Chapter 5
Shannon
I woke up slowly, and then all at once, and tried to assess the situation. Did I just have a dream about fucking Luther Huxton? Or was it—I looked down, and saw that I was naked. Nervously, I craned my neck to look over my shoulder, and find him naked. It wasn’t a dream. Holy shit, it wasn’t a dream.
Damn. It was so good I still wasn’t entirely convinced it happened. We did everything under the sun, and all in the span of what felt like a few minutes. Except for a blowjob, that is.
Which reminded me…
I woke him up by running his dick over the edges of my tongue. I gripped his head between clamped lips, and looked upward, across the plains and valleys of his hips and chest, until I found his face, seemingly on another continent. He started awake, and met my gaze. It didn’t take him long to figure out exactly what was going on. Human beings are difficult to wake up, until you put their genitals in your mouth and totally change the game.
“What are you doing?” he asked with confusion, still bleary-eyed.
“I wanted to make sure we rounded every single base,” I replied with a laugh. “And besides, you were so, ah, talented last night that I wanted to show you my particular set of skills.”
I took his dick deeper into my throat, and his dick hardened. I could feel the muscles jumping inside his sheath, growing tighter and tighter until he was as tall and straight as a baton. Good thing I was a baton-twirler.
I broke off, and explored the area between his thighs, running the flat of my tongue over his balls, and then bringing my hand up to meet my mouth, cupping his balls in my hand. I could see his chest rising and falling as if it might cave in, and I fleetingly worried that I would give him a heart attack.
“Are you ok?” I asked around my mouthful.
“Of course I’m fucking ok,” he got out just as another wave of pleasure descended upon him. “Please…don’t stop.”
I leaned back, moving away from his dick. I was gonna make him sweat for it.
“Shannon?” he panted. “Why did you stop?”
“Oh no reason,” I replied coyly. I examined my fingernails, and thoughtfully played with my nipple. “Just thought you looked like you were going to cum too soon.”
He sat up from his perch on the pillows, desperate. It looked like I’d brought the glorious Luther Huxton to his literal fucking knees, and I was loving every moment of it.
“I’m begging you,” he pleaded. “Don’t stop now.”
I sighed, and pretended to think it over. Finally, when I saw sweat forming on his forehead from the exertion, I relented. “Ok,” I said, and promptly pushed him back onto the pillows. With no warning, I took his entire dick in my mouth and deep-throat him until I could feel chafing in my esophagus. Choking noises spilled helplessly from my mouth, and I cast another glance upward, where I found him shuddering with ecstasy. His green eyes lolled almost into his skull.
“Jesus Christ,” he managed in between full-body twitches. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum in my mouth,” I replied, not missing a beat.
“Are you sure?” he asked around the thumping of his heartbeats that were so powerful I could feel them pulsing in his dick.
I ran a finger down to his perineum and tickled it gently, thrusting his dick deeper into my mouth. He groaned—no, cried out—at the touch, and was left with no choice. He was going to cum right here, right now; I’d brought him to the brink, and I refused to let him edge any longer. With no more words, he erupted across my tongue, covering my taste buds with his semen. It dripped out of the corners of my mouth, squelching around the base of his shaft. Satisfied, I sat back on my knees and gave him a once-over.
He was a mess. His hair was matted with sweat, his cheeks were high red, and his breathing hadn’t leveled out. In short, Luther looked like he’d run a very rewarding marathon. I was, needless to say, pretty fucking pleased with my work.
“How was that?” I asked casually, fully knowing the answer.
He was at a loss for words; he couldn’t even manage to sit up.
“Where the fuck did you learn to do that?” he asked at length.
“I’m not as innocent as I look,” I replied with a mysterious grin. This wasn’t my first time at the rodeo.
He sat up, and ran a hand down my back, feeling the notches of my spine. His eyes fixed on mine, holding my gaze like a laser.
“I’m buying you breakfast,” he pronounced.
Thirty minutes later, clothes on and teeth brushed, we tumbled out of the door of DIK, and onto the dangerous icy roads. We went on foot because no one had bothered to clear the roads, and it wasn’t worth the risk of driving. I understood the logic, really I did, but when we reached the halfway point, I was bitterly regretting not taking our chances with an icy collision. At least the emergency room would be warm.
It was a fairly miserable half hour, even with Luther at my side, before we at last arrived at Nancy’s Diner, the local Blackwell staple. Luther held open the door and ushered me inside, to the warmth of the breakfast nook. My fingers began to de-thaw, and the pain burned. I opened and closed them, checking for permanent damage. The yummy smells of Nancy’s hashbrowns and bacon wafted through the air and into my nostrils, distracting me somewhat from the pain in my hands. I realized that I hadn’t eaten dinner; my only meal had been whiskey.
We ordered quickly, no menu needed; everyone at Blackwell has ‘their dish’ at Nancy’s. The cooks serve it up behind the counter, and you get it before you reach the cash register. I tried to pay, but Luther, good to his word, stopped my hand.
“I’ve got this one,” he murmured, and slid cash over the bar. Nancy’s, like everything else in this little town, was cash only.
“You don’t have to—“ I began to protest, but he shot me a look that said ‘I do.’ I acquiesced, and let him buy me my usual bacon and egg sandwich. We scouted out an intimate booth in the corner, far away from prying eyes. Not that there was anyone else on campus left to see us; in fact, I noticed looking around, we were the only ones in here. Why was Nancy’s still open? Another eternal mystery of diner management.
