The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

What You’ve Done For Me

David sat in his apartment and tried hard to keep himself from exploding in pure sexual frustration. Heather walked past from time to time, wearing his Michigan t-shirt and a preoccupied expression. She had colonized most of his clothes since moving in a few months ago. Especially his pajama pants. Because they were comfortable, she said. Her blonde hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail. She had her reading glasses on.

“Hey,” he said, as she walked past. She gave him a look, a mixture of boredom and preoccupation. Like a nod you’d give a waiter, David thought.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive. He had given plenty of thought to just how attractive she could be. First, lose the mousy, straight-brown haircut. Then, wear something that showed even a little bit of her figure. A brown paper bag might be a little bit of an improvement over the limp pajamas she wore.

“Sorry I’m so busy,” Heather said. She gave him a half-smile.

“No problem,” David said. Her voice was perfect. It melted in the air, kissed the ear of whoever she talked to. Throaty and rich, it was like buttered popcorn for the libido. Even when she was reading part of her ongoing dissertation. It embarrassed her. “It makes me sound like a ditz,” she had complained, when he first complemented her on it.

It was five months of phone conversations that had convinced David to invite her to move in. Five months of what felt like intimate phone sex, even when she was talking about internal department politics and boring Sociological studies. Then she had moved in. On the first day she said: “David, I’m really going to push to finish my dissertation for the next three or four months, okay? So I’m going to be kind of busy.”

David’s apartment was a beige sea, punctuated with little icebergs of Ikea furniture. A small table rested near the kitchen, with nested chairs broke up the monotony like a desert island. He sat on a blue couch salvaged from some forgotten yard sale. It smelled like dogs on wet days and cats on hot ones.

Heather went from bookcase to kitchen table, where a small armory of library books fortified the salt. Then she spent ten minutes frantically paging through a book. Next, ten minutes typing on a laptop. And back again. The same routine for the past two months. Tireless. Two months that he had spent sitting on the couch, with the TV on mute and set to closed captioning.

“Package?” she said, pointing to the side table. His t-shirt flopped on her arm. Half a month of his-and-hers mail had accumulated. Heather didn’t want to go through anything “until I’m done,” and he didn’t want to accidentally throw away some famous research paper proving the existence of the human soul. Or something.

But he should’ve remembered where the big, brown cardboard box came from. He must’ve picked it up this afternoon, on his way inside the apartment complex. He must’ve. Right? Because how else would it have gotten there?

Heather got up, out of the chair. The bags and folds of his stolen clothes flumped downwards. She looks like she’s wearing a seventy year old man, he thought. She picked up the box, turned it upside down.

“The label just says “Someplace Else, New Mexico,"” she reported. “Is that the Company name or the City name? What is this?”

“Long-forgotten birthday present?” David hazarded. “Bomb?”

She gave him a playful look, reached over, and gave him a quick kiss.

Her lips. That was another thing. They were a tiny cradle, a rich, inviting land of pillows and softness. It was hard to tell if she was just a great kisser, or if she was just unusually blessed. David almost wished she didn’t kiss him. It got him rock hard. In seconds.

Heather ripped the box top open. “It’s full of those Styrofoam peanuts. Is there even anything in here?”

“Maybe it’s samples from the Styrofoam corporation. They have to advertise.”

“Funny guy,” but she DID smile. When they first met, David thought she was wearing lipstick. No. Just her normal lips. And they were perfect.

She reached deep into the box, wiggled a hand around. “There IS something in here. Wait a second. Here it is.”

Heather pulled out a bottle, plastic, about the size of a small cup of water, or a travel size toothpaste.

“What the heck is it?” David asked, leaning over.

“It says it’s called “Master Lubrication,” she put one hand to her mouth. “This is lubricant! Like, for sex. David, you got this?”

“….No?” We already have lubricant, David thought. A lonely bottle of Astroglide, sitting in the back of the sex drawer with a few unused condoms to keep it company. “We’ve already got a bottle. Remember? We…?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Heather said. They’d only had sex a meager, pitiful two times. Early in the relationship. David had enjoyed it immensely, listening to the short gasps from Heather. She had taken his virginity. Then, nothing. His meager advances had been rebuffed with distracted frowns.

She handed him the bottle. It was like no bottle of lube he had ever seen. Clear plastic, no labeling besides a simple white pop-top and “Master Lubricant” written on it in blue lettering. He unsealed the plastic on the top and stared at it. Then he opened the top dispenser.

“Oh, don’t pour it out! It’s from who knows where. It’s disgusting. Don’t trust it,” Heather said.

“It’s just lubricant. Or water, at worst. I’m just wondering. And I didn’t buy it.”

