Desire Came For Me

Hi. You can call me Evelyn.

There are some things you should know about me before we get started. First, I'm 5' 5". I have blonde hair. I wear it short. 34C. I usually hover around 115 pounds. Second, aside from a few minor details (like names), this is autobiographical. Lastly, I'm not what you would call a 'good girl' or a 'nice person'. I'm sharing this with you because it gets me off. If you don't like me, I don't care. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. You might want to keep some tissues handy.

I burn bridges and salt the earth in my wake. Going away for college meant a chance to start over, to turn over a new leaf. It was an opportunity to reinvent myself. Well, when that opportunity knocked, I didn't answer. I was too busy blowing my roommate's boyfriend while she was taking a shower. Madison was a pretty girl. She had blonde curls, a pouty mouth, and gorgeous legs. She was a condescending, pampered, daddy's girl. I loved taking things from her.

"Did you make the reservations?" she called from the shower. It was Parker and Madison's three and a half year anniversary. It was precisely the sort of non-event that she'd make a big deal of. To celebrate, they were going to see Les Miserables and then have a romantic dinner at the kind of restaurant that didn't put prices on the menu. The bathroom door was cracked. Parker was leaning against the wall beside it. I was on my knees before him.

Parker answered Madison with some guttural sound that arguably passed for an affirmative. I had just the tip of him in my mouth then, petting it with my tongue as I stroked him hard and fast. Normally I would have drawn it out, stalling his climax until I heard Madison cut the water. Unfortunately, I didn't know when my other two dorm mates, Devon and Lacey, would be back. I let his head slip out of my mouth. "Cum for me, Parker," I said in a voice that flirted dangerously with being too loud.

"What?" Madison shouted.

I licked the bottom of his head. "Nothing," I called back. "Parker was just telling me how much he loves you."

"I love you too, baby!" she answered. It was perfect. As her words sank in, I devoured Parker. He fought to keep quiet, hips rocking as he came. I swallowed, milking him and purring like a spoiled cat. Then, I put him away, still sticky. That was no accident. I usually kiss and lick men clean when I'm done, staring up into their eyes while I do it. Men eat that submissive, cock worship up. Not this time, though. I wanted him to feel the evidence of my mouth on his cock the whole night.

When he was tucked back unto his pants, I slid up him. He really did have a tight body, hardened by the rigors of being a varsity athlete. His manhood was between seven and eight inches long, with beautiful contours. What Parker had in glorious flesh, he lacked in conviction and wits. It was a good thing he was hot. Otherwise, he might have literally bored the fuck out of me. "God, I love touching you," I told him. He surprised me then. Something snapped in the boy and he put one arm around my waist and shoved his other hand into my shorts. Behind us, Madison was singing in the shower and her boyfriend was shoving a finger inside me and pumping with needful urgency. "Put another one in," I urged him. I was already on the ragged edge. Parker was always so docile and pliable. Suddenly, the boy was a man and I was cumming. He didn't let up. "Oh, fuck," I muttered into his chest, my hands making fistfuls of his shirt. My insides were convulsing around his fingers and they just kept moving. I could hardly breathe as I came again. He would have kept going, but the scratching sound of a key sliding into the front door pushed us apart.

Lacey got through the door fast. She didn't see anything, but it was obvious that there'd been something to see. Parker and I were both flushed, breathing hard, and our clothes were damningly disheveled. Lacey had a slender, boyish figure. She was small breasted with narrow hips. Her hair was dark brown, almost black. She wore it in a spikey mess. Her lips were invitingly full. I liked to tell her that she stole them from Angelina Jolie. Her face was a sharp, with high cheekbones. The geometry of her features didn't add up to any classical definition of pretty, but she had a crazy, sexy vibe about her. She was one of those people you can just look at and know they'd be wild in bed. She had the most beautiful, emerald eyes. Those eyes were weighing and measuring Parker and I. For a moment, everyone just stood still, exchanging glances while Madison sang in the background. I thought Parker was going to faint. He fled ino the kitchenette to wash the guilt off of his fingers. Lacey watched him go, shot me a cryptic little smile, went into her room, and closed the door behind her. I started giggling. Parker, on the other hand, looked like a man that just realized he was standing in the middle of a minefield. He'd gone from ravishing to reticent in seconds.

