18 comments/ 30259 views/ 19 favorites Turning Tables By: AshenGirl Editor's Note: this story contains foot fetish and golden showers content. If this does not interest you, please read no further. 1. Zoe Fields. An eighteen-year-old flurry of thin, long blonde hair reflecting the sun; a perfect summer's smile set in a model's angular face; long, flexible limbs in tight clothes scampering about the high school grounds without a care in the world. Friendly, likeable, polite. Excellent grades, loved by her teachers, admired by her friends. And secretly loathed by girls of the less popular variety. But even Zoe lacks something. I think it's "strength." I mean, she never abuses her position and while she is generally very kind towards students outside the group of the coolest girls in school that she always hangs out with, she would never make friends with "outsiders" and certainly doesn't want to be caught with a "nerd" when her friends are around. And I think she has always had a guilty conscience about that. It seems to me that she wants to hug the whole universe and save all people in the world, but the unwritten laws that have formed around us are just too powerful even for her. She has preferred the safety of not having to provoke the Law. I can't say I blame her one bit: a stunning girl like her would have way too much to lose. Who am I? Zoe's opposite, I suppose. Name's Natalie Hahn, just turned nineteen; I'm the shy, introverted girl with a "secret" grudge towards all of creation. Since my social skills are crap, I've had to develop an intellectual lifestyle: read difficult books, write poems, have edgy opinions on "the issues" (I've just started to outgrow that). I even had a gothic phase during the beginning of high school, although I grew out of that too (mostly because I hardly knew how to wear that stuff and my attempts at face-paint made people laugh rather than shiver with fear). I still wear mostly black clothes—you know, black slim fit jeans, black t-shirt, black nail polish—and I suppose a lot of people still see me as a loser "goth chick" of sorts because even without makeup I'm as pale as a corpse and have long dark hair. My lanky, thin body just tops it all. And they're not wrong about the "loser" thing. I'm still a virgin. The boys don't seem to want me, and the ones who do are probably just as socially incompetent as I am, so no game. But my libido is insane and I've consumed pornography for more years than is probably normal for a girl my age—that I'm desperate for sex is an understatement and the fact that I can't have it and must adhere to online fantasies just accentuates how pitiful my life is. Now, Zoe and I happen to attend some of the same classes in school; that's been routine since a couple of years now. We haven't been unfriendly to each other, but otherwise we avoid each other's gazes as per teenage protocol. In this our final term before college, however, we've been forced into mixed study groups—probably in an attempt from the teachers to have us befriend people we usually don't hang out with. Zoe and I were put into a group with two others named Jim and Patricia. So during this spring Zoe and I have been required to talk to each other a couple of times a week for the last four months or so. During study breaks of the first month we never talked at all. She spent those minutes with her usual trendy friends. Jim and Patricia usually left the table as well and scattered among whatever group of friends they belong to, while I was left alone. It all changed a bit during the second month; Zoe's conscience probably had the better of her. During a break after Jim and Patricia left for the pastures, Zoe stayed with me, discussing a study-related topic a bit more. When nothing further could be added to that subject, she said: "So, uh, what will you be up to during the holidays?" "Oh. Um, I don't know. Nothing much, I guess." Silence ensued. Until I realised I was being impolite and should say something: "Um, and what about you?" "I might go abroad for a bit," she smiled. "Or just hang around at home. My parents will be travelling East Asia and I'll have the whole house to myself." "Cool." Our heads were void of things to say, so we looked down into our textbooks pretending to read. The tiniest of movements of ours seemed oppressively loud. "Why is she even trying?" I thought, slightly annoyed. She had hurt my pride: the mere act of trying to initiate conversation with "the poor goth girl" seemed obviously patronising to me. Jim and Patricia returned in a few minutes and we started studying for real again. Afterwards, we went in separate directions and nothing else happened that day. But it was enough to get the ball rolling. Zoe made repeated attempts at striking up conversation with me during breaks. Beneath my hurt pride I was a bit flattered that she did try and I felt sorry for her that my hopeless introversion often stopped the conversations dead in their tracks after only a short time. And she didn't seem confident enough to have other people see us talk outside of that study group context. We made progress, though. As the weeks went on, our discussions became more relaxed, with Zoe laughing out loud now and then, blubbering on about this and that, with me offering the occasional polite giggle. Since a month back, I'd say we've become quite comfortable with each other, and Zoe seems happy to have made it this far. It was during one of these breaks at the table the other day, while Zoe had gone to the ladies' room and I tried to organise the mess of papers and books and pens on our table left by Zoe, Jim and Patricia, that I found something that was not for me to read. It looked like just another thin notepad of Zoe's. I wondered just how many notes she takes during studies, so I opened it. These were not study notes I quickly realised. This was a newly started diary with a single entry in tidy handwriting. I just couldn't believe that the