Bad Housemate

Hello, 'Claire' again with a short, confessional mid-1990's narrative that, up until now, I've told no one, probably because I'm not especially proud of it. The subject matter here may be considered by some to be disgusting; the reader is forewarned. The names, as always, have been changed.

Afterward, I felt like a babysitter who had violated one of her sleeping charges.

My second experience sharing living space with another woman - two actually - was definitely not like the first. I had lost the apartment shared with my first female lover Vanessa, who left me for her new ad hoc husband and the unplanned child in her womb. Alone and evicted, and refusing to live with my mom, I answered a newspaper ad for a third 'female non-smoker to rent 3 BR house'.

The brick ranch dwelling was quite unremarkable, and although my roommates were both beautiful, their bitchy, inconsiderate personalities left a lot to be desired. That possibly was one reason they seemed perpetually single - not that they missed out on randomly getting laid. Despite the fact the location was close to my job, I soon knew I had made a mistake, but had to survive for the twelve month lease I signed.

The imbalance in our lifestyles became apparent quickly. Still broken hearted, I uncharacteristically stayed home most nights, spending a self-imposed sequestration studying for two community college night classes. I was almost twenty-three by then, had been the mayor of Slutville during high school and then continued as I lived with a man for over two years, then fallen in love with Vanessa - I kept that Sapphic fact from my new roommates for obvious reasons - but lost her to fate. Time to grow up, I thought, even though cosmeticians 'Tanya' and 'Heather' were drunk and partying several nights of the week. Thumping walls, loud stereos, phone calls at all hours, cars and noisy trucks in and out, and early morning hallway encounters with them or their dates naked, were the usual fare.

My two housemates were a symbiotic pair - tall, svelte, auburn-haired, brown-eyed Tanya attracted the guys who preferred leggy, small but pointy-breasted women. Dishwater blonde, not-quite-plus-size Heather met the requirements of the other camp, curvy with freckles, blue eyes, and tits that always loomed large, no matter what she wore.

Usually the two were always together, but one night - morning rather - about three, a Yuletide party-wasted Heather was pounding on my window, having lost or forgotten her keys. Startled but not surprised, I let her in. She stumbled in the front door, wearing a seasonally festive but impractical red halter Santa dress with a white faux fur hem and borders beneath her coat. Her ride, a wealthy older man, judging by the expensive, nearly new SUV, then hastily drove away. Once again assuming my role as de facto au pair - although I was younger - I removed her coat and tried to steer her into her bedroom. Nearly pulling off the football jersey I had been sleeping in as she held on to me to kick off her shoes, Heather insisted on visiting the toilet first, and demanded that I 'help' her. I expected to witness a vomit show any second. I was surprised when, upon our arrival in the tiled room, she raised the short, clingy, red-sequined dress over her head, and her soft belly and then roving, pale, fat tits made an appearance. Their broad areolas were still gathered into peaks in reaction to the outside December temperature. Although she was frequently braless and occasionally topless around the house, I hadn't seen them before in a fully lit room and so closely. They were stunning, and yes, my own small breasts, currently undetectable under my big jersey, were jealous.

After handing me the dress for safe keeping, swaying, topless Heather labored clumsily at pushing her red panties and sheer hose - misaligned from a hasty, post-coital re-assemblage, no doubt - down her thighs.

I held the party dress against me in front of the mirror, even though it was way too large, then carefully draped it over the towel rack. I turned and noticed her hose had made the journey down to her lower thighs, but the panties were still askew on her hips; only the upper periphery of her bush was visible. Incoherent thanks to an unknown array of chemicals, she couldn't tell there was satiny red polyester still partially draped around her pelvis.

I started to step toward her to assist and issue a warning, but stopped myself. Deviously, and as revenge for waking me up so many times and hypocritically bitching at me about every little crumb in the kitchen or drops of toothpaste on the mirror, I remained silent. As she sat to empty her bladder, I allowed my housemate to 'piss herself', as we say in the south. .

I stood opposite the bowl for the best view, and she looked at me suspiciously with nearly closed eyes. I watched with glee as a dark region finally formed and grew across the crotch of the bikini panties. They began to drip, and I heard the urine that did escape drizzle erratically into the water below. Ha ha, my joke was over, or so I thought. I returned my gaze up to Heather's face for a reaction; she was out cold. Arms limp, chin pressed into her chest, hair hanging over her bare tits, she slouched on the seat. My mind suddenly began to race as I stood in the room, its relative warmth no doubt contributing to her unconsciousness.

