Ignore the Warning Label Pt. 01

Author's Note:

This is my first attempt at writing any kind of story, erotic or otherwise. Please be kind.

As a warning, this is not intended to be a quick get-you-off type story. If that's what you're in the market for, you've come to the wrong place. It takes a while to come to a sexual scene.

If it isn't clear enough, 'lines like this in italics and single quotes' are meant to be Devyn's voice to herself in her own head.

I'd love to hear all feedback. Think it's great? Happy to hear it. Think it sucks? I'd love to understand why.

EDIT April 16, 2019: Edits and helpful guidance provided by EGRI.

*

It had been a day just like any other day. I'd woken up horny before getting up for work. There hadn't been any morning playtime, which was unusual in the scheme of things but typical for this week. Work had been a frustrating journey from one SQL error message to the next, trying to focus through daydreams of color flecked eyes, close cut black hair and an iconic knowing smile. Turns out it's really annoying to transfer code from MSSQL into Oracle while hiding hard nipples from everybody working around you.

My work outfit lasted maybe 20 seconds past the door to my small studio apartment. Naked and finally free of #adulting responsibilities, I settled down for some me time. Like I said, just a typical ordinary day.

Except that it wasn't. Today was special. Today was the day that my best friend Malcolm would be on the Jersey City campus to take one of his law school finals. Just like every other time he'd come over to my side of the Hudson River, he would eventually text me to get dinner with him. Give it half an hour or so to finish the test and his invitation would appear on my phone.

I ran my fingers over my thighs, letting them get as high as the edge of my trimmed bush before going back down. Just a little tease to warm myself up. I didn't need it, not after all the edging and teasing I'd done to myself this past week. My pussy had been leaking near constantly and my nipples hadn't been soft in ages. Still, I needed to make myself as hot as possible before leaving tonight. My plan was to be so horny that lust drowned out my fear of rejection when I finally attempted to break out of the friend zone.

I'm not normally this much of a wuss. I'm actually really confident and brazenly flirtatious around everybody else in the world. But maybe that's just the freedom of indifference. I don't care much what any quick fling thinks of me as long as they get me off. Malcolm... well, he's different. I wanted far more than just a quick fuck out of him. I wanted him to feel for me what I felt for him. And, while he's never shown me anything but positivity and respect, he's also never tried to move past just being friends. And he's the kind of man to act on what he wants.

'Maybe this is why he's never made a move on me,' I thought to myself looking over my lewdly spread body. 'I'm more of a guy than a girl. I'm messy and scratch myself in public. I dress for comfort and hate wearing makeup. I spend all my free time at the gym, playing video games or jilling off to porn. Those are the defining characteristics of masculinity, right? Oh yeah, and I've been friendzone'd by my best friend. Girls are not supposed to get sent to the friend zone by their male friends, right? I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around.'

I don't have the most quintessentially feminine hourglass body. At 5'11", I'd been a little taller than most of the guys I'd unsuccessfully dated. A lifelong love of basketball and feeling fit had made my muscles slightly better defined than most women allow themselves to get. Perfect form for seducing one's teammates... but a far sight from the delicate beauties Malcolm had dated over the years.

If things went badly, it wasn't exactly like I had a flush social circle to fall back on...

'Stop that! Stop being such a downer.' This was why I'd finally come up with this plan, to turn that negative part of myself off. I brought my hands up to my breasts. Fuck feeling unfeminine, my tits are fucking awesome. Their C-cup bulk filled my hands completely with pleasantly feminine weight. Sure, their size sometimes got in the way of my active lifestyle, but the pleasure they gave me more than made up for it. Running my palms lightly over my nipples made me shiver and breath heavier. I tried to keep my caresses soft and teasing, but before long I found myself thrusting my chest forward and squeezing my nipples as hard as I could stand. Nearly time for the main event.

My external hard drive probably should have made it on the list of reasons why I'm basically a guy. Not many women I've met have 226 gigs worth of porn downloaded. Then again, that wasn't my fault. That one was all Malcolm's doing, and it showed exactly why our friendship had never been what one might call typically platonic. Even seven years later, the memory of meeting him and our early bonding still made me smile. It was so typically Malcolm... confident without being full of himself, firm without being abrasive, his magnetism had attracted me so easily.

