My Pretend Sex Slave 02

Literotic asexstories – My Pretend Sex Slave 02 by EroticCupcake,EroticCupcake
Lisa walked out of her bedroom wearing only bikini briefs. Her breasts seemed too big on her small frame. Her nipples were large and dark. She watched my eyes, a nervous smile.

I sighed.

My relationship with Lisa’s nudity had changed over time. In the normal world, the nudity of a cute girl like her was thrilling because it was so elusive, or because it marked a progression from clothed to naked to more naked to lips on lips and cock in pussy, heavy breathing, moans.

Not with Lisa. Not anymore. We’d done this dance so many times, my relationship to her nudity was different now. Static. More like a piece of art than a live, nude girl. Soft abs and milky thighs, but something to be admired in the abstract. The only energy was her nervous need for approval.

Her exhibitionism was on the downswing since school started, the summer of pretend sex slavery was essentially over. It had been a nipple here, or a streaking there, but rarely such full blown, casual nudity. Something had changed. Lisa had been acting differently since the night I fucked Jett in front of her. Was Lisa jealous?

“You girlfriend is kinda hot,” Lisa said.

“I know.”

“She made me lick her foot,” she said.

“I remember,” I said. “Lisa, what do you want?”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about Jett. And you. Together. It was kinda–” she said.

“I’m going to class,” I said.

“–hot.”

—

When people hear meteorology, they think weather man. But the major course of study isn’t TV. It’s math. Years of classes, Calculus 1, 2, and 3. ODE. Linear algebra. And there were more classes on the horizon, all just to build the foundation necessary to predict the weather, an ever growing and scaling complex model to describe a nearly infinite number of variables. If a butterfly flaps it’s wings…

My Junior year, I was drowning in so much math that I took a writing class. It didn’t even count towards my degree, I just had to try something different, to feel like a human instead of a computer. That’s where I met Jett.

She was quiet, aloof even, with a kind of gaunt intensity, like a bird of prey. Jett liked my writing, which worked out pretty well, since I liked everything about her.

On our third date, she told me her dark secret. Her real name was Jennifer and her parents called her Jenny. A career in art was difficult, like reaching for the moon, the struggle to reach escape velocity almost impossible. Jett didn’t know everything, but she was positive about one thing. A skinny girl from Indiana named Jenny wasn’t going to cut it.

So Jett it was. Jett with two tees.

Her style was a collage of photography and paint. A sort of pseudo Tim Burton-inspired (don’t tell her I said that) mix of chaos and nostalgia. She even took pictures of me, promising to use it in the future for something “pastoral.” It felt like an insult, but I didn’t really care, since at the time her hand was pressed against my cock.

—

Jett took a long pull on her iced coffee. When she leaned over, her blue shirt fell away from her body, revealing most of her small breasts. She caught me looking and smiled. We were sitting on her couch. She was wearing a blue button up shirt, tight black slacks, and thick white socks. It was just a matter of time before we were kissing… and more.

“What do you think is up with Lisa?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. This was mostly true. “I spent all summer trying to figure it out. I eventually just gave up.”

“Does she bring men home?”

“Almost never,” I said.

“I think she’s in to you,” Jett said.

It was possible, even likely. Why else would she invite herself in to my life, find excuses to get naked, opt in to “pretend” sex slavery. She thought of me as safe. I wasn’t sure if that meant safe to tease or safe to fuck (eventually).

“I don’t know,” I said. “She had plenty of chances.”

I felt stupid for saying it, just admitting I found Lisa attractive felt like dangerous territory. If Jett noticed, she didn’t let on.

Did Lisa want me? There was a period that summer when she would greet me naked, on her knees at the door, tongue flicking on pink lips, clear brown eyes looking up at me, from my crotch to my eyes, her nervous smile filled with want. My cock would jump to full hard, ready to fill her, to see her mouth wrapped around it, wanting to come in her, overflow her with semen until it ran down her chin, on to those breasts.

