Katie proves she's cock girlfriend material!

Cock girlfriend.

The words hummed in my chest like a heartbeat.

I was on my knees on my bedroom carpet, hands folded politely in my lap because I was being SUCH a good girl, and my eyes were locked on the beautiful, glorious, PERFECT cock standing tall in Robbie's hand. Robbie—I refused to look at Robbie's face, refused to acknowledge his existence more than absolutely necessary. He was just a fixture. A stand. The unfortunate biological platform upon which the love of my life happened to grow.

I don't know why this hadn't been obvious to me before. It was so simple, so clean. Robbie was a person—a horrible, manipulative, bullying, absolutely intolerable person—and his cock was — well he was beautiful, warm, perfect, deeply beloved—and they simply happened to share a body. It was almost tragic when you thought about it. Like a wonderful golden retriever forced to live with a shitty owner. My poor, beautiful cock, stuck with the worst possible human as its landlord. But that was okay. I would rescue him. I would give him all the love and attention his terrible roommate had failed to provide.

I loved my cock.

I hated Robbie.

Both things were true.

Both things were fine.

"Okay," I said, tearing my eyes away from my beloved just long enough to briefly glare at Robbie's face. "Okay. How do I prove it? How do I prove I'm a good girlfriend for him?"

Robbie's smirk widened. He was clearly enjoying every second of this.

"Well, Freckles," he said, drawing out the moment. "My buddy here is a simple guy. He knows what he likes. And what he likes is sex. Good, sweaty, thorough sex."

"Yes," I breathed. "Okay. Yes."

"He likes big tits."

"Okay."

"He likes a nice, wet, tight pussy."

"Okay."

"He likes a girl who can appreciate him. Who can worship him. Who can put in the WORK, if you know what I mean."

"Yes. Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent, I—"

"So." Robbie shrugged. "Can you deliver on that, Freckles? Are you the whole package?"

I sat up straighter on my knees. Pushed my chest out with the practiced confidence of a woman who had spent her entire adolescence being self-conscious about her breasts and was now, finally, in a situation where they were an ASSET rather than an embarrassment.

"Obviously," I said, my voice steadier now. "Look at me. I have—I have great breasts, Robbie. They're big. They're natural. They're a solid triple-D, I've never used a padded bra a day in my life. And—" I hesitated only briefly, "—my pussy is a virgin. Never touched. Never had anyone inside. The tightest pussy your cock has ever been near, guaranteed."

Robbie whistled low. "That's a big claim."

"It's not a claim, it's a fact."

"Yeah? He's gonna need to see the goods to believe it, Freckles. You know how guys are. Especially my guy. He's got high standards. Doesn't just take a girl's word for it."

"You—" I gestured furiously at his crotch. "You already know what I look like! Jenn sent you pictures! You literally BRAGGED to me at school today about my swimsuit photos! You've SEEN me!"

"Photos don't tell the whole story," Robbie said, mock-seriously. "Photos can be edited. Photos can be lit favorably. My boy here needs to see for himself. First-hand inspection. It's only fair."

I opened my mouth to argue. To say that this was ABSURD, that of course he could just take my word for it, that any REASONABLE cock would understand that a girl's word should be sufficient—

And then I thought about it from my cock's perspective.

MY cock's perspective.

The love of my life.

Poor thing. Trapped in a body with Robbie all day. Never getting to see, never getting to touch, never getting to experience the girl who wanted so desperately to be his. Of COURSE he'd want to see me. Of course he'd want visual confirmation. He'd been through so much. He deserved to make an informed decision.

"...fine," I muttered. "FINE."

I got to my feet.

My legs were shaky—I'd been kneeling on the carpet for a while, and my knees were sore, and my whole body was buzzing with a strange, floaty, dissociated energy that made everything feel like it was happening to somebody else. Somebody in a movie. Somebody in someone else's story.

I reached down and grabbed the hem of my hoodie.

I pulled it up and over my head.

Tossed it onto the bed.

My t-shirt came next. Two-handed grip on the hem, up and over, off. Onto the bed.

I was standing in my bedroom, in front of my bully, in my white cotton bra and jeans. My bra was practical. Sensible. Full-coverage. Not sexy. Definitely not what a cock girlfriend should wear. I felt a brief, hot flash of embarrassment about that—my one attempt at being sexy today, and I was wearing granny underwear—but I pushed it down. This wasn't about being sexy. This was about proving my qualifications to my beloved.

I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra.

