Rooming With Roseann Pt 05

"I ache down there." I already knew I was going to lose this one. Moreover, I wasn't so sure I wanted to win.

"Barry, tomorrow you're going to be all by yourself for the day while I'm at work. I want you to go through tomorrow aching for me just like you're aching now, fantasizing about me, until I come back home. And then, maybe, just maybe, you'll get what you want.

"Doesn't that excite you?" she said. "I know it drives me crazy to think about it."

I looked up at the naked Amazon towering over me. Her foot rested lightly on my chest, and her pussy was barely visible in its nest of black curls. From within the hair spilling over her shoulders, she smiled triumphantly. For so many years, I'd imagined her like this, passionate, demanding, selfish. Now my fantasy had come true, and it was clear that she really did intend to toy with me until I became a quivering mass of need. And it had only been one day. How far did she intend to go with this? How much could I handle?

But even as I thought this, still looking up at her, I could feel myself sinking further into her grasp. If I were going to be free of her, I'd have to do it now, before it was too late. Every hour in her presence would make it more difficult to set boundaries.

"I'll wait 'til tomorrow," I whispered.

My self-betrayal was complete.

"Of course you will." She gazed at me with those lovely eyes. "You know how good it will be. And think how it will strengthen your ultimate pleasure if you go all day, hard as an iron rod. The ache in your crotch will remind you constantly of me. If I let you come now, that wouldn't happen, would it?"

"Probably not," I admitted. It was too late to save myself. I was already at RoseAnn's mercy.

She removed her foot so I could stand up and escape the coarse itch of the carpet. My testicles felt like cannonballs, and the congested ache spread though my pelvis.

"Poor Barry," she said, taking my hands. "You're aching for what you think you deserve, but I won't give it to you. Not yet. That fantastic orgasm wasn't only because of that lovely tongue of yours. I decided just before I came that I'd leave you unsatisfied tonight, and the thought just about drove me crazy."

"How can that be?"

She gazed down at me through lidded eyes. "I have a thing about power. I was probably born with it. It's a drug that makes me feel irresistible and confident. It cranks up my libido, and my climaxes are like nothing on earth. You should feel proud that you can do that for me."

"I do."

"And I've learned something important about men--as long as I make you go without, you won't be able to think about anyone or anything but me. I'll be the most important thing in your life. Isn't that how men's minds work? Doesn't your imagination run wild when I'm not around?"

"It seems to be how mine works," I confessed.

She held my shoulders and made certain I was watching her eyes. "You could lose your soul to me. You know that, don't you?"

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pressed my face to her neck. "It's too late already," I whispered in her ear.

She laughed and tugged at my hand, leading me toward the bedroom. "We'll get some sleep now."

I wanted to hold her under the covers, but she allowed only one kiss, and pushed me away. She turned out the light and went to sleep immediately. But I lay awake, my brain buzzing with wild thoughts. She denied me my orgasm in order to kick her own into overdrive? Was that normal? And how did she reach into my brain and capture my thoughts? How could she have known about the fantasies that had fuelled my nighttime stroking for as long as I could remember? Long, complex dramas in which I was her rescuer, her knight, her bodyguard, her servant, her slave--the most powerful of which ended with her pleasure and my frustration.

But now that my fantasies had turned real, second thoughts crowded my brain. It seemed that she was acting on a plan concocted long before I arrived. That she wanted me for sex was not so surprising. Those fires had smoldered and burst into flame during that weekend at the Wisconsin Dells. But it seemed she also intended to make me a household servant and perhaps some sort of personal slave, too. I'd read my share of pornography, and I knew that strong, selfish women were staple characters in erotic tales. I also knew that, in the real world, naturally dominant women were rare, certainly too rare to satisfy the global inventory of male fantasy. But now I had one beside me, and I'd been exhausting myself trying my best to please her. Did I have what it takes to be the lover of a genuinely dominant woman?

Fantasies were fantasies, and I tried to force myself to think beyond them. I was about to go to college to prepare for my future. Could I really spare the time and energy to be a servant, or slave, even to my beautiful RoseAnn? Could I sacrifice everything to be what she wanted me to be?

The thought sent my cock skyward again, tenting the blanket over my hips. My body was casting its own vote, the deciding one. Until now, I'd been thinking only of myself and the things RoseAnn could do for me. Perhaps that was a mistake. What if I put her desires first, and devoted myself to pleasing her? Wouldn't she like breakfast in bed before going off to work, dinner hot and ready on the table after a long workday? Long, sensual massages and foot rubs, household chores taken care of, a life of ease and pleasure? I could give her all those things. All I would hope for in return was the privilege of kneeling at her feet and pleasuring her in the most intimate possible way.

