Tiffany Reisz

It's Not Erotica Until Someone Gets Hurt

"Room & Board" - An Erotic Thriller Inspired by Charles in Charge

A couple years ago I joked on Twitter that I wanted to write erotic versions of 80s sitcoms. A few friends practically dared me to follow through on this idea. So I wrote a couple thousand words of Charles in Charge-inspired erotica. The idea for the story is that a college boy who is majoring in Psychology decides he'll run an unauthorized experiment on an unsuspecting family. Could a teenage boy deploying various techniques of psychological mindfuckery take over an entire household? Read to find out... 

PS The story is very unfinished but you're welcome to finish it if you want. Also, warning for underage sexuality. 

Room & Board

An Erotic Thriller

By Tiffany Reisz

Day One

The day C moved in was the day Nicole started believing in God again. Her innocent childhood faith she'd lost along with her virginity in Matt's bed on her fourteenth birthday. He'd said “I love you” to get her to open her legs. He'd said “this isn't gonna work, Nicci” ten minutes later as she took a damp washcloth to the brown blood on his pale yellow sheets. All her life she'd heard God called He and when she'd sworn off men for the rest of her life that night, she chucked out God along with the rest of the pricks of who said they loved you and then left you bleeding.

But seventeen minutes after meeting C, Nicole decided to give God another chance. Standing in the basement hallway with her toes barely tapping the threshold, she watched him in the middle of the empty bedroom taking his measure of it.

“You play cello.” The first words out of C's mouth weren't a question. For some reason, she liked that. 

“Who told you?” Nicole asked, leaning into the doorframe.

“Your mother.” C said nothing else for a moment as he walked the floor from wall to wall. He didn't look at her once, which gave Nicole ample opportunity to look at him.

She couldn't quite figure him out. He had to be at least half-Italian maybe. Something not quite white. Either that or it was a damn good tan. Tall and dark-eyed. One of those weird chins...cleft? Was that what it was called, that dent in his chin? He had a face that had seen more than one fight but had come out better for it. She'd never seen blacker, longer eyelashes on a man in her life. Man? Maybe. Maybe not. Nineteen-years-old, her mom had said. Did that make him a man yet?

“I love the cello. When God speaks it's in the same octave as a cello.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Everyone knows God's a bass. God the Father. Jesus might have been a tenor.”

Nicole held onto the doorframe and leaned in, never once letting her feet cross the threshold into the room.

“So...” she began trying to sound nonchalant. “Who are you?”

She expected C to laugh. He didn't but he smiled at her, meeting her eyes for the first time. Something about the way he looked at her...Nicole didn't understand it but she felt like no one had ever seen her until that moment. For seventeen years she'd lived invisible and now finally, she'd been seen.

“I'm C. I live here now. And when your parents are gone, I'm in charge. That's who I am. Is that okay with you?”

Nicole stared down at her pink-painted toenails. Her mother had laid down one rule when she'd told her a college boy was moving in to help out around the house since her father had to be the hospital so much. One rule. One rule only—never go into his room. Just one rule. Easy enough.

Nicole loved her mother's rules, loved the crackling sound they made when Nicole broke them. 

“Yeah, that's okay with me.”

Night One

Dinner--their first with C at the table--had gone well enough. C masterfully handled her parents’ interrogation of him with wry humor and modesty. He’d given her younger brother Sam the rest of his attention while he steadfastly ignored her. Dinner ended with Sam in full-blown hero worship mode and her parents patting themselves on the back for their brilliant idea to offer room and board in their spacious Pembroke Colonial home in exchange for household help and babysitting duties. A perfect arrangement. C got a place to live close to campus and merely needed to drive Sam places and help him with his homework every now and then. Maybe throw in the occasional load of laundry. Mom got to focus entirely on Dad. Nicole got to focus entirely on school and her cello. Sam got the big brother he’d always wanted. All upsides. No downside to be seen.

Nicole hadn’t seen her parents so calm and happy in months. But four minutes after the last dish had been dried, her dad had one of his spells. One second he was talking and laughing, the next second he was clutching the counter with white-knuckle force trying to shove the air back in into his lungs. Nicole knew what that meant. Mom and Dad at the ER for at least six hours. A few tests. A breathing treatment. Another appointment with the specialist. They would come home at dawn tired but alive.

