Out of My League

In the days following our first encounter, I beat my dick raw. I mean, we're talking "within an inch of its life" territory. Anything at all reminded me of how badly I wanted and needed to find my way back between her thighs. I knew there had to be something that had attracted her to me in the first place, but frankly, I was entirely convinced she'd find me boring given another 5 minutes with me not spent naked. I wasn't going to let that happen, I couldn't. She seemed pretty into the school thing during the limited time we had spent together, and I figured I could knock off the deadbeat slacker routine and give her a more cerebral reason to keep me around. So I hit the books. Well, I went and bought them anyway, and only a few weeks into the term later than I was supposed to.

In the next few days, I found some passion back, genuinely, for my major. Who knew there was so much to know? I was voracious in a way that very nearly took my mind off the need to lick her again. We had been texting since that night, in the flirty way that horny freshmen do. She sent me a beautiful picture of her pussy a few days later, with the panties she'd modelled for me earlier pulled just to the side. I told her, truthfully, that I hated that my tongue wasn't on her clit that very moment. Like a true tease, all she said was that she'd be late to class if she let me. So I jerked myself off and hit the library again.

Halfway to campus a day or two later, my phone vibrated again, her name there on the screen. Hoping beyond hope for another glimpse of her body, my heart did sink mildly to see it was clothed pic. The disappointment ebbed swiftly though, as I looked more closely at the body I had been daydreaming about every waking minute all week. The dress she wore was incredibly tight on her already tight body, fabric stretchy to the point of its tensile limits across her perky chest. I bit my lip; she was so fine, it was hard to imagine she was real. If I hadn't just seen my cock disappear in her throat, I'd swear she wasn't. She asked if I was coming out tonight in the accompanying message. It was Friday, and I was likely to end up at the same dirty little hole with my pals as always. I knew she meant to a club, which wasn't my thing, but you're out of your mind if you thought I was going to say no to her. So, I said yes, and asked where to meet her. She was getting ready at home, and I was welcome to come pre-game there, which meant roommates in all likelihood, and not a great chance to have her. Still, I was thrilled to be meeting her friends, and showing my quality as an actual person, even if I felt I would be bumbling along a bit.

When I got there, a few of her friends sat around in the living room; I said hi and they informed me that my...date?...was in her room down the hall. She herself wasn't there, as it turns out, but she called me to the bathroom where she stood at her mirror curling her dark brown hair. Her smile melted me and I'm sure I said something stupid because she further destroyed me by giggling at whatever nonsense had come out of my mouth. I decided she must have bad taste in men when she said she was glad I came. We made small talk while she continued curling and I leaned in the doorway with a cheap beer in hand that had been passed to me by another guest. Just as I thought she was nearly done, she voiced frustration to the fact that she'd forgotten to shave her legs. I said I could step out if she wanted to do it, I didn't mind mingling. I don't think I ever would have noticed any hair on her legs anyway; the dress really was the kind of tight that only a 19 year old ever thinks to wear, and she had tights on besides.

No, she said, stay.

She smirked.

I could help.

Standing, tights off and skirt hiked above her waist on the edge of the tub, she instructed me to find some shaving cream in the vanity. I found it and tried to pass it to her, true to character, before she gave me a look that said plainly that I needed to hurry up and take the hint.

This was the world's least necessary shave, and certainly the most unique foreplay I had been party to. Her legs were already hairless and smooth entirely, but I lathered her up with fervor regardless. I swear she gave a very slight wiggle as I worked my way up past her knees. I took the hint, and continued higher. Halfway up her thighs she very slightly, but certainly noticeably, bent at the waist, moving her ass in a cute red lace thong an inch closer to my face. I pushed my luck and ran my hands right up under the cleft of her cheeks, holding a moment, torn between taking a real handful and the reality of the shaving cream still on my hands possibly getting on her dress. She saved me, passing the razor down to me. Even with her head mostly turned from me, one hand gripping the curtain rail by her head, I knew she was smiling ear to ear.

I shaved her with the attention of a seasoned craftsman. Maybe. In truth, I was weak in the knees and my heart was racing. After the tease of getting sent home without release last time I was with her, I was desperate. My cock was already in agony from the abuse I'd put it through since our last date, but now it was swollen beyond reason, and I was terrified that the abundance of precum I was leaking would show through my jeans soon.

I was done the back. I told her to turn. Her feet deftly swiveled and brought her about to face me. Tall though I am, she did tower over me, perched there on the edge of the tub. I worked hard to keep eye contact, though the effort nearly ruined me. She arched an eyebrow, telling me to get busy. I turned to wet the razor in the sink a moment, hearing her shuffle behind me. I caught my own eye in the mirror, pausing a brief moment to remind myself to get my shit together.

