The Tolerant
Chapter Five
It had been several days since Brittney Jenner had seen DJ, not since that day he’d made a bet that lead to her blowing him under a table at the cafeteria and then leaving with Ashley Vandoren. She knew he’d been keeping himself busy; she lived just a short ways down the hall from him, after all, and the noises she’d heard made her certain of it. This morning, Mercedes had told her about the incident a few nights back where he and another RA, Emily something, had broken up a party and basically assaulted some girl with a vodka bottle in the ass. According to her rooommate’s account of things, the girl had been admitted to the hospital. Brittney sincerely hoped this was just a rumor.
Mercedes was getting to the part of the story where they had screaming loud sex in the first floor lounge when she heard someone knocking on a door, offering someone breakfast, pointing out how sluttily she was dressed.
“Emily, just leave the food outside my room. I’m busy,” she heard his familiar voice say through his door. Curious, Brittney opened her door and peered out. There the girl was, slender but with a cute face and nice butt (if you liked them tight, anyway). She wasn’t joking about the slutty outfit either, if you could call it that—a pair of lacy red panties and matching bra not-at-all covered by a filmy negligee. She left a tray behind with some mixed fruit and a croissanwich.
Brittney was herself still in her bathrobe after her morning shower, but this changed her plans. She hustled down the hallway and caught up with the girl.
“Hey,” Brittney said as she jogged up behind her.
“This isn’t a good time,” the other girl said, not even turning.
“I want to talk to you about DJ.”
That stopped her, but the glare on Emily’s face as she whirled to face her confronter gave Brittney pause. She spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “I’m doing what I gotta do. Why don’t you mind your own fucking business, bitch.”
Brittney had seen girls fight before, though had never been in one; this was exactly what a woman looked like right before she pounced on her prey and started pulling hair. “I don’t mean to harass you or anything, honest,” she said, raising her hands defensively and taking a couple steps back. “I know DJ, too. I just wanted to see if you were… all right?”
The girl’s menacing look lessened somewhat, but still didn’t rightly belong to any other adjective. “I’m…” She seemed unable to find the word. “You know DJ?”
Brittney nodded. “I went home with him for fall break.”
“You spent a whole week with him?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re like… his… slave?” Emily took a step closer, appraising her. The way a hawk appraised a mouse. (Brittney was actually taller and stronger than this lean girl, but she didn’t like the more apt metaphor of a wolf appraising a buffalo.)
“I guess I wouldn’t have used that word, but something like that, I guess. He does whatever he wants with me, for sure.”
Emily just stared at her a moment before responding. “I’m sorry.”
As the girl turned to leave, Brittney hurried around to cut her off. “Wait—is that what you are to him? His slave?”
Emily’s look hardened again. “I choose to serve him. I’m a good girl, you hear me! I’m GOOD!” She jabbed a finger hard into Brittney’s chest challengingly. From the fire in her eye, Brittney was sure those jabs were a hair’s breadth from becoming blows.
Brittney just flattened herself against the wall and let the girl by; luckily, Emily left it at that and stormed away.
He’s getting worse. She knew what she needed to do, and spent most of the rest of the morning doing it before getting herself dressed.
“Um, hello, earth to Brittney, you forgot the rest of your outfit,” Mercedes said to her as she slid into a pair of shoes.
“I’m just going down the hall,” Brittney said.
“To DJ’s?” Mercedes said, scrunching up her face. “I don’t know what you see in him.”
“I don’t know what I’ve seen in any of the guys I’ve been with, so what’s one more,” Brittney responded with a shrug.
“Well I hope you got a license for those puppies, ’cause he is the law around here,” Mercedes teased, pointing at Brittney’s chest.
Brittey grinned. “You only need a license to concealed carry—and I don’t think I’d call these guns concealed.”
“Weapons of mass distension,” Mercedes quipped, and the two laughed and exchanged pecks on the cheek before Brittney left.