I wasn't very good at making friends in high school. It was hard to find a group to accept me. The gamer's clique didn't seem to know how to handle someone with breasts who wanted to play League of Legends with them. The male jocks would never play full speed with or against me, even though I was similarly sized or larger than most of them. And, of course, I'd rather have opened a vein than do what it took to fit in with the basic bitches of mainstream high school feminine culture.

Not that I was a loner by any means. I had friends, but they felt more like niche role players than personal connections. For example, Heather and I scratched each other's video game itch, but we were both too introverted and awkward to get very close. I was on the girls' basketball team, but had trouble bonding with any of my teammates 1-on-1 without the pretense of practice. Long story short, I never really felt accepted for being more than just one part of me. I got very used to my own company and I developed a prickly cynical personality that pushed many people away.

Until one day in senior year when I was randomly assigned Malcolm as a partner for a social studies project on how recent technology changes have impacted longstanding traditions, organizations or industries.

I hated group projects. Everybody hates group projects. The only people who like them are soulless extroverts who are destined to go work in an HR department somewhere. Of course, the only thing worse than a group project is one with somebody popular. Especially when it's a popular and hot boy. All the popular people I'd ever been around had been infuriatingly smug and condescending. Add to that the jealous glares from all the other girls and I was seriously annoyed.

We were given the last few minutes of class to confer with our partners.

Malcolm was seriously popular. He had a reputation for being at home in nearly any group. And he was also seriously hot. He dressed just slightly better than high school required and stood an inch or two taller than me. I watched him cross the room to my desk, struck by how his short dark hair seemed to outline his face just so to accentuate his jaw line distinctively. It made his smile seem very genuine and warm, as though he was inviting you to join in a joke that only you and he knew.

"What are you looking so happy about?" I asked when he arrived at my seat. Like I said, prickly personality.

"I've been waiting for an opportunity like this! This project is perfect." I cringed, thinking it was a really weird pickup line. Just another guy trying to get into my pants.

"Sorry, but you'll have to do better than that."

"Oh come on, don't tell me you haven't been looking out for the perfect excuse to do a school project about porn." I did a double take. '... Okay, that's a new one.'

"Erm... what?" His smile turned slightly mischievous, but he continued in a completely serious tone.

"For decades, porn was formulaic. It followed an established script of little to no foreplay, blowjob, and hardcore penetration in numerous improbable and uncomfortable positions into a final money shot. Nowadays, that kind of thing gets very little views on Pornhub. Demand is much higher now for more realistic depictions of sex, especially for amateurs focusing on female pleasure. Before, people would buy DVDs with generic scenes on each. Now, there's hundreds of subreddits dedicated to specific kinks. What has changed? Is it simply the adaptation to the internet? Is it linked to expanding viewership and a more diverse audience? Is it because there's more suppliers trying to find a competitive niche? There's got to be enough material for a paper in there. What do you think?"

My jaw was just about on the floor. He was completely serious. He had just walked up to me, not blinked at my rudeness, started talking intellectually about porn, and seemed legitimately interested in what I had to say. 'Dude has balls. Gotta respect that.'

"It sounds like you've given this a lot of thought," I stammered.

"I have," he confirmed. "I'm interested in what moves people. And, pubescent teenager that I am, it seems that little moves people quite so profoundly as sex."

'He's a wordy one.' The classroom had cleared out and the next class was coming in. I hurriedly gathered my books into my bag. "Well, maybe it's not the same thing, but I bet there will be more ambidextrous people because of porn."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Well, you need one hand to work the mouse and one to jerk off with." I tried to match his intellectual tone but couldn't quite manage it and laughed at the end. It surprised me, I hadn't been intending to say that. I'd been intending to mutter something about needing to get to class and rush away. And another surprise, he wasn't weirded out and was laughing with me.

