Horny Student, Extreme Bet

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

(Author’s notes:

This is a work of fiction. In this fantasy, nobody is worried about STDs. In real life, all non-monogamous sex should be practiced using accepted safe-sex precautions.

Thanks to Candace and HeyAll for editing/beta-reading. This is a better story because of their efforts.

All characters involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.)

: : : : :

“Hey, Ashley, you want to go get a drink, then catch some dinner? Café Prego?”

Chris, of the gender-neutral name but all-feminine looks, was my roommate and best friend, and she was playing dirty. I had told her earlier that I was watching both my calorie intake and my dollar output. She said I was being silly — if I’d allow some ‘lucky guy’ (her words) to take me out, I wouldn’t have to pay for anything, and that my figure was second only to hers and didn’t need monitoring. Now here she was suggesting Café Prego, the best Italian restaurant in town, with all the carbs and calories — and cost — that implies.

Chris and I were both in our late 20s, instructors at the local university. She has a beautiful face accented by an easy smile, framed by brown hair that grows in natural Grecian curls. She has wonderful C-cup boobs, a sleek waist, a beautiful ass that is curvy without being over-inflated, and legs that go on for days. She is definitely a looker. I must admit, though, as modestly as I can, when I glance in the mirror, what I see is quite similar. Biggest difference is, my hair is blonde. And my boobs are slightly bigger (don’t tell her I said that).

We both got divorced three years ago. I got the marital house, and she didn’t. I couldn’t afford the payments and maintenance by myself, especially the pool, which always seems to need something expensive. Chris didn’t want to revert to living in an apartment, so we agreed on rent that was fair to both of us, and she took over what used to be my guest bedroom and bathroom. She’s not a perfect roommate, but she probably comes as close as humanly possible.

“Let’s go early and beat the crowd,” she said.

“I can’t,” I said, hiding my irritation — I hadn’t agreed to go. “I have a student coming by for tutoring at 5:00.” The university doesn’t pay overtime, so tutoring is one of the few ways we instructors have of making extra money.

“Is it ‘Brandon’ again?” She used that mocking, schoolyard tone of voice that elementary school kids use to tease their classmates about their first girl- and boyfriends.

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“He is so crushing on you.”

“I don’t know why you say that. He’s just working hard to get a decent grade,” I said, trying not to show my growing aggravation.

“Maybe he is, but he craves you big time.”

“Quit it, he does not.”

“My bestie, so innocent, so naïve.”

I didn’t even dignify that with a response. In the silence that followed, I thought she was done with the topic. I was wrong. “He’d fuck you in a minute if you’d let him.”

“Chris! Give up!” I growled. “Just because neither of our ex-husbands could keep their pants zipped doesn’t mean all guys are like that.”

“I’m serious. I’m not even saying that Brandon is ‘like that,’ but he’d do you in a heartbeat. I doubt if he actually even needs the tutoring. I think he’s just looking for some ‘quality’ face time with you. Your fee for a lesson is no more than a nice evening out.”

“He never hits on me, Chris. He never even flirts. He calls me ‘Ms. Collins,’ not even ‘Ashley.’ He’s all business.”

“I didn’t say he was perfect.” She slipped into her condescending ‘I can’t believe I have to explain this’ voice. “He’s shy, especially because you don’t respond to the signals he does give you. If he was the type of shallow, smooth-talking hipster-with-a-dark-side you tend to fall for, you would have been in bed with him months ago.”

“So you admit he’s not my type.”

“No, I’m just saying you only see what you want to see. How are all those ‘cool guys’ working out for you, anyway?”

“Jeez, Chris, you’re pushier than an iTunes update…” I was reaching the end of my patience.

“I’m just saying, if you gave him any encouragement at all, you’d see what I’m talking about.”

“Give it a rest, will you?”

“I bet I’m right.”

A bet. Losing a bet would shut her up, and would be something I could hold over her head if she ever brought it up again.

“That’s a great idea. I’ll take that bet,” I said. “Loser pays for dinner tonight. At Café Prego.”

Aah, sweet silence — I finally said something she didn’t have a glib comeback to.

The silence turned scary, though — I could hear the gears turning in her head. Chris is very intelligent, and usually quite reasonable, but from time to time she becomes the Anti-Chris, an impulsive, reckless demon who has never heard of reasonable limits. I’ve learned not to get pulled into her schemes, most of the time anyway — she can be quite persuasive.

