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by Stayrr

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150. Time Stop (30k)

Time Stop - Sci-Fi Fantasy -

This story was inspired by Japanese movies of the same name. The story is also a common theme within science fiction and was inspired by episodes of The Twilight Zone (e.g., "A kind of a stopwatch," and "Time enough at last") as well as The New Twilight Zone (e.g., "A little peace and quiet"). It was therefore place within the science fiction section. However, being inspired primarily by the Japanese movies it concerns reluctance, submission, and exploitation (i.e., taking advantage of the stopping of time), and so if this type of material is of no interest to you, and certainly if you find it offensive, you should definitely not read this story. The story is long but it can be read in sections. And, please do note, all of the characters in this story are at least eighteen years old.

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Time was approaching eight o'clock in the evening. Henry Demis was, once again, at the library.

Henry was a nineteen year-old undergraduate at Livingston College (all of the students at Livingston were at least 18 years old). He could be a very good student as he loved to read. In fact, he spent most of his time reading. He would at times be so tired in his classes because he had spent half the night reading, which was in part why he was not a particularly good student. He would never devote enough time to studying. He was admonished time after time by professors for reading in class when he should have been paying attention to the lecture.

He so much enjoyed a good book, and he had thick glasses to prove it. The glasses though didn't trouble him much. As long as there would be a prescription powerful enough to compensate he would continue to read. His only regret was that he did not seem to have enough time to read everything.

He looked around him. The library contained so many books. How could he ever get through them all? He wondered if someday he would die having failed to have read everything that he had wanted to read. That just seemed so tragic. What might he have missed? It was really unnerving to imagine.

At one point he made a rule that he could never read anything twice as long as there was something else he had not yet read. That way he wouldn't waste any time by going over familiar ground when there was in fact new territories to explore.

He quickly recognized though that it was a dumb rule. It was just simply a sad fact of life that there would always be something he had not yet read, and some books were so, so good that he just had to read them again, and again, and again. Each time he read a book an additional time he discovered new revelations about a character, or the depth and significance of a particular scene, or simply discovered something that he had previously missed.

There was just so much to read yet so little time.

He sighed with deep frustration as he noticed the current time. It was now 8 o'clock, and he was barely halfway through Middlemarch. When would he find the time to finish all the works of Eliot?

"You look a little discouraged, young man. Can I be of any assistance?"

Henry looked up from his book to see an old man, a very old man, sitting down across from him. He was clearly getting well into his years. Still, he was quite distinguished looking, and very well dressed. "Excuse me?"

"Can I be of some assistance?"

Henry realized that he had seen this man before. In fact, a number of times. He seemed to be at the library more often than him, or at least lately he had seemed to be there pretty much every time Henry was there, and Henry was there most every night. "No, no, I'm fine," Henry replied.

"Well, you certainly didn't look fine."

Henry looked at him. What does this guy want? What Henry wanted was to get back to his reading. It was bad enough that he was behind schedule. He certainly didn't want to waste additional time talking to some old man. "I just need to get this reading done, and I don't have that much time left." That should make it clear to him that he wanted to be left alone.

"You like to read?"

"Yeah, I do," he said, the impatience evident in his voice. He felt like adding that he would like to do some reading right now, if he wasn't being disturbed.

"Is this a book for some course you're taking?"

Henry sighed again. "No, no. I'm just curious about it."

"You're curious about the work of George Eliot? You don't intend to read all of her novels, do you? Adam Bede, for instance?"

"I've already read that."

"The Mill on the Floss?"

Henry nodded.

The man did not ask about Silas Marner. The young man would clearly have read that. Mr. Potts was impressed, but he had been impressed for some time. "Do you intend to read Romola? I think it's one of her finer works myself."

"In fact, yes. If I can find the time."

"Time is very difficult to find, isn't it."

That was a somewhat odd way to put it, but Henry nodded.

"You're here in this library quite a bit, aren't you, young man."

Henry cautiously answered, "Yes, yes I s'pose I am." What is this guy's point?

"What kind of books do you like to read?"

"Pretty much all kinds."

"Yes, yes I've noticed."

That sounded a little creepy. Henry didn't say anything. He glanced around, looking to see if there was anybody nearly in case he needed help.

"My name is Potts, Patrick Potts. What, may I ask, is yours?" He actually already knew Henry's name, but he didn't want to upset the boy with that knowledge.

Henry wondered if he should give him a phony name, just in case he was some sort of identity thief or something. But, what danger could really be posed by such an old man? "Henry," he replied. "Henry Demis."

The old man smiled. "Henry, what would you say if I could give you all the time you wanted."

"Heh?"

"Henry, as you can see. I'm an old man. I don't have much time left, but I'm not complaining, now. I have lived well beyond my years. And, before I go, I need to leave to someone something very special."

Henry could feel a chill run down his spine. This could be pretty neat or pretty bad, or at least just plain weird. "What is it?"

The old man carefully pulled from his pocket a watch, a very old watch. In fact, it was a watch that looked older than him, which was saying a lot. "My watch," he said, holding it within the palms of both hands, as if it was some treasure.

"Oh," Henry blandly replied. Well, that wasn't anything particularly special, or weird. Lots of old men leave their watches to their sons. "Nice watch." Of what interest this should be to him was unclear.

"It's a very special watch, Henry. Very special indeed."

"Um, yeah, sure, I can see that."

"No, Henry. You don't see it's specialness. You experience it. Henry, I have been visiting a number of colleges, looking for the right young man, and I think I've found him."

Henry looked confused and befuddled. "You want to give me your watch?"

"Yes, Henry. I do. You see, I don't have any children. I never married." He had also, by necessity, lost touch with his siblings and everyone else he used to know.

Henry wondered how old this guy must be.

"And, besides, I want to leave this watch to someone who will truly value it, as I have valued it for so long, ever since it was first left to me."

Well, okay, why not, Henry thought. There was no harm in amusing this old man. If it would make him feel better, then why not. The watch was clearly an antique. It could fetch a good price. But, still, he didn't want to take advantage of an old man. Perhaps he was demented or something. "Why me?"

"Henry, this watch was given to me because I valued time so much, and was always in need for more, so much more."

Well, that certainly rang a bell. "Yeah, I can definitely understand that."

"Precisely," he replied, a contented and relieved smile on his face. He knew that this time would someday come, when he would have to give up the watch, but he had been having so much difficulty finding the right person, or at least difficulty actually letting go of it. He had noticed Henry quite some time ago. Longer than Henry would understand. He felt this young man was indeed the one, as the boy reminded him so much of when he was Henry's age, not so very long ago. As he had observed him over time, the old man felt like Henry was the son he had never had, never could have had.

"You see, Henry, this is no ordinary watch. It doesn't just tell you the time. It stops time."

Henry furrowed his brow. Yes, this man was indeed demented. "Sure, of course," he replied. He again glanced around.

"No, really, see here. It's a watch, but it doesn't just keep track of time. It has an additional switch, like you find on a stopwatch, on the top, with which you can stop the time as well."

Henry glanced at it again. It was unusual looking. He would have to give him that.

"Henry, I know you don't believe me. How could you? I will though leave it with you. You just click the switch, and you will see." He placed the watch on the table, but found that it was very difficult to let go of it. This watch had meant so much to him for so very long. It was indeed his treasure, his precious. With tremendous reluctance he withdrew his hands. He felt like crying. It's so difficult growing old, and letting go. But, this is what a man must do at his age. His time had indeed finally arrived.

"I ask just one thing, and that is not to try it until I've left the building. I don't know. I just don't feel right being here, when you first use it." He felt it would be like being present at his own funeral, experiencing the end firsthand. Many persons say that would be pretty interesting, and informative, but it would also be very sad, to be there when you are gone.

"Sure, no problem," Henry replied. He was very relieved to hear that the old guy was apparently leaving pretty soon.

"And, yes, I guess I should warn you about one thing. It's important to keep in mind that the things you do can affect those around you. Time will have stopped but you can still impact the world around you. If you move a chair, for instance." He gestured to the empty chair sitting next to him, "it will appear in its new location when time is once again started."

This guy was clearly totally nuts, but Henry didn't say a thing. It was probably best not to confront someone who was psychotic. At the moment he was really quite harmless. He should just continue to amuse him. "Yeah, absolutely."

"If you accidentally knock someone over they could awaken with a bruise, perhaps even a broken arm. It's important to be careful. You will not notice the effect you are having when time is stopped. If, for instance, for some reason, you squeeze hard on a wrist, no bruise will appear until you start time again. But, once time is started, the bruise will instantly appear, and will likely hurt a great deal."

"I'll be careful. I promise." Please leave, though, was what he was thinking.

The man looked deep into Henry's eyes. He could see that the young man did not believe him. The only way to convince him would be for him to experience it for himself, as he had once done, sometime ago. He took a deep breath and pushed away his chair. He could perhaps tell the young man more, or at least answer his questions. But, he did not want to stay any longer. The longer he stayed the more pain he would experience. He needed to just let go and move on, to his end.

He got up from his chair and extended his hand.

Henry gripped the old man's hand. It felt so weak, wrinkly, and cold.

The man smiled. "Have a good time, Henry," he said, and then turned and left.

Henry watched him go, with considerable relief.

Once he was gone he looked at the watch. It was a pretty cool looking watch. It looked like a stopwatch. He guessed it must have been one of those watches connected by a chain to a belt. His grandfather had a watch like that. The old man seemed even older than him.

He picked it up, and smiled, and clicked the switch that the old man had indicated would stop time.

Suddenly, instantly, everything was quiet. Libraries are naturally quiet, but not completely, totally, dead silent. And, even weirder, everybody had frozen in place. Nobody was moving! He looked at a clock on the wall. The second hand had stopped. Henry felt an even colder chill run down his spine. His heart raced with anxiety, fear, wonder, and shock. What the fuck is this!?

He clicked the watch again and suddenly everyone started moving again, as did the second hand on the clock.

He clicked the watch and everyone froze.

He clicked again and everyone was moving.

He picked up a book and tossed it to the floor, clicking the watch before it hit.

The book froze in midair. 'Unfucking believable,' he thought. The old man was actually right! Henry was shocked, naturally so. Who wouldn't be shocked? His heart seemed to stop as well. This was just so bizarre, so unreal...and so cool!

He clicked the watch and the book hit the floor with a bang.

Faces turned toward him. "Sorry," he quietly mumbled toward the librarian, Miss Heffernem, who was scowling at him.

Henry shoved the watch into his pocket and made his way out of the library to find the old man. He really, really needed to talk to him. But, he was gone.

He returned to his seat, pulled out the watch, and clicked it again. Everything again stopped. The room was deathly silent.

He could indeed stop time. As the old man said, he now had all the time in the world. He couldn't believe his amazing good fortune, but it was in fact actually true. Time was now stopped. It was now endlessly available to him. The evening would not end for him, if he didn't want it to. He could finish all of the works of George Eliot, or even anything else, and then start time again and it still would be... He looked at the watch. It read currently 8:26. When he started time again it would still be that time. No time would have actually expired. He really did control time.

He now had unlimited time to read virtually any and every book he wished. He could read forever, and ever, and ever. He returned his attention to Middlemarch. It was difficult at first to concentrate, as he kept saying to himself, 'All the time I need, all the time I want. Time, time, time. Time enough at last.'

As he made his way through the tome time seemed to have no meaning, no significance, no reality. He continued to make progress through the book, but had not used any time at all. He would occasionally glance around, something he had always tried to avoid, as it was only wasting time. But that was no longer a concern. Yet, it was rather odd to see everyone frozen in place, stuck at the present moment.

His eyes fixed on the breasts of Miss Heffernem, the librarian. He had noticed them quite a few times. What healthy boy would not? And, now, he could look at them for as long as he wanted. He could stare right at them and she would not care. She would not notice. That was also pretty cool! His penis swelled, and then he realized that he had been distracted from what interested him most. He turned his attention back to Middlemarch.

He buried himself in the book for literally hours. Evening should have turned to night, but it didn't turn at all. It just stayed there. A considerable amount of time had seemed to pass. He had only a third of the lengthy text left to read, yet there was still the evening light. The sun had apparently not changed its position.

Was the entire world frozen in place? He wondered. That was just too bizarre to imagine. He could not be that powerful. But, it would make no sense for just this one place to be frozen in time. What if someone else, from somewhere else, entered the library? Yes, the entire world must be frozen in time. What about the solar system? The solar system had to be frozen in time as well, and the galaxy in which it existed. Everything and everywhere throughout the universe. He again felt a cold shiver run down his spine. This was kind of weird, and scary.

He suddenly felt very nervous. He returned his attention to his text, burying himself deeper in the story, distracting his mind from thoughts that were not particularly pleasing.

Time continued to pass. Well, of course it didn't, but eventually it was deep into what should have been the night and he was getting tired, or perhaps it was now morning, but nothing had yet changed. Most importantly, he had finally finished Middlemarch. He smiled with delight. It was a pretty cool story. It was a tough read with a lot of interlocking narratives, but that made it all the more interesting and stimulating. He felt so satisfied, so good.

He scratched his chin. It was prickly.

Prickly? He needed a shave? He smelled under his arm. He also needed a shower. And, he felt hungry. He also had to pee; in fact, real bad. He always had to pee real bad in the morning.

He got up from his seat, retrieved Romola from the shelf, and made his way to the exit (but not before he visited the restroom).

He came upon Melinda Dillon as he was about to leave the library. He stopped. One did have to admire Melinda's beauty, and given how much time he now had (in fact, endless time), he could spare a moment or two to gaze upon her pretty face and luscious figure.

He smiled. He had to admit that he hadn't really given her much thought before, or any girl for that matter. Girls want so much of your time, so much of your attention and, at least prior to today, or tonight, he had very little to give. Now that he had more than any person could possibly imagine, he could spare her a moment, and he had to admit it was a moment well spent.

She was really quite pretty. She had these lovely green eyes with long curved lashes. He leaned in real close. He had at times wondered if they were fake, but looking up close they did not appear to be. He slowly circled her. She had such a cute butt as well. He loved how it swayed when she walked. He wondered if she did that on purpose. It was a delight to see. He made his around to the front again. One really did have to admire the beauty of her breasts.

He set down his book. He reached out and grasped Melinda's soft round bubbies within his hands. His smile grew larger. He had never felt a girl's breasts before. He had, of course, read about such things. He particularly liked how they were described in the writings of Mr. Gilbert. They were just so nicely soft and squishy and round, with pointy little nipples. He noticed that they were a bit off center, pointing just a bit to the left and right. How odd. He now realized that the descriptions by Mr. Gilbert could not really do justice to the reality of how they actually felt, in real life. Perhaps he had indeed missed something by confining his experiences, to date, solely to what he had read. There was something to be said for experiencing the real thing.

And, the fact that he was feeling them without Melinda's awareness made it all the more sweet. Yes, it was perhaps wrong, but it was also kind of cool. Melinda would never let him do this if she was asked. And, what she didn't know wouldn't really hurt her. It was really just a harmless little misbehavior, and yet one providing him with considerable pleasure and gratification. Who ever knew that feeling a girl's boobs could be so delightful, so entertaining, so enchanting. Yes, he had indeed read about it before, but feeling is believing. His dick was swelling stiff within his slacks.

He wondered if perhaps he could, should, do more. But, it wouldn't be nice. It wouldn't be fair. He had probably already done much too much.

With considerable reluctance he removed his hands, albeit hesitating before he withdrew them entirely, poised right above her boobs, the fingers outstretched, ready to clasp again that wondrous squishy softness.

But, he stepped away. There would be time enough for that, if he so wished. At the moment he was so terribly hungry.

He picked up his book and turned to leave, but felt instantly severely jarred, to the point of almost falling over.

That was weird. He didn't see anything there. He looked closely in front of him. He couldn't see anything. There seemed to be a bit of light distortion but that could be some sort of illusion.

