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Seven Shades of Weird	By : Marrrrrrr Category: 1 through F > Community Views: 5039 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Seven Shades of Weird
- 2-Chapter 2
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Abed kissed the inside of her left elbow, giving a teasing little lick that made her whine at him. He knew where she’d much rather he stick his tongue, right now, and he chuckled as he pictured the pout he couldn’t see with her facing away from him like this.
“Abed…” Britta moaned. “Please…”
His right hand rubbed slowly across her tight little tummy, rubbing at the strong abdominals he felt clenching there, feeling the tension in them that strained to be released. He grinned. She was shaking, trembling as she lay draped over him, gasping deeply for breath. Her skin was flushed, and laced with her sweat, both dry and fresh. He licked her cheek, collecting some. The aroma and taste of it was driving him wild and his dick strained almost painfully against his jeans. Britta’s jerking little half-twitches, and the way they caused her ass to squeeze and grip at him through the denim, didn’t help. And while he’d enjoyed both the physical sensation and the knowledge of how desperate she was to feel his cock, he’d let it go on too long.
He grabbed her across the midsection, pulling her close. “Bad girl,” he whispered, chidingly. “No rushing things. Stay still.” She stopped struggling, unmoving except for the halting rise and fall of her chest.
Abed ran his other hand down from the knots that held her secure to the bottom bunk, caressing the length of her arm. He could feel her shaking, could feel her muscles twitch as she struggled to obey him. He felt her entire body spasm as his fingers tickled at her armpit.
“Please,” she said, mewling pitifully. “Please fuck me…”
He swept a widely arcing finger across her flesh, feeling the little stubble of hair there under the slick damp skin. “Not yet, Britta. You have to be patient, you know that.” He brought the finger to his nose and sniffed, letting his eyes flutter shut as he inhaled her scent. “We’re not done with your treatment yet.” Not satisfied, he stuck his whole nose in the crook where her shoulder met her body, breathing in the salty-sweet smell he found buried there. It took every effort of willpower he had not to listen to her, not to tear his jeans open and fuck her hard and fast and unrelenting like she desperately wanted him too and not stop until they were both quivering messes and he’d come inside her. But no. He’d done that already, back in the Dreamatorium. Now he owed it to her to take his time. Today was special. They’d have all the time in the world for quick, hard fucks in the future.
They had this whole timeline to explore after all.
“Let’s step back a little,” Abed said, releasing her so he could lightly caress one of her breasts. “We were just talking about Blade, and how part of the reason you kept letting him lay with you was because he reminded you subconsciously of your father.” She moaned as he tweaked a nipple. “Then you had another momentary attack of wanton slutiness and I felt so bad for you I just had to rub your aching little pussy so you’d stop making so much noise.”
He didn’t mention how he’d stopped, right before she’d been about to go over the edge. Or that he’d done the same thing, repeatedly, for the last hour or so after he’d carried her in from the Dreamatorium and tied her to his bed. Sometimes with his tongue. Sometimes with his fingers. Sometimes both. Always aiming to heighten Britta’s arousal while denying her climax, to cause the spring that was her throbbing, naked clit to coil tighter and tighter without releasing.
Then he’d take a little time to stroke and smell and taste his lovely new pet, exploring every inch of her with every sense he could. Softly and gently, keeping her arousal piqued. He owed her, after all, for freeing him from the Dreamatorium. For taking him from being just some time little sliver, some shard of potentiality either of the Universe in its variant intersecting possibilities or maybe just of some Lame sci-fi addict’s broken mind, to being real and flesh and blood here in the Prime Timeline. Where he could feel something more than dull pain again. Where food didn’t taste like ash. Where it seemed like better futures were still possible. Where the things that once seemed so enticing and interesting aren’t revealed to be just out of style-hats, too-big bath robes, and useless bits of cardboard without him around to make them work like they should.
But she also deserved to be punished. She’d thought he was some little monkey with a little monkey brain that she could look inside and fiddle around with. Even after even Lame Abed had warned her, a Christmas ago with that little song, just how fragile she was. But she hadn’t learned that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. So at the same time he played with her body, he peppered her mind with questions, turning the tables on her and putting her psyche under the magnifying glass instead. He’d learned a lot, mostly things he’d already known, but details were good. He’d already felt how ferociously wet and roasting a little non-specific dirty talk and humiliation had gotten her in the Dreamatorium.
Details were hot. Hot hot hot.
“We’ve already established your father was strict, correct?” Abed continued as he pinched the nipple in his fingers. She nodded, her hair tickling his naked chest as it bounced up and down. “And that you acted out a lot. Tell me what you’d do; that you knew would make your father mad.”
“Sleep with boys.” Britta’s voice was a little hoarse, and Abed heard her smack and lick her lips. “Stay out all night and sneak in the next morning. Smoke. Drink. Get high. Ditch school.”
“Did he ever find out?” He was kneading her tits now, pressing them together as his thumbs massaged her areola and flicked her nipples. “Did you ever get him really angry?”