She finally said, “See, the thing is, we have to come up with something that actually canlı bahis tests whether Brandon is the earnest student you claim he is, or whether he is the horny, love-sick pup I know he is.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” I couldn’t hide the worry in my voice — we had reached the point in the conversation where the Anti-Chris could appear and things start getting crazy.

“Just admit that I’m right,” she said, “and then no one has to ‘prove’ anything.”

“You’re not right. I’m just a little worried about what your devious mind might think is a ‘fair’ way to prove it.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t think we can just ask him.”

I sang, “That would be awk-ward — ‘hey Brandon, wanna fuck?'”

We both laughed, then no one said anything for a minute. She broke the silence. “Today’s lesson, could you do it out by the pool?”

“I guess so. Why?”

She didn’t answer immediately. “Okay,” she finally said, “here’s what we do, actually what you do.”

I braced myself. I could tell this was going to be a doozy.

“When he rings the doorbell, don’t answer it the first time. When he rings again, answer it, in your bikini.”

“WHAT?”

“It doesn’t have to be your Cancun bikini.” Chris and I and a couple of other friends had gone to Cancun earlier in the year, and after too many margaritas the first day we all bought the tiniest micro-bikinis I had ever seen. The tops barely hid our nipples, and we all had to shave off our landing strips to wear the bottoms, which covered our slits and nothing else. I only bought mine because they would have teased me mercilessly if I hadn’t, and I only wore it because anyone who saw me in it was a stranger who I’d never see again. No way was I wearing it in front of Brandon.

“It can be your blue one.” That’s more like it. It still shows a lot of skin, but at least the bottoms actually have a seat rather than butt-floss.

“Not gonna happen!” I said.

She looked annoyed, but only for a second. Then a huge smile appeared — uh oh, that’s usually trouble. “Right, you’re absolutely right. I answer the door in my bikini. You’ll be out by the pool in yours — don’t worry, the blue one.”

“And I’m out by the pool in my bikini for his lesson because?”

“You lost track of the time.”

She paused, arranging things in her mind. I thought the whole thing sounded absurd, but just to let her get to the part that was so obviously outrageous I could decline it easily, I asked, “Then what?”

“I answer the door, lead him to the patio, point him at you, and I disappear. When you hear him approach, you hold out the sunscreen without looking up and say, ‘Chris, would you put some sunscreen on my back?’ He takes it from there.”

“Okay, but then that’s it.”

“Yes, that’s it if you’re right. If he redirects you to his lesson, then you win, and I buy dinner.”

“I’m getting Osso Bucco — it’s the most expensive thing on the menu. And an appetizer, and wine.”

“Not so fast. That’s if you win, which you won’t. If I’m right, then buttering your back will led to ‘other things,’ and I win.”

“And I buy dinner at Café Prego.”

“No. Not at all. If I’m right, which I am, then you do anything he initiates. Anything. If he starts something, you don’t cut him off, you don’t refuse, you don’t act unwilling, you don’t discourage him, you do it. If that leads to something else, you also do that. If he keeps going, you keep going. Anything he starts, and I mean anything, you do it.”

“Damn, Chris, that’s hard-core.”

“Not according to you.”

She had me. I didn’t believe Brandon would go there. I was sure he had a girlfriend, probably a bikini model who looked like she stepped out of a beer commercial. He was six foot three, around two hundred twenty-five pounds, and looked like a young Christian Bale, if Christian had played linebacker for Southern Cal. I was sure his girlfriend made me look like a spinster librarian.

“Okay, I’ll do it. Just to shut you up.”

“Good. You haven’t gotten any in months, and you’re wound tighter than a cheap watch. You could use a good ‘shtooping.'”

“Shut up, Chris. Not gonna happen.”

She walked away, singing, “Ashley’s getting lai-aid, Ashley’s getting lai-aid.”

“Jeez, Chris, what grade are we in?” I said in her direction as she stepped inside.

: : : : :

I have a competitive streak a mile wide, and a stubborn side even larger. Looking back, I realize the Anti-Chris used that against me. She knew that if I felt challenged, I wouldn’t back down, no matter how ridiculous her plan was, so she made sure I felt challenged. The result was, a few minutes before 5:00, I found myself laying out by the pool on my tummy, reading. I thought I wouldn’t be nervous, but the closer it got to tutoring time, the more I worried that she might be right, and I’d soon be way outside my comfort zone.

I worried about more than possibly getting fired for having sex with a student. I’ve never been much of a casual-sex girl. I’m not a prude by any bahis siteleri means, but to me sex happens as part of a relationship. Physical intimacy builds upon sharing things that are deep and profound: likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams, becoming familiar and comfortable with each other, building mutual trust, enjoying the similarities, learning to compromise and accommodate the differences. When you’ve done that, then you have sex. I’ve always done it that way, and it’s always worked for me.