A few minutes later, Madison emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She was all cleavage, thighs, and wet hair. I hated her, but I have to give her one thing, the stupid bitch was seriously fuckable. Rich, snotty, and prettier than me, that was Madison. Well, I am an iconoclast at heart and beautiful things were made to be broken. I think it makes them all the more beautiful. I intended to give Madison one hell of a makeover. Parker was still hiding in the kitchenette under the pretense of getting a coke. Madison walked over to him, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him. This was her version of sexy teasing. A kiss in a wet towel; that was her A Game. "Get a room," I chided.

Madison flashed me her best impish smile. "Good idea," she said, taking Parker by the hand and leading him into her room. She made sure to pause at the door to make a show of kissing him again. I played along, whistling an exaggerated catcall. Madison was so proud of her trophy boyfriend. He was the perfect accessory. She winked at me meaningfully as she closed the door. It was a bluff. There was no way that pristine, little Madison was going to get dirty before going out. She teased. I delivered. It was never going to be a fair fight between us. I very nearly almost felt sorry for her.

About twenty minutes later, Parker and Madison emerged. She looked radiant in a sparkling, evening dress. It wrapped around behind her neck, leaving her arms exposed and hinted at a sliver of side boob. I complimented her and the poor thing basked in my glowing appraisal. Parker said nothing. He kept his eyes on the floor as they departed. Once they were gone, the closed door of Lacey's bedroom became the focal point of my universe. So much was riding on the girl behind it. Her smile had been a calculatedly ambiguous thing. It could've meant anything. I parked on the couch and tried to guess what was going on in her head. Lacey was an art student, studying photography. On the side, she dabbled in sociology with a focus on feminism. She was incredibly clever and openly bisexual, although her definition of bisexual was a funny thing. "Sometimes you have to sleep with the boyfriend too," she'd explained with a shrug on my third night in the dorm. Madison and Lacey weren't that close. Devon was their common ground. For the most part, Madison disapproved of Lacey's lifestyle and politics. I, on the other hand, liked her right off.

Lacey had seen enough to play Iago to Madison's Othello. (Iago is my hero. He was a smooth criminal. If you don't know what that means, look it up. Literacy is sexy.) I wasn't ready to begin Madison's demolition. I wasn't looking to wound her. I wanted to maim her for life, mostly just because I could. Like I said, power gets me off and when I burn bridges, I bring marshmallows and hot chocolate. At the moment, I was distracting myself with Lacey's smile; not what it meant, but her lips themselves. I sidetrack myself like that a lot. I was still thinking about them when I knocked on her door.

She answered in panties and a short, t-shirt that left her midriff exposed. Her stomach was smoothly flat. She had a knowing look. She'd been expecting this visit. "So, you're fucking Parker and you want to know if I'm going to tell Madison?" she asked frankly.

"I think I want to fuck you," I answered.

She laughed, not missing a beat. "Madison's boyfriend isn't enough?"

"No," I said. I didn't deny it. She already knew and it turned me on to say it like that. "He doesn't have your lips." Her smile ripened into a thing of pure swagger. I knew that look. I wore it often. It was a smile that said 'I've got you'. I slipped right into my role in this drama. I leaned in for a kiss. Right on cue, Lacey put her palm against my chest, barring my advance. She was going to draw this out.

"I have a girlfriend, home wrecker," she said.

I made a show of looking around. "I don't see her," I said.

Her chuckle was bemused arrogance. "Are you trying to bribe me with sex?" she asked.

"Will you let me if I say yes?" I asked. Her hand was still on my chest. There was nothing innocent in that soft, constant pressure.

Lacey shook her head. "I'm not going to tell Madison, Evelyn. I'm also not going to fuck you. Then again..." She let the pause become pregnant. "Maybe I will," she said, sliding her hand up from my sternum to my face. "Fuck you... with my camera. Will you let me shoot you?" She ran her fingers through my hair, adjusting it this way and that as if deciding how she wanted me to wear it for her. My capitulation was a foregone conclusion. I was soaking wet for this girl. It seems so submissive to let someone dress and pose you. That's a beauty of the game. It turns on itself like an ouroboros (look that up too). I would do anything Lacey wanted, indulge her every whim. By giving myself over to her, I would obey her and that would make her my slave. The game was already over. I'd already won. All that remained was to go through the motions. I held my 'gotcha' smile back.

