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Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 01

By: Mister_Shy



I really needed my own place. If this story has to start anywhere, it's at that point.

My name is Catherine. My mother calls me Catherine, everyone calls Kate, and Bobby calls me Katie. Tom calls me Cat because I hate it. Otherwise he calls me Catherine. I'm twenty-two, I'm smart, I'm not lucky. Not lately. 

When I graduated from college I moved back home to Chicago to get my resume in order and apply to business school. But then the economy busted, then my parents lost an impressive amount in both stocks and real estate, and then, slightly later, my car died. 

I've worked almost my entire life. I got a permit when I was fourteen and worked in restaurants, in bars (I was too young to work in them but that wasn't really a problem - which I'll get to later), I've worked in shitty jobs and really good jobs and usually I've come out ahead. I didn't get a scholarship to college. I paid for half; my parents paid for half. It was going to be the same thing for graduate school. My parents' half was wiped out in a few short months. My car still needed to be paid off even when it was a useless piece of junk on the street. I got so many tickets just trying to figure out what to do with it.

I did manage to get a part time reception job in the city that paid fine so long as I didn't need rent or gas or new shoes or clothes or a computer. In a year or two I would have saved up enough for about half of what I needed, and since I was still living with my parents I was willing to wait. I'm not really that patient but I didn't really have a choice. I'm good looking, not stupid.

But for all my patience I was still a twenty-two-year-old receptionist with an economics degree, and living with my parents. 

Bobby is my boyfriend. We met at the beginning of Junior year; he was a TA and is amazing at microeconomics. Since leaving college though he's gone off to graduate school in Michigan and I'm still stuck here, so it's a long distance thing. Which wasn't a problem. The problem is that I'm not really sure how I feel about him now, or how I've ever felt about him.

Allison is my best friend. She was a liberal arts major and wants to be an actress. I think she actually just wants to be famous, but I won't fault her for that.

We met Tom in college.

Tom was older; he was a third year when we were just freshmen. I think somebody told me once that he had three majors in college, in three different schools. I don't know if that's true and I've never asked him but it certainly sounds like it could be true. Because that's the kind of guy Tom is. I don't know if he's smart. I used to think he was smart, and he isn't dumb, but now I think he just works hard. I say Allison and I met Tom in college but we knew him before that. He did go to our high school but we never saw him much. He wasn't in student council, he didn't work on the paper, he wasn't in theatre, he definitely didn't do sports. I think Tom worked all the time. He was usually on the fringe of school, but he always had some connection. Either we had a friend who was friends with him or gym with a girl who was dating him. I think Allison said he worked at the dock. It would explain his hands. How do I explain that, other than the obvious?

I'll put it this way. Allison says that learning how to move on stage actually requires a class, it actually requires practice. I guess it makes sense. Being up there people are watching everything. It doesn't make sense to see you twitching or moving around aimlessly or shuffling your feet. And your hands have to be somewhere. When Tom talks, or when he moves, you don't realize it but he doesn't fidget, doesn't bounce. His hands do exactly what he says he's going to do. Or they show you. They don't waste time.

And Tom doesn't waste time, as most people come to find out. 

I had been back in the city for about a year. I was saving money and hating how useless I felt. Allison was looking for work and not having much luck in theatre. We got together at the gym Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays (I also went on alternating Saturdays or Sundays when I could). I love Allison but we hit the gym more because we were friends than we had the same goals in mind. Allison was more fond of the stairmaster and the track and talking to guys she knew (she has been looking for a boyfriend since she and Ryan broke up two months ago but she is exceedingly conservative and better at flirting than saying yes to a date). So here's where I got myself into trouble, maybe.

I'm good looking. I said that before and I'll say it again to get it out of the way. I'm 5'7", I'm a brunette, and my breasts are not as big as Allison's. She has full, heavy boobs that droop lower on her chest. My breasts are Cs (bigger when I'm on my period) but they're higher on my chest and rounder than Allison's. Some guys prefer hers. Most guys prefer me. I have long legs. I've never measured but it always seems to me when I squint in the mirror that my legs are longer than the rest of me. To compensate for that (I was self conscious when I was younger - still am), I went to the gym a lot. And then my ass got really round. Which I was self conscious about. So I started doing sit ups every day. And I run. A lot.

I also eat a lot, but nobody knows that. I say a lot - for a girl that just means more than you'd think. I used to purge in high school but I gave that up when I found out that my girlfriends were idiots. I do occasionally feel the urge to throw up but I don't. I eat carrots instead. Or I run. I spend an inordinate amount of time working out. In fact, when I'm not working, I'm working out. I seldom drink anymore because I don't like to count calories when I'm drinking. I won't lie; recently, I have developed more of a tummy than I'd like, but my sides are still flat and Bobby tells me it's sexy. I'm not really sure now.

I have green eyes. Dark green eyes, and long lashes. And my arms, for what it's worth (and guys don't know) are extremely strong. I can pin Bobby to the bed with my legs, but I don't because it makes him nervous.

So I'm pretty, but I've always been pretty and it's been very helpful getting jobs. It has not been helpful getting hit on. When I was younger I was embarrassed, when I was in high school I was flattered, in college I would either feel empowered or weird about it. Now I wish every job interviewer would stop staring at my chest, or my neck, or my shoulder, or my ass. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the way I look, but I look this way because I work hard. Allison is my height and nearly the same weight, but she's not toned, anywhere. Though guys don't seem to mind unless we're standing next to each other.

I guess that's sort of my point, in that you can look however you want to look, but you're considered attractive for any number of reasons.

How do I feel about sex? I like sex. Girls that look like me get reputations for being sluts or ice queens. I've been called both. I've also been called "whore" and "bitch" and "cock tease" and I didn't like that either. Bobby once told me, as a joke, "Girls don't get to be hot and have feelings, too." It certainly feels that way sometimes. Bobby waited for me to laugh. I didn't.

But I guess I've been all those things. I had sex with the boys I wanted to have sex with, my boyfriends. I didn't talk to guys that were slobbering over themselves or who were so deluded by their own bravado that they thought it was a real big honor for them to even notice me. And I didn't have sex with the boys I didn't want to have sex with, and sometimes those were my boyfriends too. 

I don't know how much sex is too much. I don't know how much is too little. (Bobby and I pretty much stay in all day whenever he gets back from Michigan, and when he's gone I definitely feel like I'm deprived.) I had more sex with the boys I enjoyed it with. But almost all of the sex I've had is either a fast and furious affair or a long but repetitive process. I'm not that creative myself. I've never really been sure what boys expect, and I'm beginning to fear that because of how I look, or what I look like, boys don't want to tell me. (I have had the distinct displeasure of being "told" what to do in bed by a guy or two who thought he was being my "daddy." I wasn't impressed and I don't like being hit. I stepped on his balls when he tried it again and I guess that's where the "cock tease" nickname started.) So though I'm no stranger in the bedroom I've never really done anything you haven't done. I've just probably done a lot more cardio. (Usually a lot more than the guy who's showing me a good time.) 

But when boys are so nervous just talking to you you tend to stick with your girlfriends and like what they like, diss who they diss, learn what they have to say, try to say it back. I've often wanted to experiment but I don't think I've ever been sure what it means, or what I mean by that. 

I guess I just have an open mind about it.

In the meantime, stuck at home and working, aside from Allison I've had a lot of time by myself. My parents are there in the mornings and late at night (and the weekends; but I work weekends) and Bobby's in Michigan. 

I used to love Bobby. He's smart, he's tall, he's got the whole ten year plan thing covered. I still love Bobby, in a way. But I don't love him the way I did two years ago. We're moving apart, and we feel that, but it's a steady thing at least having somebody, even when they're gone for months at a time.

So my schedule is pretty set. Work as much as my part time job allows; save as much as I can; go to the gym with Allison in the early mornings or evenings. That's it, really.

That was it.

And then, well, things took a turn.

* * *

Tom worked in the city, too, and he went to the same gym that we did. Allison and he had a few classes in college together and had struck up a friendship then. She invited him to our sorority parties and he came, sometimes with a girl, sometimes with a few friends from his job, had a few drinks, and disappeared politely. It's my suspicion that Allison and he hooked up sometime in our senior year. Allison denies it, but I always thought she had a crush on him. 

But Tom was Tom. He wasn't bad looking. He wasn't handsome like Bobby was but he didn't look bad. He didn't slouch, he had dark hair and he was in good shape. And he was usually pretty quiet. At some point after his graduation he had ended up working for a major law firm (or so I heard). He did well for himself, and that was why we never had any compunctions against him taking us out for smoothies after the gym.

If that seems unlike the picture of Tom I've painted before, it is. The smoothies were Allison's idea, and Tom seemed to like to listen to her talk about theatre. Again, I thought it was because there was a crush going on, either one way or both ways. But I honestly think Tom just liked listening to us talk. He was 25 or 26 at this point and he was always busy. He worked seven days a week, and at strange hours. We all usually ended up at the gym at the same time and afterwards we'd walk across the street.  

It was almost June, almost a year since I'd graduated college, and one fairly ordinary day when Tom made his "indecent proposal," as Allison called it. I wasn't listening to the first part, idly sipping at my raspberry smoothie and thinking about the last time I'd seen Bobby - then thinking about the last time I'd talked to Bobby, which was last night, and the argument we'd had. I didn't remember what it was about, only that I was feeling pissy and vindictive. 

Suddenly Allison covered her mouth and made a deep, histrionic gasp. I turned from her to Tom. "What?" I said.

"You don't think that's sick?"

I had completely spaced out. I glanced at Tom. His expression hadn't changed. He seemed as reserved and measured as always. I looked back at Allison. She was flushed. "What?" I said again.

Tom cleared his throat. "Allison is reacting to an idea of mine, one she finds distasteful."

For the third time I said, "What?"

Tom studied me. Our social interactions up till this point had been a handful of small talk at parties and this past month or two of half hour smoothie chats. I watched him trace my forehead and nose and stop at my eyes. "I work a lot," he said. "I don't have time for a girlfriend. But every time I get to the gym I see women everywhere."

"Women are everywhere," I agreed.

He smiled. "True, but in the gym there is a particular kind of woman, a woman, or a girl, who's in shape, someone who's taken care of themselves." He sighed. "Just beautiful girls, really."

Allison made another disgusted sound and he seemed to enjoy it. He continued, "I have a lot of respect for hard work. I was thinking how much dedication it takes to get that way-"

"It does," I said.

"Well you're an excellent example, Catherine. It's why I seldom have anything to say to you. You've sculpted yourself, inside and out maybe. What would someone like you have to say to someone like me?"

I rolled my eyes. He still watched me intently. "It occurs to me that while I don't have the time to find a girlfriend, I would love to be able to pay a girl, someone who's taken care of themselves, to be with, on a weekly basis."

"What?" I said, for the fourth time in as many minutes.

He raised his hands in a semblance of embarrassment, but I knew he wasn't. He was doing it to be polite. "It was just a thought, one I'm sure many men before me have had."

Allison pulled her hands away from her mouth. "You want a harem."

"I should be so lucky," he said. "But no, actually, it's very different."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Tom." 

It looked like he had more to say but he could see Allison was upset, so he didn't say anything, just sat back in the booth and stirred his drink idly. I didn't really think much of it. It seemed like a pretty average fantasy of a lot of men. Wasn't that basically prostitution? Yet he'd said it wasn't like that. I was still stewing about Bobby so I didn't pursue it either.

* * *

A week later, Allison and I were leaving the gym and wiping our foreheads with our towels. Instinctually, I headed for the crosswalk and Allison steered me over to her car. 

"We're not getting smoothies?"

Allison bit her lip. "Um, no, let's get going."

"Is something wrong?"

As we approached her car she gave me an exasperated smile, and then laughed. "You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"Do you remember what Tom was talking about last week, his prostitute plan?"

"Yes."

She gave me a knowing look.

My eyes widened. "You're doing it?"

She gasped and reached out to pinch me. "Oh my God, no! I can't believe that's the first thing you thought." She unlocked the car and we got in. I threw my towel and shoes inside and eagerly sat beside her. "He did ask me though," she said.

"Really?"

She started the car and explained what had happened as she backed out. "He totally had it all mapped out. Yesterday he called me and I think he just wanted to hang out - which we don't really do but I was free so..." She swiveled the steering wheel and moved slowly out of the lot. I thought then that she must have been disappointed. She hid it well. "Anyway, he brings it up again and I got mad and I said, like, why are you talking about this and he says, is it something you could do? And I just said no! Who would do that?" 

She shook her head. "Then he tells me, this is how it would work - like I even asked - and he says one hour a week or every two weeks, for $250 an hour or $500 an hour, depending on if it was one week or two. Either way, the girl makes $1000 a month."

I swallowed. On the one hand, that was strange that he'd put so much thought into it. On the other, that was definitely a plan. Tom had the money, we knew that much, but it was still a lot. It was a lot.

"He mentions some more about how he'd have some special things he'd like to do, but the girl would always have the chance to say no or back out and she'd always be paid up front and I finally just tell him to stop and I say, Why are you telling me this?" She glanced at me with wide eyes. "He says, because I was wondering if you'd want to." She shook her head again. "God, how sick is that?"

"He was probably just joking with you."

"I don't think so," she said. "Maybe. He'd do that. Don't you think that's sick?"

"Sure," I said.

She eyed me in the rearview mirror. "I can't believe you're not more weirded out."

"It's totally weird," I said.

"You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Of course not."

The deeper thing, what I wouldn't tell her, what wriggled within me and set my mind to work was this: I thought it was a sexy idea. For someone else, I thought. For some girl who didn't mind risking herself, or her body, to some enigmatic stranger. Five hundred dollars. For nothing but sex. It was prostitution but it didn't seem like prostitution to me. It was sexy, and I bet Allison thought it was a sexy idea too. But the problem was that I knew about it and it was Tom doing the asking. Tom wasn't a stranger to her. They were friends - or at least they were before this incident. I wondered if that would change now. Knowing what little I did know of Tom, he'd probably just shrug off the "no" and come to her tomorrow with a smile and a fresh start. Allison wasn't like that. 

But I wasn't Tom's friend. And I needed to either get out of my parents' house or fix my car. No, I thought, I wasn't leaving Chicago for a while, so the car was unnecessary. But my own place, that was something I could work for.

To have a down payment in a month, rent in the next. I could save from the lousy reception job and... I realized suddenly that I was already calculating, which meant, more or less, that I was willing to do it.

Could I do that to Bobby? Could I do it to myself? Sex twice a month? Or four times, at the most?

It didn't have to involve Bobby. If anything Allison made it sound like Tom wanted to keep it as business like as possible. And I could do that. But wouldn't it bother me, sleeping (okay, fucking) another man behind his back? Yet no matter how many times I turned it over in my mind, I couldn't feel bad about it. Maybe I still loved Bobby, maybe I didn't. But this was for my future.

And I'm not going to lie, it was sexy. I squirmed in the seat of Allison's car. My juices had started to flow between my legs. I hadn't had sex in five months and hadn't felt like I'd wanted to for at least that long. But I needed to get out of my yoga pants and into the shower as soon as Allison dropped me off. And even after I'd showered, even after I'd gotten rid of the sweat and washed my hair and wrapped myself up and gotten into bed, it was still hot down there. Five hundred dollars.

* * *

Allison didn't mention Tom that week, so I didn't mention Tom that week. And I didn't see him the week after that. But the next Saturday, the one day I went to work out without Allison holding me back, I saw him. He was running on a treadmill. So I grabbed one in front of him and started to run too. 

Thinking about this now I wonder if I was putting myself on display for him, getting him to think about what I looked like under the tight clothes, watching my ass as it jiggled back and forth, watching my tits bounce inside my sports bra when he thought I wasn't looking. I knew I had this effect because Bobby told me once when he came to pick me up at the gym that every guy behind me was looking. Gross, I said. I wonder if Tom was looking?

After twenty minutes Tom left the treadmill and worked over in the free weights. I watched him. Then I got off the tread and worked my thighs on the expander, worked my gluts on the ball, did some basic leg toning. Nearly an hour had gone by when he packed up his bag, said goodbye to some friends and walked out. I packed my stuff and followed him. 


Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 01



Our gym is a big structure in the middle of a shopping mall. It's a little ways out from the mall so the parking lot surrounds it. He rounded the corner, near the street where there were fewer cars parked. I jogged up behind him and said hey.

He turned to me and said hey back. 

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Going home," he said pleasantly.

"You want to buy me a smoothie?"

He stopped. He pivoted on his heel. "What's up?"

"Nothing," I said. "You heard me."

He smiled. "Allison talked to you, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

He sighed. "I've told her I'm sorry - it was the wrong thing to ask."

"She was the wrong person to ask."

Tom is not dumb and he didn't say what. He just nodded and frowned. "I should go home," he said.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure. You want a smoothie?"

"I hate smoothies."

We grabbed a cup of coffee at the place just next to the smoothies and moved away from the crowd and found a deserted table nearby. I had told him I was interested. He blew on his cup and shook his head.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Many reasons. But the two biggest are, one, I don't know you very well. Allison and I have known each other for years. Two, and probably more importantly, you're with Bobby."

"Would you tell him?"

He stifled a laugh. "Of course I wouldn't tell him."

"You wouldn't tell him you paid to fuck me? You'd tell somebody."

He nodded without smiling, not nodding to agree but nodding at the sentiment. "Do you think I would?"

"I don't know you, Tom."

"That's why this isn't a good idea." He stood up to go. "Thanks, though."

"So you don't want to?" I surprised myself saying it, but I can say in all honesty I was thinking of the money. 

He stared at me from above. He was tall. He wasn't as tall as Bobby, he was just under six feet. But he was so present. He didn't break eye contact with me. "Catherine, I think you're absolutely beautiful."

"Thanks."

"You want to know something? You're actually what got me to thinking about it in the first place. When I'd come to see Allison at the gym, I'd watch you doing sit ups or running and realize that I've never had a girlfriend who took care of herself the way you do. I've dated lots of pretty girls, most of whom went to the gym. But you, you're pretty much the definition of beautiful."

I didn't know what to say to that so I just said, "Thanks." 

"It wouldn't work."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm kinky, and at least I have the good grace to say so. If we did this, I'd need to feel comfortable that it could go off smoothly. You don't-"

"I don't what?"

"You don't strike me as the type who likes being told what to do."

"I'm not."

"So you agree."

"There's a difference between being told what to do and doing what you want."

I was glad to see that that puzzled him, that it had made him think. He was thinking now, and he hadn't expected that at all. "Go on," he said.

"I'll do what you want, or say what you want me to say, within limits. But I'm not going to be your fuck buddy or your slut or your slave or-"

He held up his hand. "That is definitely not what this is about." He pulled the chair out and sat back down. "If you mean that, then, I mean, that's exactly what I'm talking about." He set his coffee cup aside and moved his hands out in front of him, and he began to explain. "This is one hour of your time in the week. I want you, your body, and that means sex. I pay you the money up front. If we settle on twice a month, I'll give you five hundred. If we settle on once a week, it's two-fifty."

"Why those amounts?"

"It's what I can afford, and it seems like a deal to me. I mean, I'm not entirely hideous."

"You said you're kinky. What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking about this and there are things I want to do to..." He turned it over in his mind. "I don't masturbate, did I tell you that?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I don't think it came up."

"Well, interesting choice of words because that's just the problem. This thing," he indicated his lap, "keeps me up nights. I lie awake on my back because I can't turn over. Jerking off just isn't what this is about. But I've got these fantasies I'd like to fulfill."

"Yeah, I got that."

He smiled. "You wouldn't need to do much at all, actually. But the reason I bring up the masturbating is that this, what we'd be doing, is my only sexual outlet."

"Why don't you masturbate?"

"I think it distracts from my work."

"What do you mean?"

"When you have a hard on, especially one after not touching yourself or cumming or anything, it is tough to think of anything else. But, if I divert the energy I would spend on my lust, I channel it into other areas."

"Does it work?"

He half smiled and sighed. "To a point. I hope I'm not alone in this so I'll generalize: men are like steam engines. Intense pressure equals lots of power. But you need a safety valve to make sure the whole thing doesn't burst. Part of the pressure comes from not knowing the next time I'm going to have sex, or ending up with some girl I only half like just to get into her pants after three dates. Not worth it to me and not worth it to her."

I tried to figure Tom out. I tried to decide if he was being eloquent about this or describing what sounded like a dangerous position to put myself in.

"So why sex? Why not just jerk off?"

"Masturbation is masturbatory," he said. "It doesn't accomplish anything. Plus, I love women." For a moment, and for the first time, he actually looked sheepish. "I love the way a girl feels, love the way her skin feels, love the way they smell, love the way they laugh, love the way they cum, love the way they sit when they're thinking about something." He drifted off. "But I don't have the time to find the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. Masturbation isn't sex, and I want to have sex, to put it as plainly as I can."

I sighed. This still seemed far off, like we were talking about the stock market. 

I heard myself say, "You need to wear a condom."

"Obviously."

"Not obviously. And you bring your own. Don't show up and say you forgot."

He gave a wry smile and nodded without saying anything. Now I know that Tom would never blame somebody else for something like that. Back then I thought he was just being a smartass. "Do you have a preference?" he said.

I ignored that. "I'm not on the pill."

"Why not?"

"When Bobby went to Michigan I didn't see the point in keeping up with it. I've never reacted well to the pill, and I've tried a lot of them - almost all of them. And I don't like the way it makes me feel." I didn't tell Tom that I felt more like a woman. I don't know why. I know why I didn't tell him but I didn't know why I felt that way. The hormones in my body, the way I bled, the changes my body went through, having that was sometimes worth the discomfort.

I quizzed him: "Do you have any STDs?"

"No," he said.

"No hitting."

"I would never hit you." Then he paused. "Does spanking count?"

"You want to spank me?"

Judging by his smile, the question amused him. I think it was more the deadpan way I asked it. "Suppose I did," he said.

I didn't mind being spanked. I liked it when it was the right time. But I let Bobby spank me because we'd been together for years and I trusted him. I didn't like the idea of getting spanked by a stranger. But then again, how were we defining stranger at this point?

"That could be extra. Maybe."

"So an extra fifty for the privilege or fifty for each smack?"

I was still trying to figure out if he was being serious or if he was playing with me. That feeling would never go away.

"Fifty overall," I said. "But I get to say when to stop."

"Of course. But I have to tell you this now, if I'm paying for this, I'm going to be making some requests. Not demands, requests."

"If I say no, that means no."

"No means no," he repeated.

He sat in silence for a brief moment. Neither of us had touched the coffee. He shook his head. "Are you really up for this?"

My heart was beating in my chest. "Yes," I said.

"Catherine..." He started to say something and he stopped. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay, when?"

"When?"

"When do you want to start?"

My heart raced. This was really happening. I was going to let him pay me to fuck him. He was going to - we were going to - "I want the five hundred up front. When could you have that?"

"In cash?" he said. "Right, obviously. Now."

"What?"

He looked at me seriously. "I have it now."

I could feel my calf muscles strain in my leg. I wanted to stretch them out. It was now or never. "Now," I said.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should sleep on it."

I shook my head. I wasn't going to let him take me to his place. That seemed like the start of a cautionary tale, and I didn't know where he lived. That meant we had to go to my house. At least there there would be witnesses, a familiar place, but... "Take me to my house," I said. He seemed to understand the reason. "One hour, right?"

"That's right."

"Okay."

I excused myself and went to the restroom. Inside, I dialed Allison and ignored my shaking fingers. When she picked up I tried to control my voice. "Hey, Alli?" 

"What's up?"

"Can you call me in an hour?"

"Sure, why?"

I lied like a professional. "I'm gonna take a nap and I want to make sure I get up."

She laughed. "Okay, honey. Everything alright?"

"Yep," I said.

We hung up. If Tom turned out to be a crazy person, Allison would call and call until she got me. If she didn't, I knew she'd call my parents or Bobby or someone. I walked back out of the coffee shop and sat down across from Tom. It was like he hadn't moved. He just watched me intently. 

I decided to take charge. "Once you give me the money, we can go."

He nodded. And just like that he pulled open his wallet, slid out five one hundred dollar bills, and slipped it under my coffee cup. 

Five hundred dollars. Just like that.

I was his now.

He stood up and motioned for me to follow. I folded the bills and slipped them into my purse, dropped it in my gym bag. We walked silently back around the gym, walked around to where he'd parked his Honda. It was a motorcycle, I'm not sure what kind, but it was a fast thing and it was all in black, deep black, like his hair, with deep blue trim. He wrangled the helmet off the handle bar and handed it to me. Only after I'd put it on did I realize it was the only helmet he had. He swung onto the seat and held out his hand.

"Have you ridden behind before?" he said.

I shook my helmet. I took his hand and let him guide me up behind him. 

"You need to hold on tight, alright? Don't worry about it being too tight. It's more important that you stay on than I breathe."

I hugged his hips with my thighs and wrapped my hands around his chest. When he kicked the engine alive I suddenly understood the attraction for biker babes. The thing vibrated up through my yoga pants, which meant it vibrated through practically nothing at all. This could be a problem, I thought. I was nervous as hell, my stomach fluttered like mad, but my vagina, and clit, were suddenly being massaged ferociously by Tom's motorcycle. 

He asked me where I lived and I told him. I told him the cross streets, how to get there in under fifteen. He nodded his head and pulled the throttle. I hugged him tighter and we were out of the parking lot and speeding down the street.

I wonder what he was thinking about while I squashed my breasts into his back, hugged his body with my legs, and my arms. Was he thinking he owned me? Did he think I'd back down? Did he wonder why I didn't care about Bobby? Was he wishing I was Allison instead? He never asked me why I said yes.

I didn't think I had an answer.

* * *

We got into my parents' house at about two in the afternoon. It was overcast and the few shafts of sunlight sunk into the parlor like they were looking for us. Tom parked his motorcycle on the street and I took him up the front walk. 

My parents have a little house near Lakeview. It's a one story with a big brown door and once you're inside there's the living room, the staircase on the right, and the hall to the kitchen in front. To your left when you walk in there's a small end table that comes up to my waist and a large mirror that reaches almost to the ceiling. I slid my purse, keys and phone over the table. There's a fireplace in the living room and the sofa. And just before you get to the kitchen there's a bathroom with a shower. I thought he'd want to go up to the bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed behind him he set his bag down by the staircase and looked at me.

"Are you ready?" he said.

I was still in my gym clothes: bright orange T, black sports bra underneath, skin tight black yoga pants, and sneakers. My hair was a mess, especially after the motorcycle and his helmet, and I was sweaty. "I'm just going to take a shower. You can grab a drink or-" 

He shook his head. "I want you like this."

"What?"

"I'll ask you once more and then that's it." He watched me, with those eyes of his, always watching. It was different from being checked out, different from the loving way Bobby looked at me. Tom was taking me in, everything. Measuring me.

My heart started to thud in my chest even harder. The whole way here I'd gone back and forth thinking this wasn't a big deal, that it was a big deal. I hadn't even asked if he'd brought condoms. He wanted to fuck me now? Like this?

"Where?" I said.

He surveyed the room. "Here. Are your parents coming home?"

"Not for a few hours." I swallowed. "Do you have condoms?"

He nodded. 

"Let me see them."

He pulled a packet of them from his gym bag.

I drew my fingers over my temples and swept my hair back from my cheeks and forehead. "I smell like sweat," I said.

"You smell like you."

"Okay, whatever." He waited. Finally I blinked hard and threw up my hands. "Okay, yes, yes, what do I - what do you want me to do?"

He breathed deeply. He seemed so absolutely calm. I was bewildered. I was scared. My vagina was buzzing, not because of him but because it knew what might be coming, and his motorcycle had just set me to active. Tom glanced at the table and the mirror and the drawer inside. "Is there a hair brush in the drawer?"

