My Master Down the Hall Ch. 03

"Gabe?" I asked, my fantasies of girlfriend murder and three-way submission beginning to subside into more familiar feelings of helpless inferiority. "I know I don't...I mean...I can't—"

"Please just say it, Rosie," he said patiently.

"Please don't have sex with Natalie. I mean, unless you think...unless you really want to. I'm not telling you what to do."

Yeah, I know, pathetic. Some people with low self-esteem are just unbiased judges of themselves. He squeezed my hand harder.

"Rosie, you're not just my girlfriend, you're my sister."

We had used the phrase "dating" before, but never the g-word.

"This is for show. That's why I think you should tell Natalie. I don't want to hurt her either. She's a good girl, and I want you two to stay friends."

He gave me a moment to think things over. One thought kept turning over in my head. The waiter brought our food, and we ate, if not in perfect silence, then at least with a cloud of uncertainty hanging over our heads. Even Gabe seemed tense. Most of all, I was searching for the right words to tell him how I felt, afraid of sharing too much and pushing him away, but also dying to confide in him.

"Gabe, I'll do it. I mean, of course I'll do it, I'd do anything for you. Just, please don't hate me if it's hard for me. I do trust you, but I can't promise that I won't need a little extra, like, cuddling and stuff for when I start feeling scared about you with another girl, even if it is my best friend. Is that too weird?"

Gabe smiled.

"I think I can do that," he said, motioning to the waiter for the check.

He got this little twinkle in his eye. Not to get too poetic, but his smile was like when you feel the sun on your cheek for the first time on a really cold day. I wanted to marry him and have ten million of his babies right then.

"You know, Tinkerbell, if you can do this right, I'd have to admit you were a very good little girl," he said with a wink.

I didn't need to think about what he had said—my body reacted instantly. I needed to get out of this restaurant as soon as possible. The sooner I could get my mouth around Gabe's cock, the better I would feel. And it was only two weeks, I reasoned, before he would really make me a woman.

***

Even though it wasn't a "real" date, I was still nervous when Andrew (never Andy!) picked me up. I didn't want to make a fool of myself, regardless of whether I was really into the guy. Still, Andrew knew me from all the times I went to Gabe's band practice, and he was a great-looking guy in his own right: tall, brown hair a little shaggy but cute, with a face cut out more for a boy band than real, legitimate rock guys. (Don't tell him I said that last part!) If people from school saw us out together, I wanted them to be impressed, not entertained by me humiliating myself.

I was dressed in something Gabe had picked out for me, cute and flirty but not crazy sexy or anything: a shimmery navy top with tight black skinny jeans and some strappy heels that weren't too comfortable, but which looked pretty sexy, I guess. It's hard for me to ever think that I'm really looking hot or anything, but Gabe joked that Andrew was going to draw my face on a sock, which was both super gross and kind of sweet. My hair had grown out a little, but I still had the bob look going, with bangs, and I was starting to be OK with the glasses, especially since Andrew had a pretty similar pair on himself. It's a whole indie rock thing, I guess. This must be the best time ever to be a complete nerd, since pop culture has now decided we're cool and all.

My mom seemed totally surprised when Andrew showed up. She knew him of course, and I had told her he was taking me out, but I guessed at the time that she thought he wasn't going to show. It was weird, and made me a little edgy to start the date.

OK, I'm lying—I was actually a lot edgy to start the date. The reason why wasn't just my Mom, though—it was the fact that Gabe and Natalie had gone out at the same time. I totally knew, in my conscious brain, that nothing was going to happen between them. In my stupid subconscious brain, though, I kept getting these little pangs of terror, like he was going to find out that she was hotter than me, or could give him better head than I could. Hell, who knew? Stranger things had happened, starting with me jumping on Gabe in the first place.

Telling Natalie had been scary, but ultimately for the best. I never got the feeling she was judging me, though I was kind of concerned when she told me that she could understand why I'd be in love with a guy like Gabe. Natalie wasn't gorgeous or anything, but she was cute enough. If she actually tried, she could probably have pulled together a fairly sexy appearance, since she had the body for it, and the long hair. I was just happy she wasn't a blonde.