she had left her diary on the table among her school supplies. I can only suppose that she mixes her belongings in the same bag and unloads heaps of unnecessary stuff on the table in order to find the right textbooks and whatnot. That day, however, I quickly closed the diary and put it back. It wasn't right to read it. Or, rather: I could get caught reading it. Zoe returned a while later, we studied for a while and soon class was dismissed. But a few days afterwards, I was again alone with the diary at the table. This time, I quickly picked up my phone and took pictures of its contents. I managed to put the diary back and pretend that I was texting someone on my phone just seconds before Zoe returned behind a corner. We studied, class was dismissed and we went our separate ways. I hurried home to my apartment, lay down in my bed, looked up the photos in my phone and started reading: "Dear diary, "I think I've started developing 'feelings' for someone, feelings taking me completely by surprise. I don't know what it is. Whenever she speaks to me nowadays, I feel like I can't breathe. I guess she just has a way that I really like. Really, really like. She is good-looking. She is nerdy, but I don't think people realise how attractive she really is. I wish I could spend some time with her in a closed-off room all alone, so that I could figure out what it is I'm really feeling here. "I guess I shouldn't get too worked up about this, it's probably just that I'm not very used to becoming friends with someone who is so much unlike me. That's why my feelings are confused. I'm just befriending a weirdo, and that's all there's to it. "Damn it. I'm acting like a baby. There's no way around it, I'll confess to you, dear diary, before my head explodes. God knows how this will end. Here we go: I'm head over heels in love with her. I love Natalie Hahn." 2. What a mess. I'm at the very least as surprised as she is about her feelings. I have to end this; I can't let her foster a fantasy that I eventually will have to crush. Because I'm not even remotely in love with her. And I'm not a lesbian, so there's that. I can't kiss a girl. That'd be a great scary leap for Natalie-kind. Sure, I can see that Zoe is beautiful. Heck, I would definitely say she is 'hot'. But I can't love her. I want a boyfriend, not a girlfriend. And she's not a lesbian either. What's gotten into her? Maybe it's a Platonic thing she's after. ... No, her writing is too obvious. But how am I going to end it? Say, "Hey, Zoe, I read your diary, and I have to let you know that you and I can never be together that way"? I've captured a new diary entry of hers. I'm sitting here blushing at what she writes. It's the weirdest feeling. "I'm trying to figure out why I'm so attracted to her. It's something about her face and body that sends shivers down my spine. Not too long ago, I, and many with me, wouldn't look her way twice. But that has changed. Radically. Right now, tall slim girls with dark hair and pale faces are the most amazing thing in the world. "She has these delicate thin wrists and long fingers that I want to hold. I said that we are so unlike each other. But that's exactly it: she is like some exotic, otherworldly creature and it seems that I'm the only one who has understood how refined she is." I look at my wrists and fingers, I just can't figure out what's so special about them. She's no doubt serious about this, though: today I noticed her attempts to impress me. During one of the breaks at school, she was leaning back in her chair and tried to sound casual when she said: "I really like Shakespeare. I mean, I read some the other day and I think there is so much we can learn." My eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. Why this sudden interest in Shakespeare? All right, I rather quickly assumed that somehow she had found out that I like the Bard's writings (or at least pretend to like them). But what had she read? A Wikipedia article? "Really?" I said, with probably ill-disguised doubt in my voice. "Oh, yes! 'All days are nights to see till I see thee,/ And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.' It's so beautiful." I shifted nervously in my seat and didn't know what to say. This was so embarrassing and yet so endearing and I got even more worried about how to end it all. That's when it got even worse. "Don't you agree that women are just so beautiful?" she asked. "Sure," I said and just stared at the surface of the table. "I've been thinking about that. I mean, guys are handsome and all, but us girls, we have a sort of elegance and sensuality that no man has. Sometimes I think it's pretty amazing that humans manage to reproduce at all—it would be so much more intuitive for us to just jump into bed with other women!" she announced with a laughter that seemed a bit too loud, and she quickly went quiet, biting her lip. How many times had she rehearsed all of this in her head? It was as though every line was written on big white placards behind me, with pauses added and everything. Thankfully, our fellow-student Patricia showed up just in time to prevent further monologues or awkward silence. Jim wasn't far behind. 