He reached out.

His eyes opened wide with shock at the fact that he seemed to be feeling an arm, a naked arm, but there was in fact nobody in front of him! What the fuck was this?!

He pulled his hand away in fear. This was just too weird.

He reached out again, lower down, to suddenly feel his fingers touch what appeared to him, at least in the very brief moment of time that he would allow it, to be a naked guy's erect cock.

How so fucking gross!

He grabbed his book and quickly put some distance between himself and that experience, whatever it was, but then stopped and looked back. He still couldn't see anything. He started time. That didn't help. Persons now in fact walked right through where he had previously been blocked by that essentially invisible apparition. He came back over to where it, or him, seemed to be, but it was apparently gone.

He stopped time again and felt all around the immediate area, but it was definitely gone.

That was just too fucking weird. He wondered if stopping time somehow opened up to him the existence of another co-existing universe, like wormholes or something. There was, of course, a simpler explanation that some persons are in fact invisible but that was too ridiculous to believe (however, see "The invisible young man").

Well, thinking about this did not solve his hunger needs. If wormholes were being opened then most likely he would discover another one sometime in the future. He made his way to the campus diner. He liked to eat there as the food was served quickly and, well, frankly, he did like burgers and fries. He could go for that right now, although perhaps he should have breakfast. In his time it was morning, time for breakfast. But, burger and fries for breakfast wasn't really such a bad idea. When you controlled time you could do most anything, including having burgers and fries for breakfast.

He stepped into the diner. There was a pretty long line. He considered cutting to the front but he knew that once he started time again persons would realize that he hadn't been at the front of the line just a moment before. They would not have seen him cut in line but they would know he didn't belong there. How very odd to actually have to wait in line when he was so powerful as to be able to control time.

But, he then realized that he really didn't have to wait at all. He stepped around the counter and picked up a few orders for some poor schmucks who had been waiting and were just about to get their orders. He piled three cheeseburgers and two orders of chili cheese fries onto a tray, along with a large cola, and made his way to an empty table with his captured bounty. They would instantly notice that the food had disappeared but they would not come to the conclusion that the guy with all the burgers, far away from the counter, deep within the diner, was the thief. Yes, this would make for a very fine breakfast indeed.

He was beginning to see that he could do a lot more with this watch than just read books.

In fact, standing in line were a few of the cheerleaders, girls who would most any day never give him the time of day. Perhaps a little revenge was in order, or at least a little floor show to help spice his burgers.

He set down his tray and got into the line, standing right behind one of the cheerleaders.

He squatted down. He instinctively glanced around, checking to be sure he was safe. Of course he was but he was still a little nervous nevertheless.

He raised the girl's skirt, and smiled. How often does a boy get to raise a cheerleader's skirt? Not too often in Henry's lifetime, which was now endless.

He did wish cheerleaders wore prettier panties. They didn't have to be sexy or diaphanous or anything like just. But at least with some lacy trim, or colorful flowery print, or something. Why were they always so plain?

He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her professional panties and pulled them down to her ankles.

He didn't raise up the skirt afterward to get a peek at what would now be revealed. That would be going too far. That would be disrespectful. He didn't want to take any unnecessary advantage of the girl.

He pulled down the panties of two more cheerleaders and then made his way back to his seat, and smiled.

He again looked around. It was all a bit eerie, seeing everyone frozen in time, as if they were just dummies, or pictures on a screen. And, everything was so, so quiet. There was virtually no sound to be heard anywhere.

He clicked the stopwatch, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by how instantly everything moved, as well as the cacophony of noise that all that movement made. Of course, everything wasn't really that fast or loud. It was just such a sudden contrast.

However, there was one place in the room in which there was in fact quick movement and loud squealing, as the three girls suddenly realized that their panties were around their ankles. They shrieked in shock and protest, their faces quickly reddening, as they bent over to grab hold of their panties and pull them back up, but not before it was noticed by most everyone else within the diner.

Henry, as well as many other boys, laughed hysterically.

The girls were not so amused and they glared angrily at a number of guys around them. They couldn't figure out precisely who did this, but clearly it had to have been more than one guy; likely three, standing nearby.

The two guys who sandwiched them in line vehemently denied any involvement, yet could offer no help in identifying the true culprits.

Henry graciously let time pass as he ate his breakfast or dinner, or whatever it was. Watching the befuddled and confused cheerleaders was indeed a nice show to go along with his full meal.

In fact, just before the girls were about to reach their table, he stopped time again.

He approached them and, once again, pulled their panties down, and then returned to his seat.

He started time and watched with bemusement as they again shrieked with surprise and shock. One girl even stumbled a bit, almost spilling her tray. Henry was relieved she didn't fall. He wouldn't want anyone to actually get hurt.

It was even more fun this time because they couldn't immediately pull their panties back up as their hands were occupied with carrying their trays. They hurriedly made their way the last few steps to their table, but they were unable to move terribly quickly as they were confined to clumsy little geisha steps due to their panties being tangled around their ankles.

A couple of guys were tempted to reach over and flip up their skirts but, perhaps surprisingly so, they exercised some restraint. They were clearly very curious and tempted, but they didn't want to get into any trouble. In fact, doing so might have just created considerable suspicion as to them being the culprits.

The girls glanced around as they rushed to their table, not only to scowl at persons laughing at their expense, but also to, once again, try to identify the perpetrators of what was obviously a very naughty and disrespectful act. However, one thing that was clear was that the guys who were previously within the line with them were now nowhere near them. That clearly eliminated them as suspects. Who could have done such a thing?

A couple of the girls wondered if there was something wrong with the elastic within their panties. There was simply no way that some guy, or even guys, could pull their panties down at the same time and not be seen. As soon as they reached their table they laid down their trays, pulled their panties up, and kept at least one hand on the waistband for the rest of their meal and through their walk back to their rooms, where they immediately discarded the malfunctioning panties.

When Henry was done he felt inordinately full. He did not typically eat so much, and apparently had splurged with the freedom that he had been provided. He now felt rather tired, yet he wanted to get into Romola. He had all the time in the world but not all the energy. Apparently he still needed to sleep.

He stopped time again and made his way back to his apartment for a good night's sleep.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When Henry climbed into bed he wondered if he should start time again. There was really nothing to be gained for time to be stopped while he was asleep, was there? Well, perhaps there was, as he hardly wanted to waste all the time in the world with sleep. A 75 year old person will have spent about 25 years asleep. That was clearly a waste of precious time. Of course, if time was endless then how could it be wasted? Well, he decided not to take any chances and kept time still while he slept.

Not surprisingly he overslept, or at least he suspected he had. When he awoke it was still night. He really had no idea how long he had been sleeping. His clock by the bed read the same time as when he had fallen asleep. He could have been asleep for just an hour, or perhaps for twenty hours. He really didn't know and had no way of knowing.

He recalled in his psychology class how sleep researchers had students engage in "free-running" sleep, where they were not provided any cues as to the time of day or night. They were free to set their own schedule for how long they would be awake, how long they would be asleep. After a number of days of a rather chaotic schedule, they eventually settled into a sleep-wake cycle of about 25 hours, rather than the usual 24-hour day. Henry wondered if this would eventually occur for him.

Well, in any case, it was time to get up, at least for him. He was also hungry again. Apparently it was time for breakfast.

At first though he took a shower. There was perhaps no point to that, but he did like to feel clean. However, when he turned the faucet nothing came out. Well, that did make sense. Time had to be moving for the water to run. He started up time long enough for him to shower and shave, but again stopped it when he got dressed.

He made his way to the school cafeteria where he often ate. He preferred eating there rather than in his apartment as he really didn't like cooking, and he wasn't particularly good at it. But apparently they were not yet making breakfast. In fact, given the time at which he stopped time, they weren't serving anything at all. He was feeling a little confused, even uncomfortable. It was sort of like a real bad case of jet-lag, as the cues for time of day did not match at all his inner clock. He wondered if this was what it was like when people traveled to places, like Alaska, where, for periods of time, it was always day or always night. It was a little disconcerting, to say the least.

He now wished that he had started time when he had gone back to bed, perhaps it would then be daylight and he could have breakfast, assuming of course that he woke up in time. He made his way back to the diner. They would still be open.

Not much had in fact changed there since he had left. The cheerleaders though were gone. He kind of missed them, but then had an even better idea. He stole another hamburger and fries for breakfast, wolfed them down with a cola, and then made his way quickly to the Delta Nu sorority house.

Delta Nu had, hands down, the prettiest girls on campus. They were just so fucking hot. Every guy admired them, and coveted them. But, Delta Nu girls dated only the "big men" on campus: star athletes, as well as future leaders of business, industry, finance, and politics (see "Five steps to Delta Nu").

Henry was beginning to realize an additional benefit of stopping time. When he arrived at the house he made his way inside and up the stairs to the hallway along which resided the girls' bedrooms. He stopped there, and just admired for the moment the full potential before him.

Henry himself froze in his tracks as his eyes caught the sight of a bevy of pretty girls frozen in time, all in various states of dress or, more informatively, undress. Henry's cock instantly swelled within his slacks. Yes, it might not be a bad idea to put off his reading just for a time longer. Romola can wait. He had all the time in the world.

In his immediate line of vision was Tammie Monroe. He instantly recognized her, which wasn't difficult as she had such big round boobs, which were now very evident beneath a sheer light blue baby doll nightie. They were just so fucking gorgeous! And so perfectly round, even without a brassiere. They were like a couple of basketballs attached to her chest. Perhaps that's overstating it, but if so not by much. They were awfully, awfully big, and very, very round. He had never imagined seeing them naked. Well, that wasn't true, he had imagined them at times. And, now, here they were.

He had always wondered if they were fake. He should probably check.

He stepped up to her and reached out for them, momentarily glancing around to be sure that he was not being seen. Of course, nobody could see him, but it was a fact that was still difficult getting used to, particularly as all the girls' eyes were open, including Tammie's, looking right at him as his wide opened hands were poised right above her boobs. His cock twitched as he paused at the brink of a pleasure likely to be treasured for some time.

He clutched each of them with his hands, and sighed with deep delight and satisfaction. They appeared to him to be fake. They weren't as squishy or pliant as Melinda's had been nor how he felt natural boobs should feel, albeit he was clearly not at all experienced in telling the difference. In any case, it didn't really matter to him. In fact, the possibility that they were fake made the opportunity all the more intriguing. Not too many guys get to feel up fake boobs, and they were pretty cool. They weren't natural, but they were still soft enough, and their perfect roundness was really erotic, like they were truly, explicitly, sex toys, made precisely for the purpose of pleasing a guy, better than even nature could create. No natural body could have boobs as big and round and firm as these. He just stood there for awhile, squeezing, clenching, feeling, groping. He could do this hours, a fact that was indeed very true. He really could, if he wanted to.

He lifted up Tammie's baby doll to slip a nipple into his mouth. He was disappointed that it didn't stiffen in response to his suckling, but that was alright. It was already pretty stiff and pointy to begin with, as it was rather cool within the hallway. He then buried his face in between the large round jugs, snuggling the big bountiful bubbies against his cheeks, breathing in deeply the flowery scent of her freshly washed body. He pressed his hands against the sides of each one, crushing, smothering, his face in their globular greatness.

With considerable reluctance he eventually pulled his face away, wondering if perhaps he might even try to fuck her in between her breasts. He could lie her down on the floor. But, he decided against that. It would be difficult to get her back up.

He did though get down onto his knees, his eyes now fixed on Tammie's panties. He could see through them pretty well, but why have any covering? He pulled her panties down to her ankles so that he could see the girl's cunnie bare-ass, so to speak. It was a decision he did not regret.

Henry had no real experience with girls, at least ones that were real. He had seen lots of pictures, but no girl had yet let him within her panties. He didn't mind, or at least he told himself that. He was too busy reading. Books were his closest companion. He didn't really have time for dating. Can a girl really compare to Chaucer, George Bernard Shaw, Shakespeare, Proust, or Dostoevsky?

Still, none of those guys had tits like Tammie, and few books thrilled him more than the reaction he was now having to the sight of her exposed naked cunt. He was beginning to rethink his priorities in life.

This was the first real, live cunt he had ever seen. Actually, was it correct to say it was live? It had no apparent life right now, but it was live enough, and Henry was pleased to see that Tammie even shaved down there, with the exception of a landing strip right above the thick, fleshy folds of her cunt lips.

He used his thumbs to grasp hold of her meaty lips and spread them open, revealing to his eyes her inner wet folds and crevices. It was a most delicious sight indeed and there was only a moment of hesitation before he buried his own lips within hers, sticking out his tongue to lick, lap, suck, and slurp at Tammie's juicy feminine pie.

The taste was a bit surprising, although perhaps he should not have been so surprised. It wasn't like he was really thinking that it would taste like a sweet peach pie. It was more bitter and salty than he had expected, but it was still a real tasty treat, and he chuckled to himself as he realized what an obscene sight he must be, kneeling down in the middle of the sorority hallway, feasting on the naked cunt pie of Tammie Monroe while all of her sisters are standing around, each of them in her own state of dishabille. Even the sound was rather striking, as all that could be heard was his lewd and lascivious sucking and slurping.

He eventually stopped. He could have gone on much longer but this hallway buffet was filled with so many other delicious entrees and pleasurable deserts. He couldn't just have one. He carefully pulled Tammie's panties back up, wondering if she would notice any difference when time would start again. He wouldn't think that he had actually excited her, but she would at least feel a lot of his own moisture that he had left behind.

Who next? He considered pulling all of the girls' panties down, as he had done with the cheerleaders, but he wouldn't be able to enjoy the effect once time was started again. He wouldn't have a good excuse for being in the forbidden hallway, well after curfew.

Instead, he made his way down the hall, stopping to squeeze a boob here, pinch a nipple there, finger a pussy crack over there. He felt like a sultan with his own harem, so many different girls, so many different bodies.

He felt that Patty had the best panties. Patty was a pretty freckled redhead with long, straight hair, which was complemented well by her orange low rise keyhole thong, trimmed with pink lace. There wasn't really much to them but perhaps that was why he liked them so much. He even considered taking them. They would make for a pretty nice souvenir. He could eventually develop quite a collection from around campus. But, that would also be rather risky. Nobody would catch him in the act of stealing any of the panties but somebody, somehow, someday might discover them in his apartment and the evidence would be rather damning. He reconciled himself with just being able to take a peek at all of their cute little round bottoms, fleshy bouncy boobs, and delicate feminine slits.

He didn't find much difference with respect to the naked tushes. They were all rather tight, firm, perky, and round, but there was considerable variation among the breasts. Some were quite big and natural. These were really squishy and floppy. Others were perhaps big for the average girl, but still very firm and round. These were so proud and pleasing. And then there were even some little titties, seemingly so pure and innocent, and most definitely cute and adorable.

He eventually could not take it any longer, or at least not wait any longer, and he unzipped his slacks, reached into his pants, and wrenched his erection through the flap of his briefs. His cock felt so, so good in his hand, coupled with a soft breast within his other hand. He had seen adds for life-size dolls, some of them some sort of soft plastic, others were balloons. He had never imagined purchasing one, even at the height of sexual urgency, which for him wasn't really that often. But, he suspected that none would measure up to what he had right now.

He had a further inspiration. He made his way farther down the hall to the bathroom.

He was justly rewarded for his effort, for there in the shower room were four naked girls. It was a bit weird, as everything was frozen in time, even the cloudy mist. It was like he was looking at a three-dimensional photograph, and one he could in fact enter.

He stepped into the shower and was immediately hit with the soft, wet misty air, and the further he went the wetter he became. He moved his hand through the air and gathered within his palm a little pool of water. He decided it would be best if he left his clothes outside.

