The Girl Who Gets What She Wants

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Ara 11, 2023 // By:analsex // No Comment

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Sarah pulled her Audi into the parking spot nearest the curb. She didn’t see his truck, so she hesitated before turning the car engine off. She didn’t really know how she would be received, or even if Ryan still lived here.

While they hadn’t ended on bad terms, they hadn’t really kept in contact, either. It’s hard to have friends that used to be friends-with-benefits while in a serious romantic relationship with someone else, particularly if that someone else has a bit of a jealous streak. However, since she’d parted ways with Todd six weeks prior, she had been thinking about dropping by Ryan’s place every time she showed this listing. While she and Ryan were still Facebook friends, she felt awkward just propositioning him via Facebook. While “Hey, wanna fuck?” was once a perfectly acceptable communiqué between them, it seemed a little abrupt after more than two years.

Today, she’d had a 5:00 showing, but the prospective buyer had taken one look at the place, and decided he wasn’t interested. Although the market hadn’t fallen to the levels of several years ago, it had been in a recent slump. This house had been on the market almost a year, with nobody showing any serious interest, and it was a high value property whose owner was getting antsy, meaning Sarah was in danger of losing the listing. For someone who prided herself on being able to flip a house a month in a better economy, the frustration was overwhelming. Her savings account was starting to dwindle, and the stress was starting to build up.

Last night, at the worst possible time, the batteries in her favorite vibrator had run out for the second time in a month. She realized at that moment, teetering on the precipice between orgasm and utter frustration that she really just needed to get laid. Not by a toy but by a real cock. She hadn’t officially made up her mind to come and knock on Ryan’s door until the 5:00 appointment had ended in five minutes with no progress. The route between the property and her office took her right by his apartment complex, and she made the impulse decision to see if he was home.

She nervously watched the front door of the townhouse for a couple of minutes; she couldn’t see anything on the exterior which indicated if Ryan still lived there or not. Eventually, she made the decision to go. She sighed, turned the car off, and got out of the car; the worst thing that would happen would be that he didn’t live here anymore, and she could go back to staring at her Facebook page trying to figure out whether to contact him or not.

Ryan made good money at the advertising firm he worked at, and the quality of the complex reflected that. There was a swimming pool and hot tub at the community center, and there weren’t a lot of children running around underfoot and making unnecessary noise. Each building had four two-story townhouses, all with their own entry on the ground floor, with three bedrooms upstairs. The master bathroom was the best feature of the apartment; Sarah also knew from personal experience that the party walls were very thick indeed.

She knocked three times on the door to the apartment. About ten seconds went by, and she was just about to turn and leave when the door opened. It wasn’t Ryan.

“Hello?” The woman who asked the question was striking; there was no doubt about that. She was fairly short, but it wasn’t her height which caught Sarah’s attention. She was wearing a black sports bra and matching spandex shorts, exposing her toned midriff. Her reddish-brown hair was tied in a ponytail, and her bright green eyes smiled with her mouth. Her sports bra was doing an admirable job of containing a pair of large breasts which appeared to be desperately seeking freedom, and her workout shorts were tight enough to make it obvious to Sarah that her lower curves probably matched the voluptuousness of her upper half. Her facial features perhaps suggested just a hint of Mediterranean ancestry; her well-tanned exposed skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and she appeared to be just a little bit out of breath.

“Oh,” stammered Sarah, “I’m sorry, I was looking for a friend of mine who used to live here.”

“Are you looking for Ryan?”

“Ryan Stark? Yeah, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would drop by, but …”

“Oh, he just called from the store, he’s picking up some groceries on the way home. He should be here in a few minutes. You want to come in and wait?”

Sarah didn’t really feel like hanging out with this woman. She was younger, prettier and in better shape than Sarah, and she was clearly involved in Ryan’s life already. Sarah couldn’t really say she was just here for a booty call, but she also didn’t really have a good reason to just leave, since she had just admitted she had dropped by to see Ryan, and he was going to be home shortly.

All of a sudden, she was extremely embarrassed. Ryan not living here anymore was actually not the worst thing that could have happened.

“Well, I don’t think I need to…I mean, I can just gaziantep escort ilanları call or text…I can come back another time, no problem, it’s not a big deal.”

The red-headed woman smiled knowingly and stuck out her hand. “I’m Katrina, Ryan’s roommate.”

