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I Watch You (c)As Always you, I can't pull my eyes off of you. You sit there, in the front row, smiling at our befuddled professor. You cross your legs, smooth silk thigh caressing one another. I watch tiny beads of sweat gather on our teachers brow. Do you have any idea how your flirtations affect me? Probably not, I sit here silently, hating how this man dotes on you. Hating you for letting him see your hard nipples rubbing against that impossibly soft angora sweater. I can tell by the gently movement of your chest that you are braless... but then when have you ever worn a bra to physics class? You pull the hem of your skirt up slightly, pretending to pull an imaginary thread you have found there. He stutters, captivated by your actions, I squirm in my seat, trying to alleviate the pressure that fills my crotch. Somehow I manage to make through the class without screaming at you. How can you act this way? How can you be oblivious to the torture you are inflicting? I gather my books and cram them into my knapsack. I am the first to leave the over heated lecture hall. I need to feel the winter air beating the lust out of me, as I walk across campus to the dining hall. I bury myself in thoughts of your indiscretions, as I stomp my way through the crunching snow. Twilight settles quickly in the January of Massachusetts. I am pushed roughly from behind into the big oak we use to sit under in the fall of our freshman year. Your eyes meet mine, and they mirror the anger and fire I have for you. "Do you like watching him look at me? Does it make you hot, imagining him fucking me?" She accuses/inquires of me in a hiss. I feel tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and she is immediately contrite. She takes my hand and moves it between her legs, my fingers sliding to the wet oven she keeps stoked there. "Don't you know? Why can't you understand? This is for you, my hot cunt, my mouth, my body... the way my nipples ache because they are so hard... all of this is for you." There are desperate tears in her voice as she pleads with me to accept the truth she offers. Small cold fingers work there way between my legs, pushing up the long wool skirt I wear. Insistently, they push away the damp panties they encounter. Icy tendrils of lust slip between my slick cunt lips and I gasp with pleasure. I am enthralled, a deer in the headlights of the feelings she is creating. I forget that we are standing in the middle of the college lawn. I can only concentrate on icy fingers, probing and circling the dripping flesh she has inspired. I pant in delight and panic, short bursts of steam escape my mouth into the darkening winter air. Unbelievable words leave my proper Presbyterian mouth, "Please fuck me, please..." I beg her for release, knowing that in doing so I am forsaking every belief I have been raised with. It may be wrong, I may be going to hell, but right now as her fingers dance on my clit and the cold winter air stings my face, I don't care. And she does fuck me, exploring me quickly, laying claim to territory that she has always desired, but always has been forbidden to her. My legs quiver as I feel burst of heat move between us. My clit is a black hole drawing every ounce of emotion I own down into the epicenter of my lovers touch. As my body jerks in its first true orgasm, her mouth captures mine, sealing our fate. I remember my fingers are still nestled between her labia, and I give her clit a gentle stroke, a promise of what I will learn to do for her. A soft moan of salvation escapes her. And I kiss her full on the mouth in acceptance and admittance that she is my lover.
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