My Pretend Sex Slave 03

"You should probably put your cock away," she said, nodding at my hard dick.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I said, finding only the words I specifically wasn't going to say.

Her eyes narrowed, making decisions I couldn't guess at.

"I need to paint," she said. Her voice was cold. This was a dismissal.

What Jett needed to do was explain herself. How could we go days with barely any contact, and then this?

I took a deep breath. I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with her, but it wasn't getting solved tonight.

I was left with a painful realization that Jett may not be different than Lisa, tormenting me on purpose. I was usually so good with words, but tonight I had nothing. She was about to walk away, to go back to painting, back to ignoring me.

"I'll call you," she turned and said. No smile.

I needed that to be true.

"Yeah," I said.

What the fuck had just happened?

--

I walked from the studio to my apartment, across a sprawling campus. The evening air was crisp.

I was a repeating loop of confusion, anxiety, and anger. How was this my fault? I certainly didn't own Jett or her body, but my curiosity was valid. It was reasonable to want more details about my tied up and naked roommate.

And what had she been doing? Not sex but something sexual. Flashes of ecstasy on Lisa's face. Was it real or feigned?

I took another breath.

Fucking Lisa. This was what she did. Harmless until she wasn't.

--

By the time I got home, the raw edge of my anger was gone, but frustration and pain were sunk deep. I wanted to scream at Jett as much as I wanted to kiss her. I was desperate for both.

Lisa was in the kitchen, boiling instant noodles.

"Hey Brett," she said.

"Hey," I said back. I didn't want to talk. This wasn't Lisa's fault, but it also wasn't not her fault.

"You alright?" she turned away from the stove. Lisa was wearing a coarse, gray wife beater that showed off her cleavage, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her gym shorts cut out way too early, showing off the full cup of her ass. No make up. Completely casual. Hot.

"I saw the pictures," I said. Stop talking. Go to bed.

"Oh yeah?" Lisa smiled. "Hot right?"

"Yeah," I said.

"I kinda think she was in to it, not just for the art," Lisa said. To emphasize her point, she slid down her shorts, showing mauve panties and more of her ass, but from the other direction.

"Just fucking stop," I said, so tired of beautiful woman who almost wanted to fuck me.

"No," she said. "I don't have to follow orders. Pretend slave, remember?"

She was full of mischief, but I was just done. Jett had broken something inside of me. I had managed to navigate months of frustration with Lisa, managed to normalize her behavior in my day to day life, but I couldn't deal with both of them, not tonight.

"Take off your clothes," I commanded. There was a harsh edge in my voice that I didn't bother to reign in.

"I was going to do that anyway," she said, another smile.

"So do it," I said back.

Lisa hesitated for a moment. I saw her smile break, her eyes get serious. Things were different. She could feel it.

Then she peeled her shirt up and away, topless again. A nervous smile.

I nodded. Lisa unbuttoned her shorts, let them drop.

"Panties too," I growled.

Lisa occasionally streaked through without her panties, but even in the summer of pretend sex slavery, it was rare.

"Brett?"

"Do it," I said.

She nodded, slid them down her ass, keeping eye contact with me as she bent over. I watched her dark hair and dangling breasts as Lisa dropped her panties.

Lisa stood up, dark nipples and pubic hair. I could see the hint of her pussy. Her back was straight, breasts up. Defiant? No, just engaged.

"Now what?" she asked. I couldn't place the the tone in her voice. Maybe nervous.

"On your knees," I said.

She hesitated a beat then nodded.

"Okay," she said.

Lisa is short, a compact bundle of muscled ass and legs, soft stomach, and big tits. She got down on her knees and stared up at me, clear eyes anticipating what would happen next.

I unbuttoned my pants.

"Pretend Brett," she said. Her voice was quiet. Lisa watched my hands, watched me unzip my pants. "Pretend sex slave."

"Shut up Lisa," I said.

Lisa waited for me. Ready. She had always been ready, always pushing me toward the thing we both wanted. Only my polite upbringing and self control had stopped us. Not tonight.

"Open you mouth," I said. "Slave."

Lisa looked away for just a moment, took a deep breath, then she turned back to me. Her eyes found mine. Angry. A cruel smile on her lips. Then she opened her mouth.

I slid my underwear down. My cock sprung free. I shuffled forward, toward her face.