It was fair criticism, she supposed. Her top was mostly backless except at the bottom and altogether strapless, with just enough fabric in front to conceal her nipples; only some internal metal wires and strength of will kept the thing up. Usually this was the kind of thing Brittney wore when she was going to the frat house to make the guys’ jealous of her fella du jour, but then she wore a jacket or something so she could at least incorporate a strapless bra. Without it, every step she took, especially in these heels, threatened to toss one boob or the other free from the plunging neckline. She’d slipped on some cute little short shorts, too, but really, she doubted any guy would notice.
By coincidence, she got to DJ’s door right as he opened it. He was on his way to class, she figured, given the backpack.
She thought she heard a little whimper come from him, and she smiled. It was sweet, or at least she chose to see it as such. “Good morning, DJ.”
“Oh, uh, hi Brittney. You look… amazing.”
“Thanks.” She preened. She really did like compliments. “Did I catch you at a bad time? I was hoping we could, you know, talk, and stuff.”
“Damn, I was on my way out to class,” he said, frowning.
“That’s too bad,” she said, pouting a little. “I’ve barely seen you all week. I missed you.”
His eyes finally abandoned their effort not to just stare down into her cleavage. “Aw, Brittney, now I feel like a total dick.”
“It’s OK. I guess you just got busy, huh.”
He blushed, embarrassed, maybe even guiltily. Strange that he’d be ashamed to be cheating on her, but not ashamed to be using these girls so haphazardly. “Yeah, I guess I have been. I’m really sorry.”
She smiled. “Really, it’s cool. You’re sweet to worry about it. I don’t wanna keep you from class, so, I guess I’ll see you around later?”
He nodded woodenly. “Yeah. Classes.”
She kissed him goodbye—which, as she expected, not more than a second in, became one of his hands on her butt, the other on one of her boobs, and their tongues writhing madly against each other’s. “Have fun at class,” she said as she broke contact.
“Wait!” he called out a little too loudly.
Brittney turned back. “C’mon, you got responsibilities. Don’t let a little kiss make you forget your priorities.”
“Hey, I still got absences left. I mean, carpe diem and all, right? My Latin prof would approve.”
“I didn’t know you were taking Latin.”
“Veni vedi vicit,” as they say.
Brittney recognized that look on his face, the one people got when they expected her to understand something and she didn’t. DJ must’ve recognized her confusion, because he went on to explain unasked. “It’s something Caesar supposedly said—‘veni vedi vici’: ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’ I just said it ‘veni vedi vicit,’ which is almost the same, except it’s ‘I came, I saw, she conquered.”
There it was again, that little twinkling of something inside him, when he was being a person to her and not a controller. He was a geek, sure, but if not for this power of his, he would have been a sweet one. When she treated him like just another guy, when he didn’t come to her looking to take advantage of her, he was good to her. Again, she remembered that dorky, naïve, big-hearted guy she’d first met when she moved onto the floor.
If only he were always this DJ.
“Aww,” she said, genuinely flattered. “You’re too sweet—and who’d’ve thought all it took to conquer DJ Swanson were two lips and a little tongue.”
“Well, a bit more than that,” he said, eyeing the rest of her and laughing self-consciously.
“You’re terrible,” she said, laughing back. “Come on now, off to class with you, Caesar.” She’d read the play about him in high school and wanted to make some kind of smart joke about it, but she hadn’t understood a word of the thing, just that everybody who went after Caesar wound up dead in the end.
She fuzzed his head affectionately, and turned toward her room again.
“Brittney, wait,” he said, and she did once more. She wondered if it was his power, or the quiet desperation in his tone. “Hang out with me? Seriously, I can skip. Please?”
She smiled, and pretended to be giving in under duress. “Oh, fine, but only because you said please.” She giggled.
They wound up in his bed straight away, which hardly surprised her. Strangely, he only kissed her, touched her with his hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just made out with a guy—they always wanted her pussy or her mouth, and usually didn’t wait long before demanding one or the other. Or both. Since she hated it when they had to demand it, usually she offered it before they had to.
