Why I Hate my Roommate Ch. 01

The heaves started again and I gave her more water. "I'm afraid to say your highness has fallen on hard times and has only me to bring her her drinks tonight," I said. I wasn't meaning to be cruel but it was maybe not the most thoughtful thing I could have said, and she sobbed a little. "Classy, no! Don't be like that! I'm no one, you know that! And you probably saved my life!"

I hadn't, but drunk and melodramatic went hand in hand in my girlfriends so I let it pass. "I'm only teasing. And I'm madly jealous. And you never told this story to anyone? I wouldn't be able to hold it in!"

"This is a shameful story and I was told never to tell. I shouldn't say anything but I must, I want you to know how awful I am."

I fed her more water to shut her up, and she promptly threw up again. "No more water, it makes it worse!"

"Good," I told her. "Throwing up is good right now. You don't know how stupid you were."

"I thought the lemonade would make it better."

"You didn't use very much, and anyway, it was hard lemon punch, and Sandy mixed it. You basically had gin in your vodka. I blame myself, I never guessed you'd go near it. But as long as you don't pass out I don't think I have to call the hospital."

"You can't call them! He'd hear!"

"Wait, what? Andrei?"

"He'd find out. I'm not allowed to drink. He'd be furious."

"Babe... what other rules does he have for you?"

"You..." she looked up, and then closed her eyes, dizzy and blushing. "...don't want to know."

We were roomies, not soul sisters, and it was not my place to pry. But suddenly I was very curious and she'd probably never be this talkative again

"Tell me. Now."

"Classy you're a nice girl there's things you don't-"

"Now, Sy."

"Ok, ok! Don't raise your voice at me, I'm miserable enough. I'm... in over my head with him, I know it. I can't drink or date. No parties, no dances. I can't... have orgasms unless I'm with him or on camera with him, and I have to ask before I'm allowed to touch him when we're together-"

"Sy!"

"It's because I like it that way!"

I started at her. She cried a little.

"It's true. I... like it this way. He and his friends taught me to like it... it's addictive. He's powerful and I respond to it. I didn't have much of a sex drive before he... got to me. Now, you can't imagine it. I know how it sounds. But he's not bad. He can be very affectionate. And it's a little different for me. Where I was raised men expect to be obeyed, it's not like here. Don't judge me."

It wasn't the time for a lecture, she was much too drunk. (Remember I'm still cleaning up her words here, she was slurring heavily and sobbing a lot.) When she was sober she and I would have it out, but for now I decided to change the topic before I said something harsh. "Ok, ok, I guess everyone has a bad boyfriend once. Tell me more about the party."

"Where was I?"

"Cleaned up, dressed up, taught manners, something to drink."

"Oh. By then it was around seven in the evening. We were told we'd be introduced to the men at dinner; we were told to eat lightly and there'd be a big breakfast tomorrow. I remember I was shaking. Being prettied and dressed and all the rest is one thing, having to meet actual men is another. But we were lead down the hall, all polished black marble and our high heels echoing as we walked, pearls on our necks – that was a first for me – and there was an immense banquet table set up. At every other place setting there was a colored shape, so we knew where to sit. We were told to remain standing until the men came in and got our chairs for us. And there we stood, alone, nervous, silent, waiting. We were all so beautiful and somehow having to wait was... not romantic, but erotic in a very raw way. We were here for men. That was when it began to dawn on me that there was no nice way to put what we were. We were entertainment. Ornate and prettily wrapped toys. I should have been horrified, but I wasn't. Only curious, excited, scared, and... aroused.

