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How did I get myself into this mess?
There I was, leaned over the side of her bed, legs spread wide, bound and blindfolded. I could hardly move, could barely even squirm. She’d put these bondage cuffs on my wrists and ankles; ones that had metal fasteners to either be clipped together or restrained to something else.
And restrained, I most definitely was. She’d guided me to the bed, drunk and horny, and had maneuvered me into this mess. She’d stretched me forward, sprawled me over the bed and locked my bondage cuffs together and to something on the other side. My ankles were spread wide and bound to the bed posts via thick cords. I was completely helpless, completely at her mercy.
She played with my ass, fingering it, loosening it for the fucking to come.
It just doesn’t work like this, damn it! Men do the fucking. Women get fucked. That’s the way of life. But apparently, no one had informed her of this universal rule. I was so nervous and scared and wanted to beg off the whole thing, but something kept me silent. Something let the ass play continue and let the fucking to come draw closer. I was horny. In fact, I was so rock hard it hurt.
How the fuck did I get myself into this mess?
* * *
Like many episodes of exploration, experimentation, and discovery, this one started in college. I came to college with two very achievable goals in my minds: getting my degree and getting laid. The first was normal enough. Computer science seemed as good a degree as any, and I’d had some light programming classes in high school. So, get a degree, get a job, make tons of money. The American dream, right?
And then there was the second goal. I wasn’t exactly sure how to pursue that one. Several unfortunate and demoralizing incidents throughout my high school days had made me quite socially passive. As embarrassing as it was to admit, I was still a virgin. Nineteen and still a virgin! How pathetic.
But, I was going to rectify that inadequacy! . . . somehow . . .
Back in high school, my problem had been my personality. I was very studious and unfortunately rather introverted. Most people mistook this as snobbish and uptight, which was so not true!
But I soon discovered that in college those problems weren’t nearly as prevalent. Most of the worthless chaff in life either didn’t make it to college, or got cut out of it early on. Bonus! Those that were left seemed much more like me than any clique in high school. I was sure I could find a group of friends to fit in with, preferably one with plenty of attractive young ladies in it (naturally).
I met Teresa (her friends called her Tessa) early in the first semester. What can I say, she was hot. Her body was beautifully proportioned, not exactly voluptuous, but slim and athletic. I learned later that she’d been both a gymnast and a ballerina growing up. She had this wonderful hourglass figure, silken blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. The oval black-rimmed glasses she wore gave her a wonderful air of sophistication and intellect.
Quiet and subdued, she was almost always smiling, as if the world at large delighted her. She was such a sweet and innocent thing, almost angelic, when I thought about it. Perfect. Absolutely perfect! Now I just had to build up the courage to talk to her (and find an opening when our calculus professor wasn’t droning on).
A perfect innocent angel. That was my first impression.
Man, was I off the mark.
She’d chosen to wear her exquisite hair in a ponytail today, held in place with an intricate clasp. She’d wore this one before, a genuine silver article . . . probably awfully expensive. The clasp had these strange designs on it, almost like waves in an ocean, and strategically placed little green gems. I wondered how wealthy her family was, and if possibly this would make her look down on me. My family was pretty middle-class.
How did I know all of this about the clasp? Because I spent fifty minutes every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday staring at the back of her head, that’s how.
The professor was late today. I later found out that he’d gotten a ticket for speeding. Good old traffic patrol. If they can catch you going 30 in a 25, they will. I made a mental note not to oink the next time I passed one of their cruisers. Delaying the professor definitely fell into the category of public service.
However, I had more important matters to consider than where my calc prof was. My mind busily tried to conjure up some excuse to start talking to Tessa. I opened my calc book, rifled through it, glanced through my notes. Nothing was really coming to mind. I should have left some of the practice problems undone. That way, I could have asked for her help . . .
Hmmm . . . I looked down at the last problem in my notebook, gripped the top of the page, and began to pull it out along the perforated edge.
I got about halfway through when Tessa turned around.
“Uhh canlı bahis şirketleri . . .” I so wish I could think faster on my feet.
“Got a minute?” she asked sweetly. She had this intoxicating grin on her face, and somehow, just by looking at me, she made me feel as if I had put it there. Total tripe, of course, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.