Sarah’s relief must have been visible; she felt a little color return to her face. She took the offered hand, and replied “I’m Sarah.”

“Great!” Katrina turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door opened behind her. “Come on in.”

Sarah couldn’t figure an easy way to turn that down, so Sarah followed her in, closing the door behind her. As she had suspected, Katrina’s ass was just about perfect.

The very nature of Katrina’s outfit made Sarah take stock of her own clothing. She was wearing a relatively conservative black business jacket with a white top underneath. She had worn a fairly tight blouse to show off the shape of her C-cups since her client was a middle-aged man, but he hadn’t even stuck around long enough for her to find an excuse to take the jacket off. Her black skirt ended just above her knee, although she had foregone pantyhose today since the forecast had called for ninety. Katrina was about three inches shorter than Sarah’s five foot nine, but her muscular and curvaceous physique probably meant they both weighed about the same. Sarah’s shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair was straight and hung loose, in contrast to Katrina’s auburn ponytail.

The living room had changed a bit since Sarah was last in it; the furniture and the art were still the same, but the far end of the room had been rearranged to make room for a Stair Climber. An exercise ball and some smaller weights littered the floor near the machine. While Sarah was looking around, Katrina had made her way to the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Katrina asked, rooting around in the fridge. “I’ve got … water, guava juice, pineapple juice…” She trailed off.

“Oh, no thanks,” Sarah said as she followed Katrina into the kitchen. “I’m good.” Sarah immediately noticed one change — a modern, fancy refrigerator had replaced the old standard model.

“Or, if you’re in the mood for a more adult beverage, we’ve got a couple of open bottles of wine, or I could probably make something fruity if you like mixed drinks.” Katrina paused. “Oh, and Ryan probably has some shit beer in the garage.”

Sarah smiled. She was familiar with Ryan’s beer preferences. For someone with relatively grown up tastes, he had never grown out of his affinity for the first beer he ever drank as a frat boy.

“I’ll pass on the Coors Light, thanks. Maybe water?”

“Coors Light!” Katrina exclaimed, and opened the fridge. “Hah! Some things never change! Water it is, then; on the rocks, neat, or from the bottle?”

“Bottled water?” It was more a question than an answer, but Katrina took it as the former and handed her a bottle of Evian water. Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“That’s my influence.” Katrina nodded, smiling. “Ryan has no interest in anything that’s not easy. He put me in charge of choosing what groceries to get, and he pays for them. He gets in shape, and I get to eat for free. Seems like a good deal.”

“For sure,” Sarah responded. Katrina picked a glass of some pinkish-yellow juice off the counter, and started chugging it. It was gone in a few seconds, and Katrina went back for more. “Sorry, I just finished thirty minutes on the treadmill when you knocked, it makes me thirsty.”

Just thinking about thirty minutes of cardio made Sarah thirsty. Sarah wasn’t out of shape, per se, but she certainly wasn’t in shape. Her important parts still looked as good as any thirty-four-year-old, but some of the corners and edges were a bit rougher than they had been ten years ago. As she watched Katrina bend over to reach into the fridge and pour herself another glass of juice, she took a big gulp of water.

“So,” Katrina began, “how do you know Ryan?”

Sarah tried not to blush. “Um… we … met through some mutual friends who organized a group rafting trip down the Deschutes one 4th of July weekend, and just stayed friends ever since. It’s been a couple of years, though.”

“Ryan went rafting?” Katrina raised an eyebrow. “He’s not much of an outdoorsman. The only thing I have seen him do outside is play golf.”

Sarah nodded knowingly. “They sold us on the trip by telling us it was a ‘Booze up and riot’ kind of trip. Start drinking Friday morning, don’t quit until Sunday afternoon.”

“Now that sounds more like Ryan.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t work out that way exactly. We all met at our friends’ place in Gresham, and they had rented a van big enough to fit 10 people plus gear. But by the time we got there, it was pouring rain, and the raft with the booze in it tipped over at the first rapids. It was entirely Ryan’s fault.”

Katrina burst out laughing. “That’s Ryan, all right: 90% suave and 10% enormous klutz.”

“Oh, absolutely. He doesn’t screw up all that often, but when he does, he makes it count.”

Katrina laughed again while Sarah continued.

