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       Copyright 1998.  Distribute freely, but change nothing.
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Synopsis: Aaron's roommate-of-circumstance is driving him insane with
her whoring-around and keeping him awake nights.  Worse, she can't
even treat him with any respect.  Will he convince her to change her
ways or send her away?



                    -[ Confronting the Roommate ]-


Dylane was an uncommonly gorgeous girl.  Even worse, she knew it.

That's why she made the most irritating roommate.  Had Aaron not been
desperate to split living-costs, he'd have never accepted the idea of
living together.

She wasn't even his friend in the first place.  She'd been the friend
of an ex-girlfriend who he'd barely known.  And from the little
experience he'd had with her around his girlfriend, he was glad he
didn't know her.

She was intelligent and, so far as her parents knew, quite pristine.
But they didn't have to try sleeping six nights a week with the
rhythmic pounding of headboard against wall or her nipple-twisting
climaxes.

She treated Aaron like a bad odor and then wondered why he disliked
her so much.  As if she expected to be adored despite her lacking
sense of courtesy.  And he always appeared to be the bad-guy to
everyone else.  Of course.  Why not?  To them, she was an angelic
creature.  Daughter of a rich daddy who scooted his daughter out to
experience the real world.  The bastard couldn't even throw her a few
extra bucks to afford her own apartment.  Other than Aaron and
Dylane's boyfriends, the world saw her as a discreet, honest,
scholarly, young lady.

They never saw the short skirts or tight shirts.  And they certainly
never watched her play a man.

And that's exactly what she did.  She never went to parties or clubs.
She found men to take home from grocery stores, convenience stores,
parking lots, college campus, or the husbands and boyfriends of her
girlfriends.

She just showed a little breast or sat in ways which made her lacking
panties very apparent to her target.  He even knew her to bed
delivery people when he ordered out.  Aaron was clueless as to why
she needed to fuck anything with male genitalia.  He certainly didn't
care to trek into her pathology.  Christ, she could sleep with half
of the NBA and die of a slue of sexually transmitted diseases for all
he cared.  Although that would put him in a bind, looking for a new
roommate.

What he did care about was why she treated him so badly.  Even after
he had initially tried to be kind and decent to her.  Something the
men who fucked her never attempted.  And more, at this hour of the
morning, he cared to hear no more of the incessant 'thunk' - 'thunk'
of the headboard.

Some people had to take finals this week.  And some of them couldn't
just fuck a grade out of their instructors.  And what did this make
anyway?  The seventh guy she'd spread for this week?   They'd been in
there for three hours and the 'thunk' - 'thunk' had been non-stop for
almost ninety-minutes.  For a girl who always complained about guys
who couldn't hold it together for more than five minutes, she was
sure getting the endurance test tonight.  Tonight.  Christ, it was
almost 2:00am in the morning!

He had to do something.  It was too late to actually achieve
anything, academically.  Sleep, at least, would be welcomed.  He
hadn't slept well in a long time.  The pressure of school had
certainly gotten to him.  Perhaps a long rest would give him the
energy and mind that he had when the year started.

But what to do about that damned 'thunk' - 'thunk'?  An idea came to
him, that should have been evident long before.  Sneak into her
bedroom when she's away one of these nights and pull the bed away
from the wall two or three inches.  There would still be an audible
'creak' - 'creak', he was sure, but it would be far more acceptable
than the current situation.  The 'creak' - 'creak' could even
possibly be overcome with a white-noise machine available from any
decent health-store.  Or a simply fan turned away from him.  The
whirring of the plastic blades would be preferable to all of this.

None of that would solve the problem this night, though.  Sleep.
God, he needed sleep.  He was normally just passive enough to live
with this wench and her antics but without decent sleep for so long,
he had come to have enough of it.  Angry and rash, he became.

Aaron finally tired of it.  Enough was simply enough.  After all, he
footed the bill for at least fifty percent of the costs around here.
He had a right to peace and sleep and a night without the lustful
sounds of that slut and her pig 'boyfriends'.

