“So we begin to see that languages should be neither too small, nor too large,” said the man on the screen. “Perhaps most importantly, they should be written for growth,” he continued, and I listened intently, watching his lips move, laboring to process his words and develop a summary in my head with which to complete my assignment.
My roommate entered the common room, passing me a cheerful greeting; and I was thankful for the momentary break. She stuck her head in the fridge, bending over to peer inside. I watched her absently, my own mind and body in utter disarray.
“I can’t focus...” I muttered to myself as I glanced back at my computer screen. I had been expending a gratuitous amount of energy trying to stay on task, and it very clearly wasn’t working.
I gave into my thoughts, agreeing with myself that there was no way I was going to get any work done right then. I glanced at the clock on the top bar of my screen eagerly, and checked my phone once more. 10:15; no new messages.
I pulled up an idle window in my browser where I had several tabs open, including a blog run by a domestic sub. I scrolled down the list of archives and opened several new tabs from the list, skimming over the posts, lost in my own disorganized thoughts.
I peeked up at the clock again. 10:20. Time was crawling.
I felt a curious sensation of despair. How long could I keep this up? I wasn't used to feeling so damn anxious.
I squirmed a bit, becoming freshly aware of the wetness forming on my compression pants. They were black, with a curved stripe of fuchsia beginning at the knee, running halfway down and around the back of my calves, where the pants ended. I had admired myself in the mirror earlier. These pants really did make my legs and ass look fantastic. It was no wonder she had instructed me to wear them for her, along with a blue and white Under Armour sports bra to fit my 34DD breasts. I had finished the outfit with a simple black camisole, as per her wishes, and I had to say that I looked damn good, with each piece of fabric hugging my athletic figure.
Remembering how she had chosen my outfit for her own viewing pleasure; feeling the fabric of my pants creating light friction against my bare pussy as I moved; feeling anxious to please her with my dutiful execution of her direction; I was completely overcome by anticipation.
My phone dinged as I received a text. “on campus, come downstairs. I don't want to have to wait on you.”
I hopped up instantly off the couch, shutting my screen and leaving my computer on the coffee table. There would be time to put it away later.
I padded eagerly to my room in a half jog. Grabbed my keys, pocketed my phone. Glanced around for my flip-flops, remembering that I had left them in the closet by the door when I had visited my parents over the weekend. No time for socks and shoes. I grabbed the sweatshirt hanging from my office chair, and tossed it on as I flicked the lights off and bolted out of my room.
I raced out the front door of the apartment, grabbing my parking permit off its hook as I went, turning the bolt lock to keep the door from shutting all the way; I half ran, half hopped down four flights of stairs.
Slowing as I reached the door that led to the parking lot behind my building, I pushed it open and glanced around timidly. My heart was racing, my mind a confused jumble of excited thoughts.
I didn’t see her.
I hesitated for a moment before stepping outside onto the raw pavement in my bare feet. It was COLD out. Barely above freezing. But she had warned me not to keep her waiting.
I padded to the edge of the sidewalk, eyes scanning the parking lot for signs of her car. I glanced at the street in time to see her pull in.
She motioned at me impatiently, and I rushed to the passenger side door and let myself in.
She drove forward, turning into the next aisle, looking for a spot.
“Hi!” I said shyly, voice edged with excitement and anxiety.
“Hi,” she returned, pulling into a spot. “Do you have the permit?” she demanded, turning to look at me.
“Mhm!” I nodded enthusiastically and hung the green pass on her rearview mirror.
“Good girl.” she said shortly.
I turned to look at her, my face written in an ambivalent mixture of longing and humble shyness. She looked back at me passively, displaying a hint of teasing faux-inquisitiveness, as if she had no idea what I was thinking.
“Can I kiss you?” I whispered after a long moment, my voice betraying my eagerness.
“No,” she replied curtly, getting out of the car. “Come here,” she summoned. “Carry my things.”
She loaded me up with a suitcase, a jacket, and several grocery bags full of mysterious items; and then took off towards my building, carrying her backpack as she went.
I followed, struggling to catch up. She paused at the outer door and waited impatiently as I fiddled with my keys. My thoughts were racing, and my hands clumsy. Her suitcase fell over as I struggled awkwardly with the key, and she looked at me with disdain.
“Sorry…” I muttered, wincing, and bent over at once to pick it up.
I unlocked the door and held it open for her, and she walked past me into the stairwell.
I followed behind, admiring her ass as she moved up the stairs, unable to contain the huge nervous grin that spread across my face. I looked down at my feet for a moment, worried that she would turn around and see me smiling at her amazing, well-defined ass, but she didn’t, and I looked up again, continuing to enjoy the view as we trekked upward.
She was wearing blue-jean jeggings that hugged her curves and showed her figure nicely. Woven under the belt loops was a plain brown leather belt, held in place by a rectangular bronze buckle. Her pant legs were tucked into matching brown boots, lined with charcoal gray faux-fur. Thin brown straps ran across her boots from side to side at angles. A white knit sweater finished the ensemble.
