Don’t Mess with Sally

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Gary plays with fire. Sally burns him.

Some years ago, I was a college student, living in the Boston student bubble. My boyfriend was a college student, too, but he lived in New York. It’s a bit of a drive, but neither of us had a car, and while one can take the train, it’s a little far from being free, so there was many the weekend we didn’t see each other.

Not seeing Gary was fine with me, on occasion, because I was always behind in my schoolwork, and if Gary came to see me, all we would do all weekend would be to eat and have sex. This had been proved, over and over again. In addition, there were all sorts of parties, all the time, and — quite frankly — I was young and outgoing, and I liked to drink a bit, and to flirt. Before you think I’m a slut, all I ever did was flirt. Of course, flirting includes some kissing from time to time, and occasionally I’d let a guy feel me up and such, but in terms of sex, I was loyal to Gary.

Whether or not Gary — down in New York, which had more pretty girls than Boston had people — was loyal to me, is an entirely different question. I just wasn’t one of those girls who tormented myself with such thoughts, especially when I could do nothing about them. If Gary ever fucked up, so to speak, I would simply have a pity party, eat a pint of chocolate chip ice cream, and then (I sometimes fantasized) would fuck every available guy I could find until something clicked. Gary knew that, too. So far, he hadn’t fucked up, at least to my knowledge.

I returned to my room to discover my cell phone was ringing. I keep it on vibrate, in my purse, so I never hear it. I have it set to flash its light when it rings, so that I can find it in the jungle of things I keep in my purse (Gary calls it a jungle, but I don’t; however, it is kind of an apt term). It was Gary, and I felt myself smiling to see it was him. He rarely calls me, preferring to Zoom so that I’ll undress for him, or to text, if he’s in a hurry. Gary seems to love watching me bare my boobs to him via Zoom. Well, why not? If that’s how he gets his rocks off, good for him, say I.

Anyway, Gary was calling to tell me a friend of his was coming to Boston and needed a place to stay. I called some of the guys I knew, and nobody had extra space. When the guy showed up, his name being Elton, I said if he wanted, he could stay with me. My room had a double bed. He knew I was Gary’s girl, after all, so I figured he’d behave.

In retrospect, I did everything wrong. I did not read him the riot act not to try to molest me, thinking it was understood, even though we’d be sharing a bed (I didn’t have a couch). Instead, I took him to some of my favorite bars, and we had fun partying together, and even flirting. Since I wasn’t his girlfriend, he didn’t care if I danced with other guys as well, and he saw some of the usual subjects also flirting with me, dancing with me, and occasionally copping a feel of my boobs or my ass. One guy, Mike, even tried to stick a hand down the back of my skinny jeans to cop a feel of my ass. My jeans were so tight however, that he couldn’t get his thick, meaty hand inside, and I got a bad case of the giggles. Gary used to say my jeans were “painted on me,” and that’s not that far off. It was the style, anyway.

Later, however, “somehow” my skinny jeans had become unsnapped and unzipped, and Mike, and Steve, too, were sticking their hands down my pants and copping feels of both my ass and even of my pussy. I had allowed myself to get much too drunk, and I was playfully slapping their hands, but not really protesting, and both of them got some mighty good feels. In retrospect, one can imagine the image I was conveying to Elton. I was not a paragon of female virtue, or so at least it appeared.

I had never dated Mike nor Steve, and that night was as far as they had ever gotten with me, but I can see now, in retrospect, as to how I must have looked to Elton’s eyes. I guess it must have looked as if — even though I was Gary’s girlfriend — that in Boston, with Gary away, I was an easy lay and a total slut, even if — ironically — neither characterization was true.

Elton and I made it back to my quarters, with both of us quite drunk. Elton had not tried to kiss me, nor to touch me up; he had just seen some others both try and succeed. I now realize he must have been curious about everything, but he remained quiet and correct. I respected him for being that way, and it endeared me to him. It was probably my next mistake that sealed my doom.

You see, Gary had given me this hyper sexy nightgown, and he absolutely loved seeing me in it. I would wear it every night, in case we zoomed. Without a bra, you could kind of see my boobs right through the nightgown, and if I wore no panties, you could also see my bush through it, since while I trimmed down there, I didn’t shave. To maintain at least a minimal amount of modesty, I always wore panties with the nightgown.

I never wore a bra under the nightgown, however, canlı bahis şirketleri since I hate the way bras feel with my slightly largish boobs, but since Elton was right there all the time, I made double sure to keep my panties on at all times. (Usually, I go commando when I sleep, since either I’m alone, or with Gary. The lone exception is when I’m having my period.)

