It was too much effort to restrain Stacey when she rolled off the bed, so I went back to fingering my sloppy slit and admired the play of her naked body as she walked across the room. God she was gorgeous, I mused, feeling the passion start to mount inside me again when she turned to blow a kiss before picking up her cell.
She was insatiable, but I'd discovered I could keep up with her. Every orifice in my body ached from being violated with the toys strewn about the bed, some of them larger than any of the men I'd known, but what really got me off was the sly look on Stacey's face each time she teased another climax out of my trembling body. Well, that or the way she writhed in my embrace each time my tongue found its way into her creaming gash.
"Michael, it's about time!" Stacey told her caller. I giggled at the thought of her talking to my roommate while I fucked myself on her bed, and she shushed me before walking into the living room. "No, I got past it, no thanks to you. You owe me a coffee after the next meeting."
Jilling off wasn't as much fun without an audience, so I reluctantly gave it up and decided to hunt for some food. We'd missed lunch and dinner, and the ice cream we'd played with last night didn't really count. Still naked, I followed Stacey out into the other room.
"...suspicious killjoy," she was saying. "No, I promised I wouldn't do that." Apparently, Michael was giving her a hard time. It probably was his duty, as her sponsor, and I was glad he was looking out for her, however belatedly. "It's not like I'm not supposed to have any girlfriends! I needed a friend, and she offered to help." A low murmur was all I could hear of his voice. "Yes, completely voluntary. I swear it!"
I smirked and then caught sight of the clock. "Oh shit!" I yelped, aghast at the time. The heavy curtains had fooled me into thinking it was early morning, but it was just after noon; I'd lost a whole day! No wonder I was starving! I ran back into the bedroom, looking for my clothes, and trying to calculate in my head. I had maybe three hours to repack my bag with some clean things and leave for the airport in time to catch my flight. "Shit, shit, shit!" I muttered, heading back to the bathroom.
Stacey was off the phone. "Do you have to leave now? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" She pulled a curtain aside, confirming her statement. As we watched, a stroke of lightning lit up the sky.
"There's nothing more I'd like to do," I sighed, "but I have a trip and the traffic will be terrible in weather like this." I found one of my pumps in front of the refrigerator.
"At least let me call you a cab," Stacey relented, and started dialing the phone while I dressed.
Finally I was ready to go. "I'm sorry I have to leave like this," I told her. "I had a really good time."
She smiled. "So did I. You'll see me when you come home, right?" Her look made my knees feel weak.
"Try and keep me away!" I laughed, and then we were kissing again, as if it were the first time. Our bodies ground against each other, and it was nearly impossible to force myself to end it and walk away. I took the elevator down, but still felt out of breath when I reached the sidewalk.
The rain was sheeting out of the low clouds, but the cab was there and I dashed through the downpour to the relative safety of the back seat. The traffic was as bad as I'd feared, and I think we nearly got into accidents twice because the cabbie kept looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I walked into the apartment feeling a little bit like a drowned cat.
"Linnea? Is that you?" Michael called from his office. "Jesus Christ! Can't you turn on your phone? I've called you like a million times!"
"It is on, and hello to you too," I snarled, still in a bad mood. I opened my purse again and dug past the wallet and candle to find my phone. "Okay, so I did have it off, duh," I admitted, thumbing the power button and watching the little logo appear. "What did I miss, besides the flood?"
"It's no joke, Linnea; I was worried about you. I had no idea where you--" he walked into the living room and stopped dead at the sight of me.
"What?" I asked, wishing the rain hadn't matted down my hair so much.
"You were with her," Michael said flatly. "Christ, Linnea, I told you to stay away from these people!"
"What?" I repeated, offended. "You mean Stacey?" His eyes hardened. "She needed help and you weren't around. Nothing happened! What business is it of yours how I spend my weekends?"
"Look at yourself," he said, sounding tired. "Just look, in the mirror."
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light, then set my open purse on the counter so I could try to tease out the curls in my hair; the weather hadn't completely killed them. "Is it about the haircut? It looked better, dry."
I blinked, and suddenly everything was different; I gasped with surprise. Instead of my silk blouse, I was wearing a really tight black knit mock turtleneck. It was so thin that it was effectively transparent, especially wet, and I could see every curve of my breasts, areolae, and hardened nipples.
My skirt was absurdly -- no, obscenely -- short, riding low on my hips and barely wider than the heavy link belt draped around it. The lips forming the "O" of surprise in the mirror were a glossy fire engine red I'd never seen before -- at least since I'd graduated from high school. I knew I didn't own any eyeliner; Stacey must have applied it.
"Oh my God!" I grabbed a tissue and scrubbed at my mouth, removing most of the color. Throwing it in the trash, I pulled out a lipstick, but forced myself to stop when I saw it was the same color I'd just removed.
"That's it, Linnea!" Michael encouraged me. "Keep fighting it. You can do it; she only had you for two days!"
