When Cynthia touched his arm, the semi he had been
sporting for 45 minutes instantly sprang into a full
mega-boner. He squirmed a little in his seat, his cock
uncomfortably trapped by his jeans.
Cynthia smiled at him. “I think I might finally be
getting it!” she said, relief evident in her eyes. She
pushed a strand of her hair, perfectly straight and
perfectly blonde (almost white, Steve thought) behind
her ear and pursed her lips into a rueful half-smile.
“Maybe I won’t fail calculus after all.”
Steve laughed a little too hard, still nervous to be
near such a pretty girl. “When we’re through with you,
you’ll be teaching the course,” he smiled back at her,
hardly believing anything so confident could leave his
mouth.
Her face broke into a real smile. “You know, you’re
kinda funny,” she said, reaching up to squeeze his
shoulder lightly, her fingers rubbing small circles on
his upper back. His mega-boner became a whopping huge
fantastic mega super boner. “I really appreciate you
taking the time to tutor me.”
“Of course,” he responded, though it was anything but.
He had not known how to respond when Cynthia had
approached him after class earlier that day, and in
fact, he had not even realized at first that Cynthia
was talking to him. Girls like Cynthia never talked to
him. She was gorgeous, with imperial cheekbones and a
wide smile with perfectly ordered rows of teeth, a
perky set of “b” tits that were always on display above
a tiny waist and long cheerleading legs made for short
skirts.
Above all else, though, was her hair. It was the detail
that Steve kept fixating on. To say it was blonde
oversimplified; it simply shone, as if it were the
color of sunlight. It was perfectly straight, and so
long that it stretched nearly to her waist. Even when
it was cruelly confined to a pony tail, her hair was
still the envy of all the other girls.
And it wasn’t just her physical beauty. Cynthia wore
the right clothes, spoke to the right people, went to
the right parties. She was well-spoken and confident.
The rumor on campus was that she was a little too
“confident,” really; that she had been known to hook up
with four guys in a three day weekend, and had once
even seduced a teacher, Mr. Bradley. Steve didn’t know
if these rumors were true, or just the sort of rumors
that frequently attach to pretty girls, especially
pretty girls who seem to have so much going for them.
The jealousy of the male mind knew no bounds as far as
Steve was concerned.
And so, as they were leaving class, Cynthia had had to
say Steve’s name a few times before he even turned and
looked at her, and when he finally did, he was too
surprised to even be wary of the barb he should have
expected when a pretty girl talks to a nerd (although
if he were honest with himself about his inner
thoughts, he really thought she was too pretty and too
good to bait him in the silly ways the other popular
kids did). When she asked him if he would be willing to
tutor her, he couldn’t do anything but mutter a weak
assent. Seemingly without his will the date and place
were set: later that evening in the library.
In truth, tutoring her turned out to be pretty easy.
John knew calculus in and out, and she was eager to
learn. Apparently someone had told her that failure in
calculus would imperil her college attendance. While
she was no nerd, she had no intentions of being stuck
marrying a fading football hero, working in the Dairy
Queen, and wasting away in this little shithole,
either, thank-you-very-much, so she was very attentive.
Her hand was still on his shoulder. “I really mean it.
I’ve been having a lot of trouble understanding this
stuff, and you’ve made it seem so simple.”
He was starting to blush a little bit. Soon would come
the stammering. Her smile closed, but her face remained
friendly. She leaned in a little, as if she had reached
a decision about something important. “Listen,” she
whispered conspiratorially, “I think we’ve done enough
studying for tonight, and the test’s not for another
week.” Did this mean she wanted him to tutor her
_another_ night? Steve’s heart fluttered. “And there’s
something else I’ve been thinking about.” On that, her
eyes moved quickly side to side, as if scanning the
room to see if they were being watched.
“Oh?” Steve felt like he squeaked.
“I think I might have to whisper this in your ear, ok?”
Her voice was a combination of amusement and
seriousness. Steve nodded, dubious. She leaned in even
farther, close enough that he could smell her aroma, a
mix of soap (something flowery) and something un-
placeable (slightly lower and tangier). “Have you ever
fooled around in a library?” she whispered.
Steve took an involuntary gasp of air, almost snorting
through his noise. “No,” he squeezed out. Truth be
told, he had never fooled around in general, in any
locale. But he didn’t think this particular detail
needed to be shared.
“Neither have I,” she continued. She was so close,
Steve could hear her tongue moving in her mouth,
sliding across her teeth, dipping and rising as it
formed each word. It sounded very intimate. “But this
entire night, I’ve been noticing you, the way you look
at me, the way you avoid touching me, the way you try
and secretly adjust that package in the front of your
trousers, and it’s all got me really turned on.” She
stressed the last words. “I don’t think I could wait to
get you home or to the creek. I want you now.” On this,
her other hand came up, and she delicately began to
trace her nails along his inner thigh.
