The door opens. “Who are you?”
“Amanda,” my daughter says, “I think I’m your new roommate?”
“Oh, cool,” says the other girl, no longer paying attention. She buries her face in her phone, her blonde hair turned blue in the screenlight, and lays down on the bottom bunk. “I’m Zooey.” She’s got a youthful arrogance, a casual nonchalance that lets her get away with hanging out in nothing more than a sports bra and yoga pants.
“This is my dad,” Amanda continues, nodding at me. Amanda is nothing like her, looking smart and stylish, like always.
I wonder how well Zooey and her will get along, whether their personalities will clash. “Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Sup, Amanda’s dad.” She doesn’t even look up.
I shrug. Nobody sees. I set the boxes I’m carrying on the unclaimed of the two dressers. “Amanda, hey, guess that means you’ve got the top bunk. Always been your dream, huh?”
“Yeah, when I was like eight, Dad.” She looks around the room warily. “The University didn’t say how small the dorm rooms were.”
“They’re impacted,” Zooey says, gaze locked on the glow of her phone, “Took too many admissions. This is supposed to be a single. But maybe if some people drop out, it won’t be so crowded.”
Amanda bristles. “I’m not going to drop out!”
“I’m sure you two will be friends,” I force a grin, “I’m still buddies with Roger, my old–”
“–college roommate,” Amanda finishes, “Yes, Dad. I know Roger, I’ve heard the story. A hundred times. I’ll be fine, Dad.” But her and I exchange a worried glance. Her new roommate Zooey hasn’t once looked up from her phone.
## ## ##
A month later, I’m back at Amanda’s college. What can I say? She’s my only kid, and my job’s always got me on the road anyway, so I’m free to helicopter-parent as much as I want.
I’ve taken her to lunch just off campus, and with the meal complete, now I’m dragging a suitcase full of stuff she asked for from home through the dorm building and into her room. “How are you getting along with–?” I nod at the lower bunk. “Has she put her phone down yet?”
Amanda sighs. “No, Zooey’s fine. We stay out of each other’s way.”
“I guess it could be worse.”
“She never goes anywhere, I’m surprised she’s not here now, actually.”
I shrug. “You should drag her to some of those huge parties you tell me you don’t go to.”
Amanda rolls her eyes at me. “I don’t go to parties, Dad.” She waits a beat. “They’re called ragers.”
I laugh, ninety-nine percent sure she’s joking.
“Anyway,” Amanda continues, “She’s no charity case. I think she’s got a boyfriend, that’s who she’s always texting. And I hear her, well, it’s gross, but she, like, masturbates all the time.”
If had been any anything in my mouth I would’ve spewed it out. “What?!”
“I’m not repeating it, Dad, you heard what I said.” Amanda shakes her head. “I just pretend I’m asleep or whatever. I’m ready for a private room, is all.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m–”
“No, Dad, don’t. I’m an adult now, I don’t need you saying anything. I’ve already talked to the dorm office, I’m on the wait list. And I’m not going ot make any bigger deal than that.”
“Well. Good for you, speaking up for yourself.”
“So,” Amanda says, changing the subject, “I need some money…”
## ## ##
Two months later, I’m knocking on Amanda’s dorm room door.
“Who is it?”
“Amanda’s dad,” I say, “Is she in?”
“Door’s open.”
I walk in and and Zooey eyes me up and down. She’s sitting on her lower bunk bed, back against the wall, the blanket pulled up to her neck. A mess of books and papers are scattered around her, a laptop between them. “She’s at class,” Zooey says, “She won’t be back for a few hours.”
“Damn. I thought her and I were doing lunch…” I pull out my phone, tap on the email Amanda sent me. “She said…”
“Yeah,” Zooey shrugs, the blanket rising with her shoulders, “Her schedule changed last week.” She’s got a pile of clothes at the foot her bed, a hamper just beyond stuffed full. Her dresser is equally a mess, drawers half-open, clothes spilling out.
Amanda’s side of the room is the total opposite. Neat, orderly, tidy. Her desk is the picture of organization. I pull out the chair, set my laptop down on the deskmat. “Cool if I wait here for her?”
