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As I told my story, my best friend Lynette’s eyes grew wider with every passing moment. It was terrifying and humiliating, but at the same time I couldn’t believe what a relief it was to finally talk about what Catherine had done to me. I had just admitted my most embarrassing personal secret to her, that when I was in college I had become the lesbian love slave of my then-roommate Catherine.
The moment that had propelled me to this wrenching of the biggest skeleton from my closet out onto the floor of Lynette’s living room had happened the day before, when we and our husbands, Michael (mine) and Harry (hers) were all out on their boat. We had gone swimming off the boat at one point, and when I was climbing out of the water my bikini must have ridden up, because Lynette noticed my tattoo.
The tattoo is high up on my right buttock, in a spot the bikini had easily covered when I’d modeled it in the mirror before going out that day. Even with my bottoms out of place enough for her to see it, Lynette only saw that last word of what was written on me in red ink, the name Catherine in capital letters, and the lower edges of the smaller letters above it.
Of course, she was surprised to see another woman’s name tattooed on my ass. She wanted to know what the other letters were. I broke into tears when she questioned me, and then she let it go. She apologized and didn’t mention it again that day. She’s my best friend in the world, and I loved her for dropping the subject the way she had, but after I got home that night I started to feel guilty. We were so close, I owed her an explanation.
That’s how I ended up sitting in her living room the next day, telling her the gory details of the most humiliating episode of my life. I began by pulling down my shorts and panties enough to let her see the full text of the tattoo’s horrible brand, “Property of” in tiny letters above the larger name she’d seen below: “Catherine”.
I think it is fair to say that she was stupefied, and she didn’t interrupt me as I told her the story of my college roommate Catherine. Lynette had stayed in our home town and attended the local community college after high school, but I had gone off to the biggest university in the state, five hours away. Just before the end of my first full year I had dropped out and moved home.
I’d never told anyone the truth about why I’d left school, and never imagined I ever would. I’d put the whole thing behind me, but somehow thinking about it after Lynette saw the tattoo I came to the realization that I needed to tell someone. I’d bottled up the truth for too long, and it wasn’t something I could ever talk to Michael about, so I steeled myself and told her the whole sordid tale.
Catherine, the dormitory roommate the university assigned me, was a shy, attractive sophomore when I met her. She too had come from a smaller town hours away, but we never really hit it off. We had little in common, I’d come from a stable middle class family and she’d come from a rougher background altogether. I tried to connect with her, but I could never really get over her trashy appearance or style of speech.
That said, we had no problems co-existing as roommates. We didn’t hang out with the same people, or really hang out together much at all, but it wasn’t like we fought or anything. Sometime around the middle of my first semester, we even worked out an arrangement where we would take turns doing all of our laundry in the coin-op machines on the first pendik escort floor.
You have to understand, I’d never even thought about another woman in a sexual way before then. But something happened to me when I started doing her laundry with mine, every other week. It was embarrassing to admit, but I became fascinated with Catherine’s panties. Unlike mine, hers were a much racier style. Some of them were satiny, others were trimmed with lace. But there was more to it than that; I’d look at her underwear and find myself thinking about how she’d worn them, about how the piece of cloth in my hands had been nestled against her sex for a whole day.
Lynette’s eyes bored into me with obvious curiosity then. My face was hot with my shame as I described to her how I’d first sniffed my roommate’s worn panties. To my surprise I found myself getting aroused all over again as I told Lynette how I’d pressed my nose into Catherine’s panties and stood there mesmerized. How I’d sniffed them until I had an orgasm on the spot, my fingers in my busy in my own underwear. How I’d gotten myself off sniffing my roommate’s panties night after night for a week straight before Catherine had caught me.
She had left the room to go to her last class and I’d scooped up the pair she’d worn the day before. Clutching them to my face I’d masturbated to not just one orgasm, but a series, before falling asleep in my bed. When I woke up, Catherine had returned and was standing over my bed. She was staring at her panties, which I still held close to my face.
I was so humiliated. I was terrified at my perverse habit being discovered, at what Catherine’s reaction would be, but she seemed to take it in stride. A strange determination came over her face. She reached down and lifted her underwear away from me, holding them between us as she locked her eyes on me.
“What were you doing, Allison?”
I remember wanting to just curl up and die. I could see in her face how much she looked down on me at that moment, and I couldn’t blame her. Her eyes stayed on mine as she spoke, and I couldn’t look away. “You’ve been getting yourself off with my dirty panties, haven’t you?”
When I admitted it her jaw steeled, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I apologized, and then again. She just raised a finger and gestured for me to be quiet.
“I could tell the floor admin, you know? Imagine explaining to your parents how you got kicked out of the hall for sniffing your roommate’s underwear. And you will, unless you do something for me. Do it right now,” she told me.
I asked her what–no I *begged* to her to tell me what I could do to avoid being exposed. I’d do anything. Apologies and pleas for forgiveness tumbled from my mouth again, but she just ignored me. She demanded that I show her what I did, show her how I made myself cum with her panties. It was a humiliating idea, to be observed doing my perverse little ritual, but I would have done anything then if I thought I could save myself.
Catherine still held her panties and I waited for a moment for her to give them back to me, but she just shook her head and told me to get out of bed. I stood, wondering if she meant to watch me rummage through her hamper to find another pair, when she told me that she had a specific pair in mind. My heart had flip-flopped when she reached down and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing the satiny pair she had on.