"Maybe you're right! Maybe we can fit that in the conclusion 'looking forward' section. Listen, I've got to get to trig, but I'll message you tonight." And just as suddenly as he'd arrived, he was gone.

That's how Malcolm and I began bonding -- over porn. Like I said, not a normal platonic friendship. All in the name of educational research for our project, of course.

Okay, maybe we kept going with it after the end of that project, which we got 100 on by the way. He'd send me a link to something hot and I'd try to find something hotter, back and forth trying to outdo the other for hours on end. It didn't take long for us to really understand what made one another tick.

Malcolm was a dominant. He got off from controlling 'his' women and having them obey him. I know this because he told me right at the beginning. I asked what he was into and he literally told me: "I'm a dominant. I get aroused feeling in control and being with somebody who accepts my control." Okay, maybe he phrased it a little differently... but still. He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At the time, I wasn't kinky in the slightest. Still, Malcolm's taste didn't seem weird to me. I felt like it should, he showed me some pretty sadistic shit after all, but it really didn't. I couldn't feel judgmental of him because, for the first time in my life, I felt like somebody was really accepting of all of me. Malcolm embraced the part of me that wanted to be a nerd and dream about Mistborn. He encouraged the part of me that wanted to be hyper competitive and demolish foes on the basketball court and Summoner's Rift. He understood the part of me that sometimes wanted to be left alone. He asked me questions and made me feel like I could answer truthfully -- that he genuinely wanted my full blunt honesty. He gave my inner slut a safe haven to come out and not be judged or feel threatened. And, perhaps most importantly, he understood that just because I'm sometimes a total bitch doesn't mean I actually hate him.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly to me, I started getting turned on by BDSM. I found myself delving more into it, trying to find new material that would turn him on. He, in turn, fed me a steady diet of kink. A diet that was tailor made to appeal to me. For example, I identify as bisexual, but I really only get wet for a specific kind of woman. Someone who's very strong and wows me. It's kinda hard to describe, but I know it when I see it, and so does he. I fell in love when he showed me Queensnake. She and all her models are fucking goddesses of physical endurance, mental discipline and emotional strength. My eyes were inches from the screen watching her take stroke after stroke and manage to rise again every time. I don't think I'd ever been that wet before in my life. I admired her so much and I wanted to be that strong.

But it was never really sexual between us. We never talked about masturbating or wanting to fuck the models or getting off or anything. We'd say 'that's hot' or talk about what we liked or disliked about it, but in a distinctly not sexting way. It was great at first because it made the whole thing seem safe for me. I was able to express a taboo part of me to somebody who wasn't just trying to get into my pants.

But then I realized that I wanted to get into Malcolm's pants. Then it stopped being quite so great. By then we had graduated and were attending different colleges three states apart. Our relationship evolved. We'd only see each other online or over holidays visiting home. The pornographic part of our dynamic slowed dramatically to an eventual stop when we both started dating. Well, he dated. I tossed myself onto the hottest body at any given party.

Nevertheless, it was a hugely formative part of my life, and all our old history of instant messenger conversations was saved to my external hard drive. Years' worth of links, downloads and erotica flashed before my eyes as I loaded it onto my laptop. Over the course of many pleasurable nights, I'd sorted it all out into folders for Iconic Chats, Goddesses, Submissive Fantasies, Romantic Gay, Friends to Lovers (an especially guilty pleasure of mine), any dozens more. Sometimes I want something random, sometimes something specific. At work that day, I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about one favorite video.

My fingers dove to my pussy as I hit play on 'Amateur giving her boyfriend a blowjob (#14)'. Her passion and excitement made it hot fire as she worshiped his cock with her mouth. Her face was a collage of competing emotions -- excitement, joy, focus, pleasure and love -- as her eyes darted between her lover's face and his cock. It's like she knew she's supposed to keep eye contact as she sucks him, but she couldn't help herself staring at his cock. And it was a beautiful cock! Think and shapely, it looked like it would fill my cunt wonderfully.

