In The Stacks 3

Please do not repost this story without author's permission. Copyright 2007. Comments on this and all other stories welcomed through the link below.

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When Cynthia touched his arm, the semi he had been sporting for 45 minutes instantly sprang into a full mega-boner. He squirmed a little in his seat, his cock uncomfortably trapped by his jeans.

Cynthia smiled at him. "I think I might finally be getting it!" she said, relief evident in her eyes. She pushed a strand of her hair, perfectly straight and perfectly blonde (almost white, Steve thought) behind her ear and pursed her lips into a rueful half-smile. "Maybe I won't fail calculus after all."

Steve laughed a little too hard, still nervous to be near such a pretty girl. "When we're through with you, you'll be teaching the course," he smiled back at her, hardly believing anything so confident could leave his mouth.

Her face broke into a real smile. "You know, you're kinda funny," she said, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder lightly, her fingers rubbing small circles on his upper back. His mega-boner became a whopping huge fantastic mega super boner. "I really appreciate you taking the time to tutor me."

"Of course," he responded, though it was anything but. He had not known how to respond when Cynthia had approached him after class earlier that day, and in fact, he had not even realized at first that Cynthia was talking to him. Girls like Cynthia never talked to him. She was gorgeous, with imperial cheekbones and a wide smile with perfectly ordered rows of teeth, a perky set of "b" tits that were always on display above a tiny waist and long cheerleading legs made for short skirts.

Above all else, though, was her hair. It was the detail that Steve kept fixating on. To say it was blonde oversimplified; it simply shone, as if it were the color of sunlight. It was perfectly straight, and so long that it stretched nearly to her waist. Even when it was cruelly confined to a pony tail, her hair was still the envy of all the other girls.

And it wasn't just her physical beauty. Cynthia wore the right clothes, spoke to the right people, went to the right parties. She was well-spoken and confident. The rumor on campus was that she was a little too "confident," really; that she had been known to hook up with four guys in a three day weekend, and had once even seduced a teacher, Mr. Bradley. Steve didn't know if these rumors were true, or just the sort of rumors that frequently attach to pretty girls, especially pretty girls who seem to have so much going for them. The jealousy of the male mind knew no bounds as far as Steve was concerned.

And so, as they were leaving class, Cynthia had had to say Steve's name a few times before he even turned and looked at her, and when he finally did, he was too surprised to even be wary of the barb he should have expected when a pretty girl talks to a nerd (although if he were honest with himself about his inner thoughts, he really thought she was too pretty and too good to bait him in the silly ways the other popular kids did). When she asked him if he would be willing to tutor her, he couldn't do anything but mutter a weak assent. Seemingly without his will the date and place were set: later that evening in the library.

In truth, tutoring her turned out to be pretty easy. John knew calculus in and out, and she was eager to learn. Apparently someone had told her that failure in calculus would imperil her college attendance. While she was no nerd, she had no intentions of being stuck marrying a fading football hero, working in the Dairy Queen, and wasting away in this little shithole, either, thank-you-very-much, so she was very attentive.

Her hand was still on his shoulder. "I really mean it. I've been having a lot of trouble understanding this stuff, and you've made it seem so simple."

He was starting to blush a little bit. Soon would come the stammering. Her smile closed, but her face remained friendly. She leaned in a little, as if she had reached a decision about something important. "Listen," she whispered conspiratorially, "I think we've done enough studying for tonight, and the test's not for another week." Did this mean she wanted him to tutor her _another_ night? Steve's heart fluttered. "And there's something else I've been thinking about." On that, her eyes moved quickly side to side, as if scanning the room to see if they were being watched.

"Oh?" Steve felt like he squeaked.

"I think I might have to whisper this in your ear, ok?" Her voice was a combination of amusement and seriousness. Steve nodded, dubious. She leaned in even farther, close enough that he could smell her aroma, a mix of soap (something flowery) and something un- placeable (slightly lower and tangier). "Have you ever fooled around in a library?" she whispered.

Steve took an involuntary gasp of air, almost snorting through his noise. "No," he squeezed out. Truth be told, he had never fooled around in general, in any locale. But he didn't think this particular detail needed to be shared.

"Neither have I," she continued. She was so close, Steve could hear her tongue moving in her mouth, sliding across her teeth, dipping and rising as it formed each word. It sounded very intimate. "But this entire night, I've been noticing you, the way you look at me, the way you avoid touching me, the way you try and secretly adjust that package in the front of your trousers, and it's all got me really turned on." She stressed the last words. "I don't think I could wait to get you home or to the creek. I want you now." On this, her other hand came up, and she delicately began to trace her nails along his inner thigh.

