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Author’s Note: This is the third (and final?) story in my Friend series; it is also the longest. This story has changing points-of-view. Each section will be labeled by character: Ginger, Becks (Rebecca), and Zara.
It is better to have read either (or both!) of my earlier “Friend” stories (Friends Like These and To Be a Friend) to understand some of the references in this story.
Both of these previous stories are in the “Non-Consent/Reluctance” Category.
Please review and let me know what you think!
Friends, Plus One (Book 3 of the “Friends” Series)
College and I hadn’t gotten along. Well, the “school” part of it. For that matter, high school and I had hardly been on speaking terms.
Yet my parents had been adamant about me attending college, even with my less-than-stellar grades in high school. They were of the opinion that my teachers hadn’t challenged me. Maybe they were right – I did get killer scores on both my PSAT’s and my ACT’s. Those high scores were basically what got me into college. But once I was there, I found that the classes and lectures and libraries and the whole entire “studying” thing just wasn’t me. I would have dropped out after a month, if not for the university’s atmosphere. That was where I finally found Me.
I’d been somewhat of a freak in my small town, the weird ethnic girl with the tattoos and little interest in boys. Not wanting to give the masses anything else to feed off of, I’d kept my possible lesbianism in the closest until after graduation.
Roseann Dilley’s graduation party was one of the few I attended, as Rosie and I had been friends since grade school. The party had been a large affair, with many adult guests, most of my classmates, and several friends of Roseann’s older sister, Rhey. I’d had a crush on Rhey for years – six years older than Rosie, Rhey had already graduated from college and was working at our town’s canning plant. She was tall and willowy, and always seemed to float when she walked. I’d often watched Rhey out of the corner of my eye when I was over at Roseann’s, usually turning three shades of red when Rhey deigned to notice her baby sister’s friend.
There had been plenty of alcohol flowing at the party, and Rosie’s parents had been lax in making sure the minors only drank soda. After four brandy slushes I had no longer been a slave to my shyness, and I had been openly – and obviously – staring at Rhey. When the party had begun to wind down, Rhey had asked me to help her return some lawn chairs to the garden shed. I had fallen over myself (still tipsy) in my haste to help, dropping one chair several times. Rhey had watched my clumsy antics with a small smile, waiting at the door of the shed for me to catch up.
Once we were both inside the shed, Rhey had closed the door. Then before I could react to that, she had grabbed me, lifting me up onto the workbench with barely restrained passion. She had begun to kiss me, one hand stealing under my shirt and the other moving to unbutton my shorts. Apparently Rhey had been watching me as much as I’d been watching her, and had just been waiting for an opportunity to make her move.
I’d soon realized that Rhey had learned more than Business Management in college. Much more. And she’d taken great pleasure in sharing that supplementary knowledge with me. I’d been a quick study, even if a little awkward. In my haste to get Rhey’s shirt off, I’d hit her in the nose, making it bleed. By the time she was able to staunch the flow, our mutual flames had been doused. But I had learned something in that hot, cluttered shed. I had been awakened.
That clandestine tryst had been the start of my and Rhey’s whirlwind summer romance. Rhey had considered me a project. She’d taught me about who I was as a lesbian, and she had shown me how best to please a partner. She had been patient and gentle at the start, but by summer’s end our lovemaking had grown fervid and desperate. We knew we’d be parting soon, when I left for college. I’d dissolved into tears after our last night, and she’d held me as I’d cried. I knew I’d never find another lover like her.
Yet I’d been in college for only a week when I met Tisha. Short, spiky, purple tinged hair, nose ring, tongue stud, pierced nipple. Never wore a bra. Rarely wore panties. She was the epitome of a sexy, confident woman, who happened to be gay. I moved out of my dorm and into Tisha’s place within the month.
I reworked myself in Tish’s image. I wouldn’t cut my long hair, or pierce a nipple, but I did get a matching tongue stud, a new piercing in my eyebrow, and the coup de grâce – a new tattoo, where my pubic hair used to be. It was simple, yet it spoke volumes. It was an arrow, pointing to my vag. It hurt like hell when I got it (I had thought that the tattoo needle would get me off, but I had been sorely – get it? – mistaken). It took days for the pain to recede. While casino oyna I’d been healing I wouldn’t let Tish touch me. She, on the other hand, got plenty of satisfaction while I honed my oral craft. I enjoyed employing my new tongue stud as I explored the most sensitive parts of her nether regions. She claimed no one was as talented as I, that no one could bring her to orgasm as quickly as I could with just tongue and finger play. We did use sex toys frequently, but while I was recovering from the tattoo, the toys had been on hiatus.