He stepped out of the shower room and quickly removed his clothes, leaving them in a little pile out in the hallway. It was all kind of surreal, stripping fully naked in the hallway of a sorority house, right in front of all of the half-naked girls, sporting a rather monstrous hard-on. Well, perhaps it wasn't really monstrous but it sure felt that way. He felt like an exhibitionist that couldn't be seen. Really quite odd.

Before he returned to the shower room he ran all the way down the hall and back, his cock bobbing and wagging, his eyes glittering with amusement. He had never been tempted to streak on campus before, but could now appreciate the pleasure. It was just so bad, and fun, to be so naked among all these girls, none of whom would ever have any idea.

When he got back to his clothes he checked on the stop watch. He realized he felt a bit nervous leaving it behind. Of course, nobody could actually steal it, and nothing could really happen to it, but he also felt uncomfortable leaving it out of sight. He considered taking it with him into the shower, but recognized that would in fact be the more risky behavior than leaving it behind. What if it filled with moisture? What if he slipped and fell? It was best to just leave it sitting safely on the soft cushion of his clothes.

He made his way back into the shower, whistling as he went, as if he was naturally going to take a shower with the sorority girls, sporting a rather taut stiff boner. He could imagine the squeals of shock, embarrassment, and outrage if he did this in real life. Well, actually, it was in real life, but not in real time.

The breasts, bottoms, and cunnies of these girls were even sexier to the touch than had been the case with the other girls, as the soap, shampoo, and moisture made everything so slippery and slick. He made his way around the shower, indulging himself in the pleasure of feeling such delightful feminine parts, his erect cock twitching and swelling as he went, his body picking up the moisture in the air.

He looked back and noticed that one could discern his path through the mist, as he had largely cleared the fog away with his body. Once time started again the girls would briefly observe this strange phenomenon but it would quickly disperse before they had a chance to really ponder its presence.

He eventually picked up some soap to lather up his cock, making it much easier and pleasurable to stroke, sliding the fist of one hand up and down his slippery shaft as he explored the soft pliant curves of a girl's boob, bottom or cunnie with the other.

One girl was even bent over, washing her calves. Her bottom was being offered to him like she was inviting him to take her from behind. He could even see her shiny wet, pouting cunnie lips peeking out from between her thighs. He slipped his erection in between her tightly clenched, warm, wet, moist, slick thighs, as if he was in fact fucking her from behind. He felt he really shouldn't actually do it. That would be going much too far. This was still, he felt, just innocent fun, and nevertheless, pretty darned great fun, as her thighs were so tightly clenched together that they offered a nice facsimile. He imagined that the girl wasn't quite ready to go all the way so she suggested that he just do it this way. It was a nice little fantasy as he gazed down at her naked tush, her pink puckered butt hole winking up at him as his cock slid in and out of her soft, slippery, tight thighs.

It wasn't long before he felt the urge to cum, and he wondered if this is how he wanted to cum. The shower would quickly wash away the evidence. But, he stopped, his balls churning. He slipped his dick out from between her thighs and let it gently slide along the soft curves of her bum as he considered his options, which were really quite a few.

He could in fact start time up again, just as he was about to ejaculate. What would be the risk in doing that?

Well, for one, perhaps he wouldn't be able to stop time again to make his escape. What if the watch only worked a limited number of times? That would suck. If that was true he should definitely be considerably more careful and sparing in his selection of when to use it. But, there was no compelling reason to think it was time-limited. Still, imagine being naked in the shower with outraged, squealing girls, shooting off one's load and then unable to stop time. He would be in rather serious trouble then. It was a bit risky.

And, even if he could stop time again, what would be the chance he would get caught later? What if they recognized him?

Of course, he could never actually be convicted. With the ability to stop time it would not be at all difficult to establish a very strong alibi. Once he ejaculated he could stop time, leisurely dry off, get dressed, and make his way over to, for instance, campus security, where he could then start time again, and then chat with an officer as he filled out some form, making sure that he identified himself and repeatedly noted the time.

Still, who wants to even be accused of such a crime, let alone investigated. That fact alone can do serious damage to one's reputation, one's life. Even if he was vindicated some persons would still have doubts.

However, he wouldn't think any of these girls would actually recognize him in such a short period of time. He wouldn't leave time on for very long, just long enough for them to see him cum, but perhaps not long enough for them to get a good look at his face. Their eyes would most likely be focused elsewhere.

Plus, time had to be moving for there to be a report to the police, followed by an investigation. Frankly, he could prevent that from ever happening by keeping time stopped. However, he didn't want to keep time stopped forever, did he?

He would, at times, want to see the fruit of his labor, like he had done with the cheerleaders. He would also like to check in at times, see how the rest of the world was still living. No, he didn't want to stop time forever. Actually, what would happen to the world, the universe, if he died when time was stopped? His legs suddenly felt a bit weak and unsteady. What if he had slipped and fallen in the shower while humping the girl and had cracked his skull? Would he have ended the world forever?

His erection was gone. All that rumination wasn't very helpful. His nuts though still felt quite full, but he realized he needed to think this through a bit more. He gave the girl a few pats on her cute naked shiny round tush and carefully made his way out of the shower, being extra cautious in how he placed his feet on the slippery shower floor.

He borrowed a towel to dry off, and then returned to his piles of clothes. He carefully picked up the watch and gently laid it on the floor a few feet away as he dressed.

His eyes were fixed on the watch as he put on his clothes. What if it didn't work when he clicked the switch? It wasn't like he could take it now to a repairman to get fixed. Heck, he couldn't even take it to a shop to get cleaned when time was moving. He could never let someone else handle it.

What if the battery went dead while time was stopped? Actually, he should be able to replace the battery, but maybe it took a special battery, like some sort of atomic battery. Or, maybe it was just spring wound? What if the spring broke? Would he really enjoy the rest of his life if time was stopped for everyone else? What would it be like when he was breathing his last breath, knowing that he had essentially ended the future of the entire universe, just so he could read a few books.

He wished he could ask the old man these questions. He should have at least left a phone number.

Once dressed Henry very carefully picked the watch up and extricated himself from the sorority house.

As soon as he reached the sidewalk, with considerable trepidation, he clicked the watch, and was so, so relieved to be suddenly flooded by all the many sounds, and see so much movement. He smiled with a tremendous sense of relief.

He carefully placed the watch into his pocket, watching it closely as it went in to be sure that once he let go it would be safe.

He made his way back to his apartment, keeping his hand within his pocket on the watch all the way there.

When he got back to his apartment he wondered what he should do. He decided to let time proceed as usual for awhile. He needed some reassurance that everything was okay.

However, when it became time for bed he wasn't the least bit tired. He decided to stop time, carefully, and then let his time continue until it got back into synch with real time, or at least the time for everyone else.

He removed the watch from his pocket, gently laid it on his bed, and then clicked it.

An odd silence filled the room. He had never noticed before how many different little sounds were in the background of his apartment. He did now that everything was turned off.

He removed some books from an old easy chair to make room to sit down and get back into Romola. He suddenly realized that he hadn't yet started reading it. All that time had passed and yet not one page. He smiled as he opened it up. This had been his original intended use for stopping time. He felt a bit better, a little more relaxed. He concentrated on the text, his mind drifting away from his ruminations over the watch. He eventually felt much better.

He reached up to turn on the reading lamp by his chair, but it wouldn't come on. He kept turning the switch, but there was no response. He wondered if the bulb had gone out, and then recalled that nothing would work while time was stopped.

He got up from the chair, turned time back on, turned on the reading lamp, and then turned time off. As soon as he did so he realized that if there was a limited number of clicks he had clearly just wasted a couple of them. And, even if there wasn't, there had to be an eventual wear and tear on the watch. How long would this watch actually last? Clearly time did not stop for it.

He returned to his seat to again lose himself in the book, which didn't take too long.

A considerable amount of time eventually passed. How much, of course, was impossible to know, but he did eventually grow tired and sleepy.

He clicked the watch to turn time on, and smiled as the room filled with bits and pieces of background noise.

He prepared for bed, enjoying the fact that he was now back in synch with the world. There was something to be said for enjoying the company of others, living in the flow of time. But, of course, all the time knowing that he could at any time stop time, and get something done or play some amusing prank.

By the time he was in bed he was feeling considerably more relaxed and comfortable, and quickly fell asleep. It had been quite a long and busy day.

When he awoke the next morning he felt refreshed and energized. His confidence was renewed. His doubts and concerns seemed like a thing of the past. The watch had to be pretty darned resilient, as the old man probably had it for quite a long period of time. The watch looked real old and so maybe it was timeless, maybe it would last forever.

He even smiled at breakfast when he realized that he had forgotten to study for the German test this morning. It was now about 7:30AM and the test would be at 9:00AM. He would probably take his time getting to the point in time when he had to take the test, but the fact that he would eventually arrive there did not trouble him. He could simply stop time right at the beginning of class and take all the time he needed to study for it. Actually, there was an even easier solution.

When he arrived for the test he got into his seat and waited impatiently for Professor Schilling to hand out the test. It was kind of funny. He now had all the time in the world but precisely for this reason he felt quite impatient over the fact that the professor was wasting so much time in handing out the test.

A few students shared his feeling of impatience. Professor Schilling never handed out more copies of the test than the precise number of students in each row. She feared a student would keep the extra copy and then give it to someone who would enroll next semester. But, this procedure took a considerable amount of time, and those who first got the test had more time to complete it than those who were last to receive a copy. Henry was in the last row.

Ms. Schilling noticed the tapping of pencils and feet. "Now, don't worry," she said. "There will be plenty of time for everybody."

'No fooling,' Henry thought, as he immediately stopped time when he finally received his copy of the test. He pulled out his notebook and textbook, and completed the test, grinning mischievously the whole time. He even purposely missed a few questions so that his score would not arouse any undo suspicion, although it turned out he in fact would miss two more of them anyway as the questions were based on lectures for which he hadn't taken good notes.

When he was done he started time again and immediately covered his test with his hands, realizing that it would arouse considerable suspicion if anyone noticed that he had somehow managed to finish the test within a couple of seconds.

As he sat there he again felt that he was wasting a considerable amount of time. It was incredibly boring just sitting there, pretending to be answering questions. He considered stopping time and leaving the room, coming back later after he had read a few more chapters of Romola. But, that would only delay the inevitable. He would eventually have to use this time up unless, of course, he decided to abandon the world altogether for his own private life, but he had already considered and rejected that option.

He stared at the clock on the wall. He was reminded of when he was in elementary school, staring at the clock on the last day of class before the beginning of summer vacation. This was the happiest, as well the longest, day of the year. Time just seemed to actually slow down as the hour, minute, and even second hand gradually dragged its way around the clock. It's too bad his watch didn't have a fast forward.

He looked around the room at the other students, feverishly completing their tests; the poor shmucks. He glanced at Ms. Schilling, and caught her eye.

"Keep your eyes on your own tests," she reminded everyone. Her eyes were looking right into his.

Ms. Schilling was a rather pretty teacher, and relatively young. He didn't know for certain her age, but she certainly looked rather young. She wasn't married, or at least she didn't wear a wedding ring. But, even though she was quite pretty, with her long wavy blonde hair (albeit often pulled back), large blue eyes, perky nose, and very rosy red cheeks, she presented herself as the rather stern and authoritative mistress. It was not good to be at the receiving end of her steely glare.

Henry immediately pretended to be studying the test questions. Her noticing him not working at all wasn't good. He wondered if she would now be suspicious about his test results. But, he was probably okay. If she checked the answer sheet of Mandy who sat right next to him she would see that he hadn't copied any of her answers.

Ms. Schilling got up from her desk. He didn't raise his eyes to see where she might be heading. He certainly hoped that she wasn't going to come down to speak to him.

He looked away, trying not to look suspicious, and then reached into his pocket, and stopped time. He looked up at his teacher. She wasn't even looking at him. She was perhaps just stretching her legs. He again glanced around the room. This time taking his time doing it.

He had an inspiration.

He got up from his desk and made his way around the entire class, opening up each girl's blouse, so that eventually every girl in the room was exposing her brassiere.

It took a bit of time, but it was again time well spent. He imagined he was a male nurse or something, helping the young ladies open their blouses for an examination.

He felt a little guilty about disrobing Mary Sue Edwards. She was a real sweet girl. It wasn't like the other girls weren't, but Mary Sue was the only girl he really knew. Well, actually, he didn't know her well at all, but they had spoken a few times, and until this moment he hadn't fully appreciated how sexy were her titties. They were on the small size, often barely noticeable if she was wearing a frumpy, loose blouse. But, presenting now her lavender cotton brassiere, trimmed with rose lace and decorated all over with little violets, she was truly a sight to behold. The fact that they were little small cups even made her all the more endearing and adorable. He gave each precious cup a little kiss right on the tip.

He then checked her test. He had a soft spot for Mary Sue in part because she was struggling in class. She asked lots of questions, which generally just indicated that she wasn't following the lecture or adequately understanding the material. A couple of times Ms. Schilling even rolled her eyes.

He took her test back over to his own desk to check her answers against his. He changed a lot of them (albeit not all) and then returned the answer sheet to her desk. If she didn't check her answers she wouldn't even notice the changes. She probably would though check, but she might just think she wasn't being sufficiently careful when filling in the opscan sheet, and possibly she might even realize that her inadvertent errors were fortuitously good choices. But, Henry realized he probably should have just waited until she was about to hand the test in before he made the changes. Well, he would take the additional time to do that later in the class.

He made his way to the front of the class to admire his handiwork.

He smiled proudly. There was something quite appealing about a classroom in which all of the girls wore their blouses open and were now just sitting exposing their brassieres, either unaware of or indifferent to what was being revealed. It was like Henry had x-ray glasses. And, the variability in brassiere selection was really quite impressive. There were pink ones, green ones, yellow ones, rose ones, lacy ones, sheer ones, full cup and demi-cup. Henry was impressed at how many of the girls apparently took such pride in their undergarments, wearing such provocatively pretty and sexy underthings despite the fact that nobody would see them. There were, of course, a few plain white cotton brassieres, but they still had their own delightful charm. And, there was also quite the variation in size, from big, to medium, to little tiny titty size. It was really quite a garden of lovely colorful cups.

Henry stood at the front of the class for quite a bit of time, admiring his work of art, a sort of human sculpting. He then made his way back over to Mandy's desk, or more specifically her breasts. He had often admired how big and round they looked. He stood behind her and reached down into her brassiere to cup, fondle, and squeeze her soft, squishy boobs. He had just done this within the last day or so with other girls (how much time had actually passed was really unclear), but some things never get tiring or dull. He had at times wondered how Mandy's boobs would feel like. How cool it is now to finally have the power to know and experience such things.

His eyes went to his teacher. Clearly, Ms. Annika Schilling needs to be involved in this little timeless exploration. He removed his hands from Mandy's brassiere and made his way to the front of the class, now sporting a very severe erection.

He pulled up her skirt.

It wasn't that easy as her business skirt was rather tight, but this was the kind of work that any boy enjoys. His cock was straining within his pants.

When he eventually got her skirt all the way up past her panties he paused for a moment to admire the sight. Ms. Schilling was as sexy beneath her skirt as she was pretty. She was wearing white nylons, held up by a white lace garter belt above which were white lace panties. He had to figure she must at least be dating someone. What was the point of such sexy underthings? They were almost a shame to pull down.

He took hold of his teacher's panties and pulled them all the way down to her ankles, gathering there in a very lovely tangled web of intimate white lace and cotton.

His eyes then returned to what her panties had been hiding.

Whoa! Ms. Schilling was most definitely a natural blonde. He had never seen such blonde hair on a pussy before, at least not in the pictures he had seen. The hair was not terribly long. The bush was thick but quite tidy, short, and restrained. He wondered if she trimmed it.

