The Good Flatmate

Jen's brain felt as shriveled as a discarded Christmas walnut found behind the sideboard in July. The dehydrated nerves twanged painfully inside her skull as she struggled to open her eyes. The malicious glare of the midday sun made her regret it almost instantly. Attempting to dislodge the crust that had embellished her eyes overnight, she forced herself up in bed. Her stomach gave an ominous gurgle, threatening to give her a more physical demonstration of why it isn't a good idea to share three bottles of wine with your best friend on an empty stomach before enjoying several inexpertly mixed almost-White Russians and a couple of whiskey nightcaps. 'Coffee,' she thought, 'that will sort me out.'

Tumbling out of bed and narrowly avoiding smacking her head on the desk, she was surprised to discover she was still wearing her shoes. Kicking them off, she pulled on her jogging shorts and BSU hoodie and manhandled her thick and tangled curls into a hair-band. She kept her gaze firmly averted from the traitorous mirror. Nobody could be friends with their reflection on a day like this.

Delicately she traversed her way through the piles of recycling and laundry that cluttered the hall. She could hear the cat meowing somewhere and hoped it wasn't trapped beneath another pile of newspapers. Hands sticking out from her sides like a tight-rope walker she was cursing herself for not changing the lightbulb when a streak of white fur dashed out in front of her making her lose her balance and go crashing into the mountain bike propped precariously against the wall. The resulting noise must have been loud enough to wake her flatmate and she winced at her inconsideration (after all, he'd had a heavy night too), as well the pain from the graze on her shin as she limped towards his room to check. Of course it was his stupid bike so it was his own stupid fault if he got rudely awakened by it; she thought bitterly as she felt a trickle of blood run down to her foot.

She could see a crack of light coming from his partly opened door and breathed a mental sigh of relief. At least she hadn't woken him but who the hell pisses around with Linux at this hour on a Sunday morning?

Once in the kitchen, trying to forget the inhospitable wasteland that nine hours of drinking had made of their living room, she stuck the kettle on to boil and got out two mugs. Most people might not have had such a crisis of conscience over waking up their flatmate at 11.45, and Jen had never been that sort of overly-cautious co-habitor that tiptoes around mouse-like afraid to cause any offence. But she owed James a hell of a lot for putting her up here and she had also never been one to be unmindful when a great favour was bestowed upon her. After her ex had kicked her out of their flat, refusing to give her back her share of the deposit of course, James swooped in to catch her as she fell. He offered her shelter and respite from the pain. He listened to her rail against the injustice of losing her flat to the cheating fucker who wasn't content to destroy everything good in his own life but felt the need to turn against everyone close to him. He listened to her sob over her lost DVDs, sound system and the pair of Kurt Geiger wedges she'd accidently left under the bed, as well as a good two years of her life. He poured her glasses of wine, handed her tissues and stroked her hair. With the patience and calm of Phra Kaew he dissipated the fire that smouldered inside her, threatening to consume her and blacken her soul. He stopped her from turning into a pile of resentful ash and for that she would always be grateful.

The hot tea burned the knuckle of her curled index finger through the ceramic that was cheerfully adorned with a cute teddy bear and the words 'Good friends make life bearable.' She picked her way through the hall more carefully this time, not wishing to scald herself or alert James to her presence. A nice cup of tea brought by your flatmate is always nicer when it's a surprise. She nudged the door open and froze on the threshold. He hadn't noticed her yet. Setting down the mugs on the bookshelf she drank in the sight of him. Naked except for a laughable pair of Batman boxers he sat on the bed facing a screen showing a writhing woman, his fist wrapped around an impressive length of hardened flesh. The unexpected nature of that sight notwithstanding, the image did something to her, flicked a switch deep inside and, without meaning to, she made the smallest gasp. Though the noise was slight it somehow penetrated his haze of arousal. He glanced up sharply and there was genuine fear in his eyes. Perversely, that look hit her even harder.

In the next few seconds, he tried to simultaneously cover his member, search for an explanation, dither between apology and outrage at her invading his personal space, and even to reach for the monitor's off button before his panicked hungover brain told him it was a bit late for that. She sat herself on the bed next to him.

'Keep going.'

The words hung weighty in the air between them. Her unexpected demand trapped his prepared speech in his throat; all he could get out was 'Are you...?' before the words failed him. There was a look in her eyes that he couldn't fully fathom, but it spoke to him nonetheless. Uncovering his member and gripping himself once again, he began to move his fist up and down. His progress was slow, teasing. He liked to stroke himself gently, his fingers feeling like little more than someone's hot breath caressing his skin. He watched her watching him. What was going on inside her mind? Why was she here? Why was he letting her watch him like this?

'What do you think about?' she asked.

He had been so absorbed in her face he almost missed her words. It took him a while to process what she'd said. She seemed to take this hesitance as shyness and her voice was gentle when she next spoke. 'Tell me.'

'I think about women,' he said, and then felt like an idiot. A slight smirk creased the corners of her eyes. It was a familiar smile, not mocking but friendly, and it relaxed him.

'I think about fucking women.'

'Like the woman on your computer screen?'

'Yes, her, I suppose.'

'Do you know her?'

'No.'

'And how do you think she would feel if she knew the disgusting thoughts going through your head right now?'

The edge in her voice threw him off guard. What was happening? Embarrassed, startled, his hand released his cock and he stammered for an answer.

'I.. I don... I..'

Suddenly her hand was gripping him by the hair, not to cause him pain but as a friendly warning, to let him know who was in charge.

'Did I tell you to stop?'

Obediently, the growl of her voice speaking to some animal instinct, he took a hold of himself again. Stammering and unsure he blurted out his apology.