3. Another day—another diary entry captured. "Today, I quoted some Shakespeare to her, hoping to give her a hint. But I guess I blew it. I'm getting pathetic. I've been reading Shakespeare like an idiot for several weeks and I don't even like poetry that much. And then there was another hint about the beauty of women. My God, I realised it was a bad idea the second I opened my mouth, but out it came, more than I had planned. "I don't know what to do with all this frustration. I play with myself thinking of her and I feel so stupid. All I can think about is how I want to dive down between her slender legs headfirst and bury my tongue deep inside her. I can't believe I'm writing this! "I've spent some time online, looking for girls who look like her. I never watch pornography and I never watch naked girls, but I want her so bad. I found a video of a young girl masturbating and she was the closest I got that night at finding someone like Natalie. Am I a slut now? I have no control. What is happening to me?" If Zoe is feeling frustrated, that's nothing to how I feel. Define irony: I'm a desperate heterosexual girl and here is a person who would probably do anything for me sexually—and she's a girl! I can just imagine a parallel universe where the same thing happens, but where Zoe is named Zachary and is an epitome of masculinity and I'm the happiest creature on Earth. But no, of course it had to be a girl. She has no control, she says. Great. I'm honestly quite worried that one of these days she'll just throw the textbooks to the floor and kiss me where I sit. I have to talk to her before she bursts. 4. Well, that worry was certainly a case of me flattering myself. Her kissing me in front of people seems the least probable outcome after what happened today. It was a normal day of school, no study groups. Nevertheless, I did meet Zoe. I saw her sitting among her friends at a table during lunch break. So, I strode along to their table and leaned over to her. "Zoe, we really need to talk." A girl next to her shot me a surprised, almost insulted who-the-hell-are-you kind of look, and another girl spoke: "Sounds like she has the hots for you, Zoe," she said, snickering. "No, I'm sorry. Being lesbian is just fine with me." Zoe's friends all burst into high-pitched laughter, rocking their chairs backwards or burying their giggling faces in their hands over the table. "Yeah," said another girl, "nerdy lesbians are all welcome here. Do you know her, Zoe?" Zoe didn't say a word. I've never found talking easy, but the shock and anger I felt now made words downright impossible—I just stood there staring at them. "Sorry, hon," said the first girl, "Zoe doesn't really seem to share your fondness for muff diving. And I know that 'Beauty and the Beast' is a cute story, but come on." More laughter. Zoe, meanwhile, just looked down in silence. I turned on the spot and took long, hammering steps towards an exit door, slammed it open and went out into the busy streets, fuming with anger. God, damn it! She's the one who has troubles with her sexual identity, and now I have to put up with accusations of something she is, while she just keeps her mouth shut? She's the one who's gone bi-curious because she's temporarily bored with life and thinks she's fallen in love with me, and I try to be helpful and honest enough to take the difficult step and talk her out of it—and I meet with this? That false, ungrateful cunt! She didn't say a word, didn't even make a sound, just stared down the table like the coward she is. I don't believe for a second that my finding her diary was a coincidence—well, if she wants to play games, I can play them too. If she wants to make the transition to Sapphic bliss through me—the Beast!—she's going to have to earn it, big time. I'll play ball, I'll give her the chance. I may not be a lesbian, but now it's personal. She breached the pact. We're at war now and despite what her friends may say: as long as she is in love with me I am the one to have the advantage of high ground. 5. At today's group meeting, Zoe hardly said a word to anyone. Judging from the look on her face she was clearly fighting her fear and shame, desperately trying to find the courage to apologise somehow. I rather enjoyed the quiet show as the four of us soldiered on with our textbooks. When the bell rang and we got up from our seats to go home, Zoe stood fixed next to the table, almost trembling. I casually packed my books, working slowly in order to let Jim and Patricia leave and to let Zoe gather what little resolve she had. "I... I'm so sorry, Natalie," she stuttered once there were only the two of us left. "Oh?" I said, looking at her with little interest. "About what?" She looked down, clenching her bag, silent words forming on her lips, but nothing came out. Fucking coward. "Come to my apartment at six and we'll talk," I said, scribbled down my address on a note and handed it to her, inwardly delighted with my surprising cool. She looked like she had just received a ticket to paradise. I'd make sure it would be anything but. * The doorbell rang. I got up from my kitchen table and walked over to the door. I opened it in a rush, making Zoe jump where she stood and laugh nervously. Her appearance, however, was impeccable. The top and skirt she wore were probably the best her wardrobe could produce. Her hair was glistening like frozen waterfalls down her body and her make-up was the tricky kind that didn't look like make-up, yet subtly brought out the best of her features. No lie: she was stunning. "Come in," I said and held the door for her. A row of perfect white, shining teeth spread across her face as she entered. I closed the door. "We'll sit in here," I said and walked into the living room with Zoe following me. The room is easily the largest in my apartment. It's an open area connected to the kitchen. A perfect square of dark wooden planks makes out the floor and a large oriental carpet is stretched on top of it. In the middle of the room is a couch with a low coffee table in front of it upon which I usually rest my feet while watching television. Behind the couch is a large window and along the walls are a few bookshelves, riddled with books, Blu-ray discs and assorted junk. It was dark outside, so the lamps in the room provided a rather cosy, red-tinted environment for us as we sat down on the couch. "This is so nice," she said, looking around. "I wish I had a place like this." "You wanted to talk to me?" I said. "I did? I did! Yes, yes." She took a deep breath as she wrung her hands. "Oh, Natalie, I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry about everything. My behaviour was awful today, I should have said something. I was... I was afraid." "I