NOTES: Another little hot story :)
You look at the small coffee cup getting filled inside the unsurprisingly faulty coffee machine. Just praying for it to drop the plastic stick when it is over. Dreading the thought of having to drink more than half a cup of unstirred bitter coffee. The machine stops, you smile when you spot a plastic tip sticking out. Promptly moving with your cup to one of the nearest small tables, you stir it carefully and bring it close to your mouth.
Hot lava. You had your list of burns – still.
You spot one of the classmates you found yourself sitting with this new semester; he changes his course to approach you.
"Didn't think you would come," he says, words slurred a bit with sleep, looking at your coffee. "Are you?" he frowns.
"In a bit," you nod at him. With a wave of his hand he makes his way down the hall.
You blow the surface, convincing yourself it'll cool faster that way, you hadn't planned on getting a coffee until you saw the line of people at the machine. All sleepy faces – like yours – and all of a sudden the idea of coffee became so appealing that you were sure you could afford being a few minutes late.
Opening a zipper of your bag, you retrieve your phone – will functional pockets ever be invented on skirts?
A few Wikipedia articles later – how did you get into those? – you see you're almost twenty minutes late. Lava must be cool by now. You gulp down the small cup, throwing the plastic into the nearest bin and hiding your phone back in your bag. You go into the same direction your companion went and once you reach your class you stall.
You look into the dark room and at the projected documentary in front of the class. Today was movie day? Why don't you check your class e-mails? You could have stayed in bed; and a fast look confirmed that half of your classmates thought the exact same thing.
It would be a waste of time not to go in now. You keep walking down the hallway to the door at the back of the class, slowly opening and closing it, you spot the last three rows of sitting space completely empty. Settling on the furthest end of the last row – in case you went for a nap – you tell yourself to put that caffeine to work and draw a pen and a sheet of paper. You would not sleep if you took notes.
The lack of light was no problem, the documentary offered enough. You keep writing down whatever you deem important to not lose focus; like you, someone running late discretely enters the class. Not turning to look at the newcomer, you're caught off guard when a big backpack drops beside your hand and paper. You turn to see the guy taking a seat right at your side.
In the dim light, you see the profile of Kylo Ren, bored expression, small faint bags under his eyes, turning his head to look at you – documentary, right. You lean a bit forward, hearing the loud words coming from the speakers. Not really listening to them.
Your fingers play absentmindedly with your pen.
He has not been on any of your classes this new semester; yes, you may have been searching for him, used to seeing him at least twice a week for two years. He was easy to spot – tall and broad and broody – moving around with a small group of people that once happened to flock around him.
Something twists inside you, what was Kylo doing in a class he didn't even take? If he was curious, he could have taken any other free seat.
Did he remember you?
Of course not, don't be ridiculous. You just had to work with his group for a week. A year ago. Never sending a word in your direction, just an occasional side-glance that seemed to say: I just want this to be over. Then again that must have been his face – the man looked like that by default.
"Shouldn't you be writing all this down?" he whispers, pen falling from your fingers, you turn to look at him. Half his face almost in shadow, you can see the little smirk on Kylo's lips; your eyes follow down the arm he is resting on top of his backpack, muscles amazingly snuggled in his long-sleeved shirt – focus!
"That's none of your –" you are whispering back at him, but he has grabbed your pen with that arm and is pointing its end at you.
You can't refuse him. Taking your pen from his fingers you decide it best to just ignore him. There was something in him that made you nervous, you assumed that was because of his intimidating size and attitude. You just didn't want to make a fool of yourself in front of someone like him.
You draw a straight horizontal line under the notes you have taken so far, looking back at the projected old man that seemed fond of gesticulation. From the corner of your eye you see Kylo sitting back against his seat. Forget him.
Sentence after sentence, you finally recover your lost concentration, almost really forgetting the big man. Almost. Kylo bends forward, resting his head on his backpack – no, you won't look at him.
You are getting nervous, harder to concentrate; what does he want? Something brushes your naked knee.
Mouth gaping you do look at him. His fingers no longer on you, Kylo rises his head and points to your paper with a short nod. Your cheeks feel warm, you watch him biting a corner of the inside of his lip. For a moment, he is the one looking unsure.
You look at your paper, head low, hand faintly shaking. Are you really going to play his game? Just the thought of him touching you again… it thrills you.
Setting your pen down, you chance a fast glance at him. Again, Kylo rests the side of his head and you just grab onto any phrase you hear from the speaker and start to write it down.
You feel his brush as soon as you get a few letters down, just the back of one finger, testing and slowly stroking your knee. You don't rush your writing, you've already forgotten the end of the sentence. Kylo's whole warm hand wraps your knee, thumb moving in small circles.
No use on continuing this phrase, you start scribbling the word you just heard. For the love of everything you will make a place for his hand on your skin.
He travels up and caresses the remaining exposed spot over your knee, fingers occasionally brushing the hem of your skirt – never going under it – travelling a towards the beginning of the inside of your thigh. Kylo seems to think better of it. His fingertips move and rest on the edge of your skirt.
You move your hips down your seat; his hand wrinkles the hem up your thigh.
It is official, you lost your mind. Where exactly were you intending to guide his hand to?
He doesn't move, you realize you stopped writing and instead are taking deep breaths. You venture a look at him, you can see the outline of his smirk between the shadows. Kylo straightens his back, hand still in place, and bends towards you.