“C’mon, DJ, don’t you wanna fuck me?” she asked in her flirtiest tone. It wasn’t subtle, or artful, but she’d never needed to learn either of those skills.
“Can we just do this for a while? Kiss, cuddle… if that’s OK with you,” he said. He sounded nervous—nervous! A guy who’d been with at least six different women (that she’d watched happen with her own two eyes, not counting the ones she hadn’t) and could have any other he wanted, any time he wanted. Yet here he was, timidly asking if Brittney would pass up on sex with him and just kiss him. Hold him.
She did.
Ignoring everything else surrounding her feelings toward DJ, in the here and now… it was actually kind of wonderful.
It wasn’t unusual for guys to try this until they realized she didn’t demand it of them. Brittney was a sap, and passionate kissing had always been her biggest turn-on. That’s what always happened in her favorite movies—the man and woman fell in love, and kissed each other. There were no blowjobs or doggy style or tit-fucking or any of the things she usually wound up doing to satisfy her partner. Just kisses, and cuddles.
(She didn’t even really like sex that much—she’d just taught herself a few tricks to get her pussy wet enough that it went easily.)
“You’re sure you don’t want more? I’d be happy to…” She let his imagination finish the sentence. It was beginning to make her feel bad, actually. Here he was being so good to her, being the kind of guy she usually just fantasized about, and here she was, trying to manipulate him. Brittney hated manipulating people—it didn’t come naturally to her, and she felt gross whenever she did it. She’d always known she could manipulate guys—easily, in fact—but she thought very little of women who did that.
DJ smiled, smoothing back her hair—argh, I love it when guys do that—and kissed her forehead, then stopped the kissing altogether. “You know, right now, it’s hard to imagine ever wanting more than this.”
She kissed him again on impulse. He let her go at it for a bit, but when she stopped, he didn’t press for more. They just lie there, arms around each other, grinning and rubbing each other’s backs lightly. On her bare skin, it felt divine. She didn’t feel pressured, she sensed no impatience, no ulterior motive. DJ was bluntness itself when it came to going after what he wanted, and so she was sure that all he wanted was to stare into her eyes with his arms around her.
Then, a little voice inside her reminded her about the mostly naked girl who’d self-described as his sex slave a few hours ago, and she remembered she had a larger purpose here. How could she be letting herself be distracted so easily?
“So what have you been up to this week?” she asked, as innocently as she could. She was a terrible poker player; she could only hope he was as bad at reading a bluff as she was at running one.
“Oh, nothing much,” he said evasively. His hand on her back stopped.
“Classes going well?”
“Err, actually I haven’t really, um, been to them.”
“All week?” Brittney asked, genuinely surprised. “What stopped you—a funny thing happen on your way to the library?” Brittney wasn’t sure what that expression meant, but she’d heard it before.
“Well you, today.” He smiled. “One look at you and I just couldn’t make myself be anywhere else.”
She ignored the flutter his words put in her belly. What’s wrong with me? “You sweetie. What about rest of the week?”
“Lots of different things. You know how it goes.”
She giggled. “Um, nope, I went to my classes. I just don’t happen to have any today.” This was true. “C’mon, what’d you do? You know you can tell me. I won’t judge.” He was still avoiding eye contact, so she gave him a little kiss on the lips to regain his attention. “I mean, I saw you nailing a half dozen different girls over fall break and I didn’t complain once, did I?” (She hadn’t. Brittney didn’t like being cheated on, but this time had hurt less than it usually did. She just couldn’t be mad at him.)
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Well, here goes…”
He told her everything. About the anonymous girl he’d gone home with Monday, about Ashley and the library, then Ashley and their day together, about Emily and rounds, then Emily and her little submissive kink. To hear him tell it, Ashley was just besotted with him, and Emily was just a little weird and he was humoring her.