Brandon and I hadn’t done any of those things. I found myself hoping he wouldn’t show up. When the doorbell rang, promptly at 5:00, I almost shot into the air like that cartoon cat that’s always getting startled by the dog. A few moments later, I heard footsteps approaching. Without looking up, I held out the sunscreen and recited my line, “Chris, will you put some of this on my back?”

I expected Brandon to say something timid like, “Oh, well, um, hi, uh, I’m not really Chris, you know, I mean, uh, er, sorry,” in the upper register of his voice, maybe with a squeak or two. But that isn’t what happened. He took the sunscreen from me and in a deep confident tone said, “Hey Ms. Collins, it’s me, Brandon. Sure, no problem.”

Before I could even pretend to be surprised or protest that I’d lost track of the time and we should move to the table for our lesson, he sat on the edge of my deck chair and I heard the sound of coconut oil being squirted into his hand.

He rubbed his palms together, placed them on my shoulders, and began massaging them, quite tenderly. “Lookin’ good, Ms. Collins,” he said.

Shit, I might be in trouble, maybe Chris was right. He oiled my upper arms, and returned to my shoulders, rubbing the coconut-scented oil down my upper back. He lifted his hands, I thought to squirt more oil, but he unclipped my bikini top, then got some more oil.

“What are you doing, Brandon?” I said in a cold, stern ‘teacher’ voice.

“Just getting more sunscreen,” he said. “Don’t want to miss any spots.”

“No, you undid my top,” I said. That may have technically violated Chris’s rule about going along with whatever he started, but I had to at least imply that I didn’t approve.

“Your bikini is so pretty, we wouldn’t want to stain it with sunscreen, would we?” he replied. “Besides, your tan will look better without a bikini line here, right?” He rubbed all the way past the small of my back to the upper edge of my bikini bottom.

He shifted his weight on the chair, and I thought maybe he was done and we’d get on to our tutoring. Wrong. He got more oil on his hands, and started back at my shoulders, this time moving upward to my neck. When he reached my top’s upper strap, he unfastened it, again without asking, and rubbed slowly, deeply, sensuously on both sides of my neck.

“Wouldn’t want a tan-line here, either,” he explained, ignoring that the strap was under the canopy of my hair and there wouldn’t be any tan there anyway. He lingered at my hairline, which happens to be one of my most sensitive spots. I hoped he didn’t notice the goose-bumps on my arms.

My inner voice told me it was time to break Chris’s rule and stop him — he was escalating way beyond applying sunscreen. Before I did, though, he shifted his position, squirted another handful, and began at the back of my knees, which happens to be another one of my secret erogenous zones. He lingered there for a luxuriously long time, then worked his way downward. He finished my heels and returned to the back of my knees, rubbing upward this time. When he neared my bikini bottom, he nudged my knees apart.

“Let’s make sure we don’t miss anywhere important,” he said.

He massaged oil into my inner thighs, working upward until he briefly rubbed my pussy through my bikini bottoms. He paused, I think to see if he needed to claim it was an accident. When I didn’t say anything, he ran his fingers under the seat of my bikini and massaged oil into the lower part of my butt. I should have stopped him, but my stupid competitive streak kept me from violating Chris’s rule. And, to be honest, what he was doing felt pretty darn good.

He moved to my waist, and re-oiled his hands. He started at the small of my back and worked downward. He slid his fingers under my bottoms again, this time from the top, and finished oiling my butt, even though it was covered and didn’t need sunscreen. I was all set to stop him if he tried to remove my bottoms, rule or no rule, but he must have sensed that because he didn’t try.

“Your back is done, let’s turn you over.”

Even though he had unclipped my top at both my back and my neck, I somehow managed to get turned over holding it in place, without even a nip slip.

He oiled my front from the bottom up — feet, then shins, then thighs. He stopped when he got to my bikini bottom, still sensing I wouldn’t let him pull it off. I was thinking it was time to re-clip my top, sit up, and say something about getting on with the lesson, but he started in on my shoulders, and it felt so bahis şirketleri good, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to wait a moment. He really did have a nice, delicate touch, and he was careful to warm each new handful of oil thoroughly before applying it.

After the tops of my shoulders, he moved to my collarbones and neck. He was respectful of my modesty, folding down the upper parts of my top rather than trying to remove it. Even though I found myself falling under the spell of his strong, gentle touch, my inner voice said this had gone far enough, bet or no bet. I decided it was definitely time to cut him off, but that it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy his tender touch for just a bit longer. Seriously, just another minute, or maybe two since it felt so good.

