Ruined for Other Women

"What do you mean?" I asked. She squinted at me, reading me, evaluating me as if it was once again the first time we had met. "Okay," she said. "Get out."

"But-"

"Come on," she said. The leg over my shoulder withdrew, and she put the slightly dirty sole of her sock against my face and gently pushed. "Get out."

I grumbled. On some level, I knew this was how it was going to go even before I came into the apartment. But still...I had to at least try to advocate on behalf of my swollen, aching balls.

"What about..." I said, gesturing to the bulging front of my jeans.

"Aww," Marwa said. She got up from the couch, turned off the television, and patted me on the cheek. "Not my problem."

She walked over to the door without abandon, her comfy sweatshirt just too long for me to see the bottom curve of her sweet little ass. She opened the door, clearly not caring if any neighbors around to see her the way she was: all top, all socks, and nothing in between. With a flourish, she gestured to the hall.

"But..." I complained weakly, my legs obeying her, my mouth unable to even try to fight the good fight.

"You'll be fine," she said. "I mean, you were getting laid when I texted you. Right?"

My mouth dropped open. Normally, I would deny it. But to lie to Marwa was...well, it just wasn't worth it. But how she could know-

"I can smell her on you," she said sweetly, guiding me out the door. "And now, she'll be able to smell me on you. Night."

I stood in the hallway, not fully sure of how I had been so easily guided out there, staring at the large, black 3B that was now looking me in the face.

"Fuuuuck," I said, turning and walking down the hall, trying to readjust myself, and looking like the world's sorest cowboy. "Fuuuuuuck!"

It took thirty excruciatingly frustrating minutes to get back home. All I could think about the whole way was Marwa's dark, intense gaze, the hold it had over me, and whether or not the rideshare driver could sense what it was I had just been up to.

I suspected that he did.

Until I opened my door, I had completely forgotten that Kyle had begged to stay. But as soon as I got inside, I could hear a low, grinding, groaning sound, almost like a dirtbike engine from far off. She laid on my bed still, her legs spread and up in the air, her pussy pointing towards the door, my blankets and sheets on the ground. She was rubbing herself furiously, and the second she saw me her mouth opened even wider, her eyes opened even wider, needy, needing me, needing my "jock cock" in the same way it needed her. I stumbled over to the bed, barely shutting the door before I did, my hands fumbling with my belt and my zipper.

I caught views of everything in glimpses. The corner of the fitted sheet that had snapped free from the corner of the bed the way that it always did. The hot, red blush spread across the upper part of Kyle's chest. The cartoon mouse lamp that I still held onto, that had miraculously survived college and my first few years of living on my own. The soft jiggle of Kyle's fat, pale tits as she continued to rub herself. The necktie around one of the bed posts, a left-behind from an ex who was into bondage and who had managed to tie the silk so tightly that I had yet to be able to undo the knot. The sweat pasting Kyle's hair to her forehead.

My cock sprang free from my boxers, which, along with my jeans, were bunched around my lower thighs. Not ideal for lovemaking or fucking, but I didn't need to do either. I shuffled forward, almost falling onto the bed, but catching myself with one arm on the mattress, my forearm pressed against Kyle's curves. A small voice told me that I had almost, literally, broken my dick on Kyle's mound, but that fear was quickly swept away with my need.

I repositioned myself -- but barely -- guided myself into Kyle, and thrust as far as I could with my denim confines still a hindrance. It was enough. Kyle's motorbike moaning was strangled into silence, and together we rocked against each other in fractions of fractions of inches as the dams inside of us burst.

"Fuuuuuuuck," I groaned loudly, pumping the largest load of cum I'd ever let loose right into her, the amount easily eclipsing what I had shot free in the bathroom of that clothing store. Thanks fucking God for birth control.

"Oh shiiiiiiiit," Kyle squealed, gripping me tighter than I could ever remember her doing, milking every last drop out of me.

The pair of us were left whimpering and shaking as if we were both in immense pain. Together, we gasped as I pulled free of her. I collapsed on the mattress and drifted off into sleep, as did she -- the first and last time that Kyle would ever stay over my place.

