Sabrina & The Stupid Sleepless Siren Ch. 003

Jacob woke the next morning with a jolt, his room still smelling faintly of Sabrina - something like garlic, sweat, and something else primal he couldn't shake. He realized she didn't have his number. How could she reach him? How could he reach her? He'd seen her in the background of someone else's Instagram story once, months ago, raving about a cheese biggie deluxe pizza with triple garlic, onion, and ghost peppers. She'd been laughing, her messy hair catching the light, and he'd thought it was the most interesting, brave, creative thing - her originality shining through the Midwest's beige sameness as she ate something so rejective of what society told them to eat. He admired her, quietly, from his lonely corner. Now, he had an idea:

He ordered the pizza from that local joint from her post, using online ordering, scribbling a note on the delivery instructions: "Sabrina: I remembered you liked this. I think it's so cool and interesting and cute how brave and creative and original you are. I really admire you. -Jacob." The receipt carried his words when Penny, the pizza girl, knocked on Sabrina's door that evening. Penny - a wiry sophomore with a nose ring - read it aloud, her voice cracking with laughter that morphed into sobs. "Oh my God, this is adorable," she choked out, wiping her eyes. "No boy's ever said that to me. Probably never will."

Sabrina, still in bed, her tank top rumpled and her hair a tangled nest, opened the door and blinked at the stranger. Penny thrust the pizza into her hands, still crying, and Sabrina - moved by the rawness - hugged her. They stood there, two lonely girls clinging to a fleeting connection, until Penny pulled away, sniffling, and left. Alone again, Sabrina devoured the entire pizza, a new record. She hadn't eaten much in two days, and the fiery, garlicky mess tasted like salvation. She washed her sleep pills down with vodka her roommate had brought home after a "date" with an older man, maybe a senior, maybe an adult, the burn mingling with the ghost peppers in her throat.

That night, Jacob thought he'd outsmarted her sexsomnia. He noticed she wasn't herself and had no idea what was happening when she, uhh, initiated. So he'd outsmart the her that wasn't her. He piled blankets outside his door, a makeshift barricade to muffle her inevitable banging. But around 2 a. m., a drunk, sleepwalking Sabrina staggered down the hall, her breath a potent mix of garlic, onion, and liquor. She kicked at his door, the sound dulled by the layers, not loud enough to rouse him fully. He scoffed, wishing he'd just let her in, but that wouldn't be fair to the girl he liked. Then he heard it -- moans, wet and desperate, accompanied by a rhythmic schlick schlick schlick. Peering through the peephole, he saw her leaning against her door, her hand buried between her thighs, masturbating with abandon, her voice growing louder, echoing in the empty hall.

Jacob squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, "I'm sorry, real Sabrina," guilt clawing at him as his cock stiffened. He opened the door, and she stumbled in, reeking of her pizza feast. She shoved him onto the bed, her strength uncanny, and knelt over his face, pressing her dripping, swollen pussy against his mouth. "Eat me," she slurred, her sleep-self commanding. Jacob's heart raced--he'd always fantasized about this, and her taste, sharp with something garlicky and onion-y and arousal-y, was intoxicating. He lapped at her eagerly, his tongue tracing her folds, savoring every shudder she gave.

She stood abruptly, swaying, and unbuttoned his tight jeans - his futile armor he'd donned in an attempt to slow her down. Her hungry smile flashed as she saw his erection spring free, thick and ready. She took him in her mouth, her lips hot and sloppy, then tugged him down with her teeth, pulling him into a 69. They devoured each other, her moans vibrating around his cock as he sucked her clit, their mingled scents - her pungent dinner, his clean soapiness - filling the room. "Fuck me now," she ordered, flipping onto her back, her ankles locking behind his hips, trapping him.

He thrust into her, hard and deep, her tight walls gripping him as she came awake mid - orgasm, squirting over his thighs with a sharp cry. Jacob wasn't done, his rhythm relentless, and Sabrina - too polite to stop him - marveled at the sensation, feeling him swell inside her, his tightening balls no longer slapping her ass. She caught a whiff of rancid body odor--hers, from the garlic and onions -- and cringed, but Jacob smelled fresh, like he'd showered just for her. "Thank you, thank you, thankyou thankyou thankyouthankyou," he panted, his voice reverent as he fucked her, a smile breaking across his face as he came his biggest load yet, flooding her pussy with heat. She orgasmed again, a soft gasp escaping as his joy sank into her.

