AmuXIkuto
It is Tuesday night, and that crucially important midterm paper is due at ten o'clock on Thursday morning, a deadline that Professor Naikido has been emphasizing for weeks now, and in no uncertain terms. A hard, sharp, non-negotiable deadline. You have sort of started writing the paper; 'started' in the fuzziest sense of quantum mechanics.
You haven't been properly laid all semester, and when your cell phone rings, your clitoris positively twitches with anticipation. Maybe it is Tomas calling. Tomas, your high school boyfriend, who is now a continent away, studying volcanology at the University of Washington. His sex life is equally non-existent. He is in the same horny and frustrated boat that you are. Perhaps he could be coaxed into another hot and steamy phone-sex session. Maybe he could even be convinced to do some webcam action with you. Your pussy salivates slickly into your panties at the thought.
But no, it is just your friend Chei Chei calling to see if you want to go with her and her boyfriend Paul to a party over at Schrödinger's Cat House.
Much like the house's feline namesake, the party is both dead and alive. At a large, plywood table down in the basement, the math department is taking on the physics department in a rowdy, highly-modified, caffeine and cannabis augmented, time-travel version of Axis and Allies.
The rest of the house is dark and relatively quiet. A few people are hanging around on couches and comfortable chairs, nursing drinks and chatting amiably. Chei Chei and Paul conveniently disappear, leaving you socially stranded. You look around for someone to talk to.
There is Professor Naikido, forty- or fifty- something, looking comfortably rumpled and drinking whiskey out of a large glass. It is for his lecture class that you are writing that all-important midterm paper. Or, more accurately at the moment, not writing it.
There is Ikuto Tsukiyomi, a nineteen-year old ex-football player who is both very smart and a total meathead, and who is only here because his dad insisted he stay in school after he got cut from the varsity football team, and physics is the subject that comes easiest to him.
There are the Delmsey twins; quiet, weird, and almost spectral, engaged in some intense private conversation.
There is Saaya Yamabuki, a freckly redhead with small angular boobs and a wide butt who, it is rumored, gets her good grades by boinking professors both male and female. You know Saaya, and she is no dumb bunny; but she is also kind of lazy and projects an image that is kind of slutty. So maybe it's true.
"Have you started your midterm paper yet?"
You hadn't even realized that Ikuto knew you were there. He is slouched in the easy chair with his eyes half-closed and a bottle of beer clutched in one hand. He has been idly leafing through a stack of magazines: American Journal of Physics, Sports Illustrated, Journal of Applied Physics, Playboy.
"Started?" you say, "Well I guess technically I've started..."
"Yeah, I figured." He yawns cavernously, tossing a physics journal onto the shag carpet on top of the centerfold. "I haven't either. Figured I'd just bust it out the night of." He swallows the dregs of his beer. There is another one close at hand. With a practiced twist, he pops it open one-handed. "I'm pretty certain Naikido doesn't read papers anyway, just scans them for keywords and phrases and grades based on word count." He takes a big swallow of cheap, mass-produced beer. "Naikido's sort of a douche. Have you read his book?" Ikuto rolls his eyes.
On impulse, you sit down on his lap. It is broad, firm, and comfortable. It is a lap that was made for sitting on. One of his ridiculously thick, Popeye arms automatically comes up around your waist, hugging you. It feels nice.
"You know what I wanted to do with my life?" he asks, semi-rhetorically.
"Play football." You say.
"Yeah, play football professionally." You can feel his dick underneath you, through your skirt, through his jeans. It feels pretty nice. You wiggle your butt, more-or-less subtly, and you can feel his cock respond. "But if that didn't pan out, and I always knew the odds were pretty long, I wanted to be a writer. I want to write fiction, maybe write a novel about sports. My old man was like, 'No way Mister, you're getting a degree in the hard sciences.' So here I am, doing physics. I don't even really like physics."
Meanwhile, Ikuto's big, meaty hand has found its way up between your knees, up underneath your skirt. Underneath you, his cock seems to be made of tungsten-carbide steel. You wiggle your butt again, deliberately stimulating him, and you feel his breathing change. His hand is stroking, softly stroking the front of your panties under your skirt. It feels very nice.
"Hey," he says throatily, "Do you suppose I could go down on you?"
"What...? Here? Now?"
"Sure." Ikuto is still petting you through your (now seriously moist) panties, and it feels delicious. "Who's going to care? Them?" The Delmsey twins are sitting in a far corner of the room, facing each other, completely absorbed in a complicated game of Cat's Cradle which you are pretty sure is an expression of knot theory.
"Them?" His hand moves up and down, stroking you through the thin fabric. Your pussy is drooling, your clit is screaming. On the couch, Saaya Yamabuki and Professor Naikido are all over each other, sloppily making out.
"Anyone? I'd love to taste you." His cock is about ready to burst the fly of his jeans under your butt. There is a roar from downstairs: the Martians, to no-one's surprise, have been dominating World War II, but now the Vikings, allied with the Comanche, are making a surprise comeback.
"Why don't we find somewhere a little more private?" you say, eyeing his athlete's body hungrily. Blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. They'd look nice in a crumpled heap on your floor. "Like my dorm?"
