I needed somewhere to live. It was time for me to move on, ever since me and Eleanor split up, and I wanted to see that back of that miserable place we had anyway — especially after I found out she’d fucked her personal trainer in it.
So I asked around at work and found a friend-of-a-friend called Pippa. She seemed nice and sane enough, and showed me round on a weekday evening. Her and some girl called Kate, apparently.
A flatshare with two girls? Count me in. Girls are way tidier. It turned out to be one of those Georgian terrace palaces with a decent amount of space, floorboards and mouldings on every ceiling, in some anonymous street in Balham. It had a nice feel, lots of light, and I wasn’t keen to get back to sharing with guys who had parties and who I didn’t connect with.
The room was nice, not cheap, but I was earning. And there was something else, the other flatmate; Kate, who seemed friendly and funny. The place was tidy and clean and full of plants. They had proper furniture too, not the usual thrice-built Ikea stuff.
Still, I wasn’t moving into their house because I really wanted to either fuck one of them, and Pippa was fully boyfriended-up anyway. Of course, I mused that might be an added bonus somewhere down the line, but I needed somewhere to live and it hit all the right notes. They seemed okay with having me there, after Pippa’s workmate gave me a good reference, and I moved in a week later.
I settled in pretty well. We were working and out in the evenings a lot anyway, and mostly bumped into each other at weekends. The girls were easy to get along with, both of them were Shires types and worked in marketing for some anonymous City places. Very much single, I quickly started thinking about Kate — a lot. Five foot three, petite, with long red hair and a way of looking at you and picking at her nails at the same time. Kate was also single, although she seemed to go on a lot of dates, and quickly dropped casually into a conversation that she would not get into a relationship with anybody she shared a house with. The way she said it seemed like it wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, but yeah: why would she say it if it wasn’t aimed at me?
She was right of course. It was asking for trouble. Don’t shit in your own backyard, and all that. Me and her got on very well though, and occasionally I thought I caught her flirting with me, the little flick back of the hair, the glance. But every now and then she would subtly reiterate that she wasn’t going down that road, and that she had a strict rule that housemates should be platonic — even if a minute later she seemed to really enjoy telling me about some boy that she was chasing or how someone at work was eyeing her up.
She was smarter than she gave away, and she had the most incredible arse; pert and tight and fitting into things just right. I didn’t know her workplace, but I knew 100% that pretty much everybody would be enjoying that bum going around the office.
It felt alright, actually, hovering between being just-flatmates, or in the friend zone, or whatever — and occasionally a little bit of flirting. I like that not everything has to be clear-cut.
Still, I wasn’t feeling like I should be in a relationship with her. I had been single for all of three months and was basically wedded to my right hand. Kate had, of course, started figuring more in my horny thoughts, like most things right in front of you.
June rolled around, and I’d been there about six weekends when Kate asked me to help her with some photography. Taking pictures of her, to be exact. “Hey Jack, I’ve heard you’re pretty good with a camera, aren’t you?” Turns out she needed some new photos for Tinder, as the ones she had just weren’t getting her anywhere, as she detailed to me, along with some very specific details of a dick pic she’d been sent.
One evening I had got the DSLR out and taken a headshot of her against the kitchen wall, which looked good (and got her a little more attention, she said), but a few days later she said she wanted something a little bit more involved.
We scheduled for Saturday, when Pippa would be out with the boyfriend and we could have the house to ourselves. I couldn’t wait. A bunch of real photos of Kate for the wank bank, and a big favour owed back too. Where would this lead? I knew where I wanted it to go. Luckily Saturday morning saw some bright sunshine and the house was filled with light. Things would look good. I made some coffee, got the camera ready and waited for Kate to emerge from her room.
Eventually she appeared, just a little made up, in an expensive tropical print sundress that showed off her legs with strap sandals. She’d had her hair done yesterday, and her red locks were tied to one side. She looked fantastic, like she was ready for a fancy beach. She smiled at me and said “How do I look? This is look number one, by the way. We’ve got a few to get through.”
“Is this the vacation look? You look amazing.” I said. It was true. She was stunning, and the dress flattered, without looking like she was trying too hard. Some people have just got it.
