Disclaimer: the following is a work of fiction. It may contain scenes of violence, bondage and/or sexual situations which may or may not be consensual, and is intended for adult readers only. All characters portrayed in this story are adults. This work in not for profit and is intended as entertainment only. The author does not support or encourage violence or humiliation towards women or anyone. Characters in this story are fictional and not based on any person living or dead, and are not meant to infringe on any existing characters in other literatures.
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Sunday morning rolled around and Tom didn't get up. He rested cozily in Myriam's bed while she got up and went to the pharmacy to get the morning-after pill. Last night, he had ridden her bareback and ejaculated deep inside her -- to both their amazing pleasure. But she couldn't take any chances. At 21 years old, she was way too young to have a child, let alone with one of her teachers. That being said, she bore no animosity towards him because of it. She had willfully accepted it last night, and she was now assuming the consequences of her decision.
When Tom finally opened his eyes, he was still exhausted, but mostly dehydrated. Myriam was still out for her unexpected shopping (though Tom didn't know that), so he wandered naked into the kitchen, his eyes still glazed over from the cobwebs of sleep. As he opened the fridge door to get some orange juice, a female voice called him out.
"Is this gonna be a regular thing, 'cause you should bring pajamas or something."
Tom froze, his eyes going to the girl seated at the counter no more than a metre from him. She was ogling him up and down, enjoying the view of his naked flesh, and perhaps of his morning wood. She herself was wearing a bathrobe that hid everything it was supposed to.
"Hi," he said, freezing on the spot.
"Well, get something from the fridge and close it!" she ordered him. "Don't freeze your balls off."
He complied, awkwardly serving himself a glass of orange juice, then setting it down on the counter.
"I should put something on," he mumbled.
"Why bother? I've seen it all and you got nothing to be ashamed of... Tom, right?"
"Right... and you're Rebecca."
The roommate. How could he have forgotten her, especially after the lovely display of lesbian affection from last Sunday. A week later, the dark-haired woman obviously still lived in the apartment. Tom felt like an idiot for forgetting it.
"Uhm... where's... uh... Myriam?"
"Myri's out."
"Oh."
Tom stared about the room, moving so he could hide a portion of his nudity -- the lower half - behind the counter. Rebecca was all smiles, obviously enjoying the man's slight humiliation and unease.
"She's coming back soon?"
"Should be. Went to the pharmacy."
"Oh."
Tom drank his orange juice. Only when he was downing a big gulp did Rebecca time her next sentence.
"Yeah, you filled her up with lots of baby juice last night so she needed to get the pill for that."
Tom didn't cough, but he didn't swallow the liquid. He just stared blankly at the roommate, orange juice rolling around his tongue. She laughed at his reaction.
"Priceless... she is right. Your face is so cute when you're confused."
"Are you joking?" he said after swallowing.
"Nope. It's all good though."
"I'm heading back to the room."
Tom wasn't feeling well, and it had nothing to do with his body. He walked back to the bedroom. Rebecca noticed his dour mood and followed him.
"Hey, I meant nothing by it," she apologized. "I kid."
"Yeah, no. It's not that."
"Well, um... wanna talk about it?"
Tom sat on the bed; she stopped and leaned against the doorway.
"No. Don't think so," he spoke without looking up.
He remembered it well from the night before: the passion, the loss of control, the unbridled abandon. Mostly, he remembered what had triggered it. Dana's messages on his phone. He started looking for it, finding it on top of his clothes.
"What is it?" Rebecca asked. "Forgot something?"
"Maybe," he mumbled absent-mindedly.
The last messages were there, and he was suddenly reminded how much thinking of a date with Dana, today around supper, at his place, had triggered this sexual frenzy with Myriam.
"Can I ask you something, Rebecca?"
"It's Becka, but yeah. Ask away."
He stared her down. She was very pretty, her bathrobe now open just enough that he could see the crease between her breasts. Her eyes were brownish, her hair matted on her head from the shower she had obviously taken. She was desirable in her own right.
"You and Myriam are really close, right?"
Without blushing, Rebecca nodded.
"I think you mean we sleep together, so yeah. That's what you meant, right?"
"Among other things."
"She told you, then."
"Well, it's not hard to figure out," he lied. "Can you tell me what she's told you about me?"
Rebecca hesitated; it appeared obvious to Tom she might betray a portion of the trust with Myriam, but the relevance of this knowledge was lost to Rebecca. Tom insisted.
"I don't need anything private. What do you know about me?"
"Well, you're a teacher at the university she goes to, but that's not where you met. You had a fling just outside The Marquis night club, and she really liked you, for some reason. You're 34, right?"
"Yep."
"She likes older men. Well, older by a few years. Not like grandpa old."
"And that's it? That's what she told you about me?"
"Sounds right."
Tom reflected on that information. It didn't bode too badly, considering the implications.
"How much does she like me?"
"Well, to be honest," Rebecca answered thinking she understood the point behind the question, "she's not tying the knot anytime soon. Neither is any of us."
"Us?"
"Our little sex gang."
"Sex gang?"