Steve almost shot out of his chair from the shock of
her hand on his thigh. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t
speak. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. “I’ve
always wanted someone to offer to take me in the
stacks.” She was downright cooing. “Will you offer?”
Steve’s mind was whirling. Between the overriding
sensation of her hand on his thigh, her scent in his
nostrils, and her breath in his ear, he almost couldn’t
follow what she was saying. He knew it was English, but
his mind refused to make any sense of the words she was
putting together. Was she making fun of him? If he told
her how he yearned for her, how he wanted to kiss every
part of her skin from head to toe, would she just turn
on him and laugh and ask how he could have ever thought
that a girl like her would ever hit on a guy like him?
Her hand slipped into his. It was looking more and more
like this was really happening. “Come on,” she half-
whispered, standing up and tugging on his arm. “I know
a quiet place where we won’t be disturbed.”
She took off for the stairs. Steve stumbled behind her,
being lead along, almost dragged, like a hesitant
parent with an excitable child who has just seen what
she wants for Christmas. She wasn’t looking at him, but
was barreling forward. He was dazed.
They got to the stairs, and she began to trot up them,
not letting go of his hand. Steve followed, mesmerized
by the flash of her white skin under her dark skirt as
the fabric rustled and jostled, revealing the backs of
her tan thighs and the slightest hint of white panties
as she pumped her legs to climb each step. They were
very nearly galloping now, almost jumping from step to
step.
They reached the third floor, and she darted to the
left. Steve was panting, out of breath from the run and
from the desire stirring within him, which was getting
stronger as every moment passed and his belief that
this was really happening increased.
The light was softer up here, and the smell of books
stronger. There were rows and rows of shelves —
folios, Steve idly thought — and only a few work
stations placed haphazardly around. Cynthia was right –
– no one else was up here. She moved quickly to the
back corner and took a hard right, moving between two
shelves. Abruptly, she turned to face Steve. The
inertia (and his inattention) almost made him run into
her; he stopped himself barely two inches from her. She
didn’t retreat.
“What do you think?” she whispered, looking up into his
eyes. She was four or five inches shorter than he was.
Steve liked being this close to her; he felt like he
towered over her. Her hands came up to his chest, and
she placed her flat palms against his pecs.
Steve stood silent, trying to get control of his
breath. He had no idea what to do or to say.
“Your heart is racing,” she said, her voice still in a
whisper. “But I think I could make it speed up even
faster.” Her hands slid up his neck and to the side of
his face, pulling him down as she turned her face up.
Their lips met. Steve was nervous and inexperienced, so
his lips were dry and rubbery, but Cynthia’s lips were
velvet, supple and dexterous. She nibbled his lower
lip, then moved her tongue to trace the outline of his
lips. Steve opened his mouth — to speak or breathe or
for what he didn’t know — and her tongue slipped into
his mouth.
Her tongue moved slowly but confidently, feinting and
darting around his. Her tongue was so warm and soft, it
was like nothing he had ever imagined. He relaxed,
loosening his lips, letting his tongue move to meet
hers. Cynthia moaned.
Her hands moved back down his neck, then her nails
began to drag across his chest and stomach. Her hands
reached his waist. She broke the kiss. “I need you,”
she moaned, and dropped to her knees. In one fluid
motion, she unsnapped his jeans, unzipped them, and
pulled them down, taking his briefs too. Steve’s eyes
widened. Suddenly he was flapping in the breeze.
What if she laughed at him? What if he didn’t measure
up to the other guys she’d been with? What if he came
too soon? What if he got caught with his pants down in
the library? What if he worried so much he couldn’t
stay hard?
This last thought caught him, and he quickly glanced
down. Cynthia was just staring at his cock, smiling,
and idly licking her lips. Thankfully, he was still
hard. He was straining, in fact. It felt like his cock
wanted to rip itself off his body and go marching off
on its own, he was so hard. Pre-cum flowed from the tip
of his penis; it was the Mississippi, it was the Nile,
it was the River of Life.
Though hard, his cock hung down slightly. Cynthia
reached for it, lifting it up to point toward her.
Without a word, she leaned forward and took him into
her mouth, practically wolfing him down.
Steve stifled a cry. He had no basis of comparison, but
suddenly understood what the fuss about blowjobs was.
To have his cock go from enjoying some fresh air to
being fully encased in Cynthia’s warm, tight mouth was
indescribable; fireworks were going off in his head.
