night, I tumble into bed with a slim, perky Mentor named Joslyn and fuck her so passionately that she nearly blacks out from coming. When I follow suit and cry out a shortened version of her name that sounds something like 'Jos,' she never questions it.

I tell myself I hate what Jez does to me. I tell myself I hate Jez. And every time I do, I feel a surge of desire so hot it threatens to scorch me from the inside out.

I do my best to put that day out of my mind. To put all the similar days out of my mind. I train more often, push my students harder, and go on an absolute carnal spree, surprising every one of my colleagues. The very energy around me starts to change, my increasing wantonness affecting even my students, which is concerning. But no matter how much flirtatious attention I receive, and no matter how much sex I indulge in each night, it is never enough.

I know it's folly, wanting that which I cannot have. But Jez will not stay away, and I have nothing left in me to try and stop her.

By the time three long years have come and gone, I've all but given up hope on any kind of reprieve. I make peace with yearning for her from a distance, masking my attraction with disdain, convincing myself it's for her own good. Though she is never bullied again after the incident with the three students, I didn't want to risk stoking any more fires of jealousy.

But then one day I am back in the showers, and I hear weeping. Concerned, I follow the sound, until I come upon running water and someone sobbing. Peeking over one of the stalls, I see that it's Jezia. She's still in uniform and sitting on the tiled floor, hot water crashing down on her as she cries inconsolably.

Like a coward, I back away and leave without rinsing, not knowing what else to do. That night I lay in my bed alone, staring at the ceiling. Every voice of reason is warning me not to do it. To stay away from her and let her take care of her own problems.

Ignoring them, I get up, voice activate my virtual assistant, and inform them to change tomorrow's martial class to a private lesson. I know Jez isn't officially part of the Academy system, so she won't be receiving any notifications. When I rise in the morning to get ready, I choose at the last second to leave behind my cup guard. Shouldering my duffel bag, I make my way to the training hall, heart beating wildly in my chest.

And, well, the rest is history.

- Jezia -

Lesson #1 from being trapped in the city of Neon: matter is matter. Having obeyed all the same laws of nature and physics, I crossed into this dimension without so much as dimpling the fabric of reality. At least not physically, anyway. I'm still human, from Earth, and have gone about daily life under a sizable moon. Two moons do funny things to the tides, but Neon's second moon is so small and the ocean so far away that hardly anyone notices.

Lesson #2: The most dangerous thing about Outsiders, I've come to understand, is not our physical presence, but our philosophical one. It's why we're so prized and loathed at the same time. Each and every one of us offers a treasure trove of alternative knowledge and experience. Yet, because of that very same reason, we are also unnatural catalysts for questions. For change. We are the answers to everyone's "what if's?"

It seems no matter what dimension we're in, humans will always be guilty of seeking greener grass.

In this reality, the one shared by Sebastien and Aedin and all the other Neonians I've had the misfortune of knowing, none of the great wars happened. Entire nations of people carried on unmolested by colonialism and genocide. Plagues were avoided and famines prepared for. Capitalism was aborted merely as an idea. The list goes on. As a result, science and progress remain sovereign. I can't say it's paradise, but in many ways it's closer to being one than home ever was.

It's hard even for a dedicated scholar like Sebs to trace back exactly where things diverged so drastically. I offer what bits of history I remember from my world, adding to the already substantial contributions from dozens of Outsiders before me. But the debate continues, fraught with contention and opposing theories. I've suffered through more than one heated argument between a roomful of overly educated and passionate researchers. It's impressive at first, how much they collectively know, but their inevitable displays of hubris always leave my head pounding.

Still, the city of Neon is so much more advanced than anything I've ever seen back home. There is no extreme poverty, no major crime. Not even litter that hangs around for more than ten minutes—custodial robots take care of sanitation around the clock. Public transport exists by way of carefully planned walkways and self-operated hover cars, thereby eliminating traffic. Jobs are assigned based on the needs of the city and strengths of its citizens. You still have your usual spectrum of rich and less rich, but no one is so broke they can't afford food and a roof over their heads. There's even a limit on how much money everyone can have, regardless of status. The rest gets redistributed according to necessity.

Lesson #3: People, no matter what dimension they're from, always find a way to leverage their power. What money can't buy, influence can and will. Favors run rampant amongst those who hold sway over how things are run. Quid pro quo, tit for tat, you scratch my back I scratch yours...you know, the usual suspects.

I won't lie, I don't entirely hate it here. Sure, it took a lot of getting used to—still does, sometimes—and I miss my family and friends to death. But the prosperity here...the utter lack of, well, lacking, at least in the material sense, is refreshing. I don't miss that part of my old life at all, the part that struggled to pay bills and stay ahead of debt and debated whether I should buy a cup of coffee or just make the cheap stuff at home. There are so many benefits of upgrading from a Type 0 to a Type 1 civilization that I find losing everything and everyone I knew in the blink of an eye almost tolerable.

Almost, but not quite.

For starters, I miss spicy food. Like, real, eye watering, peppers-so-spicy-you're-coughing-in-the-living room-while-it's-being-cooked-by-immigrant-parents food. Cuisine in Neon is alright, but the focus has been on maximizing nutritional efficiency for so long that food has lost its artfulness, its soulful comfort.

From what I can tell, races and cultures still exist, but Neonians live here for one purpose and one purpose only: to further their careers. There isn't a whole lot of value placed on cultivating creativity. If something—or someone—proves unuseful or unable to reach their fullest potential, they are simply evicted. Neonians are so utilitarian that their motto really ought to be 'Function over Form.' Their buildings are square, their personalities are square, and even their food tends to be square shaped no matter what it is. It's all about fulfilling roles and achieving goals. It makes me depressed in a way words can't fully describe.

