After the foot massage, Jason and I continued as if nothing had happened.
On Thursday night, he made a curry that was way too spicy, and I mocked him gently as tears streamed down both our faces. On Friday we played Mario Kart and I tried to distract him by bumping his arm during a turn, but he won anyway. On Saturday, he showed me all his painted miniatures and I conceded that he was, indeed, the bigger geek.
On Sunday I caught up with Liv on the phone but I didn’t tell her any of what had been going on; it felt too fragile and special, like I might ruin it if I acknowledged it, even to myself. I almost let a comment slip when she was teasing me about being lonely, asking if the roommate had at least come with a view, but I swallowed it. Not out of guilt, exactly. Just…it didn’t feel like gossip. It felt like a secret, something I didn’t want anyone else’s opinion on. Instead, I told her I’d been keeping busy with work, that Jason was *nice and quiet* and *keeps to himself*. Both technically true.
She said that was boring and changed the subject. But later that night, lying in bed, I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound as I fucked myself to memories that now played like a greatest hits montage in my head; Jason’s look of shock when he’d briefly seen my tits; the embarrassment and excitement I felt when I found the porn on his laptop; the feel of his hard cock twitching under my toes; the sluttiness I felt as I spread my legs a little wider; the shame and longing written all over his face when I bent over in front of him in my panties. These experiences were fueling almost all of my masturbation now, and I was cumming harder than I ever had before. It was incredible.
But I wanted more.
“Hey,” he said, standing in the kitchen on Monday morning as I made my lunch. “Could you keep an ear out for the door tomorrow? I’ve got a parcel coming and I’ll be at the office.”
“No way?” I said. “First time in a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Four hours of meetings that could’ve been emails, just like you. Pray for me. I’ll probably be back around six. Do you want me to pick anything up on the way?”
“I think I’m all good,” I said, turning back to the chopping board, slicing through a green onion and having an idea. “Oh, hey. Let me take care of your lunch tomorrow. My treat.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” he said. “I’ll probably just grab a sandwich or–”
I reached out and touched his arm. “I wasn’t asking.”
He swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
I nodded. “I’ll put it in your bag in the morning.”
That evening, I looked through my drawers until I found them. I’d bought them online one night after too many glasses of wine, convinced they’d make me feel powerful and sexy. But every time I’d pulled them from the drawer since, I had hesitated, feeling that they were too obvious, too filthy, too slutty.
But for this, they were perfect.
I tried them on in front of the mirror, standing up on tiptoes, pushing out my ass, preening. In the reflection, glossy black mesh cut into narrow straps that hugged my hips, the center nothing but a teasing triangle of fabric pulled tight against my pussy, the delicate fabric giving way around the edges to bare, swollen skin. At the back, the lace dipped low between my cheeks, so minimal it felt less like panties and more like a little black leash tied to my holes, begging to be pulled on.
Fuck. All this teasing was actually starting to make me *think* sluttier.
I pressed my hand against the mirror, leaning close, breath misting the glass as my cheeks burned, the seam creating a gentle but relentless pressure on my clit, the panties moistening already. I pushed my tits together, making them bulge, admiring myself. Knowing that this is what he was thinking about when he stroked his cock at night made me feel electric, and I imagined the look on his face when he unwrapped the little parcel of black fabric I was going to place on top of his lunch bag tomorrow. I wondered if he would know what it was instantly, or whether it would take him a moment to figure it out. I also wondered what he would do with them when he realized…
My knees buckled slightly at the thought, and I ran a tentative finger over the seam of the panties, feeling my softness under my fingertip, unable to restrain myself any longer. My touch was gentle, but I shuddered with pleasure already, weak with the thought of the mess I was about to make of myself.
Keeping the panties on, I lay down on the bed and opened my legs.
It was time to make his lunch.
***
That night, when he got home, I was lying on my bed.
“Jay?” I called, hearing the apartment door close softly. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” he called. “You okay?”
“Yup,” I said, listening to the rustle of fabric as he took off his shoes and hung up his bag. “Just checking it was you. Are you free? I could really use another massage.”
“Are your feet sore again?”
“Something like that.”
As he rounded the corner, his eyes went wide.
I was naked, lying on my back, my arms by my side, my tits and pussy on full display, my hair fanned out over the pillow. The soft lighting in the room cast everything in a warm, amber glow. I’d even lit a candle on the shelf, French vanilla, just like on the day I’d first met him.
“You’re…naked,” he said, standing in the doorway.
“Very perceptive,” I replied, stretching my arms with a lazy yawn, pushing the smooth mound of my pussy up into the air. “You can’t exactly rub me down through my clothes. Here, the lotion is on the side.”
He blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh fuck…I, uh…”
“Jason…” I said. “Are you going to touch me or not?”
I closed my eyes, and a few seconds later I heard the soft creak of the bed as he sat down beside me. I passed him the bottle of lotion from the nightstand.
“Start with my shoulders?” I asked.
“Sure.”
The cap clicked open, and a moment later I felt a cool blob of lotion land on my upper chest, followed by the warm, slow press of his hands. He had started where my breasts started to rise, and I let out a low breath.