Something soft and warm began to flick at the head of
his penis. He heard Cynthia humming, and felt the
vibrations in his cock. She began to pull back slowly,
her cheeks concave, her eyes closed as she savored the
sensations, and Steve felt the delicate suction of her
mouth tugging at him with each millimeter she moved.
She came off his cock with a little “pop.” His cock was
now glistening, and a large vein was noticeably
twitching with his pulse. She left her hand on him, but
looked up at him. “Can I blow you later? Right now I
really want your cock in my pussy.” Steve did not know
if this was rhetorical, or what. Steve did not know
anything anymore.
She sprung to a standing position, still holding on to
his cock. “Oh, hell,” she said, and bent at the waist.
Her beautiful hair fell down around her, obscuring her
face. Suddenly she was on him again, this time sucking
on just his head. He put his hands on her head, amazed
to see his own skin next to the iridescence of her
hair. She moaned, and though he wasn’t pushing on her
at all — he was just resting his hands — she began to
slide back and forth on him, as if he were face-fucking
her.
She practically screamed, pulling herself off of him
and standing up again. Steve’s heart spurted forward.
He did not want to attract any attention, for a lot of
reasons, but the only one he could think of right now
was that he wanted Cynthia to make him cum. Thankfully
no one seemed to have heard.
“Put that thing in me now.” When she spoke, it was not
a request. She flipped up her skirt, hooked her fingers
in the side of her panties, and slid them off smoothly,
her skirt flipping back down before Steve could see
anything. He stood, breathing heavily, his arms
clenched at his sides, his cock throbbing, his t-shirt
still on, and his jeans pooled at his ankles.
Cynthia turned around, resting her elbows on a shelf,
pointing her ass out. “Hurry, stick it in, I can’t wait
any longer.” She spread her legs, her skirt riding up
to reveal the lower curve of her ass. Steve swallowed.
Suddenly his mouth was dry again.
“Please, please, please,” she was mumbling nearly
incoherently. She looked over her shoulder, her long
hair falling some on her back, and some to the side of
her face, giving her a halo. She reached back, grabbed
his cock, and pulled him toward her. Where his cock
went, he went. He shuffled forward.
She arched her ass even more. The skirt fell back
against her lower back, revealing her perfect ass. It
was round, but not at all flabby. And just beneath it,
Steve could see the lips of her vulva. They were puffed
out, and he could see the moisture coating even her
legs. She was very clearly shaved. Her pussy was
perfect.
“That’s where I’m going to lose my virginity,” Steve
thought, looking at her pussy. He gave a mental shrug,
his body (or one part of it, at least) asserting that
this was not the time for moral consideration.
Cynthia moved her other arm off the shelf and in front
of her to spread her lips while her other hand guided
his cock. She placed him right at the entrance to her
vagina, his head barely nestled in her folds. “Push,”
she said. Steve, beyond thinking, did just that, with
no nuance or teasing, slamming it all into her.
Her arms came forward again, grasping for support
against the shelf. Her face fell forward. “Fuck!” She
nearly screamed. Steve didn’t know if people could hear
her and he no longer cared. Her pussy was amazing,
somehow even more amazing than her mouth. He pulled
back and pushed forward. “Fuck me!” she screamed again.
He hammered into her, no concern for technique, amazed
at the way her pussy seemed to glom on to him, to
refuse to let him leave, but how willing it was to let
him enter. “God yes!” she screamed, grunting each time
he slammed into her. His ears filled with the beautiful
slimy sound of hard cock plunging into gooey wet pussy,
amazed to hear it for the first time.
Steve moved his hands to her waist for balance and
began to pull her into him as he thrust into her. He
was baring his teeth, and while he was unaware of it, a
low animal noise was escaping from him. For her part,
Cynthia had been reduced to whimpering, punctuated only
by grunts as he slammed into her.
Steve felt himself getting close. He reached up and
grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling it. Cynthia
arched her back, straightening up, but pushing more of
her ass into Steve’s crotch, grinding into him. She
turned to face him, their heads now close enough that
they could kiss. “Come inside me,” she whispered. On
her cue, Steve did just that. Steve began to spew,
spurt after spurt, long artillery fire of sperm up her
tight canyon. She was milking him, begging for it.
Three times. Four times. He sighed and fell backward,
his cock slipping out. A fifth tiny spurt dripped out,
hitting the back of her legs and beginning to coarse
down it. He slumped down, sitting, staring up at the
gaping mouth of her pussy, winking, frothy with his
cum.
Cynthia calmly picked up her panties, folded them, and
began to wipe at her pussy, dabbing and collecting both
her juices and his cum. Steve stared, lifeless. When
she was done, she adjusted her skirt so that it covered
her again, turned back around, leaned over, and put the
panties into his hand. “You can keep these as a
souvenir,” she said.