Chapter 1: Morning View

The coffee was hot enough to scald my tongue. I drank it anyway, needing the jolt. The toast was dry, just butter on it. I ate it while looking out the glass wall of the porch. My new place. The view was all woods, thick with pine and oak. Sunlight cut through the branches in sharp lines. It was quiet. Peaceful. A good spot for a grad student who spent most of his time with equations.

I wondered what she was like now.

I’d moved in yesterday, into this rented house. My roommate was Mandy, a punk style college girl. A hot little thing, who looked a bit wild. Although I wasn't sure exactly how wild.

The stairs creaked.

I didn’t turn around. I kept my eyes on a squirrel darting up a tree trunk outside. The footsteps were light, quick. Then she walked into the edge of my vision, heading for the kitchen cabinets.

My brain took a second to process what it was seeing. The processing failed.

She was wearing a thin white tank top. It was so thin it was practically sheer, the morning light from the window behind her turning it into a translucent film. The fabric clung to her chest, and I could see the distinct, hard outlines of her nipple piercings. Two small, dark circles against the white. The shirt ended high on her torso, leaving a strip of bare skin above the waistband of her panties. Her stomach was flat, defined with muscle. Washboard abs. The term popped into my head unbidden. I’d only ever seen physiques like that on fitness models in ads.

The panties were white too, minimal. They sat low on her hips, showing the sharp lines of her hip bones. From the back, which was to me as she faced the cabinets, they covered almost nothing. The fabric was a tiny triangle, the sides just thin strings. Her ass was round, toned. It was a lot of body, very suddenly in my kitchen.

Mandy reached up to the top shelf of the cupboard. She was on her toes, stretching. The movement made the muscles in her back shift under her skin. It hitched the tiny panties even higher. She could have gotten a cup from the middle shelf easily. There were stacks of them. But she went for the highest one, stretching her arm up, elongating her whole body. She held the pose for a few seconds, the muscles in her back and legs tensed, before finally grabbing a mug. She turned slowly, giving me a full view as she brought it down. The whole thing was a deliberate show.

I looked away, fast. My eyes went back to the window. The squirrel was gone. I stared at an empty branch.

“See something you like?”

Her voice was playful, a little raspy from sleep. I turned my head slowly, like I was just noticing her. She was holding a mug now, looking at me over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile.

“What?” I said, aiming for casual. It came out a bit strained.

“The view.” She nodded toward the window. “Or were you looking at something else?”

“I was watching a bird,” I said. It was the first thing that came to mind. A stupid thing.

Mandy laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, but it was full of amusement. “A bird. Right. What kind?”

“A… brown one.” I took a sip of coffee to shut myself up.

“Fascinating,” she said, turning fully around now. She leaned back against the counter, mug in hand, studying me. Her eyes traveled over my face, down to my plain t-shirt and sweatpants. “Comfortable?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a nice place.”

She smiled, her gaze lingering on me a moment too long. “I’m glad you think so.” She pushed off the counter and walked to the stainless steel fridge. She opened it, bending over at the waist to peer inside. The position was catastrophic. The tiny white panties were now the only thing between me and a full view. They strained against her. Her legs were long, lean. She was on full display, and she had to know it.

My eyes were glued to her. I couldn’t help it. It was a physical reaction, like a flinch. A magnetic pull. My brain was shouting to look away, but the command got lost somewhere between my skull and my eyeballs.

She straightened up slowly, holding a carton of orange juice. She didn’t turn around immediately. She poured the juice into her mug, taking her time. She took a sip straight from the carton before putting it back, her back still to me. Then she closed the fridge door with her hip and turned, leaning against it. She looked right at me.

My gaze snapped back to the window. Too late.

“You’ve got a real thing for wildlife this morning,” she said. Her tone was light, teasing. “First a bird, now… what? Staring at the trees really hard? Trying to count the leaves?”

“Just thinking,” I mumbled.

“About?”

“Math.”

She snorted. “Liar. You were looking at my ass.”

I felt heat rise up my neck. “I wasn’t.”

“You so were. Your eyes were like dinner plates.” She took a sip of juice, watching me over the rim of her mug.

I shifted in my wooden chair, and the movement made me acutely aware of a growing problem in my sweatpants. The fabric was thin. I tried to angle myself away from her subtly, crossing one leg over the other.

“I promise I’ll work on not looking,” I said, forcing a joking tone. It sounded weak.

Mandy’s grin widened. She saw right through it. She saw everything. “Don’t hurt yourself straining.” She took a few slow steps toward the center of the kitchen, stretching her arms up overhead, which pulled her tank top even tighter across her chest. “Just woke up, you know? Got to get the blood flowing.”

She walked toward me, but instead of taking the other chair, she hopped up onto the kitchen counter directly across from the table. She sat on the granite surface, setting her mug down beside her. She faced me, her legs dangling. She let them fall open slightly, just a natural, casual stance. She swung her feet back and forth. The movement was hypnotic.

“So,” she said. “Big party tonight. You should come.”

“Yeah?” I tried to focus on her face. Her eyes were a bright, clever blue. She had a small silver ring in her nose. Her black hair was messy in a way that looked intentional, pieces of it falling across her forehead.

“Yeah. I’m inviting some people over. Some guys from the rugby team, I think. They’re supposed to be hot.” She said it casually, like she was commenting on the weather. “Could be a good time. You could use one, probably. You look like you’ve been staring at textbooks for a decade.”

“It feels like it,” I admitted. A party sounded good. A distraction. From her, from my thesis, from everything. “I could use a break.”

“Perfect.” She kept swinging her legs. The inside of her thigh brushed against the edge of the counter. “Might be a bit wild. Just a heads up.”

