Deenie

“Hey, Fappy, I need the electricity money.” Deenie leaned on his door.

Sean sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. He tried out his death stare.

She rolled her eyes.  “Terribly sorry to tear you away from your imaginary girlfriends.”

He glanced back at his command center. Did she always have to catch him looking at porn? It was like she had smut radar.

He scooted forward, dug around in a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed, and excavated a checkbook.

“That’s amazing.” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“What?”

“That you can find anything in here at all,” she said.

“I keep telling you, there’s a system.” He picked through debris on his desk, searching for a pen. “How much?”

“Ninety-five.”

He wrote it out, signed, and handed her the thing.

“It’s not going to bounce, is it?”

“Have any of them bounced?”

“Right. No, you’re right. Sorry. You may be Creepy Sean, but you pay your bills.” She nodded, and she shoved the check into her bra strap.

He tossed the checkbook on his desk, knocking over a can, which destabilized a book, and sent his phone, a screwdriver, and some change cascading to the floor. He shook his head. “I am not creepy. You’re shallow.”

“I didn’t name you Creepy Sean. My friends did. Because you’re so warm and inviting.”

He swiveled idly in his chair and popped his knuckles. She grinned at him. “You’ve got a flaming skull tattooed to your tits. You really wanna talk about warm and inviting?”

She screwed her face up and shrugged. “Dude, forget it. You’re not creepy. Fine. Marinate in the cock cave with the porn bots until the dirty laundry and Cheetoh dust become sentient. I don’t fucking care.”

“Your friends are idiots.” Irritation flared up. Why was she still here? “And, you’re lucky cocks don’t shrivel up and fall off when you walk in the room.”

“Yes. Yes, I am hideous and cursed with real boobs. Never shall I know the touch of a man. It’s a tragedy.”

“Poor you.” He plucked a smoke out of the pack on his desk and scanned his room for a lighter.

Really, he’d only knew about her fucking three times since she’d moved in:  the  bald weirdo with no eyebrows, a tiny little emo girl who cried at the drop of a hat, and an older guy from who-knows-where in Eastern Europe.

It was exactly three more people than Sean had laid in the four months since she’d moved in.

“Are you going to be around this weekend?” he asked.

“Why? Are you going to try to lure some poor innocent girl into your lair?”

“Negative. And, it’s not a lair. It’s a dungeon.”

“Chicken choking marathon?”

“Forget I asked.” He swiveled his chair back around to his desk. Where the hell was his lighter?

“I think you’ll be okay, man. I shouldn’t be around.” She moved into his room.  Now he was stuck in a full-blown conversation. “You’re going to go blind.”

“Hairy palms?”

“No. I mean all that staring at a screen. Though, yes, your excessive self-abuse will catch up with you in the end. You are so full of shit, anyway.” She tip-toed to his night stand and plucked a lighter out of the clutter. “I saw that profile thing you put up.”

He picked at his facial hair. “You know, it’s almost like you’re stalking me. You don’t have to. You know where I sleep.”

“Yes, I do.” She handed him the lighter. “You sleep somewhere in this fire trap.”

“Not all of us can maintain your standards for living. Maybe you’d be less cranky if you had a real bed.”

“Beds are bad for your back.”

“You’re insane.”

“Whatever. You left your shit up in the living room. I saw. There was no stalking involved.”  She perched on his bed.

“Stalker.”

“Oh, sure. Yes. I am stalking you. I am gagging for a shag from a guy that thinks he’s, like, the amazing, undiscovered Dom King of the Universe.”

Sean’s gut roiled with something close to embarrassment, mixed with panic and being pissed off. He tested the lighter. It still worked. “Fuck you, Deenie.”

“You know, your problem is that you’re dishonest.”

“No, really. Fuck you, Deenie. Leave my room. Go find someone to scare. Get the fuck out of here, please.”

“See? That. The ‘please.’ That is what I am talking about. You’re fucking kidding yourself.”

He sighed. “What? What do you want? Yes, I am a loser. I long to bang chicks that are way out of my league, and my ego greatly exceeds my contributions to society. Get the fuck out.”

She scratched her nose and studied him, not budging. “That’s not what I am talking about. I mean, yes. Those things are true, but that’s not the point.”

“Jesus, then what is your point?”

“My point is that you’re just not ever gonna be Lord Thunderpants. You just like the idea of blow jobs on command.”

