Equivalent Exchange

Another story idea from totesanalt. Hope you enjoy!

***

"I'm not spoilt!"

I glared at my housemate David. He in turn peered over his thick glasses at me, one of his many books about the occult sitting on his lap. I crossed my arms underneath my chest, flicked back my hair and continued, "I'm not spoilt in the slightest."

He sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Listen, Christine. I like you."

"Sounds like there's a 'but' coming..."

"But!" He paused, thin face screwing up as he thought about what to say next. "But, you have to admit that you don't really pull your weight around here."

I sat back and looked around at our little apartment. I'd moved in six months ago after responding to an ad. I have to admit when I learned that my new potential housemates was an 'amateur occultist'- I mean, as well as a literature major, the poor guy- well, I had some serious concerns.

In the end it had all turned okay. Six months in and there had been no skulls on the mantlepiece, no talk about 'female essences' and no offers to partake in a 'tantric ritual' (yes, that had actually been used as a pick-up line by some guy in too much eyeshadow once at a party- no, you will be shocked to hear that I did not take him up on his offer). He was polite, nice, more or less respectful (in that he didn't set up hidden cameras in the bathroom or stare too obviously at my chest) and he was helpful.

Which was apparently a

problem

now for some reason. I'd come home to complain to David about my woes with my boyfriend- okay, now ex-boyfriend- James. We'd had an argument at the club last night and I mentioned to David that he had- obviously in the heat of the moment- called me spoilt. And then David had, instead of loyally defending my position, stated that he might be right.

Which was not the script, David, come

on

now.

"I pull my weight," I shot back.

He nodded and said with the sort of gentleness that I found deeply suspicious, "Well, let's do a tally."

I smelt a trap. A devious, conniving,

fact

-based trap. "Go on."

"I clean up the main room. And the kitchen."

I looked around. "I clean up sometimes!"

"When?"

I paused, thinking back. "A couple of times! What about last week?"

"Christine, you said you'd do it and then you cleaned for five minutes, declared a break and scrolled through your phone for three hours. I ended up doing it myself."

I paused. "Okay, granted..."

"And then there's the fact that you barely ever cook. In fact you never cook."

"That's not true!"

"You once asked me to make you cereal."

"You were up!"

He sighed. "In fact, you're eating my dinner right now."

I stared guiltily at the half-devoured lasagne in front of me. "I asked before I took it."

"You didn't."

"I at least said thank you!"

"Thank yous are nice but they aren't, you know, pulling your weight around the house." I opened my mouth but he cut me off, "And no, it isn't sexist to put in your share."

I pouted. "Fine. I could maybe rely on you a

little

less when I comes to cooking. Oh! I could order takeaway sometimes! That's basically the same thing, right?"

He gave me a look. It was not a nice look. "And don't forget that I have to clean the bathroom..."

I pouted, part-pleading, part incredulous at the implication that I would have to brave the horrors of toilet maintenance.

"...or taking out the garbage."

I gave him the full force of my puppy-dog eyes and he sighed. "This here? This is the problem. Look, I'm happy you're living here Christine but you don't pull your weight because, well..."

"Well?"

He took a deep breath. "You know you can get away with it because of your looks."

I raised an eyebrow but he kept on talking. "It's true. No offence but you're someone who's clearly gone your whole life getting people- mostly men- to go and do things for you."

"That's not true!" I said, incredulously. He merely shrugged and turned back to his book.

"I've seen the way you treat your boyfriends. Gifts, dinner on them, a taxi service..."

"That's just- that's just chivalry! I won't stand here and take this!" I rose, sat down, shovelled a few forkfuls of lasagne into my mouth and then rose again. "I'm going out with Emma!"

"Is she paying for drinks?" he said, smiling at me in a way-too-smug fashion.

"Oh, fuck you."

***

"He's obviously a misogynist," said Emma.

We were somewhere loud and popular and trendy. I sipped my sweet, sticky drink and looked pensive. "Is he? I'm not so sure."

Emma pushed her blonde hair away from her face. "He's just an asshole. That's all."

I sat back. "It's just...it got me thinking, you know? What if I have just kind of been coasting through life, having everything handed to me-"

"Drinks, compliments of the two gentlemen over there." A pair of glasses full of something colourful and alcoholic and many-parasolled was deposited on our little table, where they sat amongst similar offerings. Stacey and I glanced at the pair of men who'd made their play for a heartbeat before looking back. We might or might not go talk to them later.