“Mmmm. That feels nice.”
He didn’t respond. He just kept going, quiet and focused. His hands moved in deliberate circles, palms smoothing over my shoulders, down my forearms and back up again. Occasionally, his pinky or thumb would caress the sides of my breasts as they passed, and I wondered if those little touches were making him hard already. The next time he got to my shoulders, I let out a small noise; a soft breath, a hum of appreciation.
“Lower,” I whispered.
He did as he was told, his thumbs now tracing the shape of my breasts, each movement bringing him closer to my nipples. They were so hard they ached.
“Do it,” I whispered, but Jason didn’t. Not at first. Instead, he continued to run his hands over my breasts, cupping his hands each time to make sure my nipples got no stimulation whatsoever. The lotion made everything slick and slow, and just as I was starting to wonder who was teasing who, he finally flattened his palms and pushed gently across my nipples. I moaned with pleasure.
“Yes,” I said, breathless already. “That feels so good.”
He continued to work my body, my back arching, my legs opening, my hips lifting. The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and the faint flicker of the candle behind us. His hands moved down to my hips, pressing gently along the tops of my thighs. I could feel his hesitation, his concentration, the tension in his arms. His hands moved back to my shoulders, slow and grounding, before dragging downward again in long, unbroken lines. Shoulder to hip. Neck to waist, teasing my breasts with each gentle pass.
My pussy was throbbing.
“You’re really fucking good at this, actually.”
“I’m just following your lead.”
“I like that about you,” I said, half moaning as his fingers pressed the soft sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. When he reached my breasts again, he cupped them firmly, handling them, squeezing the flesh. “You’re good at anticipating my…fuck…my needs.”
He continued back down my body, pressing into the mound of my pussy and then back up again, fully exploring me now, not with crude gropes or greedy movements, but with reverent, deliberate attention.
I opened my eyes and met him. “You know what I want, don't you?”
He swallowed. His face was flushed, and I could once again see the outline of his cock pressing hard against the fabric of his sweatpants.
“I…think so.”
“You do.” I nodded. “Show me that you do.”
I reached out and took his hand in mine, guiding it down past the curve of my belly until he was brushing the smooth, wet folds between my legs. I gasped at the first contact, my thighs instinctively tensing as I rolled my hips up into the touch. His fingers were gentle but firm; circling, stroking, exploring.
My roommate was playing with my pussy.
Fuck.
I turned my head to the side and realized my mouth was just inches from the strained bulge of his sweatpants.
“Jason…” I said, my reason starting to leave me, the horniness taking over. I looked up at him with big innocent eyes. “I want you to take it out for me.”
He blinked, his fingers stalling. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He hesitated for just a second longer and then reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down clumsily and eagerly. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, throbbing in anticipation. It wasn’t comically huge just…the right size. I immediately wanted to take it in my mouth, to feel it pulsing against my lips, to feel him throb against my tongue as his fingers worked my pussy.
And maybe that’s what he wanted too. But that wasn’t what he was going to get. Not today. I’d discovered that torturing him was way more fun, so I just licked my lips and opened my legs wider, spreading myself, giving him full access, watching his cock twitch as his fingers began to work me once more. They sped up in time with my hips thrusting back and forward, chasing the sensation.
“Your cock…looks really…fucking nice…Jason.”
That made it twitch even harder, and I wondered how long he had been waiting for this moment, if he had fantasized about it that night I told him to touch himself. I wondered if he had tasted his lunch.
I started to cum on his fingers, my pussy convulsing and my mouth opening, wet and warm and still inches from his cock, my body shaking as my breasts rocked backward and forward on my chest. The room became a blur, but I'm pretty sure I moaned his name and pulled on my nipples as my orgasm hit its peak, maintaining eye contact as the pleasure tore through me.
After I was finished, I looked up at him, still breathless.
“Oh my god, that was amazing, thank you. I really needed that.”
Jason smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”
His cock bounced in anticipation.
“Oh,” I said. “No. Sorry. I’m not ready for you to cum. Not yet. You’ll have to hold it.”
“But…I…”
“I said hold it,” I said, reaching out and placing my palm flat along the length of his cock, holding it there as I had done with my feet, letting him feel the weight and the warmth of it. I thought again of taking him in my mouth and shivered with the aftershock of my orgasm.
“Oh my god,” he said, his legs trembling a little. His fingers were wet with me, and I could see the way his jaw clenched as he fought the urge to thrust against my palm. I gripped the shaft of his cock and held it still.
“I know, sweetie. It must be difficult not to fuck my hand or my mouth or my pussy right now, but you like being told what to do, isn’t that right?”
“Y–yeah…” he said. “Yes.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, sliding my hands slowly down the shaft and gently cupping his balls. “You enjoyed pleasing me, too, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. Very much.”
“Good. Because you were very good at it. I might have to use you again soon. Would you like that?”
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Yes. I’d love that.”
“Good,” I said, letting go. “Now go to bed. It’s late. No cumming until I tell you, okay?”
[Thanks for reading! More to come tomorrow if people are still showing interest!]