Another day another dozen meetings and lectures via my stupid laptop. Taking my college courses online was nearly insufferable, but no matter the medium I still needed to make the grades. Paying attention and taking worthwhile notes was a challenge, to say the least.
One thing I had going in my favor was my living situation. Just over a year ago, my boyfriend, Weston, and I moved in together. We met online. He is a real pretty boy, with a name to match, and I find him adorable. He treats me so well, communicates honestly, listens patiently- he's the sexiest man I have ever met.
Have you ever had one of those relationships where your significant other is just so kind, so caring, you just HAVE to have the dirtiest and hottest sex imaginable? My past year, outside of our apartment, has been bland and redundant. In the bedroom, though? Like nothing I've ever experienced.
I've always had a submissive side- plenty of dirty kinks- but never felt comfortable or like my boyfriends deserved that kind of trust to try anything out of the box.
Today, Wes just about broke my brain.
This morning was the usual. Got up, completed a very mild workout, took a shower, and got dressed. I've never been a very casual person, but I knew my schedule only consisted of classes, so I just wore a simple thin strapped dress.
Approaching my usual spot in the armchair opposite our mock-fireplace, I sat down with my breakfast smoothie and logged on. In a giant lecture, as I had today, we weren't required to have our cameras on, but I liked to show the professor that people were listening. I would be bummed to teach to a blank screen. Our microphones were muted by our professor, so as not to have accidental background noise. Class began promptly at 10am, and by 10:15 I was over it.
I heard Wes come through the kitchen, and shut my video off so I could talk to him without feeling like anyone was watching. I looked over the back of the chair. Ugh. Shirtless boyfriend with bedhead? Talk about distracting. I twisted around so I was kneeling on the seat, facing the kitchen. Time to cause problems!
"Hi Wes," I said, smiling.
"Hi. Aren't you in class?" he asked, opening the fridge.
"Yes, but I'm bored. What are you doing?" I sat up higher so I could rest my head on my hand. Wes looked over, amused.
"Don't worry about it. Pay attention," he teased, shooing me with his free hand, pouring coffee with the other.
"Come on, Wes. You know I already know this stuff. Distract me!"
He sighed, actually looking kind of annoyed, and set his cup down. Maybe he didn't sleep well. Though, with the pounding he gave me last night I don't see how he could have been anything but exhausted. I felt my heart jump with nerves and arousal.
"What?" I asked. He turned to look at me. I put on my best innocent, "I never do anything wrong but please fuck my face about it" look. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
"School is important. You need to listen to your teachers and pay better attention."
Now that was just an invitation to be a brat. I rolled my eyes and rolled back into my seat to sit properly facing my laptop. My professor was screen sharing a diagram about ozone. How thrilling.
The lecture carried on while I heard Wes go about his morning business. Every once in a while, he would walk toward the front room, where I was, and chastise whatever I was doing. "Sit up straight," or "Are you taking notes?" or when I would look back at him, well, more of look back at his sweatpants hanging off his hip bones, he sternly, and probably sincerely told me, "Eyes on the screen."
I knew he was toying with me, and he knew I was being annoying because of that. In all honesty, at this point, I was ready to become a star student out of spite. He popped in the room every two minutes. Don't tell me to focus and bother me all the while.
So, I decided, it was time for academics. No boyfriend interference. He had his chance for sweet and horny me this morning. With another 52 minutes left in class, I had plenty of time to engage.
Wes came into the room again, but I didn't turn around. I only knew he was there from his footsteps and a glance into the mirror on the mantle across from me. I went back to note taking, as my prof pulled up a video to share.
Wes cleared his throat. Just to make sure I knew he was there, I guess. I ignored. I have things to do. His presence and the tension was starting to both irritate me and turn me on. I wanted to change how I was sitting, or bite my pen, or really do anything to release some of the energy I had inside, but doing any of that would show him he was getting to me. Being all authoritative. Give me a break. I looked up to the mantle again, and, to my own irritation, saw Wes looking right back at me in the reflection. He simply nodded his head to my laptop, telling me, once again, to pay attention. I made a snarky face and looked to my screen.