"Do you like my hand?" he whispers against your ear, low voice sending chills down your spine. You nod, his hand feels hotter. "You're not a responsible girl, are you?" clenching your teeth, your thighs pressing together, his hand stuck on the same spot, you shake your head to answer him. "Do you want me to show you how to be a good girl? How to pay attention to your class?" it's not just his hand, your whole body feels on fire, you can't believe the bizarre situation you're in – you just want him to keep going. You nod again and your pussy clenches in anticipation. "Keep writing."
You set your pen down and Kylo resumes his previous position, face hot and breath shaking, you listen to anything and start writing. Feeling his hand squeeze your thigh you part your legs, letting him travel to your more sensitive skin. The words on the paper are not coherent, some are cut after a few letters, one doesn't make sense next to the other, and his fingertips caress your skin – squish it – keep travelling upwards.
You are wet – the way your panties feel against your pussy lips –, you are soaked.
Just as his fingers almost reach that thin fabric, Kylo's hand goes back to the skin on your upper thigh. He doesn't stop there, you keep writing. His hand has completely wrinkled up your skirt and his fingertips reach the first elastic band of your panties on your hip; one finger getting beneath it.
You slam your pen on your paper and his finger disappears. Kylo's palm just resting on top of your thigh. You're sure he can see most of your underwear by now. A girl sitting three rows forward turns, seeing someone sleeping on their bag and you looking straight at the projection. She turns around once more. You remember how to breathe.
Kylo straightens his back, you turn to him, wanting to tell him – to ask him – how are you supposed to keep your mind focused in writing with his finger inside… in –
You can't even open your mouth; again, his lips are on your ear.
"Do you want this? More?" you're shaken, his tone grave, you consider his words. He is giving you the opportunity to stop him, isn't he? Do you really want to stop him? Do you want more? What is more?
You knew what he meant. You nod your answer, too much into this to be stopping now.
"Grab your pen," you obey his whisper. "First question. I want you to write it down," swallowing, you press the tip of your pen on the paper. "How should an irresponsible girl be punished?" you're really – really – glad for the lack of light in the room. As you write down his question, Kylo hooks a finger under your panties, stroking the skin of your hip with a knuckle, waiting for you. "Leave a space. Second question," your hand moves down your paper. "Does an irresponsible girl deserve to cum?" blood rushing to your ears, you move your fingers. "I'll let you answer the second question if I like the first one enough."
He rearranges his backpack and rests his head on it so he can see anything you write. His finger keeps playing with your underwear.
Pen on your first blank space, your eyes move to Kylo's for a second; he's attentively watching your paper. You've never done anything like this, never played a game like this with anyone, never talked like this. Definitely never been this wet in public, and obviously, never promised release under a circumstance like this. This – this is too dirty. And you wanted to play. You will play dirty, just like he wants.
An irresponsible girl should –
Kylo removes his finger to stroke with four fingertips the border of your underwear, travelling down your inner thigh. You steady your grip.
An irresponsible girl should show her wet pussy to – Oh fuck.
You almost drop your pen, his fingers moving up and down your soaked panties, wanting to feel the truth of your words himself. Pressing two fingers against your covered clit and moving them in circles. You clench your hand around your pen, doing your best to –
Just don't moan. Please, don't moan.
His pressure disappears and his fingers go back to your covered pussy lips. Much better.
Your hold loosens and with trembling fingers you keep writing your sentence.
An irresponsible girl should show her wet pussy to the class so they can see how bad she's been.
Kylo's whole hand cups your wet cunt and he moves back to whisper on your ear.
"I would make you take your useless panties off," your free hand moves to cup his between your legs, his arm visible, you just pray for no one to turn around. Both of you so lost into your game. "I will. Another day," yes, please. "Answer your second question, bad girl."
You breathe slowly as he moves back, your hand releases him and you press your pen on the second blank space. Nervousness was eating you. You needed to, it would clear your head; you clench your teeth.
Yes
You don't go further, can't even put a full stop. Your pen rests on your paper and your hands grip with all your strength the edge of the long table.
Kylo's fingers are inside your underwear, pressing and circling your clit. Fast. So wonderfully fast. He builds you towards the edge with two of his wide fingertips and as you are about to fall, knuckles white, you look at his eyes and he is looking back; chest heaving. You swallow your moan as your thighs close tight around his hand. Lips pressing together and eyelids fluttering.
His fingers stop moving, you try to draw deep, slow breaths, calming down, your grip loosening.
You part your legs, his hand leaving you and you can't believe it, your face grows hotter. Kylo sucks his two wet fingertips.
Your mouth falls open, consequences and shame make their way into your mind. He sits, back straight, against his chair. From the corner of your eye you see him readjusting himself with one hand.
Eyes stuck on the far less entertaining documentary, your body is rigid. What do you do now? Is he expecting – should you?
Your eyes look back to your forgotten pen to see him picking it up.
Kylo scribbles numbers in fast strokes and drops your pen.
"You taste wonderfully," a deep sigh escapes your throat. You're so grateful for the speakers.
You turn to him as one of his hands grabs his bag, watching him as he gets up from his seat and moves towards the door at the end of the class, your brain is still catching up to what just happened.
And now you have his phone number. Great.