"You mean one day," I absently corrected him, staring at myself again in the mirror. No wonder the cabbie had almost killed us -- I was fucking hot!
Michael shook his head gently. "Two days; this is Monday. Don't think about sex. Talk to me."
I leaned heavily on the counter, stunned. Monday? I felt disconnected from everything. "Monday?" I asked again, aloud. "Shit! I'm supposed to be in Boston today! Harris is going to kill me!" My mind raced, trying to think of some way out of this terrible situation, while my finger traced idle designs on the countertop.
"You're in luck," Michael chuckled. "This front came in yesterday afternoon, and the thunderstorms haven't really let up since then. The airline called to say your flight was canceled, and I bet you couldn't get out today, either. Don't worry about any of that. Concentrate on yourself; keep talking."
"What happened to me?" I wailed, looking at myself again in the mirror. "I thought you were the sex addict, not me." I almost thought I could feel my nipples stretching beneath my gaze, so like Stacey's... I turned away from the mirror and leaned against the counter. Michael's eyes turned aside and I realized I'd propped a foot against the cabinet under me, flashing him with my bald pussy.
"Well, I'm not! A sex addict, I mean. What did Stacey do to me?"
Michael sighed heavily. "I'm not a sex addict either, Linnea. You didn't need to know this before, but I'm in Mind Controllers Anonymous."
The thought was so outrageous that I couldn't help laughing. "What, you have a group to help you not make people do things? Can I join?" I'd be able to see Stacey at the meetings, I carefully did not say; Michael's sense of humor seemed to be entirely absent.
"I'm not joking! Listen to me, Linnea; you need to take this seriously." A pained expression crossed his face. "And can you please stop doing that?"
With a start, I realized that not only hadn't I lowered my leg, I'd been fingering myself too -- right in front of Michael! I'm sure my face went beet red. "Oh God, I'm so sorry! I can't believe I'm doing this!" I wasn't sure what was worse; that I'd been exposing myself to him like that, or that my finger was gleaming with my arousal.
My foot fell to the floor with a thud and I whirled around, both to wash my hands and so I didn't have to look at him while I regained my composure. Not only was my finger shamefully wet, there was a stray hair tangled around the tip.
With a grimace of distaste, I flicked the brown curl onto the small black tea candle flickering on the counter next to my purse, and then pumped copious squirts of liquid soap onto my hands.
"You shouldn't be embarrassed, Linnea," Michael reassured me; he had to speak up to be heard over the running water. "You're the victim here. There are resources, people that can help you; but you need to be strong." He paused for a moment before asking, "Is something burning?"
"Just a little incense candle," I replied, turning off the water and drying my hands. "It does smell nice, doesn't it?" It was a deep primal scent, of desire, of physical rut. It made me want to fuck something, preferably Stacey.
"It smells like burning hair," Michael groused suspiciously. "Where did you get it?"
"I thought it was yours," I answered, feeling confused. We looked at each other, and then somebody knocked on the door.
Michael looked like he was about to say something, but then just shook his head. "I'll get it. Why don't you go change out of those clothes before you freeze to death?"
"Good point," I agreed. If it was somebody I knew, I didn't want them to see me like this! I scampered for my room and pushed the door closed.
Whoever our caller was, Michael evidently let them in because I heard voices in the living room. A female voice, in fact. My heart started racing when I recognized Stacey's tone. I had to see her!
They were standing there talking to each other. "It wasn't any trouble," Stacey said. "You said you wanted to see me, Michael; 'when my sponsor asks, I must obey', right?" I could hear the humor in her voice.
They both looked at me as I padded up. "I guess you two already know each other," Michael sighed.
I just nodded. Stacey, apparently more resistant to his quelling expression, gave me a great big kiss. The way her hand ran down my bare flank and squeezed my butt raised goose bumps on my arms and made my breasts ache. I sneaked a peek at him when we broke for air, but he didn't seem to be upset -- just puzzled.
"Michael's told me a little about you, Linnea," Stacey told me with a warm smile. "He's lucky to have you around to help him."
"Yeah," he admitted, before attempting to return to whatever they'd been talking about before. "But look, Stacey, I wanted to talk to you because I have a problem with you, um..."
"I know," Stacey spoke up, taking control of the conversation. "Of course you have a problem, you idiot!" She gave me a quick grin. "Look, maybe I'm out of line because I'm not your sponsor, but Karen is an idiot, too! And I'm not saying that just because I think she's a frigid bitch. You cannot remain celibate for over two years and expect not to have a problem."
Wow. I felt a wave of sympathy. I knew Michael had taken Peter's death badly, but -- nobody? I didn't think I could go two days without getting some, much less two years.
"I don't think," Michael started to say.
"Really," snarked Stacey; I stifled a giggle. "Don't get hung up on the program, okay? Look; Linnea helped me, and I think she could help you with your problem, too. She's a good friend."
