Forcing the Issue Ch. 01

"I'm jealous," she says.

"Of what?"

"That you're not a virgin."

"Neither are you," Abigail says. Her shoulders squirm, despite her fear that the movement may dislodge Michelle, who may then leave forever.

"I... am though, is the thing."

"What are you talking about? You and Pete are always all over each other. You blab about sex all the time, more than anyone we know."

Her breath, hot and soft, rolls over Abigail's neck in waves. "Pete broke up with me."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't put out, so he found someone that would."

Michelle's hand relaxed now, no longer groping Abigail, just holding her breast, working it subtly. Abigail's heartbeat underneath it. It is speeding up, no matter how hard she tries to fight it.

"I'm sorry," but no one in the room would believe she means it.

"Was it good, with Shaun?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I got really drunk beforehand, and then..."

"Was he mean? Did he do something wrong?"

"No, he was... Shaun's a good guy." She swallows. Her voice is soft too now, but her body is heavy, and hard. "It just didn't feel right, okay? It felt like it wasn't even me doing it."

Michelle is hugging her, now, both arms wrapped around her chest, just below her breasts. "It's okay, you have me..." Her forehead heavy against Abigail's hair, her lips moving like sleepy kisses across the back of Abigail's neck as she speaks. It is, Abigail thinks, the closest they have ever come to an actual kiss anywhere but in her wildest fantasies.

"You're drunk," Abigail says. "Don't say things you don't mean just because Pete hurt your feelings."

"I know... but..." Michelle says, trailing off, her voice a drowsy lilt.

"...but?"

But she is already asleep, and there is nothing further, except a gentle see-saw of snores.

Abbi gently shakes her body against the weight at her back, but Michelle does not stir. Being only an average-sized girl herself, she has no way to transport the dead weight of another average-sized girl back to the proper bed.

For propriety's sake, albeit with heavy heart, Abigail extracts herself from Michelle's embrace and presses herself as close to the wall as she'll go. She does her best to make herself small and avoid unnecessary touching, to ward off all those sensations she's desperately craved for so long. They're fake, and false, and the closeness just brings a deeper sting to her heart.

The twin bed of a college dorm room barely has enough space for two people in a definitively intimate relationship, let alone whatever there is between the two of them. Michelle's skin casually grazes against hers with each sleepy inhale, and Abigail's heart surges with a flutter of something she imagines is joy, but reality is quick to wash it away, and, each time, it's sadness that comes to fill the vacuum.

***

Michelle wakes to tightness around her wrists and neck. Her arms are sore. She thrashes them, but they're stuck against her body. She looks down, at her hands, and tries to blink some of the sleep away from her bleary eyes, only to discover...

...she's trussed up like a fucking prized pig!

Well not exactly, since pigs aren't often tied up with thin-strap belts. But, still, she is tied up! Someone has wound that belt—the one her mom bought her for Christmas, the one that was very expensive—around her neck, and then looped it around her wrists so that her hands are caught up under her chin. She can barely move her arms at all, except to flop her elbows about, which probably makes for a good chicken impression, given all the squawking she's doing. Worse, she's practically undressed! She doesn't remember getting out of her clothes, but her she is in just her bra and panties, and... and... she's in Abigail's bed?

"Good morning," Abigail says.

Michelle heaves her hips to roll herself over, and there's Abigail, sitting at her desk, apparently going over her Chemistry notes.

She smiles, when she notices Michelle looking her. "Did you sleep okay? Need anything? Water? Aspirin?"

"What the fuck!" Michelle says.

Abigail blinks. She tilts her head and places her pen behind her ear. "Come on, Chell. You know what happens to the first person to pass out at a party..."

"This isn't funny!"

"Do you see me laughing?" Abigail asks.

Something about her tone shuts Michelle up for a good, long second. When she finally decides to speak, it is a much more timid Michelle that emerges. With dipped head, she asks, "What are you going to do with me?"

"What am I going to do?" Abigail asks. "Nothing."

Michelle's forehead creases. She swallows. Her mouth is painfully dry. She drank too much last night, way too much. "Then are you going to untie me?"

Abigail closes her notebook. "That depends on you, I guess. I'm perfectly willing to untie you now—"

Her wrists rustle against her makeshift bonds. "Then do it already!"

