Pity Fuck 3

Pity Fuck

Copyright August 2023 by Fit529 Dotcom (Started 2021)

== Disclaimers: ==

Everyone's over 18, they're all in college

All the names have been changed because life is embarrassing enough

== Chapter: Struck and Flat ==

I awoke lying flat.

Slowly coming to awareness, I realized I was lying on the floor in a clothing shop.

I looked around.

Okay, it was the Save-U-Thrift store...?

It looked familiar, but thoughts were coming slowly. The feeling was like waking from a deep dream, it felt like. How long had I been out?

Looking upwards at the ceiling, then slightly to the side at racks hanging over me, I realized I was behind some shelves near the back so no one had noticed me. Not many people were in the store, so it wasn't surprising.

Why I was there came back to me. I still hadn't moved much. I just lay there, getting my bearings.

Tuesday afternoons were the best times to go to a thrift store... so... was it Tuesday?

People donated stuff on weekends, and it took the staff a day or two to get things priced and onto shelves.

Some memories were returning. I'd come there not for the timing (fortuitous as it was) but because I really needed a frying pan. My apartment purchases had only included the one, and my roommate had run cold water on my old one while it was hot, twisting it into a warped mess.

I wasn't happy!

Aggravatingly, I'd watched him do it, screaming to stop but... too late. He didn't know -- basically, he's an idiot. Granted, for sure, I was also an idiot about some things, but even I knew that you don't put a super-hot frying pan under cold water.

All this flashed in my head (why I was there, where I was) looking upwards at the ceiling.

The problem remained how I'd ended up on the floor.

Time to stand up, so I tried. The store was big, but in a college town it got lots of business, I'd not be alone forever.

Getting on my feet was a process! I was still discombobulated. Why, though? What had done this?

Looking on the floor next to me, I saw a small, dull, used-but-ornate wood box, with dulled-metal (silver?) inlays. It came back to me -- I'd picked it up, and realized I could press the buttons on both sides at the same time and maybe it would open. I think it did, maybe... and I think I got an electric shock before things went black.

The sticker on it said $3, which in thrift store terms meant they had no idea if someone would buy it. I'd been in this store a lot, I knew their patterns.

Really, I had to shop there for essentials - I had nearly no money, I was a destitute college student.

Looking at the cause of my demise, I figured I might as well be the _complete_ sucker and buy it. It did look interesting, and if the box shocked people enough to make them pass out, great, I'd let my roommate pick it up. It'd serve him right for wrecking my pan.

That reminded me, I had to get a pan.

Wandering over, I found they had no pans.

That is, they had two pans, but both were Teflon and scratched to high heaven, so, no, they had no pans. I didn't need teflon shards in my food. I really just needed a big cast-iron skillet. The hardware store next door had them, but they were pricey and I was on a student loan budget of zero dollars and one cent for non-essentials. Well, almost -- the $3 box I was holding was justifiable revenge money if I could trick Dave into pressing the buttons.

Grumbling, I dreamed up elaborate plans of shaving one of his eyebrows when the box made him faint. Fun to think about. I'd never do it. I did like him well enough, but in a friendly tolerate-the-idiot-college-roommate way.

Trudging up to the front, the older lady (a new employee, I didn't recognize her) was behind the counter. She was wearing nice clothes, too nice to be working in a thrift store for minimum wage, so that meant she was slumming it -- doing this job so she could feel better about herself. I didn't fault her, she seemed nice enough. Maybe she actually was a good person.

She looked at me, and I could just tell looking in her eyes that she was saying to herself, 'he needs help'. Granted, she was probably right. I'd just gotten over being sick after an asthma attack and then not being able to sleep all night because the inhaler always makes me wired-up twitchy.

As I got to her register, she looked at the box I was holding. Feeling sad for myself, I started to drag out my wallet. I was sad about my state of affairs and the fact that $3 was a real expense.

She said, "Oh, I see that's mis-marked. That should be 50 cents."

Something about her tone said she was taking pity on me and I should accept the new price as a gift.

Handing her a dollar, she made change and got me a paper bag. "Here's a paper bag," she said conspiratorially, "so no one has to know you shop here."

Her attitude was odd, but I shrugged it off. Something about being knocked out had made me groggy, so I just trudged out, shoved the box in my backpack, hopped on my bike, and headed back to my apartment.

Outside was again the October-cool wind of northern Wisconsin. I went to the University of Wisconsin at Stevens Point, U.W.A.S.P., a fitting name for being filled with White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. The wind's uncomfortable-cool cut through my coat, but at least it was still above freezing.