"Yes," I said.

He stepped forward. He came forward, to me, until he was right up against me. He looked down at me, into my eyes, and the skin of my forehead. He reached his fingers to me and drew them through my hair. "That was the last time I asked. I won't ask again. If you want to stop you have to tell me no."

"Okay," I said. I wasn't sure if I could breathe.

He stepped back. "I want you to take your clothes off. I want you to go over to the table and I want you to brush your hair."

I would have said what except I knew what he'd asked and I knew that he was completely serious. So, I did it. I slid off my sneakers.

I reached down and pulled off my socks. 

I hesitated when I crossed my arms but then I had the shirt off. I was now just in my sports bra and my yoga pants. The last person to see me naked was Allison. The last person who I'd slept with was Bobby. And Tom was watching me. He'd paid me, so I hooked my fingers into my waistband and pulled them down. 

I was in my g-string and my sports bra, and I could see that Tom liked it. I could already see his erection from his shorts.

"Are you getting naked?" I asked.

"I will," he said.

"You don't want to do this?" I indicated my bra.

"No," he said. 

I pulled it off in one motion. My breasts thanked me by falling happily down my chest. Then, without looking at him, I bent over and slid my g-string down my legs. 

I was naked in my living room with Tom. 

I didn't ask him if he wanted me at the table. I knew he did. As I walked past him, not looking at him, I thought of Bobby. What would he think? Would he call me slut? Would he be mad, upset? I pulled the drawer open. There were a few sets of keys, loose change, some maps, and that old hairbrush. Brush my hair? I pulled the hairbrush out and slid the drawer closed. I glanced behind me.

Tom had taken off his shirt. I watched him pull down his shorts. 

There it was. His dick stood straight up like a javelin and at a hard angle. It was long, I thought, not as thick as Bobby's, but I realized that it might have been weeks since Tom had been with somebody. It was red and angry looking. And if he really didn't masturbate, I wonder what that would do to it. It looked insistent, very insistent, smooth and circumcised, not like Bobby's. 

"Brush your hair."

I turned back to the mirror and started to brush my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror. We hadn't turned the lights on so the only light came from the shafts of sunlight outside. It was enough to see myself, to see my full breasts in the mirror, the line of my abdominals, and to see Tom come to me from behind. 

I actually expected him to grab me, to push it in me, to fuck me. He didn't do that. I continued to brush my hair and Tom, softly, put his hands on my shoulders. I stopped brushing.

"Keep going," he said.

I continued to brush my hair.

The whole time I could watch Tom. He bent down and kissed the back of my neck. He slid his left hand over my left elbow; he didn't tell me to stop brushing so I continued to use it to hold my hair back as I brushed with my right.

His right hand slid down my side, glided up into my armpit and roved down my body, down my ribs. I felt his fingers feel each rib, felt them play over my stomach, felt them in my bellybutton. His left hand snaked over my chest and down the line of my abdomen. He didn't touch my breasts. And he kissed the back of my neck, moving around to where my neck met my shoulder. And he breathed deeply. He was inhaling me, my scent, my sweat.

He kissed lower, kissing over my shoulder. I realized he was tracing the muscles in my back, kissing them. I felt his dick slide down my ass, slide down my leg as he bent lower, going lower, kissing the small of my back, rolling his lips over the high slope of my ass. My body continued to shake and I strained my legs to make them stop. His hands came around my front and gripped my thighs, ran down to my knees. I kept brushing my hair while Tom kissed my body, smelled me.

Then he slid his nose into the top of my crack.

"Don't-" I said automatically.

"Are you saying no?" he said.

I had frozen in the mirror. 

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"I haven't showered."

"I know."

"Tom-" I started.

"What?" He kissed between my cheeks, the sweaty area at the top of my buttocks. He bit into the flesh. My legs wobbled a bit.

"Nothing," I breathed. I didn't think it would be like this. 

He continued to kiss lower until he reached where my cheeks met my thighs. He pulled the skin up and bit into the soft flesh under my ass. Then he put his head between my legs and started to kiss up. His mouth was buried in my bush before I knew he was there.

"Tom-" I started. He didn't say anything. I hadn't showered and his lips were suckling at my vulva. He buried his mouth in my pubic hair. Then he breathed, very, deeply. I started to get wet. I stopped brushing my hair.

"Don't stop," Tom said.

"Okay."

He kept licking, kept kissing. I watched him reach down and wrap his fingers around his shaft. Was he going to fuck me? Was he going to jerk off? He left off my wet vagina and kissed lower. He was kneeling in front of me now, kissing my legs, planting little kisses on my knees, moving down to my feet. "You're perfect," he said.

He got up. He slid the shaft of his dick from my ankle all the way up to my butt. 

"Don't forget the condom," I whispered.

"I won't."

"What are you waiting for?"

My phone rang. He smiled at it and shook his head. He sidled over to his gym bag and tore a condom from the packet.




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 01



"That gives me an idea," he said. 

I looked at it, it was Allison. I realized I had to answer it; otherwise she'd freak out, think something was wrong. Had it been an hour since I'd called her? I still had the brush in hand and the phone was ringing, but I was watching Tom roll the condom onto his dick. This was really going to happen. 

"Answer it," Tom said.

I suddenly realized he was going to put it in me when I was on the phone with her.

"Wait," I said. He approached me with his cock in hand, his fingers rolling the elastic down to the base of his shaft.

"I said answer it," he said. "Either say no or do it."

"Is that what you want?"

He had already come up behind me. I could feel his latex dick pressing against my back. I had to answer the phone, no matter what he was about to do, I had to answer it.

I picked it up. "Allison?" I said. I tried to glare at him in the mirror.

"Hey," said Allison. I could already tell that she was slightly faded. Behind me, Tom ran his hands up my back. My legs shook so hard I had to press my stomach against the table to stand straight.

"Has it been an hour?" I asked her.

"Oh, no," she said, sounding embarrassed. "Sara came over with some pot and we're a little fay-do." She giggled at the sing song and I could hear Sara in the background. "Do you want to come over?"

"Um, Allison, I-" Tom bent me over. He bent me over the table and held his hand over the hand that gripped the brush. He held it to the table. In my left hand I held the phone. I couldn't put it down. His left hand pushed into the small of my back. He was going to fuck me. "I-" I started.

"Is everything all right?"

"Allison, I'm a little-" Tom parted my vagina with his fingers and slipped his dick up inside of me. "Oh god!" I shrieked. I pulled the phone away from my mouth and slammed it to the table. Tom's fingers pressed hard into my stomach and pushed himself deep, deep, deeper.

I let out a guttural groan and breathed in. "I'm small," I whispered to him.

"How long has it been?" he said.

"A while," I said, trembling. "Please don't make me talk to her."

"Talk to her."

I was pleading with him even though I knew I could say no. Why wouldn't I say no? My vagina hadn't had anything inside of it in months. I had a dildo but I never used it. I had a vibrator, which I did use, but I wasn't used to this, I wasn't used to his penis. But he paid me. He was inside me oh my God, he was inside me and he was holding my hand to the table.

"How long?" I whispered. He gently put his hand over mine and brought it back to my ear. Sara and Allison were screaming on the other end.

"Kate! Kate! What's happening? Are you okay?"

"Uh huh," I said. Tom pulled out of me. He pushed back in. I couldn't believe he was making me do this. My breasts shivered and swung forward at each of his thrusts. He didn't fuck me hard, not after that first push, not after he loosened me up. 

With Bobby- with Bobby it was never this way.

"What's going on?" said Allison. "Are you okay?"

I tried to breathe. "I'm fine," I said. "I'm fine."

"Honey, what's going on?"

"Just took a n-nap," I said. My vagina enclosed around his dick and I couldn't tell if I wanted him to stop or if I wanted him to fuck me harder. He kept up his steady, rhythmic pace.

"Why did you scream?"

"I stubbed my toe," I said. I probably sounded like I had just been running. I shouldn't have been this out of breath but it was the shock more than anything. Tom squeezed my breast and squashed it back against my chest and pushed his cock inside. "Ahn," I said. I hadn't meant to.

"Kate?" said Allison. She'd gone from fearful to quizzical just like that. "Hold on, I need to get some water, can you talk to Sara?"

"No-" I started but she already handed the phone off.

"Hey, Katie," said Sara.

"Hey, Sara," I said. Tom bent down to kiss my back. He licked the sweat that had collected where my hair met my neck. I hated him, I thought. But I didn't say no. "Oh, God, Sara, where's Allison?"

"She's downstairs, honey. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine-" I was tired of saying I'm fine. "I, uh, mmm, did you need anything?"

"You're perfect," I heard Tom whisper.

"Shut up," I hissed back.

"Kate, is there someone there?"

"Just my dad," I said.

"Oh tell him I said hi."

I pressed the phone against my breast and cried out. I didn't want to. I hadn't meant to. I'd meant to say hi, dad, or hello, or- anything, but Tom was fucking me. He was fucking me faster, and I couldn't speak in longer sentences because the sound of getting fucked would have made the words leave my chest breathless. I thought he'd fondle me; I thought he'd try to kiss me and stick it in me. I didn't think it would be like this. I didn't think he'd make me cry out. I cried out because I was scared. I cried out because I'd never had anyone tell me to do this. I cried out because I think I just felt him stick a finger up my asshole.

"Take it out," I whispered.

"Which one?"

"My butt."

"Say 'take your finger out of my ass.'"

"Take your finger out of my ass," I said. He did. He squeezed my left cheek.

"Sorry," he said.

Bobby didn't fuck me this way. He kissed my mouth, he grabbed my tits, he threw me on the bed because I told him to dominate me, because that's what he liked. Then it was off with my shirt, off with my pants, and he was inside, ramming away. Tom was slow. Tom was doing exactly what he wanted to do. And I realized while he kissed my muscles that he was worshipping my body. I don't know if he respected me but he worshipped me.

"I need to hang up," I said.

"Okay," he said.

I pressed the phone back to my ear. Allison was back. "Kate, what are you doing?"

"I'm stretching," I gasped.

"Oh my god, are you having sex?"

"Allison, shut up!" Tom was stretching me. His dick was stretching me. Yes, I wanted to say, Tom is fucking me. He paid me to let him fuck me. He was fucking me because you wouldn't let him fuck you. He was fucking me - please don't tell Bobby, don't tell my dad, don't tell Sara.

"Just kidding, just kidding," said Allison.

"Allison, honey, I need to go," I breathed. I was turned on but I didn't know why.

"Okay, whatever, call me later."

"Okay," I said. I dropped the phone onto the desk and threw my hand down on the table. "I don't want to do that," I said.

"That's what I want," he said. He was still working away at me, slowly, kneading the muscles in my sides and ass and methodically pressing against the walls of my vagina. I wanted him to massage me all over like that.

"You want me to call while you fuck me?" I tried to look at him in the mirror. I couldn't raise my head.

"Yes," he said.

"Who else?"

"Your mother, your father."

I moaned. 

He reached forward and caressed my cheek. Our eyes met in the mirror. "Before I cum I want you to say, 'Tell me you love me.'"

My eyes went wide.

He slipped out of me and ran his fingers up my spine. "You don't have to mean it." He tried to smile but he was clearly enjoying himself too much, or trying to keep from cumming, to manage it completely. "I want you to say it."

I felt his balls brush the back of my thighs. He was deep. My vagina clenched around him and I said, "Will you tell me when you're going to cum?"

"I'll tell you to say it."

"Okay."

He ran his hands over my shoulders, ran them down my arms. I wanted to sit down so badly. I wanted to lay back, the way Bobby fucked me. Bobby wanted me on my back or on top. We didn't do it standing up; we didn't do it doggy style, not often. I did suck his cock but I wouldn't suck Tom's cock. I couldn't, I don't think I would. What if he asked me?

"Cat," he said.

"Don't call me Cat," I grunted.

"Say it."

I brushed the hair out of my eyes. I looked up. He was watching me. Always watching me. I realized there was more power here than I suspected. So I said it to him. I wanted to see what he'd do.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

I've seen men cum before. I try not to look at Bobby when he does it, most of the time, mostly because I think it makes him self conscious. My boyfriend before that, George, he would make silly faces and I'd try my hardest not to laugh - then of course I realized he was doing it to make me laugh, and I thought that was sweet. But it didn't make up for a lot of his lesser qualities. I don't know what girls look like when we cum. (Allison tells me that it depends on whether she really wants to cum or not. I've cum when I didn't really feel like it; I don't think my expression changed much.) But men, the men I've slept with anyway, the face is always somewhere between pained and goofy. Tom didn't look either.

When he came (I guess I should say he came in me) his face took on the emotion of absolute relief. As if he'd been carrying a weight the whole time (since before we started fucking, since before I'd known him). His face wasn't totally devoid of that humorous quality, but the pressure inside him was gone. He gripped the skin of my hips with his fingers; his grip tightened - it sent jolts of pressure up my ribs and down my ass (he had strong hands). He quickened his pace. He drove his long cock up into me; I could feel his head in what seemed like the upper chamber of my uterus; and then...

I don't always know when they cum. Sometimes Bobby does it and I've missed it (if I'm looking away). But I felt Tom. It was as if the base of his prick had suddenly swelled to twice its size (I'm sure that isn't true but it felt... it felt like all his blood was traveling up through his vein - you know the one). The whole shaft engorged as well, and stiffened from its already hardened position. I felt all of this in an instant and it wasn't strange to me it was just, like everything, it was just different.

If he wasn't wearing the condom I know I would have felt his jism shooting up into me, spraying my insides. I suddenly realized I was soaked. Had he cum in me? No. It was me. I was wet. Funny.

He wasn't done. I lowered my eyes from his face. He'd been staring at my back and I was staring at him. When he looked into the mirror at my eyes, our gaze met, sort of communicated the situation, and then I looked down at the table. My face was flushed, my hair was now over my eyes. Tom slid his hands up the trim muscles of my abdominals and reached up to cup my breasts. He massaged them; he felt the weight of them against his rough palms (I never would have thought his palms were that rough). All the while his dick kept pulsing. 

I felt pinned by it. That's not right. I felt stuck by it. It was definitely between my legs now. Tom, when he came, had flexed down and pushed himself so that I was now on my toes and he was more directly under me. I leaned forward. It was a little painful; my clit was actually being squeezed against the base of the table, which balanced the strain of my labia against his still expanding organ. 

"Ahhh." Organ - I should say penis but it felt like an organ then. "Ahhh." I couldn't help the noise I made. I so badly wanted to. Up on my tippy toes was where he had me, fucking me, he'd paid me, fucking me, up on my toes, cumming in me.

This, again, all of this, his hands roving up to my tits, him pushing up into me, this was seconds but it felt so much longer because his dick, when he came, kept pushing, and pulsing. And he came so much I was afraid it would empty out of the base of the condom. How can anyone cum this much, I thought? Bobby didn't cum this much. George could cum a lot but we had sex pretty regularly and it was never...

I gripped the table and tried not to feel as aroused as I was. If I was this aroused I might cum. And if I came, I wasn't sure how I'd feel about that. But having Tom's dick so far up inside me and squeezing like it was, with no sign that it was going to shrink - with every sign that he would continue to ejaculate inside me for hours.

That thought sent a shudder through my stomach. We were both breathing heavily. I counted six distinct pulses of his cock. He was squeezing it out of his body. Into me; into the condom. His fingertips seemed wonderfully dry on the soft, wet skin of my breasts. I felt my nipples harden in his palms. His strokes were very long, very thorough, very deliberate. He'd pull back, slowly, and slide in - not slam - rigorously. It wasn't fast, it wasn't slow - it wasn't even medium he just, slid out, pushed in, squeezed, pulled out, squeezed as he slid in. This was how he wanted to use me, this is what he'd paid for.

"Tell me you love me," I said again. I wanted to hear him say it. I realized he had to say it.

"I love you," he said. His pace quickened. He was still hard.

I gasped and threw my hand against the mirror. The sweat dripped in beads from my hair and my right leg was almost completely off the ground. Don't say it again, I thought to myself. I couldn't help myself. "Tell me you love me," I gasped, the whole time I was watching him. Watching him this time.

"I love you," he said. He was still hard - he was still fucking me - oh God was he still cumming?

"Do you love my body?" I gasped. My stomach was quaking. Bobby, what about Bobby?

"Yes."

I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed back against him. I felt all the nerves in my vagina seize up. I was going to flood against his prick.

"NO!" I screamed. He was thrown by that. I'm sure he thought I was talking to him. I was screaming at myself. I gripped the back of the mirror and panted. He had frozen, perhaps trying to figure out what I wanted him to wait for. I waited for the orgasm to recede, waited for what I wanted to crest at the very edge of my pussy. Why wait for it? If he had pushed just one more time I would have creamed myself. Why couldn't I let myself?

And gradually, slipping in and out of me that way, I felt the skin slacken, his cock wilt, his hands slide down my stomach. 

The condom, which I could feel dribble down my soaked inner thighs (we had both sweat profusely, especially down there), dripped out of my body. I quickly pulled my hair over my ear and glanced down. He had a hand on the base, his fingers sliding through the slick fluid. "It didn't get out," he assured me. He gave a soft smile and held up his fingers. "This is from you."

"Okay," I said. "You're sure?"

He nodded sincerely. "Just sweat and the rest of it. Can I use your bathroom?"

"Do you mind if I use it first?"

"Actually I'd like to clean you, if you're okay with that." He gave another soft smile (a spent smile; a peaceable smile). "Cleaning you up is just as fun as dirtying you up."

I tried not to frown too overtly and shook my head. "No I really want to take a shower."

He nodded quickly. "Understood." I strode past him (we were both so naked, I thought, which is stupid). Right before I reached the bathroom door I heard him clear his throat and ask, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," I said.

"Is it all right if I stay to clean up?"

"Yes," I said, and closed the door. I was all right. I was fine. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this. Again. At all. If I should have in the first place. I wasn't thinking about Bobby but then I was thinking about Bobby. I was thinking about my parents, and Allison, and when my parents would be coming home and if I would tell Allison. Of course you can't, I thought. Of course you should. And Tom wasn't going to leave until he'd cleaned up! I wanted to tell him to leave now but I didn't for the sheer fact that I just didn't want to talk to him. Every thought I could possibly have buzzed through my brain in an effort to not do what I wanted to do, to not push my fingers into my sopping cunt and make myself cum and scream. I realized I was standing in front of the mirror, not focusing on anything. I reached over and turned the shower knob and let it run for a minute while I took a wet cloth between my legs and made sure everything was copacetic. 

Don't cum, I told myself. Don't cum. I didn't find any semen. If he had cum less would I be less worried? Was I worried? Did I enjoy that?

Yes, a little. I did. I hadn't cum and I wasn't going to cum but I was definitely hot and bothered and I didn't think my nipples were going to soften for a good few hours. And my vagina kept giving me a buzz, an insistent, annoying buzz, and the insides (my insides) could still feel his long cock running up there and running out. I sighed very heavily and just breathed for a bit, and shook myself. And saw my breasts jiggle and sway in the mirror and had to laugh at myself.

What was I doing? I let out another tremendous sigh and stepped into the shower. So naked, I thought. 

God, Tom had just fucked me and I was taking a shower. This was awkward. We had had sex. He had paid me. I didn't feel dirty about that, aside from the requisite weirdness. I felt dirty but it was a new dirty, a new emotion I wasn't prepared for. If he had been dirty about it, at all, if he had spit at me or called me whore or, I don't know, anything vulgar, if would have felt deplorable. But he hadn't. He was kinky. And he'd wanted to clean me! A chorus of sighs were not enough. I needed to clean myself, get my robe on, let him clean up and then get him out. We could talk tomorrow, or never.

When I finished in the shower I wrapped myself in a towel and opened the door. Surprisingly, Tom already had his clothes on and his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He walked over to me swiftly and stood over me. In my bare feet he was much taller. 

He reached forward and I made to back away, but he gave a slight yank on the towel and it fell off my breasts. We stood there; my hands were in the bathroom door frame and he drank me in. I watched his eyes glide over my skin, dripping down my breasts, my stomach, my legs. I closed my thighs uncomfortably. I glanced down and could see he already had an erection again.

"The hour isn't up," he said.

Oh God. 

But he didn't move to touch me again. He leaned back and readjusted the bag. "You seemed upset," he said. "If you still want to do this, come to the gym at the same time...I guess in two weeks. Put yourself on display, and give me a token."

I frowned. "A token? What the fuck?"

He smiled. "I'll shower at home."

Then he left. I listened to him walk down the driveway and kickstart his motorcycle, leaving me to throw my towel back over myself and go to the table where we'd done it. The hairbrush was still there. I looked at myself in the mirror, at my wet hair and my flushed skin. My face was reflected back through the smudged hand print by the edge. I shook my head and went to go get a towel to wipe it off.

As I mounted the steps, after I'd cleaned everything and gotten my stuff together, I wondered if it was really such a big deal for five hundred dollars. I had two weeks to decide.



Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 02



I think as long as you love someone there is enough to talk about. But for Bobby and I, the longer we were apart the less we seemed to have to say to each other. I called Bobby the day after Tom and I had done the deed in my living room, and I felt weird about it, but I didn't feel...bad. I didn't feel guilty. Tom had seemed pretty business-like about the whole thing and when I saw him at the gym he pretended like he didn't know me, or gave me the briefest of waves and went back to whatever he was doing.

I talked to Bobby and we went over his days, what he was studying, the jobs he was already interviewing for. I talked about my lame secretarial job and how I was trying to find a place.

"A place?" he said. "Weren't you saving up for graduate school?"

I was but I wasn't sure if I wanted to do that now - if I even could do that now. So it made more sense for me to do one thing at a time. I didn't know if it was the right thing to do but I was going nuts trying to justify living at home with my parents when every day I was less sure I was an adult. So Bobby and I had a few things to argue about but we didn't really have much in common. The next week was his midterms so we stopped talking altogether.

It was also nearing the day when I'd have to decide if I could follow through with Tom's agreement. He said put myself on display and bring him a token. 

You know, for about a week I was sure I wasn't ever going to do that again. I'd let him pay me for sex, and that was weird, and kind of exciting in its way. Would I? Then the next week rolled around, and I didn't want to call Bobby, and Allison had been going to the gym less since Sara got back in town. Mostly they wanted to smoke or hit the bars and, as much fun as that was, I was still trying to save money, which was hard to do when you were going out every night.

As the day approached I had to decide if five hundred dollars was worth an hour of sex. Was it worth it to Tom? That was something I was curious about. He certainly seemed to enjoy himself last time.

I thought about that as I got dressed. I slipped my socks on and squeezed into my panties. Then I stopped. I looked at myself in my nightstand mirror, with just my panties on and my fingers against my hips. Then I wormed my way out of the panties and went to my dresser. I pulled out my tightest pair of shorts: a purple spandex thing with silver piping. I'd stopped wearing them and was actually going to give them away soon. Since I'd been doing squats and bends, leg lifts, and running more often, my butt had gotten rounder, firmer, and the shorts molded to my body in a way that was great at parties but drew the wrong kind of attention at the gym. What the hell, I thought.

I slid them up my legs and turned around as I pulled them over my ass. If I were wearing panties I would have had very distinct lines. But I didn't have the panties so there was just my ass and the material that hugged my inner thighs and...I faced the mirror. No, they weren't quite riding up my middle. But if I started jogging or doing sit ups these things would go...high.

I fished around in my underwear drawer until I found it, a sports bra from when I was in high school. I don't remember why I kept it; I'm usually pretty good about throwing that stuff away, but my bust had grown since my junior year. Not much, but just enough to make the material tight against my chest and push my boobs out. I finished the outfit with a white tank top. The black sports bra was very visible under the thin material and I looked like I'd just thrown together something and run out the door to the gym. As I spun in the mirror I saw that my cleavage was a little out of control. That's alright, I thought to myself, my ass balanced it out.

Gathering up my gym bag and walking down the stairs I guessed I was about to bring Tom home again. I opened the table drawer and pulled out the hairbrush. I stuck it in my bag and left the house.

* * *

When I got to the gym I didn't see Tom there, so I warmed up, did my stretches, then got on the mats and started working out on the exercise ball. I did a short, quick set of 100 crunches and then did some easy yoga stretches. Still no Tom. The gym instructors were passing by and saying hi. We both pretended they weren't scoping out my ass and I went into my squats. 

I saw Tom at the free weights. He was working his triceps, so I worked my triceps. I checked the mirrors at the far side of the gym instead of the one right in front of us. He was using the mirrors on the other side of the gym to check me out. When I set my weights back into the rack and got another pair I glanced to see if he had an erection. Either his pants were looser than they looked or he wasn't affected. A few younger guys (I guessed they were tall for their age because they had that goofy emo thing going on) did not share his stoicism. They were gathered in a huddle on the gym floor and talking over the bench press instead of actually using it, and I could see them rearrange themselves surreptitiously. I smiled and left Tom, going to the thigh machine and sitting down to spread my legs and work out.

Tom saw that.

I finished my work out on the treadmill with a short fifteen minute run. I set the incline way up and tried to sprint the last four minutes. By the time I was finished my heart was beating and I was covered in sweat and Tom was working on the rowing machine near the door. I zipped open my bag as I headed for the door and I tossed the hairbrush on his bag. If he saw it happen he didn't betray a single glance. I just went outside and rounded the corner of the building.

Tom showed up about five minutes later and handed me his helmet. Inside was an envelope. I opened it and looked inside: five crisp bills. I stuck the envelope in my bag and shook my hair out, pulling his helmet over me and stepping behind him after he swung up on the bike. 

He knocked the kickstand out and revved the engine. I squeezed myself against him and he put his hand on my thigh. We lit out of the parking lot like we were already late for an appointment.

* * *

When we got to my place Tom told me what he wanted me to do. He didn't want to see me get dressed, so I told him he could wait downstairs. He asked if he could have a glass of water, of all things...

I went upstairs and I showered (Tom said that was alright after I told him I didn't want to get my clothes sweaty). I shook a little as I cleaned under my armpits and my legs, going so far as to scrub between my legs until my wet pubes snarled against my clitoris. I got out, toweled, and walked to my room, glancing down the stairs and the bannister at Tom, who sipped idly at his drink and watched me pass.

When I got into my room, I rubbed down my hair (it was pointless, I thought, since I would probably be showering soon again anyway). Then I got a silky blouse, one that showed plenty of cleavage. And since I didn't see a reason to wear a bra, I was all but falling out of the thing. Then I pulled one of my shortest skirts off the hanger and stepped into it. I hiked it up over my hips until it was snug and then looked at myself. I looked ridiculous; hadn't put on makeup, had just come from the shower, and if my father (or Bobby) had seen me walk out of the house with my tits hanging out like this they'd tackle me to the pavement. I brushed my hair back as much as I could and then I sat down and put on a thin layer of foundation, then did my eyelashes and finished with a bright red lipstick (that's what he asked for). 

When Tom saw me coming down the stairs it looked like he was about to whistle, then thought better of it. I padded down to him in my bare feet and he swept his hand over mine on the bannister.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Mm." My heart was thudding in my chest. I didn't know what he wanted this time but I wasn't prepared for it, not mentally. 

He drew his fingers through my hair and slid them down my neck. His eyes drank in everything, from my face, to my shoulders, to my breasts, down to my stomach showing between the skirt and the blouse, and my legs.

"We started off fast last time," he said. "This time..." he drifted off. He was fixated on my lips.

Without another word he took my hand and led me around to the couch. He pulled off his jacket and folded it, slinging it over the arm rest. Then he pulled off his gym shirt. I watched his pectorals flex and his stomach twist as he bent down to get his sneakers off. Then his socks (my pussy suddenly felt tickled by my pubic hair, as if the skin had suddenly come alive), then...oh.

