The Tolerant
Chapter Four
Technically, Emily was sleeping more so than waiting. She was lying in his bed on top of the covers, made up to the nines—thick red lipstick, dark blue-black eyeshadow and heavy eyeliner, a thick layer of foundation with heavy blush on her cheeks. Aside from that, the only thing she had on was a thin chain around her neck with a little silver cross suspended from it.
To his shame, DJ’s first instinct was that of a home-owner horrified to find someone in his abode. “Emily?! How the hell did you get in here?”
She awoke suddenly, clearly surprised by her surroundings, then saw him standing over her. “I used the master key.”
“Um, do you mind telling me why?”
She rose to her knees on the bed. “I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you.”
“Uh… what?”
She cleared her throat, then spoke a little louder, a little slower. “I said, I just wanted to see if there was—”
“I heard you the first time. I didn’t tell you to come down here, did I? I’d swear I didn’t.”
Emily shook her head, lowering her eyes meekly. “No.”
As he tried to make sense of this, he finally noticed the condition of his room. Usually it was kind of a pig sty; as a single bachelor, he enjoyed his freedom to leave dirty laundry on the floor, ignore little messes, procrastinate taking the trash out. He didn’t have anyone to impress, and he was glad of it. So what if he let things go a little?
Presently, however, it was immaculate. His books and schoolwork were neatly organized on a shelf, his knick-knacks arranged neatly. His laundry was not only picked up, but washed, dried, folded and put away. The floor had been swept clean and gleamed brightly enough he thought she might have mopped it, too. The grease stain on his chair from where he’d spilled garlic dipping sauce four months ago was even gone.
“Did you clean my room? Well, duh, obviously you did. But… why did you clean my room?”
“You weren’t in, but I figured while I waited I could be useful. Do you like it?” She kept her eyes lowered. Her voice was hopeful. Nervous.
“Well, yeah. It looks amazing. But… hey, you’re naked.”
“Is that OK? I still have my clothes. The ones I wore over, or if you’d rather, I brought that… uniform.”
DJ sighed. This conversation seemed to be a lot of him stating the obvious, hoping she’d make sense of it for him, and her not doing so. He sat down beside her on the bed; now at eye level with her, she lowered her eyes still further. “Emily, help me out here. What on earth possessed you to come into my room when I wasn’t home and clean it, then wait for me to come home in the nude?’
“I just want to make you happy. It’s all I want to do. When I’m not trying to make you happy, I… well, I just need to be good for you. Take care of you. That’s all.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” And it didn’t. He’d gotten used to people tolerating him by now; it no longer struck him as odd to have someone defer to even his most outrageous requests. But this… this was a horse of a different color.
“I know,” was her only response.
“Is this about the other night? The, um, roleplay? I know I got a little carried away, and I’m sorry—I was going to apologize, um, again, but I just didn’t—”
“Don’t apologize!” she interrupted him emphatically, and he jumped in surprise. “No, it’s not about that. It was great. You told me what I could do to make you happy, and I did. That’s all I want.”
He looked at her. Sexy little Emily Turner, her slender body quite literally on display for his enjoyment, asking him to let her make him happy. It was insane—as insane as his power had first been to him. Was it evolving? That seemed unlikely—nobody else had behaved like this. Ashley had been good to him, but that was probably just her getting to act out her kinks. Probably. Maybe this was just Emily’s kink? He’d heard that there was such a thing as a submissive, but he’d never really had a thing for dominating women as a concept before, and in any event, he never expected to actually encounter one. But it definitely made more sense than anything else coming to mind. Plus, he considered, if she really was a sub, he could just ask her. So he did.
“So, are you like, a submissive? Is that it—you get off on being told what to do, that kind of thing?”
“If that’s what you want me to be,” she replied deferentially. An odd answer, but it seemed like a “yes.” Still…
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? Whatever I said before, whatever I did, I don’t expect you to come down here and… you know. Be my sex slave, or whatever.”
