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The Student
By
Shylywild

The Student

Melanie adds a Senior to the List

I hit Send.

I really didn’t know what had gotten into me. I mean, he was sweet to help me lug all my stuff up three flights of stairs to my Freshman dorm room, and he was kind of cute. Best of all, he was a Senior, but I barely knew him. So, when I tried to pay him for his trouble, I was taken aback when he gave a lopsided grin and remarked that people around here mostly just swap. The way his smoldering grey eyes liquefied my insides left no doubt as to how I could best reward him.

My text said simply, This is Melanie. Come after 8.

K, was the response.

I lit some candles and undressed. Getting naked was easy. But getting aroused when I was so nervous was more difficult.  How long had it been since I’d done it with another person?  The times I touched myself didn’t count. 

I lay covered by a clean sheet, playing long fantasies in my head as I traced figure eights around my clit. It’s important when sculpting a mood to create the proper story.

Sometimes it’s me, super fit, running into my high school ex with his sleazy new girlfriend and using my supernatural sensual powers to seduce and fuck him right there on the sidewalk while the girl stamps and wails.  Or, I’m leaning naked against the lectern as my chemistry professor thrusts vigorously into my bottom and drones on and on about ionic and covalent bonds while it rains rose petals, and squirming students gaze greedily at my perfect body.

My reverie was shattered when my phone dinged with a text telling me to be ready, that he was coming. With an effort, I commanded my aroused body to slow down. It wouldn’t do to peak too soon. Just that word was almost too much and, by the time he walked in the door, my eyes were shut, my hand was between my legs, my breasts were swollen red, and I was so close to the edge that I wanted to cry.

He gazed in long silence before lifting the sheet to drink in my body with his eyes as I squeezed in aching frustration. I didn't see him unzip and didn't care. I wanted more than just my fingers could ever give me; I wanted him, and that clear droplet slowly running down his full shaft left no question about his readiness. Finally, he climbed between my thighs and asked simply, “Are you ready to come?”

“Yes,” I moaned, and he immediately pushed into me. He cupped my face in his hands and I lost myself in those smoky eyes as I began to tremble. My thighs were tight around him, so tight he could barely move as I quaked. He thrust deep and held fast as I drenched him with my release and then it was his turn.

“Come for me,” I demanded and he groaned and plunged frantically as we climbed the final peak together. “Come for me,” I crooned, gazing into his face pinched with need. “Come for me,” with hands clutching his bottom, pulling him in.  And he exploded, spurted, filled me until come ran in rivers down my bottom; and I was right behind him, shouting, thrusting, kissing through ragged gasps. I came for hours, for days. I came without end, and I clenched him to me until, finally, he collapsed against my wet skin and tenderly kissed my lips one more time.

I never even heard him leave.

 

 

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