Brooke, Can We Leave Now?
The 8-Track Seduction
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Disclaimer =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The following story may (but not necessarily does) contain
specific descriptions of: non mainstream sex, ethnic groups,
rock lyrics, four-letter words, and 8-track tapes.
This story has a Flesch Reading Ease of 88. It goes down
smooth and easy. And to boot, the average word length is only
barely above four letters!
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I was walking through the Arnot Mall. It is not a mall, but
none of the locals will tell you what it IS. But it is NOT a
mall (or a cinema 10), It even SAYS so. Whoever named my town
"Arnot" deserves to be shot.
It was almost closing time on a Tuesday, mid-August. There
weren't many people around, just the usual japs who never seem to
leave. Do they LIVE here or something? Have a cot in the back
perhaps? Or is it just that they look the same? Then again, I
have that problem with blacks and orientals. I can't tell them
apart until I get to know an individual.
Well, walking around, I did see a few good looking girls.
Mind you, girl-watching wasn't what I came there for, actually I
just needed a few more pairs of socks. But while I was walking,
I might as well enjoy the sights, right? As a matter of fact,
here comes...
Hey! I KNOW her! It's Brooke! And...she looked hot enough
to KILL for! Her blouse was white with vibrant blue zebra'ed
through it. I LIKED that top. Something looked ODD about it the
first time that I'd seen Brooke wearing it. It took me a while
to see a man hidden in the center of it, front and back, like a
soldier camouflaged in the jungle. T'was neat of the designer.
White and blue stockinged legs swished her zebra'ed mini-skirt
back and forth. A matching outfit. With the way she looked? I
think that the fashion designers have us pegged to a tee.
Brooke DID have good taste. And good looks to match. She's
'bout average height, 5'6". She's real in shape. I guess that
she's into aerobics or something. She's an odd mix, part Swed-
ish, part Thai. She got the best of both. The facial look of
the Swedes, with the look of a permanent tan. She usually keeps
her long black hair in a braid. It flowed down her back like a
gentle waterfall, almost to her waist. I rather enjoyed the way
that it swung back and forth in rhythm with her statuesque walk.
Her semi-slanted eyes gave her a look between coy and mysterious,
and she had the ability to be both.
Perhaps I should explain. I met Brooke in Magic, Witch-
craft, and Sorcery. Sounds like a cool Gen-ed, right? Yeah,
that's what I thought too. It was boring like you wouldn't be-
lieve. The teacher was the main cause of THAT one. Seeing
Brooke was one of the few reasons that I showed up. When I did
that is. The attention given to that class was...not one of my
higher academic achievements. I got a B-anyway. Brooke and I
talked a bit in the back of the class. Ok, more than a bit.
Knox 20's big enough for people to get away with that sorta
stuff. Four hundred seats will do that to a boring class. I
really liked her, but I couldn't ethically go after her. Brooke
was goin' out with this guy named John. I never met 'em, but
talking to Brooke, it sounded like he was a dishonorable schmuck
who was shafting her big time. I thought John should be dumped
real quick, and dumped real hard. As of May 19th, the last day
of finals, she still hadn't dumped him. I don't know HOW he got
away with what he did...
Anyway, Brooke's a Dance major, Journalism minor. She wants
to write for the New York Times Art Section after graduation.
We're both from the Elmira area, albeit a 1/2 hour drive
from each other. I didn't get her phone number during the semes-
ter. I sorta regretted that.
Awakening from my daydream monologue, I saw that Brooke
apparently didn't notice that she was striding right toward me.
She did look nice in the outfit. And a small gold anklet bounc-
ing above the ankle strap to her white pumps. A nice touch.
*sigh* I have "this thing" about white stockings. Mark up
another one for those designers. "Doesn't she look nice?" I
thought. "And scared out of her mind? Something's up." I moved
toward her and waved. She finally saw me. I could tell. Her
face brightened from scared to desperately clinging.
Using my vast vocabulary and exquisite mastery of the Eng-
lish language to it's fullest, I seized the moment. "Hi Brooke,
what's up?" Well, EXCUSE ME for being an ENGINEER!
"Hi Marc." After tossing a nervous glance over her shoul-
der, she continued. "Do you mind if we...split?"
I could sorta tell that Brooke wanted to leave, and whatever
she was scared about, it would only be the righteous thing to
help her. "Let's go, we're outta here. My car?"
"Sounds good. I took the R.C.C. bus." That's got to be one
of the quickest pick-ups on record. During the walk to the car,
I wasn't going to pressure her for news, but one glance at my
face told her that I had a new-found interest in current-events.
We hopped into my luxurious 1980 Ford Fiesta (complete with
8-tracks none the less!) and she visibly relaxed. And I don't
think the 8-tracks had ANYTHING to do with it.
She started to fill me in. "There's this guy. Emil.
That's what my friends call 'im. He's this Iranian or as my
friends say "Some towelhead". He's been following me around ever
since I broke up with John." (Maybe there IS a god!) "I don't
know. I just don't like people following me around. He just
gives me the creeps."
I sat and listened. Ain't no respect in MY hear for creepy
guys. Scarin' the shit outta women ain't MY idea of a good time.
Not with all of the OTHER things you could be doin'! Meet 'em,
talk to 'em honestly and up front, and things could turn out a
lot better. And rapists. Never could understand their way of
thinking either. Each of 'em give women something to be SCARED
of, and that's not what girls OR guys want. But that's another
story...
And the 8-track of Patty Smith and Bruce Springsteen played
on.
They can't hurt you now.
They can't hurt you now.
They can't hurt you now!
Because the night belongs to love.
Because the night belongs to life.
Because the night belongs to love.
Because the night belongs to us.
By the time that I dropped her off at her place, she'd
calmed down a bit. I like to think that I helped in that. Well,
I know the high fidelity 8-tracks had little to do with it. She
said that she'd feel safer with a man around, to ward off the
spook Emil, and I said that I'd feel better with ANYONE around in
the Elmira suburbs, outer edge of nowhere. Workin' 40 hours a
week is just fine, but what do you do the REST of the time? We
agreed that the remaining week and a half before the trek to U.B.
(illin'!) should see more companionship between us. I KNOW what
you're thinking, but this was legit.
The next day, I even took her out to lunch. At Micky D's.
I TOLD you it was legit! She seemed a lot more open with me.
She said it was because she dumped John. Brooke turned out to be
a very...INTERESTING lady.
She had a summer job at an advertising company. As a model.
Someone apparently agrees with my taste in women. She said that
it was rare that people could identify the model. Most of her
pictures were for gloves, shoes, and extreme close-ups, like for
make-up ads.
We talked about what classes we'd be taking the next semes-
ter. She was taking mainly Dance classes, but she was taking
Shakespeare for her journalism minor. I told her that I signed
up for it as well, and that I looked forward to seeing her there.
I lied. I looked forward to seeing her there, but I had a trip
to drop/add to take care of upon my return to S.U.N.N.Y. Buffalo.
All too soon, I had to drop her off, and head to work. I'll
have you know that I don't mind starting work at 2. At least
THIS time, I had a smile on my face when I started, and something
to look forward to when I got off.
The next week and a half passed in a flurry of bliss-filled
events. Frisbee. A trip to Action Park (Brooke looked distinct-
ly eye-catching in a bathing suit. I must have been grinning
like the Cheshire Cat all day...) Well, and the distinctly un-
romantic trip to the Ob/Gyn, but Brooke checked out ok. And we
rented Bill and Ted, dude! We enjoyed a most triumphant cinemat-
ic experience! All the things that are bogus to do alone. One
and a half wonderful weeks, followed by the trip back to The
Buffalo Club Med.
During the first two weeks of class, we met the other
person's hallmates, and we went to each other's room on a daily
basis. So much that we each gave a copy of our room key to the
other. It just made so much more sense.
Brooke lived in a split double. That is two singles joined
to one private lounge that connected to the hallway. Her suite-
mate Jill seemed like a decent enough person. Jill and Brooke
got along just fine.
During the second week of class, I did get the chance (that
is, she even INVITED me) to see her dance-ballet class. You
don't know what kind of an honor it is to be ALLOWED to see her
dance unless you know Brooke, she's self-conscious about it. I
must say. Not only did Brooke look wonderful in tights, but she
can dance as well! I enjoyed the hour that I spent watching, and
I sure didn't expect to enjoy ballet. Maybe I was just watching
her, I don't know.
Afterwards, we popped back to my room. Brooke'd done some
physical work. I'd done NOTHING physical all day. I'd just have
to make that up..."Massage M'lady?"
Her response came smoothly. "Aye, M'lord. I wouldst indeed
be grateful for that delight." She laid down in repose.
I massaged her back most thoroughly. Then up and across to
her shoulders, and down her arms. Back up the arms, back to her
shoulders, then another melting of her back. Then down her hips,
slowly down her thighs, calves, and lingering down on her feet.
Even though she was still in her tights, the massage was purely
legit.
One day, the second Thursday of class, we were doing the
usual sitting on her bed and hanging out, and Brooke started
talking about her family. "I got a picture of them in here... "
She pulled out her purse. She opened it, and started looking for
the pictures. Out came the pocket mirror. Then the wallet.
Then the brush. It never ceases to amaze me all the things that
women can cram into their purses. If they're tipped up-side
down, there will be a pile of stuff sitting on the table that is
three times the size of the purse. I'm a follower of the purse
being a hole to another dimension theory m'self.
Then out came a handful of pennies. And then two bottles of
nail polish. I picked up the small bottles quizzically. Nail
polish? Brooke never WEARS nail polish.
I held it up so that my eye could see the colors next to her
hands. Light pink and white. "Why don't you ever wear nail
polish? I think that it would look nice."
Brooke laughed. "Ah, things guys don't know; problems
you'll never have. Messing around with the brush, making sure
not to paint my skin. I just don't like putting it on. And then
having to take it off or do it again when the nail grows."
A flood of memories of days past brought a smile to my lips.
Maritza was indeed a good girlfriend. It's too bad that she
moved. That was...summer after Freshman year. Two years ago.
The manicures and the pedicures...the massages...And the sex too.
Fond memories.
Time it was, and what a time it was.
It was: a time of innocence.
A time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be.
I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories;
they're all that's left you.
