Lola and the Locked Door

If Justin had stood up for me more with his parents and other family members, I wouldn't have been in such a fragile state, and I wouldn't have begged him to fuck me as a way for us to be on more even footing. And if that hadn't happened, I wouldn't have left my door unlocked on Thanksgiving night, hoping that Justin would visit me in bed. And of course, if Justin had actually come that night like I asked him to, then Jack would have found me in bed with my boyfriend instead of alone and vulnerable. And if Justin had been willing to fuck me at least once in the last six months, then maybe I wouldn't have been so receptive to lecherous attention of another man.

Plus, I had only given Jack a blowjob under duress, and even then, I did it to keep him from fucking me. So in a way, that blowjob was actually for Justin, since it kept his younger brother from claiming me irreversibly.

And yes, I know that these were the rationalizations of a guilty mind, but I felt I had a right to be a little annoyed and fed up with Justin. And anyway, he hadn't found out about any of it, so I hadn't actually hurt anyone. Jack was water under the bridge now.

Except that last bit wasn't entirely true. For the most part, I was too busy to think about Jack, but he did cross my mind under very specific circumstances. Namely, when I was posting something to Instagram.

My Instagram presence had never been super racy, mainly because my Mom and my little brother both followed me. So even when I'd let Grant take control of my appearance and I began wearing slutty, attention-seeking outfits around campus, I'd always kept my IG timeline pretty PG-13.

But for some reason, now that Justin's little brother was following me, I decided to have a little fun. With hundreds of miles of desert between us, Jack was a safe distance away, but I was quite certain that he hadn't stopped thinking about me. So it felt like a cheap thrill to give him a little glimpse of what he had missed out on.

So in addition to posting pictures of food and cute animals that were the staples of my timeline, I started posting selfies with my outfit of the day. My Mom and my brother were still following me, so I couldn't post obvious thirst traps, but I certainly chose outfits and poses that accentuated the features of mine that men like best. One day, I posted a selfie in a tight, curve-hugging top with a plunging neckline, the camera angled down to include the generous swell of my tits and a just a hint of my ample cleavage. Another day, I posted a mirror shot of myself dressed for a tennis match, my hips cocked at an angle that made my skirt ride up just slightly, offering a delicious view of my tanned, toned legs from my ankles to my upper thigh. And once, when I was feeling particularly naughty, I had a girlfriend take a photo of me lying on a lawn in the middle of campus, reading a book and sunbathing face down in a pretty skimpy bikini. The caption was, "Sun's out, buns out."

Okay, so that last one may have been a thirst trap.

Of course, I didn't exchange any direct messages with Jack because I knew that would be crossing the line. And besides, where was the fun in that? It was much more exciting to let him wonder who the pictures were for. Would he notice that my timeline got decidedly more flirtatious after I got home from Thanksgiving? I was curious to see how skilled he was at reading between the lines of a girl's behavior.

Not that it was very hard to figure out which pictures Jack was paying attention to. My boba tea glamour shots elicited no response, but whenever I posted an outfit of the day selfie, Jack was there with a "Like." And then, when I posted the sunbathing bikini pic, Jack did more than just "Like" it. On that particular post, he left a comment consisting of two emojis: a peach followed by a tongue.

I laughed to myself when I saw his comment, because it reminded that even if he had a grown man's cock and a grown man's urges, Jack was still just 19-years-old. I was used to the mind games that older men played, but I couldn't expect a young buck like Jack to possess that kind of patience or subtlety.

But then again, I was just barely 21-years-old myself. Even if Jack's methods of seduction were juvenile compared to an experienced alpha like Grant, they did afford me a rare opportunity to act my age.

I knew that I shouldn't respond to Jack's comment, but for whatever reason, I just couldn't help myself. He was being flirty, sure, but no more so than most guys. I could flirt back just a little without crossing the line, couldn't I? And Justin wasn't even on Instagram, so he would never see it.

I tapped the reply button on Jack's comment, surveyed the menu of emojis, and picked one: a face with its eyes rolling. Then, I posted it.

Innocent, right? I was rolling my eyes at his immature comment: "As if that would work on me." But even if I might have denied it at the time, I was also aware that replying to Jack's comment would have the secondary effect of letting him know that his efforts were not going unnoticed. If Jack could read the subtext, he would know that my message also said, "I know you're watching."

