Predictably John enjoyed a far better night's sleep than I did. His statement of intent, issued so casually as it was at the end of a sexually frustrating day for John, instilled a sense of dread within me. In fact, as I tossed and turned that night contemplating the ramifications of our relationship becoming more sexual, I actually considered dropping out of school. Even though I wanted to earn my Law Degree and pursue a career as an Attorney, the humiliation of being my roommate's primary sexual outlet consumed me. Especially if I was to be all dolled up in my ex-girlfriend's lingerie and spritzed with her perfume, for fuck's sake. I would never be able to look Lela in the eyes if I willingly submitted to this man every time he needed to bust a nut.
I did eventually drift off to sleep, but John's ominous declaration of ownership of me, enveloped me like a dark cloud.
In the morning John was cordial and for a brief moment it appeared that he had forgotten about the previous evening's threat. However, as we sat down at the breakfast table, John reached into his pocket and tossed a tiny piece of pink fabric in my general direction. I could smell Lela's scent on it the second it landed in my lap, and before John spoke I knew that it was a pair of Lela's panties wadded up into a ball.
"I haven't forgotten about last night," John began ominously. "Samantha is probably going to assert herself and require me to be celibate if I want to date her. She has heard too much about my history and is understandably skeptical about my intentions. As you know I have a strong sex-drive and abstinence is not an option for me. You may need to step up to the plate, Mark," he added cheerfully. "My favorite color is pink. When you see Lela on Friday make sure you get the matching camisole to those panties."
I swallowed hard as I absorbed his directive. Apparently, in John's mind, I was supposed to step up and be his sexual outlet in the event that Samantha cut him off from all other women. I should have stood up to him right then, told him to get fucked. However, after years of submission to this man, I meekly nodded my understanding of his needs, and John moved on.
Shortly after John asserted himself over me, he called Samantha to thank her for a wonderful evening, with the call going directly to voice-mail. John sent two follow-up texts that also went unanswered, before turning to me for help.
"I need you to email Samantha a question about the homework assignment, Mark," he instructed me. "Maybe her phone isn't working?"
I knew that this was extremely unlikely, but to put him out of his misery I sent Samantha an email asking a simple question about the essay on economic inequality. Attaching my contact information to the email, I was surprised when my phone rang within a few minutes. It was Samantha calling, and we chatted for about thirty seconds as she reiterated her expectations for the homework assignment.
After she hung up, John realized that Samantha was blowing him off, and seemed disconsolate about it. I tried to talk him off the ledge, but he was really down about the whole situation. In fact, despite my efforts to assure him that Samantha was just extremely busy, John moped around for the next couple of days. He finally perked up when Friday dawned, and our ethics class was just a few hours away.
I hadn't seen John put in the effort like this for a woman since I knew him. He changed his outfit four or five times before settling on a preppy, "butter wouldn't melt in his mouth" look. As we walked to class together, he seemed nervous and jumpy. Despite numerous girls on the campus attempting to engage him, John virtually ignored the young co-eds, responding with a polite nod each time.
John insisted on getting there early and sitting right up front, which would undoubtedly ruffle some feathers, as most students had self-assigned their favorite seats by this time into the course. The young man who had previously sat in John's new preferred seat approached us with a confused look on his face, and slinked away without saying a word.
When Samantha entered the room, I looked at her with a fresh perspective. I had been blinded by my love for Lela, and rarely even noticed other women, although I could concede that Amanda was breathtakingly beautiful even as I had been forced to eat John's load from her freshly-fucked pussy.
Samantha, however, was in a completely different league, a grown woman amongst a campus full of girls. Samantha was wearing an exquisite light-pink silk jacket and matching skirt. Obviously professionally tailored, it fit her perfectly, without being overtly sexual. If the skirt had been just two inches shorter it would have been wildly inappropriate for the classroom. However, as the hem reached about half-way down her perfectly toned thighs, the length would have been deemed acceptable for faculty, even as most of the other female professors dressed in a far more matronly manner.
Samantha was wearing matching light-pink high-heels that also just about made the grade, in terms of being acceptable for faculty. While they weren't "fuck-me pumps," they did a great job of elevating Samantha and simultaneously extending her sculpted calves. As she unpacked her laptop I caught a glimpse of the red sole of one of her shoes. Whenever Lela and I hung out she treated me like a girlfriend, and hours of watching "Sex and the City" had taught me the significance of the red sole - Samantha was wearing Louboutin's!
Christian Louboutin sells one of the most coveted shoes amongst the rich and famous, and while Samantha wasn't particularly well-known outside of the tight legal circuit, she was apparently rich. As she plugged her laptop in, I was drawn to her perfectly-manicured nails, painted of course in the exact same shade as her suit and heels. Samantha's light blonde hair hung about halfway down her back, held in place by a single light-pink ribbon, a detail that was so feminine that it seemed almost coquettish.