He blinked and gave up. Clearly, she wasn’t leaving. He lit his smoke. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Do you have important fapping to get back to? Some sort of fap date with other fappers?”

She was in a hell of a mood today. “No. I don’t. Thanks.  So… what? Why are you taking issue? Who doesn’t like blow jobs on command?”

“You lack the drive to dominate anyone. Even imaginary porn bots.”

“My laziness doesn’t extend to my sex drive,” he protested.

She frowned. “Well, okay. I’ll give you that. You’re probably singly supporting a lube factory out there. Give me a cigarette.” He handed over his pack. She pulled one out, packed it on his bed frame, and lit. He’d generally give her free smokes just to watch her light them. He wasn’t sure why. She had a way with fire. Deenie lilted back and exhaled. “It’s all well and good to want blow jobs on command, but you don’t want a submissive chick. You want a prostitute and a maid.”

“A sub chick would be cheaper, don’t you think?”

“That’s disgusting.” She licked her lips and took a drag. He did enjoy watching the woman smoke. “A sub would be a load of work. Factor in time. Emotional upheaval. Potential drama. Just hire this shit out.”

“No, that is disgusting.”

“Your room is disgusting. Your porn habit is kind of disgusting. Your life, actually. That is sort of disgusting.” She flicked her ashes into an empty can. “Maybe if you just hired someone to blow you and hired some other person to clean this dump, you could… I don’t know. Get out. Fresh air. Sunlight. Encounter people in meat space. That sort of thing.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “I’m not going to hire out my, uh, situation. Thank you.”

She shook her head. “You want access to vagina without doing any of the work. Why would anyone go for that? What are you bringing to the table, Fappy?”

“I don’t know. There are girls. You know. With low self-esteem. They want someone to boss them around. What do I have to lose?”

“Your dignity?”

“I’m shocked you’ve decided I have any.”

She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. “Eh. What’s left of it should be preserved. We don’t want you falling into some sort of situation where you’re seeking out 12-year-old boys from Thailand, because that’s the only thing that gets you off anymore. The porn is going to kill you, man.”

“You sound like a minister.”

“It ain’t like that, and you know it. I don’t think Satan is lapping up your spilled seed. I just think… you know, that whole… fake life thing. It’s creepy. You’re creepy, Sean. You need to stop the creep.”

“I am not sure I actually acknowledge the creep. Your methods for quantifying creep may be outdated. Maybe there’s more me out there than you. Ever think about that?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She ran a hand through her hair. “Do I want to even know?”

“The army of internet troglodytes. We are legion. Self-aware legion. We don’t need useless counsel from punk ass freaks. We just need. Um. Kleenex. The march toward realistic 3D environments.  Maybe some sort of goggle… things.”  He bit his lip and frowned. “Robots. Future robots.”

“Future robots?  Jesus. That’s pitiful. You know that, right? The dude brahs are going to outnumber you in no time, at this rate. The world will be overrun with little Colby Juniors.  You’ve doomed the fucking planet, asshole. At least in olden times guys like you had to leave the house to get your dirty magazines.”

“I am really not that into porn. I swear.”

“I know. You’ve now moved on to impersonating a BDSM top in the hopes some sad woman with no self-respect will make you microwave burritos while you talk about how smart you are.”

He looked up at a drooping poster above her head.

She followed his gaze. “Fucking pitiful, man.”

“Got any tape?”

“Nah.”

He scanned his desk. “You know, I think you’ve underestimated me. How hard can it be to tell someone what to do?”

“Did you ever consider that you’ve got it all backwards?”

Sean rummaged through a drawer. “What do you mean?”

“That you are the one that needs someone to tell you what to do.”

“What? Like a dominatrix? I am not into pain.”

“You seem okay with a lifetime of humiliation.”

“Very funny.” He found a cardboard scrap full of tacks. “Found them.” He climbed over her, stood on his bed, and tacked the damned thing back up.

She blew smoke up at him. “I’m serious. You’ve lost the thread. I mean, at this rate, you’ll end up hoarding garbage until the whole mess collapses on top of you. And, there you will die. Alas, poor Sean. Buried under a mountain of fast food wrappers and spooge tissues.”

He looked down at her, and resisted the urge to make a mushroom tat joke, mostly out of a fear that she’d punch him in the dick. “I don’t think that’s a risk. This garbage is not a security blanket. It’s just a monument to sloth.” He sat down on his bed. This was the first time he’d be on a bed with a woman in… too long.

“You should think about it,” she said.

