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I’m not sure when or why it started to happen, but everything about my life was becoming sexualized, saturated with a palpable feeling of endless desire. I mean, math class is not supposed to be sensual, but there I was, half listening to Dr. Hu drone on at the board solving integral equations, and I all I could think about was, I need. I want. I need.
I tried to think about math, but I ended up thinking about sex. About how my orgasms were becoming mathematical, not merely because they were so numerous lately but because there seemed to be some logarithmic equation that could explain them, how they magnified exponentially as the approach infinity, which is what they always approached of course as the blood started to coarse through me and my body began to quiver and every single muscle seemed to be spasming at once in a great magnificent pulse. I could see in my mind a graph of my pleasure level rising steadily, the slope ever increasing until it’s shooting straight off the chart, approaching the limit but of course never reaching it because the pleasure seems to mount and mount and never abate, waves of pleasure, sine and cosine, getting stronger and stronger.
I pressed down against my black plastic chair that was connected to the desk, which was bolted to the floor. I bounced up and down a little, rocked my hips and flexed my thighs back and forth, trying to feel some friction. It felt like all I was is hungry, and wet, of course, and all that hunger was steaming out of my body through my throbbing pink pussy. I wondered if there were an equation for how many tongue licks on my clit it would take to get me off, if there was a coefficient for how sopping I was, if there was a function of x to determine the diameter of the cock that could fill me when I was so voraciously craving one in me.
Dr. Hu was moving on to the next problem; there was chalk dust all over his pants and the sleeves of his jacket. He didn’t hardly even turn around to face the class, and I could see that some of my classmates were sleeping. I was surreptitiously hiking the back of my skirt up so I could roll my stocking-clad thighs over the cool plastic of the seat, then I was squeezing and rubbing my thighs together, thrilling to the bristling zip of nylon on nylon. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me; it seemed to come out of nowhere. I didn’t know becoming a sister in a sorority would be so sexual, would have me so turned on like all the fucking time!
I couldn’t hardly think. I took off my glasses and cleaned them on my tank-top, and I tried to bear down on the thorny problem Dr. Hu was solving, but the squeaking of the chalk on the board was reminding me of the giggly squeals Eva had made when I was doing her with the strap-on. And just thinking about how that felt kept me excited. When I told Paige about it, later on when we were both in bed in our dorm room, we both got off. She asked so many questions, I could tell she was envious. What did it feel like to use another girl’s hole like that? Did I feel manly? Am I officially bi now? How big were Eva’s tits really? They couldn’t possibly been as big as I described them, even though she was always a threat to explode a few blouse buttons.
I knew Paige was touching herself under her covers as we talked, and I wondered if she was thinking about whether I would consider using the strap-on on her — I would — or perhaps whether she was wishing she could use it on me. That would be more her style; I couldn’t see her as the submissive type, but I could definitely see her brandishing some huge cock like a halberd and impaling me with it over and over. That’s what I was thinking anyway as I was touching myself under the covers.
Dr. Hu intoned another problem out loud. “The definite integral of the function f on the interval a to b as it is defined by the differential of x equals limit zero to infinity, delta x minus….” I was still squirming in my chair, rubbing and bucking but hoping I wasn’t being noticed. Maybe I wanted to be noticed, I don’t know. With one hand I was holding a pencil, and my free hand was in my lap, applying pressure to my pussy, which felt engorged and on fire.
I wished I wasn’t wearing any underwear, so I could just stick a finger up my cunt without any unnecessary hassles. I was riding the edge of my panties that were pushed up against the inner lips; it was just enough to tease me but not enough to send me over. Another 25 minutes of this, I thought, and I’ll be ready to bend over my desk, spread my legs apart, thrust my ass out like a dog in heat and grind my aching clit against the edge of the desk. I’ll whimper and beg to get fucked.
There I was, in a room filled with other students like me, were they thinking about sex too? I wondered if the slim Asian girl in front of me was able to smell how wet my panties are. She probably could. The thought humiliated me, but that only made me that much more wet. I thought of Pauline, of what she would say if she güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri were here, how she would call me a filthy slut and a little whore who was just aching to get fucked all the time. I tugged the crotch of my satin thong up between the lips of my pussy. It went there easily and I knew the slippery evidence will be visible on the black satin when I got the house for pledge duty. I wondered if Pauline would know, and would make me show it to her. I don’t know why; I just assumed she would know, she would be able to see it in my face.