Steve almost shot out of his chair from the shock of her hand on his thigh. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He wasn't sure he was even breathing. "I've always wanted someone to offer to take me in the stacks." She was downright cooing. "Will you offer?"

Steve's mind was whirling. Between the overriding sensation of her hand on his thigh, her scent in his nostrils, and her breath in his ear, he almost couldn't follow what she was saying. He knew it was English, but his mind refused to make any sense of the words she was putting together. Was she making fun of him? If he told her how he yearned for her, how he wanted to kiss every part of her skin from head to toe, would she just turn on him and laugh and ask how he could have ever thought that a girl like her would ever hit on a guy like him?

Her hand slipped into his. It was looking more and more like this was really happening. "Come on," she half- whispered, standing up and tugging on his arm. "I know a quiet place where we won't be disturbed."

She took off for the stairs. Steve stumbled behind her, being lead along, almost dragged, like a hesitant parent with an excitable child who has just seen what she wants for Christmas. She wasn't looking at him, but was barreling forward. He was dazed.

They got to the stairs, and she began to trot up them, not letting go of his hand. Steve followed, mesmerized by the flash of her white skin under her dark skirt as the fabric rustled and jostled, revealing the backs of her tan thighs and the slightest hint of white panties as she pumped her legs to climb each step. They were very nearly galloping now, almost jumping from step to step.

They reached the third floor, and she darted to the left. Steve was panting, out of breath from the run and from the desire stirring within him, which was getting stronger as every moment passed and his belief that this was really happening increased.

The light was softer up here, and the smell of books stronger. There were rows and rows of shelves -- folios, Steve idly thought -- and only a few work stations placed haphazardly around. Cynthia was right - - no one else was up here. She moved quickly to the back corner and took a hard right, moving between two shelves. Abruptly, she turned to face Steve. The inertia (and his inattention) almost made him run into her; he stopped himself barely two inches from her. She didn't retreat.

"What do you think?" she whispered, looking up into his eyes. She was four or five inches shorter than he was. Steve liked being this close to her; he felt like he towered over her. Her hands came up to his chest, and she placed her flat palms against his pecs.

Steve stood silent, trying to get control of his breath. He had no idea what to do or to say.

"Your heart is racing," she said, her voice still in a whisper. "But I think I could make it speed up even faster." Her hands slid up his neck and to the side of his face, pulling him down as she turned her face up. Their lips met. Steve was nervous and inexperienced, so his lips were dry and rubbery, but Cynthia's lips were velvet, supple and dexterous. She nibbled his lower lip, then moved her tongue to trace the outline of his lips. Steve opened his mouth -- to speak or breathe or for what he didn't know -- and her tongue slipped into his mouth.

Her tongue moved slowly but confidently, feinting and darting around his. Her tongue was so warm and soft, it was like nothing he had ever imagined. He relaxed, loosening his lips, letting his tongue move to meet hers. Cynthia moaned.

Her hands moved back down his neck, then her nails began to drag across his chest and stomach. Her hands reached his waist. She broke the kiss. "I need you," she moaned, and dropped to her knees. In one fluid motion, she unsnapped his jeans, unzipped them, and pulled them down, taking his briefs too. Steve's eyes widened. Suddenly he was flapping in the breeze.

What if she laughed at him? What if he didn't measure up to the other guys she'd been with? What if he came too soon? What if he got caught with his pants down in the library? What if he worried so much he couldn't stay hard?

This last thought caught him, and he quickly glanced down. Cynthia was just staring at his cock, smiling, and idly licking her lips. Thankfully, he was still hard. He was straining, in fact. It felt like his cock wanted to rip itself off his body and go marching off on its own, he was so hard. Pre-cum flowed from the tip of his penis; it was the Mississippi, it was the Nile, it was the River of Life.

Though hard, his cock hung down slightly. Cynthia reached for it, lifting it up to point toward her. Without a word, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth, practically wolfing him down.

Steve stifled a cry. He had no basis of comparison, but suddenly understood what the fuss about blowjobs was. To have his cock go from enjoying some fresh air to being fully encased in Cynthia's warm, tight mouth was indescribable; fireworks were going off in his head.