“What?”

“You. Submissive.”

“Why would I think about that? I reject it. It’s not that way.” A thought, a gnat of doubt, flickered. He might, might be willing to let some chick boss him around, if it meant he’d get off. Of course, there were any number of inconsequential humiliations he might endure to be with a woman at this point—dinner dates, chick flicks, petting baby animals. Pretending to give a shit about Dancing with the Stars. He’d jump through any number of minor hoops to get laid before his penis gave up on him and ran away to live with some other boy.

Deenie finished her cigarette and dropped it into the soda can. “You really should clean up in here,” she said. “Fucking vermin could move in.”

“I thought hipsters were supposed to be dirty?”

“I’m not a hipster.”

“Okay, well. I’m not a sub.”

She eyed him. “Whatever. If you say so.” She stood up and looked around. “I’m serious, man. Clean this shit up this weekend. God only knows what’s growing in it. You’re gonna wind up with a rat gnawing on your balls in the middle of the night.”

He snorted. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll clean. But only to save my balls.”

“This shit ain’t right,” she said. “Um, you’ve got mail downstairs, too, before I forget. On the table.”

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sean hauled three precariously balanced baskets of laundry into to the apartment.

Deenie sprawled out on the sagging velour couch that used to be in his grandmother’s living room reading a book. She shot him a surprised look. “What’s up, Fappy?”

Sean dropped the baskets and steadied them against a bookshelf. “That’s not actually my name, you know.”

“It is in my mind,” she said, laying the book on her chest. “You excavated?”

“Yeah. No ball-gnawing rats so far.”

“That you know of.”

He didn’t argue with that. “What are you doing here?”

“Eh. I got the weekend off. Someone desperately wanted some cash. I let her have my shift.”

“Sweet.” He’d been looking forward to having the apartment to himself, actually. He just wanted to shower, jerk off, and watch marathon episodes of pirated tv. Maybe get cheese steak sandwiches.

He lugged the laundry up the stairs to his room. Maybe she’d leave soon. She bored easily.

He folded the laundry. It was one of those things. He meant to clean, but it was easier to just let it pile up. He meant to do a lot of shit. Finish his book. Not live in a hovel. Find a woman. Exercise. Quit smoking.

Mostly he went work, came home, and sat in front of the computer.

He had insurance. Maybe he needed antidepressants.

He worked until the baskets were all empty. He felt better. Lighter. The space and vacancy helped.

He made his bed.

He sat on it and lit a smoke.

Deenie appeared in his door way. Porn radar and cigarette radar.  “It looks better.”

He offered her the pack. She took one, and sat in his chair, swirling around, all swinging legs and an air of mischief. “I’m not going to catch something sitting in this fucking thing, am I?”

“Probably not.” He blew smoke at her. “That doesn’t mean it’s sanitary.”

“Ew.” She kept lazily rotating. “Wanna drink tonight? I want to drink.”

“I don’t drink.  What happened to your plans?” He looked around and realized that he’d cleaned up all the soda cans to ash in.

He actually had to use an ashtray.

He could actually find his ashtray.

“My plans for the night left me a nasty text,” she said, still spinning slowly. “Apparently, I’m a bitch, and she doesn’t want me ruining her night.”

“So you want to ruin my night?”

“Oh, now you’re feeling feisty?” Deenie stopped the chair and smirked at him. “Cleaning put some fight in you?”

He shrugged. “Want cheese steak?”

“Is that a euphemism? If it is, you’re disgusting.”

“No. You can’t have my cheese steak. There is no cheese on my steak. Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” He shook his head. “Eating was next on the agenda. Would you like to join me?”

“Look at you. All agenda-ed. I am impressed.”

“Cheese steaks?”

“Go get them,” she said. She pulled out her wallet.  “Here.” She handed him cash. “I’ll pay.”

“I am not your sandwich monkey,” he protested.

“You’re the one that offered. Bring me a sandwich, yo. I am paying.  For fuck’s sake. Why are you being contrary?”

“Fuck, fine. Whatever. Do you want fries?”

“Yes,” she said. “And, beer.”

He tucked the cash into his pocket. “You know I hate drinking.”

“It’s beer. It doesn’t even technically qualify as drinking.”

“It does, too.”

“Fine. I want to drink. I am bored.”

“That’s an even worse reason to drink.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re going to lecture me now?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Seriously, dude. Why are you giving me shit? I am buying you dinner. I encouraged your em-betterment as a human being,” she said, gesturing at his room. “You’re an ingrate.”