Tom was already very hard. His long dick stuck out from his pubic hair like an angry red pike. He sat down on the couch, condom wrapper already in hand. I watched him get comfortable, then he tore the wrapper and rolled it down his dick. Before I knew it he had tightly wrapped it up in the white, lubricated latex. He crossed his legs and sat like a buddha on the couch.

"Is it alright if I'm naked on the furniture?"

I ignored him. "What do you want me to do?"

He patted his thigh and reached out his arms. I came forward tentatively, not taking his hands. I hiked up my skirt gingerly and shuffled over him on the couch. I grabbed his penis and angled it toward me when he took my wrist and gently made me let go. 

"What?"

He squeezed my buttocks and brought me to a siting position on his thick thighs. My legs were splayed over him and my feet pointed up on the cushions. My head was above his and he was more or less eye level with my boobs. He smiled up at me. 

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He reached up and touched my neck again, slid his fingers down my throat, down my clavicle, down into the impressive dip of my cleavage. 

"Take them out," he said.

All I had to do was shrug and my tits rolled forward. I hooked my fingers into the loose collar and they fell the rest of the way. He reached for them and grasped them gently. 

"Put your hands over mine."

I did. His hands were cool.

I was glancing down at my small hands over his large ones (each one fairly covered each breast, and I'm not small) and didn't realize he was waiting for me to look at him. When I glanced up he regarded me with little expression; but his eyes shone in the dark half light of the living room.

"Tell me about when you lost your virginity."

I could feel his dick against my belly, just above the curl of my pubic hair. He shifted a little and the head brushed up against the inside of my skirt.

"Did you shave your vagina?" he said.

"What?"

He shrugged, keeping his hands on my tits. "It seems like you would."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," I said. "But yes..."

He waited patiently.

"You really want me to tell you?"

"Yes," he said.

I sighed. 

"It was in high school. I was dating Tony Bra-" I stopped. "Oh my God, I can't remember his name. No. It was Tony Braccho. Tony Brogan." I pulled a hand off my tit and pressed it to my mouth. "What the fuck."

Tom laughed.

"Shut up! It's not funny."

He didn't stop laughing. "Not a good way to start."

"Well he wasn't that good."

"Who did you want to lose it to?"

I gave him a sidelong look. "I know you won't believe me, but I'm not a whore."

"I didn't say that."

"Well it's not like I fantasized about getting fucked all day."

Tom laughed again. "Guys do."

"Yeah. That's not a mystery."

"Can you put your hand back on mine?"

I had forgotten. I slipped my hand back over his and found that it had warmed some. And my nipples were getting harder under his rough palms.

"But I imagine - I could be wrong - that you had fantasies. Most do, guys and girls."

"Uh huh," I said. I squirmed down his thighs a little, rubbing the muscles of my inner thighs against his legs to get some circulation back. "Can you uncross your legs?"

He did. I slid back until my ass was on his thighs and his dick (still hard) was against my stomach.

"Who was it?"

I sighed. Why not tell him the truth? "You can't tell anyone," I said.

He smirked but didn't say anything.

"Right." I sighed again. "I had this fantasy that the guys' tennis coach would, uh..." Tom's face was turning red. I realized he was trying to keep from laughing. "Fuck you!" I said. I started to get up.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" he said, not hiding his laughter at all. "It's just that, first of all, he's the tennis coach but, secondly, Righart was gay."

"Well duh, everyone knows that now," I said, awkwardly slipping my ass back against his legs. "But back then he was just this really funny, really young guy and he was really, really good looking."

"So how did you imagine it?"

"Well," I said, not really thinking about it, "I had actually asked him for some private lessons. Obviously he was the guys' coach but he would sit in for the girls - I think he used to be pro - and I actually tried to flirt with him. I thought I must have been really bad at it because he never even came close to calling me on it or getting uncomfortable, he'd just laugh and tell me to ease up on my swing or tell me I didn't need private lessons. But I finally got him to give me an hour after school and..." I think the only person I'd ever told about this was Allison. "I actually dreamed about this. I dreamed that he'd find me in the locker room before I went out there or I'd be all sweaty after he lobbed a bunch of serves at me and he'd catch me right before I got to the shower-"

"And then what?"

"Sometimes, I don't know, sometimes I'd imagine he'd be rough. He was never rough in my dreams but when I imagined it, later-"

"Later-?"

"Um, sometimes after school, I'd, when I took a shower-"

"You did it after that practice?"

I shook my head. I was embarrassed but all the heat seemed to be leaking down to my bottom. "I didn't even shower when I got home I just went straight upstairs and-"

"And what?"

I could feel his dick pressing against my stomach. I wasn't sure, though, if he felt the first drip leave my body and hit his leg.

"I touched myself. Oh, God, I was so mad. I was so mad at him for not wanting to fuck me - even though that's ridiculous - and I was so mad at myself for asking for the private lesson - I couldn't concentrate at all the whole time, I was too busy trying to flirt with him or bending over in my skirt. Oh my God, I actually did that!" Unconsciously, I'd started to rub my thighs against his. I wasn't even rubbing my privates against him; I'd just started moving back and forth; it started out as a way to keep my circulation going but... "That was the first time I actually put my fingers, uhm, inside myself."

"Really?" Tom's hands were slowly, very slowly, slipping down my breasts and skating down the silk blouse. He paused over the tan skin at my hips and kept going down to squeeze my ass. Instinctively, I rolled further into his lap.

"Before, I-ah-I just touched my clit but that day I had to have something- had to have something-" Did I realize too late what he'd been doing or did I realize it just in time. As I spoke I actually had reached down and grasped the tip of his cockhead. I found it slippery and hard in my palm, the whole shaft soon between my fingers.

"Had Tony fucked you before this?"

"Yes," I whispered. What was I going to do? I was getting very wet.

"How many times?"

"It was a few months before, I- we did it a bunch of times but it was just, it wasn't really anything. I kept waiting to feel something and I never did. He just put it in me and we went at it- usually expecting to get caught. We broke up."

"What would you do if Rihart had come to you in the locker room?" He was slowly pushing his dick against the taut skin of my belly. I was also pushing his dick against me with my hand.

"I honestly would have fucked him," I said. There wasn't a trace of uncertainty in my voice. "He was older. He was so good looking."

"But you had to masturbate to him instead."

"Yes," I said. I had begun to rub my pussy lips against Tom's thigh and he took that as a sign to lift my hips and hold me against his dick. When I pushed forward, he pushed forward, and my lips slid back and forth over the base of his shaft. "Yes," I said again, just to let him know.

"Remember what you wanted. Can you remember what it felt like?" he asked. His breathing was stertorous. 

"Sort of," I said. 

"When you put your fingers inside yourself?"

"Yes..."

"It felt different than when Tony fucked you."

I closed my eyes. I had bit my lip and reached out to the back of the couch to steady myself. I was already leaning farther back, arching my back, pushing my hips against him. "Yes," I said. I don't know how he knew but he knew. That day, when I'd fucked my hand, my fingers felt like they were sending electric shocks up my cunt. When I'd fucked Tony it just felt like there was something in me. That day... 

Tom's cockhead nudged against my clitoris. I bit my lip harder. 

"Imagine him."

"Okay."

Maybe it was magic, I don't know. But Tom didn't exist anymore. I shut my eyes tight and I remembered what Aidan Brighart looked like. His big shoulders (like he played rugby, football, something far more physical than tennis demanded), his rocky back (alright, I'd never seen his back but I imagined the muscles grinding against each other whenever he swung into a return), his gold hair - all the girls were in love with him. I was not the only one who wanted to fuck him and there were more than one who claimed that they had. "Lying bitches," I murmured as I trailed my hand off the back of the couch and searched through Tom's (Aidan's) hair.

"Tell him what you wanted."

I remember moaning it in my dream. I remember almost praying for it in my bed that day. "I want you to fuck me, Aidan," I groaned in a half whisper, half sing song. Tom didn't ask but I reached for his shoulder and leaned forward until his dick slid under me so that it was almost parallel with my pussy lips. "I wanted him to press me against the shower wall..." I said.

I suddenly had this dick under me. If I kept my eyes closed it could have been Aidan's. It could have been high school again; I could have been naked in the locker room, my skirt thrown over the bench and my feet sore and naked on the white tile. Tom wrapped his left arm around my body; his right hand scooped under my ass cheek and opened me, spread my thighs apart... 

"What if someone comes in?"

"No one's coming," I whispered. I hugged Tom, suddenly remembered that my tits were out and then they squeezed against his chest. The naked skin on skin contact thrilled me. 

"What if you tell?" he said in a low, low whisper.

I just went with it. I kept my eyes shut tight and nearly bashed my forehead into his hair. "I won't," I hissed. "I won't tell!" I was running my cunt back and forth over his cock now, wondering why he wouldn't put it in, furious at myself that I wasn't more in control. But suddenly all these feelings for Aidan Brighart were flooding back into me and the overriding one was a true, undaunted lust.

"You're a bad girl," he whispered in the same, low, snake voice.

"Yes..." I imagined being naked in that shower, imagined him in there with me. Imagined his cock thick and pink and clean. I slung back my pelvis as far as it would go and felt the cockhead poke between my pussy and drove my hips down on it. "Ahh, God," I moaned. Tom's dick plunged into me and I was now directly in his lap, nailed to him. I drove him in and out, the wet condom sliding easily up into my hungry snatch. He met me more than halfway, driving himself up with a sure, dominating strength. The way Aidan would have. The way Bobby couldn't. Fuck Bobby.

Tom pressed his mouth against mine then and I would have protested. Except I wasn't imagining Tom there with me. I was imagining Aidan kissing me like that, kissing me like he couldn't take his mouth off me, kissing me like I knew he wanted to kiss me; I was young, I was hot, I was ready, I wanted him and wanted him to want me and his dick was inside me - a sharp throb reverberated through my legs - and his dick was deep inside me. Oh, was he deep inside me. I kissed Tom back and I was the first one to put my tongue in his mouth. I imagined my lipstick was smearing against his cheeks (but that was all I let myself imagine with Tom). I found myself talking; I never liked to talk during sex. 




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 02



"I'm so hot," I said. I couldn't believe I'd said it.

"You're the hottest girl in town."

"God, I"m so fucking hot. Don't you want me?"

"Every day. On the court."

"Did you-" I panted. "Did you see me bend down?"

"Yes."

"I'm so wet for you. I wanted you to fuck me."

"I am fucking you."

"Whenever you want," I said. "Do me right now. Do me right now, Aidan." Tom lifted me up, driving his cock higher and harder inside me. It hurt, it did hurt; deep inside my uterus it hurt but around the outer edges of my vulva I squeezed my pussy closed around him and let him pick me up and push me down on the couch. Now Aidan was on top of me and fucking me against the sofa. I threw my legs out over his hips. 

"What else do you want?" he said.

"I want your cock!" I screamed. I remember this even today: I screamed it like it was some sort of right, like he owed it to me, like he was constitutionally bound to give it to me. Tom took that as a cue to fuck me deeper, harder. My skirt was hiked up as far as it would go and my tits were bouncing against his chest and we were still making out, practically slobbering over each other. I hadn't fucked that furiously since I was in high school. "Slower!" I suddenly commanded.

And, to my great surprise, he did. Tom pressed me so far into the sofa that I could barely breathe, then he slowly retreated, pulling it out of me until it was just to the edge and then inserting it, inch by velvet inch, back into me, back into the tightness of my vagina.

I felt like I was thinking only from the warm spot between my legs (or more like the warm spot inside my belly). I wanted to say things; it kept it exciting; it made me horny. 

"You're so big, Mr. Brighart," I groaned.

"Slower?"

"Yes..." I sighed. "I won't tell your wife..."

"Don't tell your boyfriend."

"I won't," I said. I played along with him. It was fun and I was horny. I squeezed my arms against the back of his neck. I squeezed my whole body up against him actually so that he had to work his hips just to pull back far enough to push back inside me. I curled up on him as tightly as I could. "I masturbate to you," I heard myself whisper.

"Every night."

"Every night," I whispered. "I feel so dirty..."

"You're not dirty."

"No?"

"You're perfect."

"Ah. Ah!" Tom had, by accident or design, rubbed against my G spot. My right foot curled spasmodically against his naked ass. "Tell me how pretty I am." I don't know why I said it. But I would find, as Tom paid me for sex again and again, that our arrangement was, despite so many worrying things, one in where I could be, for once, completely vain. And Tom encouraged it. I think it's what he wanted from the beginning.

"You're perfect."

"Do you like my tits?"

Tom bent down and suckled at my left tit as if it would give him milk. For a moment, I wished I could.

"Te-l-l me-e-e..." I stuttered as Tom dug into me. He pulled out and flipped me around. He bent me over the arm of the couch and crouched behind me. He came in from behind and he went very, very deep. "Yah!" I cried. I grabbed the arm rest to steady myself. 

"When I see you in the gym," he said (he was Tom now, definitely, but I imagined it was Aidan), all I can do is think of you naked." He grabbed my shoulder and pushed into me. I dug the heels of my feet into the cushions and rose to meet him. 

"Go toward my front," I intoned, trying to get him back to my G spot. I bent up like a bridge so that the underside of his cock glanced the front of my vagina. He reached forward and cupped my breast. "Tell me how fucking pretty I am," I groaned.

"I think of how long you must have spent in the gym." God, he was working it out of me. I felt his cockhead spring as far into my body as he could go and pull out, and pull out, and pull out. My juices dribbled down my thighs. "I think of how proud you must be." He let out a deep groan. My pussy was squeezing against him and I didn't think he'd last longer. "I think of how proud any woman would be, to look like you." His skin was bulging. His balls swatted my ass cheeks. "Tell me how proud you are," he said.

His dick pried my legs apart. "I'm proud..." I admitted. He pushed farther in. I clenched every muscle in my body and squeezed my hands against the sofa rest. My tits squashed into the couch.

"Say it again."

"I'm proud," I groaned. He pushed his hips into my ass and my legs were literally straight as I pushed against him. If Aidan had fucked me like this I would have fainted.

"Say it again."

The base of his cock suddenly ground against the front of my G spot and I let out a deep, throaty moan. "You made me cum," I said, shocked.

He pushed against it again and my legs shook uncontrollably. "Say it."

"I'm-"

"Not that."

"Oh." I grasped the sofa and bowed my head. "Tell me you love me," I whispered. I remembered what he wanted to hear. The orgasm was actually building in me. It didn't stop with him hitting my G spot. It was radiating out from where his dick penetrated my pussy. "Tell me you love me," I said.

"I love you," he said as if rolling a massive stone across his back. I felt his balls bulge and his semen come. 

"Pull out and push in," I panted as he came. He complied, pulling it back and shoving it in. Together we gasped and moaned like two teenagers in heat, letting out painful and loud grunts and gasps, things I couldn't even spell, words that weren't words, moans. I remember repeating the word "dick" a lot. Tom grabbed my ass. He grabbed my tits. 

Then he pulled me back, pulled me off the arm rest so that I was sitting on his cock with him behind me. He opened his legs and I sat on his thighs and he pulled my face toward his and started to kiss me. I really shouldn't have, but I just let it happen. His dick continued to squeeze and throb between my legs, and that in turn just plowed up into my body, the lust overriding my better judgement. I wanted his tongue in my mouth; I didn't care if he was Aidan or Tom. But he certainly wasn't Bobby. Bobby didn't kiss me like that and Bobby would never fuck me like that. I wouldn't want him to. It was too raw. My stomach shivered when he touched me. 

He'd paid me, and that was dirty, and it turned me on. He made me fantasize in front of him, on top of him, had fucked me while I thought about my high school tennis coach, and that was dirty, and it turned me on. He flat out told me that he thought about me naked when I was in the gym, and that turned me on, and that turned me on.

I moaned into his mouth when he reached forward and started fingering my clit while he continued to cum. It didn't do much; I had already orgasmed and it was still working its way through me; but the extra stimulation, while a little painful, made my legs relax. His dick throbbed. 

I pulled off the kiss. "Get out of me," I rasped. "I don't want you to cum in accidentally." I was too exhausted to make the grammar work. He reached for my face again and I batted him off. "No," I said breathlessly. I grasped the edge of the sofa by opening my arms and digging my feet into the couch. I pulled myself up and waited while he held the condom over the base of his cock and gingerly pulled it out. He wasn't totally hard anymore but he was still a long way from soft. "Is there..." I asked. 

"I think it's fine," he said. "Will you let me know if..." 

We sat on the sofa, both of us covered in a profuse layer of sweat. "If what?" I said.

"If you don't have your period."

"God..." I got up off the sofa and threw my top over my head. It was soaked. I unbuttoned my skirt and wormed out of it.

"Will you let me clean you?" he asked. I looked at his face. My lipstick was smeared all over his mouth and chin. Some red had even stained his nose.

"No," I said automatically. "I just want to... I have to..." I didn't know what I wanted. There wasn't anything wrong with enjoying the sex, I supposed. But that made it less like a job and more like -

He accepted this and got up off the couch. He went into the downstairs bathroom and I heard the shower start. I gathered up my clothes and went up the stairs. I showered again. I got dressed again. When I was finished I went downstairs and Tom was waiting there, his hair wet, stupid smile on his face.

"Thank you," he said. "Are you all right?"

I nodded.

He nodded and went over to his bag, lifted it up and over his shoulder and then grabbed his helmet. He turned back to me at the door. "I didn't think you'd go for round two," he said.

"I want my own place."

He regarded me coolly, measuring me, storing me in my big shirt and shorts for future reference. "It's nice having your own place," he said with uncharacteristic casualness. "It isn't easy these days."

I crossed my arms over my stomach and scratched my foot with my toes. I wasn't sure if we were making small talk or if he wanted to ask me something. But he'd fucked me twice now and didn't seem like a crazy person. I could have been wrong, obviously, but I was still in a good, mellow place from my orgasm. I realized in the shower that I hadn't cum in months. And I wasn't sure when I'd ever cum like that. So I was in a friendly mood.

"A thousand dollars is a lot to drop in one month," I said. "Not that I'm complaining," I added.

He gave me a wry half-smile. "If I told you you were worth it would that make you feel objectified?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "I don't know if I even want to pursue that subject."

"Honestly," he said, "I really didn't want you to say yes that first time. And even then I figured it would just be the first and only time."

"Didn't think I could go through with it?"

"Didn't think I could handle you."

I rolled my eyes. "Uh huh. But, I feel like I should know this, how... where's the money come from? I'm sorry if you told me already where you work."

He opened the door. "The less we know about each other's personal lives the better. It keeps this professional."

"Alright," I said, opening my hands in a peace gesture. He stepped outside and turned back around to look at me. He wouldn't stop looking at me, actually. It was like he was afraid I'd disappear.

"In two weeks," he said. "Should I expect you?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, nodding. Yes, he could. I would. "Do you want me to...wear anything?"

"Do what you did today," he said. He pulled my hairbrush out of his bag and stepped inside to slide it back over the table. "You don't need to bring me anything." He stepped outside and walked down the path. He gave me a wave over his shoulder and mounted up on his motorcycle. "Thanks again." Then he was gone in a loud burst of exhaust.

I breathed deeply and let out a long sigh. Well, I thought, easiest grand I ever made. Tom may have been a pervert, but he was a polite one, I'd give him that.



Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 03



It took me a little while to realize it. It was probably because I was scared of him. After that second time though, I understood if only a little better what turned him on. Tom took pride in me. He took pride in my body. Men, of course, have done crazy things for me and my body, even stupid things. They wanted me, they wanted to do whatever they had to do to get me. Bobby, George, Carlos, whoever I was with loved to take me out, wanted me to wear the short skirts that showed off my ass and thighs, and the pumps that drew my legs into tight, luscious stems. They wanted me to put my belly button on display, the flatness of my stomach, wear mascara to make my green eyes shine. They wanted me to wear the shirts that pushed my tits up and out and in their friends' faces, even when they said it was too revealing, it was exactly what they wanted. They wanted me; they wanted everyone to know that when they took me home they would fuck me as much as they wanted (they left out of the fantasy the part where it was just the once, and quickly, and I was still waiting to cum).

I started off thinking Tom was the same way. Maybe he was too shy to get a real girl, maybe he didn't think he could ever get a girl as good looking as me. Was he really so busy that he couldn't take a girl on a date? I learned quickly that, yes, he was that busy but no, he wasn't shy. Tom still scared me, somehow, because there was something dangerously reserved about him. He didn't talk about what he did, he just talked about the matters at hand. Yet it became an anticipatory fear, like an adrenaline rush...

Tom didn't care who knew he fucked me. He wanted that fact hidden. He did want me to wear more revealing clothing at the gym, but that was to excite him, not the others. Though of course he knew what it did to the others. He wanted me to make sure no one saw me leave with him. When we were alone, he drank every inch of my body in; he touched me everywhere - everywhere - and it was always with the touch of a rough child, of a discoverer, of an explorer. He'd massage and squeeze each muscle, rub me down, hold me, kiss me, smell me - God, he must have spent the first twenty minutes that third time just breathing in the different sweaty cracks of my body. And then he put his lips on me, kissed my hips, kissed my pussy, parted my pubic hair, licked my chin.

He washed my feet, too. I didn't get it, because he was really into my smells, but then I realized he was doing it for me. He was cleaning me. And when he entered me finally...he held on to me like I was some precious kite about to fly away in the wind.

He made me look at myself in the mirror (usually when he fucked me, but sometimes he'd make me just stand, or do exercises, but he made sure I had my eyes on my own body). He told me to watch the sweat running down my thighs, between my breasts, down my neck, on my forehead. And he watched. He watched me. 

Vanity is supposed to be a sin, and with good reason. There's nothing below the surface of vanity, and whatever looks good will eventually fade away. After the second or third time together I realized that Tom was attracted to what I'd done to myself. Even when I was a sweaty mess, even when I was red in the face, or flushed, or my hair was all over the place. He loved my body in a way that I didn't understand. He was at once careful and possessive, rough and brutally gentle. 

Tom wanted to touch me, feel me, wanted to be inside of me and taste every piece of me, hold me, fondle me. Maybe Tom did feel the same way the others did, maybe it was never anything more than physical. But Tom took physical to a whole other place. That third time, after he'd washed my feet, stroked my muscles, told me to twirl in the mirror, held my breasts, licked my bellybutton and the salt off the back of my neck, and then my throat, and explored my pussy with his fingers, that third time, after all of that, when he finally pushed his penis inside me I came so hard he had to fuck me on my knees.

* * *

Those interludes of ours were such fractional parts of my life that talking about it now it's hard to imagine that I only saw Tom for barely two hours out of the month. When we'd first agreed upon the deal it was for one hour of sex every two weeks at $500 each, or $250 once a week, but I never really held him to the hour and we never brought up a weekly arrangement again. It was every two weeks, and $500 up front. Sometimes it was more than an hour, but more often it was less. 

There was a time I remember well, if only because it did leave me sore for the next week, I think it was the fourth or fifth time we got back from the gym, when Tom really seemed exhausted. He asked for a glass of water when we got in, as he usually did, and I brought it to him, and he downed it, and asked for another, and then downed that. I asked if he was all right, but he clearly wasn't sick, just tired. He said he hadn't slept for a few days. I don't know if he was serious.

He took me by the hand and led me to the couch and caressed my cheek with his finger. I brushed him away (how do I explain how and when I let him touch me? When I was in the height of arousal I let him kiss me; I'm ashamed to admit it, because that, even given my wavering ambivalence about Bobby, seemed to cross a line. Sometimes I almost loved having his hands on my face, my neck...) and asked him what he wanted me to do.

"I'm not up for lassoing the moon today," he said. "Do you have a book to read, or would you prefer to watch TV?"

I wasn't sure where he was going with that but he got me to take my clothes off while I figured it out. After I'd peeled my panties off my pussy lips he attacked them with his mouth, getting me as wet as he possibly could. Then he got undressed himself, ripped out the condom and rolled it down his cock. He got on the couch facing towards the back and had me climb over him and slide him in. 

And that was it. We sat there together for a few minutes, with his cock bolt upright in my pussy. I started to ask what he thought he was doing but then he gradually pulled out and slid back in. Slowly. Very slowly. 

We went at it like that for nearly the whole hour. Eventually I did reach for the remote and start watching television, my arms draped over his shoulders, his hands planted firmly under my buttocks, the sweat and fluids between us making our stomachs slide against each other. 

By the end of another terrible episode of whatever reality show I'd happened upon I told him he better cum before I dried out. He did, after asking, as always, for me to say what he wanted me to say.

I leaned back from watching over his shoulder and tried looking him in the eyes this time. "Tell me you love me," I said.

He reached up and laid his palm between my neck and chest in the smooth indentation of my clavicle. "I love you," he said, and thrust up. 

I felt him bulge, felt his stomach tighten and his legs strain as they pushed his cock between my lips. I looked at his face, that thankful relief that crossed over his dark features. And then he pulled out and we took our showers and went back to our lives.

Other weeks he was much more energetic. And after two and a half months of our arrangement, I was a little more indulgent, I'll admit, mostly because it broke up the tedium of the rest of my routine.

I still worked as a secretary and occasional typist in the city, at the same indecent wage and as often as they could give me hours. I still went to the gym with Allison (and now Sara, too, who was back in town) on alternating weekdays, and I saved my money and tried not to splurge on clothes or a new ceramic curling iron (though I desperately wanted/needed one). With Tom's bankroll I had a real chance of getting my own place, and after two months I had two-thousand tax free dollars in my account (for all of four hours of "work"). I do, but you don't need to read the Wall Street Journal every morning to know that's a tidy profit.

So when Tom did have me dress as a dominatrix once, I said sure. But neither of us really got off on it (we tried it both ways). I couldn't tell you if I was having fun with Tom. He said relatively little outside of our mid-intercourse banter. The funny thing about that is that after three months this whole thing was still mysterious to me. But were we having a good time, outside of the occasional orgasm?

* * *

If I was in school, this would have been near winter break. Bobby told me how excited he was to see me after so long, and honestly I was excited to see him too. He was my boyfriend, after all, and the one I was supposed to be with. I had a very strong feeling that after he got back to town I'd tell Tom that we had to finish our arrangement. True, it's possible we could have continued our trysts indefinitely (the money would certainly be worth it) but that didn't feel right to me. Not that I'm one to judge right or wrong at this point, but still.

I was riding on the back of Tom's motorcycle in early December. We'd had only occasional snow that early in winter but today was one of those weird Midwest screwballs when the weather was boiling. The breeze from the motorcycle felt so good, I wanted to tear my shirt off and let it wash over my bare breasts. I'm sure Tom would have loved that.

Once we got to my house, Tom set his helmet on the table and slipped his gym bag off his arm. He reached into it while I bent down to untie my sneakers. I watched him rifle through it and then pull something black and box-shaped from inside. He dropped the gym bag to the floor and wiped his wet hair out of his eyes.

He slipped my shoes off for me and stood up. I stared at the thing until I was sure of what it was, then I laughed. "Where did you get that?"

He gave a small, crooked smile and shrugged. 

I wiped the moisture from around my nose. It had been a very hot day and both of us were even sweatier than usual. "Seriously," I said. "Who even sells polaroid cameras anymore?" I suddenly realized what he probably wanted and I shook my head. "Wait, no way."

"You get to keep the photos," he said peacefully. He took my hand and started to lead me upstairs. I sighed and went with him. When we got to my room he took his shoes off and set them next to the bed. Then he pulled five crisp hundreds from his wallet and set them on the dresser.

He flipped the camera open and wandered to my nightstand. He walked towards the mirror, and then he turned. I was still standing by my doorway. 

"Take your clothes off," he said.

I gave him a sidelong look while he peered through the camera.

He smiled. "Do it. You can count the money first."