Her tanned legs were adorned with a pair of light-pink silk stockings, and as everyone else prepared their notes for class, I was obsessing over whether Samantha's hosiery were tights or stockings. And, if they were indeed stockings, were they stay-ups or was she wearing a garter-belt? For a fleeting moment I fantasized about slipping up behind her, hiking her expensive tailored skirt up over her stockings, and getting balls-deep inside that goddess.
I was snapped out of my trance by John, who elbowed me sufficiently hard in the ribs to knock the wind out of me.
"Stop gawking at my woman, you cunt," he whispered in a threatening manner.
As Samantha turned to face the classroom, her long blonde pony-tail disappeared from view, leaving her looking far more professional, and clearing my head of my lewd thoughts. She was wearing a minimal amount of jewelry, although each piece, in particular the earrings, looked expensive. Her slender right wrist was adorned with a feminine-looking watch, which I later learned was a Cartier.
Samantha's make-up was flawless and I assumed it had been professionally done. John would later share with me that Samantha had come to class straight from her work at the Law Firm, and it was her natural beauty that made her look so perfectly presented. She sat on the edge of the desk with her legs crossed demurely, as if to defer the answer to the question that was in the fore-front of my mind. "Was she wearing any panties?"
Samantha had fantastic legs, and as I gazed admiringly at her feminine, yet strong form, I felt a stirring in my loins. Had I been in John's enviable position, I too would have foregone all other females for a crack at this beautifully presented woman. She just looked expensive and I knew that one day she would break John's heart. A smile crossed my face as I imagined him curled up in the fetal position, crying at the loss of this spectacular woman. This was quickly replaced by a feeling of impending doom, as I wondered how the inevitable collapse of their relationship would impact Lela and I, as John looked for alternate ways to vent his sexual frustration.
After class, as the students filed out slowly, I heard John offer to carry Samantha's laptop and satchel to her Maserati. She accepted gracefully, but the additional luggage was too much for John, and he asked me for help. The three of us walked amiably to the most expensive-looking car in the faculty parking lot, a lipstick red Maserati GranCabrio Sport. This exquisite sports car looked so out of place among the myriad of older Honda Accords and Toyota Camrys favored by the teaching staff at this college.
It was a Sport Edition Maserati, and Samantha had chosen the optional red brake-calipers, which really made the vehicle look custom. A personalized license plate was affixed to the front of the vehicle, the words "SAM LAW" giving inquisitive men the answer as to how she derived her income.
When we reached the shiny red sports car, the doors unlocked automatically and Samantha stood there expectantly. Thrusting two large bags into my arms, John gallantly opened the driver side door for her. The jet black leather interior of the car was sumptuous, the bright red seat-belts and red stitching on the bucket seats providing a spectacular contrast. Samantha paused by the side of the car as if allowing John and I to take one final look at her.
Then, in an overt display of flirtatiousness, she reached behind the back of her head and removed the light-pink ribbon that held her hair in a professional looking pony-tail. With a quick shake of her head, Samantha's beautifully colored hair flailed around wildly before coming to rest down her back and over her shoulders. At this point, freed from the necessary restraints of the classroom setting, Samantha looked like a very expensive version of Elle Woods, from the "Legally Blonde" movie.
Samantha knew that we were both enraptured with her, and she flashed us a sexy smile as she lifted her right leg slightly to navigate the raised sill of the Maserati passenger cabin. As she did so, I caught the briefest flash of what appeared to be a garter-belt strap, although I wasn't absolutely sure as I averted my gaze immediately to avoid incurring John's wrath. John stepped forward and extended his arm to offer Samantha some support, as she lowered herself into the deep bucket-seat.
Once ensconced in the jet-black leather seat, Samantha reached into the center console and withdrew a small bottle of perfume. Spritzing herself liberally with the scent, she placed the glass container back in its place and then made eye-contact with John. Taking his cue from our teacher, John began to talk.
Even though I thought it was incredibly brave of John to ask Samantha out in front of me, I noticed that he was absent much of his ever-present bravado, as if felt that he was finally out of his league.
"Can I take you out tomorrow night, Samantha?" John asked politely, as I stood directly behind him folding under the weight of the baggage I was carrying.
"I have a date tomorrow night," she responded, without any trace of regret or concern for John's feelings. "However, you can accompany me tonight, as long as you can find your own way home later."
I rarely saw John lost for words, but as he processed the fact that it was after 9pm and he was being invited to join Samantha, he was apparently speechless.
"Where would you like me to put your laptop, Samantha?" I asked, in order to break the silence and spare John any further embarrassment.
