Meeting Heather Mean Girls Club

Some friendships are just meant to be.

When I met Heather, it was the first week of sorority rush and we instantly took a liking to each other. We came from different parts of the country, I was from southern California and Heather was from Boston, but apart from that, it was like we were twin sisters.

At the risk of sounding immodest, we are both knockouts. Before college, I had worked as a model for a bathing suit company and Heather had done the same thing, except as more of a "girl next door" type. She had gotten some attention for work she had done with a big clothing brand.

We both could have pursued modeling careers, though probably not on runways as we were both just a little too short.

After the third rush party we had been to together and swapping story after story, we had become convinced were like sisters. Friday night, we ended up at a bar together, laughing and comparing notes on the various sororities we had been considering.

Our fun was interrupted by a guy named Chad, who asked us if we were alone.

Heather shot back quicker than I could. "No, we are here together."

He chuckled and tilted his head. "Oh I see, what, you a couple of lesbos?"

Heather stood up and moved closer to the guy, pressing her body into him and cupping her right hand around his head, pulling him to her and whispering in his ear.

His look went from one of amusement to distress and then to horror.

He tried to pull away but she wouldn't let him until she was done. When she was, she stepped away and he stammered a bit before calling her a "sick bitch" and walked away carefully.

I chuckled a bit and asked her what she said.

"I just told him, that indeed we were lesbos. And then I told him to imagining the two of us kissing and making out in front of him, squirming against each other. But that he only gets to see it because we left him tied up in the corner, naked. After that, we'd tie a nice pretty pink ribbon around his cock and take a picture to send to all his frat boy buddies so they could see what a pathetic loser he was."

I looked at her wide eyed and smiled. "Wow. Would you ever do that? Not the lesbian part, but the other part?"

Heather smiled back and nodded. I found myself tingling inside. Thoughts of Chad naked and tied up, red faced and ashamed with his cock tied in a cute pink ribbon.

"So . . . " I added after a long silence.

"What?" Heather asked.

"Have you ever done something like that?" I queried, not wanting to seem to enthusiastic, "or were you just messing with him?"

"Why?" Heather prompted me. "Have you?"

Maybe it was the drinks or maybe it was the warm feeling I got from the story. Or maybe it was just the flood of memories and feelings that came rushing back when I thought about all the boys I had teased and tormented over my life.

"No, but I think I would like to," I said bravely.

"You're blushing," Heather told me.

She bit her lip. "Well, nothing that extreme, but I have done something similar. I like teasing boys."

Heather looked around the bar. "OK, here is what we are going to do. We need to find a guy to pay our tab. It's got to be $30, right? Not too bad. But here is the rule. We have to get him to pay and give him nothing in return. We can flirt and tease, but that is it. Deal?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

"OK, let's see. Wait until you catch someone looking at us. When you do, look back. If he looks away, that is a good sign. Just keep staring and eventually he'll look back up at you. When he does, smile and then drink from your straw as sexy as you possibly can."

She looked at me and brushed my hair back over my ear. "Can you make sexy faces?"

I bit my lip and batted my eyes at her.

She giggled. "Perfect."

Fifteen minutes later, Brad was sitting between us and we were laughing and giggling with him, touching him.

Heather was running her hands through his hair and at one point she leaned over and nibbled on his ear lobe.

I could see a bulge in his pants, so I rested my hand on his thigh, slowly sliding my fingers back and forth, gently inching toward his inner thigh and close and closer to his cock.

"Drinks here are so pricey," Heather said out of nowhere.

"Don't worry, I'll get them," Brad said almost reflexively.

I smiled.

Just as I was about to wave the bartender over, Heather said something that surprised me.

"No," she said.

"That isn't how you do it. Don't tell us what to worry about. Ask nicely and maybe we'll let you."

I let my hand slide close to his cock.

"Please, may I buy your drinks tonight? Um," he paused and then carefully chose his word "Miss?"

"OK with me, but you need to ask Kelsey."

He looked at me and I placed my hand over his crotch, not squeezing or moving, just resting it there.

"May I please buy your drinks too, Miss?" he asked somewhat sheepishly.

I have no idea what came over me or why, but I responded with a single word: "Beg."

Heather laughed and Brad's face turned red.

"Please Miss, please let me buy your drinks. Please?' he whimpered.

I felt a huge rush wash over me. I smiled and removed my hand from his crotch. "Good boy" was all I said.

Brad called to the bartender. "Can you put their drinks on my tab?"

The bartender nodded.

Heather smiled at Brad and explained the situation.

"OK Brad. Here is what you are going to do. Go over to that booth and sit on your hands. We are going to sit here and drink and talk for a bit. You can leave after we do, but otherwise, you just sit there and stare at us. Understand?"

He nodded.

"And when you go home tonight and masturbate, I want you to think of us and how we completely took advantage of you."

My jaw was hanging open as Heather spoke. I couldn't believe what I was hearing and more to the point that he was listening and not saying a word.

Brad stood up and walked over the booth, sitting down, his hands tucked under his thighs, he sat and watched us. It was strange at first, but gradually I got used to the idea and even began to like it.

"What's the most expensive drink you have," Heather asked the bartender. He pointed at a bottle of cognac on the shelf. "Give us two. Make them doubles. On Brad."

We both laughed.

"You are so mean," I told Heather. She just smiled.