She shivered slightly. “No, I have to. I want it. I need it. Please tell me how to make you happy. Whatever it is. Anything you want, I’ll do it. Please.”
Man, she’s really into this. Well, if she put herself out there like this, the least I can do is humor her. “Well for starters, then, why don’t you call me ‘master.’”
Her eyes darted up, giving him a hard look that made him worry he’d pushed it too far, read her wrong somehow. But then the look was gone in a flash, replaced by a look of deference so earnest he thought he must’ve imagined the first part. “Yes, master.”
“Man, I’ve never had my own, um, slave before. Not sure what to do with one. I’d have had you clean the room, but you beat me to the punch I guess.” He chuckled awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, master. Would you like me not to try to anticipate your desires in the future?”
“No no, it’s fine, uh, slave. Geez that’s awkward—hard to get that word out without it conjuring all kinds of unpleasant historical notions, isn’t it?”
“Uh… I’m white. I don’t think it’s racist.” She looked at him like he was a dolt. “Master.”
“No I know, just… whatever. How about instead of ‘master’ and ‘slave,’ let’s go ‘sir’ and ‘slut.’ That still OK?”
She adopted an obviously forced smile. “Of course, master. Err, sir. And you can call me whatever you want.”
“See, that’s the kind of useful feedback I need if I’m going to do this right. Anything else I need to know?”
Emily seemed to consider, frowning prettily. “You just tell me what to do, and I do it. You tell me something that makes you happy and I do it. Become it, if needs be. It’s simple.”
“What do you mean, ‘become it’?”
She sounded like she was forcing the patience into her explanation. “Well like the other night—I became an unwilling victim for you. Well, a seemingly unwilling. I was of course willing. Thank you for that, sir. Or say you wanted a ditzy cheerleader, or a… fuck, I don’t know about this stuff. But whatever you want me to act like, I will.”
When he still sat there unresponding, she continued. “Look, I’m here and I’m naked. Would it make you happy to fuck me? Sir?”
He sighed. “Not right now, actually—kinda worn out from yesterday. And I need to get to class, I guess.” He frowned, kicking himself mentally that he was about to choose to go to some boring lectures rather than play with his willing nubile sex slave, a girl he’d fantasized about for months without being able to touch, whom he could now do absolutely anything with—if she was to be believed.
“You sound like you don’t want to go to class, sir,” she observed.
“Obviously. Got a crap course load this semester.”
“Well if you don’t have any use for me here, I could go for you. Take notes, record lectures, get assignments for you.”
“Wow, that’d actually be kind of awesome.” Damn, she’s even willing to do the boring stuff—not even just in it for the sex. “But I’m sure you have your own classes to go to,” he realized with a sigh, dashing his own briefly raised hopes.
“I’d rather go to yours!” she insisted, bouncing to her feet. “Please, sir? If it would make you happy, please let me do it for you.”
He eyed her curiously. What a freakin’ weirdo—it was one thing to get off on being his fuck toy, but this wasn’t even sexual. He supposed he could at least try to give her a thrill, though, a token of appreciation for her troubles. “Hmm. You said you have that slutty cop uniform?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. You’d rather I stay here and play Bad Cop with you?”
“No, I really do need my rest. But hey, maybe you could wear the uniform to my classes. That’d be hot, eh slut?”
She shivered again. Man, she really gets off on this, doesn’t she. “It would, sir.”
As she slipped into the outfit, which she’d hung neatly in his closet, he gave her his schedule and an assignment that was due in one class. By the time she was done getting dressed, it was hard to give her permission to leave—one of those outfits that looks so damn hot that it’s hard to imagine the girl wearing it looking hotter naked. Still, he didn’t want to toy with her by changing his mind, so he sent her on her way.
As she stepped out the door, though, inspiration struck him, and he halted her. “Oh hey, slut, while you’re out, pick up a sexy maid uniform. Something along these lines. Gotta make sure you got something to wear around the dorm, don’t we?”
She blushed. “Yes sir.”
