Lush Confession

From Toy Boy's begging and Brynne's cackling, I could tell I came home from studying too early.

"I'm back!" I warned while looking for a place to throw my backpack. Everywhere felt wrong now; the apartment was too pristine, like a condo we were showing. I wanted to throw my backpack just, I don't know, anywhere, but somehow I just couldn't. It never used to be this way before Brynne brought home Justin, a.k.a. our personal servant, a.k.a. "Toy Boy."

Slaps of Toy Boy's ass were peeling out from our bathroom like bells from Episcopal Church a block away. "Hey, babe!" yelled Brynne, "you wanna' help me edge him?" I could hear him moan at the thought. "He's so close and I just won't! Let! Him! Cum!" Each of the last four words were punctuated with another slap of his ass. He yelped with pain, but mostly, frustration.

"No, you two get out of there," I yelled back, "I gotta pee!" I tried not to think of either my need to urinate or my discomfort with Brynne's bargain: housecleaning for femdom. She's doing things to him in common areas now. That wasn't exactly our deal.

"Oh my god, Celeste," Brynne brayed. "It's not time to finish him off yet! Can you hold it?"

Could she hear me roll my eyes? "I can hold it. But, I don't want to hold it."

No response. I looked around. Every surface was spotless. The assault of cleaning smells was still dissipating: wood cleaner in the living room, ammonia from the kitchen, and the rain water scent of the fabric deodorizer Toy Boy sprayed on everything remotely textile. It was the clean apartment of my dreams, but how it was cleaned still left me feeling dirty.

"Ooh, Celeste!" Brynne squealed from the bathroom, "Why don't you come in here and pee on him!"

"Omigod Brynne, I'm not doing that." I threw my backpack onto the couch; the best act of defiance I could muster.

"I consent!" came Toy Boy's muffled voice. Did she gag him with something?

"He consents!" Brynne echoed.

"Of course he does; he's a fucking freak!" Frustration was edging into my voice as I neared the bathroom, pressing my head next to the freshly wiped moulding of the bathroom door jam. This dude even wipes down trim.

"How long until... your payment goes through?" I called into the bathroom, trying not to look - trying not to want to want to look.

"Our payment!" Brynne returned through gritted teeth. "You hear that, Toy Boy?" she continued. Then I heard a quieter slap followed by a much larger yelp from Justin. She must have switched to "cup slapping" his balls. That's when you hold a guy's scrotum tight with your index finger and thumb, pulling the testicles tight. Then, you make a cup with your other hand, and slap the guy's balls with your palm. Who taught me that? Brynne. Who taught her that? An Alt.sex newsgroup. She asked him again three more times, punctuating her questions with three more cup slaps, followed by three more yelps.

Finally, I heard the kitchen timer go off. My awkward "have to pee" dance next to the door was almost over.

"Oh, baby!" Brynne cooed, her whole tone changing from iron to honey, "it's time to cum, baby!" Then, louder to me, as if she didn't know I was standing just outside the door, "Celeste, come watch me finish him! You know he loves it."

"She's right, Celeste, it's totally cool!" Toy Boy's jovial tone was clipped into another strangled yelp. She had clearly smacked his balls again, but harder this time.

"She is Mistress Celeste, you fucking animal!" Brynne was in a slapping mood apparently. I closed my eyes and pounded my head against the door jam. She was making this all take longer.

"Now, apologize to Mistress Celeste!" More slaps and howls from Justin.

Justin did his best to speak through whatever was gagging him, "I'm sorry, Mistress Celeste."

Brynne prodded her toy, "Say, 'you are a Goddess, and I am not worthy."

"You are a Goddess, and I-"

"FUCKING TAKE HIM TO YOUR ROOM ALREADY! I GOTTA PEE NOW!" I yelled, pounding on the wall between us.