In any case, her womanly feminine lips were clearly discernible, and terribly enticing. He got down on his knees in front of her and crushed his own lips against hers. He attempted to breath in her scent but her distinct feminine odor was not strong. He wondered if that was a reflection of Professor Schilling's pussy or the stoppage of time. Perhaps he could inhale only the scent that had been already within the air when time was frozen.

He gave her lips full, deep licks with his tongue. He could most definitely taste her, as he could taste his burgers the other day, and Ms. Schilling's pie was indeed a very rich and lustful womanly flavor. He gorged himself on his teacher's pussy pie, smacking, kissing, licking, and munching away, making all sorts of obscene noises, eventually reaching down to extract his cock so that he could squeeze and pump it at the same time.

He had still not yet cum, and his balls were again really churning. But, he didn't want to just waste it. He wanted to save it for a really good moment in time. He could perhaps jerk off onto Professor Schilling's desk, but clearly that would result in an investigation. Heck, DNA tests could prove that it was him. How it got there would be a true mystery but the conclusive evidence of DNA wouldn't require an explanation.

Perhaps he could shoot his load into her panties and then pull them back up. She might just think that she had wet her panties. That would be kind of funny.

But, as an experienced woman she would quickly realize that the stuff in her panties was some guy's cum. However, there was simply no way anyone would think that he was the one who gave her the panty cream pie. She might not even want it to be investigated, given the obvious embarrassment it would cause. On the other hand, there would also be no way that Ms. Schilling would think that this was some sort of bizarre accident. She might even seek treatment for memory loss, or perhaps blame it on some sort of drug that someone had slipped into her coffee. Well, it would be difficult for anyone to reach that conclusion but some explanation would have to be developed. Time stoppage would not be blamed. In the end, if they took DNA from all the guys in her class it would point the finger right at him. He again recognized the importance of being careful and not push this too far.

He got back up onto his feet, his lips and chin a sloppy mess, his erect dick poking out of his pants.

He strolled up and down the rows of desks, occasionally stopping to admire the sight of his naked cock sticking out in the direction of a pretty girl, occasionally bumping her cheek with it, perhaps even her lips, as if she was kissing it.

As his cock pressed against a girl's lips he realized that it would be nice to be able to share this experience with someone. He wondered if he held hands with a person when he stopped time would that person still be exempt. What if both of them held onto the watch at the same time?

Of course, he didn't really know with whom he would want to share this. It wasn't like he wanted to be naked with another boy, nor did he feel he could really trust anyone with a secret as powerful as this. If he couldn't keep the secret to himself could he really expect one of his friends to keep it secret?

A more desirable partner would be a girl, but he didn't have a girlfriend and, even if he did, would he really think she would enjoy this as much as him? What would a girl do if she could stop time?

He made his way to the back of the room, to stand next to Doris Blevins. Doris was one of the more openly sexy girls in the class. Frankly, he hadn't really had to open her blouse as it was already rather diaphanous. Henry was surprised when he saw women wearing blouses through which one could see their brassieres. He at times wondered if they really knew how much they were revealing. Of course they had to, but then why weren't they at all embarrassed? They wouldn't walk around on campus without a blouse, but they were essentially doing the same thing with a see-through blouse.

Doris was bent over, carefully studying one of the questions.

Henry studied her brassiere, and he smiled with mischievous delight when he observed that the clasp was in front.

He undid the clasp. Her boobs didn't just naturally fall out though. So, he helped them along by pulling back the cups to under her arms, letting Doris' full round lovely mammaries into the open air.

He knew that this was taking a bit of a chance. But, it wasn't like she could really blame this on any guy in the room. If it was the clasp at the back she would most definitely accuse the guy sitting behind her. She would have to attribute this accident to some sort of wardrobe malfunction.

Henry then buttoned up all of the girls' blouses, including Doris'. It wasn't as much fun as unbuttoning them, and it was a little sad to have to hide all of that charm, but it was still pretty neat. It was like they were his life-sized dolls. He never much enjoyed playing with dolls as a boy, but he could now see the pleasure. He occasionally snuck a little feel in the process of buttoning up a blouse. That was to be expected. When he was finally done he made his way back to Ms. Schilling.

He smiled as he decided to just leave her panties at her ankles, dressing her only to the point of pulling her skirt back down.

When he got back to his seat he paused for awhile. He looked around the room to see if he had missed anything. It would be pretty bad to have actually missed one of the girls, leaving her with her blouse open. That would not, of course, be traced back to him but coupled with Ms. Schilling's panties down and Doris' brassiere falling open, it might result in some sort of investigation. And besides, he didn't really want to embarrass a girl that badly.

Once he was certain everything was fine, he clicked the watch in his pocket.

Ms. Schilling instantly recognized her wardrobe accident, as she could feel a wet coolness on her pussy and as soon as she moved a foot she felt her panties around her ankles. Plus, she was suddenly, unmistakably, extremely sexually aroused. She looked down and with considerable surprise and shock saw her white lace panties down at her feet. She quickly sat down in her chair, her eyes scanning the students in the first couple of rows, trying to determine if any of them had noticed or, worse yet, had somehow pulled her panties down.

Henry tore his eyes away from Ms. Schilling to see how Doris was doing. She had not noticed her accident as quickly as the professor, her mind being so fully absorbed in a test question. So Henry got to see her initial reaction, which was again shock and confusion.

She quickly wrapped her left hand and arm around her boobs to hide them from anyone's sight, her face turning a beet red. She glanced as well around the room to see if anyone had noticed her accident, or was now noticing her effort to hide her breasts from sight.

Henry returned his attention to Ms. Schilling.

She was still understandably confused by her predicament as well as her level of arousal. How could one's panties fall down like that? How could she have suddenly become so lustfully excited. Her panties weren't the least bit loose. It's possible perhaps that suddenly the elastic within the waistband somehow broke or tore, but that was so unlikely. Nothing remotely like this had ever happened to her before. She looked behind her and down around her desk, considering the absurd possibility that perhaps some really deranged student had snuck up on her and pulled them down. Remote as that possibility would be it seemed just as good as any other possible explanation. But, there was clearly nobody around. Maybe somebody drugged her drink? Maybe she had some sort of dissociative episode? None of these possibilities though made any real sense, but what did make sense?

She then realized that she had better fix this problem soon before a student asked her to come to his or her desk to help with one of the questions.

She reached down, pretending to be picking up a pen when in fact she was taking hold of her panties.

She quickly pulled them up to and over her knees, which wasn't that difficult or suspicious. The students couldn't see what was going on behind her desk. If they noticed her movement they would only just think she was adjusting her skirt, which professors in tight skirts seemed to do pretty often.

But, Annika was now uncertain what to do beyond this point. She pulled the panties farther up her thighs but this had required pulling up her skirt as well. To get them all way up and over her bottom would require pulling her skirt all the way up as well. This would be difficult enough to do in the front of the class even with a large, loose summer skirt, but to do so with her tight business skirt was taking quite a bit of risk in being noticed. She now realized that she probably should have just taken the panties off and slipped them into her purse.

"Professor Schilling!" Henry raised his hand. He had a question about one of the test items.

Annika's eyes opened wide with concern. One of the students had a question?! Now!? She pulled her skirt back down over her panties and got up from her desk, the panties wrapped around her thighs. Her heart was racing so hard. Maybe she should just let the panties slip off and step out of them. But, she couldn't just leave them by her chair. And, what if they didn't just slip down? She couldn't help get them down by wiggling her bottom or using her hands.

With one hand "resting" against the front of her leg, holding her crumpled panties against her thigh, she carefully made her way to Henry's desk.

Henry glanced back at Doris as Ms. Schilling was slowly making her way over to him. Doris was trying to keep her boobs hidden but was not really that successful. He couldn't see her nipples but a thin arm can't completely hide such a mountain of white soft spongy flesh. He didn't though look long as he didn't want Ms. Schilling to notice Doris. He returned his eyes to her, smiling innocently and patiently while waiting for her assistance.

Putting on a brassiere isn't all that difficult, but when one has to do it through a buttoned blouse and in the middle of a class, that was a different story. Doris was reminded of a recurring nightmare she would have, in which she suddenly found herself naked in public, right on campus. Perhaps this wasn't so bad. In the dream she would be entirely naked, with no way to protect her modesty other than with her hands. At least now "all" she had to do was to get her bra back on.

But, this was actually much worse than her dream as it was in fact for real.

Keeping her left hand hiding as much as she could Doris carefully, slowly, used her right hand to wrest the breast cup free from beneath her arm pit. This was just so weird. It kind of, sort of, maybe made sense that her clasp malfunctioned, although that had never happened before. But, how did her cup manage to get jammed under her arm without her noticing it? She must have been terribly, terribly deeply concentrating on her test.

Well, in any case, she took hold of the left cup through her blouse and pulled it over to her breast. She then switched hands to get the other cup on, all the while glancing around to be sure that nobody was noticing her.

Then she noticed Billy Adams, sitting to her right, smiling at her.

She gave him her most dirty look possible.

But, he just continued to smile, watching her trying to get her bra back on in class. Clearly the sight of her struggling to get her jiggly boobs back into their cups was considerably more interesting than the test.

Doris wondered if Billy was responsible for her brassiere becoming undone, somehow reaching across and undoing the clasp while she was concentrating on her test. No, that didn't make any real sense. He was though being very rude in not looking away.

Ms. Schilling knew that the placement of her hand on her thigh looked unusual and awkward, but clearly no student would be thinking she was doing that to hold onto her panties. They would probably think that she was rubbing a sore muscle or something. This really wasn't so bad she felt, as long as she kept hold of her panties through her skirt. "Henry, what seems to be the problem?"

"Thank you, Professor Schilling," he responded, smiling up at her, enjoying the fact that he knew something she didn't know he knew. "I didn't understand this sentence, Die visuellen Effekten in diesem Film sind cool.' I mean, shouldn't it be 'Effecte'?"

She had to come to his desk for this? "Henry, if I told you that then I would be giving you the answer." So many students do this, their questions not really asking for clarification but instead looking for a hint.

"Oh, okay, that's fine. I guess it should be Effecte then?"

Ms. Schilling patted Henry on the shoulder, as if to say, 'Nice try.' "You just give the best answer you can, Henry. I'm sure you will do just fine." Before he could ask any further questions she turned away to head back to her desk.

Henry flicked his pencil off the desk so that it would land in front of her.

Annika stopped. The pencil was resting just a few inches in front of her feet. It was not a big deal to pick it up, not when one's panties aren't tangled around one's thighs. But she was not entirely sure about her grip on her panties. It was more like she was just pressing them against her thigh. In the process of picking up the pencil it was distinctly possible she could lose her grip and that would not be very good. Having one's panties fall down in class would be rather embarrassing, to say the least. Still, it was apparent that she had noticed the pencil. It would be rather rude to just step over it.

She carefully bent over to retrieve the pencil for Henry.

Henry smiled as her naked derriere pressed out the back of her skirt like a big round ball. He stopped time.

He just had to take a look. He was sitting there imagining what her naked bottom would look like beneath her skirt, poking out like that, and then suddenly realized that well, of course, he could very well see for himself. He didn't have to imagine.

He got up from his desk and grinned with delight as he began to pull up her skirt.

But, he then faced a problem. Pulling up her skirt would require releasing her panties from her hand. He wondered if he could get them back into position tight enough beneath her hand such that they didn't instantly fall down when he started time again. Well, actually, either outcome was fine with him.

He pulled the skirt off her hand. Ms. Schilling's panties stayed at her thighs. How odd, but Henry then realized that any movement that did occur had to be a direct result of his own effort.

In any case, once he got her skirt up and over her bottom he recognized that he had made the right decision. Ms. Schilling had a lusciously wonderful butt. It was really quite taut, round, and snowy white. He got down on his knees to gaze more deeply at that glorious pale moon. He wondered if his teacher appreciated what a truly great butt she had.

His balls were really getting quite the exercise, or at least the frustration.

He pressed his face into Ms. Schilling's soft round ass, albeit quickly having to grasp her hips as he almost knocked her over. Goodness, what if she had hit her head? He was reminded of the warning that the old man had provided. Whatever he did would have an impact on the other person.

He suddenly realized that this could apply to sexual contact as well. If hitting a person would result in a bruise and pain when time again started, then wouldn't diddling a girl's clit cause her to be excited when time started? He thought back on the Delta Nu girls. When he started time again out on the street, Tammie's nipples were probably real stiff and erect, her pussy all warm and wet.

He smiled. If this was true then he could make Ms. Schilling all sexually excited when he started time again.

He pulled his face from her butt and brought the fingers of one hand to her clit, a finger on the other hand he slipped up into her warm, wet cunt. He was a little surprised that she was in fact so moist, but then realized he may have already excited her a bit earlier. This was so cool. He rubbed her clit around and around as his other finger slid in and out of and flickered within her tight wet fleshy cunt. It was just so fucking neat. Not too many students get an opportunity like this. It was a little odd though to be doing this with no reaction from her whatsoever. He imagined that she was asleep and he had snuck into her bedroom to play with her. Somehow that made it seem less strange.

He gazed upon his teacher's naked butt as he worked her clit and cunt. All this time, just inches from his eyes, was his teacher's puckered curly rosy asshole. He wondered if he dared lick that as well. It was most definitely quite the temptation. He had never considered himself as being into anal sex. Heck, he never considered himself being much into sex at all. The stopping of time was teaching him a great deal about himself. One never knows what one might learn about oneself until one takes the time to consider it.

Licking a girl's anus though must be a pretty nasty thing to do. On the other hand, it wasn't like anyone was ever going to find out. He could do things now with a girl that even she wouldn't ever know he did.

He leaned forward, with considerable trepidation, stuck his face into his teacher's butt, and took a quick, very brief, lick of her anus.

He quickly pulled back, like his tongue had touched a hot ember.

He considered the taste. It was kind of bitter. He wasn't sure he liked it.

He studied her anus as he continued to diddle her clit and finger her cunt. It was now glistening with his moisture. It did look rather cool. He smiled. It was really too bad that he couldn't take a picture of it. Not too many students have pictures of their teacher's butt holes. However, not only would that be having some rather incriminating evidence in his apartment he wasn't so sure a camera wouldn't actually work.

Well, that was probably enough. He gave his teacher's fanny a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and pulled her skirt back down. It wasn't easy though getting her panties lodged safely under skirt. He was having some difficulty keeping her hand pressed down hard enough so that the panties likely remained in place. He considered just letting them fall back to the floor when he started time, but he rejected that idea. It would be fun, and funny, no doubt about that. But, it would be mean. Plus, he wanted her to wake up feeling excited and aroused, not frightened and embarrassed. He eventually tried pinching a section of the panties in between her finger and thumb, as well as having her palm pressing against them. That would likely work.

He got back to his seat, and clicked time back on.

"Oh!" Annika suddenly exclaimed, feeling so strangely intensely aroused again, and apparently so much so that she had almost lost control of her panties. She fell to her left knee, but managed to maintain hold of the panties. She picked up Henry's pencil with her left hand as she carefully adjusted the position of her panties as best she could with her right.

Jennie Jamerson, who was sitting just to her right, asked, "Are you okay, Professor Schilling?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine dear, just a little hot flash." As soon as she said it she regretted it. It wasn't a bad excuse for her state of confusion but it implied some other condition that would be just about as embarrassing to publicly announce to her students as an intense sexual excitement.

She carefully got back onto her feet, turned halfway toward Henry and handed him his pen. "Here, Henry," she said, her voice clearly breathless and agitated, her face flushed, "keep a firm grip on it now," advice that she recognized was even more important for herself.

Henry smiled. He had gotten the confirmation he needed. Ms. Schilling, Professor Schilling, was indeed hot to trot. Yes, this opened up quite a few more possibilities.

He watched with some amusement the distraught and confused Ms. Schilling through the rest of the test. He even stopped time again to give her another dose of arousal when it appeared that she was getting control of herself.