Something soft and warm began to flick at the head of his penis. He heard Cynthia humming, and felt the vibrations in his cock. She began to pull back slowly, her cheeks concave, her eyes closed as she savored the sensations, and Steve felt the delicate suction of her mouth tugging at him with each millimeter she moved.

She came off his cock with a little "pop." His cock was now glistening, and a large vein was noticeably twitching with his pulse. She left her hand on him, but looked up at him. "Can I blow you later? Right now I really want your cock in my pussy." Steve did not know if this was rhetorical, or what. Steve did not know anything anymore.

She sprung to a standing position, still holding on to his cock. "Oh, hell," she said, and bent at the waist. Her beautiful hair fell down around her, obscuring her face. Suddenly she was on him again, this time sucking on just his head. He put his hands on her head, amazed to see his own skin next to the iridescence of her hair. She moaned, and though he wasn't pushing on her at all -- he was just resting his hands -- she began to slide back and forth on him, as if he were face-fucking her.

She practically screamed, pulling herself off of him and standing up again. Steve's heart spurted forward. He did not want to attract any attention, for a lot of reasons, but the only one he could think of right now was that he wanted Cynthia to make him cum. Thankfully no one seemed to have heard.

"Put that thing in me now." When she spoke, it was not a request. She flipped up her skirt, hooked her fingers in the side of her panties, and slid them off smoothly, her skirt flipping back down before Steve could see anything. He stood, breathing heavily, his arms clenched at his sides, his cock throbbing, his t-shirt still on, and his jeans pooled at his ankles.

Cynthia turned around, resting her elbows on a shelf, pointing her ass out. "Hurry, stick it in, I can't wait any longer." She spread her legs, her skirt riding up to reveal the lower curve of her ass. Steve swallowed. Suddenly his mouth was dry again.

"Please, please, please," she was mumbling nearly incoherently. She looked over her shoulder, her long hair falling some on her back, and some to the side of her face, giving her a halo. She reached back, grabbed his cock, and pulled him toward her. Where his cock went, he went. He shuffled forward.

She arched her ass even more. The skirt fell back against her lower back, revealing her perfect ass. It was round, but not at all flabby. And just beneath it, Steve could see the lips of her vulva. They were puffed out, and he could see the moisture coating even her legs. She was very clearly shaved. Her pussy was perfect.

"That's where I'm going to lose my virginity," Steve thought, looking at her pussy. He gave a mental shrug, his body (or one part of it, at least) asserting that this was not the time for moral consideration.

Cynthia moved her other arm off the shelf and in front of her to spread her lips while her other hand guided his cock. She placed him right at the entrance to her vagina, his head barely nestled in her folds. "Push," she said. Steve, beyond thinking, did just that, with no nuance or teasing, slamming it all into her.

Her arms came forward again, grasping for support against the shelf. Her face fell forward. "Fuck!" She nearly screamed. Steve didn't know if people could hear her and he no longer cared. Her pussy was amazing, somehow even more amazing than her mouth. He pulled back and pushed forward. "Fuck me!" she screamed again. He hammered into her, no concern for technique, amazed at the way her pussy seemed to glom on to him, to refuse to let him leave, but how willing it was to let him enter. "God yes!" she screamed, grunting each time he slammed into her. His ears filled with the beautiful slimy sound of hard cock plunging into gooey wet pussy, amazed to hear it for the first time.

Steve moved his hands to her waist for balance and began to pull her into him as he thrust into her. He was baring his teeth, and while he was unaware of it, a low animal noise was escaping from him. For her part, Cynthia had been reduced to whimpering, punctuated only by grunts as he slammed into her.

Steve felt himself getting close. He reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling it. Cynthia arched her back, straightening up, but pushing more of her ass into Steve's crotch, grinding into him. She turned to face him, their heads now close enough that they could kiss. "Come inside me," she whispered. On her cue, Steve did just that. Steve began to spew, spurt after spurt, long artillery fire of sperm up her tight canyon. She was milking him, begging for it. Three times. Four times. He sighed and fell backward, his cock slipping out. A fifth tiny spurt dripped out, hitting the back of her legs and beginning to coarse down it. He slumped down, sitting, staring up at the gaping mouth of her pussy, winking, frothy with his cum.

Cynthia calmly picked up her panties, folded them, and began to wipe at her pussy, dabbing and collecting both her juices and his cum. Steve stared, lifeless. When she was done, she adjusted her skirt so that it covered her again, turned back around, leaned over, and put the panties into his hand. "You can keep these as a souvenir," she said.

END

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