I hate waking up alone in my room the next day. Last night was so much fun.

Once we were in her room, Violette dressed again, and we took what I would call couple photos. I promised to send her my own morning selfies in the future, though she'll have to wait to sneak away from class to see them, because I'm not keeping a high schooler's wake-up schedule for love nor money.

In the cool light of the morning it seems silly to care so much about photos, but I'm starting to suspect I'm some kind of romantic. Posing with her in front of her full-length mirror had my heart going a mile a minute, and I wanted to kiss her and never stop. We did kiss quite a bit.

Even the part of the night where we heckled Jett as he blew Eric for our amusement felt like something the two of us were made to do together. Like fate? A weird sort, but fate nonetheless.

As a kid, I always liked stories about fated lovers, troubled princesses and loyal knights, parting and tender reunions. My parents were not surprised when I came out at age ten as "gay, maybe, or not like a boy, or something." I didn't have the words for it back then, but they were still supportive. So, I guess it tracks, even if it feels alien after years of disconnect from any tender parts of myself.

I both wish that my parents were here and don't. I think they'd love Violette and how happy she makes me. On the hand, they'd probably hate the closed-off person I've become. I can't imagine that world where they're still here, where Jett and I aren't dancing this fucked-up tango. Would Violette even find me interesting if I was some innocent version of myself who wasn't able to fill the "brother" role she likes so much?

Better that I not know. Besides, if I did meet her and fall for her, I might have to beat her away from my dad with a broom or something, and nobody would want that. He was a short, big-hearted, chubby guy, and that's at least two things in common with her dad.

The thought makes me laugh. Okay. Every cloud has a silver lining.

Glad you're not around to feed my new girlfriend's weird fetish, Dad. On the off chance Heaven is real, sorry I won't see you there.

* * *

Violette catches up with me around midday.

I blink as I see she's turned on Vanish mode.

She's so good to me.

* * *

I'm not taking it back, but by next Monday, I would like to remind her that I have needs too! Sometimes I can't visit her because of an upcoming test or essay, or she's focused on schoolwork or a painting. Jett's my only option in those cases, but he's also busy now that his relationship with Eric has moved out of the shadows. They're trying to figure out how to get the two of us moved in ASAP while juggling their jobs.

I know I agreed to the unfair setup, but when Blanc's sending me flirty texts and neither of them are free tonight, it's hard to keep shooting her down. Which means it's time for desperate measures: whining about it.

Good thing it's lunch time, so Violette's actually around to respond to my messages.

Ugh! I really hoped she wouldn't ask for a visual. Doubt she'll sign off on Blanc based on the resemblance to her mom, and she might even freak out and cry again.

Stymied, I put my cheek down on the cool surface of my cheap classroom desk (class itself hasn't started yet). If I didn't have to see her three times a week, it'd be easier to cut her loose. Not to mention I'm taking another one of her courses in the fall, so this problem won't just disappear.

That's when an idea hits me. It's not like Violette's ever going to see her in person, right? As long as I get permission to fuck a hot professor, I can skip her getting unnecessarily mom-triggered and still be golden. It's moderately shady, but I could explain my logic if I got caught, right? Moderately shady is practically my brand! Violette would forgive me if she knew I just didn't want to upset her.

She's so sweet, actually. I prop my chin up in my hand and smile at the image of her grumpy eyebrows as she assesses any potential woman I send her way.

I'll scope out some of the other departments, see if I can find a decent stand-in. If she says no to that hot professor, that's fine! I can accept it! Maybe I could find an older woman she'd sign off on instead? Considering her hang-ups, is she opposed to MILFs as a concept? Much to think about. I'll have to ask her about it later.

* * *

I spend an hour wandering around two of the fancy buildings on campus where the people who're going to actually make money to donate back to the college have classes (aka the STEM and Business buildings), checking out professors. I'm in the big white cathedral that is the science-focused building when I spy a good candidate. I'm not sure if she's a TA or a professor, but she's obviously dress liked A Professional in a way that will serve my purposes.