The first time Lisa did it, I laughed it off, nervous. By the third time, I decided to give it a go. I undid my belt, reaching for the button on my pants, tired of wanting, ready to take a chance. But then she was asking me what I was doing, reminding me that she was just a pretend sex slave.

I didn’t tell any of this to Jett.

“What’s the craziest thing she ever did?” Jett asked.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Are you kidding, this is the wildest shit I’ve ever heard of. You have to tell me,” Jett said. Her tongue played with the straw, but her eyes were on me.

“Okay,” I said. The wildest shit she ever did.

—

I came back from work, my summer job. Lisa was moping around, exaggerated sighs, intentionally clumsy, flopping from one side of the apartment to the other. She wore her typical baggy t-shirt and no pants. As she flopped around, I’d catch glimpses of her body.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You never want to play anymore,” she said. Lisa casually slid her shirt up her body, exposing her panties, then her stomach then a nipple. I got a glass of water.

“You see?” she said. “You’re not in to this sex slavery thing at all.”

“It’s the pretend part that gets me,” I said, and it was true. I was mostly just tired of this beautiful, often naked woman reminding me that I should fuck her only for her to say it was all just pretend.

I was hungry and tired of Lisa’s games. It was time to cook a hotdog.

“What’s the point of this?”

“It’s fun,” she said.

“Are you having fun?” I asked. “Because I’m not.”

Lisa studied me, her brain was always firing, but usually whatever she was thinking immediately spilled out of her mouth. Not this time.

“I don’t think we should have sex,” Lisa said. It was as serious as she ever got.

“Me either,” I said. I had made my peace with this weeks ago.

“Let’s say this really isn’t about you, that it’s about me,” she said.

“Okay…”

“There are things I… crave, and getting them from you just seems like the best option. The safest option,” she said.

There was a sliver of vulnerability, of pain in her words. I went from annoyed to concerned. I knew so little about her. Maybe she was Cameron’s (not pretend) sex slave.

“Lisa,” I said, “You don’t have to tease me to get what you want. You can just ask.”

Those brown eyes stared up at me, more synapses firing, but she said nothing. Not for a minute. Then two.

I reached for the fridge, pretty sure there were hotdogs in there, even if we didn’t have buns.

“I need a favor,” she said. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

I turned my attention back to her.

“If I…” she started, “I want you to tie me up, and uh… spank me.”

“Like with a paddle?”

“No. Your hand,” she said.

“Tie you up with what?”

“I have rope,” she said.

She spent the next half hour showing me the optimal knots. It occurred to me that no twenty year old should have this level of expertise, but I didn’t ask.

Jett interjected.

“So wait,” Jett said. “You’re a bondage expert and never told me?”

“You want me to tie you up?” I asked.

“I don’t know, just like to know it’s an option,” Jett said. “If I wanted to try it.”

My mind drifted to tying Jett up, wrists bound above her head, spreading her legs, going down on her until she told me to stop, not listening.

“I’m not an expert,” I said. “Just a quick lesson.”

“Go on,” Jett said.

Lisa stripped down to her panties. I fashioned the knots just like she taught me, binding together her wrists, then her ankles. Then I sat on the edge of the couch, and she draped her body over my legs.

Jett interjected again.

“Make it sexy,” she said. “Like you write.”

“It wasn’t really a sexy thing,” I said.

“I don’t care,” Jett said.

I looked over at my girlfriend. Her cheeks looked… flushed. Something in this story was having an effect on her.

“How about you take your pants off,” I said. “And in return, I’ll make it sexy.”

“Deal,” Jett said.

She slipped out of her slacks, rolling them down her smooth legs, revealing semi-sheer panties with the outline of her pubic hair visible. She slid her pants down past her thighs, dropping them to the floor. Her white socks went up to her calves. My heart started beating faster. I never get tired of looking at her pale thighs, and the area in between. Jett knew I was watching, flinging her hair back, biting her lip, hazel eyes watching me watch. We both knew where this was going. Jett probably had it planned out.