David poured just a few drops onto his palm. It felt warm against his skin, nearly hot, like someone’s cheek was pressed against it. It didn’t glisten, like regular lubricant, but was nearly invisible against his palm. He rubbed it with his right hand. They slid around, effortlessly. He could barely feel the lubricant at all. And it felt good, nice, like a localized massage.

“Well, at least it smells good,” Heather said, uncertainly.

“I don’t smell anything,” David said.

“No? Really? It’s like,” She struggled to describe it. “…Nice! Like strawberries and a hot shower. Very nice. Hrm. I still don’t get why you bought it, though.”

“I didn’t!” David said. His right hand idly traced lines with the lubricant.

Heather reached over, gently prodded it with her index. She brought it up to her nose, sniffed it delicately. “So weird!” Then she wiped it off on the back of his pajama pants. David self-consciously did the same, on his jeans. “Well, put it somewhere.. maybe when I’m done with my Dissertation...”

“Sure,” he said. “When you’re done.” He was rockhard. Watching Heather toy with the lubricant, just inches from her lips, had been more then enough.

She noticed it, blushed. “Anyway. Back to work. The Grindstone. Nose to the grindstone. Yes! Maybe.. anyway, yeah, lets make out later?”

The last bit came out in a rush. David blinked. She hadn’t shown any interest in weeks. The last time had been after he took her out to dinner, then a movie.. and they had necked for maybe ten minutes. Then she worked until 3am, to “make up for it.”

“Um. Sure. I’ll be in the bedroom. Reading.”

David walked off, grabbing a large hardcover. Hard. God. In his mind, a picture of Heather delicately licking off the lubricant played on widescreen. Cleaning her finger with those ruby red lips, winking at him, and then…! Determined, he turned to his hardcover. Microeconomics. Great. Why was it that women dangled the possibility of sex in the distant future just when you needed to get off, just to calm down?

For a tortuous couple of hours, David attempted to re-interest himself in old College classes. His mind played out long, involved fantasies that involved his desk, Heather, an ice cube, and a dozen chocolates. In the other room, he could hear Heather’s steady scritch-scritch of a pen, making margin notations.

Well, not so steady a scratch, now that he listened. It was hesitant. Slow. Cautious. Then there was a long silence, and her head poked gingerly into the bedroom. She seemed half-surprised he wasn’t sleeping.

“Hey,” she said. “About what I said earlier. I’m real sorry.”

This was a surprise. David thought over the previous conversations. Nothing important came up. “Sorry… for what?”

“For accusing you of buying that lubricant. And then… anyway, I’m not blind. I could tell you were turned on. But I’m so busy… you really shouldn’t leave it open like that,”

“Huh?” The bottle was on his bedstand table, the top flipped open. Heather inhaled, deeply. “Funny how it smells so good. That’s probably how they get you. Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“No, really, it’s fine.” But his cock betrayed him again. It was already outlined against his pants. Whenever Heather mentioned sex it jumped up like an eager puppy. She sighed.

“See, there it is. No, it’s my fault.” She sat down on the bed. Her brown and green pajama pants camouflaged against the bedspread. “It’s just that this dissertation… I know I’m close. I’ve looked over the citations five, six times now. But really, it’s not perfect until I nail down exactly why the feminists of the 19th century didn’t press their advantage.

David began to drift off. His head nodded like a Drinky Bird. He had heard this speech before. In different variations. Once, in a terrible dream.

Then, something was new. When Heather shifted positions, one hand had rested partly on his leg. His cock was nestled comfortably underneath her hand. And Heather, without seeming to realize it, was twiddling her thumb right on the most sensitive spot. He shifted discreetly towards her.

“I’ve been researching the proper spelling of ‘Labor’ all week,” Heather said. Her index finger got into the action, pinning down David’s penis so that the thumb could do the work. It felt divine. “If I use the British version it’ll sound more authentic, but the American version is more… oh!” Heather followed his gaze down to where her traitorous hand was giving a languorous handjob.

“No, this isn’t something…” she said, lamely. “I.. David, really, it’s already past 10:30, I need to finish..”

David gave her his best hangdog expression. A single drop of precum leaked through his pants. They both stared at it. Heather sighed. “Well, this will have to be really quick, okay? You have to come like right away.”

“That really won’t be a problem,” David assured her.

“Okay.. well… pants off, I guess,” David didn’t need to be told twice. He shucked his off, sat down on the bed. His cock worked itself free from the boxer shorts. Heather stared at it.

“I’m not really sure how this works,” she said.

“Well, you… no, not like that. Not like that!” David said. Heather had put her finger and thumb into an ‘OK’ sign and simply run it up and down the length of his dick. It felt like a full-force sandpaper treatment. “Wow. Please, stop.”

She glared at him, annoyed. “Look, I’m doing this as a FAVOR..”

David put a hand up. “Wait. Okay. Here, put some lube on. That should do the trick.” He grabbed the bottle, and before she could pull away, squeezed a healthy load onto her hand. She looked at it.