"Ah, I'm not sure that would be such a great idea," Ikuto says, "I've got a girlfriend back home in Oshkosh, and we're trying to stay monogamous."
"But you're allowed to eat pussy?" you say skeptically.
"Yeah, as long as I tell her all about it. We have phone sex and play on webcam together. I can pretty much do whatever I want, but she's the only one who's allowed to touch my dick." He smiles sheepishly. It's a cute look for him. "Come on," he says, "we can find somewhere more private here in the house if you want."
You try the upstairs game room, an oversized closet with a carpeted floor and an X-Box, a Playstation, a Wii, and a tricked-out PC; but it is already spoken for: Chei Chei and Paul are naked on a bean bag on the floor, a twisted, sweaty confusion of brown and pale appendages. You should have realized, but had never really comprehended, that she had such big boobs. Really nice big boobs.
So you end up locked in the upstairs bathroom. Fortunately (and surprisingly as Schrödinger's Cat House is populated almost entirely by male undergrad physics majors) the bathroom is clean.
"Are you allowed to kiss girls?" you ask, pressing yourself up against him. His cock is sticking out the front of his jeans like a uranium fuel rod.
"Not really, but I'll make an exception." Ikuto pulls you to him, kissing your lips hard, grinding his crotch against you, squeezing your butt. You kiss him back, grinding right back against his hardness.
You step back, pulling your grey cami off over your head, exposing your breasts. "Didn't you say something earlier about eating me out?"
Ikuto puts his huge, meaty hands under your armpits and with no effort whatsoever, lifts you up and sets you down on the sink. Your legs spread apart and your skirt rides up. He grins fiendishly, and kneels down, sticking his head between your thighs. You can feel his hot breath on your pussy through your panties; his stubble tickles your bare flesh. You lean back, resting your shoulders against the mirror, and idly run your fingers through his close-cropped brown hair.
He tugs, you skootch up your butt, and your panties are off, lying in a green-and-red striped little heap on the tile floor. Your pussy is open and drooling, and he proceeds to torment you, sweet torture, barely touching you with the tip of his tongue, traversing up and down and back up again, flirting with, but not actually touching, your swollen clitoris.
Finally, he relents, dragging the flat of his tongue up your sopping-wet pussy, spreading your lips, burrowing up inside you. Your clit feels like a carbon-oxygen white dwarf star about to collapse into supernova. You rock forward, offering yourself up to him, pressing your overheated cunt against his face. He responds eagerly, licking faster and more aggressively.
Now your fingers are curled up in his hair, struggling for purchase, trying to pull him in harder. Your legs are kicking over his broad shoulders, your toes are flexing and curling involuntarily. He is concentrating on your clit, flicking it with his tongue like a baby cat greedily lapping up milk, one big finger is pressed up against your asshole, and his thumb is invading the entrance to your pussy, and you are coming, coming hard, all over his face, and you could give two shits if the whole house hears about it. The orgasm is so intense, if it weren't for his strong hands, you would be shaken off your perch on the sink. You back arches, and your body shudders again and again, as waves of pleasure wash over you, spasming your cunt and making your clit twitch delightfully. Your nipples are hard and pink, your chest is flushed, and your breath comes in gasps.
He stands up, smiling, pleased with himself. Your wetness glistens on his lips, chin, and nose. He unbuttons his jeans, lets them slide down before stepping out of them. His erection is bulging out of his tight-whities. He gives you another grin, cocky almost, and pulls his underwear off. His cock springs out, quiveringly hard and pink, drooling clear, sticky pre-come like a leaky faucet.
"I'm not allowed to touch your dick, right?"
"That's right." He grasps his cock in one hand, pointing it at you like a gun, stroking himself pensively.
You get up off the sink and maneuver yourself behind him. You are both reflected in the mirror in front of you. His cock is standing rigidly up; it isn't the biggest one ever, but it does look delicious. He is still wearing his white button-down shirt. You put an arm around his broad chest and press your still-wet pussy against the back of his thigh as he slowly jerks off.
If you move your hips just so, you can stimulate your clit against the back of his muscular leg. You let one finger explore down the base of his spine, down into the cleft between his buttocks. His ass is strong and taught. When your fingertip finds his anus, he groans softly, masturbating faster, pressing himself back against you.
You withdraw, bringing your finger to your pussy, which is once again wet as an over-ripe peach. You slide your finger up inside, getting it nice and slippery, then return to his butt crack.
Your finger invades him. He is moaning out loud now. His asshole is tight, hot. Your finger is buried up inside him, fucking him from behind. He is jerking off now like he means it, lost in ecstasy, his balls jiggling, his ass humping back against you, and you are riding his leg, slick with your juices, approaching a second orgasm of your own.
He comes with a shout, pumping and pumping and not stopping, his pearly-white come splattering onto the mirror. His asshole spasms, squeezing your finger tight, impossibly tight. His orgasm sets you off and you ride the back of his leg blissfully as he milks the last drops of thick, viscous semen from his wilting cock.
"Is your girlfriend going to hear all about this?" You ask as you pull up your cami and retrieve your panties.
"Every single juicy detail" he says, "Thank you for everything."
You shake hands, an oddly formal gesture, and then part ways. You head back to the dorms, where your midterm paper awaits, stubbornly unwritten.
The End