Isaac Byrne - Tolerance

“Yeah—why, do they like look bad or something?” she asked, frowning self-consciously.

“Bad? Good God, Brittney, there isn’t a square inch of you that looks bad. You’re fucking perfect. No, I only asked because they look too good to be true.”

She smiled brightly. He almost felt bad; clearly she had had someone do a number on her psyche somewhere if she was this dependent on others’ approval. Usually even with his power they put up a bit of a struggle, but Brittney was hardly even making him work for it. He sure wasn’t going to fix her today, so for now, it was endearing, and made the bombshell beauty less intimidating.

She quietly let him explore her body, his manhood steadily recovering, for a good while. Brayden was silent, but his bulk shifted occasionally on the bunk above them, creaking and groaning loudly. Then Brittney asked shyly, “DJ? When you do your inspection… I know it’s just like a procedural thing, but, um, could you like maybe pretend we were just having sex, like a regular couple or something? I feel like that would make me less nervous.”

You mean, could I pretend I’m fucking you while I fuck you? How meta. Strangeness of the question aside, it also struck home to him suddenly how little experience with this sort of thing he had. Sure, he’d fucked a few girls this past week or so, but it had been almost entirely him taking charge, coercing the cooperation of his partners. But this—a girl asking him to have sex with her, asking so tenderly… he couldn’t help but feel obligated to be a little more tender with this one.

“Yeah, I could do that. Is there, um, a certain way you prefer to do it?”

She looked relieved. “Well, lots of ways are good. A lot of guys like it with him on top, because they like to be able to see and play with my boobs. There was this guy Trevor who used to like it reverse cow-girl—that’s me on top, but facing away from you—because he was really into my butt, but I think it’s weird, just seeing the legs of the guy you’re with and nothing else, right? Or, let’s see, there’s always doggy style, then I don’t get to see you at all but guys usually say the angle feels better and again, if you like my butt, or there’s missionary which everyone says is boring? But like, I think it’s nice because we’re face to face and it feels more personal. Or we could try—”

“Missionary’s fine, Brittney.” Good Lord she’s a talker. She is right though—why anyone wouldn’t want to look at her while they’re nailing her, I can’t imagine. But, well, that ass…

“Cool. I was sort hoping you’d say that. So, like, are you ready? I can warm you up again if you need it.” She grinned, licking her lips.

Excited as he was to get to her pussy, he couldn’t resist that offer. This time though, she possessed the restraint to slip off of him with a pop , and roll onto her back. He positioned himself on top of her, planting his head right at the entrance. It was already good and ready for him. Holy shit, I made Brittney Jenner’s pussy wet. “You ready?”

“Trust me bro, she’s always ready,” came Brayden’s voice from the top bunk. But down below, she nodded, and he slid into her. She felt divine, and she seemed to be enjoying herself as well.

“I don’t know what the hell you were talking about earlier, about her being loose. She feels pretty fucking good to me.” Brittney beamed that beatifically grateful smile of hers and held her fingers up a few inches apart, then pointed up at Brayden. They both laughed, and the sullen silence from the top bunk was enough to tell them Brayden understood the nature of the joke.

DJ took his time with her, and Brittney just lay there, a dizzy smile painted on her angelic face the whole while. He’d learned by now to recognize the sight and sound of a woman about to cum; she was gasping, big tits flattened by gravity bouncing like mad with each breath. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he said. And she did, in a loud, shrieking orgasm, her body spasming and her face contorting between shock and pleasure. DJ followed her a moment later, slumping on top of her.

For a few minutes, they caught their breath until they were interrupted by a slow clap issuing from the top bunk. “Nice job, slut, you just fucked your RA, because he told you to. Hope you feel real good about yourself.”

DJ responded, but to Brittney. “You should feel good. Not only are you the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and not only was that the best sex I’ve ever had, but I have good news.

“You passed inspection. Good girl.” And somehow, those simple words of praise and approval triggered the jumbled-up web of insecurities, dependencies and authority-figure-issues in Brittney’s brain, and from them, another small orgasm rocked her soft body, quivering all around DJ’s cock where it still rested inside her.

When she finished, he stood up and, after Brittney hurried to suck him clean (of her own volition), he tugged his pants back on. Brayden glared down at him. “Yeah, cool. Now you mind getting the fuck out so I can get to my sloppy seconds? Or shit, thirds, fourths, whatever it’s down to.” He sneered at Brittney.

“Well, first off, I doubt you’re going to be good for a much with your nuts smashed into oblivion. That aside, I would say yes, but unfortunately, it’s after visitation hours, so I’m afraid that’s a fine.”

“What!” Brayden leapt down to the floor angrily, fists clenched. DJ flinched, instinct assuring him he was about to get beaten to a pulp, but when those fists just remained in impotant balls at Brayden’s hips, DJ remembered himself and gently spun him with a nudge on his shoulder and helped himself to his wallet. He emptied it of its contents—$80, not bad for walking around money—and dropped it on the floor.

“That should cover it. Also, to help us crack down on guests after hours, I’m afraid there’s a special penalty too…”

Brittney, back in her clothes, walked with DJ as he escorted Brayden to the floor’s door to the outside. Girls were following along to stare at the well-built frat guy, who was now clad in nothing but one of his unspokenly-ex-girlfriend’s thongs, hooting and hollering. “Now Brittney tells me the thong isn’t have that much harder of a day than usual, but next time you piss off me or one of my people, the fine will include that too.” And with that, Brayden was shoved out into the cool night. It was probably only a five-minute or so walk back to his frat-house; he’d be fine.

As the crowd dispersed (some of them following Brayden), Brittney turned to DJ. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, but she was smiling.

“I know, but he was being a pain, getting on my nerves. You really don’t have to put up with jerks like that. You could have any guy you want.”

She shrugged, the smile fading. “Eh. Most guys are like that. He wasn’t that bad.”

“Brittney, he was getting ready to rape you when I came in,” he retorted.

She shook her head. “No he wasn’t. I wasn’t in the mood was all. He’d have warmed me up—he asked for the lube and all. Some guys don’t even bother with that. Besides,” she added, “if that’s a crime, then what do you call what you did?”

“It’s not,” he shot back too quickly, too defensively. “You agreed to it, didn’t you? And, um, you seemed like you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” she said. “You were so… I dunno. Appreciative. It was sweet. And I’m not pressing charges, am I?”

He smiled. “What’re you doing for fall break?”

She looked taken aback by the question. “Me? Oh, nothing much. Heading home, family stuff.”

“You close with them?”