Rooming With RoseAnn Pt. 22

Barry deals with RoseAnn's puzzling behavior

On an October Wednesday, before the Columbus Day weekend, I watched a TV news item about leaves turning in the Midwest. I called my mother to hear her exclaim about the brilliant fall color. Fall was her favorite season.

"I don't think we get a real fall around here," I told her. "It's a little cooler, but some flowers are blooming for the first time. They say most years it never once gets below freezing. How great is that? I could get used to this no-winter thing."

"Is RoseAnn there? I haven't talked to her since before you moved."

"She's been working hard the past week. A lot of evenings and weekends. I don't know when to expect her home anymore. Something big's going on at her work."

"You should tell her to get away for a weekend or maybe a week."

"We're going to... uh, she's got a business meeting in Santa Barbara this coming weekend."

"Did I hear you say you're going with her?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Yes. We're driving down."

I felt her shrug over the phone. "I expected as much, but now I wish I hadn't asked."

I wanted to say that I loved RoseAnn, but I lost my nerve and the words stuck in my throat. I laughed instead. "I'm this close to the Pacific Ocean, Mom, and I've never seen it."

"Jesus, Barry, be careful! You're using protection, aren't you?"

There was no point in hiding it further. "You taught me what I needed to know, you and Dad. Don't worry."

I resumed working on my chem assignments, and plugged away for a half-hour before hearing a familiar tap on the door.

"It's open."

Gloria came in, carrying her briefcase, and sat across from me. "Are you working on chemistry? I have some questions." She shook out her hair as she took some folders from her briefcase.

"Fresh coffee? I just made it."

She'd been coming over at least twice a week to do homework. Also, at her invitation, and with RoseAnn's blessing, I'd gone to her home a few times. Tonight, we were working on the same assignment, but the problems and concepts that supposedly stumped her were not all that difficult, and I noticed that she'd already completed the more difficult problems.

But I wouldn't challenge her on it. I preferred to believe she wasn't campaigning to displace RoseAnn, but only wanted a few moments' respite from the stress at home. The elder Gruendlich was now sleeping almost all day. When he wasn't sleeping, he was moaning in pain and needed two shifts of nurses to take care of him.

After an hour, we took a short break. She pushed back from the table and put her bare, slim feet up on the next chair as she sipped at her second or third cup of coffee. The graceful arches and unconscious flexing of her toes and ankles kept drawing my attention. I watched her small, pretty mouth, too, the way the thin lips moved as she talked. I couldn't forget her intimate revelation that she'd sucked men to orgasm with that mouth. Those tiny lips--would they be tight, like a virgin's vagina? How would that feel? But surely, she couldn't compete with RoseAnn's capacious mouth, thicker lips, and coarse, mobile tongue. And how could she--or any woman--compete with RoseAnn in the enthusiasm department?

"Plans for the weekend?" She jerked me out of my musing.

"RoseAnn and I are going to Santa Barbara," I said. "She's got some sort of business meeting there. I guess it's a very big deal. She's been putting in some serious hours getting ready for it."

"You haven't forgotten the calculus mid-term on Tuesday, have you?" she said.

"I'll have plenty of time to study while she's in meetings. She says she needs me there for moral support."

"Moral support? Is that what they call it these days?" She laughed gaily.

"Eh?"

"I meant, it's a euphemism for fucking, isn't it? Or oral sex?" She sighed. "Never mind. Once I have to explain a joke, it stops being funny."

I smirked. "If that's what she needs, I've got lots of both. But she likes to talk her problems over with me, too. Not that I have anything smart to say, but she solves a lot of her problems just by talking aloud about them."

After a half hour, the garage door mechanism rumbled under the floor. Shortly after, RoseAnn's heels clumped heavily on the steps. At the top, looking frazzled and weary, she dropped her briefcase on the floor.

"Good evening, RoseAnn," said Gloria.

"You look tired," I said. "Are you ready for some supper?"

"I'm going to seem rude," she said to Gloria, "but can you two wind it up for tonight? I have to talk to Barry."

"Oh!" Gloria jumped up. "Sure. I'll be gone in a minute." Flustered, she gathered up her papers and put them in her briefcase, and we said our good-nights as she went out the door.

