Decumeron Interlude Thu Am 3 19 20

Interlude: Thursday morning, March 19, 2020

"—fill me up, fuck me!"

I opened one eye. The sunlight coming in through the lace curtains was too bright, and I burrowed my face back down onto the pillow.

"FUCK ME!"

It was no use. I could still hear Katherine. Smiling at the thought of last night, I opened both eyes, and stretched an arm toward George. He grunted, still mostly asleep, and rolled toward my back, wrapping his arms around my waist. I could feel his cock, half-hard, pressing into my ass, and I winced a little as his pelvis met the bruises that were blooming on curve of my right cheek from being spanked so hard last night. I pushed my ass harder into his cock, and he let out a muffled "mmumph." I knew he had to be up soon to teach. George was mostly indignant about the whole existence of the Zoom classroom, and I was pretty sure that he was planning to roll out of bed just long enough to start the film—Fellini's

Boccaccio '70

—for his students.

Instead of trying to wake George, I reached under the covers and moved my fingers around the edges of my lace thong. I could feel the heat of my cunt through the fabric, and, as I moved my fingers up, my clit hardening under the soft lace. Even muffled a bit through the walls, Katherine had a commanding voice, low-pitched and definite in her orders to Peter. But I wondered if she might respond differently to a woman. Rubbing my clit lightly through my panties, I moved my free hand to my left nipple, caressing the small bumps around its perimeter. I took a sharp breath as my nipple hardened, enjoying the feel of how it drew most of my breast into a swollen point. To my knowledge, Katherine had never been with a woman, which was not necessarily a problem, but might mean that she might need some training in how, precisely, to use her tongue.

Just like Allison.

A flush rose to my cheeks at the memory of my college roommate, and I pressed harder on my clit, feeling the first hint of wetness seeping through the lace.

Allison and I had, of course, met on move-in day, but we hadn't become friends until later in the semester when she dared me to go through sorority Rush with her. Between her cat-eye glasses, asymmetrical short dyed-black bob and her Women's Studies/History double major, Allison looked like the last person who would ever join a sorority. I was also skeptical at first, and a bit worried about temptation - I had just quit smoking and was trying, if mostly failing, to be monogamous with my boyfriend - but liked the idea of the parties and the sisterhood. After two weeks of Rush followed by a month of brutal hazing, we were both initiated into Kappa Kappa Gamma.

Our friendship solidified the usual sorority way: the night after Grass Skirt, a frat-house foam party with mandatory, very shoddily assembled DIY costumes, I had half-carried/half-dragged a very disheveled Allison back to our room. When I put her down on the bed, she grabbed my hand. I remembered her red bikini bottom visible through the gaps in her grass skirt, which, by this point, was mostly a waistband. Locking her eyes onto mine, she took my hand and moved it up to the edges of her underwear. I could feel the heat of her cunt as she told me how beautiful I was. "Can I tell you a secret?" she said. I had nodded, suddenly aware of her hard small nipples showing through the triangle top of her bikini, and how her sweat from dancing had trickled down through the glitter between her breasts. "I've never come with a guy. Not even

Paul

," emphasizing the name of the fraternity boy she had been dating on and off.

Picturing Allison splayed out on the bed with my hand under her grass skirt, not quite touching her, I slipped a finger around the side of my lace thong, edging around the taut skin at the top of my wet cunt. I inhaled sharply, enjoying the slight sting of where George's cock had stretched me the night before.

The sound of George's alarm startled both of us. "Fuck," he said. And again, as he realized that his hard cock was pushing into the soft bare flesh of my ass, "

fuck

." Tightening one arm around my waist, he reached for his phone. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I know you have to teach this morning," I said, grinding my hips further back. "And I didn't think we had time." I moved the fingers that had been playing with my clit, turning to brush them lightly over his top lip.

"Little tease," he grinned. And then, more seriously: "And don't think that I don't know what you were up to just now."

In spite of myself, I blushed. Lately, George had been insisting that I not masturbate without telling him, which worked both ways: sometimes I got off on obeying him—he insisted on staying just out of reach, maintaining piercing eye-contact while I touched myself. Other times, I defied his orders, and enjoyed taking the punishment.

"Fuck. I don't even have time to punish you. I have to be on Zoom three minutes ago." Letting go of my waist, he sat up in the bed, looking me in the eyes. Then, without warning, he darted forward and bit my nipple, hard. I gasped. He smiled, and threw the blankets off, standing up and walking toward his laptop, so that I was left to admire his bare ass, and the back dimples that deepened as he moved. George had always been sturdily built, and in recent years, he had put on a shadow of weight around his midsection that—much to my irritation—had only made him more attractively solid. From my vantage on the bed, I could see the tautness of his calves as he shifted his weight impatiently. "Fucking Zoom," he muttered, as the screen filled with the blurry faces of his undergraduates. "Who even started this meeting? Oh, wait, I see—Fiametta is co-host and can share her screen. Ok, kids, I'm not turning the camera on today. My, uh, connection is bad." He typed into the chat. "I'll be back with better bandwidth for discussion after the film. Feel free to turn your cameras off, too. Or don't." He closed the laptop.

"Did you get Fiametta to handle the film, too?" I asked, moving up from the bed and toward him. Fiametta was not George's favorite doctoral student. She often ignored his advice, and sometimes disappeared into her research for weeks at a time only to return, in tears, to his office hours, with no new writing. But she was passionate about her subject and students, and a charismatic lecturer whose copper curls bounced over her narrow shoulders as she spoke. She also had an adorable habit of wrinkling her freckled nose when she was deep in thought. I had enjoyed speaking with her after one of the film department's colloquia, and remembered thinking that George's continued patience had partly to do with the way that her pierced nipples strained through her light tank tops.

"Yes. Thank God for Fiametta." He sighed. "I'm going to shower, and hopefully finish their reading responses before I have to get back on for the discussion." He cocked his head toward the shared wall. "At least it's quieter now, too."

"It's a shame, actually," I said. "Now that we have more time..."

"Who said anything about fucking?" George looked at me with a smirk from the bathroom doorway. He moved his hand down to his cock, running his fingers lightly up the shaft. "You're just going to have to get dressed and imagine what I'm doing in the shower."

"Yes, sir," I said, pouting. Secretly, I was looking forward to leaving the bedroom, and hoping to find Katherine.