Like Family

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Celia and Chelsea are two college students who share everything, from food to dreams and desires to even a bed. But when an unexpected visit leads to a wild sexual encounter for Celia, her best friend Chelsea is the one person she can't tell.

Erotica / Romance
Dominée LePen
4.9 10 reviews
Age Rating:

Vinyasa Flow

As much as I enjoy being around lovely Chelsea, I also like having the entire apartment to myself. Her dad is this uber-rich guy who makes a ton of money and just bought his daughter an entire apartment. He solved the issue of her college housing just like that, no dorms for Chelsea!

Honestly though, I think she got a little bored all by herself or felt a bit lost in all this spaciousness, so when she asked me to move in with her, rent-free, who was I to say no?

“Please say yes, Celia,” she almost begged me, “it will be so much fun, I promise!”

I just grinned, wide-eyed, and nodded yes. I have not once regretted the decision. On the contrary, Chelsea is the best thing that happened to me. Sharing is fun, and we literally share everything with each other. Chelsea and I are besties since freshman year. It’s fair to say that by now, we know the other inside out.

Though we come from very different backgrounds, we get along well. Chelsea’s family is by far the richest of all the students attending our college, but great wealth is the norm among my peers. I on the other hand depend on a flawless GPA to keep my full scholarship and tuition waiver. My studies therefore take precedence over everything else. It’s important to me that I don’t flunk out and fail my family, who has high expectations of me since they’ve sacrificed a lot so that I could come here.

There are those who, perhaps out of envy for our closeness, say I’m taking advantage of Chelsea’s generosity, that I snuck into her good graces only to be able to live in this pompous apartment with her. That couldn’t be further from the truth and they don’t understand the nature of our friendship.

This morning, Chelsea is seeing a professor about a term paper, so I have the place to myself. I love the sunlight streaming in through the windows on these summer mornings, and I find it’s even more pleasurable when I walk from room to room completely naked. The slanting rays warm my body and dry the last drops of water still standing on my skin after the shower. I close my eyes and bask in the glow. It’s going to be a hot day, I can feel it.

I dance around the living room on my toes, humming to myself. It’s time for my morning routine, so I return to my room. Fitness is the second most important thing to me. I go running several times a week and I practice a very acrobatic form of yoga, which I enjoy more than anything. I pause in front of the full-length mirror and admire the reflection of my own body. Through all my activities, I’ve become lean and muscular, but by no means have I lost my femininity. I run my hands over my flat stomach and my slender mid to my hips slightly curving outward. I turn sideways to get a look at my behind. I touch my ass and squeeze: it’s small and tight. Just like my breasts. Chelsea’s boobs are definitely bigger and give her the perfect curves, but I don’t envy her the stares she draws wherever she goes.

I do a couple of light stretches, then reluctantly put on my exercise clothes, a pair of tight short-shorts and a sports bra. I roll out my yoga mat and set it up in front of the mirror, so I can get a good look at my posture and correct my positions if necessary.

Two times a week, I go to yoga class for an acrobatic flow of postures, but the rest of the week, I practice at home. I’m just beginning with my sun salutations when I hear the door.

“That was a quick appointment with the professor,” I think to myself.

“Hey Chelsea,” I yell out, “didn’t think you’d be back so fast! How’d it go?”

I bend down into a downward facing dog, awaiting her reply from the hall. Did she not hear me?

The heavy jangling sound of an unfamiliar set of keys comes from the hallway, followed by a deep and almost booming voice. I know that tone well and am yet surprised to hear it here in the apartment this morning.

“Celia, it’s Mr. Johnson. I was in the area and wanted to see if Chelsea was around.”

I pop my head out of my door and look down the hallways at Chelsea’s dad standing behind the closed apartment door. He holds up his thick ring of keys.

“Thought I’d let myself in, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Wade! I mean... Mr. Johnson! What a surprise!”

And what a blunder – Chelsea is used to calling her dad by his first name, so between her and me, she always refers to him as just ‘Wade.’ Not that we have occasion to talk about him often.

I have no idea what’s going on with Chelsea’s parents other than he, Mr. Johnson, is the breadwinner in the family. In the past, he has come by now and then, to take Chelsea and me out to dinner, but never unannounced. I don’t know how he feels about his daughter letting me stay here for free. The family is wealthy enough that they can neglect whether or not I pay any rent. Still, I wonder if Mr. Johnson’s sudden presence has anything to do with that?

“What a pleasant, unexpected visit!” I say lamely and add a nervous giggle, running my hands through my hair, which has just about dried after the shower.

Mr. Johnson is still standing rooted to the spot just behind the door. His eyes are all over my body, as if he’s looking for Chelsea and I’m blocking his view. His dark and elegant two-button suit is a stark contrast to my sporty outfit and bright pink shorts. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of how scantily my clothes cover my body in comparison to his business clothes.

How different his daily life must be from mine, from our studies. I know from Chelsea that he is a consultant for fitness companies and works out regularly himself. His muscles fill out his shirt, yet the jacket still leaves something to the imagination. But why is my mind fantasizing about his body at this moment?

Probably because it’s just by chance that Mr. Johnson met me with my clothes on. Had he come in moments earlier, I’d still have been prancing about the place stark naked. The thought makes me blush on the spot, and I can feel my face grow hot and flustered.