He swatted her ass affectionately and sent her on her way, then fell into bed and slept like the dead—even aside from having had an active day yesterday and staying up late, resting next to Ashley just hadn’t been all that restful. Every time she woke up she’d started fondling and kissing him again, and when she was asleep, she snored—pretty loudly, for a girl.
When DJ did wake up, much of the afternoon went towards reading and homework; he really did want to actually learn something if he was going to keep being a college student. Regardless of what he’d arranged with Dr. Missy, he kept thinking he’d rather just take whatever grades he earned. It felt more honest—and not like it seemed he was going to need to worry about his GPA anyways.
Emily texted him to ask if she could bring him dinner, then asked a bunch of questions as to what would make him happiest. She was fastidiousness itself about it, to the point of being kind of annoying. He wound up just ordering it himself and asking her to pick it up. This time at least it would be paid for, unlike with Ashley yesterday. This felt a little better, too. Not good, but decent.
When his sex slave actually strode into the room with it, however, things felt entirely amazing. It wasn’t what he’d expected, honestly. He’d had a picture in his head of the cliché French maid uniform—black and white with a short skirt splayed wide, a bustier displaying what cleavage Emily’s B cups allowed her to show off, some fishnet stockings with heels, maybe one of those little hats. Instead…
Emily was clad in what looked like cover-alls. In place of heels, she wore a pair of heavy boots, and instead of the hat, it was a bandana. Pink, to match the bright pink coveralls, which were unzipped all the way, showing her small breasts to the nipple and then clearly demonstrating that she wasn’t wearing any panties without quite revealing her pussy—though it did reveal she’d shaved it into a little heart shape. The outfit was doubly tantalizing, as she’d also cut the legs off so short that her butt cheeks were partially visible from behind from where her tight little ass peeked out from beneath the skin-tight fabric.
His jaw dropped. “Holy SHIT.”
“Is this all right, sir? I know it’s not traditional, but I thought maybe you’d like something more original.”
“Holy SHIT.”
She smiled thinly, looking pointedly at the erection she could see swelling in his pants. “I’m glad you’re pleased, sir. How else may I please you? I brought your dinner. Would you like me to feed it to you?”
For the second day in a row, a beautiful woman sat on his lap and patiently fed him a meal. Emily wriggled her spectacularly toned ass into his crotch shamelessly, and he couldn’t resist reaching a hand into her wide open vest and squeezing a handful of boob. She continually wore a blank expression, notable only for its intense focus. When a dab of mayo wound up on his chin, he asked for a napkin.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to lick you clean, sir?”
As it turned out, he did prefer that.
Having Emily on hand was intoxicating—it reminded him of his night in the cheerleader locker room, pressing his power to its limit, demanding whatever he wanted and expecting to get it. When he finished dinner, he was so turned on he just went on a rampage across his dorm room, scattering books and papers, tossing neatly folded clothes wildly across the floor, kicking over the trash can. “Clean my room again, slut.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for making a use for me, sir.”
For the next hour and a half he watched her pace around the room tidying up again, always bending at the waist, alternating between facing away from him so her half-moon ass cheeks shone at him, and facing toward him so he could watch her little tits slip out of their minimal restraints. He followed her around for a time, caressing her whenever he wanted, however he wanted. She never uttered a word of complaint, didn’t even crack a scowl that he could see—even when she finished sorting a stack of papers back onto his desk only to have him immediately toss it in the air so he could watch her do it over. “I’ll try to do it better this time, sir” was her only comment.
She hadn’t yet finished re-folding his laundry when he couldn’t resist any more. “Kneel, slut.”
“Yes, sir.” She knelt at his feet, eyes meekly on the floor.
“Take my cock out.”
“Yes, sir.” She unzipped his pants, and pulled them aside when he stepped out of them.
When he put forward his hips and his rigidly erect cock moved at her, she opened her mouth to accept it. He pulled back immediately. “Hey now, who gave you permission to suck my cock? What makes you think you’ve earned the right?”
