Katrina Thompson, Trouble Ch. 02

I woke up the next morning to the sight of her glaring at me.

"Chris Montana, you owe me," she said, eyes blazing, before I was even entirely conscious. "Don't you ever fall asleep on me during sex again!"

I argued my case, pleaded fatigue, pointing out how much we had copulated that week, and that weekend in particular, that she had already climaxed and I was just exhausted, not to take it personally, all of that. None of it mattered to her.

"I want your tongue up my cunt right now, or you're never gonna have another orgasm by me, ever!"

I got up to pee and came back, and twiddled her cunt with my fingers and slipped my tongue up her notch to produce two good strong climaxes before breakfast. My penis was rock hard with excitement and I tried to get her to take me in her mouth or let me mount her but she refused.

"We're even now, I will see about later." Her eyes flashed.

I had an uncomfortably hard penis the whole day until later that evening when I came over after dinner. We made love, twice, and things seemed back to normal, but I was still struck by the magnitude of her displeasure that morning.

I developed a routine for our time together the first week and it mostly continued the whole time. I almost always would come to her place after dinner. I tried to get my course-work done during the day, but it got neglected. I had a hard time concentrating on cognitive developmental theory when my mind kept generating pictures of her round bulging ass or her chest, or her mouth around my penis.

Before heading to her flat, I would stuff my backpack at my place with a change of clothes and anything I would need for the first class of the next day. When a break opened during the day I would dash to my place to get whatever else I needed, and then came back later for dinner and another resupply. My suite-mates barely saw me, usually only around dinnertime, and they looked at me sidewise while I came and went. Trina's name did not come up once.

In order to try to keep up my studies, I stopped going to the gym and joining my mates for our bi-weekly basketball games. It felt like people on campus sometimes looked at me oddly. Many times a conversation would begin, "Chris, I have barely seen you lately..."

My whole life seemed to have shifted to Trina and her apartment.

Around her flat in the evening, she tended to wear a short red top that just barely hung down over her tits. It was especially nice without a bra, you could get glimpses of her under-boobs as she moved about. It was crimson red, had the word "TITS" spelled out in large white lettering in front, as if you couldn't identify what was behind the blazing red fabric.

When wearing it she especially liked answering the door when the pizza delivery guy knocked, watching his eyes go wide as he stammered and took her money. I got a kick out of watching them down at the bottom of the stairs, the guy looking up at me and trying like hell not to stare at her chest.

I asked her where she got such an outrageous shirt. Her eyes gleamed.

"Let me show you." She pulled out a catalog, crammed full of pictures of thongs, little tit-tops, tee-shirts with salacious sayings, bondage-wear and so on. "I call it my 'slut catalog'," she said with a leer.

I had a blast paging through it, imagining my new busty lover in various items. I asked if I could buy her something. She gave me a sly smile and nodded lecherously, but I couldn't get her to chose, she said I had to.

I picked out an abbreviated leather corset affair, with laces in the back, one of those dominatrix-like things that cinched her waist but left her tits free to flounce over the top. It would ride above her hips so her crotch could be bare, or maybe in just a thong. I figured wearing just that, maybe with some high black leather riding boots, which I knew were in her closet, she would make for a dynamite sight. It was not cheap, but I didn't care. Hot damn. I couldn't wait to see her in it.

I learned a lot about bras in my time with Trina. She had dozens of them, every color, and every possible (it seemed to me) function. She had what she called her "garden variety" bras, which I knew fairly well, these where mostly what my high school girlfriends wore, and plenty of my college liaisons. But she also had cleavage-enhancing bras that squashed her breasts together to make for a breathtaking sight.

She had bras that were cut away around the top edges, so you could see more of her breasts when she was wearing a low-cut gown, for example. She had "push-up" bras that were truly mouthwatering - with those on she could barely hug me, they made her beasts stand in the way, as if we had a thick pillow between us. She said they were uncomfortable and made her back ache. I could imagine this, and she didn't wear them very often. But they looked awesome.

