by Nikky Kaye
“Hmmm.” With some difficulty, she slipped out of our cocoon and headed to the bathroom. Her creamy ass jiggled as she walked away.
“The view isn’t helping,” I called out. My dick was painfully hard, sandwiched between my belly and the bed. “Some fucking Boy Scout you are,” I muttered to myself. Why didn’t I carry a condom in my wallet like every other tool out there?
I eyed my briefs on the floor and wondered if I should put them on. Maybe I would be less tempted with some kind of fabric armor. A snort escaped me. Yeah, it was unlikely.
Cassie appeared in the bathroom doorway again, shyly holding out a little foil packet.
My heart stopped, then started again.
“My roommate’s,” she explained. And yes, her blush was creeping down her chest again, of which I had a very good view.
“Really?” I sounded like a nine-year-old on Christmas morning with a new puppy and tickets to Disneyland tied to its collar.
I held up the blanket for her to scoot under. She handed me the condom and wriggled close to my chest, whispering “I’ll just replace it later.”
My mouth covered hers again hungrily, our bodies slotting together a bit roughly like freshly cut puzzle pieces. In the future, I figured, our edges would wear down, and our grooves would become easy and familiar. Until that happened, I had no problem suffering the clumsiness of new intimacy—with a goofy lovesick smile on my face.
We rocked together, dry humping until we realized neither of us was dry and it was time. She made a move to take the condom from me, but I shook my head and ripped it open myself. I didn’t trust myself not to go off like a rocket if she touched me at this point.
Thankfully, the rubber tamed the dowsing stick that was my dick enough for me to nestle in between her thighs without exploding like I was fourteen years old. She hugged me close, her hands curling up and sweeping over my deltoids. I was right there.
“You sure?” I had to ask one more time, pausing at her entrance.
She nodded, her body shivering and hot at the same time. “Please, Will,” she whined.
I could tell from the slickness at her center and her wide pupils that she was really fucking turned on. And so was I.
“Wait, you have had sex before, right?”
Maybe that asstard ex-boyfriend of hers was lying to save face, and she was really a virgin. The idea of popping her cherry was, well, dick-hardening, but I would want us both to gorge on a hell of a lot more foreplay first.
“Technically,” she breathed out.
Good enough for me. The foreplay would come later. I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Hold on,” I told her.
I rose up on my knees slightly and pushed inside. We both inhaled sharply when I got about halfway in on my first stroke. She was crazy tight. Her eyes fluttered shut, but her hips tilted up a little to encourage me.
After dropping a tender kiss on her lips, I plunged forward until I was fully seated in her and her breath whooshed out of her lungs.
“Ah!”
Her eyes flew open again as she took me all in, from my heavy gaze to my thick cock.
“You ok—”
She craned her neck up to kiss me, effectively shutting me up, if not answering my question. Her tongue touched mine, and I started moving. Every inch, in and out, felt like the first stroke, insanely hot and snug. But I could feel her dripping around me, her arousal growing with every thrust.
“Jesus, Cass.” I shuddered in her arms, shaking my head in amazement. This was so fucking good—at least for me.
She didn’t move much beneath me, except for wrapping her legs around me. Her heels dug into the backs of my thighs, and occasionally her fingernails scratched my shoulder blades. The noises she made were breathy and unformed, and rose in volume and pitch as I ground my pubic bone into the swollen bundle of nerves above her entrance.
Oh, she liked that.
I couldn’t help it. Her little pants and cries spurred me on, and I sped up.
There was sweat forming in the curve of my back, near where her fingers dragged up and down my spine. Once, twice her fingers drifted down to my ass and squeezed.
I held myself up over her with straight arms, my hair flopping over my forehead as I looked down between us to see my dick disappear into her pussy. Fuck, it was hot. Our bodies slapped together, and the throbbing urgency inside me intensified. My hand cupped the back of her neck and I tipped her head up.
“Watch me fuck you.”
Her chin bumped against her chest as she watched silently. I rammed my hips against her, the dumpy dorm bed protesting only a little. Surely it had weathered this kind of activity before.
“Will…” she whined, squirming a little under me. If it was a warning, it was a shitty one. If it was a request, it was unintelligible. If it was a reproach, it went unheard.
“No,” I ground out, not sure of what I was saying no to. Maybe I just wanted her to be quiet; maybe I just wanted to focus on the sensations at our cores. My arms trembled, my balls swelled.
Then all of a sudden I was driving into her, fast and hard and almost out of control.
The noises she made swam in my ears. All the awareness in my body distilled to one perfect fucking motion until it pinpointed and ruptured, like a needle bursting a balloon. I came with a rush, my groin jerking sharply against the cushion of her pelvis.
For several pulse-thumping moments, I was suspended above her, stretched out lean and taut. Then I flopped on top of her.
“Fuck that was good,” I managed.
No reply. Apparently I had fucked her brains out.
My head burrowed into the curve of her shoulder. I could hear my breath wheezing against her neck, becoming slower and smoother as my heart rate came down. Still speechless, her hand trailed idly up and down my back as I tried not to crush her. A working spinal cord would have helped with that—I felt like mine had been bruised.