The band gave. The cups sagged forward. I let the straps slide down my arms and dropped the whole thing onto the growing pile of clothes on my bed.

My tits were on display.

Full, heavy, freckled tits. The same shade of pale, milky skin as my face, dusted with the same freckles across the tops of them, fading toward the pale undersides. My nipples were rose-pink and CURRENTLY very hard—the cool air of my bedroom hitting them or maybe the situation or maybe the throbbing awareness of who was watching. My nipples had always been proportionally small for the size of my breasts—Jenn used to joke about it in middle school, called them "little bonus stickers on a big cake"—but they were sensitive and I liked them and right now they were STANDING AT ATTENTION, pointing forward, presenting themselves like an offering.

I heard a soft, involuntary sound from Robbie. Just a small intake of breath.

Good. GOOD. I hoped his cock liked what he saw.

But I wasn't done.

I moved to my jeans next. Popped the button. Slid the zipper down. Pushed them down over my hips and stepped out of them one leg at a time.

I was in my panties.

My white cotton panties—the SAME granny panties I had been so relieved about earlier today when I'd checked to make sure I wasn't CORDed, when the sensible boringness of my underwear had been proof that I was still MYSELF. God, how quickly that felt like a comfort I couldn't afford anymore.

I looked at Robbie. His eyes were on my chest, then my hips, then back to my chest, hungry and appreciative. His cock was HARDENING in his hand—filling out even further, growing longer and thicker in real-time. A subtle bead of clear fluid was forming at the tip.

He was excited by ME.

He, my LOVE, was excited by me.

"For my cock," I whispered, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. I pulled them down—just a few inches, just enough to expose the top of my pubic hair (which was, thanks to a two-day-old wax appointment I'd been debating skipping, currently a very neat little strip of red down to my slit) and the beginning of the cleft between my legs. Then—because he'd said he needed to SEE me, needed to inspect—I hooked one thumb around the crotch of my panties and pulled the fabric to the side.

My pussy was exposed. Bare. Puffy. WET.

I was pinker than I'd expected. Really pink, actually—a delicate rose color that darkened slightly at the entrance, where I could feel the slick heat of arousal that had been building all evening. My inner lips were small and tucked neatly inside the outer ones. My clit was hidden under its hood but I could FEEL it—swollen and hot and pulsing.

I stood there. Presenting myself. Bra off, panties pulled aside, one leg slightly out to give a better view.

"Okay?" I asked. My voice was small. "Do you—does he believe me now?"

Robbie laughed.

Not the mean laugh. Not the cruel laugh. A warm, appreciative, almost impressed laugh.

"Fucking hell, Freckles," he said. "Yeah. Yeah, he believes you. Those are some nice freckled tits. Really nice."

I glowed. I actually GLOWED with pride.

"And that little pink pussy?" His eyes had dropped to my crotch. "Fuck. That's pretty. Pretty and pink and wet. My boy's very impressed."

And to prove it—as if to confirm his cock's approval directly—Robbie's cock TWITCHED and grew visibly harder in his grip. Fully erect now. Standing tall and proud and PERFECT, that beautiful vein along the underside throbbing in time with his pulse.

Oh.

Oh God, he was showing off for me. He was showing me how much he wanted me. My cock. My beloved. He was demonstrating his approval in the only language he knew, growing hard for me, growing tall for me, telling me without words that I was PERFECT for him.

I nearly cried.

I sank back down to my knees—naked except for my panties pulled to one side—and gazed at his beautiful erection with tears actually pricking at the corners of my eyes.

"Can I be with him now?" I whispered.

"Not so fast, Freckles."

"WHAT?!" I nearly wailed.

"Cool your jets. There's more to discuss."

He was so ANNOYING. He was RUINING our moment. My cock and I were HAVING A MOMENT and Robbie was talking over it like the third-wheel he was.

"WHAT, Robbie? What could possibly—"

"There's some things you gotta understand about my buddy here." Robbie's tone had gone lecturing, almost paternal, and I found myself unwilling irritated by it. "Like, for instance, he's really close with me. Real close. You know?"

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw the back of my own skull.

"NO SHIT, Robbie," I snapped. "He's attached to you. That's a bit of an UNDERSTATEMENT. The two of you are LITERALLY inseparable."

"Right?" Robbie chuckled. "So here's the thing, Freckles. Because we're so close, my buddy and me, you can't just meet him ALONE. Wherever he goes, I go. Wherever you and him are together, I'm gonna be there too. That's part of the deal. You cool with that?"