In the meantime, she had C. For two hours after dinner, she sat in the living room saying almost nothing while Sam and C worked on his math homework. At ten on the dot, C shut the book in the middle of a sentence and ordered Sam to bed.

“But-”

“Bedtime. No arguments. I don’t argue. Scoot.”

C snapped his fingers and pointed at the door. Nicole braced herself for the storm.The storm never came.

Sam sighed heavily, picked up his things, and shuffled out the door and down the hall to his bedroom.

“Wow.” Nicole couldn’t hide her surprise. “Usually he argues with you fifteen minutes before giving in and going to bed.”

C shrugged as picked up Sam’s water cup and carried it into the kitchen. Nicole followed.

“It would be beneath me to argue with a ten-year-olds.”

C put the cup in the dishwasher and said nothing else, merely busied himself with cleaning up the last of the dinner mess.

“Good point. I leave the bedtime bullshit to Mom and Dad.”

C crumpled up a paper napkin and tossed it into the trash. Something about the way he moved, the way his relaxed fit faded jeans and grey t-shirt moved with him made it impossible for Nicole to look away.

“So...” C began as he walked toward her and stood a mere six inches away from her. Nicole had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

“When’s your bedtime?”For a reason she couldn’t name, Nicole had to press both of her hands into her stomach. Seemed the only thing she could do to still its wild fluttering.

“I’m a senior. I don’t have a bedtime.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Come on. You're helping me unpack.”C walked out of the kitchen and Nicole only stared at his retreating back. Had C just ordered her to help him in his bedroom? She reviewed the exchange in her mind. No bedtime...good...you're helping me unpack...

No. It wasn't an order. He'd simply made a statement of fact.

Nicole followed him down the stairs and to his basement bedroom. Waiting on the threshold, she watched him open a box of books and start sorting them onto a shelf. He'd settled in quickly. A black and grey comforter covered the neatly made bed. He had no posters on the wall, only a few prints from artists she didn't recognize. He hadn't brought much furniture--a black metal desk and matching chair and lots and lots of bookshelves.

"Mom said I'm not allowed in your room. I can't help you unpack out here."

"I told you that when your parents are gone, I'm in charge."

Without looking at her, he raised a hand and crooked one finger at her. Nicole looked down at her feet once more still on the authorized side of the door, the safe side of the door. And without another moment's hesitation, she crossed the threshold.

"Sucks they stuck you in the basement," Nicole said, noting that the only light in the room came from two lamps. "No windows. Kind of a dungeon down here."

"I don't mind a dungeon." C smiled to himself as if he'd just told a joke that he knew Nicole didn't get.

"So what am I doing?" She came to stand next to him. The books on his shelf appeared to be an assortment of psychology and sociology textbooks.

"You're standing on my floor staring at my bookshelf and looking beautiful. What you need to ask is 'What should I be doing?'"

Nicole's eyes widened. Her stomach fluttered again. No, not quite her stomach. Something deeper inside her fluttered at his words.

"You...you think I'm beautiful?" Nicole wore pink sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and her unwashed hair back in a ponytail. She'd converted from glasses to contacts only a few weeks ago. Her lenses were bugging her today so she'd gone back to her glasses for the day. Where he saw beauty in all that, she couldn't imagine.

"I've never met a blonde cellist before. Thought cellists only came in various shades of brunette. You should have blue eyes to go with the blonde but you don't. You have dark brown eyes that don't match anything else about you. You have a body like Jayne Mansfield."

"Who?"

"Think Marilyn Monroe but sexier and more talented. A New Englander like you too."

"Wow. Thank you. So..."

"Her life was more interesting than Marilyn's. So was her death. Decapitated in a car accident. Now start sorting those--alpha by the first author's last name." He nodded at a box of books as he continued organizing his shelves.

Nicole sat on the Persian rug and opened the box. One by one she pulled out books, examined the spines and started lining them up on the floor per C's instructions.

"Who is Philip Zimbardo?" Nicole counted at least three books with Zimbardo on the spine.