When my brain started working again, it was to notice that my softening dick was slipping out of her. I rolled off and disappeared into the bathroom to take care of the condom.
I took my time. I had to take a piss, and then I washed my hands and splashed water on my face—cold water. Spotting a facecloth draped over the towel bar, I took the liberty of holding it under some warm running water then wrung it out. After I swiped it over my sensitive dick, I rewet it and opened the door.
“Here,” I said, holding up the cloth. “You can clean up—“
I stopped, blinking at the empty, sunlit dorm room. There I stood, smelling like sex, buck naked and alone.
Cassie had fucking ghosted.
Cassie
I did it again. Ran. Avoided. It was what I was best at.
The last twelve hours had left my head spinning, and not just from the drink specials at the bar.
There was only so far I could run away from Will, though. After all, I left him in my room. With my luck, he would just sit there and wait for me to come back. How long would he wait?
I told myself sternly that I would not return to my room unless he had clothes on. Then I scolded myself for being unbelievably childish. After that, I told myself to go straight to H-E-double hockey sticks.
As it was, losing the fight or flight instinct meant that I was wandering around campus early on a frosty Sunday morning wearing striped flannel pajama pants and Will’s hoodie. My feet were bare in a pair of poorly chosen ballet flats and already getting cold.
I wasn’t the only person doing the walk of shame, but I was probably the most oddly dressed. Most of the girls I passed were in mini skirts and high heels, which explained why they were scurrying as fast as they could.
Not that much on campus was open yet, so I ducked into the medical school library, which was usually open twenty-four hours a day to meet the varying schedules and study habits of med students. Will liked to study there.
I have to stop thinking about him!
That was probably impossible, since he was the reason I was buying
crappy vending machine coffee in a nearly empty building. I’d only met Will because I’d screwed up my schedule and was forced into taking Biology as my science requirement. So maybe it was fate that brought me here now. If so, fate had a warped sense of humor.
The coffee warmed my hands and throat, but sadly, not my feet. Sitting on a bench in the building’s foyer, I paused to consider if I really felt ashamed. Did I? Since I was a list person, I figured it was time for a mental tally of last night.
Dinner with Jen: Fun, but the wine probably wasn’t necessary.
Drinks at the bar: Two. Not the best idea, since I’d already had wine.
Dancing: Enough to make my feet hurt. But also fun.
Doorknobs trying to hit on me: Two. It could have been worse.
Shock at encountering Will: 7 out of 10.
Rolling, powerful orgasms courtesy of Will: Two…and a half.
Inaugural sex acts: Uh… Three? Four?
It seemed that the later it got in the evening, the higher my scores. Drifting off into the R-rated memories, I was suddenly very aware that I had not stopped to put underwear on when I was fleeing the crime scene.
I needed to accept that I was more innocent than I thought—and that I also really, really enjoyed some of what Will and I did. Did that make me a slut? Was that where my shame was coming from?
My coffee now forgotten, I drew my knees up under the stolen hoodie and curled into a ball. Even my Philosophy class wasn’t taxing my brain as much as this situation.
Part of the reason I was so mixed up was because of the equally mixed up signals I got from Will. He worshipped me like a goddess then talked dirty to me like a whore. He tried to give me control, then ripped it away and made me feel things I’d never felt before.
He hadn’t believed that I’d never had an orgasm before—and going by last night, I’d either proven my point or I had an aneurysm. But what about Will? Had he felt anything new or different with me? When I gave him head, was it better or worse than what he’d had before?
If I was going to be honest with myself, what had turned me on the most was the overwhelming rudeness of his fingers. My core clenched just thinking about it.
I’d been gone down on before—okay, only once and I didn’t like it—but never spread out on display like that. I’d been fingered, too, but not practically fisted. And I’d never considered any ass play. In fact, I probably wouldn’t even know about these things had I not read too much smutty fan fiction in high school.
If Will were here, he would raise an eyebrow and point out that I had fucking loved it.
That was what I was feeling shame about. What did it say about me that his fingers up my butt made me come, but his cock pounding into me this morning didn’t?
That scared me a little. Maybe I wasn’t frigid after all, but maybe I was a closet kinkster instead. Maybe I needed to let my freak flag fly in order to enjoy sex.
Agh! This was all too much to process this early on a Sunday morning. Sundays were for sleeping in until noon just because I could, trying to catch up on my readings for class, and calling my parents. Sundays had never been for running away from wicked hands and deviant desires—until now.
If I didn’t want to accept my perverted nature, then I would have to get Will to make me come through “normal” sex. And maybe he could also teach me that secret handshake.
But since Sundays were my time to catch up on reading… it was time to do some research. It just so happened I was in the perfect place for that.
* * *
“Hey! Turns out, I’m not frigid—I’m a deviant.”
My announcement had echoed in my empty room as I walked through the door. On the way back from the library, I psyched myself up for this conversation, and now I had no audience. I was simultaneously relieved and irritated as I hopped in the shower and washed the smell of sex and sweat off me.
