Rikimaru
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Donor - Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2020-07-17 14:43:25 +0000 UTC8.
The screen of Samantha’s phone lit up as it buzzed on the table, but she only glanced down briefly and swiped with her finger, silencing it.
“How’s everything going?” she asked.
“Good, great. Really good…”
Samantha and Janet both picked up their cocktails and sipped in the ensuing silence. Things had become awkward and strained, almost painfully so. Perhaps even reaching the extent of the Spring Break aftermath.
It was difficult for either of them to articulate why. Neither had any feelings of animosity towards the other. When they texted, or really even spoke on the phone, things were mostly fine, but it was more when they got together in person…
Samantha had been spending more time than ever at Michael’s, which was great as far as Janet was concerned, to avoid any of the tension. But not addressing it wasn’t going to make it go away, and so she had asked Samantha to meet her out.
She had picked a posh lounge that had become a favorite of theirs; it was a newer venue, not overly large, and dimly lit, with modern but comfy seating and trendy music that wasn’t cranked up too loud to have a conversation. The pair of them had started frequenting the establishment more once they’d been in steady relationships, sometimes with their boyfriends, sometimes without. It was the kind of place where they could chat without being constantly interrupted by guys trying to buy them drinks.
Janet was beginning to regret the decision; a few guys trying to pick them up would have been a welcome distraction at the moment. She shifted uncomfortably in her cocktail dress, tugging at the hem.
“Let’s do some shots,” she said abruptly, waving a waiter over.
Janet expected her friend to balk; it was a weekday after all, and they weren’t in their twenties anymore. But Samantha agreed readily, the relief evident on her face bordering on eagerness.
“Cheers,” they said together when the shots arrived, clinking the small glasses. Their eyes met for a moment before each hastily looked away again, tipping their heads back.
It ended up being exactly what was needed. Two hours later, they had three empty shot glasses in front of each of them, and they were on their third round of cocktails as well. Janet felt warm, slightly dizzy and very happy. With each progressive round, the nervousness had dissipated, and now they were simply catching up about Samantha’s upcoming wedding, the latest gossip and laughing like nothing had ever happened in the first place. It was really wonderful to be able to just talk to her best friend again.
Janet sighed happily, but it was only inevitable that the subject was eventually broached once again.
“So, do you… have any news..?” Samantha trailed off, looking down at Janet’s midsection meaningfully before raising her eyes back up again.
It was like a dash of cold water on their pleasant evening.
“No,” Janet answered after a pause, hoping that she sounded appropriately discouraged rather than overwhelmingly guilty. Was it the fourth or fifth “attempt”, now? Just how long was she going to let this farce go on for, she wondered to herself. At some point she was going to have to actually try and inseminate herself, or at bare minimum, just call a halt to the whole affair altogether.
The only thing was... if she did that, then things would be done. And Janet didn’t want things to be done.
But what exactly did she want..?
It was hard to say. The end goal was still certainly in her mind. From time to time, she’d stand in the mirror sideways, trying to stick out her flat stomach as much as possible, imagining it distending further as time progressed. She’d put her hands on her belly, pretending it was full and round, heavy.
But then each time, when it came up to the moment, she had taken the turkey baster and squirted its contents into the toilet bowl, certain of her decision while simultaneously feeling like the world’s most terrible friend. The last time, she hadn’t even bothered to fill the baster -- she’d simply poured the cup of warm, opaque white fluid directly down the drain.
Why? Why was she doing this? She needed to either follow through or else call it quits, but she’d been unwilling to do either. What could she hope to come of this?
Deep down Janet knew, though. She wouldn’t admit it to herself, but still, the thoughts intruded. They came to her in her sleep sometimes, and she would wake in the middle of the night, sweating, twisted in the sheets, a hand inside of her panties.
During waking hours, Janet would block the images out, trying to think of other things when she touched herself in the shower, tell herself she wasn’t thinking of anything outside of her usual vague and idle fantasies. But right at the moment of climax, at her resolve’s weakest moment, the thoughts would come flooding in.
