Tuesday ~~
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were my busy days. I had three classes, while I only had one class on Tuesdays and Thursdays: Creative Writing. Therefore, today would mostly be a study day, I had decided.
My Creative Writing course started at 10:30 in the morning. Prof. Boanop. I had checked the professor rating of all my teachers when signing up for classes, but there were no ratings yet for this professor. He must be new, I determined.
I couldn't believe I was thinking about all of this, right now, of all times. I must really be nervous for my new class, I thought.
"Your mind is somewhere else," Frank said, lifting her head up from my pussy. She was kneeling at the futon, previously sucking on my clit.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really did want this."
"I know you did," Frank smiled. "Just let the world melt away," she cooed. "Just me and you...and my tongue."
I leaned back and set my hand on her head. It was early morning. Frank had woken me, asking if she could have me for breakfast. It sounded like a wonderful way to start the day, so I happily agreed.
"Push my head into your pussy," she ordered.
"Are you sure?"
"Fuck you; yes, I'm sure." She growled.
I grasped her head and pushed her face into my pussy. She started licking and I moaned. Her tongue was so soft, so nice against my clit. It was the most amazing feeling in the world, I decided. I wanted her to eat me for breakfast every morning.
"You're delicious," she mumbled over my pussy. "Like raspberries."
I clasped her hair in my fingers and whimpered as she shook her head from side to side, lapping up my pussy juices.
As I thought I was getting close to cumming, she tongue fucked me. I opened my mouth, wide, with no noise escaping. Her arm reached around my leg and she rubbed my clit with her thumb as she slipped her wet tongue in and out of my hole. Every now and then, she'd lick up to my clit and suck for a few moments before falling back to tongue fucking.
"Do you like it, Kitten?" she asked. That was the name she had given me that morning. Something about it just made me wet. So, I agreed to it. 'Call me Mistress,' she had said.
"Yes, Mistress," I answered, gasping in pleasure.
A couple times, I found myself looking over to the window, almost hoping the man would be there, watching.
"What do you keep looking at?" Frank asked.
"That man," I admitted, slightly embarrassed. Before I could stop myself, I said, "I wish I could suck him off."
Frank stopped licking, but continued rubbing my clit. "Oh, my." She smiled; her lips covered in my juices. "Where did you learn that kind of talk, Mother Mary?" she purred.
"I couldn't sleep last night so I watched some porn," I admitted between moans. "I really want to try giving a blow job."
"He was very good-looking," Frank noted. "Well, maybe we can arrange for that to happen with you and Mr. Voyeur."
"Right," I said, fully cognizant of the fact we'd never see the man outside the window again.
The air outside was a bit stifling. Humidity clouded the air and hung on my skin like a fine mist. The sky was a clear blue today and birds were dancing through the air, chirping and singing as if they didn't know it was a million degrees out.
I ran my hand over my forehead and tugged at my collar, trying to get some cool air down my shirt. I was wearing a burgundy v-neck with pearl earrings, a pair of khaki shorts, and white Keds.
As I walked away from the dorm, I made my way onto the path. Pathways interconnected the different brick, stone and concrete buildings on campus, weaving their way through lush green grass and plants to find various points throughout the large University. Benches dotted the paths here and there, along with lamp posts that would begin to glow a foggy white near twilight.
I hooked over to the path that would lead to my building, Irene S. Gatiss Hall. I was nervous to be taking Creative Writing. I had never been very good at it. But this was my chance to get better, wasn't it?
The classroom for Creative Writing was in the basement. When I got into room 21B, I sat in the back corner and took out my laptop, flitting through a few sites while waiting for the professor to arrive.
I heard a couple people giggling about how hot he was supposed to be. I rolled my eyes a little.
It was then that he walked in, wearing a black shirt and jeans. His black hair was slicked back and his dark eyes were framed by lovely eyebrows. He was hot. But most of all, I recognized him. It was him. Of course, it was him. The man from the window.
"Hello, I'm Prof. Boanop, but you can call me David."
Holy shit, I thought to myself. Holy shit. I looked around the room at the faces of my classmates, almost as if I was waiting for someone to point out this atrocity. Surely someone understood the trial I was going through right now. Surely someone would save me from it.
I tried to make myself very small in the corner of the room. My hair fell down into my face. I sank into my chair. I thanked myself for not sitting in the front row. I prayed.
He was drunk last night, I told myself. He was drunk. He won't remember me. It was dark in the room. He wasn't looking at my face. There's no way he'd recognize me today. Just calm down.
It took twenty solid minutes for me to hear a word of what he was saying. I was too busy silently screaming in my head. When the terror calmed down, however, I began paying attention to his words.
He was quite eloquent, I thought. And intelligent. He had a passion for writing creatively that seeped into his veins. It was obvious by the way he talked about it. It was truly a passion for him.
I pulled my mouth to the side a little, realizing I was finding him more and more attractive. This wasn't good.
When class was over, everyone started to leave and I stood to hide myself in the crowd.
"Mary," David said, looking to me. No, no, no, I thought. Had he recognized me?
I walked tentatively up to his desk as everyone shuffled out of the room.
"Have I done something wrong?" I asked, nervous. It was suspicious as hell, but I wasn't sure what else to say.
He shook his head a little and smiled, warmly, as if to put me off my guard. "No. You just...you look familiar," he said, as if trying to place me.
He didn't remember; Frank was right. But he almost remembered. That was nearly as bad. I needed to switch classes.
"No, I...don't think I know you," I squeaked.
"Wait," he said, then, his eyes suddenly widening. "Shit." He had a look of pure embarrassment mixed with sheer terror on his face -- true realization.
"Shit," I agreed, understanding he had remembered.
A moment of silence passed between us, as we each looked into each other's eyes. It was like nothing could be said to take the awkwardness from the situation. It just hung there, in the air, like something rotten and decaying. I thought about trying to escape out the door, but realized it would just make things more awkward.
Finally, he spoke. "I was drunk," he apologized. "I came to the window to vomit. There's a large bush there I could hide behind. I wasn't expecting...well, you two." He cleared his throat and readjusted himself.
"Are you getting a boner?" I whispered, incredulous.
"I can't help it," he said, quietly.