“Fine. Beer. I’ll be back.”

Sean made the trip quickly. She might be bossy and rude and annoying, but he found himself oddly happy for company.

It was nice. Picking up dinner. Bringing it back.

She had her nose back in the book when he got back. “I am starving.”

Sean marveled at the way she ate. She put away as much as he did, but she was an itty-bitty thing.  The tough-girl act only faked taking up more space. Despite her commitment to materialist minimalism she’d moved in with step stools. She was too short to reach the high shelves in the cabinets.

He watched her sit at the wobbling coffee table, inhaling her sandwich. She only paused to chug beer.

People in the parking lot screamed in Spanish. Car doors slammed, motors revved, tires squealed. Deenie frowned. “How do you put up with this every weekend? This is depressing as shit.”

He shrugged. “It’s a full moon.”

“So you actually have the schedule of expected shenanigans?”

“Kind of.” He leaned over the couch, lifted the blind, and peeked out the front window. The woman from the next building over gesticulated wildly with another Latina.

“You’re here, like, every weekend.”

“I don’t do the meat market thing.”

“Bullshit. The computer is just easier to get naked.”

“Maybe,” he dropped the blind and looked back at her. “Why do you pick on me so much?”

“You let me.” She ate another fry.

He wasn’t sure if it was true, but it was close enough.  He finished his sandwich.

He collapsed into the couch. “It’s not that depressing. You get used to being alone. People are dicks for the most part, anyway.”

“True.” She nodded.

“Besides, I don’t trust people who can’t handle being alone for even a minute. If you can’t handle yourself, how terrible are you?”

“Sure, mock the shallow asshats. Whatever. You’re not being stoic. You’re not some vision of boot-strapping independence. Your bitch-ass would die in the wilderness. Go crazy. Talk to yourself and lose your shoes and fuck goats.” She crumpled up her sandwich wrapper.

“I’m in danger of becoming a mountain man who practices bestiality?”

“Well, no. You haven’t seen the wilderness in some time.”

He nodded and pulled out a smoke. Lit it. Gave it to her. Lit another for himself. He wondered if she ever bought her own.

“Thank you.” She took a long drag, then blew a smoke ring.  He had never mastered the trick.

“I fucked up,” she said.

“What happened?”

“That girl. The one with the really long hair?”

“Uh. Yeah. Cousin It. She was here for a second.”

“I pissed her off. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to. It’s not my fault her friends are fucking stupid as hell.”

He wondered if those were the exact words she’d used with long-haired girl. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”

He shook his head; he didn’t know. He apologized out of habit. “Did you ever think that maybe you should, you know… be nicer?”

“Nicer?” She looked at him like he’d suggested she perform a self-amputation.

“Like, yeah. Nicer. You’re sort of aggro.”

“Aggro?”

“Aggressive. For no reason.”

She pulled another beer out of the six-pack. “I had a teacher that banned us from using ‘nice’ in papers. ‘Nice’ and ‘like.’ Totally verboten.”

“Why?”

“She said they were meaningless.”

“Maybe for English papers. They work out okay in the real world.”

“Yeah? You’re a nice guy, Sean. Do people like you?” She assessed him in a way that made him feel naked.

“I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they don’t dislike me.”

“They don’t dislike you? They don’t… actively like you. The just don’t dislike you. That’s, uh, I don’t know, man. She might hate me, but at least she feels something. Bitch won’t forget me, will she?”

“A little attention is better than none?”

She frowned and picked at her feet. “It’s something. I pick up enemies at a slower rate than I pick up friends. The math should work out.”

“If you say so.”

“Better than zero plus zero.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She moved about in a restless way, glanced at the book she’d left on the end table. “You were going to watch TV?”

“Yeah. I bet it’s come down by now. You gonna read?”

She took a drag from the cigarette and looked him over. “I guess.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Unless you wanna fuck.”

He ashed.  He was pretty sure he’d heard her wrong. “What?”

“Fucking. Do you want to fuck?”

He blinked. Was it a joke? “I don’t understand.”

She snorted. “Really? You are confused about the nature of my inquiry?”

“Like, sex?”

“Yes. Way to catch up there, Fappy. Like sex.”

He scratched his beard, stubbed the cigarette. His brain refused to spit out an answer; it stalled out. “Um.”

“But,” she said. “We’re doing it my way.”

“Your way.” It wasn’t even a question. He was just repeating her.