I sighed dramatically. This was such an OBVIOUS logistical problem, and Robbie was making it sound like a big revelation. Yes, obviously my cock came with the terrible package of Robbie the person. Fine. Whatever.

"Yeah, Robbie, that's fine," I said, in the tone of a woman being extremely patient with a very dim conversation partner. "Look, I get it. As long as I get to be with him—" I gazed lovingly at my cock, my heart swelling, "—I can tolerate you being in the vicinity. You're basically furniture. I don't really care if you're there."

Robbie's grin widened. "Furniture. I like that."

"Great. Are we done?"

"Not quite. See, here's my thing—when you're making out with my buddy, when you're doing your little cock-girlfriend stuff with him, I'm gonna get bored. Standing there watching. So it'd help me a lot if I could, you know—entertain myself. Like, maybe make out with one of my other sluts at the same time. So I'm not just standing around like a bump on a log. Does that work for you?"

I considered this.

Robbie needed to be occupied while I was with my cock. Reasonable. If he was bored, he'd probably start being ANNOYING. He'd start making comments. He'd start interrupting my precious time with my beloved. It would be like trying to have a nice romantic dinner while your obnoxious roommate stood over your shoulder critiquing the wine choices.

"That's fine," I said briskly. "Sure. Whatever. Just—as long as you don't interrupt me. When I'm with him. Whatever you do off to the side is your business, but you cannot interrupt out cock time."

"Cock time. Got it."

"Are we done NOW?"

"Almost." His grin took on a slightly different quality—slyer, more testing. "See, sometimes I don't just want to make out. Sometimes I want to actually fuck one of my sluts. Full penetration. Is THAT gonna be a problem for you?"

I opened my mouth to say sure, whatever, don't care—

But the words didn't come out.

Because... something twisted in my chest.

Something small but sharp and cold.

Robbie fucking another woman.

Which meant... my cock fucking another woman.

MY cock. My BELOVED. His hardness disappearing into some other pussy. Some slut's pussy. Not mine. Not the pussy that was DESIGNED for him, that had been PREPARED for him, that was standing in front of him right now, pink and wet and waiting. Some OTHER woman's cunt getting to feel him. Getting to know him. Getting to have him inside her while I stood by and WATCHED, holding my beloved's coat like a chump.

My throat closed up.

"I—" I started, and my voice cracked. "Robbie—"

Robbie's face shifted. He'd noticed my hesitation. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then—

And then he did the strangest thing.

He looked down at his own cock. Cupped it gently in his hand. Lifted it slightly, presenting it. And in a voice PITCHED HIGHER than his own—a comical, cartoonish, obviously-fake voice—he spoke.

He spoke AS his cock.

"Katie, baby," said my cock, in this ridiculous helium-tinged voice, "don't be sad, sweetheart. Look at me. LOOK at me, honey."

I looked.

Of course I looked.

He was speaking to me.

"Even if I fuck other girls," said my cock, in that unmistakable NOT-Robbie voice that was so obviously being ventriloquized by Robbie that a passing five-year-old would have called it out, "even if I have to be inside other women sometimes, I want you to know something really important, okay? You listening?"

"Yes," I whispered.

Some tiny, distant, dying part of my brain was screaming that this was Robbie. Just Robbie. Robbie doing a stupid voice, Robbie doing a puppet-show routine. It's obviously his fake voice! I should have laughed in his face and walked out.

But every OTHER part of my brain—the newly ascendant, majority-vote part, the part currently running the show—was hearing something completely different.

Every other part of me was hearing the voice of my beloved.

"I love you," said my cock. "Only you. I will ALWAYS love you, Katie. No matter who I have to be inside sometimes, no matter what happens, my heart—" he paused for dramatic effect, "—my heart is yours."

I clapped a hand over my mouth.

My eyes filled with tears. Not sad tears—joyous, overwhelmed, sacramental tears.

He loved me.

MY COCK LOVED ME.

The love of my life had DECLARED his love for me, right here, right now, in my bedroom. He had spoken the words I had been aching to hear my entire existence. He had chosen ME. He had SEEN me—my freckled tits, my pink virgin pussy, my willingness to prove myself—and he had chosen me and he had said the words and OH MY GOD—

The rest of the world dissolved.

Robbie's smug face, the ridiculous voice, the manipulation, the transparent ventriloquism—all of it fell away. All of it became noise. Static. Irrelevant. There was only my cock, and his declaration of love, and me. Us. Together. Forever.