Make it sexy, I told myself.

“She was leaning over your knee,” Jett said. “And tell the story like you wanted to fuck her.”

I knew what Jett meant, but the words were surprising. What Jett meant was I had the freedom to make the story sexy, without worrying about her being jealous. Permission was her intention, but what I heard was “I want you to fuck Lisa.”

I took a deep breath.

Right. Over my knee. Sexy.

The whole experience was intimate, our bodies close together. She was nervous and vulnerable, not so much with the nudity or loss of control but with whatever hidden part of herself she was revealing.

Lisa seemed to be in her own head, for once not consciously teasing me, but teasing anyway, her nipples dragging over my legs, her soft body draped over my hard… legs.

“Now you spank me,” Lisa said. “Hard as you can. Don’t stop until I tell you.”

I ran my hand over her firm ass. The soft panties would not help. It was the first time I really ever touched her, intimate and powerful. My cock got hard instantly. Lisa could probably feel it, but she didn’t say anything. Me being turned on around her wasn’t anything new. What was new was my hand, cupping and squeezing her ass. She didn’t say anything. She was frozen.

I slapped her ass, as hard as I could, so hard it made my hand sting. I felt all the muscles in her abdomen flex.

“One,” she counted. Her voice sounded unsteady.

Jett was transfixed by my story.

I hit Lisa again. Then again. By seven she was sobbing. I asked her to stop. She said no.

Two more and she was full blown crying, the pain was the trigger, but once she started, it didn’t stop. It was strange and intimate. I’d obviously heard women cry before, but not while they were stretched over my knee. Never had I felt every sob, every wail echo through someone like I felt in Lisa.

I wanted to comfort her, to fix it, but I didn’t know how. She didn’t want me to hug her, she wanted me to hurt her.

“Jesus,” Jett said. “This is pretty rough stuff.”

I shrugged.

Another three and I was done, even if she wasn’t.

“Not yet,” Lisa said.

“I can’t do this,” I said. “Maybe you enjoy this but I don’t.”

“Just one more, hard as you can,” she said. “Just.. just take my panties off first.”

I wasn’t going to have sex with her. We had gone down a similar path so many times before. I knew better. Despite that, I felt a thrill.

I ran my hand under the elastic band, running across her sore ass. I felt her body tense as I dragged her panties down to her thighs. Her tanned skin was blotchy and red.

Whatever we were doing was sexual, but it wasn’t sex. I had one job to do, and it wasn’t to love her or comfort her or fuck her. I had to hit her.

So I spanked her again. One last time.

“Maybe you touched her first,” Jett suggested. She nodded me on, wanting me to change the story. For her.

I paused for a moment, Jett didn’t want the truth. She was chasing something on her own. I looked at my sexy girlfriend and changed the story, leaning more toward what I wished had happened.

“I ran my hand across her ass cheeks, then down between them. She froze, not reacting but not telling me to stop. I slid down her ass to her pussy, feeling her inner lips and soft flesh, kneading in to her, finding her clit for just a moment, then sliding by, running my fingers through course hair.”

“Then what?” Jett asked. She was breathing hard, face flushed.

“I circled back to her… vagina,” I said.

“Really? Vagina?” Jett said, a note of disappointment at my word choice.

“I circled back to her… opening,” I tried.

“I think that’s worse,” Jett said.

I just stared at Jett. She said nothing, was leaning against the edge of the couch, her legs spread, nothing between us but her sheer panties, her shirt had crept up her chest, showing her perfect stomach, the edges of her tattoo. Her hand rested on her inner thigh, not quite touching herself but so close.

I slid over to her, running my hands up her thighs, to the smooth fabric of her underwear. Silk? I pushed the fabric to the side. Jett’s hazel eyes bored in to me. She didn’t speak.