“Yes. My way. I’d hate to guess how you do it, anyway. I imagine it’s awkward.”

He wasn’t going to argue with that. He’d almost put out a girl’s eye once, but that had been an accident.  “So, you mean, now?  Sex.”

She finished her cigarette. Took another sip. “Okay.”

“Is this how you usually do this?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“And it works?”

“You just said yes.”

“I have a penis, and some chick just asked, ‘Wanna fuck?’”

“Well, then. I guess you have your answer.”

“I am not sure I even actually said yes. Is this going to be some sort of weird shit, where you stuff a rubber chicken up my ass, and then insist I call you mommy?”

She pouted, but looked thoughtful. “Probably not. Where do you even get a rubber chicken? Is that actually a thing?”

He wasn’t sure.

“I want to tie you up, though.”

He scratched at his beard. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

His brain caught on that she was serious, and his cock suddenly had an opinion.

She stood up, and stretched. “Ever done it?”

“Been tied up? No.”

“Well, how do you know you don’t like it?”

“Um. I didn’t even know you liked me?”

“Who said I like you? No nice-ing and no like-ing.”  She shook a finger at him.

“Do you generally fuck people you don’t like?”

She shrugged. “I fuck people I think are interesting. Sometimes I like them. Sometimes I just like how they look. You? You, I just want to play with. You need it.”

“I need it?”

“Yes. It’d be gratifying for me. Personally. Go upstairs. My room.”

He looked up at her with disbelief.

“Get.”  She shooed him with her hand. “I’m not asking again.”

He believed her. He was only a man. He stood up and headed to the stairs. Looked back at her. She wasn’t watching him; she cleaned up the mess from the sandwiches. Jesus, what was he doing?

Tie him up.

Who the fuck was he to turn down kinky sex with an actual live woman?

He ascended the stairs slowly, moving into the dark, on pins and needles.

“Sit on the floor,” she called up. “Naked.”

He groped for her light switch. A bare-bulbed lamp on the floor came alive. Her sparse room shamed his digital porn dungeon.  The weird sleeping mat. A beat up footlocker. Several filled backpacks. A laundry basket full of books.

She wanted him naked.

The clothes had to go. Christ, if she came upstairs right now and laughed at his nudity, then told him to forget it, he was killing himself tonight. That was all there was to it.

He took his shirt off and threw it into the hall. It landed halfway between their doors. He couldn’t even accurately throw a shirt. He stripped off his pants. They made it to his doorway, but now he was a naked man in socks. He hopped around, twirling as he went, removing the socks. They landed in disparate locations, one at the top of the stairs, and one behind her bedroom door.

What the fuck was she doing down there?

What the fuck am I doing up here?

He sat bare-assed, cross-legged, his balls grazing her cold, hardwood floor.

Panic bubbled. He should take his naked ass and half-erection back to his swiveling computer chair where his dick belonged.

She’d tossed a bottle into the trash. He heard the glass crash.

He leaned over, elbows on his knees, like a little kid at story time. He waited.  Anxiety over his own nudity mounted. He heard her ascend the stairs.

She peeked around the doorway, then walked in. She didn’t say anything.

She stalked to her closet and pulled out a forest green duffel bag. It had a loud zipper. She glanced back at him, finally. “Eyes to the front.”

“Seriously?””

“Yes.”

He looked back into the hallway, staring at his doorway. She moved around; the bag jostled.

“You better not fuck me in the ass,” he said. “I will be very unhappy if you fuck me in the ass.”

“Okay,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Um.” He turned to look at her again.

“Eyes to the front.”

He peered into the hall again. “You’re not going to hurt me, right?”

“What sort of pain threshold are we talking about here? I mean, I’m half your size. How much damage do you think I am going to inflict? You’ve never heard Texas Chainsaw screams out of here, ya know.”

“I don’t know. Whips? Chains? Hooks? Scary things?”

“No chains. No whips. No scary. Okay. Just let me know if you’re freaking. Feel free to tell me no.”

He his stomach fluttered. Okay. He could do this. He could. He, much as he hated to admit it, was looking forward to it.

At the very least, she might touch his penis.

She stepped behind him and worked rope around his wrists, her tiny hands fluttering over him. She was slow, and he could hear her breathe. He sat still and let her work.

She yanked, tested. Stopped. Her hands disappeared. “How’s your blood flow? You okay? No pulsies?”

He wiggled his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Let me know if it goes numb.” He nodded.