She shivered a moment, staring at him fixedly as he slapped her in the cheeks with it, rubbed his tip teasingly across her puckered lips. Without even being able to articulate why, he set his balls on the bridge her nose; Emily dutifully waited for orders as DJ tea-bagged her. “You like wearing my balls as a face-mask, Em?”
“If it pleases you, sir, then yes, I do, sir.”
“You want to suck my cock?”
“You know that I do, sir.”
“And how do little sluts get permission to do what they want to do?”
“They… ask for it?” She seemed unsure.
“They beg for it, slut,” he corrected, smacking her forehead with his cock reprovingly. I can’t believe she’s into this stuff.
“I understand, sir. May I please suck your cock, sir?”
He eyed her sternly. “That’s what begging sounds like where you come from? At my house, that’s how we ask someone to pass the mashed potatoes.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Would you like to punish your slut for being so stupid? She’s very sorry. She’ll try not to be such a bad slut for you from now on.”
“Ooooh, talking about yourself in the third person now, are we? That’s hot.”
She nodded. “Your slut is glad she has done something to please you, sir. May she be rewarded with your cock? She’ll be so good to it. Your slut only wants your big hard dick in her mouth, and she’ll do anything to get it, sir. Anything. Please give her your cock? Pretty please, sir? Name a price, and your slut will gladly pay it. Please!” Without moving her neck, her tongue craned out to graze the underside of his balls as if an act of desperation.
“Very well slut.”
In a flash, Emily’s mouth was wrapped around his cock, so fast he only had time to worry she was going to bite it off after the fact. She didn’t. She attacked it with her tongue, swirling and slathering it like she was committed to licking off every scrap of its flavor, like she intended to lick her way to the center. She moaned dramatically, then when she saw him making eye contact with her, she locked eyes with him. Without a facial expression, her eyes were all he had to go by, but all they were saying was “thank you for letting me blow you, sir.”
DJ could’ve came within a minute of her beginning, and it was only by force of will and an earnest desire to prolong her desperately committed blowjob that he didn’t. Yet then, even as she pushed him to his limit, both of their cell phone alarms went off a mere fraction of a second apart.
He tried to remember why, then it hit him. It was time for their bi-weekly staff meeting.
“Whoops, Em, that’s our meeting.” She didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. “You don’t want to miss the staff meeting, do you?”
She pulled off, her hands taking her mouth’s place, just long enough to reply. “Your slut only wants to go where you want her to be.”
He grinned. She sure was taking her character seriously. “Well then let’s go to the meeting, slut. You can finish me up there if things are boring.”
She let him go. “As you command, sir.” She rose to her knees, then started looking around the room.
“Lose something?”
“Just looking for the clothes I wore in here yesterday, sir.”
“What? Fuck no, you look dynamite like this. I want everybody to see how hot my slut made herself for me.”
Shiver. “Very well, sir. I’ll go like this.”
“Heh. Get the cock out of your mouth and we’re back to first person, are we?”
She winced—apologetically, he guessed. “Your slut is sorry. She will only ever speak of herself in the third person from now on.”
“I was just teasing, Em.”
“Your fuck toy never teases you when it comes to bringing you pleasure.”
“Well… have it your way. Fuck toy.” He laughed.
She didn’t.
He followed right behind her to the conference room where they had their staff meetings, and she walked one foot in front of the other the whole way, tight little ass wiggling side to side. They just barely made it on time; the rest of the staff was already there, including their manager, Katja. “Emily!” the woman exclaimed as she sauntered in. “What is this that you are wearing?”
Emily looked to DJ. Everyone else looked at Emily for an answer to their boss’s question. “Go on, tell them why you’re dressed like this.”
She looked to the ground, coloring in embarrassment. “DJ’s slut is dressed as his personal maid. She is dressed like this to please him.”
Abby, the only girl on staff who gave Emily a run for her money in the look department (and had always seemed to resent Emily for the competition, DJ had thought), arched a sculpted eyebrow. “I thought maids dressed in little black dresses with frills on.”
“She was just being creative. I encourage that in my sluts.”