"They came in, talking and laughing, clearly old friends and family. So well dressed, suits and tuxedos, a few military uniforms. I was suddenly very shy, something I had never experienced before, not like this. The men just took places without I think even looking at the colored shapes, but of course I didn't know for sure. Maybe I was sitting next to my eventual blind date and maybe I wasn't. He could have been on either side of me or anywhere in the room, with some other girl... I felt so many emotions, so fast. The one to my left held my chair and got me seated, introduced himself as a Colonel... I can't give names, I must not. He was handsome and gallant, and under thirty but maybe not much. Too old for me at the time, but he didn't seem to care and he plied me with humor and compliments and kept my plate filled. The men got meat, the women got soup and vegetables, very elegantly arranged, everything was so beautiful. The men didn't touch the women, but they looked at us in ways that were like being touched. I was blushing from head to toe in my translucent top and my elegant skirt, and the colonel suddenly leaned towards me and whispered in my ear 'You are very beautiful, sweet Syriena; after the meal I wish to talk to you.' It sounds good enough in English, but in Romanian it sends a shiver down your back. The word for he used for beautiful has overtones of sex. Tu eşti frumoasă. I was wordless, looking down at my plate, and when I could speak I stuttered the same phrase back – in Romanian the same words are used for beautiful women and handsome men. He chuckled and then kissed my ear, very lightly. I dropped my fork, and the girl across the table giggled at me. I wanted to die.

"After the meal was dancing, and I only knew dances from the little local club I'd been invited to in the town a few times, and the traditional Romani dances my father had insisted I learn. But some of them can be danced to waltz music and the colonel knew them, so we did fine. Some of the girls knew how to waltz properly and I was insanely jealous and I vowed to learn. But then a man cut in... that happened a lot. You never knew who you'd dance with from one minute to the next, or in what style. Anyway he insisted I try to waltz, badly or not. I got a lot wrong at first but he was both firm and patient, an older man... I found out later he was a prince of the royal family. I was glad no one told me before, I'd have been a statue in his arms. He embarrassed me horribly but also got me to laugh as we danced, and I decided I liked him. He was also the only one to do anything at all unseemly with me in the dances – he pinched my ass when someone cut in on us and swept me away. I was offended at the time. But I suppose when you are considered royalty you do as you please... I don't know how to explain this. Guys here think nothing of touching girls and because of that it doesn't mean anything. There it happens less and means more."

She drank a little water. She was slurring less. "Roomie... I have to stop talking. These are secrets."

"You have to tell me more." If only because there were salacious details to come and now I wanted to know them all.

"Fine. I am punishing myself by telling you all this. Bad girls need to be punished, Andrei sometimes says." That sent a little shiver down my back. I like being spanked and I have never really wanted to think about what that meant. The thought of pretty Syeira being spanked was hotter than it should have been.

"Besides it doesn't sound so bad. Some dinner and dancing."

"In a tight translucent top."

"Baby, I've done worse at raves."

"Keep listening, innocent Classy. There were breaks in the dancing, and it became obvious that no matter what, it was always to be a man and a woman together. Little pairs, no exceptions. Here the boys have that cute custom – wingmen. So childish! Real men don't need them. When these men talked to you, they talked to you and no one else existed. And oh does that work. They drowned you in attention, focusing on your lips or eyes, they bring you little drinks – no alcohol was involved, by the way, nothing to dull your senses or calm your nerves other than the one little drink at the start. Compliments, joking, questions about your past without going too deep. I know you hate me for dismissing all the boys on campus, but believe me once you've seen what a man can be like you aren't as fascinated by boys. They had me enthralled right from the start, completely mesmerized. I was an emotional whirlwind – embarrassed, fascinated, aroused, laughing, shaking, awe-struck, shy, flirting... everything a woman wants in her star-studded, romantic, opulent evening.

And then the bell rang. I had just settled into a chair to talk with a man I didn't know. I'd been told about the bell but I didn't really understand. My head was still swimming with the richness and beauty of it all, the gas lamps reflecting on brass and gold, the perfume on me and the smell of the men, the feel of the silk and velvet and organza I was wrapped in, the pearls at my throat. I won't tell you how old I was, but he was I think thirty, too old for me of course. So the bell rang and everything just stopped, and every woman shivered. He chucked softly, and he kissed me, and I froze, but then tried to kiss him back, because what else do you do? But he stopped me and reminded me that I was to be, what is the word... passive. I could not kiss back. I was shuddering in that moment, and not with revulsion. He was handsome, in a suit with medals... an important politician with military rank, and I finally understood that for this time he was in command of me. He kissed me slowly, nibbled me, whispered to me that I was to be his perfect doll, warm and touchable. All around me, girls being treated like this, the air was electric. I was pink from head to toe in seconds, blushing so hard. He slipped behind me, whispered in my ear about my beauty, and then his thumbs ran over the sides of my dress, against the sides of my breast. My nipples were immediately very hard and it was very visible.

