"Could you get the other coffee grounds? The ones I like?"
Brie jumped at the sound of Martin's voice, having somehow forgotten her husband was even in the house. She looked down and realized she'd poured the oat milk into her coffee but was just standing at the counter, spoon in hand, in another world. "I'm sorry," she said automatically. "You don't like these? I thought it's a good roast."
"Well, no, that's what I'm saying, I like the usual grounds, the ones I like." Martin stared at Brie mystified.
She stood up straight, suddenly worried that she was somehow telegraphing not just how far away her mind was, but where it was. How twisted it was. "I'll try to remember that, but sometimes they don't have them at the one near the school. So I just get what they have."
Martin sighed, looked down at his travel cup and grimaced. Brie's gaze drifted away. A couple of months ago she would have been worried, offered to go across town after work. Despite the fact that he worked closer to that store than she did. It didn't occur to her now. It wasn't that Brie had been radicalized, she still supposed that was her duty as a good wife. She just didn't think much about being a good wife now.
Looking down at her outfit, it was apparent to Brie what she did think about. If Martin had been paying attention, if he considered the possibility that his good Christian wife might have needs and interests of her own, he might have noticed how her wardrobe had changed. How the pencil skirt she wore, while modest in length, was tighter than anything she'd worn since he met her. How it showed off the curve of her ass to anyone inclined to look. How her blouse was another degree tighter than last week's. He might have been confused. He might have been aroused. He might even have been mad. He had every reason to be. It was maybe the only thing that would pull her back from this abyss.
"I liked it the way it was."
Brie looked up at her husband. He was staring at his coffee cup. She imagined getting down on her knees in her tight pencil skirt and opening his pants.
"Let's just go back to the old grounds."
Brie nodded. "I'll get some for you after work, Martin." And she would. And he would smile, finally pleased.
________________________________________
She found herself, from time to time during the day, losing track of what she was doing or what the student she was working with was saying, her eyes caught instead on her office rug.
Brie could pick out each one of them, the multiple stains on her rug, unnoticeable to anyone else. Stripes of discolored fabric that stretched from the center of the room to her armchair. An archaeological marking of each of Jason's visits to her office since that one day.
She had allowed him to do that, to see her half-naked, to masturbate himself in front of her. And since that day he had considered it his privilege. There was no more discussion or cajoling. Her admittedly weak protests were swept aside. Each day he had a scheduled visit with his counselor, she had opened her blouse and bra, he had opened his pants, and he had eventually ejaculated across her floor.
The stripes across her rug brought the vision, unbidden, into her mind, of his penis, his hand, the sticky wet ejaculate which afterward she would scrub from the rug on her hands and knees. But it also made her hear his fantasies, his taunting, see his drawings, that continued to infest her mind. Each night she was touching herself to those memories, those words, each day she was staring at the rug lost in visions.
And each day her schedule showed "Jason Pollard - Check-in". Forty-four minutes.
________________________________________
Jason walked into Ms. Madison's office on a Monday morning with a sense of intent and purpose. He had left his backpack in his locker, but he held his sketchbook in hand. He liked holding it loose, seeing the bit of terror that crossed Ms. Madison's face knowing it could just plop open to one of dozens of fucked-up sketches of her in there and ruin her whole life. And knowing she would still eagerly crane to see what he had drawn, while she pretended it was inappropriate.
"Morning, Ms. Madison." She was seated behind her desk. hair back, a boring white blouse on. But it was tighter at least, and not buttoned up all the way. He constantly had to tell himself to be patient. She was still boring as hell, practically Amish, but every week she was giving up a little bit more.
She had her hands clasped on top of a pile of papers. She was always saying they needed to do the papers, talk over his thought cycle or something. But she never insisted, not enough anyway.
Jason closed the door. He was tempted to lock it sometimes but he liked to tease her sometimes as she was exposing herself with fantasies about folks walking in on her. Joining in. It was the thing he jerked to the most about her, imagining her being a true free use slut. He didn't know why.
