The Roommate 🤍 2.9.2

In which Kate lets loose

I wear the thickest pair of jeans I have to try for Charlotte’s goal, and put on some loud music to distract myself.

I have nearly succeeded and am feeling pretty good about things when Kate walks in, towel wrapped around her, carrying her bikini and the lotion in one hand and my towel in the other.

“Here,” she says. “Unless there’s someplace better for me to put it?”

“Oh, thank you,” I say, looking anywhere but the massive valley of cleavage at the top of her towel. “The laundry is down the hall, but I’ll take care of it.”

I lay the towel over one of the bar stools at the counter and go back to cooking.

“Great!” she says. “I’m gonna go shower. I’ll leave this here for you, too. Later on you can show me where the laundry is so that I can be a good roommate.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I see another towel get laid over another bar stool and hear her bare feet pad away across the tile. My eyes go wide, staring down at the cutting board where I’m chopping an onion. Don’t look, I think. It won’t help. Don’t look.

Let’s be real, you’ll come here again ☀️🔥

I glance over and see her walking away, butt naked, hips swinging slightly as she walks around the corner to the guest room which thankfully has an ensuite bathroom. Models can be incredibly comfortable with nudity, I’ve noticed. After so many hours on set covering themselves with just their hands, or sand, or changing bikinis out in the open air, the shock factor is gone when they’re around people they’re comfortable with. Evidently my association with Charlotte has gotten me into Kate’s good books. If Kate isn’t interested in fooling around, I won’t be able to take twenty days of this. It’s only been two hours and I’m already a wreck.

I finish cooking dinner and I call to Kate when it’s ready, praying that she’ll come out with clothes on. I serve up two plates and am just setting them on the table when she comes out.

Kate breathes deeply. “Wow!” she exclaims. “That smells amazing! I’m starving, thank you so much for cooking. I didn’t expect that.”

I avoid eye contact until I see in my periphery that she’s dressed, and when I look over at her, I studiously maintain that eye contact based on her wardrobe.

Not that she’s wearing anything outrageous— quite the opposite. She’s as clothed as she could be with one exception. She wears matching green and navy checked plaid flannel pajamas that are in no way sexy, except for the fact that the top was in no way manufactured with her bust in mind. They barely button up to her breasts and the last two buttons have no hope of ever coming together, revealing an absolutely mouth-watering display of cleavage that is drawing my eyes like the pavement drew watermelons being thrown off the roof of the Ed Sullivan Theater.

“Yeah, don’t expect it every night,” I manage. “I cook when the mood seizes me, mostly just to eat less garbage.”

“Processed food is a pandemic,” she says, sitting down at the table in front of her plate.

Our table is an extended oval, with seats at each end and two on either side. It’s not an enormous dining table, and the room it sits in, which is open to the kitchen, dwarfs it somewhat. I had laid out our plates on opposite sides of the narrow breadth, because opposite ends of the whole table seemed like too much of a statement. However, as I take my seat a mere three feet from one of the most photographed pairs of tits on the whole planet which are 25% on display at this very moment, I realize that even across the long end of the table would have been too close.

We dig in and chat while we eat, and I am amused at her lack of decorum. She doesn’t take tiny bites or worry about talking with her mouth full or not getting any food on her face. She tells stories in an animated way, smiling big and laughing often, with a lack of self-consciousness that is the opposite of Ava in many ways. It is easy conversation, never forced, as though we’ve known each other for a few years already. I fail to realize how much trouble I’m in until halfway through the meal.

Kate is in the middle of a story and stops dead, smiling with her mouth full and almost losing some of the food from between her lips as she grins and has to cover her face and chew. “Hey buddy,” she says after she swallows, “my tits are down here.” So saying, she points both fingers at her boobs and I unconsciously follow her fingers.

I blush and look back at her face to see her burst out laughing, and then I look away in embarrassment.

“Damn, man. You’re doing such a good job of not checking me out that it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. Most guys make it about two seconds into the conversation before taking a peek, and then it’s like their eyes are bouncy balls going back and forth between my tits and my eyes.”

