His Story
I had another wet dream about her.
I was in the library where we first met. She looked the same as she had that day as she walked in, her left arm in a pink cast and a bloody knee. Despite the dozens of people walking in and out of the library, my eyes saw only her, and her gaze penetrated me. She limped delicately to the front desk, and, with an adorable, slight lisp, asked me, "Do you have a bandaid?"
My heart fluttered. With a dry throat I answered her, bending down to grab the box we kept below the desk for situations just like this. When I brought my head back up, a layer of her clothes had vanished. Gone were the denim shorts that had hugged her hips so happily. Gone was the tight, blue t-shirt, too thin to prevent her nipples, hardened by the cool night air, from revealing themselves to me. She stood in front of me in only a scarlet, lacey thong and a crimson bra that pushed her already beautiful breasts up and together, creating a beautiful valley I could joyously spend all my life lost within.
I handed her the bandaid, rewarded by her broad, white smile. She got down on one knee to affix it, offering me a perfect view down her bra. The cups were small despite the massive bounty they held, and I swore I could see the tips of her areolae peeking out from the edge of the red fabric.
"I'm Monica," she said, startling me out of paradise and back to the world of the living. "Nice to meet you." Our eyes met. She smiled impishly, and I knew she had caught me ogling her unabashedly.
I blushed and took her hand. "John. Are you OK?"
"It still hurts a bit. I tripped and fell outside on the bricks. Could you kiss it better for me?" she requested, her large, brown, almond eyes looking helplessly into mine, begging me for succor.
"Of course." I couldn't have said otherwise. I walked around the desk to her, still on her knees.
Her lips were even with the rapidly growing bulge in my jeans. Her thick, ruby red lips parted and she whispered, "Be gentle."
I got down on one knee, breathless, and leaned in closely. I closed my eyes and gently pressed my lips against her wounded flesh. I opened my eyes, and she was naked before me, wearing only a smile and her cast. "Thank you," she said. From beneath fluttering eyelashes she looked into my eyes. "Would you help me find a book? I can't find it in the stacks."
I stood up and helped her to her feet, my eyes caressing her exquisite curves as she stood. Without letting go of her hand, I led her into the stacks of the library alone. I knew exactly where to go, making my way to the deepest corner of the library, where we could be alone. I could still hear the susurrus of the students we had left behind. I was intimately aware of our lack of privacy, of the fact that it would be the simplest thing for someone searching for a book on Scandinavian literature to find us here, but I didn't care. I was controlled by forces stronger than I had any hope of resisting.
"What are you looking for?" I asked her innocently, unable to tear my eyes away from her smooth, exposed pussy, its soft tenderness inviting me to enter.
She pushed me against the bookshelf, grinding her wet desire against my hard cock, using her cast to pin me, while her one good hand dug eagerly into my jeans, gripping my shaft tightly. "I think I already found it," she breathed into my ear, biting my earlobe as I groaned.
We kissed deeply, passionately, while she fumbled with my zipper, clumsily tugging my jeans down from my waist, before wrapping her fingers tightly around me, stroking me teasingly. I gripped her bare, toned ass, pressing her firm, massive breasts against me. I ripped my shirt off over my head, desperate to feel her flesh against mine, knocking books down to the floor. Her breasts were as soft as silk and the color of fresh peaches on a hot summer's day. Her cocoa brown nipples, as hard as pebbles, grazed against my chest as she kissed my neck and earlobe. Her long, wavy, midnight-black hair fell across her eyes, changing her angelic face to that of a lustful seductress. My breath caught in my throat at the sudden transformation.
She pulled away from my lips, panting, before looking down hungrily at my crotch. Our eyes met, and understanding passed between our gaze. She got down onto her knees and pulled my desperate cock from my black boxers. She gasped in awe as my full length was revealed before smiling wickedly. "Wow." She stroked my shaft with one hand, looking into my eyes, licking her lips sensually. I could hear students only a few yards away, searching for books, but I didn't care. I begged her to give me relief.
She parted her lips and took me between them with unbearable, tectonic slowness. Inch after inch of my thick hardness entered her hot, moist mouth. Her deft tongue caressed and massaged my swollen head, licking my shaft, suckling my cock, while all the while she kept her eyes locked on mine. I tenderly caressed her cheek, smiling weakly, savoring this stolen moment amongst the bookshelves, just her and me.
My pleasure grew more and more intense as she worked her magic. It felt amazing. I could feel my throbbing cock coming closer to orgasm with each passing second. I was torn between slowing her down to draw out my ecstasy, and letting her finish so I could reach heaven. Her lingual caresses were too much for me to resist. I surrendered to her.