He slipped his shoes on and left the room.  Opened the door and
walked into Dylane's room without announcement.  He was hunched over
her body, pumping mechanically.  They were both sweating and her face
was contorted in a way Picasso would have enjoyed.  With her eyes
shut, she didn't realize they were joined by a third until he grabbed
the guy and pulled him off of her by the arm.  She shrieked and
followed with a torrent of words that would have bled Andrew Dice
Clay's ears like glass through the ear-canal.  The guy, tall but not
much for muscles, tried to protest.  Aaron told him, with a stone-
cold expression, that he had better get away before he called the
police for sleeping with his sister.  There was no resemblance
between he and Dylane, but the guy wasn't likely to notice with the
surrounding commotion.  He didn't seem to understand what was wrong
with fucking Aaron's sister until Aaron made a comment about
statutory rape.

The guy grabbed his clothes and carried them out to the hallway where
he changed.  Before shutting the door in his face, he screamed,
"Bitch!  You said you were twenty-two!"

The 'thunk' - 'thunk' was finally gone, but the 'screech' - 'screech'
of Dylane's voice replaced it.  He let her words and threats pass by.

"I think you've had enough cock in you to satisfy you for a couple
days.  I own half of this place and I intend to get some god damned
sleep!  Now shut the hell up!"  He yelled.

Dylane shut her mouth.  From shock of his tone and words, not for
fear of his anger.  She'd never seen him angry before.  Brooding,
yes.  Christ, he was always brooding.  It was any emotional outburst
which was a rare occurrence and gained quick attention of those around
him.  She looked like she had been slapped across the face.  But not
by a hand; words.

She clenched her fist and struck Aaron.  It smarted, but wasn't
painful.  He caught her hand and told her that if she wasn't such a
stuck-up, insensitive, self-centered, oblivious whore she'd get
fucked beyond anything she could handle without having to search
outside the apartment.

Her mouth opened to speak words that weren't there and she froze.
Aaron replayed his just-spoken words again in his head.  Had he just
said what he thought he said?  My god-- he certainly had!  But did he
mean it?  God, was she going to take it with the same intentions and
suggestions that he thought he had said it with?

"You...  I..." She began to say.  She stopped and gathered her words
again.  "I'm sorry," was all she managed to say.  She began to cry.

Aaron was fed up.  He was fed up with her behavior.  He was worn
without sleep.  He needed to parse his thoughts and his words.  They
had slipped out, but the instant they did-- he felt an emotion he
hadn't felt two minutes before.  Or ever before, for that matter.

He walked away.

"God damn you!"  Dylane said between sobs.

Aaron stopped.  He didn't turn around, but he paused as if to speak
again before going to his room.

"Like you'd ever touch me," she bawled.  "If I wasn't friends with
your ex-girlfriend, I'd think you're gay!"

Aaron looked up from the carpet and hesitated.  He turned and took to
large steps to her.  He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her
hips.  He kissed her lips.  He kissed them hard and tasted her salty
tears smeared on them.  She pressed hers back against his.  She
pressed her weight against him and tried to step against him, moving
him against the couch.

She had always tried to control him.  Hurt him with her attitude and
stinging insults.  She wasn't going to do that now.  He pushed back.
Harder.  Still kissing.  Still stealing her breath.  He lifted her
naked body around his waist and slammed her forcefully into the
nearest wall.  The mirror on the end of the wall shook and almost
fell off.  She uttered a brief cry, muffled in his mouth, in
response.  Aaron ground his manhood against her naked flesh.  Her
trimmed pussy wetted the front of his jeans with her excitement.

Dylane freed her hands and jerked on his hair.  He groaned angrily,
but she wouldn't relent.  He soon parted from her lips.

"Still think I'm gay?  Fucking whore," he said, spitefully.

"Don't say that," she said, tearing up again.  "Please.  Don't say
something like that.  Don't hurt me."

Their words were very quiet.  A back-and-forth only above a whisper.
Almost quiet enough to hear the hearts racing and the blood flowing
the their groins.

"I should care about hurting you?  Like you've always cared about
watching my feelings?"  He was angry.  She could see the daggers in
his eyes, fully drawn from their scabbards.

Her tears still came.  "I always thought you hated me," was her
answer.

Aaron pressed himself against her pussy again.  She was so wet and
she was making him so hard.  He kept his eyes shut and shamefully
wallowed in being so near what dozens of other men had.

"Fuck me," Dylane whispered into Aaron's ear.