I'd do it. I'd let her have her way with me, and mold me into the object of pleasure she was seeking. From now on, my life would be all about RoseAnn, my goddess.

I watched the shadowed form beside me on the bed, and listened to her soft breathing. Could anything else in my life, anything I am now, or might become, rival the contentment of this moment, watching her sleep? The aching in my balls was a trivial price to pay for the privilege of sharing a bed with this precious woman.

She wriggled under the covers and tucked herself against my shoulder, as if she heard my thoughts. Her breath warmed my chest. From time to time, I glanced at the clock, not caring whether I slept or not. The last time I looked, it was 2:12.

* * *

An instant later, the alarm rang and the clock said 6:00.

RoseAnn disappeared into the

en suite

bathroom, and I lazed under the covers for a few minutes. Had all of yesterday really happened, or had I imagined it? I'd learned more sex in more varieties in 36 hours than some people did in their lives. Things had moved more quickly than I imagined possible. What more could happen in the next 36 hours?

She rushed out of the bathroom, still naked. Through the door, the mirror was steamed over. "You say you know how to make coffee from beans? How about you make us a pot?" She rummaged in a drawer until she found a bra and a pair of panties.

"Give me a minute." I turned face down in the bed. "I didn't sleep well."

"I haven't got a minute. I've got an eight o'clock meeting and a half hour's work to do beforehand."

I got up, pulled my briefs on, and began searching for the coffee beans. I found them in the freezer, the same place my Mom kept them. I poured some in the grinder.

"What are your plans for today?" she said, pushing past me to put two slices of bread in the toaster.

"Nothing much. I was going to drive around and find out where everything is."

"Well, I need all the tile floors washed and everything dusted. All the stuff you need is in the kitchen closet."

"The place already looks clean."

"To a man, maybe, but not to me. If we're going to share this apartment, you've got to do your share of the work. Do you know how to wash women's underwear in the machine?"

"I've never used a washing machine."

"Well, you can do them by hand," she said. "Use Woolite in the sink in cold water. Work them with your fingers. Rinse them at least twice. Squeeze them, don't wring them, and hang them from the rack in the bathroom."

I was too exhausted to understand. "Okay. Can I lie down for a minute?"

"You can lie down when I leave. In the meantime, butter my toast when it pops and fill my travel cup with coffee." She was in front of a mirror, trying to decide between two tops, holding the hangers alternately against her breast. "But don't sleep too long. There's a lot of work."

She leaned over the bathroom sink, putting on a light lipstick. "By the way, while you're handling my panties, remember your promise. No touching yourself."

"The thought never entered my mind." Until now.

I buttered the toast and she chewed it rapidly. She waved the half-eaten crust at me. "This way, I won't eat donuts at the meeting. They always have these big, greasy donuts at early meetings."

She was soon ready. She wore a tight navy skirt that stopped just above her knees, a white top, a simple necklace, no nylons, and low heels. Her hair was brushed back and held with a clip. I filled her travel mug with coffee and held it out for her.

"How do I look?" She spun on her heel.

"I wish I worked where you do," I said, grinning. "I'm jealous of anyone you get to work with today."

She came close enough that her linen-covered breasts touched my bare chest and I had to look up into her eyes. She poked a finger into my breastbone. "I'll see you at suppertime. Be sure to have those chores done for me. I'll be checking." She kissed me, and reached down under her skirt. She brought up her index finger, wet, and spread the moisture under my nose. The intimate aroma took my breath away.

"Do you like that?"

My heart abruptly thumped, I wanted her so much. "Do you really have to go to work today?" I asked.

"It's called my 'cassolette', my most personal fragrance. It might keep you from forgetting about me until I get back."

"As if that could happen," I said after her. She flashed a smile back at me as she disappeared down the steps to the garage.

The quiet fell on me like a sodden blanket. Without RoseAnn, the apartment seemed like a dead place. The color drained from everything. I refilled my coffee cup and went back to the bed we'd shared only an hour before. I tried to replay the previous night's activity in my head. I almost managed an erection, but it seemed too much work.

But she'd given me orders! I jumped from the bed and pulled on briefs and shorts, determined to keep myself busy. She'd left her underwear piled in the corner. I grabbed the heap in both hands, saw the faint yellowing of the nylon, and held it to my face. The combined smells of sweat and pussy brought me immediately erect. I wouldn't wash her underthings now. I'd keep it where I could touch it and smell it from time to time during the day. At the least, it would help me fight the awful emptiness of the apartment.

I found the cleaning closet, filled a bucket with water, and began sweeping the floor. To my surprise, my cock began to swell again. A little thought, and I understood that it made sense--she had ordered me to do this. Was she really so powerful that she made erotic acts of washing her underwear and cleaning her floors? As I swept, and picked up the dust, and began to mop, I thought about the way she'd used her power on me last night, taking pleasure as much from my ache and frustration as from my tongue.