"Famous psychologist. Conducted the Stanford Prison Experiments."

C reached for the three books and took them all from her at once with one hand. For the first time Nicole noticed C's arms, the lean muscle in them veined from knuckle to elbow and the dusting of dark hair against dark skin. She'd never seen sexier arms in her life, sexier hands. He wore no watch and she could almost make see his pulse steadily and slowly beating inside his wrist.

"Never heard of them," Nicole said, trying and failing to pull her eyes away from his hands. At least if she stared at his hands, he might not notice her taking peeks at his face.

"Zimbardo wanted to see how people reacted to the roles they were placed in. He got volunteers and turned the basement of his building into a makeshift prison. His volunteers were divided into prisons and guards."

"But they weren't real prisoners, right?"

"Right. They could walk out any time. But the strange thing is...they didn't. The guards immediately turned sadistic and autocratic. The prisoners immediately became meek and depressed. The abuses of power began on day one. They even had to stop the experiment early because it got out of hand so quickly."

"That's crazy."

"And fascinating."

"So you're studying that or something?" She nodded at all the books on the shelve authored by Zimbardo or with words "power" and "authority" in the title.

"Writing a paper on it. Zimbardo's research on how people behave when assigned certain roles speaks to a certain interest of mine. I might even conduct an experiment or two of my own."

Nicole saw C give her a quick look out of the corner of his eyes before he turned his attention back to his books.

"What kind of experiment?"

"Something you might be able to help me with. Would you be willing?"

Visions of electrodes and hospital beds with leather straps and men in white wielding probes flashed through Nicole's mind.

"Sure. Yeah. Of course. Just tell me what to do."

C shoved one last book into place and turned his full attention onto her. She didn't know why but when he looked at her, she felt like she stood on a stage alone in a spotlight.

"Don't worry, Nicole. When the time comes, I'll tell you exactly what to do."

 

Day Four

Life with C at her house quickly fell into a comfortable routine. Mom and Dad were gone so much--doctor's appointments, hospital stays--that Nicole had started to think of the family as C and Sam and her. The nights both parents were home, she and C entertained them like guests. They cooked dinner, did all the dishes, asked what they'd like to do. A game? A movie? C took over homework duty with Sam entirely which gave Mom more time to make the phone calls and pay the bills.

Nicole had never seen anything quite like it. C had this amazing ability to get her mother to call the fuck down. The phrase "type A" had been invented to describe her mom and when her father had gotten sick, her mom had focused that type-A determination on getting him well again, everything else be damned. She'd resented it at first, Nicole had. Her mom acted like Dad was the only person in the world. But now with C there, her mom had started to relax a little. C was in charge now and both her mom and her dad seemed grateful for it. Nicole couldn't quite believe how quickly C had taken over the house. Maybe she needed to read that Zimbardo book about the prison experiments. C had declared himself the warden and everyone in the house had stepped in line beneath him.

But it didn't quite play out like C had said. None of them had turned meek or depressed or angry. All of them...Mom, Dad, Sam, and her especially seemed content, happy to be in thrall to C.

Footsteps alerted Nicole to a presence behind her. She laid her bow on her music stand and gently sat her cello onto the floor on its side. She found C standing just inside the door to the music room.

"How  long were you listening?" she asked, picking up her bow again and swiping rosin up and down its length.

"Long enough to tell you weren't paying any attention to what you were doing."

Nicole blushed. Thoughts of C had intruded into her practice today and nothing came out quite right.

"Sorry. Just distracted."

"Don't be sorry. Tell me what's distracting you."

You. Your skin. Your face. Your eyes that always find me first no matter how many people are in the room when you enter. Your forearms with the veins. Your biceps that I only get to see when you reach up for something and your t-shirt sleeve shifts. Your jeans and how they ride on your hips. Your clothes I want to smell. And everything underneath your clothes.

She told him the truth only in her mind.

"Dad. Just worried about Dad."

"Understandably," C said, coming into the room and standing next to her. He rarely sat when around her. He seemed to enjoy towering over her. For whatever reason, she enjoyed it too. "He's a very ill man. Do they know what it is?"