Then, I locked my phone and continued about my day.

...

On the Friday after I posted the sunbathing bikini pic, I was over at Justin's apartment having dinner. Justin's cooking was one of the many benefits of dating a more mature guy with his act together, and tonight, he'd prepared some amazing Baja-style fish tacos as an end-of-semester treat.

I'd taken my last final exam earlier that day, and while Justin had a little bit of med school work to wrap-up, this was our last weekend together before we both went home for Christmas break. It was also special because it was going to be my first time sleeping over at Justin's apartment.

Now, that didn't mean that we'd be sleeping together in the same bed, since that temptation was still off-limits for Justin. But Justin's roommate Craig, who was also at a med school student at UCLA, had already gone home for the holidays, so his room was empty. Justin being Justin, he had asked Craig if he could sleep in Craig's bed that weekend so that I could sleep in his, and Craig had said yes.

But although the plan was for us to sleep in separate beds and separate rooms, I was secretly hopeful that something more would happen. Justin had been understandably skittish about an elicit hookup at his parents' house with his family all around, but this time, we were alone. Even if we didn't have sex, I felt like this was a golden opportunity to take our relationship to the next level physically.

So while our official plans called for a laidback dinner at home and a hike the next day in one of the state parks along the Malibu coastline west of LA, I'd dressed for the occasion with my own intentions in mind. Although my outfit was on the sexy side of casual—a tight black tank top and a very short pair of frayed cutoff jeans—I was in full date night makeup, my mascara and eye-shadow carefully applied to create a seductive cat-eye look, accented by the pop of my rose-colored lipstick. Two large, silver hoop earrings peeked out from behind my long, black hair, which I'd permed into delicate waves that cascaded down past my shoulders. My nails were freshly painted white, creating a lovely contrast against my honeyed, golden skin.

And that was only what Justin could see. Beneath my tank top and cut offs, I was wearing another of my favorite lingerie sets, a white push-up bra with a lace fringe that accentuated my already big tits and a see-through mesh thong with matching white trim that promised to give Justin an eyeful of my freshly waxed pussy.

I wasn't sure if I could tempt Justin into breaking the rules of his faith, but with the two of us alone all night in the same apartment, maybe I could persuade him to bend them just a little.

I was eager to escalate our relationship in part because, after more than six months of dating Justin, I was getting pretty antsy for us to do something other than just make-out. But I also had an ulterior motive, which was to alleviate some of the guilty I'd been feeling since Thanksgiving. For all my private rationalizations and justifications, I knew that what happened with Jack made me a pretty shitty girlfriend, and that Justin of all people deserved better.

When I "cheated" on my first boyfriend, Tad, it never really felt like cheating. He had already betrayed me by trying to trick me into a threesome with my freshman year roommate, and while Tad clearly didn't think of this as cheating since I was in the room, it was actually worse because I was there to watch as one of my closest girlfriends gave my boyfriend a blowjob. As far I was concerned, our relationship became null and void the moment that Elsie's pretty blonde head started bobbing up and down on Tad's dick, so the fact that I ended up fucking two older Marines that same night wasn't really cheating (even if we hadn't technically broken up yet).

But although I'd tried to brush off what happened with Jack by blaming it on choices that Justin had made, those guilty feelings wouldn't go away. Justin wasn't the ideal boyfriend, but he was a good man with a lot of integrity, and he had treated me with more respect and kindness than any man ever had. I was ashamed of what I'd done to him, even though he had no idea.

But tonight, I was going to start making it up to him. I had done a bad thing to Justin, but it hadn't actually hurt him, so maybe I could even the score by doing something good for him. And I knew that what I could do for him would be so, so good in a way that he had never known.

I had sullied myself over Thanksgiving, but this weekend, I was going to give my boyfriend a blowjob so good that he would baptize me, washing away my sins with his pure, unspoiled, virgin cum.

As we finished the last of the fish tacos, I leaned back in my chair.

"Baby, those were ah-mazing." I wiped my mouth with my napkin. "Sorry I can't make you a dinner like this."

"Just give it a few years," he smiled, sopping up leftover lime juice with a tortilla. "Nobody learns to cook until after college."

"Don't be modest, Justin," I hit him playfully. "You know not everybody can cook like you."

"Maybe not, but everybody's good at something."

"What do you think I'm good at?" I asked him, tilting my head to the side.