"Well, that was abrupt," I said, letting my irritation show.

"I'm so pissed off and upset right now, I don't know what to do with myself," she said.

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you. I'm afraid it'll make you angry and affect how you deal with my bosses while we're in Santa Barbara. I'll have to tell you about it afterward."

"Some asshole harassing you again at work?"

"No. It's worse than that. Barry, I need my stress relief?"

A hard ball formed in my stomach and began to spread. "I can be," I said.

"Go get the whip, and be quick. I'm sorry, but this is the only way I know to take the edge off."

In our room, I opened her underwear drawer and felt through the frothy intimates until my fingers found the whip in its travel case. I took it out and shook out the strands. After the last time she used it, she had me rub it with oil. The thirsty leather had soaked up the oil, seemingly without end, and now the strands were ominously heavy.

I stood for a moment, gingerly holding the leather appliance out for her. My hand was shaking.

I took the whip into the kitchen and stood there, holding it by the grip. Now I was certain of what she really needed. The signals were clear.

"Give it to me and strip," she demanded.

"Not today," I said. "You're going to strip instead." I whirled the whip at my side until it whistled.

She took a step toward me, snatching at the whip. I held out an arm to stop her and cocked my whip arm back, threatening.

"Now strip," I said, "or I'll mark up those pretty legs of yours, and everyone at the meeting will be able to see." I tightened my muscles so my trembling wouldn't show.

"Give me the whip!" she hissed, taking another step. I jumped back and swung, hitting her ass through the skirt. "Hey!" she said, only surprised. As I'd already discovered, this whip couldn't inflict any level of pain through clothing.

"First, the skirt and slip. Then the blouse."

Her eyes were ablaze as she unzipped her skirt and let it fall. She pushed down her slip and unbuttoned her blouse, while still trying to burn me with her fierce gaze.

"You'll thank me in the morning."

"You won't see morning. I'll kill you in your sleep."

"Just strip. Don't make me wait."

She reached behind to unhook her bra. It sagged and fell from her, freeing her lovely breasts to jiggle deliciously as she moved. My cock was stiff and uncomfortable, trapped in my pants. But it seemed important to stay dressed for now.

"Don't hit my breasts," she said, and covered her nipples with her hands.

Her sudden capitulation surprised me, but it confirmed I was doing the right thing. On the other hand, she was capable of tricking me, too. She may only be waiting for a moment of inattention to turn on me.

"No way am I going to mark those luscious creatures. When we're done with this, I'm going to lick them and suck them until you beg for relief. Now get the panties off."

She smiled, nervously. "Are you sure you don't want to f-fuck me instead? Or lick me? I'll suck you, if you want, and swallow. You know I always s-swallow," she said. Her fear was making her stutter. "Anyway, I'm feeling much b-better now. You don't n-need to whip me." But she pushed down her panties without further urging.

I came close to weakening when I saw her body full length, her long legs cased in chocolate colored nylons and heels. Together with the white garter belt, they framed her beautiful dark garden. I longed to harvest that garden with my tongue, my cock.

"You need this," I said. "Reach across the kitchen counter and grab the other side. Hang on tight."

She frowned. "This has gone f-far enough, Barry. Give me that thing."

I swung the whip, lightly catching her on the hip. The tip curled around and snapped on her buttock. She squealed and jumped. I startled myself. I couldn't have made such a perfect shot in a year of deliberate practice.

"Across the counter, now." I wasn't enjoying this. But I could see by her reactions that she needed it. She was already distracted from the concerns she'd brought home from work, and could only concentrate on the issue of the moment, avoiding the whip. But she was not going to be able to prevent what I was about to do.

With my left hand, I took her gently by the wrist. She meekly let me lead her to the counter and push her down across the expanse of cold marble. She shivered and gripped the far side.

"You're going to get at least ten of these, but I won't warn you. You'll just have to let each one be a surprise." It had been more than a month since we bought the whip. Since then, she'd whipped me on a half dozen occasions, and I'd learned some of the psychological tricks that amplified the fear and pain.

