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I’d eyed him before in class, surreptitiously, looking away sharply when it seemed he would catch me at it. He was fascinating to me, physically. His shoulder-length, curly hair put me in mind of an Argentinean football player, and he gave the illusion of being tall, somehow, though I’d seen him in a crowd and he wasn’t.

He didn’t seem to have any friends in the class, though he seemed friendly with everyone— not the loner type, not like me— and on that day he was sitting alone, toying idly with his pen.

On an impulse, very unlike me, I walked straight up and stood above him.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” I asked.

He smiled and gestured, and I felt a quickening of heartbeat, a chill running over my shoulders. His face was so many things at once. Strong, soft, mischievous. Hot.

Before I could blush I turned, on the pretext of slipping off my bag and sliding into the seat beside him. I felt his eyes on me and looked up. He was still smiling.

“I’m Andriy,” he said.

“Laura,” I replied.

By the time I had taken out my books the lecturer had started, and there was nothing else to be said. My attention remained divided between the lesson and Andriy. His cologne was making me light-headed, in a way that caused me to scold myself for being ridiculous. His forearms and hands were muscular and sleek.

The lecture seemed to end abruptly, the sound of so many people packing up at once rising to a roar in my ears. I blinked. Andriy was still looking at his page, tapping his pen thoughtfully. He looked up to me with dark chocolate eyes.

“Confusing,” he laughed, and closed the book.

“I could help,” I’d blurted out before my brain had the slightest chance to think about it. A suspicion formed itself in the back of my mind. Not another one, I moaned internally, not again.

For a moment he just looked at me, then he nodded.

“That would be fantastic. What are you doing at three tomorrow?”

“Nothing,” I replied, almost truthfully.

“I’ll meet you out the front of the library, then?” He asked, as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Sounds great!” I beamed. He walked off, but I lingered, putting my things away, smelling his scent still.

I put it out of my mind, as much as possible. I told myself I was just helping a guy with his studies, that this had nothing to do with anything. I was finding it hard to convince myself.

I was there at ten to three. I had initially planned to get there right on time, but habit won out over concerns of appearances in the end. I had accepted my own dare and wore a low-cut top which exposed my belly where it didn’t quite meet my tight, faded jeans.

The glass of the library’s front windows was reasonably reflective on such a cloudy day, and while I appeared to look around, I studied myself. Did I look like I was trying too hard? I began to fear so, and entertain wild notions of running home to change into something else. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my thin-framed glasses and ran fingers through my newly-washed hair.

It was at that point I saw him in the glass. He was no more than five steps away, walking casually. He had to have seen me preening myself girlishly. God, what would he think?

I turned as nonchalantly as possibly, and acted surprised to see him there, but not too surprised. Pleasantly surprised. He was smiling again, but this time there was something in it. Was he laughing at me?

“Hi,” I said, brightly.

“Hi,” he responded. Definitely amused.

“On the second floor, do you think?” I asked, trying to escape his regard.

“Sure,” He agreed easily, and we went inside.

We had found a secluded corner of the library and sat side-by-side. As promised, I helped him with his class work. His problems all stemmed from one misconception, and it didn’t take long for him to understand the rest easily. After only half an hour by the library clock, it seemed he had it down. I thought, maybe, this time I’d been wrong.

Just when he seemed on the point of thanking me and leaving, I felt, under the table, his ankle hook just slightly around mine. My heart jumped.

“And what about this question?” He asked, so seemingly unaware of it that I doubted for a minute. We had just covered what he was pointing to, though.

“Simple,” I smiled at him. With my heartbeat rising I shifted closer and pressed my leg firmly into his. “It’s just like this one.”

I looked up and he dragged his eyes hastily to mine, from where they had been looking over my exposed breasts. From the bottom of my vision I could see my pink lace bra holding them firm, while my top had opened with my leaning. I assumed he could, too.

“Oh, really?” He said, sounding just a hint breathless. “Maybe you could go over it again?”

I did, but neither of us was listening to what I was saying. He began ever so slowly to move his leg against mine. Subtly, so it could have just been a shift at first, but when I smiled, never stopping my explanation of ikitelli escort the question, more and more. I felt him through my jeans and had to fight to keep my voice steady. Something like an ache started up in my body.