-Simon and Garfunkel
I came out of my daydream to her putting the contents of her
purse back into dimension X. "Would you like me to apply it for
you?"
It struck her off balance. She studied my face, unspoken
questions were answered. Her thoughts done, she blinked, then
smiled. "Yes. Thank you."
I pulled up a small table and the car, pulled out a few
tissues, and used an emory board to smooth out her nails. I
unscrewed the polish brush, and began, using long, even strokes
over her long nails. The brush left a wake of pink as it glided
over her nails. Unsaid questions were again asked by Brooke's
silent look. "I did this a lot for my ex. Maritza. Moved two
years ago."
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had the
saddest grin on my face, happy and sad simultaneously. And at
the same time too. Brooke placed her unpolished hand on my
shoulder, leaned over, and gave me a caring kiss on the forehead.
Despite what the clocks claim, we gazed at each other, motion-
less, for hours. Then I leaned over and gave her a warm thankful
hug. I looked her in the eye, and returned the consolation kiss
to her lips.
"You really loved her," Brooke said.
"Yes. I...lost contact with her during the move. We didn't
expect to stay together, long-distance relationships are diffi-
cult." Brooke looked like she understood.
I returned to the manicure. Polishing pink, then doing a
trim in white, but the ice had indeed been broken. I took my
time with the manicure, I was satisfied with the results. I then
continued down with her feet. First the emory board, then the
pink, and then a trim in white. I was pleased. The pedicure
turned out as good as the manicure. But alas, it was late.
I returned to my room, knowing that things would click in
the next few days. I stayed awake for a few hours, thinking of
how things might turn out. She was a virgin. Most "experienced"
guys can tell this kind of thing without asking. The good news
is that I didn't really think of her that way. I'd sure take it
if she offered, but I wanted her companionship much more. I
guess that the urge to snuggle far outweighed the urge to screw.
As I fell asleep, I convinced myself that love isn't logical; you
can't think it out. I'd "go with the flow" as it were.
The next day, she showed up to Shakespeare. I was once
again impressed. Was she TRYING to get all of the guys to stare
at her, or did it just come naturally? Her loose hair flowed
from her head, cascading over her shoulders, and flowing down her
back. Her white top buttoned with small pink buttons up the
front. As little of a front as there was; it stopped at midriff.
It crossed loosely in the back from each side to the opposite
shoulder. At first glance, I thought it would unwrap and fall to
the floor! But shifting as it may, it stayed put on her shoul-
ders. And even in SHORTS she looked good! Her athletic thighs
drew the attention of more than a few males in the room.
A white leather sandal strap seemed to buckle Brooke's ankle
to the sandal sole. With every step, Brooke's foot struggled
against the strap, but the strap remained secure. Kinky thoughts
from sandals?
During the class, my mind wandered about that thought.
Eventually it would happen. Brooke would make a nice slave. Or
a wonderful mistress. Eh, sometime. I'd just have to go and see
how it went. I sure wasn't going to scare her off, she deserved
a lot better than that.
After class, Brooke asked me if I'd drive 'er over to Bata-
via, since she agreed to babysit her niece. Her brother and
sister-in-law had to go to some sort of a social gathering. I
didn't ask. Knowing how much my 8-track tape collection im-
pressed everyone, I agreed.
After dinner, we popped into the car, and off we drove, to
the booming metropolis of Batavia. Batavia's an odd place. As a
note, there is a "Batavia Downs". There is no "Batavia Ups".
That alone tells ME something.
Finding the house was pretty easy; Batavia ain't a large
place. I do have to admit that it IS a nice house. Two bedroom -
plenty of room for the three people. I met Brooke's brother
Ed, and sister-in-law Barb, each promptly headed out the door,
hand in hand, leaving us in charge of 1 1/2-year old Anissa.
Seeing Brooke playing with her niece was refreshing. Seeing
her so happy and so free. Just like she was when she was danc-
ing.
"What?" Brooke asked, trying to interpret my smile.
"Just thinking that you looked so happy with Anissa."
"I really enjoy little children."
"I'm sure that Ed and Barb enjoyed getting her as well."
The way I MEANT that was legit. However, that's not how it was
taken.
Brooke sighed. "My mother thinks I'm such a slut for the
way I dress. I haven't told her that I'm still a virgin. I'll
let her sit on that one. I'm sure she's sure that I'm doing IT
with you on a nightly basis."
"Well," I rambled, "I figure that if you wanted to have sex,
you would have expressed so. It's a...REALLY NICE FEELING, but
you have to be ready for it. Eventually you'll understand.
There's only one first; do it right."
We put the baby to bed (it was getting late anyway, time
does fly at times), then we started talking about how IT feels.
Ok, I started talking, she sometimes threw in a question. There
are some things you just can't explain, much as I tried. I
wanted to express the sheer joy of it. It didn't work. If
someone said the same words to me three years ago, before I met
Maritza, I wouldn't have understood them either.
Brooke started to blush (more of a facial expression, but I
could tell). Then a smile appeared on her lips. "Marc, I love
you too."
I'm happy that I was sitting down for that bombshell. I
looked Brooke in the eye. She was still sweetly smiling at me,
proud that she told me. I was suddenly wearing the same proud
grin she was, and enwrapped her with a huge hug. It was indeed a
Kodak moment.
Brooke spoke first. "I just feel that I can trust you more
that other people. They just want to get down my pants, you want
to make me feel nice."
"Yes. Any way that you want to feel nice. Massages if
you'd like, perhaps jokes, whatever."
Her face perked up all the more. "Massage?"
"Sure. Lay down."
She did, and another massage ensued.
I sang softly as my hands roamed about her back.
Lay yourself down,
just for a while.
Rest for a while.
Yes it's true.
Straight from the start,
I believe in the church of your heart,
The church of your heart.
My voice doesn't sound much like Roxette's, but I don't
think Brooke minded. Her back sag came immediately. That is one
of the rewards to doing a massage. Seeing the other person break
into a sleepy smile as their back melts and droops between your
fingers.
My hand slowly wandered down to the small of her back. My
fingers slipped underneath the back of her shirt, loose as it
was, stopping. I knelt down, and asked as innocently as I could
"May I?" I wanted her to KNOW that my hands where there and
meant no harm. I had no sneaky plans.
Through her sleepy haze, she muttered, "Do whatever you
think will make me relax. Feel nice."
"So mote it be. Relax, this shall be legit." With new-
found devotion, my hand rubbed up her back. Flesh on flesh
allows me to do a lot more things than I could through a shirt,
small as hers was. Such as drape my fingernails over her skin,
dragging them up and down, like a light scratch. It always made
me relax when Maritza did that to me, and so I did it to Brooke.
I dragged my fingernails up, skipped over her bra strap,
then continued on top, reversing directions, skipping over the
bra strap again, and down. I did this a few times. My hand
again slid up her back, coming to rest on the bra catch in the
middle of her back. I whispered "Legit", then undid the clasp.
Bra straps only DO take one hand if you're coordinated. Take my
word for it, I have experience on these type of things.
My hands continued their massage of where her bra strap used
to be. Keeping my word, I avoided massaging her inner thighs and
the like. I figgered that she wouldn't relax at that.
The massage lasted for an hour and a half. Yes, THAT long.
When I was done, Brooke barely pulled herself up into a half-
sitting position to face me. She was half asleep with a satis-
fied grin on her face, I couldn't very well blame her, now could
I?
I placed my hands on the sides of her breasts, saying in the
same innocent whisper, "Tell me if this is non-legit." I then
grasped as much of her bustline as I could in each hand, careful-
ly avoiding the nipples.
First I put pressure with my thumbs, then with palm, then my
fingers, in a circular swirling motion. I gauged the reaction.
Brooke smiled, then dreamily murmured, "I like it." So I contin-
ued.
I liked the feel of her breasts rolling through my hands. I
wonder what it is about the female breast that so enthralls the
male. Breasts are just the right consistency. They just FEEL
right. Probably the same thing that makes a koosh so addicting.
But to thing that biochemical reactions are based on this type
stuff...
"Uh, Marc? My bod's thinking that this is straying from
your 'legit'". A sly smile came over her. "Perhaps we should
continue some other time. This IS my brother's house an' all."
"Yeah, ok."
We each went to check on Anissa, who was sleeping contented-
ly. And oh, so cute. Then we sat down, and turned on the TV to
watch The Late Show. Then the Late, Late Show. And then the
Much Too Late Show. Halfway through the Much Too Late Show (I
forgot the REAL name of it), Brooke's bro returned, and we were
free to take the hour-long trek back to Bright Balmy Buffalo. We
slipped out of the house before I fell asleep.
When we got into the car, Brooke dropped me a glance. She
wanted me to continue the massage some other time. And she'd be
looking forward to it. It's a good sign to be able to read
someone else that well.
The ride home was quiet. By the time I was on the Thruway,
Brooke was in Dreamland.
We finally arrived to Ellicott (the dorms). Brooke was
sleepy, so I walked her back to Spaulding Quad, and tucked her
into bed.
We woke up the next morning, arms entwined. Seems like I
hadn't made it back to my room. Neither of us minded. Scarily
enough, it was dawn. And we were awake. College students, awake
at dawn. Is something WRONG with this picture?
I turned to Brooke. "Ain't love GRAND? Last night
was...quite enjoyable."
"Marc, you have a nasty habit of understatement."
An idea came into place. I needed to go shopping today.
Condoms, sponges, something. "Brooke? How 'bout we shower, we
eat, and then we do something? Do you have any plans for the
day?"
Brooke started thinking. And so did I. One more question
for her. "Brooke? How many people on your floor are awake now?"
She gave me an answer with a face to match. "Are you kid-
ding? On THIS floor? HA! Nobody will be up until noon!"
"Then shall we shower? You wash my back, and I'll wash
yours?"
She thought about this one. "Aye, m'lord, we shall. But if
anything happens, THIS WAS ALL YOUR IDEA!" She grabbed her
shower bag and a towel, and headed out the door, trying to con-
tain a giggle. I followed her into the women's bathroom.
Brooke stopped by the shower stall, tensing and wondering
what to do. I looked her right in the eye, and started to mas-
sage her shoulders. We just looked into one another's eyes until
I leaned over, breaking the trance with a gentle kiss on her
lips. I KNOW she thought, "Oh yeah! He loves me! It can't be
all bad!" I continued planting gentle kisses on her lips, and
she loosened up.