don't see what you had to be afraid of. I was the one who was accused of being a muff diver, not you. All you had to do was to jokingly deny that any of us would do such a thing." She looked down, clasping her hands, the blush painfully obvious behind her light hair. She let out a hoarse whisper, trying to answer, but her mouth and throat had apparently gone dry within only these few minutes. "Stay put, I'll get you a glass of water," I said and went out into the kitchen. As I stood behind a row of see-through cupboards connected to the ceiling, I could see Zoe—assumedly thinking she was not seen—bending forwards and burying her fingers in her hair, as though miming a mild panic attack. When I got back to her with the glass of water, she had regained her composure, but was visibly pale. "Thank you," she rasped as she took the glass and emptied it. "I'm sorry." "No worries. We all have trouble finding the words sometimes. I sure couldn't when your friends called me a nerdy lesbian." "I'm so sorry about that, they don't know you! You're not nerdy at all." "But I'm a lesbian?" "N-no, of course n— Oh, my God, you're going to hate me for what I'm about to say!" She put her face in her palms and shivered like a leaf. "There's more? I thought you only wanted to apologise. What could there possibly be that you want to tell me? Now that we've at least concluded that none of us are lesbians or anything ridiculous like that, I don't see what more there could be." She looked up, looking positively devastated. Had she understood that I was playing games with her? Did I seem just a little too much spot on? It didn't matter; she wouldn't dare accuse me of anything. "I...," she started. "I..." Her eyes looked pleadingly into mine. "Look, Zoe," I said and was about to get up, "maybe we should do this on another day, or maybe not at all. You don't seem to want to talk to me." I felt proud of the confidence with which I uttered so many words without a single stutter. And admittedly, it felt fantastic being the one in power and not her. Turning Tables "No! Please!" She grabbed my wrist and made me sit down again. Realising what she'd done, she quickly withdrew her hand. "Please, I'll tell you." She inhaled deeply and then the words streamed clumsily like a torrent, with pauses in the wrong places and vice versa: "I know you will find it so gross, but I... I love you, Natalie, I love you more than you can imagine, I don't know how it happened, please don't hate me. I love you so much, I've been trying not to think about it, but it's been impossible, I think about you all the time and I don't... I'm not even a lesbian, I mean, I'm... I never even considered girls until I met you, you've changed my whole life, I think you're the most amazing person in the world, I just love the way you walk and talk and move and—please don't hate me!" She let that hang in the air and dried her tears where she sat. "You're in love with me, Zoe?" "Yes!" she yelped, with tears burning her throat. "So very, very much." "I just have a hard time believing you. No one would love a loser like me." I felt almost ashamed of that pubescent line, but it did the trick. "I do! You're not a loser! You are the best human being I've ever met." "Hah! Prove it." "I... I'll do anything." She looked like she had just made the decision of her life, fear turning into firm conviction in a second. Suddenly a worried and confused look graced her face. "But... You don't even like girls; you've made that pretty clear." "I simply haven't been convinced." Zoe looked up in surprise. A corner of her mouth started to jerk upwards in what looked like hope. She swallowed what little saliva she could muster from her once more dry mouth and spoke with careful confidence: "We could go slowly! I would never want to push you into anything. I know this must seem so unexpected, but there's no need to be hasty. I promise I'll be really patient and—" During her babbling I had loosened the low heel ankle boot on my left foot, pulled off my sock and now slammed my heel onto the coffee table just next to Zoe. "I want you to put your mouth around all my five toes and start licking." Zoe stared at my pale foot with her jaw slack and then looked at me with confusion. Her eyebrows made a hasty stern movement which disappeared just as fast, as though she for a moment was about to become upset and angry with my obvious abuse of her love, but then quickly realised she also very much wanted this. I went on: "I'm an insecure nerd and I have trust issues. If you really love me, you have to prove it to me. If you don't, you may leave my apartment right away." A simple binary proposition like that seemed to set Zoe's brain straight. She focused sharply on my foot as though it was some mysterious, alien artefact: beautiful, but possibly dangerous. Her hesitance was actually quite understandable, for despite the fact that she probably adored every inch of me, my foot had been shut inside that leather boot all day and my toes were glistening slightly with sweat. Zoe slowly approached it; she kneeled on the carpet on the floor, between the couch and the table. There was complete silence. She raised her head above my foot and looked down at my toes. She started to open her mouth slowly. But then—as though overcome by desire—she let her wide maw force itself around my toes and she gripped my foot with her hand to try to press the foot up her throat. Her forehead lay in furrows from exertion, her warm breath spreading down my sole and her insides wet and slippery. My big toe made a swollen bulb on her left cheek. I moved that toe a little and felt how its left side was pushing at her gum, just above her teeth, and saw her cheek move with it, wet and smooth and a little fibrous against my slightly hardened skin. Zoe pulled her head upwards and to the left, my big toe popping out of her mouth as she sucked at my other toes, then let go and swallowed. She panted for a