Ryan Paul and Mary

This story has a germ of basis in fact. The sex is pure extrapolation.

Chapter One

In college, I was neither a timid virgin nor a horndog. Sure, I relished taking the occasional lover to my bed, but I enjoyed the company of women in general. I treated them as true friends rather than potential conquests. I think they picked up on that. It intrigued them to hang with a guy who was "safe" without being gay. So, while my fellow juniors made nuisances of themselves trying to get a girl to talk to them (let alone "give it up") I was at the center of a circle of young women, whether working or playing. If a girl desired something more from me, I was happy to oblige, of course. I seldom refused an invitation for intimacy, never pressed for it, and never, ever bragged about it afterwards.

Alright, that's not completely true. I did press for it once.

It started when I gave Mary a backrub. I know, you're thinking that's pretty damn intimate. And it is. There's a difference between sensual and sexual, though our culture seldom separates the two. I like making my friends happy, and enjoy the trust they show me in allowing such sensual touching. During exam week, several of my women friends would ask me to work out the stress knots in their backs, or soothe away headaches with a light stroking on their scalps. Some even reciprocated, which was a bonus.

Mary was different. At first, she was hesitant when I offered a simple shoulder rub. It took a couple of weeks watching me de-stressing the ladies of my study group that she realized I wasn't making a move on her. When she finally accepted the offer, she was hooked instantly. As I gently squeezed her tight shoulder, she sighed. When I began to work circles down her back with my thumbs, she moaned. Yes, moaned – loudly. I'd never heard a reaction quite like that before (outside the bedroom). She earned us some quizzical looks from some nearby students, and I ended the session fairly quickly. After that, I took her to a more secluded place for massages; there were usually empty classrooms or quiet corners of campus where her vocalizing wouldn't attract attention. But as the sessions got longer and more thorough, I began to notice another reaction. Several minutes in, I detected a very faint musky scent. Being no stranger to a woman's pleasure, I realized that Mary was getting turned on. Her moaning was, in fact, the sexual reaction it sounded like.

I didn't know what to make of this new development. It hadn't been my intention to cross the line between the sensual and the sexual. I didn't mention my discovery to her; instead, I gradually began asking her about herself. Mary was about five years my senior, married at 20 and divorced at 22. She confided that she was still a bit of a romantic, regardless of how much a jerk her ex had turned out to be.

"I'm a very sensual person," Mary said after a few minutes of companionable silence. "And a very sexual person," she added, with a slight blush. I mentally scrambled to think of the right thing to say, but before I could open my mouth, she glanced up.

"I love sex. But the problem is, if I have sex, I fall in love. I'm not ready for that right now."

Sorry, Ryan,

her eyes seemed to say before she looked away.

She wanted it. She needed it. But she couldn't have it. I felt sorry for her. But I also began to desire her. Mary had a fine body, with all the right curves. Even at 21 I was able to appreciate my pretty friends without necessarily lusting after them. But in Mary, things were getting confused. My need to see my friends happy was tangled up with my body's more carnal need. She craved sex, but she would fall in love with whoever had sex with her. She didn't want to fall in love with me. It was something I pondered over the better part of the week, but the problem kept going round and round in my head. Then, I looked at it sideways and saw an absolutely crazy solution. If she couldn't let herself have sex with a friend, then I'd give her a stranger. The plan would likely end our friendship, and might well land me in jail, but my little head was louder than my big head at this point.

*****

Friday was the day. Most classes were over by late afternoon, and students and staff alike had cleared out. I caught up with Mary in the student lounge just as she finished packing her class notes. We chatted about the latest assignment for the morning class we shared. Nonchalantly, I offered her a backrub before I left campus. Her eyes lit up and she enthusiastically agreed.

She followed me to the stairs and up; I kept a surreptitious eye on each classroom and office for signs of life. Our footsteps echoing in the deserted hallway were the only sounds. The stair door shut with a boom that rolled through the wing and added to my nervous tension. I led her to a small conference room, which was deserted but not locked, at one end of the building. Late afternoon light streamed through the half-closed blinds, painting the long wooden table with bright stripes.

"Get settled," I said as I dropped my backpack in the corner, and then went back out to the fountain to wet my cotton-dry mouth. Back at the door, I peered through the privacy glass and saw Mary's obscured form already sitting at one end of the table. I opened the door, slipped in, and closed it behind me as quietly as I could manage.

Mary was sitting with the chair back against her chest, her hands on the table, head lowered, eyes closed, lips pressed tight with anticipation. With a deep breath, I collected myself and went to work. I started with her the shoulders, kneading until I felt the tension draining out. I was rewarded with a sigh, followed by a low moan. From there, I went downward, working out from her spine. I didn't pause when I crossed her bra strap, but noted it. I continued to her lower back, and with a groan she leaned forward as far as the chair allowed. Then I smelled her arousal, and knew I no longer had it in me to back out of my plan. My hands kneaded their way back to her shoulders, up her neck and the sides of her head. Mary sighed happily. My left hand went back to her neck to rub the base of her skull, while the right hand reached for the bandanna in my pocket. I shook it open and whispered, "Just a second. Don't move." Her hands left the table when I gently placed the cloth over her eyes, but I soothed her with a "shhhhhhhh", long enough to finish tying the knot. Then I resumed the shoulder massage and she sighed again.

My heart hammered. I knew it was time. My hands slipped off her shoulders, eased around her ribs, and then cupped her breasts. Mary, startled, instinctively tried to rise, but instead pushed back into my chest.

