Dorm Discipline: House Chores

Ignoring my involuntary stiffie, I took the panties and dumped the rest in my bag. No, not to sniff later. I knew a good way to remove stains from silk, and I thought I could do this simple thing for her.

Stopping in the kitchen on the way to the back door, I scanned the counter for miscellaneous trash. A bread twistie, some orange peel lost behind the toaster, a dead cereal box in the cupboard (why did people put the empty ones back?) All into my bag.

Out the back door, around the side, there's the can. I tied my bag to make it easier for the trash man not to make a mess, dumped it in, dropped the lid.

Continue helping Preppy? Or off to the lab? Help I guess; at least offer to. And check the kitchen cupboards, make a shopping list! Don't forget that!

Back in the front door, Preppy had the vacuum out, an ancient thing with a bulging bag, sounding like a bull elephant.

She was running it efficiently around the living room in a grid pattern, not a spot missed. I went ahead of her, ran interference, lifting the wastebasket so she could vacuum under, holding the shag run with one foot so she could vacuum it without sucking it up.

Lifting rug to vacuum under - there were some unused condoms, stuffed there for later no doubt. I picked them up, was going to toss them, Preppy put her hand out, I poured the pile into her hand. She sorted through, dumped most on the mantle but kept the one labelled 'Monster', pocketed it.

Now I knew one more thing about her boyfriend - not only did he cum like a fire hose, he had a dick like a python. Lucky girl.

While placing the shag rug back down, straightening it, something silk fell from my shirt pocket. Kitty's used panties!

Preppy noticed, stooped, picked them up, held them under her nose, inhaled deeply, handed them back to me. Well! That's fun to know. I smiled; she grinned back, continued vacuuming.

In a minute the floor was done. She headed down the hall, bull elephant in full voice, and I went into the kitchen to make my shopping list.

What would I need for my dish? Well, first off, a dish. Oven-safe, big enough for six or seven (always seemed to have at least one dinner guest around). Found one in the oven drawer, Pyrex, just right.

While I'm thinking about it, try the oven. Turn it to 350, start, wait.

On...off.

Check for pilot light - electronic, no pilot. Hm. Must be a broken thermocouple? The gas valve won't stay open unless it senses heat right off. Yeah, gotta be that. No time now to deal with it.

Into the hall, Preppy had reached the laundry room, banging it around in there. Then all goes still, no activity yet it's still running, now sounded different.

I tread lightly, don't want to startle her, peeked in the door.

She sat on the dryer, the hose unplugged from the floor-sweeper-thingy, the stiff handle turned around, held pressing the sucking hole to her panties right over her clit. Whiiir! plook! over and over again.

Her clit was prominent and visible through her panties, the silk wet and transparent. Like a tiny cock, growing bigger with each suck. Her face red, her eyes closed, a little smile.

I made some noise, she opened her eyes, looked alarmed. I put my finger to my lips, make a Shhh! sign.

Kneeling in front of the machine, the hose sealed to her clit too long, the motor labored. I grabbed it firmly, pulled it off PLOONK! She jumped, bending her head forward, overcum by the sensation.

Looking at her for permission, she nodded slightly. So I pulled her panties to one side, got my first look at a professional-grade clitoris.

I'd never seen one this beautiful - sticking up from her cunt's hood like a little cock with a groove on the bottom side, a head like mine has, a tiny shaft that's now stiff.

I kissed it and she opened her legs wide, leaned back on the dryer, still holding the hose.

How to proceed? I think the best approach is, a little cock-sucking motion with my lips, some head-bobbing should do the trick.

Wetting my mouth on her drippy slit, getting a gasp for my trouble, I fastened my lips around her gorgeous sex rod and suck gently! gently!

Her legs tried to close over my cheeks but she resisted, folded one leg, put one foot up on top of the dryer to give me more room.

While I give her a gentle clit-suck, my hands holding her cunt lips open so they can feel the air, get my chin wet, she did something with the hose I couldn't figure out, making the engine complain.

Pulling back off her clit with a poop! I saw she'd pulled her shirt up, no bra underneath her housecleaning shift, and had attached the sucking tip to one nipple. She just left it there, her abdomen clenching, the other arm holding her in a half-sitting position.

Back to business! I alternated licking from root to tip, with playing my tongue around the tip, to engulfing the whole of her clitoris with my mouth, sucking gently. Repeat the cycle as her stomach clenching got more violent.