I step aside to allow him to fully see the hallway behind me and the open double door leading into the living room. I strike a pose with one leg crossed in front of the other, balancing on the balls of my bare feet and hugging the door frame behind my back. My shorts span tightly over my butt. I’ve crossed my legs because these pants often give me a camel toe, and I don’t know if Mr. Johnson wouldn’t consider that slutty, or that I’m corrupting his only daughter.

“Chelsea isn’t here, Mr. Johnson,” I say out loud, “she is seeing a professor about a term paper. I’m sorry you’ve missed her.”

He just nods at me absentmindedly.

“But where are my manners, please, do come in!”

I gesture towards the living room, then walk ahead, leading the way, my ass wiggling in the shorts. I can hear his footsteps behind me, following.

“Chelsea is ever the diligent student,” I assure him as we step into the living room.

My mind is racing – I want to make polite small talk, yet suddenly I have no idea what topics are appropriate to talk about. I have never been alone in the apartment with Mr. Johnson. I’m half wishing that Chelsea was here or would return this instant, but my other half strangely wishes she wouldn’t, and I feel both conflicted and excited about the prospect of spending time in the company of Mr. Johnson without Chelsea.

My heart is beating loudly in my chest. I decide to just be frank about it.

“I’d say make yourself at home, Mr. Johnson, but then this IS your home!”

I add another nervous giggle and look at him expectantly.

“Thank you.”

Mr. Johnson turns in the middle of the living room as if he’s giving the place a once-over, but the truth is, his eyes never leave my body. He gives me a warm, confident smile as he takes off his suit jacket. It flows off his shoulders smoothly to reveal his light blue button down shirt hugging his chest and torso tightly. It’s a well-fitted shirt, allowing for just enough freedom of movement while still showing off his muscular chest and torso underneath.

He folds his jacket almost affectionately and places it on the armrest of the couch before he takes a seat, draping one arm over the back. His forearm is resting on his thigh, but he moves it to cover the area where the legs of his pants meet when he follows my eyes.

Is he aroused?

He clears his throat.

“Were you working out before I came over?”

“Oh yes,” I laugh, glad with relief at this topic of conversation.

“I was just going through my daily yoga routine,” and here I wave with my left hand and arm toward my room, as if that was any explanation.

I take a nervous sip from the water bottle I always keep close when I exercise. I’m still standing in the room, a few feet between Mr. Johnson and me. After my quite awkward greeting in the hallway, I’m glad he is now moving around more assertively. It’s his apartment, after all, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m the guest and he is the host. Even though he’s here to visit Chelsea – why do I keep pushing her out of my mind?

It’s as if I’ve never truly noticed him before. I’ve come to know Mr. Johnson as the caring father who takes his daughter and me to dinner, and as “Wade” in Chelsea’s sparse tales of family life. But here at college, our parents are not foremost on our minds.

Now I know what it is! I’ve simply never seen him without his suit jacket. He stands quite taller than me, and must be almost double in bulk. There’s no fat on him, though, it’s all muscle. The hair at the back of my neck suddenly stand up at the thought of what it must feel like, touching his biceps as he flexes, or simply running my hand over his pecs, feeling his muscles through the soft fabric, or better yet, seeing and feeling them ripple directly under his skin.

OMG, Celia, what are you thinking?!

I have to chide myself internally. Slight goosebumps stand out on my forearms from excitement, and I rub my arms and cross them in front of my chest – just in time to cover my nipples standing erect. I’ve noticed Mr. Johnson – Wade, as I continue calling him in my mind – has undergone a similar transformation: either I’m imagining it, or a significant bulge has formed in his pants. I can’t even think of what that means, it’s making me hot on the insides!

I clear my throat to continue the conversation, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, slightly leaning forwards under Wade’s constant gaze.

“I go running with Chelsea several times a week, as you probably know,” I say.

“She must have inherited the fitness mindset from you, I guess it comes with your job.”

“But she is not into the kind of yoga I do,” I continue, “which is a very acrobatic and flowing kind of Vinyasa. I enjoy the stretch and flexibility it gives my body.”

I like talking about activities I enjoy, and I’ve worked up quite an enthusiastic tone of voice which is only amplified by this weird, charged energy in the room. I’ve never felt anything like it, and I certainly haven’t experienced this between Mr. Johnson and me.

So before I’ve even properly formed the thought in my mind, I blurt out, “Would you like to see some poses?”

I don’t even give him a chance to reply, I’m already darting off to my room to fetch my yoga mat. Within seconds, I’m unrolling it on the floor in front of Mr. Johnson.

I drop down onto my yoga mat, which I have placed directly in front of the couch. My face is inches from the soft, pink fabric as once again today, I quickly cycle through sun salutations and Vinyasa poses. All the while I’m talking, explaining my routine to Mr. Johnson.

“I just need to warm up my muscles and my body before I can go into the more acrobatic and extreme poses. It’s important to avoid injury, as you must know from your own sports and workout, I guess.”

I’m concentrating on my body tension, but the pink is stuck in my mind. Not the color of my mat, soft to the touch, but a very hard pink. When I came back into the room, was that pink... flesh protruding from Mr. Johnson’s pants? Is he having an erection?!

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