“I dipped a finger inside of her,” I said, my actions following my words. “And she was already wet, pain and desire mixed together. Not understanding her want, but not needing understanding, only needing the pressure of my fingers inside of her.”

“Yes,” Jett said.

I wrapped my left hand around Jett’s neck, holding her head steady, forcing her to look in my eyes while the fingers of my other hand slid against her pussy. She was wet. Eyes never leaving mine. Her breath caught as I entered her. Jett moaned as I curled my fingers.

“Yes,” Jett said, a heavy sigh. “Then what?”

“She wanted my cock, had always wanted it, but I wouldn’t give it to her,” I said. “She had to beg.”

I continued stroking her. She was wet and warm on my fingers. Jett closed her eyes, her whole body relaxing, neck and shoulders and arms going limp.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“So beg,” I said.

I moved my fingers inside of her, no longer stroking, more aggressive, fucking her more than caressing. Her eyes shot open, a question.

I nodded.

“Please can I have your cock?” she said.

“Where?” I growled.

She looked dumbfounded, looking for the perfect word. My fingers never stopped. I felt her shiver. Her languid eyes wanted everything.

“In my pussy,” she whispered.

I smiled, probably goofy but who gives a shit. I pulled my fingers out and stood up, fumbling for my pants, not possibly able to get them off fast enough. I slid my pants and underwear off together, her eyes watching my cock spring loose. It had never been so hard. Precum already puddled on the end of it.

She leaned up, eyes following mine. Jett opened her mouth, slipping her perfect lips around the head, running her tongue across and through the precum.

“Please,” she said. “I need your cock in my pussy.”

She smiled. Playing a role but also not.

I bent over, grabbing her panties, pulling them up and off of her long legs in one motion. Who knows where they landed. Her legs fell akimbo on the couch. I jumped down between them, pulling her close, my cock a spear ready to impale her.

Jett nodded, seeing the implied violence, the capacity to hurt her, wanting it. My hard cock looked large against her petite frame. I reached around her narrow hips, lining her up. Then I fell in to her, my cock sliding all the way in her body in just one stroke.

“Oh fuu…” she never finished. Her body tensed around me, not unlike the feeling of Lisa when I spanked her. She was pinned under me, but even so she did everything in her power to meet my thrust, to push back in to me as I pounded in to her.

We didn’t talk, the only sound was the slap of my body in to hers. Each stroke elicited a groan, as if my cock was so deep it was forcing the air out of her lungs, involuntary and uncontrolled.

“I’m gonna cum!” she said.

“Beg,” I said.

Then she was screaming, her body writhing on my cock, her nails digging in to my chest. Jett’s eyes were on fire for me as she came.

“You’re so deep,” she said. “Oh god.”

I slammed my cock in to her again. She bit her lip and looked at me. My girlfriend’s face looked almost… impressed. Grateful. Needy.

“Keep. Going,” she said. She was gasping for air, each word a separate breath.

Then I was coming, spasming load after load inside of her, not stopping but slowing, each stroke less than the last.

Normally, after we fuck, we’ll take turns rushing to the bathroom, cleaning up, maybe putting on underwear or pajamas before snuggling up. I just rolled off of her, both of us covered in sweat, mixed fluids leaking out of her, probably staining the couch. We didn’t care. We needed air, a moment to cool off.

We laid half naked on the couch for some time, just the sound of our ragged breathing. When I had recovered enough to think again, to be more than just a body, I turned to Jett. Her hair was a sweaty mess, stomach and thighs covered in a sheen of sweat. She didn’t bother to move, to cover up, or close her legs. Trimmed auburn hair and swollen lips. Her bruised pussy was open to me, cum leaking out.

She smiled. I smiled back.

What the fuck just happened? My story of spanking Lisa had morphed into the craziest sex of my life, Jett and I improvising, half playing a role and half just desperate to fuck each other.

