Roommates

Tuesday night, right before bed

Lilah and I have been roommates for less than two months, and I'm already afraid that I'm messing it up with her. I wasn't trying to be a snoop. The envelope was just sitting there on the table in our living room. It was under some magazines, but her name wasn't on it. It was just a plain envelope, and I wanted to see what was inside. It might have been something of mine. I've been forgetting things lately. I think we all have.

I couldn't believe what was inside. My stomach dropped. There were three pictures. I recognized Lilah immediately. Her face was hidden, but those red curls, her hair is instantly recognizable. No question. In the first one, her hands were tied in front of her, and her head was down so that her hair hid her face. Her boobs were right there, though, perfectly round, her nipples dark and hard. I just stared. I'm not into girls. Her boobs weren't holding my attention. It was the rope that bound her hands. I couldn't stop staring at it. She looked so helpless, completely vulnerable. I had to take a moment, I think I was starting to hyperventilate.

The second paper--they were just cheap prints, like from my printer that we keep here in the living room. I let her use it. The second paper was a picture of Lilah's boobs, but bound tight with rubber bands. I couldn't believe how many rubber bands she had on her tits. They were stretched so tight. Her skin was shiny and a deep bluish purple. She must have had the rubber bands on for ages. Her nipples were tight on her skin. The bands were pulling her boobs into tight round balls, stretching out her nipples--her areola actually. They were so dark and obvious in the other picture, but here they just blended into the purple of her skin. It looked agonizing.

The third picture was from right there in our living room. She was spread out on the coffee table, naked. Her knees were bent so that her feet must have been resting on the floor, but her legs were wide apart, showing off her little pussy lips and the patch of bright red hair. Her arms hung down at her sides, off the table maybe also touching the floor and her face was invisible. Her head must have been hanging down off the end of the table. It's not clear from the picture. Mostly, it just shows her pussy displayed there on the table.

I shouldn't have, but I took the envelope back to my room. And yes, I masturbated. I needed to so bad. But as I laid there on my bed--luckily not naked--I heard Lilah unlock the apartment door and enter the living room. I scrambled to shove the pictures and the envelope under my pillow and pull my shorts back up. I could hear her in the living room, moving stuff around on the coffee table. She must have been looking for the envelope, but she never said anything about it. We just had a normal night. I made us some spaghetti and we sat and watched TV for a while, just like we always have since we moved into this little apartment.

Friday morning

Lilah went out early last night. She said she was going to meet her family for dinner, so I made myself some food--just some green beans from a can and a microwaved piece of chicken. I sat on the couch to watch TV and there was another envelope. For a moment I told myself I didn't want to see inside. I've already spent too much time staring at those other pictures of her. Of course I looked.

There was just one picture. This one showing her pussy and her legs spread wide, but the marks on her thigh--right at the top of her right thigh--so close to her vulnerable looking pussy--four obvious marks, enflamed red against her pale skin. A bright, angry looking red, unlike the coppery orange of her hair there. I realized that it must have been a belt that made those marks, and in that instant, I saw it. Right there in front of me. Right there on the table--that thin brown belt she wears so often. Without thinking, I just picked it up. It was so soft. It moved so easily in my hand. I realized what I was holding. This belt had hurt Lilah. Someone had hit her with it. No, that doesn't make sense. She must have done it herself, and then she left the belt there for me to find.

I just panicked a bit. I dropped the belt on the table and grabbed the picture. I ran back into my room and closed my door. I couldn't stop looking at those pictures. I laid them all out there on my bed--the ones from Tuesday and this new one. It couldn't have been very long, and again, I heard her come in the front door. This time I knew I had messed up. I left the envelope out there--empty. She had to see that I had the picture. And my dinner. I never even touched the chicken. It was just sitting out there on the couch. Cold.

I was being dumb, but I couldn't come out of my room. I just hoped she would think I was asleep already. This morning, I didn't come out until I heard her leave for work. The living room looked just fine. The belt and the envelope were gone. And she had cleaned up my plate. I found the chicken in the trash from when she scraped it off my plate.

Saturday night

Lilah is working late tonight. I had to go to work this morning, so I didn't see much of her today, but we spent Friday night together, just sitting here watching TV. She acted like nothing was weird. So many times I caught myself trying to look at her thighs, I wanted to see more marks. Her wrists were a little red, like maybe she had tied herself up somehow, but otherwise it was just a normal night.

I wish I could work up enough nerve to talk to her. I keep thinking about what it would feel like to be tied up, helpless, feeling rope pressing into my skin. I imagined being tied naked to the coffee table. I wondered what she would do to me. But I couldn't make myself talk to her about it. Just stupid bullshit about the TV.