Zooey shrugs again. “Sure.” She slips on headphones.
With my back to her, I sit down and start working. I tap through emails and am quick to get absorbed into what I’m doing, ignoring where I am. My team has questions, which is good, except they’re the wrong questions, questions which indicate a basic failure to understand what it is they’re doing. And so I correct them, writing out specifics, asking other stakeholders to do the same.
I don’t pay attention to the time, but my mouth is dry, and I turn to grab my thermos from my backpack. My eyes go wide, my jaw drops. I spin back around, knowing what I saw, unable to believe that I saw it.
Zooey had laid face down on her bed, facing away from me. The blanket had slipped off her, giving me a face full of her prone ass. Which was round, plump, and bare apart from thin white panties. And, it didn’t make any sense, I was sure it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen her fingers sliding around beneath them.
It’s not right, I’m forty-fucking-six years old, I should know better. But I do it anyway, turn and take a second glimpse. And… I can see up between her legs, her panties flicking up and down as her fingers toy with her pussy beneath. What the fuck?
I realize — the rhythmic noises I’d been hearing, I thought they were the tinny beat of music escaping from her headphones. But they’re not, they’re Zooey’s moans. She’s making them in pace with her fingers.
As I watch, she sits up, still engrossed in her screen, still with her back to me. She’s wearing a powder blue tank top, clinging tightly to her thin little torso. She’s on her knees, back arched, ass out as she rides her fingers.
I see her head start to turn, and I whip back around, eyes wide, pretending to be working.
She giggles, moans. “I saw you, Amanda’s dad.”
“Hrm? What was that?”
“Don’t play coy,” she says, “My screen’s reflective, you know. I could see you watching me.”
“Oh, I, uh–” I have no idea what to say.
“I don’t mind,” she cuts me off, saving me from having to end my own sentence. “If I didn’t want an audience, I’d have told you to leave.” She groans and sucks a breath in between clenched teeth.
I turn to look, and Zooey and I make eye contact, her head turned over her shoulder. Her cheeks are flush, her eyes glazed over, her mouth hanging open. “If you liked before, then you’ll love this next part.”
“I will?”
“Oh yeah,” she writhes, her hand moving faster and faster between her legs, her other grabbing a breast, pinching a nipple. “I love guys watching me…nngggg… watching me cummmmggg…” A surge of ecstasy rolls through her, body heaving, throat squealing. She fucks her own hand, bringing a long and animated climax onto herself.
When her moans subside, she braces herself against the wall, leaning on it for support while she catches her breath. “That was so fucking hot,” she mutters, “Next time you should join in.”
I gasp and turn around, my back once more to her. I sit and stare at my laptop, I don’t know how long, until the door opens.
“Oh, hi Dad!”
I stand and sweep all my stuff into my bag. “Let’s get out of here, Amanda.”
Zooey giggles as I leave, but I don’t even give her the dignity of another glance.
## ## ##
That should have been the end of my story with Zooey. But the image of her cute little body writhing with orgasm, her cute little face twisted up in bliss, it’s seared in my brain, making my cock so hard. And I don’t even know what I’m expecting, but the next time I go to visit Amanda, if I happen to arrive while she’s still got class for another hour or two, it’s only because traffic was light…
“She’s at class,” Zooey says, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a knowing smirk on her thick lips. The door’s safety chain’s still in place, my view inside the room is limited to an aperture of just a few inches.
“Oh, is she?”
“But you knew that.”
“I must’ve gotten the day wrong.” It sounds pathetic, my attempt at seeming innocent.
Zooey slams the door in my face.
And I’m an old fool.
But I hear the chain slip, and then the door opens wide. I slip inside, put my bag down on Amanda’s desk. “So I’ll just work from–”
“Shut the fuck up,” Zooey cuts me off.
I gasp.
“I know why you’re here. You horny old pervert. I should report you to the University.”
“I haven’t–”
“But I’m not going to. At least, not if you help me.”
“Help you do what?” What does she want? Money? A job? An introduction?