"I wasn't finished." The uncharacteristic sternness of the statement forces Michelle into silence, and Abigail waits a satisfied beat before she continues. "If you want me to let you go, all you have to do is kiss me. Then I'll untie you, promise."

"Oh screw you."

"It doesn't have to be a real kiss or anything, just a peck on the lips."

Michelle's breathing is coming faster and faster. They're roommates, they've been more naked than this together, but she's never been this exposed. She can feel her face starting to flush. "Fine, come here and I'll do it."

"There's one more rule: if I let you go now, I'm never going down on you again."

Her cheeks swell from flush to flare. Her eyes avert. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. I'll let you go right now. In fact, you don't even have to kiss me, but you have to say, out loud, 'I'll never ask you to go down on me again.'"

Michelle's lips twist. She glares daggers at her friend, or so-called friend. "Quit acting like a dyke and untie me. If you don't, I wonder what they'll say when they find me in here with you, screaming my head off."

Abigail moves to sit on the foot of the bed. She presses her knees together and leans forward with her elbows on top of them. "What do you think they'll say about you, if that happens?"

Michelle half-thinks she can feel the blush pushing all the way to the tip of her nose. "Just untie me, okay?"

"I already told you what you had to do."

"I can't." Michelle says.

"Why not?"

Michelle groans, thrashing against her bonds. "I just can't, okay?"

"Why, because if you say it out loud then you have to acknowledge what we were doing, and that you wanted it?"

"Abbi, shut up and untie me right now!"

"Well, if you don't want to do it that way, I guess I did have a backup plan..."

A sigh of frustration spills out of her. "Fine, what is it?"

"I'll let you go after you cum."

Michelle's body coils, then releases with a tight shiver. She swallows, and closes her eyes. "Whatever." Already, she's spreading her legs, Abigail having seen fit to leave her lower body untied. She was probably planning this the whole time, the little queer.

"Not like that..."

Michelle's eyes open. She blinks. "Then... what?"

Abigail's slim finger is pointing to the other side of the room, to Michelle's desk. Michelle's gaze follows dutifully, and when it does it comes to rest upon a large, phallic dildo, pink, and suction-cupped to her chair.

Michelle draws a hissing breath through her teeth, looking away. "What the fuck is that?"

"You can still go with option one."

"How the hell am I supposed to use that thing?"

Abigail shrugs. "You don't have to. All you have to do is say 'I'll never ask you to go down on me again.' If you do, we'll call it a day, and we'll never talk about any of this—" When Michelle looks back at Abigail, her lips have parted. Michelle knows what that means, when Abigail edges her tongue forward; she's had Abigail do that move to her a dozen times. "—ever again."

The floor is freezing! Michelle can hardly stand putting her bare feet down on it, which leads her to almost bunny-hop across the room, given how her wrists are cinched up around her neck. When she reaches her desk—after about three hops, give or take a stumble—she shifts from foot to foot and tries to suppress her shivers. "What the hell am I supposed to do, already?"

Abigail leans back on her hands. She looks comfortable, but it's easy to look comfortable when you still have your pants on. "Right, I forgot you're really not familiar with the anatomy."

The heat in her face is almost enough to stop Michelle from alternating her feet on the cold floor. "Yes I am."

"That's not what you said last night."

"I was drunk."

"Remember high school Latin? 'In vino vertias.'"

Michelle scowls, deadpan laugh. "Ha ha."

"Come on." Abigail shrugs, throwing out a hapless smile. "It's at least a little funny."

"Maybe it'd be a better joke if I had some clothes on."

Abigail puts a hand over her eyes. "What happened to us, Michelle? We used to be friends. We'd tell each other everything, we'd stay up all night talking... Before college, don't you think I would've run over to your house, screaming, the moment I got laid?"

Michelle's feet are getting used to the cold floor. Now that she can stand up straight, a bit of confidence worms its way back into her gut. "I guess it all changed the day my best friend tied me up with a belt and told me to fuck a plastic dick."

Abigail makes a face and bites the inside of her lip.

"Come on," Michelle quips, "it's at least a little funny."

"I think it changed on senior prom," Abigail says, "when I drank too much and tried to kiss you. Then I think it changed again, three months ago, when we moved into this dorm room together, and you decided it was okay to use my face like a dish rag whenever you felt needy."

"I..." Michelle swallows. "Don't make this weird, Abbi... w-weirder than it already is, I mean."

"You made it weird Michelle, not me. Say it. Say 'I wanted you to go down on me,' and it's over, I'll let you go."