Petite fingers grabbed my dick. Tanned skin on white flesh. Her small hands made my cock look huge. My dick was so hard that it was pointing up and away, not close enough to her mouth.

Lisa pulled it down, causing a pleasant bloom of pressure at the base of my cock, like a spring. I liked the feeling. The pressure somehow reinforcing how much cock I had to give her. She pulled it down to her lips.

Lisa looked up, one last shot of eye contact. Then my cock was in her mouth, the head of my penis just past those full lips. Small hands circled the base of my shaft.

My world was a wet swirl of pleasure as her tongue found me, the underside of my cock, then all around it. No surface went untouched.

I closed my eyes and leaned in to the pleasure, not just the physical sensation, also the idea that this beautiful woman was finally on her knees, finally servicing my needs.

Lisa established a kind of wonderful routine with my dick. She would run her mouth up and down a while, then pull away for a moment, each interruption of pressure marked by a wet suction sound. Then she would dive back in, her tongue caressing the head. And repeat.

I ran my fingers through her coarse hair. I had dreamed about this for months but had always been too afraid to take what I needed.

I was done being afraid.

Lisa pulled off for a moment, a line of drool connecting our bodies. She made eye contact again with those wonderful brown eyes. No smile. She just watched me. I had no idea what she was thinking. Truthfully I didn't care.

A deep breath, then she was on it again, tongue no longer active, just trying to shove herself on to my cock, trying to go deep, mouth open as she pressed against me again and again. I occasionally caught the edge of teeth as she rammed my cock down her throat. I didn't care.

Then another break, Lisa gasping for breath. I pulled her head back, pivoting her face up me.

"Up," I said.

Lisa stood up, my fingers tugging gently on her hair, defiant eyes while she stared at me, our lips inches apart. I felt her breath.

Then I kissed her, passion and anger, lips then tongue then teeth. Not caring where her mouth had just been. I no longer gave a damn about propriety or rules. I was an urgent demand, and she needed to satisfy it.

And Lisa kissed me back. Jousting tongue and teeth against my lips. Aggressive, pushing forward, like she could knock me over with her lips.

"Finish what you started," I said.

"Cum on my face?" she asked. More like a request. Nervous, looking for approval, a hint of her regular personality.

I nodded.

Then she was back on her knees, fingers trailing down my chest and stomach, until they rested on the back of my thighs, close to my ass.

She alternated between trying to deep throat which was less pressure and more of a performance, and the intense tonguing.

Lisa would have been smiling if her mouth wasn't full of cock, and every time she checked in, when her dark eyes found mine, it sent me closer to the edge.

I heard a hiss. I turned, her noodles. I saw a head of boiling water spilling over the side, on to the burner. I looked down at Lisa, my cock in her mouth. She didn't give a damn about the noodles and neither did I. She kept going. I was so close.

"Lisa..." I started.

I never got the words out. Lisa could feel what was happening. She went shallow, just her lips on the head. When my first jet of cum shot out, she was ready, pulling off just in time, aiming my cock at her face.

The first jet was days of frustration, thick and urgent. It shot out, propelled past her face, a splatter of milky cum stranded in her dark hair. She flinched but didn't move. I was moaning in pleasure, almost a growl, involuntary, while her hands kept going. The next shot hit her forehead, above her eyes. Then another above her lips. The last one was practically a dribble, finding a home on her collar bone and chest, a wet splash of my body across hers.

For a moment, reality was just my cock, the rush of release, the ripple of pressure and ecstasy, pulsing in her hands. Spasm after spasm. Physical and emotional release.

Then her lips were back on my cock, determined to suck it all out of me. The pressure was too much, over stimulation on my sensitive body. I wanted to stop her, but I didn't. I squirmed but suffered through it.

Then she pulled off. A smile. Hands still gripping my softening cock.

I closed my eyes. Breathed deep. What the fuck had we done?

I looked down at Lisa again. Her face was a mess, covered in cum, in her hair, eyebrows, almost in her eyes now. On her lips. Jesus. She looked so happy.

"I'll get a towel," I said. Practicality was the only thing I had to offer.

"No," she said. "Leave it. At least for a minute."

Lisa wasn't done. Her eyes were still searching for something. I didn't know what.

"Don't move," I said. She smiled. I thought about Jett. I was pissed at her, but that anger obviously didn't justify this.