“M-mostly I was pretty sneaky.” She was starting to breathe heavily again. “But one time I left a pack of cigarettes in my back pocket on accident and my mom found them when she was doing the laundry. And… and… oh yes Abed,” she moaned as one of his hands returned to her quim and began to rub at her full, puffy lips again. He frowned, pinching her, and she yelped before continuing her story. “And he made me smoke all of them right in front of him in the back yard. I was retching and puking by the end, but he made me keep going. And… and he yelled at me. Called me names.”
“What’d he call you?” Abed asked, rubbing faster, wider, and harder. They’d been a recurring motif so far, the names her father had called her. They’d stuck with her, staining her memories even after she’d thought she’d shut him out of her life. Abed was breathing deeply now too, and he was starting to piston his hips up into her, fucking her through his pants. “What’d he tell you you were?”
“Nasty. Dirty. Bad.” Britta’s voice took on a note of a squeal, and he could feel her cunt pulling at him. She was so hot, now, so worked up, almost coming so quickly from so little. He’d barely even touched her clit. She was ready, he decided.
He lifted her abruptly, and slid out from under her.
“Abed!” she cried, instantly. “Wha-where are you going?” She started bucking, straining against the grappling hook line he’d bound her to the bed with. “Don’t leave me! Please!”
“Shhhhh,” he said, softly, kneeling down next to her, bringing his face close to hers. She was pouting, still struggling. He cupped her cheek, smiling to reassure her. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back. I just need to get something.” He kissed her and she moaned into his mouth, attacking his tongue with hers as if she could ensnare him by it and prevent him from pulling away. But she couldn’t. “If I untie a hand so you can touch yourself while I’m gone, will you go slowly?”
She nodded, desperate.
“You’re not going to cum all over your slutty little fingers?”
She shook her head, her eyes big.
“Alright. You’ve been such a good girl today, Britta.” She beamed at him. “And I think we made a lot of progress this afternoon, don’t you?” Nod. He reached up and undid the knot around her left wrist, rubbing the skin where the rope had dug into it. “You deserve to be rewarded. I’m going to trust you.”
“Thank you, Abed,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as her hand instantly finding the furnace between her legs. He watched her for a moment, his eyes following her fingers as she played carefully and delicately with herself, writhing on his bed. Then he turned and exited the blanket fort.
#
Abed found what he was looking for in the Dreamatorium, propped up against her abandoned chair. He knelt down and opened it, sifting through Britta’s purse.
The camera, big and bulky, was the first thing he saw. He pulled it out, inspecting it, turning it around in his hands. He’d seen her use this a lot, snapping pictures of handprints on windows or a bag twisting in the wind or some other cliche, esoteric subject she’d found. His fingers settled on the latch to the panel on the back. Film. Old-fashioned. Very Britta. To stick with something chaotic and uncertain and needlessly clunky like that. To risk whatever some accident in the development process to mar your vision, to wait a day to see the result of your struggle, all when you could just plug and download and have everything you wanted: perfect, ordered, and digital. She was a romantic. She loved living on contingency, loved never being tied down to the decisions she’d made.
He felt his dick stiffen and he grinned. Well. She clearly loved being tied down sometimes, at least in the literal sense.
He resumed his search. He spotted a small, thin pill bottle near the bottom of the bag, sandwiched under a makeup case, and he extracted it. There was no rattle of pills inside as he shook it between his fingers, but he did saw something long and cylindrical jostling around through the opaque orange plastic.
His grin deepened. He’d figured Britta would have cannabis on her, given her growing drug habit. And THC would work even better for this than nicotine would.
Abed twisted the top off the bottle, and immediately understood why the blonde had taken the precaution of using a airtight container for storage. The thick, skunky smell of the marijuana wafted out into the room. He felt the joint, twisting it between his fingers. It was tightly packed, it’s folds even and regular. The hands that made this had done so with practiced skill, had been repeating motions they’d made ten thousand times. He brought the joint to his nostrils, inhaling it. He could feel the work she’d put into this, this bit of paper wrapped around plant matter, could almost feel the desperate hope she must have felt when making it that the adherence to this ritual would allow for some kind of escape that lasted longer than the high.
He looked around the Dreamatorium. This had been Lame Abed’s version of the same thing, when it really came down to it. And even more sad, really. Pot and the high it brought was real, at least. This… this was all just a waste of floor space. He appreciated the need for fantasy, but pure imagination had its limits. Tangibility had its own rewards, as the grappling hook rope he’d repurposed had proven. There was space for plenty of more things both soft and hard. And he’d need a bigger bed, since he’d be sharing it with at least one person soon.
The idea of holding Britta as they both drifted off to sleep made the urge to bury himself in her cunt blazed red hot in his chest, and his cock strained against his pants with a new urgency. He kicked them off and added them to the smattering of clothes, mostly Britta’s that already littered the floor. His cock, unconstrained at last, twitched pleasurably and he twisted his hips to accentuate the feeling. Then he palmed the joint along with a yellow bic lighter he found in her purse, grabbed the camera, and made his way back into the blanket fort.
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Seven Shades of Weird