I played with a strip of bacon, and he ran a finger around the rim of a coffee mug. There was silence between us, as we both lingered over the questions of what had happened last night—and I suppose this morning—and what ought to happen next. He clearly was not going to speak first, meaning I was stuck taking the plunge.
“So,” I finally proffered.
“So.”
This was going nowhere, fast. What happened to the voluble guy I’d met yesterday, who was only too happy to dance around topless while a strange girl looked on? I smiled at the thought that I, a 5’2” woman, had intimidated him.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m not sure what happened last night?”
His head shot up from the table, panicked. “Oh God, were you drunk? I thought—“
“No, no not at all. Tipsy, but not drunk. I mean I’m not sure like…well, I guess I took myself by surprise, doing that. By wanting to do that.”
His face relaxed, and he nodded. The feeling was mutual, it seemed.
“I don’t know what to make of it, either,” he replied. “That’s never happened to me before. Not the sex part, obviously, but the uh…” A blush rose in his face. “The attraction.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
I was delighted at making him blush, but more importantly, I saw that he didn’t usually have talks like this, ‘defining the relationship’ talks, as it were. It was presumptive of me, I know, and assumptions had recently landed me in hot water (see: Luther), but I also knew his type. Frat boys, even the kind-hearted ones, weren’t generally interested in talking about the complexities of human interaction, with all its intricate pitfalls to navigate. Normally, they just wanted a fuck buddy. Which was great, freak snowstorms and freezing apartments came into play.
“Luther,” I began, “I don’t know what any of this means, but given that it was so sudden, and that three weeks of holiday break are right around the corner, I think maybe, for now, the best call would be to, to stay friends.” I paused, trying to read his face. “How does that sound?”
Relief washed over his face, and his shoulders notably relaxed. Looked like he’d been feeling the same way. He held out his hand, a formalized peace offering of a different time. I grasped it in mine, wrapping my fingers around his long, thick ones. We shook on it. “Deal,” he said.
After eating our fill and then some, we deposited our trays and made our way slowly, treacherously over the ice back to the frat house. As if searching for an activity to fill the time, he began to tidy up, almost compulsively, and I grabbed a trash bag, ready to assist. This place so desperately needed a good scrub that I was eager to get on board the cleaning crew in whatever way possible.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I replied. “I want to.”
We worked in silence for a few more minutes, until Luther, seemingly out of nowhere, noted, “You can really dance.”
“Thanks. It’s kind of what I love most in my life.”
“Are you doing it professionally? Or, I mean, are you going to?”
I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, and then remembered the way he’d opened up yesterday. A firm believer in reciprocity, I reluctantly replied, “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
This story wasn’t a fun one, but if he wanted to hear it, so be it. “When I was a kid, I danced all day. It was my everything. My mom enrolled me in a dance school, and I’d be there for hours and hours, practicing pirouettes and rond de jambes until longer after dark. When I was 12, though, I went on some random family dinner. And an aunt of mine, one who basically helped raise me, jokingly said that I should be sure to stay in school, because I didn’t have the body to be a dancer.”
“What the fuck?” Luther interjected. Though I wasn’t proud of it, I appreciated his righteous anger. “She can’t talk like that to kids!”
“Yeah, well, she did. Anyway, it pushed me to reapply myself as a student, and to let dance become part of my background. I mean I kept it up, but not as seriously. It made me sad to lose it. Maybe that was the first time I grieved. But that’s how I got here, to Blackwell. I studied harder than I danced, and now I’m a Chem major on the road to an incredible job. By most standards, it worked out for the best for me.”
He scowled. “Fuck your aunt,” he said, then amended it. “Sorry, uh, screw your aunt.”
I laughed unabashedly, and agreed. “Yeah, she was a dick.”
I let the trash bag that had somehow been glued to my hand this whole time drop, and said, “You know, I’d love to practice some of my moves on you.”
A grin spread across his face. “What does that mean?”
I stepped closer, and he let his trash bag fall as well. “It means,” I replied, “that you should find a chair.”
He was off like a lightning bolt, and returned moments later, a wooden dining chair in hand. He set it down on the floor we’d recently cleared of crap, and took a seat. While he was arraying himself, I relocated his discarded computer, found ‘Same Old Love’ by Selena Gomez, and hit play.
“I’m gonna try something new,” I told him over the music. He looked happy to oblige.
Slowly, to the tempo of the song, I dragged my shirt over my head, and threw it across the room. He visibly gulped. I moved closer to the chair, and grabbed my breasts, playing with them. A few more paces, and I was in front of him, at which point I turned around and sat on his lap. His boner pressed into my ass as I unbuckled my bra, and reached around to take hold of his hands and place them on my breast. I grinded in time to the beat, and then stood up, taunting him.
Pivoting around, I pulled my jeans down, peeking back to wink at him. I was down to just underwear, which was a hot pink thong that covered little. I made my way back to the chair, and stood in front of him, dominant. I put a hand on the back of his head, and shoved it towards my crotch, hooking his teeth around the lace of my thong. Obliging, he dragged it off, down to around my ankles. He was eerily good at that. I stepped out of the panties, now naked, and sat back down on his lap, this time facing front.
“May I?” he asked throatily.
“You may.”
He ripped down his boxers, whipped out his dick, and in moments, we were coupling madly in the middle of the frat house.