Nude with a towel wrapped into a turban around my head, I pawed through my dresser to find something that said:
“I need to be fucked properly, unless you just want to pay me the $1,000 now and we can pretend this never happened. Oh, and I might be a closet Back Door Betty, but I’m not a whore. Now what do I need to do for the fetal pig assignment I missed?”
I ended up in a long clingy skirt and a sweater, over a sexy bra and matching panties. The former pushed my B-cups almost into my throat. The latter, although not quite a thong, rode up enough to feel like one. The sensation made me blush a little. And then I was faced with the reality that skimpy underwear did nothing to staunch the dampness of arousal. I blew my hair dry but didn’t bother with makeup.
It took me another hour of wasting time in my room (damn you, Internet) before I got up the guts to look for Will.
Now I was rehearsing what to say in the vestibule of Will’s building off-campus. Two separate tenants walking their dogs had already edged around me, giving me strange looks. Then again, one of them caught me asking the building directory if anal sex hurt.
Taking a deep breath, I punched in the code for Will’s apartment.
“’Lo?” He sounded like he’d been asleep. “Hello?”
“It’s Cassie.”
Crickets. Actually, the only sound in the entry was a heavy hum from the speaker; I wondered if that was what rejection sounded like. Then came a long buzz, and the door lock clicked open for me.
When he opened the door, he was wearing his t-shirt from last night and a pair of scrub pants clearly stolen from the hospital. His hair stuck up in funny directions, but he looked wide awake. And his gaze was on the floor for once as he stepped back to gesture me in.
“I need to apologize.”
“I’m sorry.”
For the second time today, we spoke over each other.
He glanced up at me, finally, with amusement. “You want some coffee?”
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
While I took off my boots and jacket, he busied himself with a couple of mugs and pods in the coffee machine on the counter. The first sip surprised me.
“How did you—?“
“I know you, Cass,” he said simply.
I realized with a jolt that he did. He’d become a good friend to me, not just a lab partner, over the year or so we’d known each other. He’d bought me drinks but made sure I got home safely. He talked smack about my ex-boyfriend when I needed to hear it, and listened to me bitch about my parents’ helicoptering and how it had driven me to school a hundred miles away from home.
And he had brought me coffee. Always with stuff to put in it, but clearly he had observed what I did and remembered.
“Yeah, you do.” A few simple words, meaningless out of context. But they acted as a lightning bolt of revelation to me.
He just nodded over the rim of his own cup.
“You left.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”
“For some reason, I just thought you would.”
“I think you assume a lot of things, Cass.” He put his empty mug in the sink and stared down into the small pile of dirty dishes. His shoulders were tense under his worn, grey t-shirt, his back broad and straight.
True. He wasn’t making this easy for me. But then again, when did I ever make it easy for him? “I practiced what to say to you on the way over.”
“Such as?”
“Last night was pretty, um, amazing.”
“Really.” His tone was flat, almost sarcastic. “I hope once was enough for you, then.”
Apparently the bitterness of the coffee was catching. And I didn’t need any more caffeine to feel shaky, so I clunked my mug down on the counter. “I guess I owe you a hundred bucks now.”
With his back to me, he waved a hand over his shoulder. My heart dropped into my stomach at his dismissal.
“Actually, since you made me come nearly three times, it’s probably more like two-fifty,” I joked feebly.
“What?” Now he spun around.
Did my face look redder since I w
as wearing a white sweater? “You know…”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you educate me?” His frown was smoothing out into a look of self-satisfaction.
“Will!”
“Cass!” he mimicked me.
“Last night, when you, uh, kissed me down there.”
Holy crap, was I really this shy? This was becoming ridiculous. The man had seen every inch of me close up, and I can’t even—I searched my memory for what I had read this morning at the library. Oh, right.
“I mean when I climaxed from oral intercourse and digital penetration of my vaginal canal and anus.” The last word came out as a whisper.
Will nearly fell on the floor laughing. A clinical approach may not have been the best way to talk about this.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His hand flailed between us as he tried to compose himself. “You’re so fucking cute.”
Could somebody be embarrassed to death? That’s what I should have been looking up at the library. He watched me carefully as he caught his breath. I watched him back, when I wasn’t fidgeting with my sleeve.
“Cassie, may I, ah, osculate you?”
“What?”
He crossed the few feet between us and slanted his mouth over mine.
Oh.
This was starting to feel familiar now—his taste—coffee layered over the mint of his toothpaste—the steel heat of his arms around me, and the earthy scent of his skin. In fact, it hadn’t taken me long to get accustomed to his kiss. It would likely take me longer to get over it.
That knowledge would be alarming if it wasn’t so heartwarming.
I felt boneless in his embrace. The words of every anatomy text, sexual health journal, and every clinical psychology lecture went over our collective heads and out the window. His kisses made me feel desirable, wanton, and both bold and submissive. It made me lightheaded.
When his lips broke contact with mine, he nudged my nose in an Eskimo kiss, until I blurted out, “I didn’t come.”