She stood by the upstairs hall window, I checked the light and was about to start doing some test shots, when I think she must have caught me taking one too many looks. ”So, um, Jack. I just want to stress here, that… we’re cool, right? You’re just taking my picture? I don’t want things to get weird.”
“No that’s okay”, I said. “I mean, you really do look stunning. That’s all.”
“Thanks”, she said. “That’s the idea”, she added. “But just… You can keep your hands to yourself, can you?”
This seemed a little unnecessary. I might be a terrible perv, but I’m not one of those assholes who touched women without permission. Of course, I didn’t tell her that a couple of nights ago I’d imagined both my hands firmly on her arse with her on top, looking at her cum face. ”Of course”. I said. It was true. An awkward pause. “We… You sure we are okay here?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t want you to think that taking photos was any kind of… invitation, you know?
“Why would it be?”
“Well, no it isn’t. But we do need to make these ones kind of… exciting? And they may get a little more, ah, graphic than we did with the headshots.”
I felt my dick move just a little in my pants. “OK, no, er problem.”
“Good.” Another awkward pause, and then we both burst out laughing. She gave me the half-smile. The ice was broken. After a couple more questions, she explained in full. Turns out she’d been reading some kind of Tinder ‘manual’. I’d been out of the online dating game far too long; apparently what you needed to do now to pull in the right kind of men is to have a full suite of professional-grade photographs, in several different outfits, with a carefully calibrated gradual ‘reveal’ on each one, showing just a little more skin and a little more of you each time. That would get any man you would be chatting to salivating, and naturally, hard as a rock thinking about the next pic you might deign to drop his way a few messages later.
It sounded like a great idea, but of course, I was biased, because I absolutely knew that I would be getting stiff thinking about the next pic if she was sending them to me. “So I may need you to tell me what you think would, ah, work best.” she said, with another little smile.
“I promise to keep my hands to myself.” I said. “But I’m just… thinking, ah, this might put our friendship into a slightly different zone?” I was feeling confident now. (And aroused, needless to say.)
“That’s OK. I know what happens to boys when you show them things they haven’t seen before.” she said. “I am going to owe you a big favour for this. I can set you up with any of my girlfriends you like, in return.
That wouldn’t work. I didn’t like the look of any of her friends. “But we’re going to be cool and mature about this, right? No touching. Not an invitation.” she said.
“Got it.” That’s very clear.
“OK.” she said. “Right… how do you want me?” She stood up, confident, like she was a model about to do a job and waiting for instructions. This made me feel confident too. Two adults, helping each other. Of course, one would be jerking off for weeks thinking about this afternoon afterwards, but that was for another day. Let’s make her look great for some wankers on an app.
We started shooting. She looked ever more incredible in the dress. Both hands on the doorframe, hands behind her back, sipping coffee: whatever. We went to the living room and she stretched out on the sofa like a cat asleep. “OK, pull that up a little.” and she instantly complied, hiking the sun dress and starting to show a little more of her thigh, and her pouting at the camera. “Can I get a little more of your legs?” She looked me straight in the eye and said “Yes you can.” We went out into the little garden, and did a couple of shots there too. This was working.
Time for an outfit change: evening wear, this time. We took some pics in Pippa’s bedroom, as she had the nicest mantlepiece and a pretty rug and kept her knickers off the floor. Outfit number three: she went back into her bedroom and came out in with a kind of indie look: short pleated skirt, thick grey woollen stockings and a tight T-shirt that showed off her small chest. You could see the outline of the bra she had chosen too. You could almost tell she’d chosen it.
This time she posed more coquettishly, sexier, staring staring harder at the camera. “I can do a sexy librarian, too!” she said with a smirk. She put on a pair of Pippa’s glasses and posed by the bookshelves with a book open and a pen in her mouth, looking downright filthy, pushing her chest up. I took three frames and said: “Wow, you look… kinda dirty, like that.” I grinned. She grinned back. “I know what boys really like, someone who studies hard but will drop to their knees on cue. Jesus, I know that’s what half of the people in my office want.”
“Let’s see you on the sofa again with that getup.” I said. She agreed and we went downstairs again, and stretched herself out on the longest leather sofa, looking directly into the camera. “Let me pull my skirt up a little.” She sat on the sofa and lifted one knee. What I thought were tights were actually stockings. “Oh yes… yeah, the really dirty librarians all wear these.” she grinned.