Lisa nodded. My pretend sex slave was hanging on every word. What the fuck was I doing now?

I kicked my pants off, not bothering to cover myself. Fuck.

I turned the stove off. One emergency addressed. Salty water had spilled across the stove. A mess. What a fucking metaphor.

I poured a glass of water. Lisa's eyes followed my every movement. The water was cool. I was too fulfilled to panic, but waves of guilt rippled through me.

I walked back to Lisa, handed her the water. She drank deep, then handed it back. She was waiting. I had to improvise.

"Clean me," I said.

She nodded, my semi-hard cock back in her capable hands. She ran her tongue around the head. I was sufficiently recovered that I could now stand the pressure. Then I was back in her mouth for a moment, followed by long strokes of her tongue dragging up and down the shaft.

This was no longer about sex. It was about power. Which also made it about sex.

"Anything else, master?" she was glowing again, like the moment Jett had her tied up and naked.

"Clean yourself up," I said. I tried to add an edge of disgust in my voice for good measure. It felt right in the moment.

I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

Lisa nodded, and by the time she was back on her feet, something had shifted. She looked tired. Not disgusting per se, but the passion I felt for her lips, not giving a damn about the rules or where her mouth had been-- all of that was gone. Maybe she was just a mess.

I watched her shuffle off to the bathroom, puddles of sticky cum occasionally shifting and pooling, running down her face or breasts like water collecting on a windshield.

Our apartment was small, I watched her round ass as she walked to the bathroom, passed the open door, watched her look for a towel, wet it down, then start cleaning her face then hair. She looked almost... Ashamed?

I knew Lisa had real human emotions below her facade, but I didn't believe shame was one of them. Maybe she looked sad.

I had cheated on Jett, used Lisa as a vehicle for revenge, full of frustration and jealousy and rage. I felt like a piece of shit.

Lisa looked lonely.

I went to her. She noticed when I reached the doorway, put the towel down and turned, her naked body open to me, dark pubic hair and thick thighs. She didn't smile. Lisa looked up at me. Waiting.

I took a step forward. I saw a tremble.

I kissed her, soft, only our lips. I felt her relax as she closed her eyes.

"Lisa," I said. I needed to say something. My lust was long gone. All I had left was guilt. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes shot open.

"For what?"

My heart was racing. What was I sorry for? I had ordered her to suck my cock, even when she pushed back. I treated her like an object.

But that wasn't really the issue. Lisa wanted that too. It was just... after the sex, I had nothing for Lisa. Our moment was only frustration and lust. Now quenched, I had nothing to offer her. I had no experience with meaningless sex, no template for using and being used. It felt bad.

And through all of it, while I was kissing Lisa, all I really wanted was Jett. How had everything become so terrible so fast?

"Lisa..." I started. My heart was pounding. I squeezed my eyes shut. What the fuck had I done?

I didn't deserve either one of these women.

I love Jett. It was the wrong fucking moment to make that cognitive leap. Saying it out loud would only be cruel.

So instead I said nothing.

Lisa hugged me.

"I understand," she said.

I opened my eyes. She stared up at me, her eyes filled with kindness.

What the fuck was I going to do now?

"I won't tell Jett," Lisa said. All I felt was guilt. "I don't want her hating me any more than you do."

She flashed a smile. The old Lisa, putting me on notice that she did indeed plan to fuck Jett. Neither one of us believed it.

"Can you do me a favor?" Lisa asked.

"What?" I said. All my frustration gone. I had nothing left. Just a desire to be less of a piece of shit.

"Can I sleep next to you? Just for tonight?" she asked. It was such a small request. Even her voice was small.

"Yeah," I said.

"Naked?"

"Sure," I said.

--

We slept in her bed that night. I put shorts on. Lisa slept naked, in the fetal position. Her small body pushed up against mine, ass against my hips, back pressed to my chest. Even her hamstrings were snuggled up against my quads. My arm wrapped around her curves, dark hair in my face, the floral scent of her shampoo.

Then she was asleep in my arms. It would be at least another hour before I could silence my brain.

Eventually, my cock got hard again, pressing against her ass. If Lisa noticed, she didn't indicate it.

I spent my night like that, wrapped around a beautiful, vulnerable woman, wishing she was someone else.