“Uhh . . . sure,” I said, recovering as best I could. “What do you need?”
Tessa adjusted her posture in her seat, swinging her bare legs over the side and crossing them. She set her notebook on my desk and turned it so I could read it. Wow. Her handwriting was so neat, way better than the scribbled notes and half-thoughts in my notebook.
“This one. I’m having a lot of trouble with it.”
I looked at the problem. My first reaction was you’re having a lot of trouble with that one? . . . but I didn’t say anything. I’m not that much of an idiot.
The problem dealt with deriving of the kinematics equations for position, speed, and acceleration. Not very tough for anyone who’s had a physics class. I explained it as best I could. The problem was actually a good one to teach, since it had so many practical applications. Anyone could mentally grasp position, velocity, and acceleration, and the problem demonstrated how those three equations where related mathematically.
“Wow . . . that really cleared things up. How about you teach the class instead of Herr Langeweile?”
What the? Herr Langeweile . . .?
She must have seen the confusion written on my face.
Well, I pretty much figured out that part from the “Herr.”
“Langeweile means boredom.”
“Ah! Okay. I get it now,” I said, then gave her a courtesy laugh for the effort.
“Didn’t you take a foreign language in high school?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, thinking through my words before speaking. I didn’t want the situation to deteriorate, especially after having such a promising start. “I took Italian. Don’t remember a thing.”
Tessa smiled sweetly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It was pretty vague.”
“I’m sure if I understood German, it would have been very funny,” I said and that got a polite chuckle for my effort. Sweet.
We spent the rest of the class chatting about this and that, though mostly about our classes. We exchanged names officially, though I already knew hers “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Teresa, but my friends call me Tessa.” She was a computer science major, just like me, starting out this semester, just like me. I thought it was odd I didn’t see her in more classes, but then, we both had a lot of useless non-computer-science classes to get out of the way. She was actually taking Fencing this semester as one of her Phys Ed requirements.
“Keeps me in shape,” she said. Oh, it certainly did.
The class ended with the professor never showing. I normally grabbed a bite to eat after this class and asked her if she wanted to join me over at the Food Court.
“Sure!” she said, sounding so deliciously delighted.
The Food Court had a McDonald’s, a Pizza Hut, and a Starbucks. The three basic food groups: fast food, pizza, and coffee. I grabbed a personal pizza and a Sprite while she got some Starbucks coffee and something to dunk with. We met up at a table secluded in one corner of the Court.
I set my backpack down and let out a sigh of relief. Damn, that thing could be heavy.
We talked some more and the topics became more personal. Where are you from? What brought you here? Why Computer Science? Do you have a scholarship? Which one? Where are you staying?
“Oh, I stay with a friend,” Tessa said. “We have an apartment on the campus outskirts. It’s just a short walk away. Really convenient.”
A friend, huh? That was rather vague. I needed to find out the gender on this one before proceeding. “So do you and her split the cost?”
“Oh, no. She takes care of that. Her family’s really well off. I think they’re multimillionaires, actually.”
She had an apartment paid for in full by someone else? And here I was, stuck in a noisy (and sometimes smelly) dormitory? I’ll admit it, I was jealous. If only I had a rich friend to bunk with, and if that rich friend were a hot young lady, well, Bonus.
At least her friend was female. I really hated conversations that go like this: “So, what are you doing this weekend?” “Oh, I’ll be having sex with my boyfriend. Buzz off.”
Not that I’d actually had conversations quite that bad, but close. Very close.
Well, now or never. That’s what I told myself. Now or never.
“So . . . you doing anything this weekend?” I asked.
“Oh . . . this and that . . .” she said. Very non-committal. But she did smile at me, making eye contact with those deep blue eyes of hers. She had this mischievous glint in those eyes. Not at all innocent or angelic.
Have I mentioned that first impressions can be deceiving?
I continued on. If I was going canlı kaçak iddaa down, it might as well be in a glorious ball of fire. “How about dinner and a movie this Saturday?”
“Hmmm . . . thanks, but no thanks. I have plans this weekend. Maybe some other time.”