I started to gently lift her T-shirt, but she held it down.
"Marc? Do you mind going in first? I'm just not used to doing
this sort of thing."
I gave up with a shrug. "Neither am I. Come in whenever
you want to," hopping into the stall. I undressed and started
the water.
But two minutes later, her hand swing back the shower cur-
tain, and her face peeked by. "I can't believe that you're doing
this. That WE'RE doing this! Turn around." I did so and she
started to soap my back.
*sigh* The simple pleasures in life. Nice warm shower,
with a loving woman carefully cleaning your bod.
When she stopped, I turned back around to face her. Yes,
the simple pleasures in life. I tan-looking woman, water cascad-
ing down her unclothed body. And Brooke didn't even have tan
lines. Brooke smiled back.
"Turn around." I tried to say it in the same sweet voice
that she did for me. Then I returned the soapy favor. The
simple pleasures in life indeed. A loving man carefully cleaning
your bod... 8-)
I made sure to scrub her back thoroughly, then cleaned my
way down her hips, then her thighs. Maritza preferred to clean
her own privates, so I didn't try on Brooke. I continued down
her legs, soaping her shins, then between her toes. Nope.
Brooke wasn't ticklish.
I joined my two hands, my fingers forming a ring. "Please
insert arm for proper cleaning procedure to initiate." Chuck-
ling, Brooke did so. My hands went from her shoulder, sliding
down her arm, to her hand. The nail polish still looked nice. I
meticulously cleaned her hand, rinsing it. I bent down and
kissed it.
I resoaped my hands, and made a ring again. Brooke smiled
and inserted her arm. I cleaned her other arm, again kissing her
hand at the end.
I resoaped my hands once again, and started at her shoul-
ders, cleaning my way down her sides. Now for the fun part. I
worked my way up her stomach.
The look in her eye told me that she knew the only logical
conclusion to all of this. I made sure to clean her stomach
slowly and dutifully. Very slowly I cleaned her stomach. It's
strange how she was only standing there, yet her breathing and
pulse quickened so much. I'll just have to give her a massage to
calm her down ay?
Before I arrived at my destination (no Twin Peaks jokes
here!) I planted a kiss, right between her breasts. Then I
looked her in the eye and resoaped my hands. It had been some
time since either of us had said anything - nothing needed to be
said.
I put my hands on her bustline, slowly circling inward. The
spray coming over her shoulder washed the soap from my hands
quickly, but neither of us noticed. I had my hands on some
highly addictive breasts, and Brooke claims that someone was
distracting her at the time. Can't imagine who it could be...
Brooke leaned back against the wall. My hands spiraled
inward, kneading as they went. Then got to the nipple with a
flick.
"Oh!" Brooke gasped. So I did it again. And she gasped
all the louder. Finally realizing that Brooke was clean there. I
have her a tentative lick. When I licked her nipple, I felt
Brooke's hands on the back of my head, gently pressing me against
her. I continued licking and sucking, happily fulfilling the
male addiction to the female's breast.
Brooke held my head tightly, pressing my head against her
breast as she slid down the wall. The warm spray was hitting me
in the back as I hungrily licked and sucked, alternating breasts.
Brooke's hands guided me upwards. My tongue lashed out,
wiggling its way inside of her mouth, meeting no resistance.
Because her tongue was en-route to mine...
We frenched for quite a while, heating up as we did. Brooke
suddenly stopped. "Uh Marc? Do you mind, uh, quickly finishing
up? I'd like to, uh, finish bathing alone?"
I smiled, and made my best attempt at the one minute shower.
"I'll be in the room when you're done." I took her sudden desire
to finish alone as a high compliment. I knew what she'd be
finishing before she finished her shower.
When she entered the room, she looked a lot more relaxed
than she did in the shower. I sat on the bed, trying my best to
hide my proud smile. She walked around, trying to look busy.
Neither of us knew what to say. I don't have Maritza's seduction
ability; her way with words. I gave it my best shot. "C'mere."
I held out my arms, having Brooke sit on my lap, then enwrapped
her win a wonderful hug.
Brooke immediately tensed. As she realized that I was
interested only in romance, she relaxed. The sex was done. For
the time being. Sex is like a habit. It was a way of resurfac-
ing at the oddest times.
After a bit, I returned to my room. We each had some work
to do. I tried to study, but I don't even remember opening up a
book. I knew that what was on my mind was not located in those
books. It, or she, was in Spaulding Quad. Three minutes later,
so was I.
I knocked on her door. "C'mon in," she replied.
She was decked out on the bed, wearing a conservative blue
dress and white stockings. I intentionally averted my eyes from
her legs, nice as they looked. That would be the problem. Too
nice.
Her books were laying closed on the desk, barely shifted
from where they were two hours ago, when I left. I looked at the
her, then at the books, then back at her. "You too, huh?"
She stammered, "Well, I was just about to sit down and get
going on some...Yeah. Me too.
I walked over and sat on the floor next to the bed. Brooke
shifted over toward the wall. She offered me some bed. With an
offer like that, I couldn't refuse.
As I laid down, her legs slid against my legs, clothed only
in shorts. We smiled at each other, and snuggled up to one
another. All during this, her legs were unwittingly sliding up
and down mine.
She stopped, looking me in the eye. Then deliberately
pressed her thigh up against my crotch. Yep, I was hard all
right. My eyes were wide and glazed over, the whole nine yards.
I gave her my best "Oops. I didn't MEAN to do it smile!" smile,
then muttered, "You feel rather nice."
Brooke reached down to my member. "Why thank you." She
tried flattening a certain protrusion back between my legs. I
bucked forward, pressing against her hand. A natural male reac-
tion, I assure you.
Brooke smiled, and innocently tried tucking it back again.
And again I bucked to her touch. Since it wasn't going down, she
tried with longer strokes. I wrapped my legs around hers, press-
ing against her. With her hand trapped between us, the strokes
became a definite fondle. Through the haze, my eyes saw the
smile on Brooke's face, seeing how she was getting me SO excited
by doing so little. So it DID work both ways.
At this point, I was practically humping Brooke's leg.
There's just no other word for it. She stopped me. "Wait here a
sec, I need to go to the bathroom."
I tried to be calm as she got up, smiled, and walked out the
door. I was proud of myself. I was able to let her go. She did
INDEED look gorgeous, but with her out of the room, I was able to
calm down a bit.
She walked back in a few minutes later, laying down next to
me. She looked me in the eye, then brushed her stockinged leg
along mine. Again, my vision narrowed to a glazed stare at
Brooke's sweet innocent smile. With the slow down stroke, my
deep breathing began. Brooke's innocent voice was saying some-
thing to me. "Yes Marc? Is anything...wrong Marc?"
She cuddled up next to me, running her legs back and forth
across mine. Or were mine snaking across hers? I couldn't tell,
I wasn't in control of either pair of legs.
As she rolled onto her back, I thrust into her. I still had
my shorts on, as she did her dress, but lust had taken over. She
arched up to meet me on each stroke.
With all of the pounding, her dress had ridden up. I pulled
her dress out of the way. She was still wearing her thigh high
white legs. She put her hands on the clasp of my shorts, looking
at my face for permission.
Definition of a man torn. Much as I wanted to, responsibil-
ity came first. I managed to get out the words, "No. I can't.
No entrance without protection." Life can be a bitch at times.
Brooke smiled at me. "What are suitemates for?" She was
serious. Ten seconds later, I was bare.
I slowly slid inside of her. I let out a sigh. It felt
like I'd just returned home after a few month long journey. So
welcome it was to be back. And it felt so right and so good. It
surprised me that Brooke was already wet. Maritza would've taken
a while in this case.
I pumped in and out of Brooke. She was in a state of shock
from the new emotions. In short order, my body left its gift of
love inside of her.
When we had both recovered, Brooke said in an amazed whis-
per, "So, that's it. That's what the big thing is about." She
wasn't downplaying it, the vocal inflection said otherwise. She
mused, "Awfully short, wasn't it? Now you roll over and fall
asleep?"
"Well, yeah," I replied. "Consider it a compliment. You
had me VERY excited! But then sometimes guys can..." I tensed
up my member, still inside of her.
She gasped and twitched, as if hit by an electric shock.
The feeling of stockings again. Brooke smiled. "You have your
cock, and I have my legs. I'm glad to see that I can excite you
as much as you excite me m'dear." She idly traced her feet up
and down my legs. I could feel myself getting larger and larger
inside of her, firming up with each stroke.
I started humping up and down once again, thrusting in and
out. This time, Brooke bucked up to meet each plunge that I
made. Staring down at this gorgeous woman splayed out beneath me
made me feel so wonderful. Seeing the love that she had for me
shining from her eyes made it exquisite; timeless. Even past the
point when her figure blurred from view.
This time the action lasted quite a bit longer, but the
results were wonderfully similar. Yes, the suitemate's protec-
tion was used that night.
We hugged in a deep embrace. I gave her a tender peck on
her smiling lips. "Women just don't know how it is. Every
muscle in your body is absolutely bushed. Even ones that you
don't use. They feel as if I'd just swam the 500. Except more
tired, and all over. You don't mind if I crash out, do you?"
Brooke smiled. "Go ahead. No, I guess that I don't under-
stand. I'd like to. I'd like to know everything about you.
Goodnight Marc."
"Goodnight Brooke."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
(PART II)
Wha?
What time is it?
I don't want to open my eyes to find out.
What day is it?
There's someone next to me.
This is good.
Do I want to wake up?
Or fall back asleep?
I don't know.
It's Sunday.
That would be Brooke.
My brain was finally rebooted after being off-line last
night. Last night. What happened last night? THAT happened
last night!
I opened my eyes to a gorgeous sight. No, not the bright
light of morning. Just like the 8-tracks of the weeks past, that
had nothing to do with beauty. It was Brooke. Her hair was
messed all over her face. She wore no makeup. Below her neck
was obscured by her pink comforter. Her eyes were closed. And
seeing her was wonderful. And she was smiling. I snuggled back
up to her. She snuggled back, and her sleeping smile grew.
Love, he says, is a wonderful thing.
I reveled in watching her face for the next few minutes as
she slowly awoke from her slumber. An enjoyable experience.