Toward the end of the class he noticed that Mary Sue looked distraught. She clearly felt that time was running out for her. Henry again wondered if it would be possible to share the watch with someone. It would be nice to have a partner. He wondered if he was now doomed to be alone for the rest of his life. Could he really tell a girl about this? Actually, why not? She would have to be pretty darned impressed by his ability to stop time. Not too many guys could do that!

Henry did check Mary Sue's exam before she turned it in. After she placed it on the professor's desk he stopped time to retrieve it. She had changed back a number of the answers. He fixed them for her. She would not likely discover this later. All she would be told was the grade she received and a list of items she got wrong.

He also did the same later for Doris and Mandy. He really should do something nice for them as they had done something nice for him.

He set out after class wondering how else he might use the watch. The possibilities seemed as endless as time. It hadn't been very long at all since he had vowed to be more careful with the watch, yet now he wanted to use it all the time. He didn't even know how many times he had stopped time in Professor Schilling's class.

He came to the realization that the ability to stop time was helping him to grow as a person, to become a more complete man. He really had been too absorbed with reading. There were other important things in life than just books. His parents had been telling him that time after time. Well, he now realized how right they were. One should take the time at times to stop and smell the roses.

His eyes fixed on the sight of a girl's bottom swaying left and right in front of him as they walked across the campus commons. He had never noticed before how much beauty there was in the world, even when he was just walking to and from class. His eyes would typically be buried in some dusty old tome. He now realized that all around him were such delectable visions.

He stopped time and stepped up to the girl. He lifted up the back of her skirt.

Well, here were indeed pretty flowers to admire. She was wearing pastel cotton panties with yellow daises, pink carnations, red roses, and, well, he couldn't identify the rest of them. He tucked the back of her skirt under her belt, stepped back a few feet, and started time again.

Now the swaying bottom was even more delightful! Stopping time was pretty darned cool, but existing in time did also have its charm, particularly when it involved such movements as this. Do women naturally walk with a wiggle? He didn't know, but this one sure did and she was waving such a cute perky colorful flag, swaying in the cool spring wind.

Some animals alert potential mates that they are in heat by having their rear ends sort of light up with inflamed arousal, or at least so Henry had read. He was thinking, with private amusement, that this would be a good way for human females to do it too. They could just tuck up their skirts in back to signal men that they want to be asked out on a date, or at least it sure looked that way right now.

It didn't take at all long though for the girl to realize that something was amiss. It just felt so unusually cool back there. She reached behind her to discover that her hand touched bare bottom, or at least bare panty. She looked back down over her shoulder to see that her skirt had somehow been tucked into her belt.

She quickly pulled it free and looked all around behind her, scowling at any and every guy she saw, many of whom had indeed enjoyed the very brief show. She wasn't entirely sure though if it was their fault. She had just left a restroom at the Fine Arts building. It was conceivably possible that her skirt had gotten caught in her belt, but, really? That had never happened before, and why hadn't she noticed it until now? No, some guy must have done it. But, goodness, what guy would have the nerve to do something like that!

Henry was not the only guy in her line of vision, not even the closest guy. He had stepped back far enough to avoid being the closest guy, and he was now quite glad he made that decision.

The girl turned around and went on her way, feeling that she really couldn't identify the culprit, if there was in fact one. Still, she kept looking back over her shoulder and checking her skirt.

Henry smiled. There were so many possibilities now open before him, and he had all the time in the world to enjoy them.

Henry stopped, not time, just his movement. He suddenly wondered, did he really have all the time in the world?

No! Time was not actually stopping for him. Time was stopping for everyone else! Time for him was moving along in one continuously flowing stream, just like before, not at all affected by the watch.

He clicked the watch. Time was now stopped for everyone else but him. He was not being provided with any more time than he otherwise would have in his life. He clicked the watch and everyone began to move, picking up where they had just left off, precisely at the point in time when Henry had stopped it. Time had passed for him, but not for them. He had actually lost time, relative to them. He now had less time left in his life than they had.

If he had a girlfriend, which didn't seem likely, but if he did, and she could not join him, then someday he would eventually, with the passing of time, be much older than her. The more Henry used the watch the sooner he would die, relative to everyone else, and the longer everyone else would live, relative to him.

This actually kind of sucked.

He could delay time so that he could get things done. It provided him with more time than others had relative to some future point in time, but it was still his time that he was using up. Henry felt a shiver run down his spine. This was really no good at all. He could feel his heart sinking.

He needed a distraction. He made his way to the student lounge, where a lot of guys and girls just hung out to chat, have sodas, play some games, text each other, essentially wasting time until the next class.

It didn't take long to find a helpful distraction. The girl Henry spotted was Cynthia Lauper. Cynthia was drop-dead gorgeous. If he had to describe her he would say to imagine the model and actress, Nicole Kidman, which was of course saying a lot. Cynthia had long wavy red hair that spilled down past her shoulders. She often had to brush her hair back away from her eyes, it was so full and lush. Henry once thought that if her hair was that unmanageable perhaps she should just get it cut, but he eventually realized that the gesture was itself a way to draw attention to her hair, to her face, to her eyes. And, her eyes were stunning. They were large, blue, gay and yet also piercing. It could be difficult for a man to even speak to her when she looked him in the eye, as he could feel so paralyzed, so intimidated, so beneath her loveliness.

Her skin was immaculate, her nose was thin and perky, her teeth white and perfect, her lips a lush red. Her shape was outstanding: a true hour-glass figure. Her breasts were not at all large (34-B) but she presented them well, often within inordinately tight and revealing blouses, sweaters, or t-shirts.

She was well out of the range for someone like Henry Demis. Heck, Henry would probably have difficulty getting any girl to go out on a date. It wasn't that he was bad looking. Well, there was the thick glasses, he was certainly kind of dorky, ill-kempt, and basically not that interesting. If a girl wanted to read books, then he was most definitely the right guy, but the date would be rather quiet, with little being said, as he would prefer that they just quietly sit and read.

Cynthia was also taller than Henry, if he needed any further reason for the match not made in heaven. No girl wants to date a guy shorter than him, or at least very few do. Henry was only five feet, three inches. Cynthia was probably five-ten. She sometimes felt she was taller than she would like to be, but no cosmetic surgery could ever fix that. And, five-ten was a good height for a model, which was her career aspiration.

At the moment she was sitting on a cushion in the corner of the lounge, as usual surrounded by guys currying her favor.

Henry walked right up to her, smiling, knowing that Cynthia Lauper was about to be cut down to size, his size.

"Hello Cynthia," he announced as he arrived. "What are you guys all talking about?"

Cynthia was surprised. Henry had never been this assertive before, to say the least. Frankly, she wasn't entirely happy about it as she felt that he was really a waste of her time. But, his presence might turn out to be amusing. His thick glasses were themselves amusing. "Well, Henry Demis. How wonderful to see you!" She pretended to be pleased, even joyed, by his arrival. "Perhaps you can help us. We're discussing magicians, David Blaine in particular. Donald here," she said, gesturing to the tall handsome guy standing to her right, "says that what he does is not really magic."

Donald spoke up in his defense, albeit risking being on the wrong end of a disagreement with Cynthia. His normative intention was to say what Cynthia would find most pleasing. But, he did feel that she would ultimately be impressed by his knowledge of the tricks of the magician trade. "No magician, of course, performs magic. What I was saying was that Blaine cheats as a magician because many of his tricks involve actors, confederates, and television editing, rather than sleight-of-hand."

"Oh please," Cynthia responded. "You just don't know how he does it, so you just make something up."

"No, no, really. I'm not talking about the card tricks, the levitation, or stuff like that. I'm talking about when he reveals the name of someone you were thinking about that you, for instance, wrote on something. He has a confederate involved. The girl is in on it."

"That's not true!" Cynthia turned to Henry. "Henry, what do you think?"

Henry's original plans for Cynthia suddenly changed. He now had a much better idea. "Oh, I can in fact do that trick," Henry calmly, confidently, proclaimed.

"What?!" "No way!" "Fuck off!" Henry's proclamation was met with considerable skepticism by Cynthia and her male admirers. There was no way that Henry Demis could do that trick.

"Show us!" They exclaimed.

Cynthia agreed, "Yes, please, Henry. Can you do it now?"

"Alright," he responded. "Donald, can I borrow a pen and a tablet?"

Donald, with a big grin on his face, handed Henry his pen and notebook. "I'll need them back...In one piece," he warned him.

Henry ignored the remark. He tore out an empty page, set the tablet down, handed the paper and pen to Cynthia, and instructed, "Print the name of the person you find most impressive on the paper, and then fold it up many, many times. I'll turn my back so that I can't see what you're writing." Henry turned around to face in the other direction.

He was definitely getting everyone's attention. They all felt there was really no way Henry would be able to do this. Of course, they weren't entirely sure what he was going to do. Eyes scanned the room for mirrors that Henry might be using as Cynthia printed a name on the paper in very small letters, her other hand hiding from view what she was writing.

"Let at least one person see the name you have written," Henry instructed.

Cynthia showed it to Donald, as well as a couple of other guys.

"Now fold it up many, many times. Make it as small as you can."

She did so.

"Place it in the palm of your hand, making sure that everyone can see you doing it, and then squeeze your hand into a tight fist."

All eyes were focused on the now little folded-up paper as Cynthia squeezed it tightly into her fist.

Henry turned around and wrapped his own hands around Cynthia's closed fist.

Cynthia giggled at the touch of Henry's fingers. His hands felt so small for a man, so soft.

Henry asked, "Do you still feel the paper in your hand?"

"Yes, yes I do."

Henry fixed his eyes on hers and said, with exaggerated seriousness, "Now slip it down into your brassiere, where it will be safe."

"Henry Demis! My goodness, what did you have for breakfast this morning!" But, she wasn't offended. On the contrary, she enjoyed calling attention to her breasts, as long as it was duly respectful. She smiled as she pulled her blouse a bit away from her chest to slip the paper within her brassiere, against her right breast.

A few guys leaned over and tilted their heads to try to get a peek to be sure that the paper was indeed being placed within Cynthia's brassiere. Of course, if they also managed to get a peek at Cynthia's breast or brassiere, that was kind of nice as well.

Henry though kept his eyes firmly fixed on Cynthia's, who now found his steady, piercing gaze to be a bit disconcerting.

Once the paper was safely in place Henry instructed, "Now rest your hands on your knees."

She did so.

Henry then slowly, very slowly, glided his hands over Cynthia's body, like sort of magic wands, never touching her, just feeling the space, the air, around her. "I must warn you, Cynthia," he said as he did so, "my magic can have strange effects on a young woman. Very strange effects, indeed."

That drew some derisive chuckling from the crowd, as well as from Cynthia. It was a bit corny and silly, particularly coming from someone like Henry.

Henry paused when his hands were over Cynthia's perky breasts. His fingers were poised as if to clutch them, but he did not. He just kept them there a good three inches away.

Cynthia smiled and giggled. A few of the guys felt jealous.

Henry pulled back, stood up straight and slipped his hands into his pockets. He stopped time.

As soon as he did so he ripped out another piece of paper from the pad and wrote another name down. He then reached down into Cynthia's brassiere to retrieve her paper. He kept his hand there for a little while though, enjoying the feel of that lovely soft breast. He even played a bit with her nipple. His cock grew within his pants. He could do so much more. He could do just about anything. His power was so impressive, as was the feel of his swelling cock. The feel of a hard cock can make a man feel so strong, so virile, so manly, so powerful. And, Henry was indeed truly powerful.

He took the paper from Cynthia's brassiere and opened it up. It read, "Heidi Klum." He had no idea who that was.

He folded up his paper in a manner that closely approximated hers. He put his folded paper into her brassiere, where she had placed her paper, and then placed hers in his pocket.

He got down onto his knees in front of Cynthia. He felt like he was kneeling at a great altar, the sanctum of Cynthia Lauper.

He slowly raised her loose, feminine, flowered-print yellow summer skirt.

Cynthia was wearing beneath her skirt white thigh high nylons, held up by a white garter belt, over which she was wearing pastel lace bikini panties. Cynthia would never be caught wearing anything but the finest of undies. Who knew when someone might be looking under her skirt. Of course, she wasn't expecting it to be in the manner that Henry was now partaking, but it wasn't at all unusual for Cynthia to provide some guy access to her so very coveted treasure.

Henry spread apart her deliciously white womanly thighs and inched in closer, and closer, and closer, until his face was but inches from her panties, and her cunt. He breathed in the wonderfully scented aroma of Cynthia Lauper. She even smelled beautiful. He wondered if she used some sort of scented spray. Most likely she did.

He used the fingers of his right hand to pull away the front of her panties to open to his eyes the sight of Cynthia Lauper's cunt.

He was not disappointed. He smiled as it came into view. It was mostly cleanly shaved, albeit with a v-shaped landing strip above it, pointing the way, directing the eye, and anything else that wished to land, toward the thick, wavy feminine lips. He wasted no time in planting his lips on hers, once again engorging himself on the delightful feel and taste of a woman's fleshy cunt.

This was perhaps the best cunt he had tasted so far, even better than Professor Schilling's. But, of course, he was biased by the fact that this was the cunt of Cynthia Lauper. Few men had perhaps even seen it. Well, that probably wasn't really true. In fact, quite a few had probably placed their lips here before. But, even many, many more men coveted this opportunity, this delight, this honor, and Henry savored this moment in time.

When he felt sufficiently satisfied he carefully pulled her panties back into place, brought her legs back together, pulled her skirt back down, wiped his lips, stood back up and, with a smile on his face, took Donald's watch off his wrist. He got back into the position he was standing before: his hands in his pockets. He started time again.

A careful eye would have noticed a minor shift in Henry's position, but the change was so trivial and quick that it went largely unnoticed, or at least it was immediately dismissed by the mind.

In fact, Donald asked, "Well, what's the trick?"

Henry looked over at Donald and smiled, then turned back to Cynthia. "Was the person's name Heidi Klumm?" He mispronounced her last name, which caused a few smiles and chuckles, but everyone who knew the correct answer was nevertheless duly impressed, as well they should be.

"Oh my gosh, Henry," Cynthia exclaimed, feeling surprisingly excited, and not just about the trick. She had somehow become sexually excited? "How did you do that?" she managed to ask, squeezing her warm, moist thighs together, her face becoming a little flushed. Yes, she realized, she had indeed become so aroused, so moist. She looked at Henry with confused, glazed, and as usual so very, very pretty eyes.

"Mirrors," suggested Donald, or there was someone standing behind him, signaling him, somehow. He looked around, staring intently into everyone's eyes, trying to discern the confederate.

"But," Henry added. "It really wasn't Heidi, was it, Cynthia."

"What?" She felt so agitated, her heart racing, her breasts rising and falling with her accelerated breathing.

"Check your answer."

Cynthia reached down into her brassiere, curious and excited as to what he was suggesting, although also noticing that her nipple was now quite stiff and aroused. She pulled out the paper, opened it up, and, her jaw dropping, her mouth opening, her eyes wide with shock and wonder, read out loud, "Henry Demis?"

"What?!" "No fucking way!" Now everyone was very, very impressed.

Cynthia held the paper up for everyone to see.

Even Donald was impressed, albeit he wouldn't admit it. It was of course Henry's writing on the paper, but it was still entirely unclear how he made the switch. "You, you Cynthia, you were in on it, weren't you!" That had to be the explanation. There was no other possibility.

"Oh Donald, don't be so stupid," Cynthia admonished him. "I wasn't even the one who brought up the topic of magic in the first place, and why would I even do something like this, with...Henry." As soon as she said it she realized that was a little insulting, particularly after Henry had been so entertaining. She looked at him again. Why had she suddenly become so excited? Henry had said that his magic would have an unusual effect on a girl. Did he hypnotize her or something? No, that was impossible. Nobody could do that without the person knowing, could they?