I pulled my shirt up over my head and threw it down on the floor. I was wearing a black sports bra and the fabric was almost soaked completely through. "Actually," he said, taking a step back against the mirror, "yeah, count it now."

I tried to give him the look that I thought this was stupid but he ignored it. "Take your shorts off," he said. "Do it in the bra and panties."

I hooked my thumbs into my waistband and wiggled out of my shorts. I bent low to hook them off my ankles and get my socks off too. "Stand up and count it," he said.

I rose up and stepped to my dresser. The bills slid off the wood and into my hands and I started to count. 1...2... The camera flashed. The thing let out a loud mechanical whirr and the picture popped out of the mouth. I licked my thumb and slipped the third bill down. I counted the fourth. And when I folded the last one the camera flashed again and the first picture fluttered to the ground and the second followed it down. 

Tom reached down to the floor and took the two pictures. He laid them on my nightstand and turned around to face me. 

Half of him was in the mirror. In the other half I could see myself standing in front of my doorway. Tom held the camera up to his face.

"Guy walks up to a girl," he said, "they're in a bar. He goes up to her and he says, 'Hey, let me drink beer off your tits. I'll buy you a beer and let me drink it off your tits.'"

I made a face and put my hands on my hips. "What are you doing?"

Tom continued. "The girl's disgusted. She turns away and he stays on her. He goes, 'Hey, hey, let me drink beer out your bellybutton. We can go back to my place and I'll lay you down and do shots out your bellybutton.'"

I shook my head.

"The girl's totally grossed out, she's looking to anyone to help her out. She goes, 'My boyfriend's in the bathroom. He's gonna kick your ass.' The guy doesn't care, he keeps on her, finally he goes, 'Hey, hey, baby, let me flip you upside down, I'll drink beer out your snatch.' The girl stalks over to the bathroom right as her boyfriend's coming out. She goes, 'Hey, John, kick this guy's ass, he was hitting on me.' Boyfriend's furious. He goes, 'What the fuck? Where is he?' He starts marching down the bar. His girlfriend goes, 'He said he wanted to drink beer off my nipples!' The boyfriend goes, 'This guy's dead!' She goes, 'Then he said he wanted to drink shots out of my bellybutton!' The boyfriend goes, 'I'm gonna kill this guy!' Then she says, 'He said he wanted to flip me upside down and drink beer out of my pussy!' And the boyfriend stops dead in his tracks and says, 'Hold on, baby. I can't fuck with a guy who can pound that much beer.'"

Tom poked his face from behind the camera and raised his eyebrows.

I laughed. I wasn't laughing at the stupid joke, I was laughing at how stupid it was, laughing at Tom. Tom ducked back behind the camera and it suddenly flashed. He'd taken a picture of me laughing. 

I'd never heard Tom even try to be funny, and the joke was so stupid. There were more. He told me to take off my bra and my panties. And I did. I stepped out of the panties while he told me another dumb one, something about birds, and then I giggled (I can't believe it), and he took the picture. Then I got myself out of the bra and he took another one; I might have been smiling. He chased me around the room then. He had all his clothes on and I was naked. I was bouncing all over the place, holding my breasts up; the camera flashed at my ass, at my naked pussy. He told me another dirty joke, this one really filthy about some farmer and his old wife and I told him to stop. It was a combination of the ridiculous; Tom chasing me around my room, over my bed, taking the pictures, trying so hard to get me to laugh and me hating it, running from him, trying to not look like a fool bare ass naked. I avoided myself in the mirror but he kept herding me back to it, getting me to see myself laughing, or blushing. 

When it was finally over he told me to stand in front of the mirror and he took one last picture. This time he told me to touch myself, and to watch myself in the mirror while I touched myself. I was pretty worked up by this time; I guessed he wanted to have sex after this but I really didn't know what was going on in his head, so I was in this weird half-aroused half-rambunctious mindset. So I fingered myself. I stood in front of the mirror and I closed my eyes initially but he told me to keep them open. So I looked at myself while I did it. Tom was kneeling with me at about the level of my stomach and I had been sticking my fingers up my pussy for a good minute before he took the picture. It didn't feel dirty it felt...new.

He told me I could stop if I wanted to. I stopped and watched him pick up all the photos. They were all developed by this point, all of me in different stages of laughter or blurry motion. There were less than I thought, but probably between ten and fifteen. 

From these Tom chose four. He took the one of me counting the money, me standing there in my bra and panties, in front of my doorway, with my hair over my eyes and my lips set; he took the one right after he told the first joke: my opened mouth and wide eyes, almost aghast that he'd told that stupid story, just about to laugh; he took one of me trying to keep my tits from bouncing while he chased me over the bed; and he took the last one of me fingering myself. I hate to say this, but even I thought I looked pretty damn hot in that last one. I don't remember looking at him when he took that picture but it looked like I wanted to fuck the shit out of the camera.

The other polaroids he scattered over my nightstand table. He asked me for some tape and I pulled a roll from one of the drawers. He taped the four he'd chosen to the edge of the nightstand so that they were about level with his belt. Then he set the camera on the nightstand and reached down to take off his socks. After he'd balled them and tossed them in the corner he looked at me in the mirror. He pulled his shirt over his head.

"Take my pants off."

I was behind him. Naked, I approached his back and, without going around him, unbuckled his belt and undid his button. The button was tight so I had to get close to him. My nipples grazed his back, and my stomach too. I pressed my body against his as I pulled down his zipper and pushed his pants down his hips. That's right, Tom didn't wear underwear. 

I pulled down his pants and he stepped out of them. His long dick sprang out, bobbing in front of the nightstand. It was red, as usual, and hard, very hard. It pointed straight at the third photo, the one of me covering my tits. Tom looked from me, in the mirror, down to the photos, then at the four lined up on the nightstand. 

"Jerk me off," he said.

I felt my eyes go wide. He'd never asked me to do that before. I didn't quite understand but I brushed up against him and slid my left hand down his hip. I ran my right hand down his stomach and softly slid my fingers into his pubic hair...and over the top of his shaft. He let out a long sigh. 

He gave me one last knowing look in the mirror and then trained his eyes on my pictures. He pressed my left hand against his hip and then he gripped the edge of the nightstand. I reached out further and gripped his manhood with my right hand. I squeezed. He pushed his hips forward. 

"Jerk me off on your picture," he said. 

I didn't know what to say so I actually didn't say anything. I just grabbed him. I ran my fist back and forth over his dick. I squeezed the shaft and started to jerk my hand back and forth. His penis was already sticky, I thought. The skin was hot, his flesh thick and hard, and while I leaned forward to run my palm up and down the full length of it the base and his hair kept rubbing against my wrist. I looked up at his face and he was focused on my pictures.

I looked at those pictures, all the while conscious that I was aiming his dick (which was already clear with precum) at my face. I stared at myself. There I was, completely naked. I gazed over the other photographs, the ones on my nightstand. Me running, me laughing, me shaking my head. I looked at my shoulders, the way they shined from the sunlight or the camera flash. I looked at my chest, the way the softness of my breasts sloped beneath my neck, the way my breasts stuck out from my sides when I was turned around. I looked at my dark pubic hair, at the muscles in my legs. And I stroked Tom. He made little sound, just a deep (very deep) breathing, and his dick moved back and forth in my hand. 

I squeezed right at the base of his head and he gave a nice, appreciative groan. I pressed my boobs right up against him and pushed my left hand down his thigh and underneath him to cup his balls. God, they felt tight. 

Had he fantasized about this? He had me behind him; he could fuck me if he wanted. He had fucked me. He'd fucked me a handful of times. He paid me. He paid me to fuck him. And he was making me do this, making me masturbate him, making me make him cum, cum all over my photographs.

Photographs I'd let him take. Photographs of me naked and laughing. Photographs of me being silly with him. Photographs of me, beautiful me. 




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 03



"You think I'm pretty?" I said. I squeezed his balls and jerked his cock.

"Mm," he groaned.

"You think you can just cum all over my pretty face?" I said.

He gave an appreciative smile in the mirror but didn't take his eyes off my pictures. 

"You like it when I jerk you off?" I said. 

I think, now, that I was trying to get myself excited. I mean, I was excited. There was something very taboo going on but I wasn't sure exactly what. And if I was Tom's girlfriend I might be weirded out. But I wasn't Tom's girlfriend, I was the girl he paid to fuck and at the time I was just saying shit to see what was going to make him cum. 

And...the thought of him cumming on my polaroid was kind of turning me on. 

I was the one jerking him off. I was jerking him off while he stared at pictures of me. I was the fantasy. I was every part of the fantasy. 

"You want to fuck me?" I said through gritted teeth. I pulled my left hand from under his balls and squeezed his thigh.

"Mmhmm," he groaned. He'd started pushing his hips further out, pulling them in and out in opposite rhythm to my rapid stroking. His cum was mixing between my fingers and running back and forth over his shaft. A trail of it left the tip of his dick and dripped to my carpet. 

"You're already cumming in my hand," I said. I started to grind my pelvis against his leg. "You want to cum on my face?"

"Mm," he groaned. I could feel him getting closer. His cock was getting harder. I squeezed harder and felt his dick go rigid between my fingers. 

"Oh, God, I can feel it," I said. My voice rose. I felt something like a contact high, like a sympathetic orgasm. "Oh, God, Tom, are you going to cum on me? Are you going to cummmm?"

He ejaculated. He let out a deep moan and I was very precise to make sure I aimed his dick right at my face. The first splurt went straight at the last photo, the one of me touching myself. The thick cum hit the photo and slid off. I pulled his dick to the side and he let out an orgasmic sigh. "Tell me you love me," I said. His semen splattered against the one of me holding my tits; another spurt came right after; it splashed on me counting the money, at me laughing. I squeezed him and I squeezed him and I aimed his dick at my naked pictures and Tom grabbed the nightstand and thrust his hips forward, cumming. "I love you," he said.

I turned my eyes from my cum spattered faces and looked down at his penis. It was growing; pumped full of blood it discharged his heavy, milky sperm, squirting, pumping. That's what was inside me when he came, I thought. That's what the condom was holding back. That deluge, that thickness. I didn't stop masturbating him. I felt his veins bulge and I increased the strokes, gripping him harder so that no drop was wasted. I made him cum on each of my photographs again, made him feel my sweaty stomach press against his back. Feel my hips gyrate against his leg. I wanted him to fuck me. Couldn't he feel I wanted him to fuck me?

I was dirty. I looked at the polaroids taped to the nightstand and I was dripping with his spunk. I don't know what Tom ate or what his metabolism did to make so much cum in that boy but damn if he didn't cum like a horse. His penis was still jerking in my hand but he'd grabbed my wrists to make me stop squeezing him. He didn't pull my hand away though so my fingers felt each strain and squeeze as he continued to cum and cum and shrink.

He pulled my hand away from his member and he whirled on me. He grabbed my other hand and I was powerless. He put his mouth on me and I kissed him. He stuck his tongue in my mouth and I tongued him back. He wrapped his big arms around my back and I felt his wet dick squeeze against my leg and I thought he was going to put it in me. I couldn't have stopped him but I would have been furious - but yes I wanted him to. But no, he squeezed me tighter and tighter against his body and he continued to kiss me and I kissed him back, closing my eyes, waiting for the dick to rise again so he would fuck me right there on my bedroom floor.

Then he broke the kiss and he wiped his mouth. And he smiled. He looked down at his dick like he was surprised it was there and shook his head. "That was something else," he said. He went over to his pants and started to unroll them.

"Is that it?" I said.

He looked over his shoulder at me. "You want me to do you?"

I looked down my nose at him. "I'm not paying you five hundred to get my rocks off. Is that all you wanted?"

He smiled and nodded. "This time, yeah. I meant do you want me to get you off?"

Again I frowned and shook my head. "No," I said. Yes, I thought. Why didn't I say yes, though?

"You sure?" He pulled his pants up.

"Whatever."

He shrugged and went to collect his shirt and socks. "Like I said, you can keep the pictures. You," he stopped himself. Then he shook his head again. "You really do look beautiful."

"Thanks."

He pulled his shirt over his head and I felt the absolute opposite of overdressed. I walked into my bathroom and pulled my robe off the door. I came back into the room and tied it around myself.

"So I was thinking," he said.

"Uh huh."

"For next time."

I crossed my arms. He gave me a quizzical look that was obviously trying to figure out my mood. I didn't like where this was going.

"I want to have sex with you while you're on the phone with your father."

I shook my head violently. "No, fuck no." I thought about it for a half-second more and added, "That's sick."

He nodded, seeming to agree. "Well, not just that, though. I want you to call him while I put it-"

"NO!" I threw my hands wide before he could even finish. I knew where he was going now. "Absolutely not!" 

He tried to hide his smirk and just nodded. "Alright, figured I'd ask. I guess that's it for me then." He walked past me out the door, picking his shoes up as he went.

"What do you mean?" I said. I followed him down the hall, my robe flapping underneath me.

"I'm not saying it's always going to escalate," he said, "but that's what I want to do. Let's be fair, that's what I want to do to you. If you don't want to do it that's your choice. It's perfectly understandable. But that's what I want. Which means we're done until then."

I remained at the head of the stairs while he casually walked down them. I was still shaking my head.

"That's fucking gross and no way. I hate doing it back there."

He turned on the step. "So you have?"

"Look at me," I said. 

"Mm."

"A couple times I've tried but never all the way. And we're definitely not doing that. You can't fuck my ass."

"Got it."

"We're done."

He nodded and turned, stepping leisurely down the stairs and heading towards his bag. 

"Bobby's coming into town next week." I said it in a way that I hadn't meant to sound. But he turned around just the same. "I don't want you showing up or leaving me obscene phone calls or anything."

He raised his hands. "I don't even have your number."

"You could get it from Allison."

"Could," he said. "Won't."

"Don't call me," I said. "And don't talk about this, ever."

"Cat, you've put up with me for a damn sight longer than most. My dirty secrets are safe with me."

I was his dirty secret, he was saying. I didn't say anything more. I just let him walk out the door and close it behind him. After I heard the motorcycle start up and pull away, I strode back to my room.

There were the photos. Me, me, and all me. I checked out the ones taped to the edge. I was still dripping with his sperm. Pictures of me laughing, of me naked, running, holding my ass, holding my breasts; a red nipple spied between two fingers. His white cum splattered over my pussy. 

The bathrobe fell open and I grabbed the edge of the nightstand. I slid two fingers down my belly and inserted them in my pussy. I was still wet. As mad at him as I was and I was still wet. I touched my clit. It lit me on fire. 

I looked at myself, naked, laughing, and I fingered my cunt. I watched the semen dribble slowly down the polaroids and I remembered what Tom's dick felt like in my hand. With the same hand I was fingering myself with, with the same hand that had squeezed his cum out and with the same hand that had grabbed his shoulder when he fucked me, that counted the money with. That counted the money with, oh God!

I looked at the picture of me in my bra and panties. I was counting his money. I was covered with cum. "Fuck you," I whispered and pumped my pussy with my two fingers. "Fuck you," I hissed.

What if he were behind me now? What if he couldn't wait for me to say yes? What if he shoved his cock right up my asshole before I had a chance to say no, I hate you, I hate you! My knees wobbled a little and I sucked at my lower lip. I slid the fingers on my left hand through the glop of cum that had puddled at the edge. He made me a whore, I thought. He made me his whore. My fingers continued to play with his semen even while my other fingers played with myself. "Fuck you," I continued to whisper. I'm not your whore. 

I'm not your whore, Tom. Your whore would lick her fingers. I pulled my fingers out of my pussy and stuck them in my mouth. I tasted my vagina on my fingers and slathered my tongue over my fingertips. I squeezed them back between my legs and continued to bang myself. Your whore would eat your cum. 

I wasn't thinking straight. I thought through the hot, burning need that fumbled and pulsed between my thighs. I slid a dollop of his semen off the photograph and popped it in my mouth. I sucked on my fingers until I knew that it was all gone. I swallowed. I swallowed bits of his sperm, the fluid that I had squeezed out of his balls, the seed that would impregnate a girl if she didn't make him wear a condom. I can't believe I did it. I did it again. I wiped his semen off my photo and put it on my tongue. I tasted his salty spunk and swallowed. I swallowed and I came in my hand.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" I hissed as I rocked against my nightstand and tried to stay on my feet. Boys always wanted more. I wiped my mouth and grabbed all the photographs. I ripped the ones we'd taped to the nightstand and took them all and buried them in my bathroom wastebasket. I'd burn them when I had a chance, after I'd showered. To hell with Tom, I thought. And then I tripped. I caught myself against the bathroom sink but I waited this time for the emotion to ebb. My knees turned to jelly and the last wave of my orgasm passed through me like a monsoon passing by.



Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 04



As soon as I saw Bobby I ran to him. I practically threw myself at him. He saw me and was ready. He threw his arms wide and I pushed myself into his arms, let him feel every part of me that he might have forgotten about, and I gave my mouth to him and let him kiss me, taste me. His hands reached up into my hair (I'd just gotten it done the day before) and I listened to him take a deep breath of my perfume.

"God," he said when we broke apart, "you look amazing."

I smiled at him, half with lust and half with what I'm sure looked like wonder. He was back and he loved me.

He'd flown in the night before and I'd had to work. I would have loved to have seen him then but without a car and with his place one too many el stops for comfort, we put off seeing each other until the next day, which turned out to be the same day as a back-from-college kickback we were all more or less socially obligated to attend. He told me he was jet lagged and had to see his family, otherwise he would have driven to see me. I didn't care; he was here now.

I would have dragged him upstairs, but we didn't have the time; plus my parents were home (but would be gone later that evening). So it was just a few minutes of merciless making out in the doorway and then I was clinging to his arm as he led me back to his car. We drove up to Evanston at about eight o'clock, chattering about everything we hadn't talked about, things we had.

I was playing the part of the perfect girlfriend. As soon as I saw him, I wanted it to be true. Little annoyances were marginalized, his taste in music was not a big deal, nothing was wrong. And I looked good. Obviously I'd done my time at the gym and I was wearing a tight but tasteful black dress that hugged my hips and reached nearly to my knees; it was pretty conservative overall but the slip in the side and the ample decolletage balanced it out (I suppose that is to say: a tight bra and my tits balanced it out). I liked Bobby looking and I told him to keep his eyes on the road. But he put his hand on my thigh and squeezed and I laughed.

(A few weeks ago on the back of Tom's motorcycle, he'd slipped his free hand down to the same leg and laid his hand on my knee. It was a smooth, comfortable gesture. There was certainly something possessive about it but it happened so naturally, as if that was exactly where his hand needed to be. It bothered me at the time. I guess it bothered me now.)

When we got to the party it was full, and since we were all at least graduated from one university it was a laid back affair, one where we saw a lot of friends we hadn't seen in a while and no one got too drunk or made too much of an ass out of themselves.

Though towards the later end of the evening Tom (who I'm convinced was dragged there by Allison so she'd have someone to drive her home - though she ended up going home with a random rugby player from UPenn) went down to the kitchen to grab a beer and Allison started talking about his idea to pay a girl for S-E-X.

By the time Tom returned to the group nearly the whole party was talking about the plan and whether or not it was a good idea. Bobby thought it was a great idea. "We all need a few more prostitutes in our life," he said. Some girl laughed. I can't believe she laughed.

Tom looked into his beer and said, "It's not really prostitution."

Bobby took that as a challenge. "Um, paying someone for sex? Yeah, Tom, that's prostitution."

"Well I won't quibble," Tom said congenially. He raised his glass and made to saunter away.

"No, let's quibble."

Bobby loved to argue. He used to joke that he would have majored but he could make more money in business just telling people what to do. It was probably true, one of those traits that simultaneously attracted me to him and made me furious. But that's how it works.

Tom just stood there and regarded him. "Okay."

"You're saying a woman - or, okay, a guy - who takes money for sex is not a prostitute."

Tom licked his lips and took another swig of beer. "Yes," he said.

"How are they not a prostitute?"

Tom cleared his throat. "Suppose you and I decide to fight this out. Mm?" He took a moment to think. "But instead of us fighting, we hire two other guys to fight for us. Boxers, right. And they fight, and one of them wins, and he gets paid. He's a boxer." 

Bobby nodded and gestured for him to get on with it.

Tom gave a smile that I recognized. "Now suppose the same scenario except this time instead of my guy, I pay my guy to be in the fight. I mean, I want to fight the guy who's fighting for you, but that's against the rules, so I'll pay my guy and take his place. Am I a boxer?"

"Well, no, but- Technically-"

"Yes," Tom replied. He took another swig of beer. I don't think anyone else at the party at that moment realized how much Tom was enjoying himself. And I was actually interested where this was going, much to my dismay. "Yes, technically I am a boxer because technically I am boxing. But I'm not a boxer. That's not what I do. But I did it for this match because I wanted to."

Bobby shook his head vigorously. "That's a terrible analogy. You're paying the boxer. He's not paying you for a service."

"How are things supposed to be?"

"What?"

"How is the boxing match supposed to work?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"The rules are: two boxers enter the match, they fight, they get paid, they go home. The rules are not: two boxers enter the match, one of them pisses off and some other guy grabs a pair of gloves. Right?"

"Okay."

"That's not in the rules. So, what were we talking about?" Tom seemed to genuinely search his memory. "Right. So I meet a woman, say, and I say, I'm strapped for time, strapped of personality, strapped in all ways except cash. If you're into it, I'll pay you, we conduct a transaction, that's the end of it."

"That's a prostitute!" Bobby laughed. Most of the group laughed along with him.

Tom nodded and swigged his beer. "I suppose, one who boxes is a boxer, right? One who fucks for money is a prostitute. Call a spade a spade, I get it." He made to walk away.

"No," said Bobby. He was incredulous. "Hold on, how do you think that's not a prostitute? You're not right."

"Okay," said Tom, "let's think about this. If I spend a day digging ditches am I a ditch digger? If I look through a telescope am I an astronomer? Two people who sleep together sleep together because they want to, presumably. But say there's something wrong with the picture. One of them doesn't like the other, one of them doesn't know the other. There is no incentive for this union to take place except one which is universally valuable. Money. A prostitute makes exchanging sex for cash her profession. I just think there's a difference in degree."

"Okay, I kind of get it," Bobby said. "But difference in degree doesn't make the girl not a prostitute."

"I guess not," Tom replied. "I think of it more as an understanding. You ever have a fuck buddy in college?"

Bobby looked at me. My eyes went wide and my face hot. "Why the fuck are you looking at me?" I exploded.

He gave a sheepish smile. "I just don't think it's appropriate to say with you here-"

"Oh for God's sake," I said, "I don't care."

"Really?"

"Get on with it!"

Bobby turned back to Tom. Before he could open his mouth Tom stopped him, "We know what fuck buddies are, is all I'm saying."

"Yeah."

"Great. Anyway, fuck buddies, right? Clever name. Again, it's two people who share an understanding. They're not friends, they're not lovers, they're definitely not in a relationship. It's one thing: sex. Or how about friends with benefits? There's a transaction going on there. Two people who are platonic friends who...occasionally sleep together." A few in the group mumbled at that. Tom nodded to them. "No, it never really works out, in the end."

Bobby was past impatient at this point. "I'm sorry I asked."

Tom considered him and sipped from his beer. "Then I guess I'll just finish by saying this: There is always something to be gained from a relationship. And usually the two sides are not balanced. Friends with benefits are trading loneliness and an easy lay for long term feasibility as friends. Fuck buddies are trading sexual openness or lust with trust and and a long term relationship. Two people who have an agreement to sleep with each other on the condition that one is paid are balancing an equation: one's need with the other's need."

A girl in the crowd looked at Tom quizzically. "But if that's the case then one of them can still get hurt."

Tom replied to her, "All three of those relationships are imbalanced. You're right. It's a fine line between that and prostitution, but it's a line, is all I'm trying to say."

Bobby frowned, not from anger but in thought. I could see the girl sizing Tom up. She drank theatrically and smiled at him. "So how much are you offering?"

He smiled and reached into his pocket. "I got twenty-five cents. What's that buy me?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Half a hand job. My name's Beth, by the way."

Tom extended his hand. "Tom." He moved closer to continue conversation with her and then stopped and turned back to Bobby. "Does that answer your question?"

Bobby smirked and shook his head. "Yeah, sure."

"Nice meeting you." Tom happily went back to talking to Beth and Bobby returned to me, putting his arms around me and swinging us back to Sara and Allison and the people we knew.

Sara started talking about someone she'd seen from college and how fat they were now. I sighed and nestled up against Bobby, thinking, tuning Sara out (it wasn't hard). It certainly was a line, wasn't it, Tom?

But which side was imbalanced?

* * *

Later that night Bobby got into a very involved conversation about the last university match against his home team. I stayed for as long as I could and then wandered downstairs to the kitchen.

I won't lie. I was looking to see if anyone was outside smoking. I don't smoke, but I do smoke at parties. Just like I don't cheat, except on my boyfriend, sometimes, when I'm a prostitute but not really.

I peeped through the kitchen window and saw Tom sitting out there smoking quietly. Knowing full well I shouldn't, I stepped outside and closed the door softly behind me.

It was so cold. Chicago in December is not the worst weather; far from it, usually, but it does get chilly. Thankfully it wasn't windy, just a low, dry cold. 

Tom hadn't taken his eyes off me.

"Yeah, I'm awfully cute. Can I steal one?"

Tom, after a languid moment, looked into his carton and then back at me. "I don't want to be encouraging bad habits."

"Oh shut up," I said. I grabbed the cigarette from his fingers and slipped it between my lips. "Ew," I said. "Camels."

He smiled and pulled another one from his box. He lit it. "I'm trying to make myself quit."

"Shouldn't be hard."

"Yeah, I just got all these urges I need to sublimate."

I smiled at him wryly. "Where's Beth?"

"Put the claws away, Cat."

"I will hit you-"

He chuckled. "She has gone for the night. But I did get her number." He flashed a scrap of paper at me and slipped it back in his pocket.

"Was that true, what you said?"

"I did indeed get her number, yes."

"Fine."

We smoked in silence for a bit. I felt a little warmer. Though it couldn't have all been the cigarette.

"I think it's true," he said.

"Let me ask you something."

He rolled his head against the house, cigarette perched on his lip.

"Real suave. No, um, even if someone agreed to that kind of deal, with paying. It's still degrading."

Tom sighed. "I can't deny that, I guess. I mean, part of the thrill is that it's degrading- some of it, anyway. But by paying for it it kind of sets that up, makes it more understood."

"What do you mean?"

He took a drag and let his hand drop below the chair. "Well, it's sort of like erotica, isn't it?"

"You mean porn?"

"Some people call it erotica."

"Some people like you."

He smiled. "Some people like me, who get urges, who are fine, strapping young citizens of the nation, who wouldn't hurt a fly but are, for whatever our reasons, kinky creatures. It's fantasy. It's an outlet, a channel, something to access. Does paying for sex degrade the person who's being paid. Yes, maybe. But it's part of the show, the price of admission. How they are used in that context is essential to the fantasy. How they're treated before and after is just as important." He finished his cigarette and put it out on the pavement. Then he smiled at me. "Kinky people have feelings too, after all."

I crossed my arms. "So you have feelings, huh?"

"I wasn't talking about me."

He stood up and sauntered over to me. He put his hands in his pockets and I could see in his eyes, no matter how he may have denied it, that he was thinking about trying to kiss me.

But he didn't.

He walked out into the backyard and let himself out the back gate. "Take care," he said. And I finished my cigarette by myself.

* * *

He kissed me sweetly and crushed my body to him. I melted against him and kissed back, sending my tongue into his mouth. 

"You're so fucking sexy," he said. I smiled at him and pulled back. I grabbed at the undersides of my sweater and prepared to give him the full reveal. But he had already pushed me back against my bed. 