Sean looked down at his bare knees and felt newly weird at being naked in front of Deenie, of all people.  He sensed a whole ocean of somewhere behind him that he wasn’t allowed to look at .

She rustled in the posterior void.  What the hell was she doing back there?

Her hand touched his shoulder, and he startled. “Stand up,” she murmured.

He stood.

She sauntered in front of him, looking him over. She took her time, avoiding eye contact.

At least she didn’t look amused. Or disgusted. He’d hadn’t felt quite this naked since puberty.

She slowly circled him, then stopped behind him.

She put a hand on his neck, snaked it around his throat, and pushed up on his chin, forcing his head back. He let her do it. His breathing went shallow. Another hand traced his hip and then trailed down to his balls. She fondled. He felt fondled. Deliberately fondled, which wasn’t something that happened to him often, and sounded, in his mind, vaguely dirty.

Fondled.

“I’ve wondered,” she murmured, still behind him, her breasts pressing lightly against his back. She pushed his chin a tiny bit farther up. Her breath hit the skin under his right shoulder-blade. “How big does it get?”

He had the exact stats memorized, not that he was going to tell her. She’d know soon enough.

“I pegged you for a slightly disappointing average.” She released his chin, continuing her stalking. He turned his head slightly, in her direction. She paused front and center, looking him in the face, finally.

His ears burned.

She frowned a little, then came to some small decision.

She slipped out of her pants; they hit the floor. She kicked them to the side. Her oversized and tattered t-shirt covered her body to mid-thigh.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just shut the fuck up and squirmed in his binds.

She had pretty little legs, pale and dainty. She was always in pants. Boots. Gutter punk armor. He’d pictured her with hairy man legs.  Tattooed, hairy man legs.

She assessed his cock, which decided it was all in, whether Sean himself felt conflicted or not.  ”It’ll do.”

She stepped over and batted at it. He jumped, heart pounding. He felt sort of like a cat toy, but his throbbing cock didn’t care. She stalked around him again. Ran her nails down his back.

He shivered. Oh, yeah. The cock was all in. No surprise. It’d been a traitorous bastard often enough.

She put her hand in his hair, and pulled his head to the left. “Too much hurt?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

She let go of him and meandered, examining his body. Bit her lip. Grinned a bit, but he was not in on the joke.

She ran a finger from his chin down to his pubic hair, and then gripped his shaft, firmer than the tentative way other women had touched him. More like a man would jerk himself off.  She looked down at him and stroked like she owned it, ran her thumb over the head. He breathed hard, jaw clenched, and looked at the top of her head.

She glanced up at him, and let go of him. “Frowny?”

He shook his head, clearing his expression. “I’m okay.”

She pushed at his thigh, briefly, and he slightly parted his legs. “When is the last time you subjected some poor, faultless girl to that thing, exactly?”

She looked up at him.

Christ, she actually expected an answer. “Um. 8 months?”

“Damn.” She shook her head. “And why is that?”

He didn’t say anything.  What was there to say?

“It’s because you don’t even try, Sean. You’re lazy. Defeated. Expecting pussy to just fall into your lap.” She put her tiny hand on his chest. “You think because you’re nice you just somehow deserve it?”

If his dick wasn’t out and erect and expecting some sort of stimulation, her words might have pissed him off. He wasn’t sure what the difference was now.

She pushed on his chest, and he backed up a few steps.  She looked up at him sternly.  ”Stay there.”

She stepped backwards, stretching, limbs swinging. “The world doesn’t ow you pussy. You could earn it, though.”

He felt a flutter of disquiet in his gut. She grinned wickedly at him and pulled her shirt overhead. She wasn’t a woman for fancy lingerie, which wasn’t the shock of the century. Sports bra with a small hole, panties from plastic bag with a fruit label. “Sit. Knees.”

He did it. Up, down, up, down. He sat back on his heels. She still looked pretty pleased with herself.

“So. What to do with you?” She tapped one finger on her lips, and swiveled on her hips.

He watched her. Trying-to-be-sexy Deenie was very, nearly, almost wrong.  Not wrong enough for him to run, but still pretty wrong.

She cocked her head to one side. “You better not be one of those dudes with an aversion to eating pussy.”

He shook his head. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any particular talent for it, but this was no time to give her his full credentials.

“Good.”

She considered him once more, then pranced over and aimed her hip at his face. “Get these panties off me.”