"I looked away in embarrassment, but that was a mistake... another man was running his fingers over the lips of a wide-eyed girl who clearly ached to suck his fingers. Another was having her breasts slowly fondled through thin silk and she was so embarrassed but it made her so hot... suddenly her eyes closed and she arched and her head went back, and he pulled down her dress, removed her bra. I stared. I had never seen another woman aroused like that and in that moment I understood about a woman's body. We're nothing but handles and places to touch. Nipples and lips and clits to tease, breasts and hair and ankles and wrists and thighs to grab. We are shaped for men, made to be gripped and compelled. I was in flames, and in that moment the man with me opened the small hooks at the front of my dress – my outfit had no bra – and his hands slid over my breasts. I was frozen now, terrified that my emotions would show. He kissed my mouth again and I learned you can ache with the need to kiss, it can literally hurt to stop yourself. Then he whispered against my lips that I could kiss him back, but if I did he would become shameless... I fought it and fought it, because what would be more shameless than this? and his fingers worked my nipples, and everyone could see... somehow it was being seen like that, that turned me inside out. I was moaning against his lips, shaking, needing to kiss him, this stranger whose name I didn't know. I think I sobbed, and then I kissed him like I had never kissed a boy before. He chuckled against my lips, and pulled me into his lap, and his hand... I was in a full skirt, velvet and silk, and his hand started at my ankle, and swept upwards. Slowly. Uncovering me. Fingers trailing up my leg, so slowly and lightly, and I just kept kissing him, wantonly. I didn't dare stop because I didn't want to know who was looking at me. And I could not stop anyway. He nibbled my lower lip, and one hand cradled a breast, showing it to anyone who cared to look, while the other stroked the inside of my bared thigh. I was burning in shame, but shame can be erotic, can't it... it means we are not in control, and that is deep down what we crave. And his erection, pressed up under me.... He pinched down on my nipple suddenly and my imagination went crazy. I was very aware of how wet I was, and scents and temperatures. His hand was warm, his lips hot. The cool air on my thigh, the tingle beginning... I rubbed my legs together, slowly. I'd only ever done that before to tease a boy, never because of what I truly felt inside."

I listened to her, eyes wide. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale from the shock of the alcohol, but her cheeks were flushed. She was lost in her recollections. She was impossibly lovely and it was very hard not to imagine the man at the party, smiling darkly in that way men do when they know they've won us, toying with her, uncovering her. I swallowed.

"I remember opening my eyes and looking at another girl, an exotic blonde woman, older, perhaps 20. Her companion had pinned her wrists back against the chair she was trapped in, and he was mercilessly sucking her nipple. He head was slowly tossing back and forth in that way we do when we're overwhelmed. Another girl was being told to slowly stroke her companion's cock through her suit pants, and her hand trembled as she very slowly pressed her hand along his length. The smile on his face as she licked her lips...

"Suddenly the bell rang again – the twenty minutes was up. My companion closed my dress front, leaving one hook open, and then raised me up – and reached under and removed my panties.

"They are sodden, Syeira'," he said, softly. He tossed them aside; I would not get them back. And I realized I had not given him my name, but he knew it. Somehow that made me shake. Perhaps he would be the one, later.

"'I can't help it,' I blurted to him.

"'You would disappoint us if it was any other way," he said. 'You are likely to be invited to more parties; you are very pleasing.'

"The girls were mostly dressed again, but a few were left topless, and some pinned up hair was now down. And on the floor there were scattered a few bras and panties. I stared at them, and realized the bell would ring two more times before midnight. I think the color drained from my face, at that thought. I would be dancing and making small talk with men and suddenly that would all happen again. Now I knew what it would feel like, and the anticipation made it impossible to think. A bell would ring and a stranger would take charge of my body... and I'd respond. More deeply each time, I knew. I stared around at the men. Which one I talked to was important.

"The room was different now. Some of the women here had been to parties like this before, for others like me it was the first time. But now we all understood how things were, the innocence was gone and only anticipation was left. We were all burning, all standing with ears straining for the touch of the hammer on the bell. You know what anticipation does to arousal. Girls were licking their lips, eyes darting around, nipples hard against cloth, cheeks pink. We looked like the toys we had suddenly become, and seeing each other like that made us want to be the best toy.