“It’s so warm, isn’t it? Look, it’s got my hand all gooked up. How weird!”

“Ahem,” David looked down.

“Oh.” She wrapped her fingers around his cock. The lubricant oozed a little between her fingers. “Is this right?” Her hand moved up.

David gasped. It felt amazing, like a warm, wet mouth had just swept upwards, full-force. Whereas before Heather had jerked up and down with ragged, uncomfortable sweeps, her motion was smooth, comfortable, and… awesome.

“Mwaaa,” he said.

“Is this right?” Heather said. She moved her head closer, staring at him. The shirt she wore opened up, and David got a good look at her breasts, or at least the top parts. Her mouth was open.

“Yes. Perfect. Like that,” he said.

“What about if I do this?” Heather said. She left her thumb on the backside, rubbing in a soft, circular motion. Her back fingers stroked gently, counter-circular. David jerked, caught her eyes, and came. Hard. A fountain spurted up and over her fingers.

“Oh! David, you should warn me,” Heather said. But her fingers didn’t pull away. Now they dove near to the base and worked their way up. Milking the last few drops from him. David took a deep breath, sighed, and the moment was broken.

He looked at Heather. She blushed, pulled away, her cum and lubricant covered hand held out in front of her. “Was that good?” she said. “I don’t really do that sort of thing. I guess you must’ve liked it, if you came. It was good, right?”

“Oh yeah. Fantastic,” David said. He mopped up the rest with a handy Kleenex. “Better then fantastic. Where did you learn all those techniques?”

She moved to the edge of the bed. “That was my first handjob, ever. What do you mean?”

“Some of the things – I never.. um....”

Heather, absent-mindedly, had lifted her lubricant-covered hand to her lips and was delicately cleaning each finger. Each finger went in, a mixture of white and clear goo, was licked clean, then replaced with another finger. “Do I say something?” David wondered. Wordlessly, he handed her a Kleenex. She looked at it, uncomprehending, then something came through.

“Oh! Well, I guess I shouldn’t’ve done that,” Heather said. David watched as she delicately dabbed at her fingers. A single trail of sperm snaked down her lips, and her questing tongue found it, licked it in. She frowned.

“Did I really just do that?” She said.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with it!” David said.

“I heard bad things about, you know, sperm. At College,” Heather said. “But it’s really not so bad, isn’t it? Like strawberry ice cream.”

She caught the hopeful look in his eyes. “Not that we’re doing that anymore until my Dissertation is over with. Still, glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh yes,” he said, carefully. “Definitely a lot. Anytime!”

What had just happened? David thought it over as they prepared for bed. Heather hadn’t bothered to wash her hand, and it still gleamed under lamplight. She wore her typical sleeping outfit, which was the same as her regular outfit only with her teeth brushed. Still. Something had just gone very right.

Next to him, the Lubricant gleamed. He had left the top open again.

CH2:

Heather listened to David. He snored at nights.

Did she love him? She certainly CARED for him. He meant a lot to her. He cleaned, he cooked, he had let her move in, he was SO understanding about what her dissertation meant to her. Especially now, when it was so close to being done. Really, theirs was the model of the new feminist relationship, where the two human beings involved worked according to their abilities, rather then to their needs. She was good at studying and thinking, he was good at working and housework. Simple tradeoff, and very progressive.

But did she love him? Heather had no idea. But at the moment, he was making her horny enough to explode. She fidgeted under the bed sheets.

“What’s going on with me tonight?” she wondered, as David ripped off a three-chord snore. “I don’t have time to get all distracted like this. All… wet inside. Aroused. Horny.”

The word echoed inside her. She felt hot in her pajamas. Kicking off the pajama bottoms had only made her acutely aware of her nipples suffocating under the sheets and wool top. Her… down there area… felt hot.

“I haven’t felt like this.. well, since I was what, 16?” Heather thought back. Yeah. 16. When she had spent a day alongside Bryan Thompson washing cars for charity. He had a birthmark on his back, a tanned back, and he wore a shell necklace.

Heather realized that her right hand was slowly circling her breast, teasing the nipple. THAT she had definitely not done before. She left it there while she thought about it.

“Now, the handjob. That was strange,” she thought. “Well, not really strange. It’s a normal boyfiriend-girlfriend thing. And when you think about it, David has been REALLY patient with me. And it was nice to see how happy he was. When he came. All over my hand. As I jerked him off.”

The same hand left her boob, crept down to her panties. It rested on top of them, then pressed down gently. Heather squeezed her legs together.

“Now, licking my fingers was sort of strange, but it didn’t taste bad. Pretty good, actually. Actually, it was great. Really, no big deal. It’s just like kissing and swapping spit. Just from a different part of the body. I’ll bet I could get even more if I gave him a blowjob.”