He stared at the cotton briefs inches from his face. His only option was his teeth.

Well.

Okay.

He leaned in, but she grabbed his hair pulling his face up. She pointed a single finger at him, scolding like a schoolmarm.  “You better not fucking bite me. Not even grazing.”

“Okay.” He leaned in, feeling idiotic, but on the other non-bound, metaphoric hand, he was about to take the panties off a chick that wasn’t drunk or missing teeth. A tooth. He didn’t want to dwell on it. He moved carefully, nipped and pulled, and managed to get a grip on the waistband.

He pulled down.

She pushed down on his head slightly, and he pulled harder, until he hit mid-thigh. “Let go.”

She offered up her left hip.

He managed the trick again, and this time they slipped down easily. “Don’t let go of them.” She balanced a warm hand on his shoulder and shimmied out of her panties. He kept them in his mouth.

“Good boy,” she said. He felt blood rush his face.

She just grinned. “You blush too much.  Your head has been red since I got in here.” She held out hand. “Drop them.”

He did it. She tossed them into the pile.

He’d expected full-on 70’s bush. She wasn’t as hirsute as all that. She had thick thighs, and from his knees she appeared taller.

“Let’s see if you’ve got any natural talent at this,” she said. “You are going to eat me out. And, you’re going to do your best, got it?”

He nodded. She stepped closer to him, her mons coming at his face. She stepped between his legs, and his cock grazed the bottom of her shin. His breath caught. Her hands guided his head toward her, and he, terror in his chest, put his tongue on her.

She moved closer, using his shoulders for leverage. He was not quite sure what to do.

“Lick.” She nudged his head forward.

He obeyed. He did his awkward, tied-up best. He tasted her; tangy was always the word that came to mind. She pulled his face closer to her cunt, arranging him. He let her move him around, despite the fact that his knees had already started to ache.  He worked his tongue along her slit, seeking a good angle, but not finding one.  He moved lower from his waist, getting underneath her. “Good boy,” she murmured. ”More pressure.”

She parted her legs, ankles on his inner thighs. Wetness hit his tongue. He closed his eyes and concentrated. She let out a little sigh, which he took as a good sign. She leaned into him. Her weight on his shoulders, the feel of her legs against his chest, went straight to his dick. Every inapplicable piece of stupid cunnilingual advice he’d ever seen popped up to taunt him.

He circled with his tongue, and she gasped above him. Her folds went slick and swelled; he found the nub he sought. She gripped his hair. “There.”

His neck threatened to cramp, but he put more pressure on her. She got on her tiptoes, and he lapped at her, feeling a little bit like an overeager puppy.

She put her foot on his upper leg, and he broke off of a second, panting.  He let her move his head into her thighs.

With the extra room, he opened his mouth and really tried.  Her foot dug into his leg, and the slight pain just made him move his tongue faster, his efforts more earnest.

Her unbent leg quivered and shook, which put an ache in his balls. The leg shake had always done him in. She leaked onto his chin.

He heard her squeak, and her hands fisted his hair.  His cock throbbed. She panted atop him; she rode his face.

She moaned low and steady, and bucked into him, overwhelming his efforts. He stopped for a moment, stretching his jaw and blinking. “No,” she muttered, directing his head back into position.

He lapped at her, and her swelling pussy leaked.

“Lightly, over the clit,” she muttered, letting his head loose. He obeyed, and flicked his tongue over her. She squeaked and went stiff, breathing heavily above him. “There.”

He kept at it. His knees screamed. His jaw ached. She was warm against him, and she undulated over him ever so slightly.

He heard her moan once, twice, again, and then she grabbed his head and pushed his face into her cunt. “Now, harder,” she said.

He did so, licking her clit with more force, his lower lip catching her wetness.  She dug her heel into his leg, and her body sagged over him.  He heard her whimper, and she wrapped her arm around his head, holding him, moaning.  He hoped she’d come.  ”Good,” she whispered.  ”With more practice you’d do better.”

She let go of his head, and slunk down on him, sitting on his leg, her cunt hot on his skin.  She leaked onto his thigh, panting, catching her breath.  He straightened his back up leaning back on his heels, arms stiff, and she looked at him, pupils dilated with lust. Or, maybe just the dim room.  He didn’t know.

“You did good,” she said, breathless. “Better than expected.”  The hint of a smile formed on her lips.  He wondered how much expectation she could have built up?

She put a finger on his cock, and ran it down his length. ”That’s quite the hard-on you’ve got for not having subbish bone in your body.”