All of his animosity toward her.  All of his frustration and
resentment for the way she had interrupted his life and caused so
many problems.  It all joined together at this instant and he wanted
to fuck her.  God forgive him, he wanted to fuck her into submission.
Every cell of him was attracted to her, but his conscious mind let all
the things between them keep him away.  It all made itself visible to
him now and he nearly fell to tears with the realization of his
interest in her.

He took her to the sofa and let her down from his hips.  She stood
before him and watched with wide eyes as he stripped of his clothing.
She turned away from him and he pressed his hand firmly against her
lower back.  With that guidance, she bent over the back of the couch.
Familiar with the routine, she spread her legs for him and he entered
slowly into her.

Dylane reached behind her and grabbed Aaron's cock.  She stopped him
and shook her head, "Uh-uh," she said, "other one."

She pressed his cock against her anus with her fingers.  He was about
to protest and mention Vaseline, but she pulled his cock toward her
and it went in with relative ease.  His head entered completely and
she gave nothing but a very pleasurable sigh.  She was unspeakably
tight as the muscles of her ass clenched tightly about him.  She had
experience with this, most certainly.  Enough experience to accept
him without preparation; only a bit of excitement.

God, the entire feeling was different from what he was used to.  As
he sank in fully, she was tight around the base of his shaft.  A
couple inches upward, a different texture and feel than the silk of a
woman's vagina caressed him.  And after that was the vacant space and
only on deep thrusts would his cock hit anything at the end.

It was so dirty.  Nasty and filthy.  Increasing speed and fucking her
asshole like the most inviting pussy, he felt more the whore than
Dylane could ever have in spreading for all the men before him.  And
in this momentary decline, he felt magnificent.

"Oh!" she screamed with his every in-stroke.  He felt like he was
either splitting her in half or being crushed by her powerful
muscles.

He took her hips with his hands and pulled her against him as he
pushed into her each time.  This caused her screams to increase and
and she cried for him to come inside of her.  She moved away from the
couch a little bit and reached beneath herself and between her legs
to take his scrotum into her hands and massage his balls.  She
squeezed carefully and repeatedly in a rhythm keeping with the method
in which she was being fucked.  It drove him far beyond the point of
climax and he came into her bowels.  The intensity called for a
monstrous cry from his throat.  It surprised him, for he was one to
never make a sound when he orgasmed.  And as his sperm coursed into
her, she continued to scream.

She moaned for long moments after the his climax and touched her
breasts as he remained sheathed.  She leaned over the couch while she
attempted to gain her breath.  When her panting and moaning subsided,
and he sensed she was about to stand up, he took her off guard and
drove into her with a final thrust of greater movement and force than
the others had been.  It startled her and she screamed.  Partially,
it seemed, from pain, but she propelled herself over the back of the
sofa and fell on the seat of it.  She jittered and whined while she
rocked to and fro on the seat-cushions.  He knelt next to her and
took one of her hands.  He gripped it at the palm and she clenched
his, too.

"Are you alright?  Did I hurt you?"  He asked cautiously.

"Oh, god, no..."  She answered.  "God, it's been very long since I've
given in to that..."

Aaron laughed to himself.  She's had all these men but in relatively
the same way, it seemed.  So much for his thoughts of her being the
adventurous whore.  He pondered the probability of her being
satisfied with one man who would have her many different ways.  The
thought pleased him.

She rocked herself like a young child for a long time and turned to
Aaron, who still knelt beside her.

"Carry my into your bedroom," she said.

He lifted her into his arms.  She was very light.  Both of them
naked, he brought her to bed and lay with her.  They snuggled
together.  The warmth of their bodies was great and the blanket kept
that heat surrounding them.  They kissed and touched, playfully,
until the sun began to rise.  Nearly asleep, they said their last
words and passed into slumber.

"You know you can't love me," she reminded him.

"I know," he lied.  The truth was, he could quite imagine loving her.
So much hate.  He hadn't hated her all this time.  He'd only been
covering the jealousy that he didn't realize he had.

"You can always fuck me."

And he knew he would.  And each time she would sneak off to her own
bedroom with another man, his heart would break.  And his spite,
jealousy, and anger would grow again.  And it would fuel their love-
making.  And she'd devour his heart once more.

                              -fin-