My cock spasmed, releasing my hot, sticky cum inside her mouth as she thirstily, greedily swallowed every last drop. As my cock contentedly wilted between her lips, she pulled it out, milking it gently for the last few drops which she lapped up like a kitten. She smiled at me, and the world vanished.
I woke up in my dark bedroom, alone. A red "6:35AM" shone in the dawn. A sticky warmth was already dripping down my thighs. I sighed contentedly. Not much could beat Mei's mindblowing expertise on the massage bed, but nevertheless, I always held a special fondness for wet dreams. There was that touch of nonconsent, the feeling that your orgasm was taken from you, not given to you. I loved that loss of control. I relished the fantasy of being brought to orgasm almost, but not entirely, against my will, perhaps in a crowded movie theater, or in front of an audience of our friends. Ah, today was going to be a long, hard day after a dream like that. And of course it was on one of the days I had class with Monica...
We had indeed met at the library when she had asked for bandaids, but sadly the rest of my dream was nothing more than a dream. But I had been delighted to discover that we were taking The Asian Mystique together, a class about Western perceptions of Asians, especially Asian females. Aside from my personal interest in Asian women, I was taking the class to try to understand by own feelings and the perceptions I felt society showed me.
I knew I was attracted to Asian women, (How could I not be?) but was a fetishist?
The question worried me. I didn't want to think of them as objects, but as women, beautiful, loving women. I feared I would descend into Yellow Fever. I fretted over where the border was, and on which side of it I was.
The second week of class, I had noticed that the girl from the library was my classmate. Ever since then, I hadn't been able to stop noticing her. I saw her in class, on the quad, in the dining hall, at the library. Every time I saw her, I wanted to ask her to get some coffee with me, or see a movie at the campus cinema, but I just couldn't bring myself to go out there. I barely knew her. I had checked out a few library books for her (while checking out the rest of her), and we talked sometimes in section, but that was it. I was sure that if I asked her out she'd just ask me who I was and think I was creepy.
It wouldn't be so bad if I could just get her out of my head, but it was impossible. Every time I saw her my heart fluttered. Every time I thought about her, my boxers tightened. Every time she checked out a book from the library, I took every spare moment to stare down her cleavage that I could. I was sure she had caught me once or twice... Whether I was awake or asleep, she was in my fantasies. Her big, brown, beautiful eyes, gazing at me from across the room... Her broad, white smile that brightened my day... Her ruby red lips that I couldn't help but imagine wrapped around my hard cock...
I thought back to the time I had seen her slowly eating a banana from across the dining hall. I had sat there, slackjawed, as I watched her lips and tongue take more and more of the fortunate fruit into her mouth. I hadn't been back in my room five minutes before I was already masturbating to the thought of it, to the thought of her using her mouth on me, taking me in, bit by bit, sucking and licking me...
I thought back to the time I made an insightful comment during our class section. She had noticed, and I had been rewarded with her attentive stare for the rest of class. I had come so close to asking her out that day, I really was going to... She had been wearing the sexiest little blouse, the buttons straining against the fabric from the force of her chest struggling to be free... I had spent all class daydreaming about what lay beneath, and then, just when I had the courage to make a move, she had had a question for the TA. I tried to wait outside the classroom, but she ended up talking to him for too long...
Even before I got to class, I knew I would have to pay a visit to Mei soon. Mei...Mei was my own personal goddess. She was an extraordinarily talented masseuse over at Paradise Massage. My friend Katelyn had introduced me to the place when she was doing a research project on it, and I had quickly become addicted.
Mei's manual ministrations solved any problem, it seemed. If I were depressed or stressed or just unbearably horny, I took a visit to Mei, and in an hour, she had solved all my problems. Her strong hands kneaded away all my knots and worries, and her talented tongue handled any stress left over. Was it any wonder that I went as often as I could? I only wish my grad student budget were a bit larger, but I managed. If her boss was gone, Mei sometimes slipped me a free massage. I wasn't sure what to call us. We were more than just a john and a prostitute, but we definitely weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. Customer-with-benefits? Ah well, it didn't matter what I was called, I only cared about how she treated me.
When I was at Paradise, I felt like a sultan. A beautiful woman at my beck and call, satisfying my every whim. She was gentle, intelligent, and an excellent listener. I felt comfortable telling her anything, and I often did, and in her softly supportive way, she made my heart peaceful and took away all my worries. She was a miracle-worker.
Unfortunately, she was a miracle-worker on vacation.
