Authors note: Thanks to all of you who have read my previous two stories I hope you like this one! If you love it or if you hate it leave a comment let me know I am still new at this—feedback is welcomed. Enjoy.
Thank you so very much to SlaveGirl70 for the invaluable advice and the editing.
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I waited all week for this moment all week to get Chris alone in a bed—not in a bathroom stall in between classes, not in a closet at some party—in his room where we could truly let loose. He lay on the bed, already down to his boxers; a little tipsy from the party we just left but still puffing on a joint. His chiseled frame had a slight glow to it from the lamp, his abs and pecs cast shadows across his body as he inhaled deeply, staring at me, waiting for me.
His eyes were glossy and red from his intoxicated state and yet they still looked impossibly deep. I could see his cock pressing against his boxers as he watched me strip slowly for him. I wanted him to savor this moment as he peered at me through a cloud. I wore a simple flowered sundress with spaghetti straps and flip-flops which I immediately kicked off. I rubbed my body tenderly, allowing my hands to caress my curves, turning around bending over slightly to give him a view of my ass. I never wore panties when I was around him. It was a rule I made up for myself and I had been so consistent with it he believed I never wore them. I smoothed my dress along my ass and moaned as I raised the back of my dress up slightly just to expose a bit and let it go.
"What would you like to see, Mr. President?" I used his class president title at all times no matter who we were around—it was another rule I made up for myself. Not only did it inflate his ego, it turned me on to say it with nothing but lust dripping off my tongue.
"Show me those tits, baby," he moaned.
He wasn't as commanding as he used to be, but I let him slide for the time being. Hopefully a tease and more smoking would frustrate him enough to take me like he should. I slowly dipped one shoulder and let the strap fall, pulling my arm from it and letting the dress fall slightly on the right side only, exposing more of my back to him.
"That's not my name Mr. President," I said, slowly turning around and dropping my other shoulder out of my dress, cupping my breast to keep the dress up and them hidden from him until I got what I needed.
"Who am I, Mr. President?" I asked as sexily as I possibly could even though I hated reminding him of what I needed from him.
He exhaled heavily, "Show me those tits, SLUT. I'm tired of playing this game with you." I immediately dropped the dress to my waist and leaned forward, using my arms to keep the dress up while I twisted my nipples for him. I wanted to show him that if he did what I liked, he got what he wanted. But he didn't always get the picture. I was far too horny to let him mess this up, so I teased him more.
"Oh really, Mr. President? Are you tired of fucking your good slut, or do you want to see more? Please Mr. President, tell me you want to see more. My pussy is so ready for you, please don't be mad at me." I feigned a subtle hurt tone into my tease, hoping he would have enough of the baby act and just take me. Instead, it had the opposite effect.
He got up from the bed, put his joint out and gathered his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. His embrace was tender and his heartbeat strong, as he held me and whispered in my ear how he could never be mad at me. He lifted my chin to meet his eyes and kissed me passionately running a hand through my hair holding the back of my head as our tongues danced. I held his back letting my dress fall, giving him the emotional embrace he desired.
He began to lean me down on the bed, only breaking contact for a moment to remove his boxers and position himself on top of me. His cock was swollen and ready—I knew he was ready to take me, so I did not resist him. I inhaled deeply as he bit my neck lightly and followed it with kisses, I arched my back to have my chest meet his and spread my legs wide for him while lightly scratching his back, letting my body beg him for the cock inches from my waiting slit.
It was I who was taking the teasing now as he moved from one side of my neck to the other, threatening to leave a hickey but never quite getting close enough, no matter how hard I held his head in place to encourage him to mark me.
"Ooooh yes, fuck me Mr. President, please take your slut," I moaned softly into his ear and lifted my hips to meet the tip of his cock.
His lips met mine once more as he pressed himself inside me slowly, sliding in to the hilt. He paused as he hit the peak of his penetration and once again began exploring my mouth with his tongue, passionately and deliberately. His strokes began slowly and went deep while he breathed in what I exhaled, keeping his face in consistent contact with mine, his eyes looking deep into mine showing all of the emotion he was attempting to relay. I knew in that moment I was not his slut anymore; he was falling in love with me.
I moved my hips and dug my nails into his back causing him to moan into my mouth.
"Harder, please. Fuck me like you never want to fuck anyone else ever again," I begged him, looking deep into his eyes and playing off of his emotional state, hoping he would at least get a little rough and fuck me with passion.