She's a curvaceous woman, about the same shade of brown as me, with springy natural curls surrounding her head in a large halo. The magenta bodycon dress she's wearing with a black blazer over it makes her look a bit like the hot weather forecaster they have on every channel. I won't lie, she's gorgeous enough I consider pursuing her instead of Blanc for a second, but that would just be a different lie that requires a bunch of groundwork, so I quickly dismiss it. When would I have the time to seduce another professor? If she's as uptight about sleeping with students as Blanc, it'd take a while.

A friend called your name, look over your shoulder and smile, I push into her mind. It's mild, so she obeys easily, and stays smiling long enough for me to snap a photo. She only looks a touch dazed afterward when the friend she imagined isn't there.

I'm definitely counting on Violette's ignorance of what the arts and literature building looks like with the photo's background, but it's a reasonably safe gamble she'll never know considering her dislike of school.

* * *

Score! Without hesitation, I text Blanc for the first time in a few days.

* * *

I sigh with relief as Blanc goes down on me in her office. I'm sitting on her desk while she's in her chair, so she doesn't have to get her sensible work pants dirty from kneeling. My head tips back lazily as she runs her tongue around the head. This is really what I needed.

Her expression is as relieved as mine; why, she loves giving blowjobs, just ask her; especially for her favorite dirty little secret. Her hand's pushed into her pants, moving rhythmically with the motion of her tongue. She's so glad I came back after playing hard to get for a couple weeks.

I pull at her high ponytail with one hand and watch her shake with an almost-silent moan. At some point, I encouraged her to associate that with pleasure. Good thing I remembered.

After I shoot down her throat, her chair jostles back and forth so much I'm sure that she must have orgasmed. Her thoughts are much calmer than when I came in, practically surrounded by pink fluff. I really did make a deep impression, huh? Well, good thing she's my official third now.

"Hey, remind me your first name again, babe?" I ask, pulling my phone out. "I really should update you in my phone."

"Oh, I go by Christy," she says, her cheeks going red. I can't believe we did this much and they don't even know that, I hear her think.

That's sexy, though, I adjust for her, and she bites her lip.

* * *

The next week's kind of a blur, but I look forward to every morning. The faithful updates Violette sends me are so adorable my face aches from grinning after I read each one. I always get a clear shot of her outfit, her makeup, and lately, a report on which buttplug (side note: deeply unsexy word, can we not think of a better one?) she's tried that day. At first, she only wore them for the morning, but she's gotten better at going for longer. The multi-size pink silicone ones she started with are softer, but I gave her sleek stainless steel ones too, once she's ready for a challenge.

She tells me that she feels more sensitive back there, and that it sometimes feels empty without something filling her. One evening, when she's curled like a sleepy kitten in my arms, we whisper secretively back and forth that she might become as flexible and needy back there as she is in the front. I can tell she's shy about the idea, knows how unnatural it would be, but I reassure her by telling her it would be so, so, so sexy, and I love her so, so, so much.

Today, she's wearing the biggest silicone one and declares she can definitely wear it for a while. I tell her she's a very good girl and hope she sees the message in between classes.

As I lock my phone screen and climb out of bed, I send a silent apology to Eric, who is apparently on cleaning duty for her toys, as she says the task is "gross" and "not her job." But, really, am I not doing him a favor by expanding her horizons?

My own, too. It wouldn't do to slack off on practice when she teases me every few days about whether I'm "ready for Daddy" or not. Not, I tell her firmly, but I'm working on it.

* * *

Moving, moving, moving. Both in the sense of time passing and the gerund. It's been a hell of a few weeks, and the do-it-all movers Eric scored for us (professional friends of his, sounds like) are coming this Saturday.

I'm not a fan of packing, but I also don't want strangers going through my things, so I tell Eric and Jett to let me box up my important stuff myself. Jett's doing the same in his bedroom directly across from mine. My bedside table is mostly empty at this point.

