Confessions Next Door Pt. 03

Rent Day #2 Continued

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I was in complete shock. What now? First he gets to see my girlfriend naked, than he gets het to clean his filthy dick!? Who does he think he is?! And what does he think he can do next?

In this moment, I thought of the worst.

"Did he make you sleep with him?"

"No", she said, as if it was the most rediculus question in this situation. "He wanted my to take off my clothes and suck him off again."

She glances at me, searching my face. "I was so nervous. I kept thinking, 'I can't do this. This is too much.' But I did it. I took off my shirt first, then my jeans. I left my panties on as long as I could. He just sat there, staring, cock still out from before, resting heavy on his thigh. He watched me, smirking, his hands just resting on his knees."

I can't help it--I picture her, small breasts exposed, nipples hard from fear or arousal or both. "What did he do when you got naked?"

She squeezes her knees to her chest, voice trembling. "He told me to kneel in front of him. He wanted me to... clean his cock completely. With my mouth." She bites her lip. "He wanted me to clean every bit, even his balls."

My cock throbs, hard against my jeans, even as a sick twist of jealousy knots my stomach. I imagine the taste on her tongue, that pungent, salty odor sticking to her lips.

"You did it?"

She nods, shamefaced but honest. "I licked him, everywhere. He kept his hands on his knees, just watched me, telling me what a good girl I was. I felt disgusting. I felt... wanted. Like a toy. My hands were shaking. My mouth tasted salty, a little bitter. I could feel his eyes on my body the whole time."

She hesitates, face turning red. "He told me to start touching myself while I did it. He wanted to see me... get off on it. I didn't think I could. But as I started rubbing, I realized how wet I was. I think it was the humiliation. The way he talked to me. He told me to look at him the whole time, not to look away, to show him how much I liked it."

Her eyes glisten, angry at herself, defiant. "I came so fast. Like, embarrassingly fast. He saw it. He laughed and told me how pretty I looked cumming on my knees with his cock in my mouth. I couldn't stop shaking. He didn't touch me at all. But it was so intense. I wanted to hate it, Tom. I wanted to feel disgusted. But I... liked it. Or part of me did. And that scares me."

A pause. She's on the verge of tears. "What's wrong with me? Why would I get off to that? I've never even touched myself in front of anyone before. I felt like he could see right through me. Like he owned me for those minutes."

I move closer, not sure if I want to comfort her or press her for more. My head's swimming with images--her mouth working Frank's cock, her fingers trembling between her legs, the humiliation and the ecstasy. "Did you want him to see you like that?" My voice is raw.

She swallows. "I don't know. Maybe? Part of me kept thinking, 'If Tom saw me, what would he think?' I wanted you to stop me. But I also wanted you to see how far I could go. I don't know who I am anymore. I keep replaying it in my head, and I get wet just thinking about it, even though I hate that I do."

My hand finds her thigh, squeezing. "I want to see you. I want to know everything." The words come out low, aching. "Tell me what he did when you finished."

She looks away, voice growing hoarse. "He just sat back and watched. He made me open my mouth, show him my tongue, then told me to suck him until he came again. He wanted it messy. He said he liked seeing my spit all over his cock, dripping onto my chest. He came on my face, said I was a good slut, and wiped himself off with my panties."

She shudders, half crying, half turned on. "He made me put my panties back on after, sticky and dirty. I walked home like that, feeling... ruined. But also so alive. Like I'd crossed some line and couldn't go back. I don't know how to be normal after this, Tom. I don't know if I want to."

I pull her against me, hard, our bodies pressed together. There's no comfort, only heat--guilt and hunger and something wild in both of us. She presses her face to my chest, shaking. The scent that rises off her, thick and musky, hits me--Frank's sweat, that raw, dirty cock smell mingling with her own. It's overwhelming. I want to recoil, but I want to bury my face in her, taste her, claim her for myself.

We sit like that for a long time, not speaking. I stroke her hair, breathing in her scent, feeling my cock pulsing in my pants, shamed by how much I want her and how much of Frank still lingers on her skin. Milly's eyes are wild, almost feverish, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Are you mad at me?" she whispers.

"No. I want you. All of you. Even the parts you're scared of."

---

A week passes. Life settles into a strange, uneasy rhythm--avoiding Frank in the hallway, Milly quieter, sometimes looking at me with a challenge in her eyes, sometimes vanishing into herself. We don't talk about what happened, but I know we're both replaying it, haunted and hungry. At night, I wake up hard, Milly curled against me, her scent still carrying the faintest memory of that day. She tells me she dreams of Frank sometimes, dreams of kneeling, of being used, of losing herself and then finding me again.

Then, one rainy evening, a heavy knock breaks the quiet. Frank doesn't wait for us to answer--just slides an envelope under the door and disappears.

Inside, a cheap USB stick and a note. Milly's hands tremble as she reads aloud:

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I took a few pics last time. Just for myself. Unless you and your boyfriend want them to show up in some interesting places... we'll have another little session. This time, I want him there. Both of you, in my apartment, tonight at eight. Don't be late."

Milly clutches the note, panic in her eyes. "He took pictures. He's got proof. Tom--what do we do?"

I pull her close, and for a moment we just hold each other--two scared kids, heartbeats tangled, caught between shame and forbidden desire. I don't know what we'll do. I only know I can't stop thinking about her, kneeling for Frank, mouth open, body trembling, learning things about herself that neither of us can ever forget.

The clock ticks, and Milly looks up at me, her blue eyes searching for something--permission, forgiveness, maybe just the courage to go further. "Do you want to watch?" she asks, voice trembling but honest. "If we have to do this... will you be there with me?"

My answer is in my hands on her hips, the way I press my forehead to hers. "I want to see everything. I want to see who we really are."

Eight o'clock is coming fast.