Brittney wasn’t sure what to make of it. Why would his co-worker suddenly feel a need to be his sex slave? Brittney could certainly understand letting DJ have his fun with her—obviously, there was nothing to do there but sit back and enjoy the ride as best you could—but why would she go seeking more? From their brief encounter this morning, it definitely didn’t seem like Emily was happy about their arrangement, and she didn’t think her hostility was rooted in jealousy. What, then?
With Ashley, however, she was much more clear on what was going on. She’d known plenty of girls like that—girls who would put themselves out there to land a hot guy, or a rich guy. Both, if they could.
She remembered a drunken conversation with Kristin Fitzgibbons, a friend of hers in high school, who’d told her all the things she was doing to keep her boyfriend Deon happy. He was getting a full ride scholarship for basketball, and even had pro scouts who’d looked at him. For Kristin, doling out blowjobs and tit fucks and dirty talk and foot rubs and anal sex and whatever other kink the guy wanted that day was a small price to pay for a shot at landing a future NBA player.
DJ, however, wasn’t like Deon. He’d never had a girl use him like that—until now, he’d never had anything a girl would want to use him for. The way he talked about her made it clear what a good job the girl was doing at working his ego to get a handle on him. It was one more reason Brittney was kicking herself for not keeping closer tabs on him—she’d let herself live a normal, DJ-free life for a few days, and look at what had happened. Whatever Ashley was really after, it couldn’t be anything good.
Brittney pulled herself from her thoughts and back into the present. “Well it sounds like you’ve been having a lot of fun,” she said. “I have to say, I’m a little jealous.”
“Yeah, I guess I just don’t know what to do with myself. Too many girls, too little me,” he said, forcing a chuckle.
Brittney reached a hand down between his legs and into his pants, giving his cock a nice squeeze. “Doesn’t feel little to me,” she said, moaning softly. At what, she didn’t know. He didn’t seem to care.
“Brittney, you’re… you don’t have to do that,” he said, gently removing her hand.
It was the first time Brittney could ever remember a boy trying to put distance between himself and her cock. She pushed herself up to her knees, looming over him, gravity fighting to tear her tits out of her top. He could almost certainly see her nipples like this, she was sure. “Brittney, you’re… what? What were you going to say?”
“Nothing,” he protested, keeping his eyes on hers and off her chest with nearly unprecedented successfulness compared to men past who’d been faced with the challenge.
“You were going to say something—tell me,” she insisted, moving to straddle his waist. She could feel his erection, lingering from the hours-long makeout session and his re-telling of his saucy tales, pressing into her pussy. Part of her mind began the exercises to get her wet for him, in case she needed it. “Am I not as pretty as those girls?”
“No! Brittney, no, you’re so much prettier than them, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on!” His hands, unbidden, moved to her hips.
Aww! That was a sweet thing to say. But focus! “Then what is it? Do I not turn you on like them? Do you want me to be slutty like them? Do you want to take me out somewhere and have sex with me in front of people like Ashley? Do you want me to get on my knees and call you ‘master’ and beg you to let me suck your cock like Emily?”
“No! That’s not it at all!”
She pouted. This really was frustrating—why on earth would a guy not want to fuck her? She was crazy hot—she was like a Barbie doll with better boobs and a bigger butt. That’s what Earl had always told her. “Then what is it! Why won’t you have sex with me? Why can’t I do what those girls get to do? Why am I not the kind of girl you fantasize about?”
“Because you’re perfect the way you are!” he shouted, then immediately flinched like he couldn’t think why he was upset.
An awkward silence filled the room. For all that she’d been putting on an act to seduce him, for all she was willing to degrade herself however she had to if it kept him from preying on other innocent girls… she still found herself bizarrely pleased to hear him say that. Brittney knew he meant it, too. You couldn’t fake that kind of outburst—and he had no reason to anyway. At the core of their relationship was each of their unspoken awareness that they were together because he wanted her and she couldn’t say no.
“Perfect?” she asked softly.
DJ just nodded. He looked afraid. It was clearly a level of intimacy that made him uncomfortable. He looked scared, and vulnerable, and utterly overwhelmed by her.