Thank god for Andrew, though. As it turns out, worrying about how well a date is going is the easiest way to ruin it. I wasn't into Andrew, and I didn't want him to be into me, and consequently, I was just...myself. He was easy to talk to, and we even cracked each other up a few times talking about how awkward the whole situation was. Only, it really wasn't. I told him how much I liked the new songs he had written with Gabe and the other guys, Wyatt and Reed, and he told me he'd heard me play guitar, and that I wasn't half bad. I knew he was just saying that to make me feel good, but that doesn't mean it didn't work. What's funny is that, if it wasn't for Gabe, I would be totally into Andrew, yet on the flip side, I never could have talked to him or felt at all capable of even being out on a pretend date with him if I didn't have Gabe either.

The craziest thing is that Andrew got us into a bar, since the band had actually played there before. They wouldn't let us drink—believe me, I was fine with that—but we could hang out, listen to music, and even play a round of pool. That meant that nobody from school was even there. Who were we supposed to be making jealous there? At the time, it just seemed like a pretty cool date to be honest, though I felt a little bad for Andrew that he'd had to go out with his friend's sister instead of finding someone for himself. I was too naïve to see anything else going on.

Andrew took me home that night, and to my eternal gratitude, Gabe was already home, without Natalie. He was sitting in the living room watching TV with his dad, while my mom was in the dining room, poring over a pile of requisition orders from the library. She pulled me aside when I came in and looked really happy.

"Are you dating Andrew now?" she asked hopefully.

It was time to carry out Gabe's plan.

"Yes, Mom, we're dating," I said, pretending to be a little embarrassed.

Mom seemed unusually pleased by that development.

"Honey, it's important to only be with one man at a time. Guys do not like a girl that sleeps around or—"

"Mom!" I interjected. "Settle down! We just started dating, and, yes, he's the only guy I'm seeing."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, her face becoming more serious. "I'm just really happy that you're dating Andrew and no one else."

That was a bit too on the nose. That night I avoided Gabe, sending him a text that we would talk in the morning. I knew he'd miss his nightly blowjob—unless Natalie really had stepped up to take my place—but I couldn't risk it.

Mom had clearly found out, at least something.

The next day was a Sunday, in our house, a day dedicated to church and football for the men, and cooking and reading for the women. My mom had started to go to church with Emmett after they got married, but in my heart I knew that she was still as much a heathen as I was. As for Gabe, I wasn't sure what God's policy on boning your sister was, but I was sure that whatever moral qualms he felt about being with me weren't all that strong.

All that meant that I didn't get a good chance to talk to him until halftime of the first football game, between the team with the angry looking bird and the team with the big blue star. I was afraid for us to be seen alone together, so I asked him to help me carry in some food from the freezer out in the garage. I had to make it quick once we were out of earshot.

"Mom knows," I said, quietly but with intensity.

He looked worried but not panicked.

"How much?" he asked.

"I don't know. She told me she was glad I was dating Andrew and not anyone else. She said that last part like ten times," I exaggerated. "It's like—read between the lines—she's saying not to date my brother."

Gabe grabbed a couple of bags of frozen French fries to carry inside with me.

"Keep going out with Andrew," he said. "Like, twice a week. She'll think me and you was a crush or something. Maybe a little fooling around."

My mind flashed to the thing that mattered to me most.

"What about us?" I asked, hoping my desperation wasn't too obvious.

"No more night time. After school's OK, but we've gotta be more careful. And no more going out together by ourselves. Group stuff only," he said.

I knew his plan was smart, but it still sucked. I mean, I had this perfect situation before, and now my stupid, lovestruck, puppy dog bullshit had made my Mom get suspicious. I had no idea if she knew how far things had gotten, but it was clear that she could never really know the truth. If I had to go out with Andrew, then...I guess there were a lot of worse things I could have to do.

That day was agony, not being able to be with Gabe. At night, I tried to masturbate, but it felt incredibly wrong, and not taboo-breaking, sexy wrong. Like betrayal wrong. It made me think of something that had always been at the back of my mind, ever since he called me "his woman": ownership.