"Did you notice the lump in Brad's pants?" she asked me. "It lets you know if what you are doing is working. The cock never lies."

I nodded. I had. His cock was hard from the moment he sat down, but I could see it getting harder with each added cruelty.

"I don't know how I know. But I always know," Heather told me. "I can teach you if you want."

She leaned over, the drinks making us a little more open than we had been up to this point. "I can be pretty mean, but I think you can be pretty mean too."

I blushed and nodded, glancing back over at Brad, still staring helplessly at us.

"I think so too," I confessed.

"To two mean girls," Heather said, raising her glass. Our glasses clinked and we each downed the expensive cognac, causing the the bartender to roll his eyes.

That was the start of the Mean Girls Club.

Over the next few weeks, our bar games got more and more intense. We had moved to a booth that gave us a lot more privacy. We would actually have a guy's pants down around his thighs and be completely hidden from the bar.

Somehow word had gotten around that we liked to flirt and tease and pretty soon guys were coming to us.

Heather had been mentoring me in some of the finer points of being a mean girl. There were rules to follow and plenty of warnings. A lot of what she talked about was not falling for the guys we were being mean to. I clouds your judgment and takes the fun out of it.

I assured her that wasn't a problem.

I told her about my boyfriend Bobby and my first true "mean girl" experience.

I have always been a tease, granted a relatively harmless one, but a tease nonetheless. I had very little interest in any of the boys at school and none were what I would consider boyfriend material.

Until I met Bobby. While we were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend, we definitely did have a relationship.

It started when Bobby asked me out on a date and I turned him down. Over time I would come to find out he had quite a crush on me, so I would often asked him to do little things for me and he always would.

Soon he was helping with my homework and then later he was doing it for me.

Eventually, he got the nerve up to ask me out again.

This time I agreed. He was taking me to dinner and then a movie. I knew it was a date and I knew it had gotten his hopes up. I had dressed up and was wearing make up and perfume. Everything I would do for a date.

As we were driving to dinner, we shared small talk and I could tell he was incredibly nervous.

During the movie, sitting in the back of the theater, he leaned over to kiss me. I stopped him.

He looked so crestfallen and I have to admit, watching his heart break right in front of me turned me on. It was a feeling of sexual excitement I had never experienced before.

I knew how desperately he wanted that kiss. I knew that telling him no was hurting him. I could feel myself getting wet, thinking about how much power and control I had over him in that moment. I had the thing that he wanted more than anything in the world and withholding it, denying him, was causing him such pain. Emotional pain. Real suffering.

I grew so hungry. I wanted more. I needed to feed the monster growing inside me.

I slid my hand over his stomach and unzipped his fly, freeing his cock. It was soft at first, but stiffened almost immediately at my tender touch.

I played with his cock, stroking it, teasing it, starting and stopping. I registered every breath, every moan, every sensation I was causing.

He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Oh God, Kelsey, I am going to cum."

I felt his cock starting to twitch and throb and at that moment I let go. He groaned and begged me to keep going.

He moved his hand and I grabbed it, not letting him touch himself.

"Just let it be," I whispered. He sat there, red faced, cock hard and swollen.

It gradually softened.

I took his hand and began sucking on one of his fingers, tracing it over my lips and letting my tongue twirl over his fingertip.

I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You know this isn't a date, right. We're just friends. I don't like you that way. I'm sorry."

His cock was now soft and he began to put it away and I stopped him. "I'm not done with that yet," I told him.

I could see his brain trying to process all the mixed messages.

I told him I wasn't interested in him but here I was, gently wrapping my hand around his cock and squeezing gently until it grew rock hard in my hand again.

I think I gave him 6 or 7 unfinished hand jobs that night. His balls were so sore and swollen, he could barely walk out of the theater.

It took about a week before he could even talk about it with me. And when he did, I simply would reiterate how I didn't see him as anything more than a friend. When he would bring up the hand jobs, I would just ask "What's the matter, did you not like me touching you?"

He would get flustered and not know what to say.

"I can stop doing it if you want," I'd add. He'd always protest. "Oh no, I didn't mean that."

One time he actually was brave enough to ask if I would let him cum.

I giggled and told him that would take all the fun out of it for me. I explained to him "Listen this is close as you will ever get with me. If you don't like it, I can stop. But that will be it."

I told him I didn't want him seeing other girls, which was completely unfair. But he was willing to agree to it. I'd also tease him about jerking off. I made him admit to thinking about me when he did and then tell him how gross he was.

One time I made him masturbate in front of me while I watched and made fun of him.

He was on the floor, sitting against a concrete block wall, legs spread open with his cum on his stomach and chest. He looked so weak and pathetic.

I said some very hurtful things to him. I don't know why, but they just came spilling out.

I needed him to feel completely ashamed of himself. I wanted him to remember that moment forever, me watching, smirking, laughing at him. I wanted to ruin masturbation for him forever.

Even when I left for college, this was the last thing I told him.

"That day I watched you masturbate, I was considering actually dating you, being your girlfriend. If you had just said no, just that one time, I'd be yours right now. But you ruined it. Now, whenever I think of you, that is all I will remember."

Part of that was true. I never would have dated him, but it is exactly how I remember Bobby, a pathetic masturbating mess.

When I told Heather, she smiled at me, and added, "I would have taken a picture."