“You look cute!” I volunteered as we approached my floor.
“Thank you,” she replied smugly over her shoulder.
She paused in the hallway in front of my door as I struggled with her luggage.
“It’s unlocked,” I said helpfully, moving past her to push open the door.
I held it open, and she walked past me purposefully, through the doorway to my bedroom, which was the first room to the right across from the apartment entrance.
I turned the lights on and set her things down gently, luggage on the floor, bags on my bed.
“Megan!” She called excitedly, ignoring me as she ventured into the hallway and knocked on my roommate’s bedroom door.
I followed and stood at her side, bouncing anxiously on the balls of my feet, hands held behind my back in restraint: she hadn’t given me permission to touch her, and I couldn’t ask in front of Megan.
The two of them chatted happily, catching up; and every passing moment further secured a promise to yield a tortuously long conversation.
Suddenly thirsty, and quite unable to keep still, I dashed lightly into my bedroom next door and grabbed the water bottle from the top of my dresser.
Returning a moment later, I first offered the water to Jaime, who drank from it gratefully before returning it to me. I distracted myself by drinking the remaining contents of the bottle.
I grappled with the overwhelming urge to snuggle up against Jaime, imagining that she could pet me absently as she talked. The thought was soothing, but my body responded with an increased yearning to feel her warmth against me; and keeping myself from pursuing my vision was agony.
Finally Megan excused herself from the conversation to resume studying for her upcoming exam, and I happily followed Jaime back to my own room, shutting the door as we entered.
She stopped, turning to face me as she stood in the center of my room, between my bed and bookshelf, the former wedged into the far corner of my room, and the latter positioned about halfway along, and perpendicular to, the opposite wall. It stood between my desk and my keyboard.
I stopped as well, about two inches away from her. I was clearly struggling to maintain the distance.
My hands begged me to grasp hers. My lips were magnetized; I could feel them pulling me towards her own beautifully full lips. My tongue swayed, restless inside my mouth, dying to be reunited with her lips, her tongue, her skin, her ears…
I shook my head, trying to break the reverie.
She maintained her position, eyeing me lightly as an amused smile played across her face.
“Can I kiss you?” I tried again, wide-eyed and hopeful.
“Not yet.” Her smile broadened, enjoying my internal conflict and begging gaze.
***
“Back,” she ordered, her hand pushing me gently, but firmly away.
I stepped back obediently.
She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, eyeing my body.
“Not bad,” she said, looking me up and down.
She took a half-step forward and ran her hands lightly over my quads, fingers and palms whispering across the smooth fabric of my pants as they approached my inner thighs; lazily drifting, first down, then up; coming teasingly close to my pussy before pulling abruptly away.
I whimpered softly.
She stepped closer, cupping her hands over my hips. She dragged them lavishly over my stomach and breasts as her eyes scanned slowly over my torso.
She groped me casually and rubbed her thumbs over my nipples, which quickly became erect in response.
My pulse quickened, my breaths coming shorter and faster: now barely, but distinctly audible.
“Spin,” she commanded, pulling away. Resting her hand once more on my upper thigh, she let it trail across the fabric, adding “Slowly!” as I turned awkwardly in place for her.
When I was facing away from her, she grabbed my hips firmly, signaling for me to stop.
She repeated her earlier caress, starting on my ass and slowly coming down around my inner thighs, excruciatingly close to my wetness, very purposefully avoiding it.
My thoughts focused on standing still and fighting the devastating urge to arch my back and press myself against her touch, and I gasped as she slapped my ass.
“Okay,” she said suddenly, content with my apparel, and sat down luxuriously on my bed, leaning back and resting lightly on her hands, legs crossed over the side of the mattress.
I turned back to face her, hands fidgeting behind me. The anticipation was almost too much to bear; her chest was forward and out, on display in her current position, taunting me.
I wanted nothing more than to push her backwards, flat onto the bed, and straddle her. I wanted to fill my mouth with the taste of her tongue and her lips, wanted to feel her chest and stomach pressed against mine, wanted to feel her fingers intertwined with my own as her skin kissed every nerve on my body at once.
I had never been so turned on in my life; the desire to serve her wishes filled me, but it swirled violently in my veins as it sparred with wisps of lust and floods of need for her touch.
My eyes fixed greedily on her, and she mocked me with her false innocence: “What?”
“I just…” I began longingly. “I want to kiss you, and…” my voice trailed off as I battled with my fantastic impulses.
“Go on,” she smiled at me, again with a teasing inquisitiveness as she cocked her head to one side.
I tried to form words from my thoughts. I wanted to express to her each individual need that filled me; to enumerate each ounce of passion in its own medium, but as I began to funnel my fervor into concrete means of communication, I felt myself being pushed to the boundary of my self-control; and I knew that to speak would be to succumb to my ravenous inclinations.
I could not let myself lose control.
I shook my head feverishly, trying to banish my desires.
“I can’t think,” I finished weakly, hoping that she would be satisfied with my modest response.
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