Chapter 3: The Makeover
The binary trees were a lost cause. The textbook, still faintly stained, sat discarded in Ed’s backpack. A week had passed since Tiff’s fingers had rewritten his nerve endings, and now he sat cross-legged on her floor, nursing a warm, cheap beer. The taste was bitter, but it softened the edges of the room, of his nerves, of her intense, appraising stare.
Tiff was three shots of citrus vodka deep, her laughter louder, her movements more liquid. She’d been rummaging through a overflowing drawer of lingerie, a kaleidoscope of lace and Lycra.
“Study break!” she’d announced, and he hadn’t argued.
“Ohmygod, wait. Waitwaitwait.” She froze, holding up a wisp of fabric. It was a thong, the sheerest pink, with a little satin bow at the front. Her eyes, glittering with alcohol and inspiration, locked onto him. “Ed. Baby. You have to.”
“Have to what?” he asked, though he already knew. His stomach tightened.
“Try it on! For me? Please?” She stumbled over to him, the thong dangling from her finger. “It’s for science. Like… comparative anatomy. Your ass, in jeans? A crime. Your ass, in my cute little lace? That’s a masterpiece. That’s a public service.”
He shook his head, a weak, automatic refusal. “Tiff, no. That’s… that’s yours.”
“And you’re mine, so it works out,” she said, her voice dropping into a pout that didn’t quite mask the steel beneath. She knelt before him, her hands on his knees. “Come on. Don’t you wanna see? Don’t you wanna know how fucking hot you are? Just for a minute. Just for me.”
The beer and her pleading eyes worked in tandem. A traitorous flicker of curiosity ignited in his chest. What would it feel like? How would he look? He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
She squealed, a sound of pure delight. “Yes! Okay, up, up! Pants off!”
He stood on wobbly legs, fumbling with his belt. She helped, yanking his jeans and boxers down in one eager pull. The dorm air was cool on his skin. He stood there, exposed, while she delicately arranged the pink fabric.
“Step in,” she directed, her tone suddenly focused, like an artist preparing a canvas.
He obeyed. She pulled the thong up, her fingers brushing against him, adjusting. The front was a laughable scrap, barely containing him. The back was a mere string that vanished between his cheeks. She turned him towards her full-length mirror, the one with the crack in the corner.
“Look,” she breathed, her hands gripping his hips from behind.
Ed looked. A stranger stared back. His own pale torso, skinny arms, familiar shy face. And below, the shocking contrast of the feminine pink lace, and the way it framed rather than hid, the round, full curves of his rear. The string bisected it, emphasizing its shape, making it look… presented.
“See?” Tiff whispered, her voice husky. “I told you. It makes your dump truck POP. God, it’s perfect. It’s so fucking perfect.” Her hands slid around to knead the flesh, her thumbs tracing the line of the lace. Then she leaned forward and pressed her open mouth against him, tongue lashing the exposed skin above the string.
A jolt shot through him. The sensation was filtered through the lace, rough and smooth at once. She licked and nibbled, drunkenly worshipping each cheek, groaning into his skin. “So good. Tastes like… like pretty. You’re my pretty thing.”
He was hard, straining against the absurd front of the thong, a flush of shame and arousal burning his ears. She turned him back around, her eyes glazed.
“Okay. Roleplay time,” she announced, as if it were the most logical next step. She lurched to her closet and dug past shoes and purses. What she pulled out made Ed’s breath catch.
It was a dildo. It was monstrously long, thick as her wrist, and a glossy, unreal jet black.
“Found it online,” she giggled, waving it. “It’s called ‘The Shadow.’ Dumb, right? But look at it!” She gestured with it like a conductor’s baton. “Okay, story. We’re two hot bitches. At, like, a sketchy after-hours club. And this…” she hefted the dildo, “…is some total stranger’s huge, beautiful black cock. And we’re both so horny for it. We’re gonna share.”
Ed’s mouth went dry. “Tiff, I can’t—"
“You can,” she interrupted, her voice sweet yet absolute. “We’re just playing. It’s fun!” She grabbed a bottle of lube from her nightstand, squeezing a generous, shimmering pool onto the dildo’s terrifying tip. She sat on the edge of her bed, spreading her legs. The massive toy stood obscenely between her thighs. “Come here. We’ll start together.”