There was that damnable line again. “Maybe some other time.” I do so despise that line. Why can’t girls just tell it to you straight? Why do they have to hide behind these pathetic word games that string you on and leave things ambiguous?
Little did I know that Tessa, the sweet-innocent-beautiful-and-smart girl of my dreams, actually meant what she said. What a concept.
* * *
I met and talked with Tessa a lot after that first meeting. We’d chat up each other before class and meet up at the Food Court after we’d had our brains wracked by another bout of Calculus. It certainly helped that she was often the one asking me about the problems.
I kept up a steady chatty attitude towards her, trying to see if it was the right moment to ask again. She had said maybe some other time. I mean, the ladies of the world couldn’t all be liars? Right?
Slowly, it seemed like my efforts were paying off. She began to open up, to let her hair down, so to speak. Even if she wasn’t going to let me into her pants, at least we were becoming good friends. I guess that’s a consolation prize of some sort. A pretty sucky one, but oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers.
So, it was a complete surprise when she said: “My friend’s taking off for the weekend, so I’ve got absolutely nothing to do.”
Yeah, that’s right. Tessa almost always spent the weekends hanging or club-hopping with her friend. Her friend Quinn. What kind of a name for a girl is Quinn anyway? It sounds like a boy’s name.
When I discovered that bit, I went on-line and did a little searching, just to make sure Tessa wasn’t playing some sort of joke on me. It turns out we were both right. Quinn is both a boy name and girl name with Irish and Gaelic origins. It means “counsel.” At least, that’s what ThinkBabyNames.com has to say about it.
The Internet. It’s so much more than just free porn. Gotta love it.
“So . . .” I started cautiously. Tessa was presenting me with an invitation and I most certainly didn’t want to botch it. “Nothing to do?”
“Nope. Not a thing.”
“Well . . . how about dinner and a movie with me?”
She shook her head. “Nah, there’s nothing good out.”
I made a few suggestions, but she shot them all down.
“Those are all such guy movies. I don’t feel like sitting through two and a half hours of mindless explosions.”
“Actually, some of them have pretty good plots too,” I ventured, getting a little desperate.
“Oh, please,” Tessa said, but I could tell she was still in good humor. She was just toying with me, which was fine as long as I got the date in the end.
I decided to toss the ball back in her court. “So, if not a movie, then what?”
“Hmmm . . .” she made a good act of thinking it over. I was pretty sure she already had something picked out. “You ever been to the Green Lounge?”
“Ahh . . . no, can’t say that I have.”
“It’s a dance club. A pretty good one. Good music. Good drinks. Plus they don’t card college students. Well, not too often.”
Dancing. Great. Just fucking great.
“I take it you don’t have a fake ID yet?”
Yet? “Ahh . . . no. No, I haven’t gotten one . . . yet.”
“See! It’s perfect, then!”
Yeah. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
But what else could I say but: “Yeah. Sounds like fun,” while doing my best to feign interest. “Alright then.”
We set a time and she gave me directions to the club. I had twenty-seven hours to learn how to dance. Otherwise, I had twenty-seven hours (plus a few minutes) until I made an absolute fool of myself.
The things we men do for something hot, wet, and tight. I tell you, are we all insane or something?
Don’t answer that.
I spent the whole next day fretting over the whole thing, getting so nervous I had to chew a few Tums tablets to settle my stomach down. Back at the dorm, I looked through my wardrobe for something club-appropriate.
But there was a problem. I had no idea what club-appropriate meant for this particular club, and I hadn’t asked Tessa. Stupid, stupid David. Oh well, how tough could it be?
I settled on a pair of black slacks (with only one unsightly wrinkle from my luggage, but they were black and the club should be dark, right?) and also picked out a dark green button-down shirt. There’s no way I could possibly pull off suave and debonair, so I figured I could try to look classically well-dressed.
Plus, it was that or blue jeans and a t-shirt. Or rummaging through the laundry bag for something dressier. Oh yeah, either of those would make great impressions.
I showed up almost twenty minutes early. She showed up fifteen minutes late. But it was canlı kaçak bahis worth every minute.