My feet still stuck in the heels I tried to kick them off but they were strapped tight. "Hold on, let me-" I started.

"Leave them on," he said. "It's hot." He pulled my skirt up over my ass and yanked down on my panties. When he got them to about my thighs he stood up and unzipped his fly. "Are you ready, honey?"

I guess so, I thought. We could take it slow later. He slid his pants down to the floor and stepped out of them. His big dick tented his boxers and then he pulled them down too, gingerly making sure to get his penis free. He leaned back over me and worked my panties past my knees.

He kissed my mouth and slipped his hand up under the sweater. "I love it when you don't wear a bra, Katie."

I kissed him back and reached for his cock. He was already pushing it forward.

"Wait."

He paused over me. "What is it?"

"Condom," I said.

"Oh, right," he said. "Sorry." He reached down to his pants and pulled a string of condoms forth. Ripping one open he quickly rolled it down his cock and climbed up on the bed. "Ready, baby?"

"Yeah," I said. I was mostly wet enough. He shoved it against my cunt and I squirmed to try to get him inside. "Wait," I said. 

Bobby pushed and tried to rearrange his hips. "Like that?" he said.

"Mmhm," I replied. We finally got situated and he pushed himself in. 

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he groaned.

"I do kegels," I said. 

He smiled and kissed me, and it was a good kiss. We both still had our shirts on and the pumps were driving me crazy but we were together and doing it. 

He did it to me missionary and it was fine. 

It was really fine.

I made all the noises I knew he liked to hear and not all of them were lies. But when he finished and collapsed on top of me my pussy was burning and I didn't know why.

That's not true. I did know why.

I was thinking of Tom fucking me in the ass. It made me so angry. That he would ask that, that he wanted that. I thought of the money and five hundred easy dollars for just one assfuck. I'd never let Bobby in there. 

While Bobby was on top of me and fucking me I was thinking of Tom stretching me, a month ago, stretching my arms, holding me down on my carpet while he pinned my hands to the ground and made me slide back and forth on his dick, basically using my pussy as a sheathe. But he made me slide all the way up and all the way down. And he made me do it slow. And then, while he had me stretched out like that, he blew in my ear.

He flipped me over. He pulled out and patted my bottom. I flipped over for him (because he paid me to do what he wanted) and he held my arms out over my head. He got behind me and mounted me. Just the tip. He put just the tip in. Then he made me buck my ass up against him, slide back the way I'd been doing when my back was to the carpet. I had to stretch my ass up against my coccyx to get his cock in just the way he wanted. But to do it the way he wanted I occasionally rubbed my clit against the rug. 

When I did I'd jerk and pull his cock out quickly. He made me do it slow. He made me slowly sheathe his cock while I rubbed my clit against the carpet. Then he leaned down and kissed the back of my neck, burying his nose in my hair. That time, when he came I came. He shoved my ass against the ground and my clit dug into the carpet. God, it hurt but it also made my toes curl. That time it felt like I'd orgasmed in my spine.

When Bobby was inside me my toes curled too but they were doing it for the sake of a memory. A memory of that month. I was mad at Bobby suddenly, or myself. I wasn't a whore. I wasn't.

But Bobby was done, at least for the next hour. I smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "I need to clean up," I said.

"Sure, honey." He pulled out and I rolled off the bed. I unsnapped my pumps and pulled my sweater and dress up over my head. Naked, I left the room and padded down the hall. 

With the parents out for the night I could walk nude with impunity. I was suddenly glad to have left my purse downstairs. Quickly I descended the steps and grabbed my purse. I took it with me to the downstairs bathroom and before I could think about it I'd dialed Tom (I told Allison I needed it to give to Beth). He answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey."

He sounded busy. It was late and he sounded like he'd been up for days. "It's me," I said.

He didn't ask who I was. "What's wrong?" he said.

"Nothing's wrong." Why do they always ask if there's something wrong? I swallowed. I could feel a trail of drying fluid on my inner thigh. "I want you to tell me what you want to do to me."

He sighed. "I'm in the middle of something," he said. "I need this report in by five in the morning."

"Yeah," I said, dropping my voice. "But what do you want to do to me?"

He paused. "Where are you right now?"

Don't tell him Bobby's over, I thought. "I'm in the bathroom."

"It's late."

"Bobby's over."

I heard him shift in his seat, heard what sounded like papers flutter over his desk. "Where's Bobby?"

"He's in the bedroom."

"Is he sleeping?"

"Not yet."

Another pause. "Have you slept together?"

I didn't answer. But he could hear me breathing over the phone. "Have you reconsidered my proposal?" he said.

"Which is?"

"Fucking you in the ass."

I shuddered. "And?"

"And I want you to call your father."

I leaned my legs against the bathroom cupboard and felt my vagina pulsate. "I don't know if I can do that," I said slowly. "Will it hurt?"

"Yes," he said. "But I'll be very gentle."

"I don't believe you."

"Have I ever hurt you?"

No, he hadn't. Not ever. "He'll know," I whispered. I rubbed the back of my neck, where he liked to kiss me. I let my fingers rove over my chest, and cupped my breast.

"Do you want him to know?"

"No," I whispered. Was that true? I dragged my fingers down the indentation of my abdominals, down over my bellybutton. "How will you do it?"

I heard him shift again. Was he turning away from the desk? Was he picturing me? "I'd undress you."

"You'd undress me?"

"Yes, this time. I'd kiss your breasts." I closed my eyes and inserted a finger in my snatch. I was wet again. "Then I'd lay you back on the bed and use the KY on your breasts, massage your chest, your stomach..."

"KY?" I said.

"We'd need a lot of lube to put it inside you."

"Inside my ass?" I gasped. I rubbed my clit with my thumb.

"I'd turn you over."

"Uh huh?"

"I'd have to play with your ass for a bit, to get you ready."

"Would you kiss me?"




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 04



"Where?"

"Kiss my feet," I whispered. "Kiss the backs of my legs?"

"Yes."

Would Bobby come looking for me if I stayed away too long? 

"Are you thinking about it?" he said.

I moaned a little into the phone. I was fingering myself like crazy. "Then you'd put it inside me?" I said.

"Yes."

"Would you let me get used to it first, before I called him?"

"If you want."

"When?"

"Tomorrow," he said.

"I thought you were busy?"

"I want you now." He said it, plain as day.

"Bobby's still home."

"Are you seeing him tomorrow?"

"At night," I whispered. "He has to go see his family tomorrow."

"I'll come over then."

Of course that's what I wanted him to say. He was coming over tomorrow to take my anal virginity.

Suddenly Bobby knocked on the door. I froze with my finger against my clit and the phone digging into my shoulder. "Hey, honey?" Bobby called. "Katie, you okay?"

"Yes, baby," I called through the door. "Allison called to tell me something."

"Alright." I heard him shuffle back down the hall.

"I should go," Tom said.

"Wait," I said.

"I have a lot to-"

"No," I said. No meant no. Tom stopped talking, didn't protest. I could here him breathing over there. How badly did I want him here? I continued to stimulate my clit, alternating back and forth between rubbing the clear juices into my labial lips and rubbing myself.

"Are you going to cum?" Tom said.

"I think so," I whispered.

"Will you let me hear it?"

"Yes," I gasped.

"Are you thinking about me in your ass?"

"I'm thinking about you in my pussy."

"Think about me in your ass."

"Ah," I said.

"Pushing the whole thing inside."

"Ah."

"Inch by inch."

"Yes-"

"Call daddy."

"Yes, daddy."

"Tell him you've got a friend over."

I growled as my finger sped furiously over my clitoris.

"You're perfect, Cat."

"Don't call me Cat."

"You're perfect."

"Awnh."

"I want to cum all over your back."

"Pull it out and cum on my back." I arched my neck; briefly I saw myself in the mirror. I'd thrust my chest out and my breasts were hanging away from my chest. "You should see me now," I said. I could hear him breathe. My right hand was deep inside my bush. "Make a great picture," I gasped. I was going to cum. "Rub it into my skin," I whispered. "Fuck me," I said. "Fuck me."

"Tomorrow, say it."

"Tomorrow," I said. 

"Tell me what you'll let me do."

"Tomorrow I'll let you fuck me up the ass!" That did it. I felt my pussy open and I came for him, came over the phone, the floodgates were released and I felt myself warm and wet. "Ahn," I said. "Oh God, I will..." He hung up. He stayed exactly as long as he told me he would. What would I tell Bobby I was doing tomorrow? He wanted me to come see his family.

* * *

He kissed the soles of my feet. He'd let me shower and then he'd toweled me off. 

He didn't say anything when he arrived. He just put the money on the table and I led him upstairs. 

I was wearing a cotton t-shirt and nothing else.

He rubbed the cheeks of my ass with care, got deep into the skin. Before I knew it he was giving me a full on massage, carefully working into the knots and tensions in my back. Unconsciously I'd begun to drag my foot up and down his leg. He still had his pants on.

He bent down and kissed the back of my head, breathed in my smell. I sunk my head down into the mattress and let him work the muscles in my shoulders, massage my shoulder blades, work out the kinks in the vertebrae of my spine. I opened my eyes and looked at my dressing table, at the five hundred that was there in the sunny daylight. Tom squirted more oil into his hands and worked it down my sides. Then he slid his fingers up my buttocks and separated my ass cheeks.

"Mm," I grumbled.

"Relax," he said. He bent low and blew against my asshole.

My sphincter went tight. I turned over my shoulder. "Don't do that!" I said, and laughed. He'd actually made me laugh. Our eyes met when he slipped a slick thumb up into my bottom. "Ah," I said. I kept my gaze locked with his and he pushed the thumb deeper into my asshole, pulled it out, worked it gently against the walls of my anus.

"Relax," he said. "Let go."

"I'm trying." I looked down to see the bulge in his pants. "Take your pants off," I demanded.

He pulled his thumb out of my ass and undid his belt. With no underwear in the way his dick sprang up to meet me. 

"Put the condom on now," I said.

"Alright." He went over to his gym bag. "Put a pillow under your stomach," he said. I watched him bend down and watched the muscles ripple over his back and side. I reached over and took one of my pillows and set it under my belly. I watched him wrap the condom over his penis and come back to the bed. He got up behind me and the bed sank so that my ass lowered to meet him. He squirted some more KY into his palm and worked it into my asshole.

"Oh!" I said. He slid his ring finger in, then his middle. I realized I'd have to call my father soon. 

It was strange having Tom's fingers up there. It was weird, not what I'd call pleasurable yet, just weird. I felt violated, which always made me hate whoever was asking me to do this and why I'd never gone all the way. I wondered if that strangeness would go away or if it would feel better or if it would just hurt the whole time. If it hurt maybe I could do this without letting my dad know. If it felt good I'd be in trouble.

But this time, unlike any other time, there was an understanding between us. This wasn't meant to be beautiful, open up any doors or ascend the relationship to a higher plane of existence. It was sex, down and dirty, slightly demeaning, but balanced as well as it could be. Maybe.

The minutes flew by and I finally relaxed enough back there for Tom to be satisfied. I heard him squirt more KY but he didn't rub it into me. I heard him rubbing it up and down his shaft. The slick sound of it coating his dick, and his hand slipping up and down the head, down the latex to the base, aroused me. I contemplated asking him just to fuck me, to leave my ass alone, but that wasn't what he'd paid for.

Then his cockhead was between my ass cheeks.

Tom spread my buttocks far apart.

"Do you have the phone, Catherine?"

I pulled my cell phone from under my breasts and showed it to him.

"We'll go slow."

And he did. Tom grabbed hold of his dick at the very top and worked it against my anus. I was so lubed up back there and he himself was so wet that it had no problem sliding into the tip of my sphincter.

"Ahn!" I sighed.

"Easy," he said. "Relax."

"Yeah..." I tried to relax. I couldn't all the way but the KY took care of most of that. He was filling me, I realized. He was sliding in. He was pushing in. It was so weird being filled without feeling him in my pussy. I felt suddenly like I had to take a shit. But that was him, that was him taking up the empty place in my ass. "Ahhhh," I hissed.

"Alright?" he asked.

"Mm," was all I could say. Now it started to hurt. He was in more than the first few inches and my sphincter was trying to accommodate the full length of his prick. "I don't..." I started. "I don't think I can...take you all the way..." I was blowing air through my cheeks.

"You're doing good," he said. "I can stop here." He pulled out a little and pushed back in.

"Ohh." This might be a problem. How could I talk to my father with a dick up my ass?

As if reading my mind, Tom said, "Call him."

I'd planned this out. I tried to focus on anything but Tom back there. He pulled out a little, pushed in a little. If he kept it up like that I'd do okay. I pressed the speed dial on my phone and called my dad up. He was in the city today working in the office. This was the hour he usually took for lunch, but he seldom ate a full lunch, and spent most of the time planning out the rest of his day. I heard the first ring.

"How long do you want me to do it?"

Tom slid himself deeper into me and I gulped air. At this point it was fruitless to question why Tom liked me to call people when he fucked me. That got him off, and that's all there was to it. I felt the pain of his prick entering my body, deeper than before, and grit my teeth.

"Hello?"

"Hey, daddy."

Tom surprised me by pushing farther inside me than before. "Ahh-m!" I gasped.

"Honey?"

"S-sorry, daddy." Tom worked his hands into the muscles of my back. I tried to ignore the dick in my bottom. I tried to ignore Tom's loving hands as they dug into the muscles around my ribs.

"Ask him if he loves you," said Tom.

Oh, God. I swallowed. "Is everything all right, sweetheart?" my father asked.

"Sure, daddy," I said. "Can I ask you something?" I seldom called my father daddy anymore, unless I was feeling particularly affectionate. I usually called him dad, which may have tipped him off. Speaking of tips, Tom's pulled out almost all the way to the edge of my asshole, and then he plunged in again, slowly, smoothly, and pushed my hips against the pillow under my stomach.

"What is it, Kate?"

"Uhm- Do you love me?"

He laughed. "Of course I do."

Tom pushed his cock in, pulled it out, grabbed two tight handfuls of my ass and sunk himself as far as I think he could go.

"Gah-Daddy, I, are you sure?"

He was worried now. "Yes, why would you ask me that?"

"I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Your mother and I both love you very much, Catherine."

Tom slid his fingers over my back and reached down to my chest. I lifted myself up on my elbows so that he could squeeze my tits. I closed my eyes. He always squeezed them like he was checking their ripeness, waiting for my juice. I think I understood why he wanted me to call now. Did my parents love me? Would they love me if they knew I was letting Tom pay me? That I was letting him ass fuck me while my boyfriend was in town, with his family? That I lied to him and told him I had to work? I was being paid - this was work. This was my work.

Tom loved making me do this. He loved the power. He was kinky. But what did I love? I squeezed my sphincter muscles experimentally and gripped his dick inside.

"Ah," I heard Tom say. I grinned.

"Hey, daddy," I started in again. "What are you working on today?"

This time, when Tom pushed in, I gripped his cock with the muscles in my ass. He let out another groan and the bed sent a nervous zing up through my nipples.

"Just filing reports," he said. 

"Filling reports?" I gasped.

He laughed again. "No, filing, honey." I would sometimes play the ditz with my family. It worked out well this time (I hadn't intended to say filling; it just slipped in). He sighed. "You still looking for a new job?"

"Oh yeah," I said. Tom bent down and kissed my shoulder. "Oh! Yeah... I'm saving up for a place."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"I need to get out of you and mom's hair." Tom reached under my pubis and slipped his fingers into my bush. "Nm," I grunted.

"I know it's driving you crazy but we don't mind having you home."

"It's driving me crazy," I replied huskily. Tom spread his fingers over my ass. "Thanks, daddy." Tom bent his finger back and plunged it into my pussy. "Mm-hmm," I said.

"We're very proud of you, Catherine."

"Oh?" Tom started to buck into me, faster. My ass was sufficiently loosened and he could glide in and out of me easily. It was getting harder to concentrate, especially with his fingers against my clit. "You're proud of me, daddy?"

"Of course, Catherine."

I bent my neck back. Tom noticed and sunk his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. He pulled; I let him; our eyes crossed and his face was upside down. Tom sank his dick deep inside my anus. "Proud of me-ee, daddy?"

"Is Bobby coming over tonight?"

"M-maybe," I said. I started to pant. The breath left me as if it was being knocked out of me by the head of Tom's cock.

"We'd love to see him. I think he's a great kid."

"Isn't he?" I agreed. "Gahh. Agh!"

"Catherine? Everything alright?"

"I-" Tom was pushing in and out of me. I felt like my insides were giving away, that he was plowing into my lungs. "I-"

"I'm taking it up the ass," Tom whispered to me.

"No!" I hissed back.

"Catherine, you okay?"

"Yes, daddy."

"A stranger's inside of me," Tom whispered into my ear.

"Inside of me," I gasped into the phone.

"Catherine?" my dad said.

Mm," I said.

"Catherine?"

"I want him to use me," Tom whispered.

"Mm-mm," I grunted.

"Catherine?"

"I want him to cum on me."

"Daddy, can I cum you back?" I squeezed my eyes shut and cursed. Damn it!

"Catherine, what's going on?"

"C-call you back, dad. Daddy? Ah? Ah. AH."

My father was confused. "Sure, baby, is everything-?" I clicked off the phone and threw it on the ground.

"OH GOD!" I moaned.

"Did he know?" said Tom. He was over me, hovering somewhere, riding me. My ass was wet and the sweat dripped down between my cheeks and pooled at my vagina.

"You're so sick," I hissed.

"I won't ask you to tell me you like it."

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

"I won't ask."

I grabbed the edge of the mattress with my fingers. "Good," I said.

He pushed even deeper into my rectum. "Ow..." I whispered.

"I won't ask," he repeated.

I groaned. 

"Why did you call me last night?"

"I don't know," I sighed into the mattress. I laid myself as flat as I could and let him push into me. Let him take me. Gave myself to his lust. Gave myself to mine.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Yes," I mumbled. "But...it's...I..."

"You like it."

That wasn't it, I thought. I liked Tom doing it more than I liked it, actually. I liked it when he massaged my back. I liked it when he kissed my ass crack.

"I know what you want," I whispered.

"Tell me," he said.

I knew what he wanted. I pushed myself up on my elbows. I turned my face into my shoulder. I batted my eyelashes at him and kissed my own skin. "Tell me you love me," I hissed.

"What?"

"Tell me you love me."

"Mmh," he groaned. "I love you." I felt him pull out of me. That feeling of sudden emptiness, of his full exit, was amazing. I heard him rip off the condom, heard him fling it somewhere (please don't let it leave a stain). I knew what was coming. I heard him wrap his fingers over his shaft, heard the sticky slap of his wet dick rubbing back and forth in his palm. He rubbed it against me.

"Do it," I murmured. 

"Where?"

He knew where, but I told him anyway. "All over my back."

"I'm going to cum," he said. 

"Tell me you love me!" I said devilishly.

"I love you," he groaned, and blew his load on my back. It squirted out. It jettisoned. God I've never felt so much cum. It was hot. It shot everywhere, all over the skin of my back. 

"Don't do it on my ass," I warned him. I didn't want to risk it slipping down into my pussy. There was enough of it all around me as it was. (Though there was a part of me that wanted him to slap another condom on and do the whole thing all over again inside my pussy.) He jerked off another impressive load onto my back and suddenly flipped me over. The cum stuck to my bedspread and I cried out. "Don't!"

But then his mouth was on my pussy. Instinctively my hand went down to his hair; I threaded my fingers over his scalp and lifted my legs when his fingers squeezed my thighs. I let him lift my legs higher and higher - God, my ass hurt. But his tongue was lapping at me, his lips were suckling at my clit.

"Uh, uh!" I told him. "You paid me."

"I pay you to have you," he mumbled from between my legs.

"To use me," I gasped.

"To have you," he said.

"Use me," I groaned. If I asked him to would he put it in me? Would he fuck me?

"Can you cum?" he asked.

"Just...wait..." I ground my hips into his face.

"Do you want to cum?"

"Shut up," I told him. And he did. He ate me out while I thought about what I'd tell Bobby.



Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 05



The beginning of the end was in January, a few weeks after Tom and I had done it while Bobby was visiting. I was still working my lousy secretarial job, and Tom was still doing whatever it was he did (I was sure he hated it as much as I hated mine) but now there was the unmistaken understanding between us that we were both getting something out of the arrangement. It was never stated outright beyond a few harsh exclamations when we fucked, but we were enjoying our agreement. I liked the money, naturally, but we'd been at it for so long that a few things were clear, most prominently that I liked being paid to be fucked, and Tom liked to fuck me. 

Where I was conflicted before I was now much less so. I still considered myself with Bobby but I saw my arrangement with Tom more and more as another job, one I happened to actually like. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't about to sell myself on the street. But it's pretty hard to dislike having a man massage you, eat you out, and screw you until you came every two weeks, then pay half a grand and be on his way without pushing any other agenda. When I thought about it like that I almost felt like Tom was getting shortchanged. But then again, I was what he wanted, and I did what he wanted.

Case in point, it was near the end of January and I was sitting at home in a tight green apron that I'd found in my mother's closet. It was small, and very old, but it suited the purpose I had for it. I watched myself tie it around my naked body in the mirror, making sure that it was as knotted as it could be (Tom didn't want it to be too easy), taking note of the generic floral print running over the borders and the way it faded and frayed at the edges. I smoothed it over my breasts and tummy. The frilled bottom just barely covered my pussy. I checked myself on the sides. The round slopes of my breasts were clearly visible between my arms and the apron front. My butt stuck out, made even more prominent by the tight tie over my hips. After that I sat down and applied makeup. More makeup than I would have, than any girl would have past, let's be honest, 1955.

Tom liked me wet, he liked me sweaty, he liked me, usually, without more makeup than my base foundation and mascara. He didn't seem to mind when I came fresh from the shower either but on those occasions he usually spent more time kissing my labia than my lips, so who knows? But today, on this particular day, he told me he wanted me done up like a pin-up girl. And...I said okay; mostly because I was really horny.

I read in the paper the other day that when men and women get depressed, they tend to get more sexually active (something about wanting to pass our genes on while survival seems low). That could have been it. I didn't like my current career; and while I didn't expect to be a secretary my whole life, and was almost certain that, somehow or other, I'd eventually get to graduate school, and then a real career, it was all still so far away (it seemed). And I didn't like it. In fact, I hated it. That I took pleasure in what Tom and I were doing was a relief to me. So, when he'd mentioned the apron and the makeup, I went to the gym earlier in the day and came home to prepare. I told him to come by at the usual time.

When the doorbell rang, I blew myself a big red kiss in the mirror. Working a little more wiggle into my hips, I traipsed to the door and opened it slowly, a petulant but ready smile on my lips, almost a scowl but a little more like a "come hither and fuck me until you cum, big boy" stare. 

And of course it was Fred, from across the street, who I gave it to.

My eyes went as wide as they could and my face fell. Even under my powdered and rouged cheeks, I'm sure he could see me go red. And Fred, poor Fred, pushing retirement age and already with a bad heart, let his jaw slacken and fall nearly to his chest. He tried to recover. We both did. But it was beyond saving.

"C-Cather- Cate, I-"

"Hi, Mr. Linden!" I blurted.

"I-I, oh, I- I'm sorry to bother you, I-"

"No! No, it's fine. What- er, what can I do for- Do you need something?"

He wiped his forehead and took a hard step back. "I'm sorry to bother you. I thought you were home but, I didn't- I didn't know. Oh, my, I- I just wanted to- Linda and I are having our...I put a flyer in the mailbox so just, if you could tell your parents we'd love to." His eyes fell over my cleavage, not just drifted but fairly toppled out of his head to slide down the tight press of the green apron against my bosom. My nipples were a little hard in the air, and the skin of my breasts bulged out the sides - to say nothing of my ass, which rolled back from my bare legs and now twitched from the sway of the apron tie. I couldn't do much more than bat my big blue-shadowed eyes at him and smile courteously, like he'd merely caught me doing my daily chores. My fingers drummed nervously on the door. Fred caught himself and shook his head.

"I'm sorry- I- I'll go, I- please tell your parents."

I don't think either one of us knew what he wanted to tell my parents by the time he convinced his head to turn around and join his tongue in dragging his body down our front walk. I watched him stumble all the way down to the sidewalk and across the street, passing an athletic, amused looking young man on his way to his house. Tom hung his helmet on his motorcycle handle before he pulled his gloves off, then he slung his gym bag over his shoulder and sauntered up to my front door.

I glared at him. "How long were you out there?"

Still a few yards away, he gave a demure smirk that I knew was hiding a much more hideous grin. "A couple minutes," he said, holding it in. "I saw him cross the street and I wondered..."

"What?" I barked. He reached the door. And stared at me.

"If you looked like that," he said.

My fingers left the door frame and drifted down the apron, sliding and then resting to where my thighs met, at the tip of the apron, just over my bare pussy. I folded my hands.

"That's a terrible thing to do to an old man," I said.

"It's not much better for a young one."

"I shouldn't let you in the house."

Our eyes locked. Then his eyes traced my cheeks, ran over my lips, and my neck.

"Say it," he said.

I wet my lips. I'd memorized this. "'Hi, honey. Did you have a nice day at the office?'" 

He reached for me, and I reached out to stop him. But his hands slid between my arms, and his face darted for my mouth. Before I could do much good with my hands he had swept me inside and kicked the door closed behind him. He pushed me into the wall by the stairs and fondled me, reaching down to cradle my ass, reaching farther down to pull my thigh up against him, reaching still for my hand, the one trying to bat him off, but his mouth was on me, kissing me, and I was too busy putting my tongue on top of his to sync up the rest of my limbs.

My hands curled around his waist to get at the hem of his gym shirt. He pulled my legs up until both of them were hooked over his waist. He pinned me against the wall with his pelvis, and so I could feel his dick in his pants, hard, still hardening. He broke our kiss long enough to let me pull his shirt over his chest. I flung it over the stairs, and he grabbed my hands. He pinned them to the wall. He thrust up against me, dry humping my pussy with his member. 

"I dressed the way you wanted," I whispered into his lips. 

"You look beautiful." He licked my mouth. 

"- you're smearing my lipstick -"

He groaned and reached for his pants. I mentioned before that he massaged me and ate my pussy? That he took his time exploring my crevices and curves? Normally Tom did all that. But I knew immediately that he was going to fuck me right then and there if he could have his way. And it was exactly what I wanted. 

I unhooked my ankles and stepped, gently, down to the hardwood floor. I let my feet touch the cold wood and helped him get his pants over his long, pointed dick. "Where's my money?" I said as he kicked them off. 

He reached into the pocket and put the bills on the bannister. He also produced a condom, which he ripped open. Then he kicked off his shoes and suddenly he was naked with me in the foyer. He led me to the stairs, and sat me on the third step. Then he rolled the condom over his long penis and leaned over me.

He kissed my mouth, pushing my body with his own until I was pinned to the stairs. My legs, not knowing how he wanted me, widened to allow him entry. But he continued to kiss me. He stepped down to lay his knee on the second step. He held my wrist in his hand. With his other he curled it around my head and brought me up to him. Our tongues slithered back and forth over each other's teeth. The tip of his penis brushed the apron's edge. 

My pussy lips tingled at his impending touch. 

He reached around me, putting his chin into my shoulder as he did so, to get his fingers on the top apron knot. I put my hands on his head and kissed up his neck. 

"This is what you wanted?" I said. "You want me on the stairs?"

"Upstairs," he said breathlessly. "Your parents' bed."

I kissed his face. "Well do you want my tits now or later?"

"Now," he muttered raggedly into my neck. His fingers continued to whittle at the knot. I knew I'd made it tight, and I couldn't stop myself from grinning. I practically beamed when he gave up for a moment to fondle me through the apron, and from the sides. 