A flurry of slaps and yelps was the response, followed by Brynne's angry hiss, "you see that Toy Boy, you made Mistress Celeste angry. Maybe I shouldn't even LET YOU cum this week."

"But, no, that's the deal!" Justin whined. "I've been paying for my own cleaning supplies and everything!"

"Oh my god, stop being a drama queen," Brynne moaned. A series of clicks and clangs followed that indicated the detachment of handcuffs from around our shower curtain's rod. "Fine," Brynne intoned, "I'll finish him off in my room." I told myself I tried to get around the corner where I wouldn't see Toy Boy's naked body paraded by Brynne, but somehow I didn't make it in time.

First came Brynne, sulking as she passed me. "It's 1995, Celeste, you don't have to be such a prude."

Brynne was 5' 10", with a tangle of long, curly red hair, and an assortment of greenish tattoos studding her white Irish skin, barely contained by a ratty orange crop top. Her butt bounced inside old navy blue sweatpants. I couldn't help but envy her plush body, how every part jiggled with confidence and allure. Instead, I was often called "petite," or "cute," or worse yet, "sir." Brynne's hand carried the end of a leash which trailed behind her.

That's when Toy Boy emerged, the leash leading up to a thick black dog collar tied loosely around his long neck. I avoided his glance as well, but studied his body as he dutifully followed Brynne. He had never mentioned his background, but he seemed like every hot Native American guy in a Wild West movie. He was easily 6'2" with long, straight black hair falling obediently down to the small of his slim back; his face was a map of angles around thin lips. Everywhere you looked, he was thin and languid, something between a swimmer and a volleyball player. It was the first thing you noticed about him, even when he wasn't naked but for only a dog collar and black fur handcuffs, his spindly fingers wiggling with excitement behind his back. I peered at him. Was he an athlete? No. He was a total nerd, awkward as any freshman at BSU, though he was already a junior.

"Hi, Mistress Celeste," he called out over his perfect shoulder. I watched his ass, round but understated, not plump, but definitely pleasing, sway in the direction of Brynne's bedroom. Then finally, the bathroom was mine.

I shut the door even though I didn't want to. It would keep me from hearing. As I sat, using the bathroom for what felt like the first time in days, I strained to hear Brynne give Toy Boy his "payment." The truth is, she called him Toy Boy" but he was actually our housekeeper. Demeaning him was part of his fee. He was savant-like at cleaning, far better than Brynne and I, poor grad students, could afford. Because Justin didn't charge us money for his services, he took payment in, well, orgasms. Specifically, every 2 hours of chores had to be repaid with 20 minutes of female domination leading to... as the contract we drunkenly wrote on a stained paper plate one Saturday night attested... "full release." A little slappy-slappy, a little demeanie-the-weenie, a little jerky-jerky, and presto! Laundry, windows, dishes, whatever we wanted.

For two slobs like Brynne and I, it was brilliant, no matter how mortified I would be if anyone ever found out. Within a few visits, our apartment went from a mélange of cat hair and stale pizza crusts to something out of a Pottery Barn catalog. It's been four months and our friends marvel at our apartment. Sometimes he even bakes bread. No one knows our secret. Things have been great. Brynne swears she's not a dominatrix, but she's really gotten into pushing a man around. She even does my shifts. When we made the deal that night, I had promised to do some of the mistressing, but I pretty quickly realized that had been the Icehouse talking. From the beginning, I would make excuses and Brynne was always willing to cover my shift. Now, I don't know how to tell her the truth. Thank god she can't see me in here, with my thoughts.

I was brought back from the real world by hearing their respective yells. Brynne was doing her best pornstar impression, clearly taunting him while ratcheting her hands quickly up and down Justin's begging cock.

"You gonna' cum, Toy? Is my Toy gonna' cum all over my towel and have to lick it up? You gonna' cum? Gimme your cum, baby! Give it, bitch, don't make me force it out. You won't like that."