I could certainly have left her there, but feared she would hit her head on any of a half dozen hard surfaces as she eventually slid down to the floor. I dashed to the kitchen and returned with a clear gallon freezer bag - its fate no longer included the storage of leftovers.

I gingerly lifted Heather's thighs alternately, sliding the piss-soaked panties away from her pelvis and revealing her light brown bush. the hose had to come off also, and it was slow progress, but eventually the wet undergarment passed her toes, was dropped into the zipper bag and sealed. The decision now, was what to do with the naked, female, virtual corpse still sitting on the commode.

I grunted as I looped my arms beneath Heather's and dragged her forward, our faces intimately adjacent as if there was some affection, then pivoted her torso until I was able - with more grunts but a vagina-warming enjoyment of the feel of her soft, bare skin - to lower her onto the tile floor. I could lift petite Vanessa into a fireman's carry, but didn't risk trying it with not-as-tiny, passed out Heather. Her address would have to remain the hall bath for the rest of the night; a more puke-friendly venue anyway. As I stood over her quite feminine naked body, her arms and legs askew, I couldn't help but think how a VHS or Polaroid camera would have been handy right now, but those toys remained with my ex-lovers, the photographic evidence of my own drunken nudity and nasty sex acts likely taped over or packed away in storage.

I pulled a blanket and pillow off her bed and arrived back at the bathroom, shoved her up onto her side temporarily, her tits stacked like sandbags. I stuffed the blanket and pillow beneath her as best I could, then rolled her onto her back once more. At least I had room to reach the toilet now. I stopped short of covering her with the blanket, and pondered my next move.

My altruism, if it could be called that, ended there. My heart raced as I internally debated

whether or not I should act on my devious thoughts. As usual, my heated pussy won. I ran my hands under the hot water and dried them, not wanting to jolt her conscious with chilled fingers. I then knelt, took a depth breath, and touched one of passed-out Heather's rotund tits. One finger, two, a palm. She didn't stir, and I fondled both her wonderful, firm but spongy breasts for a couple minutes. Moving down her body, I then gently propped one of her knees up against the wall beneath the towel rack, separating her thighs and allowed access to inspect and palm her hairy, fragrant, recently exercised vulva as my other hand tugged and rubbed my clit under my long shirt, inside my panties Her inviting pink labia were thinner and more projecting than I expected - I guess I had assumed plump lips lurked between her legs to match her tits. Trembling, I slowly and gently violated her just enough to retrieve a nice warm coating of dew on the last joint of my index finger.

I stuffed my exploratory finger into each of my nostrils to implant her scent there, then held it in my mouth and sucked her salty, thick, bitter, after-fuck essence as my clit rejoiced below. The guy must have fucked her with no rubber and shot onto her stomach or she swallowed - I detected no remnants of semen or latex. Always a glutton, I slid my finger inside her silky hole a second time and again luxuriated in her flavor on my palate. Stopping short of an orgasm, I feared Tanya may be home soon, so I covered the naked, dozing girl and retreated to my room.

There on the floor awaited my unexpected prize - the piss-laden panties, sealed in the freezer bag and surrounded by small, oddly-shaped, captive puddles of something I had never tasted before - another woman's urine. I say another woman, because I had indeed tasted my own and plenty of male piss, beginning thirty seconds after Jimmy bet me I wouldn't let him urinate on me poolside in broad daylight in front of his friends - something that became a summer ritual. I hadn't been with Vanessa long enough to suggest such depravity. After shedding my own moist underwear, I took the bag quickly to the kitchen for a twenty second warm up in the microwave.

Moments later, I was in my room, with the door locked, sitting on the carpet, knees raised, legs spread, leaning back against my upholstered chair, grinding two fingers along my clit. I opened a corner of the bag, just to sample the heated smell of my bitchy housemate's piss. Her bladder contents reeked of alcohol, so much that I was a bit disappointed until my nose adjusted a bit and I could segregate the various elements of the bouquet.