It was the toys that finally sealed our doom. I had been emptying the dishwasher, and I’d found my favorite sex toy in the top tray: a large, two-tone glass dildo with little nubs and rings that hit just the right places. I had known the most recent time we’d used the particular dildo, Tish had done the honors, and I’d been the recipient. I’d also known that the toy had been properly washed afterwards. I’d innocently asked Tish about it’s dishwasher presence, only for her to get weird and defensive. She’d offered a flimsy excuse that she’d wanted the dishwasher to be full before she ran a cycle, and had tossed in a few things that could use a good disinfecting. As if I had “infected” the dildo. She’d noticed my mild anger and more obvious suspicion, and had been able to calm me down by suggesting we have a date night at The Dry Dock. It had been a few weeks since we’d been clubbing, so I had grudgingly agreed.
The very first time Tish had taken me to the club, we’d only been together a few weeks. As I’d been not quite nineteen, I’d brought a fake ID. Waiting in line at the entrance, hanging on nervously to Tisha’s hand, I eventually found I needn’t have worried. The bouncer had waved us in with hardly a glance at our IDs. I hadn’t known if I looked older than I was, if Tisha was a regular at the club, if, or if The Dry Dock didn’t care. I’d decided it was a combination of the last two. I soon also became well-known at the club, and stopped bothering with the fake ID.
The night after the dishwasher dilemma, we’d actually ended up having fun at The Dry Dock. We’d showed up in our scanty outfits (short skirts and low tops, and no undergarments – the better to feel each other up), and let our inhibitions down. We’d gotten drunk and we’d gotten high, grabbing a few good tokes off some primo joints that were being passed around the ladies’ room. Floating out onto to the dance floor, we’d slow danced, rubbing and grinding on each other while kissing passionately. Barely anyone had given us notice. Like I said, The Dry Hump didn’t care. Hell, no one had batted an eye the one night we took up with another girl, eventually becoming a threesome.
This night, though, had been just the two of us. Molded together, swapping spit, making our tongue studs clink in the process. Leaning up against each other while riding our highs. I’d forgotten about the errant dildo in the dishwasher. I’d drifted happily, feeling secure in the arms of my girlfriend.
Until Tisha’s phone had rung, vibrating in between the two of us. It had been in her front pocket, and had buzzed enjoyably against my vag. I’d pressed into her, trying to get just the right position so the vibrations would hit my clit. I’d been disappointed when Tish had pulled away, to check who was calling. And I’d been disgusted when I’d seen it was Jill, her ex. And I’d been devastated when I’d realized Tisha had been cheating on me with Jill, in our place, with our toys.
I’d gotten my tongue pierced for her. I’d gotten my pussy tattooed for her!
After angrily telling Tisha that I’d move my things from her place in the next day or two (I’d had a feeling I’d be too hung-over, and still too sad, to do it the next day), I’d retreated to the bar. The fact that she hadn’t followed me, to explain or beg forgiveness or even lie, had made me realize just how over we were.
I’d been crying into my brandy sour when Becks had appeared, like a knightess on a white horse. She’d taken me under her wing, back to her booth, and had given me a pity finger-fuck, trying to help me forget Tisha. And for the twenty minutes or so that she and I had felt each other up, the night wasn’t that bad. I had lost Rhey and found Tisha. I had lost Tisha, but maybe now I had found Becks.
And then that damn drunk blonde with the impossibly innocent face had ruined it all, by passing out on the walking dick they were with. Becks had been off me like a shot, coming to the rescue. I had thought about commenting that it looked like her girl had gotten a mickey, but I’d been pissed that my playtime had gotten interrupted. Hell, I’d thought, if that little blonde twinkie was dumb enough to hang out with an obvious predator like Jack, she deserved to get roofied and raped. Although as I had watched them drag the unconscious girl from the booth, I’d felt my breath catch. Her head had been tipped back, so her long hair swayed, almost platinum in the neon lights. Her extended neck had been long and luscious. canlı casino Her shirt had rucked up, and I’d caught a glimpse of her stomach, so soft and white and clean.
