My Pretend Sex Slave 04

I woke up in Lisa's bed.

Fuck. Events from the night before sprinted through my brain. Fighting with Jett. Fucking Lisa. Forcing her, but also Lisa wanting me to. Sleeping next to her. Why? Guilt or shame or both.

Lisa was a smoldering campfire of sexual energy I had just thrown gasoline on, when all I really wanted was Jett.

I felt movement in the bed next to me. I turned. Lisa was there, now wearing clothes. Her dark eyes watched my every move. She didn't smile.

"I don't know what to make of you," she said.

We went our separate ways, brushing teeth and making coffee. To an outsider, things between us looked normal. They weren't. Lisa was wearing clothes, actual adult clothes. We didn't talk about it. I didn't see her nipples or her navel all morning.

Lisa didn't know what to make of me?

--

I spent the day conflicted, overwhelmed with guilt, afraid to talk to Jett, but also waiting for her call. I did the only thing I could. I went to class.

I spent half the day staring at my phone, waiting. I was a mess. Mid-terms were right around the corner, and I needed to focus.

"Brett, right?" I heard a female voice.

I was checking my phone. No message from Jett. I looked up. The girl was familiar. She was wearing a stylish, if thick, wool coat and dark slacks. Bangs and glasses and a smile.

"Ava?" I asked.

"Yeah. No. Mia," she said.

That was right. Mia. We had several overlapping classes in the last two semesters, but never had been grouped together. She seemed nice, but most people are nice.

"Were you at the library last night?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"And the night before, right?"

I smiled. Also yeah. With Jett out of contact, I had more time.

"We have a group meeting tonight. Applied Stats mid-term next week. You want to join?" she asked.

I sighed. It was a good idea. I was on track for a 'B-' unless something changed. An 'A-' wasn't impossible yet. I looked down at my phone.

"I have plans tonight. Probably," I said.

I checked my phone. Nothing. I turned my eyes back up to Mia. She smiled.

"Tomorrow then?" she asked. "We're trying to study every night until the test."

"I... I don't know," I said. "Maybe."

"No problem," she said. "Give me a call if your 'maybe plans' don't work out. We should be in the library."

Then she gave me her number. It only made me feel worse.

When would Jett call?

--

I skipped my last class and went home early. I felt trapped, needing to move forward, to study, but only found myself in an endless cycle of waiting. It was miserable.

I laid on the couch, the phone face down on my chest, dozing off, waiting for a call.

"You alright Brett?" Lisa asked. She stood in the kitchen. I didn't bother to look at her.

I wasn't. I needed to talk to Jett, but was too proud or guilty or stubborn to call her, and definitely didn't want to talk to Lisa about it.

"What are you going to do after you graduate?" I asked instead.

"Masters," she said.

"Then what?"

"PhD."

I turned to look at Lisa. Normally she wore contacts, but today she had on oversized frames. A long lock of dark hair escaped her ponytail and was shuffling around on the edge of her glasses. She was wearing a light jacket and regular jeans. It was easier to remember she was a physicist, probably brilliant, when she bothered to wear clothes.

I waited for her to answer the real question. She smiled.

"Design rockets," she said.

"Elon?"

"Fuck him," she said.

"Then what?"

"Military. Maybe," she said.

"You can pass a background check?" I asked, smiling back.

"Only if you lie for me," she said.

Playful banter. It felt nice, except the joke about lying. It hit too close to home. We would both be lying from now on.

Lisa must have seen something in my face change.

"Just call her," she said.

"I can't," I said.

"That's stupid," she said. She waited for my retort. I didn't have one. "Why can't you call her?"

I took a deep breath. Why couldn't I call her?

"Jett is just so... not perfect but everything else. Beautiful and confident and rich and... It's like if I show any insecurity she'll blow right through me, on to the next challenge," I said. It didn't quite make sense, but it was how I felt.

I was close to a truth about our relationship. Jett only wanted what she couldn't control... That felt close to correct, but wasn't quite right either. She only really gave a damn about painting. Painting and me. Why?

"What if you're pretty great too?" Lisa said.

I twisted my body on the couch to face her. Our eyes met. She nodded. For a split second, I could see us as normal people, a couple even, quiet dates and dinners and not pretend sex slavery.

"You know I tried for months to make you fuck me," Lisa said.

"I remember," I said.

"And you never did," she said. "Not until Jett."