He very slowly made his way behind my chair. I kept my eyes on my laptop, my legs in place, my pen writing. My skin felt like the slightest brush would set me on fire. I listened to the lecture, wrote down information, but honestly retained absolutely nothing. My mind was fixed on the image of Wes under me last night, holding my thighs around his head while I squirmed and whined on top of him. That was one of his favorite things to do- let me get myself in a position where I would typically have more power, then take it all away from me.
Now, behind me, Wes didn't move or talk or do anything. I wondered what he was thinking about. I hoped he would look down at my tits. I realized my mind started spiraling into horny oblivion, and took a deep breath. Show no signs. Watch your lecture. He's got nothing on you. Silently, a few more minutes passes.
I felt myself come back down as I began to tune back in to my professor. Then, Wes, from behind my chair, dropped his hands down to gently pull my hair from in front of my face behind my ears. Oh, no. He returned his hands to the top of my chair, like it was nothing. At this point, my head was foggy. He knows what he is doing, and he knows I am trying to ignore him. He knows my pussy is drenched by now, and he knows I'm mad about it. Half of me is ready to throw my laptop off the coffee table and beg him to fuck me over it, and the other half is ready to decide he can't touch me for a week so I can ruminate in my rage.
While I was busy contemplating, Wes' hands drifted down the chair back to my shoulders, where he gingerly moved all the hair in front of my shoulders behind them.
"Stop touching me," I said flatly.
"I want you to look professional. Nobody respects a woman that looks discheveled." I would have taken this personally, but I knew he was just being an ass. He makes it very well known to me he loves my wild curls.
"Don't be rude," I said, feigning offense.
"Don't be a brat," he retorted. He's so hot and mean. Makes a girl's heart and her pussy throb.
"My camera isn't even on, dumbass," I said, looking down.
"Show me," he said coldly. I leaned forward and moved my cursor around, so I could point out the icon showing my camera feed was cut. Wes leaned over too, presumably to double check.
"You don't have to check I know when my own ca-" Suddenly, Wes' hands were twisting in my hair so he had my head by the fist. "Wes, stop touching me! I'm busy!"
On my last syllable, he stood up and yanked me by the hair straight back into my chair. When my back hit the chair, his hands dropped over my shoulders to grab my tits.
"Ow, Wes," I muttered, trying to keep my voice as unbothered and annoyed as possible. Toying with me right now was going to get this man his dick wet, despite my best efforts to cast him away. I squirmed in my seat. My hands met his, and I lifted my chin to look at him above me. He looked down at me, oh so stoically.
"Eyes on the screen," he said slowly, squeezing.
"Wes, relax," I began, trying to get his hands off of my tits. I hated how easily he could make me melt.
"Shh," he whispered, "you're in class. Behave."
I rolled my eyes. "You know I'm not into the schoolgirl stuff, would you stop it?" I began to lean forward to pick my notebook back up, but his big hands kept me in place. In response to my word "stop" he asked me if I remembered our systems of key words to communicate genuine discomfort, overwhelming feelings, etc. I nodded, grudingly. I didn't really want him to stop, I just wanted to stop feeling like putty in his hands. I whispered to him that he could keep going.
"I'm not going to tell you again," he responded. "You need to pay attention to your class." He leaned farther over the back of my chair and placed his hands, barely touching, on the tops of my thighs. I squeezed my legs together.
"If you want me to pay attention, stop touching me! I am busy!" I protested.
"Don't speak until spoken to, slut." His words instantly made my skin hot. Like, burning. My cheeks flushed and I knew my pussy must be so red. As I felt the shock of his authority run through me, Wes flipped his hands to the underside of my legs and pulled them up. My knees met my chest, facing my underskirt toward my laptop and pulling my ass toward the edge of the seat. I grabbed onto the arm rests to steady myself, smiling.
"Are you kidding me? There is a live lecture-" He cut me off with a loud smack on the underside of my thighs.
"No sound no camera, remember?" he replied. "See?" he asked, wiggling my legs from side to side, "Nobody can see you. We would know. Right? Unless they just wanted to keep watching. Or maybe nobody is surprised to see you put your pussy on display like this anyways. I don't think anybody you've ever met would be surprised to learn you're a whore."
I bit my whole bottom lip to stop from saying some bratty shit back. I don't know what made me wetter- the idea anybody could, potentially, see me like this, or the idea that I'm such a commonplace slut my ass doesn't even have any shock value. Imagining myself as a public pet, exposed by Wes any time he felt like it, made me strain to close my legs.