"You're good at lots of things," he said, chewing. "Tennis, for one."

"What else, baby?" I gave my hair a little toss. "What other talents do I have?"

"Uhh... math?"

"Plenty of Asian girls are good at math," I smirked. "Let's wash these plates and I'll show you what I can do that most Asian girls can't."

Before Justin could respond, there was a loud, heavy knock on the door of his apartment.

"Who could that be?" Justin frowned, looking at his watch as he stood up.

Several more knocks came in quick succession, each louder than the last.

I got and began cleaning the table as Justin answered the door.

"Good lord, Jack," I heard Justin say. "What in the world are you doing here?"

A knot suddenly formed in the pit of my stomach.

"Heyyyyy, bro," I heard Jack's voice. "Hey, Lola."

As I turned around to face the door, my throat went completely dry. There, leaning against the doorway, was Justin's brother.

"Jack," Justin said again, obviously stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"There's a—car show... here, tomorrow, in LA," he responded, slurring his words. "I was s'posed to stay with a friend tonight, but... he had to leave town."

Justin was shaking his head. I could see he was visibly upset and trying to hold his temper in check.

"You didn't call. You didn't text. You can't just show up like this!"

"Sorry?" Jack shrugged. "It was—kinda last minute thing."

"Have you been drinking?" Justin's voice was getting louder. "Did you drive here drunk?"

"I wasn't drunk when I left Phoenix," Jack smirked.

"Jesus, Jack, how could you be so stupid?!"

"I'm not stupid," Jack growled. "I'm smart... smart about things you don't understand."

"For crying out loud," Justin said, rubbing his temples. "Okay, look. Where is your car? Where did you park?"

Jack pointed out the door. Justin craned his head out the door to look.

"For God's sake, you can't just leave your car in the middle of the parking lot! Look how many cars you're blocking. You're gonna get towed for sure."

"You wan' me to move it?" Jack slurred.

"Give me your keys," Justin sighed. "I'll park it."

Jack reached into the pocket of his sheepskin-lined denim jacket and pull out his keys.

"Be careful with her now," he said, handing his keys to Justin.

"This is not cool, Jack. I'm not okay with this." Justin turned around to face me. "I'll be back right back, babe. Make sure he doesn't do anything crazy while I'm gone."

"Justin!" I cried, trying to lodge a protest. But before I could say another word, he was out the door.

As soon as Justin was gone, Jack stepped through the open door into the apartment. He was clearly drunk and a bit of a mess. His hair was wild and unkempt and it looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days.

"Happy to see me?" he asked with a smirk.

I folded my arms across my chest.

"What are you doing here, Jack?"

He walked up to the dining room table and stood across from me, leaning on the chair where Justin had been sitting just moments ago.

"I think you know the answer to that," he said.

"Ugh," I said, rolling my eyes with exasperation.

"You know, I like when you roll your eyes at me," he said, running his hand through his uncombed hair. "It kinda turns me on."

"Oh, is that what this is about? I sent you a reply on Instagram, so you got drunk and drove six hours to show up here unannounced?" I put a little steel into my voice. "Grow up, Jack."

"Oh, no," he smiled cruelly. "I drove six hours to be here because you sucked my cock like a porn star, and I want more."

I could feel a lump growing in my throat. Drunk as he was, I could see that Jack had become sharper as soon as Justin had left the room. You could almost see the adrenaline beginning to flow through his veins.

"Keep—your voice—down," I hissed. I was trying to match his energy, but the lump in my throat made it hard to speak.

"You know, I've been wondering something." Jack took off his sheepskin-lined denim jacket, tossing it casually onto the couch as if this were his apartment. "Do you cheat on my brother with lots of guys, or am I special?"

"I—I don't cheat on him," I stammered, caught completely off-guard.

"Oh, so I am special," he grinned. "That's what I was hoping."

"You are NOT special," I hissed. "You are an ASSHOLE and I would never cheat on him with you."

"So sucking my dick wasn't cheating? Swallowing my cum, that wasn't cheating?" He reached for his belt and started to unbuckle it. "Then why don't you get on your knees right now so I can paint that pretty little face of yours."

"FUCK YOU," I seethed, trying to keep my emotions in check. "I didn't... I didn't cheat. You made me."

"All I did was show you my cock," he said, unbuttoning his jeans. "The way I remember it, you pretty much took care of the rest."