Samantha on top of her, lying between her wide spread legs. Samantha’s fit body covered in a sheen of sweat. Samantha’s eyes squeezed shut, an expression of agonized ecstasy on her face. All while her hard cock was buried deep inside, filling her with blazing warmth...
And with that imagined moment locked in her mind, as the self-loathing and perverse arousal coursed through her, Janet would cum hard, so hard.
Then, coming back down, her need sated, she would stand there as the steaming water poured down, lost in introspection, telling herself all the while that this wasn’t what she wanted…
Samantha’s phone buzzed on the table again, taking Janet out of her slightly inebriated musing.
“Don’t you want to answer that?”
“It’s just Michael,” Samantha answered brusquely, swiping to ignore the call again as she took a sip of her drink.
When she looked back up at Janet over the rim of her cocktail glass, it was with a strange expression, almost one of careful trepidation.
“Do you think something is wrong with how you’re doing it?
“Maybe… maybe it hasn’t worked yet because of the way you’re doing it.
“You know… with the turkey baster and all…”
Wha..?
Never mind the truth, that’d she’d never even used the damn baster in the first place… just what exactly was Samantha getting at..?
Those few words set off a tempest of bewildered thoughts, Janet trying to figure out if she were hearing right, and at the same time, she felt something leap up inside of herself, like a flame igniting. She mentally tried to repress it, shove it back down, convince herself that her roommate hadn’t meant what Janet immediately thought she did. It was hope. But she had it all wrong - it was the alcohol, combined with wishful thinking. Her secret hope, that Samantha wanted what she did. Wanted to do what she wanted to do… that thing she wasn’t willing to admit to wanting…
No. That was crazy. There wasn’t any way…
“Maybe…” she simply replied.
It was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Was it though? Didn’t it seem like her roommate was always ready to try again, despite her initial adamant refusal when Janet had first made the proposal?
Hadn’t she listened to Samantha through the bathroom door, a number of times now? Weren’t her ragged, heavy pants and whispered groans lasting longer, growing louder, less restrained, on each occasion?
Janet couldn’t be sure of anything. How much of it was true and how much of it was her reading into things, things that might not really be there?
“I don’t know,” Janet followed up, carefully. “How else am I supposed to do it..?”
Samantha seemed on the verge of saying something, but then she just shrugged and tipped her glass back, emptying her cocktail.
“Let’s do another round.”
Janet felt her heart drop a little at the casual dismissal of the topic, the previous sudden hope instantly evaporating. It had all been in her head after all. By the time the drinks came, the conversation had shifted back to Samantha’s pending wedding and one of the other bridesmaids who was causing some minor drama. Janet was only half-listening, but still, she tried her best not to show her disappointment and let it go. Indeed, she had no idea how she’d take the conversation forward anyway.
As evening drew on however, Janet felt herself growing more morose with each successive drink. She’d lost count of how many rounds they’d had and Janet’s vision was starting to blur with a heady buzz. Jesus, tomorrow is going to be hell, she thought.
“It’s late, Sam. We should get going.”
Samantha sat there with her cocktail in hand, looking off into space, her blue eyes glassy. Abruptly, she seemed to steel herself and upended her drink, swallowing it down in a few large gulps and set the empty glass down heavily, just as her phone lit up and buzzed yet again. As they both glanced down, Janet saw her roommate ignore her fiance’s call once more with an agitated swipe.
“Janet.” She spoke with the forcefulness of a retort to something Janet had never said in the first place.
“Uh, yea..?”
“I do think about Spring Break.” Samantha swayed slightly in the plush lounge chair she was sitting in, but her jaw was set. “I think about it all the damn time.”
And just like that, Janet’s intoxicated brain was set awhirl once again. Fifteen years. It’d been fifteen years that Samantha had spent pretending it never happened, and now here she was, bringing it up herself unprompted, out of nowhere. But before Janet could articulate a meaningful response, Samantha rose to her feet abruptly and determinedly.
“Let’s go home and try again.”
