Brendan doesn't turn around as I enter his room. That makes me feel even smaller; I can feel my shoulders hunching up and my head sinking down, trying to take up as little space as possible even as I give a tiny cough to attract his attention. Not that I really think he doesn't know I'm there--even if he was really as distracted by his studies as he pretends to be and didn't hear me closing the door behind myself, it's not like I don't show up at the same time every evening. He had to be expecting me. And I can see the clock on his desk conspicuously ticking away the moments until my all-too-predictable arrival.
No, this ostentatious obliviousness to my presence is all feigned, just one more little reminder that I need Brendan a lot more than he needs me. If I did somehow find the wherewithal to turn around and walk out of here while he pretended to have his face buried in a textbook like this, I'm sure he'd have no trouble finding some other pretty young co-ed to replace me. While I... god, I wouldn't even be able to get to sleep tonight. I'd lie in my bed tossing and turning, driven to distraction by worries that I'd screwed up the best thing ever to happen to me, fruitlessly trying to masturbate and finding that nothing could satisfy my aching pussy but him... it makes me feel pathetically desperate. And that makes me so incredibly wet.
After what feels like an eternity even though I can literally see the clock ticking away no more than thirty seconds, he turns to face me. I knew he would--he's never turned me away before, even if he does love putting me in place with his little dominance games--but it's still a relief to see his thin lips spread into a wide, welcoming smile. "Oh, sorry, Lacie, didn't hear you come in!" he exclaims, even though the playful sparkle in his hazel eyes gives the lie to every soulfully sincere word coming out of his mouth. "It's so good to see you! What brings you by this late at night, huh? Got a question about next Friday's Chem midterms?"
This is one of his games too, one that never fails to leave me squirming beneath his piercing stare like a germ under a microscope. "I, um, uh, no, I--I w-was wondering if maybe, um, if you and I could... I mean, um, if you, if you could... well, you know, last night was really nice, and I was thinking maybe we, uhhhh, we could do it again? Like, tonight?" My clit throbs harder and harder with every passing second as he watches me stammer and fumble my way through the request like my Copeland Award-winning debate skills have simply vanished into a warm pink fog of arousal. I notice my fingers nervously twirling a ringlet of my long blonde hair, and I can't seem to make myself stop.
I can tell he's enjoying every second of my ordeal, and a part of me wonders if I'm playing it up just a little for his entertainment. It's been getting harder and harder to tell exactly how much of what I do when I'm in this room is an act to make Brendan happy with me and how much of it is my personality gradually molding itself around the things I know he enjoys because I so desperately want to make him happy. It's a distinction that's probably meaningless in practice, but it's important to me, even though I don't know whether I'm terrified or thrilled at the notion of slowly losing myself to the persona he's shaping for me. Maybe a little of both.
He lets the silence stretch out for another good long thirty count before giving me a slightly quizzical look behind his chunky black glasses. "Sorry," he says, his voice so genuinely perplexed that for a moment I let myself be gaslit into wondering if he's legitimately confused about what I'm asking for. "We did a lot of things last night--can you be a little more specific?" I see the steel in his hazel eyes, though, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about. He just wants to make sure I say it.
My throat locks up in hesitation for a moment, but then my brain flares with panic at the thought that he might actually get bored with my meek little innocent act and change his mind and I find myself able to speak. "Could you, uhh... I mean, um, could you please...." I can feel my nipples stiffening underneath my dress, and I can tell from the way that Brendan is looking at me that he's looking right at them. He's got a fucking pup tent in his jeans now. I can't pretend it doesn't make me soak straight through my panties just thinking about it.
