Wine Gums
Word count: 1.3k
CW: slight NSFW.
You swallow again, face growing hot as you take in more details. You want to climb this man like a tree.
You’ve always been too curious for your own good, so when a friend sends you a link to one of those weird personal ads on a murky corner of the internet, you click it.
You read through the post, once, twice and then a third time for good measure.
This man, he’s looking for a roommate. You clock the location and hiss between your teeth. That place is fancy. You walk past it on your way to work, all shining glass and polished stone, doormen and security. You’re pretty sure it has a pool on the roof. It’s so out of your league you don’t even daydream about it.
It’s why you had to read the post three times, because from the sounds…well read of it.
He’s offering it for free. No rent required. It’s at the top of the post, in bold, unmissable.
No, what he wants is unconventional.
I’m in the military, I’m a busy man and don’t have time to foster relationships and the like when I could be deployed at a moment's notice. I’m looking for a roommate who’d consent to performing/engaging with sex acts with me whenever I require it. I believe the correct term is ‘free use.’ In return you would get to live in the flat rent free, all bills and utilities paid for. You’d get all the perks that come with being a resident of the building including gym and pool access. I would provide additional money if I wanted to see you in something specific.
Then, underneath, an honest to god application form.
You don’t consider yourself vanilla by any means, but free use is not a kink you’re entirely familiar with. Which leads you to your second too-curious-for-your-own-good click of the evening.
Alice down the proverbial rabbit hole.
After shifting through layers of misogyny disguised as kink. You find a couple of good blogs who engage in the practice, most of them are married but their depictions of what their ‘play’ looks like gets you a lot hotter than some of the frankly, heinous, captions written on the popular porn blog sites.
You press your thighs together after reading one particular account of a woman who calls herself ‘Lola.’
I’m wet nearly all of the time now as it is, the thought that he could just..take whatever he wants always in the back of my mind so when we settle down to watch a movie I don’t think about it, not even when he pulls me onto his lap, shushing me when I ask what he’s doing. He flips up my skirt, unzips his jeans and sinks me onto his cock. Then he goes back to watching the movie. I try to grind on him and he slaps my thigh. “I just want you to keep my cock warm whilst we watch the film.” He doesn’t move, not until near the end when I’m out of my mind and spacy, he starts bouncing me on his cock, groaning at how wet the sounds are.
You can see it in your head, strong hands wrapped around your hips, keeping you still. Full. You bite your lip.
You’ve got a job as a media assistant, if anything you’re a glorified intern. Drowning in student debt despite graduation being a few years ago now, stretching paychecks to their limit and the thought of not having to worry about rent or bills is a really, really fucking nice thought. You don’t know whether it’s that thought, the fact you’re pent up from looking at porn for a few hours or the two glasses of wine you’d had with dinner but…you click the application form.
It’s a thorough document, it asks questions about everything, your experience, what you like and dislike, why you’re applying.
You pour another glass of wine. It makes you bolder, so when you reach the question. Why are you submitting an application? You don’t hold back, it’s a full stream of tipsy consciousness pouring out of you.
Because I’ve had, to be quite honest, a really shitty day and my friend sent me this to make me laugh, i guess. jokes on her though cos i’m three glasses of wine deep after researching what free use is and right now nothing sounds better than letting someone else think about bills and shite. i’m drowning in student debt…plus the whole idea sounds pretty hot y’know? being like a toy, a doll for someone.
You fill out the rest of the application in the same way, before falling asleep on the sofa. Drool pooling at the corner of your mouth.
Across the city, Simon’s laptop pings. He starts a little when he sees it's an application form. He didn’t expect anyone to really respond to him, it was more of a hope and a prayer.
He laughs more than he should reading some of your responses.
What are some of your dislikes? I hate washin up and having to put the bins out wait this is probably like a sex thing right? Um oh fuck, i don’t like needles or like um bodily fluids that belong in the toilet. Kinda a suck it and see girl though?
Have you ever done anal? Not unless my own fingers count? Surprisingly few men I’ve met are into it, which is weird, i thought all men wanted it. I’ve got a plug at any rate its pink.
Attached to the form are a few selfies and a tasteful nude that you’ve taken in a mirror, wrapped in lingerie. Simon chokes on his own spit. He sends an email back, attaching an offer for a flat tour and a photo of himself, mask on. Explaining that he only shows his face to people he trusts fully. For security. He drains the last of his bourbon and stretches, a tiny grimace flitting over his features when a joint pops before moving to the bedroom. Quietly hopeful.
You wake the next morning to a wine headache and a dry mouth, you wince at the stream of light filtering in from the gap in the curtains. Your laptop sits there innocuously, you avoid looking at the screen. Dragging yourself off the sofa and into your tiny kitchen, you flick the kettle on and rummage for a clean mug, if it were earlier in the month you might have taken yourself out for an actual coffee, but right now, you’re in necessities only mode.
You do, however, add two heaped teaspoons of instant coffee into your mug and more sugar than you usually would before drifting back to the sofa and turning your laptop back on.
(1) Unread notification
You swallow reflexively, suddenly nervous, coffee not helping your dry mouth. Your brain spirals with a thousand what if’s and worse case scenarios. You shake your head roughly and click the message open.
Fucking hell.
The man, Ghost, is a giant. The photo, taken in a full length mirror, is a simple one. There’s no camera angles or tricks that could fake shoulders that prodigious. You swallow again, face growing hot as you take in more details. You want to climb this man like a tree.
You exhale when you read his offer of a flat tour, knots in your chest loosening as you read his sign off.
A right lovely one you are, pretty bird all dolled up in lingerie.
You message back accepting the offer of a flat tour and asking if he could do a Sunday as its your quietest day and your only guaranteed day off. Once it’s sent you drag yourself to the shower, self aware enough to know you’ll fixate if you don’t occupy your time with something else.
If you get off in the shower thinking about Ghost and the way his shoulders filled out the black compression top he was wearing and what his voice might sound like.
That’s no one’s business but yours.