"Well," Donald added, "there is no way he could have changed the paper. The two of you changed it when you were, like, holding hands."

Cynthia though knew this to be untrue.

"Donald," Henry said, "Are you in on it? Are you one of my confederates?"

"Obviously not."

"Oh, alright then," Henry said, pulling out from his left pocket Donald's watch. "Well, then perhaps you would like this back?" He handed it over to him.

"Oh my gosh," Cynthia exclaimed.

People now even applauded. That really was impressive. Henry must have amazing sleight-of-hand skills. This was a side of Henry Demis that nobody ever knew, would ever dream of, although it is a stereotype that private, nerdy guys at times developed impressive skills through their long hours alone.

"Well," Henry said, "I've got to go. I need to get back to Romola."

Where the hell is Romola, Cynthia thought. She sprang from her seat and took Henry by the arm. "No wait, please, one more. Just one more. Show us one more."

"No, really, I'm wasting time now as it is. I should go."

Cynthia gave him her best coquettish pout, one that no man could resist. "For me, Henry. Would you do it for me?"

Henry smiled up at her face. "For you, Cynthia, of course."

She fired off, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." No magic act had ever excited her so much before.

Henry asked, "Think of a number between one and a hundred."

Cynthia did. She thought of the number 39.

Henry stopped time.

This time he fixed in his memory how he was standing, and then stepped around her to get her purse. When he was done with that he got back in front of her, and reached under her skirt to slip his fingers within her panties.

He smiled as he fingered her now warm, moist cunt and diddled her clit, right there in the student lounge, in front of everyone.

Using his other hand he unzipped his slacks and pulled out his erection. It wasn't that easy to do with just his left hand, but he did have at least some sleight-of-hand skills. He look Cynthia's left hand and wrapped her fingers around his shaft as he continued to finger her tight, wet cunt.

He worked her fist up and down his stiff cock. Her soft feminine fingers felt so fucking good on his cock. Why they would he couldn't explain. It wasn't like she was really jerking him off. He was doing all the work, but it sure felt like she was doing it.

He smiled, feeling how cool it was to be jerked off by Cynthia Lauper, right in the student center. It would be nice if life was really like that, that pretty girls just enjoyed jerking you off whenever you felt like having it done.

Of course, he would return the favor, fingering her as well, just as he was now doing.

Why can't pretty girls be this nice, this considerate. They would make so many guys so happy, so appreciative. Of course, such a thought was not realistic, but maybe one day of the year pretty girls agree to masturbate a guy in need. Henry sighed with the deepest pleasure. Even if it was not really real, it did feel really nice.

It wasn't too long before he felt he might cum. It might be quite the magic trick to have his cum suddenly appear on her fingers, on her dress. But, that probably wouldn't be too well received.

He let go of her hand and brought it back down to her side. He wasn't sure, but it probably was just hanging there before. He slipped his fingers from her cunt, straightened her panties, and then got into the position he felt he had been standing before.

He slipped his hand back down into his pocket and started time.

Cynthia felt that she might fall down. Her cunt felt so inflamed, so wet. She squeezed her thighs together hard, feeling such an urge to reach down, with her fingers, or to perhaps have one of the boys do it. Perhaps even Henry? She never before felt such an immediately intense urge to be fucked.

Henry asked, "Was the number 73?"

"What?" Cynthia was so confused, for more reasons than one. "No," she gasped, "no, it was 39."

Donald smiled. Others expressed disappointment, along with knowing smiles and nods. They all knew that he wouldn't be able to do it.

Cynthia rested her hand on Henry's shoulder, reassuring him that it was a nice try, as well as to steady herself. She squeezed his shoulder. "That's okay, Henry," she said softly, her voice a bit breathless. "It was pretty close."

'Close?' Donald thought. Henry wasn't at all close.

Henry looked perplexed. "Really, are you sure?"

Cynthia nodded her head.

"I could swear it was 73," Henry objected. "That number was so clear in my head." He thought for a bit and then asked, "Cynthia, how much change do you have in your purse?"

Cynthia's eyes widened, as did everyone else's. She turned around to get her purse.

Henry's eyes went to the curves of her bottom, so nicely outlined by the soft, thin dress falling so gracefully along her derriere. Perhaps he could fuck her from behind as she got the change out of her purse? How nice it would be to fuck every girl as soon as she bent over. Doctors might then have to explain how bending over is making girls so intensely aroused.

Cynthia quickly opened her purse, extracted the change purse, poured the contents into the palm of her hand, and carefully counted it out. "Oh my gosh," she gasped, her pussy becoming now even hotter. "Seventy-three cents. I have exactly 73 cents!"

"Ah," Henry replied without any emotion or surprise. "That explains it. Well, look, I really do have to go. I'm running out of time."

He left before anyone could ask a question, could ask for an explanation, or could ask for another trick.

Cynthia watched him leave with wonder, her heart racing, her cunt dripping.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

It was difficult for Cynthia not to think about Henry for the rest of the day. She was even thinking about him that evening, when she was on her date, with Alex Spaulding, the tight-end for the Livingston football team. She even thought about him, at least for a bit, when she was having sex with him. That really blew her mind, as Alex was so much more attractive than Henry, and so much more Cynthia-worthy than Henry.

She only thought about him though for just a bit the next day. She was getting over it. She had no idea how Henry did those tricks, but who knows how David Blaine does them? Clearly, though, Henry's trick wasn't due to actors, to camera editing, or to confederates, all of that was most definitely true.

Henry had been pretty busy himself. In fact, a whole week had gone by for him. He had visited quite a few places.

The girls locker room had been pretty cool. He had always wanted to peek into a girls locker room. Now he could even stroll right in, slowly making his way in and out of the rows of lockers, enjoying the bevy of feminine delights in all stages of various undress.

He had timed his visit to correspond with the end of cheerleading practice, and got a bonus when he discovered that the girls volley ball team was in there as well.

He didn't really have to lift up any skirts, open up any blouses, or pull down any panties, as many of the girls had already accommodated him on that score. But, he did pull down a couple of pairs of panties, just to help them along. He was particularly interested in Pamela Browning, whom he found to be the cutest cheerleader of them all, with very curly blonde hair, perky round boobs, dimples that one would die for that just lit up such a sweet, girlish smile. Well, turns out she wasn't a natural blonde. But, that did not diminish her appeal in his mind.

Henry did though give her a few light smacks on the bottom for dying her hair. When time started again she would be surprised to have her panties down and shocked to feel that someone had apparently given her a big smack on the bottom. She would laughingly chastise the girls around her, none of whom though would confess, but that would hardly be surprising.

Henry also went to a bank, to make a private withdrawal. He took out well over ten thousand dollars, almost dropping the watch as he did so.

But, he felt guilty about that. It was the guilt in fact that probably made him almost drop the watch. It wasn't really true that nobody would personally suffer from his theft. Some bank employee would likely be held accountable, perhaps even lose his or her job, perhaps even be accused of committing the crime. Plus, frankly, it was risky. He had worn gloves when he was in the bank, but for all he knew the money was somehow marked. And, he would likely draw considerable suspicion suddenly spending money that he had previously not had, particularly with fresh bills.

He had the money for less than a few minutes of real time before he stopped time and returned it.

It then dawned on him that he could do a lot of good being able to stop time. He could, for instance, break-up crimes. He could suddenly appear during the commission of a crime, shocking guys breaking into a house or assaulting a girl, demand that they cease and desist, and when they didn't, stop time, kick them in the nuts or something, and then start time again, demand from a different location they cease and desist, and so forth.

He could become a super hero! Just like in the comics he had read as a kid. He couldn't, of course, let his identity become known. He would have to wear some sort of disguise. He could announce himself as, "The Stranger in Time."

But, when he tried it out one night, he spent hours and hours trying to find some criminals in action. Turns out there wasn't a lot of active crime on the Livingston College campus or even the surrounding area, at least none that he could find.

It wasn't a total loss. He came across a number of couples in various stages of sex. He considered the possibility of somehow inserting himself into the action. Perhaps insert his dick into the girl's cunt or mouth for awhile, then hide nearby, start time again, and watch the effect.

But, when he finally tried it he did not find it personally satisfying. He enjoyed using his lips, tongue, and finger on a girl but somehow it was too weird to actually insert his cock into what seemed at the moment to be a lifeless girl. It was even a bit spooky. Plus, it just kind of felt like he was, well, assaulting her, rather than just playing a prank or helping her get excited. He didn't feel right about it.

When a week for him finally passed he wanted to check in with Cynthia again. That had been good fun, and she had clearly enjoyed interacting with him in real time.

He looked for her on campus, this time bringing with him a deck of cards.

It didn't take long to find her. She often held court in the Student Center. One had to wonder if she ever went to class.

She was at the food court, getting a soda.

Henry tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around. "Henry, it's you again!"

Henry stopped time. He had a further idea.

He got down on his knees and again lifted her skirt. She was wearing a loose rose cotton poodle skirt, as if she had stepped out of a 1950's movie, along with a full lacy crinoline slip. He got beneath the silky smooth slip, and paused to first admire her panties. They were really quite skimpy, the front consisting of just a v-shaped pink cotton with deep red cherries perched atop thin green stems. Henry well knew that there was no way Cynthia still had her cherry but he did appreciate the sentiment. He wondered how many panties she might own.

He pressed his face right against the front, rubbing his face, his lips, and nose against the soft fabric that covered the equally soft feminine flesh, breathing in deeply the intoxicating aroma of her natural and perfumed scents.

He reached around her body to help steady her, discovering thereby that she was wearing a thong, as his fingers clasped bare-ass bottom. Like any good future model, Cynthia had a very taut, tight bottom. His fingers dug into the firm yet pliant flesh as his lips continued to grind and massage her clit through the thin panty fabric.

He could spend an entire afternoon beneath Cynthia's skirt, but time was wasting. Well, actually it wasn't. But, nevertheless he was now mostly interested in her reaction.

He crawled out from beneath her skirt, got back onto his feet, and resumed, as best he could, his original position, and then started time.

"Yes, Cynthia, it's me. Good to see you again!"

Cynthia looked at him strangely. How very fucking weird! She was again stricken with a sudden wave of intense sexual arousal. Simply looking at Henry had apparently made her all excited? How could that possibly be true? But, it was true. There was no denying it. Could he have hypnotized her the other day, and then now again? No, that was absurd. Nobody had the power to do that. There just must be something about him that made her cunt so warm, so hot, so inflamed. She pressed her knees together, squeezing her thighs as tightly as possible. "Henry," she said, her voice a bit breathless, "how exciting to see you." She reached out her hand to shake his, but imagining instead that she would like to grasp hold of his stiff, hard cock, but then shook that obscene, and ludicrous, thought out of her head.

"How's tricks?" Henry joked, but not in a manner that was terribly original.

"Tricks? Oh yes, do show me another trick, would you, Henry, would you?" She wouldn't let go of his hand until he agreed.

"Sure, sure, Cynthia. I even have a deck of cards."

"Cards?" Cynthia was a bit disappointed. Card tricks aren't that hard to do. She couldn't do any herself but a card trick wouldn't measure up to what Henry had done previously. "Okay," she said without a lot of enthusiasm, her arousal level beginning to dissipate with her disappointment. However, this time she kept an eye on a clock just off to the left of Henry's head. If he was hypnotizing her then there would be a loss of time.

Henry pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. He first showed her that it was a real deck, with all the different cards. It was a Livingston College deck (the King was the college president), so it was unlikely to be a fake deck.

"Now pick one, any one," he said as he spread them open with two hands.

Cynthia didn't even look down, keeping her eye on the clock.

Henry's eyes were on Cynthia's boobs. She was so much taller than him that it was perhaps the natural place for his eyes to focus, albeit that was hardly a valid excuse. The real reason was that Cynthia was sporting a rather tight pastel cardigan sweater. It was fully buttoned, all the way up, but on her that just made it all the more sexy. It was like she was a 1950's sweater girl, her round womanly boobs so tightly gift wrapped in soft, pink fuzziness.

Everything looked fine to Cynthia. There had not yet been any loss of time. She held the card up to her eyes. It was the 7 of clubs. "Okay," she said.

"Write your name on it," Henry said.

She pulled a pen out of her purse and did so, still keeping a close watch on the time.

"Now," Henry said, putting the deck down onto the counter. "Slip it back into the deck. Anywhere at all."

She slipped it back into the deck, her eyes though quickly returning to the clock once she had done so. It was now 12 seconds past the minute.

Henry slipped his hands into his pockets and stood up straight.

Cynthia saw that it was 14 seconds past the minute.

Henry stopped time. He memorized his current position, retrieved the card from the deck on the counter, looked to see that it was her seven of clubs, and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

He then reached out with his hands to clutch Cynthia's breasts. They were not large but they were so very soft and squishy. Plus, they looked so wonderfully round beneath her pastel pearl button sweater, that matched so very well her full poodle skirt. He pressed his face into her breasts, his thumbs rubbing around on her nipples. She felt so soft, so sweet. Boobs are really so very cool.

He eventually pulled his face away and undid the buttons of her sweater, pulling it open to reveal the round pink lacy push-up cups. Now, this was a true fashion statement. What could be more sexy for a girl than to walk around with her sweater open and brassiere revealed, particularly one as delicious as this. Perhaps if girls did dress this way men would eventually grow tired and bored. It would no longer be something hidden, something they had to work for. Well, Henry couldn't imagine that ever happening for him.

He lifted up the cups to feast his eyes on Cynthia's wondrous boobs.

Well, it was only fitting that Cynthia Lauper would be blessed with two of the most well-shaped, roundest bubbies a girl could possibly have. "Oh my gosh," Henry softly exclaimed, and just stood there to admire them for awhile.

He reached down to unzip his pants and wrench his stiff cock through the flaps of his briefs and slacks, grasping hold of his shaft in his hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around it as he stepped forth to plant his lips right on one of those perky little nips and suckle like a babe in heat.

He licked, nibbled, pinched and chewed like a starving puppy at a teat, all the while slowly yet firmly stroking his cock.

He then shifted to the other one, not wanting to play favorites, albeit keeping the first one happy and amused by twiddling it with the finger and thumb of his left hand, his right hand remaining quite busy with important matters of its own.

When he felt like he had done more than enough he carefully slipped Cynthia's boobs back into their homes. That was a bit more difficult than he had anticipated. He had never put a girl's brassiere on before. His only experience so far was taking off Doris'. He hoped Cynthia wouldn't notice the awkward fit, although what could she possibly think if she did, particularly as he slipped the card into her left cup, along with her breast. He buttoned up her sweater and then got back into position, his hands thrust into his pockets, his eyes gleaming with delight as they remained focused on those round, soft, pink breasts.

Whoa! He looked down to see his cock still sticking out of his pants. Now, that would have been a bad mistake! He quickly slipped it back inside, zipped up his pants, resumed his position, and started time.

Cynthia noticed a brief, very brief, blurred movement of Henry's body, but definitely no change in time. But, a big change for her! Her nipples were suddenly becoming very stiff and pointy. She looked down at them. They were indeed poking out her sweater like a couple of bullets. They felt all tingly, inflamed, and even strangely moist. Her face reddened with embarrassment, and arousal.

Normally she did not mind her nipples sticking out. Sometimes stiff erect nipples were part of the effect of her outfit, and sometimes simply unavoidable on a cool fall day. But, her breasts were at the moment just inches from the bookworm Henry's eyes, plus they felt so aroused, so excited. They were not standing up stiff and tall because of some air conditioning. She in fact felt rather warm and flush.

"Seven of clubs," Henry calmly said.

"What?" What was he talking about?

"Seven of clubs, your card. It was the seven of clubs."

"Was it? Oh yes, yes, of course." She felt so confused, so distracted, but then finally gathered her composure, at least enough to realize, "Oh my gosh, you did it? Was it mirrors? How do you do it?"

"Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to have it back."