There was a long, awkward silence as DJ took a seat next to Abby, then patted his lap for Emily to sit down. She did. Katja finally cleared her throat and began distributing agendas, then began the meeting. It was the usual tedium. People shared about their fall breaks to warm up (DJ left out most of the details of his own, only saying it had been great and he’d gotten along with his step-family better than ever); Katja reminded them to return the walkie talkies on time so they could charge adequately for the night; they were making a small change to the format of the rounds log.
DJ got bored pretty quickly, and leaned forward to whisper in Emily’s ear. “I can’t stop thinking about your mouth… How ‘bout you finish what you started, slut?”
There was that shiver again—the humiliating stuff really seemed to turn her on. “Yes, sir.” She stood up off his lap, but DJ stopped her as she began sinking to her knees.
“Come on, girl, you look so hot—I wanna see you. Can you climb up on the table, do it from there?”
She stiffened just a moment. “Your slut will try, sir.”
Katja, who’d been soldiering on through the details of some restructuring of campus services coming up next semester and trying to ignore the two, finally broke as Emily climbed onto the table while DJ dropped his pants to the floor. “This is not very appropriate,” she admonished in her thick Finnish accent.
“Yeah, she’s kneeling on my agenda,” Abby complained.
“And being kind of a giant slut,” another girl, Leslie, complained. Jayvon coughed into his hand as he said “again,” and some of the folks near him laughed. They’d all seen the pictures, and by now, most had heard about her escapades on duty the other night, masquerading as a fetishized cop.
Caught between admonishing a disruptive employee and trying to be sensitive to DJ’s feelings, Katja proceeded gently. “Emily, maybe you could lie down instead of being on all fours, try not to be so obvious about what you’re doing? If that’s all right with you, DJ.”
DJ nodded is permission, and Emily stretched out prone across the table. “You’re still on my agenda,” Abby whined.
He gave her an annoyed look (or as annoyed as he could manage with Emily resuming her eager blowjob). “Since her mouth is busy, let me say what she ought to: kiss her ass, Abby.”
There was some snickering, and Abby gave him a sulky look, not liking being talked down to yet not willing to retort. Katja had just opened her mouth to resume the meeting when he continued. “Seriously, Abby. Kiss Emily’s ass.”
“Wait, you mean…?” Abby frowned. A hot brunette with a great figure like her didn’t often get spoken to as such, and it showed in her difficulty processing the taunt.
“Yeah, seriously. Pucker up.”
Abby gave him a sulky look, then puckered her lips poutily.
“Now kiss. Her. Ass.” She hesitated again, so he just put a hand on the back of her head and guided it downwards.
“I got it, I got it,” she said grouchily, and he let up. With it happening in the middle of the small room, all eyes were forced to be on her as she put her lips on the pink coveralls straining to contain Emily’s bubble butt. There was a brief smooching sound, then Abby pulled back in a rush, looking displeased.
“I didn’t say stop, Abby.”
“Oh come on! I kissed it already!”
“You kissed her clothes—there’s plenty of her ass out there for you to kiss. Now put your lips down there and start kissing. You can stop when I say so.”
Abby frowned, but saw no choice but to comply. She pressed her lips to the bottom half of Emily’s exposed ass and kissed. Glancing at DJ, she saw no call to stop, and so she continued planting little sucking kisses on the girl’s tight round butt. “Use some tongue,” DJ instructed, and she did. Soon, Emily’s half-naked ass was good and wet from her tongueing.
“Sorry, Katja, go ahead with the meeting, that was rude of me.”
“Thank you, DJ.” She continued, and the staff (except the three involved in the blowjob) returned their attention to her. Abby gamely licked and kissed all over Emily’s butt while Emilly bobbed up and down enthusiastically on DJ’s cock. Katja was most of the way through the last bullet point when DJ came, roaring in his ecstacy, into Emily’s mouth.