What does it mean to be in love, to be devoted to someone? It can mean a lot of things. To me, it meant that someone else owned at least a part of me. That part was his, not mine, and it was out of my control. Gabe owned a lot of me. He owned my heart—I actually truly loved him. He owned me sexually—to decide to deny him anything, any way he wanted my body, felt totally wrong. On the flip side, it felt like just cumming without him, even if I was thinking about him, was like stealing from him. My orgasms weren't mine alone, they were for him, too. If anything, it made it so much better, not to selfishly cum, but to offer that experience to him. Even though he hadn't yet fucked me, I knew my pussy was his, and that he would take it when he wanted to.

Only, owning something isn't so simple. Could he sell me? Give me away? Hell no! He might not want me, but he couldn't make me want someone else. That was a line I wouldn't cross, and thank god he hadn't ordered me to do something with Andrew.

Only then, I though about it. What if he did? Let's say Gabe came in and told me that he wanted me to suck Andrew's dick. Would I say "no?" What if, on the flip side, Gabe told me that I wasn't going to get to cum? He had teased and denied me before, but for like an hour, or maybe a day. It had been all part of a joke about how fast and how easy I cum. What if he kept me from cumming for days and days or even weeks? It was genuinely terrifying.

Gabe had a power over me, but he never abused it. The longer I thought, and believe me, that night I did nothing but think, the more I realized how important that was. It was his own self-control that gave him control over me. Owning me—dominating me, using me, commanding me—only happened because I wanted it just as much as him if not more. And I only wanted those things because they made me feel more special, more beautiful, more loved than I had ever felt.

Somehow, I knew he knew that. I knew he knew that things that should have been humiliating—fucking my mouth really hard, making me beg, coaxing me into revealing how pathetic and worthless I thought I was—were instead all part of something greater. Gabe was letting me know that who I was, a submissive, nerdy, over-emotional little cum slut, was OK. Hell, better than OK: I was who he wanted me to be.

So what did I own? It's funny, because there's a part of me that can't imagine owning anything of Gabe, wouldn't want to. Anything I had from him was a gift, freely given, always able to be taken away. Yet, at the same time, I wanted his heart, all to myself, and if I'm being totally honest, I wanted, in some small way, to own his cock, not to control it, but to be the only girl—woman—that he needed to be the real man that he is. I knew that sharing him for a few pretend dates would be OK, but that it would break my heart if he ever told me that I'd have to share his cock with other girls. That was something I couldn't willingly give him, and I felt ashamed and disappointed in myself, because there were things that Gabe might one day want that I couldn't see myself giving him. If he needed a woman to accept him fucking other sluts (how I saw my competitors), then I knew it would ultimately kill me.

It's amazing the kind of shit that goes through your head when you're scared, horny, and lonely. School was hell on Monday, all day thinking about what would happen when we got home. Gabe drove me home that afternoon, and we barely spoke in the car, even though I knew we had so much to talk about. Thank god this was going to be our last week before Winter Break.

When we got in the house, he looked around for our parents, even though neither of them were supposed to be there. I guess his caution was understandable.

"Go upstairs, Rosie," he said. "No clothes by the time I get up there."

In my undoubtedly clumsy way, I raced up the stairs to my room and stripped off everything I had on. I grabbed a pillow I'd used many times before, and put it on the floor. Most of the time, Gabe let me cushion my knees, though a few times he told me he thought it looked hot when my knees were all red and scratchy from giving him head. After that, I'd made the sacrifice, whenever I really wanted to get his attention.

Once I was in my familiar kneeling position, I knew I was ready to receive him. Gabe entered the room, still in his clothes.

"Not today, sweet pea. Lay on the bed," he said.

I obeyed, climbing onto my bed. The feeling of lying down in front of him started to get me even more aroused, and I had a sudden fear of Mom smelling pussy all over my comforter. It was hard not to get horny all the time, since Gabe and I did live together.

"Today is going to be different," he said, his voice more unsteady than usual. "I know how hard it's been for you lately. I want to encourage you. Spread your legs for me."

I'm pretty flexible, and I made sure my legs were as far apart as possible, holding them up and open with my hands. When he told me to do things, I always got a little thrill of pride if I could do them better than he knew I could. I wanted to keep surprising him with how willing and how excited I was to please him. Gabe got a good look at just how wet I had gotten, and it wasn't long before he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.

My eyes got wide. Was he going to fuck me now? It hadn't been a month! I couldn't move, so paralyzed with anticipation I was.