Riding home, I hoped no one else would be burning leaves and set off my asthma again. On super-windy days, usually no one did, so that boded well.

My next class wasn't until 7 am the next day. Because of my asthma, I'd missed one class, Beginning Piano. I'd signed up for it to balance out my engineering workload but it had eaten up huge amounts of time practicing.

It wasn't lost on me that lots of my classmates already knew how to play and were taking it for the easy A, but I was just trying to be able to play scales with both hands at the same time.

Walking in my apartment, I saw my roommate Dave and his girlfriend, Carla, a girl frankly out of his league, sitting at the kitchen table. Carla was amazing. Dave was, well... sorta okay, I guessed, but not the brightest bulb. Sure, he was ethical, reasonably nice, okay looking maybe, but I profoundly didn't understand why she chose him.

He said, "Hey."

I was dejected more than angry. Angry went away with the cold wind. "I went to the thrift store. No pans, dammit. I need a new pan. I can't not have a pan. My cooking sucks enough as it is."

Carla considered, "Awww... What kind?" She had also witnessed the warping event the previous night since Dave was trying to impress her with his "mad-skillz" at the time.

I considered what could have been an offer from her. She had money, could afford anything, so I decided to try for the best kind I knew. "Hesitate to say this, but ... I've been watching this show, 'The Naked Baker' and she cooks on Amino a lot." I was naming a super-high-end set of cookware. I decided to hedge my bets. "... but also on cast iron, too. So, either way."

Her gaze got quizzical and kind of distant, like she was imagining, "So, is she naked, baking?"

Ducking back to hang up my coat, I answered sheepishly. It was kind of odd to talk with a girl about this stuff, but what the heck, she'd asked. I said, "Uh, yeah. It's ... sure, it's nice to watch her naked, she's pretty, but... mostly, she just explains things really well. It's aimed at people -- guys, really - who are super-n00bs at cooking. That's, uh, Exactly Me. She just makes sense, keeps it simple." I chanced being honest, "Plus, she's naked, way cool. Like, show up for the free boobs, also learn cooking. Kinda fun. And, she tells jokes, too, so, eye and brain candy."

She nodded, like it was almost reasonable.

I had a feeling she was going to make fun of me, but I kept going anyway. "I actually have learned stuff -- chopping onions, for instance. So, half entertainment, half learning."

"And... you like watching girls cook naked?" Her voice was almost distant, like she was imagining something. I thought she might be setting me up, wanting me to say the wrong thing so she could pile on criticism, but I didn't get that vibe.

Instead, I kept it honest. I chuffed, "Duh! Of course!"

Dave laughed, too, and Carla laughed with us though still like she was thinking.

We were silent a moment; Carla was deciding. Looking straight at me, she asked, "I bet you'd like it if I cooked for you naked."

I looked at Dave. He shrugged and looked at her oddly, then at me, then back at her. She was always more conservative than him, I think, so this was a surprising thing to ask. I had to answer truthfully,

"Uh, I guess, sure, you can cook naked for me anytime."

"Like, now?"

I looked at Dave again. This was a minefield. I couldn't exactly say yes, but I couldn't say no. I played it for laughs and said, "Ha! Okay, yeah - I'm sure Dave doesn't mind. Go ahead!"

Dave looked at me, kind of looked at the ceiling, shrugged, and said, "Whatever, sure."

Carla stood up, "Good. I'll get dinner going. It's 4:30, might as well."

She nodded, looked like she forgot something, and went into the living room around the corner.

I looked at Dave and said, almost softly, "I didn't really..."

Dave waved me off, "It's fine. I actually don't mind. She's so prudish most of the time, this'll be a totally welcome change. It's not like you looking at her prevents me from looking at her, might as well both get some sweet views."

I looked back at him with some feeling, like admitting I was weak, "Dude. Angelina broke up with me last spring, you know that. I've had a dry spell. I'm sorry if I, uh, look at her too much?"

He leaned forward and whispered, "Only naked for me once! 2 months! No sex - only BJ's! I wouldn't complain, you know -- seriously pretty -- but ... I live in hope. Maybe soon?"

I nodded. He didn't confide in me that much -- sometimes I didn't like him that much, he was a bit too much of the 'Cool-B-School' (business school types). I whispered back, sarcastically, "Yeah. Good luck with that. She owns any room she's in. Still, you might like being owned. She's amazing - smart, athletic, works hard on stuff, encouraging? I see her and just know."