Nicole shook her head. "Severe asthma maybe. Something keeps causing his lungs to seize up. It's not cancer. I almost wish it was. They can do stuff for that. That was horrible to say. I'm sorry."

"It's not horrible at all. Any news, even bad news, is sometimes better than no news at all. And  you're right, cancer they can treat. But whatever it is, this is his fight. His fight and your mom's. You're not a doctor. You don't have to be a part of this fight."

"He's my father," she reminded him.

"Yes. You're his daughter. I'm sure the last thing he wants is his little girl trying to carry his problems on her back. You just be a good daughter to him so he doesn't have anything extra to worry about why he's trying to get better. That's your job. That's your only job. Understand?"

Nodding, Nicole picked her cello back up and pressed it between her knees.

She nearly dropped it again when C reached out his hand and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. They spent two hours together every night after Sam went to bed--on the couch in the living room or talking his bedroom if her parents were gone. But never before had he touched her.

"I asked you a question," he said in a voice soft as pause. "Answer me."

Nicole heard no menace in his voice, no threat. Only the whispered hint of power and purpose.

"Yes, C. I understand."

C caressed her bottom lip with his thumb before letting his hand fall away.

"Good girl. Now..." he glanced at the sheet music on her stand--A Vivaldi concerto, "play it again. And play it right this time."

Nicole brought the bow immediately to the strings and pulled the first notes from the cello.

This time she played it right.

 

Night Seven

Nothing but her cello could comfort Nicole tonight. Her father had a coughing fit during dinner and she'd seen the blood on the napkin before her mother had grabbed it and hidden it from Sam's terrified eyes. Grandma had come for Sam and Nicole had been left alone in the house with C and her fears for her father. She wasn't quite sure which one of them scared her more.

An hour passed with Vivaldi, then another hour with Bach. By midnight she'd run through her music book and had started trying to figure out how to play her favorite songs from memory.

One sour note followed another until Nicole slumped down into her chair with a frustrated groan.

"Duran Duran deserves better than what you're doing to them," came C's voice from the doorway.

"It's supposed to be U2." Nicole put her bow on her music stand and laid the cello across her lap. She unscrewed the endpin and shoved it back into the cello.

C entered the music room, picked up her bow, and loosened the screw. Only a real musician would know to do that, would know that the bow couldn't be kept taut at all times.

"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," C said, laying the bow back down.

"I was only teasing you. I think you're starting to get it."

"I  need sheet music. I'm not great at playing by ear. Pianists can do that. Not so much cellists."

"My older sister played viola. My entreaties for a viola version of Stairway to Heaven were never answered."

Nicole laughed as she draped a towel over her cello strings. "I'll try to figure that one out for you."

"Good. But not tonight. You've been hacking at that thing for hours. You're with me now."

He didn't wait for a response as he left the room, and Nicole knew she had no choice but to follow. And even is she did have a choice, she would have followed him wherever he led anyway.

She wasn't surprised that he led her to his bedroom, but the next words out of  his mouth did shock her.

"Close the door."

"But-"

"But you don't want to?" C crossed his arms over his chest.

"But I'm not even supposed to be in here. If mom comes home and finds me here...with the door closed?"

"What will happen?" C's voice held onto curiosity and no concern whatsoever.

"You'll be out of here and I'll be grounded for life."

"Really? Interesting. Your mother would punish you?"

"Yeah, of course. It's as much my fault that I'm in here as yours."

"You wouldn’t feel like some victim of an older sexual predator?"

Nicole noticed the amusement flashing in his eyes even as his mouth stayed a perfect serious line. Once the words "sexual predator" came out of his mouth, Nicole knew what he had intended for her. Good. That was good. What he intended for her was exactly what she wanted.

"You're nineteen. I'm seventeen. The only boyfriend I've ever had was a senior when I was a freshman. Mom and Dad even met Matt."

"I hate him already. What happened?"

Nicole shook her head. "He's an asshole and I don't want to talk about him."

C studied her face so intently Nicole had to look away.

"Interesting..." he said again.

Nicole waited. C said nothing more. Finally she realized he was still waiting on her. She wanted to ask him why he wanted her to close the door. But somehow she knew if she asked, that would be some kind of violation of an unspoken rule. On day one he'd said when her parents were gone, he was in charge. And here they were alone in the house, no parents...just them.