He opened and closed his jaw a few times, studying her flushed face. He frowned and shook his head.  ”Maybe there’s one bone.”

She cackled. “You okay?”

“My knees are killing me.”

“Oh, shit.” She hopped up off his leg.  ”Hardwood’s a bitch. Can you still get up?”

“I’m not that out of shape.”

“Are you sure?” She looked dubious, concerned, even. “Try it.”

He struggled up, and managed to stand, knees cracking and hips popping. She raised an eyebrow, apparently bemused.

He looked down at his cock, slightly disgusted with himself, but really more horny than anything else.  He kicked his legs, trying to loosen the stiffness that had set in.

“Awww.  Poor Sean.” She grinned, and pulled her bra off, freeing her breasts, and then she waltzed around him.  ”I’ll let you loose.”

She fussed with his bindings.  He looked up at the ceiling, while she unknotted him.  His erection did not let up; the reminder that she’d bound him actually gave his cock a renewed sense of purpose. He felt the ropes go slack and hit the floor, brushing his ankle. He reclaimed his hands, rubbing his wrist and popping his knuckles.

He watched her sashay back to her duffel bag. She was just too much, nude from behind.  He wanted to fuck her, but he was pretty sure that he was supposed to stay put. She dug around and pulled out a small bottle.  She tossed it at him. He caught it awkwardly. Lube.

She was entirely too amused. “So, you need some of that.”  She bit her lip.

He was confused, but poured some into his hand, and closed the bottle.

She looked at him expectantly. “Go ahead.”

He looked down at his hands, then back at her. “What?”

“You’re going to jerk off for me, Fappy.”

“Seriously?”  He stared at her, not sure she was for real.

She leaned back on her heels and raised her eyebrows.  ”Of course.”

He looked down at his hand. “You want me masturbate? Seriously? I could have done by myself.”

“You could.  But if you ever want this,” she gestured around her room, “to happen again, you’ll do what I say.”

He clenched his jaw. She was fucking weird.

She ran a hand over her hips. “Did you forgot how?” Her tone was playful.

“No.”

“Do it. Now.”  She stared at him.

Jesus, she was for real. He looked back down at his slicked, lubed palms.  If that’s what she wanted, he guessed he could to it. He gripped himself, feeling turned-on and absolutely ridiculous at the same time.

“I want to see what’s been happening just fifteen feet away, all this time.” He glanced up at her, cock in hand.

“What?  You think I don’t wonder what goes on in there?”  She shrugged.

He stroked himself tentatively, unsure of this one activity he was actually very good at for the very first time.

“Oh, you have to do a better job of it than that,” she said, shaking her head. “Close your eyes if you have to.”

Sean looked his naked roommate over once more. She would do this again? He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, pumping his cock the way he did nearly every day.

Often while she was in the next room.

Which wasn’t something that had ever really escaped him.

“That’s better,” she said. “I better get the whole show. I mean… I know this is where you’re a viking.”

He smiled, eyes still closed, his cock throbbed in his hand.

“You think I don’t wonder about you?” she asked. “You make noise sometimes, you know. Those extra long showers? You think I haven’t pictured you in there?”

He tried not to focus on being watched. The weight of being watched was too much.

“Faster,” she said.

He gripped harder, moved faster. She stepped toward him; he heard her come nearer.

“Is that how you like it?”  Her voice in low-tones. She touched his free forearm lightly, then rand one finger up it and then back down. She grabbed his hand and leaned in on him, her cheek on his bicep. His stomach lurched. She must be watching. Closely.  His balls tightened, and he slowed down.

He turned his face in her direction, and opened his eyes. She was watching him, and he edged close to coming. His breath went out of him; he paused.  She looked up, meeting his eyes. “Don’t stop.”

It took two more pumps. His eyes closed, and his legs went lightly weak. She squeezed his hand, as his come flew out onto her floor.  He finished, luxuriating in the orgasm, the  lubed sensation.

She let go of his hand.

He let go of his dick, wiping the gumming lube on his thigh.

Sean looked down at her. “You did good.” Her voice was small. “You’ll need to clean that up.”

He looked down at the semen spattered on the floor and nodded.

She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to go take a shower.”  She strutted out of her room, and he watched her leave. She had a nice ass.

She disappeared into the bathroom, and he heard the door lock.

He guessed he wasn’t invited.

He looked down at the mess.

There was going to be a next time.