Lynette stared as I explained silivri escort how I’d found myself sinking to my knees in a daze in front of Catherine. How Catherine had smirked down at me the whole time, hands on her hips, as I pressed my face into her crotch. When I drew in that first deep breath through my nose, I was filled with her scent in a way sniffing her panties could never provide. Something happened to me then, something I’d never known to be part of my person took charge of me. I drew that fragrant female smell inside me and it made me feel like I never had before–not just aroused, but filled with fiery passion in an unthinking submissive way that felt automatic. My desire was undeniable, uncontrollable, irresistible.
Before my hand had made it down into my own panties, I was wet. My embarrassment was forgotten. I pressed my nose into her panties and I forgot about *everything* but her. The only thing in my head was that submissive, sexy feeling of being under the spell of Catherine’s body. Kneeling there, I nuzzled at her crotch and made myself cum and all the while she looked down at me like I was some kind of worm.
When she took off her panties I didn’t have to be told what to do. I buried my tongue in her and soon she came as well, hunched over me, with my face buried in her sex.
That was how it started. At first she just made me do it to get herself off, and to humiliate me, but It didn’t take her long after that to realize the true extent of her power over me. That I really would do anything she wanted as long as she let me sniff and lick her.
I told Lynette how, after two months of pushing her control further and further, Catherine had reduced me to a shell of myself. I didn’t think or do anything without her permission. She could demand anything and I would obey. She made me say and do humiliating things just to amuse her. She made me get the tattoo on a whim. Every day I spent with her I lost a little bit more of myself. All I could think about was her–she became my whole world, my reason for being.
Then she met a guy just after spring break. It wasn’t long before she was letting him use me. I still had enough sense of myself that I objected at first, but the moment she made me sniff her again I was under her spell. She had him do my ass while I licked her. They made up silly humiliations for me together, like making me write a love letter . . . to her *pussy*. It got worse with every passing day.
Catherine made me stop going to my classes altogether. She told me that I didn’t need a degree to be her slave. That I was going to spend my whole life serving her, so I might as well start training for that career. To be her servant!
It took every ounce of willpower I had left, but when Catherine and her boyfriend went away for a weekend I ran. I left most of my things there and fled back here. She tried to track me down, but I told my family that she was a crazy stalker and that was why I’d left school. After a few months my life went back to normal. I started hanging around with you again, I met Michael, we got married, and everything was back to the way it should be. Michael saw the tattoo eventually, but I convinced him that it was just the result of my losing a drunken college bet.
By the time I finished, Lynette’s mouth had been hanging open for a while. I was crying pretty hard, and she was staring at me with a look that I couldn’t decode. What did she think of me şirinevler escort now? Telling the story of the low I’d sunk to brought back feelings of helplessness and shame that were hard to resist. It was an intense experience, but it felt incredibly good to get it off my chest. Being able to tell someone, someone that wouldn’t judge me, someone that I knew I could trust, was wonderful.
Lynette was such a good friend. I knew she probably had a million questions she wanted to ask me, but she waited until I had calmed down before she spoke.
“So, you’re telling me that you used to be this woman’s lesbian slave girl. That when you sniffed her pussy you’d do anything she wanted. And, that nobody but me knows it, not your husband or your family?” Lynette asked me.
I nodded. She rose to her feet and moved in front of me. I looked up into my best friend’s face and I saw something disturbing in her wicked little grin. Something frighteningly familiar.
“Lynette?” I said, and with that one word I wasn’t just saying her name, I was asking for mercy.
“If you don’t want everybody in town to find out about this, I think you know what you have to do. Show me.”
“What do you mean? Lynette?”
Her hands moved at her waist and then her skirt tumbled to the floor. In spite of myself, I looked down and stared at the front of her silky black panties.
“Lynette?” I said, my voice quavering.
Her hands settled at her hips, and she openly smirked then. I looked back down at her lower body, and the part of my personality that had taken control that year in college blossomed inside me again. I couldn’t stop myself. It was so like the first time, I felt like I could have been reliving that day with Catherine in a dream. I sank to my knees in front of her. Lynette for her part didn’t move at all, she just stood there and smugly watched as I crawled closer and then pressed my nose in against her.
The first sniff of her scent made me moan out loud. The aroma was sweet but powerfully fragrant, and I knew in an instant that she was aroused. I savored the delicious female sexiness of her as it filled my lungs, and the old truths I’d learned came flooding back. My pussy throbbed with forbidden need and like that I was wet for her.
The happy life I’d built couldn’t change what I was–this was the real me. I was weak. I needed this, needed her. The flood of sensations thrust me back to those college days and in an instant, I was *hers*. I came. Hard.
She pushed my head away as she laughed at me, at my weakness. I watched with complete focus as she tugged the crotch of her panties aside and pulled my face back to her. “There’s no reason for you to have all the fun.”
I buried my tongue inside her, and for the first time since I’d fled Catherine, I felt totally fulfilled. The fact was humiliating, but liberating as well. This was what I was meant to do. To worship another woman on my knees. To serve her pleasure. I came again, even before Lynette did. She stood there panting above me for a minute afterwards, and then she told me to follow her.
She stripped off the rest of her clothes and piled up the pillows on the bed. Lynette lay back against them and gestured for me to get down in front of her. Kneeling there on all fours, I began to lick her again, as she lay back and giggled.
“Oh my God. How am I going to explain this to Harry? I’m sure he’ll be alright with it though, as long as I share you. Maybe I’ll let him do your ass,” I heard her saying. She moaned and I felt her hands settling on my head, pulling my face in deeper against her. I shuddered at the taste of her and I knew I’d do it, I’d let Harry fuck my ass if *she* wanted it. Now I would do anything that she wanted, as long as she’d let me worship between her legs.
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