Saturday night, again, later

A little bit ago, as I was getting ready to shower before bed, I pulled my towel off the bar and an envelope fell out. She hid it inside my towel and folded it so the envelope would stay there until I pulled my towel down.

The first picture--from our printer, just like all the rest--was just her left hand holding a really big cucumber. I knew what I was going to see in the next one. Lilah's pussy again with her right hand pushing the cucumber deep inside her. Her left hand must have been holding her phone, taking the picture. I just started rubbing myself right there, naked in the bathroom.

Then I looked at the last picture. It was a closeup of her pussy stretched so tight around a shampoo bottle. I could read the name, Sauve, right there, upside down. She was fucking herself with a shampoo bottle. Her skin was stretched so tight. I could see her clit poking out from its hood, but she was stretched out. It looked agonizing and wonderful. And she shaved. Her beautiful red hair is gone, but she looks even prettier shaved. I got myself together and I put the pictures in my room with the others, folded up here in my journal.

And yes, I reread that. I called another woman's pubes beautiful and described her bald vagina as pretty. I know.

Saturday night AGAIN!

I just keep getting worse. When I finally managed to get in the shower, I saw it. Lilah's shampoo bottle sitting right there. I didn't even think about it. I just picked it up and pressed it to my lips. I shouldn't even write this next part. I can't believe what it did. I was going to put the bottle back and leave it alone, but I licked my lips and I tasted a salty tang. Instead of sitting the bottle down I brought it back up to my mouth and licked, and I could taste her. I was tasting Lilah's pussy. I just kept licking the bottle. I can't believe what an absolute pervert I am. I was tasting Lilah's pussy and rubbing my clit. I shouldn't even write this, but I knelt down in the shower right there and pushed the bottom of the bottle against my pussy. There was no way it was going to go inside me. It hurt so bad, but I just kept rubbing the bottle against myself until I had another cum.

I can't believe I did that. I am so sick of being me. I am afraid of everything. I barely speak to people, and I get nervous every time I leave the apartment. That's why I wanted to move in with Lilah. She seems so free. She has so much energy. She will smile and talk to anyone. And here I am some freak who won't even say hello to a guy, but I got off on licking my friend's shampoo bottle. She would be so disgusted with me if she knew.

Even later, 2:30 AM Sunday morning

I woke up in the middle of the night, and I was just laying here in the darkness. I started to rub myself again, but I stopped to write this. I don't want to lose this thought, especially right now. I know I am right, and later I'll try to talk myself out of it. She wanted me to pick up the shampoo bottle. The pictures were hidden in my towel. She knew I would find them right before I got into the shower. She wanted me to know about the shampoo bottle before I saw it sitting there in the shower. She wanted me to know what she had done with it. And I think she wanted me to lick it.

She's not disgusted with me. She's trying to show me. Does she know I need and want this too? Does she know that I think about being tied to my bed, helpless? Does she know I want to feel her belt tearing into my ass and my tits? I keep thinking about how much it hurt when the bottle started to slip inside me just a bit. Normally, I would have cried if something hurt that bad, but I didn't cry. I liked it.

I have got to tell her that I know and that I know she knows that I know.

I started rubbing myself again. I've had more orgasms this week than I usually have in a whole month.

Sunday morning, 6:00 AM

I heard her alarm go off, and I woke up instantly. She told me yesterday that she has an early shift today. She was complaining about how hard it is to pull an early shift on the morning after a late shift.

So she is getting ready for work, and I am here in bed writing and hoping. I wonder what she will leave for me today. She is in the bathroom, her first stop every morning. I can hear her in the shower. And now she is out. I can hear her moving around in the bathroom, just one thin wall away. She got out that lotion bottle. It's glass. I heard her set it down on the vanity. And something else. I don't know.

It's been quiet for a bit, but I know she is still in there.

She's sobbing. She gasped and yelped, and now I can hear her in there crying.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I was rubbing on myself, hoping to hear her do something sexy, and then all of a sudden she kind of gasped and moaned, and after a moment she was softly crying. I scribbled that line in my journal and bang, I had a massive orgasm. I can't believe it. The sound of my friend crying got me off. I can still hear her in there, and I don't know what to do. I hate always being afraid.

I want to tell myself that Lilah's pain wasn't what made me cum, but I know that's a lie. She was crying, either because she was hurt physically or emotionally. And instead of helping her, I had an orgasm.

I hear her getting ready to leave. Yeah, she just picked up her keys and headed out the door.

Oh, no. The printer. It's printing something. I don't want to see it, but I do. I want to see whatever she left for me. I think I hate the pervert I have become. I'm horrible, but I really want to see. Just a couple of minutes ago I had an orgasm because my friend was crying and now I'm ready to go again because I know there is something on that printer, something she wants me to see.

