I Scissored My Roommate

"God, that party was a shitshow. Helena's boyfriend Fouad was all over her like a bad rash, and Eva just kept shooting me these looks."

I laughed, stumbling a bit as we pushed through our apartment door. The work Christmas party had dragged on forever—ugly sweaters, cheap eggnog, and everyone pretending they liked their jobs. Me and Eva, we'd been roommates for eight months now, splitting rent on this cramped two-bedroom in the city. She worked sales, I did graphic design for the same company. Close enough to chat at the copier, far enough that we didn't hate each other. Yet.

Eva kicked off her heels, red soles flashing under the hallway light. "Fouad's such a dick. Kept grabbing my ass in front of everyone. Like, own it or don't, you know?"

"Totally. And Jerome? That guy from accounting was eye-fucking you all night." I hung up my coat, the buzz from three too many vodka cranberries humming in my veins. Party buzz, that's all it was. Nothing more.

She snorted, heading to the kitchen. "Jealous much, Chie? Thought you were into Lane."

I followed, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "Lane's cute. But yeah, maybe a little jealous. You looked hot tonight. That dress? Killer."

Eva turned, leaning against the counter, her black party dress hugging her hips. She's got this effortless thing—short dark hair, sharp cheekbones, always smelling like vanilla and smoke. Twenty-five, same as me. We'd crashed on each other's couches during breakups, shared takeout, complained about dates. Roommates. That's it. Should've stayed that way.

Her eyes narrowed, playful. "Hot enough to make you stare?"

I froze mid-sip. Heat crept up my neck. "What? I didn't—"

"You did. Caught you twice by the punch bowl." She stepped closer, wine glass in hand from the fridge. "Admit it. You were checking me out."

"Fuck off, Eva." But I didn't back up. The kitchen felt smaller, air thicker. Party adrenaline, alcohol. Forbidden, yeah—roommates don't do this. One of us could move out awkward as hell. But her lips were glossy, parted just a bit.

She set her glass down, fingers brushing my arm. Accidental? No. "Come on. We've both been single too long. That party got me worked up. Fouad's hands were... insistent."

I swallowed. "Eva, we're roommates. This is dumb."

"Is it?" Her hand stayed, thumb circling my wrist. "Feels kinda good right now."

I should've pulled away. Pulled away and crashed in my room, jerked off to some porn later. But I didn't. I grabbed her waist instead, defiant. Screw it. "You're drunk."

"So are you." She yanked me closer, mouths crashing. Not soft, not sweet—hungry. Tongues sliding, tasting eggnog and lipstick. Her hands in my hair, pulling. Mine under her dress, gripping thigh.

We broke apart, breathing hard. "Balcony," she muttered. "Need air."

Yeah. Balcony. Our little spot—tiny, overlooking the alley, string lights flickering from the party still echoing in our heads. We spilled out there, door slamming behind. Cold December air hit like a slap, but we didn't care. She pinned me against the railing first, kissing down my neck. "Fuck, Chie. Been wanting this."

"Liar." But my hands were already unzipping her dress, fabric pooling at her feet. Black lace bra, matching thong. Smooth skin glowing under city lights. I shoved her bra down, mouth on her nipple—hard, pebbled. She gasped, arching.

"Shit, yes. Suck it harder." Her voice was rough, demanding. Not the sweet Eva who split chores. This was the one who teased Jerome at work, made him stutter.

I bit lightly, her moan loud enough neighbors might hear. Forbidden thrill. Roommates grinding on a balcony? We'd kill the vibe forever if this went south. But fuck, her skin tasted salty-sweet.

She pushed me back, hands fumbling my blouse buttons. Pop, pop—half came undone, exposing my bra. Red, lacy. She'd seen me in towels, but not like this. Eyes hungry. "Get these off. Now."

Defiant me took over. I stripped slow, teasing. Skirt dropped, panties next. Naked in the cold, nipples tightening more. She stared, licking her lips. "Goddamn, Chie. Your tits are perfect."

"Yours too." I yanked her thong down, fingers sliding between her legs. Wet. So fucking wet. Slippery folds, clit swollen. She bucked against my hand.

"Finger me. Do it." Dirty, urgent. Her hand cupped my pussy, middle finger circling my opening. Tease. I was soaked too, thighs slick.

"Not yet." I pulled back, cat and mouse. She chased, pressing close, tits mashing mine. Heat against cold air. Kissing again, sloppier. Her finger dipped in—once, shallow. I whimpered.

"Eva—fuck."

"More?" She pumped twice, then out. Denial. Bitch.

We danced like that—hands roaming, touches light, then hard. Pinch nipple, stroke inner thigh, grind hips. Balcony railing dug into my back. Alley below quiet, but any second someone could look up.

"You're dripping on my fingers," she whispered, two inside me now, curling. "Roommate pussy feels so naughty."