All hope of success was outright destroyed when I turned back to find her flicking the panties off her foot skillfully. She must have worked quickly to drop them - I'd only turned away a moment. She looked down with a remarkably neutral expression, not seeming to mind my stare. The white of the cream on her dark skin leading my eye straight to her pussy, topped as it was by a neat bush of tight cropped curly hair. If I looked any longer, I was sure I'd be damned. I moved to start at her feet.

The angle was awkward, as it had been when she faced away, but she saw now how I struggled to get her ankles done. She uttered 4 words that have been seared in my mind ever since.

"Get On Your Knees."

There was no denying her. I sank at once determined to get to work again. Looking up at her before I moved in, she swept her hair all over one shoulder and told me that was much better. Being on my knees with my cock imprisoned in my jeans was torture, but I quickly worked my way up high enough to justify standing again. I risked another look at her as I finished the area just above her knees; she was biting her lip.

"Almost done", she said quietly. This was easily the most unexpectedly sexy thing that had ever happened to me, but I got the distinct impression that this must be a thing for her in some way. Maybe it was the excuse to send me to my knees, or the general subservience and deference she commanded in me. It didn't matter to me; I was making her happy. I was turning her on.

I was kissing her pussy.

I don't know what possessed me, but there was no holding back any longer. It wasn't a lick, and I won't tell you I thrust my tongue between her lips or anything. I kissed her, wetly, with my lips pressed firmly against her. She sighed sweetly, giggled again, and rested her hand on top of my head as I held the kiss for at least half an eternity. I pulled back with her heavenly taste back on my lips, where it belonged, and she pointed out that apparently she'd forgotten more than just her legs. That claim was more credible, she had clearly let it grow largely unrestricted since we last met. I should help her with that, she told me. I wondered aloud how she usually preferred to keep it. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was the one who would be kissing it, so I should do as I pleased. I chose a small inverted triangle, figuring it would suit the prominent mound that it grew on.

Dear reader, if you're still here, you don't know pressure like a man shaving a woman's pussy for the first time, let alone a man doing so on the brink of exploding from sexual tension. I felt high on the frustration of it, my hands shook and sweat rolled down my back. I prayed to god not to nick her. Her hand came back to sit affectionately on my head while I worked at this last task, and, as I cleared away the shaving cream I had carefully applied all over her outer lips and mound, I noticed that she was wet. She wasn't just a little aroused either; where her lips had looked tightly sealed against each other before, they now sat almost imperceptibly apart, flush and glistening. I swallowed hard. As I made the last 7 or 8 short strokes, a solitary shiny drip started to work it's way out of her. I tried to act like I didn't see it. I was done, I told her.

She told me I wasn't.

You know what happened next.

I ate like a man possessed, greedily and tirelessly devouring her and wetly slurping while my hands pushed her from behind harder into my face. Her hand left my head so she could bite her finger and stay holding the rail at the same time. A stifled curse escaped her lips and I knew she wasn't the only one who had been desperate for this. It was a "Holy Fuck," if memory serves. I was lost in her. I refused to consider ever slowing down. Her taste drove me wild and she thrust her hips into me. Up and down, over and over I licked while her legs started to weaken and shiver. Her clit, sweetly firm, felt so natural between my lips as I sucked on it softly. Yes, she told me, that was it. It needed to be harder. I sucked harder, as I was told. I was nothing if not obedient. Her breaths were ragged now, in earnest; I knew what would come next, and that thing was her.

She squeaked, clamping down on her finger again as it began, and continued to cum as I sucked for dear life, letting out a breath that sounded like a week's worth of denial given voice. She shook, her ass clenching in my firm grip 8, 9, 10 times. Finally, her legs gave way almost entirely, or she slipped of her own accord, and only the support of my face and hands kept her from breaking bones as she stumbled forward with a yelp.

I let her down fully and we laughed and laughed while her roommates called from the other room, an equal mix of asking if we were alright, telling us to hurry up, and several insistences that no one takes that long to curl their hair. With a last giggle, she put her hand on my chest and leaned in for a kiss. She liked the way my lips tasted, she said, even if they were a little soapy at the moment. I told her I hoped I'd done a good job, to which she responded by lifting the front of her skirt to look down; it was alright, but she prefers to be bald. While her eyes were downcast, she noticed a distinctly large mound in my jeans. I was a poor thing, she said; it looked sore. I told her she had no idea. She patted it softly as she opened the door to let us out, telling me that we'd need to do something about that soon. For now, we needed to get moving or they'd leave without us.

She'll never know how close that playful pat came to an embarrassingly premature orgasm.