"Why're you on me?" she murmured, dazed, as her reason returned, then noticed her ankles locked around him, holding him in place, as if she caused this. He smiled, and she was glad -- he wasn't miserable, didn't feel used. "Th-thank you too..." she whispered, blushing as he realized she, the nice Sabrina, had been awake. She brushed her hair behind her ear and looked away, and down. Her heart thudded, shame mixing with a strange relief.

She unhooked her legs, scrambling to leave, but Jacob caught her wrist before she could lift herself off of him and release his happy little cock. "Wait -- please. I'm sorry. I had tried to stop you. Blocked the door with my blanket. But you were... out there. Making a lot of noise, ya know? I had to let you in. Before someone heard you screaming and woke up and found you. They might have done something to you. Your underwear's outside, though - you didn't let me grab it." He pointed to the hall, where her panties lay crumpled. "And... we need to talk. Not just these nights for like 2 seconds after you do the stuff with your thing, with me, and my stuff. Thing. Okay? This affects me too. YOU'RE affecting me too. I'm doing everything to protect you, but I can't do it alone. Please."

Her heart throbbed at his shy, sincere care - so did her pussy, teasing him again, her walls clenching as his softening cock slipped out, his massive load oozing onto his lap and sheets. Wrapped in his blanket, sitting on the bed he'd washed every night since they'd met (a stark change from months of neglect), she sighed. "Sorry I kept running. I'm... uh... one of those people who know how to be popular online, but I have no friends. No social skills. I'm sorry I haven't been, like... politer. Nicer."

Jacob's jaw dropped, stunned. "Sabrina, you-" He wanted to hug her but settled for a gentle pat on her shoulder, his hand trembling. She jumped up and glided across the room to the door, opening it and finding her underwear. "Turn around?" she added, and he nodded, facing the window as she dressed, the blanket rustling. "Can I 'walk you home?" he asked, stammering, "You can use the blanket, but I kinda need it back. Uh. My bed's all wet so... I'd, uh, freeze without it."

He did walk her back, her small frame swathed in his blanket, the night air biting. At her door, she turned and hugged him -- quick, tight -- then darted inside, crying.

Jacob stood outside Sabrina's dorm, the happiest and saddest he'd ever been. her hug still warm against his chest, the blanket draped over her shoulders as she disappeared inside. He rubbed his face and eyes, a reflexive gesture to wipe away the tears -- happy, sad, all tangled up -- and then froze. Pain seared through him, a burning unlike anything he'd felt before. The ghost peppers from her pizza had laced her bodily fluids - her squirt, her sweat, the slickness he'd tasted - and now his hands, coated from their encounter, had smeared it into his eyes. He squeezed them shut, a strangled yelp escaping as the heat clawed at him, tears streaming down his cheeks for a new reason entirely.

Stumbling back to his room, he fumbled blindly, stumbling sideways, the unlocked door creaking shut behind him. The air was thick with her scents clinging to his clothes, his skin, the very walls. It actually made his stomach growl, a cruel twist of a different hunger he couldn't sate. He couldn't order food with his eyes swollen shut, couldn't look up numbers to call or dial them on his touchscreen, couldn't even watch his favorite hentai to drown out the loneliness gnawing at him. The laptop hummed faintly, abandoned, its un-paused cartoon moans in a foreign language, with subtitles he couldn't read right now, a distant memory as he collapsed onto his bed.

Her smell was wafting everywhere around him, inescapable -- sharp and earthy, a mix of her dinner and her raw, unfiltered self. He curled into the sheets he'd have to wash again, the fabric still damp from her, and let the tears come. Not just from the pain in his ruined eyes, but from the ache of wanting her, of knowing she was crying too, alone in her pastel prison. He'd fucked up - rubbed ghost peppers, the very ghost peppers he'd sent to comfort her, into his eyes like an idiot - and now he couldn't even distract himself from the silent void she'd left behind.

Desperate for escape, he turned inward, conjuring a dream to lull himself to sleep. In his mind, he was at a picnic outside an anime convention, the sun warm on his face, wearing the spiky orange jumpsuit of his favorite protagonist, Naruto. Sabrina was there, dressed as a fictional love interest, Hinata, her messy hair slicked back and glinting in the light, a shy smile on her lips as she sat beside him on a checkered blanket. They ate cheese deluxe pizza - the one he'd bought her and smelled all over the room - and laughed about how it burned. She reached for his hand, her fingers small but firm, and whispered, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou" her voice soft and real, mirroring his own words from their chaotic night.

The fantasy soothed him, the pain in his eyes dulling as exhaustion took over. He drifted off, the last thing he remembered being her hand in his, her gratitude echoing in his ears. He cried himself to sleep, the stench a lingering reminder of her presence, his loneliness tempered by the fragile hope of a connection neither of them could yet name.