I’m a wee bit nervous about this post. I knew the story these characters were trying to tell, but I had to rewrite it several times until my words captured the scene in my head. I’m still not sure I’ve quite got it right, but I do like the story I’ve created.
It wasn’t that she was jealous of Liz… maybe it could be better described as curiosity? Sometimes she was baffled that her flatmate, with her too-big dungarees and short scruffy hair, seemed to have such an interesting sex life. She was pretty sure Liz didn’t tell her all of it too, not that she thought her friend was hiding things, just that she wasn’t revealing the explicit details that would make it more interesting still.
So, yes, Beth wasn’t jealous. Hearing about her friend’s adventures was fun, especially when Liz came home with wine and torn fishnets, ready to collapse on the sofa and regale Beth with an amusing anecdote about a delicious evening – or a disastrous one. It wasn’t that Liz went out especially often, either, but she always seemed to have so much fun when she did.
It made Beth want a similar kind of positive energy in her sex life. She asked Liz sometimes, and got advice that varied in coherency depending on how far through the bottle of wine they were.
“It’s about communication,” Liz had told her, “Setting boundaries. I’ll travel a few hours on the train for someone I like who I know understands consent and won’t kink shame me. I decided a while ago that I’m going to be as open as possible, but I also have pretty high standards, which I put in place not only to protect myself and but also make sure the sex I have leaves me feeling good.”
“What do you do in the meantime?” she’d asked last week, when Liz had come home after a date which, from what Beth had gathered, involved butt plugs and had been dramatically bemoaning the lack of sex adventures in the next few weeks.
“Wank,” Liz had replied instantly. “I jerk off frequently, read a lot of erotica, and sext cute humans. Sex with other people is great, but I also love playing with my body for my own joy. And – y’know – it’s not like not being with someone means there’s no kinky fun in my life. For example, the couple I met with at the start of the month? We negotiated a dynamic where I wasn’t allowed to touch myself for a week before I went to visit them. They would send me explicit photos and messages every day, to turn me on and make me frustrated. It was wonderful.”
“So that’s why you were so on edge that week,” Beth had teased her, and they’d collapsed into a pile of giggles on the sofa. The words had stayed with Beth, though, even if she wasn’t sure that her flatmate remembered the conversation at all.
It wasn’t that Beth hadn’t watched porn and masturbated, but in the past she’d found it an overly clinical and unfulfilling experience. In the last few days she’d been turning the idea of not being allowed to, even if she’d wanted to, over in her mind. When she’d found some of Liz’s butt plugs – clean and drying – by the sink in the bathroom she’d added them to the fantasy.
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, her flatmate kept slipping into the scenes in Beth’s head. She hadn’t thought about the fact she might be into girls before, but Liz, in her sturdy biker boots and new nose ring, kept coming into her head uninvited. Beth was realising now that she’d been turned on during some of their conversations before – but maybe that was understandable when her very pretty flatmate had been sharing details of being spanked, tied up, and fucked.
The idea of Liz coming home from one of her sex adventures and deciding that it was time someone taught Beth how to use a butt plug… well, it made her squirm a little. She also thought about Liz giving her even more explicit details, of the kind she’d held back before, and Beth had never been brave enough to ask for. Beth would be aroused by Liz’s stories, but Liz would forbid her from touching herself until her knickers were wet…
As she accepted Liz’s place in her fantasies, however, they grew bolder. She imagined Liz telling her to pull her jeans and knickers down, and whispering filthy things in her ear as she coaxed her to push back onto a lubed up butt plug. She thought about Liz slipping a finger into her cunt, but ignoring her clit and laughing meanly as Beth begged. Liz might make her watch as she got herself off, and then send Beth to bed to wiggle into her pillows, flushing with embarrassment as she furiously rubbed her clit.
Somehow, Beth realised she’d reached a point when she wanted to jerk off, to use Liz’s word. Touching herself no longer felt clinical – a spark of excitement had got into her thoughts and her fantasies were making her horny. The problem was that she wanted to do so while sitting on the sofa where she imagined the scenes taking place. She planned things carefully, selecting a time when she was certain Liz was out, and would be for a while, to slip on some lacy lingerie in an attempt to feel sexy.
Visions of her flatmate filled her head, and with filthy fantasies flashing her mind she reached down into her knickers. Beth closed her eyes as she ran her fingers through her pubic hair gently, and moved her fingers further down in search of her clit. For once she was able to relax and find a rhythm, and safe in the knowledge that she was alone she let moans and squeals slip out as she came closer and closer to a point of orgasm.
She was utterly unaware that Liz was at that moment unlocking the door.
“Liz,” she called out in a half-moan, speaking to the fantasy girl who wasn’t there and not realising that her friend was standing only a few meters away, grinning.
“I’m here. Want a hand with that?”
Beth’s eyes shot open, but she surprised Liz by grinning back at her. Beth swallowed her pride and embarrassment. “Yes please.”
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.