Now that was DEFINITELY unlike her, Heather decided. She was about to think more on it when her hand reached underneath her panties and pressed into her clitoris. Right on it. Heather hissed between her teeth.

“It must be overwork,” she decided. “Too much stress. You push too hard on the left side of your brain, the right side starts to come out again. In and out. In. Out.”

She pressed down. Hard. It hurt more then a little. Heather had never been quite wet enough. Something inside her, that little button that released enough liquid to “get things started,” did not work sright. She needed the lubricant. Which was way over on David’s side of the bed. As quietly as she could, Heather climbed out of bed. The cool night air felt wonderful on her legs. Without the pajamas, they were long and shapely, ending at a thin, narrow waist with a tiny belly button. David slept comfortably while she timidly picked up his bottle and fled into the other room.

“This is stupid,” she thought. “I’ll be far too worked up to sleep, even if this works. I should just exercise some self-control. After I see if this actually works.”

She squeezed a few drops onto her right hand. It felt warm even in the night air, that same golden feeling. The rest of her hand, still mixed with dried lube, glowed in sympathy. Sitting down on the couch, Heather put both feet on the coffee table, slipped a single finger underneath, and tentatively stroked at her slit.

For a moment she thought that she had messed up. That the lube had gotten wiped off. Then a second tentative rub slipped deeply inside her. Her finger slid inside, encountered no resistance, only a warm, wet world of ripples. It felt like her whole body was glowing. She slouched back into the chair, letting her finger – fingers? – do the work. It was amazing, she thought, how they knew exactly what to do. First they knew to back out and work around the outer lips, puffing them up, then diving with two – no three! – fingers. Back and forth. And she was so wet! In the dark, still air she could hear the ‘slick, slick’ sound of her fingers. Her left hand made a round tour of her breasts.

A few minutes later she gasped, struggled to hold in a series of short, sharp screams. Instead she shuddered in waves, shivered, then splayed out. A small stream of lubricant had hissed out and stained the couch wet. Heather slowly pulled her panties up.

“Well,” she thought to herself. “Glad I got that out of my system.” She dimly realized she was licking her fingers again, tasting that warm strawberry. It dripped down her throat.

The rest of the night she slept like a baby.

* * *

David woke up before Heather did, horny and bothered. A strange dream about weird, orgasmic cries from the other room lingered in his subconscious. Heather slept deeply next to him, her tousled brown hair spread all over the pillow. He kissed her on the forehead, then went to masturbate in the shower, fantasizing about slamming Heather’s warm body up against the water-slicked tub.

* * *

Heather woke up when he closed the front door, on his way to work.

“I slept in!” she thought, first. Horrified.

Then the previous night came flooding back through her. That deep, throbbing need. Touching herself after midnight. A wet spot underneath her butt told her that it wasn’t a dream. She turned to her right.

“David, do you want to.. oh,” he’s gone, she realized. And what had she been about to ask him? After all, Heather thought, I have a least twenty pages to go through today. She got up, put on her standard issue pajama pants and sweatshirt, and walked out into the other room.

The lubricant was still there, next to the couch, where she had left it. Open overnight, its sweet, strawberry smell had filled the entire room. She turned on the TV, tuned it to CNN. “Maybe I really am overworked,” she thought. “Everyone needs some downtime. I was just reading about it. A vacation. Twenty or thirty minutes should probably do it.”

Over cheerios, sitting self-consciously on the couch, she flicked the channel away from her usual CNN. TBS was showing Dawson’s Creek. God. She hadn’t watched that show since she was in High School. She had had such a silly crush on Dawson. Blonde, sure, and sexy, but you KNOW he was selfish in bed. Took what he wanted, and didn’t –

She got up abruptly. Where had that come from? And what was she doing watching Dawson’s Creek? It was nearly 9:30, and her work regimen usually started at 8:15 at the latest.

Heather sat down at the table, piled high with forgotten books from dusty library stacks, filled with an army of bookmarks and post-its. Right. Last night she had been working on re-interpreting her work on the foundational behavior of workplace gender power dynamics. Heather found her place in a textbook as tall as David’s cock.

Wait, what did she just think? Heather shook her head again. As soon as she stopped, that wonderful, slippery feeling in the air crept through her again. She spent a restless fifteen minutes pawing through pages of her textbook, trying to absorb details on gender harassment policies from the late 1960s.

“It’s just too hot today,” she decided. It was hot, a sort of musty haze in the room. Hot and a little wet. She could feel a sheen of sweat over the tops of her breasts, where a zealous white bra constrained them tightly. She looked around the room, self-conscious, and tugged off her sweatshirt. Underneath she wore a simple white t-shirt, also Davids, and a bra.