She loved this part, taunting him while roughly handling his ample phallus, slick with her coconut-scented hand lotion. It would make his pee-hole burn whenever he would need to pee, and the thought of that would make Brynne giggle tonight when we watched TV.

"Oh Mistress!" I could hear Justin reply, "Mistress I'm close! Please keep going." He always got breathy when his orgasm was near and I couldn't deny a thrill of hearing him so completely losing any sense of male ego as he lost himself in Brynne's hands.

"Oh, h-yeah!?" Brynne taunted, "are you close? Maybe I should stop then."

"No!!!" Justin would scream. Brynne had this habit of pulling her hands away when he was in the last few seconds before cumming. I imagined him standing there, handcuffed to her double bed, legs shaking, his cock flopping madly for attention. Brynne would keep her hands so close that he could swat at them with his cock, but no relief was in reach.

Still, as I imagined the scene I could only hear, I realized I had gone from wiping myself, to playing with myself, rubbing the tingly bulb of my clitoral hood. Justin's naked body filled my mind. His nerdy voice, innocent and awkward, begging for release as I pleasured myself. I worked at myself quickly, straining to hear what would soon be his orgasm.

A warmth beneath my belly started as I heard him begin to shout his "ohhs" and "ahhs." I envisioned her smiling at him widely, watching his face contort as the cum that had been building pressure, that feeling somehow just behind his balls, began to mount like a wave. He would sputter, losing himself. Despite his stunning beauty, he was an irredeemable nerd, a boy who never had anything approaching coolness. But now, absolute putty in Brynne's ferocious hands, I imagined him as this wild animal, bound so tightly that he could only rely on a strong woman's hands to achieve what he so desperately needed.

And then, as my own orgasm began to arise, flooding my senses with warmth, I heard the tell-tale sign. Justin's deep, guttural moan pierced by Brynne's squeal of delight. It went on for a minute. In my mind, I didn't see his cock explode. I saw his face, strained and reddened with exertion, his eyes, wet and rolling with desperation, and finally, relief.

That's when I came. I bit my lip to keep Brynne or Toy Boy from hearing. Better for them to just write me off as a "prude." I panted quietly, tucking three fingers in my mouth, moist with a tiny amount of my own juices. I told myself I wasn't really turned on by doing this. I just had always done it after I came. Something about doing it afterward soothed me, helped me calm down.

As my orgasm faded, I imagined the aftermath in Brynne's bedroom. I saw the yellow washcloth Brynne would use to wipe off Justin's mess, a map of sticky white goo. Brynne would show Toy Boy and threaten to rub it in his face. Toy Boy would yelp with disgust, and then they would both start laughing, for different reasons. For Justin, it would be the relief in the wake of a deep, aching orgasm. For Brynne, it would be the adrenaline. She didn't let her toy cum, or help her toy cum. She made him cum. The proof was glistening up at her from the washcloth she would likely make him launder.

I wanted it to be me so badly. Me, holding Justin as he howled, pulling him close. I wouldn't waste him on a tawdry tug. I would ride him, his formidable, perfect cock deep inside me as I rocked him with my hips. Anything else felt lesser, a misuse of an angel.

I reached over to the sink from my seated position, tugged a nearby washcloth free, and managed to wet it under the cold tap. I brought it to my forehead and neck, exhaling like waking from a deep nap. Justin had made me orgasm just by the thought of him orgasming in the next room. Brynne was probably already unlocking him and getting things back to normal. Later, over egg rolls, she would flaunt each lurid detail from her time with him and joke about what a spoilt sport I was becoming.

I would tell her I wasn't a spoilt sport, just stressed from school or some other excuse to keep Brynne at bay. I couldn't tell her the truth, couldn't tell either of them. I knew I had to, but it would ruin too much: A roommate who had become a friend, a careful arrangement, a pristine apartment.

I patted the cool towel against the back of my neck. How do I tell "Mistress Brynne," that I think I'm falling in love with Toy Boy?