Page 20 of College Boy

“I mean, it feels special right now.”

She purred once more, the unmistakable press of her pussy ripe and raw against his aching hard-on. “Is that what you call this particular, uh, feeling?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he all but moaned, writhing against her as she replied in kind. “I’ve never felt quite this way before.”

“Funny,” she sighed, gently moving her face away from his body and sliding a bare hand atop each side of his chest. “I was about to say the same thing.”

“So what now?” he asked, desperately hard and pressing against the almost sheer fabric of his favorite sleep shorts. He’d dressed for bedtime, not ... playtime. The last thing he’d expected when he’d changed for the night was to find Emma peering over the fence at him, ripe and raw and ready in her sexy, sheer dress. Now he felt both underdressed and overdressed at the same time.

“Now?” Her voice was as soft as the thin material clinging to his straining cock. “Now I say you pull on my sash and see what I’ve got in store for you tonight, College Boy.”

Mitch literally choked on his own breath, like some clueless dweeb in an over the top romcom. “Are you sure?” His voice cracked as she gently pressed against his bare chest as if to push herself off and away. “About this, I mean? About me? About ... us?”

Emma merely nodded, standing in front of him almost shyly as his trembling fingers troubled with the bow resting atop one hip. “Would I be offering myself up to you if I wasn’t, Mitch? If I wasn’t sure, I mean?”

Mitch fiddled with the bow, watching as it unfurled from a cute, curvy knot into a single sash as he tugged it gently, slowly. Emma unfurled as well, her carefully constructed cougar vibe shattering into a million shards as the breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened with surprise. “But why me?” he asked, as desperate to find out as he was to tease and toy with his pretty new plaything. “Why me out of all the eligible bachelors in Flamingo Shores?”

Emma rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip in equal measure, shivering all over as Mitch made short work of the sash around her waist. “You’re the first one to ask, Mitch,” she insisted, even as her dress seemed to unfold before his very eyes. “The first one to notice me. To ask. To look and see and, hopefully ... want me?”

As if on cue, the sides of the dress parted and slithered away, revealing the copious bounty beneath. Mitch gasped as his eyes drank in the soft, gentle swell of those small, pert breasts, then down across her soft, fluttering belly to spy the carefully tended, thin strip of pubic hair nestled atop the pink, puffy folds of her already slick pussy.

“Want you?” Mitch croaked, his hands reaching for her shoulders to unpeel the rest of the dress, until it slid off and down to an ungracious pile at her bare, squirming feet. “I’ve literally never wanted anything, or anyone, as much as I want you right now, Emma.”

“Prove it,” she challenged, despite the quiver in her throat and the tremor across her whole, luscious body. “Prove how much you want me, Mitch.”

Mitch nodded, glancing around the room quickly as if not wanting his eyes to leave Emma’s ripe, naked body for even a moment. He saw what he was looking for just behind her, then winked as his big hands reached out to clasp her waist. Once again she seized, a thunderbolt of desire coursing through her smooth, flushed skin at the lightest of touches. “Your wish,” he teased, hands sliding up her sides to grip her arms and hoist them high.

“Jesus.” Her voice was deep and raw, like the emotions flitting across her wet, hungry eyes and the seismic ripple coursing through her curvy flesh.

His hands gripped hers, guiding them toward the curtain rod above her head. Her eyes followed, watching as he nodded toward them. “Hold on tight,” he insisted, feeling her hands take over and grip the sturdy rod. “While I feast my eyes and hands all over your bangin’ bod!”

She snorted, a burst of nervous energy unfurling against his face. “Such a way with words,” she snorted just before he kissed her at last, trembling lips smothering her protests in his own.

She gasped when at last he released her, eyes wide as he winked and slid his hands back down her arms as she hung like his very naked, very moist, very eager prisoner of desire. “Is it my words you came over for tonight, Emma?” he teased between playful nibbles of her wet, raw lips. “Or my big, young hands?”

She started to speak, to tease or taunt, but Mitch shut her down with the crush of his lips, no longer shy or beseeching but forceful, thick and commanding. She nodded in reply, as if getting the message at last. Her eyes grew dewy and expectant, waiting, watching what might happen next.

“You didn’t put on that slinky little dress over your naked little bod just to talk, right?” His voice was low and taut, like the desire unfurling deep in his thick, low-hanging sac.

She merely shook her head, eyes wide as if in surprise at his cocky new speech therapy. “Didn’t trim your bush that way just for your own eyes to feast upon, huh?” He was practically grunting, toying with her openly as she willingly, eagerly shook her head.

“Didn’t reach up and grab that pole because I told you to, right?” he murmured as his head dipped closer to one blushing ear. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You did that because you wanted to, right? Because you want this, Emma? Want this ... as badly as I do?”

She gasped, nodding desperately as if afraid to speak. He swallowed the breath in another swollen kiss, wet and thick and desperate, before drifting his lips toward her other ear. “Good,” he breathed, hot and wet. “Then we’re even. Because I’ve never wanted anybody, never wanted anything, as badly as I want you, naked and dripping for me right. Fucking. Now.”

His hands took over, following his gaze and making good on his pillow talk as Mitch’s trembling fingertips dragged down her arms, feeling every tremor and inch of raw, naked flesh beneath them. They gathered in her smoothly shaved underarms, so pale and sensitive as his fingertips raked gently across the tender flesh. Emma merely gasped before biting down on her bruised lower lip, eyes following Mitch’s as his hands descended slowly down to those pert, perfect breasts.

A fresh gasp escaped those gently parted lips, or was it his own? Mitch could no longer tell, lost in his own sordid fairy tale as his fingertips glanced along the hardest, tautest, stiffest nipples they’d ever touched before. She squirmed and bucked in reply, teasing a crooked smile from Mitch’s distracted lips as he tweaked each breast in turn, the flesh beneath his fingertips so ripe and delicate he dared not rush the sheer joy of savoring every inch of it. Above them both, the curtain rod creaked in protest, Emma’s fingers clutching tightly above her gently twisting head.

Her breasts beckoned as well, soft and round underneath as his big hands cupped them gently, the perky summits of her ripe nipples pressing against his palms as he pressed tenderly down, gingerly dragging his calloused flesh across their tender peaks.

Emma gasped and hitched, knuckles growing white where she dutifully gripped the curtain rod overhead, a literal slave to her own desires as Mitch did his best to play his role as the young, awkward, horny tempter. It was, after all, a role he was born to play.

He leaned in, big hands engulfing her small breasts, kissing her breathless at first and, eventually, senseless as well. “Jesus,” she gasped at last, ponytail all but unfurled across her now sweaty and utterly bare shoulders. “Where did you learn to do that, kid?”

Mitch blushed and scoffed at the same time. “Nowhere,” he insisted, his hands relinquishing those perfect, pretty tits at last, gently clinging to her waist instead. “I just, I’ve wanted to do that since we met.”

“Really? Why?”

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