She shut the door.

And C smiled.

For some reason she'd expected him to pounce on her the second the door clicked into the lock. But he didn't. Didn't pounce. Didn't even touch her.

He did touch a chair, however, and pull it to the center of the room.

"Sit," he ordered and Nicole did as she was told.

He opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out a red handkerchief, the kind she'd seen him wear on his dark hair as a sweatband when he went on his daily runs. She kind of hoped this one still had his sweat in it. Kneeling in front of the chair, C took her hands in his and laid them palm up on her knees.

"You don't have to be scared," C said as tucked the red handkerchief in his back pocket. He brought his hands to her hands and traced lines from her wrists to the tip of her fingers. "You can be if you enjoy that. But you don't have to be."

"I'm not scared," she whispered and winced internally at the quiver in her voice.

"Don't lie to me, my Nicole. This won't work if you lie to me."

"Okay. Then yes. I'm scared."

C nodded as he continued to stroke the palms of her hand.

"No sex tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not for many nights. You understand that?"

Nicole swallowed a knot of disappointment.

"I'm not a virgin," she said, hoping that knowledge might change his mind. C smiled and shook his head.

"I'm glad to hear that. But that doesn't change the timeline. I need to get to know you better first, know what you want, what your body wants and responds to."

"You." She said the word before she could stop herself. And once it was out she couldn't stop the words that followed. "I want you. Matt fucked me over when I was fourteen. Got me to spread for him and then dumped me once it was over. I thought I was just bad in bed. I mean, of course I was. I was a fourteen-year-old virgin. But no. The guys were playing a game. How many of the rich girls could they score. The more money mom and dad had, the more points they got."

"How many points were you?" C asked as he took the handkerchief out of his pocket and rolled it into a short rope.

"Sixty-nine."

She expected C to laugh but he didn't even crack a smile. Instead he turned her wrists inward until they kissed each other and wrapped the handkerchief around them.

"Beautiful Nicole. A blonde cellist with a Jayne Mansfield body...brown eyes with a mind behind them that can figure out how to play U2 songs by ear...there aren't enough points in the universe to calculate the value of a night between your legs."

Nicole exhaled sharply. Heat pooled in her stomach and sunk down into her. She couldn't even find the words to say "Thank you."

C knotted the handkerchief around her wrists and looked up into her eyes. "I envy your cello."

Whatever response she could have made, would have made, C silenced it with his palm over her mouth.

"Not a word," he said. "Not until I tell you that you can speak again."

C stood up and moved behind her. Nicole stiffened as he pulled the ponytail holder from her hair. Gently he scraped his hands through the blonde waves. Over and over again, his fingers combed her hair. The repetitive motion began to lull her into some kind of hypnotic trance. Her eyes closed. She murmured softly in the back of her throat. All thoughts, all worries left her mind. Nothing remained but music and feeling.

"You can speak now," C said after five minutes or more of silence had passed. "But only to ask me a question."

"Are all college guys like you?" Nicole asked. The girls at her school spoke of the men of Pembroke University with near-reverence. College boys were so much smarter, so much cooler, so much more mature than the sweating, grunting high school boys that had to suffer on a daily basis.

"What do you mean 'like me'? You have to answer that before I can answer you."

C's hands moved from her hair to her neck. He stroked her collarbone, teased the sensitive spots at her hairline and behind her ear.

"I don't know. Like you...you're really intelligent. You read a lot. You seem to think about things other people don't think about. You're interesting. And weird."

"Weird?"

"Good weird. I don't know...I'm starting to think nobody's like you."

"I'm not the only one like me. I promise. Just the first of my kind you've met. There are people out there who were born to take charge, born leaders, born authority figures. That's what I'm learning in my classes, what I'm studying. Authority, power...that's what you're talking about, isn't it?"

Nicole nodded. "Yeah. That."

"Ask me another question."

"Are we going to...you know."

"Nicole," C said in a scolding voice. "If you're not old enough to talk about it, you're not old enough to do it."

Nicole sat up straighter in the chair and stared at her bound wrists.

"Are we going to have sex?"