* * *

"Mmm," Marwa said, spooning a bunch of round, brightly colored objects into her mouth. She munched and crunched, slowly moving her hips back and forth in rhythm with the sounds of her chewing.

"I fucking love breakfast cereal," she said, taking another spoonful and chewing it up. "Don't you?"

"Mmmffhmph," I said. She looked down between her legs. Her now heavily-carpeted mound was pressed right up against my mouth.

"Sorry," she said, then leaned back on her knees a bit.

"I-" I began, but then she leaned forward once more, muffling me, and extracting from me whatever early morning pleasure she desired.

"Fucking delicious," she said after another spoonful or three. "You probably don't like this stuff though," she said. "It's kiddie stuff to you, I bet. What are you, a morning bagel kinda guy? Or do you like the full spread, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast? Or just a 'brotein' shake and out the door?"

She leaned back. This time, I couldn't even get a word out. All I could do was gasp for breath.

"Little do you know," she said, smothering me once more, "is that I'm the balanced breakfast the commercials are always talking about. Ha!"

She put the bowl down next to my head. Having done this routine a few times with her now, I knew that there was about a half-inch of oddly colored milk left in the bowl. To tell the truth, I didn't really like or dislike breakfast cereal one way or the other -- but the milk that she refused to finish actually drove me a little bit crazy.

"Mmmfh!" I said. I couldn't jerk my head to the side if I wanted to. Marwa wasn't that heavy, but there was a gravity to her. My head was the meat in the sandwich with her hardwood floor and her moss-covered mound as the bread. Instead of gesturing to the bowl, I had to flick my eyes over to it exaggeratingly.

PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, FINISH YOUR FUCKING MILK, I tried to say, but all that came out was "Mmmfhggh!"

Above me, Marwa reached her arms high up into the air, stretching first one way, and then the other. She wore a simple, thin, tank-top-undershirt -- not exactly the "wifebeater" that had popped into my head a few weeks before when I had left Kyle to eat Marwa out as she watched her documentary, but close enough that I couldn't help but wonder if she was somehow reading my random thoughts and fantasies. I could see the growth of hair beneath her arms, and was, as I had always been, oddly and creepily fascinated. Historically, I needed girls to be entirely smooth beneath the neck, but there was something about Marwa's sheer confidence in eschewing certain norms that made her all the more attractive to me. Every time I talked to her, every time I ate her like this, I came away with new things to search for on the various porn sites I visited...and I'd even started reading erotica because many of the scenes and scenarios I was imagining just couldn't be found in a video format.

Reading? To get off? What the fuck was she doing to me?

Marwa leaned back, giving me a chance at air, and I sucked at it like a fish on land. She didn't even look at me, just picked my phone up off the floor, unlocked it, and then leaned forward again so that I could lick some more.

"Your friend Kyle is fun," she said. I felt an odd buzzing feeling go up my neck -- it was a combined feeling of my personal space being invaded in a way that "just wasn't cool", and the excitement of Marwa entwining herself with and controlling more and more of my life.

She looked down. "Don't stop licking," she said. She still held the spoon from the bowl, and now she put the basin of it between her lips, allowing the stem to lie against the middle of her chin as she quickly typed into the phone with both hands, the corners of her mouth turned up into her trademark evil grin.

After a moment, she put the phone down and took the spoon out of her mouth. "She's a little fucking freak," she said. "And based on your texts, it looks like the longest relationship you've had."

She pulled upwards instead of back this time, giving me a chance to breathe. Then she slowly and sensuously gyrated her hips backwards and forwards. Reading her needs, I licked at the air, my tongue lapping at her hardened clit every time it moved down across my face.

"She loves your...what is it, your 'jock cock'?" she asked teasingly.

"Mm hmm," I said. Marwa laughed.

"I love teasing her about it," she said. "I really lean into it, too. Telling her what a nerd she is. What a dork. How pathetic it is that you just keep her around for some easy pussy when you can't find any tight little blondes to blow your load into. Holy shit, does that sort of talk get that girl off."

All of a sudden, however, Marwa pressed down against my face. Hard.

"But you don't talk to her, do you?" she said, her voice a growl. "You just let her do all the talking. Which is fine, that's how some people like it, they work themselves up with the self-talk, because they really know how to get themselves off. But all you are is just a thrusting dick to her, aren't you, fuckboy?"