"Fine! You want to hear it so bad? I wanted you to go down—"

"If you finish," Abigail interrupts, "we're over too. No more midnight oral sessions, and if you end up in my bed again I swear to god I'll call the RA."

Michelle's fingers sweep across her chin as she balls her hands into fists. She opens her lips, she waits for the words to tumble out, but they simply don't.

"Did you pick the dildo?" Abigail asks.

Michelle nods.

"Then I guess you'll have to find a way to get those panties off, won't you?"

Michelle tugs downwards at the belt around her neck, like she's had the ability to free her hands this whole time if only she tried. Abigail watches with deep brown eyes, head just slightly tilted. A pressure builds in Michelle's gut, a tightness that drills all the way down.

Michelle keeps her eyes locked with Abigail's. She squats, and angles her body so her panties catch against the lip of the desk. Once they're snagged, she stands away, slowly, and her waistband eases away from her hips in a slow stretch.

But as she slides herself further upwards she is rewarded with the slap of elastic against her tailbone. The sting forces a weak yelp out of her; again, the blood rushes to her face.

Abigail only smiles. "Do you need help?"

"No, I—" She swallows. "Fine, yes."

Abigail stands, and crosses the room. Every step presses even more weight down on Michelle's chest, until Michelle is sure she won't be able to breathe. "Close your eyes."

When she does, careful fingers hook into her underpants and slide them loose. Once her panties are past her hips Abigail lets them fall and pool on the floor. Without a thought, Michelle steps out of them, shivering as cold returns to her skin, in the absence of Abigail's warm touch.

"Okay, open your eyes."

Michelle obeys, and finds Abigail is looking back at her, and not down at her newfound nudity. "Have you gone down on a boy?"

"Of course not. Have you?"

It's Abigail's cheeks that flash red, now. She smiles, though it is a rueful one. "Figures that, between the two of us, I'm the only one who's sucked cock."

Michelle feels a twist in her lip. There's an anxious buzz in her body that seems centrally located somewhere inside each of her nipples. "How does it compare to..."

"To what?"

Michelle's wrists shake limply against her bindings "You know what."

"I don't know until you say it out loud."

She points her finger downwards as best she can. "To... that."

"Saltier."

"Worse?" Michelle asks.

"Yeah, worse."

"Terrible?"

Abigail sighs. "No, not terrible, just... not what I want."

"Am I what you want?"

"In the sense that I want you to get on your knees and wrap your mouth around that cock."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm not going to tell you before you do it; so either get to it, or say the magic words and we'll end this."

Michelle sets her jaw against the flutter of hesitation in her heart. She finds herself gradually squatting to the floor. It's hard to keep your balance, with your arms all tied up; halfway into her squat Michelle's whole body wobbles, and her eyes go wide, as gravity gives her a hard yank.

Before she can dash her ass against the floor, or her head against the corner of the desk, Abigail has her. But the downward momentum has already taken hold. The two collapse in a heap, together, with the bedpost at Abigail's back, and Michelle on top of her.

They sit, panting, mildly reeling at the near-tragedy of their fall—although, Michelle thought, falling flat on her ass would've been a fairly mild tragedy. She doesn't immediately dissuade Abigail's arms from around her waist. She couldn't, not exactly, not with her arms tied up. In this moment, however, that felt like a very convenient rationalization.

It's Abigail who separates them. As Abigail places her onto her knees, Michelle wobbles, still uncertain of her balance, and rests her elbows against the seat of the chair. Face-to-face with the faux cock, it seems even larger than before. A hint of worry squeezes through her brain, and wrinkles across her nose.

"Why do want me to do this?" She asks.

"Because you're jealous," Abigail says.

"What're you talking about?"

"When I told you I wasn't a virgin." Abigail tussles her hand through her short hair. "You said you were jealous."

"I was surprised that a introverted mega-dyke like you got laid; I wasn't jealous."

"You were jealous. The only question is if you were jealous of me, or if you were jealous of him." Abigail's hand is around the base of Michelle's skull, knotted through her hair and squeezing down, though only lightly. She guides Michelle to sit with her ass against her feet. Michelle recognizes this position, because it is Abigail's.

"Now open your mouth," Abigail says.