I laugh uncomfortably and shrug. “I’m just trying to be respectful.”

“Look, they’re just boobs. It’s no good trying to hide these puppies, and I got used to people scoping them out a long time ago. My god, Charlotte’s are bigger than mine and I know you must love them.”

I smile in spite of myself.

“I’m not saying you need to to stare at them, but I’m worried you’re going to bust a blood vessel. Just relax, man!”

I take in a breath and let it out. “All right. Point taken. Sorry. Is that right? Do I apologize for not checking you out?”

She laughs. “Let go of the rules. This is your home. If you’re sharing it with me, lets be roommates. If something is bugging you, just tell me.”

“Okay, I can do that. And you too!” I say.

“I just did,” she laughs, taking a sip of water.

I laugh along with her, and a good amount of the tension between us evaporates.

We finish our meal, and yes, I occasionally glance down at her boobs as she talks. Resisting the urge was causing me a lot of stress, I notice, so I consciously try to breathe deeply and calm myself. Not that this does anything for the erection I’m sporting under the table. When it comes time to clean up, I stand, hoping my jeans will do something to hide the bulge, and to my relief they do a passable job.

There aren’t many dishes so I wash by hand and she sits across from the sink at the counter on a bar stool, leaning forward with her arms folded so her tits look like they’re about to explode out of her top. Since I have an excuse to be looking down and washing the dishes, I also have an excuse to peek up at her boobs while I’m pretending to be looking down to wash the dishes.

Kate is very talkative, and I find I don’t mind listening to her as she chatters away. “Here,” she says. “Toss me a towel. I’ll dry.”

She grabs a dish from the drying rack and towels it off, setting her boobs jiggling and shaking. “So I said, ‘I don’t know why it’s upside down, but frankly I think it’s better—whoa! Dude!”

I look back to what I’m doing and see that I was just about to close my hand around the blade of a sharp chef’s knife I had just put soap on instead of using a brush or sponge.

“Yikes,” I say, grabbing a sponge.

“Go on,” I say. “It looked better upside down?” I glance up at her and see a secret little smile that she puts away when she sees me looking. “

Kate continues her story and we finish cleaning up.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I ask.

“If you want! Don’t feel like you need to entertain me,” she says. “You can do what you would normally do, I can entertain myself.”

“I think I’ll watch a movie. I usually hit the hot tub before bed because it relaxes me.”

“That sounds great!” says Kate, bouncing to her feet. “Which one first? Movie then hot tub?”

“Sure,” I say, and then it hits me, of course. But it’s too late.

I flop down slightly to the right of center on our large U-shaped couch, and she sits on the left arm, putting her about five feet away and ahead of me. I’m in the mood for a comfortable distraction, so I choose a Star Wars movie, feeling it will be sure to put her off a little bit at least. Maybe she’ll even go to bed early, I think.

“Oh, Rogue One,” she says. “This is a really good one. So sad.”

“You like Star Wars?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. Binged them all before The Force Awakens. I liked that one, but this is definitely the strongest of the new movies.”

“What about Solo?” I ask in spite of myself.

She see-saws a hand back and forth. “Also good! Probably the next strongest but I like Episode Seven better personally, taken by itself. I thought Solo suffered from a lack of consistent direction. A trend they really doubled down on story-wise for Eight and Nine, I think,” she finishes.

“Me too,” I say, bewildered. I start the movie, looking at her with frank surprise.

Kate starts to fidget. “What am I sitting on?” she asks, reaching under herself. She fumbles in the couch and pulls something out, a small bottle of what looks like lotion. “Oh, very nice,” she says, tossing it to me.

GoodHead Oral Sex Cream, Raspberry Flavored, the bottle proudly proclaims. I chuckle and toss it back behind me. “That’s the good stuff,” I say.

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” she says. “I’ve never used an edible cream like that.”

“Charlotte doesn’t usually like them, but some people do.”

“What an interesting implication,” she says with a smile over her shoulder at me.

I laugh politely before I comprehend what she said, and by the time I catch up, it’s too late to reply. I just implied that we’ve had visitors who have liked oral sex cream more than Charlotte.

