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There was still a bit of winter chill in the air. Spring was trying hard to push winter into hibernation. At night though you could still feel winter’s teeth nibbling at your ear lobes and his cool breath raising goose bumps on your neck. My economics lecture was still rattling around in my head. Interesting and challenging concepts had been presented in a less than thrilling course with a passion and excitement by a prof who had previously failed to be an inspirational influence.
My hand grasped the cold brass handle of my residence door. The shock freed my mind from the ramblings of my prof. The dorm was surprisingly quiet. I expected more commotion when I returned. I had forced myself to leave an impromptu party that was in full swing when the old grandfather clock in the hall chimed 6:45. I expected the party to still be rocking the walls of the dormitory when I returned.
I caught a scent that was hanging in the air and my mind flooded with images of my departure from the joyous event. MMM, Brenda’s perfume I was certain. Brenda had made me an offer to return to her room just as the clock was calling to me. She promised me more fun than the party had to offer. I had no doubt she was right; she was not the most attractive woman in the dorm, heck, she probably wasn’t one of the five most attractive in the physical sense. But she had charisma. And she had an air of “knowing” about her. I had not sampled her talents, in fact up to this point in time I had avoided sharing a bed with any of the women in our little coed dorm. I had decided that having a lover in the dorm might not be the best idea. A little too confining maybe. A little too much commitment for me (wow, is there any other statement that is more obviously from a man?).
And I figured it left the rest of the coeds on campus available for me to pursue if I kept my quill out of my cohabitants’ pleasure wells. I explained to Brenda that I really had to go to this lecture. That I would miss the next two weeks of class because the baseball team would be on road trips. She leaned into me pressing her womanly charms against me and purred into my ear that I should drop by her room after my class. Ah, college days, the man in me sprang to life. It would not have taken more than her warm breath on my neck and she could have held me by the hand and led me to her room like I was a puppy on a leash. I thanked her and said something silly about having a 7:40am accounting class.
Which was true, but who needed sleep in college. She asked what it would take to get me to come to her room later. I quickly replied, “A bottle of Drambuie.” Don’t ask me why our group had hit on Drambuie as our drink of choice. It seemed the rest of the world was hooked on Grand Marnier and Amaretto. Somehow though, that concoction with the scotch base, blended with herbs, spices and honey had won over our 78 person population. I made the jug of warmth my condition because I figured she wouldn’t be able to get her hands on one by the time I returned from class thus keeping my “residence purity” in tact.
The dormitory door clapped shut behind me leaving old man winter to find other ears and necks on which to nibble. I bounded up the stairs to my suite. No one in sight. Not a sound from any room. It was almost eerie. If nothing else there were normally people sitting around talking or studying when I returned from class. I rounded the last corner and headed to my room. My mind was running through tomorrow’s schedule. I would go into my room, lay out my clothes and books for the morning, bounce down the hall for a quick brush and wash up, then jump into bed for a full night’s sleep.
My key slid in the lock, my mind barely aware of the clicking a key makes in a lock. Do your ears actually hear the tumblers rising and falling as the key slips into the lock or does your mind create the sounds using the vibrations transmitted through the key to your fingers? It wasn’t until the door was swinging open that I noticed the white paper taped to my door. White paper with two flashes of yellow high-lighter applied neatly and with precision. “Today’s date”, and “1 Drambuie”. You had to like Brenda’s style. No additional information was supplied. None had to be. She had made a request. I had supplied a condition. The condition had obviously been met. I shook my head and sighed. What would I do now? I closed the door to my little room and went about my business of ending today and preparing for tomorrow.
Like a neon sign, the liquor store receipt shone in my eyes as returned from my evening cleansing ritual, towel over my shoulder, shaving kit in hand. I pulled the receipt from my door. “What harm” I muttered. I can go for a drink, have a few laughs and gentlemanly bow out before our clothes start to pile up on the floor.
The dorm was still filled with that same heavy silence as I made my way to Brenda’s room. Thoughts of my economics assignment echoed through my mind blending with the echoes of my footsteps off the barren walls, up and down the empty halls, creating an unusual chorus no one else could hear. But then again sınırsız escort there seemed to be no one in the place to hear anything. A right. A left. A deep breath. Knock. Knock. Knock.