She even had "flattener" bras that served more or less to bind her breasts into her rib-cage, minimizing her chest, as if that were possible. I looked puzzled when she described them. "Why would you want to downplay your stunning chest?" I asked. She replied that some day she might need to do a job interview, in a business suit, and maybe when she was talking to management types or the hiring committee, she might not want to look like "the uber slut" - that was the phrase she used. Okay, whatever. But the whole breast-restraint collection took up an entire drawer in her wardrobe.

She would let me remove her bras at home often, one of those small tasks that I came to look forward to every night, with drooling anticipation. I loved the smell of her under-boobs, even if sweaty, maybe even especially when sweaty.

One of my few honored requests was getting her to go bra-free most evenings at her place, once we had returned from whatever public areas we had visited. Once I even got her to go braless to a campus basketball game. She got more looks than if Jennifer Lawrence had wandered into the gym.

Trina wore a light blue cashmere sweater. Her nipples poked out magnificently, and the soft thin fabric of her sweater flowed with every movement of her chest. I felt like some Grand Archduke of Austria-Hungary with her on my arm, envious eyes on me, no doubt imagining what kinds of wonderful things could happen playing with those breasts released from her sweater. Heads turned to follow us - her - wherever we went.

We left early and had the most amazing coupling afterward, my cock was insta-hard by the time we got back to her pad.

I wanted to plow her cleavage with my cock, and I was allowed to do this for awhile, sliding my prick up and down her valley while she held her tits together. She extended her tongue and made sure to lick my prickhead when I pushed all the way forward.

But she flipped us over, too soon, into a sixty-nine. She always wanted to be on top for this position, pushing her cunt down into my face while she sucked me. In the midst of an orgasm, she sometimes would almost suffocate me, smashing her cunt completely into my face, sometimes covering my nose with the violence of her climax, her fat wet lips managing to engulf my whole face, her thick thighs squeezing together on my head like a vice. She leaked a lot of her fluids onto me, I always had to wipe myself off with a towel after she came with her sloppy wet cunt planted on my face.

She came hard this night, rested a short time on me, her body heavy and completely limp, while I continued to probe her innards with my tongue, then she gathered herself to suck me beautifully.

I couldn't see her, only feel her lips moving up and down my cock. My hips drove into as best I could at the end, my balls cupped in her hand, doing lovely things while I thrust home, her randy crotch smell infusing my nostrils. We slept like the dead that night, our energy completely expended.

Our third week together was "fight week." It got so it took almost nothing for her to start in me. Early on in the first week she had started criticizing various minor habits of mine: noisy eating, not being careful enough in my appearance, the kinds of shoes I wore. This escalated.

She started calling me "limp dick" when I was too fatigued to fuck her three times in a night. My balls were aching, I never thought I would ever not want to copulate but her libido was relentless. We had to make love at least once a day, and she needed two climaxes minimum before she was happy. Sometimes I could use my fingers or mouth to bring her off, but sometimes she would only be content if I fucked her to orgasm.

One time I got tired of being called "limp dick" so I called her a "fat slut." Things got ugly.

She managed to personalize her insults. What started out as a simple "limp dick" turned into "Chris limp dick," or once "Chris Montana, cunt depriver." It was sharp, cruel, completely unnecessary.

About the only good thing about that week was that after we fought, assuming I didn't stalk off in a rage, which only happened once, after calming down we then would have the most amazing, high-energy sex. It was almost like our anger transmuted itself into a powerful sexual vortex. She was apt to be loud then, she liked saying "fuck me hard!" during those sessions, or "make me come!" I had no idea what her suite-mates thought about all this noise coming from her bedroom.

It was also the start of some rough sex we started to have. Nothing serious, but we would wrestle on the bed sometimes, angling for position, holding wrists and arms firmly in place. She slapped my ass a couple times, hard, and I returned the favor, leaving red welts on her big cheeks. But she liked it, it was very intense.

We twisted nipples, nipped necks with our teeth. A couple times I mounted her hard, on top for once, pushing violently into her and she loved it, holding my ass cheeks in a death grip, her nails digging into my flesh and leaving marks later while I pounded her into a soggy, sated mass of well-pleasured flesh.