"Excuse me?"

"The card. I would like to have it back."

"It's in the deck. I put it in the deck. You saw me put it there."

Henry picked up the deck, turned it over, and spread it out, ostensibly looking for the card. "Well, you must have moved it because it's not there now."

Cynthia smiled. "Did you put it in my purse?" She reached for her purse. "How could you have done that? No time has passed." She realized that last remark probably sounded kind of weird, having not shared with Henry her weak hypothesis that he had hypnotized her.

"No, no, I'm afraid it's not there."

Cynthia stopped searching through her purse. "Well then, where it is?" she asked, albeit feeling a little apprehensive about where it might be.

His face reddened a bit as he said, "You might wish to check your..." Out of respect for her modesty and privacy, he lowered his voice for the last word... "brassiere."

Cynthia's eyes widened with shock, her jaw dropped. She turned away from Henry and undid one button of her sweater so that she could slip her hand inside, immediately finding the card. She pulled it out and looked with amazement at the sight of her card, seven of clubs, with her signed name. "Oh my goodness, Henry, how in the world could you have possibly done that!" It was really quite remarkable, as her sweater was fully buttoned. No hands could be that fast.

Henry was relieved. He was a bit worried that she might be upset at him for once again apparently rummaging within her brassiere. She was shocked, but not angry or appalled. Of course, many other guys had probably been within her brassieres before, but certainly no guys like Henry Demis. "A magician never reveals his secrets," he calmly replied.

It then dawned on Cynthia precisely where Henry had been. "Henry" she said, lowering her own voice, "my gracious, did you put your hand...in there?"

Henry's face reddened further.

Cynthia could see the self-conscious embarrassment on the boy's face. She now had the upper hand, a position with which she was well familiar when it came to guys. "Henry Demis, you naughty, naughty boy."

She appeared to be just teasing him, as she clearly had a flirtatious smile on her face, but Henry was not himself at all experienced with such banter, and he was certainly out of his league in engaging in such repartee with a girl as attractive and popular as Cynthia. "Um, well, I didn't really..." Of course, he had to have, but it was awkward to admit.

"Henry, did you feel my...bosoms?" She very rarely ever used such a word, but she knew it would only further fluster Henry.

It did make him uncomfortable but it also excited him, having Cynthia actually openly talking with him about her breasts, and his fingers touching them. He finally suggested, "It was magic," as if the card was mysteriously teleported into her brassiere.

Cynthia stepped up close to him, allowing her breasts to be less than an inch from his face, any small movement on his part would result in actual physical contact. Her nipples were again tingling, but now because of what she was doing, not what he might have in fact done. "Don't be embarrassed, Henry. I don't mind. It's magic."

Henry's cock was so fucking hard. "Yes, well, um, I probably should be going." What he wanted to do was to again crush his face into her breasts now so very, very close to him or, short of that, ask her out on a date. She would probably say yes now, wouldn't she? But there was no way he could muster enough nerve. He was amusing her, he was entertaining her, but he most definitely wasn't date material, let alone boyfriend material. He knew his place.

"No, no, don't leave. Show me one more. David Blaine can read people's minds and reveal secrets. Tell me something secret. Tell me something you know about me." Cynthia did enjoy having boys talk about her.

Henry drew upon all his strength, all his courage. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now. Well, not really, but this was clearly a very opportune point in time. "It would be very personal, something very secret and private," he warned her.

Cynthia was very intrigued. "Well, Henry, what do you know?" Now she really had to know.

"You promise you won't be angry. You won't be offended, no matter how private and secret it is?"

Cynthia glanced around to be sure that nobody was listening. A few guys were looking at them from well across the room. They were waiting for Cynthia to bring over her cherry cola. She hadn't been gone long but they didn't much care for the time she was spending, how brief it was, with Henry Demis. They had heard about the magic tricks he had done the previous day, and they could see that he had, once again, drawn her rapt attention.

"What are you going to tell me, Henry?" She did sincerely wonder what it might be. He could not possibly know how she lost her virginity, the fact that she liked to wear old, tattered sweat pants in the privacy of her apartment, the first time she had given a guy a blow job, or that she felt her breasts were too large for a model (the last one really wasn't a secret as she told lots of guys that).

She teased him a bit more. "Are you going to tell me the color of my panties?" She had used that line a few times on a date, telling a guy that he could slip his hand under her skirt if he could tell her the color of her panties. One time it had been a trick question as she wasn't wearing any panties at all. Of course, there was no way she would make such an offer to Henry.

Henry smiled. That was a rather nice ice breaker. "Something like that," he suggested.

Cynthia felt her face flush. What the heck did he mean by that? "Henry, I promise. I cross my heart," which she did so right across a breast, right in front of his eyes, "No matter what it is I won't be mad." It was a pretty risky promise. Quite a few guys had suggested and tried many things with her that she did find offensive, even repugnant, and she would become understandably upset. But, she felt safe with Henry, despite his apparent magic powers.

"Alright then, here goes," he said, rather ominously.

Cynthia giggled with apprehensive excitement, her breasts jigging before his eyes.

Henry stopped time.

He again lifted up Cynthia's skirt, and slip, tucking them into her belt. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down.

He faced a problem though when he got them to her ankles. How does he get them off? Wouldn't she just fall over if he lifted up one leg? She would have to be in a position to balance on the other leg, or to brace herself against the counter.

He got back up, stood behind her, memorized as best he could her current position, wrapped one arm around her waist, and used the other to lift her leg and shake off the panty, first from one foot, then the other. He did his best to carefully put her back into her original position.

He shifted back around to her front and paused to admire the sight. It did seem a bit flirtatious to have her skirt raised like that, and not even wearing panties! Such a dirty, naughty girl.

He pulled his cock out again and stroked it as he gazed upon her shaved, naked cunt. He stepped up to her, braced her with his left hand and pressed the swollen knob of his dick against her soft, moist lips. He was quite pleased to feel the evident moisture and warmth his "magic" was having on her.

He pondered while slipping and sliding his knob up and down her lips, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to have sex with her right in the food court of the student center. He could bend her over a table, lift her skirt over her back, and mount her from behind. He considered such a possibility as the slit of his crown slipped over her stiffened, erect nub. Simply because she wouldn't move or make any sounds would be okay. Her cunt would still be wet, moist, pliant, and tight. It would still be very fucking fantastic. He pressed his cock harder against her clit, rubbing his soft knob around and around its stiffness. Maybe she normally didn't move or make any sounds. Maybe it wouldn't be any different than it would be like to have sex with her anyway. His cock wanted her cunt so, so fucking badly.

But, it really would be different in one important way: she wouldn't know about it. She wouldn't be doing it willingly. And, besides, he had bigger, better plans.

He pulled his cock way, pulled her slip and skirt from her belt, brushing them both to try to get out any wrinkles.

He slipped his cock back into his briefs and zipped up his pants. He picked up her panties. He wondered where he might put them.

Having them be sitting on the counter next to her purse would be funny, but she might get upset about others seeing them. He considered putting them into his pocket, but she might also find that too intrusive. He seriously doubted that she had let other guys take souvenir panties. He opted for the safest option, the most respectful. He put them in her purse.

He stepped back, slipped his hands into his pockets, stood as he had been before, but squeezing his cock with his left hand within his pants as he started time.

Cynthia suddenly felt unstable, as if she was going to fall. She grabbed hold of the counter.

"Are you alright?" Henry said, reaching out to gently touch an arm, letting her know he was there if she needed his help.

"No, no, I'm fine," she gasped, but she knew she clearly wasn't. She again felt so fucking aroused. Her cunt was so inflamed, so hot, so throbbing for a man's cock. She looked into Henry's eyes. What power, what magic, does this young man have over her? "What's the secret, Henry. Please, tell me, before I faint." She was only half-joking.

"Well, Cynthia," Henry calmly informed her, "If you were wearing panties, they would be pink thongs, with ripe red cherries."

Cynthia felt like she had to sit down, for a number of reasons. She leaned back against the counter, steadying herself, but wanting so much to reach beneath her skirt. Once again Henry's presence makes her feel so overwhelmed, so flushed with lust. "You're right, you're right," she gasped, no longer really amazed. Of course he would know. Henry can discern anything. He could perhaps do most anything. He was certainly the most stimulating, provocative, exciting man she had ever met.

And, then she realized what he had said. "IF I was wearing panties?" She reached down with her hand. She couldn't really tell well by touching her thigh or bottom for, as he had indicated, she was wearing a thong. Still, she wasn't sensing the strap up her butt. She pressed her fingers right against the front, right against where she desperately wanted to press her fingers anyway. The touch felt so good, so necessary. She instinctively squirmed, just a bit.

The eyes of the guys across the room opened wide with shock, and jealousy, and annoyance. What the hell was Cynthia doing with that jerk Henry?! Was she actually masturbating for him, right in front of everyone?

Cynthia though didn't keep her fingers there terribly long. As she felt the silk of the slip touching her cunt she had her answer. "Henry Demis!" she exclaimed, now with considerable surprise, coupled with as much lust.

"Well, I really need to be on my way." He turned to go.

She reached out for him, clutched his arm, and whispered, "But, my panties. Where are they?"

He smiled at her. "They're safe. They're in your purse."

"Please, Henry, can we do this again? Can you show me another one?" She really didn't want him to leave. She wanted more, at least enough to bring her to satisfaction.

"Well, I'm pretty busy today."

"What about tonight? This evening? At your..." She lowered her voice. She knew what she was about to imply, and such things are best kept private. "...Apartment." Her piercing green eyes looked deeply into his, the meaning very, very clear.

It took all of his willpower not to smile in triumph. He tried to appear largely indifferent. "Alright, if you wish. Eight o'clock?"

Cynthia smiled. "I'll be there."

He smiled back. "Well, I'll see you then. I'll have a nice surprise for you."

She knew he would. "Oh, but wait," she quickly added. "My goodness, where do you live?"

He gave her his address and left.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cynthia thought about this evening for the rest of the day. She had never anticipated a date with more excitement, more expectation. She couldn't really understand it. Henry was far from the guy she normally found attractive. He had thick glasses and even seemed a full foot shorter than her! Plus, outside of the magic he wasn't particularly interesting. He was a nerdy bookworm.

Still, she could not deny that whenever she saw him she became so fucking excited. It must be some sort of kismet, or something.

As she prepared for the date, making herself as pretty and alluring as she could, she considered even not wearing any panties. She giggled at what a cute joke that would be. He would try to guess or steal her panties but she wouldn't even be wearing anyway.

But, as the time approached she opted for panties. Not wearing panties on the first date was a rather bold statement, although she knew full well they would likely be gone before the evening was over, either taken off by him or by her.

She also could not help but wonder how he had managed to get hers off. She googled David Blaine and magic tricks revealed. She learned a lot about the art of misdirection. But, she still couldn't figure out Henry's tricks and how perhaps Blaine might in fact be cheating.

Well, she would find out tonight. She would get it out of him. If there was one thing she was good at, it was getting guys to do what she wanted. Henry may have his own power, but feminine wiles were pretty darned daunting as well. No previous man, young or old, had so far succeeded in resisting her.

She arrived twenty minutes late. That was a bit risky. She didn't want to annoy him. She didn't want to make it harder on her to get him to do what she wanted. But, she had learned from considerable experience that up to a certain point the longer a guy waits the more he enjoys and appreciates her arrival.

She was a bit disappointed with his apartment building. It was in a rather dumpy neighborhood, and was a rather featureless square cinder box. Heck, the apartments didn't even have balconies, let alone a pool. The hallway kind of smelled. She couldn't quite place the odor. It seemed to be some mixture of cheap air freshener with whatever had been spilled on the soiled, frayed carpeting. She felt that the clothes she was wearing probably cost more than the monthly rent on his place. Her enthusiasm was beginning to wane. Frankly, it was really so odd to be visiting Henry Demis. But, she had come this far. She knocked on the door.

As soon as the door opened and she caught his eye she was swept away with a strong feeling of lustful excitement. Both guys and girls do have pheromones. Some of her perfumes came with feminine pheromones, one of which she was wearing tonight, along with a scent that she had found to be rather intoxicating for men. But, apparently Henry had his own natural and very powerful pheromones. Perhaps that was the explanation? "Hello Henry. Are you happy to see me?" Her cunt was literally tingling with excitement. It was all she could do not to squirm and wriggle with lust.

Henry was delighted. His big grin spoke a thousand words and, if she had looked more closely, the moisture on his lips and chin would say quite a bit more as well. "Yes, yes, please, please come in. It's really cool to have you here."

It would have been really cool to have any girl in his apartment, let alone Cynthia Lauper. He opened up the door wide to direct her in.

Cynthia's steps were a bit unsteady, and she instantly realized that Henry did have his own distinct scent. She at first could not place it, but once she glanced around the apartment it became quite evident.

The air in his apartment was laced with the smell of musty, moldy old paper. She couldn't possibly count how many books were in there. They were stacked two rows deep on each shelf, such that he would have to remove books to get to the back row. There were books stacked high on every available table, counter, or shelf. Most every open space against a wall was filled with very large, high, stacks of books.

One could see into Henry's kitchen as he lived within an efficiency apartment. Stacked on top of the refrigerator were more books. The kitchen table had room for just one person, as the rest of it was covered with books, at least ten high. There were even a few books scattered around on his bed. She would no doubt find more books in the bathroom. She dared not look in his closet.

"Wow, you really do like to read, don't you, Henry."

"Yeah, kind of," Henry replied. "Do you?"

"I like magazines." She turned back to Henry, and then suddenly felt another wave of irresistible, overwhelming lustful desire course throughout her body. Her cunt was inflamed, and clearly very, very wet. She fell back onto the bed, sitting there in heated confusion. "Fashion magazines," she gasped. "Do you like them?" It would be kind of nice if they had at least one thing in common.

Henry had stopped time as soon as they had made eye contact, and then almost immediately again just moments later. He had noticed Cynthia's clear disappointment in his apartment. He wasn't surprised. What girl would be impressed by lots of books? Of course, it would be nice if he would someday meet such a girl, but at the moment he had only one girl on his mind.

Henry felt that perhaps he should lie to her, tell her that he liked fashion magazines a lot, but it was a lie he would not be able to sustain. Actually, he could stop time again and go out and buy lots of fashion magazines, or just steal them, and then study them. But, he didn't think that would in fact be necessary. He changed the subject.

"What magic would you like me to perform?"

Cynthia felt like asking him to make her have an orgasm right there, right now. Somehow she knew he probably could do that. She had wondered repeatedly how this date would go. She knew it would be far from normal, but she hadn't really expected that she would be this lecherously lustful so quickly and so intensely. She asked flirtatiously, leaning back on his bed, her breasts thrust out, "Can you make my panties disappear again?"

"Would you like to know how I did that earlier?"

Well, that didn't take long. Feminine wiles win once again. "Oh my gosh, yes! Really!? Would you tell me?"

"Well, I'm not sure if I should. A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Henry," Cynthia said, looking deeply into his eyes, spreading open her legs, "I will do anything to know the secret, anything you want." At this point she would have fucked him anyway. She would have fucked him for a card trick. She would have fucked him just because she wanted desperately to be fucked. It was icing on the cake to also learn his secret.

Henry took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. He was about to cross a line that he could not subsequently undo. He asked, "Would you take off your clothes?"

Cynthia suddenly felt another strong rush of lustful heat sweep over her cunt, moisture clearly leaking out, soaking her panties. No man had ever made her this excited, this wanton, simply by asking her to remove her clothes. She smiled seductively. She patted the bed beside her and said, "Here, you sit here."

He sat down next to her, hoping she would not notice his erection, which had been evident ever since he had opened the door. Actually, it was evident as the hour of her arrival approached. It quickly began to dissipate when the minutes after eight o'clock had passed, Henry wondering if she had changed her mind. He would not have been surprised. He had wondered if perhaps he should have gone to her apartment and primed the pump, so to speak. But, even if he got her excited there it wouldn't necessarily be associated with her thoughts about him.