"Shut up." But I spread wider, chasing it. Guilt flickered—we share a lease, bills, Netflix. This could fuck everything. But desire won. I shoved her against the wall, knelt. Cold concrete bit my knees, but her pussy was right there, shaved smooth, lips puffy.

"Taste me," she ordered. Defiant eyes locked on mine.

I dove in. Flat tongue first, licking slow from hole to clit. Salty, musky. Her flavor exploded—party sweat mixed with arousal. Fingers in her thighs, I sucked her clit, popping it between lips.

"Oh fuck, Chie! Yes, eat that pussy." Hands fisted my hair, grinding my face. I hummed, vibrations making her shake. Tongue-fucked her hole, sloppy wet sounds filling the night. She was grinding hard, thighs clamping my head.

"Don't stop—gonna—"

I pulled back. Mouse retreats. Her whine was pathetic. "Chie, please!"

Laughing now—unexpected, human. I stood, wiping my chin. "Not yet. Your turn."

She dropped fast, no hesitation. Kneeling, ass out toward the alley. Mouth on me—hot, eager. Tongue spearing my slit, lapping like thirsty. Fingers spread me open, nose bumping clit.

"Fuck, you taste good. Sweet little cunt." Two fingers in, scissoring inside me. Pun not intended. Yet.

I gripped her head, humping her face. Balcony vibrating with our moans. Cold wind on my ass, her breath fire. Close—too close. Pulled her up. "Not coming yet."

Chase on. Naked, we wrestled playful, tits sliding, hands everywhere. She pinned me to the lounger—cheap plastic thing we'd bought at IKEA. I flipped her, straddling her face accidental. Unexpected fumble—her tongue speared up into me as I caught balance.

"Oops—fuck!" We both laughed, breathless. Real moment, breaking the tension. But it rebuilt fast.

"Sixty-nine?" she panted.

"Yeah." We twisted, mouths on pussies. Balcony floor hard, but who cared. Her ass in my face, I spread cheeks, tongue rimming her hole while fingers fucked her cunt. She mirrored, licking my asshole sloppy while thumbing my clit.

"Ass tastes dirty—love it," she mumbled into me.

Filthy. Taboo. Roommates tonguing asses outdoors? Insane. Guilt twisted with lust—we'd regret this print-on-demand lease hell later.

But we kept going. Sucking clits, fingering holes, swapping spit and juices. Orgasms built, denied by shifting positions. Finally, she pushed me off, eyes wild. "Scissor. Now. Need your pussy on mine."

Yes. Tagline promise. I lay back on the lounger, legs spread. She straddled one thigh, hooking her leg over, cunts aligning. Wet lips kissing wet lips.

First grind—electric. Clits bumping, juices smearing. "Fuck, Eva—"

"Grind it. Rub that sloppy pussy on me." She rocked hard, hips snapping. Defiant rhythm, no shame.

Our pussies mashed—lips parting, clits dragging. Slick sounds, squelch-squelch. Heat building, friction perfect. Her tits bounced, I grabbed them, pinching.

"Harder—fuck my cunt with yours." Dirty talk filthy, specific. Roommate cunts grinding, forbidden as hell.

I humped up, meeting her. Clits throbbing, swollen. Sweat slicked us, cold air irrelevant. Balcony railing shook as we banged the lounger against it.

"Chie—your clit’s so fat, dragging mine. Gonna make me squirt?"

"Try it." I reached down, spreading my lips wider, exposing everything. She did same—pink insides grinding raw.

Faster. Sloppy. Juices dripping down my ass crack to the plastic. Smell thick—sex, sweat, city exhaust. Her moans turned sharp, breathy.

"Coming—fuck, roommate pussy making me come!"

She shattered first. Body convulsing, cunt pulsing against mine. Hot squirt—yeah, she did—splashing my thigh, mixing our mess. Clit twitching under the grind.

Pushed me over. Orgasm ripped—intense, thighs quaking. "Eva—shit, yes!" Waves—no, fuck that—pure release, pussy clenching air, juices gushing back on her.

We ground through it, slowing, panting. Climax hit, bodies locked.

Collapsed together, sticky, spent. Balcony air cooling our skin, heartbeats thumping.

"That was..." She trailed off, kissing my shoulder.

"Incredible." I meant it. Best I'd had. But as buzz faded, reality crept.

Morning light'd hit soon. Shared bathroom, kitchen coffee. What now? One of us bolts, lease awkward? Or worse—feelings?

She shifted, doubt in her eyes. "Chie... we cool? This doesn't fuck us up, right?"

I nodded, but gut twisted. Regret bloomed. It was good—too good. But roommates scissoring on the balcony? Complication we hadn't faced: what if one catches feelings? Or tells Fouad? Our easy thing—gone.

"Yeah. Totally cool." Lie. Something's wrong. Big time.