“Don’t swallow it, Em.” He could feel the shift in her mouth as she stopped trying to suck his load up into her throat and instead trying to just coax out what he had left in him. Katja and the rest waited. When Emily seemed done, she pulled up and eyed him with slightly bulging cheeks. “Now share it with Abby.”
“Yuh, uhr,” she said around her mouthful of cum, then leaned over to kiss Abby. A long line of jizz leaked out as Abby initially resisted, trailing down the girl’s chin and dripping onto her t-shirt. Then she caught DJ’s stern look and quit being so fussy, kissing Emily willingly if not eagerly and letting his cum seep into her mouth.
“Good girls.” He looked to their boss. “Don’t you think Emily’s an amazing staff member, Katja? I mean, have you ever seen such devotion to raising staff morale?”
Katja considered. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. I suppose that is some impressive devotion indeed, DJ.”
“Now I want you to tell her she’s getting a pay raise for being such a good little slut for me.”
“I… you want me to…” She fanned herself with her agenda, flustered. “Emily, you’re getting a pay raise.” Seeing DJ’s gesture to continue, she did. “For being such a good little slut for DJ. I don’t know where I’m going to find the money, but maybe I can squeeze a few dollars…”
“Take it from Abby’s check,” he said, putting an arm around his pretty co-worker. “She’s happy to be paid in jizz. Isn’t that right, Abby?”
With gritted teeth, she nodded. “Yes. Take my check and give it to the slut.”
“Because…” he prompted.
She said it so quietly the first time he made her repeat it. “Because I’m happy to be paid in your jizz.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“There’s a good sport. You can make it happen, can’t you boss?”
“I… suppose. I’d need something in writing from both women.”
“Great. You guys work all that out after the meeting. What say we wrap this up then?”
Katja nodded, then went on with her meeting as if the interruption had been of an ordinary variety. Meanwhile, DJ helped Abby out of her shirt and used the non-cum-stained part of it to dry off his cock, then handed it back to her. Evidently, she preferred just sitting in her bra to putting it back on as it was.
A few minutes later, all was done. The staff went their separate ways; DJ told Emily to come find him after she and Abby banged out the pay transfer. She caught up with him before he even made it to his room. “Thank you for waiting for your slut, sir.”
“Emily, I saw you sprinting down the hall to catch me. I didn’t really have to ‘wait.’ And you don’t need to ‘sir’ me in every sentence you speak; just when you’re obeying.”
He let her into his room ahead of him, shutting the door behind them. “Understood, sir. Your slut just wanted to make sure she didn’t leave you high and dry if you wanted something.”
“It’s all right, my gorgeous little slut. I don’t expect you to literally wait on me hand and foot every minute of the day.” DJ flopped down in his bed.
She knelt beside it, folding her arms on it and resting her chin on them. “But… that’s exactly what you should expect. That’s what your slut wants.”
He smiled. “It’s OK, hon. I know you have a life and everything—you don’t need to take your little sub fetish to the limit or anything. Whenever you wanna play, just stop by, and if I’m not busy, we’ll have some fun.”
“No,” she protested, “this isn’t a game. Your slut wants to serve you, all the time. Be a good girl. That’s your slut’s life, now, ”
“You don’t have to actually keep calling yourself my slut, either.”
“Your fuck toy apologizes. She’ll try to use more variety from now on when she reminds you of what a devoted pleasure slave she is. Just please let her please you. It is all she wants now, sir.”
He eyed her. “Emily… you can’t really mean this.”
“Your cum guzzler promises you that she does. Obeying you, pleasing you, that’s all that matters to her now. Please, let her prove it to you, sir. Do you want her to move in with you? Your little tramp could stay under the bed, or in the closet or something, whenever she’s in your way. You could tattoo your ownership on me, if you wanted. She’ll sell everything she owns and give you the money. Anything, sir. Let her prove it!”
He stared at her. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Why?”
She looked down for a time, silently. “Your slut just needs to know she’s a good girl.”
“Emily, you are. You so are.”
“That’s sweet, sir, but I—she—needs to feel it, not just hear you say it. It’s in her head, just… something she has to do.”