On our third Sunday together I had convinced her to turn the TV on while the Celtics were playing. We were sitting in the living room, her suite-mates were out. It was nice to have the place to ourselves. Trina wasn't much of a sports fan, and I had only convinced her reluctantly to have the game on. To get back at me she kept talking about what she would do with the dicks of the various Celtic players.

"See that guy?" she said, pointing to Kevin Garnett. "I bet he's got a good fat juicy eight-inch cock. Maybe more." She pretended to drool and licked her lips.

"I'd make him come four times a night, easy. A nice hard black cock on a seven foot guy? That's something special. He'd fuck me good with that thick dick. I loved to be stretched wide," she said, wiggling her hips from side to side, like she did this all the time. Maybe she did.

Normally I didn't mind this sort of thing, although I wasn't allowed to fantasize out-loud about other girls, but after awhile it started getting on my nerves.

I was sitting on the couch on the other side of the room of the TV while she had gone to fetch a couple beers. I had, or at least thought I had, a retort to her endless penis ruminations on the various players. A cock in hand is always worth two in the bush, I figured, although it occurred to me this was not quite the right phrasing.

I pulled my penis out of my pants and stroked it into a suitably stiff condition while she was in the kitchen. When she returned with beers and some chips I was ready for her, my penis poking straight up out of my jeans.

She had a randy look on her face, after she put the stuff down and sat next to me, running her fingers over my penis. Felt great. I no longer had any interest in the game.

"Come and get it," I leered. I wanted her on her knees in front of me, sucking me off. I spread my legs wide and tried to get her down between my thighs.

I got a look from her I never had seen before, I couldn't quite identify it. Not quite revulsion, or disgust, but it was clear she didn't want to kneel in front of me.

"Come on, suck me Trina, put your head in my crotch and take me to town. You can even pretend it's one of the basketball players if you want, I don't care."

But she shook her head, didn't say anything, didn't move from my side. She kept her fingers on my penis though, kept stroking it. Eventually she had me lie down on the couch and she gave me a long languorous handjob from the side, ending with a big puddle of sperm on my stomach. It was fine, but I was a bit puzzled why she hadn't done what I wanted.

Later that night in bed after coupling, we were talking about sex, earlier lovers and so on. This was not infrequent, I had heard a lot about Nikky as well as her early boyfriends in high school, their cocks, what they did to her.

But tonight she snuggled up against me closer than usual.

"Chris?"

"Yes, Trina?"

"You know how I said Nikky was my first boyfriend?"

"Sure. Sounds like you two were quite the pair."

"Yes, but it wasn't my first sex."

I laughed. "Of course not, you had your first climax with your own fingers. Probably three dozen times before Nikky even arrived on the scene." I had more than once gotten her to tell me about masturbating herself.

She was quiet.

"No, that's not it. My first sex with someone else wasn't willing. It didn't involve a climax for me, that honor indeed is reserved for Nikky."

There was a long silence as I processed her words. I didn't like the sound of this.

"What do you mean your first sex wasn't willing?" There was a catch in my voice.

There was a very long silence. I didn't feel like I could ask again.

"It was my uncle." She said in a very small voice.

I felt my body stiffen.

"Your mom's brother? Or your father's? Or an in-law uncle?" It was not like this detail made any difference but I didn't know what else to ask.

"My father's brother. My parents were going through a hard time, lots of arguing and tension at home, and many weekends it was better sometimes if I went to stay with Uncle Sandy and Aunt Ginny. They were nice to me, I had always liked visiting them in Worcester. They had a big old Victorian house, I always stayed in a nice room in a little tower on the top floor. It had a great view, I liked playing there when I was a kid. They had no children of their own, don't know why. I was the only niece or nephew nearby."

She was quiet.

"Aunt Ginny had been sick a bit, I didn't know why then, only that Uncle Sandy would do more stuff with me, made me meals. Aunt Ginny was in her room a lot and didn't always even come out when I was over for the weekend."

"Uncle Sandy used to come up in the evening to talk. He is a big guy, balding, As a little girl I used to sit in his lap and he would read to me."

Her voice got thin, stretched tight.

