Chapter 20: The Late Night Visitor
The house had finally gone quiet. I'd been lying in Blossom's room, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing beside me, waiting for the last creaks and murmurs to settle into that deep stillness that means everyone's asleep. Or close enough. The hallway was dark when I slipped out, my bare feet silent on the old wooden floor. I'd pulled on just a tank top, loose and thin, the kind that barely counts as clothing. One strap had already slid down my shoulder by the time I reached Alex's door.
I didn't knock. That's not how this house works. I turned the handle slow and pushed the door open, letting the warm lamp glow spill into the hall. He was in bed, on his back, one arm behind his head. His eyes found me the second I stepped in, and I watched them travel down the length of me before they came back up to my face.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
I shook my head and padded across the room, letting the door fall shut behind me. The mattress dipped as I sat on the edge of his bed, close enough that my knee brushed his hip through the blanket. I let the silence stretch for a moment, the way Lola does when she wants someone to feel the weight of what's coming.
"So," I said, letting the word hang. "Amber told me about your private show."
He blinked. A slow smile crept across his face, half amused and half wary. "Which part?"
I arched an eyebrow. "The part where you told them all your fantasies. The part where you showed them what you like. And especially the part about your love of marking."
He shifted under the blanket, and I could see the effect my words were already having on him. The outline of him hardening beneath the cotton. I let my gaze drop there and then come back up, slow and deliberate.
"I sat through that whole dinner," I said, my voice dropping low. "Listening to you three talk about house rules and playrooms and all the filthy things you get up to in here. And I realized something, Alex. I'm the new girl. Everyone else has had their turn with you. Amber's had you in the kitchen, on the couch, in her room. Blossom's taught you all her little lessons. Lola's had you at her feet." I leaned in closer, my lips almost brushing his ear. "But you've never once marked me."
He swallowed. I could hear it.
"So here's what I want," I whispered. "I want you to show me. Right here, right now. I want to watch your hand work that cock of yours while you think about all the things you'd like to do to me. And when you're close, I want you to paint me with it. Cover my skin with your cum so everyone in this house knows I belong to you too."
I pulled back just enough to see his face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. His hand was already moving beneath the blanket.
"Go on," I said, settling myself more comfortably on the edge of the bed. I leaned back on one arm, my tank top slipping further off my shoulder, exposing the curve of my collarbone, the swell of my left breast. "Take it out. I want to see it."
He pushed the blanket aside and wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking slow and deliberate. I watched, letting my own arousal build as I took in the sight of him. He had a good one, thick and flushed, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
"Slower," I said. "I want to watch you take your time."
He adjusted his rhythm, drawing his fist up his shaft in a long, teasing pull. The lamp light caught the wetness at the tip, and I felt my thighs press together beneath the thin cotton of my shorts.
"That's it," I breathed. "Think about what you want to do to me. Think about the first time you saw me, when Amber dragged you into my dorm room. Did you look at my body and wonder what it would be like to have me?"
"Yes," he said, his voice rough.
"I bet you did. I bet you thought about my cock too. Wondered what it would feel like to have a real one inside you." I leaned forward, my mouth close to his ear again. "And now you've had it. And you liked it, didn't you? You liked the way I filled you up."
He groaned, his strokes speeding up despite himself.
"Don't rush," I murmured. "I haven't even started with the things I want to do to you. Or the things I want you to do to me."
He was breathing hard now, his fist moving faster, his hips lifting to meet each stroke. I let my free hand drift down to my own lap, pressing against my cock through my shorts, feeling it swell and strain against the fabric.
"Imagine my hand on you instead," I said. "Imagine me straddling your lap, that cock of yours sliding between my ass cheeks. Imagine me sinking down onto you, inch by inch, until you're buried inside me. Would you like that, Alex? Would you like to fuck my ass while I stroke my own cock?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Fuck, yes."
"I want you to come on me," I reminded him. "Cover my tits. Let me wear your cum like a badge. I want Amber to see the marks you left on me and know that you chose me."
His whole body tensed. His strokes were frantic now, and I watched the vein on the underside of his cock pulse with each heartbeat.
"Come for me," I commanded, tugging my tank top down to expose both my breasts. "Now. Paint me."
He let out a guttural sound, something between a groan and a growl, and I watched the first thick rope of cum arc through the air and land across my left breast. The second splashed across my right, warm and slick. The third hit my chin, and I caught the last few pulses on my chest with my hand, smearing the thick white fluid across my skin.
I looked down at myself. His cum glistened under the lamplight, dripping down the curve of my breasts. I dipped a finger into the pool of it on my sternum and brought it to my lips, tasting him.
"You did good," I said, my voice husky. "But I'm not done with you yet."
He was still panting, his chest heaving, his cock softening with his cum still glistening on his knuckles. But I meant what I said. I wasn't done with him.