"When?"

She pretended to think about it. "Right now," she answered. "Can I get you wet?" I loved her clever, little mouth.

Lacey was working on a project she called "PG 13 Sensuality". It focused on the erotic parts of the female form that were traditionally neglected by our tits and ass media culture. It was pretty cool and very hot. She wanted water dappled skin and strands of clinging hair. Listening to her describe what she wanted felt like being fucked by poetry. I was under the water for all of about five seconds before I unhooked the shower attachment. It had this wonderful "pulsating massage" setting. That shower head and I spent a lot of quality time together while I lived there. I'm pretty sure it was an unfaithful slut, too. I do not play with my tits when I masturbate for my own pleasure. I usually bite the knuckles of my freehand instead. It's one of my little tells. If you can make me bite my hand, you're doing it right.

My teeth were clamping down when the cold air hit me like a slap. Lacey threw the curtain back. She had the bathroom door wide open to vent the steam. She started taking pictured immediately, her camera making electronic reproductions of the sound of an old-fashioned shutter blinking. Click, whirl. Click, whirl. Click, whirl. My disorientation was short lived. "Don't stop," she said. She was still wearing the same thing she had been when she opened her bedroom door. "Don't stop," she repeated. These days, there's no way I would have done it. Back then, I was a crazy freshman living in a world without consequences. I didn't even consider refusing.

"Take off your clothes," I said.

"What?" she asked, weaving around me in a flurry of clicks.

"Let me look at you while I do it," I said. "Letting me look isn't cheating."

Lacey made an exasperated sound, set her camera down and stripped for me. She did it unceremoniously and went right back to taking pictures. Her breasts were tiny, but her nipples were perfect and hard. She was shaved and there was an Asian symbol tattooed on her mound. Little pinpricks of gooseflesh rose on her arms and thighs. I went back to work, easing back into it. I didn't want it to be over too soon and there was a very real danger of that happening. I was fantasizing about her masturbating to me masturbating for her. Now and then she touched me, adjusting my hair or tilting my face. Each time she did, it was all I could do to hold back. She made me sit and loomed over me, shooting straight down at my face and my open legs. She paused to wipe her lens and I leaned forward, kissing her tattoo. She didn't stop me. I was shaking with the effort of not cumming as I licked down and under the slope of her body. Click, whirl. Click, whirl. I looked up into her lens, my face pressed into her. Lacey was still taking pictures, even as I was licking her clit. I abandoned my own needs to dedicate myself to hers. Click, whirl. Click, whirl. Lacey had a tell too. The closer she got to cumming, the more frantic the clicking became. "Fuuuccckkkk..." she groaned. I held her against me as her body bucked, my other hand brining the stream of pulsing water back onto target. I came in seconds. It was one of those climaxes that takes over your whole body. My toes curled. My teeth clinched. I collapsed back to the shower floor, a lump of boneless putty. Lacey took a few more pictures, stepped out of the shower, and gathered her clothes. I wanted to kiss her so bad.

"You're leaving?" I asked.

"Yep. I got what I want," she answered, not even bothering to look at me. Her attention was focused on the little screen on the backside of her camera. She was looking at her pictures of me.

"Your girlfriend is lucky," I said. I was so out of breath that each word came out separately.

Lacey slanted a glance down at me. She was wearing her "gotcha" smile. "Which one?" she asked. "I have several." Then she walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I'd underestimated her. Lacey was a worthy foe. It was the beginning of a long and insatiable infatuation. Was I the hunter or the hunted? I couldn't tell anymore. In an email, somebody asked if I'd ever taken advantage of Lacey. I had to laugh. You don't take advantage of forces of nature like her. You just hold on and try to keep up. I'm still trying. Lacey is the only one of my freshman dorm mates that still talks to me. I might have burned bridges, but Lacey has always been nearby, ready to hand me a fresh book of matches or a splash of gasoline.

So, my lovely little voyeurs, now you've met my best frenemy. Want to hear more? Let me know. Are there any devious ladies out there? I'd love to hear from you along with all of my eager, hard boys.

Oh, her tattoo. The symbol means "desire". . . . xoxo, S.P. I love ya. Bitch ;)