"Come on," I said. I pushed him away. Taking his hand, I stepped nimbly around. Then I led him upstairs. My back was completely bare. And no time was that more apparent than when he reached up and squeezed my buttocks. "You're just slowing me down," I said. His fingers retreated. Then I felt a sharp jab and I shrieked. He'd bit me!

I whirled on the stairs to face him but he was like a train. He swept me up and turned left at the top of the stairs. He carried me through the door and deposited me, with a bounce, on my parents' king size bed. He attacked the knot again, getting it loose but not undone. Roughly, he pulled it down so that my boobs squeezed out of the top. But they couldn't come up all the way and remained trapped, my nipples barely clearing the tight front. It was good enough for Tom. He descended on my pink areola and suckled at it, tumbling me over, throwing my legs wide. 

I grabbed the back of his head. I tilted my neck back. I opened my thighs. 

Tom's dick slid up into my hungry canal and went as deep as his balls would let him. Believe me, I did everything I could to get him deeper. The breath left me as I opened for him, and the sides of his penis rubbed against my legs as he penetrated, moistening when he pulled out, clenching reflexively when he glided back in. Tom was a mindless thing for those first wild minutes. It was so seldom that he ever came at me like that. I could feel the muscles inside him bunch and strain. He pressed me to the mattress with all of his unbridled strength. Tom usually took his time, usually set me up just how he wanted me. But today, today he ravished me. I felt more like I was saving him from drowning than screwing him. I hiked my legs up, my ass at the edge of the bed, until they hugged his ribs. I didn't move my hands. I let him clasp them and pin them to the sheet. He continued to suck at my tits, his mouth on the skin, not just the nipples, like it was the fruit he'd craved his whole life. (I couldn't blame him. Pumped up by the apron like that they looked pretty damn yummy.) His legs were planted in the floor and he pushed into me, and pushed into me, and pushed into me. And I needed it, too. I don't know why but I couldn't get enough of him inside of me. His balls smacked my ass so hard it stung. I squeezed my pussy. A sympathetic pulse echoed back from his dick. And we just fucked each other for a good long while. 

I hadn't cum, but I'd had several crashing waves of tremors, just on the cusp of orgasmic, wash over my body, from my bum to my knees and upper chest. Now my throat felt warm; and the very tip of my nose. Then Tom raised his head. His pace slowed and he gently relaxed his grip on my wrists. He slid me up over the bed and clambered up after me. I was no longer at the edge but in the middle, and Tom was in me, now hunched over me. He relaxed into my pussy.

"Tell me you love me," I said.

"I'm not ready to cum yet."

I just stared at him. Our faces rose and fell with his languid thrusts. My face rose with each push, my mouth forming a constant, panting circle. He cradled the back of my head with his rough palm.

"I love you," he said. His dick pulsed and gave me my first orgasm.

I bit my lip. Shuddered a little. Tried not to make it obvious. We were silent for a little bit, then the rhythm picked up, and before I knew it we were doing another whirlwind round and Tom was kissing my chin, and biting it, and I'd pulled my phone out of the apron pocket. 

"You want me to use this?" I said breathlessly.

He grunted assent into my jaw. 

I don't remember why it was Sara whose number came up but I'll cut through a lot of wet intercourse and kisses to tell you that we ended up with the phone on speaker near the pillows and the apron stripped off completely, my arms held over my head by Tom's strong hands and the two of us bucking wildly into each other's sexes trying to wring cum out of each other (Tom was winning). I was downright randy. I writhed on Tom's dick, making it curve up into my uterus. He was getting close to his breaking point and that made me feel powerful. 

But we were obviously fucking when Sara picked up. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sara-" I murmured. 

"Hey- uh," she paused as Tom gave a distinct grunt. "What's up?"

"N-nothin'" I said. My eyes widened as Tom gave his dick some torque and pressed into my g spot. 

"What are you doing?"

Tom mouthed 'fucking' over my face and I shook my head. "N-nothin'" I said. "Just..." Tom plunged deep inside me. "AH. FUCKING."

"Oh my god!" said Sara. She sounded surprised, which makes sense. But then she came back with, "Are you serious?"

"Mm," I grunted. I couldn't think straight. I was staring up into Tom's face and imagining what his dick looked like as it slipped in and out of my messy vagina. I was so wet I could feel my juices running down into my ass crack. 

"Is Bobby over?" she said.

No he definitely was not. "Y-yeah," I huffed. 

"He's fucking you?"

"MMH-hmm." It wasn't fair. Tom squeezed my tits and bent down to suck on my neck. He was going to give me a hickey but I didn't care.

"I can hear you," said Sara huskily. "Hold on!" There was a shuffling, amplified by the speakerphone, a sudden scratching, then a clatter, and Sara's voice returned. "This is so fucking hot. He's fucking you?"

"YES," I said. 

"Oh my god." I heard the distinct slurp of fingers in vagina. Then Sara said, "I had no idea you guys were so kinky. Tell me what he's doing!"

"He's fucking me," I moaned. Tom abandoned my neck to glance down at me. I shook my head and closed my eyes. He grabbed my hair and gently tilted my face back. "He's fucking me so hard..." I gasped. "Makes me talk dirty..."

"Oh my god," Sara repeated. "Fuck. I'm fingering myself."

"You are?"

"Yes," Sara whispered. "I'm so high right now. Are you guys actually fucking?"

"Yes!" I groaned. 

Another series of squelching squeezes. "Did he make you cum?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I'm cumming right now."

"How hard is his dick?"

"So hard," I said. "Fuck!"

"Tell her to join us next week," said Tom.

I laughed. "Yeah, come join us, Sara."

"Really?"

"Yes!" I screamed. At the same time a wordless cry from Sara's end signified that she'd achieved a brief release of her own. I threw my hand out for the phone and pounded it with my fingers - the stupid lights went haywire until I finally hung the stupid thing up and flung it off the bed. I reached up behind Tom's neck. "Now?" I said.

"Almost..."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "...how do you get so riled up?"

"I save it for you."

"Then give it to me... give it to me now."

His dick bulged until my vagina fried my tickled and tingling nerve endings throughout my belly and tits and shook the little muscles under my skin (the ones I didn't know the names for, the ones between my chest and shoulders, the little strings connecting my abdomen to my ribs, the weird divots in the small of my back - and my ass twitched spasmodically). I won't be so romantic as to say we came together, but Tom came, and I rode every last drop out of him. He frowned with the exertion. Each plunge was slower, but strong. I counted them down. 2... 6... 10... Every spurt until they were too faint to feel anymore. My fingers slid over his shoulders. I waited. He held on and squeezed, and thrust, strained, and, finally, relaxed.

My hands followed the relief of his major muscle groups as they softened in a steady cascade. Resting my palms on his belly button, I made him pull out. I didn't want his excess semen leaking inside me. But I smiled when the merest brush of my fingertips made his tender stomach tense and twitch back.

After he left for the bathroom he came back with his damp face in a towel. His grin was almost embarrassed, like he was a little boy with a guilty conscience. "You ought to wear the apron more often."

"No thanks," I said. "Not my thing."

His grin didn't diminish. "Well it works for you. Definitely works for me."

I put my legs together and swung them over the bed. I wiped the sweat off my tits. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"No, I'm going to get a lap in when I get home..." He swallowed. "What about Sara?"

I smirked. "What, you don't think you could handle us both?"

He laughed outright. "You'd do that?"

My smile faded but my eyebrows rose. "That would definitely cost you extra."

"Alright."

Was I bluffing? Was he bluffing? I shook my head. "Let me clear my brain and reconsider the situation. I don't think I can make a proper decision right now." I got to my feet. "Unless you're..."

His eyes slipped over my nose. It took me a few weeks before I realized that was where he was looking when he made that face.

"No," he huffed. "I'm actually running on borrowed time today. I have to... It's a work thing." He looked confused when he tried to find his clothes on the floor. "Right. Downstairs."

"You okay?"

"Better than," he said with an easy smile. "Just tired. But I'm happy to see you." He frowned. "Sorry," he said. "You know what I mean."

I didn't.

* * *

It wouldn't be right to say I was confused, then. It wouldn't be right for me to say I was bored. I was too busy to be bored, and still planning what I thought I might do with the money I'd made, the money that could just as easily have gone to shoes or a new laptop or anything, anything that wasn't my own place. Graduate school was still a dream, but I didn't know if the loan would be worth what I needed it for.

And the things I needed back then were blended with the things I wanted. No, it wasn't confusing; I understood where one began and the other ended. I didn't like that they kept splicing into each other.

I will say, though, that I kept getting tingles.

Small tingles in my bottom when I was behind my desk at the office. Phantom grazes along the tops of my hands where Tom had held them to the mattress.

A threesome was (just like prostitution, I reminded myself) not my thing. But neither were aprons. 

(Small tingles walking to lunch, my heels tapping the sidewalk.)

How could it even work? Tom was Tom, and not Bobby. Even Sara could tell the difference.

(Reading in bed, I found my fingers worming gently between my legs.)

Did I think I could get away with it?

(Checking the calendar, like an eager teenager.)

Friday, I made a phone call.

* * * 

"You paid for me," I said. "You tell me what to do."




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 05



"Go in there," he said. He tore the condom packet and pulled out the lubricated ring. He handed it to me. 

I slipped it over the head of his cock. It bulged as I unrolled the latex, flexing and stiffening as I rolled it down, down, down to the base of his cock. It was so hard. That was what continually surprised me. It wasn't the longest dick I'd touched, but he was always so rock hard. And smooth.

"You want to fuck both of us?" I said.

"Go in there," he said, "and lay on top of her. Kiss her."

As I turned he slipped a hand down my back and squeezed my bottom, half reassurance, I think, half anticipation. He liked owning me. 

I opened the door slowly. Sara was sitting on my bed, completely naked. Her long blonde hair fell past her shoulders, almost to the middle of her back. When she saw me she smiled nervously. 

Her breasts were very round and her nipples were already puffy. They were pink, like young flowers. Mine were a much darker red. She was thin. Like Allison she wasn't very toned but unlike Allison she was lithe, slender, and her thin abdomen enhanced the roundness of her breasts, made them bigger. A gold matte of pubic hair nestled neatly between her thighs, where her hands now rested.

I stepped over to my bureau and pulled a long black scarf from the drawer. Sara watched me with shy interest.

"What's that?"

"I'm going to blindfold you," I said. Surprisingly, Sara broke out into a manic grin.

"Oh my God, that's so hot."

I approached her. "You can't take it off," I said.

"Really?"

I sat down next to her. There we were, the two of us naked together; it was a situation we'd been in many times before, in the locker room at school, at the gym, at each other's houses, in dressing rooms. Except now, for obvious reasons, I felt almost coy. She gazed down at my breasts and I gazed down at hers. My nipples were hard and pointed towards her shoulders.

"Are you okay with that?" I said.

"Yeah," she said. She glanced at the door. "Where is he?"

"He'll be in soon."

"Is, uh..." She trailed off. "How do you want to, um."

I smiled. "Well, it's T- It's Bobby's idea. He wants me to, he wants us to...start."

"Okay." I could see the flush already coloring her upper chest, her face. She squeezed the skin of her legs. "Do you want me to watch you guys or, do you actually want me to, uh." She gave a stupid, nervous laugh.

"You're going to have the blindfold on," I said.

"Oh, duh, right." She smiled. "Well, um, put it on me!"

I pulled the satin scarf out until it was across my chest, then I wrapped it over Sara's eyes. She closed her eyes dutifully and beamed as I wrapped it once, twice, and pulled it tight. I didn't want to chance it slipping off. When I'd knotted it she lifted her hands and I held them aloft in mine. I wasn't sure what else to do so I just put them on my breasts.

"Oh!" Sara said. She softly squeezed them. "Your breasts feel bigger," she said. I reached out and cupped the undersides of her breasts in mine. They were softer and spread more easily in my hands than my own, which were springier than hers. She was right, though. My breasts had been bigger lately. I'd had my period last week and they usually swelled during that time but I was beginning to think that my monthly routines with Tom were having an effect on my body. I became aroused much faster now and it didn't take long for me to get wet. The wetness was becoming a problem, actually.

So, even though I don't consider myself bi-curious, I was aroused when Sara squeezed me tighter. And I was thinking about what I'd have to do, what it would feel like to lie on top of her. What would Tom do?

I moved in closer to Sara until her breath was tickling my upper lip. She moved in when she felt me and our lips brushed together. "To- Bobby doesn't want to talk," I said. Sara kissed me quickly on the lips. She had wonderful lips, I realized. They were thinner than mine but they were small and pink and pert.

"Oh my God, your lips," Sara said. "They're so..." Her words were lost in my mouth when she pressed herself against me. My lips were thick enough to slip over hers, and our mouths made a tight envelope while she slipped her tongue over mine. I was impressed. Sara was turning me on already. I pecked her quickly, pulling away and gently lowering her onto the bed. "Mm," she purred happily. Her knees were over the edge of the mattress and I swung my left leg over her hip and bent over her. "What does Bobby want?" Sara said.

"He's not going to say anything," I said. I rubbed my stomach against her soft, warm tummy and she slipped her fingers over my sides. We kissed again and she smiled into my face. 

"I can't believe we're doing this," she whispered. She licked my mouth. "You're a really good kisser."

I nibbled at her lips a little bit. I couldn't help it; they were cute. "Thanks," I said. "Um, and you too."

Sara giggled and we continued to gently hug our bodies together. She let out a soft moan. "Touch me," she said.

I slid my fingers down her stomach until I found the little twisted hairs between her legs. I dipped an exploratory finger down between them. Funny, her pussy lips were much thicker than mine, or at least they felt that way.

Suddenly I could feel Tom behind me. I knew he was there before he placed his hand on my rump, but I still jerked as if he'd shocked me when his fingers grazed my skin. I was wet. I was really wet. And with my butt in the air and swaying up and down I'm sure he could see it under my smooth, flexible cheeks. He pushed my upper back down a bit so that my breasts squashed against Sara's. This was a stupid idea, I thought suddenly, as he turned my ass up towards his waist. I knew what was coming. What if Sara's blindfold fell off; what if she pulled it off?

He didn't use his fingers. This time he just brushed his cock against my cunt and pushed inside. I was so wet that the full length of his dick (all of it) was able to fit with just one thrust. Tom's pelvis knocked against my tailbone. 

"AHH!" I gasped into Sara's mouth. Her lips now had a light frosting of saliva around them. 

"What? What?" Sara said.

Tom raked his fingers down my butt, pulled out, and sunk himself back in. "Ahhhh," I gasped, this time against Sara's cheek.

Sara was still confused, right up until she felt his legs graze her knees, and then reached up herself and felt my ass. Her fingers slipped from my posterior to his angular hips and she let out a moan of delight.

"Oh my God, he's fucking you."

"Yeah," I muttered and pushed my forehead into her shoulder. Tom squeezed my ass and pulled out, pushed in, fucked me on top of her. Sara reached up and got a good grip on my shoulder. Tom took her other hand, guided it down his body, then slipped it between my legs. I could feel Sara trace his cock as it glided out of my body; then Tom took her fingers and slipped them over the general area of my clit. "Ah-ahh-" I tried to warn him but he kept Sara's hand there until she figured out what he wanted her to do.

Sara's fingers suddenly went to work on my clit and I gasped. I bit into Sara's shoulder and she squeaked but she didn't move. Raking the back of my thigh playfully at first, Tom was soon between my legs and reaching up to investigate Sara's snatch.

"Oh!" She squealed. 

I could feel his fingers working rapidly down there; I didn't know if he was fingering her or rubbing her; I honestly couldn't concentrate. There were so many moving limbs, so much sticky fluid between us that my head swam and I just tried to keep up. I was sandwiched between Sara and Tom and he was fucking me and she wouldn't leave my clit alone. She wasn't very good at that, but Tom was going as deep as he could and having Sara's wet, undulating skin under my tits and bellybutton was giving my body a nervous overload.

I came so close to cumming that I psyched myself out of it. I pulled my left hand off the mattress to yank Sara's hand off my clit. I threw it out beside me and bowed my head into her shoulder hard, letting Tom fuck me and finish the job. 

He felt me give way and I groaned enough to let him know what he'd done. With his free hand he rubbed into the skin of my back and I sighed, cumming over his dick as it plunged in and out. It had taken barely two minutes to get me to cum. Meanwhile Sara was sighing and groaning under me.

He pulled out. I felt Tom leave me and reach under my body to pull Sara closer to the edge. Then all of a sudden I opened my eyes and stared straight into Sara's blindfold. I watched her mouth snap open and her bright red tongue shine in the light. He had entered her and the sound she wanted to make was coming from so low in her body that she couldn't vocalize it yet.

When it finally trembled up and out of her throat she followed it with, "Oh my God..." She strained her neck up and planted her mouth over mine. We started to kiss. Her tongue slithered back and forth over my tongue, my teeth. She reached with her hands and rubbed them over my back. Behind me I still felt Tom; his hips slammed into my ass every now and then as he fucked Sara underneath me.

"Yes- Yes- Yes- Yes-" Sara groaned.

A deep slurping sound and the bed ceased to rock. Sara let out a mewl like a lost kitten and I turned behind me. Tom was red, flushed, wild looking. I checked out his dick, which glistened from both our juices. No, he actually hadn't cum yet. Our eyes crossed and he indicated the floor. I sighed.

Sara swallowed loudly from underneath me. The two of us were covered in a thin layer of sweat; our hips sucked at each other with a considerably sticky residue. 

Sara reached out her arm blindly and I pulled her up. She was shaking, panting, the sweat shone on her white forehead and I pulled her up to a sitting position on the bed. She gave me a big, gleeful smile. "I can't believe we're doing this...this is so hot. Where is he?"

I turned to Tom. He was standing a little way from the bed, near the door. As usual, he betrayed no emotion other than that smooth, enigmatic grin. "He's near the bed," I said. "I think he wants us to move."

"Let's get on our knees," she said. She turned towards the door. "Do you want us on our knees?" she asked.

I looked at Tom. He nodded and I helped Sara up off the bed. The place where her ass met my covers was soaked. Then, her elbow in my hands, she got down on her knees on the carpet, pulling me down with her. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Where is he?" Tom stepped forward and brushed his dick gently against her chin. She gave a flirtatious gasp and then planted a kiss on his slick, latex-sheathed cock. "Mmm," she purred, and slipped his head deftly between her lips.

I was surprised at how expertly she reached up and cupped his balls. Her other hand went to his leg and glided up over his hip. "He's so hairy," she said, pulling her mouth off his dick and now rubbing both his legs. "Did you used to shave your legs, Bobby?"

My eyes widened. "That's right," I started. "For water polo?"

"Oh yeah," Sara said. She smiled. "I like it. Do you like that, Bobby?" She grasped his balls in both hands.

Tom smiled and rubbed his dick against her chin.

"Suck on him, Kate," Sara encouraged me. I reached past her face and clutched his shaft, leaning against her head as I popped his dick in my mouth. I tasted a considerable amount of vagina. "Mmm," Sara said as our cheeks rubbed against each other. "C'mere." She pulled me off him and planted a big, fat kiss on my mouth. It was a hot one. She immediately stuck her tongue in my mouth and swirled it around, all while she played with Tom's balls. 

Her left hand reached down and squeezed my breast. Then she turned from the kiss and brought Tom's dick between our mouths. "Do you think he likes this?" she teased. She kissed his shaft, pushed it into my lips. It disappeared and rolled over my tongue and then Tom pulled it out, sliding it over Sara's tongue. We took on a rhythm; Tom pushed it into my mouth, pulled out, pressed it between our tongues, then stuck it into Sara's mouth. I didn't argue. I knew I wasn't thinking clearly; I was still riding the high from my brief orgasm and having Sara there and Tom standing over us was disorienting. But I noticed he was slightly pushier with Sara - probably because she was so eager; and Sara always tried to get the most of him down her throat. Tom reached down to stroke both of our hair.

After taking him all the way to the back of her throat, Sara gagged slightly and pulled him out. "Yuck," she said, and reached up to his dick. She began to unwrap the condom.

"What are you doing?" I said.

She wiped the spit off her mouth and continued to unroll the condom from his cock. "Taking the condom off," she said brazenly. "Latex tastes like shit and it's no fun for the guy." She bent her neck to look up at Tom and stuck out her lips. "Isn't that right, Bobby?"

I wasn't sure about this. I glanced at Tom, who raised his eyebrows. His look said it was up to me.

"Is that what you want?" I said.

Sara pinched my nipple playfully. "C'mon, Katie, he's not going to get your mouth pregnant. Don't tell me you suck his dick with the condom on all the time."

"Um," I said. 

"How about it, Bobby?" she teased. Even without my consent she was still unwrapping the condom (which, due to his size and the slipperiness of the latex made it a harder endeavor than she planned for). "You want to get your dick sucked or do you want to get your dick sucked?"

God, the mouth on her. She'd already unrolled the condom and dropped it on the floor. I sighed and grabbed it off the ground, tossing it into the bin under my desk. It left a trail of cum down the side. 

"Ummm," Sara hummed as she rose on her knees and slipped his now naked cock down her throat. I watched Tom's face as she did it and noted the deep intake of breath, the nearly pained expression. He pushed his hips forward to help her gobble it down. She squeezed his shaft with her right hand and jerked him rapidly into her mouth. When she finally pulled it away it left several thin strands of saliva and cum trailing her lips. "Isn't that so much better?" she said. She turned to me and planted another kiss, this one rich with his semen. "C'mon," she said, and passed his dick to me.

Before I knew it I was sucking on Tom's dick, putting his whole shaft in my mouth, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock and licking the salty texture of his balls. Sara had fed it to me and I stared up at Tom wildly. I'd never meant to have his unprotected cock in my mouth. I could feel the semen trickling out of it now, and still taste the latex that used to cover him. His eyes burned into mine; he was concerned but he didn't want me to stop. I don't know if the look in his eye was unforgivable or tender, knowing how badly he wanted this. I pulled back slightly and suckled on his cockhead. He pulled out and pushed himself between us.

"Nnn," Sara moaned as she kissed me over his cock. She was happily touching herself and reaching out to my pussy. "Do you like that, Bobby," she groaned, "two pretty girls sucking your dick?"

Tom groaned appreciatively. Sara smiled. "Mm, that's what I like," she whispered to me, planting a sticky kiss on my cheek. Then she spat on the tip of his cock and pushed it between her lips. "You like it sloppy?" she said. He gripped the back of her head and slipped his dick rapidly in and out. She let him, sitting still while he pulled the cock back and forth over her lips and worked up a froth of semen and saliva. 

Sara was ecstatic. For my part I was just the facilitator, watching Sara and occasionally giving her and Tom's dick a sloppy kiss, but Tom, except for a gentle hand on the back of my head, had now turned all his attention to her. That was good. I wasn't sure if I wanted his cum in my mouth again; a weird thing to have a hang up on at this point, but there it was. Sara was so worked up, clearly enjoying herself as she blew him on her knees, getting off on the dirtiness of it, the sharing.

But there was more to it than that. The way she took to him, the way she said his name - or what she thought was his name. I got a weird feeling about it. I'd thought she had agreed to the threeway because she was eager to experiment, wanted to fuck around. And Tom, doing his best to keep quiet, was almost trying to tell me something in the brief but warm glimpses he gave to me. How could he do that, be fucking Sara's mouth and yet still shoot me those mischievous looks? His right hand left my hair and he took Sara's cheeks in both hands, coming closer and feeding his cock between her lips. 

Sara gagged a little but took him on. "Ugh," she gulped at his cock as a slip of drool crawled down the corner of her mouth. He pulled out. She reached up to grasp his shaft possessively. He took it away from her and smeared it over her lips. Rebuffed, she reached down to finger herself. "God," she moaned, kisses slipping up and down his shiny foreskin, "put it back in me. Fuck me, Bobby. Fuck me again." As if suddenly remembering me she turned to where she thought I was, the black scarf still securely over her eyes, and reached out to my shoulder. "Oh, is it okay?" she asked.

I had been enthralled watching her suck him. I was temporarily off guard. "What?" I said.

"Do you want him to put another condom on or can I-?"

"Uh," I said. What if it was Bobby? How would I feel about that?

Tom grabbed Sara under the arms and lifted her bodily up onto the bed. She went laughing and panting, falling onto the mattress and kicking open her legs as she bounced. "Oh God!" she cheered. "Yes! Fuck me!"

I didn't have time to protest as Tom stepped forward and slid his naked dick between Sara's legs. She let out a deep cry and reached for his chest. I could hear his penis part her sopping pussy lips. "Yee-es, doesn't that feel better? Fuck my pussy, Bobby." Tom grabbed her hands and pinned them to the bed. Sara took a deep breath and spread her legs wider. "Yes..." she groaned. "Oh, God...do it to me..." I watched his penis slip in and out, watched the wet fluid empty out of her and the clear drops of cum stick to her inner thighs and hang in fat drops on the hairs of her matted bush. "You like how tight I am?" she teased. She flailed her legs for a few of his thrusts before reaching up and hooking her ankles over his hips. 

Her breasts rolled back and forth on her chest and I could see the flecks of spittle and cum that had dripped down from her chin now glinting in the low light of the sun. Tom was fucking her without the condom on and she was going wild from his passionate thrusting. Tom rarely, if ever fucked me that hard, but Sara was screaming for him to fuck her even harder. 

Sara strained against his firm grip and tried to reach up with her neck. "Nah," she moaned, trying to get to his face. He bent down and kissed her, and suddenly they were mashing their lips together, her tongue flicking out and lapping at the corner of his lips, slipping deeper into his mouth. She had completely forgotten about me and was now vigorously trying to get off with what she thought was my boyfriend's dick stabbing deep into her vagina.

"Yes..." she panted. "Yes... Oh, God... I'm..." She began to buck her hips against him, meeting each rapid thrust with greater and greater intensity. "Don't..." she gasped. "Don't stop... Oh... Bobby... Bobby-"

The way she said his name. I stood up and walked to the bed. I brushed my hand over Tom's back and he glanced at me over his shoulder. He was enjoying himself, breathing hard, and yet even despite that, for all his grunts and thrusts and assaults on Sara's body, there was a part of him separate, a part of him looking out at me, asking me... I didn't tell him what I was thinking, neither that it bothered me that he was fucking Sara nor that I didn't like how she said my boyfriend's name. But as he pulled out and thrust up into her, eliciting a new squeal, a new rhythm of moans from her, it was as if he was trying to tell me something. 




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 05



I put my hands on his back and watched Sara over his shoulder, watched her contort and writhe underneath him. I didn't blame her; I knew what it felt like to be fucked by Tom. Though it was slower when he was inside me...and we used a condom. I wondered if he liked it better this way. Without realizing it I had crept closer to him, so that my breasts were now rubbing against his back. My hands roved over the smooth skin of his shoulders. My fingers pried into the muscles below his armpits. I pressed my head against the back of his neck and he pushed back against me, his lower body digging in to Sara.

"I'm cumming," she was moaning. "I'm cumming..." She was bouncing up and down on his dick and her stomach was flexing, her breasts heaving. My first thought was "slut"; but what did it look like when I was in her place?

I kissed Tom's shoulder blade and murmured into his wet skin, "Tell me you love me."

He pulled his chin against his shoulder to look at me. "I love you," he whispered.

Sara pulled against his hands and tried to get up. "Cum in me," she gasped. "Cum in me, Bobby-"

My eyes widened. Would he? He kept thrusting, kept pushing. I knew he was going to cum soon. I could see it in the way his whole body tensed, his arms and his back. I felt the heat coming off him. I slipped my hand down his spine, down his back and his ass, and I reached up and felt his balls. They were like two tight tennis balls. 

