Seduction or Betrayal? Ch. 05

Patrick had made it clear to the others that screwing a house mate was not on, and to their credit none of them - however drunk or heartbroken - tried it on with her. Not so their visitors. It was impossible to spend any time in the house without being leered at, touched up and constantly propositioned. The crisis meeting she demanded at the end of the first month had been a tearful affair. In turns, defensive, aggressive, dismissive and humiliating, tempers had quickly frayed. She was up in her room packing a suitcase when Patrick had arrived with their apologies and pleas for another chance. A rigid system of rotas had been introduced. She'd given tutorials on how to use a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner. They'd taught themselves to cook basic meals and after a week or two, stopped burning them. For her part, she'd stopped hanging her underwear in the communal bathroom.

Over the next few months things settled down. Sure, there were flare ups over stolen yoghurts from the communal fridge and missed turns on the washing up rota. But she'd learned to appreciate the insights into men she gained from the vulnerabilities beneath their macho veneers and all three hunted as a pack if anyone, inside or outside the house, was harassing her. The adventures in mutual masturbation and her flirtation with exhibitionism had come about by accident.

She'd returned early one winter's night from a disastrous date to find Patrick alone in the house. He'd turned off the TV when he'd heard her slam the front door, but not before she heard him do it. He was looking sheepish when she threw herself onto the sofa next to him and let rip with a rant against the arsehole she had mistaken for a prospective boyfriend. He'd made sympathetic noises and a cup of coffee, but she spotted his evasiveness immediately when she asked what he'd been up to. They knew each other too well.

'You weren't listening to country and western down here again, were you?'

'No.'

He sounded indignant. She got up and touched the music system to make sure it was cold. There were no books or magazines around. His guitar, like his CD collection, was nowhere to be seen; all three others had made that a rigid rule after listening to him sing one evening. The phone was in the kitchen, so he clearly hadn't been talking to his girlfriend. She returned to the sofa and just looked at him with one eyebrow raised. She knew if she held the expression long enough, he'd cave. He always did.

'I was watching a documentary.'

'Bollocks. You've never watched a documentary in your life.'

She snatched the remote before he could grab it and turned the set back on. The screensaver for the DVD/video player filled the screen. She elbowed him.

'Busted. You've been watching Disney movies again, haven't you?'

Patrick had foolishly made a drunken confession one evening when they'd been discussing childhood likes, that he still enjoyed watching Disney cartoons. The other three housemates had not let him forget it. She noticed he was going bright red which only piqued her interest more. He struggled hard to try and stop her prising the control from his hand, but her nails were long, sharp and newly manicured in expectation of a romance, and the pain she was able to inflict with them made him surrender. They sat in silence as the porn film he'd been watching restarted. A skinny woman who looked about twenty was getting fucked by first two, then three men. Two were youngish with gym- and steroid-produced bodies, the third an older man who was acting as director.

'Documentary?'

Silence. Patrick had shuffled in his place. The young Yvonne stared open-mouthed as she watched the girl getting worked over. She had never seen anything like it. The guys' cocks were bigger than any she'd ever had and there didn't seem to be a second when there wasn't one being shoved vigorously into her pussy while another gagged her cries and moans; it was a time before anal sex was common in the pornographic mainstream. The scene ended with all three men dumping huge loads of cum into the girl's face and the tired-looking heroine blowing kisses to the camera and swapping jokes with the men.

'Jeeezzusss.'

'I'm really sorry. I thought everyone was out. I don't really watch this stuff.'

'I've said it before and I'll say it again. Bollocks. I can see you trying to hide the box of tissues.'

Patrick had started to protest again; the raised eyebrow silenced him and the two of them started laughing.

'It's OK. At least you didn't pull it out and start wanking in front of me.'

'I'm sure we've a rule about that, haven't we?'

'Not that I'd have minded. It gave me a bit of a wide-on myself.'

'Don't.'

'It's OK honest. It's not like I haven't seen yours before.'

She remembered jumping a bit as the video moved on to the start of another scene. The old guy and one of the lads from the earlier bit were chatting up another big-tits bimbo in the street. Something about modelling.

'You didn't tell me there was more.'

Patrick groaned and rubbed the front of his jeans. His erection and obviously swollen balls must have been uncomfortable. Yvonne was squeezing her thighs tight together in anticipation of what was to come.

'Seriously, you'll do yourself damage. Pull it out. It'll give me an excuse.'

She had moved to the far end of the sofa to give him a little 'private' space. By the time the second girl was back at a dodgy-looking flat and being persuaded to flash various bits of her anatomy for the camera, both Patrick and she had their hands in their respective underwear. She'd been wearing tights and had lifted her splayed legs up onto the sofa to make masturbation easier and so that she could watch Patrick and the screen at the same time. The girl was naked and sucking the younger guy's dick when Patrick, with a glance towards her, had pushed up his bum and eased the jeans and underpants down to release himself. Neither of them spoke as he started stroking the familiar member. Yvonne's own right hand was working overtime on her clit and her left was inside her bra tweaking a stiff nipple. This was the hottest thing she had ever seen, she remembered thinking.