Which is mostly what I think about for the first few minutes of the movie.

The movie starts and plays for a few minutes without incident. I am starting to get engrossed with the plot when Kate adjusts herself, moving a cushion from down by her feet behind her and stretching out. She’s five ten, which is a lot of woman stretching out ahead of me, and she comes to rest in such a way that I have an amazing view down her shirt.

Besides the slight ache of having a boner for hours on end, this in itself is not a problem. I have a pretty good idea that she knows what she’s doing to me, so I don’t have to feel like a peeping Tom. It’s a lovely view, and as the pressure grows on the critical button that holds her bra-less tits at bay, I can even imagine that it will burst. We watch the movie for a bit longer, and then she shifts a bit and the button gives way, shooting across the room and skittering along the tile floor.

Kate’s shirt pops open a bit more but doesn’t quite reveal her tits completely. The pressure that was creating the tight valley of cleavage relaxes and her breasts take a more natural shape, and the fabric that remains in place barely covers her nipples--but cover them is does.

She laughs but doesn’t move to change anything. “Oops,” she says. “Structural failure.”

I chuckle. “Around here we call that explosive decompression.”

Kate laughs harder, repeating the joke and giggling.

We finish the movie, but I admit that I spend a lot of time examining the curvature of her boobs from my vantage point behind her. My cock remains astoundingly erect throughout until the last fifteen minutes or so when the plot distracts me. The movie ends with my erection mercifully having subsided.

I stand up and stretch.

“Hot tub?” says Kate, bouncing to her feet. Her top is now showing a good two inches of chest between her breasts which have parted somewhat to either side to a more natural position.

“Oh,” I say. “Yep.”

“Great,” she says. “See you there!”

I smile and nod as she skips away, then head upstairs to change.

Five minutes later I’m sliding the cover off the hot tub and climbing in. Kate walks out a minute later in the orange bikini bottom from earlier and a white T-shirt, her hair down around her shoulders.

“My top from earlier didn’t dry yet and I hate putting on a wet swimsuit,” she says, climbing in across from me. “This is okay, right?”

A small, strangled sound issues from my esophagus and I nod as the water instantly saturates her T-shirt, clearly showing her nipples and the shape of her boobs.

I reach blindly and slap the controls for the jets, which cause the water to bubble and foam, slightly obscuring her magnificent bust but completely obscuring my instant raging hard-on.

“Oh, these are interesting,” she says. “This is like a massage chair.”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back and closing my eyes. “There are eight, and they’re all different. They’re kinda modular so I tried a bunch.”

“Oh, fun!” she says. “I’m gonna try them all.”

I hear the sound of Kate standing and can’t help myself. I open my eyes and watch her rise from the water, the T-shirt absolutely glued to every surface of her torso, even under her boobs. Her every curve is accentuated rather than obscured by the now skintight and nearly translucent fabric as she moves to another seat across the tub to my left. She turns and leans back, thrusting her chest in the air and dipping her head back into the water to wet her hair, which she then slicks back into a single unit behind her head. She is slowly lowering herself and I am positively hypnotized by her chest, nipples clearly visible as they sink partially beneath the water once again. My dick is so hard that the tension of my swim trunks resisting its rise is painful.

“I like this one,” she says. “Up and down. I’m a sucker for massages.”

She sits for a few moments and then slides over to the one next to her.

“Oh, I don’t like this one. Too drummy.”

“’Drummy’?” I ask.

“Yeah, like rat-a-tum-tum-tum. It makes my brain hurt.”

“Drummy is not a word,” I say.

“But you knew what I meant,” she says.

Then she stands again and the water cascades off of her, vacuum-sealing her t-shirt to her stomach and bust, and I feel myself get a little light-headed. This is unreasonable.

That’s when I realize she’s about to sit down next to me.

“Oh hey,” she says as she lowers down next to me, her shoulder coming to rest against mine and her thigh right next to mine under the water.

“Hey,” I say, unable to casually move or do anything except goggle at her tits from the corners of my eyes.

“This is a nice hot tub,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Had it put in as soon as I could. I love a good hot tub soak.”

“I like them more in cold weather,” she says.