She kissed him, and she meant it.
It took him a moment to reciprocate—he was still recovering from his moment of earnestness—but it didn’t take long. The former prom queen was kissing him with a vengeance, and it was only moments before she got his shirt off and started kissing his chest too. While she did so, he fumbled around until he finally located the little zipper that was all that held her top on. Good. She didn’t want there to be any barriers between them.
She couldn’t really say what she was doing. Ever since she learned her first lessons, sex had been something Brittney had approached like other girls did drawing or writing or playing basketball—it was a skill, and you got better with practice. There were right and wrong ways, and you chose the technique best suited to achieve the results you desired.
Now, though, she acted on instinct. Her hands wanted to touch him, so she let them—she rubbed his chest, ran her fingers through his hair, grabbed his shoulders and ran her hands all the way down to his wrists, spreading her arms out to her sides to reach them.
Brittney’s mouth had its own mind, too. It knew how to suck cock—this was something it knew almost as well as how to chew food or speak—but today, it wanted to taste DJ. It sucked at his ears. It kissed across his smooth chest and belly. It tasted his lips and his tongue over and over again and kept coming back for more.
Spurring her on was DJ’s own response. She’d fucked him before—she remembered it, remembered the time-tested techniques she’d used to get him off efficiently but without making it feel rushed. It was an art of her taking charge and letting him make the small decisions—to squeeze her ass or fondle her tits, to suck a nipple or lick up and down the valley of her cleavage, and so on.
Today, DJ followed her in spirit and simply let his body do whatever it wanted to do. He stared at her body mesmerized, enraptured, like it was the best present he’d ever been given. He kneaded her soft shoulders while she kissed down his neck, grabbed her waist and caressed up to her tits and back. He grabbed her butt in both hands and rolled her over onto her back and climbed on top of her, still pulling up on her butt to keep her tight against him. It was chaotic and messy and unpredictable and unapologetic.
It was passion.
She couldn’t even say how the rest of their clothes came off or whether she’d first slid her gushing pussy down onto him or if he’d nudged her legs apart and pressed himself effortlessly into her, but soon enough, they were fucking—not in the worn, sordid sense of the word, like she’d always meant it in her heart when she’d said it. Now it was carnal and exciting and wild. It was what sex was always meant to never be.
Between bouts, they joked and laughed and explored unabashedly and kept score of what techniques got him hardest again fastest. (It was a close call between crawling on top of him and dangling her tits in his face and a good old-fashioned blowjob—a talent she was newly delighted to possess.) He in turn paid close attention to what turned her on—she’d only ever had one guy go down on her, but even aside from the sensation, the sheer willingness to put her pleasure ahead of his own drove her wild.
She was as loud as she felt like being—people would put up with it, coming from DJ’s room—and he let out all the quiet praises he could muster. It wasn’t poetry, but today, just being told she had “the kind of rack that first makes a pubescent boy realize how awesome girls are” was more than enough.
Yet little by little, as the day wore on and hour-long cuddle sessions punctuated by half-hour fuckathons added up, reality intruded upon her bliss. Everything she was feeling was true—he thought she was a goddess, the pinnacle of womanhood, he was putty in her hands. DJ was sweet, and kind, and sincerely affectionate toward her.
But maybe also to Ashley, who he’d almost let burn down a library from the sounds of things. To Emily, who he’d hand-cuffed to a radiator and role-played raping with heaven only knew how much reality behind it. To his step-mother, and step-sister, and all her step-sister’s friends and classmates and rival school cheerleaders and…
You have to contain him, she reminded herself. That was why she was here. If he was spent from fucking her, he wouldn’t go after other girls. Every night he spent in her arms was a night the rest of the world was safe from him. She’d been silly and today she’d just let herself forget that he was a monster and pretend that he was her lover.
It was a beautiful fantasy, though. What if…?
No. No, it couldn’t be real.
DJ fell asleep before Brittney did. She tried to come up with something to say if he woke up and felt her crying, but he didn’t.