Columbia Co-Ed

 

 

 

"Just one more night," she begged him.

He stood in the doorway, looked at her tear-streaked face with a certain amount of disdain. He knew he was about finished with her. She didn't know that yet, evidently. Too bad.

"Come on, Brad. I can't...I can't believe that you don't want to see me anymore. I know I can change your mind." She smiled, even through her tears. "You still want me, don't you?"

He eyed her body critically beneath the tight-fitting sweat clothes. As far as bodies went, it was a good one. When he had first seen her tight, firm flesh clearly revealed by a set of running tights, he'd known that he would get in, somehow. It hadn't been hard.

It was an A Sig party. She'd been at the keg. He spilled beer on her accidentally on purpose. She hardly noticed, until he pointed it out to her. She was grateful for the information. She turned out to be grateful enough to share his sleeping quarters that evening. It had been a very fulfilling evening. Well, fulfilling for her. Draining for him. Afterwards, he found out that her name was Linda.

But that was a month ago, and now he was ready to move on to other conquests. He was more than ready, in fact. He'd had several rather acrobatic experiences with one of her more distant acquaintances. Linda had noticed the way he had looked at the flesh beneath her very-loose-with-no-bra-halter top. She evidently had thought it was nothing but a passing fancy. In fact, that very night he had been extremely helpful in removing the girl's halter top. Among other things.

Here she was, though, looking at him with wide eyes, unconsciously moving her legs apart. That was a habit that he liked; when they were alone, she knew where she stood in relation to him. Or knelt, occasionally. And, looking at the tight curve of her thighs, noting the movement of her breasts in sympathy with her sobs, he decided that she was worth one last night. Not a night that would tie him to her, like she intended. At least, not for more than a few hours. But it wouldn't do to appear too interested; not yet.

"I said it's over. What difference can a night make?"

"A lot of difference. All the difference." She was almost frantic. "Remember the time in your room after that concert? Remember how good it was? Do you remember what you said?"

He didn't. According to her, he'd said he loved her. Chances are he had. Said it, that is. Not loved her.

She moved closer to him. She pressed her body to his unmoving one, and despite his attempt to appear uninterested, it was hard not to be stirred by the firm yielding softness of her breasts crushed frantically to him, the wriggle in her hips that moved maddeningly against his member. She felt his response, even through the haze of alcohol, put her tongue to his lips. Yes, he wanted her. But he would have her his way, this time. He didn't care what she thought afterwards, didn't intend to see her afterwards.

He smiled. After all, she'd be getting what she wanted.

She interpreted his smile as acquiescence, and moved her lips to his, but he remained cold, drew his head back somewhat. "You're sure you want this?" "Oh, yeah," she breathed.

 

So he pulled her closer to him. And she liked it, thought she had managed to manipulate him. That wasn't right. It was time for him to assert his mastery over her. He thrust his tongue between her lips, moved his hands to her warm buttocks and pressed them together, slid them down and spread her thighs slightly so she could ride him more easily. He knew what it took to make her moan, knew that she loved it when he tickled her gently through her clothes. Gentility was not on the evening's agenda, however. He wanted her hot and hard, moved his hands roughly to her breasts, squeezing them, sunk his teeth into her lips. She loved it all.