Pauline. My big sister at the sorority, she started to seem like she could read my mind. And now, ever since the incident with Eva, I have this funny feeling in the pit of stomach whenever I am near her, and it just grows and gets close to overwhelming if I am alone with her. I can’t stop thinking about how I want her to touch me, to caress me, to watch me with the strap-on on again and command me to play with her, to take her. I want to know what her pussy tastes like, what it smells like, I want her to grind it against my face until I can’t breathe and I’m just smothered with her desire.
God, I wanted to come. I don’t even know if Pauline would want me. I leaned back in the chair, and the silky smooth satin of my panties shifts back and forth across my ass, and it drove me crazy. I needed more. It felt like my panties were starting to leak. I started to shake, but not enough. I started daydreaming about Pauline watching me as I got fucked, and spontaneously I started imagining the glasses-wearing kid in the desk two rows in front nailing me. I imagined he would be so grateful, so compliant, that Pauline could tell him what to do to me, and he would just do it, no questions asked. And his cock would be sleek, and slice right into me, and I would climb up and down it like a fireman’s pole, while Pauline watched me approvingly.
In the heat of this insane, overwhelming lust I felt like I’ve become no one, anyone; I don’t even know my name anymore, just this yearning desire seeping from between my legs. My cunt actually hurt, I needed to come so badly. I needed it hard and fast. Hands at the edge of my panties under my skirt, me wondering if I dared. Two fingers went to my pussy lips, circling, before pushing in and slithering back and forth, then up and out, to my mouth, and I tasted myself, smelled my lust on my fingers, which reminded me of the way Eva smelled when I had her.
I wondered, When will I stop feeling like a hole that needs to be fucked and start feeling like a person again? I thought again of Pauline. She was imperially slim, her hair always smooth along her crested forehead. Her lipstick never bled, her skirts always pressed perfectly. Everything was neatly aligned about her; everything matched. Her gloves matched her dress, her belt, her crocodile handbag dangling from the crook of her elbow. Her stockings never had runs, her kitten heels were always unscuffed. Her coiled hips in their sheath of slip, chiffon, immaculate. But me, I am a girl tumbling down the stairs, slamming drawers closed, cowlicks sticking obstinately up. I am rumpled beyond repair. I spill coffee on myself and snag the scarf around my neck on a tree branch. I am awkward and giraffelike, whereas she is a gazelle, gallant.
The Asian girl in front of me had the most delicate little hands. I watched them as she moved her pencil across her notebook, thinking about how much I wanted to suck those lithe little fingers, have them in my cunt, have them touching, teasing and tickling me. I imagined sucking on her thumb, making it glisten with saliva, and then guiding it to my waiting asshole. I don’t know where the thought came from; it was so unlike me to think about things like that. But for a moment I was almost overwhelmed with a desire to eat that Asian girl’s cute little box. I had noticed her before; stick thin but a nice little bump of a behind, tight and curvy and dying to be grabbed.
When class ended I had to rush back to my dorm to touch myself. I was a little disappointed when I got there to see that Paige was home, but I was so flustered and hot and turned on, I didn’t know what to do. “Paige,” I confessed, “Can I tell you something? I was sitting in math class and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
She was drinking a glass of milk from a glass and she had a cute little milk mustache. “Thinking about what,” she said, licking her lip.
“What do you think?” I said. “It. Sex.”
“That’s not very mathlike,” she said. “I thought it was all parabolas and graphs and junk like that. Don’t tell me that stuff turns you on.”
“It does,” I said, “But not usually in this way. I was thinking about how I wanted to do like just about everybody in the class, and I don’t know if you know this, but math classes are generally full of dorks.”
“You mean like you?” She took another sip of milk.
“Like this girl sitting in front of me. A girl!” I said. güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri “I never had thoughts like this before. I think this pledging thing with the sorority is doing something weird to us.”
“You think it’s making you into a dyke?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I still like boys. But it’s like I don’t even distinguish anymore. I just think about how much I like it.”