Memories of the night before returned to my mind. Brooke had
finally allowed someone to enjoy. And it was me. I feel hon-
ored. Loved by this sleeping beauty before me.
She finally opened her eyes, to find me already gazing into
them. I was glad to see that she was happily content, proud
even, about losing her virginity the night before. I was also
glad to see there was no blood on the sheets.
Brooke smiled a bit more, staring through the wall. I
thought I heard her mutter "Now I'm glad that it broke back
then." She sensed my quizzical mind. "Oh. I was horseback
riding at a fair back when I was 14. I felt a sharp ripping
pain, and started bleeding. Afterwards, my mother told me it was
my hymen that broke, and not to worry about it. It was awfully
embarrassing then, but it only happens once." She smiled.
I smiled back.
The next five weekdays passed. Or shall we say, we got them
out of the way. We slept together, but we didn't do anything
steamy (weekdays were "their time" with all of our work, weekends
were "OUR time".) But as the days passed, there was a subtle
change in the way that Brooke acted. She understood those
glances I threw at her, when just days ago, they went unnoticed.
I assure you, it was a most wonderful thing to watch.
During the following weeks, each of us had to get jobs. The
sex was great, but those bills just HAD to go. I was fortunate
enough to get a job with "the computer guys" on campus. It was,
as one friend called it, "a cushy job". I was content. I got to
study and do homework, while getting paid for it. Hey, girl-
friends take a lot of what used to be study time, ya know?
Brooke was less fortunate in job opportunities. She got
hired by FSA, "the food guys". She was line server. Oh well, it
pays the bills.
Laying in bed is so wonderful. It's so relaxing. You can
stretch and move about, unhindered by clothing, all warm and
cozy. It's even better when there's someone who you care about
to share the experience.
Such was the case at the moment. Friday night. After the
long week on "their time", we were finally on "our time" again.
Brooke and I were laying on her bed, huddled facing each other,
legs entwined. A scene from hot and sexy turned to warm and
romantic. We were enjoying just lying there. Not talking, not
fucking, just reveling that the someone of the opposite sex that
we loved loved us back. How long had we been snuggling like
that? Twenty minutes? A half hour? I don't know. It felt good
though.
Brooke shifted a bit, sliding up on the bed. Her thigh
pressed nicely against my crotch. She wiggled into place. Quite
nicely. I assume she felt nice, and so did my crotch as her
thigh wiggled with her. She smiled, and went back to hugging and
snuggling.
A few minutes later, she yawned, and ssttrreecchheedd. Her
thigh pressed harder between my legs. She settled down that way,
again wiggling into place. Something of mine was stretching too.
I wiggled to make myself comfortable as well. Needless to say, I
was pressed against her quite firmly now. And it was getting
more firm as we laid there.
She smiled at me, and started stroking my hair, swaying as
she did so, moving to the rhythms of her hands. Her nipples of
those wonderful breasts slid across me, and her thigh tensed and
relaxed in rhythm. Something downstairs was sending me a clear
message that it wanted some exercise after the rest. But should
I ruin the romantic moment? Guys always seemed to be more much
more turned on then women, more sexually aware? Ok, more horny.
Brooke noticed that I was looking at her that way. She
smiled. "Honey, I'm still protected." Ok. Women aren't less
sexual, just more subtle in the way that they express it. I
shifted my thigh. She was wet. She was wet before I was hard.
That stretch she did was not an accident. I love Brooke. She
gave me a kiss on the cheek.
"I love you Brooke." It just HAD to be said.
Her smile told me that she loved me right back.
I touched the base of her breast. She pressed into my hand.
I squeezed and kneaded it. Breasts just feel SO right. And then
the other one. I don't know what it is about the feel of
breasts, but it...an aphrodisiac as it may be. I rolled her onto
her back, kneeling between her legs so that my hands could get at
both of her pair. The way that I knelt, as I stretched, my cock
draped up and down her slot, already wet. It's strange how these
coincidences happen.
She reached down and grabbed me there. I was already semi-
hard. I could have likely squeezed inside of her as hard as I
was. I think Brooke wanted better odds. She dragged my cock up
and down her slot. It's a mutual tease, we each love it. My
body shook as I massaged her breasts, the waves starting between
my legs, and working their way outward.
I was rock hard. She kept going. I wanted to enter her. I
wonder if...why not? There's only one way to tell! I grabbed
her wrists, and held them comfortably out to her sides at shoul-
der level. She tugged lightly. I held her there. She looked up
at me, fascinated. I slid down to enter her.
As soon as my head entered her, she let out a gasp. She
breath became gasping. She only did that when she was near!
Wow. I slid into her, and backed off. Her body arched to follow
me. I sat there. She slid down so that only the tip was in.
Then I pounded into her as hard as I could. Shudders wracked her
body. Her eyes were open, but did not see. I pounded again,
shudders issuing forth from her groin. On the third pound, she
arched into me with a WHUMP. And again. I felt like I was going
to pound right through her. I felt WHUMP! Like I NEEDED to
pound right through WHUMP her. Brooke squeaked out "I'm coming!"
She was warm. WHUMP! And tight and...Oh! Yes!
I woke up to find her gazing at the ceiling, a blank look in
her eye. I smiled. After a few minutes, I twitched my leg to
let her know I was awake.
She snapped out of it. "Good Morning."
I put my hand up against my mouth, hiding it and intoned in
the corniest voice I could manage. " 'morning.", imitating that
old mouthwash commercial. Never mind, it's an inside joke any-
way. We each laughed. Ok, so it's an old, overplayed inside
joke. "You got rather excited last night."
She looked at me. Part embarrassment, but part anger!
"Yes."
I put my hand on her shoulder, looked her right in the eye,
and spoke in a calm, truthful voice. "Brooke, what's wrong?"
"I don't...It's that...I mean I've been held down by a lot
of guys before. No. I..."
I looked her in the eye, letting her know that I cared,
waiting patiently for her to compose her thoughts and continue.
If she cares enough to stumble through it, I SURE care enough to
listen.
She began again with a sigh. "A lot of guys in the past
have held me down. Not physically, but socially, and have picked
on me because I'm part Oriental. They think that since I have
some Thai blood, I must be a super-genius, Albert Einstein wan-
nabe. All I want to do is dance. But they didn't see that. And
I'm a woman. I get picked on for that too. But then you held me
down. Made me powerless like the other guys did. I struggled,
and you didn't let me go. And I LIKED it! It...I guess I just
have to work it all out myself, that's all."
I looked at her. Yep. She was done talking. Now I can
comment. "There's nothing wrong with being held down. Physical-
ly. By someone you trust. And who respects you. It's mainly
the lack of respect that the other people did that irked you. Am
I right?"
She nodded yes.
"When I held you down, would have let you go if you would
have asked. I still cared about you. It doesn't change us or
our relationship. I still LOVE you Brooke."
Her face turned into a shy smile when "The 'L' word" was
mentioned. "But I still don't believe that I got..." She looked
around then mumbled "wet."
I licked my lips, getting an embarrassed smile as I chose my
words. "Well. I. have also. gotten. excited. when so re-
strained."
She looked at me. Seriousness check. Checked out. Yes, I
was being serious. She looked at the wall. I knew her brain
jumped into turbo with that knowledge. She looked back at me, a
new amused smile on her face. "Oh? I'll just have to spring
that on you sometime. Hold you down like you held me down. But
you're stronger. You'd let me tie you down?"
"Yes."
Her mind was still goin'. "And...I could do things to you?
Tease you? or do what *I* wanted?"
I bowed my head. "Yes, ma'am. I trust you." Then I looked
her in the eye again.
She smiled. "So I could have the ideal male. Just like the
police force. 'To protect and serve'."
I laughed. "You know what they say. A woman wants a man to
satisfy her every need. A man wants every woman to satisfy his
one need."
She laughed.
I continued, covering my back from the obvious extrapola-
tion. "Don't worry, you quite satisfy me. You? In those white
stockings? *sigh*" Dreamily smiling away was I.
"I don't know why you have this fetish for women's stock-
ings."
I'd never really thought of it like that before. A fetish.
It's not that I wanted to wear them myself or that I loved them
as they laid on the floor, but on a women's legs, the feel was
just sheer...magnificence. I did look at a woman a lot differ-
ently if she was wearing them. Even in place of socks under
jeans, not revealing anything more sexual than her ankle. My,
my. Did I like to watch women's legs sheathed in stockings.
Yeah. Guess it is a fetish.
I looked up to Brooke smiling at me. She lifted up her
skirt to about her thighs. "Marc? Imagine my legs in
stockings."
I altered the request. "Pantyhose. Less sexual, but easier
to imagine. What color?"
She started slowly listing, with a long pause in between.
"Tan." I stared at her legs, suddenly covered in tan nylon. I
felt myself loosen, and smile.
"Now black." She looked Ok in black. I pictured her with a
black formal dress to match.
"Grey..." She suddenly aged about 30 years, her legs appar-
ently trying to look older. It was not the thing for her.
She quickly continued. "Now green." Her legs changed
color, but still just didn't look very good, as if she was half-
sea creature. Sorry, I like my women all-human. This xenophobic
streak I guess.
"Blue." I glanced up and down her body. Caucasians look
decent in blue. Not amazing, but decent. Orientals less so.
"Red fishnets." Again I glanced up and down her body. "You
SLUT you!" I kidded her.
"White." My eyes went wide. Yes. Once again, white stock-
ings proved to excite me. She took note, again smiling sweetly.
I knew she had some plan in mind. Whatever it was, I was SURE
looking forward to it!
"White is the color you like best then?" She asked.
"Yeah. Let's see...touch of pink? Nope. touch of purple?
Nope. Brightest white you can find would look the best on ya."
"Good. White goes with a lot of the things I like to wear."
"So I noticed." I grinned contentedly.
"Talking about what I like to wear, Halloween is in only a
month! And I don't have a costume yet!" I was glad to see that
she was joking.
"No. Really. I usually do have an idea by now. I like to
plan ahead, and I LOVE to dress up for Halloween. I guess it's
one of the few times I could be liberal with my conservative
parents..." She was suddenly excited. "I have some pictures of
some of past years costumes." She hopped up, reached up into the
closet, and retrieved a photo album.