Sure enough, Gary Zoomed me that very night, ostensibly to see how Elton and I were getting on. Elton was in standard men’s cotton pajamas, and I was in my sexy nightgown, ironically to please Gary. We both got on the Zoom, and I could tell Gary was enjoying leering over me, even through Zoom. I loved when he leered, I have to confess. Elton, too, seemed to be enjoying the show, and seemed laser focused on my boobs. What happened next really surprised me.

Gary wanted me to show him my boobs. I didn’t know it, but he had a few guys with him who had paid their $5 each, and they were looking forward to the show.

“But honey,” I said, “I can’t bare my boobs for you tonight; your friend Elton is right here. He’d see them, too. I guess, maybe, Elton, if you don’t mind, could you go hide in the bathroom while I do this for Gary?”

I didn’t know that Elton had often paid Gary his own $5 to see my boobs over Zoom. He knew exactly what was going on. Seeing my boobs over Zoom, however, and seeing the girls right next to you where you can reach out and touch them? Those are two different things. They’re two very different things.

“No, let Elton stay, Sally. Give the poor guy a thrill,” Gary said.

“Gary, Elton is right here. He can hear you. You’re being offensive,” I said, as I lowered the top of my nightgown to Gary, and en passant to Elton, as well.

“Elton, why don’t you undress?” Gary said, ignoring my scold.

“What? No! Gary, what’s wrong with you, you can’t order Elton…” and then I stopped, because Elton was nude, and also he was hard, and there he was, right next to me. Gary knows that I’m a sucker for a hard cock. I was just staring at it. In retrospect again, I think I was in shock to have Elton, a man I barely knew, suddenly naked and hard at the suggestion of my boyfriend. Anyone would agree this was downright strange.

“Don’t just stare at it, Sally. Touch it. You want to taste it, don’t you?” Gary said.

“You can’t dominate me over Zoom, you bastard,” I said. “What are you playing at? You want me, your girlfriend, to suck off your friend? And have you watch via Zoom as well? Are you batshit crazy, Gary? This Zoom is over!” and I went to close my laptop, when I heard Gary quietly say, with the ferocity that quiet, measured words can sometimes evoke,

“Do not end the Zoom, Sally. Now, Elton has revealed all, and I want you to do the same,” Gary said.

“Listen, you weirdo, I’ve told you a thousand times I will never show my pussy to you or to anyone else via Zoom. I know damn well you record our Zoom sessions. I…” and I stopped, when just by chance I saw that instead of there being only two participants on the Zoom, namely me and Gary, there were eight. “Uh…Gary…there are eight participants on this Zoom?”

“Some of my friends here in NY, and one back home in Indiana, have joined. I’ve been bragging about how fabulous your boobs are. I hope you don’t mind?” Gary said, and those were the last words he spoke to me for a long time, over Zoom, or otherwise.

I closed the laptop and looked at Gary’s naked friend Elton, and his lovely, hard cock, sticking out at a right angle from his body. I slipped off my panties, such as they were, and hung them up to dry (since by now they were wet from my leaking juices), right on his cock, giggling as only a drunk coed can.

My cell phone began to ring, and so too did Elton’s. Elton went to answer his, and I said, “Which do you want, Elton? To answer your phone, or to have a little fun with Gary’s drunk ex-girlfriend? Emphasis on the ex! You can’t do both. Who is it on the phone, anyway?”

“It’s my Mom,” Elton said. His phone was still ringing. Phones always sound so insistent!

“Oh. Okay then, you can answer,” I said. As long as it wasn’t Gary, trying to get to me through Elton, I was okay with it. Elton answered and his erection left almost simultaneously. I figured that was a good sign. He spoke with his Mom for around ten minutes, told her he was having a great time in Boston, and they discussed banalities. While they were talking, my phone lit up with at least ten texts from Gary, begging forgiveness. I ignored them all.

I got one text I opened up and read. It was from back home in Indiana. “Hi Sally. I spent my adolescence always wanting to see your boobs, and now that I have, I can tell you, they’re the best! Someday, I hope to get my wet dream, and be able to play with them!” I had, in fact, bared my boobs on the Zoom, both to Gary, the inadvertently and innocently to the other guys on the Zoom, and of course to Elton right there canlı kaçak iddaa standing next to me! Including Elton was anything but innocent. I knew exactly what I was doing.

