Chapter 2, In which I fight and make up
I was lying on my back staring at the ceiling when the phone rang. It was too much effort to restrain Stacey when she rolled off the bed, so I went back to fingering my sloppy slit and admired the play of her naked body as she walked across the room. God she was gorgeous, I mused, feeling the passion start to mount inside me again when she turned to blow a kiss before picking up her cell.
She was insatiable, but I'd discovered I could keep up with her. Every orifice in my body ached from being violated with the toys strewn about the bed, some of them larger than any of the men I'd known, but what really got me off was the sly look on Stacey's face each time she teased another climax out of my trembling body. Well, that or the way she writhed in my embrace each time my tongue found its way into her creaming gash.
"Michael, it's about time!" Stacey told her caller. I giggled at the thought of her talking to my roommate while I fucked myself on her bed, and she shushed me before walking into the living room. "No, I got past it, no thanks to you. You owe me a coffee after the next meeting."
Jilling off wasn't as much fun without an audience, so I reluctantly gave it up and decided to hunt for some food. We'd missed lunch and dinner, and the ice cream we'd played with last night didn't really count. Still naked, I followed Stacey out into the other room.
"...suspicious killjoy," she was saying. "No, I promised I wouldn't do that." Apparently, Michael was giving her a hard time. It probably was his duty, as her sponsor, and I was glad he was looking out for her, however belatedly. "It's not like I'm not supposed to have
any
girlfriends! I needed a friend, and she offered to help." A low murmur was all I could hear of his voice. "Yes,
completely
voluntary. I swear it!"
I smirked and then caught sight of the clock. "Oh shit!" I yelped, aghast at the time. The heavy curtains had fooled me into thinking it was early morning, but it was just after noon; I'd lost a whole day! No wonder I was starving! I ran back into the bedroom, looking for my clothes, and trying to calculate in my head. I had maybe three hours to repack my bag with some clean things and leave for the airport in time to catch my flight. "Shit, shit, shit!" I muttered, heading back to the bathroom.
Stacey was off the phone. "Do you have to leave now? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" She pulled a curtain aside, confirming her statement. As we watched, a stroke of lightning lit up the sky.
"There's nothing more I'd like to do," I sighed, "but I have a trip and the traffic will be terrible in weather like this." I found one of my pumps in front of the refrigerator.
"At least let me call you a cab," Stacey relented, and started dialing the phone while I dressed.
Finally I was ready to go. "I'm sorry I have to leave like this," I told her. "I had a really good time."
She smiled. "So did I. You'll see me when you come home, right?" Her look made my knees feel weak.
"Try and keep me away!" I laughed, and then we were kissing again, as if it were the first time. Our bodies ground against each other, and it was nearly impossible to force myself to end it and walk away. I took the elevator down, but still felt out of breath when I reached the sidewalk.
The rain was sheeting out of the low clouds, but the cab was there and I dashed through the downpour to the relative safety of the back seat. The traffic was as bad as I'd feared, and I think we nearly got into accidents twice because the cabbie kept looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I walked into the apartment feeling a little bit like a drowned cat.
"Linnea? Is that you?" Michael called from his office. "Jesus Christ! Can't you turn on your phone? I've called you like a million times!"
"It
is
on, and hello to you too," I snarled, still in a bad mood. I opened my purse again and dug past the wallet and candle to find my phone. "Okay, so I did have it off, duh," I admitted, thumbing the power button and watching the little logo appear. "What did I miss, besides the flood?"
"It's no joke, Linnea; I was worried about you. I had no idea where you--" he walked into the living room and stopped dead at the sight of me.
"What?" I asked, wishing the rain hadn't matted down my hair so much.
"You were with
her
," Michael said flatly. "Christ, Linnea, I
told
you to stay away from these people!"
"What?" I repeated, offended. "You mean Stacey?" His eyes hardened. "She needed help and you weren't around.
Nothing happened!
What business is it of yours how I spend my weekends?"
"Look at yourself," he said, sounding tired. "Just look, in the mirror."
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light, then set my open purse on the counter so I could try to tease out the curls in my hair; the weather hadn't completely killed them. "Is it about the haircut? It looked better, dry."
"Keep looking."
I blinked, and suddenly everything was different; I gasped with surprise. Instead of my silk blouse, I was wearing a really tight black knit mock turtleneck. It was so thin that it was effectively transparent, especially wet, and I could see every curve of my breasts, areolae, and hardened nipples.
My skirt was absurdly -- no, obscenely -- short, riding low on my hips and barely wider than the heavy link belt draped around it. The lips forming the "O" of surprise in the mirror were a glossy fire engine red I'd never seen before -- at least since I'd graduated from high school. I