Rhey had been older and experienced, Tisha had been shameless and freaky. I’d wondered how a newbie would compare.
I’d watched Becks and Jack as they practically carried the baby-faced blonde out the door. Becks had looked back once, and I’d spontaneously flashed her. I’d seen her jaw drop. Served her right, pulling out of me before I was done.
I’d gone home after that. Actually, I’d gone to my friend Brian’s apartment, to sit on the couch with him and share a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra (well, I’d eaten most of it – weed makes me ravenous). Brian had been very sympathetic about my breakup with Tisha. Brian, being gay, was the best kind of guy friend for a situation like that. I didn’t have to worry about him trying to hit on me while I was vulnerable. And I, being gay, wasn’t a threat to Brian’s boyfriend Marsh. In fact, Marsh and Brian had helped me move my things out of Tisha’s place the next day, and had found me a place to stay, a room in a house that had been converted into student housing. Although at that point I was technically no longer a student. I had dropped out of college six weeks before. The main thing that had been holding me on campus was Tish.
I decided to stay, though, even though I was no longer with Tisha. Like I said, I liked the atmosphere. I got a job at the adult/novelty store on University Street, selling bongs and goofy condoms and edible underwear and Kama Sutra guides. I had one or two more dates that turned intimate, but nothing like the secretive enticement of Rhey, or the mutual kinkiness of Tisha. And by the time the school year was winding to a close, I had been looking forward to going home, even though my parents would be livid when they finally learned I’d dropped out of college. I was really missing Rhey, and I was hoping we could pick up where we’d left off.
And then the twinkie blonde with the innocent face came into Dick’s Tricks & Jane’s Jollies, and everything changed.
I’d had an hour in between Journalism 202 and Development Psychology, but instead of reviewing for finals, I’d taken a walk – down to the novelty shop on University Street. I hadn’t been in there before; it really wasn’t my type of place. But I’d wanted to get Becks an unusual sex toy, a gift to play with on our anniversary. We’d been together, as a couple, for a month.
There were times when I still marveled that we were together. Becks had planted the seed into my consciousness that I might be gay, or bi, and I’d initially been scared about what that might mean. When Becks had gone down on me that night, and then made out with me, I had been utterly amazed and delighted with how good it had felt, how right. And when she had taken off my blindfold to reveal herself, I think a part of me wasn’t even surprised. Of course it would be Becks. Of course she would know best how to fulfill me.
These last thirty days had been a whirlwind. Even during the first two weeks, when I’d still been wearing the sling to support my sprained shoulder, we’d found ways to be intimate. Becks had been remarkably gentle, not wanting to hurt me. The slow progression, after our initial rocket takeoff, was surprisingly satisfying. I’d really had no experience with a female sexual relationship, and had been amazed by how much Becks knew. She was a regular font of information. I’d thought I had known my best friend. Apparently she had kept some secrets from me. I found I wasn’t upset, though. Love forgives.
And that’s what it felt like to me. Not lust, not misdirected friendship. It was love. I was lucky enough to have fallen in love with my best friend. We’d both declared our love for the other, holding each other in bed, a few days after I’d gotten the sling off. We’d had a proper night, with both of us fully capable and fully aroused, and Becks had brought me to orgasm with her talented tongue. It wasn’t the earth-shattering kind I’d had when I’d lost my virginity to Jack – I think I had realized I would never experience something that mind-blowing again. It had been my first time being fucked, and the extreme circumstances had also had something to do with it. I actually hadn’t been bothered that much by the fact that Becks might never be able to get me to respond the way Jack had. What did bother me was that my first true orgasm, experienced that same night, had been with a guy jerking off into my mouth, nearly suffocating me before forcing me to swallow his jizz. Now that I was fairly certain I was mainly into girls – and specifically into Rebecca – that fact galled me.
Becks thought I should screw another guy before committing myself to her. I knew she was still attracted to guys, and that she’d recently bedded one or two. She had even had another night with Jack when I’d first been laid up with my bad arm, doped up on the drugs the doctor kaçak casino had given me. Rebecca had never been exclusive before. I understood. I hadn’t been exclusive, either – until Becks. I hadn’t seen anyone else since she and I had become a couple, but she was practically encouraging me to. It was possible she felt guilty about her random hook-ups, but she also thought I was being too quick to change sides. “Ginny,” she’d said seriously, “I saw what Jack did to you. I mean, I know he’s damn good, he’s gotten multiple orgasms out of me, but he took you to another realm. And if that’s what happens when you fuck a guy, I don’t think you should be giving them up completely.”