I curled my fingers inside myself, rubbing my g-spot as I fingered my clit and imagined being filled by the dick in her mouth. My heart raced in time with her bobbing head, each beat sending pulses of desire through me, making my pussy throb with lust. My muscles tensed and involuntary sounds escaped me. That's exactly the kind of sloppy blowjob I wanted to give Malcolm! Feeling his throbbing hard cock in my mouth... his hands on my head guiding my rhythm... The pleasure playing across is beautiful face, feeling his hard abs flex, his legs quiver by my sides as I'd suck him... I moaned with the pleasure coursing through me, imaging he could feel my voice on his manhood. My pussy radiated heat like a fire, seemingly immune to all wet juices pouring from me.

Something else. Another video. If I stuck with this one to the end, to see her look of pure satisfaction after she swallowed his load, I'd cum in seconds and I needed to hold back. Tease and denial is one of Malcolm's favorite games, and I'm not nearly as good at it as some bloggers I follow, but there was a lot at stake that kept me from tipping over the edge. Satisfied me is rational. Rational me gets nervous and afraid of taking chances. Rational me had held back from confessing her attraction to Malcolm for years, and she had no business coming out tonight!

I was so absorbed in masturbatory hedonism that I didn't see the new text alert for some time.

Malcolm: Hey, I'm in your neighborhood tonight. Would you like to get dinner with me?

'He's got to be the only guy on Earth who uses correct punctuation in texts,' I thought. Our text message history was a long string of perfectly proofread English from him contrasting text shorthand and emojis from me. This was it! All according to plan! Okay, don't think, just let your hormones talk for you.

Devyn: yeah sounds good

Devyn: theres something iv wanted to talk about

Devyn: do not let me say its nothing

'Success!' I expected to feel consumed by regret and want to take it back, but I didn't. A little nervous, but excited. My clit, confused about where her pleasure had vanished to, throbbed in frustration. I smiled and gently patted her like a puppy. "Don't worry, you'll have some real action soon enough... I hope." I supposed it's hard to feel too apprehensive with this much lust racing through your veins.

In a real way, what did I have to lose? Malcolm had been my best friend for seven long years, but our relationship hadn't been what I wanted for most of them. I'd never felt really fulfilled with any of my partners and I'd been near murderously jealous of all his girlfriends. Also, rationally speaking, this was the perfect time. We were both single and living as close to one another as two working adults could reasonably hope to.

Okay, maybe it had been 'the perfect time' for several months already while I dragged my feet... but that was beside the point!

Something had happened with his last girlfriend. They were together for over two years, but their breakup was bad. We never talked about his romantic partners, probably because I turned bitchy the first few times they came up. Whatever it was, it was so bad that he was now trying to repress his natural kinky dominant side and was looking for vanilla satisfaction in a slew of Tinder hookups. He seemed less like himself... less confident and always slightly tired.

More than just my own unrequited attraction, I wanted to help him. I wanted to be the one that embraced him fully and let him be his real self, the way he had done for me. After many attempts to draw him out of himself, I'd finally realized that the only way to do that was to give him a new submissive. And that was going to be me.

All right, fine, I was more than a little nervous about it. Malcolm was naturally very dominant, but I wasn't a born submissive. I wanted to be one for him, but I didn't know how well I could perform. 'It will be fine,' I told myself for the hundredth time, 'get him on board first then worry about the kinky stuff later.'

Malcolm: Well now, you have my attention. I'll swing by your house in an hour. Do you feel like Italian?

'An hour!?!' It wasn't like I ever spent eons in front of the mirror, but I seriously needed a shower. Hot water running through my hair, over my nipples and between my legs... mmm... Something told me I'd need some time to get properly clean.

-------------------

He arrived in a suit, complete with tie, perfectly creased pants and cuff links. All that just to take a final. Typical. It's unclear to me if he even owned a pair of jeans. An 85 degree summer evening and he's dressed to impress and still looking infuriatingly clean, cool and relaxed. Sweat, apparently, was the kind of thing that happened to other people. I, on the other hand, had gone with casual jeans and a tank top. A pretty low cut tank top that showed off my chest wonderfully. I had given myself a little eyeliner, which is downright fancy for me, but we were still quite the mismatched looking pair.