With a Guuuh! she pulled the hose off her tit with a Pop!, letting the bull elephant roar at full volume, grabbed my head and smashed! my face into her cunt. My chin was suddenly very wet, then my neck as her female ejaculate ran down my face.

I latched on as best I could and just sucked, nursing on her clit as if it was a nipple and I'm hungry for milk. She was saying something now, which I could barely hear over the ancient vacuum motor.

"Bastard! Suck that cliiii! Gonna choke you with it! Fucking sucking bastard cumming fucker fuck fuck fuuuuck!"

Her foot slipped off the dryer and she sat nearly upright.

She tried to crack my head like a nut with her strong lean thighs, thigh-high nylons with lace over her salon tan, the hand on the back of my head pulling at my hair then mashing my head into her sex, pull, push, pull, puuuuuush!

She rocked in place a while, my mouth locked to her sex, while I held my breath and hoped I wouldn't die before she recovered.

When she came down she let me go, leaned further back, loosened her thighs. I pulled my face loose from her girl-flesh with a slitch, took a huge breath, watched from point-blank range as a gush of fluid released from her cunt ran down to pool on the dryer.

Her clit was all red and swollen, like some s&m shit had gone down. Her tit was worse - that nipple twice the size of the other, like a pink marshmallow, swollen and lumpy, a red ring surrounding flushed pink tit flesh.

Standing I rescued the hose from between the washer and dryer where it'd fallen, pulled a stray sock out of the end it'd tried to eat, reattached the floor sweeper.

Leaving her to rearrange herself, I returned to my room to wash up. In the bathroom mirror, the front of my shirt was damp either from her girl-cum or perhaps my saliva. Or both.

It wasn't too bad. Just wiping my face with my washcloth and rinsing it all in the sink, I figured the air would dry my shirt before I got to work. And this way, I could remember the smell of her sex all day.

When I was ready to leave the vacuum was silent and I heard Preppy putting it away in the closet. I hollered "See you tonight!" and didn't wait for an answer.

By the time I got to my lab my shirt was dry but I had underestimated the power of her cum-scent to linger. It was pretty powerful, especially emanating from right below my nose. Fortunately I had my own lab and was the only one there today.

I soon got used to it, and forgot it was there unless I moved around, stirred the air.

To the next floor up and the professors' offices, I handed my only test copy to the department staffer, asked for the right number of copies. He asked if I needed one for proof; I said thanks yes!

Starting the machine, he brought me the first one stapled and smelling of copier chemicals.

I barged into my prof's office, offered him the test to prove. He took it, held it like a dead animal.

"Ah. Yes. Thank you for drafting this."

Drafting? It's the final version. But let him have his fantasy.

"I'll look at this and get back to you by tonight."

I'd never hear from him again on the subject. It'd go into a pile and get covered up... yup, there it goes, the black hole of piled paper by his desk that probably contained last semester's test somewhere down there.

Saying some more trite nothings I tried to make my exit.

"Do you smell something?" He cast about with his prominent nose, like the child-stealer in chitty-chitty-bang-bang, but then gave it up.

"I can call the physical plant if you want it looked into." It was my shirt, I wasn't gonna admit that.

"Hmmm? Yes? Thank you." He had already forgotten what we were talking about. But I was dismissed, that was the important thing.

Back with the staffer, I asked to have the tests held there until next week when I'd be proctoring the midterm. This was the usual arrangement.

As I turned to leave, something fell from my shirt pocket, some colorful wad of fabric. The staffer noticed it, but pretended not to.

Kitty's underpants! Jesus I felt a fool. Stooping I recovered them, stuffed them in my shorts pocket, left with my face turning red. Everybody was going to think I was a secret panty thief.

My lab work done; my test 'proofed' and accepted, a chemical process churning in my experimental setup, I was at loose ends.

Read some papers? Watch my lab experiment do it's automatic thing and fret? Chat in the faculty lounge?

I found I had no taste for any of that. All I really wanted to do was be back at my house, with my new community.

The oven! I had to solve my oven issue.

I rummaged around in the electronics supply room looking for a thermocouple that might serve. Most were for low-voltage applications, not 110 house current appliances. I gave it up as a bad idea.

Defeat the thermocouple? No, I didn't want to set up my housemates for a violent explosive death down the line.

That left, finding another heat source.