I thought about blurting out some feeble greeting like “Guess who?” while I rapped on her door. I knew it wasn’t required. I knew Brenda would know who it was. I wondered what she would be wearing. I held a vision of what she had worn earlier that night… snug black jeans, old runners a loose fitting cotton v-neck sweater, hair pulled back and held by a barrette. I grinned at the memory. Brenda could bring sex appeal to whatever she wore. Her peer dictated uniform that graced her form earlier in the evening was not an exception.
I heard her hand touch the lock. Suddenly I caught my breath and considered bolting from her suite. At that instant my mind had filled with an image of Brenda and what she might not be wearing when she greeted me. I hadn’t prepared myself for that possibility.
The door creaked open. Her warm confident smile greeted me.
“Hi there”, rolled from her lips nonchalantly. “Come on in. I’ve been waiting for you.” Assuredness and confidence were woven into her invite.
“Hi. I got your message and couldn’t renege on an offer.” I stepped past her into the room. I’m sure I could feel her eyes glide over my athletic torso. She closed the door behind me. I heard the lock slide home with the abrupt click of a starter’s pistol signaling the beginning of a race.
Sitting on Brenda’s desk was the opened bottle of Drambuie and two glasses neatly placed beside it. Each glass contained a 2oz measure of the bronze beverage. Bread was playing softly on her Sony. The room was lit with several candles and the ambient light from one of the common areas between the dorms. I turned to face Brenda. Leaning with her hand on the door knob. Her head cocked. An admiring gaze in her eyes. The grin of a conqueror on her lips. I felt like prey that been cornered by a cunning predator. A well planned hunt that had expended considerable thought, and little energy in obtaining its trophy. I wrestled with the excitement of my predicament, my gentlemanly upbringing, the awareness of being trapped and my desire to share the pleasure of being captured by my talented pursuer.
Brenda had changed her outfit. Her light brown hair now hung freely on her shoulders, framing her face. Her alluring figure was covered by loose fitting faded blue jeans, a white blouse with blue vertical stripes, and soft moccasin slippers on bare feet. Business like sharpness in her crisply pressed blouse and contrasting casual comfort in her jeans and footwear mirrored the mixed tension that hung in the air surrounding our encounter.
She broke her gaze, walked towards me, “Here, let me get you your drink.” Her hand gliding across my chest when she brushed past me. Her loose jeans were much more arousing to me than the snug black ones she had been wearing earlier. I’m certain Brenda knew that. As she moved they alternately hid some of her luscious attributes yet revealed other appealing contours of her well shaped legs, buttocks and that gentle curve that ran south from her navel and disappeared in the shadows of her thighs.
“Thank you,” I nodded, taking a glass from her hand, our fingers bumping together. Every touch already seemed electrifying, no matter how intentional or how accidental it was. Brenda’s voice, movements, perfume (it was ever so subtle) and touches were all working in harmony to weave a spell that was breaking down my resolve. My resolve to leave before any intimacy began. My resolve to maintain my reputation as a gentleman in this large family I cohabited with. My resolve to keep my purity with my “family” in tact.
“Sit. Relax for crying out loud. I’m not trying to seduce you,” Brenda commanded. “Not yet anyway,” she intentionally let slip, reaching out to clink our glasses together in a toast. Brenda lowered herself into the only chair in her room. That left the bed for me.
I sat, raised my glass and peered through its bottom at my host. Her eyes sparkled and danced. Her lips were creased with a wry grin caught somewhere between excitement and feeling proud of her accomplishment. A strategic number of buttons on her blouse were undone revealing enough cleavage to attract and momentarily hold most any glance.
“Why is the dorm so quiet?”
“Our Resident Directors took it upon themselves to end the party. Well, it was getting a little out of hand for a Monday night I guess. Most everyone was enjoying themselves so much it took only one suggestion of moving it to a bar for all the weakened minds to fall in line and then literally into a convoy of cars. Only the studious dormies are left which is why it’s so quiet in here.”
“Guess that explains it. Why didn’t you go to the bar?”
Her grin grew, “It gave me the prefect opportunity to fulfill your requirement.” Brenda lowered her eyes and raised her glass to her lips. I suspect she was hiding a smile that beamed with pride at having completed her task and reflecting taksim escort that she was now reaping her reward.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The music drifted on and on in the background. Our conversation wandered through philosophy and love, economics and current events, and of course dorm gossip. Had we had three or four drinks now? Brenda had done a miraculous job of lowering my guard. I had all but forgotten what pretence was originally attached to her invite.