I gave her an odd glance. "Don't tell me you went as the
stereotypical prostitute costume!"
"Ha! You think my ultra-conservative mother would have let
me go out like that? Ha!"
"You don't seem like you were in the crowd that traded
football uniforms for cheerleader outfits."
Brooke started flipping through the pages. "Nope, never
went as a football player. Not that I could." She pulled in her
stomach to accent that she was tall and thin, most unfootball-
like. "or that I ever wanted to." She mused. "Ha! Here's
one!" She placed the open album on my lap, a triumphant look on
her face.
Brooke was...Well, whatever you call those Japanese women
with the white painted faces. In real, they were servants or
dancers or the like. She wore a black kimono with a few red,
orange and yellow flowering vines embroidered over it. Her face
was painted white, and she wore lipstick and other makeup over
it. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, held back with one of
those leather bands spiked through with a wooden dowel. Seeing
the picture sure don't help an engineer on the terminology...
"You look cool." I turned to look at her. "You have a very
malleable face." I quickly stammered a clarification before she
replied to what I said rather than what I meant. "I mean, your
face can look like quite a few things. You can look oriental, or
you can look Caucasian."
She smiled in reply. "I know what you meant. A Geisha girl
was a natural. My family had the Japanese kimono, it was my
mother's. An aunt had given me the authentic...well, it's a Thai
hair holder. People only notice it's Oriental."
She took the album back and flipped through it. She started
to mutter. "There's the winter...There's High School graduation.
And moving in. . ." Again, the look of triumph flashed across
her face. "Here's Freshman year!" handing the album back to me.
Brooke was apparently sneaking back into some woods, looking
back over her shoulder at the photographer, with an odd half
scared-caught, and half seductive look on her face. She was
dressed in a green blouse, with a brown vest covering it. She
wore a forest green mini-skirt, and brown elven boots. I call
them elven boots. They are suede pull-on boots that have the
tops folded over. Popular a few years ago, but fads come and go.
"You make for quite a seductive elf." I commented.
"Well, I was a nymph."
"Ok. I guess they were supposed to be sorta seductive."
"Do you recognize where the picture was taken?"
I looked at it again. "Nope."
She looked at the picture again. "No, I guess you couldn't.
It was taken behind Ellicott."
"Oh."
She continued flipping through the pages. "And...This is
last Halloween."
I could barely recognize her in this one. She was in gypsy
garb. A garish yellow, red, and blue striped shawl, covered her
head, matching her tattered green, pink and yellow dress only in
garishness. The bottom end of her dress was not only tattered,
but tilted. The foot long tatters ran from her shin on her left
to her low thigh on her right. A silver anklet adorned with
bells graced her ankle. Besides the anklet, the rest of her
jewelry was gold and garish. Her fingernails were long, with the
remnants of nail polish showing in places. Her face looked as if
it hadn't been washed in quite some time. "My, you sure do look
the part, like you actually WERE from Yugoslavia. You look cool
in these, but there's no funky clothes for guys. They just
aren't made."
"I'm sure you got SOME 'funky' clothes that we can make a
costume out of." She started going through my drawers.
She picked the top drawer, and opened it. Socks on the
right. Bland and boring. They're all totally white. Long
story. Men's white jockey underwear on the left. And some color
behind. Uh-oh.
She pulled out my baby blue pair of bikini underwear, hold-
ing it up in triumph. "My! I think THIS can go with something."
She said rather appreciatively, tossing it onto the bed beside
me. Let's see what other goodies you have!
She reached in and pulled out a pile of sheepskin and nylon
straps. Uh-oh. She held it up, looking it over. Turning it
over. Bending the straps. Trying to find out which body part it
may fit. She finally gave up. "Marc? Just what IS this?"
Ut-oh. "Uh. Medical restraints."
She looked them over again. "Just what do they restrain?"
"Wrists."
She moved around the straps a bit. One cuff was on her
wrist, the other she managed only to entangle. "What"
I wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. Then I
realized that I had an embarrassed grin on my face.
She surprised me. "Show me," she said, holding out the
restraints.
I took them and lifted up one of her wrists, then let it go.
She held it there. She actually wanted me to! I wrapped the
first cuff around her wrist, threading the velcro strap through
the ring, and folding it over, velcroing it closed. The second
one fastened with a nylon strap and teeth closure.
She lifted each hand, examining how they fastened. Perhaps
"enthralled" would be a better term. She tugged on each one.
Then, content that they were properly secure, she held her arms
out to me. "Ok."
"Take 'em off?"
She looked at me surprised. "You haven't showed me how to
put them TOGETHER yet."
"Ok." I threaded one strap from the right hand through the
loop on the left, then through the ring on the right, and pulled
it tight. When I held the two straps apart, she twisted and
pulled, but couldn't quite weasel out of them. "Well, actually,
they'd be like this." I pulled the straps behind her, one in
each direction. This held her hands right at waist level. I
twisted the straps around my hand, holding them together. She
twisted and pulled some more, then, content that she couldn't
squirm out of this setup either, she craned her head down to look
at how I had her.
A satisfied look grew across her face. She bent over,
placing a kiss on my cheek. I smiled. She bent around the other
way, and placed a kiss on my other cheek. Then a kiss right on
my lips. She looked me in the eye. I kissed her back. And
stayed there. Her lips parted. My tongue lashed forth toward
the gap, licking around and around her lips. They licked on her
upper gums for a while, sliding side to side. Maritza taught me
a few things. Men AND women love that one. Did it get her
passionate! She started moaning, and her tongue went on the
Brooke, Can We Leave Now? (The 8-track Seduction part II)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Wha?
What time is it?
I don't want to open my eyes to find out.
What day is it?
There's someone next to me.
This is good.
Do I want to wake up?
Or fall back asleep?
I don't know.
It's Sunday.
That would be Brooke.
My brain was finally re-booted after being off-line last night.
Last night. What happened last night? THAT happened last night!
I opened my eyes to a gorgeous sight. No, not the bright light of
morning. Just like the 8-tracks of the weeks past, that had nothing to do
with beauty. It was Brooke. Her hair was messed all over her face. She
wore no makeup. Below her neck was obscured by her pink comforter. Her
eyes were closed. And seeing her was wonderful. And she was smiling. I
snuggled back up to her. She snuggled back, and her sleeping smile grew.
Love, he says, is a wonderful thing.
I reveled in watching her face for the next few minutes as she slowly
awoke from her slumber. An enjoyable experience. Memories of the night
before returned to my mind. Brooke had finally allowed someone to enjoy.
And it was me. I feel honored. Loved by this sleeping beauty before me.
She finally opened her eyes, to find me already gazing into them.
I was glad to see that she was happily content, proud even, about losing
her virginity the night before. I was also glad to see there was no blood
on the sheets.
Brooke smiled a bit more, staring through the wall. I thought I heard
her mutter "Now I'm glad that it broke back then." She sensed my quizzical
mind. "Oh. I was horseback riding at a fair back when I was 14. I felt a
sharp ripping pain, and started bleeding. Afterwards, my mother told me it
was my hymen that broke, and not to worry about it. It was awfully
embarrassing then, but it only happens once." She smiled.
I smiled back.
The next 5 weekdays passed. Or shall we say, we got them out of the
way. We slept together, but we didn't do anything steamy (weekdays were
"their time" with all of our work, weekends were "OUR time". But as the
days passed, there was a subtle change in the way that Brooke acted. She
understood those glances I threw at her, when just days ago, they went
unnoticed. I assure you, it was a most wonderful thing to watch.
During the following weeks, each of us had to get jobs. The sex was
great, but those bills just HAD to go. I was fortunate enough to get a
job with "the computer guys" on campus. It was, as one friend called it,
"a cushy job". I was content. I got to study and do homework, while
getting paid for it. Hey, girlfriends take a lot of what used to be study
time, ya know?
Brooke was less fortunate in job opportunities. She got hired by
FSA, "the food guys". She was line server. Oh well, it pays the bills.
Laying in bed is so wonderful. It's so relaxing. You can stretch
and move about, unhindered by clothing, all warm and cozy. It's even
better when there's someone who you care about to share the experience.
Such was the case at the moment. Friday night. After the long week
on "their time", we were finally on "our time" again. Brooke and I were
laying on her bed, huddled facing each other, legs entwined. A scene from
hot and sexy turned to warm and romantic. We were enjoying just lying
there. Not talking, not fucking, just reveling that the someone of the
opposite sex that we loved loved us back. How long had we been snuggling
like that? Twenty minutes? A half hour? I don't know. It felt good
though.
Brooke shifted a bit, sliding up on the bed. Her thigh pressed
nicely against my crotch. She wiggled into place. Quite nicely. I
assume she felt nice, and so did my crotch as her thigh wiggled with her.
She smiled, and went back to hugging and snuggling.
A few minutes later, she yawned, and ssttrreecchheedd. Her thigh
pressed harder between my legs. She settled down that way, again wiggling
into place. Something of mine was stretching too. I wiggled to make
myself comfortable as well. Needless to say, I was pressed against her
quite firmly now. And it was getting more firm as we laid there.
She smiled at me, and started stroking my hair, swaying as she did
so, moving to the rhythms of her hands. Her nipples of those wonderful
breasts slid across me, and her thigh tensed and relaxed in rhythm.
Something downstairs was sending me a clear message that it wanted some
exercise after the rest. But should I ruin the romantic moment? Guys
always seemed to be more much more turned on then women, more sexually
aware? Ok, more horny.
Brooke noticed that I was looking at her that way. She smiled.
"Honey, I'm still protected." Ok. Women aren't less sexual, just more
subtle in the way that they express it. I shifted my thigh. She was wet.
She was wet before I was hard. That stretch she did was not an accident.
I love Brooke. She gave me a kiss on the cheek.
"I love you Brooke." It just HAD to be said.
Her smile told me that she loved me right back.
I touched the base of her breast. She pressed into my hand. I
squeezed and kneaded it. Breasts just feel SO right. And then the other
one. I don't know what it is about the feel of breasts, but it. . . an
aphrodisiac as it may be. I rolled her onto her back, kneeling between
her legs so that my hands could get at both of her pair. The way that I
knelt, as I stretched, my cock draped up and down her slot, already wet.
It's strange how these coincidences happen.