And then she had kissed me, squeezed my boob, and gone to class.
I really wasn’t sure about her entreaty to see someone else, particularly a guy. As it was, when I did finally realize I might have a specific reason to break my exclusiveness to Rebecca, it was because I ran into an old acquaintance at Dick’s Tricks.
I feel like a fraud as I as I browse the aisles of the adult store. The clerk behind the counter is watching me, his attractively-stubbled face breaking into a leering grin as he sees my awkwardness. I blush. But what does he expect? The book covers are graphic, the presence of the bongs is disconcerting, and the sex toys are . . . overwhelming. Becks and I use a “tame” rabbit toy – domesticated, you might say (ha!). But the toys in this store are numerous and elaborate, and each package boasts something along the lines of “A definite need for thrills in the bedroom!” After looking at some of those items for several minutes, I lose my nerve and step away from that aisle. I end up perusing the joke condoms. There is a camouflage condom (“Don’t Let Them See You Coming!”) and a glow-in-the-dark condom (“Light Your Way In The Tunnel!”). There are extremely small condoms (“For Little Fuckers!”) and mammoth ones.
“Can I help you find something?”
I look away from the prophylactics, seeing a second clerk standing before me. I am momentarily mute.
I don’t know if she was hired to work at this store because of her looks, but I wouldn’t be surprised. She has long, flowing, ebony hair, currently flipped to one side and draping over her shoulder. Her skin is a light brown, and makes me think of something edible – iced coffee, maybe, or caramel. Her dark eyes are wide and slightly oval, and she has them rimmed in lime green eyeliner. She has a pierced eyebrow, and a tattoo of a ring of thorns around her neck. She is wearing tight black jeans, and an equally tight magenta polo, which presses against her braless breasts just enough to show high, hard nipples. ‘Is it cold in here?’ I wonder.
On her shirt is the store logo, a comical drawing of the store’s namesakes. Without being graphic, the drawing appears to show ‘Jane’ giving ‘Dick’ a blow job.
Also on her shirt, above one perky breast, is her name tag, which reads “Zara.”
She is strangely familiar, yet also excitingly unknown. My breathing has quickened. This never used to happen to me with women before; at least, not before the night with Rebecca and Jack. When my blindfold had been removed and I had found Becks sitting naked on top of me, I had swiftly and fully appreciated the sexual attractiveness of women.
Zara is staring back at me. Her cool salesperson veneer has dropped. She looks me up and down, from head to toe, and it feels as if she is drinking me in. Her eyes widen in recognition, and then her lips turn upward in a sly smile.
“You’re the twinkie.”
I find my voice. “I’m the what?” I’m reminded of how Jack had called me “Fresh Meat” at The Dry Dock. I look around, suddenly suspicious that Becks is hiding somewhere and that this clerk is to be my new conquest. Fool me once . . .
The sly smile grows. “At the Dry Hump. I don’t know, a month ago or so? I was in the booth with your friend? You were with Mr. Mickey.”
I shake my head. “MacKay. Jack MacKay.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Only the regulars know him as Jack Mickey. ‘Cuz of his habit of adding unwanted ingredients to perfectly fine drinks.” Her smile fades as she looks at me sympathetically. “And the regulars also know to stay away from him.”
“You were there that night?” A blurry image crosses my memory – Zara and Becks in the booth, getting handsy. “I think I remember you and Becks . . . doing something. But I thought that was a dream.”
“Oh, baby, you thought you dreamt that? How vanilla.”
I am suddenly angry. “Vanilla? How’s this for vanilla? I wanted Jack to fuck me. He drugged me and tied me up and stuck his cock in my mouth and I loved it. I swallowed him happily.” I’m breathing fast again. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?
“I wouldn’t care. But I do think you’re protesting A. Little. Much.” She accentuates the last three words by poking me in the chest, and then her finger flips up and boops my nose. Her fingernails are the same lime green as her eyeliner. I see another tattoo on the inside of her wrist – two female gender symbols, linked together. Unlike the black tattoo on her neck, this small tattoo is rainbow colored.
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