'Don't be sorry, darling,' she said. Her tone was gentle and she leaned in close to him, her breasts brushing his arm, her hot breath on the nape of his neck. 'Just keep going. Tell me what you've been doing to this woman in that perverted little mind of yours.'

James gulped, groping for the right words, wanting to keep her happy, wanting to keep her next to him.

'I think about how it feels... how her... you know.'

'Her cunt.'

'Yeah, yeah how.. that, how it would feel.' He was embarrassed by her choice of words and couldn't bring himself to say it. It seemed so dirty, not the sort of thing he'd expect to come out of the mouth of such a nice girl.

'And would it be nice and wet for you, James? Ready to receive you?'

'Yes. Yes, that's right she's soaking.' It came out almost as a moan. From somewhere, though he had no idea where, he was finding the confidence to talk to her. Why was he telling her this? Why did she want to know? 'I run my finger over the lips of her pussy. They're so swollen, engorged.' She looked impressed at his linguistic skills, or at least he thought she did. 'I can hear her gasp as I stroke her. I like teasing her, teasing myself, switching between sliding my finger along her clit, and circling the entrance. I know what it's going to feel like when I slide my fingers in but I like to build the anticipation, tease her 'til she wants it more than anything.' Jen shifted on the bed next to him. Her breathing was getting heavier and he could smell a faint trace of sex as she exhaled. He was doing well. Feeling more confident he tightened his grip and began to move his hand harder, faster up and down the length of himself.

'I watch her face contort with pleasure, savour the moans she's making. She's desperate to feel me touch her more intimately.' Where the hell was all this coming from? It was like fucking poetry: he was impressed with himself. And she was enjoying it, he could tell. 'And when I push my fingers in she's so hot, so tight. She twists her body in response to my touch, lifting her hips, pushing against the palm of my hand as I move my fingers inside her. She grips the bed sheets and bites her lip, feeling herself getting close. She grinds against the flat of my hand, stimulating her clit and I make her come, hard. Her muscles pulse around me, tugging on my fingers and her body's shaking. Her juices leak out onto my hand like... I don't know, like liquid silk.' He hoped that simile had been good enough for her. He sneaked a furtive glance at her face, hoping to see a flicker of reciprocated arousal, or indeed any sign of approval register there.

'Keep talking,' she said, giving nothing away. 'What do you want to do next?'

'I want her to straddle my face, I want to be surrounded by her.' James wasn't sure but he felt like he saw a flicker of surprise cross Jen's perfectly impassive face. Maybe she'd pegged him differently. He continued, eager to see if he could surprise her again. 'I lick her and feel her move against my tongue. She's pushing her cunt into my face.' He used her word. Cunt. It felt liberating, sexy, what had he been embarrassed about?

'She's in the right position to suck my cock,' he continued, empowered by his own audacity, 'and I keep licking her as she takes me in her mouth.'

'And how does her mouth feel, James?'

'Good. It feels really good.' That wasn't enough and he knew it. He opened his mouth to add something more intelligent but she interrupted him.

'Does she tease you with her tongue?' He nodded emphatically, his hand still moving, still working on his erection. He hadn't been this hard in a long time. The presence of her, the smell of her next to him was driving him crazy. He knew she must be as turned on as he was. That her cunt was wet. He could smell it. He wanted to ask her to... but he couldn't do it, knew he mustn't do it. It would have broken the spell.

'She circles the head, doesn't she, flicking the tip of her tongue delicately, making you shiver.' James felt an involuntary shudder run up his spine. Her voice was low and resonated with pure carnality. She really knew what she was doing. 'She grips the base of your cock, gently stroking it in time with the strokes of her tongue. Then she wraps her lips around you and begins to swallow you, inch by inch until she has your whole length in her mouth.' She placed her hand on the inside of his thigh. It was such a simple gesture, friendly almost, but it sent a jolt of electricity right through him. He felt her begin to slide her palm lazily, inexorably towards his manhood. He felt like he was going to explode. Somewhere deep inside a truly monumental orgasm was beginning to build but he wanted to hold it off, wanted her to keep talking. 'God, she's good,' he thought, 'she must have done this before.'

Through a fog of lust James could hear her as she continued: 'you start to move your hips, fucking her mouth as she sucks you off. Your face is still enveloped in her cunt and your incessant tongue continues its work. She squirms in pleasure on your chest as you slide your fingers in, desperate to make her come again. She spreads her thighs wider and lets you fuck her with your fingers as you fuck her mouth. You're both getting close now, so close...'

'Oh God, yes, I'm so fucking close!' The words came out in a rush and James's fist was pumping faster than ever when suddenly a gasp of shock escaped him. She'd grabbed him by the balls. Her grip was far from gentle and he wracked his brain trying to think how he might have offended her this time, how he could possibly remedy the situation.

'You really are a filthy boy, aren't you?' A hesitant 'yes' issued from his lips. His eyes were wide open, praying she'd release him if he agreed. He stiffened with fear as she leant in but, with an unexpected tenderness, she did nothing more than plant a kiss on the vulnerable spot just below his ear. Her grip relaxed. She flexed her fingers around him, massaging him, and he breathed an audible sigh of relief.

'Come for me, darling,' she murmured, 'Come for me.' And he did. In that moment, her breath hot on his neck and her breasts grazing his upper arm, he would have done anything to please her. His head was thrown back and Jen could only see the whites of his eyes as the viscous fluid spattered across his stomach. She leant back and surveyed her conquered hero. He was a glorious mess. The throbbing between her legs was almost unbearable but that rush of power, of inspiring someone else's pleasure, was coursing through her veins. She was giddy with elation as she turned to leave and then remembered:

'Oh by the way, could you pop to the newsagent? We've run out of milk. Cheers mate.' And with that she returned to her room.