I finally exhausted my explanation, and there was a few moments of silence.

“Oh,” he said. “I see,” and with that, shifted his hand and laid it on my exposed belly.

I gasped. I couldn’t help it, the nervous shock that ran through me as his cool hand pressed against my sensitive middle was too much. He looked apprehensive suddenly, but perhaps seeing the look on my face, kept his hand there.

Now my heart was racing, heat was flooding through my body and, it seemed, my brain. I’d known it, somehow. Just like the other two times. My jeans felt tighter than ever and, as if in a dream, I dropped my hand from the table and gripped the inside of his thigh, just above the knee.

I think I might have started it, moving my hand fractionally up his leg. He moved his a little way up, a finger now under my top, brushing my bottom rib. I moved again, and his hand went further, now bare millimetres from the bottom of my breasts, over which the lace now seemed too tight. I was acutely aware of the feeling of fabric on my nipples.

I took a breath, wondering if I had a chance to stop it here. I didn’t think so. I would never call myself attractive, with my plain features, but I had a certain…chemistry. For some people. For this person. It was irresistible.

After a breathless instant I moved my hand again, now so near to the crotch of his pants that I could feel the heat against my pinkie finger. He took my breast, wrapping his strong fingers around it, all but engulfing it. I didn’t know whether I was going to melt or explode first.

He leaned across and I positively dived into his kiss, taking his face with my free hand and battling his hot tongue, which seemed every bit as insistent as my own. His hand slowly squeezed and I panted through my nose, overcome with sensation and lust.

Then he pulled his mouth away and, without thinking, I raised my hand from his thigh and pushed it insistently into his crotch. I looked into his widened eyes as I felt the shape of him, his member straining like a caged animal against my palm and fingers.

The pressure on my breast suddenly lessened, as his fingers trailed firmly over my chest and down. For an instant I was worried that he was going to stop. His fingers pushed down to my bellybutton and I realised what was about to happen.

Like a thing hunted, my head darted from side to side. We were alone. The library was open on Saturdays, but few students were ever here at this time. His hand slid over my jeans and pressed itself into them. My legs slid automatically apart and he cupped the pubic bone, pressing up on my sensitive flesh. My body was begging me. Pleading. I made a snap decision.

“Inside,” I gasped to him. His eyebrows rose in surprise.


“Inside,” I repeated, pushing my hips forward against his pressure. Under my own hand I felt his penis grow even harder as he began to believe what he was hearing.

My stomach swarmed with nervousness as his broad fingers picked open the button. The sound of my zipper coming down was obscenely loud in the library silence, and I almost squirmed at the tantalising feel of the denim shifting its pressures around me.

Then, again, that firm hand on my belly. This time, when it slid down, it pushed aside the elastic of my white cotton panties and stroked slowly through the short, supple hair. Part of me was terrified. What if somebody saw?

He stroked me thoroughly with his open hand and I loved the feel, squirming against him. Finally his fingers teased apart my slick, willing flesh.

Above the table one would only see a girl, flushed, her mouth slightly open, looking at a guy who seemed pre-occupied. Beneath the table I had my hips flung as wide as they would go, and my tingling pussy was wide and exposed to drafts of open air by two masculine fingers of a hand keeping my underwear elastic stretched.

An agonising instant later his middle finger came down squarely on my clit. It was as if he had pulled a trigger. Driving ecstasy washed all through me, and I moaned ever so slightly. He was rubbing in small, slow circles, and I tried to breathe normally and deeply.

With a sound so wet that I heard it above the desk, he shifted his hand and thrust two fingers straight into my tight hole. I bit my lip; the slightest pain and the greatest pleasure. He curled his fingers and the tips stroked me, so deep inside. What have I got myself into? I thought to myself, half ecstatic and half worried about what those long, strong fingers could make me do.

It seemed almost instant; I remember certainly that when I came his fingers were still dancing on that impossibly sensitive flesh within me. The first ripple ran through me like a cold shock, making me stiffen in that instant where istanbul escort I knew there was no turning back.