Drawn by a force he didn’t understand, he knelt on the floor between her knees. The pink thong felt ridiculously delicate. The smell of fake watermelon from the lube mixed with the vodka on her breath.
“Look at it,” she cooed, guiding his head. “Such a nice cock for two hungry sluts. Get it wet for me.”
Her hand cupped the back of his head. He opened his mouth. The silicone was cold and tasted chemical. He touched his tongue to it, hesitantly. Beside him, Tiff leaned down and took the other side of the broad tip into her own mouth. They were cheek to cheek, lips sliding on the same fake shaft.
“Mmm, just like that,” she mumbled around it, a thread of saliva connecting her lip to the black gloss. “Suck it, Ed. Pretend you need it.”
He did. He closed his eyes, the porn-logic of the scenario short-circuiting his brain. He sucked, licking the length, his humiliation morphing into a bizarre, shared intimacy. They slobbered over it together, messy and competitive, Tiff moaning encouragement.
“Good, so good, both my bitches are so good,” she panted, pulling back, her lipstick smeared. “Now… my turn first. Gotta warm it up for you.”
She lay back, hiked her skirt up, and without ceremony, guided the slick, black monstrosity to her own entrance. She took the head in, her eyes fluttering. “Fuuuck, yeah. So big.” She pushed, and it vanished into her, inch by impossible inch, until a ridiculous length was buried inside her. She wasn’t stretched—she accommodated it with a drunk, practiced ease, her back arching. “See? No big deal.”
She pulled it out, glistening and wet with her own arousal now. “Your turn. On the bed. On your knees. Ass up.”
Trembling, Ed climbed onto the bed, assuming the position that was becoming familiar. The pink thong was a cruel joke. He felt her hands on his hips, the cool, lube-slick tip of the dildo nudging against him, right over the flimsy lace.
“Gonna ruin this pretty thong,” she giggled. She hooked her fingers in the fabric and pulled it to the side, exposing him. The air touched his stretched, vulnerable hole from last week. “Oh yeah, she remembers. Look how she’s winking for it.”
The pressure began. It wasn’t a finger this time. It was a blunt, overwhelming invasion. The head was huge, bigger than three of her fingers. He cried out, a sharp, pathetic sound, as she pushed.
“Shhh, shhh, take it,” she slurred, her voice thick with concentration. “You’re a club slut, remember? You begged for this cock. You need it.”
It burned, a scorching, tearing fullness that obliterated thought. He buried his face in her neon comforter, tears stinging his eyes. She pushed relentlessly, her weight behind it, and with a final, gut-wrenching pop, the widest part sank in.
He saw stars. A white-hot pain blazed through him, then subtly, insidiously, began to transmute. The sheer fullness touched something deep, something that made his untouched cock jerk, leaking onto the sheets.
“There! Yes! Look at that! Taking it like a champion!” Tiff was shouting, drunk and triumphant. She began to move it, short, shallow strokes at first. Each withdrawal was a strange, empty relief; each thrust was a shocking re-conquest. The pain lingered, but beneath it, a radiating, prostate-deep pleasure began to pulse, syncing with her movements.
“Your ass is so fucking greedy,” she chanted, picking up speed. The bed rocked. “Sucking this big black cock right in. Knew you were a natural. Knew you needed this. Pretty sissy boy with his pretty ass getting fucking ruined!”
Her words were arrows, embedding deep in his psyche. The dildo pistoned into him, a brutal rhythm that shook his whole body. The pleasure mounted, unbearable, coiling from that brutalized, stretched core. He was sobbing, drooling on the comforter, his body convulsing around the foreign object. He came, suddenly and violently, with no hand on his cock, just the raw, internal hammering against his deepest nerves. His release splattered underneath him, a weak, helpless pulsing.
She fucked him through it, until her arms tired. With a final, deep shove, she left it buried in him and collapsed beside him, breathing heavily.
After a moment, she pulled it out. The sensation was a slow, devastating emptiness. He collapsed, a boneless, used wreck. She patted his flank, her hand sticky with lube.
“See? Fun, right?” she mumbled, already half-asleep. “We’ll get you your own toys soon. Cuter ones. Pink, probably.”
She curled up, her back to him. Ed lay there, the deep, throbbing ache inside him a permanent new testament. The pink thong, torn and stained, was still rucked to the side. He didn’t move to fix it. He just stared at the crack in the mirror, watching the stranger in the lace breathe.