“We lost it all; nobody had really had a drop to drink yet. We took a group vote and powered through the whole trip Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, which was originally supposed to last all weekend. We ended up in The Dalles by mid-afternoon, and were all hankering to get drunk, so we decided to salvage the weekend by renting out a few rooms in a hotel and get blotto indoors. Since he flipped the boat over, we made Ryan drive the van with all us rowdy drunks in it all over town while he played DD. It turned out to be a very memorable weekend, at least in part because it started off so terribly.”

“That sounds like a blast.”

“It was. And Ryan was a good sport, considering we spent all three days giving him endless shit about losing three hundred dollars worth of booze.”

“Well, he is a good sport.” Katrina raised her glass. “To Ryan.”

Sarah tried to toast her back, but a plastic water bottle didn’t have much effect. It was almost empty anyway; as it was a hot day.

Katrina noticed as well. She finished her glass, and then looked up at Sarah. “My original plan was to make myself a mixed drink. Can I offer you one?”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t, I mean … “

“I insist.” Katrina wandered over to the wine bar opposite the refrigerator, ignoring more minor protests by Sarah. “You ever have an Alabama Slammer?”

“Yeah, sure, um … I had a lot of them in college when I just wanted to get drunk but didn’t want to taste the alcohol. It’s got, uh … grenadine, southern comfort? Real fruity?”

“That’s a good start. Did you like it?”

“Not bad, for a fru-fru drink.”

“Ever had a frozen one?”

Sarah thought for a minute. “I don’t think so; I didn’t know they came that way.”

“Best drink on the planet.” Sarah watched as Katrina pulled out three distinct bottles of alcohol from the wine bar — Southern Comfort, sloe gin, and vodka. She also grabbed a bottle of red syrup that Sarah suspected was grenadine. She took those over to the blender; from the fridge, she then extracted some ice into a glass from the refrigerator while removing what appeared to be a carton of ice cream from the freezer side. She dropped the ice into the blender, and followed it with a couple of ounces worth of the vodka and the southern comfort. She followed it with a splash of the sloe gin, and a little bit of the grenadine. She then took an ice cream scoop out of the drawer, and scooped out two scoops of the ice cream (which was actually orange sherbet) and plopping them into the blender. The blender cap went on, and she started it up.

“Your turn.” Sarah had to speak loudly to be heard over the blender. “How do you know Ryan?”

“So, I moved up here about a year ago with a guy. He got a job out at Intel’s huge campus; I found a gig at a gym here in Wilsonville as a trainer. But it turns out the guy I moved here with was a prick, just wanted me for arm candy, but didn’t actually think of me as relationship material. That was one thing back home in SoCal, where I had other friends to do things with, but when your guy is the only person you know, you’re kind of stuck with him. I didn’t realize he was a sack of shit until I got to Oregon. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before we moved, but I guess sometimes a big cock and a fat wallet make you overlook more important details.”

The blender came to a halt, and Katrina poured the concoction into two glasses. She took a small jar of maraschino cherries out of the fridge and dropped one in each glass. She handed one to Katrina.

“Cheers!” This time, the resulting clink was much more satisfying. Both women took a drink – Sarah a small sip, Katrina a larger one.

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Wow, this is delicious!” Her second taste was much larger than her first.

“Told ya. Don’t drink it too fast, though, you don’t want brain freeze.” Katrina smiled. She sat down at a barstool next to the kitchen counter, and Sarah took the adjacent one. “I tended bar right off the beach in San Diego for a couple of years. The beach bunnies loved the frozen tropical drinks, and the guys were only too happy to buy them. A bartender learns pretty quickly how to do it right, because the better the drink, the better the tips.”

Sarah decided she liked this woman, and took another drink. “Somehow, I’m guessing you didn’t have too much trouble in the tip department.”

“No problem with the guys. But for the women, the quality of the drink mattered. If they got their buzz on without tasting the booze, everybody wins, including the bartender.”

Sarah nodded. “I was a waitress in college. Keeping the bartender happy made my job easier. More booze in the drinks equals more tips for me. More tips for me equals more tips for the bartender.” She took another drink.

“So, where’d you go?” Katrina asked.

Sarah looked puzzled.

“To college?”

“Oh. Corvallis.”

“Is that the…Ducks?”

Sarah looked annoyed.

“Eep. Please forgive me, I’m new here.”