I also miss our music. God, how I miss music. And video games, and binge streaming, and hell even social media. I tried to explain what TikTok was once to Sebs and he could not, for all his love of Outsider culture, see it as anything other than a phenomenal waste of effort and potential. I suppose he isn't entirely wrong, but, still...

I miss flavor for flavor's sake, entertainment for entertainment's sake. It doesn't have to have a point or purpose other than to be enjoyable. I just miss doing things for fun.

Most of all, I miss my family. I miss their voices, their hugs, their laughter. I miss hanging out, trying new restaurants, and joking with friends. I miss being surrounded by people who, for all their flaws, never questioned my being there. I miss belonging.

Funny, how I had taken all of that for granted back in my own dimension. I always thought I was a bit of an outcast, an eccentric who never quite truly fit in anywhere. But when I left my car that day and embarked on this mind bending journey, stranded in a city where I will never be anything other than an interdimensional alien, I found out what true, unending isolation felt like.

Until I got crammed into a storage locker with a Mentor, and everything turned upside down.

For the first time since discporting into Neon with Sebastien, I feel wanted. Not just because I'm useful, a valuable asset within the pursuit of knowledge, but for me. In all of my messy, volatile, convoluted existence. Just me, no other strings attached.

We fuck everywhere the first week. In my house of luxuries, in his spartan little Mentor's quarters, in classrooms, in bathrooms, even in Seb's office once...which was a rather harrowing experience, but exhilarating nonetheless. Every chance we get, we throw ourselves together, whether it's quick and animal or sweet and languid. We even sleep in the same bed most nights, waking up with limbs warm and tangled. I know this is what infatuation is supposed to feel like, the usual assortment of chemicals my brain releases for the biological purposes of mating, but every day I float around in a daze, convinced I've been hit in the head. Surely, my mind has been scrambled, my wires crossed and recrossed. But god help me I just can't stop.

It's easy enough for me to keep our secret. I have a reputation for being prickly and reclusive and my status makes it so that Sebastien is the only person truly interested in my whereabouts. Even then, he is so caught up in his research that he forgets to check in for days at a time, which has quickly transformed from a source of grievance into more opportunities to tear off Aed's clothes.

Aed, on the other hand, is finding the ruse harder and harder to maintain. Partly because of his popularity as a Mentor, but mostly because he hasn't been showing up to what I can only describe as Mentor orgies, and his former partners in carnal sacrilege are growing disgruntled.

When he first explains to me the rules of sexual engagement amongst Mentors, my interest is merely piqued. When he goes into further depth about the who, what, why and how's, however, I have to pick my jaw back up from the floor several times. I never thought I would be proven so thoroughly wrong in describing Mentors as monk-like.

It seems the one thing I don't have to relearn is academia's universal rule of conduct: Mentors are not allowed to engage sexually in any way with students. That much remains set in stone. It's an offense punishable by career death. Any Mentor caught inappropriately involved will be stripped of their privileges and banned from ever pursuing another Academy position. Any student similarly caught is expelled for life. And since the only way to get a cushy Council job is through the Academy, you might as well sign up as a garbage sifter at that point and be done with it.

Most, however, just find a way to end themselves if they ever fall that far from grace. It's a dark side of the Academy that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don't see how the prestige and wealth would ever be worth a life, but some are born into expectations they can't imagine failing to meet.

All that being said, the Academy can't ignore the fact that Mentors are still human beings. As long as they are getting handsy exclusively with each other, the rules remain unbroken. And, according to Aed, Mentors take full advantage of this loophole, being otherwise limited in coping with the pressures of Mentorship. He swears that some Mentors become so carnally skilled they can actually trade services for favors. Sex work doesn't officially exist in Neon, but the exchange itself is common enough. Just extra covert, depending on how much influence a person holds.

Sexuality is often fluid within their ranks. As are partners, fetishes, and number of Mentors present at any given fuck fest. It scandalizes me to no end, finding out that some of the stoniest Mentors are the freakiest in bed.

We're sharing a little flask of Neonian moonshine on my bed while he explains all of this through yet another lesson on Mentorship. It's become part of our nightly foreplay, him humoring my curiosity while we get more and more buzzed, until all I can think about are the thousand different, filthy ways I want to shut him up.

I take another swig of moonshine. It tastes like acetone and feels like fire, but it's the only booze we have access to. Unless, that is, whoever is trading 'favors' with the researcher illegally creating this contraband finds a way to inspire some creativity. I sigh inwardly at the thought of wine. A crisp riesling with a plate of aged cheddar and green grapes. It sounds good enough to make me weep, which prompts me to wash away the depressing thought with another mouthful of glorified rubbing alcohol.

Feeling bold, I suggest to Aed that it seems Mentors can fuck up and across, but not down, and students down and across, but not up. He mulls over this for a few seconds before exploding with laughter.

"I've never thought of it in such brutally simple terms," he wheezes through his mirth, "but yeah, that's how it works."

It makes me wildly pleased, getting him to laugh like that. I aspire to do it a hundred more times.

For now, I decide instead to cut him off mid laugh, my mouth smothering his. The taste of moonshine swirls between our tongues. He makes a low sound as I push myself into his lap. He's so warm and strong, his body chiseled yet yielding, mouth hot but sweet. I feel his moan resonate down my throat, turning into white hot electricity by the time it reaches my stomach. Without hesitance, his arms wrap around me, hands exploring wherever they please. As our kisses grow heavier, so does his grip. He's holding me by the ass now, pinning me against him as he grinds his hardness against my aching heat.

It's my turn to moan, his lips trailing down my neck as our hips undulate together. His wonderfully thick cock is rock solid at this point. My mind goes blank with desire at the thought of feeling it slide into me, stretching me, filling me to the absolute brim.