She reached down and grabbed me there. I was already semi-hard. I
could have likely squeezed inside of her as hard as I was. I think Brooke
wanted better odds. She dragged my cock up and down her slot. It's a
mutual tease, we each love it. My body shook as I massaged her breasts,
the waves starting between my legs, and working their way outward.
I was rock hard. She kept going. I wanted to enter her. I wonder
if. . . Why not? There's only one way to tell! I grabbed her wrists,
and held them comfortably out to her sides at shoulder level. She tugged
lightly. I held her there. She looked up at me, fascinated. I slid down
to enter her.
As soon as my head entered her, she let out a gasp. She breath became
gasping. She only did that when she was near! Wow. I slid into her, and
backed off. Her body arched to follow me. I sat there. She slid down so
that only the tip was in. Then I pounded into her as hard as I could.
Shudders wracked her body. Her eyes were open, but did not see. I pounded
again, shudders issuing forth from her groin. On the third pound, she
arched into me with a WHUMP. And again. I felt like I was going to pound
right through her. I felt WHUMP! Like I NEEDED to pound right through
WHUMP her. Brooke squeaked out "I'm coming!" She was warm. WHUMP! And
tight and and. . .Oh! Yes!
I woke up to find her gazing at the ceiling, a blank look in her
eyes. I smiled. After a few minutes, I twitched my leg to let her know I
was awake.
She snapped out of it. "Good Morning."
I put my hand up against my mouth, hiding it and intoned in the
corniest voice I could manage. " 'morning.", imitating that old mouthwash
commercial. Never mind, it's an inside joke anyway. We each laughed.
Ok, so it's an old, overplayed inside joke. "You got rather excited last
night."
She looked at me. Part embarrassment, but part anger! "Yes."
I put my hand on her shoulder, looked her right in the eye, and spoke
in a calm, truthful voice. "Brooke, what's wrong?"
"I don't. . . It's that. . . I mean I've been held down by a lot of
guys before. No. I. . ."
I looked her in the eye, letting her know that I cared, waiting
patiently for her to compose her thoughts and continue. If she cares
enough to stumble through it, I SURE care enough to listen.
She began again with a sigh. "A lot of guys in the past have held me
down. Not physically, but socially, and have picked on me because I'm
part Oriental. They think that since I have some Thai blood, I must be a
super-genius, Albert Einstein wannabe. All I want to do is dance. But
they didn't see that. And I'm a woman. I get picked on for that too. But
then you held me down. Made me powerless like the other guys did. I
struggled, and you didn't let me go. And I LIKED it! It. . . I guess I
just have to work it all out myself, that's all."
I looked at her. Yep. She was done talking. Now I can comment.
"There's nothing wrong with being held down. Physically. By someone you
trust. And who respects you. It's mainly the lack of respect that the
other people did that irked you. Am I right?"
She nodded yes.
"When I held you down, would have let you go if you would have asked.
I still cared about you. It doesn't change us or our relationship. I
still LOVE you Brooke."
Her face turned into a shy smile when "The 'L' word" was mentioned.
"But I still don't believe that I got. . ." She looked around then mumbled
"wet".
I licked my lips, getting an embarrassed smile as I chose my words.
"Well. I. have also. gotten. excited. when so restrained."
She looked at me. Seriousness check. Checked out. Yes, I was being
serious. She looked at the wall. I knew her brain jumped into turbo with
that knowledge. She looked back at me, a new amused smile on her face.
"Oh? I'll just have to spring that on you sometime. Hold you down like you
held me down. But you're stronger. You'ld let me tie you down?"
"Yes."
Her mind was still goin'. "And. . . I could do things to you? Tease
you? or do what *I* wanted?"
I bowed my head. "Yes, ma'am. I trust you." Then I looked her in the
eye again.
She smiled. "So I could have the ideal male. Just like the police
force. 'To protect and serve'."
I laughed. "You know what they say. A woman wants a man to satisfy her
every need. A man wants every woman to satisfy his one need."
She laughed.
I continued, covering my back from the obvious extrapolation. "Don't
worry, you quite satisfy me. You? In those white stockings? *sigh*"
Dreamily smiling away was I.
"I don't know why you have this fetish for women's stockings."
I'ld never really thought of it like that before. A fetish. It's not
that I wanted to wear them myself or that I loved them as they laid on the
floor, but on a women's legs, the feel was just sheer. . . magnificence. I
did look at a woman a lot differently if she was wearing them. Even in place
of socks under jeans, not revealing anything more sexual than her ankle. My,
my. Did I like to watch women's legs sheathed in stockings. Yeah. Guess it
is a fetish.
I looked up to Brooke smiling at me. She lifted up her skirt to about
her thighs. "Marc? Imagine my legs in stockings."
I altered the request. "Pantyhose. Less sexual, but easier to imagine.
What color?"
She started slowly listing, with a long pause in between. "Tan." I
stared at her legs, suddenly covered in tan nylon. I felt myself loosen, and
smile.
"Now black." She looked Ok in black. I pictured her with a black formal
dress to match.
"Grey. . " She suddenly aged about 30 years, her legs apparently trying
to look older. It was not the thing for her.
She quickly continued. "Now green." Her legs changed color, but still
just didn't look very good, as if she was half-sea creature. Sorry, I like
my women all-human. This xenophobic streak I guess.
"Blue." I glanced up and down her body. Caucasians look decent in
blue. Not amazing, but decent. Orientals less so.
"Red fishnets." Again I glanced up and down her body. "You SLUT you!"
I kidded her.
"White." My eyes went wide. Yes. Once again, white stockings proved
to excite me. She took note, again smiling sweetly. I knew she had some
plan in mind. Whatever it was, I was SURE looking forward to it!
"White is the color you like best then?" She asked.
"Yeah. Let's see. . . touch of pink? Nope. touch of purple? Nope.
Brightest white you can find would look the best on ya."
"Good. White goes with a lot of the things I like to wear."
"So I noticed." I grinned contentedly.
"Talking about what I like to wear, Halloween is in only a month! And I
don't have a costume yet!" I was glad to see that she was joking.
"No. Really. I usually do have an idea by now. I like to plan ahead,
and I LOVE to dress up for Halloween. I guess it's one of the few times I
could be liberal with my conservative parents. . ." She was suddenly
excited. "I have some pictures of some of past years costumes." She hopped
up, reached up into the closet, and retrieved a photo album.
I gave her an odd glance. "Don't tell me you went as the stereotypical
prostitute costume!"
"Ha! You think my ultra-conservative mother would have let me go out
like that? Ha!"
"You don't seem like you were in the crowd that traded football uniforms
for cheerleader outfits."
Brooke started flipping through the pages. "Nope, never went as a
football player. Not that I could." She pulled in her stomach to accent
that she was tall and thin, most unfootball-like. "or that I ever wanted
to." She mused. "Ha! Here's one!" She placed the open album on my lap, a
triumphant look on her face.
Brooke was . . . Well, whatever you call those Japanese women with the
white painted faces. In real, they were servants or dancers or the like.
She wore a black kimono with a few red, orange and yellow flowering vines
embroidered over it. Her face was painted white, and she wore lipstick and
other makeup over it. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, held back with one
of those leather bands spiked through with a wooden dowel. Seeing the
picture sure don't help an engineer on the terminology. . .
"You look cool." I turned to look at her. "You have a very malleable
face." I quickly stammered a clarification before she replied to what I said
rather than what I meant. "I mean, your face can look like quite a few
things. You can look oriental, or you can look caucasian."
She smiled in reply. "I know what you meant. A Geisha girl was a
natural. My family had the Japanese kimono, it was my mother's. An aunt had
given me the authentic. . . well, it's a Thai hair holder. People only
notice it's Oriental."
She took the album back and flipped through it. She started to mutter.
"There's the winter. . . There's High School graduation. And moving in. . ."
Again, the look of triumph flashed across her face. "Here's Freshman year!",
handing the album back to me.
Brooke was apparently sneaking back into some woods, looking back over
her shoulder at the photographer, with an odd half scared-caught, and half
seductive look on her face. She was dressed in a green blouse, with a brown
vest covering it. She wore a forest green mini-skirt, and brown elven boots.
I call them elven boots. They are suade pull-on boots that have the tops
folded over. Popular a few years ago, but fads come and go. "You make for
quite a seductive elf." I commented.
"Well, I was a nymph."
"Ok. I guess they were supposed to be sorta seductive."
"Do you recognise where the picture was taken?"
I looked at it again. "Nope."
She looked at the picture again. "No, I guess you couldn't. It was
taken behind Ellicott."
"Oh."
She continued flipping through the pages. "And. . . This is last
Halloween."
I could barely recognise her in this one. She was in gypsy garb. A
garish yellow, red, and blue striped shawl, covered her head, matching her
tattered green, pink and yellow dress only in garishness. The bottom end of
her dress was not only tattered, but tilted. The foot long tatters ran from
her shin on her left to her low thigh on her right. A silver anklet adorned
with bells graced her ankle. Besides the anklet, the rest of her jewelry was
gold and garish. Her fingernails were long, with the remnants of nailpolish
showing in places. Her face looked as if it hadn't been washed in quite some
time. "My, you sure do look the part, like you actually WERE from
Yugoslavia. You look cool in these, but there's no funky clothes for guys.
They just aren't made."
"I'm sure you got SOME 'funky' clothes that we can make a costume out
of." She started going through my drawers.
She picked the top drawer, and opened it. Socks on the right. Bland
and boring. They're all totally white. Long story. Men's white jockey
underwear on the left. And some color behind. Ut-oh.
She pulled out my baby blue pair of bikini underwear, holding it up in
triumph. "My! I think THIS can go with something." She said rather
appreciatively, tossing it onto the bed beside me. Let's see what other
goodies you have!
She reached in and pulled out a pile of sheepskin and nylon straps.
Ut-oh. She held it up, looking it over. Turning it over. Bending the
straps. Trying to find out which body part it may fit. She finally gave up.
"Marc? Just what IS this?"
Ut-oh. "Uh. Medical restraints."
She looked them over again. "Just what do they restrain?"
"Wrists."
She moved around the straps a bit. One cuff was on her wrist, the other
she managed only to entangle. "What"
I wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. Then I realized that
I had an embarrassed grin on my face.
She surprised me. "Show me." She said, holding out the restraints.