"Anyway, what was I saying?"

"Something silly about using men."

"Well..." I paused. "The thing is, David isn't really what you'd call a jerk. He's usually pretty helpful. And what he said made me think."

"Oh?"

"Remember my first car?"

"So what? Lots of dads buy their daughters cars?"

"But a sports car?"

"It just shows how much he loves you! It's practically wholesome!"

"What about my good grades at school?"

"Hard work!"

I shrugged, not bothering to mention the offers that I'd received from time to time concerning 'extracurricular activities' from love-struck male teachers. "And what about boyfriends?"

"Okay," said Emma, "That's just slut-shaming. So you've had a lot of boyfriends! So what! Boys are fun! They're dumb and silly and it's

so easy

to get them to do what you want-"

I sighed. "That's just it. Maybe...maybe I want-"

Emma scowled. "You should let some woman-hating incel brainwash you."

"I just want to be independent!"

"Okay then, you shouldn't let a bunch of man-hating feminists brainwash you!" She gave me a flat look. "You want to, what?" She waved her hand around at the club around us. "Go pay for your own drinks? Pay the entry fee into the clubs? Wait in the lines outside like some sort of idiot?" Toil away like some," she paused, no doubt digging deep into her imagination to conjure up the very worst that humanity had to offer, "some

fat girl

?" She shook her head. "You've been given gifts, babe. What was it your mom always said?"

I frowned. "A woman's beauty is her greatest asset." I mean, she also said, '

Check if your husband's boss has a mistress'

but that was probably not what Emma was referring to.

Emma shook her head. "Your housemate's just upset that he's not got some submissive little slut at his beck and call." She rose and stalked off to the bathroom, stopping to talk to the pair of boys that had given us our drinks.

I looked around. The club had mirrors everywhere and I caught one of my many reflections staring back at me, frowning in a way Mom would have never had approved of. Skin that looked naturally tanned thanks to my mixed white and Hispanic heritage. Long, brown hair that was nearly black. A heart-shaped face that everyone from my preschool teachers to my last boyfriend had called angelic. A chest that drew the eyes of every man in the room. Long, slender legs.

Was this the body of a woman who used her looks to get what she wanted?

No. No, David was just being a jerk. I'd go home and tell him that!

"Free drinks, courtesy of the man over there."

...Tomorrow.

Obviously.

***

"So," I said, "that's why you're wrong."

David sighed and pinched his nose. "Tell you what," he said. "What if I showed you?"

"What does that mean?"

"What if I showed you exactly how much I do around here?"

"How?"

He leant forward. "It's this spell-" He caught me rolling my eyes. "No, listen- it's an ancient contract. Used by magicians to deal with fairies and the like. It makes the recipient bound to pay any debt they incur with the contract-holder. The Deed of Equivalent Exchange, it's called."

"What sort of payment?"

He coughs. "Um. Well... nothing that will upset you- the spell makes sure of that. Want to try?"

I paused, frowning. "You don't expect this to work, do you? I mean,

spells

and

magic

..."

"Look, tell you what- if we use the spell for a fortnight and nothing happens then I was obviously wrong and you were right and I won't ever bring this up again. Sounds like a deal?"

I shrugged. "Deal."

"Right." He walked into his room. Then minutes later he brought out a document lined with some funky looking runes. He took a moment to write out the agreement, muttering to himself as he did. He handed it over to me. "Just sign at the bottom."

I read through the contract, unsure of exactly why I was bothering. Finally I signed it. As I did I felt an odd tingle in the back of my head. I stood up. "One fortnight, then."

"One fortnight."

***

Three hours later that I knocked on his door. "Did you do the washing up?" I asked.

He smiled. "The washing up

and

the laundry. Why?"

I paused, uncertain how to explain. "It's just...it's just..."

"You feel like you owe me, right?" I nodded, aware of the strange itch in the back of my head. "You want to pay me back?" Another nod from me. "Okay..." he paused. "Why don't you go and heat up the leftover lasagne for dinner?" I nodded mutely and dashed off.

Five minutes later I knocked on his door again. He got up and walked into the living room, where two piles of pasta and cheese goodness sat in gloriously steaming heaps. He sat down, prodding the food. "Thanks." He looked up. "Is everything okay?"