Okay, that’s gross, the text from Indiana, and probably lots of girls get off-color texts from time to time, but hopefully not from one’s brother. I didn’t reply to his text and acted as if I had never received it. It did, however, put me in a funky mood, and I guess I got the female equivalent of losing my erection. My wet pussy suddenly became as dry as the Mojave Desert.

I covered up my boobs with my see-through nightgown, and since I had removed my panties, the transparent effect was quite obvious everywhere. Elton had put his pajamas back on, and we sat on my bed for a while, laying back, on propped up pillows, and sipped some Scotch whisky Elton had scored somewhere, even though he too was only 19. We talked about this and that, and we gradually got to know each other a bit. I finally addressed the elephant in the room.

“This was all a set-up, wasn’t it? Was Gary selling tickets?” I knew my ex-boyfriend, and I knew that was the kind of stunt he might have pulled. “Come on, tell me. Out with it, Elton!” I demanded. I was pissed that six guys, one of them my own brother, plus Elton and Gary, of course, had just seen my naked boobs.

“I’m sorry, Sally, you’re really a sweet girl, and lots of fun. You don’t deserve to be treated this way,” Elton said.

“You got that right!” I replied. “What was Gasshole (my new name for Gary, I decided) promising to the Zoomies?”

“He was vague. Just that tonight it was to be more than just your boobs. Maybe much more. Do you want me to guess?” Elton said. God, that guy was so earnest!

“What do you mean tonight it was to be more?” I shouted. “Has he done this before?”

“Oh yeah. I’m sorry, Sally. I mean, I really like you. You’re pretty, sexy and sweet, but yeah, he’s been doing this a lot. I paid him $5 around five times to see your boobs. Other guys paid him, too. We all love your boobs, for what that’s worth.”

“Let me see if I understand this. Gasshole and I would Zoom, at some point I’d lovingly show him my boobs, and there were other guys secretly watching me do that?” I said, spitting with outrage as I spoke. “All of you lechers were listening to my love babble to Gary while I showed him my tits?”

“Uh…yeah, that’s about the size of it. Oh, and we each paid $5 for the show.”

I had no idea, of course, that Gary would charge friends $5 to watch me bare my boobs, and often play with them, too, for Gary over Zoom. His friends stayed off camera, over to the side, of course, or used their own Zoom connection. Elton told me Gary had made over $100 that way. I know guys are weird, but I am more than a little pissed first that he’s showing our intimate times to others, as smutty entertainment, and that he charges money for it, which makes me feel violated, as well as cheap, like a prostitute. I mean, this was a huge violation, in my opinion.

Even worse, much worse in fact, is that he charges only $5! He should charge at least $20 a pop for a chance to see my boobs! Then he should use the money to buy me some classy earrings, or a gold necklace, you know? Right then, however, I knew about none of this.

“So those other guys on the Zoom, including my own goddam brother, paid $5 to see my boobs?” I asked Elton.

“Well, this time he charged $20,” I said.

“That’s more like it,” I said. “My boobs are worth it, don’t you think?” I asked the unfortunate Elton who was sweating bullets, as my anger was impossible to hide.

“Of course, they are, of course they are! This time, though, he promised more than just your boobs, hence the higher fee,” Elton said, very quickly, as if getting the words out fast might protect him from my volatile temper.

Elton didn’t know what Gasshole had been promising. I tried to prompt him, “Seeing me naked? Watching me give you a hand job, or even a blowjob?”

Elton’s erection looked as if it was going to rip a hole in his pajamas. I continued, “Maybe watching me Jill off? What exactly was on the menu, Elton?”

“I honestly don’t know. All of those things sound great to me,” he said.

Suddenly sanity returned to me. We were on a bed together, drunk and alone. My nightgown was transparent and I had no underwear on. “Strip,” I ordered.


“You heard me. Strip. Remove your pajamas; I want you naked again,” I said. Elton became naked in a NY minute, even if he was in Boston. A NY minute takes at least three minutes in Boston. People in Boston take things slow.

Back in place next to me on the bed, Elton lay there, amazingly nervous and naked. I was still wearing my transparent nightgown, and still naked underneath it. “Kiss me, Elton,” I said.

Elton and I kissed, and I was pleased to discover Elton could really kiss. I mean, he was way better than average in the kissing department. Way, canlı kaçak bahis way better! I began to stroke his hard cock as we kissed, and the kisses became passionate. I was getting super turned on, just from the kisses. They were that good! It was all really nice, until Elton began awkwardly to paw at my boobs.

