My Pretend Sex Slave 03

"So what happened with you and Lisa?" I asked.

Jett was driving us back from the mechanic, in her two year old Lexus. The car in the shop, my car, was my eight year old Nissan that usually started. It didn't feel great.

"What do you mean?" she asked. She smiled at me, a twinkle in her eye. Jett shifted her concentration back to the traffic, weaving between cars.

"Jett..." I said. She knew what I meant. I found them in Lisa's bedroom. Lisa tied up. Naked. Beaming.

"You were late," she said, "and I remembered your spanking story, how she taught you basic knots. We weren't busy, so I asked her for a lesson..."

She cut her attention back to traffic, laid on the horn then zoomed around a beat up old pickup truck.

"And things kind of went from there," she said.

"Why was she naked?" I asked. I knew better, to leave it alone, but I couldn't help it. There was a vibe between them I didn't understand, a kind of scab I was compelled to pick.

Jett twisted her neck to look at me, like she was sizing me up.

"Jealous?"

"No," I said.

"Of Lisa or me?"

"I want you," I said.

"That's not what I asked," Jett said. Her eyes were on the road now. "Are you jealous that I'm spending time with Lisa, or that she is spending time with me?"

"Jett..." I started.

"Afraid of sharing your sex slave?" she smiled but her body language was something different. Standoffish?

I sighed. This wasn't my fault. It's not that Jett or Lisa had done something wrong, but it was strange. The questions were reasonable. Lisa had few boundaries, and Jett's limits were unclear.

"What I am afraid of," I said, "and what I don't want, is to have conversations like this."

My voice was too stern, but it was true. No matter how cool Jett seemed, something was off. Lisa was an exhibitionist, and more than a flirt, but even so, tied up and naked was a stretch.

"Sure," Jett said, her voice cold. "Then we should stop talking."

So we did, awkward silence until she approached my apartment building.

"Parking looks rough," I said.

"I'm dropping you off," she said.

"Oh?"

"I need to go back to the studio. Something isn't working, but I don't know what," she said.

Jett meant her latest painting, but that's not how it felt. She didn't make eye contact. Didn't smile.

Fuck.

--

I didn't see Jett for the next two days. It felt bad, but I actually needed the time. Class had never been an issue, but for the first time I found myself behind. Lessons from the week before weren't sticking.

I knew the reason. Jett. We were having mind blowing sex five nights a week. Most evenings and several mornings. Wonderful moments not spent in study. This was new problem for me.

So it sucked that Jett ditched me, but it was necessary. I studied.

--

We met at a coffee shop near the studio. It had only been a couple of days, but the time apart had been a struggle. It's how I pictured detox, at first wanting her company and her smile, then becoming a desperate pile of want. Needing her body.

This overwhelming feeling of lust and loss drained a little each day. I jerked off. Then I did it again. I could survive without her, even if I didn't want to.

Jett was already at a table when I arrived, drinking an iced coffee. She had a t-shirt from a rock band I hadn't heard of, rough cut with scissors to show off her navel and the edge of her tattoo. She gave me a tired smile when I finally caught her eye.

I sat down. We started to talk.

"It isn't working," Jett said. She looked frustrated, her hair more a mess than usual, subtle rings around her eyes that most people would never notice. I wasn't most people.

My heart was pounding. She didn't mean us. Something else wasn't working. That was the story I told myself, desperately hoping it was true. I didn't trust myself to speak. I waited, my heart ready to break, but my face was stoic.

"The painting isn't coming together," she said.

The fucking painting. This was about art. I knew Jett, understood that she would throw herself against her projects like a captured elk, over and over and over until she was dead or free. This wasn't about us. I should have known better.

As relief flooded my brain, I did everything in my power not to smile.

"It's not funny," Jett said. Her voice was tired. Indignant.

"I know. I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just happy to see you."

She smiled, finally warming up. Perfect white teeth. Pale pink lips. I needed Jett in my life.

"I need a favor," she said.

Jett didn't ask for favors. She was wealthy and beautiful. Most problems could be solve with money, and the rest with the goodwill of the various men (and sometimes women) hoping to catch her attention.

The only obstacle she couldn't bypass was her art, the creative process. That's probably why she found it so compelling.

I didn't say anything, just nodded for her to continue.