She’s wearing these cotton pajama shorts, cobalt blue with a white drawstring. Or, I should say, she was. Because as they slide down her legs, my eyes trace them, my jaw dropping. “Help me orgasm.” She reaches up, over her head, and pulls her t-shirt off.
“Oh.” The sound catches in my throat, comes out nearly a squeak. Black panties and a black bra cling to her lithe frame, and she’s slender and sexy and firm. Her chin is tucked, and she shoots me with ‘fuck-me’ eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, sitting back onto her bed, “That this is too fucked up. But that’s why you’re going to do it.” She makes a show of slowly spreading her legs, fingering her pussy through her panties. “’Fucked up’ makes your cock stiff.” She gasps as she pushes a finger inside herself. “You should see how wet it makes me.”
“Oh no,” I mutter, eyes wide, gaze bouncing between the sultry expression she wears and the increasingly damp panties covering her crotch. Her legs are folded far back, knees by her chest.
I absolutely should not be doing this, but I kneel down on the floor next to her and pull her panties to the side, exposing her pink pussy and asshole. She’s bare and tight, so tight I could play her like a violin. So tight, when I slide my index finger inside her, I can feel her grip.
She pants, pulling her legs back even father, not stopping until her ankles are beside her ears, and I tease her asshole with a fingertip, just to see how she responds. She groans and shudders, head rolling to the side. “Oh… fuck… keep doing that!”
Her back is propped up against a pillow, and she looks down, watching me massage her clit between index finger and thumb. I stroke her ridge, tease her pussy lips, orbit her asshole. She sucks down air, chest heaving.
“Show me your tits,” I command.
She pulls her bra up, cups her chest. Her fingers find her nipples, pinching and tweaking them. She’s got nice breasts, but what really excites me is her eagerness, her zeal to follow my instruction.
I grin, knowing she’s now ready. I shove two fingers into her pussy and another in her ass, and let loose. Zooey cries out, jaw dropping until her mouth hangs open in a perfect circle. Her eyes roll back in her head and her thighs quiver as my hand drives the pleasure into her, gives her the handjob she didn’t dare to dream. I bring my other hand to her clit. It’s swollen and red, and I give her no reprieve from the torrent of ecstasy, no place to hide from the bliss.
This girl, this is what she thinks she wants, her fantasy. Well, I’m going to give her reality.
She’s muttering, over and over again, barely audible, only a touch louder than her moans, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…” But I don’t stop. If anything, I finger her even harder, her juices dripping down my hand, drool running from her lips.
She shudders, tries to pull away. But I move with her, afford her no respite. She throws her head back and grabs my wrist. She scrambles, and I can see the conflict raging inside her — believe the pleasure is more than she can take, yet simultaneously unwilling to let any remaining iota of ecstasy remain untapped.
A second wave of orgasm passes through her, and she melts on my hand, her jaw hanging slack, her eyes rolling.
Her limbs go weak, collapsing to the bed into a puddle of orgasmic bliss, yet I continue rubbing her. She’s resigned to accept my unceasing titillation of her most sensitive places, her hips making little twitches, shaking with little bucks. But with enough teasing of her clit, her jerking builds in intensity. Her back begins to arch, her breathing growing faster.
“Fffffuck…” she groans, hands pinching the sheets, knees stiff. “Ooonnnnnggg…”
She sucks down a breath. “No more… no more…” she pants.
I pull my hands off her.
And just in time, too. The lock on the door rattles, and it’s only because the room’s so small that I’m sitting at her desk when Amanda walks in. Zooey’s in a daze, still returning to Planet Earth under the blanket I tossed over her.
Amanda ignores her, Zooey in bed in the middle of the day is nothing special. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey yourself,” I say, “Lunch?” I discretely wipe my hand clean.
“Yes! I’m starving.” If Amanda notices anything amiss, she gives no sign. I pack up my laptop and grab my bag. Zooey stares at me as I leave, but I don’t give her even a glance. Amanda and I slip out of her dorm room, head off to go grab some food.
“Did I tell you yet?” Amanda says on the way to my car.
I shrug.
“My housing transfer went through,” she says, “I’m getting a solo apartment.”
“Hey, congratulations. When do you move?”
“Next week, they say.”