“I can handle wild.”

She raised an eyebrow, that smirk playing on her lips again. “We’ll see.”

She picked up her juice, took another drink. “Actually, there’s this one guy. Jake. Met him in my Psych 101 class. He’s… interesting.”

Something in her tone made me pay closer attention. It was a performative kind of casual.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. He’s got these huge hands.” She held up her own hands, spreading her fingers wide as if measuring an invisible melon. “Like, really big. I noticed them when he was passing back quizzes. I’m kind of excited about that.”

I took a slow sip of my coffee. It was lukewarm now. “Excited about his hands?”

“Well, yeah.” She laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Think about it. Hands that big? He could probably pin me down to my mattress without even trying. Effortlessly. Just one hand on each wrist. Wouldn’t that be something?”

The image slammed into my brain, fully formed and unwelcome. Mandy, on a mattress. A large, faceless figure over her. Big hands encircling her wrists, holding her down. My gut tightened. The casual, swinging-legs innocence of her pose was completely at odds with the lewd, specific fantasy she was painting.

“Jake, huh?” I heard myself say. My voice was flat. “Tall guy? Blond? Tattoos down his left arm? A dragon or some shit?”

Mandy’s swinging legs stopped. Her eyes lit up with a new kind of interest. “Yeah. That’s him. You know Jake?”

A cold, familiar dislike settled in my stomach. “We’re on the same amateur wrestling team.”

“No way!” She clapped her hands together, delighted. “Small world. Is he good?”

“He’s the largest guy on the team,” I said. I kept my tone neutral, but it was an effort. “Strong. He wins a lot.”

“I bet he does.” Her smile was wicked now. She was watching my face, studying my reaction like a specimen under glass. She’d seen the flicker in my eyes, the slight stiffening of my shoulders. She’d caught the jealousy, and it was like she’d tasted something sweet. She wanted more.

“He’s always talking about his dad’s money,” I continued, unable to stop myself. “And all the, quote, ‘hot girls’ he fucks. It’s his favorite topic. Right after how amazing he is at wrestling.”

“Confident,” Mandy said, nodding slowly. She drew the word out. “I like that in a guy. A little arrogance can be sexy, don’t you think?”

She was poking the bear. Deliberately. She saw the effect Jake’s name had on me, and she was pouring gasoline on it just to watch the flames.

I put my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, if you have a type…”

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the counter between her spread legs. Her white top gaped slightly, giving me a shadowy glimpse of the curve of her breast. Her eyes locked onto mine, sparkling with pure, unadulterated mischief.

“Oh, I have a type alright.”

She brought her hands up to her mouth, holding them about a foot apart as if gripping something thick and substantial. She kept her eyes on me, her expression a parody of wide-eyed innocence.

“BIG…” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Then she mimed it. She opened her mouth and moved her head down and then up in a slow, exaggerated, obscene bob. A perfect pantomime of a blowjob.

She paused, her lips still parted. Then she continued, her head moving in that same rhythm.

“RICH…” Down and up.

“ARROGANT…” Down and up.

“DOUCHE BAGS…” A final, slow descent and rise.

She dropped her hands and burst out laughing. It was a loud, genuine, full-body laugh. She threw her head back, her throat exposed, the sound filling the quiet kitchen. She’d done it. She’d taken my quiet dislike for a teammate and turned it into a lewd, shocking joke, performed for an audience of one. She’d reduced Jake, and by extension my own simmering frustration, to a punchline.

I wasn’t laughing.

A tremor ran through me. It started in my hands, which were gripping my coffee mug too tightly, and spread up my arms. It was a tremor of pure, undiluted sexual frustration, mixed with a hot spike of anger and a helpless, overwhelming want. The visual of her act, the casual cruelty of her teasing, the sight of her sitting there so utterly pleased with herself—it all coalesced into a physical pressure in my core, a tight, aching need that demanded release.

I couldn’t sit there anymore. I couldn’t look at her grinning face.

I stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping loudly against the tile floor. The sound was harsh in the room.

“I, uh, just remembered,” I said. My voice was rough. “I have a… a thing. A paper. I need to go work on it.”

It was a terrible lie. She knew it was a lie.

Mandy’s laughter subsided into a wide, knowing grin. She didn’t say anything. She just watched me, her eyes dancing with triumph.

I didn’t look at her again. I turned and walked out of the kitchen, my movements stiff. I headed for the stairs. My heart was hammering against my ribs. Every step I took felt urgent, desperate.

I took the stairs two at a time, my hand sliding on the banister. I reached the upstairs hallway, found the door to my room, and fumbled with the knob. I got inside, shut the door behind me, and leaned against it, breathing hard.

The room was quiet, just the sound of my own ragged breaths. Sunlight came through the blinds in thin stripes.

I didn’t go to my desk. I didn’t think about any paper.

I crossed the room to my bed, my hands already moving to the waistband of my sweatpants. I needed to relieve this enormous, stupid pressure. I needed the physical release to quiet the riot in my head—the image of her on the counter, the sound of her laugh, the crude mime she’d performed, the sharp, delicious agony of her knowing exactly what she was doing to me.

Downstairs, in the sunlit kitchen, Mandy took a final sip of her orange juice. She heard the frantic footsteps on the stairs, the slam of the door above. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face.

She knew exactly what he was doing up there. And she loved it.

I stroked my cock. In my mind flashed the image of Mandy, on her knees, dick in her mouth, making eye contact, a hand on the back of her head. I grunted and stroked.

Sometimes I imagined that it was Jake fucking her mouth, sometimes that it was me. I couldn't get either image out of my mind. I thrust my hips, fucking my hand.

Grunting and writhing, cum flew over my chest. Finally. Some relief.