But, as soon as he heard the knock on the door his erection quickly returned and hadn't gone down since.

Cynthia got up and stood directly in front of him, close enough for him to touch her. She smiled at him and said, "Let me provide the show this time." She was wearing a wispy deep v-neck dusty plum sheer cocktail dress that reached just below her knees. The v-neck was so deep it seemed to Henry that she could not possibly be wearing a brassiere. The rising mounds of each pale breast were clearly evident. Equally telling though was that Cynthia's nipples were clearly poking through the very light, frail fabric, nipples that had just recently been tantalizingly flickered and flicked with his tongue.

Cynthia proceeded to slowly slip the straps of her dress off each shoulder, one at a time. She paused when both straps were hanging down her arms. She held the dress to her breasts, smiling seductively at him.

Henry had the power to speed things along, but somehow he felt Cynthia was not in fact wasting time. She could use all the time she wanted.

Cynthia let the dress fall to the floor in a graceful decent, wrapping around her ankles, as well as his.

She stood before him, wearing now only lavender thigh high nylons, held up by a matching lavender garter belt, above which she was wearing her (naturally) lavender lace bikini panties, the gusset of which was clearly quite moist.

Henry tried not to ogle, but no boy could really do otherwise. Cynthia had such a wonderful hour-glass figure and, as he had appreciated before, perfectly round bubbies. Boobs never looked so round, so luscious, capped by perfect pink stiff pointy nips.

She placed her hands on her hips and cocked them. She asked, "Do you approve?"

Henry was well passed approving. He was worshiping. This was the moment he thought someday he might experience on his wedding night: a pretty girl standing before him, dressed so provocatively in her undies, about to give him the satisfaction, the pleasure, that he had never experienced before but so much longed for. He nodded his head in understatement.

Cynthia, keeping her smiling eyes firmly fixed on his, bent over facing him as her hands reached back for her panties, her breasts filling up, swaying and swinging beneath her chest. She so much liked her matching lavender panties, nylons, and garter belt. She felt they were perfect for her skin tone. But, she never got to show them off for very long.

She slowly licked her lips, her eyes remaining fixed on his, as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and gradually lowered them down over the curves of her bottom and down her thighs. She stopped there, and then stood back up, still holding her panties with the thumb and finger of her left hand as she coyly bit the tip of her right index finger. She pretended to be shy and uncertain. She then let go of her panties to let them fall to the ground on their own, resting on top of her plum cocktail dress.

Henry so much wanted to take his cock out. Maybe now he finally could. Is that what a guy would do right now? Is that what a manly guy would do? He didn't know. He didn't want to make any mistakes with Cynthia. She clearly had been with some really skilled, experienced, and handsome men.

Cynthia asked, "Shall I take anything more off?"

Wow, that was not an easy question to answer. The immediate response might be to say yes. Why keep anything on? But, she looked so fucking sexy in her garter belt and nylons, he decided, "No, no, this is good." And, besides, he was anxious to get on with it.

"Henry," she asked softly, "would you take your cock out for me?" She could see his nervousness, his uncertainty.

"Yeah, sure," he exclaimed, his mouth suddenly dry. He hurriedly undid his belt, unclasped his pants, pulled down his zipper, and wrenched out his stiff cock, pointing up out of his slacks at Cynthia as if it was trying to stretch out of its skin to reach her.

"Oh Henry," she said softly, bending over to reach out for it, lightly, gracefully sliding her fingers along the shaft and around the bulb, her breasts filling as she leaned forward, "it's so manly, so stiff, so strong."

Henry was ecstatic. Cynthia Lauper was actually admiring his cock.

She bent over further, placing her nose right against the tip, her long flowing hair falling into his lap, her bottom rising up behind her. She took in a deep breath, "and," she added, "it smells so musky and earthy."

Henry feared he might just shoot off right now, right against her nose. Maybe he should offer her a drink or something. A cola?

Cynthia used her hands to spread open his legs, to make room for her to kneel in between them. "Mmmmmm," she sighed, "I just have to see what he tastes like." She wrapped one hand around the shaft, the other she used to reach into his briefs to extract and cup his balls. Before she did anything further though she look up at him with her intensely gorgeous eyes, and asked coyly, "Would it be okay if I put it in my mouth?"

He nodded, his eyes wide with excitement, his cock swollen red with even more. He wondered if he should stop time so that he could jerk off, as he really didn't know how long he could last. "Oh man," he gasped when he felt her lips wrap around his knob, her tongue softy bathing his smooth, shiny, sensitive skin.

It would have been cool to have put his cock in Cynthia's mouth while time was stopped, but this was really much, much better. Was there a better feeling than to have a girl's tongue making love to one's cock, nursing and nurturing it like a mother caring for her young. Fuck he wanted to cum so fucking bad. His balls were pulled so tight against him, churning and broiling with lust.

She pulled her mouth away, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock for quite some time until it finally broke. She licked her lips and said, "You really taste good, Henry. I could suck on your cock for so long." She softly stroked it with her fingers, caressing and fondling it with evident love and affection. She asked shyly, "Will you let me suck it any time I want?"

He would probably die in the process but he said, "Sure, sure Cynthia. Any time you want."

Cynthia could sense that she had him literally in the palm of her hand. She could now make him do most anything, tell her most anything. But, this wasn't just about learning his secret. It was even more about satisfying her own lustful need, driven to such a high state of urgency by this strangely, mysteriously powerful young man.

She again looked deeply into his eyes, through his thick lenses. "Would you fuck me with it, Henry? Would you fuck me with your big, hard, manly cock?"

Henry swallowed deeply and nodded.

"Goody," she replied and got up onto her feet, her heated, broiling cunt just inches from his face, her lustful aroma filling his nostrils.

She stepped out of her panties and dress, and then paused to say, "You'll take your clothes off too, won't you, Henry?"

"What? Oh yeah, sure." He didn't really understand why she would want him to do that. His body wasn't much to look at. He wasn't in really bad shape but nor was he particularly muscular. He was fit, but thin, and pale.

With some trepidation he removed his clothes, eventually down to just his white socks. He stood there, before her, essentially entirely naked, feeling kind of silly with his stiff boner sticking out, pointing at this heavenly figure, this beauty, standing so much taller before him.

Cynthia giggled. "Well, Henry, you have to take your socks off too."

Now, that was a complete mystery to him. He usually kept his socks on when he went to bed, as his feet got cold, but he leaned over to get them off as well,

As he was doing so Cynthia got onto her elbows and knees on the bed, still wearing her plum colored high heels, her bottom rising up behind her. She looked back at him to ask, "Would you do it this way, Henry? For me? I really like it when a guy fucks me doggy style." She gave him a little wiggle of her bottom to accentuate the point.

Cynthia enjoyed sex in just about any position, but she felt that Henry would particularly like it this way, taking the future famous model from behind.

"Sure," he said, getting into position behind her.

She spread apart her legs, giving him the room he needed.

He positioned his cock at her cunt, not quite sure along the wavy ridge of soft wet flesh he should lodge it.

Cynthia reached back between her thighs and took hold of his dick with the fingers of her hand to guide him to his home. "Now, be gentle, Henry," she warned him. That might have been going too far. She hadn't said that in years, and wouldn't say it now to a guy who even had a really big cock, but she again sensed that Henry would like that, that it would make him feel good about himself as a man.

And, she was right. Henry drove his hips forward and plunged his dick deep down into Cynthia's hot, wet, tight, juicy, quivering cunt, not actually being gentle at all. He just couldn't help himself. He had to fuck her so bad.

"Oh, Henry," Cynthia gasped. "You're so fucking big."

Henry didn't really believe her, but it sounded so nice to hear, particularly from the lips of Cynthia. He proceeded to thrust his hips, driving his cock in and out of her cunt.

Cynthia wriggled her hips in response, complementing his thrusts with her own lewd gyrations. "Henry, yes," she gasped, "you fill me up so well."

Henry took hold of Cynthia's hips to help steady himself, gazing fondly down at her round full ripe bottom, his shaft going in and out of her dripping, steaming, clammy cunt, the lustful aroma drifting up to his nostrils, and realized that there was simply no way he was going to last very long at all. He had almost though forgotten one thing. He pulled his cock free.

"No! Henry, please, don't stop." Cynthia wriggled her bottom and inflamed cunt in heated frustration.

But Henry not only stopped fucking her, he reached down for his pants, resting by her right knee, and slipped his hand into his pocket to stop time.

He gasped with relief, as he had felt so close to cumming. Heck, if he even looked at Cynthia's upraised bottom, her inflamed cunt, he felt he might ejaculate. He needed a moment to gather himself, and to better prepare her.

He retreated to the bathroom to get the ointment he had purchased that day, at an adult novelty store. It was a cream that caused a bit of heat and tingling.

He returned to the bed, Cynthia dutifully having not moved an inch, waiting for him, her ass still sticking up in the air, her breasts hanging down, her flushed face turned back toward him, asking him why he had pulled out.

He applied a bit of the hot tingling cream to her clit, to her nipples, and just a little bit on her anus. He was tempted to apply more there, wondering if it would cause her to beg to be fucked up the ass. Nobody had probably done that to Cynthia before, but he opted on the side of caution and safety.

He put the cap back on the ointment, slipped it into the pocket of his slacks, and started time.

"Oh my!" Cynthia instantly exclaimed. She had never experienced this before. She was literally tingling, perhaps even a bit of stinging heat, on the very tips of her nipples and clit. She shouted, "Henry, please, quickly!" She lewdly thrust back her cunt and spread her thighs even wider. "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

Henry quickly mounted her, driving his hard cock back down into her wet quivering cunt, reaching around her body to press his fingers against her hot, tingling clit, rubbing and massaging away the stinging heat yet also escalating the lustful sensations even further.

"Oh fuck yes!" Cynthia groaned as she grasped hold of her own breasts, squeezing them hard, trying to rub away the excitement of her stinging nipples with her thumbs. "Fuck me," she moaned.

Cynthia never remotely before felt this hot, this aroused, this inflamed. Even her asshole seemed to be on fire. Cynthia considered asking, pleading, Henry to fuck her there as well, or at least just finger her butt. But, she couldn't bring herself to do that. It was just too obscene, too nasty, particularly the first time together. Yet, she couldn't deny the sensations, the urges, the need. This man had such a wondrously intense effect on her, something she just could not fathom or control.

Her orgasm suddenly overtook her, her body trembling and quivering with climactic rapture. "Oh, Henry," she cried, "give me your fucking cum, please, please."

And Henry dutifully obliged, bending further over her body to release a torrent of thick juicy sperm deep up into Cynthia's convulsing cunt.

Cynthia's trembling legs gave out and she fell onto the bed, sprawling in a twitching, shuddering mass of orgasmic convulsions.

Henry fell with her, onto her back and butt as his dick repeatedly twitched and spit into her cunt more and more sloppy, globby wads of cum.

"Yes, thank you, thank you," Cynthia gasped, her cunt filling up with Henry's cum, dousing the flames of her heated lust with repeated sprays of hot yet soothing gism.

Henry's mind, his body, was engulfed by his orgasm, sweeping through him in blissful waves, each coursing tide culminating in explosive gushes deep within Cynthia's cunt.

Henry eventually stopped thrusting, too exhausted, too overwhelmed, too satisfied to do anything, just letting his twitching, gushing cock do all the talking, all the work.

When it finally seemed to end he just laid on her, his abdomen enjoying the cushion of her soft round bottom cheeks, his cock enjoying even more its current home, snuggled deep within Cynthia's wet, warm, squishy folds, swimming within his own hot, gloppy cum.

He didn't even get off her right away when it was done, preferring instead to simply enjoy the moment, lying atop the wondrous Cynthia Lauper, his cock nestled within her steamy soaked cunt.

But, he did eventually slide off, a thick glob of cum and cunt juice coming out with the release of his cock.

Cynthia snuggled up against him, her body occasionally still twitching, her butt hole still a bit tingly.

She eventually got her breath, looked into his eyes, and asked, "Will you tell me now?"

Henry paused. He did naturally wonder if he should. He wondered if perhaps he should just say it was sleight of hand that took months, if not years, of practice. But, he felt so close to her right now, closer than he had ever remotely felt with a woman before. And, it had been dishonest to manipulate her into desiring him. He did not feel right about that.

Still, he wondered, was it really any different than doing all those other things that guys will do to get a girl: pretending that her jokes are funny, pretending to be listening to what she was saying, telling her that what she had just cooked was really good, telling her that it looks like she's lost weight, saying that he really likes her shoes? What relationship is really entirely honest and truthful?

However, a real relationship can't be based on such a fundamental deception that Henry had been employing. He knew he had to tell her and, besides, it would be so cool to share this with someone, particularly a girl as beautiful as Cynthia.

"I stop time."

"What?"

"I can stop time. I have this watch that stops time."

Cynthia smiled. "Henry, come on. I know it's not real magic. Just tell me how you do it."

Cynthia was feeling a bit odd right now, lying naked in bed with the bookworm Henry Demis, looking into those eyes so heavily distorted by his thick lenses. She had felt this way a few times before, after impulsively having sex with a guy she hardly knew and probably wouldn't really like, but previously had found so attractive and exciting that she just felt she had to do it. But, once the sexual tension, the curiosity, had been resolved, once the fire had died out, she realized she didn't really find the guy all that attractive. In fact, at times, regretted that they did it and wanted now to politely extricate herself from the awkward situation as soon as possible.

"No, really, I can stop time." Henry got off the bed to retrieve the watch from his slacks. Once he got it he sat next to her, and showed it to her, holding it out in his hand. "Look, see. I just click the top switch thing here and time stops." He suddenly had an inspiration. "You know, I was thinking, I could make, we could make, a lot of money being a magician with this thing. I'll be able to do things that no other magician has ever done, and you could be my assistant. We could make lots and lots of money...together!"

Henry wondered if perhaps they both clicked the watch together, at the same time, she would be able to join him and, even if that didn't work, she clearly would have to be impressed by his incredible power.

Cynthia looked at him. She wondered if he was possibly nuts.

Henry could not have felt more enthusiastic. He would not be alone! "Wouldn't that be cool!?" He held the watch out for her to consider it more closely.

Cynthia was naturally incredulous. He must be pulling her leg, and most definitely she had no interest in becoming a magician's assistant. Like she would give up her ambition, her dream, of becoming a famous model to be Henry's magical sidekick?! Playing along though she reached out and clicked the switch on the watch.

"Cynthia?" Henry asked, a look of shock and confusion on his face.

Henry was still sitting on the bed, but Cynthia had suddenly, apparently instantly, sat up in bed as well, an equally shocked look on her face, the watch in her hand.

Henry asked, "How did you..."

She was gone again, in an instant disappearing. He turned to see her standing beside the bed, cum dripping down her leg.

Henry tried to ask, "Cynthia, what..."

Suddenly, instantaneously, Cynthia was again sitting on the bed, next to him. She looked so pretty, but also very guilty and apologetic. She gently rested her right hand on his leg to say, "I'm sorry, Henry, really I am."

She instantly disappeared. He was by himself in the room.

"Cynthia?" He looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she went to the bathroom. He looked down at the foot of the bed. Her clothes were gone. She was most definitely gone. He was all by himself.

He looked around in panic on the bed. He checked his pants. His watch was indeed gone.

He went to her apartment that evening, and the next day, and the day after that. He repeatedly called her. But, she was not to be found. About a few weeks later he heard that she had somehow landed a major contract as a model in New York. Quite amazing, everyone said, to accomplish something like that in just a few weeks, but Cynthia was always destined to be a great model.

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I hope the story was enjoyable! I had considerable fun writing it. Please do take the time to leave a vote!