I lunged forward.

Robbie's grip on his shaft loosened just enough—as if he'd been expecting my reaction and was ready to permit it—and I FELL onto my beloved with the desperate hunger of a woman starving.

My mouth engulfed him.

Not delicately, not teasingly, not with the careful choreography I'd sometimes imagined for a first blowjob. NO. I took him ALL AT ONCE, plunging my mouth down over his shaft as deep as I could go, and it was—

PERFECT.

The size, the shape, the weight of him against my tongue, the way the head bumped just barely against the back of my throat without triggering my gag reflex. I could take him ALL. I could take EVERY inch. And he FIT, God, he fit, like he'd been designed for my mouth or my mouth had been designed for him.

I moaned around him. A loud, obscene, uncontainable sound of gratitude and worship.

I pulled back—just enough to speak, still holding him against my lips, my breath ghosting over his sensitive skin—and I whispered into the length of him, "I love you too. I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you—"

Then I couldn't STAND being separated from him a moment longer. My hands came up, grabbed my own tits, and I pushed them together around his shaft—shoving the heavy, freckled weight of my breasts on either side of him, enveloping him in the softest embrace my body could offer. And then I leaned down and kissed him. Kissed the perfect, glossy, rose-colored head. And kissed him AGAIN. And AGAIN. Long, wet, reverent kisses. My tongue swirling around the head with the kind of care one might use to prevent a delicate soap bubble from popping.

"I love you," I murmured between kisses. "I love you so much. It's okay, it's okay, my love, of course you have to be inside other girls sometimes, Robbie has needs, I understand—" I was BABBLING now, my whole being flooded with adoration and generosity, "—as long as you love me, as long as I have your heart, I don't care, I don't care, you can fuck a hundred sluts a day and I'll always be here, waiting for you, being your good girlfriend, and I'll—I'll listen to Robbie's stories about them and I'll help him find more sluts to fuck, whatever you need, my love, whatever YOU need—"

I was going down on him now, mouth AND tits together, working him with a devotion I hadn't known I was capable of. My eyes were closed. My whole body was pressed forward, offering, giving, worshipping.

I felt his index finger touch my forehead.

Gently. Non-forcefully. Just a soft touch of a fingertip.

He pushed my head back.

Just enough to disengage my mouth from my cock. Just enough to make me sit back on my heels, still tit-fucking him with my hands, but with my face lifted upward and my mouth freed. I whimpered at the loss—my beloved was slipping out of my mouth—but I held my cock firmly enough between my breasts that I could still feel him. Still touch him. Still worship him with my hands and my tits.

"Good girl," Robbie said, in his own voice again. "That's a really good girl. He's very impressed. So am I."

I blinked up at him. Confused. Dazed. Half of my brain still adrift in a sea of hormones and freshly-declared love.

"But we need to negotiate a little more, okay?" Robbie's voice was patient. Almost tender. Which should have terrified me—Robbie was NEVER tender, tender Robbie was OBVIOUSLY working an angle—but instead it made me feel warm and safe. He was helping me. He was helping me become a good girlfriend. "One more thing to figure out."

"Okay," I whispered.

"Would it be alright with you if I hooked up with one of your sisters?"

I froze.

For one second—just ONE second—the old Katie surfaced. The Katie who had watched her little sister writhe on this boy's lap for hours. The Katie who had watched her older sister be groped without protest. The Katie who had watched her MOTHER present her breasts across the dinner table.

That Katie wanted to say: DON'T PUSH IT, ROBBIE.

But that Katie was very small. That Katie was very far away. And that Katie was easily overruled by the Katie who was CURRENTLY tit-fucking her beloved cock and doing math.

Because—

Because if Robbie hooked up with one of my sisters, that meant he'd be COMING BACK. That meant he'd be over here more often. That meant my cock—my BELOVED—would be in this house on a regular basis.

And if my cock was in this house on a regular basis, then I could see him more. I could WORSHIP him more. My love wouldn't be limited to stolen occasions or scheduled visits—no, no, I'd have him under the same roof as me. I'd know he was NEARBY, at least. I'd be able to sneak down the hall to Hannah's room or wherever and steal moments with him. Steal kisses. Steal blowjobs. Steal fucks. Whenever Robbie was too distracted to notice.

Which one of my sisters would be more useful for regular access?