“Just relax and kiss me, Elton. You don’t mind that I’m playing with your lovely cock, do you?” I said.

“Oh, God, no!” Elton said, and I could tell he was super turned on. I played with his balls, and then I continued to stroke his cock, really tugging at it, and I could tell it would not be long before Elton gave me his best imitation of Mt. Vesuvius.

Suddenly, in my drunken stupor, it dawned on me that Mt. Vesuvius had the potential of becoming a huge mess, all over my dry-clean-only quilt. I broke our kiss and quickly took his cock inside my mouth, and that immediately provoked an eruption that could have buried all of Pompeii and then some! I was swallowing frantically to keep it all inside me. Fucking him would have been easier. I couldn’t believe I had just thought that.

Afterwards, we were both stunned, and we just lay there, Elton naked, and me in my transparent nightgown. Like many men, I suppose, a drunk Elton fell asleep after having cum. I got up, changed to panties and a T shirt, climbed back into bed, and worried about what was wrong with me, before the Ambien finally kicked in, and I too fell asleep.

When I woke, in an Ambien induced haze the next morning, together with a moderate hangover, I felt ethereally wonderful. I gradually realized my panties were off, my T shirt was up around my neck, exposing my boobs, and a man had his head between my legs and was eating me out spectacularly well. Oh, so that’s why I felt so good.

In the fog of waking up after having taken an Ambien, plus all of the booze the night before, it took me a few minutes to realize that it was not Gary, I mean Gasshole, who was eating me out, but it was Elton. The hair color was a giveaway, since Gary has chestnut brown hair, and Elton is as blonde as the sun. It was also logic, since Gasshole was in NY, and I had just shared my bed with Elton.

“Uh, did I give you permission to do this, Elton?” I asked.

Elton raised his sloppy face from my nether regions, gave a weak smile, and said, “Yes, sort of.”

I had no idea what he meant by that, but decided not to ask, since Gasshole was no mas,, and Elton was making me feel delightful, so I said, “Well, okay then. Carry on.”

Elton’s tongue drove me to a quite nice orgasm. Better than nice, I’d call it really nice. Normally with a man, if he does that, I keep my legs spread for him and we fuck together like wild animals, but this situation was just too fucked up for fucking. I gave him a blowjob, and trust me, he had no complaints. Zero. Nada. Niente. I once again swallowed for him.

It was Sunday, so we went out to brunch. Once he had finished his French toast, and I had finished my omelet, I dropped the bomb. “We need to find you another place for tonight. I enjoyed all the sex, don’t get me wrong, Elton, but I hardly know you, and it’s just much too inappropriate. Either go back to NY, or let’s find you another place in Boston to crash for tonight, okay? I have a lot of stuff to work out. I just dumped Gary and he doesn’t even know it yet. Also, I’m not nearly the tramp you must think I am. I’m sorry, okay?”

Elton looked at me. He looked like a little boy who had just broken his all-time favorite toy. The look on his face could have melted a heart of stone. Luckily, my heart is 100% titanium. His eyes were so big, and so sad. He looked like a Basset Hound puppy, for Pete’s sake.

At Elton’s insistence, and right before I just knew he was about to beg, I agreed to go out to dinner with him that night. That gave me four hours, plus a little, to think things through. I usually need a sounding board, so I called up Melissa, my best friend in Boston, to help me out.

“So let me get this straight,” Melissa said at one point. “This guy Elton is a friend of Gary, and he’s staying with you, and…”

“It’s Gasshole, not Gary, and Elton stayed last night, but tonight he’s crashing with some friend he has in Boston,” I interrupted.

“Right. So ‘Gasshole’ was selling access to your intimate Zooms? Jeez, Sally, that’s bad.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied.

“So you had revenge sex with Elton last night?” Melissa asked. She was not surprised; it’s what she would have done if she had been stupid enough to have been used as I was.

“Well, yes, but no actual sex,” I said.

“A blowjob is actual sex, Sally. What you mean is you didn’t let him fuck you, right?” Melissa likes things precise.

“Right. And tonight, he’s taking me to dinner. I don’t know what to do!” I said.

“Be polite. Thank him for the dinner, and kiss him goodnight. I don’t see what the problem is,” Melissa said.

“I don’t have to invite him into my apartment and fuck him? Or give him another blowjob?” I asked.

“That’s right. You don’t have to. You owe him nothing. Why do you ask? Do you want to do that?”

“Well yeah, kinda, but for all the wrong reasons,” I said.

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