The grill! I recalled vents on the hood, and even a thermometer. I could manually adjust it to keep 350 degrees for 40 minutes without much trouble.

That settled, I resolved to get my shopping done. I hadn't made a list, because there was very little on hand at the house. No uncooked shrimp or chicken, no ham slices certainly.

And probably no pasta at all. Or parmesan, mozzarella or provolone. I like a mix of cheeses to get a sweet-tangy sauce.

Hiking to our neighborhood grocery, I got a cart and started my grand tour.

Onion, garlic, mushrooms. Cream, fresh mozzarella, a block of parmesan, some provolone slices. A bag of flour. Oregano, tarragon, red pepper.

Fresh shrimps? Frozen would have to do. Some shredded chicken - already cooked was just fine. Some ham sliced - I would shred that myself.

Ziti - a half-pound per college student was probably good in my recollection. So 4 lbs of pasta, four boxes.

Olive oil. Mustn't forget.

Bagged salad, or we'd die of carb poisoning. Vinegar for the salad dressing, some of the olive oil and some pepper and voila.

Charcoal? In case the propane tank ran dry? I wished I'd checked the gauge before I left. But no way I'm hauling 20 pounds of wood back to the house. Cross my fingers and hope.

Wheel it to checkout and unload. The tab started to rack up pretty fast.

Given the total, I said the magic words and held my breath.

"Meta Mu"

The cashier nodded, printed the receipt and stuffed it under the drawer. There was a not-insignificant pile there already.

"What happens to those?"

The clerk grinned. "Dunno. It's a dark mystery around here. You guys come in here, buy whatever, we stash the receipts. Every so often I show up for work, the stash is empty."

No enlightenment from this end. I still believed it was all Kitty's doing.

Hauling my bags out the door, I was tempted to steal a cart to get it all home. Not uncommon, but if I was honest I'd have to wheel it back afterward and I didn't fancy that.

So I began my trudge, my death-march. Every block I'd stop, lower the bags, let the blood return to my hands and arms.

Gotta do more arm days! This should not be so hard!

All terrible things come to an end, and I arrived. The front door was open but that didn't mean anything, and it was still too early to see lights in the sunshine.

I announced myself at the front door. "Burglar!" I called out.

Something was happening in the living room. I didn't stare as I went to the kitchen, but I did see a pair of lean legs in thigh-high hosiery, thrashing in the air over the arm of the couch.

Unload on the counter, put the cheese and meats in the fridge. Leave the dry goods out; I'd be using those first.

Out the back door, check the propane. Half full. Perfect.

Deep voice saying something naughty in the living room as I steered back into the kitchen.

Preppy's unmistakable contralto tones urging him on, telling him he was the greatest, his cock was the biggest. It was trite and silly but it worked. He roared, she squealed and the deal was brokered.

As I chopped onion, put water on to boil, crushed garlic and put it in a pan with some olive oil I heard mumbled pillow talk, then footsteps and farewell.

Preppy came into the kitchen, tying a knot in a condom, this one filled to a really unlikely degree, tossed it into the kitchen can. I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh that's not just one go. At least three."

Like that explained anything. But I smiled, gave a thumbs-up.

She paused before heading up - "By the way. I owe you one!" She shook her ass to make her point clear.

I smiled, said "That was my 'earnest money'. Consider it a loss leader."

She grinned, gave me a thumbs-up in return, trotted up the stairs.

Supper went well. Butch came back just as the grill was lighted and stuck to me like glue throughout the cooking process.

She seemed astonished you could actually make ziti al forno yourself, out of ingredients.

Pasta boiled; veggies softened; cream and flour combined with parmesan to make a sauce, oregano and thyme folded in.

Assemble, pasta then bits of meat tucked around in the pan until it was used up, sauce poured in until it was swimming, cheese grated over everything, out to the grill.

Butch was as good as her word, and it hovered as near 350 as made no difference. She opened the hood and I set it in.

I left her with a beer and instructions to keep it right there. I believe a bomb going off would not shift her from her post.

The others wandered in as usual, in various states of excitement and/or exhaustion. Study groups, labs and studio work, library visits, and mountains of paper got hauled in and dumped in odd corners.

Kitty made the salad dressing! Like an expert chef, oil and vinegar and ground pepper and a dash of red pepper! Whisked into an emulsion and left in a cream pitcher as we had no dressing jar.

