My Roommate Michelle

John walked in the door to his townhouse after another long day. After work he had gone out on another unsuccessful date and he was feeling kind of down about it. There was some standard he had in his head that none of the women he had seen recently could live up to. Every date started with a bit of excitement for him and then slowly, over the first hour of conversation it always seemed to fizzle out. Sometimes he felt like giving up even trying to meet someone.

The first thing he saw as he walked in the front door was his roommate Michelle lounging on the couch in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. She moved in almost two months ago and was working out just fine. She worked at a local hospital, so her shifts were sometimes at odd hours, but she never left messes and he never had to worry about rent payments. She was attractive and John had definitely thought about being more than friends, but he worried he might lose a good roommate. Her attractiveness to him went beyond the physical for him. She was smart, clever, and even funny, which meant she usually laughed at his jokes.

On nights like this he was glad she was here as she always seemed to cheer him up. She gave an easy smile when they looked at each other, "another date?" she asked.

"How'd you know?" he asked.

"Your usual happy-go-lucky look when you walk in late," she laughed softly.

John shook his head at that knowing how he so often wore his emotions on his sleeve. "I am going to get changed," he said making his way for the stairs, "maybe we can watch something?" he asked not able to hide an eagerness to sit with her on the couch.

"Need a shoulder to cry on again?" she teased.

"Sorry to be so transparent," he called back as he walked up the stairs. It only took a few minutes for him to change into his sweatpants and a t-shirt before he made his way back downstairs to take a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

"Anything good on?" was the first thing he said.

"Not really," she sighed, "just trying to think about nothing for a while."

"I can relate to that," he expressed with sympathy.

"So another dud?" her question not needing an explanation of what she was asking about.

"Well I thought it started well," he began, "but the more she talked the less enthused I got."

"Come on then," she said as she took the pillow she was laying on and placed it on her lap then patted it with her hand, "go fix me something to drink and then lay down and tell Shelle all about it."

It had become a routine of theirs over the last month or so. She would let him rest his head on a pillow in her lap and talk about his day. What was so nice to him was how her hand would gently run through his hair. Her nails softly scraping his scalp. It always started with him answering questions about his night, her voice speaking down to him quietly and eventually he would drift off to sleep with her having to wake him to go to his bed.

He went to the kitchen and poured her a glass of wine before returning out to the living room, glass in hand. She took the wine from him and he lowered himself down onto the couch. He always tried looking at the television, but it was hard not to look up at her. The closeness, how he loved the way she smelled, and the gentleness of her voice always put him at ease.

"Was she at least pretty?" Michelle began.

John thought about how to answer as he felt her hand come to rest on his head. At her touch he felt a tension leave his body he did not realize he had. "Well..." John paused as he started to speak. He did not feel comfortable talking about being attracted to another woman to Michelle. "In a way," he finally relented, "but then I got to know her a little better." He liked the soft smile she gave when he finished answering her.

"What about her did you not like?" the soft strokes on his head felt so wonderful. His whole body felt like it was melting into the couch.

"I wish she was...well smarter. Clever like you," when the words slipped out, he tensed up worried about letting her know about his growing feelings toward her.

"Just relax John," she said softly as she stroked his hair. "You worry too much about letting me know how you feel," at her response John wondered how she knew how he felt. "Just let my voice and the soft caress of my hand on your head relax you." It was hard to argue with that he thought to himself. "You're so silly. You always seem to forget when you drift off and sleep deeply for me," his body felt so heavy as he looked up at her, unable to take his eyes away from her gaze. "You get so relaxed and sleepy for me. I know deep down you worry about the first time we did this," her soft hand and soft words seemed to make him feel heavier and his eyelids started to close down. "You asked me to share my fantasy with you, do you remember the fantasy I have about you John?"