"Pull your pants up," I said, picking up my plate and Justin's from the table. "Your brother will be back any minute."

I turned around and walked back around the corner and into the kitchen, hoping to escape the conversation and make myself busy until Justin got back. I put the plates in the sink, turned the water on, grabbed a sponge, and starting washing.

My hands were in the sink when I felt Jack's hot, sour whiskey breath on the back of my neck.

Before I could react, Jack reached around my body with his left arm, grabbing a greedy handful of my big, soft tits.

"I can't wait to fuck you tonight," he whispered in my ear.

I gasped, but I was so shocked by his brazen assault that for a second my body completely froze. As I registered what was happening, Jack circled his right arm around my waist, his fingers finding the fly of my cutoff jeans.

"Stop, Jack!" I hissed, finding my voice even as my body was still figuring out how to react. "Stop!"

But my words alone seemed to have no affect. Jack's left hand was mauling my tits roughly through my tank top, and as the fingers of his right hand continued to move, I felt the button of my jeans spring open.

"First... I'm gonna fuck these big tits," he whispered, squeezing my boobs for effect. "And then..."

"Jack, please—stop!"

I felt him slide down the zipper of my cutoffs.

"... then, I'm gonna fuck this tight little Asian pussy."

Belatedly, I dropped the plates and pulled my hands out of the sink, dripping wet and slippery with soap. I moved one hand to my chest and the other to my crotch, grabbing Jack's wrists in an attempt to wrestle free from his hands. But he had the bulging forearms and strong hands of an auto mechanic, and the soap and water made it impossible for me to get a firm grip.

At this point, Jack had me completely in his grasp. He had backed my body against his large, muscular frame, pinning me between him and the sink, and the fingers of his right hand were now inside my jeans, exploring the smooth mesh fabric of my thong, the only thing between him and my pussy.

"Jack, you have to stop," I panted, breathless from struggle. "Justin... Justin will be back soon."

"I dunno," he whispered, his fingers moving inside the elastic band of my thong. "I didn't see a lot of parking spaces."

At that moment, I realized something.

"Oh fuck, Jack—the door!" I cried in panic. "Jack—stop, the door is open!"

But far from stopping, Jack's probing fingers landed on the bud of my clit.

"Oh god," I whispered, my voice hoarse and panicked. "Oh god, he's—he's going to see us... Jack, he's going to see!"

"Let him," Jack sneered, his finger moving in circles around my clit. "He can't fuck you, but maybe we'll let him watch."

I gasped again. The lewdness of Jack's words, the movement of his fingers, and the helplessness of the situation sent a jolt of shame flooding through my body as I felt my pussy begin to reward his efforts.

"Jack—oh god, Jack, you can't," I cried softly.

"Do you know how wet you are right now?" I could practically taste the whiskey on his breathe.

"He's—he's your brother," I panted, guilt and adrenaline coursing through me. "Oh god—oh god, we can't!"

"I don't care about that, Lola," he said, slipping the tip of his middle finger inside the folds of my pussy. "And neither do you."

"Oh fuck—oh fuck, Jack," I moaned as softly as I could. "Not—not here... please, Jack, not here..."

"Then where?" Jack demanded, his middle finger pushing deeper into me. "Where do you want me to fuck you?"

"Not now," I squealed desperately. "Just—oh fuck, Jack, he's coming... he can't—he can't see us..."

"Tonight," Jack growled, sliding a second finger into me, opening my pussy up for the first time in months. "After he goes to sleep."

"Oh—oh god, Jack, stop—he's... he's coming, Jack!"

"Tonight," he demanded, again. "After he's asleep. Say it."

"Oh god," I said, biting my lip. I was channeling all my energy into stemming the tide of the orgasm that was building as Jack finger-fucked me over the sink.

"Say it," he grunted.

I closed my eyes and nodded my head, unsure that I could speak without losing control. But it wasn't good enough.

"SAY. IT."

"Tonight," I breathed, barely a whisper. "After he's asleep... you can... you can f—"

Suddenly, I heard the door slam.

"Where are you guys?" Justin called from the living room.

In one fluid motion, Jack's arms retracted, releasing me suddenly from his grasp. He quickly zipped himself up and walked around the corner back into the living room.

"Hey bro," I heard him say. "You find a parking spot?"