Shave And A Hard Fuck

It's nighttime in April. Another long, boring, schmoozy Law function has ended. You have some work to catch up on anyway, and you hang behind to use the computers, offering to kill the lights on 3 before you go.

A half-hour passes, and you finish your work. It's about 11:00pm now, and the building is silent. As you get up to leave the third floor lounge, you can actually hear the turn of the security camera.

You decide to stop at the restroom before you head to your car. Not surprisingly, the men's room is quiet, empty. The recycled beer makes a tinny noise as it hits its mark. You sigh, zip, and open the stall door, still fumbling with your belt.

That is as far as you go.

A small, cream-colored hand grabs your half-fastened belt. Another pretty little hand smacks hard, palm-first, into your chest, pushing you back against the stall. The door flies open and you stumble, falling seated on the toilet. You look up and notice that your belt has pulled loose, and is curled up in my hands.

I smile, and for the first time you realize that my lips are painted, red. That I am wearing all black. Tight skirt, maybe leather, my leather boots, and a skintight, lowcut black shirt (no bra).

"This is the only place in the law school without cameras," I explain. You start to laugh, but realize that I am deadly serious. I crack the folded leather in my hands and you start. "I'm not really into this stuff from the receiving end, you know-"

I silence you immediately, combining another crack of the belt in my hands with a swift, savage kiss. You try to reach for me, to tangle your hands in my auburn hair, but I rap them with the belt. They sting. You are surprised to find that you don't care.

"I want you to service me," I explain, nodding "I have certain things with me that you will use, the way I tell you. If you complain, I will make you suffer for it. If you are good, you will be rewarded. Understand?" You're a smart man, as well as a man with an incredible hard-on at the moment. You nod back.

I reach under the stall to the next stall's floor, and pull over a small black purse.

"Open this," I demand. Inside you find a small but expensive razor, and a quantity of scented shaving gel. You start to smile, and the belt cracks, this time on the side of your calf, which is exposed by your shorts.

"No jokes," I tell you. "I wouldn't want you to laugh and cut me." I instruct you to peel off my skirt, and you do, exposing black lace panties and black stockings. I tell you to take those down too, and then I stand in front of you, naked from the waist to the knees. From your seat you are eye level with my pussy. You can see that it is already glistening.

"Now, I want you to shave me. Gently, carefully, and completely. There is water and a washcloth in the bag with the razor. Use them. The cleaner you make me, the better it is for you."

You begin your work, hands shaking. You start with slow, broad strokes, almost caressing my pussy with the blade. You use the cloth between passes, making sure that nothing impedes the razor's edge. As you get toward the most delicate work you pause, inspecting me as if I were a piece of sculpture. then you begin to treat me as one. You gently lift each of my lips and stroke them with the razor. You are quick, but thorough, rubbing gently along each pink, swollen surface to ensure a job well done. At long last, you are satisfied. With the shaving, at least.

"Get me the mirror from my bag," I tell you. "I need to inspect your work." You hand me a compact mirror and I place between my thighs. Mimicking your gentle touches, I test each surface, watching my fingers, watching you watch me.

At this point you need something. Something more than teases and touches. You reach for me again, and this time I let you. Your hands grasp my beasts, searching for the nipples that by this time are ramrod straight. Then I push you back again, hard. I struggle back to a standing position, barely breathing.

"I want you...," I pant, "I need you to lick me...lick my clean, shaven pussy. I need your tongue inside me."

I've never seen a man so obliging. Leaning forward, knees cushioned by the washcloth on the floor, you press your face into my crotch. Your lips and tongue are everywhere at first, then concentrated, driving against my clit, and then inside me, then back to my clit as you push one, two, three rough fingers inside me. I bite down on the belt to keep from screaming in the school bathroom. I grab your head and grind against it, fucking your face the way you love to fuck mine.

And then, I can't wait any more. I push you back, one last time. I drop that damned belt and I shrug out of what panties and skirt I have left. Before you can stand and turn me around, or even reposition yourself I am on top of you, straddling you, being impaled by you.

This time, the only thing keeping my screams from being heard is your shoulder, which I am biting like a sex-driven vampire. You start to caution me, but remember that you don't have to anymore, and even if you did, you wouldn't care at this point.

You drive into me every bit as hard as I push myself onto you. You hear a short, sharp intake of breath, and for a second, you wonder if you are hurting me, but you can't care. You fuck me, hard. Harder than you have ever fucked any woman in your life. My body, my lips, my teeth beg you for it. Beg you for more, and you give it, over and over, until finally, you come. Hard and low, with a guttural moan that I haven't heard since the last time I went to a zoo. On top of you, I whine and keen like a woman possessed, because I am.

We slump together, exhausted. After a few minutes of holding each other fiercely, I dismount, come dribbling from my bare pussy down my leg. I duck into the next stall to clean up, suddenly modest. You get yourself together where you are, and finally put your belt on correctly.

"Come on, baby," I purr from the adjacent stall, "Let's get back to my place for the midnight Celebrity Poker rerun."

FLUSH.