'Show us your tits.'

There had been a catch in his voice. The last vestige of embarrassment perhaps? But she complied immediately, watching his face closely as she unbuttoned the blouse she had bought especially for the evening and pulling down the cups of a new bra. He moaned his appreciation and she went back to frigging her little bean. They'd come almost simultaneously. Yvonne recognised the broken breathing pattern from their time together and that quickly brought her to the point of explosion. Watching the string of gooey, translucent spunk erupting from Patrick as she shook and the orgasm ripped through her was the most exciting sexual experience she had had to that point in her young life.

They'd both been a little sheepish as they cleaned themselves up, a more difficult job for Patrick who found the last small globule of his jism drying on the screen itself. Yvonne had just had to lick her fingers and adjust her clothes.

'Let's not tell anyone about this. Agreed?'

'Thanks, Patrick, I was going to ask you the same thing.'

That released the unspoken tension between them and they spent the rest of the evening in a familiar pattern of gentle joshing and arguments about all sorts of trivial things. In the days before Wikipedia those could go on for days if you had the energy. Thesecret didn't last long. Yvonne never found out whether Patrick blabbed, or whether it was her own excitement at wanting to repeat the experience which let the cat out of the bag.

James was the studious one of the quartet. He was a little shy around girls, so when Yvonne and he had found themselves at home together one Saturday night shortly after the Patrick incident, she had made all the running. Enticing him out of his room with the offer of one of her special curries had not been hard. They'd shared a bottle of wine. Her short skirt and tight T-shirt worn without a bra had created a sexual frisson and an offer of watching a movie together was quickly accepted. She'd hired an X-rated film, one of those old British sex comedies rather than Patrick's straight porn. She handed James another bottle of wine and the corkscrew.

'You go and get things set up. I want your opinion on something.'

Whilst on a wander round the city centre that afternoon, Yvonne had found an old-fashioned lingerie shop she'd never noticed before. The mannequins in the dusty window were so old you could see the chips in the plaster they'd been made from. The suspenders and stockings they were all wearing were enticement enough for her. Thinking back on her evening with Patrick, the only frustration had been having to stuff her hand under tights and knickers to get at her quim. Maybe this was the solution.

The two elderly ladies who ran the shop looked surprised to see someone so young enter. But they were amazingly informed - who knew there were so many kinds of stockings? And after she had chosen they helped her adjust the tension in the straps and showed her how to work the clips which held the lacy tops of the pair she had chosen. Only as she admired herself skirtless in the full-length mirror, did they ask any questions..

'Treat for your boyfriend is it, dear?'

'You're not one of those exotic dancers, are you? We get a few of them in here.'

She'd laughed and chosencomfort as her explanation. They'd enjoyed a cup of tea together before she left with a discreet carrier bag and a growing sense of excitement. The endearing oldsters extracted a promise from her that she would return. One she looked forward to keeping.

'So whadja think?'

James paused in the middle of swigging red wine from a pint beer mug and stared at her. It was clear from his eyes that, at first, he had no idea what he was being asked to compliment. When Yvonne took a step forward so that her skirt rose slightly exposing the suspender clips and the beginnings of the elastic holding them in place, he coughed his wine back into the glass.

'I'll take that as a positive, shall I?'

James cleared his throat before replying. He was staring at her legs with eyes that bulged as she tugged the skirt higher to give him the full show.

'Fucking hell, girl. Stockings and suspenders. I've only ever seen them in.'

He stopped and went red.

'Dirty magazines? Porn movies? The old folks home you used to volunteer in?'

James sniggered.

'My older brother used to say that if you got a hand up a girl's skirt and over the tops of her stocking you knew you were in. All the girls I've been with wore tights.'

Yvonne sat without lowering her skirt which meant it hiked up further towards her bum, took the glass of wine which was obviously hers and pressedplay on the video. The film was about a naive young man who left an unnamed town to go to London after being caught peeping at a neighbour through half-opened curtains. Yvonne was as interested in watching James' reaction as the film itself. He had a hard-on from the moment the neighbour dropped her negligee and she enjoyed his growing discomfort as things progressed.

His situation wasn't helped by the fact that she teased him mercilessly. Every time she adjusted her position his eyes were on her instantly. She crossed and uncrossed her legs every few minutes. He seemed fascinated by the short tufts of her public hair which escaped the edge of her flimsiest thong. They required constant management.

