The Perfect Bitch

Big Tits

I stood at the sink, washing dishes, the anger rolling through me in waves so harsh my gums itched. My new roommate was a slob, worse than that, she was a freshman. I’d expected someone young and lost, someone that would need my guidance and knowledge, and yes, someone that would at least have the common human decency to clean up after herself. Essentially what I’d been three years ago when I was a freshman, lost and wide-eyed, but at least considerate of others. McKenzie—God, don’t you just want to strangle her for her name alone??—was none of that. Just as I was wiping up, she walked barefoot into the kitchen, all long legs and short shorts, her legs tanned and muscled and perfect, just like the rest of her. She sat her cereal bowl on the counter next to me, didn’t seem to notice half of it spilling onto the just-cleaned counter, and casually wiped a little milk from her lips with the back of her hand. She was standing very close to me. I could smell her, a hint of expensive perfume mixed in with other, more subtle scents, reminding me of mornings on a beach, tan skin, sleeping in and sex. I looked up at her—yes, she was tall, too, on top of everything else, maybe 5’ 9” or 5’ 10”—and noticed her nipples poking through the white, ribbed tee, close enough and at the right height for me to reach out and lick. Or bite. Finally my eyes made it up to hers. She smiled. “The floor’s a little sticky. You were going to mop it, weren’t you?” I tried to say something, coughed and sputtered, then managed, “I, I was going to do that next.” I don’t know why I said that, I wasn’t planning to mop the damn floor, let her do something for once, I’m sure she can figure out how a mop works. Her smile got better. “Good girl. We wouldn’t want my feet to get dirty, would we?” She ran the bare toes of her left foot over my sock-covered ones, trashing boundaries left and right. I felt myself blush, probably my ears were even turning red. There were so many emotions pouring through me I felt like I was about to burst, each one jagged and pulsing, like a broken tooth. I was confused about why I felt anything towards her, pissed as hell at her for being such a manipulative slob, pissed at myself for not telling her to fuck off. And lust, oh God, lust so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat. It was too much. Would any jury convict me if I held a pillow over her pretty face while she slept? Wouldn’t the world be a better place? She patted my butt, then strolled out of our tiny kitchen, and I couldn’t help but watch her, that perfectly round ass moving under her shorts, her long legs that I’d kill for, and yes, her feet, too. I didn’t like feet, didn’t have a weird foot fetish or anything, so why çankaya escort was I fascinated by her feet? Sure, I’m a lesbian, but not for the damn McKenzie’s of the world. I like girls that wear flannel shirts, have short hair and a tat or six. So why was my mouth dry and my pussy wet? Not to mention the electricity zipping through my clit. Yes, I mopped the floor, getting more and more angry. Then I went to my room and rubbed my clit like I was going insane. Come to think of it, maybe I was. It didn’t get any better. Friday night, after class, I walked in the door only to be greeted by an even bigger mess than usual. Her socks were on the floor (mmm, she was barefoot) next to a pair of jeans (mmm, was she in her underwear?), a sloppy pile of books sat in front of the coat closet, her laptop laying next to them. I could see my jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter, the top not even on it, the knife she’d used sitting next to it, probably stuck to the damn counter by now. On the coffee table, there must have been forty bottles of nail polish spread out, in no order whatsoever. Jesus, it was too much. I’d told myself every step of the way home that this was the end of it. I was going to confront her, tell her this slob crap wasn’t cutting it, that she needed to start cleaning up after herself or find another roommate. Then she walked out of the bathroom wearing a tiny, light blue cammy that her perfect, C-cup breasts were threatening to fall out of, and yes, she was in panties, tiny and white and I was guessing a thong. I very much wanted her to turn around to see if I was right. She gave me a good smile. “Hi,” she said. “I was hoping you’d be home soon. Do you want to help me paint my nails?” Yes, this is where I opened my mouth and finally told her that she was an inconsiderate bitch that had no respect for boundaries, that didn’t know how to do anything but take advantage of her looks and was single-handedly setting the women’s movement back ten years and, most of all, I hoped to never see her again. I opened my mouth and said, “Okay.” She smiled and did a little half skip, which I’m not sure if her breasts enjoyed but I sure did. She took my hand, led me to the couch and I saw that it was a thong. Why didn’t God give me an ass like that? I sat down next to her, enjoying the smell of her and being close to her, all while the voice in the back of my head was spewing and sputtering and cussing, but it was getting harder and harder to hear it. Her face twisted, the smile gone, and my whole being wanted to bring that smile back. It was a deep and uncomfortable feeling. She said, “I like to do my toes first, and it’d be easier if you were on rus escort the floor.” Like it was the most every day thing in the world, she gently guided me off the couch and down to the floor in front of her. I knelt there, in front of her, my butt resting on my heels, and suddenly understood the word submissive. “That’s better,” she said, the brilliant smile back, which made my heart do a little dance. She took a good two minutes figuring out which color she wanted, then sat it next to me on the coffee table. She leaned back on the couch and put her foot on my thigh. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare down at her foot touching my skin, her toes resting on the edge of my shorts. I tried to breathe, to think, tried to look somewhere else and finally managed to scan up her legs to the little white triangle that stood between me and her pussy. Fuck, I would’ve done anything in that moment to push my tongue deep inside her. Anything. I picked up the nail polish, started to take off the cap. “Silly, you have to file them first, make sure they’re smooth and perfect.” I nodded and picked up the nail file. I really had no idea what I was doing, hadn’t painted my nails since my Mom died when I was six. I licked my lips, trying to focus, like it was a test. I think she figured out I was clueless, because she started giving me directions, which toe to start with, what she wanted done. There were no please’s, no asking me if I was okay with anything, she was just bossy, which some part of me really, really liked. What was wrong with me? Finally, when her nails were done (and they did look perfect), she told me to paint them. I shook up the little glass jar, noticing the name of the light blue color was Perfect Bitch. I should’ve run at that point. As I opened the lid, some of the polish dripped onto her foot. She made a weird little noise that made my heart clutch, then I felt her fingers on my jaw. Her fingertips ran down to my chin, and she gently lifted it until I was looking into her eyes. God it felt like her eyes were seeing right through me, seeing down deep inside, seeing shit I didn’t even know about and there was no where to run and hide. She said, a little chill in her voice, “Don’t mess up my nails. I’d have to spank you for that.” I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of me over her lap, my shorts and panties down around my ankles, her hand smacking into my ass. I could feel the dampness spreading down the inside of my thighs. I opened my eyes to find hers still staring into me and gave her the tiniest nod that I understood. I took her foot in my left hand, enjoying the feel of it, and started to paint her big toe. I was very eryaman escort careful, though part of me wanted to mess up. She leaned back, checked her phone, then started to read a Vogue. Part of me didn’t like her attention on anything else, part of me wanted to shove her foot between my legs and hump it until I died, maybe shove my tongue in her while I was at it. I bit my tongue, not wanting to disappoint her, and tried to focus, my hands shaking. When I was done with the first one, she looked over the magazine, inspected it for a second as I held my breath. She smiled. “Good girl.” It was ridiculous how much I liked hearing that, how much I craved her saying it again, down deep in my core. She lifted up her foot, closer to my mouth. “Blow on it.” Yes, pathetic as hell, on my knees before her, I blew on her big toe, like she was a queen. The little voice in the back of my head had given up, I couldn’t even hear it anymore. By the third toe, I was doing it without her even asking me to. What’s beyond pathetic? When I was finished with her left foot, I gently picked up her right one and put it on my thigh. As I was about to start filing, she said, “I know you want to. If you ask me nicely, I might let you.” I had no idea what she was talking about. Putting my tongue inside her? I managed, “Want, what?” It didn’t sound like I was on the Dean’s list. “I know you want to kiss my toes. Ask nicely.” God, I didn’t want to do that, did I? I did want to please her… “Can I kiss your toes?” “You can do better than that. Say please.” “Please may I kiss your toes.” Now all of me, weirdly, really wanted to. She smiled and lifted her foot up. I watched, like life was in slow motion, as her big toe got closer and closer. I was getting close to a line I’d never even thought about crossing, hell, didn’t know existed. Maybe it was more of a cliff. She held it there, maybe two inches in front of me, her eyes full of mischief, her smile wicked. I closed my eyes, leaned forward until I felt her toe touch my lips, then I kissed it. She made a little mmm sound, with a little growl in it. Yes, I kissed each toe on her right foot (after asking to). After I kissed her little toe, she put her big toe back against my lips. I kissed it again, thinking that’s what she wanted, but instead she slowly slid it into my mouth. Her toe filling my mouth, I looked up at her, happy that she was smiling, her nipples hard and poking through. She pulled it out, put it back in my lap. “Good girl. Now get those done.” She went back to reading her magazine. I earned another good girl when I was done. Still on the floor, I did her fingers too, after kissing the palm of each hand and each finger, reminding me of medieval times and subjects kissing the king’s ring, or the pope’s. Surprisingly, it was as submissive as doing her toes, and somehow more intimate. All I could think about the whole time was her taking two of those long, elegant fingers and finger-fucking me until I passed out.

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