I took them and lifted up one of her wrists, then let it go. She held
it there. She actually wanted me to! I wrapped the first cuff around her
wrist, threading the velcro strap through the ring, and folding it over,
velcroing it closed. The second one fastened with a nylon strap and teeth
closure.
She lifted each hand, examining how they fastened. Perhaps "enthralled"
would be a better term. She tugged on each one. Then, content that they
were properly secure, she held her arms out to me. "Ok."
"Take 'em off?"
She looked at me surprised. "You haven't showed me how to put them
TOGETHER yet."
"Ok." I threaded one strap from the right hand through the loop on the
left, then through the ring on the right, and pulled it tight. When I held
the two straps apart, she twisted and pulled, but couldn't quite weasel out
of them. "Well, actually, they'ld be like this." I pulled the straps behind
her, one in each direction. This held her hands right at waist level. I
twisted the straps around my hand, holding them together. She twisted and
pulled some more, then, content that she couldn't squirm out of this setup
either, she craned her head down to look at how I had her.
A satisfied look grew across her face. She bent over, placing a kiss on
my cheek. I smiled. She bent around the other way, and placed a kiss on my
other cheek. Then a kiss right on my lips. She looked me in the eye. I
kissed her back. And stayed there. Her lips parted. My tongue lashed forth
toward the gap, licking around and around her lips. They licked on her upper
gums for a while, sliding side to side. Maritza taught me a few things.
Men AND women love that one. Did it get her passionate! She started
moaning, and her tongue went on the offensive against my mouth, which was
welcoming the surprise assault.
Brooke was always a quick learner. She slid her tongue against my gums
like I did to her. She wrapped her arms around me. Oh yeah. I must have
let the straps to her arms go sometime. I must have had more important
things to do. I reached to the back of her head, slid under her hair,
massaging her head and giving us more lip to lip pressure. I guess she liked
it, since I soon felt a pair of hands on the back of my head doing the same.
One of my hands slid down to her back, pressing her breasts up against
my chest. Her breasts felt wonderful. She must have thought so too, because
she pressed against me all the harder. She purred contentedly. We squeezed
each other, in a vain attempt to enter the other's body, but enjoying as
close as we could get. We hugged and snuggled, each of us enjoying the
company of the person so close nearby.
She smiled at me. "Marc, you're really special. I trust you. I love
you."
The next two weeks bring back rather sad memories. It was time for the
first barrage of tests. We studied a bit together for Shakespeare. At work,
I was doing homeworks and studying for the other tests. Brooke was just
barraged with work. I felt sorry for her.
When the tests were returned, it was a bad sight. Both Brooke and I did
reasonable - we each got B's. She beat me by a point. On my other tests,
I got C+'s. She did not fare as well. As the tests came back, she sometimes
got this faraway, mourning look on her face. She wasn't really into things
as she used to be. Even her dancing was lacking. She got rather depressing.
"Brooke, there's nothing you can do about them now. You can pick up
your average."
"Yeah. I know. I know. But I really SHOULD have done better. If I
had only thought about a lot of them, I would have done a lot better. And
you can't take re-tests. None of the grades are dropped. I'm stuck with
them. And what really brings it home? My classmates ask me what I got.
They tell me what they got, and think that since I'm Oriental, I'm
mega-smart. Then I tell them, and they APOLOGIZE for asking. I see how much
better everyone else is doing. You know, I really wonder if I can make the
cut. Am I good enough? Right now, I'm not so sure."
I looked at her. Unsure what to say. She stared out the window. A
tear ran down her cheek. There really was nothing that I *could* say. I
wiped the tear from her face. For an instant, she was less sad, but sank
back into the sorrow from whence this came.
She was unresponsive to my touches. She had a faraway look in her eye
all the time. Her bad grades were really bothering her. My smiles did
little to bring her up. She wasn't interested in sex anymore. She wasn't as
interested in me or anything else as much as she used to be. What could I
do?
I went to meet Brooke at the usual time, 5:00, right after Energy
Systems. I picked her up to go to eat every Monday, Wednesday and Friday,
same bat-time, same bat-channel, same bat-place. Then we usually hung out
and "studied." We had to study Shakespeare often and for long periods of
time due to. . . due to the low density of study time in the study/chat
mixture. There ya go. I knocked on Brooke's door. Brooke's voice came from
inside "Who is it?"
"Marc." No witty answer came to mind, she rarely asked who it was.
The door opened. Before me stood a gorgeous woman. Sexy as all hell.
A black spandex top covered only about the area of a bra. It covered as well
as a coat of paint. She wore black fishnet stockings. Her skirt was so
short that the garters were visible! Was that skirt, or was it a belt?
I was flabbergasted. "Don't tell me you're planning to go to DINNER looking
like that!"
She smiled at me sweetly. "Who said anything about going out?"
She took my hand, led me into her room, shutting the door behind me.
I was so shocked that I walked after her like in a trance. She led me over
toward her bed, then turned around so that we were facing each other, the
back of my legs against the bedframe.
We looked each other in the eye. She was smiling sweetly. Then her
smile started to droop. "Ooommmm!" Her lips reached out and smacked mine,
bowling me over onto the bed.
Coming from conservative Brooke, this was absolutely shocking. I was
stunned. Her lips assaulted my face. Kissing. And licking. And sucking.
And kissing my cheek. Again. And again. Her breasts pressed into my chest.
I reached down, grasping her about her waist. She smiled at me. What
was up with her? I KNEW what was up with me, and since it was so obvious
under my jeans, I'm sure she knew what was up as well. She smiled sweetly as
she reached to pull away her comforter. White satin showed underneath. We
shimmied onto it.
I grasped her about her waist with both hands, and our kissing resumed.
My tongue lashed forth into her mouth. She suddenly stopped and backed off.
"Oh, no you don't Marc!" I was confused. Totally clueless.
She reached down and grabbed one of my wrists. I let her guide it up.
She pulled out one of my cuffs from under the sheet! I was stunned! She
wrapped the cuff around my wrist, properly securing it closed. Then she
guided the other wrist up, pulling out the other cuff from the other side of
the bed, wrapped it around my wrist, and fastened it closed. It was then
simplicity for her to bind my hands to the metal bar that served as a
headboard for the bed.
It was then that I struggled. I didn't want to spoil her fun. 'er. . .
OUR fun. I struggled, but I was securely bound. She straddled my hips and
smiled triumphantly down at me. "You said you liked it. So it's now YOUR
turn to be the helpless one. The one that someone uses."
"Yes. It is." Came my meek reply.
"And you'ld better keep your legs down, or else I'll TIE them down. I
did borrow your clothesline. I hope you don't mind." Her voice was
confident, more like Brooke used to be. She KNEW that I didn't mind, and
that if I would have, I was surely not in a position to express it.
Brooke then got a sudden fascination with my chest. She slid my T-shirt
up my chest and over my head, and started stroking my bare chest, running her
palms down, and then letting her fingernails drag on the way up. I started
breathing harder and faster. Normally what Brooke was doing would be
relaxing. But I had a less sudden fascination with Brooke's chest. They
looked wonderful though the spandex top. Brooke smiled at me, and leaned
over to rum up and down my arms.
I craned my neck up and stuck my tongue out to lick that wonderful chest
of hers right through her top. She leaned back away from me, insulted.
"Marc! How DARE you do that! Put your head down!"
I was still trying to reach her breasts, NOW a safe few feet out of my
grasp. She told me again. "Marc, put your head down." After I finally came
to my wits enough to do so, she continued. "Now DON'T you be doing that.
Close your mouth." I did so, and she continued. "Now KEEP it closed. And
DON'T move your head." She leaned over to rum my arms again. Slowly she
went down. Her spandex-clad breasts came but inches from my face. And then
slowly up. But I did not move. She went slowly down again. This time, her
breasts stopped but one inch from my face. A moan escaped my lips. Slowly
she rose, a triumphant look in her eye. A third time she dipped, slowly
down. "Don't move." She intoned. Her breasts came closer. And closer. And
they touched. Another moan escaped. She started to rub the spandex around
my face. And I couldn't move! Moans were coming steady, and I was almost
crying from the desire. She rubbed the sleek spandex up my chin, over a
cheek, on the other cheek. I wanted SO much to take hold of them and suck
them!
"You may move, but don't lick." I happily muzzled my face between her
breasts, sliding across them, feeling the spandex on my cheeks, nose,
forehead, lips, anywhere I could feel it. And it felt so wonderful!
She flashed me one of those "Ha! I got you" smiles. "Marc?" She asked.
Ut-oh. What did I do? She reached down to my cock. I had significantly
bulged off of the bed to press against her.
"What have we here? That belongs DOWN." She stroked my cock down,
making it spring up all the more. She shimmied down on the bed, straddling
my knees. She undid the clasp to my jeans, pulling them down to my shins.
As she sat, one of my knees slid under her dress. She wasn't wearing any
panties. She just replied "You like?" to my astonished smile.
As I opened my mouth to reply, she gave cock a loving stroke. All that
came out of my mouth was a gasp. She smiled, stroking my cock down through
my underwear. She slid my underwear off, down to my shins, then asked again.
"I asked, do you like it when I dress up like this for you? I KNOW how much
it excites you." I opened my mouth, and her tongue darted across the tip of
my erect member. I gasped again. She continued to stroke me. With her
sitting on my knees, I couldn't buck into her at all, much as I tried. So
frustrating! I loved it!
She suddenly stopped and smiled. She got up, and grabbed something off
her desk. "Marc, it's time for dinner." Dinner? What did she have in mind?
Did she make something? or was she going to make me eat her? Or could she
finish me off first? She took a hold of my erect member, and held up one of
those elastic hair bands that you find everywhere. She wrapped it three
times around the base of my cock. It ended up looking like a cross between a
penis and a ponytail. "That should keep it until I'm done eating." Just
what DID she have in mind? She knelt over, rubbing her spandexed breasts in
my face as she released my hands. She nodded to my clothes. "Get dressed,
we're going to dinner." With her dressed like THAT? And with my cock this
erect?
I got dressed anyway. The hairband made me very horny though. She
reached into a drawer, and pulled out some spandex shorts, matching the top,
and slid them on. They BARELY covered the fact that the fishnets where held
up by garters, you could still see the bulges.