Paige grinned at me. “Oh, I know how much you like it.” She was referring to our mutual masturbation sessions, which were becoming a nightly routine.
“I think I need to get off now,” I said, “and I mean right now. I don’t know if you want to leave the room or something, but I gotta get these panties off.”
“What do you mean leave?” Paige said. She took a gulp of milk and then continued. “You think you are the only one? Hearing about how you are turned on gets me going. I want to hear more about it. I don’t care if you take your panties off. I don’t care if you take all your clothes off. I’ve seen you naked. I know your body.”
I didn’t hestitate to think about the implications of what Paige was saying. I just reached under my skirt and stepped out of my panties. I didn’t even take off my shoes. I cleared off the dirty clothes from my bed and lay myself down and ran my hands right up my thighs over the tops of my stockings and dove some fingers into my sopping wet pussy.
“You weren’t joking,” Paige said with a gasp. “You almost made me spill my milk.”
“Is that some kind of metaphor,” I said, stroking my clit which was now poking out from under its hood.
“I think I better lock the door,” she said, and she went and turned the deadbolt on our dorm-room door. “Tell me more about the girl who got you fired up,” she said, after sitting across from me on her bed, watching me intently. I closed my eyes, hyperaware of the sounds my sloshing cunt was making as I fingered my hole.
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to keep my breathing under control. I felt like I could start panting at any minute and that would be sort of embarrassing. “It was her hands. They seemed so delicate, so perfect, just holding her little pencil, stroking it and rolling it in her fingers. I kept thinking I want to feel them touch me, I kept thinking, I want to lick those long slender fingers.”
“Like this?” Paige said, and I opened my eyes and saw her licking her own fingers, sucking the index finger with her mouth in a dainty puckered O. “Let me give it some flavor,” she said, and she put her own hand up her skirt for a moment and then removed it, glistening. She started licking again, up and down the length of her middle finger, with her ruby tongue extended to wrap around it. “That what you were thinking of doing?” I wasn’t sure if she was teasing me.
Paige closed the vertical blinds so that the room was dark, but suffused in a halo glow from the bright sun we were keeping out. “So tell me more about the Asian girl’s hands,” Paige said, settling in on her bed. It was before noon, and she was still wearing what she slept in, an oversize T-shirt — this one was for a JV swim team — and her panties.
“I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t know where to begin; it was such a strange wash of sensual feeling that had overcome me in the math class. “Her hands just looked so soft, so delicate, so smooth. To touch those fingertips would be like touching the petals of a flower.”
“I think you are touching the petals of a flower now,” Paige said slyly. My hands were still working under my skirt; I was stroking my pubic hair and tweaking the outer lips
“Don’t embarrass me, Paige,” I said.
“No, it’s beautiful,” she replied. “Keep talking and I might join you.”
“It wasn’t so much I wanted to touch her, but I thought about her touching me. All over. And I thought of her long, straight black hair, you know that hair that seems fine as silk? I thought of her head on a pillow, and that hair splayed out all above her, and then I thought of it sweeping over me, over my face, ticking my cheeks, teasing my breasts and my nipples. They were hard as I was sitting in the classroom, and I was afraid everyone could see, that everyone knew I was getting all wet.”
“You’re making me wet now,” Paige said. My eyes were closed now, going back to the math class, but I heard the snap of elastic as Paige must have been taking her underwear off. “But you know the smell of the lilacs outside blowing in with a breeze can get me wet anymore.”
“That’s what I mean,” I said. “Overstimulated. Or oversensitive or something. I was sitting there and it was like I could really feel that silken hair coursing all over my body, as if I were naked right there. It was so vivid. I’ve never heard this girl talk — the class is all lecture — but I could still hear her voice in my mind, clear as a bell. My imagination just supplied it. Such a sweet voice, telling me how pretty I was, what a perfect body I had, how exquisite my skin was, güvenilir bahis şirketleri how fresh I smelled. It was all the things I was thinking about her.”
“What does she look like?” Paige asked. I heard one of the springs of her bed squeak as she adjusted herself.
“Really thin, like she’d blow away like a sheet of a paper in a gust of wind. Black, black hair, like coal. A tiny mouth and a button nose and small almond-shaped eyes. Skin ssort of light tan, like a latte with too much milk in it, but creamy like that too. She doesn’t wear much makeup, except her lips are always shiny and wet.”