Her hands flipped restlessly through the textbook, ended up on an earlier chapter, about sexual behaviour in the 1950s. “The cult of domination and submission spread throughout the 1950s, an ongoing paradigm where women submitted to the sexual desires and needs of their partners. While a growing minority accepted the sexual responses of women as normal, even desirable, many simply “Took their own pleasure” (See Playboy, 1955 issue, March.)

Took their own pleasure. Well, when you put it that way, it didn’t sound so bad. Heck, Heather could imagine herself bound up in a tight bodice and a prim knee-length skirt. Her husband coming home from a hard day of work, ignoring the pot roast, and feeling underneath her lingerie while she did the dishes. She bending over more and more, dishes forgotten…

Heather sat up abruptly. It was definitely too hot today. She stripped off her pajama pants, sat primly on the chair.

“Great,” she groaned. Her daydreaming had already caused her to leak through her panties, a growing wet spot a sharp reprimand to her inability to stay on task. Her fingers lingered near the panties, felt the wet spot. It wasn’t usual for her to be so wet.

What she needed, Heather decided, was a nice cold shower. She walked into the bathroom, conscious of the cool breeze on her panties. So embarrassing to have this kind of reaction!

Stripped naked in the bathroom, she took her usual critical look in the mirror. Usually she just looked for zits, but the time seemed right for a more general overview. Her hair looked its usual boring brown, hanging loosely to her shoulders, where it swished around dully. As usual, her lips were huge and too red. Her breasts were just mediocre, a standard B-cup, too far apart from each other for anything interesting to happen. Although her nipples were standing upright. And she WAS thin. Had she lost a little weight? It wasn’t healthy to be too thin, she thought. Among other things, it contributed to unhealthy body images.

Moments before stepping into the shower, she realized she had forgotten the lubricant. Heather ran back into the other room, placed it carefully on the sink, top open.

At first she scrubbed industriously. “I really need to rally this afternoon,” Heather thought. “Maybe do a few hours into the night, skip dinner. I can’t have all this messing around, thinking about getting some from David.” Did he masturbate in the shower?

It was the wetness, she decided. There was just this, wet, sloshy, slidey feeling in the air, and the shower had just made things worse. Where it hit her.. pubic area.. she could feel it mixing around.

Heather decided it would help if she gave her legs a good shave. That way, the water wouldn’t hang on it, and she would be drier overall. That would help with the wetness problem. Her legs certainly needed it.

Couldn’t shave with cold water. Heather turned the water to warm, and closed her eyes as it washed over her. In her mind she could see little strawberry bubbles floating around. Did David fantasize about her in this shower? He probably did. He probably thought about turning her over, plugging her with that cock of his, and just having his way.

Heather blinked, and turned the water a little colder. A short while later she was finishing the final strokes on her new, smooth legs. They were a good feature, she had to admit. Her breasts might be mediocre, but her friends had always complemented her on her high, narrow waist and long legs.

Of course, she wasn’t fully shaven. Heather poked gingerly at the vast forest that was her pubic hair. Had she ever shaven it? It looked strange next to her nice, smooth legs, a little jungle. Very out of place.

“Not really hygienic, is it?” Heather thought. “It’ll be much.. cleaner.. if I just give it a trim. And that way it won’t get wet and embarrass me. She took out the shaving cream again and poured a little onto her palm. The wet, golden feeling spread through her hand. She looked over to her hand. She was holding the lubricant again. “I’m getting pretty ditzy with all this heat,” Heather thought, carefully licking her fingers clean. It did calm her down a little, and made the actual shaving procedure neat and tidy.

At first she had just intended a neat trim, a controlled garden. But one thing turned to another, and soon she was finishing up an extensive shave, leaving only a small triangle of brown hair. The roots looked surprising light against her skin. Heather felt the area and nodded with satisfaction; nice and clean and dry. And she had successfully fought the urge to.. let herself go. Self-control had won out again.

Heather walked into the closet, let the towel fall free. She reached gingerly for her usual array of brown pants and boring trousers. Well, she had just shaved her legs. And it was really hot in the apartment. Maybe it was time to break out the shorts. Which were in a drawer in the cabinet, so unused that she had to tug the old oak drawer open. Heather pulled out a plain khaki pair, pulled them over her underpants, then took a look in the mirror.

“They’ve shrunk a little,” she noted. The shorts held tightly to her waist, emphasizing the skim of her hips, before stretching down to her knees. She paired it with a nice blue button-down blouse. Her bra felt uncomfortable, so she switched in a slightly larger one, her lacy special-occasions bra.

The girl in the mirror looked… a lot better, she realized. Heather remembered reading, in some distant psychology class, about how women who felt good about themselves physically did better in social interactions. “And here I’ve just been walking around looking like a pile of blankets. It’s bad for my self-esteem.”

The only problem with the shorts, Heather reflected, was that it would show very clearly if she happened to get wet again. Not that that was going to happen. It had been an enjoyable morning, but clearly she had a lot to do.