Michelle closes her eyes and takes a breath. The smell of the dildo is clean and fake, sanitary. Not exactly arousing, but not entirely unpleasant either. Something about its sterility makes it safe. She parts her lips, and tries to accept the flared, neon-pink head into her mouth.

The taste is less attractive. So is she, the way she puffs out a series of helpless sounds, trying to blow away the strands of hair that have snuck into her mouth, and coiled around the cockhead.

Her fingers, trussed up close to her neck, can stretch and brush away some of the longer strands that dangle over her chin, and her tongue wriggles to try and clear her mouth, but she is caught. Just as she is about to gag at the sensation, the pressure at the back of her neck relents. Abigail's hands sweep the hair away from either side of Michelle's face.

"Do it." It's not a command. It is a request, one laced through with heady emotion.

Michelle almost chokes at the first touch of the cock against her tongue. It's about as big as Pete's, which she had seen, and sometimes held, but had never felt any real desire to explore it further, despite his frequent urgings. Michelle swallows, but that only rolls the taste of it further back into her mouth and she gags again. A cold tickle of spit edges out over her lips and down her chin.

Abigail cleans the hair away from Michelle's temples and holds it back in a makeshift ponytail. Then there is subtle push against the top of her head.

"You don't have to do it for long," she says. "Just enough to get it ready."

Abbi's hand traces gentle rows through her hair. Michelle huffs out a breath and it surges around her lips and down the invading dick. By now she's convinced she's taken the whole thing, but when she opens her eyes it's only a few inches. Abigail's hand takes a more active role in the proceedings, pushing her head on a down, impaling her. Michelle scrapes the nails of her fingers against her jaw, and her whimpers turn to moans with the effort.

Her eyes are riveted open. She watches every centimeter that Abigail's push makes her claim, until the cock is almost touching against the back of her throat. Another gag wells up inside her throat, but Abigail seems to notice. Before the feeling overwhelms her, Michelle is set free. She throws her head back, gasping and choked, mouth stained with spit, coughing out her breaths.

"Is it... does..." She has not reclaimed her voice yet, and her words surge out between the coughs. "Does Shaun make you do it like that?"

"He's not as big as that thing, or as forceful as I just was."

Michelle notices Abigail's hand still curled into her hair, fingers stroking softly against her scalp. Neither of them sees fit to mention it, or the blush it draws out of Michelle's cheeks.

"It's ready."

"For what?"

"You know what." Already Abigail has her by her upper arms, to help her balance while she stands. "You're not like a... virgin-virgin, are you? You've had—"

"What?" Michelle glances away. This is... it's so far past the point where she can stop it, where either of them can stop it. Her gaze lowers to the floor. The memory of Abigail's fingers exploring her pussy, learning it, pushes a reflexive squeeze through her thighs. "...if anyone knows, it'd be you..."

Abigail lifts one hand and curls her fingers with blushing memory. "I guess I would. Now are you going to sit for me?"

"Why do you want me to do this?" Michelle asks.

"So we're even."

Abigail's hands squeeze around Michelle's cheeks. That's all the leverage she needs to guide her downwards. Michelle is trembling, her legs worst of all, and she flits her eyes around the room as if there were some secret escape route, or hidden out. But is there any universe where she would take it, at this point?

Abigail's voice is soft, and thick with lust. "This is going to pinch."

It does, badly. Certainly more than Abigail's fingers do. The flared head of the fake cock eases its way inside of Michelle as Abigail guides her down towards the seat. Michelle winces; tears blur her vision. "Shit! I, uh—"

"Are you okay?"

And it's all she can do, to whisper, "Yes."

"Then show me how you take that dick."

"It's too big."

"It's bigger than my fingers, that's for sure."

Michelle's ass digs into the back of the chair. Her inability to stabilize herself with her hands highlights her helplessness. She tries to lower herself, but she has no control. Her bare feet squeak against the floor. Her knees wobble, and give out, she shrieks—

And, again, Abigail catches her. Her hands around Michelle's arms, she says, "Down, now."

It is rough going, at first. The spit provides barely sufficient lubrication, but Michelle finds -- after she's forced her cunt to accept twice as much as this beast as she ever thought she could possibly stand -- that she's become wet despite herself, and the more she takes, the easier it becomes. Throughout, Abigail's eyes do not leave hers, and hers do not leave Abigail's. Her friend's breath is warm against her face. There is an obvious neediness in Abigail's eyes, a hunger inside her of that Michelle so aggressively kept repressed.