"What's your point?"

"Maybe that relationship isn't what you think it is," she said.

Lisa was a new flavor of weird. Solemn and... jealous? Weird energy kept bouncing back and forth between the two of them, with me as the conduit. I was burning out.

"But what do I know?" she asked. "Would a nipple cheer you up?"

The moment was gone.

I turned away. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lisa pulling up her jacket.

--

I texted Jett at six o'clock.

"Dinner?" I asked. No reply. A minute turned in to five. Then twenty.

Fuck.

Then she called.

"Brett?"

"Yeah," I said. "What are you up to?"

"Painting," she said. "Actually, I just got paint on my phone. Fuck. Hold on."

I heard a rough shuffle of debris against her microphone.

"Still there?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. I waited just a moment for her to jump in, to say anything. She didn't.

Here goes.

"I miss you," I said.

I heard a sigh.

"I miss you too," she said finally.

"Can I come by?" I asked.

"No!" she said.

Fuck. I didn't really have a plan B. I was on the edge of a breakup, my stomach was churning.

"Fuck," she said. "No. Sorry. I mean... What do I mean? I mean the painting is finally starting to go better, I'm close to something... good."

"That's awesome," I said. I was her biggest cheerleader, but I was also holding on to any excuses, willing to believe this could still work. "What's the problem?"

"I need to do something. Do more, make it stable, capture it while I can," she said.

"So not tonight," I said.

"Yeah," she said.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Probably," her voice was breathy. "I'm close to something."

She wasn't talking about sex, but my body was reacting anyway.

"I'll call you tomorrow," I said. The conversation was a push. I'd take it under the circumstances.

"Brett?" she said.

"Yes?"

"I uh..." she started.

I waited on every syllable, tension and expectation, ready for things to be back to normal.

"Call me tomorrow," she said.

Then it was over.

So tomorrow then. Probably. Fuck.

Lisa walked by. Why did I feel like kissing her? Just the question rattled me with guilt.

"So?" Lisa asked.

"Tomorrow. Probably," I said.

"You'll be fine," Lisa said. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Sure," I said.

"Ask her if she's ever been with a woman," Lisa said, then winked.

"Have you?" I asked.

"That's not the point," she said.

"I hate you," I said, only halfway joking.

"I know. That's what makes it hot," she said.

I shot her an angry glare. Lisa put her hands up, as if in surrender.

At least one relationship was getting back to normal.

--

The next day.

We met for coffee. Three in the afternoon. I could only play it cool for so long. Jett was waiting for me, sitting by herself, hands wrapped around a cup of hot coffee. I'd only ever seen her drink iced.

The bags under Jett's eyes were darker than before. Had she been up all night?

Small splotches of gray paint ran up and down her arms. The hair on her arms was so fine that it was only ever visible when it was trapped in dry paint.

She was in tight jeans and a brown tube top. Sharp collar bones and shoulders. She looked thin, more than normal, almost fragile. Were those the same clothes from two days before?

As I drew closer, I saw splatters of paint on her chest, then more on her shoulder. I'd never seen her so tired, and her hair was almost... greasy. But when she smiled, Jett did it with her whole face, with her eyes. Something was better.

"How's the painting?" I asked.

"Good," she said. "Better than good actually." Jett was practically beaming.

I sipped my coffee, waited for her to unspool.

"You know when you actually finish something, something good, something you like, there is a moment of joy, but then..." Jet said.

She trailed off, looking for words, her smile turning in to a smirk then a frown. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"So you're happy, but then you think, what if that was the last one? What if I can't do it again? And then you start to paint, not really feeling anything, but forcing yourself to do it anyway, and then a big nothing, so you paint more, and more nothing, and then you don't know, maybe you--"

"Jett," I said. I added a warmth to mask my concern. Her words were running together. Manic. "You found something?"

Her eyes focused back on me.

"Yes!" she said. She pulled her coffee up to her lips, steam wafting in front of her face. She didn't drink.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the steam. The manic energy in her body started unraveling as I watched, shoulders and neck and jaw all un-clenching.

When she opened her eyes, they were closer to normal.

"I missed you," she said.

"Me too," I said back.

"And I'm..." Jett started. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," I said.

"I'm not crazy," she said. "Except for the art. It's not rational I know. I just wanted to save those pictures for something else, something great, and then it was like you didn't trust me, and... I know I look crazy."