I've only moved a few times in my life. It was easiest when I was a kid and everyone older handled the hard parts. Worst was when I moved in with Jett, though I admit it wasn't his fault. He did everything he could to soften the blow, got permission from the landlord to paint the room my favorite color and everything, but it wasn't like anything could fix it. Those days are hard to remember now. My brain's covered them in a dense fog almost as thick as the one around Violette's brain.

A couple years after that, when I woke up and heard the vague presence of Jett's thoughts and much clearer thoughts from others, it felt like a reward for swimming through years of the molasses of grief. Once I learned I could do more than just listen, I practiced greedily: stole secrets and shared them just to see what would happen, made people like me by telling them exactly what they wanted to hear before discarding them, cheated on tests, coaxed people into buying me little things. Bad kid stuff, really.

I pull a dark brown leather-bound notebook that Jett gave me for my fourteenth birthday out of my desk. He got me a few things that year, but this was the one I liked the most. I carried it everywhere with me for a while, mostly to jot story ideas, though near the back I also wrote a diary in Japanese (to keep it private). I flip there, a smile playing across my face as I read the first entry.

12月1日
Going to use this to track progress with 叔父. He's different from other people. With others, I can hear full sentences easily, more if I concentrate, like their past and stuff. If I try really hard I can change their thoughts. But none of that works with 叔父.

Today, he got mad I skipped school. I tried to calm him down, but it only worked a little bit. He closed his eyes when I tried super hard, but then he went right back to telling me off. I have to keep practicing.

Funny, I forgot I had only referred to him as "Uncle" in these. I think I was too paranoid to write ジェット lest he somehow snuck a look and realized the notes were about him. He knew that much from my mom writing it down for him.

I skip ahead a few pages, passing over several weeks of short, frustrated notes with little progress.

1月15日
I made 叔父 apologize to me today! I didn't want to eat steamed shrimp for dinner again so I ordered pizza with his card. Of course he was mad when it got here. Not like he can't afford it? I really focused on making him think how unfair it is to make me eat the same super healthy bland stuff he eats every day when I don't have a choice. Not like I want stupid big muscles like him. After pushing hard it was like it worked all at once. He apologized and let me have the whole pizza and stopped being mad I used his credit card. Could just be a fluke? Gotta keep testing.

I still remember how good that pizza tasted, even though I got sick from eating the whole thing in one go. Worth it.

Just a few entries later, there's a major shift in the tone that starts with a single line.

1月26日
叔父 got down on his knees for me.

I hadn't spent much time on influencing one person until Jett. Like I said, I was doing petty stuff, skimming answers to tests from the teachers' minds, stirring up drama here and there. One-offs. While it took months to get results with Jett, once I saw him kneeling for me, it was like a whole other part of my brain woke up. I realized I could make him do anything with enough work, and that included accessing the body he so doggedly maintained. I was dealing with the onset of puberty, so you'd think some attractive classmate at school smiling after I made them get me a soda would have done it, but no. It was Jett, his head bowed, kneeling in apology because I forced him to.

Later entries have gaps because I didn't even know the vocabulary for the things I was doing with him and looking them up felt too taboo. The silences in my eager notes shout more loudly than anything. The last entry speaks volumes in just a couple characters.

12月29日
何でも出来る。

With a soft clap, I shut the notebook. Remembering the year of small triumphs it took to get him from kneeling to servicing me is such a turn on. Truth is, I've been neglecting him. Between classes, my time with Violette and Blanc, and his focus on moving and wedding planning, the most I've done with him is doubleteam Violette weeks ago. But just because I'm willing to share the stage with Eric, I shouldn't let him forget who runs the show.

It only takes a handful of steps to cross from my room to his doorway. There's just the span of the living room between us.

"Hey, slut," I say, enjoying the jolt of muted annoyance he gets from my greeting. He barely registers it as inappropriate, only bratty.