Brooke led the way down to Richmond cafeteria, the same place that she
worked. I'm happy that she led. I didn't need to look where I was going.
All I had to do was follow those legs as Brooke strutted her stuff. And God
knows that I couldn't take my eyes off of them. She was laying it on, and
with my cock still hard due to the hair band, I was eating it right up. We
walked to the card checker. Same lady who's been there for years was
workin'. Brooke got her meal ticket, walked in, got a tray, silverware,
glasses, went over, got some soup, and sat down at a table in the back,
facing the wall. I was astonished. Brooke NEVER ate soup at U.B. before. She
picked TODAY to do it! She flashed me a innocent "Yes, is anything wrong?"
glance. I went and got my food (or the attempt at food that they serve).
Some mystery pasta and meat dish. F.S.A. can do a decent job with those. I
went and sat down next to her.
She smiled. "You know, every guy in the place is watching me."
I took a quick look around. It was true.
"But Marc? I'm doing this all for you. I know you like it when I dress
like this." I was staring at her breasts. Her hands. And her smile. I
felt a fishnetted foot squirm up my pantleg. And I felt something wanted to
escape from my crotch. But this was public. I sat on my hands to keep them
out of trouble. I couldn't do anything to her until we went back to the room -
as soon as possible. I quickly wolfed down my food. Brooke looked up at
me, as she was just finishing her soup. "Are you done?" She asked.
I wanted nothing more than to have her around my member, squeezing me
tightly at that moment. I was breathing real hard, trying not to be
conspicuous extremely excited with a raging hard-on in a cafeteria. I
managed to speak. "Yes."
"Oh." She seemed dissapointed. Then sadly smiled. "Does that mean you
don't want a salad? I'll be going and getting one for myself anyway?" I
just stared blankly. I wanted something less legit than a salad. She got up
walked a few steps, and turned toward me, "accidentally" lifting her skirt a
bit to show off the spandex shorts. My eyes were riveted to her body. But
this was a cafeteria. Getting her salad, she looked at me. I was obviously
staring. She smiled. She knew what she was doing to me, and she was PROUD
of it. That turned me on more than anything else! She loved me, and liked
to turn me on! If I could have had any physical contact. A hand. A breast.
Her sex. I would have gone over the edge in a second. I was fated to walk
the fine line right below orgasm. She had me.
She came back with her salad. Sliced it up, and took a bite. "This is
pretty good." She seemed surprised. This was a public place, I shouldn't
put my hands on her breasts. She took another bite. Her lips and tongue
lingered on the fork playfully. She almost laughed. She looked down toward
my crotch. "Oh gee. That. . . must be awfully uncomfortable. I'll have to
take another look at it later." Richmond cafeteria is no place for sex. She
held up a bite and continued. "Oh, would you like to try a bite?" I opened
my mouth. She inserted the salad. I had such a hopeful, desperate, even
pleading look on my face. She knew it, and she was proud. I must have eaten
the salad, but my mind was on something else.
Finally, every last bit of the salad was gone. Good. Now we can go.
I'm going to. . . She stood up. Good. I stood up. She looked at me. "Oh.
Marc? Do you want any seconds?"
"No, that's ok." I wanted firsts of something else.
"Oh. 'Cause I'm going for my meal now." That one hit me like a load of
bricks. It's not over. She's going to make me suffer. More. She looked at
me all innocent, all smiles. I gave her a pleading puppy-dog face. She
smiled all the more. She turned around, and strutted off for her food,
knowing that I was watching her all the way. I quickly changed my mind about
seconds. The closer I could be to that wonderful sight, the better.
I ran up behind her standing in line. "You like?" She asked. I
managed to gasp out a "Yes." She smiled. "Good.", turning and giving me a
sappy hug. Pressing her breasts against me. And. . Yes! She took my bulge
in her hand, gently but firmly pressing it down. It felt SO good! Is there
anywhere private within a 15 second dash of Richmond Cafeteria? No. I'll
have to wait. She parted from me with a purr. To the outside observer, it
looked like a normal hug. To me, it was the sexiest thing she could have
done.
She turned toward the line server. "Lauri, what's up? I'll have the
Roast Beast a jous?"
Lauri laughed. "Ok. What's up with the sexy outfit?"
"Lauri, this is my boyfriend Marc. Marc, this is Lauri." We nodded to
each other, Lauri with a knowing happy look on her face. The other line
server looked at Brooke, looked at me, flashed me a thumbs-up, and looked
back at Brooke. Yeah dude, she does look hot. I got just rice. I was a lot
more interested in Brooke than in eating. Or eating Brooke. Was this wasn't
the place. We had to get back to the room SOON!
When we had gotten back to the table, there was nobody within two or
three tables of us. Brooke spoke up. "I really like the feel of this top.
The way that the spandex compresses my boobs." She slid her hands across
them for effect. This is no place for french kissing OR disrobing someone
else. I stared at her, then starting a gasping streak again, almost sobbing
with my desire.
Brooke continued to eat. I finished my rice in the time that it took
her to even slice her "Roast Beast". She was taking her time. She looked up
at me. "Yes, I'm protected." I wanted her so so bad, and she was staying
here! "You know Marc, I really like doing this to you." My eyes were
unfocusing at this point. I started to shudder. She placed a hand on my
hand, and a foot firmly on my foot, in an attempt to calm me. "Not yet. Not
yet. All in due time."
She was finally done with her meal! She stood up, took her tray, and
walked! I kept my eyes on her. She put her tray on the conveyor. And then
went for ice cream! No! I stood by the dirty dish conveyor, helpless in my
desire, watching her reach over the cart to scoop up some vanilla ice cream
for her cone. She had amazing legs. The fishnets? As they stretched?
That's nice. So so nice. She walked back, triumphantly. She looked me in
the eye, licking her cone. Just like it could be on my aching hard. . . We
gotta get back to the room!
I led the way. She slowly strolled along after me, slowing me down, her
glances warning me against pulling her after me. She was just strolling! I
turned around to face her. She stopped, and started to straighten her
stockings, and smoothed her miniskirt. The bulge in my pants must have been
unmistakable to anyone who passed by.
We finally arrived at her room. She slowly took out the key and
unlocked and opened the door. I burst in, and turned around to look at her.
She stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, and looked me in the eye. "I
want you bound on the bed, otherwise you can just walk back to your room
right now." A pleading puppy-dog face didn't change her mind. She was
serious. I had no choice. I had to have her. I ripped off my clothes, laid
down on the satin sheets, and grabbed the metal handcuffs.
She shook her head no. "But what about your legs, Marc dear?" I
grabbed the clothesline, bent over and was about to grab my cock, still
straining against the hair band. "Marc, no. That's for me." I was like in
a trance. I did what she asked, for she had what I needed. I tied my legs
together, and then to the bed. She nodded her head in approval. I quickly
handcuffed my hands to the metal bar over my head. I was quite restrained.
She walked over to me. I was gasping, sobbing, and shaking, on the edge
of an orgasm. She lightly touched my cock, starting to send me over the
edge. And she stopped. "Marc? Who do you love?"
I tried answering the best I could. Looking back, the best it could
have been was an incoherent babble. "Brooke. I. Brooke. Love. I. Yu.
Broo. Lo. Broo." She stroked me again, and I was so far over the edge. I
spurted while still babbling on, trying in vain to have a four word sentence
make sense.
When I "came to", I was STILL sex crazed. I was still hard. And Brooke
was still downright gorgeous. I reached up to grasp her breasts. Oh. And I
was still handcuffed to the bed.
"You've been a good boy Marc."
"Thank you."
She smiled at me, and slid her fishnets up and down my leg. I liked the
feel. Not as good as sheer stockings, but a nice feel. And then she slid
her spandex shorts up and down my cock. The shivers returned. I squirmed.
The satin sheets felt just as sheer. "You have been a good boy." She took
off the shorts. She took my member in her hand, gently rubbing it up and
down her clit.
I began babbling again, straining for coherency, urging her to let me
in. She smiled, and slowly slid on top of me. Then sliding out. The
smoothness was exquisite, and she was pretty wet. We slammed our privates
together, the heat of passion showing. . . well, suffice to say it was
indeed marvelous. Well, except that I came again too soon. She just looked
too damn hot! When the fog cleared, I apologized. "Sorry."
She smiled down at me confused. "For what?"
"Coming too soon. You can't go over if I don't stay hard."
"I love you anyway. I love this anyway. I love cuddling. And Marc?
You know that hair band?" She squeezed me. I was still hard. But my cock
didn't quite feel right yet. It takes some time between. "Not yet.
Please."
"Ok. Whenever." My, my, my. Brooke was SUCH an understanding lover.
She bent over, and took the pillow from under my head. She lifted her clit,
and not to fall out, I arched up to stay inside. She slid the pillow under
me, then sat down. I was FAR into her with the pillow as support. I was
ready. I flexed my one muscle. This gave her a gasp. She smiled, leaned
over, pressing the spandex into my face, and unlocked my hands. My hands
shot up, caressing and playing with her breasts. One went to lay on her lap,
to massage her legs. Maritza's legs always tightened up on top, and I wanted
this to last as long as possible. The feel of the fishnets was arousing.
I was not as into it as usual. I'ld just had 2 orgasms in the past few
minutes. This time was for her. She deserved it.
I massaged her breasts, tweaked her nipples, even gave her slit a flick
or two. Her breathing stopped. Then a gasp. And a shudder. She slowed
down her bounces on me. I redoubled my efforts, plunging into her sweet
wetness. Her breathing stopped, and she tensed.
This time is was her that babbled. "No more! No more! No more!
Please! Please! No more! Please! No." I immediately stopped leaning up to
grasp her. We lay in a hug, both of us panting. No words needed to be said.
We just layed there. After about half an hour, she untied my feet. We layed
there for a while longer, basking in the post-sexual glow.
She looked over at me. "Marc?"
"Yeah?"
"I have an idea for Halloween. A joint costume. Like a duet. But I
want to keep it a surprise."
"Uh. Ok."
"Marc? Tell me. Would you go as anything? Dress up as ANYTHING for
ONE night? For me?"
"Now with someone THAT beautiful, that gorgeous, that I love so much,
HOW could I say 'no?'"
She tilted her head down and smiled. "Thank you."
I would have done ANYTHING to improve her spirits.
Matt