If I'd thought it was hard to breathe when she was on me before, it was now actually impossible. I started sucking in as much air through my nose, the flow a thin whistle as I snorted in, but Marwa reached down and pinched my nostrils shut.

"The longest relationship you've had, going by your texts," she said. "And I'm guessing that she's more or less the best fuck you've ever had. Isn't that right?"

My head swam, partially from the lack of oxygen, partially from me trying to evaluate what she was saying. Why did I keep Kyle around? Well, definitely because she was easy. That was a given. And I definitely came hard with her. She felt...well, she felt pretty great, and the enthusiasm helped. And damn, she could really take a fucking dick. I started to compare her against some of my other recent one-to-three-night stands, but black spots were appearing on the edges of my vision and I started squirming beneath Marwa's assault.

She pulled off of me just before I really started struggling. I didn't want to think about whether or not I could have freed myself from her if I really wanted and/or needed to. Sure, on paper she would have been easy to throw around. But the way that she hijacked my brain...

I realized I was coughing, and gasping, and the early morning rays coming through the window were returning to their normal brightness.

"Well?" Marwa asked. "The best fuck you've ever had?"

I nodded.

"Good," Marwa said. She ruffled her hand through my hair, then gently slapped my face. Pinching my cheek, she shook my head and talked in a babyish voice like an old woman appreciating a grandchild.

"Because she's going to be the last fuck you ever have."

Before I could respond, or ask her what the hell she meant, she had swung one olive-colored leg over my face. She pivoted so that she was facing my feet, then picked up her other leg and placed it where the original had been. Now, she rode my face backwards, pressing her wetness against my mouth once more as she leaned forward.

I felt something graze my cock, and my back arched like I'd been electrocuted. It was the first time, in a little over a half-dozen times of me eating Marwa out, that she'd actually touched me there. The anticipation had been brutal, the desire for it had put me into a near-perpetual state of horniness, and now that she actually was doing something to my nether regions...it short-circuited my brain, filling my head with an ocean of gray static.

The sensation of touch on the khaki over my cock vanished, and my back hit the ground so hard it was audible. I moaned into her, heavily muffled, and then began thrusting up into the air, my body begging for her touch, for her attention once more.

"Oh, wow," she said, watching me go. "You are really desperate for this, huh?" She pulled herself off my face, allowing me to breathe and whine, and waiting until my humping of the air stopped before making me eat her again. This time, when the sensation of touch ran over my clothed cock again, I realized it was the spoon from her breakfast cereal that she was using to torture me with pleasure. I'd never thought the hard edge of the head of a spoon as being able to bring so much pleasure...and had any other girl I'd known done this, I don't think it would have. But Marwa knew just the right amount of pressure to use in order to turn me into a mindless, slobbering animal.

I felt that deep tingle that meant an orgasm was coming. But Marwa, true to the psychic ability that let her peek into my mind whenever she damn well fucking pleased, could sense its approach. She pulled the implement away, simultaneously pulling herself off my face so that I could breathe and whine like the whimpering little bitch that she was so easily transforming me into.

"Oh God," I moaned, my voice high-pitched and needy, stretching out the syllables. "Oh, God, Marwa, please..."

"Aww," Marwa said. "Poor baby." She placed herself on my face again, and I licked eagerly, desperately, assuring myself that if I made her feel good, then maybe -- just maybe, she'd make me feel good too. And for the most part, that was the case. She stroked my cock a little more with the spoon, sliding the metal over the material of my slacks hard enough to cause pleasure, but not so hard that the distinct edge of the metal could ruin the sensation.

I moaned into her, thrusting into the air. Suddenly, there was the shock of a blow against the head of my cock.

"Nnhow!" I cried out, shuddering a second time as she slapped the top of it with the broad back of the spoon.

"Don't move," she ordered me. "Just take it." As if to illustrate her point, she smacked my constrained glans once more. This time, however, she was kind enough to pull herself off of my face...although, on reflection, it might have been less about kindness, and more about the perverse pleasure she took in hearing me, weak, begging, pathetic, and completely subservient to her needs.