"You look great," I said.

"Yeah," she said. She turned her eyes away. Sipped her coffee.

I was more worried for her than I was for us. It was a welcome change. Things were going to be alright.

"That wasn't my apology," she said.

"Oh?"

"Your apology is waiting at my condo. When you have time," she said, a breathy whisper. She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"How about now?"

--

I drove her car back to her apartment. My car was still in the shop, and she looked... rough. Tired.

"When was the last time you slept?" I asked.

"Not like last night... the one before," she said. "I think."

"And you're okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I found what I was looking for."

She looked at me and smiled.

--

Normally her posture was exact, dialed in from years of dance. Today she was hunched over, clumsy, like her shoes were heavy on her feet. She was dead tired. I wondered if she could make it to the second floor of the building, to her apartment.

When we got to her door, she turned to me, brown eyes flecked with green and gold. She leaned forward and kissed me, not passionate. Comfortable. Then a warm smile.

Things were okay now. We both felt it.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, she started peeling off her clothes. Jett walked ahead of me, facing away. I watched her grab the bottom of her top, then yank it off her body in one motion. Pale shoulder blades rippling, tattoo meeting in the middle. Dimples where her ass met her back. I missed her.

She had to stop to get her pants off. While she fumbled with a belt, I came up behind her, running my fingers down her body, from just below her breasts, across her tight stomach, to her jeans, then under them, stopping only after I was under the band of her panties.

I pulled her in to me, her bony back against my chest, ass against my legs. My cock swelled. Her hair was greasy. She smelled like chemicals.

She spun to face me, still fumbling with a button, her tired fingers clumsy.

I traced the line of her tattoo with my thumb.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Saying sorry," she said.

Then she kissed me. I missed her so much. I didn't mind her chapped lips or stale coffee breath. I wanted to grab her ass and the back of her neck and grind my cock in to her belly and tongues and teeth and...

Jett wasn't there.

Her eyelids were heavy. Her kiss was comfortable, not passionate. I looked at my girlfriend. Pale shoulders with a smattering of paint and freckles. Small breasts and pink nipples, those thankfully without paint. Her smooth stomach, so thin I could see a gap between her hips and her panties. Too thin.

The same gray paint was on her cheeks, against her hairline.

She reached down to my dick, running her hand over my jeans.

"Take your pants off," she whispered. "I'm going to finish what I started."

I missed Jett so much, her touch and the feel of her skin, but the situation was a painful echo of my night with Lisa. I had flashes of guilt from the moments after, hating myself for treating her like an object, even if it was what Lisa had wanted.

Jett was dead tired, not so much wanting to suck my cock as needing to. Not lust. Obligation. An apology. Her lips were against mine, not kissing, just close. Her hand on my cock, waiting for me to make the next move.

I couldn't handle any more guilt.

"When's the last time you showered?" I whispered.

Her heavy eyes stared in to mine. It took her extra seconds to respond, so tired I could feel the difference in processing time.

"Do I smell bad?" she asked.

"You smell fine," I said. That was probably a lie but I didn't care, I wanted her.

Then she kissed me again, this time her tongue dancing against mine. I felt her hands moving to unbutton her pants, heard the zipper sing. She shuffled to slide her pants off without breaking contact.

Something went wrong. Jett lost her balance, stumbling in to me with her jeans still wrapped around her thighs. I caught her, that wonderful body pressed against mine. I held her for a moment, remembering our wonderful nights together.

I helped her recover her balance as she slid off her pants. Jett stepped away, intentionally giving me room to admire her body, wearing only sky blue panties that barely covered her trimmed pubic hair. Sharp tattoo wrapping around sharp ribs.

Jett gave a pose, like she was at the end of a cat walk, an exaggerated sway of her hips. Then hand on hip, a bounce of her hair as she turned her face to me.

"What do you think?" she asked.

I saw a hundred moments of sexual positions, her against the wall or on top or from behind, memories of our recent past morphing in to our future, of the things I was going to do her. Tonight.

"You're beautiful," I said.

I was desperate for her apology, for her body, but something was off. Her behavior felt like a performance and not in a good way. It was like she had a programmed subroutine, going through the motions.

Jett was barely holding herself together. She was covered in days old paint, as well as the chemicals used to cut through it. Would she even remember this tomorrow?

"I'm going to run you a bath," I said.