"It's not enough." I felt the itch in the back of my head lessen as I doled out the food and poured out drinks but it was still there, in the back of my brain; faint and soft but so damnably insistent that it was driving me nuts. "What else can I do?"

He paused, uncertain. "Well, there is one more thing you could do..."

"What?"

"Could you..." he swallowed and looked at the ground, "Could you possibly spend the rest of the night topless?"

I paused, frowning. That was-

It was

something

, wasn't it? I frowned, uncertain. It sounded like I should have an issue with that for some reason. I tried to concentrate on it but that itch, that annoying, endless itch in the back of my head kept disrupting my thoughts. Showing him my boobs was... it was... it was an easy way to pay him back. I And so I pulled off my shirt and then undid my bra and then...

You know that feeling you get when you sit down after a day on your feet? When you take a long, cool drink of water when you've been parched? When you finally solve a difficult puzzle, when you- just to really bring the metaphor home- finally get to scratch an itch that's been driving you mad for hours?

That's how it felt as I saw David's eyes light up at the sight of my nice big boobs. That's the sort of shuddering relief that coursed through my body.

I waved them in front of his face just to see if the sensation could get any better. It could. "Happy?" I asked.

He grinned and sat back down on the couch, sagging with relief as though he'd been waiting for something awful to happen instead. "Yes. That's...that's perfect."

"Wanna watch some TV?"

"Sure," he said. "And..." he paused. "How about I make some brownies? With some ice cream?"

I squealed like a little girl as I hopped on the spot. His eyes went wide as I did.

***

It was two days later when I knocked on his door. He opened it and grinned. "Hi."

"Hi." I smiled at him. "So..."

"So?"

"So, you were right."

"About?"

"About, well..." I winced. Had it really only been two days? And in that time he'd made brownies, he brought me breakfast, he'd cleaned up...

I was still topless. Had been for two days straight, now. But it was only helping a little. The itch was back in full force now, like a swarm of insects skittering across the inside of my brain. How had I never noticed that he'd been doing all this work, all this time? How was I so helpless? Had I really been living like this my whole life?

Why had I been content to live like this?

I cleared my throat and said, "I just...is there any way that I can thank you? For what you're doing?"

He opened his mouth and I saw the automatic response lined up, the same one that he'd been giving me for six months: No, it's fine, I don't mind. And then I saw him stop and the light of furious calculation gleam in his eyes. Good. I didn't want him to be nice. I wanted to pay off my debt. I wanted the itch to go away, to feel that blessed relief.

His eyes drifted down to my boobs- he'd been shy about staring until I told him I preferred him to get as much as an eyeful as he possibly could- and then he licked his lips nervously. "What about...what about being completely naked? For today, at least."

"Done." Again there was that strange sense of things not being right but I'd learned to ignore it by now. I pushed down my sweatpants and shimmied out of my panties, standing before him naked. "But we're going to have to think of something else to do in winter." I took a pose, smiling, as he grinned. Once again I saw that relief cross his face. Was he feeling some sort of itch too?

"How do you feel?"

"I feel..." I paused. Honestly? Not as good as I had hoped. The itch was gone, but there was something else that had been bothering me- something that, in its own way, was just as bad. Worse, even. "Actually," I said. "There's something else. Um. I have another favour to ask."

"Go on."

I took in a deep breath. "I...I want to learn how to take care of myself."

He blinked, startled. "What? Is the price for my help too high? I thought the spell-"

"It's nothing like that," I said, idly scratching my hip. "It's just...you were right, you know? I've kind of just been coasting through life by using men." I chuckled. "In all honesty, if it wasn't for this magic hoo-doo of yours I wouldn't have noticed. So I want to learn to become more independent. You know, how to cook and clean and stuff." I took a deep breath. "I want to be able to not have to rely on people like you anymore."

"I honestly don't mind doing that stuff," he said. His eyes drifted to my groin. "I mean,

especially

now."

"Yeah, but

I

mind." I reached across and took his hand. "Look, could you do this for me? As a friend?"

He looked like a kid who'd just been told to give back a puppy. "Sure," he mumbled.

"Thanks," I said. "And I mean- I'll be really,

really

grateful."

And just like that his smile was back.

***

It was two days later as we fled the kitchen. "So," he said. "That could have gone better."