"Yes. I told you we would. But like I said, not tonight. Next question."

"When?" they said in unison and Nicole burst into nervous laughter.

"I knew that was coming. We'll have sex when you're ready, Nicole. And when I'm ready. And I’ll know when you’re ready so don’t waste you’re time asking. Now my turn for questions. Ready?"

"Yes." Nicole braced herself for the worst. The worst came.

"Do you have sexual fantasies about me?"

Brutal heat swept up her body from toes to ears.

"I told you," C said as he wrapped both hands lightly around her neck, "if you're not old enough to talk about it,  you're not old enough to do it."

"Yes, I have fantasies about you."

"Sexual ones?"

"Yeah. Very."

"Very? I like the very. Who's on top when we're having sex?"

Nicole hesitated, not sure what to say.

"There's no right or wrong answer, Nicole. I told you I only wanted the truth."

"You are. You're on top."

"Are you always on your back?"

"Well...yeah. I mean, are there-"

"Are there other ways to have sex? Yes. I plan to put you on your stomach the first time. And you'll be on your hands and knees sometimes. Definitely standing. You look light enough I might even lift you against the wall. So many options. Do you think you would enjoy those?"

She had to lick her lips before answering. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry.

"Yeah, those sound...amazing."

"Next time you fantasize about me, I want you to imagine yourself flat on your stomach. And I want you to give yourself an orgasm while you're imagining that. Do you know how to do that?"

The heat flared across her face again.

"Yes."

"Good. And pay attention when you touch yourself. I'll need you to describe to me what works for you. Okay?"

C came around to stand in front of her again and met her eyes. She wanted to look away but refused to allow herself to shrink from his gaze.

"Okay."

A few seconds passed in silence with them doing nothing but looking at each other before C reached down and gripped the handkerchief still tied around her wrists.

He pulled and Nicole came to her feet and let him lead her to his bed.

"Sit," he ordered and Nicole obeyed without a word. All her fantasies about C took place on his bed. For a solid week her mind had stayed in this bed and now she was on it. Reaching down, C grabbed two fistfuls of her shirt and lifted the back of it. Nicole slammed her eyes shut when he unhooked her bra. Again he did nothing but touch her, sliding a hand up and down the center of her back for minute after minute, and Nicole quickly relaxed into the rhythm of his touch. She even leaned forward and rested her right shoulder against his left hip, her head against his side.

She didn't even open her eyes when took her by the shoulders and pushed her onto her back. He untied the handkerchief but quickly retied it and her wrists to the center pole on his metal headboard. Stretching out, Nicole took slow breaths trying to force herself to relax. She knew it didn't matter what would happen next. C wouldn't hurt her and he'd already promised no sex. Whatever he did, she knew it would be something she wanted.

A rush of cool air met her stomach as C raised the front of her shirt to her neck. Then he pushed her bra up and bared her breasts.

"Blush all you want, my Nicole. It won't stop me from staring."

Nicole opened her eyes and saw C gazing down at her breasts.

"I don't want you to stop staring."

"You like the way I look at you."

"I love it."

"What else do you like? This?" C lightly ran one hand over her breasts. Her nipples hardened at the first contact and wetness gathered between her legs. Again he moved his hand across her skin and one more time.

"Yeah...that."

"And this?" He took her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger and gently pinched it. A bolt of pleasure slammed through her entire body.

"That too."

C laughed softly.

"Good."

Time passed in a haze as Nicole simply lay back on C's bed as he focused his complete attention onto her breasts. The handkerchief that bound her to the headboard didn't hold her there. With one swift tug she knew she could have pulled free. What held her there was need, hunger, desire, and C's touch. He plucked at her nipples, traced circles around her areoles, cupped both breasts in both hands and held them, gently squeezing. When he dipped his head and took a nipple between his lips, Nicole couldn't hold back any longer. She moaned loudly and arched into his mouth. Bracing himself over her body, he sucked at her breasts for longer than she thought she could stand.

"God, you're good at that," she said finally, needing to speak, to laugh, anything to distract her from the aching inside her, the aching to have him inside her.

"You approve of the technique?" He raised his head and smiled at her.

"No teeth. I like that. Matt used his teeth."