I saw a flash of something, fear? Maybe insecurity, questioning why I would turn down her body and send her for a wash. But then she melted, realizing it was a good idea.

"Okay," she nodded. "But after--"

"You're mine," I said, "I promise."

She smiled.

"Yours," she confirmed.

--

I drew the bath for her, assuming she preferred just shy of scalding. When it was ready, I went back to find her sitting on the bed, still in her panties, head resting on hands resting on knees. She looked asleep. Or dead.

"Jett?"

She didn't answer. Maybe she was asleep.

"Jenny?" I tried.

"Yeah?" her eyes opened slow.

"It's ready," I said.

"Cool," she said. Jett didn't move.

"I'll help," I said.

"Cool," she said again. Jett just sat on the bed, not really moving, watching me.

I crouched down between her knees, then worked her panties down around her ass, then down her legs, then off. She smiled, but didn't do much to assist.

I kissed her, wanting to get lost in the green and gold flecks of her eyes. It would be so comfortable to lie her down and fuck her now. Gentle. We both wanted it.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Sure," she said. Still she didn't move.

Fine. I ran my left arm under her legs, almost to her ass, then I picked her up. One arm under her ass, the other behind her shoulders. She was tall and awkward, but weighed almost nothing.

"Shit Brett!" her eyes lit up, finally awake.

"Don't worry," I said.

I carried Jett to her bathroom, her too thin frame pressed against my body, naked and smelling like chemicals. I would for sure be having sex with her, just not yet.

I set her down by the tub, each foot gingerly reaching for solid ground.

"It's hot," I warned.

"Good," she said.

I helped her bathe. She was so tired. Her arms worked but just barely, and she would lose track of what she was doing, what steps to follow next.

I've never bathed another person before. The mechanics are simple, but it's ultra intimate, you suddenly question everything you've ever done, like maybe you scrub the wrong places the wrong way, but no one ever told you because who would know? I pushed through it anyway.

I focused first on the actual paint. Jett had specific soaps she liked to use. She didn't complain, but I felt her body tense up as I scrubbed. Then it was a general once over, going out of my way to make it clinical, not sexual.

Jett had brought me back to her apartment to fuck me, but that moment was gone. Touching her now would be wrong, a boundary crossed. I couldn't explain it, but it was something I understood.

Then I was dipping her hair in the tub, letting her float in my arms while we soaked her head in water. Then shampoo and repeat. I didn't bother with conditioner. It served some purpose, but I wasn't entirely sure what, and I knew Jett would survive without it for a day.

I lifted her out of the tub, wrapping her body in a rich person's fluffy white robe, then carried her to bed and tucked her in.

It was only five o'clock in the afternoon, but Jett would be out in moments. Our makeup sex could wait.

"Brett?" Jett's sleepy voice called out.

"Yeah?"

"I uh..." Jett started. She was looking for words, specific words. She closed her eyes, deep in thought. I waited.

Jett fell asleep.

"I love you too," I said. A practice round.

I laid down next to her, face to face, watching her sleep, taking comfort in the sounds of her breathing and the scent of her hair. Things were going to be okay.

Sometime later, I felt my phone buzz.

"SO????" Lisa texted me.

Jett was asleep, would probably sleep for the night. It wasn't even six o'clock.

"Things are better," I texted back.

"Guess I won't see you tonight," she said. Then an eggplant emoji followed by the "OK" emoji, a hand forming a circle with forefinger and thumb.

"Bye Lisa," I texted, and turned off my ringer.

I watched Jett sleep.

I eventually reached a scary realization. I needed to leave Jett's apartment. I needed to eat and to study. I needed clothes and my books for the next day of class. As much as I wanted to lay next to Jett and watch her sleep, I couldn't do that for five more hours.

She hadn't given me a key yet. I didn't feel right leaving her with the door unlocked, even if temporarily. I didn't feel right about swiping a key either.

It would be okay though. The broken thing was set. Our relationship would recover. I could stop worrying.

So I wrote her a note.

Jett,

I'm writing this as I watch you sleep, wrapped in warmth and safety and love. Our connection is energy and motion, frequency and vibration. Familiar shapes and patterns always forming and reforming between us. Eternal. Fundamental.

Also, an unrelated observation not quite as important as a metaphor about our relationship transcending space and time. I am quite hungry. The only food in your fridge is expired leftovers.