“What would help you feel it, then?”
“Your slutty little plaything wants to obey you without hesitating, enthusiastically. Give her commands or guidelines so she knows what to do, sir.”
“Hmmm…” DJ gave himself a moment to think. There was definitely something more than a little off about her, though he couldn’t for the life of him guess what. Maybe she was just super-susceptible to his power somehow? That tolerating him, to her, meant not just complying, but these extra layers of servility? Whatever it was, it was obviously causing her some anxiety, and he felt bad for her. He wanted her to get that feeling she was chasing so desperately.
“All righty, you said you wanted to prove it… so prove it.”
“Sir?”
“You want to feel like you’re my good, obedient girl, so go prove you are. You had some suggestions—use them. Use that brain of yours. But no moving in, though,” he added. Whether or not she’d be willing, having her lurking in his closet whenever he was fucking another girl would be just too creepy.
She nodded. “Your fuck bunny will, sir. Would you like her to go do it now? Some of those will be hard to do at this hour.”
“Tomorrow will do. Tonight, I got other plans. Go get Abby for me, will you, slut?”
It was several hours later when the panting trio collapsed onto DJ’s bed. He’d had his cock in both pussies, both mouths, Emily’s tightly wound little butt and Abby’s more generously proportioned titties for hours, and when he’d needed to regain his energy, he just put the girls to work on each other. Abby grumbled and dragged her feet over it, but Emily was all too eager to suck and lick anything DJ wanted to put in her mouth. Exhausted, he had the girls get dressed and go to their own rooms, telling Emily he’d text her when he wanted to see her again, and Abby that he’d see her on Saturday night for rounds.
He slept like a baby, feeling like he might have just done a little good helping Emily act out her weird little fantasy. He still felt a little bad for how he’d handled her their first night together, breaking up Charlie and Ashley’s little illicit rendezvous, honestly. It seemed she’d long since gotten over it, though, and if her actions these past few days were any measure, might even have enjoyed it.
Friday, DJ resolved, he really must make himself go to class. It wasn’t just an obligation—it had become a quest. A crusade.
He woke up early to finish homework and reading, submitted a couple assignments online. By the time his opponents struck, his defenses were prepared, and none too soon; he and his willpower had an epic battle ahead of it.
A text from Ashley: cum fuk me asshole. He dodged, ignoring the text, and avoided the worst of the damage.
A text from Emily: Good morning, sir. May I please you in any way this morning? He issued a quick counter-thrust. Good girls don’t need so much hand-holding. It silenced his foe, for now.
Another text from Ashley, this time a picture of her great big knockers pent up in a white lacy bra with a pink ribbon on the front, followed by a text. dont keep them waiting 2 long… Again, dodged, though by less this time—those titties were her strongest weapon, after all. His cock stirred in his pants at the grazing blow.
A knock at the door—they were done trying to pound through his armor. His reflexes were worthless here; it was time to test his endurance. “Breakfast for you, sir,” came Emily’s voice through the door. “I know you’re in there, I can see you through the peephole.” He still didn’t reply; maybe she was bluffing. Just hold on a little while longer… “You don’t even want to see what your slut is wearing? It’s incredibly slutty, sir…”
His codpiece was so badly dented (outward) from the assault it was barely attached. “Emily, just leave the food outside my room. I’m busy,” he barked, a desperate parry. Other than a pouty “yes, sir” there was nothing further. He might just make it through this yet.
Another text from Ashley, this time a thorough description of the many things she wanted to do to his cock, and some rather self-assured approximations of how much he would enjoy them. She was probably right on the mark, though. He dropped his shield and started typing a reply, ready to tell her to come on over, satisfy his every lustful whim, when his alarm went off to tell him it was time for class. The reminder pumped just enough healing potion into his life bar to set down the phone and pack for class.
He’d made it. Dressed, groomed, his backpack slung over his shoulder with assignments prepared, DJ opened the door and released his battered willpower into the world.
Where a mighty dragon named Brittney swooped by and incinerated it in an instant.