"I want to take some pictures of Lisa. Probably naked. Probably tied up," she said. "I need a new form for my painting. Something different."

Danger.

I ignored it, filled with relief. I wanted to bask in her tired smile and feel her soft hands, to watch that straw click against her teeth.

"Why are you asking me?" I said.

My position felt delicate. We weren't even officially fighting. Even so, I could count the number of negative conversations on one hand, and our last one had been about Lisa, about me being jealous.

No matter what Jett said next, I would agree. Insecurity was weakness, and I couldn't afford be weak with Jett. Not right now.

"What about the whole sex slavery things?" Jett said. Even tired, she liked saying it. After all, it was the wildest shit she had ever heard of.

"Pretend," I said.

"Right..."

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" I smiled at her.

"Maybe Lisa is right..." she said.

I crinkled my brow. Right about what?

"I should try tormenting you more," Jett said. She flicked her tongue against her straw. "So?"

"Of course you can-- well it's not my decision either way," I said. "You need to ask Lisa."

"Maybe I can come by later?" she asked.

"How about now?"

She smiled.

"I need to go to class, and so do you," she said.

Jett wasn't wrong.

--

I went to class each day and then the library at night. It had been four nights since we were last together. It wasn't exactly a personal record for abstinence, but every day felt uneasy, like something was broken and would only getting worse until I fixed it.

Jett called me after seven o'clock, when I was still in the library. I silence my phone then scurried off to take the call.

"Lisa is meeting me for pictures," Jett said. "My place."

It wasn't an invite. I didn't trust Lisa, and I also just missed my girlfriend. I could insert myself. It would be easy.

"I miss you," I said. I felt stupid and weak for saying it. I felt lost, the churn of my internal dialog was spilling in to my words. This wasn't like me. Maybe I am weak.

There was a pause on the phone.

"I know," she said. "I miss you too. It's just that... Why don't you come over? We don't have to talk about this on the phone."

I desperately wanted to be there, to look in to those hazel eyes, run my hands along the small of her back, to protect my relationship from Lisa.

But I also needed to study, and maybe I didn't trust Lisa but I trusted Jett. I had to show it, and I also couldn't give the impression that I just sat around waiting for her to call, even if it was true. I knew the correct answer.

"How about tomorrow?" I asked. I was instantly pissed at myself, but it was the right choice.

"I need to paint," she said.

"Evening?"

Another beat.

"Sure," she said. "Why don't you come by the studio. After five-ish?"

I smiled.

Meteorology was feeling more and more like a stupid ass choice of study. I should be painting, working late at a studio, surrounded by women like Jett, not alone in a library, breaking apart differential equations and putting them back together.

I sighed. The last days had been painful, but at least the time was well spent. My school life was getting back on the rails.

By the time I got home, it was pushing nine o'clock.

I stepped in to the apartment and dropped my bag by the door. Poor form but I was tired. Lisa was watching TV. She had all of her clothes on for once.

When she heard me come in, Lisa shut off the TV and gave me her full attention. She was beaming. It was the first time I could remember when she was both fully dressed and completely happy.

"I think I'm in love with Jett," Lisa said. She smiled at me. Another joke, no different than a stray nipple followed by a giggle.

Even so it hurt, those specific words hit me hard, setting off a cruel echo of something that had been bouncing around for weeks. I closed my eyes and sighed. I was pretty sure I loved Jett. Lisa was joking, but maybe I wasn't.

"She's a real freak," Lisa said. The highest compliment.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"The pictures... she talked to you?"

"Yeah. How was it?"

"She tied me up," Lisa smiled. She was perfectly content.

"That all?" I asked.

"Nope," she said. Her cheerful evasiveness was irritating.

"So..."

"You should ask Jett," she said.

"Really? You're serious?"

Lisa nodded.

"I liked you better when your clothes were off," I said. She always had the weirdest vibe, annoying kid sister energy mixed with... everything else. "Good night Lisa."

I didn't bother to mask the annoyance in my voice.

"Love you too Brett," she said. Overusing that word again.

I not quite slammed the door behind me. Her words were meaningless. Lisa was teasing me again. I had absolute certainty, but that didn't undo the dull ache I felt.

What had the two of them done during that photo shoot? I imagined for a moment that they had fucked, but my brain was too exhausted to breathe life in to that fantasy.