"Know what?"

I considered, then said, "If I think, what's the ideal woman - the kind of lifelong stuff - great girlfriend, epic great wife-material, would handle like, all of it. Like, keep house, great cook... even raising like a dozen kids or something? That's the kind, I see, looking at her. Course, dunno, just seems... she's... amazing."

He nodded, considering my 'analysis'. "True. Sooooo true. Still, even apart from that - like, now? It's a Serious Tragedy, her body, unappreciated by mortal men like us."

I had to agree. We leaned back and waited, not knowing what was up.

I was still pretty envious, and all the while, I knew I'd never get a girl as pretty as Carla to go out with me, just as it was nearly unreasonable she was going out with Dave. The sense of loss deepened as I remembered Angelina. Carla being there almost rubbed it in what I didn't have. I just had to thank him, though. "Thanks for letting me interact like it doesn't matter, I'm glad you're not jealous."

He nodded, getting a far-off gaze in his eyes and kind of shrugging, like he was deciding something. "Actually, you're right. It doesn't matter to me. I'm not jealous."

We heard a clearing-throat noise from right around the corner. She said, "I heard that exchange."

Dave and I both sat back in our seats, wide-eyed, like we'd been caught.

She walked in.

Starkers.

Buck nekkid, as they say.

Tits-out, shining headlights, wowzers for my trousers... she was really there. Walking to the counter, she leaned a hip against it nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.

I glanced at Dave. His eyes flashed over her body, but then got quizzical and looked at her face, like he was trying to figure it out. For that matter, I was, too.

Wow.

She looked at me, and I had to look up to her eyes. "Kevin. So. What do you want?"

This had to be a joke. One massive, immense, make fun of Kevin joke. But, at the same time, her legs weren't tightly together to preserve any sense of privacy, she was standing like normal person stands if they're wearing clothes. It wasn't like a girl who's naked normally stands. At least, it seemed that way, I had very nearly no experience with naked girls around me.

Forcing my eyes to hers, I said (responding to the 'what do you want' question), "Uh... I can't say that out loud, lots of things...?" It was just as well, my eyes had already probably said it.

She smiled back at me, knowing what I meant, I think, and clarified, "For dinner?"

"Oh, that." I thought. My mind was a blank. "Spaghetti?"

She nodded, "Easy enough." She turned, looking through cabinets and getting out a stock pot for water, and the remaining pan we had, a medium saucepan designed for soup. She filled it with water, set it boiling, and got out some frozen hamburger from the freezer, setting it to microwave-defrost.

I watched all of this, the bouncing boobs, the undulating butt, the glimpses of her sex as she bent over, and just wondered at what kind of heaven I was in.

Getting things set, she asked, "So... Kevin. You said, 'can't say that out-loud', before. What can't you say? Is it a secret?"

"Uh... Not a secret, Carla."

She turned around, her eyebrows up, "Oh. I asked 'what do you want', you were going to say, what? You wanted to have sex, with me?"

Her eyes looked at mine.

I looked over at Dave. He had his phone out; seeing me look over he glanced up and said, kind of distantly, "Oh, like I said, Kev, I don't mind, not jealous. Plus, just remembered, I gotta look up SWIFT Networks on Investopedia for a paper tonight."

This could not be happening. And, it was. I said, responding to Carla's question directly, looking her in the eyes and answering her honesty with my own: "Yes? Absolutely, yes! You are super-gorgeous; I totally want to have sex with you! Dinner and sex, together, uh.. wow!"

Nodding in a way that said she was considering my answer, she turned back to her cooking, and I went back to staring at her butt.

"You're staring at my butt, aren't you."

"Yeah?"

"Like it?"

"Definitely."

"If you want to have sex, you'll need to warm me up. But, not before I get dinner ready. I'm kinda hungry, I didn't have much lunch today. Busy with calc." She kept cooking, getting water boiling, and not seeming to mind that she wasn't dressed.

Something occurred to me. "You... don't have a fry pan for the hamburger. What... uh..."

"Boil it. Easy solution. Pulls off a lot of the fat, too, it's healthier. I'm sure you'll like it, sir."

The addition of the word, 'sir' was not lost on me. At first, it seemed like I'd mis-heard her. "Did you just say, 'sir'?"

She laughed, still busy, chopping onions. "I guess I did. Silly of me. Just felt right. Feels right, you know? You are one -- a 'sir'. It's like, when you see one of those British men, all stiff-backed and formal, like, they're royalty, yeah, but they're just people at the same time? I guess I kinda see you that way?"