Leon was back! And Adam! I was glad to have made enough for a posse.

I went out back with another beer to check on progress - Butch was peeking under the hood, looked up with a huge grin.

"It's bubbling! It's brown!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious. I grinned, handed over the beer, peeked myself and declared it done!

Carrying it back to the kitchen with a couple folded kitchen towels for hot-pads, Butch set it on the stovetop so it wouldn't melt the counter.

Into the living room to declare supper ready, Butch so happy she was almost bursting. GG thought it funny, but instead of teasing she just kissed her, gave her a half-hug, sharing her joy.

Folks filed into the kitchen, built plates of salad and dressing and scoops of cheesy pasta and meat and cream sauce. Somebody else had thought of wine, not me this time, so that was poured around into water glasses.

Parked in the living room, no chairs or card table this time, just folks spread out on the sofa, on the rug, against the wall, happy chatty socializing and eating.

Exclaiming about the pasta, Butch smiling and nodding like it was her doing. I told everybody it was; she'd manned the grill and all.

Leon, Adam and GG were in constant conversation about whatever doctor-types have to say. Preppy sat like the cat who ate a canary, eating with quiet precision but finishing every morsel, every carnal impulse satisfied to the nth degree.

Kitty and Slut laughed about nothing like two sisters, at home and at ease.

No costume for Kitty today, beyond the kitty shirt and ordinary gym shorts. Barefoot, there was pretty much not any part of her body that was actually concealed, peeking through neck-holes and leg-holes and arm-holes of her outfit. It was charming and sweet on her, somehow.

Slut wore her usual torn sweatpants and overstretched knitted top, all accidental skin and curves and tits. I could not get enough of that woman, and my gaze met hers many times through the evening though we never talked.

Butch just eating, marveling at every bite, stretching the mozzarella out in long strings, closing her eyes at the taste of each bit of shrimp or ham, content to be at one with her supper, the ultimate mac-n-cheese.

Later, folks having made their goodbyes and gone home to study or whatnot, most of us up in their rooms, it was just me and Slut in the kitchen, cleaning up.

"That was really good. You have more talents than I thought."

I smiled. "Not just a pretty Dick!"

"Not hardly! A chef; a researcher; a therapist; a friend; a lover. No end of talents, Mr Dick."

I basked in her approval, washed the pan and thought of nothing, content with my lot in life.

As she was putting away the salad things, she casually remarked.

"I'll be late coming to bed tonight; some stuff to do up in the greenhouse."

"You'll miss our session?" I was concerned. This was important to her well-being, so it was important to me.

She smiled. "I don't think I'll be needing that, at least as often."

I looked so stricken she laughed, patted my arm.

"I'll still come to bed! If that's ok?" I nodded like my head was on a spring.

"Just... no need for my 9-oclock pounding."

"You sure? Midterms and all? The bio exam?"

She looked surprised herself. "I didn't need it today. At all. From anybody."

That was new! And potentially very good. I look excited.

"Yes! I never thought I'd be happy that I didn't need sex so much. But I am. Somehow I don't feel the urgency, not like I used to."

I remembered.

"You said you were putting Slut 'away for a little while'. Is that part of this new you?"

She nodded. "It's never happened before. But I feel like I can maybe... turn Slut off sometimes, let her rest. Let me rest."

I took a kitchen towel, dried the dishwater and suds from my hands, and took her in my arms, hugged her, hard.

She was crying now, happy tears. And I was leaking a little too. For my dear Alani, who could live her life independent of Slut, at least sometimes.

I tried to lighten the mood. Held her at arm's length, looked at her.

"Can Slut still come out occasionally, to play?"

Her turn to nod like her head was on a string, too emotional to trust herself to say anything.

We held each other for a minute, then returned to the dishes, happy in one another's quiet company.

She came to bed not too late, maybe 10:30. I was wide awake, still unsure about her needs and ready for whatever came next.

Slowly entering the room, closing the door so as not to wake me, her whole posture was one of consideration and contentment.

Not the usual feral Slut, demanding sex and not stopping until I creampied her cunt as deeply as we could manage, in an athletic sexual romp.

Instead quietly stripping in the dark, taking a moment to use my bathroom, the light turned off before coming out but not so fast I didn't catch a glimpse of her naked breast, her curved hip, her sweet serene face.

Padding over to the bed, she turned back a corner of the covers and slid between, settling down without making much of a fuss.