Heather kept a rerun of 90210 on in the background. It made the room feel nicer. The lubricant she placed on top of the refrigerator. Then she sat down to start work again.

An hour later she found herself staring at the wall. She had already failed in her mission to keep from getting wet. A little bit had leaked onto her shorts before she had rallied and managed an entire page of dyadamnic decision-making.

Maybe the problem wasn’t with me, she thought. Maybe it’s with my thesis. Up until now, she had been working on the assumption that gender-role pair-offs had been entirely male-dominant. But what if that was just half the story? What if women were getting something out of it too?

Heather shook her head. Months of work, about to be thrown out the door because she was distracted. Well. This was it. Now she was really going to work.

Someone knocked at the door.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Well?” she snapped.

“It’s Jenny. I wanted to return that book.”

“Oh.” Heather opened the door. Jenny took in Heather’s casual outfit with dark surprise. Her own outfit was a thrift-store t-shirt and a functional pair of jeans. Jenny was a few years younger then Heather but in the same level of Grad School, although in a different department. Her vaguely asian background gave her light almond eyes and smooth tan skin. But any softness stopped at her mouth, which was a hard ruler of a line. Her eyes looked around the room for something to disapprove of. Her antagonism was legendary; professors had been knocked silly with the force of her anger. Heather liked her because she loved Heather’s thesis.

Jenny handed the book over. “I crossed out what the Professor got wrong. What—have you been baking in here?” She took a few steps inside, sniffed the air. For a horrified moment, Heather thought that Jenny could smell the persistent scent of her own embarrassing wetness.

“Smells like.. warm strawberries. Are you baking pie, Donna Reed?” Jenny said. Heather relaxed. She was just smelling the lubricant. That was okay.

“Would you like something to drink?” Heather asked. “I needed to talk to someone who understood… about my thesis. I’m having self-doubt.”

“You’ve had nothing but self-doubt for months. Heather. It’s fine. You’ll conclusively prove that women would be happier if men were only used for procreation on odd-numbered months. I’m looking forward to your chapter on the oncoming female utopia. I’ll take coffee if you have it.”

“Wine okay?” Heather said. She knew Jenny didn’t drink, but something about Jenny was.. bothering her right now. This just might relax her. Jenny looked about to protest, then shrugged. Heather poured two glasses.

“It’s just a matter of mathematical fact that the balance—the accounting, if you will—of men against women is pure disaster,” Jenny said. “Women suffer when men are around.”

“Uh-huh,” Heather said. She sat down. Her eyes flickered over to the TV, where 90210 was playing. There weren’t any Asians in 90210. It’s like they didn’t exist. It was too bad, she bet that Dylan would’ve loved a bouncy prim girl with glasses. Seemed like his type.

“…stration is really too good for them, and would be even more helpful if we didn’t need their sperm,” Jenny said. She took a long sip of wine.

“But we do need their sperm,” Heather said, mildly. She had only been half-listening, so she meant the lovely, gooey taste of it, the sweet-salty bit that David left behind. Jenny took it differently.

“Well, yes, but only to propagate the species. If it was up to me, we’d go back to the Amazon days, where everyone cut off one boob so they could draw arrows better. Not that I would need to.” Jenny blushed, as this slipped out. With great effort, Heather turned her attention away from the TV.

“What? What do you mean, Jenny?”

“Oh, well, it’s not important. Men! Who needs them.”

“No, really. Here, let me see.” Jenny hesistated. “We’re just girls, here,” Heather said. She remembered a phrase from her classes. “Self-esteem issues are best dealt with firmly and quicky.”

Jenny frowned, then drew her shirt up with one quick jerk. Heather nodded.

“Well, they’re not great, but they’re not too bad, either. On your kind of body, huge boobs aren’t really an asset, anyway. You want to make them think: tight and slender.”

“Tight and—” Jenny’s eyes crinkled. “Heather, what the hell are you talking about? You want to make men think?”

Heather put a hand up. “No, I was just saying—”

“Just saying that we should have big boobs for men. Huh. I knew there’d be trouble when you moved in with David. A man.”

Heather drew back. Her eyes flashed fire. “David does a lot for me, Jenny! He cooks, cleans, he vacuums, pays the bills. He’s everything I could ask for! He’s basically my maid.”

Jenny, surprised, drained the rest of her glass. “Excuse me,” she said, curtly. “Bathroom time.”

While she was gone, Heather realized what she had just said. David does do everything. Everything I could ask for, he does for me. And what does he get in return? I’m studying for myself, not for him. I’m working for myself, not for him. And what does he get for all the work he puts in? One lousy handjob. I mean, I saw what was in the mirror. Hot, sexy, and lord knows my voice has always sounded like a porn star. She tossed back the rest of the wine. “I’ve been awful to him,” she mumbled.