Most of the movie was simulated sex scenes. Yvonne had seen things like it before; she'd discovered her father's secret library in her parents' wardrobe when searching for a pair of her mother's dress shoes to borrow. There were no stiff pricks for her to ogle, but plenty of full-frontal female nudity to keep James' attention. The plot, such as it was, concerned the young man's libidinous encounters: with the woman driving a sports car who picked him up on his hitch to London; his new landlady, then her daughter; the female owner of the strip club where he got a job as a doorman; and, naturally, a series of the strippers who worked there. She threw innocent-sounding questions at James during the quieter moments of plot development.

'You ever had an older woman?'

'She's got big ones. What size tits do you prefer?'

'Ever been to a strip club?'

'Do you think they have to screw the punters as part of the job?'

'Reckon there's a chance he'll get the mum and daughter into bed at the same time?'

Most of his replies were mumbled negatives. He almost missed it when she asked if he minded if she got comfortable while hoisting her legs up onto the sofa and slipping a hand over the outside of her knickers as she spread her legs.

'You should too. If your dick gets any stiffer you'll give yourself a strangulated hernia.'

She was rubbing her middle finger ever so gently along the split between the lips of her pussy, but kept an expression of sisterly concern on her face. She reached down and threw him Patrick's box of tissue which had stayed undisturbed on the carpet next to the sofa since her last adventure. By turn, James looked uncertain, then embarrassed and finally as if he was thinking about it. He dropped a hand over his bulging crotch and rubbed tentatively. Yvonne smiled and nodded encouragement as he very slowly stroked himself. They watched each other's every move. Yvonne pushed her shirt up to expose her tits and, after shoving back more pubes which had sprung free, left a finger inside her pants. After a couple of minutes of this, during which time the film's hero had moved on to knocking off one of wardrobe assistants, Yvonne leaned forward and took matters into her own hands.

James offered no resistance as she moved his hand out of the way and undid his zip. He breathed deeply in to loosen the waistband as she struggled with the jeans' metal button, and let it out with a yelp when her hand went into his pants and took hold of his cock. One of his ex-girlfriends had told her one drunken night about the thickness of his short pecker and she surreptitiously tried to look her thumb and forefinger around it was she pulled it free.

'You're going to have to do this. My hands aren't big enough.'

James looked full of himself as he took hold of his todger and followed the arc of her hand back into her own knickers. This time she pulled them aside and parted her labia. Their rhythms synchronised as they stared at each other's busy fingers. Yvonne's moans in times with the woman's from the tax office, who film-boy was mock-rogering on the top of an antique desk, were not entirely faked. But they did the trick and she felt herself melt inside again as James pumped out four hearty streams of lumpy semen.

It was downhill from that point on. Yvonne had clearly been grassed up, because the next time she was almost alone for the evening, Trev, the third of the boys, knocked on her door as she was finishing an essay. He was holding a video whose contents were advertised by two girls snogging on the cover.

'I thought we could watch this together. If you're up for it, that is?'

The two ladies from the knickers shop found her a negligee and she took to wearing it with varying amounts and styles of underwear. Only in the house, that is, and only when she was feeling particularly frisky. She couldn't remember how the sessions graduated to her giving hand jobs. But she distinctly recalled having to suck Patrick off for the first time when he'd got too drunk and then they all seemed to want one.

Yvonne nodded with approval at the image of her remade-up face in the mirror. Maybe she could complete the strip she'd been teasing John with? As he'd said himself, he was an artist. She wouldn't be showing him anything he hadn't seen before. Her brain filled with fractured memories of other episodes from her flat-sharing days. She'd not gone all the way with anyone else like she did at home. But she sniggered as she remembered the parties where she'd deliberately forgotten to wear panties, the tight T-shirts, the too-small blouses she'd taken to wearing and the others which hadlost buttons.

"Good days, old friends. Where are they all now?'

She spotted the green stilettos lying at the bottom of the stairs and climbed back into them. A clumsy striptease, John wouldn't judge her too harshly, followed by a hand job for the man who had made her day. Where was the harm in that? She hummed a passable version of one of the tunes which had soundtracked the strippers from the internet and gave her hip-swing an exaggerated tweak as she walked back to the front room. He wouldn't know what had hit him.

She noticed the room was unusually quiet as she pushed open the door. She looked towards the big screen and saw that rolling-photographs of landscapes were all that was on; it was in screen saver mode. John was looking serious as he stared at her.

'Have I got a treat for you.'

'Come and stand here. I have something I want you to see.'

His expression hadn't changed. She did what he said and stood on the spot he had pointed to alongside him. He was sitting forward on the sofa, knees together. She had to admit to feeling a little apprehensive. She had psyched herself up to putting on a show. She thought she'd been reading the flirtatious vibes between them correctly. But something in John's mood had changed. She drew herself to attention, her own knees just touching the side of his.

'But I.'

'Please be quiet. I have something I wanted you to see before you say anything else. Face the screen.'