I cocked my arm, counted 'one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi' to myself, and swung, landing the whip with a snap across her buttocks. She yelped and jumped up on her toes. Immediately, I drew back and struck again.

She let out a long, low cry, which faded into a moan. Her knees sagged a little, but she didn't lose her grip on the counter. The welts appeared quickly, two sets of parallel red stripes at a slight angle to one another. I waited, counting slowly to seven, then hit her quickly three times, harder than before. She shrieked and twisted her body, momentarily letting go and sliding partway to the floor. Her face was red, and tears were forming in her eyes.

"Get up. And don't make me use the ball gag." As she straightened up, I looked at the awful marks on her ass, and felt horribly sad at what I was doing. My erection had completely deflated. But I had to finish out the script. She began to turn her head, and I said quickly, "Look straight ahead, and lock those knees."

My stomach curdled. I had to get this over with quickly while I still had the will to do it. I brought my arm back and struck. A second later, I struck again, and again, a second after that. Her ass was growing a bright red, with a scattering of dark, raised welts. She began to cry, with her face pressed to the marble.

RoseAnn hadn't moved. She sobbed and shook, waiting for the last two strokes. I steeled myself and struck as hard as I could. Snap. Snap. She screamed at the last one, and slid all the way to the floor, curling up against the cupboard doors, bawling like a baby.

I tossed the whip on the kitchen table and got down on my knees to comfort her. "It's over now, lover." I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her to me. Tears and snot smeared on my chest.

When her crying abated a little, she sobbed, "It's not over. You have to finish."

"Finish?"

"Yes. Stand up and make me suck your cock."

Another shock. She'd never used the word 'cock' before. "Haven't you had enough--?"

"Barry, rape my mouth!" She shifted so she was kneeling in front of me, and began to unzip my fly.

I was paralyzed with horror. But she tore at my belt and let my pants drop, then pulled down my underwear.

My cock was completely flaccid, but she didn't seem to notice. She took it into her mouth and began to lick and suck it. The awful regret I'd felt up to now evaporated, and I grew to full hardness again. She began bobbing her head, sliding me in and out of her lips, while her tongue danced on the sensitive flesh.

Rape me, she'd said. I wound my fingers in her hair and pulled her head toward me. I began to thrust. At first, she choked, but that only increased her energy. I thrust harder, arching my back and gazing at the ceiling. She made liquid gagging and choking sounds in the back of her throat, but her frenzy told me she was getting something she needed.

"Coming!," I said aloud. That was all I could say. My cock pulsed, and I thrust, lodging the tip in her throat. Flashing lights exploded in my brain as the wild orgasm spread through my body. Again and again I thrust into her throat as I held her head tightly. She dug her nails viciously into my buttocks in her frenzy to pull me closer.

When it ended at last, RoseAnn fell forward on her hands, coughing. Semen ran from her mouth onto the tile floor. She choked and spit. When her throat had cleared, she got up on her knees and wrapped her arms around my legs.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to spit any out. I haven't sucked a man like that since I was married. It takes practice to do it right. But I really did swallow most of it."

I got to my knees and we embraced. She buried her face in my neck and kissed me, all the while sobbing.

"This is what your husband did to you, wasn't it?"

She didn't answer.

A trace of blood smeared the tile floor. I helped her to her feet and led her to the bathroom, where I cleansed a tiny cut. It was almost hidden among the darkening red and violet welts. After I bandaged her, I led her to the bedroom and lay her face down on the bed and delicately rubbed oil into the injured flesh. I moved up to the back and shoulders, rubbing and kneading until she was relaxed.

When I returned to the kitchen, partly dried tears, saliva and snot smeared the counter. A splattering of blood, semen and saliva stained part of the floor. I wiped it all up and washed the counter and floor with water. Finally, I reheated the supper I'd saved for her and took it into the bedroom on a tray.

As she ate, she said, in a little girl voice, "How did you know that's what I needed?"

"I didn't. It was a wild guess."

"I feel much better now. It must be the endorphins."

"I wish you'd tell me what's got you so upset."

"I can't, but there's a good reason why not. I'll tell you when the weekend meeting's over."