Snap, snap. “You like them? You don’t think they’re over the top? They certainly make me feel like I’m going to get fucked tonight.”
There was no doubt by this stage that she must have known what I thought of her; I’d had a minor bulge in my pants for the last half hour. Eventually, I caught Kate looking at my crotch and looking back at me with a smile on her face and a flush in her cheeks. What a pricktease. She was enjoying how much she was turning me on, taking me on this ride. I wanted to pound her into the middle of next week, true, but I was enjoying myself too. We were laughing and joking. I liked the sexual tension that was in the air, where we were both pretending it wasn’t happening.
“Hey, sit here a second. Put your knees together.” Our living room had two sofas facing each other with about a metre in between the two. I moved the Noguchi coffee table out of the way so I could take a pic. Kate grinned and sat down on the floor with her back on the sofa. I changed lenses and sat down against the other sofa, so we were facing each other, very close. I took a couple more pics of her pouting, her hair falling forward as she tilted her head down.
No touching, huh? Well, let’s see how far we can take that. “Why don’t you pull that skirt up a little more?”
“But you’ll be able to see my panties.” There was a note in her voice that suggested that was exactly what she wanted.
“Oh, you’re wearing some, are you?” I joked.
She grinned. “OK.” She stood up, turned around and bent right over the arm of the sofa. Her skirt rose up, not only could I see her stocking tops, but the bottom of a pair of lacy black French-style panties, tight and firm across her arse, with a lovely little gap where the silk covered her pussy. It barely did that. They looked expensive.
Snap, snap. “Can you hold that camera steady? I’m amazed.” She stood up, and turned around, standing above me. Her hand moved to the waistband of her skirt.
“You remember the golden rule, right?” ”I remember.” I said.
“OK, time for the proper reveal.” She unhooked her skirt and it slid to the floor covering her bare feet. Then she sat back down on the sofa, cross-legged in her black stockings and black lacy panties and that tight, tight t-shirt. She put her hands behind her head and pushed her tits out. “Now that’s a close-up, right?” I snapped a couple more. Oh my god.
“You can put the camera down now. No one’s getting nudes of me.”
“You’ll get all the dick pics a girl could ever want like that with what we’ve taken so far.”
“I suppose I need a couple of late-night pics too.” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to see?” My heart was pounding.
“I’d like to see you properly bent over on that sofa.”
“Would you now?”
“Very much so.”
She thought about it for a moment, then kneeled on the sofa, shoved that beautiful bum in the air, and let me snap three pics, close up. Through the lace of her French panties, I could just make out her pussy lips. She looked round at me for the last one, and winked. “Someone’s gonna like that DM.”
The sun streamed in through the living room windows. She looked at me, growlingly sexy. Her hand brushed against one of her nipples. Where was this going to lead, exactly? I didn’t have to wait long.
“So I’m strict about the no touching thing. But that’s just touching me.” she said.
“Yes, I know.” My dick was bulging in my pants, which was obvious to her, and indeed anyone in the same postcode.
“I mean, you’re welcome to touch yourself. You look like you might need to.”
“You mean…” ”Yes, I love watching boys play with their cock.” She looked at me. Her cheeks were flushed. Both hands were on her tits now. “It’s OK. We’re cool. I love it when boys get hard looking at me. And I love that you can’t just fuck me. You’ve been a good boy and respected my boundaries. We can still have a bit of fun.”
I didn’t need much encouragement. I stood up, undid my belt and pulled off my jeans as fast as I could, and stood there, in my boxers, feeling… incredible, actually.
She was still staring at my crotch. “Mmm, that looks like a big one. Stroke your cock. Go on. Probably won’t take you long to cum, looking at me.”
I pulled my boxers down and began to stroke my cock, pointed directly at her. “I want to see you if you’re looking at me.” I said. ”I bet you do.” It seemed like clearly wanted to be in charge, but I opened my mouth and croaked: “I want to see your pussy, Kate.”
She looked a bit shocked. “Oh really?”. But her hand was moving towards the waistband of her panties.