He still jerked to Ms. Madison, while at home, while drawing in his sketchbook. But he had kept his word - he never came. He saved it all for her office. For the daily appointments he had earned by being, and continuing to be, a total fuckup in the rest of his life.
So,most days in the past week, by the time Jason sat down in her little armchair, he had the bluest of blue balls. Today was no different. He perched at the edge of the chair, his cock already half hard.
"Come over here, I want to show you something." He gave a crooked grin, it always went like this now. She stood up, nervous, uncomfortable, knowing what was coming and yet enjoying it. Enjoying the way he watched her walk around the desk. She was wearing some long-ass skirt, but it was tight. It showed off her ass. Nicer than he would have thought. Tonight he'd watch some porn and imagine cumming on her bare ass.
Ms. Madison sat down in her matching armchair, kitty corner to his, leaned back in the seat creating some 'professional' distance between them, but her eyes were on the book. "What did you want to talk about today, Jason," she offered. As if they were doing that - counseling.
"Cum. I've noticed how into it you are. You like watching mine." Jason tried not to present anything as a question. He noticed she would still protest and argue if he did. But when he just stated it, she rarely said a thing. Her eyes were growing wider at his words. If he asked she'd say it was from shock. But he didn't think so. It's why he kept going, kept doing this. He wasn't an asshole, he wouldn't torment the woman, really blackmail her or something. But Jason was pretty sure Ms. Madison was turned on, excited to hear the word, excited to be baited into thinking about it.
"It's what initially got you excited. When I was talking about Jenny, drinking all that cum. But lately I haven't been thinking about you swallowing it." Jason opened up his sketchbook and flipped through. It was an assortment of crudeness. He thought he was pretty good at art, but he couldn't find any interest in drawing things other than this. That kind of restricted his audience.
"Here we go." He flipped open to a full page sketch, and turned it to face Ms. Madison. He knew it well, had spent a long time drawing it, interrupted by frequent bouts of porn. Seeing her tits every day had been driving him crazy, and he'd been practically drowning himself in tit fuck videos, tit groping videos, oiled up breasts. Bukkake videos where guy after guy cums on the girl's tits and face and hair. It made him so fucking hard, thinking about that happening to Ms. Madison, thinking about walking over to her right now and cumming in her hair. It drove him crazy, the things he could do if they weren't in this fucking office. Her tits would look so good oiled up, her hair dripping cum.
He'd almost forgotten the drawing. Jason let his eyes focus again, back from his reverie, to register Ms. Madison's face. Her mouth was open in a silent O. Those gorgeous brown eyes were wide, dark with dilated pupils. Her eyes were what had first convinced him she could be a slut. The way they widened, darkened, gleamed, when he got real nasty.
She was staring at the page where he'd drawn her - he'd gotten pretty good at capturing her face, he thought. In the sketch, Ms. Madison was kneeling, ass on her heels, topless. He'd drawn her bare tits oiled up -- tried to, it was hard to capture it. But that's what he'd been working on: how to show wetness. Because the woman he'd drawn was wet. Gleaming oily breasts, cum drenched face. Cum in her hair. Multiple cocks surrounded her, attached to barebone sketches of the men themselves. He didn't care about drawing that, though he'd drawn the cocks in cartoonish detail. Bulging, veiny, fat heads. One was laying right on her head, down her part, as if the guy was standing right behind her. And cum was leaking from it right on her forehead, like it was dumping a load of paint.
Jason let her stare for a bit without saying anything. It sometimes felt like she was hypnotized. He knew she was so Christian, so narrow, she'd never even seen a porn, so it was like he was showing her everything for the first time. Letting her get a tiny glimpse of the kind of scene he'd watched a hundred times. Then snatching it away. Leaving her alone with her thoughts and her fingers and hopefully desperate for more.
"Can you imagine getting that drenched with cum?" Ms. Madison's gaze broke away from the sketch at the sound of Jason's voice. He smiled as she met his eyes. "Dripping down your face. You'd love that. Just a line of guys out this door trying to get their turn to mess you up. That's the kind of thing guys are thinking about when they see you in the hall in this tight skirt. They want to fuck you up, this perfect woman, get you dirty."
