After an enthusiastic blowjob, he spent Saturday morning tutoring Ashley on the basics so they wouldn’t have to waste the whole session tutoring her. It turned out her older brother used to play and she’d picked up a few things. They were supposed to have characters ready, so he made a half-orc paladin named Kram, a devout servant of Asterius determined to overcome his lesser orc nature. Ashley, meanwhile, crafted an elven sorceress named Asaleth, a Chaotic Neutral trickster who flew by the seat of her pants.
Then she sucked his cock again.
“So am I meeting your friends now as, like, your girlfriend?” she asked. DJ didn’t recognize that dangerous quality in her innocent tone.
“Oh. I don’t know, I guess I hadn’t really thought of us in terms of a label or anything,” he said sheepishly. He had, in fact, been pondering along those lines, though the question was more one of which, if any, of the girls he’d been fucking might qualify as a girlfriend. Ashley had been after him relentlessly, interrupting him whenever she felt like it with a cock-hardening sext message or a dirty picture of herself. Emily, on the other hand, had been insatiably devoted to her submissive fetish—the girl hardly left him alone, and he was certain he could have her down here with but a snap of his fingers. Still, it didn’t feel like a relationship so much as it was just great sex on demand.
Then there was Brittney. He and Brittney had spent a lot of time together lately, and had had that incredible day yesterday just lying around making out, culminating in some of the best sex he’d ever had. She was sweet, and beautiful, and just plain nice to him. But she wasn’t aggressive about it, like Ashley and Emily. He still wasn’t sure if she actually liked him or just tolerated him graciously.
(Of course, there were also the other dozen-odd women he’d fucked in the past few weeks.)
DJ returned his attention to Ashley and her question, deciding to play it safe for now. “Naw, we’re not, like, a couple, right? It feels too soon to be getting serious about it, trying to make stuff official.”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “Is that because you’re fucking that airhead down the hall and your kinky little work buddy slut?”
He grimaced. “Well, yeah—but you’re free to see other people, too. You know that right? Nothing exclusive—I’m not the jealous type.”
She gave him a long look. It was seemingly devoid of malice, but still left him sweating. “So like, you wouldn’t mind if I went down the hall and found Charlie and gave him a ride?”
“No, of course not. You’re free to do whatever you want,” he said.
“Cool, cool,” she said. Cooly. “So… do your friends know about you? About what you can do?”
DJ tugged at his neckline uncomfortably. “Err, yeah. Last time we hung out, before break, I told them.”
“How did they react?”
He sighed, a little embarrassed at how he’d abused his power. And his friend. And his sister. He told Ashley the story, who listened, titillated by the sordid details. She asked lots of little questions—what Rachael’s ass looked like, what she’d said when she was begging, why he let Logan have her after instead of taking her for himself. He answered them all patiently.
“Just so I know, is this the kind of thing where I’m gonna have to wear a chain mail bikini and carry a plastic sword?” she asked when she finished, as it was nearly time to go.
DJ laughed. “Only if you want to. I’m wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt.”
Ashley settled for the same dress code, though admittedly her wide hips poured into her jeans and big tits distending her t-shirt still made it easy to lose oneself in staring. Which she encouraged him to do as much as he wanted, as usual.
They showed at Derek’s apartment right on time, sheets and dice in hand. Logan was already there, and already a third of the way through a 2-liter of Mountain Dew. “Ashley, this is Derek and Logan.”
“Sup guys. I’m DJ’s friend, Ashley. We’re not going out.” This declaration perked up Logan and Derek in a hurry, even as it drew a reflexive glare at them from DJ. Hopefully her funk blew over soon.
The group made chit-chat and got settled in, the usual what’s-your-major where-ya-from stuff. When her back was turned, Logan pointed pretty blatantly to Ashley’s rack and mouthed an appreciative “DAY-UM” to DJ, followed by a thumb’s up that evaporated the moment she looked back.
They began the game. Derek was DMing. Kram, Asaleth and Logan’s halfling rogue, Barxes, intrepid heroes all, had arrived in the small village of Brendleton and, as heroes always seemed to, began at the tavern.
“A citizen of Brentleton approaches your table,” Derek narrated. “He looks somewhat troubled, and—”
“Does he look hot?” Ashley asked.
“Does he look rich?” Logan asked.
“Logan, no, he doesn’t look rich, more middle class.”
“Middle class? Almost nobody was middle class in Medieval times.”
“Well this isn’t Medieval times, it’s a fantasy game, so shut up about it,” Derek said, exasperated. Ashley still watched expectantly for an answer to her question, so he rolled some dice for the man’s charisma score. “He’s pretty plain-looking, Asaleth. Can I go on?”
No one interrupted this time.
“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but notice by your dress that you are a group of adventurers, and I wondered if I might beg of your assistance. My name is Haskar, and I have great need of your skills,” said the plain-looking middle class Brendletonian standing before their table.
“You were noticing my dress, eh?” Asaleth said coquettishly, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. Her “dress,” was it were, was technically a robe, or what was left of one after her magical instructors had cursed her with an insatiable libido. Now, she always dressed to advertise, because one never knew.
“You are so fucking hot,” Barxes said, using his miniature stature to surreptitiously peer under the table and right up the elf’s abbreviated attire.
“Just ignore them,” said Kram. “Tell us of your plight, Haskar.”
The peasant told them the tale of the tribe of ogres who had been harassing the town of late. For so long, they had co-existed peacefully, the monsters demanding tribute from the townsfolk but never more than could be spared. It was a hardship, but one that could be endured. In recent months, however, they had begun conducting raids, taking valuables and sacred relics—and most recently, Haskar’s beloved, a woman named Vylyra. “She is the loveliest and kindest maiden in the realm, and I beg of you to return her to her family and I,” he said desperately.
“More lovely than me?” Asaleth asked peevishly.
“Um. Well, we’re in love, you see, so… it’s relative.”
She sniffed and turned away disdainfully.
“You offer us nothing and demand a great risk!” complained Barxes, slamming his heavy fist on the table, almost breaking the wood with his might.
“Logan, Barxes is a halfling—his fist is like the size of a plum. He has a strength penalty,” Derek countered.
“Nah, I decided to use the human barbarian I made instead.”
“You can’t change in the middle of a session!” Derek chastised.
“What, if Asaleth’s a nympho, I wanna be able to get it on that, and it’d be creepy with a halfling.”