Even so, the idea hurt. Just the possibility, no matter how remote, that Jett was spending unused sexual energy on someone else caused actual pain, a dull ache in my chest.

Lisa was full of shit. She was always full of shit. It was a long night.

--

I spent the whole day in a near frenzy, past ready to see Jett again. I forced myself to focus on class, on boring lectures. I tried to keep Jett out of my thoughts.

We met up after five as planned, at the art studio.

The studio was across campus, on the fourth floor. The elevator was perpetually broken.

It was already late when I arrived. Classes were over and students were gone. Only Jett was still at it. She wasn't trying to pass a class. Jett was trying to be great.

The room itself was open, with twenty foot tall ceilings, able to accommodate the sprawling work of a dozen students. Easels and wood frames dotted the room. Any theoretically clear spot along the wall was covered by layers and layers of painted canvases. Old paint splattered every surface, not just different colors, but also different textures. You could feel the bumps of it on surfaces, feel how the texture shifted from grainy desk to glossy paint. The room always had a thick chemical smell, like turpentine.

Jett's hair was pulled back in a messy pony tail. A blot of gray paint was on the side of her face, barely edging in to her hairline.

She wore a tired old apron over a brown tube top, accentuating her sharp collar bones. Her jeans were intentionally faded, with carefully curated rips exposing small patches of very nice legs.

We tried to pick up our relationship where we left off days before. It was awkward, almost like teenage love, trying to find excuses to be close to each other, failing, but staying close anyway. Leg against leg while talking, sitting high on paint splattered counter tops. Our fingers lingered a little too long. Neither one of us had much to say. We both seemed content to be basking in the proximity of each other's body.

"It seemed like Lisa had fun," I said, "at the photo shoot."

"She's a great sport," Jett said. A warm smile.

"So how'd it go then?" I asked.

"The pictures are pretty good," she said. "But I won't know until I get something on canvas."

"Can I see?"

Jett pulled her hand away from mine.

"Why? Nothing happened," she said.

"I know," I said, but I didn't change the topic. I waited for her to answer.

Her posture stiffened. She said nothing. Jett was going to make me say it, make me ask again.

Why did I care what happened between the two of them? Something bothered me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Jett had eluded to jealousy before, but that wasn't quite right.

"Why don't we go to my place tonight?" she said, almost a whisper.

"Sure, but..." I said.

Jett sighed.

"But you still want to see the pictures," she said.

She slid off the tall counter, breaking all body contact. Jett slumped against the opposite counter to face me, arms crossed.

"Yes," I said. I knew it was the wrong answer, the thing she specifically didn't want to hear.

She considered me for a moment more.

"Sure," she said. She sounded disappointed. "Everything is in color, but I will probably gray scale it before it goes on canvas."

Jett hunted in her bag for the camera, then handed it to me. The screen was small, but I could catch the highlights. I scrolled through the pictures, greedy, searching for something I couldn't define.

The first photo was Lisa naked, a candid. Nervous smile. Then poses, several of them. Large breasts and nice hips. Mildly seductive and building, transitioning from portraits toward a boudoir style.

Then rope, Lisa tied up, wrists and ankles. Standing then bent over. Tasteful at first, her face turned away, catching her front side, shoulders and breasts and the top of her hips.

I skipped ahead. The photos grew more risqué as I went.

Full frontal, dark pubic hair between nice thighs, a serious look. Bending over again, now from the backside, pussy and asshole. Various postures, arched back. Then back straight. Hair over her face. Hair in motion.

Faster through the photos.

Hanging from the ceiling, front and back. Naked.

Forward.

A crop, laying across her naked ass. Then an action shot, Lisa reacting in pain.

My cock was getting hard, and my heart was racing. I was turned on and also... scared, crashing toward an unknown destination, only confident that it was a place I didn't want to go.

Forward.

Closeups of naked flesh. Her pussy. Then asshole. Individual, then together. Action shot of crop on skin. Closeup of a nipple, then a pullback of her breasts. Had they also been whipped? I couldn't tell.

Then something like bandages, flesh colored wrappings around her wrists.

Forward.

Barbed wire, almost like Jett's painting but the real thing, not stylized, not a hybrid of fantasy. Real.