Sarah lightened up a bit. “No problem, I’m just giving you shit. I was never a big sports fan; it’s not that big a deal. But you really should learn the difference; in certain parts of Oregon, those are fighting words.”

Katrina giggled. “So, you’re a Beaver?”

Sarah sighed. “Yes. And I’ve heard all the jokes before.”

“I bet. Probably gets old before you’re a sophomore?”

“It got old before I left high school. I went to high school in the Eugene area, which means everybody’s a Duck fan and I’m one of the few ‘beavers.’ It might have come up once or twice. Or…fifty times.”

“So, why’d you leave town? You could have gone to college basically at home.”

“That was the problem. I didn’t want to be at home. I wanted to live on my own. Corvallis is 45 minutes away, so it was close enough for emergencies. Plus, Oregon State has a pharmacy program, which I was interested in at the time.”

“You’re a pharmacist?” Katrina asked. She had finished her beverage and was putting together another round, filling up the blender as she spoke.

“Oh, gosh, no. I realized I hated it during undergrad, and it was far too many years worth of school for me at the time. I ended up with an English degree, which is completely useless. So now … I sell real estate.”

Katrina smiled knowingly at some inside private joke. “You make that sound bad. Is there something wrong with that?”

“It’s not glamorous, and the income isn’t consistent. In 2010, I made less than 50% of what I made in 2007. The last few years have been on the upswing, at least until this year. But this year’s been tough.”

“That’s rough, with income that inconsistent. How do you manage?”

“I made good money before, so I’m not in poverty now, but I’m not saving anything. No more extravagant vacations to Australia, and I’ve cut back on some other unnecessary expenses like … adding to my stock portfolio. HBO. That kind of thing.”

“No HBO? The horror! However will you watch Game of Thrones?” Katrina mocked playfully. She raised the blender, and refilled Sarah’s drink, which, although not empty, had become precariously low. Sarah obliged her.

“You said that you’re an athletic trainer?” Sarah asked.

“Yup; I’m at the gym four days a week, and I bartend three nights a week at a sports bar in Beaverton. The money’s not great, but it pays the bills, and I don’t hate my job, which is always nice. I also get a little side money from my Mom’s online jewelry shop. She makes this weird, quirky, jewelry which has some niche market somewhere. But she knows nothing about computers, so I run the website, which basically consists of posting new pictures every month, and I get 10% of sales which come through the website; works out to a couple hundred extra bucks a month for about 2 or 3 hours of work. I’ve told her she should do it herself, but she insists she knows nothing about computers. I think she likes having it as an excuse to talk to me a couple of times a month.”

“Oh, wow. You’re a website designer?”

“Hardly. I took, like, three classes in college when I thought I wanted to do something amazing with my life like becoming Sergei Brin or Steve Jobs, but with tits. Learned enough to get by, but also enough to know I had no natural knack for it, or an important enough reason to get good at it. But I picked up my Mom’s side-business during a class project. Four years later, I’m still doing it, and making a little money. If I ever wanted to run a real website, I’d have to spend a lot of time learning the ropes prior to working on it. But the foundation is there, just in case.”

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“Yeah, I’m not the typical webmaster.”

“I’ll say.” Sarah took another drink. “So how did you meet Ryan?”

“You know how a gym’s most crowded time of the year is the first couple of weeks of January, when everyone makes resolutions to get in shape but are gone by February 1? Ryan was one of those. But we got along well, and he hung around long enough for us to become roommates when Scott the Prick and I split up. He realized I could contribute some money, keep the place cleaner, and the food in the fridge healthier. I’ve managed to convince him to stick with the gym routine, though. How long has it been since you saw Ryan?”

“Hmmm. Two years, maybe two and a half?”

“I think you’ll be surprised. He’s lost about twenty pounds, and is in much better shape.”

Sarah nodded approvingly. “Well done.”

“Me nagging him about diet and exercise was great when I was his trainer. Then it worked fine as roommates, because I had even more say over his diet. Then we tried dating, and that didn’t work so well.”

Sarah swallowed hard. “Dating? I thought you said you were just roommates.”

Katrina didn’t miss the significance of her pause. “We are; we tried dating, and my nagging drove him crazy, I didn’t like his snoring or his controlling habits. So we went back to being roommates, and everything was fine again.”

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