“Yeah, I like that,” Paige said. “I’m picturing her meek and graceful, someone that guys wouldn’t notice right away.”
“She has sort of a stealth beauty,” I said, and let out a sigh as I started to dance my fingertips on the hood of my clit. “The crazy thing was, even as I was imagining her, I was also hearing Dr. Hu’s voice in my head at the same time. At first, he was solving equations like he was really doing at the blackboard, but then slowly it changed, and he was issuing commands to the girl in his stuttering broken English. ‘Roll her stocking down.’ ‘Make her pant like dog.’ ‘Open your blouse.’ ‘Stick nose in her pussy.’ Then back to math, ‘limits’ and ‘variables’ and ‘f(x)’.”
“I think math just turns you on, Adele,” Paige said. She was sitting up in her bed, her back against the wall of painted concrete block that made up all of our dorm rooms. I was laying on my back with my head on my pillow, my skirt rolled up so that I was naked and exposed from my waist down to the tops of my stockings. I had my hands over my pussy, of course. They were busy. “I can’t believe you go to math class dressed that way,” Paige continued. “Thigh-high stockings? It’s like you are ready for your shift at the Crazy Horse, not calculus.”
“Pauline’s been encouraging me to dress in ways I think are sexy,” I said. “She got me the stockings.”
“From the private collection,” Paige laughed. “She gave me a push-up bra to start wearing. It makes me feel a little dirty when I wear it, but I tell you, the guys certainly notice me more. I feel like my tits enter a room about five minutes before I do.”
“Well, I think the stockings are sexy,” I said, and I reached down and ran my hands over my thighs and then put my legs in the air over my head and caressed my calves. “I love the cool feel of the air rushing through the weave of the fabric. It feels like electricity. It gives me goose bumps.”
“You look hot,” Paige told me. “You have the legs for it, long and sleek.”
“Thanks.” I continued to massage them and stroke them, holding them out above me, slim, shiny and black, encased in the nylon. They hardly seemed like part of me at all, yet they made it feel so lovely to be touching myself. I was turned on by what I saw, by what my hands felt, and what my legs felt. And then there was the idea of other people looking at me. Paige, for instance. I couldn’t help but feel I was performing a little bit for her. She had made me comfortable with myself, drawn me out.
Paige still had her big T-shirt on, but she had pulled her arms inside the sleeves, and was playing with her breasts underneath it. She liked to squeeze her nipples once they were hard, first one then the other, alternating them in a rhythm that would speed up as she got herself more turned on. She called it her pinching game. Suddenly it seemed like a good idea to try it myself, so I put my legs down and took my shirt off, starting stroking and massaging the tips of my breasts, trying to get my own nipples hard.
“What else has Pauline told you to do?” Paige asked. “She wants me to dye my hair, make it more blonde. I think she wants it so that I could look any one of you and think for a second I was looking at myself.”
“Or you look in a mirror and think you’re seeing one of our pledge sisters,” I said.
“Out of our pledge sisters, which one do you think is the sexiest?” Paige asked. “That is, besides me.”
“I can’t answer that,” I said. “All the sisters are beautiful, it’s one of the first principles.”
“Oh, come on,” Paige said. “You can drop that stuff with me, I’m not Pauline. I think Monica is the prettiest. Her face, it’s so symmetrical, and her skin looks so clear and soft. You wouldn’t think it’s weird if I said I had a crush on her, would you? I think about her when she’s not around. I’ll just be sitting in class or something, and I’ll see Monica’s face, her smile, her teeth — you know they’re so straight and so fucking white. They’re gleaming.” This was really what was on Paige’s mind, I guess. This is what she wanted to talk about while she played with herself, I could see, as her hands were working at the pinching game more hurriedly now. “And I’ll think about her body, her skin, like porcelain, that time when we had to get naked in front of the other sisters and point to our least favorite parts of ourselves. I remember looking at her and thinking how she couldn’t play this particular little humiliation game, because she was so damn perfect.”
I tried to see what Paige was doing to herself, so I could keep up with her. “Take your shirt off, would you?” I asked, before I even knew what I was saying.
“What?” Paige asked.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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