Part of this was Jenny’s fault. So disagreeable. Some more wine should help. And maybe, yes, something to sweeten it. Heather picked up the bottle of lubricant from the top of the kitchen. She poured a little on her own fingers, licked it, just to make sure it was still good. Mm. sThis would sweeten her wine, so maybe it would sweeten her disposition, Heather thought. She poured a healthy dollop.

“It smells like a Hallmark Store in here, you know.” Jenny said, when she returned. Heather handed her the glass. She took it and took a deep gulp.

They chit-chatted about the Department for an hour or so. It felt nice to hang out, not think too deeply about anything. Just to talk and relax and let yourself go. Jenny was first appalled to see 90210 playing, but after Heather explained that it was for a cultural critique, she let herself be drawn into just watching it. For the last ten minutes the two simply sat in silence, watching the show. When it ended, Jenny shook her head. She looked tired. Heather glanced at the bottle. Nearly empty. That explained a lot. She giggled.

“You giggled!” Jenny said, but she sounded half-hearted. “Giggling is pure femininity. We’re trying to get past that.”

“I laughed,” Heather said, mildly. “Nothing my body does is anything I should be ashamed of.” And right now it was so wet, so wonderful. She couldn’t remember the last time she was drunk.

“Well.. I.. .I have to go.” Jenny said. She stood up abruptly, then swayed. Heather followed her to the door. “Thanks for dropping by,” she said, “please do come by whenever. We’ll have lunch.”

“I don’t lunch,” Jenny said. She barely whispered it. Heather put her hand on her shoulder. “I know you don’t.”

Jenny opened her mouth to say something. Her chest was heaving, and she was flushed on both sides. “I have to go,” she said. Heather watched her go. Her ass swayed under her jeans. Heather studied it.

Alright. Back to work. Heather took her seat at the table, drank a bit of water to clear her head. Time to get into her thesis.

A half-hour later, she was snoring.

* * *

David counted the ways in which he had had a miserable day. At least, he thought, the fact that there were so many horrible things that happened made him kind of stunned at it all. Insulated him. Like he had gone into shock. There was the simple, physical things, like the traffic, the near-accident, the extreme heat. Then getting yelled at by his boss. THEN getting ignored by his coworkers and generally treated like dirt by the world. And the Dodgers lost. Now he got to go home to his frigid girlfriend.

He opened the door. Usually the first thing he saw was Heather’s back as she worked on her thesis. This time, the first thing he saw was a beautiful pair of legs, pressed firmly together. Heather sat in the chair, her head on the table. He gently shook her shoulder.

“Oh, I slept in!” she said, stood up. David barely recognized her. Her breasts were visible—not prominent, but visible—behind a button-down shirt. And she was wearing shorts. Yes, workmanlike shorts, but he could still see her legs. “I’m so sorry,” she cooed. She never cooed. She stood up and hugged him. “I was going to order pizza for us so you didn’t have to cock. I mean, cook.” David hugged her back. Was it his imagination, or was she shifting against his crotch? Heather seemed to shake herself. “Go sit down,” she said. “I’m ordering out.”

Heather—shimmied?—over to the sink. And poured him a glass of water. David sat down. Heather was wearing shorts. Her heart-shaped ass shook back and forth as he watched, avidly. Was she sticking it out a little bit?

“How was your day?” he called out, cautiously.

“Kind of strange,” she admitted. “I’m sorry it smells so strongly in here.”

David sniffed. He couldn’t smell a thing. Heather handed him the glass and sat next to him on the couch. Her breasts shifted under her shirt. He took a sip while she watched him intently. She smiled.

“Did you.. did you put on makeup or something?” he asked, cautiously. She looked different. Her skin, usually a bleach-white, was softer, maybe even a little tanned. Her lips pursed, and he cringed.

“No, just having a good hair day,” she said. David noticed. Was it longer? He remembered her with a standard page-boy, just above the shoulders. It certainly looked fuller. And were her lashes longer?

David realized he was staring. Heather blushed, put her hand to her lips. He was about to apologize when she put one hand on his leg.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. I came to a realization today,” she said.

David’s heart sank. “You’ve met someone else.”

“What?” Heather looked shocked. “No! No, silly boy, you’re my boyfriend.” To emphasize her point, she kissed him on the lips. David tentatively caressed her hair as she pressed her tongue onto his, drawing close to him. This was beyond strange.

She reluctantly broke the kiss. “Not yet! Not yet.”

“Not yet what?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. Um. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry you’ve been doing all the housework. It’s really not fair to you. We should be equal in our relationship, and I haven’t been doing my fair share.”

“Well,” David began. She put a finger to his lips. Then she put the same finger between her own, like a pacifier.

“No. Fairness and equality. I talk about it, I should live it. We’re going to be a lot more equitable. I clean the dishes, you do the cooking. You do the cooking, you deserve a handjob. You clean the bathroom, I vacuum.”