Then Lisa in barbed wire bondage. The flesh colored wrappings were barely visible. Protection for her skin. Then Lisa's pained expression transitioning to tears, maybe fake. Then ecstasy. Shot after shot of Lisa's face writhing in pleasure. Also faked. Probably.

I reached the end.

I was... relieved? I don't know what I expected to find. This was wild shit, sexy. Pornographic even. Lisa in pain and in pleasure, like the spanking. Had Lisa dared Jett to fuck her too? I didn't know, but it shouldn't matter.

Jett wouldn't have fucked her.

And Jett wasn't in any of the pictures. There was no sex, just photos designed to look like it, photos that could slip in to Jett's broader work. A short and dark curvy woman instead of a rail thin pale one.

"The crop was her idea," Jett said. "She brought it without my asking. Also the barbed wire was real, but not really. We took precautions."

"Yeah," I said.

What had I been afraid of finding?

I didn't know.

I closed my eyes and sighed. My cock was hard, the result of Lisa's naked body in bondage.

I spent most of the summer wanting to fuck Lisa. Hours spent imagining my cock inside of her. Every position and every possibility. I tried to get tired of her. I needed to move on.

The recent days without Jett only made it worse, made me notice Lisa's ass and lips and breasts.

I was lost in my conflicted feelings when I felt Jett's hand run over my pants, across my hard cock.

"You liked what you saw," she said.

Jett was watching me intently, her hand on my cock. There was no point in lying.

"I... uh..." I started. Think. Say something.

"It's okay," she said, inching closer, her breath on my lips, eyes searching mine.

Then Jett kissed me. Her hand was on my body, but her kiss was chaste, lips only, closed mouth. When I leaned in to her, she pulled away.

Jett unbuttoned my pants and reached inside, then ducked down to her knees.

Holy Shit. She was going to do it. I watched her crouch down, wild auburn hair spilling over her exposed shoulders. I whipped my neck around. The studio was completely empty.

I needed this, had missed her desperately. Jett was down behind a counter top, out of view from the hallway, free to suck my cock.

Jett pulled it out. Her soft hand glided over it once. She looked up at me from her knees, my dick inches from her mouth.

"I can tell you missed me," she said.

My cock actually bounced on those words. It had been a lonely few days, but more than that I had been scared, worried that things wouldn't return to normal.

I sighed in relief. This was better than normal.

Then she leaned in close, running her tongue over the top of my cock. Hazel eyes flecked with green and gold looked up at me, auburn hair framing perfect cheeks. My heart fluttered.

"I missed you so much," I said. I wanted to find something eloquent, express the longing, the frustration, the way I had forced myself through life like a robot, while dreaming of her.

"Why did you want to see the pictures now?" she asked. "Instead of waiting for the final piece?"

I stared at those eyes, already imagining my cock in her mouth. I missed the storm of our bodies and the quiet after--

Wait what? The words hit me. She'd asked a question.

"Jesus Jett," I said. I didn't exactly know why I needed to look. Some mix of insecurity, fear, longing, jealousy, curiosity. Not one thing. All the things.

No magic words were forth coming. I watched Jett, her hands wrapped around my shaft, lips so close. Watched her consider my cock.

I could see her processing something, making a decision.

"Sorry Brett," she said. She sighed, warm air across my dick.

It took all my willpower to hold still, not to shove my hips toward her. I saw a shift in her shoulders, then her posture. She considered my cock for another moment, then turned her eyes up to me.

"I want to do it. I missed you too," Jett said. She let go of my dick. "But I only do that for people who trust me."

What the fuck?

Then she was standing up. I watched her, powerless to intervene, longing for her lithe body. With every second her lips were further from my cock.

I was so turned on. We were finally together, alone but in public. Hours of missing her, not just her body, missing Jett. That smile, discussions about art, old movies and--

Those abstract ideas were real but also very far away. My body had more direct demands. Her mouth or pussy, on her knees or in her bed, small breasts against my chest, our lips together.

None of that was going to happen.

"You're serious," I said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement to catalog her cruelty.

"Yup," she said.

I tried to say something, but there were no words, only overwhelming frustration. I wanted to ask her what the fuck was wrong with her, but my brain couldn't catch up with my lust and disappointment.

And as each second passed, as my lust drained away, it was replaced with something else. Physical and sexual disappointment turned in to emotional pain. This wasn't just about my cock. Jett was rejecting me, had been rejecting me for days.