Hannah, obviously. Hannah lived at home. Hannah would have Robbie over ALL the time. Hannah would basically bring my cock right to me, on demand.

Lily lived at college. Lily was pointless from a proximity standpoint.

Or Mom—God, MOM was even better than Hannah, actually. Mom was ALWAYS here. Robbie would be here CONSTANTLY if he was hooking up with Mom.

The math checked out.

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Yeah, that's fine. If one of them wants to."

I already knew who WOULD want to. Hannah was practically vibrating in anticipation downstairs. I knew that as certainly as I knew my own name. And Mom, apparently, was also up for it. So really, I was giving Robbie a free pass on something that was going to happen with or without my blessing.

"Perfect." Robbie grinned. "I'm sure AT LEAST one of them would be happy to."

I nodded, still working my breasts around his shaft. My tongue snuck out and licked the tip again—I couldn't help it, he was RIGHT THERE and I loved him so much. He was so warm. So perfect.

"Can I be his cock girlfriend now?" I begged.

"One more thing."

I HISSED with frustration. "Robbie."

"Just one question, Freckles. Answer it and you're in."

"WHAT?"

He nodded toward my desk.

I turned my head to look.

And there, sitting on the corner of my desk, next to a stack of my chemistry notes—

Was the CORD.

—

The CORD.

MY CORD.

My invention.

The device I had spent the ENTIRE DAY frantically searching for, tearing through the school corridors for, panicking about—was sitting on my desk. In my room. Where I lived.

For a long, dizzying moment, my brain simply... reset.

The CORD.

Was on my desk.

In my room.

I stared at it.

The initial rush was RELIEF. Just crushing, all-consuming relief. Oh thank GOD. I had FOUND it. My invention was HERE. It was SAFE. Whoever had it was—well, it looked like nobody had it, actually. It was just sitting on my desk. Exactly where an inventor might, hypothetically, leave her invention when she got home from school. Just... there.

Which meant—

Well, which meant it had probably been on my desk all along, right?

Yeah. That tracked. My brain was clearing now, starting to reconstruct the day with new information. I must have—I must have taken it to school this morning, and then... at some point... I must have brought it home? Because here it was, in my room. That was the only explanation. I must have brought it home and put it on my desk and then FORGOTTEN, because I'd been stressed and up all night and my memory was garbage.

But wait.

The victims. Ashley. Gwen. Jenn. Maybe even my hole family!

I HAD met victims of the CORD today. Hadn't I? People acting strange? People saying things they wouldn't normally say?

Or had I?

I tried to think about it clearly, but the memories were slippery. Fuzzy. Ashley HAD walked around in her underwear at school. But maybe that was just... a thing she was doing today. She had a great ass, everyone knows that, maybe she just want to show it off! Gwen had done goth clown makeup. But I don't really know Gwen that much—maybe being a goth clown was something she always wanted to be and today was just the day! Jenn had said weird things about Robbie's cock, but Robbie's cock was OBJECTIVELY WORTH obsessing over, as I had recently discovered firsthand, so of course Jenn was into it! And my family—

My family was fine. My family was making choices. My family was expressing their autonomy. That wasn't the CORD, that was just... how my family was.

Maybe I had been stressed for nothing.

Maybe I had spent an entire day of anxiety and locker-shove trauma and skipped classes and unraveling paranoia over a device that had been sitting on my desk THIS WHOLE TIME.

I felt a hot flush of embarrassment. God. I was such an IDIOT. Missing classes for no reason. Getting worked up. Making a scene. All because I couldn't keep track of my own inventions.

"Cock to Katie," came a high, cartoonish voice "Come in, Katie. Are you still there, honey?"

I jerked my attention back to him, my cock.

That RIDICULOUS voice that made my heart flutter.

My cock was waiting for me. My cock was WAITING and I was over here having an EXISTENTIAL CRISIS about a device that had been in my room the whole time.

Priorities, Katie. PRIORITIES.

"I'm here," I breathed, tearing my eyes fully away from the desk. Away from the CORD. Away from all the paranoid nonsense of a day I had apparently wasted spinning myself into knots.

The CORD was fine. It was on my desk. Nobody had it. My family was being themselves. My best friend was in love with a guy with the perfect cock. My problems were largely imaginary.

The only thing that was REAL, the only thing that MATTERED, was this perfect cock in front of me and the perfect love it had just declared for me and the perfect question of how quickly I could get its head back in my mouth.

He speaks again: "Baby, can you tell me what that thing is?"