Somewhere in his mind he thought he remembered her saying she had a fantasy about him, but the memory was surrounded in a haze he could not see through. He softly he replied the word no before she continued, "awe, you are so tired for me again John. So sleepy for me John. You get so sleepy because you trust me more and more each day we spend together. When I shared my deep, personal fantasy with you, it made you trust me even more. You feel so safe sharing your own thoughts and feelings with me now." John thought how right she was. She was clever, smart, and he trusted her to share things with her he normally kept to himself. He loved how good he felt when she talked to him like this, "my soft voice and touch feel so good on your mind. My voice stroking your mind the way my hand strokes your head, relaxing you. Making you feel so good and relaxed. I don't force this on John, you crave it every time you see me or even think of me. Going so deep for me. Wanting to hear my fantasy again John."

Her words played on his mind making him feel wonderful. Feelings started to rise up in him. He loved the way she always put him at ease. Thoughts of her made him feel a warmth and even an arousal which were difficult to describe for him. He found himself wondering deep in his mind if it was love.

"I want to tell you about my fantasy, but I get kind of embarrassed about it John," he was eager to hear about her fantasy. Eager to share in it with her. "You know how I told you I like it when a smart, handsome guy like you pays special attention to my feet," his thoughts pictured her perfect feet with shiny, painted toe nails. "How turned on it makes me when a guy is naked, on his knees paying special attention to them. Can you picture what it would be like if it was you naked and on your knees? Me sitting on the couch in your favorite skirt or dress, you down on your knees in front of me wearing a shiny collar with your name on it...your name just after the word slave."

When the word slave played across his mind, he felt his arousal start to grow. It was a deep stirring in his cock which he suddenly registered as being rock hard. He did not remember how he got so turned on. Thoughts came into his mind and then disappeared before he could consciously grab hold of them.

"It can't be forced John," her voice was so sweet to him, "but if someone asked me John, I might say yes. I mean I would not want to make you feel like you had to do it. It would only be if it was something you really, really wanted John."

John felt so good listening to her. He was more than aroused as he pictured the scene in his mind. Naked, on his knees in front of her. Lost in adoration of her feet and legs encased in black nylon. A part of him railed at the vision. He could feel that part fighting deep down within, but the more she spoke to him the weaker that part became.

"I know how hard it is John," her voice laced with pity, "so hard to keep yourself from asking me. I find all men eventually give in to their desire to be my slave. Even the strong ones like you John find they cannot resist the temptation to give in to me. To give in to my will. It's so hard to fight it, isn't it?"

A surge of pleasure ran through him so intense he was sure he moaned out loud.

"Yes it is," the words felt like liquid pleasure on his mind, "but until you ask me I just wouldn't feel right about it. I wait for it each night when you walk through that door John. Wondering if it will be the night you give in to your desire."

He felt words bubbling up inside him, he was not sure where they were coming from but he knew how good it would feel to speak them.

"My fantasy is so silly I know," her voice was getting almost husky, "but I can't help how much it turns me on. How happy it would make me. I can't help how good it feels to make me happy either."

Another rush, the thought of her happy always gave him that rush. The pleasure that radiated throughout his whole body and seemed to flow right down into his crotch when he thought about making her happy.

"I won't ever force you to play out my fantasy John, that just wouldn't be right...but if you really wanted to..." her voice and touch seemed so distant now, lost in the peaceful relaxation and pleasure.

"Go deeper for me now and sleep...sleep and forget until you remember what it is you want to ask me..."

John's eyes blinked open as he felt a hand gently tapping his cheek. He looked up and saw Michelle standing over him. Realizing he was still on the couch he sat up, "fell asleep again?" he asked her.

Michelle laughed softly, "oh I am used to you dozing off on me by now."

How wonderful she looked standing in front of him. Even in sweatpants and a t-shirt he felt a sexiness exude from her. He was hoping she did not notice him looking at her feet as he admired how her red painted nails looked next to the tan skin of her feet.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "what time is it anyway?"

"Time for me to go to bed," her eyes suddenly holding his gaze, "unless there was anything else you wanted to get off your chest?"

He felt words trying to bubble up out of him and moved his hand down to cover his pants that were starting to tent from a growing erection, "um...I...I think I should probably get to sleep too."

"See you in the morning then," she smiled and turned to slowly walk up the stairs, his eyes never leaving her retreating form.