“Wait, what?” He deserved a handjob. “I deserve a handjob?” He smelled alcohol on her breath. She was drunk? It would certainly explain a lot.

“Well, yeah,” Heather said. “Here, I’ll show you. I want to be a lot more equal about this, so you shouldn’t have to ask.”

And just like that, Heather deftly unbuckled his belt, and reached into his work pants with a swift, clean motion. Their makeout session had already woken him up, and she pulled out a fully erect penis. Her hand felt glorious, with that same warm glow he had felt yesterday. “Are you using the lubricant?” he asked, putting his head back. This was really too good to question. Maybe she was feeling guilty.

“No, why?”

“Oh.. it just, feels good, is all. Keep going.”

“Okay.”

Heather stared intently at his penis. “Does this feel good?” she asked, flicking the backside with her index finger. “Maybe I should put my, um, you know. Mouth. On it?”

Just the suggestion of oral was too much. David blew up, shot a white stream of cum into the air. Heather looked at it eagerly. This time she didn’t bother to look embarrassed, but simply put her fingers into her mouth and licked each one clean. Then she sopped up the gobs of cum she hadn’t gotten before, and licked it down as well.

“Does that really taste good?” David asked, amazed. Heather nodded.

“Yeah, it’s hard to explain. It’s kind of salty and sweet, at the same time. And warm. Don’t all girls do this?”

“Not really. A lot of girls don’t like it.”

Heather looked shocked. “Then how do they get rid of it? They just mop it up? Why would they do that? Why would they waste Kleenex like that? It’s just part of the trade.”

David shrugged. If there was a good argument against it, he didn’t want to be the one making it.

“Their loss. Now, David, we have to be more fair about this household. And another thing. I need to get some household cleaning stuff if this is going to work out. I don’t know the first thing about it. And I thought I was a feminist! How can you be a feminist if you don’t know how to do the dishes?”

“Um,” David said, coherently. His cock trembled. Even with both hands licked clean, Heather continued to suck on a finger. She didn’t even seem to know she was doing it.

Then he noticed her wet spot. It was deep, and wet enough that she had soaked through her shorts.

“You’re, ah, kind of wet down there, Heather.”

Heather blushed furiously. She put one hand down there to cover it. “I know. It’s so embarrassing. Am I getting the couch wet?”

“No! I mean, it’s fine, but what’s up with it? You’ve never been that wet before.”

Heather ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, it’s just that I thought we were going to, you know. Do stuff. Together.”

David blinked. “You mean, have sex?”

“Well, yeah. But then you wanted a handjob. So we couldn’t do that.”

“Well,” David said, tentatively. “I could give you a handjob. I mean, I’ve never done it before, but I could do it.”

“Oh, would you?” Heather cried. She looked immensely relieved. “I would never ask for something that presumptuous, considering how much you’ve done for me, but if you’re okay with doing it…”

“Um. Sure. Let me wash my hands.” David tucked his penis back in, washed his hands, and grabbed the bottle of lubricant from the top of the refrigerator. The cap was open, for some reason. He didn’t know why, considering that Heather was wet enough to wash a car, but a little extra lubricant seemed like a good idea. He approached her gingerly. Heather had sunk into the couch, spread her legs a little bit. She tensed as he ran a hand down her legs, appreciated the shaving.

“You’re really smooth,” he told her. She sighed as he brushed up and down her leg, her legs relaxing wide and open. He slipped his lubricated hand underneath her panties, felt around. “And you shaved down there?”

“Do you mind? It makes things easier for me,” Heather said. Again she looked timid, desperate for approval. And beamed when he nodded at her.

His finger didn’t need to look long. The moment he was close, it slipped inside, feeling the warm, comfortable, and above all wet folds of Heather’s pussy. He used his free hand to slip down her pants and underwear, revealing a dark pink outer fold. Heather’s eyes closed, but she looked down at his hand.

“Oh, you’re inside me,” she sighed, and pressed against him. “That’s so perfect.” A gentle fragrance filled the air.

David was at a loss, but his fingers seemed to know what to do, and he slipped another in. Heather shuddered underneath his touch, bucking her hips, sighing deeply. Something about the smell in the air made him more confident, and he put his other hand on her breast, kneaded it. “That’s so good,” she said, her eyes locked on his hand. “Oh. I can’t believe I was missing this.”

In just a minute she was coming, hard, pushing against him as she spasmed. David rode it out the best he could. A part of him got a perverse joy out of prolonging her orgasm, pushing her button just when she was about to come down from it.

“Oh,” Heather said a minute later, opening her eyes. “That took a lot out of me. Here, let me clean that off for you. And she lifted his fingers out of her pussy, licked them off with glazed eyes.

“Now, I’ve got to do the dishes,” she said.

END OF CHAPTER ONE