His thrusts slowly picked up pace while I encouraged him to show me how much he wanted me. His sweat dripped off of his body lubricating the little space between us as he picked up speed and power. I wrapped my legs around his waist opening myself completely to his thrusts and moaned for him to never stop. My orgasm was rising slowly; he pushed me closer and closer to the edge with every thrust into my tight slit. I could hear nothing but our ragged breathing and his pelvis slapping against mine causing even his bed to moan in encouragement. The entire room smelled like weed, sweat, and my wet pussy and it would only get headier when I came.
I looked up at the ceiling taking in every stimulating moment when I felt his cock begin to throb in my pussy, signaling his impending eruption. I absolutely loved the way a throbbing cock felt filling my pussy with its seed. I loved the moment it began and the force of the last thrust pushing the first squirt deep inside of me. I loved squeezing his cock with my pussy while he came just to ensure I felt every second and every spasm as he showed ownership of the pussy he just fucked.
Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times. "Come with me," he moaned into my ear frantically as if he was holding back just to hear me come on command.
Up until this point I had always managed to come from his dick, even those times he was not as forceful or lasted as long as I would like, but in that moment I wasn't ready. He was intoxicated, and I knew as soon as he finished he would be out like a light and I would have to take care of myself. So I did what I never thought I would have to do or had ever done before, and did my best to fake it, hoping his intoxicated state would prevent him from knowing.
"UGH...yes Mr. President, I'm cumming!" I did my best to spasm a bit and tighten my muscles, waiting to feel his cum and hoping it would actually send me other the edge and validate my deception.
"I'm...going...to...UGGAAAAH" He screamed while leaning back removing his cock, spraying my torso with his batter. He shot rope after rope onto my slender body while I moaned for him, attempting to portray recovering from an orgasm as best I could.
He collapsed next to me, moaning and mumbling incoherently to himself, or to me. Whichever it was, I did not understand a word.
"That was great! Do you want to go again? I'll roll you a joint first, if you want?" I asked, knowing his response would be limited.
"Ugh...grumble...mornin'...pussy...night..."
I exhaled deeply and looked at myself covered in his seed, watching it pool in my belly button, and for the first time being left unsatisfied on many levels. I dipped my finger into the pool of cum, collecting a good portion, and stuck it in my mouth. I savored his taste while I began to formulate a plan to get a new cock. I was a good slut, and at this point I knew I was being wasted on Chris alone.
I gathered more cum, slipped my hand down to my pussy and started with my clit. I always started with my clit.
Since first fucking Chris I had grown to be very popular, thanks to him making sure to "claim" me at school as his girlfriend. Popularity came with supposed friends but a lot more enemies, and I missed moving around basically invisible. On the upside, I got to meet quite a few guys and the one I was in contact with the most was Bryan, who also happened to be Chris's best friend.
Bryan was much like Chris in that they both had the tough guy bravado down pat and were complete airheads, although very much athletically inclined. Bryan was of some form of Hispanic descent, giving him brown eyes and a light caramel complexion. Chris and Bryan were nearly inseparable, and I often hung out with them both when we skipped class and after school. Bryan was my next target, and I believed I had formulated a plan that would work, so I just waited for the opportunity to present itself.
The opportunity came faster than I thought. It was almost a full week after the faking incident, which I affectionately dubbed "Oscar night". After our first class I met the boys in the hallway and while it was the usual time I got a quick dose of cock, Chris decided he wanted the three of us to cut class instead. His favorite on-campus place to hang out was the varsity locker room on the other side of the gym. It was honestly a great place to cut class—it was always empty during the day, plus it was out of the way so you wouldn't get seen if you needed to go to the bathroom or something while you were cutting.
We made our way quickly to the locker room and flipped on the lights while the boys laughed about some completely ridiculous joke that must have only made sense to them. The locker room was five rows of lockers wide each separated by a few feet and two changing benches. The floor was tile and it had a large open shower to the back and around a corner. There was a small coach's office right before the showers with a large glass window into the locker room. Why a coach would want to watch his team change I would never know, but I did not design the place. We decided to hang out in the coach's office since it had a three-cushion couch and a desk chair.
I cuddled in close to Chris while the boys bragged about who was the better football player, and I saw my opening while Bryan was bragging about his number of yards statistic.
"So, football is great and all, but I know one thing Mr. President's got that's better than you Mr. uh... Yardage!" I exclaimed, and met with laughter over my impromptu name decision for Bryan.
"Oh yeah, what's that? So what he's class president, it's not like he actually does anything. Now, yards on the field mean something to those college scouts, so he's got nothing," Bryan teased, letting his ego lead him directly where I needed him.