"I'd love to help," I gushed, feeling bad for not having done more for him already. "What can I do?"
"The trick is to work with your body instead of fighting it," Stacey explained. "You need to start by getting comfortable."
"What's the point?" asked Michael. He sounded dubious, but didn't hesitate to push down his sweatpants and step out of them. I was already naked, so I just stood there and casually examined his limp cock. My first impression was that it had been a waste to keep it out of circulation for so long.
"Just relax, and remember your time with Peter. You two were really into each other, weren't you?"
"Oh yeah." Michael let out a deep breath, and his penis stirred. "Not at first, but" -- he looked at me apologetically -- "I fixed him." His organ started inflating rapidly at the words.
I laughed at the idea, a bit breathlessly. "You couldn't make him be gay, Michael. He had to be attracted to men already; he just fell for you, that's all. I'd sit on that cock!" I clapped a hand over my mouth, embarrassed at my forwardness.
"It's okay to be human," soothed Stacey; I wasn't sure which of us she was addressing. "Remember how you felt with him, how right it was?" She was holding one of her toys; it was a life-size black cock, mounted on a sturdy handle, and its contours glistened with lube.
Memories of the feel of it inside me prompted me to start producing my own lube. It felt like it would be rude to masturbate during such a delicate moment, so I crossed my arms in front of me and surreptitiously thumbed my nipples.
"Relax," she whispered, and positioned the tip of the phallus between Michael's cheeks. With a strength I wouldn't have expected from her slight frame, she smoothly buried the black dildo inside his trembling body.
He made a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry. "Peter!"
"Let go of your problems," urged Stacey, beginning to pump him with long steady strokes. "Listen to your body." She caught my eye and gestured to his fully engorged cock.
I scrambled to comply -- not like I wasn't going to get something out of it too -- and fell to my knees so I could take him in my mouth. I admit I'd thought once or twice about what it might be like, but Michael didn't give me time to enjoy it.
I'd barely matched his rhythm when he cried out and blew two years of pent-up spunk into my mouth, leaving me coughing and dripping semen. It wasn't as nice as eating out Stacey.
Michael and Stacey looked down at me when I started giggling. I tried to explain, but couldn't get the words out. Apparently my family were late bloomers -- I'd come to the realization I was lesbian, or at least bisexual, about the same age Peter had been when he'd come out of the closet. And how ironic was it for two lesbians to help a gay guy get his rocks off?
"This isn't right," Michael gasped. It so closely mirrored my thoughts that it startled a laugh out of me that turned into a brief fit of coughing.
Stacey started working him with the dildo again. "Then step back from it and just don't think for a little bit," she suggested. He went cross-eyed for a moment, then sighed and gazed sightlessly over my head.
His cock hadn't lost any firmness after the first orgasm, but I decided I'd lost my taste for sperm. It wasn't right to leave him hanging, so I reached out and started giving him a hand job; there was plenty of lubrication. My free hand drifted south so I could give myself some much-needed relief.
"Good girl," Stacey whispered huskily in my ear. I hadn't realized she'd moved, but she was crouched behind me. Michael was impaling himself on the dildo, much more urgently than Stacey had been, and grunting with each thrust. "It's so important you help Michael the way you helped me, Linnea."
I nodded, knowing she was right. "I won't let you down -- either of you." I stood up, still holding his cock, and looked Michael full-on. "C'mon, Batman; let's move this to the bedroom." I didn't know the story behind the nickname, but Peter had used it often, doubtless an inside joke.
"Peter?" Michael asked plaintively, looking right through me as if my brother's ghost stood behind me, rather than Stacey. He started churning the cock in his ass even harder, but followed me when I tugged gently on his organ and led him to his bedroom.
I wasn't sure what to say, but apparently the sight of me -- or was it my brother? -- kneeling on his bed needed no explanation. Michael fell on me like a madman, splitting my ass and filling my rectum with his cum-slicked manhood. He reamed my back door like his life depended on it, and maybe it did.
My chute was still tender, but I started heating up with a little help from my finger. Then I thought about how pleased Stacey would be that I was helping Michael, and I started cumming like a firecracker.
He must have had a lot of pent-up energy, because it was dark by the time I finally pulled free and swayed to my feet. Michael lay sprawled on his bed, the dildo's handle still sprouting from his butt, and I was almost sure I could feel a breeze through my gaping, leaking rosebud.
I staggered back to my own bedroom, and found Stacey stretched out naked on my bed, surrounded by the contents of my purse and wallet.
"Poor Linnea," she smiled, "you look like you've had a hard afternoon. I rebooked you on the 8 AM flight tomorrow morning. Now come and get that nasty taste out of your mouth." She spread her legs in invitation, and I suddenly realized I wasn't nearly as tired as I'd thought.
I extended my tongue and let her gentle hands guide me to where I was born to be.
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