Tessa wore a tight red shirt that left her midriff bare, along with a very short black shirt that hugged her hips oh-so-nicely. Her silhouette and the glimpses of pale flesh reminded me of just how fit and toned her body was. She’d applied a little more makeup than usual, accentuating her eyes and lips and making her look damn sexy.
“Did you wait long?” she asked apologetically, pushing some of her blonde silky hair back. She’d worn it loose today, and it somehow made her look sexy, appealing, and willing.
“Nah. I was actually running a bit late myself. I’ve only been here a few minutes,” I said and this seemed to make her happy. That whole “honesty is the best policy” can take a back seat to “must get me some of that” any day.
The club had a bouncer that let Tessa in without a word but stopped me and requested my ID. Oh shit. I had one, but it showed the wrong age for this sort of club.
“Oh, he’s with me today,” Tessa said, all sweet and innocent.
The bouncer gave her a polite nod and let me in. “Of course. My apologies,” he added as we entered the club. I was a bit surprised by the whole episode, but didn’t really give it much thought. In fact, with the music slamming so hard I could feel it in my chest, there really wasn’t room for an internal monologue.
Tessa ordered some drinks and I got to work on developing a nice confidence-enhancing buzz. I was going to need it tonight.
We sat at the bar and chatted for a while about absolutely nothing, nursing our drinks. Tessa seemed way more at ease than me. The alcohol assisted in clearing that out, but that didn’t mean I was ready to start making a fool of myself. Still, Tessa insisted and eventually dragged me out onto the dance floor.
It really wasn’t all that bad. The place was packed and people were bumping and grinding into each other constantly, sometimes making room for a particularly capable dancer or couple. Mostly, it involved a lot of really loud music and a bunch of half-drunk people gyrating up against each other. That, I could manage.
We took a few breaks to liquor up, then danced some more. Drank then danced. Danced, then drank. I had a real solid buzz going, but I was still mostly coherent. Tessa had loosened up nicely and was starting to get kind of giggly.
Eventually we left and I did the gentlemanly duty of escorting her to her apartment. It was within walking distance of the Green Lounge anyway, and I had to metabolize some of that alcohol before I even thought of getting behind a wheel.
The apartment turned out to be pretty high-scale stuff, judging from the exterior and the foyer. We took an elevator to the top floor, number thirty. I’d come along with her this far and she hadn’t protested. I figured that if she weren’t interested, she would have let me know at the ground floor.
There were only two rooms on top floor. Both had to be huge to take up the entire floor. Tessa got her key out (which turned out to be a keycard), opened the door, and invited me in. Sweet.
The interior was really high-scale for two college students, but I guess if one of them had money to burn, they could burn it however they wanted. The rooms were spacious and well furnished, but definitely had a feminine edge to them. The colors were, well, not very masculine. Plus, what was with all those dream catchers? Certainly not like my room, with my movie posters adorning the walls, ceiling, and both sides of the door.
I closed the door behind me. It was one of the automatic locking doors you find in hotels.
Tessa set her purse down and gave me this mischievous look. Damn, she looked hot. My cock felt like it was going to explode out of my pants.
She came up to me and our warm horny bodies pressed against each other. We kissed and groped and fondled each other. Her mouth was hot and willing and our tongues twined and played. My repressed erection prodded at her through my pants. There’s no way she could have misinterpreted my interest or intent now.
She broke from our passionate kissing. Her hands settled at my sides. “Come on. The bedroom’s this way.”
Damn, I was so fucking horny, but a part of me was nervous also. I had a feeling that Tessa was experienced. Really, really experienced. I doubted a virgin would be this aggressive to just welcome a guy into her apartment after one date. With very little prodding on my part, I might add.
So much for my innocent angel. Oh well. I’d be happy with hot and horny succubus as an alternate.
The bed turned out to be large with dark wood posters and deep blue satin sheets. Tessa crossed her arms and lifted her shirt up over her head in a single skilled motion. Her nicely rounded, perky breasts were restrained only by a black lacy bra. It looked incredible sexy on her pale well-toned body.
Tessa started to fiddle with the buttons on my shirt. I reached out as she worked, my hands enclosing her narrow waist and sliding up her body. She was so incredibly smooth and soft, but there was an unmistakable firmness to her body. She took pride in her physical condition and it showed.
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