“Cool, I’ll come back and help.”
Amanda opens the car door. “You don’t have to do that, come all the way back here so soon? Aren’t you sick of traveling?”
I’m hit with an image of Zooey’s cute little body writhing in orgasm. “Oh, I don’t mind.”
## ## ##
Amanda’s things are packed in boxes and plastic bins. The room looks half-empty, but the other half looks like a bomb went off. Zooey’s clothes and things are everywhere, worse than usual, total and complete disorganization. What looks to be at least a week’s worth of old clothes are piled up in front of her dresser. Lace panties sit on top, discarded without a care as to who can see them. I’m glad Amanda’s getting away from her.
Zooey’s pressed face-first against the bunk bed ladder, forehead and chin against rungs. Sweat trickles down her cheek. “You degenerate old fuck,” she spits.
I’m leaning into her, holding her in place while my hand slides under the hem of her tight black yoga pants. My fingers find her pussy, wet and hot, and I slide them inside her. “You horny little slut,” I growl back, my lips brushing the nape of her neck.
The bun of blonde hair on top of her head bounces, a lock slipping loose and falling across her face. She blows it away. “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A ride on Daddy’s fat dick.” My fingers curl inside her, make her gasp.
“Do it!” she hisses.
“What makes you even think you could please me?” I grab the bottom of her fuchsia sports bra and yank it up. Her perky, firm breasts pop free from the fabric and I grope her, pinching a tender pink nipple between my fingers.
“Fuck you!” she barks, “You’re so hard for me, I can feel it.”
It’s true. My erection tents my pants, rubs against her round ass through the layers of fabric. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“You wanted me from the moment you saw me,” she says, “I saw it on your face, you imagining me naked, on my knees, sucking your sad little cock–”
“Don’t you ever shut up?” I cut her off, yanking her pants down to her thighs. Her bare ass fills my hands. She arches her back, and the curves over her chest and down to her belly, from her thin little waist, over her hips, out around her round butt — they fill me with lust. Until this moment, I didn’t believe I was really going to do what I’m about to do.
I pull my cock out, bounce it against her ass, rub it against her sex. Her heat smears along my cock as I push it between her pussy lips, making her tremble in anticipation, quiver with lust.
“Cum in me,” she says.
I grab her by the waist, bending her over as I shove myself inside her from behind.
She whimpers. I pound my hips into her ass, slamming my cock into her. And she is so incredibly tight, it’s like nothing I’ve felt. My ears roar with the rush of blood, my arms flex and tense, and my cock is in heaven. I look down, watch my fat erection bury itself in her tight teen pussy over and over, watch her lips stretch and strain around my girth.
This isn’t the time for a long, drawn-out act. No, this moment demands an intense, swift frenzy. I lean into her, giving her the full force of my furor. She yelps with each thrust, quick staccato sounds that turn me on, hearing the fever of my fucking manifest inside her throat.
“You are such a slut,” I growl.
“Say it again!” she begs.
I shove my cock all the way inside her, reaching around to rub her clit while I do. “Call you the slut you are?”
“Yes!”
I wrap my arm around her, pinning her to my chest as my hips piston my dick into her with ruthless persistence. “You fucking whore,” I grunt, my lips against her ear, “You’re my little fucktoy.”
She groans, her limbs tensing, her pussy spasming.
And I thought she was tight before. I bellow wordlessly as spunk surges through my dick, a heavy load pumping deep within her. I groan through gritted teeth, my balls draining themselves, the relief from release an instant salve.
I stagger back, stumbling on weak knees, just managing to catch myself. She collapses onto her bed, panting.
A half-hour later, Amanda’s back from class, surveying her new dorm room. “You got it all?” she says.
“Yeah, it was no big deal. But it’s on you to unpack.”
“I don’t mind. It’s nice to have my own space, right?”
“Sure is,” I smile, “Do you think you’ll ever hang out with Zooey again?”
Amanda frowns. “I don’t know that we ever did hang out. She was just kind of, I don’t know, there, you know?”
I nod knowingly. “She certainly was.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/10m15cl/my_kids_roommate_is_something_else_f19_m46_female