I never told Jett the rest of the story. The true story, the part I would never share.

I was ready to quit hurting Lisa before she was, ignoring her pleas for more. She begged at first. Then she yelled, called me a fucking pussy, too weak to hurt her for real.

I didn’t know what to do, so I just grabbed around her hips and shoulders and kind of spun her off me, landing her on the couch. With her wrists and ankles bound, she flopped over, face down and ass up. She was naked and helpless.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” she asked. Her voice was raw from her beating. It sounded like a challenge. What I heard was “Fuck me.”

Lisa had spent months sexually tormenting me. Despite the crying, my cock was hard. I wanted her. I imagined what it would feel like to slide inside of her. I wanted to reach out, convinced she was wet for me, wanting to test it, prove it. It would be so easy. All she had to do was ask.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

“Fuck you,” she said.

Then I knew. Lisa wanted me to fuck her. She wouldn’t ask for it, wanted to fight it, wanted to say no, pretend it wasn’t her idea. She wanted me to push past her boundaries. Force her. So much of her behavior made sense. She kept putting me in a situation to fuck her, only to say no. Once or twice is an accident, but not all summer. Over and over and over.

Lisa needed something, said she could get it from me, that I was safe.

As strong as my desire was to fuck her back then, and it was quite strong, there was a weight and dread and half recognition that I was in over my head.

So I untied her, held her. She tucked her face against my chest and cried, telling me she was sorry. I held this beautiful, naked, bruised woman close. My cock kept asking why I wasn’t fucking her while my brain kept asking how I could help.

—

Days after my wild encounter with Jett.

I rushed home. Traffic was shit. Jett had an exhibition. I should have been home thirty minutes ago. We were meeting at my place. She was alone with Lisa.

Fuck.

No good could come from this. Jett seemed to take my unusual living situation well, but it wouldn’t last forever. I wasn’t prepared to find a new roommate (and for that matter, neither was Lisa). I could see a world where I moved in with Jett, but we couldn’t rush it.

I burst through the door, expecting to find… I don’t know. A furious Jett? I found no one.

“Brett?” I heard Jett’s voice from the back of the apartment.

“Yeah?”

“We’re in Lisa’s room,” Jett said.

Fuck. Again.

I put my stuff down and stalked to the back of the apartment. The bedroom door was mostly shut but not latched. I pushed it open.

Lisa was naked. Tied up. Rope around her wrists. Tied to a hook in the low ceiling. She wasn’t dangling, just stuck. She had her back to me. I saw tanned skin, compressed shoulder blades, dimples on her back, her nice ass, short legs.

Standing next to her was Jett, dressed up for the art show, in a dark form fitting dress that went up to her neck and down past her wrists. Her auburn hair was teased up. Lipstick a dark crimson. Her white leather was jacket resting on Lisa’s bed.

Both girls turned to me. Lisa was beaming. Her eyes, her face, her body all said the same thing. “Where’d you find this girl? Can you believe this shit?”

I could not believe this shit.

“What’s going on?”

“Jett is better at this pretend sex slavery thing than you are,” Lisa said.

“I can see that,” I said.

“You were running late,” Jett said, “and we were bored, and you know how Lisa is when she’s bored…”

I sighed. All true things. Whatever catastrophe I had feared, well, this wasn’t it. I should have been relieved.

“We’re late,” I said. “We need to get to the gallery.”

I took a step toward Lisa. We needed to untie her. The knots looked familiar. It wouldn’t take long.

“Whats at the gallery?” Lisa asked. It is hard to explain the happiness in her voice, in her body language. It was sunshine beaming out of her pores, like her truest pleasure in life was to be tied up and naked in front of people just trying to go about their lives.

“I have an art show,” Jett said.

I needed to get Lisa off the hook. I walked up to her, reaching my hands around the top of her ass, ignoring the pleasant curves of her body, her nipples on my chest, the floral scent of her hair. I pulled her against me and lifted. The girls didn’t even notice.