"Fuck, Marwa," I groaned, practically crying. "Oh fuck please...please...please..."

I was begging her...but for what? To give me a second to breathe? To touch me? To make me cum? I don't think it mattered. All that mattered was that I begged...that I acknowledged her ownership of me in these moments. I had never seen her without a top on (although a few times, like now, I'd seen her nipples poking through the thin material of her shirt - and they were pierced, for an added bonus). And we had never even kissed. And until today, she'd never even touched me. And yet I was completely enamored with her, in a way that I hadn't felt since...oh, I don't know, middle school? Where my hormones were raging, and when I still believed in love-

I closed my eyes and shook my head violently. Okay, even given the extremes of my physical state -- which definitely were putting emotional and mental stress on me as well -- that was a ridiculous sentiment. But it was a testament to how fully she owned me in these moments.

"Hush, hush, hush," she said soothingly, pressing herself against my face. This time, it was almost tender, the way that she forced herself on me. I could breathe easy, and although my jaw and all the muscles of my tongue ached, I lapped at her hard clit eagerly. She wiggled her ass -- which was small, and tight, and amazing -- as she got herself into whatever optimal position she needed for her own pleasure. And then I felt the sculpted edge of the spoon as she used it to cover the head of my cock, using the confines of the basin to exert pressure in a circle around my glans.

I moaned into her, but I didn't dare stop licking. I didn't dare thrust up again. It wasn't the feeling that I wanted -- I wanted a pussy, or a mouth, or even a hand, grasping me, stroking me, tugging on me. But it was the feeling that I got, and that was what I had to work with.

And Marwa made me work with it. Not every angle that she used was purely pleasurable (if you've never masturbated with a spoon before, well -- you can't). But whatever she did while she rode my face, bit by bit, built up a massive orgasm in me. And true to form, every time she felt me quiver too violently beneath her, she pulled off, enjoying a few moments of me just licking while the biological processes behind me cumming retreated enough for her to let me have some pleasure once more.

Finally, it was too much. She pushed me too far. There was no turning back. I felt everything begin to tighten, and I pumped my hips upwards. This was a train with no brakes, this was the hardest that I was going to cum in weeks, this was-

She pulled the spoon away. Without the pressure of touch, the train of my climax was derailed, skidding sideways on the tracks, unable to stop, but without even a quarter of the momentum that it had possessed only moments before.

"Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!" I yelled, whimpering, whining, thrusting my hips upwards. My cum oozed out of me and into my slacks, and the whiplash in my brain and body of the ruined orgasm was so emotionally painful that I started almost crying.

"Oh fuck, what the fuck, Marwa," I moaned. "Fucking...why..."

She didn't say a word. She merely leaned back, pressing her hands on the center of my chest, and placing her hard clit against my lips once more. Wordlessly, and even soundlessly, she rode my face into a quick orgasm. I could feel the tension in her limbs, could feel her trembling as her own -- specifically complete and not-ruined climax took her away.

"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck!" She rolled off of me and lied on the floor on her back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. "God damn."

I was paralyzed. I was actually paralyzed. My body twitched here and there, and there was nothing more that I wanted to do than to get out of my pants, get out of my boxers, and into something that was clean and dry and not cold, clammy, and sticky. I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a million years. I wanted to fucking cum, God damn it, not do whatever it was that Marwa had just put me through. I wanted...

Shit, I realized, as my body slowly started returning to normal. I wanted her to fucking do it again.

Next to me, Marwa groaned and pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Alright," she said. "I gotta finish getting ready for class." She stood, and I watched her as she rolled her shoulders, almost as if she were some prize fighter who was getting ready to deliver a knockout blow.

"I take quick showers," she said. "And if you're still here when I get out-"

"I got it," I groaned. "I got it."

She pressed her foot on my arm twice softly, encouragingly.

"Bye, fuckboy," she said sweetly. I heard her pad away across the apartment floor. Almost as soon as her footsteps stopped, the shower turned on, and I forced myself to my feet. She really did take quick showers, and if I didn't move then, I wasn't going to be able to move for hours.

I looked down at my slacks. Completely stained. Completely obvious what had happened. There was no way I could go into work like this.