"Cum in me!" Sara begged.

Tom groaned, loudly this time. It was the first really definite sound he'd made. And I felt it. I squeezed his balls and felt the semen rush out of them. I kept my hand on his testicles as he thrust and thrust and thrust into Sara, as his dick plunged in and out of her red vagina, as he emptied himself inside of her. He was cumming in her. He was ejaculating inside of her. And Sara was going crazy. 

"Ah!" She gasped. I didn't blame her. His sperm would shoot deep, his wet penis would flex and grow as he pumped her with his seed. I was suddenly soaked below. I wanted him alone, right now. I didn't want him fucking her.

Tom held her down, giving one final thrust and holding it in. I pulled my hand off his balls while they were still jerking. I knew he would hold himself inside until he'd finished. Sara's face was one of shock, of sated lust, of utter exhaustion. "Uh..." she gasped. Her wrists went limp in his grip. He thrust deeper. Her left thigh tumbled to the mattress. She let out a pained cry as he went just a little deeper. "You're...you're still..." she whispered. Tom pulled out. A final jerk of his penis shot a thick string of cum over her pubic hair. I could actually see his semen leaking out of her.

Sara swallowed. "Kate," she said, as if suddenly remembering me. "Do you want to finish him off?"

I frowned. "What?"

"You want to suck him?"

I did not. I was not licking any more of her pussy off his dick. I shot Tom a look telling him so. He tried not to laugh and cleared his throat. "Mm mm," he said.

"Oh," Sara said, put out. "Uh, do you mind if...?"

She was insatiable! Tom, his dick wet and dripping, climbed up onto the bed. Sara reached for his body as it passed over her and then he dragged his cock over her chin. He planted his hands on either side of her head and lowered his flaccid cock into her mouth. And Sara started to suck on him, lapping at his head and freeing the rest of his jism. 

She worked at him dutifully. Her hands glided over his ass and she pressed him further into her mouth. I stood by the bedpost, wondering how I would feel if it was Bobby on the bed, on my bed. Sara pulled her mouth away and I heard her murmur, "How do you like that, baby? You like the way I clean your dick off? Do you like it?" 

When she was finally done licking up all the semen and sweat on his dick Tom made a stealthy exit. When he was gone I sat down on the bed and pulled the blindfold off Sara's face. She was still lying on her back, completely naked, her pale skin flushed and red, her wrists showed the beginnings of bruising. "That was amazing," she gasped, staring at the ceiling. "It has never been like that."

I sighed and traced the features of her body down to her puffy vagina. It glistened with the excess of her enamored fluids. "Sara," I said.

She looked at me, drained. She looked peaceful, but there was something else to that. I watched her breasts rise and steadily fall. Her pulse must have been wild.

"Have you slept with Bobby?"

She took a deep breath. "You mean, before?"

"Yeah."

"Um," she said. "Yeah. I thought, didn't he tell you?" When I didn't say anything her face fell. "I thought that was why... Oh, God, Kate, I'm sorry- I thought you guys were, I thought..." And she tumbled into a spiral of "thoughts" and sobs, curling up and pressing her face to my naked knees. "It was when you guys were on a break," she said, "after college."

Bobby and I had never been on a break.

"It's okay," I said. I stroked her hair and let her cry against me. Now I felt bad for turning her post-coital peace into this mess. Don't get me wrong, I felt fiendishly glad about it too, but this would make getting her out of the house twice the endeavor it should have been. When she had cried for another few minutes I patted her shoulder. "Honey, you're on the pill, right?"

"Obviously," she said. Why did they always think it was obvious? 

"Bobby and I have to go see his parents soon. Can we talk about this later?"

"What?" She looked startled. "Where is he?"

"He's in the shower. Do you want to use the downstairs shower?"

"Yeah," she said. She climbed off the bed and gathered her clothes from the floor. "I'm sorry if-"

"No," I said, stopping her, "this was fun. You're great."

She smiled. "Okay. Can you tell Bobby I said bye? I'll let myself out after I shower."

"Sure," I said. "And honey?" She turned in the doorway like a startled deer. "Can we sort of...not mention this? To Bobby?"

Sara gave me a sisterly smile. I told her where the towels were and walked her to the stairs. When she was on her way down (I did stop to watch her butt as she descended the steps) I went over to the bathroom door and knocked on it. I heard Tom move under the shower and let out an expressive "Nn?"

"It's me," I said.

The sound of the shower curtain moving, the shower squeaking off, the towel flipping off the rack and then his heavy tromps over to the door. He opened it enough for me to slip inside and then closed it behind me.

It was misty inside. He'd opened the frosted window, which let out into the open sky, but it was still humid. His black hair was down over his forehead and face and he was toweling off his neck. I realized we were both still naked and realized too that we were usually naked together. I crossed my arms and looked at the empty shower.

"Did you have fun?" I said.

He scrutinized me with one eye. Both had heavy bags under them. He hadn't been sleeping. "That's a catty thing to say, Cat."

"Don't call me Cat," I said.

He shrugged, toweling off his shoulders.

I squeezed my arms against my breasts and shifted my weight. Without giving any sign, he grabbed me by the arms and kissed me roughly on the mouth. I screamed - I actually screamed - and pulled away from him; I thought I'd have to slap him. He went back to toweling his back as if it was all one motion.

"Does that make you feel better?" he said.

"Why did you do that?"

"Is that what you wanted?"

"Fuck you!" I said. 

"You weren't standing there waiting for a kiss?"

"Fuck you," I said again.

"Well if you weren't waiting for that I don't know what you're waiting for."

"Did you know she slept with Bobby?"

He stopped toweling himself. He sighed and then wrapped the towel over his arm. He threw it over the rack. "That's not my business," he said.

I jabbed a finger into his chest (it hurt) and came as close to him as I could. "Answer me!"

He grabbed my hands, grabbed my arms, and pulled me to him. I felt his penis slap against my leg. "Let go," I said.

"I don't care about Bobby," he said.

"Let go of me."

"I don't care about Sara, I don't care about any of that."

I laughed in his face. "Are you going to say you care about me?"

He studied me. I didn't wait for him to say anything. "Fuck you," I said. "Answer me."

He still held me against him. I could have fought him but it would have been stupid, not because I couldn't get away (I could have kneed his balls, and did feel like doing it) but because where would I go? He sighed. "It occurred to me that that might have been the case."

"When? When you were fucking her?"

"About then, yeah."

I pulled away from him and this time he let me go. 

"Cat, I don't want to get in the middle of this-"

"Just in the middle of the two of us."

"I should go."

"Go!"

I just couldn't figure out what that look meant. Was he upset that I was losing it? Was he mad at me? Was he sad? When he came forward I was prepared to kick him (after three years of kickboxing, it would have hurt), but he wrapped me up in his arms again and kissed me. And I hated it. I pushed back. He held me tight.

"I only care about buying your time," he said.

"I know that," I hissed. "It's because I'm 'perfect.'"

"Yes," he said. I squirmed against his grasp. I felt sick. I wanted him to leave.

"Get the fuck away from me." He held me tighter. 

"I only care about buying your time," he said again, pushing his mouth against my ear. I was going to scream, I really was. But he kept talking. "I don't care who your friends are," he said. "I don't care what they did to you, I don't care who your boyfriends are, I don't care if you hate them. I don't care. Catherine, the only thing I care about is buying your time-"

"To fuck me!"

"To fuck you. To touch you. To hold you. To smell you. To be with you."

"Stop," I said.

"I don't care about the rest. I don't have the time. I can buy yours, not theirs."

"This isn't about money," I said.

He pulled back and stared into my eyes. "What is it about, Cat?"

I didn't know what to say. I was going to cry, just like Sara, and I did not want him here. "Please go away," I said.

He surprised me. "What if I don't?"

"Then pay me," I spat. "Pay me, if you want more time. Do you want to fuck me like you fucked her?"

"No."

"Then why-"

"I'm not going to answer that," he said. 

"I don't want to do this anymore."

He nodded.

It was getting colder in the bathroom. We were both still naked, still wrapped up in each other. 

"And then you just disappear?" I said.

"Yes."

My eyes burned and I felt defiant. "There is one more thing I want to do," I said. "Next time."

He took a deep breath. "What?"

"I want to call Bobby when we do it."

He shook his head. "No way."

"I want to suck you off while I call him."

Tom swallowed. It was easy for me to see the contradictory desires warring behind his eyes. "You shouldn't," he said.

"You want me to."

He didn't answer, he just looked down at me.

"I'll let you cum in my mouth."

"Catherine..."

I smirked. "I can feel you getting hard. Pay me five hundred dollars, in two weeks. And we'll do it."

He stepped back and reached for his jeans on the sink. I watched him pull them on, then watched him unball his socks and straighten them out.

"You know," he said, "in agreements like ours it's detrimental for me to say whether I care one way or the other. The ambiguity of my personal feelings should not be construed, however, for consent - no matter how badly I may want you."

"You want my mouth and what I can do with it."

He grinned at me but there was no joy in it. "Alright, Cat, be that way."

"Tell me you love me."

He pulled his shirt over his head and worked it down his wet stomach. "Don't," he said.

"Tell me," I dared him.

"When you say no, I listen. Listen to me now. No."

I pushed him back against the wall. I won't say Tom ever misjudged my athleticism, but he was surprised by how easy it was for me. I pressed my naked vagina against his cock. I could already feel it growing under his pants. I squashed my breasts into his chest. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he said. 

I shook my head. "No you don't."

He gently pushed me off of him and unlocked the bathroom door. He swung it open and pulled his keys off the counter. "Don't I?" he said. Then he tromped heavily down the stairs, heard the splatter of Sara in the shower and quickly left through the front door.



Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 06



"What do you want me to tell him?" I said. I licked up the vein in his shaft, licked him from the base of his balls to the tip. 

"Cat," he groaned.

"Do you want me to tell him his girlfriend's a whore?" I grabbed his shaft and squeezed it up and down in my palm. His precum dribbled down my fingers and helped me lather him up.

"No," he said.

"That I'm your whore?"

"No."

I was on all fours on the bed now. My ass was in the air, my breasts squeezed against the mattress. I looked up at him and I glared. "Are you ready?"

"Wait," he said. But I didn't wait. I pressed the speed dial and pressed the phone to my ear. One ring. I kissed the head of his cock. Two rings. I flicked the slit with my tongue.

Bobby picked up on the third ring. "Hey, honey, what's up?" he said.

I danced my fingers over Tom's cock. It bulged and stood straight. "Nothing, just hanging out," I said. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against the head. "What are you doing?"

"Hanging out with the guys."

"Mmm," I said. "Where are you?" 

"In the den."

I leaned in and stuck out my tongue. I dragged it up the side of Tom's cock. Then I angled my head sideways and pushed his cockhead into my mouth. "Muh," I said as my breath mixed with my spit.

"Honey?"

"I'm just hanging out tonight, too, baby," I said. Tom grabbed the back of my head and pushed my lips into his shaft. I kissed it.

"You just called to say hi?"

I could feel his fingers dig into my nape. I obliged him by opening wide and letting his dick glide down until I gagged. The dick came out of my mouth with a film of saliva coating the head. "Mmm," I said when I recovered my breath. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he said. "Are you with anyone right now?"

"Just some friends," I said. Tom reached under me and cupped my breasts. I left little pecks on his dick, starting small, starting low, my mouth opening wider until I was sucking on just the mushroom tip.

"Katie, are you eating something?"

I smiled around Tom's cock and inhaled deeply. "Wuh, yeah," I said. "Can't you hear it?"

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, what is it?"

Tom reached down behind me until his fingers found my ass crack. He wormed his middle finger down until he could hook it up my ass. "Nuh!" I said. "It's long and hard." Tom grabbed me roughly and pushed my lips over his penis. I could taste his semen. I could taste everything. On the other line Bobby shifted in the den and I took Tom into my mouth and spat.

"What was that?" said Bobby.

I pulled Tom out and reached out to jerk him off with my free hand. "Just some friends, feeding me."

"I don't get it," said Bobby.

"Oh that's okay, baby." I jerked Tom roughly and squeezed him into my mouth again. I made sure I worked up enough saliva to make the thick shluk-shluk-shluk sound when my lips trailed over his member. I gasped as the spit and cum clung to my lips. "Don't you hear me eating it?" I said. "They're making me eat it."

Tom pulled my hair back behind my ears and dragged his fingers through my scalp. I looked up at him. He gave me a warning look. I ignored him.

"I can't stop," I said.

"Katie, what's going on?"

I dragged my tongue under Tom's cock and flicked it, flicked the tip, flicked the slit and sucked at it, sucking at just the tip until I could feel the cum trailing out of him. "I'm eating whatever they give me," I said. "I can't stop until I finish."

"Honey, seriously, what's going on?"

"I'm good at it." I dared Tom to say no. As I stared into his eyes I pulled his cock into my hand and squeezed it, felt the wetness squelch between my fingers. "I'm good at it, aren't I?" I said.

"Katie-"

I took Tom all the way down to the back of my throat. I coughed and gagged but I kept him there. I sucked, really sucked. I could feel his balls tense. "I think he's going to cum in my mouth," I said.

"What the fuck?" shouted Bobby. I could hear the guys in the background telling him to shut up.

"He's going to cum in my mouth," I said. "I'm going to let him cum in my mouth, Bobby."

Bobby was losing it. It had gone from playful to insane on his end and he couldn't make heads or tails of what I was doing. But he could still hear me lapping at Tom's cock. "God, it's so big." I sucked. "It's so hard." I licked. "It's making me so horny, Bobby."

"Katie, cut this shit out right now."

"Whenever he takes his thing out, and he puts it inside me..." I arched back against Tom's finger. I wanted him to go lower, into my pussy. He could use his other hand if he tried but he was too busy staring down at me. "I want it... I want him to give it to me..." I pushed my bottom way back against Tom's finger. His finger went deeper into my rectum and I didn't care; I just needed something in me, needed it. I popped his head between my lips and started to bob my mouth. 

"I want him to give it to me hard this time," I said when I came up for air. "I want him inside me- Oh! Oh, Bobby, he's going to cum!" I saw the head squeezing, bulging. My eyes flashed up to Tom's face. I grabbed his dick and started to jerk him off. "Tell me to swallow it."

Tom's eyes glazed. He was entranced. 

"He makes me so horny, Bobby. I'm gonna make him cum so hard for me. Just like you made Sara cum."

There was a sudden stop to Bobby's angry ranting. "Who the fuck told you about that?"

"Tell me you love me," I told Tom. His dick jerked and squirted. I opened my lips, letting the jism fire at the roof of my mouth. There was no way I'd try to swallow it first. There was too much of it; it came too fast. But once the first few ropes had released I pushed my lips over his head and gulped his semen. I swallowed, and he'd spray the inside of my mouth. I swallowed; and a new load would hit my tonsils. He jerked and I swallowed. I swallowed. I pressed my cell up to my mouth and swallowed noisily into the phone, cum and spit sticking to the receiver. And my pussy was on fire.

I hung up the phone and tossed it against the pillows. I continued to clean him off with my tongue until his dick finally went down. Then I kissed his stomach, and kissed up his abdominals. I needed it so badly I couldn't stop shaking. Maybe I needed him, only him, at that moment.

I climbed into Tom's lap, wet and naked. I kissed him full on the mouth. If he minded the semen still around my lips he didn't say. He kissed me back and reached up to cradle my head. "Cat," he started.

"No," I said. "Don't." I eased my ass back so that it rolled over his soft penis. "Tell me you love me."

"Hold it," he said. "I need to-"

"I need," I said. I rubbed my slick pussy lips over his dick. "I know you can get it up again. Tell me you love me."

I felt his cock twitch underneath me.

"That's what you like," I whispered into his mouth. I grabbed his shoulders and slid my wetness over his rising cock. "Tell me you love me. Does that get you harder, Tom?" It did. His hips were already rising to meet my gliding bottom. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he said.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he said. His dick was growing again, rising, straightening. He tried to push me back. "The condom-" he said.

"No," I said. His dick was already half hard and I felt the top poke against my puffy lips. "Put it in me now."

"Cat-"

I arched my back and angled my vagina so that it took his soft cock inside. My wetness and the residue of his cum made it glide.

"Ah-" Tom groaned. His dick was already thickening.

"Fuck me," I said. His naked cock felt entirely different now. Each flex of his skin, every vein, every naked twitch; I felt it. I squeezed down on him and he bulged inside my uterus. I squashed my breasts into his chest and bit his chin. He grabbed my back and ass and shoved me down hard. His prick was stiff enough. "Ah! Tell me you love me."

He pushed inside me. "I love you."

I bounced on his dick. "Fuck me harder."

He slid down until he was on his back on the bed. I ground my pussy into him and laid on top. I squeezed his hips with my knees. "Cat, stop."

"NO," I said. "This time you do what I fucking want. Fuck me harder!"

"No," he said. He grabbed my hips and tried to pull me off.

"Fuck you!" I spat, refusing to stop bouncing on his dick. "Don't you like it like this?"

I knew he was aroused, I knew he wanted me, but he just wouldn't stop trying to push me off. It made me have to work that much harder to keep his dick inside me, and I punished it by squeezing myself down on him and rubbing him hard against the bed. "Say you want me."

He pushed his dick so far up inside me I thought he was going to break something. "I want you. But I can't do this to you," he said.

I pushed my wet mouth against his ear. "Do it to me, Tom. You can do it. Come on... You're already inside me." 

"No," he said. He said it finally, with no uncertainty. With great effort he pulled me off his lap and clambered back off the bed. 

"I want to cum!" I nearly shrieked.

"I am not here to fuck up your life," he said. He grabbed the towel that was lying on the bureau and wiped himself off. 

"Fine- get the condoms."

"No," he said. He moved to grab his jeans. 

"What is wrong with you?" I sat on my knees, naked and wet. My vision was nearly red; I boiled inside, waiting for him to say anything so that I could scream at him, tell him how much I hated him. 

He pulled his shirt on and went for the door.

"Tell me you love me."

He turned back. I must have looked like a mess, my face beet red, my tits wet and the nipples fully erect, my thighs shaking under me. I wasn't thinking straight, I knew that for sure but I didn't care.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty, then another, and tossed the bills at the table. "Get a Plan B as soon as you can. That's all I ask."

I glared. He met my gaze with an inscrutable, lonely expression. 

"So you don't want to fuck me when I actually want to fuck you?" I said. It was bait to make him fight me, which in turn was bait to make him stay.

"You don't want to fuck me, Catherine. And that was never a problem."

"So what?"

"It is now."

He left the door open and walked down the hallway. I heard him take the steps, heard him drag his keys off the table, and his helmet, and then he was gone. 

* * *

Tom and I didn't talk for a long time. It was nearing the end of February and I was still sorting myself out. Since the beginning of the month I had been applying to new jobs, trying to find something that made sense and would look good on a resume, without a single response. Time, I kept telling myself, all it takes is time.

Bobby called every day. I didn't pick up the phone. I knew that if I did I would just yell at him, and he would yell at me, and I was exhausted just thinking about it. I guess, technically, we were still together.

But really, we'd been broken for a long time. It seems a little ridiculous that it took me giving another man a blowjob on the phone to figure that out. Better late than never.

Time. Without Tom's bi-weekly visitations to look forward to the days ground on. I didn't stop hitting the gym, but I never saw him there. Allison's acting dreams weren't panning out like she'd hoped and so we became gym bunnies again, getting smoothies afterward, talking about guys, work, and other parts of the daily grind. I didn't tell her about Bobby, or Tom. I tried not to think about it.

I'd saved up enough from our contract to make a down payment on an apartment. If I kept the secretary job I could scrimp by. It wouldn't be a comfortable existence but the few grand would act as a nice buffer while I continued my job search. If that was really what I wanted to do.

I hated to admit it, but without Tom's bi-weekly visitations I lost a little bit of color in my world. In the beginning, I was afraid of him and afraid of what I was doing to myself. Towards the middle, I saw it as a job, as an enjoyable job, but a kind of employment (not a career or a calling, certainly) nonetheless. By the end... I'll be honest, I missed him. I missed his kisses, and I missed his loud, stupid motorcycle. I didn't miss the mystery, because I realized I'd wanted to know more a long time ago.

The orgasms were rough to lose, too.

I tried not to concentrate on that, tried to keep myself in reality. I was at home, it was nearly March, and I was staring at several browser windows of job applications and graduate school websites and trying to figure out if it was weird that Tom had just disappeared from my life. I could call him whenever I wanted, but I didn't know if he'd pick up. I didn't know where he lived. I couldn't find him online. He was like some tricky phantom who'd blown in with the season and blown away, sad and strange. But Tom was more than a ghost. He'd been flesh and blood, hard, never mean, rough and gentle.

It bothered me that I missed him, because I didn't know if I missed him because I missed him, if I missed him because it was over with Bobby, if I really missed Bobby, or if my life was just directionless and I was looking for anything halfway decent to prop me up. It was an uncomfortable position to be in.

When the doorbell rang midday on a weekend when my parents were gone, I left the table where I'd been surfing for collegiate salvation and answered it, unceremoniously, remembering when I'd once dared to open this door in nothing but a stupid little apron and a smile.

I'm not sure what I expected, who I expected, but Bobby fuming at the door, his perfect hair scattered every which way by the wind, his face red and windblown, as if he'd run all the way here from Michigan, no, that wasn't it. He looked mad and disheveled. And yet inside I had no fear. I had no patience either. It actually took a concentrated effort for me not to slam the door in his face before he started to speak. I didn't want to see him, talk to him, and for the first time it was not because I was mad at him but because I had my mind on more pressing things.

But talk he did. "Katie," he said, "listen to me."

I set my hand on my hip. My other hand slid up the door. Would it make him leave any faster if I told him I'd invited Tom in, from just where he was standing, to undress me, lick me, suck me and then fuck me, all while I was conflicted about cheating on him and orgasming anyway? That would have been cruel. 

But I did feel a little cruel. More than that, however, I felt horny. I wanted Tom, obviously, but Tom and I might not ever see each other again. And I wanted to give a little of this cruelty back.

While Bobby continued to sputter about whatever I was supposed to be listening to, I held up my finger to his mouth. "Shh, baby," I said. "Come here." Confused, Bobby stumbled into my arms. I wrapped myself around him and pressed hard into his chest. He could feel I wasn't wearing a bra.

"Katie?" he said. 

I slid my lips against the ridges in his ear. "Let's make it all better," I said. I licked his earlobe, the way Tom did mine, savoring its fuzzy little bumps and edge. Bobby groaned into my shoulder and soon he had my warm pussy grinding against his crotch. The loose gym shorts were perfect for that. I couldn't wear any panties lately, I was getting far too wet. So when I lifted my leg and rolled myself into Bobby, he could feel me, feel my cunt. 

"You..." he started. "You fucked some other guy."

"Didn't you fuck Sara?" I whispered into his ear. I continued to grind against him with the door to the neighborhood wide open.

"No," he said.

I rolled my tits over his chest. Thinking that might not be subtle enough, I pulled my shirt up over my breasts and rolled my bare nipples against his. "Don't lie to me, baby."

He let out another groan. He'd begun to grind against me, edging in to the house. "I'm sorry, Katie. I'm so sorry. We were drunk. It was- it was a mistake."

"Shh, I know," I said. "I just wanted to make you mad."

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"You just get me so horny," I lied. "Come on, baby, let's kiss and make up." I pried myself off him and circled around him - like a shark, I thought. I took the door and shut it solidly, locking it. Then I took his hand and led him to the couch.

"When do your parents get home?"

"Don't worry about that," I said.

"Katie- I don't understand."

I pulled my shirt over my chest and threw it on the ground. Without much movement at all, I slid the shorts off my hips. So I was naked before him. And wet. And maybe, if Tom was right about anything, perfect.

"Stop talking," I said. 

"Baby," said Bobby. "Oh, baby. I missed you."

"Yeah?" I said. I came at him, pushed him to the couch. I helped him unbuckle his belt and drag his pants down to his knees. His big cock was stuck in his boxers, making a wet tent. I lovingly rolled those down until his cock was free. Then I swung my legs over him and took him in my hands. He let out another pained moan. "You didn't cheat on me while you were away, did you?" I asked. 

"Ah..." he said. I worked his cock back and forth between my palms. He was still dressed from the waist up, in his shirt and jacket. His head knocked against the back of the couch and he stared at the ceiling, eyes glazed over.

"You can tell me, baby. Let's be honest with each other. I don't want any more secrets. I'm going to be a good girlfriend from now on. I'm going to take care of you."

"Yeah...?" he said. His voice sounded like it was coming from a far off place. Maybe it was near where Tom and I went off to, when he took control. 

I held Bobby's cock upright and lifted myself up on my knees. I pressed the cockhead, wet with Bobby's precum, against the slit of my hungry pussy. And I gasped. And I sat down on him. His naked cock pierced me and there was no pretending when I arched back my neck and moaned. It felt good to be filled, and Bobby's cock gave a thick, welcoming pulse in reply. 

Bobby's hands slid around my waist. He pushed, to try to get me on my back. But I squeezed his thighs with my own and remained upright. I dug my nails into his shoulders and rose up, then slammed down. His hands tried to get me on my back again, but drifted lower with each of my muscular squeezes, until he was merely cradling my ass, waiting for me to decide when his cock went deeper. 

I rubbed my tits into Bobby's face. "You can tell me, baby. Tell me all the little sluts you fucked."

"No, baby," he said. "Let's start over."

"Yeah?" I groaned. "You want to start over, baby?" He tried to thrust up into me, but I held him at bay with my strong abdominals. Then I lowered myself, when I felt like it. I attacked his mouth with mine. Our tongues were on each other, as if for the first time. In a way, we were doing this for the first time. 

I pulled his hands off my ass and made him cup my breasts. "Are you going to miss these, when I'm gone?" I asked. 

He squeezed me - too hard, but that was good. "Yes," he groaned. He tilted his head back again. I was plunging him in and out of me faster now, and his hips tried to settle me into another rhythm. "Katie," he groaned, "Katie, slow down."

"You can do it," I cooed to him. "I believe in you. I trust you." I placed my hands over the backs of his hands and made him squeeze me again. He squeezed me, but not like he was checking for ripeness, not like he coveted them or delighted in the way their smoothness tingled to his touch. He felt them up, paying no attention to my nipples. It was good enough to get me off, if he lasted...

I worked myself harder on his cock. There was a climax somewhere deep inside me, a little whisper of one, and all I wanted was to get off. No, that's a lie too. I wanted Bobby to know how lucky he used to be. 

I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled. He made a face. "Ow. Katie, not so rough."

"You don't like it rough, baby?"

"Yeah, just not so hard."

I pulled my fingers out of his hair to caress his face. "My handsome man, I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry, baby." I was doing all the work, rolling his cock up and down the front of my uterus. Bobby didn't know how to match my rhythm, and he was more or less just a prop in my one woman show. What would Tom do? Would he start tickling me? Would he reach out for my face and kiss me? Would he let me expend my energy on fucking him until I was too tired to fight, and then gently pick me up and fuck me tenderly against the wall?




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 06



I could feel Bobby's cock tensing inside my body. "Don't stop now, baby," I goaded him. "I'm not done yet."

"Baby, you're too hot."

"Yeah? Not hot enough to wait for, though?"

He groaned. "It was a mistake, baby. I love you."

"You love me?" I don't know if I was surprised. I didn't know a lot of things just then. I did know he would cum before I did, and there wouldn't be a followup. "Does it feel good to love me?" I asked. I gripped the back of his neck and began to work my hips furiously into his own. "Does that feel sweet, baby? Feel like you own it?"

"Ahn," my boyfriend groaned. "Baby- baby, I'm gonna cum."

"I bet you are," I said. "You didn't even ask about a condom."