second, but then started to suck at them anew, licked my sole and put my toes in her mouth again, almost chewing them, all the while wheezing warm, shallow breaths on my foot. With her eyes closed, all tension gone, she seemed to be caught in a pure state of bliss. This was not what I had intended. I pulled my foot out of her rather violently, with Zoe almost hitting her head on the table. She immediately looked up, with saliva running down her mouth right onto the carpet and it seemed that she was no longer the civilised, popular high school girl with a fashion sense; she had been replaced by something primitive and feral. Her eyes were unadulterated, lazy arousal. She checked herself fairly quickly, though, like awoken from an ancient slumber, and hurriedly wiped the saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand. "Fucking hell," I blurted out. "I said 'lick my toes,' not 'drown my foot.'" "Oh, my god, I don't know what I did," she said with her hands over her mouth. "I've never done anything like that; I didn't mean to do anything like—" "You didn't mean to? I take it you don't like me very much after all." "What?" "Don't you like my feet? Are they revolting to you?" "I... You're confusing me! ... I'm sorry. Please, Natalie, I couldn't help myself. I just wanted to show you how much I love you. I don't know what you want me to do." I paused. Time to ease the strain a bit. "I'm sorry, Zoe. I didn't mean to take advantage of you or anything." I leaned forwards and hugged her. She hugged me back with intense warmth, chuckled happily and sniffed. When I felt her body was finally at ease again, I broke the hug and leaned back. "I'm very insecure about this lesbian thing," I said. "I want to be open-minded, you know? But I just don't see how I'll be able to get aroused by another girl. It has to be something very special to do that." "Just tell me and I'll do it," she pleaded. "I'll do whatever you want. I mean, I'm new to this to." "Oh, you would never do what I really want to see you do. My tastes are just too weird." "No, it's okay! I promise, I'll do whatever it is. Anything. Doesn't matter if it's like... like me putting a finger up my ass! I can be pretty extreme, too, I—" "I want you to take that empty glass, fill it with your piss and drink it." Her excited demeanour was shut off like a cord being cut. Every muscle in her face suddenly fell. "You're... kidding?" she said after a several seconds. "Get out of my apartment," I said and pointed to the door. "Now." "No! No, please... I'll—but why?" she asked with a troubled look. "Because," I said and leaned forwards and lowered my voice, "it turns... me... on." Those were the magic words, apparently. That convinced look on Zoe's face returned, although with obvious apprehension this time. She turned and took the glass in her hand, a mark from her lip showing beneath the glass's rim. "It's okay," I said. "You can do it here." She looked at me. Then she pulled her panties down and manoeuvred the glass and her hips so that the rim of the glass covered most of her labia. I could hardly believe she was about to do this. Could I really take it all the way? Zoe started to grunt as her abdomen worked underneath her top, making it form little accordion-like wrinkles along her stomach. One hand held the glass and the other held her skirt. She grunted again, but the glass remained empty. I guess I hadn't thought this through properly; perhaps she had used the bathroom just before she got here. The water I gave her could hardly have mattered much. That's when I heard a muffled drumming hit the bottom of the glass and Zoe letting out a grateful moan. A sharp jet shot from her crotch and formed a bubbly rim of fluid that swished about in the glass as it reached higher and higher, the wet drumming getting shriller. It stopped an inch below the rim of the glass, a few belated drops diving through the surface. Apparently, Zoe must have been fairly dehydrated as of late: the urine in the glass was a rather brownish sort of yellow. I could feel the musky stench in the air where I sat. Zoe looked up at me with anticipation in her eyes. Was I turned on yet? "Nice," I said. "Drink it." I suppose she had hoped that peeing in the glass would be enough and she seemed a bit downcast. She looked down into the glass, looking as though she was wondering how it had all come to this. The smell made her make a grimace that made her look as though she was staring into an abyss of untold horror. Which, to her mind, probably wasn't too far from the truth. Zoe sat down next to me. She put the glass closer and closer to her face. The rim of the glass soon rested on her lower lip and she slowly tilted the glass, letting the fluid rush towards her mouth. She only let a small sip of it get through. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed quickly. Immediately she started retching and she hastily put the glass down. She coughed and retched alternately, both hands leaning on the table. "I can't!" she said between gasps, shaking her head. "This is too much. I'm sorry, Natalie, but I can't." When she had calmed down a bit, my manipulation continued. "You must think this fetish of mine is abnormal," I said with heavy disappointment in my voice. "I probably disgust you. And I would have kissed you so passionately if you emptied that glass." Her head bolted up, the beautiful profile of her face looking straight ahead of her. She started to breathe rapidly and looked over at the glass. It all happened so fast. Zoe grabbed the glass, tilted it and her head backwards and took big, loud gulps of her own urine. Her eyes stared like mad into the ceiling and twitched repeatedly. Her throat was working up and down as the urine travelled down to her stomach. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. When slurping sounds against the glass told me she had actually drank it all, she banged the glass back on the table and jerked her head back down, her thin hair fluttering forwards. She turned to me with a desperate look, panting. I was baffled by her stunt, but I forced myself to answer evenly: "You can't kiss me like that; you understand that, don't you? I mean, you reek of piss now. Go to the bathroom and wash off." Her eyes swung from side to side for a few tentative moments and then she ran off to the bathroom. I heard the tap water gush loudly from in there as I went to the kitchen, snatched a bottle of olive oil from a cupboard and poured some of its contents into a little bowl. With the bowl in hand, I went into the living room again, where I saw Zoe standing with a timid but expectant look on her face. I put the bowl down on the table and slowly walked over to her. As I closed in on her, I could almost hear her heart racing. I stopped a few inches from her face and waited, the two of us standing in parallel. Her sluggish eyes looked over my face and soon transfixed on my mouth. Her own lips parted slightly and the arousal of her breathing increased as she leaned closer and closer to my face. I put a forefinger between our mouths. "Not yet," I said. Zoe's eyes widened and looked as though she'd just lost a million dollars. I stepped back and sat down on the coffee table. "I'm not sure I'm ready yet. But I still want to do something for you, because you've shown such resolve. I can't just let your efforts go entirely unrewarded." Zoe's arms hung to her sides and she seemed to be about to cry. "Please, Natalie, I'm at my wit's end, I don't understand. If you don't have any feelings for me, then just tell me so, I can't stand this!" "Hey, I told you I'd repay you now," I said, irritably. "I don't want some damn reward! I want you!" "And you'll have some of me. Inside." How I loved the effect that had. Zoe was just about to retort, but only managed a "B—" and then fell silent, staring at me. "In... inside?" she asked, wrinkling her eyebrows. "You said you liked to put a finger up your ass sometimes. I wouldn't mind putting my finger inside you. If you want to." She seemed to struggle with herself. It was obvious that she was disappointed in not getting to kiss me and she wanted to lash out against me some more for not keeping my promise. But she was just offered something which she had probably fantasised about quite a bit. "I want to," she said quietly, looking down. I was amazed by how much control I had over her. If only her friends knew. "Lie down on all fours on the table here. But be careful not to spill the bowl of oil I just put there." She moved almost in slow-motion, assumedly with one voice telling her that she should not be doing this—that she should not obey me so easily—and one voice urging her on, entrancing her with lust. She did as she was told: mounted the table, her feet sticking out from the ledge in my direction. My view wasn't bad at all: her full bottom, straining under the cloth of her skirt, looked every bit as perfect as the rest of her. I silently lifted her skirt, exposing her round butt cheeks. She was smooth between her cheeks, not a hair could be seen, the clenching anus looking like a tiny explosion of spiky ripples of skin, almost hypnotising me. Zoe was breathing rather heavily, her buttocks now and then tightening with anticipation. I put my long, slim forefinger between my lips and made it moist in my mouth. "Are you ready, Zoe?" She nodded feverishly, her blonde head bobbing up and down, making her bottom shake subtly. I put the flat of the wet fingertip on her anus, making Zoe inhale. I then curved my finger slightly to have the tip pointing straight ahead and then pressed it—"nailfirst"—into her, straining against the dry walls of her outer ring. Zoe grunted, but it didn't take long for my fingertip to pass the skin and instead touch down on the clammy inner walls of her colon. She raised her head towards the ceiling and moaned, and I pushed farther in until my knuckles met her butt. I let my finger press against the walls inside her, making thorough circle movements, battling the tight grip. Zoe repeatedly held her breath, like a constricted groan, then exhaled and inhaled quickly and again held her breath for a couple of seconds. "Do you like this?" I asked as I curled my finger about inside her. A withheld breath, then, "Y-yes...," and then exhale and inhale. "Then you're going to love this." I pulled my finger out, making Zoe gasp and push her hips forwards as her muscles clenched. With my forefinger and middle finger together I dipped them in the bowl of oil, held Zoe tightly with my other hand where her thigh and hip met and then roughly pushed both my fingers up her colon. She screamed and her hips tried to pull away from me, but my grip was firm and I plunged into her mercilessly until my fingers were entirely wrapped up by her intestine. I twisted my hand so that I could curl my fingertips upwards like hooks and then slowly and with force pulled upwards and backwards, feeling the contours of her rectum's warm, grimy walls. Zoe fell to her elbows and grunted loudly as her fine, feminine hands clenched into quivering fists. With a swift movement I pulled my fingers out of her, let the spindly fingers of my left hand brutally grab her throat from behind and shoved the two soiled fingers into Zoe's open mouth. The moment I had done so, I froze for a second, thinking that I had gone too far this time, expecting retching followed by curses to my person. Instead, something even worse happened: Zoe—once she had realised what was in her mouth—closed her lips around my fingers, sucked until my fingertips tingled and let her tongue move backwards and forwards like a carpet under my digits in order to carry the slimy contents down her throat. She swallowed: her lips parted and her larynx moved with effort underneath my left hand's firm grip. I removed my hands from her, drying my cleaned fingers on my thigh. Zoe turned her head to look at me, mouth open, drooling, looking