“Keep going!” I choked, and even in my own ears it sounded deep, impossibly full of orgasmic lust. Then, with a quiet, involuntary squeal the first orgasm washed through me, my pussy contracting around his fingers sublimely. I snatched my hand away from where it had lain forgotten his crotch to put it on my own need. If there was any hope of keeping this quiet, I needed to finish it quickly.

As I frantically rubbed my clit and Andriy laboured inside me, I felt the second orgasm coming, like a tidal wave that pulls all into it before unleashing its power. My thighs tingled and my breath was caught in my chest.

I managed not to scream, I think I deserve credit for that. My hips did fly up, slamming both our working hands into the underside of the desk. My legs and back arched so that I was supported only by the tips of my toes on the floor and the chair’s backrest across my shoulder blades. I was shaking so hard, convulsing almost, my mouth wide open. Then, as the surges of joy finished erupting, I slumped down, limp.

“Ohh,” I moaned under my breath as Andriy withdrew those glorious fingers. Fluid trickled, and as they snapped back to me I realised my panties were soaking. I looked over at the engineer of my condition and wanted to throw myself on him, kiss him so deeply on those sweet lips that he would understand what he had done.

I took a deep breath and arranged myself, doing up my fly. Andriy had a hungry, disappointed look on his face. I realised he must still be as hard as I had left him.

I swung about and sat straddled on him. I could feel his erection through my jeans and increasingly uncomfortable underwear. I kissed him, long and deep, meeting his ardour with my satisfaction.

Now that I was in control of myself again, I had a moment to think. I could leave him hanging now, walk off, never talk to him again. I could do that. His hungry mouth pressed again mine, hot and insistent.

As if.

“Let’s go,” I said as we pulled apart and I got off him. He stood, and I led him by the hand to the girls’ bathroom.

He was reluctant to enter, but I gave him no choice. With his eyes darting nervously I pulled him inside, and into the first cubicle, locking the door behind us.

There, so close that we had to manoeuvre to accomplish it, I stripped naked. Sexually satisfied, I could enjoy the way his eyes moved over my entire body without lust making me hurry. Taking full advantage, I pressed my breasts against the fabric of his shirt as I pinned him against the wall and kissed him again.

Slowly, I began to undo his buttons. He was trembling slightly as I exposed his chest and abdomen, both far more muscled than I had expected. As the shirt slid off I ran my hands and the tip of my tongue over his torso before again pinning him into a kiss. The muscles of his chest burned against my breasts.

I found there was an intimate, tangible pleasure in the thought of taking him here, riskily. Seeing no reason to delay further, I locked my eyes with his. I was smiling teasingly; he was breathing rapidly. Without looking down I undid the button and his fly, and sent both pants and boxers sliding to his feet.

With only my fingernails, and still not looking down, I found the head of his penis, and the base of his scrotum, and held them gently.

“Do you want to go over what will be in the next lecture, just once more?” I asked with fake innocence.

He looked bewildered for a moment, then remembered the pretext of today’s meeting. He laughed in the agony of arousal.

“No?” I continued, and let my nails play over his hard-muscled member. “Well, alright. Do you want to touch me?”

It was exhilarating in its own way, to tease him. I had started using fingertips as well as nails, and I loved the raw strength and heat of his arousal.

In response to my question he lifted his thick hands and grabbed my ass, squeezing its fullness, pulling the cheeks apart. I grasped his shaft like a handle, beginning to move it up and down, very slightly, and very slowly. He inhaled deeply.

In all this time I hadn’t taken my eyes of his face and I could see that it was making it all the more pleasurable for him. He was positively gorgeous. He moved his left hand up to my breast, and squeezed it.

I rewarded him with an increase in tempo, if not pressure. He looked down innocently into my eyes. The fingers of his right hand took reassured their grip behind me and I felt one of them brush my anus. It sent a queer thrill up through me.

Then, acting on a sense of perverse eroticism, I let go of him, and stepped away out of his grip. He stood there with a stunned, aching look on his face. Now, for the first time, I looked at his member. Erect, long, slender yet bulging. Despite myself, his handling and his close presence were acting on me.

“Would you like me to finish this?” I asked kadıköy escort in a cute little tone.

“Yes,” he replied. His voice shook a little.

“Would you like to study again next week, at my house?”


“Okay.” I replied.