"

Ryan! What the hell?!

"

"Not Ryan." My voice was pitched lower, almost at a growl. "My name is Paul."

"What?! Ryan -"

I pulled her tighter against me. With my mouth against her ear, I spoke clearly and deliberately. "Ryan isn't here. Ryan has gone away. You are with Paul. Paul doesn't want your heart, Paul wants your body. And you want his."

Mary probably didn't know what to make of my words, but she seemed pretty clear on what I intended to do to her. She thrashed, demanding I let her go, though the fact she didn't scream may have suggested her own body had its own opinion of the proceedings. I kissed her neck, lovingly squeezing her fabric-covered breasts. My hips pinned hers against the chair. I snaked one hand down between us, slipped under her t-shirt, and traced along her skin to the clasp of her bra and unfastened it. Then the other hand joined it, and together they reached around and pulled her lovely breasts from the fabric cups. She shuddered and groaned almost painfully. Her nipples were hard, and she panted and shook as I ran my fingers back and forth across them. The musky smell was stronger now. She seemed lost in the sensations, and gasped for air with no breath left to complain.

Now I judged I was ready for the next step, the most dangerous one. Still fondling her with one hand, I stood and lifted her. Kicking the chair out of the way, I pushed her down over the table. She caught herself with her elbows, and before she could recover I reached to her waist, fumbled with the button, and then pushed her jeans down her thighs. She again tried to bolt, but I held her still, even as the air filled with the scent of her need.

"STOP IT, Ryan!"

"I'm. Not. Ryan." I grabbed short brown hair, and jerked her head back. "Do not mistake me for someone who cares for you." Then I released her head and ran my clawed fingers down her side.

"You want this," I said in the voice of my lascivious alter ego. "You need this. Your friends can't give it to you. So that's why Paul is here." I held her flat against the table. She couldn't get her legs, tangled by the jeans, to support her. I pulled down her panties with a free hand, eliciting a sob from the struggling girl. Oh, what a lovely ass she had, and the crotch of her panties was drenched. If her mind didn't want this, her body surely did.

"Listen, Mary," my alter-ego continued. "You will let this happen, because you need it to. You crave it. This isn't about emotions. This isn't about love. This is about animal lust. This is about release." Taking a firmer grip on the back of her neck, I deftly slipped off my shorts and briefs. I was hard and aching. Mary cried out when I cupped her sex, open and ready in its furry nest. "I can touch and tease you for an hour or two, without letting you come. Is that what you want?"

Her reply was garbled by the simultaneous whimper. Then she said, "Please, Ry- Please, Paul, don't."

"Or I can give us both release. Is that what you want? Tell me."

"Pl...please!"

"Tell me."

She cried. She panted. Meaningless syllables rolled across the table. The civilized part of her brain was at war with the animal part. The animal was clearly winning, but would it prevail? Even with my head swimming in desire, I had to get her to agree. It might be agreement clouded by lust, but it would be enough. I continued to tickle her nether lips, whispering "tell me," hoping my control was stronger than hers...

"

Goddammit, just do it!

" Her voice was naked lust and bitter defeat. Grasping my cock, I placed the head to her lips and held there a moment. When I felt her trying to back up to me impatiently, I pushed in. She was tight, but so wet as to be nearly frictionless. I was lost in the sensation; I barely heard her cat-in-heat wail until I was fully buried in her. I backed out and thrust in again, then leaned over her.

"Pull up your shirt," I demanded. Mary struggled to rise up to her elbows and fumbled to reach the hem. I reached down and slid it up until her breasts dangled unfettered. With another thrust, I reached down with hand and cupped one, capturing the pointed nipple between two fingers. I now chose a steady pace, with even thrusts punctuated by occasional forceful penetrations that drew a gasp. She mewled. She squealed. Our bodies slapped together. Her cries rose in pitch, then in volume. Covering her mouth with my hand, I pumped faster into her. Her back arched and the muffled wail drew out long and loud. I felt her clamp tight around my cock. Finally, she slumped to the table, quietly moaning, her limbs quivering. I stroked her back but otherwise held perfectly still.

When her breath eased after a couple of minutes, I – or rather, Paul – spoke again. "Brace yourself. It's my turn." She groaned again but lifted herself up on her elbows. She had no will or inclination to defy me. Gripping her hips, I began to thrust again at a faster pace. I heard the wet slaps and watched her butt ripple with the force. I heard her "uh!" with every thrust. Soon I felt the pressure building.

"I'm...going...to-finish..." I growled. My words set her off, and she grunts began cries of pleasure. I saw her hands go to her mouth to stifle the sound. And then I came, and the world went away for a long moment.

I sucked in the cool air, now rank with the smells of sex, then leaned down and kissed Mary between her shoulderblades. I felt my cock slip out of her, and then pulled up my shorts. Mary lay limp on the table, her legs half-dangling on the floor, her naked back striped by the sunset through the blinds. Slowly, she pushed off the table and stood. She pulled off the bandanna, studied it a moment, and then dropped it on the floor. She didn't look at me. I heard an occasional sniffle as she slowly pulled up her panties and jeans and lowered her shirt. She didn't fasten her bra; the cups still perched awkwardly above her breasts. She picked up her book bag and, without acknowledging my presence, she groped for the door handle. I listened to her echoing footsteps. Before they faded, I swear I heard a choked sob.

The light crawled up the wall and faded. The afterglow of my orgasm faded long before that of day's end. I was certain I'd done the wrong thing, but at this point, I could only await the consequences.