as though wondering why we stopped. She swallowed, and something that felt like anger or pain or fear bubbled up inside of me. "Get the fuck out of here!" I shouted. "Y-you're fucking useless." Zoe looked at me and slowly started to reposition herself on the table and was soon sitting down on top of it, her eyes following mine the whole time. My eyes darted to the floor and I repeated my command, but much quieter this time: "Get out." Her expression didn't change a bit. She was calm, all the muscles in her face seemed at rest. "Are you deaf? I said get the f-fuck out of here!" I snapped, alarmed by my sudden stammering. Where did my confidence go? Why the hell couldn't I keep it up? One corner of Zoe's mouth curled upwards. She then quickly stood up from the table, making me gasp involuntarily, hoping she didn't notice. Thankfully, she simply turned around and went towards the door and disappeared into the hallway. I sighed with relief, which almost made me feel ashamed. What was I afraid of? I counted the seconds before she would finally be gone—I would then finally be able to relax and be rid of a situation that had suddenly made me feel uncomfortable. Come what may in school tomorrow, I'll handle that; right now I just need time for myself in my own secure home. "Damn this social anxiety of mine," I thought and almost laughed. That's when I heard a loud clicking sound. The lock to the door. I felt how clumps of ice shot through my stomach and I stared wildly in the direction of the hallway. Loud, bumping steps came towards me, a flurry of blonde hair getting closer. I turned and ran, but just managed a few uneven steps before I felt arms grabbing my torso and the weight of a body pushing me down to the floor. Zoe lay pressing herself onto my back, holding my arms and forcing her face down to the side of my neck, my left cheek pressed flat to the floor. An unfamiliar sensation struck me like lightning: Zoe's warm tongue was gliding fast and hard along my right cheek. She then buried the tip of her tongue in my ear, making its canal a wet cave, as though stretched by a fleshy worm. I tried to move my head to the other side, but too much of her weight was placed on my upper back, leaving me no way to escape her mad tongue. Her hurried, warm breath smelled faintly of whatever discharge I had found in her just a minute earlier. "Please..." I said through clenched teeth, my eyes shut tight as Zoe's tongue streaked across the whole right side of my face. I tried lifting my arms and my hips tried to move me out of the position, but she was too strong. "P-please, Zoe!" She didn't say a word; I could only hear her gasping breaths and swallowing gulps and feel the wet continuous strokes across my face. Her tongue tried to invade my mouth in a kiss, making me inhale in desperation and shut my lips tight. Suddenly the weight lifted. Zoe got up as I took heavy, shaking breaths, but was curiously afraid to move. She paced down towards the hallway and came back holding something in her hand. Her free hand darted towards one of my wrists, her fine fingers gripped it with surprising strength and now she dragged me up along the floor and into my bedroom. I was drained of all my power; I was like a floppy towel in her hand as she threw me on top of the bed, my back hitting the soft resistance of the bedsprings, my limbs landing heavily on the covers. Had I had the incentive to move, I wouldn't have the chance anyway: Zoe jumped like a panther on top of me; her fast little hands unbuttoned my fly and then threw my black jeans to the floor with a few expert tugs at their hems, revealing my pearly-white legs. She presently lay on top of me, looking into my eyes as her hand travelled down my stomach and found its way underneath my panties. She was breathing heavily onto my face when I heard a low buzzing sound and felt an electric, sprightly feeling between my legs. The thing Zoe had brought from the hallway was apparently some sort of vibrator. When it started trembling underneath my panties, I inhaled sharply, my jaw jutting down my neck, prompting Zoe to take her other hand and cover my open mouth entirely, her eyes staring intently into mine. Turning Tables I wasn't sure whether my feet and hands were resting on the bed or if they were floating in the air. At the same time a dull tingling feeling started spreading from my marrow outwards. As those drowsy bees worked their way through me, Zoe began kissing me on my neck and my breathing came harder through my nose. Between kisses, Zoe whispered something to me. I became less and less aware of sounds around me as the bees inside me multiplied and settled throughout me, but I could soon interpret Zoe's hoarse sighs as they grew louder. "Please..." she said. "Please." The breathing through my nose now was rapid and harsh, I felt as though my crotch was about to curl in on itself, a beehive of electricity. Zoe's deep, desperate blue irises looked up at me. "Please!" It happened so fast. A rush of tickling water rippled through my stomach, down through my legs and up again with such prickly, reckless hustle that I wanted to kick and scream, but Zoe held me down and her nimble fingers firmly covered my mouth. My head felt as though hovering above the world. Dark shades and lightning bolts rushed past on the insides of my closed eyelids. Zoe finally let go of my mouth and lifted herself off my quivering body—I gasped for air. My chest was heaving for a good many seconds and the orgasm's slowing down felt like golden dust gently settling in my thighs and calves. The ceiling started to get into focus again and I raised my head to look around. The room was empty and silent, the door was closed. From outside the room I could hear someone walking around as if in circles, sobbing quietly. Then a sudden burst: "Oh, my go-ho-ood!" Zoe's monologue started. "What is wrong with me? I raped her, I fucking raped her!" Her voice and breath were heavy