"Matt doesn't exist. I killed him in my mind and now he's so dead he was never even born. No one has ever touched you or kissed you before me. You're one of the lucky girls born without a hymen. Nothing to stand between me and getting inside you."

"No...nothing at all."

"Fantastic. Now shut up."

Nicole laughed as C's mouth latched onto her other nipple as his fingers once more explored her breasts. She wished he'd do this stretched out on top of her instead of sitting to the side of her stomach. She wanted to press her hips into his, rub the knot of need against him until she reached the release she body sought.

"I'd love to know how wet you are right now," C whispered against her skin.

"There's an easy way to find out."

C chuckled softly as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts with his lips.

"I don't have to find out. I already know. You're burning up inside, Nicole. Soaking wet. Your vagina's opening up, stretching out, preparing itself for me."

Nicole groaned in the back of her throat. C had this amazing ability to embarrass her and arouse her with a single sentence, a single word.

"I could slid your pants off your legs, rip your panties off...I could push your legs so far apart and tie each ankle to opposite ends of the headboard ...you'd be open so wide I could push my whole hand into you. That's how wet you are."

"Oh God..." Nicole closed her eyes to better bring the vision to mind as C tugged her nipples right to the point of pain before releasing them to caresses.

"You like the thought of that?"

"I shouldn't."

"But you do?"

"I do."

"There's no should or shouldn't in here, Nicole. Not once that door is closed. There's only will or won't. That's all that matters. You need to understand that if we're going to go any further. That door shuts and it's just you and me in here and what we want and will do to each other and what we won't. We will trust each other. We will give each other insane amounts of pleasure. We won't worry about what anyone thinks about us because no one will but us will know. This is private what we're doing to each other. We won't tell your parents. You won't tell your friends. We won't even tell God. Okay?"

Nicole laughed, a laugh that turned into a sigh as C massaged her breasts.

"Okay. Definitely okay."

C reached up to her wrists and untied them from the headboard. Cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her back into a sitting position. She remained still as he put her bra back on her and re-clasped it. Once her clothes were settled back into place, he stood up and laid a hand on the side of her face. Nicole couldn't resist sneaking a peek...the bulge in his jeans made it obvious that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She cursed his superior self-control. She'd drop to her knees right now and beg if she thought for one second it would help her cause.

"I won't ask if you enjoyed that. I  know you did," he said, crooking his finger at her. She stood up in front of him. "I want you to orgasm at least once before you go to sleep. Do you think you'll have a problem doing that?"

A problem with that? If she sneezed hard enough right now she'd probably have an orgasm. It felt like her breasts had swollen an entire cup size and her panties clung painfully to her wet slit.

"No."

"Now go. Bedtime."

Nicole smiled at him.

"I told you, I don't have a bedtime."

"You do now. Your bedtime is when I tell you to go to bed."

"Then I guess I'm going to bed."

C winked at her and Nicole took the hint. The need to get under her covers and get a hand between her legs was strong enough that it outweighed even her desire to stay in his presence. She nodded for no reason before walking to the door. Once her hand touched the doorknob, she spun around and faced him again.

"What does C stand for?" she asked, suddenly desperate to know.

"I'll give you three guesses. You get it right and I'll strip you naked, tie you spread-eagle to the bed, and fuck you raw until dawn."

With that incentive, Nicole immediately spat out the three most common C-names she could think of.

"Christopher?”

“No.”

“Caleb?”

“No.

“Um…Christian?”

“Don’t insult me.”

Nicole rolled her eyes.

"I guess I didn't win."

He shook his head. "No. And go to bed right now before I legally change my name to Caleb.”

“You’re never going to tell me who you are, are you?”

C came to her and took her face in his hands. He’d spent about half an hour kissing her breasts but never once had his lips met hers...until now. The kiss was short but powerful, lasting just long enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth, long enough to tease before retreating again.

“I’m C. I live here. When your parents are gone, I’m in charge. That’s who I am. You still okay with that?”

Nicole smiled at him and opened the door.

“Very okay with that.”

 

THE END. Or is it? Okay, it isn't the end but I'm not going to finish it. Sorry!  

 

 

        

 

 

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