Before I could wonder if it was wise, I got to my knees and put his head in my mouth. It tasted bitter and salty, but not repulsive. Trapping it against the roof of my mouth, I rubbed my tongue firmly all over it.

He put his hands in my hair and began to slightly thrust. I took a one-handed grip on the base of his penis and opened myself to him.

I heard him gasp as his member slithered down into my throat. My previous experience of sex had been, well, thorough to say the least. Not that I’d had many guys, but when I’d had them I’d really had them. I massaged his balls with my other hand, while he had his way with my throat and lips.

I was quickly beginning to get sore, but then, thankfully, his hands turned to fists in my hair.

“Laura, Laura!” he panted desperately, and then struggled as if trying to batter down a wall. His cum surged into my throat and it was a case of swallowing for my life or choking. I would have yelped, if I was able.

After a few touch-and-go seconds, it seemed he was done. He was stroking my hair now, and I pulled back a little, bringing his noticeably softer head to my tongue, before pulling it out.

Concentrating on suppressing my urges to choke or vomit, I got to my feet and put my hands in his sweat-damp hair. I could still feel a trickle of semen on my lip, but left it there for effect. He looked stunned.

“It wasn’t nice to pull my hair,” I said in a dark, teasing voice.

“God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I…” he trailed off, looking anxious. I hugged him to me and felt his semi-erect penis push against my pubic hair. I licked the trail of cum from my lip.

“It’s okay,” I said, radiating calm. “Nobody saw us. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

His eyes were troubled. “Yes, but—”

“Shhh,” I quieted him with a finger on his lips. “Everything is fine. Will you come see me next week?”

He looked worried, and I didn’t blame him. The first time I was taken by my chemistry, I had been frightened out of my wits: felt ashamed, bewildered. I still felt shadows of those things now.

“Okay,” he finally promised, and I tucked my head into his chest. Don’t worry, I thought, I’ll take care of you, pretty man.

After a while, I pulled away and began to gather my clothing, and he his. We got tangled up reaching to the floor and I started giggling. Eventually he joined in, softly, and he seemed calmer by the time we were dressed.

There was no way I was putting those soggy panties on again, and as I carefully zipped up my jeans, I felt the denim move across my nakedness. Alone in a cubical with Andriy, it felt very erotic.

“Wait here,” I said to him and moved out into the bathroom. I wrapped my soiled underpants in paper and tossed them in the bin. Checking in the mirror to see that everything was in order, I peeked out into the library. The coast was clear.

“Okay, come out.” I called. Andriy appeared, looking even more uncomfortable than on entry. I allowed myself a smile.

“There’s no-one around, stop being so worked up,” I chided him gently. I took his hand again and we walked together back to our seat.

After packing up there was something of an awkward moment. With the taste in my mouth, I’m not sure he’d appreciate being kissed. I didn’t want to seem too affectionate; we were victims to my body, not lovers. Not yet. So I settled for a thorough hug.

“Next week,” I said to his chest, giving him one last squeeze. Then I left without looking back.

He was standing nervously on my landing one week later, rolling his shoulders and puffing his cheeks out, working up his nerve. Before he could reach for the doorbell I stepped back from the peephole and opened the door for him.

I almost laughed at his shock, but managed an enthusiastic smile instead.

“Great, you found the place!” I exclaimed, hugging him. He murmured something back.

I shut the door behind him and urged him, hesitant as he was, to a position on my couch. I sat down across from him, legs crossed on my chair.

“Listen—” we both said together, and stopped. I laughed out loud, he snorted and shook his head.

“Listen,” I continued. “I didn’t know whether to tell you this or not, but I decided honesty is important. You and I…we have a kind of…freak attraction. Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

The last was in response to his facial reaction, showing that he clearly thought I was mad.

“You can’t deny it,” I went on, “you’ve been thinking about me all week. Don’t shake your head, I know you have, and I’ve been thinking about you. Oh, have it your way!” I finished in irritation.

Throughout my speech he had maintained an aura of disinterestedness, and disdain. I’d decided it was time to bring him back to earth. Reaching down with both hands, I pulled my top up over my head and let it fall to the floor.

“Don’t!” He said, somewhere between a command, threat and plea.

“But you want me,” I said with certainty. I could almost see the sweat pop out on his head, like in cartoons.

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