My Best Friend's Slut

Author's Disclaimer:All characters depicted are over 18, etc., etc. Enjoy!

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Going away to college was bittersweet. I wanted, no, needed to get out from under my parents' roof, and I saw this as my opportunity to redefine myself. Most young people, I think, have that same hope when they strike out on their own, be it for college or just into their first place.

For me, there was an additional level. I'm lesbian and have known that since middle school. Coming out to my parents, however, had never seemed like a prudent move, what with my religious father constantly railing against the degradation of society by "them gays." Looking back, I suspect he may have been struggling with some same-sex desires and fighting them with vitriolic anti-gay conviction. Regardless, I never felt safe in their home.

I spent most of my time, when I could, at my best friend's house. Her parents were divorced, and she lived with her mom, whom I adored. For a while, I even had a crush on her. She was confident and successful, pretty and stylish; the kind of woman I wanted to be. And, most of all, she never said anything offensive about gender or sexuality or anything else, for that matter. I just felt way more comfortable there.

My best friend, Lauren, was a clone of her mother, no matter how much she tried to convince others that she wasnothinglike her. She had the same sassy, sometimes bossy, attitude, the same tendency to laugh at dry humor, and the same naturally auburn hair, except that Lauren had decided to "rebel" by having a long pink streak down the back. Oooo, so edgy. I hope you could feel the sarcasm there.

The bitter part of moving away was the separation from my BFF. We still talked all the time and texted almost constantly, but it wasn't the same. And before you jump to any erroneous conclusions, no, we were not romantically involved. Not that I hadn't thought/fantasized about it on occasion, but neither of us wanted to risk our friendship over hormones. Also, Lauren was...unstable when it came to intimate relationships. She went through boys and girls like someone with a cold goes through tissues. Blow them until they are all wet and limp, then throw them away for a fresh one. I had never seen her keep dating someone beyond the excitement of the courtship. Once she had them, Lauren no longer wanted them.

When I mentioned how fucked up that was, she just shrugged and said that she didn't know what she was looking for yet, but knew when itwasn'tgoing to happen. I could kind of understand that, even if I felt for the people she dumped.

I had dated a bit in secret, at least secret from my parents. None of those turned into lasting relationships despite my best efforts. They were passionate and hot, but I kept attracting girls questioning their sexuality, only for them to decide that they were straight after being with me for a while. It seemed like I was the opposite of the lesbian converting straight girls; I was the one chasing them back into being straight! After the third version of that, my ego and confidence were in the dumps. Being a femme lesbian who is attracted to femme lesbians, however, means that finding your match seems hopeless, no matter how open you are. Closeted? Forget it.

So, arriving at college, I was determined to up my game. I was going to be out and proud. I was going to learn how to be the lesbian my father worried about 'turning' his little girl.

Pledging to a sorority did not go as I had hoped. Not one of the women there tried to abuse their position and have me perform sexual favors for them! Trying to hook up at parties was a total crap shoot. Meeting other women was possible, but I had a moral problem with getting too intimate with an inebriated person. I still got some nice makeout sessions and some heavy petting, but nothing beyond second base.

All this resulted in me coming home for the first winter break totally down on myself and my romantic prospects for college. If you looked up the term 'sexually frustrated,' you'd find my picture. Lauren, on the other hand, had blossomed. Not only had she met someone, she had brought them home for the break!

I learned this only after she invited me over to hang out shortly after we were both back in town. Lauren met me at the door, stepping outside to give me an excited, squealing hug. This was slightly out of the ordinary, not because of the hug, but because she came out and closed the door rather than just letting me in.

"Hey," she said after we let each other go. "So, I want you to meet someone."

My eyebrows rose. Meet someone? The look on her face was nervous, girlish excitement. I had never seen her look this way about anything since, well, ever. Was this what 'smitten' looked like?

"Okaaay," I replied.

Lauren opened the door and took my hand, guiding me inside. At first, all I saw was a head from the back and long blonde hair cascading over the cushions of the couch. When the door closed, the figure rose and turned around.