“Sit back and relax,” she interrupted our conversation with yet another invitation. I hesitated. I smiled, sighed, then kicked off my topsiders, unwittingly beginning the pile I had vowed we would not create. I sat back against her pillows. My guard was all but down now.
“This is more comfortable I must admit.”
Bottle in hand, Brenda got out of her chair and moved towards me. She was a very tempting vision. “Let me top that up for you.” Before I could reply, my 8oz glass was three-quarters full. That 7:40 accounting class was already looming rather large. And I knew my night was still a little ways from being over. Our silence was broken by laughter and hooting and hollering in various areas of the dorm.
“I guess the party has returned home,” Brenda announced.
“Do you want to join them?”
“Not really. I don’t get many opportunities to spend such quality time in the company of someone like you. If it’s OK with you, I would rather stay here, just the two of us. Me enjoying you. Hopefully you enjoying me” Like from a well rehearsed play her compliment laden speech had rolled from her with perfect tempo and intonation.
“Sure, that’s fine with me. But what if someone knocks on your door?”
“Oh, don’t worry. They won’t. They know not to bother me once I’m in my room.”
Knowing Brenda, I’m sure there had been a few tongue-lashings handed out for such interruptions. So she was right, we probably wouldn’t be interrupted.
She filled her own glass then placed the half full bottle on her desk at the foot of the bed.
She turned back and got on the bed with me “We should be quiet though,” she whispered emphasizing her point. “If they hear voices in here then they may well knock on the door.”
“OK” I started, but Brenda interrupted with a long “Shhhhhh”, slowly leaning into me while her command drifted off and covering my lips with hers when it came to an end.
My response was delayed. I tried to resist Brenda’s advance. She had choreographed this ballet too well. She had won her prize. My eyes reflexively closed signaling my guard had been dismantled. Our lips moved together. Our tongues still waiting, belying our urgency, but respecting the rhythm of our dance.
She dipped her finger into my glass and ran a bead of Drambuie down my neck. She chased the trail with her moist warm mouth. A wet finger traced the outline of my ear, followed by lips and a lapping tongue. Any remaining crystals of my resolve were melted away.
My one free hand had taken its own lead and was slowly undoing the buttons of Brenda’s blouse. An act I would decide later in life was much more erotic than the removal of a pull-over. Another step in the dance I’m sure Brenda had scripted. I cupped her breast, full and firm. My fingers transmitted to my mind what my eyes could not see. Firm, smooth, pliable flesh in a satiny wrapper.
Several times I had tried to adjust myself so I could place my drink in a safe location. Each time Brenda would gently, firmly push me back, dip her finger in my glass, expose a bit more of my skin, make a trail of scotch and honey then chase it with her tongue and mouth.
I ached to slowly peel away her layers of clothes and pay tribute to the succulent body they concealed. Brenda had other ideas. A talented hand teased my shaft through my jeans while the other continued tracing patterns of Drambuie for her tongue to follow. My body tingled and trembled in response to the sensations. I had given in. She was in control. I ceased trying to raise and take control myself. I knew my turn would come, but Brenda was not about to let now be that time.
Flat on my back, Brenda rolled over between my legs. Again I attempted to sit up, but a hand placed assertively on my sternum held me down. My shirt completely undone, she began long licks from my waist band to my nipples. Firm bites greeted each nipple with every visit. The pain aroused new sensations for me and quickly turned to pleasure and anticipation.
She tugged at the rear of my shirt tail, removing it from my jeans. In her athletic way she raised herself up, reached over my shoulders, lifted me just enough, and pulled my shirt up over my head. Semi bound and unable to see, Brenda leaned down and whispered “Now remember, you must be quiet and you must not move, for any noise may raise visitors. Promise?”. I nodded my compliance. Her whispering continued, “Now hold that drink still and don’t spill a drop, or I may have to punish you.”