“So cool,” Lisa said. “Can I come?”

No. My brain shouted.

“Sure,” Jett said.

Fuck.

—

The gallery was small. I had the feeling the university sponsored it somehow. Jett’s art occupied 90% of the walls. It felt like a big deal. Jett needed to mingle, to sell, to practice her salesmanship as much as her art. This left time for Lisa and I to wander unsupervised.

It was easy to lose track of Lisa’s real personality. In private, she was provocative, downright annoying in her brazen sexuality. In public, she was shy, nervous. Always out of place. T-shirt and chunky boots in a couture room. The occasional lesbian would strike up a conversation, and Lisa would just turn to me, lost.

So the two of us wandered the show together. I’m not an artist, and my vocabulary here may be limited. If Jett had a consistent theme or style, it was contrast. Black and white, sharp edges, then an interruption of soft color. Paintings of metallic shapes, almost like barbed wire, interrupted and dominated by vibrant green photographs. Chiaroscuro machines smashed to bits by reds or golds or greens of nature.

I looked for my picture and didn’t find it. Maybe next time.

I did find photos of Jett embedded in the show. It was never obviously her. The face would be obscured or turned away, but I knew that body, and it was often nude.

I lingered near a group crowded around a specific piece. It was big, probably six feet wide. There were dozens of figures occupying a section of the piece, all of them Jett, all of them naked. The photos must have been old. In each figure her face was obscured, but you could see evidence of time stamps. Her hair up or down. Shorter or longer. Dyed black in places, auburn in others. Obvious pubic hair in some, not obvious in others.

There was a kind of motif running from left to right. Variations of Jett, in an organic barbed wire morass, struggling against it, almost like a Hieronymus Bosch or H.R. Giger painting but the horror dialed down from a 10 to a 3 (thank god). In the piece, the dozens of girls transitioned in to one, in to my Jett, tattoos and all. My Jett was surrounded by nature, photos and paint, like the poppy field scene in Wizard of Oz. It seemed a kind of story, about the internalization of pain leading to peace.

It occurred to me that someone must have taken these pictures. Probably a male someone.

I tried not to dwell on this topic, on Jett’s history or the fact that she was naked on canvas. Although her face was obscured, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the thin girl in the painting was very likely the artist, and that this artist was cute and daring and looked fucking stunning while naked. I looked around. There was an 80 / 20 mix of girls to guys. It seemed like her art played best to the lesbian crowd. Even so how, many of the guys (and girls?) were here just to get access to Jett, to bide their time until they could fuck her too?

“Your girlfriend may have issues,” Lisa said.

“That’s really something coming from you,” I said.

“I just call ’em as I see ’em,” Lisa said. “Maybe you have a type.”

I watched Jett from across the room. She looked great. White leather jacket over form fitting dress. She had a Morticia Adams meets Akira-biker-gang vibe. Her dark dress hugged her ass. I could watch eyes follow her ass as she walked.

Jett was entertaining a crowd. Smiling and laughing. Occasionally a touch on an arm. I made a choice not to be jealous. It wasn’t the first time I had to make that choice tonight.

“I don’t think she’d be afraid to spank me,” Lisa said. “In fact, maybe I should tie her up.”

Fuck. Force Lisa to keep her clothes on, and she would find other ways to torment me.

The crowd around Jett was thinning. I caught her eye. She motioned for a drink. I grabbed one and found her.

“Your art is amazing,” Lisa said. She beat me to it.

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know how you can do this.”

I felt stupid, ordinary, generic. Jett’s big eyes and nervous energy told a story. She needed a recharge, needed her boyfriend to give her extra energy, confidence, and strength. I needed to pick up my game.

“What came first,” Lisa asked. “The tattoo or the painting?”

Jett sipped punch out of a cheap plastic cup.