I have just been staring at the picture she left me. No wonder she was crying. It's my curling iron. Lilah is laying on the bathroom floor. Her hair is still wet from the shower, but her skin is dry, and she's pushing my curling iron hard against her left breast. You can see that she's got it laid against her breast. The iron is on her areola and then across the inside of her tit. And the worst or best part is that there is clearly a little wisp of smoke or steam or something. I've burned myself with a curling iron lots of times. Everybody has. But when you do that you just barely brush it against your neck or wherever and then you immediately jerk it away. And that little touch hurts so bad and leaves a nasty mark. Lilah is pushing it in hard. She must have burned herself so bad. How could she do that to herself? It must have been agonizing. And her face, she looks a million miles away. There's smoke. So she must have been feeling the pain. But she looks like she is ready to fly away. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are looking right at the camera--must be her phone screen to check the selfie. But she doesn't look like she is in pain. Oh, I see it. She's just about to cum. But her sobs after. It must hurt so bad. But it must have felt so good. Her tit burning, even her tight areola.

The bathroom door was closed, but when I went in, I could smell it. Lilah. I could smell the burn. It's smoke in the picture, not steam. I looked at my curling iron and I could see it, a discolored line and a little bit of something still there. I kissed it. It was still warm, but not hot enough to burn. And just to be clear. I plugged the curling iron in before I came back to my room to write this. It's in there. Getting hot.

She looks so beautiful in that picture. I've never wanted to kiss a girl before.

There's not really any question. I'm going to do this. I know that. And my hands are shaking. I can barely write.

I'm laying here on the floor. Right where she was. I'm still naked. I slept naked last night. I've been sleeping naked for a couple of nights. My tits aren't as pretty as hers. But I'm going to mark this one. Just like she did. I'm going to catch just a little bit of my areola. It's hard. My nipples are like rocks. This is going to hurt so bad. And I know its going to leave a mark. Every time I wear a low-cut top, I will be showing the world how much I need pain. I don't even own a low-cut top, but I really am going to buy one.

It HURTS so much. It took me so long to stop crying. It just HURTS. She went to work like this.

I pressed it in hard, just like she did. I smelled it--my own flesh cooking. I was going to put ice on the burn, but I decided not to. I can take it. I want to feel it.

I have got to talk to her. I just keep thinking of Lilah at work, in pain just like me. I want to text her, but we've got to do this face-to-face. I can't text this to her.

I'll talk to her when she gets home from work. I'll make her dinner and tell her how beautiful she is.

Sunday night, in bed, trying to fall asleep.

I hate myself. I am such a fucking asshole. I am so sick of being afraid. I had it all planned out. I put on that thin tank top with the plunging neckline. If I move the right way when I wear it, it shifts and shows off my breasts. I even stood in front of the mirror, figuring out exactly how to move, how to casually pull the top so that the mark on my tit was completely visible, nothing was hidden. Lilah would know what I did, and we could finally connect over this.

All day it throbbed. I couldn't get away from it. It was like the pain was pulling me closer to Lilah.

I was in my room when she came home. I heard her go right into the bathroom. I imagined her expression when she saw what I had done. She would give me that smile, and we would both know. But then I realized that I didn't really know what she would do. I didn't really know why she was doing this. I imagined that she might stare blankly at me, saying nothing. Or she might give me a disgusted frown.

So I did what the scared little asshole always does--I panicked and changed into that bulky blue sweatshirt with the oil stains. There would be nothing for her to see. Nothing for her to reject.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when I went in, drinking some orange juice. Her hair was tied back, and she looked exhausted from work. She was still wearing her work uniform--a stiff cotton shirt, dark, no shape to it.

We just talked about bullshit--the weather, the mail. We need eggs and potatoes. But there was this one moment. She shifted, changing her position in the chair, and she winced. Nothing dramatic. Nobody else would notice, but I saw it. She winced, and then slouched over, pulling her shirt away from her chest without touching herself directly. And I knew she had gone to work without a bra. Brave given the way her body would surely attract attention, but I know she couldn't bear a bra against her burn any more than I could. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to pull my shirt off and show her what we shared, but she looked so distant. I couldn't tell if she was feeling regretful or just tired or both. But she seemed withdrawn, like she was afraid of me. I was afraid too.

She drank her juice and I drank my tea. And then she looked like she wanted to say something. She paused, I knew it was coming. But she just told me that she had grabbed dinner at work and she needed to head to bed and get some sleep. She has another long shift tomorrow. As she stood up, her fingertips brushed across her breast and I thought I heard her gasp as she looked down at the table. Then she was gone, the door to her room closed. And I just sat there in that stupid sweatshirt, hating myself for being so scared.