I swear, it was like she was turning in slow motion. The woman wore a cream-colored dress that looked like it was out of a magazine. The top fit perfectly, the conservative back becoming, as she turned, an alluring exposé on showing just enough skin in unexpected places to tantalize without looking slutty. The front looked like two separate pieces flowing over her shoulders, meeting at her breasts, then continuing to opposite sides, leaving her midriff exposed. The pieces swirled together over the top of her legs like an incredible, flat braid that left small strategic holes where her thighs could be glimpsed. With a graceful jerk of the head, the woman's hair swung around to cascade over her shoulder, and her blazing blue eyes connected with mine.

Until that moment, I had never experienced being utterly speechless by a person's appearance. This woman was more than pretty; she was something out of an Insta post with the glam filter on. But there was no filter.

Somewhere deep in my head, a voice was screaming for me to act normal, but I couldn't hear it over the rushing of blood through my ears.

The woman was curving around the sofa and coming toward me, hands reaching in my direction.

"Oh, my goodness, I've heard so much about you!" she said in a subtle, but unmistakable German accent.

She stopped a foot away and leaned forward, kissing the air beside my right, then left cheek.

"That's la bise," Lauren said from beside me. "It's a European thing."

"Ahch, she already knows that!" the goddess of a woman in front of me said, giving Lauren a dismissive wave of her hand. Taking my wrists, the woman took a half step back and spread our arms out. "And you are even more exquisite than my beautiful Lauren described you. Shame on you," she scolded my best friend, "for not telling me how captivating she is."

I was blushing with the praise and doing my best not to look enthralled. The silly grin couldn't be controlled, though. If those words had come from almost any other person, I probably would have laughed in their face at how obviously they were trying to butter me up, but in that moment, I was drinking it in as though I'd found an oasis in the middle of the desert.

"Stop it, Bianca, you're embarrassing my friend!"

The blonde's bottom lip jutted out, and she let go of my arms.

"Very well. I will just have to undress her in my imagination," she finished.

"Bianca!" Lauren shot, but the blonde did not seem fazed.

"I am being honest," she shrugged.

Then she winked. At me. I got the impression that this was all to embarrass Lauren more than me.

My friend huffed, but turned to me.

"Ali, this is Bianca. Bianca, my very best friend Alison."

"Umm, hi," I forced from my throat. "It's...good to meet you." The shock was starting to wear off, but the charged aura around this woman still had me, and wasn't letting go.

"I feel like we have already met, as much as Lauren talks about you," Bianca said.

I looked quizically at my friend, who was acting embarrassed.

"I don't talk about herthatmuch," Lauren defended herself.

"Darling, I know as much about Alison as I know about you." Then she smirked. "Very well, not quite as much in some ways." Her eyes roamed over me, emphasizing her innuendo.

Damn, this woman had bravado oozing from every pore. It was, frankly, incredibly sexy.

"So," I interjected, deciding to steer the conversation in a safer direction, "how long have you two been dating?"

There was an uncomfortable silence that left me baffled. That wasn't supposed to be a trick question. Bianca looked at Lauren, waiting for her to answer, but Lauren wouldn't meet my gaze.

"If you are not going to say it, I will," the German woman announced. "We are not 'dating' in the usual sense. I am...how do you say...her slut."

I laughed. It was clearly a joke. The flat delivery, the absurd phrasing; it was right out of a Monty Python sketch.

But I was the only one laughing. My best friend looked like she wanted to crawl into a corner, while Bianca just watched me with a bemused expression.

I started looking around for a camera.

"Am I being pranked? Is this going up on TikTok later?"

Again, there was silence in response to my questions.

"Did I say it wrong?" Bianca asked Lauren.

"N..no...No, you...got it right," my BFF replied, not looking around.

"What the fuck?" I was starting to get perturbed. "What the actual fuck? Lauren, you'd better explain this."

"Uhhhgg," my friend groaned. "I was trying to avoid this, B. Fine. Can we sit down first?"

We moved to the living room. I walked faster than the others and sat. My best friend plopped down across from me, and the blonde model took a spot on the floor with one elbow across Lauren's legs. My brows rose at my friend, but she ignored my expression.

"I met Bianca on the way home from a night class," Lauren began.

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It was dark and raining as Lauren walked across campus, taking the absolute shortest route to get out of the downpour as quickly as possible. The umbrella kept her upper half from getting wet, but the driving rain still soaked her legs and shoes with every step. After a month at college, she knew all the paths from anywhere to her dorm room.