By the time I'd finished, my cock was still rigid. I tried to imagine what would happen when she came home and examined the clean floors. Would she reward me? Or would she simply accept my labor as her right?

I returned to the pile of underwear on the bed, and held it to my face. My cock swelled painfully, and I realized that I was quickly approaching a spontaneous orgasm. I threw the pile of clothing onto the mattress, and breathed deeply, furiously thinking of bank accounts and gas mileages, anything to distract me, until the rising urge abated.

I looked at the clock. It was 10:00 a.m. More than seven hours to go.

Next came the dusting. It was harder than I expected, since the dust tended to fly about and stick to the surface I'd just wiped. She had hundreds of LPs and a few VHS tapes in a large wall case. I took them out, a few at a time, and wiped the dust from them. Then I went over all the pictures and decorations. I moved on to the furniture and carefully wiped away the dust. My cock still thrust hard against the inside of my shorts as I worked. But I was more cautious now. I could easily trigger an unwanted orgasm just by thinking too hard about RoseAnn.

The dusting was finished before noon. How was I going to get through the rest of the day? I still had her underwear to wash. As I filled the bathroom sink, the telephone rang.

"Miss Perez's residence."

"Did you go back to sleep when I left?"

"I miss you," I said, turning all squishy inside.

"How are you dressed?" Her voice was hushed as if she were cupping the phone for privacy.

"What? Dressed?"

"What clothes are you wearing?"

"Shorts and briefs. Why?"

"Are you doing the work I gave you?"

"Yes."

"Take your clothes off. I want to imagine you naked and doing my housework."

"But you can't see me--" I was already loosening my belt.

"In my imagination, I can. Naked and doing work for me. I've been thinking about it all morning, and it's got me turned on. Are you excited, too?"

I pushed my briefs to the floor. "Yes. I'm stark naked now, and I've got a hard-on as long as your arm."

"I think I want you naked whenever you're at home, whether I'm there or not. Will you do that for me."

I hesitated just a moment, and said, "Yes, RoseAnn. Anything for you." The thought of being naked for her all the time made by belly shiver and my cock ache with need.

"What are you doing now?"

"I just finished the floors and the dusting, and I'm about to wash your underwear."

"Oooh. I love that vision. I wish I could watch you do it. I want to lie back on the sofa with a glass of wine and watch you wash my underthings, totally naked."

"Take the afternoon off--"

"Someone's coming to see me. I've got to go." She hung up.

My head buzzed as I walked naked to the bathroom. I was far too conscious of the weight and stiffness of my cock. I faced the sink of wash water and picked up the first item, a generously sized brassiere with wide shoulder straps to support those magnificent breasts. I sniffed at it for a moment to catch her body smell, then dipped the garment in the water, sloshed it around a few minutes, and squeezed as much water as I could from it. Finally, I set it aside to be rinsed later. One by one, I went through the items, bringing each one to my face for a moment to inhale her aromas before plunging it into the water.

When I finished, six brassieres and eight pairs of panties dried on a rack that stood in the bathtub. I was still naked and still erect. I scooped up my own clothing from the kitchen floor on the way to my room.

In a frenzy, I yanked open the top dresser drawer and found the album from Sybaris Boudoir Photography. I laid it on the bed and flipped it open to the last photo, convincing myself that the mysterious shadow was really RoseAnn's dark pussy. Surely, after working so hard for her, I could justify rewarding myself with a quick one, something to take the edge off. I could count on recovering my lust in six hours when she returned. I'd confess it to her, as I'd promised, but she'd have to forgive me. I was in real pain. I leaned down and kissed the photo, careful not to wet it or leave finger marks.

My hand wandered to my cock, but when I looked back at the album, RoseAnn, with her enigmatic smile, was watching.

Wait for me, and I'll make it worth your while.

I pulled my hand back. For a while longer, I tortured myself, gazing at the photograph and provoking my fevered imagination, as I might scratch a mosquito bite until it's truly sore. But I refused to touch myself. Thank God I had to spend tomorrow at the University, and I'd be with RoseAnn for the next two days of the weekend. I couldn't take another day of this torment.

By five o'clock, I was nearly screaming with frustration. Still a half-hour to go. I put the album back, arranging the papers over it roughly as I'd found them. But five-thirty came and went, and she didn't appear. I listened to the news on TV, and the sports summary following, and didn't remember any of it.

At six o'clock, the phone rang. RoseAnn! My sagging erection suddenly re-inflated.

I picked up the receiver with one hand and held my cock with the other. "Miss Perez's residence."

"Well, it's a relief knowing you're safe," said my mother. "I was getting concerned when you didn't call."