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Carla Dancer — Part 2
She grabbed my head with both hands and pulled my face up so that she could bury her tongue in my mouth. Her thighs started to quiver and the grip of her mouth on mine became almost painful. She screamed into me as her grinding finally brought her to an orgasm.
Her head dropped back down to my shoulder and her chest heaved against me as she tried to catch her breath. Who was this girl?
I hadn’t planned on this. When my girlfriend had called me from her parents’ house during Fall Break to break up with me, I took that as a sign. I was going to focus on my grades and on prepping for the GRE and that was that. Women could wait until I graduated.
It had been a short journey from being pissed about having to babysit a dorm mixer to having a cute, half-naked coed squirming on my lap. Carla looked up at me, maybe expecting, maybe asking.
I wrapped an arm around her bare waist and used my other against my desk to lever myself up. She wrapped her legs around me and I carried her the couple of short steps to the sofa, ducking to avoid hitting my head on my lofted bed.
Maybe I was too careful sometimes back then and missed some opportunities. This one could easily have gone that way. But before I could ask Carla if she wanted to continue, she unzipped her denim shorts and slid them down her tanned legs. Unasked question non-verbally answered.
I knelt in front of her on the ratty carpet, sliding her pink cotton panties down and tossing them blindly towards her shorts. Leaning down, I kissed the inside of her thigh, barely above her knee, and started a slow tease up her leg.
“No!” I looked up to see her eyes wide, her slender hands covering her mouth in surprise at her own outburst. “Sorry. Too ticklish. Robbie… just… just fuck me. Please. And don’t black out.” She said it like she’d never actually uttered the word “fuck” before.
I smiled, okay, maybe I leered. I groped along the top of my desk until I found the box of Trojans that I mostly kept for the guys…