“OK”, she said. “You can look at my pussy. if you’re playing with yourself.” Then she spun around, put both thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and slowly pulled them down, her arse just a few inches from me. The gusset was a little wet and her pink pussy lips were smooth and shiny — and wet. It took all my self-restraint not to reach out a hand and feel just how wet she was. I could smell her twat, turned-on.
She turned around, and knelt on the floor. We looked at each other, me standing stroking my cock firmly up and down, her kneeling, legs spread just a little, with her hand now moving between her legs, staring at each other. A bead of sweat was on her forehead.
“Well this is fun,” she said, breathing heavier. “Enjoying each other like this. I’ve forgotten who is in charge here. Crumbs, that thing is big. I bet girls are always imagining what that would feel like inside them.” Her right hand was now moving in a firm and determined circular rhythm on her clit.
“I’m in charge.” I said, unexpectedly. I’m not sure where it came from. But she looked like she wanted it to happen. “Yes please,” she said, her right-hand moving a little faster. “Take charge. Tell me what you really think of me.”
“You’re a hot little thing, aren’t you?”
“Oh I think you can do better than that. Tell me what you really think I am.”
“You little bitch. You’ve been teasing my cock all day.”
“Yes, I have.” she said. She bit her bottom lip. Her left hand started to pinch her nipple.
“You know exactly what you’ve been doing to me, you little prick tease.”
“I know how much you want to fuck me. Ever since you moved in.” she said. “I know how many times you must have wanked over me. I bet you’ve even been in my panty drawer, haven’t you.”
I hadn’t, but I’d thought about it a couple of times. “Not yet, but I might.” I paused, confidence growing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You dirty little slut.”
“Yes I would,” said Kate, looking up at me and staring at the tip of my cock as I worked the shaft back and forth, trying to pace myself.
“I’ve got all kinds of lingerie that I like to wear and give people a little hint of. But most of all, I love when men I love spill their cum for me.” She was breathing hard now, her hand moving faster between her legs.
“I see you like to grip it quite gently. So do I.”
I was getting into it now. “So I can’t touch you. I’m forced to stand here and wank myself off.” ”Yes.” she said, almost gleefully. “You don’t get to have me. But you get the fantasy of me. It’s better this way. Don’t you love you thinking about me and wanking? Cumming for me, thinking about my face and my arse when you’re doing it.”
“The thing is, in a moment I’m going to come.” I was amazed I hadn’t already.
“Yes, you are. I hope you’ve saved me lots of spunk.” she growled.
“And if I’m standing here, I’m going to come all over your face. Does that count as touching?”
“I only said you had to keep your hands to yourself.”
“So you don’t mind me cumming on you then? Tell me what you want.” I said, rubbing my shaft furiously. I’m not sure my dick had ever got any harder.
“I want you to spunk all over my face. I want every drop of it. I want you to defile me. I want to feel it up my nose and taste it in my mouth. You can do that for me? Looking at my pretty face, can you? When you come for me, I want it to be all about me. Thinking about me. You look ready to spunk. Spunk on me.”
She wasn’t wrong. “I can see your balls getting tighter. You want to do it on my face, don’t you? That’s what all boys really want. To spunk all over my face. Oh! Here it comes!”
I roared as I came. The first gob of spunk hit Kate straight in the forehead, the next one into her eyes and nose, a splat down dripping down her face, and into her open mouth. A few drops went onto her tight t-shirt and the last couple into her long red hair. Her mouth was open, and ten seconds later she managed to cum herself, painted in my goo, gasping and screaming.
We stared at each other, panting, for a few seconds, her still on her knees, her pretty face completely defiled, spunk in her red hair, my dripping cock in my hand. We looked red, messy and ridiculous, panting at each other.
Then she gathered herself stood up and walked to the door. “Just getting in the shower, flatmate!”
She paused, and looked round. “Well done, Jack. You are the best photographer I’ve ever had… and I’ve had quite a few.” She winked.
A weekend later, she finally let me fuck her; every which way. It was great, but nothing on an entire afternoon’s teasing ending in a spectacular orgasm all over her face. A few weeks after that, she moved out pretty fast, to another Tinder date, another flatshare, another job, who knows. I knew wherever she went, she’ll still be teasing, and boys will still be pretending not to see that beautiful arse.