As my clit throbbed, my needy pussy made its usual plea for attention, and was sufficiently wet for insertion of my 'elephant tusk' dildo. Of course the name was just an affectionate moniker for the smooth, ivory-colored, former D-battery vibrator with slight curve at its upper end. My first non-homemade sex toy, I had worn out the mechanism years before, had stored it but placed it back into active service recently. Vanessa had paid for our shared inventory of lesbian and S&M playthings and taken them all with her, demonstrating a lack of faith in her husband's abilities, I believed.

Thoroughly enjoying my masturbation, the clear bag with the wet, wadded panties became my focus, the memories of molesting unconscious Heather stored away for future reference. I widened the gap in the store-brand bag, and extended my tongue toward a rivulet of the yellow liquid that had suddenly made my night exciting.

I took in its salty, forbidden tang, then raised the bag a bit to channel more urine toward the opening. It tasted no different than that of a male filled with vodka would have, but the point was it was notmine, and was the bodily waste of an attractive young woman, even though I disliked her. I paused only long enough to pull my jersey off; I was naked except for a pair of long gray woolen socks, part of my standard nocturnal winter wardrobe. Raising the bag higher, I let the another portion of the warm liquid drip into my mouth and roll down my extended tongue.

Not one to neglect my nipples, they had awakened and were asking for their share of attention. I drizzled a short stream into each and took turns rubbing the piss onto them and yanking and flicking their glistening peaks, introducing a sample of the requisite pain I had become addicted to.

My breathing had become heavy, and my hips squirmed, beckoning me to start jamming the dildo against my vaginal walls in an attempt to recreate the some of the sensation of Vanessa's manic strap-on or sadistic fist, gloriously punishing them.

I denied my wailing slit for the moment, and dribbled the last of the amber liquid into my navel and pubic hair, matting many of them together as Heather's piss reached my swollen clitoris. I maneuvered the red panties within the bag, and brought the cotton panel to bear, opening the zipper near my jaw. Masturbating furiously with her urine on my crotch and holding my housemate's underwear against my face, I licked the yellowed, salty cotton crotch, and had my first orgasm thinking about my illicit contact with her vulnerable pussy.

I gradually drew the underwear entirely into my mouth, and must have un-aesthetically resembled a ballplayer chewing tobacco as I compressed and sucked Heather's essences from the fabric. I then rubbed them all over my frontal torso and inner thighs and did the same with the inside-out baggie, after licking it thoroughly while violently packing my housemate's underwear fully into my pussy with the assistance of the dildo. Fantasizing about both Tanya and Heather hitting me and violently forcing their genitals onto my face, and knuckles into my pussy, I spastically kicked at the base of the embedded dildo with the side of my foot. Final, debilitating, back-arching orgasms slammed across me as the eastern sky began to lighten.

My buzzing alarm jolted me awake less than an hour later. I was chilled and still sitting up against the chair with the dildo and crumpled panties - pulled post-orgasm from my pussy - on top of the bag next to me. I almost felt like I did mornings during trips to the beach - naked, with a coating of dried salt on my skin, and my pussy a little sore. I took the reeking, damp panties into the shower with me and gave them a good wash and rinse, of course stepping over my snoozing housemate, still snoring on the tile floor.

Back in my room, I dried Heather's panties along with my hair and tossed them onto the bathroom floor next to her hose. I sat and pissed one last time before running out the door to work, my feet near sleeping Heather's hips. As I looked at her peaceful face, I felt guilty about the creepy, technically criminal things I had done to the helpless girl; I certainly wouldn't have wanted someone fingering me, at least someone I wasn't attracted to. I thought I had resolved myself to be the mature one among us. At the same time, I regretted not deeply penetrating her and feeling her slick, popular passageway while she lay there unaware - Tanya never did return home before I left for work, so I possibly could have gotten away with it. 'Maybe next time', I told myself.

I survived my shift at work thanks to extra coffee, and between their jobs and my class schedules, I didn't even see either of them for a couple days. Heather didn't remember getting home that night, she later mentioned, and must have assumed it was our housemate that had undressed her and provided the blanket and pillow.

Relations improved between us, especially after some year-end parties the three of us attended together. Being a drunk, loose chick is like riding a bicycle; one never forgets how. By summer, both my ex-lovers reentered my life, more or less, and I moved away from the unremarkable brick ranch. The memories of that solitary winter have faded, save for the night of misdeeds perpetrated on the unsuspecting girl.