I pushed off the bed and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts, shoving them down my hips and stepping out of them. My cock sprang free, already half hard, and I saw his eyes drop to it, saw the hunger there even after everything we'd just done.
"Scoot down," I said, nodding toward the foot of the bed. "I want you between my legs."
He didn't argue. He shuffled down the mattress until his head was level with my hips, the lamplight painting his face golden. I climbed over him, straddling his chest with my knees bracketing his shoulders, and let the head of my cock rest against his lips.
"You've been taught well," I said, running my thumb along his jaw. "Blossom's little lessons, Lola's firm hands. But I want to know what you do when no one's telling you how. When it's just you and a cock in your face and a girl who knows exactly what she wants."
He opened his mouth, and I fed myself into it, slow, letting him take just the head. His tongue circled me, warm and wet, and I let out a low sound of approval at the careful, practiced way he went about it. That wasn't the mouth of a man who'd never done this. That was the mouth of someone who'd learned to love it.
"Fuck, that's it," I breathed, threading my fingers through his hair. "Take me deeper. Show me what you learned from that ginger friend of yours, the one who talked you through your first blowjob, who taught you how to drain her down your throat. Did she tell you not to use your teeth? Did she teach you to swallow everything she gave you?"
He moaned around me, the vibration rippling up my shaft, and I felt my hips twitch involuntarily. God, he was good. There was a softness to his technique, a genuine enthusiasm that came from a man who savored the act rather than enduring it. I let him set the pace for a while, rocking gently into his mouth, watching the way his jaw worked and the way his eyes flicked up to meet mine, pupils huge and dark.
"You're a natural, you know that?" I said, my voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Could have fooled me that you were nervous the first time. You suck cock like a girl who's been on her knees for years. Like a filthy little slut who can't get enough."
I felt him tense beneath me, not with discomfort but with arousal. His hands came up to grip my thighs, fingers pressing into the muscle there, and he sealed his lips around me and took me deeper still, until my cock nudged the back of his throat.
"There you go," I praised, letting my head fall back for a moment before I brought my gaze down to him again. "That's it. Take all of it. You like how I taste, don't you? You like knowing you're not the only one in this house who can make a girl choke on her own need."
He was moaning now, his cheeks hollowed, his rhythm turning greedy. I could feel the telltale tingle building at the base of my balls, the familiar tightening that meant I was close.
But I wanted something else first.
Slowly, I pulled out, my cock glistening with his spit, and leaned down until my face was level with his. His lips were swollen and wet, and there was a sheen of my pre-cum smeared across his chin.
"You've got a love of marking," I said, echoing his earlier words back to him. "You like leaving proof of yourself on someone. On Amber's tits. On Blossom's thighs. On my skin just now." I cupped his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes. "But only the filthiest sluts let someone come on their face. The kind of girl who wants the whole world to know exactly what she is. The kind who wears it like a crown."
His breath hitched. I saw the flash in his eyes, the naked need.
"Let me," he said, his voice hoarse. "Let me have it on my face. Please."
I smiled slow and cruel, delighted. "Please what?"
"Please come on my face. I want to be your filthy slut." The words tumbled out of him, desperate and honest. "I want to wear you. I want to taste you for the rest of the night."
"That's my boy," I murmured, and I shifted up, straddling his chest again, my cock brushing his lips before I dragged it up across his cheek, smearing the wetness of his own spit across his skin. "Open your mouth. Tongue out. Take what I give you and don't waste a drop."
He obeyed me perfectly. Mouth open, tongue extended, his eyes locked on my face as I wrapped my hand around my shaft and started jerking myself fast and rough over him. I didn't hold back, didn't treat him gentle. I fucked my fist right there over his open mouth, my breathing ragged, my own arousal burning white-hot as I watched the man beneath me beg without words for what I was about to give him.
"Only a whore begs like this," I taunted, my voice a low growl. "But you're my whore, aren't you? You'll be Lola's good boy tomorrow, all innocent and helpful, and no one will know you spent the night with your tongue out, waiting for a woman's cum to ruin your pretty face."
He whimpered. That did it. The sound tipped me over the edge, and I let go with a guttural curse, my hips thrusting into my fist as the first thick rope of cum splashed across his face, catching his open mouth, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. The second painted his chin, and I kept stroking, kept milking myself, dragging the head of my cock along his bottom lip so the last waves pooled on his tongue.
He swallowed. I watched his throat work, watched him lick his lips clean and then dart his tongue out to catch the drip that ran down toward his ear.
I slumped forward, catching myself on my palms, breathing hard. His face was a mess. Glittering in the lamplight. And he was smiling up at me like I'd crowned him.
"There," I said, my voice wrecked but satisfied. "Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to."