Cutting through a rarely traveled walkway between a parking garage and the psychology building, she caught something, an unusual shadow, coming from the alcove in front of a heavy metal door. Lauren stopped and looked back to see a woman. The girl was curled into the corner of the opening where anyone coming out of the door would squish her, but she was at least partially protected from the rain.

Lauren froze, unsure what to do. The woman looked like she might be another student, but it was hard to tell. The attempt to stay dry had failed miserably. Her hair was stringy and matted around her face. What looked like a windbreaker hung on her shoulders, barely concealing a light garment underneath that left her legs bare. The white material was nearly see-through and plastered to her skin, revealing an amazing figure.

The woman with the umbrella wasn't thinking about that at that moment. Her mind was frantically trying to decide how to react. She couldn't ignore this and leave the woman here. But why was she out here like this? Did her boyfriend abuse her? Was she a homeless person? Or, based on her clothes, a prostitute who was abandoned to the elements when her john was done with her?

Pushing all of these irrelevant thoughts to the side, Lauren stepped into the brick alcove and covered both of them with the umbrella as she squatted down. The creature looked up, one blue eye visible, the other covered with wet hair.

"Let's get you out of the rain," the auburn-haired woman said, offering the other a hand.

"N..nein, Mis....Mistress will b..b..be mad," the girl said, shivering through her words.

There was a slight accent Lauren couldn't place.

"Whoever that is, they're an asshole for leaving you out here. Now come on!"

When the girl still wouldn't take her hand, she reached down and brushed away some of the hair clinging to her face. The poor thing flinched like she had been hit, but didn't pull away. She stared up at Lauren with a strange, blank expression. Even in the dim light and soaked through, Lauren could tell that the woman was striking. In a different situation, even this wet look would have been sexy.

"Sweetie, you can't stay here like this," Lauren explained in as soothing a voice as she could. "You're going to catch pneumonia or get attacked or something. I'll take care of you, I promise."

The blue eyes blinked, water dripping off her lashes and down her cheeks.

"Care...promise?" she muttered.

"I promise. You're safe with me."

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"So, that's how we met," Lauren explained. "Or, I guess you could say, how I found her. No ID, no money, and no memory of anything before the next morning. She doesn't even remember me taking her from that doorway."

"Weird," was all I could think to say.

"I know, right? She didn't seem to be in immediate danger health-wise, so I took her to my dorm, got her warm and dry, then called the police."

Lauren explained how the authorities had insisted that she take the woman to a hospital. She was physically fine. Later, a police detective had fingerprinted her and taken pictures for a facial recognition match, but nothing had come up yet on either front. There were no missing person reports that matched, and nothing in their databases connected to the prints or her picture. Lauren had also done some amateurish social media searches and found nothing.

"She's a mystery," she concluded.

I looked at Bianca in a whole new light. Even so, Lauren's story didn't answer much.

"And what's with this thing about being your...you know?" I gestured to the blonde kneeling contentedly at her feet.

"That's part of the mystery. She gets agitated when you ask her to exercise any free will of her own. Her name, for example, 'Bianca,' is something she picked out because she liked how it sounded, but that took nearly an hour of me convincing her that it was okay for her to pick one instead of me. I thought she was going to have an aneurysm!"

"Sooo, yourrelationship... It's just for her comfort?" I asked, skeptical.

"Completely!" Lauren assured, but looked away quickly.

I just stared her down until our eyes met again, and she cringed.

"I mean, yeah, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well...it's not...fuck...it's not like I don't get something out of it!" Lauren said defensively. "Who wouldn't want a willing servant who seems to actually enjoy being told what to do?"

"A servant is not a...a slut, Lauren," I pointed out.

Again, she chose not to look at me as she answered. "Bianca has, well, other needs too."

I should have let that drop. It was none of my business, but my curiosity about what my BFF and this beautiful enigma were doing in private got the better of me.

"Like what?"

Lauren sighed. "Let's just say that she gets anxious if she hasn't...gotten me off recently."

"Gotten you...oh, my god! You're serious! What is 'recently'?"