She sat up almost still but I could sense some movement. She started tesettürlü escort to move again with precision. Her hands beside me on the bed, yet something was slowly caressing me… her breasts!!!. I wasn’t sure if my zipper would with-stand the pressure Brenda had built inside my pants. She continued her tit-massage on my bare abs and chest. She knew. As I had believed she did. The sensations she transmitted to me were incredible. Maybe because they were new for me, but I think it had far more to do with Brenda’s choreography of the entire evening.
She teased me rubbing her bosom over my shirt covered face. Her nipples were erect. I wondered if they had hardened from the coarse cotton of my shirt or from her own arousal. I tried to nibble at the buttons that pushed from the other side of my shirt. She felt my attempts and I detected a slight giggle from my captor. “Be still now”, she commanded. One last attempt then I breathed deeply and tried to relax as much as was possible.
I felt my shirt being pushed up slowly. My eyes would finally share the treasure she had revealed only to my imagination thus far. She stopped. I still could not yet see. I felt her finger in my glass again. Then a whiff of my drink an instant before her erect nipple pressed against my mouth. Hard candy. A treat from my superior. Her nipple was ripe. Ready to be picked and savored. I licked her areola and slowly sucked her nipple into my mouth. I sensed her head tilting back. Her moan emanated from her throat and raced to my ears along two paths, through the air and via my tongue, arriving at the same instant and echoing against one another. More pressure in my glass. More hard candy. Her moans, thunderous tympani rolling through the air. She moved her pelvis slowly, deliberately, pressing my trapped cock against my belly.
A breast in one hand. My mouth filled with firm pliable flesh. More fingers in my glass. Breasts on my cheeks and a trail of beverage to follow up between the globes that hugged my face. At last she freed my hand of the glass placing the small container on the floor. Two free hands. One immensely hot woman. Eagerness in my loins. But I opted to torment my tormentor, my captor turned partner. I slowly consumed the treat that had been presented to me, its trail wandering through the supple receptive mounds of skin that rested on and about my face. Brenda squirmed under the feather light touches I tickled across her back. Her buttocks tensed under the suppression of her fervor. I admired her control almost as much as I admired my own. My instinct was to roll her over, madly pull at her garments and mine, then plunder her readied flesh with my ramrod. But I needed to satisfy the sense for revenge that I felt. To tease and to raise the temperature of her desires a few degrees more. The intensity of her moans grew with every touch I applied to each new square inch of her body my fingers discovered. Heat and humidity met my hand when it slipped between Brenda’s legs. I scratched at her jeans. She pushed against my hand wanting a more definite caress. Trying to encourage me she bent forward, our tongues danced together through our open lips. Her hand found and grasped the bulge in my pants. Together we moaned. I know we were heard outside Brenda’s room, but neither of us could deny the want she had built in both of us, and neither of us cared that we were announcing our activities to all who wanted to listen.
The pile had grown on the floor, though we were only half naked. My resolve had been broken. One reputation tarnished. Another reputation alighted, though this I would not learn about until years later.
Oh how we denied the intensity of our desires. How we continued to fuel the fires burning within us. Slowly touching and tickling our genitals through our garments. Undoing only what was required to slip a hand inside and hold the skin we longed to have merged. Brenda’s touch was as experienced as her knowing attitude would have you believe. She touched me in ways that were new. She held me when it seemed the right time to just hold my throbbing cock and caressed me at times when light touches were what I desired. I tried to apply similar styles to my caresses of her receptive mons. I tried to become part of her, to sense what would feel best next. Rolling her clit under my finger tip, or lightly pinching it between my finger and thumb. Gently sliding fingers up and down through her labia. Lightly pressing at her gate but not quite entering the velvety furnace that awaited my poker.
I finally began to slide her jeans off her luscious hips. She held my cock joyfully while I pushed and pulled and she twisted and lifted and turned. Her legs were incredibly soft. Under her jeans she wore a simple white cotton thong, now soaked with her honey.
Brenda rolled onto her back. She lost her grip on my shaft when I slid down to finish removing her jeans. How well they had revealed her exquisite form in the frequent momentary flashes they allowed my eyes. There was not one thing about her body any woman would be ashamed of. I kneeled for a second between her legs and admired what she was presenting to me. Her figure was more appealing, more sensational then my imagination had been able to create from the glimpses revealed by her clothes and those transmitted through my fingertips. I honored her creator with my gaze and the compliments I whispered to her.
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