“I forgot you’ve seen it,” Jett said.

“Oh I’ve seen more than just your tattoo,” Lisa said.

“Well that makes us even then,” Jett said.

“You’ll have to do a lot more before we’re even,” Lisa said.

I’m pretty sure Lisa just asked Jett to fuck her, or have me fuck her while Jett watched? It meant nothing. This was just what she did.

“I think the painting came first, or at least the idea of it,” Jett said, “but I couldn’t finish it until the tattoo was complete.”

“Did it hurt?” Lisa asked. She didn’t have any tattoos herself. I had complete confidence in that assessment.

“Tremendously, especially on my ribs,” Jett said.

“Why did you do it?” Lisa asked. It was the question I also wanted answered.

Jett studied my roommate for a moment.

“I finally understood that beauty requires pain,” Jett said. “But it’s one thing to know it, and something completely different to live it. I had to try living it.”

My heart was racing, I didn’t know why.

“Would you do it again, the pain?” Lisa asked.

“Only if I could create something beautiful,” Jett said.

—

We were in the backseat of my car heading home. Jett was on top of me, sitting on my lap, almost like cowgirl, but we weren’t having sex. Yet.

Lisa was driving. Jett needed all of my attention. Her dress was hiked up past her thighs. There were still articles of clothing separating us, but not many.

“Tell me you liked it,” Jett said.

I wanted to kiss her neck, but she was riding too high. I ran my hands down her back, settling around her slim waist.

“I loved it,” I said.

She leaned down and kissed me. I bucked in to her, needing to be inside of her.

Jett pulled back. “Not yet,” her eyes said.

“What about the others. The other people. Did they like it?”

“They loved it. They loved you,” I said. Not jealous. Happy. At this moment it felt like the whole world wanted to be with Jett, but she was here with me.

She smiled, kissed me again, but this one was almost chaste. Jett seemed lost for a moment, like she was processing something.

I’ll never know what was going through her head, but I can guess. In writing class, we sometimes read our projects out loud. It was a struggle putting so much of myself on the page, not holding back, wanting it to be good. Reading it out loud was terrifying, like being naked but worse, putting your perspective and desires in front of strangers to be judged. Would they see intent as well as execution, style as well as substance? Did I have something worth saying, worth reading?

Jett had just done this but at a much higher intensity, orders of magnitude different. Writing was a hobby for me. Art was her life. She put every bit of herself out there tonight, including her naked body.

It had gone well. It was obvious, but she needed to hear it. Needed to feel it. Needed thoughtful insight, emotion, respect, awe. Needed to know her art made me feel something. She needed her art to mean more than her lips or her legs or my cock.

“Jett,” I said.

She stared down at me. There was a break in our lust.

“You did something tonight, something special,” I said. “How many people reveal their true self, beauty and pain, offering up everything to strangers. Scrutinized, discussed. You just dueled with St. Peter or Anubis or pick your faith and pick your judgment. Other people have to die to experience what you just did.”

She was enraptured by my words, more than the spanking story and the lust that went with it. I continued.

“I can’t imagine what you are feeling, but I’m glad to be included, to see your art. See you. I want every part of you, especially your talent. Maybe I’m jealous other people get to see it too, but I’ll get over it. You’re worth it.”

She just stared down at me.

Jett started to speak. Then stopped. I thought I saw tears welling up. She nodded twice, then collapsed into my body.

The overt sexual feeling, the passionate kiss and the cowgirl, was over. She wrapped herself in my arms. Even in a car, her petite frame was easy to manage. I held her. The sexual tension was broken, but I was fine. This was somehow better.

There are times when I question why Jett is with me, but not tonight.

Even Lisa knew not to ruin it. I caught her eye in the mirror. She understood. Sometimes you just need to be held and feel safe, to recover. It wasn’t so different than the time Lisa had cried in my arms.

Lisa said nothing, just drove.