with whimpers. "I can't believe this. Oh, my god, what did I do? ... Do the right thing, Zoe! ... I can't stay here. No, I can't leave—I have to do something. ... She'll never forgive me! ... I'll go to jail—oh god, I deserve it! If only I could go back and have it all undone ... No, I just know I would have done the same thing again, I should be locked up ... I don't want to go to jail!" she wailed and then paused. I slowly opened the door and saw Zoe taking shaky breaths standing half bent over with her hands tugging at her long hair, tear-smudged make-up streaming down her cheeks from her closed eyes. "Zoe..." I said. She looked up, panic-stricken. She attempted to turn around and make her way out of my apartment, but her wrecked nerves seemed to have turned her legs into jelly: she took a few awkward steps, tripped on her own feet and comically fell down with a smack. I ran up to her. "Zoe! Are you all right?" She looked up at me with bewilderment and sadness in her eyes. "I'm so sorry..." she started, new tears forming. "Natalie, I'm so sorry!" she said, positively terrified now. I reached for her face with my hand, which made her instinctively clench her eyes shut, but not turn her face away, apparently expecting a hard slap across her cheek. But instead I merely dried the tears off that cheek, making her blink with surprise. "No, Zoe. Zoe, I abused you horribly. I was so angry with you and wanted to punish you. I should never have done that, I was... cruel." "But I raped you!" she almost screamed, shaking with sobs. I held her face in my hands. I looked at her. Her eyes were zipping in all directions, afraid of my gaze, but—I realised—a lot more afraid of the temptations of hope. I understood I had no reason to prolong her suffering: I looked down at her trembling mouth and darted for it, opening her lips with my tongue and kissing her again and again. Zoe produced whimpers of surprise at first, but—as though thawed out from after an icy winter—her countenance shortly brightened like sunrise, her mouth widened into a smile and she now yelped with joy as she dug her tongue into my mouth and jumped up at me and caressed me. I broke the kiss and stroked her hair. "You're so beautiful," I said and was warmed by how sincerely my voice pronounced it. Zoe gave an embarrassed laugh and dried a tear from her cheek, smiling. 6. I woke up with a start. The sun was shining through the thin curtains in my bedroom. Shit, what time was it? I turned to face the alarm clock: 11 a.m. Shit. I turned to the other side and bumped into something. "Ow!" said Zoe, lying underneath the covers with me. It all came back to me, like a torrent of fluttery happiness. We had made love for hours in this bed the night before. Every inch of my skin had belonged to her, every inch of hers to me. The touches, the breaths, the sweat; we couldn't stop and had fallen asleep exhausted where we lay. This was the sunny morning afterwards, with the wonderful aftertaste of excitement. Zoe looked up with an adorably shy grin: "Hi," she said, biting her lip. "Hi," I said, grinning back. "We're skipping school today, right?" "Fuck school," I said, happily. "No, fuck you," Zoe countered and groped my breasts playfully. We both laughed. After cuddling in bed for some time, we got up and I made brunch. She skipped about in panties and a t-shirt borrowed from my wardrobe. Sitting down in the kitchen, she graciously put her perfect feminine feet to rest on the legs of the chair, exciting desires in me that I would have violently denied only two days ago. "Um, Natalie," she said as she munched on a piece of toast and looked a little anxious; "did we do wrong yesterday? I mean, are you angry with me for what I did in the early evening?" "Zoe, for Christ's sake, I made love to you all last night! Isn't that enough for you to understand that I'm not angry with you?" "I just feel... I did it against your will." "And I came so fast and hard I wasn't sure I was still on planet Earth," I laughed. "But, yeah, I know what you mean. We both did wrong, I guess. ... Do you forgive me, Zoe?" Zoe understood what I was doing. "Yes," she said, almost ceremoniously. "Do you forgive me?" "I do." A brief spell of quiet filled the sun-drenched kitchen. "Immoral or not," I said, "I'm very happy that this happened—I'm glad that you did what you did. I guess you noticed I wanted you too, that I was just afraid; that's what your little smile before you went and locked the door meant, didn't it?" "Yeah," she said, grinning. "God, you're so much braver than I am. I'm such a pussy." "I was also afraid! But I guess that 'initiation ritual' you had me go through was just enough to overcome most of it. I'm glad you did your part, too." "My abusive part," I said, looking down. "The fucked up thing is," said Zoe, pondering her cup of coffee, "that I don't feel you... managed to abuse me really. Sure, you wanted to be mean to me, and that was—well—mean. But I have never been so turned on in my life." Her face turned a slight shade of pink as she said this. "But having you drink your piss was definitely not something you liked, admit that" I said, making an embarrassed grimace. "Well... It's so hard to explain. I liked and didn't like it at the same time, you know? It tasted pretty bad, but I could feel how wet I got by the minute. I think that's why I refused it after the first sip; it scared me that I was so turned on! I... wouldn't mind doing that again. God, I'm such a freak!" "But you're my freak," I said as I leaned across the table and kissed her on the forehead. "And I'm sure you've realised by now I'm quite the anomaly myself. I, uh, have a few things I want to do with those feet of yours." "You can do whatever you want to me, Natalie," she said, not only with conviction, but with confidence this time. "Anything?" I asked, slowly walking towards her. "Anything," she replied with a whisper, her breathing getting heavy like the night before.