"He kept urging me to come sit in his lap again although I wasn't a little girl any more. I don't know why, I felt bad for him with Ginny sick and everything, but one night I did."

"He started touching me, feeling my breasts, my bottom. I didn't feel like I could stop him."

"And one night he had me kneel down in front of him while he sat on the chair."

There was a long, complete, silence.

"And he took his penis out?" I asked, softly.

I felt Trina nod her head.

"And you were supposed to touch it."

Another nod.

"And more?"

There were more nods and then she was crying onto my shoulder. I held her close while she cried. I let her take her time.

"Oh Trina, that must have been terrible. Not something you wanted to do."

She calmed a little.

Her voice had changed, gotten flat.

"It was awful. At first. It became a routine. I didn't like going over to their place anymore and eventually stopped. But I think it was also the first time I had any idea of how much pleasure I could cause for someone. But he got me trained all right with my mouth. And although I didn't want to admit it then, I liked some part of it. It wasn't until Nikky that it really became fun though."

"Anyway, that's why I couldn't kneel in front of you earlier on the couch. It was too much like Uncle Sandy."

I held her for a long time. We ended up fucking again, a really sweet coupling, and I figured things had entered a new phase. I felt honored she had confided in me.

But the next day it was almost like she had regretted telling me. She treated me like shit, I was ordered around and our next few sexual sessions were all unpleasant - mechanical, devoid of feeling, completely on her terms, often with nasty exchanges between us beforehand, however much I tried to be agreeable and accommodating to her wishes.

It was bizarre. It was brutal. All the verbal abuse was sapping my energy.

One night later that week was a disaster. I had a major psych test in one of my classes the next day, and was distracted, and a little worried, about how well I would do. My studies had suffered fairly majorly in the last stretch, and my grade in the developmental psychology class was showing signs that it might drop out of the "B" range.

In any event, I had trouble getting erect that night. This had never been an issue before, at least on the first time in the day, but we were lying next to each other and I had no trouble fingering her notch into wetness. But playing her hands over my penis did not seem to do much, and even after she tried sucking on it, my cock just wouldn't cooperate.

I started to panic but couldn't will my prick stiff. She grew increasingly annoyed, starting calling me "limp dick" and we ended up in a big fight. I had offered to lick her to pleasure but that wasn't good enough.

We yelled at each other and she kicked me out, told me to come back when I "manned up."

"You owe me two!" she yelled as I went out her bedroom door. "While erect!"

I stalked back to my place, both pissed and defeated, one of the few nights I had slept back at the flat during our time together.

Stash heard my entry and the door shutting behind me. He looked up and opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it.

My body language I am sure was hostile, and he just watched me go about my business in the flat, getting ready for bed, at least in an attempt to get a decent night sleep. He didn't say a word, but I saw him roll his eyes in a glance to Nigel.

I went back to Trina's place the next day, after dinner. I had texted her first. I brought her a single rose as a peace gesture. I made sure my penis was stiff before I got to her door. She let me in warily, glancing at my crotch, then got an evil excited smile on her face.

I got a long wet kiss, her right hand rummaging around my prick, stroking it through my pants.

"That's more like it," she finally said when she came up for air.

She made sure I stayed hard the whole time before we ever made it to bed, at least an hour. She stroked my prick through my clothes when sitting next to me or whenever she was up and went by me. She wore her "tits" shirt with no bra, had me absolutely dying to climax.

But I had to lick her to two orgasms before she even let me inside her. She had come hard enough that climaxing one more time was pretty much guaranteed when I mounted her, and our orgasms came very close together, mine right after hers as her cunt gripped me good. Whew. Back to normal.

One early evening later that week we were snacking on some cheese and crackers in the living room while chatting. She criticized my eating, a common complaint, saying I was noisy, chewed with my mouth open (which I didn't.)

We argued a bit, back and forth, this had gotten so tiresome.

"Give me a break Trina. If you are going to eat, you gotta open your mouth at first, no way around that. You do too, you have to. You have to open your mouth to suck my cock, too."

She shot me a nasty look.

"I can suck you without opening my mouth," she said.