He removed his hands to get more sunscreen, but this time he didn’t squirt more oil, he lifted my bikini top off. I didn’t realize I had relaxed my hold on it, but apparently I had. “I don’t think we need this anymore,” he said.

I shielded my nipples with my hands, and he began oiling the upper, unprotected swell of my boobs. He soon worked his hands under mine and began massaging my tits, cupping them in his palms. I told myself that as long as my nipples were covered, I wasn’t actually topless. My lower tummy began to sizzle, warm and deep. I tried to ignore it but it wouldn’t go away. WTF?

He pulled me out of my thoughts, flexing his fingers, squeezing the soft flesh of my breasts; in high school we would have called it ‘feeling me up.’ He began sliding his palms back and forth across my nipples. They are sensitive and love feeling friction, but they had never felt this type of slick, warm, oily touch — they absolutely glowed in pleasure. They jumped to attention; I’m sure he felt it. My inner voice continued protesting, although it was sounding weaker and weaker.

My boobs sizzled in the warm afternoon air — he had removed his hands and now I actually was topless by any measure: tits out in the open. He tweaked my nipples, rubbing them between his pointers and thumbs, and the sizzle in my tummy grew. I heard somebody moan and was surprised to realize it was me.

“Brandon, what would your girlfriend think?” I managed to say. I expected him to ignore the question or if he said anything, offer some sort of lame rationalizing like ‘She’ll never find out.’

He surprised me and said, “Not a problem, I’m sort of ‘between’ girlfriends right now. There’s somebody I’m interested in, but she’s taking awhile to respond to my attentions.”

I wondered if he meant me. “Maybe ‘taking awhile’ means that she’s not interested and you should look elsewhere.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, sounding somewhat amused and supremely confident. “But I’m pretty persistent. I usually end up getting what I want, even if it takes longer than I like.”

He got more sunscreen, and oiled my boobs again, as if they weren’t protected enough. Then he rubbed down my tummy, massaging around the sides of my waist as he went. He got a fresh handful of oil and resumed below my navel, down to the top edge of my bikini bottom. Without any pause he slid under it, starting at the outer edges and working inward. His hands met in the middle, where he discovered something I had hoped to keep secret — I was soaking wet. He worked a finger inside me and curled it up under my clit, teasing it just long enough to feel it rise up and reach for his touch, proving I was ready for more.

He reached his hands under my knees and lifted my legs until my thighs pressed against my boobs, then reached around my butt and looped his fingers under the upper edge of my bikini bottom.

He said, “Wouldn’t want to stain this, either” and pulled it across my thighs, up my calves, over my feet, and off. He eased my legs back down and said, “Nice racing stripe, Ms. Collins.”

I felt the open air — and his eyes — caress my groin, making my bare skin glow.

He continued, “I knew you’d turn out to be a natural blonde — cool!”

That warm simmer in my groin had grown to a full roiling boil, which I didn’t understand. As I said before, I’m not a prude, in fact I love sex. I’ve just always done it in a long-term relationship. It’s not that a guy has to ‘earn’ sex with me, I’m not that much of a princess, but to me the thrill comes from building up to the act, whether it’s a couple of dates or eight or ten. I had never had that buildup measured in minutes rather than weeks, and I was quite surprised to find such bubbling in my belly. Why was this moment so exciting?

He settled between my knees, his shoulders under my thighs, and spread my cleft apart with his thumbs. Then our lesson began, just not the one I planned — he tutored me on the topic of world-class pussy eating. Oh my, he had mad skills. He not only knew all the hot spots, he knew which ones to treat tenderly and softly, and which ones to touch more firmly. He knew where to lick slowly, where to flick his tongue quickly, where to massage with his lips, and where to suck. And he knew when to do those things. He played me like a virtuoso performing a master recital, and he had me cumming quicker, harder, and longer than I ever had before. I had always heard the phrase ‘seeing stars,’ but that was the first time I ever actually saw them.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*


pendik escort istanbul travestileri istanbul travestileri ankara travestileri adapazarı escort adapazarı escort bahis güvenilir bahis illegal bahis bahis siteleri canlı bahis bahis siteleri porno izle webmaster forum ankara escort bursa escort çanakkale escort çankırı escort çorum escort darıca escort didim escort edirne escort edremit escort elazığ escort konya escort porno izle pendik escort sakarya escort bursa escort bursa escort sakarya travesti edirne escort