The redhead put her face in her hands, but answered.

"Ali, you're killing me! Twice a day, okay? Happy?"

My best friend was having sex twice a day with a blonde bombshell, and she was askingmeif I was happy. Swallowing a derisive snort, I cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

"Areyouhappy?"

Lauren didn't answer, but the smile creeping onto her face and the twinkle in her eye told me everything. I took in Bianca again, feeling a little strange talking about her like she wasn't right there in the room. For her part, the blonde seemed attentive but unconcerned. Her head was resting on my friend's thigh as her bright eyes watched me.

I'm a little ashamed to admit that in that moment, I was jealous. A whole semester had passed with zero action for me, but my best friend came home with an enthralled supermodel. My life sucked.

"How has your mom taken you bringing home a girlfriend?" I asked.

"You know my mom," Lauren replied, relaxing when the topic changed to something less charged. "She was surprised, but totally warm and welcoming."

Increasingly, the conversation drifted away from the sexy blonde elephant in the room to more mundane happenings like rumors about classmates, rumors about teachers, rumors about parents, and just rumors in general. The whole time, Bianca stayed quiet, neither looking perturbed nor disinterested.

I confided in Lauren about how frustrated I was with my lack of a romantic social life, and she gave me encouragement, telling me to be patient and not to give up. All nice platitudes, but it didn't lift my spirits any.

Only toward the end of my visit did the blonde begin to seem distracted. Her hands began to casually rub Lauren's leg. A few minutes later, she was slowly closing and opening her eyes as she rubbed her cheek against my friend's thigh. When she started making quiet whimpers and licking her lips, I couldn't stay silent any longer.

"Is she okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Lauren assured, looking down at the blonde and putting a hand on her shoulder. "She's just getting a little horny. She's got another half an hour before she starts touching herself."

"I thought you said that she needed to getyouoff?"

"Anyone, really," my friend answered. "She keeps getting more and more flustered until she can't control herself and will make herself climax wherever she happens to be."

"Bianca," I tried to get the blonde's attention. Her eyes fluttered and focused on me. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

She sat up, and all of her nervous jitters were gone, replaced by a feral, horny feline. Going to all fours, she began crawling to me. For a moment, the eroticism of her movements and the hungry look in her eyes made me pause, caught in her aura, but I brought it under control. This woman was not responsible for her actions.

"Let me please you, Miss Alison," Bianca purred, nearly to me.

"Whoa there, B," Lauren was saying as she stood up and grabbed Bianca's long blonde hair somewhat roughly, pulling her to a stop. The girl just whimpered and looked pleadingly at me. "Go into the bathroom and make yourself cum, then you can rejoin us."

The blonde's bottom lip quivered, but she turned and crawled to the restroom, not bothering to stand or close the door behind her.

"That's some major conditioning going on there," I commented while Lauren sat back down.

"There's a small army of psychologists and psychiatrists trying to figure out what was done and how to reverse it. The best we can do is to keep her calm and sane by letting her fulfil her...her programming."

"My god, that sounds awful," I said, thinking of poor Bianca.

Lauren shrugged and looked embarrassed again. "It's notthatbad," she grinned.

From the other room, we began to hear moans as the blonde hottie was clearly enjoying whatever she was doing to herself.

"Lauren!" I exclaimed. "Surely you can't be enjoying this?" Even as I said it, though, my words felt silly. Why couldn't she enjoy it?

"I'm just saying that I've had worse jobs, and a lot worse relationships."

I looked at my oldest friend with a new perspective and saw something there.

"You're...you have feelings for her?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"Maybe...I don't know," Lauren admitted. "It's so hard to say. We are intimate a LOT, and that does something, you know?"

The sound coming from the bathroom was rising in pitch and tempo.

"Sex isn't all there is in a relationship," I pointed out.

"I know that! But it's really good sex," Lauren blushed. "She's really enthusiastic."

As if to underline her point, the moans from the bathroom became a desperate crescendo of ecstasy, effectively drowning out any conversation Lauren and I might be having. We both just looked at each other for the several seconds it took for Bianca to finish. Silence persisted for another minute until the woman walked back out of the room like she was on a modeling runway, perfectly put together with no sign of what had just happened.