"It'll be okay," he said. "I'm gonna cum. Don't stop."

I laughed. I dug my nails again into his shoulders and rolled my hips faster, faster. "That's it, Bobby," I said. "Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. Come on, baby, cum for me. Why not?"

And he did. Bobby's ejaculate creamed out of him, out of that big lovely cock of his, into my naked pussy, unprotected. It was a thrilling little feeling, suddenly wet and hot, almost enough to get me off. 

But it wasn't. And I'd used him up.

I lifted myself off Bobby, watching as his slick penis dragged out from between my legs, not without a small bit of longing but with much more resentment to quash it down. I stepped gracefully over to my shorts and pulled them back up. Then my shirt. Bobby was too shell-shocked to notice, so I snapped my fingers.

He looked ridiculous, head back on the couch and his pants and boxers hung across his knees. His dick made a smeared mess of his t-shirt. But I couldn't really blame him for that. He jerked to face me when I snapped.

"Get up and go," I said.

"What?"

I strode to the front door and opened it with a crack. The cool Illinois air was happy to blow in and say hi. Bobby was frantically pulling up his pants to avoid it.

"What the fuck?" he said eloquently.

"That's it," I said. "Get up and go."

Still stuffing himself into his boxers, he rounded the couch. "What's going on?" he said.

"Well," I said, "I have to take my Plan B, and you have to go back to Michigan. And after that I don't know what's going on. I guess you're going to be a businessman and I'll be, I'm not sure." It was good, I reflected, that Tom had left me two fifties, though I wasn't proud of the fact that I'd have to take another pill so soon.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

I smiled sadly. We had had some great times over the years. It wasn't fair to end it this way. "Yes," I said.

"What-" he sputtered. He pointed back to the couch. "What the fuck was that all about?"

"That was a goodbye present," I said. "For you," I clarified. "Not so much for me."

"Katie, I don't understand what's gotten into you."

"Whatever it was it wasn't in there for very long. Get out," I told him. And he did.

When I was sure he'd gone I wondered if I would cry. I sat at the kitchen table for a long time, wondering that, his semen slowly leaking into my shorts. That's as wet as I got that day, if you don't count the shower.

* * *

In April I was no surer of what I was going to do, or supposed to be, than I'd been in June. It was almost a year, I suddenly realized one day at the gym, that this had all started. I actually stopped mid-stride on the elliptical machine and, beside me, Allison cocked her head. "What's wrong?" she said.

What was wrong?

It was an unseasonably hot day. After we were done with the gym, we were both streaming with sweat. "Ugh," said Allison. "I hate it when there's so many people in here. I can barely breathe. Do you want to take a shower before we go?"

"Yes," I said automatically. Unbidden, the vision of Tom licking my body, like a cat, shimmered up in my exhausted brain. Every inch of me, every salty extremity. I tried to fight it, but the sense memory was strong. As I was stripping in the locker room I distinctly felt Tom's fingers open my legs and his mouth begin its trail of kisses behind my wet knees, spreading my skin, rolling his way up my ass and burying his nose in my crack. I stumbled and Allison had to catch me. 

Her hand on my breast sent tingles up and down my legs and arms. She giggled. "Oops!" We smiled at each other as we hung up our towels and stepped into the warm spray. We found a place away from the other girls and set down our lotion and shampoo. "Can I tell you something?" she said.

"Mm?" I wet my hair under the shower head.

"Your breasts feel different."

I laughed. "I know, I know."

"Oh yeah?"

"I've been..." I gazed off into the mist. The other women, ranging in age from college students to much older, were busy soaping themselves. I shook my head. "Nothing. But I know. My whole body's been kind of a mess lately."

"You don't look like a mess," said Allison. "You look great."

"Thanks," I said. "You look good too." It wasn't a lie. Allison's breasts were still bigger than mine, not as round; they had a sweeping slope to them. They looked great when she wore a bra that kept them tight against her chest, let them pop out (Allison actually didn't flaunt herself that often; only sometimes when she felt particularly daring out at clubs). Naked, they had a nice weight to them, a pillow-like droop that looked like they'd be nice to lay your head against. She focused her workouts on her gluts and her legs and her stomach, so she missed out on a lot of the toning I did on my upper body, but it suited her. Overall Allison was a much softer, gentler figure. And I suddenly felt very glad to be with her. 

She noticed me looking and smiled. "Are you checking me out?"

"Only a little," I teased. 

"Let me wash your back?"

I turned around and she soaped my shoulders, down my spine. She gave my bum a playful little pat and then turned around to let me do her. "Thanks," she said. When she turned around she must have seen me break a little. 

"Kate?" she said. "Honey, what's wrong?"

I shook my head. I don't know if it was the heat, I don't know if it was the tenderness, the soreness in my body, or the ache in my body that wanted, and all the things this gym had led to and started, but I was suddenly not as together as I thought I was. I didn't come apart exactly, but my brow furrowed and I quickly began to wash the soap off my body and the shampoo from my hair. I sighed into the spray. Would it hurt her to tell her? What did I want to tell her?

I found it spilling out of me. "Me and Bobby broke up," I said.

"Oh, honey," she said. She put a hand on my arm. That warm touch reminded me of Sara suddenly, and I looked down, straight down at Allison's bush. It was conservatively trimmed, not quite a landing strip but a dignified little tuft over her vagina. The way the water beaded into it looked inviting. I'd shaved this morning and my pussy tingled in the vapor. "What the hell? Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I don't know. I'm just trying to... Jesus, we should do this somewhere else."

Allison smirked. "Right, with clothes on, you mean?"

"Just not here," I said. 

"Okay."

We finished our shower and got dressed. Allison wouldn't take no for an answer and so instead of driving me home she took me to her place, where, after an indulgent after-workout cup of ice cream, we ended up on her couch, wrapped up in a quilt. I told her he'd been with other girls, who I didn't know - I didn't need to draw Sara into this yet, not for Allison. And Allison slid her fingers through my hair and nodded and gave me appropriately barbed replies about how Bobby was a dick, which I appreciated.

Her parents weren't due home until much later so we had the house to ourselves. The light was waning outside and it got hot under the quilt, under the late afternoon sunbeams. We didn't watch the TV, we didn't put on any music, we just talked, talked about guys, talked about sex, talked about her and Ryan (they'd hooked up again but she was more sure than ever that she didn't want to have anything to do with him). And, because I was feeling vulnerable, I asked her about Tom, about what was between the two of them, if anything.

For the first time I think ever she didn't immediately change the subject when it came to him. She got quiet, and pressed her fingers into her temple and leaned into the back of the couch. "I..." she started. "I'm just not...his type," she said.

I had cried (just a little bit), and I found myself rubbing at my eyes to clear my vision. Allison looked very thoughtful and gazed at the windows. Under the quilt, our feet laid one on top of the other, our toes tangled together. Our knees were touching. 

"Do you remember that guy I went home with, that guy from Pennsylvania? At the party?" she said.

"Yeah."

"I kind of. Geez, I don't know, I think I might have gone home with him because I was...mad at...Tom."

"Do you like him?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Allison. "I think he's smart. But he's weird. And that thing about paying a girl for..." She sighed. "I mean, it's kind of sexy, fine, I'll admit it, but God, no, of course I never would. But that's okay for him, and he asked me-"

"He asked you again?" I cut in, automatically jealous.

"What? No. No, actually, he never brought it up again after that first time. And let me tell you, I'm no ho-bag but it's been... Well, let's just say Mr. UPenn was in no condition to drive and in even less condition to get me, uh..." She blushed. "I hooked up with Ryan again, I think, just to get someone to want to see me naked." She laughed.

I laughed with her. "Honey, you're gorgeous," I said. 

"Whatever," she said. Under the quilt, she scraped at me with her toes. "I'm just, I'm not like you. I'm not assertive. I could never be with Tom." She pursed her lips.

Something in the way she said it sent my senses to tingling. So I pressed her. "What do you mean by that?"

The look she gave me was open, slightly quizzical. There wasn't a little bit of slyness in it either. She brushed her lips with her finger. "Well, I mean, you and Tom..."

"What about me and Tom?" I said.

She licked her lips, trying to put into words what was bubbling inside her mind. "I... At that party, with the UPenn guy, when Bobby was in town. I was going to go to the backyard. I was upstairs and I saw Tom down there. But then I saw you go out there. I'm sorry," she said. She meant it. I could see the sadness in her eyes, but also the honesty, the resignation. "I don't remember if you guys touched each other at all but he gave you this look that just..." She shook her head. "Tom's never looked at me like that. I've never seen him look at anybody like that."

She shrugged. "I just guessed that there was something going on. I don't know what. But I wasn't surprised. Tom's strong. He needs somebody strong." The look on her face nearly broke my heart. "Someone like you," she said.

"No," I said, shaking my head. But even as I said it I found myself disbelieving it. "I don't feel strong, anyway. If you saw that, why didn't...? You never said anything."

Allison laughed to the ceiling. "Well, duh, who was I going to tell? Bobby? Uh, no, I don't think so."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I love you, ho," she said. "I don't know what freaky shit you're getting up to but you're my friend. And I always thought Bobby was really nice but really, uh..." She looked aside.

"What?" I said, not sure if I was in a better mood or nervous.

"I don't know. But, you know how Tom's not my type? Well, Bobby never really struck me as your type. Or mine," she added. 

"What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, God, I don't know!" she said, the laughter breaking out of her. "He kind of reminds me of Ryan, like, the sex was great and he's in the money but if I had to honestly sit down and picture myself married to him, eep, I dunno. I just don't know."

"The sex wasn't great."

"Liar."

She had me there. "Well," I said, "maybe it was great at first but when there's something better..." It was my turn to turn red. "Fuck." I thought of Tom telling me to dress in the loose top, telling me to imagine him as my tennis coach, telling me to wear the apron. I thought of the way I dominated Bobby, the power I'd had there. Did Tom dominate me? Yes, but there was a mutual channel there, something I'd always been unsure of, never certain until the end how aggressive I could allow myself to be, when he, after all, was the one paying. A little bit of moisture crept into my panties. 

"So was there something, with you and Tom?"

I didn't want to lie to her now. "Yes," was all I said. "But I think...that's over too. Maybe."

"Do you like him?"

"Yes," I said. I had drifted, but I came back to myself, and to her. "I'm sorry."

Allison shook her head. "I told you, I'm not his type, and it would never have worked with us. You, maybe."

"Honestly," I said, "I don't know if I should be with anyone right now, either of them, anyone. I'm just, I'm just upset and I'm...horny, and..." I sighed, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "God, it's been a bad month. I fucking hate my job, too, but what are you going to do?"

Allison waved her hand. "Hey, at least you have a job. I'm still an 'actress,' I think, living with my parents."

"So am I," I said.

"Yeah, but..." Allison tried to put her words together. "No, I guess you're right. We're both fucked. And horny. So not fucked, or fucking." She made a face and stuck out her tongue before I could chastise her for her poor semantics. Instead I laughed and grabbed for her breast under the quilt.

"Is that an invitation?" I asked. "Do you want me to feel your pain?"

Allison batted me away but didn't put too much effort into it. "Ow! Stop, stop. As if!"

"You can't resist me," I teased her. "I'm going to eat you up." I pushed forward while she fought my hands and laid a big wet kiss on her mouth. She was laughing too hard to make it a proper kiss, and we tumbled back on the couch. Allison grabbed my wrists and held me at bay, but our knees got tangled and we wrestled for dominance, with Allison ending up on the bottom but her strong legs wrapping under my thigh and over the hip on my left side. 

"Mm, being eaten up sounds good," said Allison. "Too bad you're full of ice cream."

I continued to be silly, relieved to have an outlet, and a friend, more grateful for that than anything in the world. "Ice cream was for dinner," I told her. "I'm still hungry for dessert."

"As if," Allison said again. She squeezed her legs so that I was trapped tighter against her. The position of our jeans meant that my middle was brought right up against hers. I couldn't deny that the sudden friction gave me another little tingle down there. 

I fell on top of her, letting our combined weight drag us down. The quilt was tangled in between us but it was tough to say who was pinned to who. I planted another kiss on Allison, this time with less resistance, or laughter. All she did was smile when I kissed her. Surprisingly, she leaned in for another kiss. Our lips connected. It was a chaste, tight little kiss. Not as friendly as it was polite. 

I stared down at Allison. Her dirty blonde, almost brown hair, was fanned out below her on the couch, framing her face like a sunburst. The light caught it and made it shine a little. Her pale face was flushed in her cheeks, her lips like two little roses. I watched her eyes, and she watched mine in turn, studying. It was very quiet for what seemed like a long time, and then, softly, I crawled forward. Allison had to loosen her legs a little for it to happen, and under the quilt the sounds of fabric on fabric, rustling, accompanied my tentative squirm, on top of her. I leaned down and slipped my lips over hers.

She opened her mouth, and our tongues, like shy animals, peeked out and tasted each other. She tasted like ice cream.

Allison sighed quietly. I locked the kiss, placing my mouth tightly over hers and plunged my tongue deeper. She hadn't expected it; her eyes showed as much, wide suddenly, and then, dreamily, closed. I reached up to caress her cheek. Her hand stroked my wrist. 

I don't know which one of us moved first, but our hips gently fell into a calm, almost imperceptible rhythm. That is, I'm sure it wasn't too perceptible from the outside. I'm sure both of us perceived it, as the denim between us sent zig zags of friction up and down my belly. 

I kissed her chin, and eased down to her throat. A little bubble of laughter, more surprised and mischievous than a giggle, squirmed out of her mouth. Allison quietly pushed the quilt down, trying to untangle it between us. I leaned back and let her disentangle her legs from mine. Together we pulled up the quilt from where it had wedged between the sofa cushions. And dropping it on the floor, she laid back, and watched me with silent curiosity. 

I drifted down to her belly and rolled her shirt up. I kissed her bellybutton, the way Tom would have, flicking my tongue into it and tasting the fresh soap and lotion on her skin. Allison liked that. She squirmed underneath me and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up. 

She wasn't wearing a bra, and on her back her big breasts jiggled like melted Hershey kisses. Pale chocolate kisses with bright red tips. Her thick nipples were erect and I realized, taking a moment to take stock of how wet I'd suddenly become, that mine were too. I helped her slide the shirt off her arms and kissed her again. Quickly, I popped her nipple in my mouth. And Allison let out a husky moan. 

Just when I was dragging my fingers softly over her bare breasts, she reached with her other hand and tugged my shirt up. Together we got it off me. I leaned in close to her to let her get the snaps on my bra. 

When I rose off of her the black bra slid over my arms. She dropped it on the quilt, where our shirts both resided. It was strange, looking down at Allison from that position. My breasts, heavy, were scooped up into her palms. Allison watched them, still with the curious expression, let my nipples softly glide over her palms. She enjoyed balancing them, feeling their weight. Holding them, with a very light squeeze, she looked up and smiled at me. 

"They do feel different," she said. 

I nodded, dragging a fingertip over her buxom cleavage. "I've been really horny..."

"Is Tom good?"

I nodded. 

Allison reached up to take my face. She pulled me down on the couch, her mouth a hot, wet invitation. We squirmed against each other, kissing and reaching, both of us working to undo each other's pants. "This isn't working," she said. "Get up."

We both stumbled to our feet. Clumsily, we ran our hands down each other's backs. I found myself unbuttoning Allison's pants, even as she unbuttoned mine. Our zippers slid down simultaneously, and we were suddenly giggling, like bad kids knowing full well how much trouble we were going to get into. "I was thinking about this in the shower," Allison confessed. She stepped behind me to help me drag my pants down my legs.

"Really?"

She kissed my hip as she slid her hands to my knees. "You've had this nervous little energy for a while now," she said. "I mean, I wasn't going to...to do anything. But I had this image, when I was soaping your back."

I dragged her pants down and helped her step out of them. The panties were next. 

Allison grabbed my head and brought me to her waist. My mouth and nose were pressed into the fine cotton of her underwear. I smelled soap, but I smelled much more than that. It wasn't a mystery what we were going to do. I kissed her over the material. Allison gave a little groan. 

"Are you really?" she gasped, "Are you really - still hungry?" I pulled the panties down her thighs. Between my legs, I had begun to sweat in earnest. "Oh my God," Allison said softly. "Katie... Please kiss me, honey."




Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 06



I pushed my mouth into her soft, clean pubic hair. Suddenly I was kissing her pussy, and Allison let out a bright growl. I squeezed her ass playfully and pushed her back onto the couch. I crawled up after her and began to lick, and then kissed, and gently touched. 

She brought her knees up to my neck. "There..." she said, and swallowed the rest of her words. I swallowed her flowing juice. It turned me on just to be naked with her, and I still didn't consider it strange. I mean, yes, eating out my best friend, yes, it was not the norm for us. Never would be. But the two of us, in a soft, open way, had combined our fiery loneliness and decided to do something about it. 

Allison's fingers brushed my hair and pulled me gently up. "Come here," she whispered. I kept my fingers on her clitoris and slid up on the couch. She kissed me, taking special care to lick the juices from my lips. I grabbed her breast, the way Tom would have, and squeezed her harder. She moaned, and combined with my fingers dancing on her pussy, that was enough to make her sigh and clench her legs together. "Yes," she said, kissing me, kissing me deeper. She came quietly, and when she did we held each other. She shuddered. Her legs wrapped around mine and I rocked her into the cushions until the waves ebbed. 

"Fuck," said Allison. She opened her eyes wide. Then she gave me a hard look. "Alright, missy, well if we're going to do this lesbian shit then you might as well get a good fucking too."

Her earnestness made me giggle, and soon we were both tangled together on the couch, she working to remove my panties and I giving her heavy breasts another round of hungry kisses.

Allison groaned as my panties landed on the floor and slid her hands down my waist. "Dominate me," she said.

"What?"

"Do it. Sit on my face."

I'd never expected this from Allison, but I wasn't about to deny her. It took us a moment to figure out the best configuration, but we finally decided that if she laid straight on the couch and I kept my hands on the armrest and straddled her head with my knees, I could lift myself off without hurting her.

"Just don't fucking smother me," said Allison between my thighs.

"You do a good job and I might not be able to help it," I said.

"Ho," Allison mumbled, and suddenly I couldn't see her. I couldn't see anything. Allison must have eaten me out the way she'd always wanted a man to eat her. One minute she was grumbling and the next minute I felt like my pussy was on fire. She nibbled at my clit, reaching up to balance my ass and drag my labia over her nose. My knees sank deeper into the cushions and I had a black, sinister image of her parents coming home to the horrible stains we were leaving on this cushion. That was soon knocked out of my mind by the bright white pleasure of Allison's fingers and face.

I rode her. I rode her tongue and pictured Tom watching me from the foyer. He'd love to see me like this, nipples hard, body covered in sweat, Allison beneath me giving me the best oral sex I'd had in my life. She was good, I'd say even better than Tom, and that was one hell of a benchmark. I came hard and quickly, rubbing my pussy into my best friend's face.

I climbed off of her and climbed back on top of her, the two of us sharing the couch, covered in nothing but sweat and cum. Allison smiled at me and then shook her head.

I wanted more kisses from her. I took them. We slid our bodies together, the sweat making it even better, more lubricated. Our legs entwined, and we brought our vaginas together in hot, shivering rhythm. 

"You're good at this," Allison told me between my teeth.

"Shut up," I said. "Get up on all fours."

"Mmm, that's it." Allison slid out from under me and got up on the couch. However, we both soon tumbled off the side, thankfully landing in the quilt. "Okay, try again," she giggled. She got up on her hands and knees and wiggled her butt at me. 

I sat up on my knees and slid my fingers up into her snatch. The first thrust brought a cry of longing from Allison's throat. The second thrust brought a spanking with it. "Fuck," Allison groaned. "That. Do that... Do that again."

I alternated fingering her and spanking her ass, and Allison threw back her hair and gasped. "I feel drunk," she said. "Go..." She lowered her head. "I have a dildo in my room. Go," she said, "go get it."

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Honey I haven't been fucked in months. Please, don't ask me to ask you to fuck me again." I gave her ass a firm smack. "Unh!"

I found it easily and used it on her. It was hell on my wrist and I was clumsy with it, not wanting to hurt her and never using one on someone else before, but it was more the act itself than the penetration that got her off. And when she was finished, she did the same for me, only I preferred to lie back and let her gently ease it up and wiggle it around in me. We both came, several times, and it was awfully dirty.

And a lot of fun.

When we were done we stripped off the couch covers and dumped them, with our clothes, into the washing machine. We showered together, not without a few kisses and gropes shared, and when we were done, and drying our hair and getting our clothes back on, we both felt much better.

By the time her parents came home we were sitting on her bed, the television on but neither of us watching. 

Allison had not lost her mischievous smile all afternoon. "That was nice," she said quietly.

I nodded. 

And then she sighed. "I think I would turn gay for you, you cunt." That set us both to laughing, and we snuggled. We ended up falling asleep together, and in the morning we reset.

We never had sex again, though Allison and I would make out from time to time, in the successive years, when either or both of us was feeling particularly lonesome, or sad, or horny, or drunk. I loved her deeply, and I was glad to see, as time went on, Allison break away from her former shell. She didn't quite give up acting but she persuaded her parents to send her back to school and get a Communications degree. She did, I'm not happy to say, get back together with Ryan a few months later. That's how these things happen, I guess, and she's still with him today.

Before I left that morning I asked Allison if she knew where Tom lived. And she did, and was willing to give me his address. I thanked her for that, even though both of us knew it might not have been in my best interest. She asked if the great sex was the price she paid for giving that information up. I assured her that the great sex was great sex, and no one could take that away from us. She called me a "ho," which was fair, and we kissed goodbye.

The kiss was on the mouth, not unusual, with tongue, a bad habit (one I did not correct).

* * *

He lived downtown, near the water. That's not too specific, since so much of this town is by the water. I buzzed his apartment. And I had to wait a minute before a tired voice buzzed back. "Who's it?"

"It's me," I said into the intercom.

I waited for him to say something. He wouldn't ask how I found him; he was smarter than that.

The intercom buzzed. "If I told you I was busy," his voice crackled, "would it make a difference?"

"Am I interrupting sex business or work business?"

"Some kind of business," he said. "But I don't expect you'll leave unless I call the cops."

"I might go in an hour," I said. "It's cold out here."

He buzzed me in. I was too nervous to take the elevator, so I took the stairs. Even after so many years on the stairmaster, I still felt winded at the top. 

I reached his floor just as I saw him shaking hands with two men in dark suits. They were talking quickly, and one of them noticed me. He nodded politely and slid a brimmed hat over his head. I hadn't seen a man wear a hat like that since I was a little girl and my father went to work. The last time hats like that were in fashion was the '70s (hadn't stopped my father from wearing them well into the '80s).

Tom slid a manila folder into the other man's hand, and with a quick goodbye they left his door and went to the elevator. The man with the manila folder looked at me but didn't say a word. The man with the hat said, "Evening," and that was all.

Tom waited for the elevator doors to close before he turned to look at me. He was wearing a buttoned up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks wrinkled and loose on his hips. He looked tired and thin, his eyes were red and he had more stubble than I'd ever seen before.

"Have you been sleeping?" I asked.

"Not really," he said pleasantly. His eyes stayed on my face. And yet his whole body, from the moment he saw me, eased into an open stance, as if greeting me was a full body experience. He took a moment to peer back into his apartment. It was a loft, a wide open space, with a brick wall and a long desk, and one bright lamp by the bed. 

We stood in the doorway for a long time. He didn't invite me in. 

I watched him drum his chest with his fingers, and tried to imagine the thoughts swirling around behind his eyes. The drumming was a new one to me; Tom's hands always seemed so sure before.

"My place is a mess," he said.

"Big though," I said.

"I had to cut so many throats to get it," he said.

"Is that what you do?"

"Papercuts," he said. "I move a lot of paper around. Some consulting on the side."

"The way you say it," I said, "it almost sounds interesting."

The grin looked good on his tired face. "I can't let you in here," he said.

"Why? Your wife in there?"

"I don't have a wife."

"Girlfriend? Fiancee?"

He shook his head and shook his head.

"Because you're busy?"

"Extremely."

"I don't mind. I have some shit of my own to figure out."

"There's that, too," he added. "I'm not part of that. It's not fair to either of us. If you're here I guess it's over with you and Bobby, but it's going to take you some time to get over that."

"It has," I said, "and it's still happening. It's an ongoing process. But there are some things that need to start now."

"Like?"

"I'm coming inside."

"I won't stop you," he said. 

I walked past him into the apartment. There was a coatrack next to a closet, and I hung my jacket on that. I hung my purse on it, too, and slid my boots off and set them beside his shoes. He watched me and softly shut the door, and I took in his sparse but clean living space.

Across from the long desk was a full sized bed, a rumpled black comforter askew on the sheet. He went to his chair and sat on it. The compressed cushions hissed.

There were few personal touches about, few things I could point to and say he had chosen himself. Most of it was exposed brick, steel fixtures, mahogany... I didn't see any paintings that didn't look pre-furnished, and the two that I did see were on the floor leaning against the wall. But on his desk, there was a framed photograph. A polaroid, actually.

It was of a girl. From across the room, it wasn't easy to see what she looked like, but it was easy to see she was in nothing but a skimpy pair of bra and panties. And it was easy to see her, easy to see the laugh emanating from her, to see the redness in her cheeks, her embarrassment diminished by the silliness she must be putting up with from the man on the other side of the camera. Tom made no move to hide it. And if he had, it would have been too obvious; there were no other frames on the desk. Just the girl, smiling, in motion. She was running, bent at an angle that wasn't particularly sexy, the picture caught in the candid moment. 

I recognized the polaroid, though I had no idea how he'd managed to sneak it past me. Blame his sly hands.

"I'm thinking of going back to college," I said. "I've saved up enough money to enroll in a few classes. There's some places in the city I'd like to apply to, but it might take me a year of working before I get the credit to earn a loan. Do you like it in the city?"

"It's fine," he said. "I spend a lot of time working, and I'm not often here. You can check my fridge, there's almost nothing inside."

I nodded. "I can cook a few things. I usually get back from work around 4. I start at 7 in the morning, but I'm looking at some new positions. I don't have a lot of clothes," I said. "I mean, I don't need a lot of them. I can donate most of them."

"There's a closet over there," he said, and pointed. "I was going to build a gym last year but I somehow never got around to actually putting it together. If I sold that thing there'd be a lot of room."

I smiled. "Isn't there a gym right around the corner?"

He nodded. "Yeah but there's a nice one outside Lakeview. It's farther away but...it's worth it."

I pulled my shirt up over my head. I sat down on his bed, rolled my socks off my ankles, and balled them up. Then I pulled my pants off. 

I got into his bed and I crossed my arms. "You can keep working if you want, but I'm tired."

He remained in the chair, staring at me like I was some kind of optical illusion. I smiled wryly and slid onto his pillow. It smelled, strongly, of him. 

I listened to him get up, and where the floorboards squeaked. I heard him approach the standing lamp, and heard him drag his hand over the lampshade. "Will you be here in the morning?" he asked. He reached under the lamp. I didn't answer. I let him turn it off and slip under the covers with me. He put his arms around mine. He pushed his face into my hair.

"This might not work for us," he said.

"Maybe," I allowed. "Just hold me? We can fuck in the morning, I promise. After that..."

"After that?"

"Just hold me."

"Is that really what you want?"

For the first time, Tom and I lay side by side. He still had his shirt on, and his pants. Outside, the sounds of the city, the train on the tracks, the cars sweeping by. And the two of us, breathing, so loudly. Everything was telling us something. There were signs and messages everywhere. His hands on my bare stomach, his nose under my neck. And I eased back into him and warmed against his body. "Tell me you love me," I said.

"I love you."

THE END