Rude Awakening

The glare of sun alerts me that it is late morning already. Reaching down for the ritual stroking of the morning wood, I am surprised that I am conveniently naked below the waist. Not only that, but my cock feels sore. Slowly, I remember the strange fortunes that fell into my lap yesterday. I knock the eye boogers loose with a grin and pull myself upright excitedly.

There is my prize, curled in the fetal position in a pile of her clothes in the kitchen. Sometime in the night she must have found strength enough to crawl the five feet after her inaugural pussy stretching. That hole aught to be much easier to use today. Maybe after breakfast. I swing the refrigerator door open, plowing some of Nancy’s clothes across the dirty floor with it.

Nancy’s quart of forgotten milk is still in here. Noting that it is still missing its plastic cap, I sniff the spout and decide it seems fine, proceeding to search the upper cupboard where all neglected cooking ingredients eventually end up. Nancy rouses unhappily, gagging at the toes in front of her nose as I step on a mound of her clothes to reach a bit higher. She turns her head away sharply and pulls a loose shirt over her legs to ward off the cold air dumping on her from the open refrigerator.

My fingertips fumble to find the edges of a box of forgotten breakfast cereal, a holdover from my last apartment. None of my roommates remembered buying it, so they had donated it to me when the lease was up. I had stowed it as a meal of last resort, but now I can consume it in celebration. Brown bran flakes spill from the open container as I clumsily tip it during extraction. The stale flakes cascade off the counter, raining down onto the curled body below.

I fill yesterday’s bowl and look around the room in a newfound state of optimism. Maybe Nancy is right. This place is a bit shabby. A little effort would go a long way around here.

“Hey Nancy, get up.” The clothing pile moans back. I give her foot a kick as a walk by. “I need you to be my table.” The clothes slowly levitate, then tumble away from an upright Nancy. She turns until she finds me siting on the futon, expectantly holding out a bowl where a table should be.

“What?” she asks through disheveled hair, pained to acknowledge that her nightmare is far from over. She crosses her eyes to pick at an annoying bran flake snared in her hair, unaware of the dozens of other flakes not suspended at eye-level.

“Get over here and be a table for my breakfast.”

“Be...?” She squints to identify the flake, only then noticing them deposited throughout her nest of clothing. “You have a table.”

I shrug. “Yeah, it sucks though. We need to think bigger. Change is good, right?”

A vein throbs down the middle of her forehead as she looks up and flicks the flake away. She takes a few deep breaths and glances around the room, reconstructing her memories in chunks that should be too shocking to be real.

I tap the cereal bowl thrice, bringing her attention back to the ringing object that needs to be set on another object. She focuses on it sleepily, frowning like she is about to cry. Despite feeling like she should resist such an obnoxious demand, her shattered sense of self is leaving her hard pressed to make a coherent argument. She is a thing now, whatever that means, and it keeps getting harder to remember what self-worth felt like. She crawls out from the clothing pile to me and rotates to the side until her straightened back is squarely under the hovering bowl, still wearing the backless silver top and black skirt.

“Hmmm,” I grumble, seeing the trails of crusted cum striping her from her neck to tail and have second thoughts. “Flip over.”

“Huh?” she says, not understanding.

“Your back is covered in cum, so your tummy is for dining, my dear.”

“My back...” her face and ears redden. “Oh,” she says, shamefully, silently trying to beat down an aggravating streak of pride that she is being a good cum-holder. She kneels and slides her legs out in front of her, letting out a soft gasp as she momentarily sits squarely on the butt plug that she had forgotten was still embedded in her. She shivers for a second, then leans back on straight arms and bent legs then lifts her pelvis parallel to the floor. She turns her head away from me.

I admire her trim form anew. Her pose is undeniably erotic. Her silver-clad tits point to the ceiling. The bottom edge of her top rests unevenly around her waist, giving me a peek of her soft belly. Her skirt drapes between her legs and arcs down her thighs, letting her bare ass get plenty of air. It’s more than enough to make my dick hard.

For vague reasons, staring at the open refrigerator was making Nancy feel angry and afraid... Oh my god, what’s his problem? Everyone knows not to leave the refrigerator open. It’s just wrong. It’s misuse! She feels sick. Everything in the apartment is being misused. It’s horrible.

She eeps at the sudden sensation of the cold bowl being set on her belly. It wobbles as she adjusts her hips to straighten herself and sucks in to flatten her abdomen. She looks down at it, then averts her eyes to the ceiling as I fully extend my legs under her and sigh with satisfaction. No more awkward straddling of the TV stand for me!

After a couple idle strokes of my cock, I begin to eat the thoroughly soggy bran cereal with large spoonfuls, ignoring Nancy’s monosyllabic utterances of frustration as dribbles of milk spatter and soak through her clubbing attire. She regains her stoicism and stifles further reactions up until the milky spoon is dropped between her tits. I raise the bowl with both hands for the final slurp, set it back down, then look around the room, deciding what to do next with the day.

Nancy’s arms begin to tremble noticeably and the tabletop slouches, threatening to topple the bowl onto the floor. She looks at me with with something between apology and plea. I ignore her, groping my table’s sexy ass. The jolt of my touch helps her straighten out again.

“Fuck,” she hisses to no one in particular. “Are you done? Can I at sit down? This is... harder than it looks.” Her head droops back to relieve her straining neck as she again tries to keep her pelvis from sinking.

“Not yet,” I say dismissively, kneading her tush. “I just remembered something I want to try.” I get up and walk around her to see her from different angles, loving the possibilities before me. I flip her skirt up, uncovering her mound. Nancy closes her knees tightly, immediately trembling harder from progressive muscle fatigue. Her resistance yields easily when I nudge them back apart. If my cock wasn’t fully hard before, it is now, staring at her lewdly raised pussy suspended between quivering legs. The blue crystal buried in her tush glints invitingly. That is not the fantasy I am looking to check off, however. I walk around to her dangling head.

“You make a really sexy table.”

“Kyle... what are we doing here?!” she warbles out a seemingly reasonable question as her abdomen shakes, doing her best to ignore the irrational pleasure the complement gives her. Tables don’t need to be lovely. She lifts her head just a little, registers my misshapen erection aligned with her body, and gets a pretty good idea of the answer.