"I'm ... royalty?"

Her voice was confused, like she was still trying to figure it out. "Yeah, odd. True, but odd. Still, I've learned, sometimes it's better not to question something, and, like, just roll with it? You know? Like, how did I get in the same room and cooking for a high status guy like you, can't happen. But, it did. So, here I am. I hope my cooking is good enough for you."

"Uh... I'm sure..."

Dave piped in, "It'll be fine, Carla. Tell me what to do, how do I help?"

She directed him to get the dishes out, set the table with a tablecloth and everything. I was going to get up, but she bade me sit. "Got any wine?"

"No..."

She looked at Dave and said, "He deserves wine. Go get some."

Dave said, "I'm not old ..."

She nodded, "Oh, yeah. Forgot. Your uncle isn't here for a liquor run until the end of the month. My sister could..."

Dave said, "Don't bother your sister."

"Now that I think of it, doesn't matter, she's not in town. She has this D.C. thing working on some deposition, won't be back to Bemidji until next week, here the week after. Still - I'll get her to drop off some bottles when she gets back. Last time she said it was for, 'religious purposes' as long as we said a prayer over it at the meal. We had a good laugh."

She got busy with pulling out some canned fruit I didn't know we had, somehow turned toast and garlic powder into garlic bread, and made a simplistic jarred spaghetti sauce into a subtle meat sauce I was loving the smell of.

Getting the result on the table, she stood in front of me, facing me, her hands together in front of her abdomen in a way that seemed kind of motherly. "Kevin."

"Hm?" I was distracted by her body, but managed to look up at her face.

She smiled down at me and raised her eyebrows, "Sir. You asked for sex, and naked cooking. I've done the cooking, so, time for the sex now."

I wasn't going to refuse, but I was confused. "You... just put a beautiful dinner on the table, and it might get cold? I mean, can we have sex after dinner?" I also wanted to take my time, and that might mean, all night, or whatever I could get.

She was dismissive as if this was obvious, "Oh, no, can't be then. Once I'm done being a cook, I'm getting dressed again, and then it's no sex for you, sir."

This was confusing. "Uh, why?"

"Silly, I'm naked because you asked me to be. Part of that, you added, is having sex. But, once the original thing, the naked cooking thing, is done? Then, I'm going to go back to being my normal self, and, I'm pretty sure, and I'm not going to want to have sex with you then."

"But, now is okay?"

"Sure, now is."

"Will you feel bad later, if you have sex with me now?"

"Duh! No way! I love sex. I'll be happy I got to do some useful cooking, and the fact that it included sex is a bonus."

This was confusing to me, but I think I understood. "So, sex now, then." I stood up.

I looked over at Dave, still reading on his phone and making notes.

He motioned us out of the kitchen, "Please, not too long, this smells fabulous."

I asked, "Won't you feel bad if I have sex with Carla?"

"Duh! Like she said, no way! She's a beautiful naked cook. She's in charge of any room she's in. She says so. So, yeah - that means sex for you. No sex for me, until she says so. If she says, I have to have sex, but with... you, maybe? I'm not sure I'm into that, but I could, I guess..."

"Ohh, uh, no, I'm straight."

He looked relieved. "Good, that's more comfortable for me. Still, college. I might later."

"You're really free'd up right now, aren't you, Dave?"

"Sure. Can I watch you have sex with Carla? She's really pretty."

I just added a calm reply of, "Nooo, uh, we're just going to ... go to the bedroom for that."

"Okay."

This whole conversation was Way Beyond Surreal. I just had to go with it.

Carla took my hand and we went to my bedroom.

As we got there, she asked, "Shall I strip you, sir, or do you want to do it yourself?" She shut the door behind me and waited attentively.

"No, I've got it. Just... lie on my bed? Are you, uh, ready, sorta?"

She giggled, turning, "Silly, I've been ready since you suggested it. I've been so wet, cooking, I couldn't wait for you, but I had to." She pulled down the covers, and I was glad I did laundry the previous weekend and changed my sheets.

I stripped quickly; my cock sprang free from my underwear. I wondered if it was the right size, and since Carla was there, I said, "Carla, as part of this? As part of naked cooking, and ... sex, and ... all that, can you do something, like, from now on, like, forever?"

"Sure, what?"

"Always tell me the unvarnished truth... and, never think that any question I ask, no matter what the question is, is odd or strange. PLUS, any answer you give, it's all going to be perfectly normal, that you're answering every question I ever ask with perfect truth, okay?"