"Hello, Oran. Do you need something?" He's standing over a box, his hands full of books he's neatly tetrising to fill every corner. I sense that he's been at it for a while, getting them just right.

Leave them, I order, and he reluctantly places them in the box to organize later. His breathing picks up. The body remembers.

"Sit on the bed for me?" I don't control him. Sometimes it's fun to see how far he'll go based on training alone. He tends to play along more willingly when he's horny, and we haven't fucked in a while, so I'm optimistic.

"And why should I do that?" he asks, despite the fact he's moving to sit. With a laugh, I stride over to him and straddle his lap posseseively, playing right into the immature way he views me. I never feel more like a spoiled kid than when I'm around him, but it's not a bad thing.

"So I can play with your big tits, obviously." I pull his basic-but-expensive shirt up over his pectoral muscles and fondle them. Kind of funny that they're bigger than Violette's chest, but much less sweet and soft. Still satisfying to get my hands on.

"There's no need to call them that," he protests. His nipples are very hard. I pinch them both and watch him flinch with barely disguised pleasure.

"Slut," I say again. I whisper it in his mind too this time, letting it echo like a secret all around his memories. His chest heaves like he's the heroine in a bodice ripper, rather than the cover model, and he licks at his lips subconsciously, the little pink he shows there reddening just for me. I've carved that word in deep.

"We should be packing," he tries, though we both know that won't be happening for a while.

I press my mouth against his cheek, not really kissing him, but enjoying the smoothness of his skin and the smell of his aftershave. He's not trade, like Eric, but he's still pleasantly masculine. "Don't you miss my cock, Uncle Jett?"

He shivers, pulls away from my mouth like I might bite. Chasing after him, I tug at his ear lobe with my teeth, remind him that running makes me that much more likely to bite down. "B-Be that as it may," he manages, before giving up.

"So you do, then?"

He turns his face away from my lips, which just gives me an excuse to stipple my teeth into his neck. That draws a gasp out of him. "Well, the... the size of it is, you know, you know that I enjoy that aspect."

Ha, true; I practiced that trick out on Jett first. Really perfected it. In a side-by-side comparison, his cock would actually win, but he wouldn't believe you if you told him that. His perception of its size and how good it feels inside him is deeply warped by years of reinforcement. His body's always been more agreeable than his personality.

"Is that why you like Eric so much? He stretches you out almost as well?"

"I like him for many reasons, primarily his kind disposition," he snaps, and I can't help but laugh into the part of his shoulder revealed by the collar of his shirt.

"Sorry, I was only teasing. But the dick must be in the top ten reasons, right?"

He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, his eyes darting to the side as I sense the warm, caterpillar-like fuzzies that mean he's thinking vividly about his now-fiancé. "I suppose, yes."

"Knew it. But I still win, don't I?"

"It's not a competition."

"Really? Maybe you just need a reminder."

I get off his lap and stretch my arms over my head, letting him take in my stomach as my cropped hoodie raises up, the imprint of my hard dick in my black jogging shorts with purple stars for pockets. (Violette loved the selfie I sent this morning, and asked if she could show it to her dad. Said I looked like "one of his types, definitely," which pleased me more than it should've.)

Jett stares, his mouth set in a firm line. I can wait. I stretch my arms behind my back next. Helplessly, he traces the many lines I'm presenting to him with his eyes: up, down, left, and right. Circle around that favorite part. Good dog.

After a lingering silence, he pushes his glasses up and sighs. "This is a waste of time. Are you done?"

Oh, tough crowd! Though, he's still sitting with his jugs out, and he's visibly hard, so he's only kidding himself. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and push them down, freeing my cock, which he can't even pretend to look away from.

"Do I win?" I ask again, and he clears his throat roughly before wrapping his hand around the base. He pumps the length of it with a reverent concentration, like he's measuring it against his memory of Eric.