"I was with Andrei when the bell rang the next time. It was our first conversation, and the moment the bell rang he gripped my hair and kissed my mouth, even as I was gasping in shock, but this time I remembered about not kissing back. And then he removed his tie, and slowly and deliberately knotted it around my wrists, behind my back. Then he opened his shirt, took my hair in his hand again, and compelled me to kiss my way down his chest. He rides, wrestles, does rock-climbing... his chest is... nice. When he was done with that he was standing and I was kneeling to him in my finery, and I realized I'd been licking his belly.

"It was in this moment that the word submission occurred to me, and what it implied. I was panting and staring at the huge bulge in his pants. I tore my eyes away, terrified he'd make me suck him in public. From his dark laughter I knew he'd read my mind. But he merely sat down and commanded me to sit in his lap. I obeyed. I was shaking too hard to disobey. But I thought he'd done his worst by allowing me lick his belly in public. I was wrong.

"His hand pressed between my legs, through the dress. He rubbed, slowly and firmly, then faster. As he did, he made me kiss his mouth, and told me to kiss wantonly. I was too shy or confused to understand or obey, so he used the grip on my hair to turned my head, and snapped, 'Like her', and pointing at a pretty girl no older then I, who was open mouthed kissing her older companion in the most eager, slutty fashion possible. I nodded sickly, frightened by his impatient anger, and tried to obey, and slowly I felt the anger drain out of him. I was pleasing him.

"I think I was too shocked to really react to the rubbing he was doing, but I suddenly realized that I was soaking into my dress, under his hand. The wetness would be very, very obvious. Somehow that was worse than having my breasts uncovered, and I went scarlet.

"Then his hand went under my dress, and the way he touched me then was nothing I could ignore. It turned my kissing from willful artifice to slutty need. My tongue slipped in and out of his mouth frantically, begging him to give me the same back with his finger; I'd forgotten the males didn't penetrate until after midnight. He knew what I wanted, and his finger teased me mercilessly. In the end my hips were bucking. But he still had worse in store.

"He suddenly took off my pearls and wrapped them around his fingers. Then he pushed my legs apart and used the pearls to rub my clit, up and down, quickly, firmly, while sucking and biting my lips and neck. A boy had only made me come once before. That had been nothing compared to what was building up inside me now. My legs went taut, my back arched, and somehow my bound wrists made it so much more intense... he stopped, kissed my nipples roughly, started again, stopped. I begged for mercy in a whisper, and he laughed. 'No orgasms before midnight, pretty playmate.'

"I looked at the clock. Ten thirty. There would be one more bell before midnight. By the time midnight came, I would be uncontrollably needy. Knowing that only made it hotter.

"He stood me up, freed my wrists... and stripped me naked. He ran his hands all over me, petting me in front of everyone, showing me off... and then picked a bra and pair of panties from the floor, and put them on me. Both were too small, and that emphasized the fullness of my breasts and the feel of everything. He draped the pearls on me again, and they were slippery wet and smelled of me. The bell rang the end, and he smiled sardonically and walked off. I could barely stand. I was panting, in bra, panties, pearls and heels, with ornately done hair and nothing else. And I was better off than some of the girls.

"I went for a bite of food, and tried to talk to a girl at the table because I needed the sanity that only women provide. But she shook her head at me. 'No, sweetheart. If the bell rings and two women are talking, they are made to play with each other while the men play with them. Find a man.'

"Finding a man was easy enough. The last part of the evening involved more dancing – but now it was dancing with fully clothed, horny men and mostly naked women. Hard cock after hard cock pressed up against my bared belly as I danced, and all I could think was 'will it be this one? That one?' and I could not stop myself from rubbing my belly against them. Man after man swirled me around the floor, and I couldn't make a coherent conversation, only feel things and whisper little broken sentences when spoken to. The dance involved many switching of partners, making it impossible to guess who you'd end up with when the bell rang again. Can you imagine what that felt like? Man after man, petting and steering my now desperate body, and at any moment I would be a plaything again...