“Same. But it’s good for my back.”

“Oh, do you have back pain? I know lots of tall guys do,” she says with concern in her voice.

“Yeah. I’ve heard that the taller you stack something the more likely it is to have problems.”

She laughs. “I’m awesome at massages. Sit in front of me.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I say. “I don’t really like massages.”

“Come on,” she says, tugging at my arm. “It’s what good roommates do. Sit in front of me!”

Reluctantly I move to kneel in front of her spot as she spreads her legs behind me. The hot tub is deeper in the middle, so I have to figure out how to make my legs fit.

“No, no, silly,” she says, pulling me back by the shoulders. “Sit on the seat in front of me.”

“Oh,” I say, and float backwards slightly until I can perch on the edge of her seat.

Kate pulls me back further and closes her legs so that her thighs are touching my hips, then has me lean forward slightly.

“There we go,” she says, and starts rubbing my shoulders.

I wasn’t lying when I told her I didn’t like massages, but I have to admit that it does feel nice as her fingers work their way down my back. My erection is throbbing, straining against my shorts, and screaming for release, willing her fingers to slide around to my front and touch me there. I have a brief mental image of her right hand sliding down my shaft, squeezing the head, and triggering an instant orgasm where I cum into the hot tub water. It certainly wouldn’t be anything new for the hot tub filtration system, as Charlotte and I have had sex many times out here. But Kate’s hands don’t seek my dick, and instead she starts radiating out from my spine with smooth, soft touches that have me enjoying a massage for the first time in my life.

Kate works her way back up my back to my shoulders.

“Wow,” I say. “This is amazing. I’ve never liked massages before. I’m not kidding.”

I hear the smile in her voice. “Good! I love that. I have a couple of more tricks if you don’t mind leaning back.”

As she says this she pulls me back into the position she wants and I feel her breasts push into my back as she lays my head on her right shoulder. I realize it’s too late to do anything else; I am in her power. She pulls my left arm out to the side, extends it and rolls it in a circle, stretching the shoulder very thoroughly, raises it up, then lets it fall. Underwater, my hand comes to rest on her thigh and I pull it away.

“Sorry,” I say.

“That’s okay,” Kate says softly.

She repositions me to her other shoulder, a placement that is feeling more intimate and less roommate-like by the minute. I am acutely aware of her breasts pressing into my back through the slightly rough fabric of her shirt. I can see her face through my peripheral vision, hair slicked back, water beaded on her skin, looking sexy as all hell as she stretches out my right arm, doing the same shoulder roll as she did on the other side.

“There,” she says. “How’s that?”

“Great,” I say.

Kate lets go of my arm and I see her looking down. I lift my head to follow her gaze and see that our bodies are intersecting and blocking the nearby jets, and therefore, thanks to the subtle uplighting, my erection is completely visible through the water.

I clear my throat and sit up, sliding smoothly to the other side of the hot tub.

“It’s okay,” she says, and I look up at her.

“Yeah, totally,” I say. She smiles.

“I’m gonna head to bed, I think,” I say. “I get up early to write, so I’ll be around if you need anything.”

“Kay,” she says, still smiling.

“The cover, just...” I say, pointing to the cover and the hot tub.

“Kay,” she says.

I stand and exit the hot tub, knowing there’s nothing I can do to hide my boner, and she watches intently. Much like the way her t-shirt clings to every nook and cranny of her bust, my shorts conform to the outline of my cock, which has maybe never been harder in my whole life and is quite uncomfortable in its current state.

I grab my towel and head inside, lightheaded. Once again I make it as far as the shower before jerking off, and afterward collapse into bed. I text Charlotte, but she’s at 35,000 feet and usually sleeps on night flights, so I lay in bed awake for some time. I hear Kate enter the house and wonder if she bothered leaving her t-shirt on for the trek inside.

I drift off to sleep with a painful erection, too tired to bother with masturbating again and more irritated about it than horny, anyway.

🤍🤍🤍

Patience, Darling… it’s all part of the game— hang in there! 🔥

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Sanctified is a sweeping serial romance of epic proportions. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for your support!