"There's no need for comparison. Our relationship is entirely... different." With that, he bends forward at the waist and wraps his lips around the head of my cock. I rest my hand on the top of his head, fingering the tight, close cropped curls there. His mouth's warm and wet, but I don't moan for him.

It's easier to sense his thoughts, beyond just emotions, when I touch him like this. He's irritated: that I don't take anything seriously, that he can't make sense of me, and that he finds me so irresistible. I move forward so he can take me into his mouth, thrust hard enough that I knock his glasses askew. Before he can stop me, I pluck them off his face and put them on top of my head like an unneeded pair of sunglasses.

Abruptly, he pulls off my dick with a pop as the suction releases. I hiss quietly, and my hand falls away, removing our tenuous connection.

"Oran." He tries to sound scolding, but it's hard when he's just had this throat full of my dick, and he was doing a good, thorough job, really working his tongue over anything he could reach.

"You get them back when I'm done with you."

"I need them. To see."

"What do you need to see? Take your clothes off and get on your hands and knees."

"I could finish--"

"Ass up or I go back to packing."

There's more grumbling on his part, but he obeys me. I haven't had to give him much of a mental push on any of this, even this part. Kind of wish Violette was here to see how well-behaved he can be. She's only seen him when he's off-script and the walls are up. As he settles onto his hands and knees, I take a minute to appreciate the broad shape of his back, the cleft his spine makes down the center, his taut ass.

He notices my pause. "Do you need me to prepare myself?"

"Knock yourself out," I say with a grin. All this initiative! He really has missed me.

He gropes around his bedside table for lube, finds it, and has two fingers inside himself before I can tease him about needing his glasses back. He's too submissive to ever be a power bottom, but he does take getting fucked seriously. I remain standing a little longer, stroke up and down his back as his fingers work his ass open.

He only stops when he feels my weight as I settle behind him on the bed.

"Already? I may need more," he warns.

"Oh, but you're so good at taking it." I try to keep the smirk out of my voice. Probably fail. It's just so funny that he's worried when he has Eric fucking him on the regular. "Gimme the lube, it's my turn."

All those big muscles of his quiver uselessly as I stroke myself nice and slick and ready for him. When I push my cock against his hole, he shudders with anxiety I could soften, but don't.

The groan I drag out of him as I sink in that much more fraught and delicious, knowing how nervous he is. Of course, I fit just fine, though he perceives it as close to too much--exactly how he likes it. I don't even remember if Jett was into big dicks when I started messing with him? Whatever.

It's like I primed him for you, Eric, I think in a pleasant haze as I enjoy Jett's ass and, even more than the actual friction, the choked and halting way he moans like I'm giving him the fucking of a lifetime.

Wish I could make Violette feel this. She let me try to influence her, sat there with her big blue eyes boring into me, but everything slid right off. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to keep "Daddy" out of my head because the way she slides it into her orders makes it contagious.

You can't make me call him that, it's embarrassing, I tell the image of Violette that lives in my head. She just makes a peace sign and sticks her tongue out.

Great, now I'm bullying myself in my own head! I thrust harder into Jett, ignoring the way he groans and asks me to slow down and be more careful.

"You know you love it, slut," I say with a chuckle that turns into a moan. The wave of arousal that rolls off him when I degrade him just eggs me on. I grasp his hips and really use him for all he's worth, until he can hardly hold himself up. He came at some point, but like that's going to stop me. Not until I'm finished.

When I am, I pull out of him immediately, not wanting to linger like I do with Violette. Wiping the sweat out of my eyes, I rub my hand over my face, then push my mussed bangs back. Jett's gone limp on the bed, his face in a pillow, clearly mentally overwhelmed by all the pressure of inner contradictions. Typical. I get up and slide my shorts back on. Need to shower.

With a shove, I roll him over and slap his cheek a few times to make sure he's conscious. He blinks and squints up at me with unfocused eyes, so I put his glasses on for him.

"You've really gotta get back to packing and stop fucking around," I tell him with a grin before leaving him to deal with the cleanup.