"Rosie, your pussy is so beautiful," he said. "I want you to understand how much I want to bury my cock in you."

He got up on the bed, up onto his knees, hovering over me. My arms were getting tired, but I knew I couldn't be presumptuous and wrap my legs around him, pull him into me. I'd just have to start working out more (or, you know, at all) to be able to do this better. I could feel the muscles in the back of my legs burn a little. Then he grabbed both of my legs with one hand, holding them up but a lot closer together than they were.

"I want it, too," I told him.

He smiled.

"Not now. Don't cum, Rosie."

He placed his cock across my pussy. He didn't drop it there, or hump me, or anything else so uncontrolled. He just placed it there, the head nestled against my clit, his big, heavy balls right against my back door. He didn't move, but I could tell that, no matter how much I wanted to follow his commands, it wasn't going to work. The second he moved slightly, dragging his hard cock across my soaking wet pussy, I came, just a little, but enough that I couldn't hide it.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I couldn't stop it."

In so many of the stories I read, such a violation would be met with painful punishment. Only, Gabe wasn't reading some BDSM guide. He didn't need whips and chains, he wasn't some, like, vampire aristocrat, and we weren't in some gothic dungeon. We were on my bed, in my suburban house, and my step-brother was holding his cock along my pussy and moving about three inches. And I was cumming like a desperate slut all over it.

"It's OK," he said with a wry smile. "Try not to cum this time."

Again he started to move his cock, slowly at first across my slit, brushing slightly against my sensitive clit. I knew that, orgasm or not, I would cum again, soon. This time I made an even greater effort to resist. Even though he had smiled, I didn't want to disappoint him.

"You looking forward to me shoving this thing inside you?"

"God yes," I moaned.

"Aren't you going to try to jump the gun now?"

Suddenly it all made sense. There was his cock, inches away from fucking me, from taking my cherry. That's a forever kind of thing. I had gotten so hot that I didn't think about the stakes of what we were doing, but his words brought me back to reality.

"No," I said, fighting the orgasm off as best I could. "It's your pussy, not mine."

Gabe smiled again. We both knew that, just as, in theory, I could thrust my pelvis upwards and fuck myself onto his cock, so too could he easily impale me with that monster. Only, he was too self-controlled, and I was too submissive to his wants and desires for that to happen. So there we were, both knowing that Gabe would fuck me when he wanted to, and I would take it with undisguised joy.

He was using his cock to tease me, to remind me that he could have my pussy whenever he wanted it, but that he wasn't a slave to it. Instead, I was becoming, if not a slave to him, then something like an addict. Having a guy just point his cock at your pussy and wait, barely moving, might sound like not a big deal, even boring. For a virgin with my "special circumstances," though, it was mind-blowing. It was like taking the sexual frustration and anticipation that came from virginity and amplifying it all in one moment. The barest movements of his cock, sliding across my pussy, were almost more than I could take.

"You're being a very good little girl," he said. "You can cum now."

With his permission granted, I stopped fighting it, and felt a massive orgasm, my second in the span of a few minutes, approach. Then, to make everything complete, Gabe placed the head of his cock—just the head—at the entrance of my pussy and slid the tip just barely in. I thought my heart might stop—don't French people think an orgasm is like death or something? I came so hard, and I knew that Gabe's cock, or at least the head, would end up covered in Rose Juice.

Was I still a virgin? I decided that I was, but just barely. I had gotten just a glimpse of what was to come, and it was enough to completely melt my brain.

"Ten days left on the first month of pills?" he asked.

It took me a moment to even process words.

"Yeah," I said dreamily.

He cocked his eyebrow.

"That's Christmas."

My chest was heaving. Things had been so crazy that I'd almost forgotten about even getting Gabe a present. I needed to get him something, something that I hadn't given him already, that is.

"Rosie?" he said, "we can't do this all the time yet. Just this once, till Christmas. But you need to learn to love the taste of your pussy on my cock."

He was totally right. He knew as well as I did that, even when he started to fuck me, I would still be freaked about him cumming inside my pussy. I think I would miss getting the chance to swallow his sperm anyway, and for that reason too, I knew there was a good chance that he would still mostly cum in my mouth.