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At the library, we’re sitting so close together I can feel his breathe on my neck. I stare at a page of letters, grouped and typed in small neat rows. Already whole paragraphs of Times New Roman have become gibberish. His hand slides further up my thigh. My pussy anticipates his touch, a dull ache begins on my insides as desire starts to form. Our row of desks are nine flights above street level, facing the window. At night the view of blackness from these floor-to-ceiling glass panels reflects seriously studying students back onto themselves. Right now though, the sun is shining, corrugated campus roofs littered with air conditioning units look like over sized suitcases of 1960’s space junk. The bricked path yawns away below us. Beside me, Obie licks his lips without looking up. One hand holds a pencil but he’s not working on his notes anymore than I am. His fingers continue to trace a path up the smooth flesh of my thigh, working their way unhurriedly towards my skirt’s rus escort hemline. It’s summer, my legs are bare and I kicked off my Havanas half an hour ago. I can feel my own hands beginning to shake. A warm palm presses down on my skin. I glance across at him and he’s staring at me. Behind us, the shuffle of shoes indicates we are not alone. Someone is making their way in and out of the shelving, searching. I turn my head. A dark skinned man stops close by, he wears wire rimmed glasses and an expression of concentration. He searches on a top shelf, retrieves a book, leaves. Obie curls his fingers in between my legs. I’m lush, waiting. He pushes a finger into my slit and languidly strokes all the way upward, missing the nub of my clit. I ache, unfulfilled. He pushes two fingers into my sopping folds, past my lips, into my vagina. Once again he curls his digits, only this time they are inside me, searching. It works, yenimahalle escort I jerk forward, impaled on his probing hand. He rubs and thrusts. It’s delicious. I’m not breathing right. I’ve forgotten our study, I want to push the books aside and haul him up, remove his lovely cock from within red corduroy trousers and feel him slide inside me. My mouth is open, my stomach muscles beneath my singlet feel so tense they might jump and snap. My breath is so shallow it feels as though I am holding onto it. I might melt. His fingers slide out of me, they smear pussy juices over my lips. This time he reaches my clit, lightly touching it as though his finger is a cats tongue. I’m dizzy with lust, wriggling and chaffing against his hand. I adjust my arse in my seat from side to side.Wet with longing. I love the library and it’s atmosphere of quiet; the smell of the books, the unappealing carpet and the 70’s furniture. I wonder briefly if I am making a wet patch on my seat. I like my lips and shiver making a whispered, broken sound. Obie looks at me. I want to burst. “Shall we fuck?” His voice sounds steady, but it’s a little deeper than usual and his pupils are dilated, hiding most of the blue. He plunges his finger into me and I spread my legs wider. I want more. He makes little circles with his fingers and his eyes watch my mouth. I’m drowning. “Sure.” “Well, lead the way.” He stops touching me. I can smell my cunt on his fingers after he withdraws. My lust is a tangible scent in our little corner piled high with study materials. When we both stand I get a good look at the overwhelming evidence he’s excited too. Taking his hand, I lead him away from the window, enjoying the feel of my swollen sex as I move. My arousal feels like cream between my thighs. I lead the way to one of the private listening rooms. Here there are no windows but also, you are unable to lock the door. Inside the little booth is a CD player and a set of headphones at a desk. I push these out of the way and slide my arse onto the little blue table. Obie moves the room’s only chair and I place one foot on it, spreading my knees wide, leaning back on my hands.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32