I sighed, crossing my arms in front of the apron that he insisted I wear while cooking. "I don't understand how that didn't work."

"Well, let's break it down."

"Okay." I pouted. "I got all of the ingredients that you told me to get."

"Which I paid for..."

"Yes." I winced as I felt that itch press slither across my thoughts like a lonely snake.

Soon

, I promised myself,

soon

. "Then I put them all in the order that you told me to."

"Good, good."

"And then I left it to simmer..." I turned back to the smoke-choked kitchen. "I don't get what went wrong!"

"Did you stir it occasionally like I told you to? Or did you go into the lounge room and watch TV and forget about the food?"

I paused, trying to think of a way out of his baseless accusations. Eventually I groaned and said, "Fine."

He seemed to relent, patting me on my arm. "Look, let's try again. We still got ingredients left over, right? How about I cook and you learn-"

"No," I said. "I'm doing it the right way." I paused. "And you can watch me to make sure that I don't screw up." I turned and waggled my naked ass in his direction. "If you don't mind?"

"Sure." He grinned. "But first, let's talk about repayment..."

An hour later the meal lay eaten in front of us as I pulled down his sweatpants. He eyed me with a mixture of lust and nervousness. "You sure about this?"

"Oh yes," I said, nodding. I could practically feel the itch fading away into a warm sensation of relief. His cock- long and thin and circumcised- sprang out of his trousers and I smelt the pre-cum in the air. Poor guy had been hard most of the week, thanks to my constant nudity. I stared at his cock and licked my lips, knowing that sweet, wonderful release was around the corner for both of us.

My lips slid around his cockhead and with the taste of cum and sweat and skin came that glorious sensation of relief. I closed my eyes and moaned as the itch became a pleasant memory. I licked and suckled on his cock, bobbing my head back and forth-

He came within seconds, spurting his cum into my mouth. I collected it dutifully and then slid off his cock with a pop. I opened my mouth, showing him his own load, before swallowing with a devilish grin. Just like we agreed. He stared at me, panting as though he'd just ran a marathon.

"Adequate payment?" I asked, the bliss of release in the back of my head already supplying the answer.

He made a whimpering noise that I assumed was an assent. I rose, wobbling my boobs in his face, before walking away. "You can show me how to do laundry tomorrow!"

***

It was the next day. "Okay," he said. "Let's discuss what went wrong."

I frowned. "It wasn't my fault."

David put on that kind, gentle expression that he used when he was about to explain how precisely things were, in fact, my fault. He'd been using that expression a lot lately. "Look, every failure is a chance to grow, right?"

"Sure." I turned to look at my collection of disasters. "It was just one sock."

"One very pink sock," he explained, the picture of patience, "in your whites. And do you know what happens when you put colour with whites?"

"Colour transfer," I said. I lifted up one of my favourite cream shirts, dyed the same colour as seven-year-old me's bedroom. "I can't believe that I suck so badly at this!"

"What?" He took my aside and sat me down on the couch. My clothes lay neatly on the hook next to the door, where I'd changed out of them the moment I came in. "Listen. Don't get discouraged, okay? You're learning stuff for the first time. I screwed up all the time when I first left home." He hugged me. "You're doing great."

"T-Thanks."

We might have held the hug for a little while longer than was entirely necessary. Eventually I pulled away. A glance down at his sweatpants made for an easy change of conversation. "Payback time!"

Well, he didn't need much in the way of prompting. He pulled down his pants, his cock already springing free. "Best laundry day ever."

"Wait a moment," I said, waltzing into my bedroom. "I think that little pep talk pushes you over the limit..."

I saw his eyes widen as I held up the lube. They stayed wide as I poured some onto my hands and then slowly- sensuously- began to rub it into my boobs until they gleamed with an oily sheen. I got on my hands and knees and crawled over to him, licking my lips, my boobs hanging swaying underneath me.

I reached him and, cupping my tits, slowly enveloped his cock between them. He let out a soft, breathless exhalation as I began to massage him. Both of us stared at the head of his cock- purple, flaring- as it vanished in and out of my oily expanse.

He had time to lock eyes with me, to see that wicked grin of mine and then he came, cum spasming all over my chin and tits. The itch faded blissfully faded into nothingness.

"That's what you get," I said, "for being so nice to me." Then I got up and sauntered off into the shower, ass swaying as I went.