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I’m certain that when he first spotted me in the library on that blistering summer day he had a mistaken impression. I sat Indian-style on the hard wooden chair in my tank top, hair piled into a loose bun with a few curly strands framing my flushed cheeks, trendy glasses perched on the bridge of my nose, and bore into a thick book of metaphysics without looking up. I didn’t notice him, but he apparently noticed me.
As I scribbled a few notes onto my yellow legal pad, he approached, selecting the seat next to mine. He probably found me unremarkable and sensed that he’d be able to get a lot of work done if he was seated next to the average, studious looking girl.
“Do you mind?” he asked. I shook my head and flashed a demure, if brief smile at him before retreating back to my book.
Within seconds I could smell him. His musky, fresh scent drifted across the small canyon between our seats and settled into my nostrils, which flared reflexively, inhaling as if trying to allow a piece of him inside of me. I grew immediately self-conscious. Could he also smell me? Was I sweaty after an afternoon in the stifling library? If so, would that natural female aroma attract him? Could he smell the pheromones I must surely have been emitting? Did they make him want me? Was my hair cute in that slightly carefree sort of way, or did I look like a repressed librarian? Suddenly everything little thing I did became a big deal for me; the sound I made while clearing my throat, the slight gurgle from my nervous stomach, and the creaking of my wooden chair as I shifted nervously in my seat.
Within a very short time, I had gone from being completely immersed in the metaphysical philosophies of Bertrand Russell to being obsessed thinking about the reasonably attractive, incredibly sexy-smelling coed seated beside me. I could think of nothing except feeling his remarkably smooth triceps turning to jelly under my confident palms. I wanted to touch him everywhere. I wanted to drag my naked tits against his bare chest. I wanted to consume him. I wanted to break his heart.
I won’t bore you with the events of the next three hours. They aren’t remotely sexy or particularly interesting, but the beauty of that time is that it culminated in our stumbling back into my blessedly air-conditioned apartment ready to feed each other’s sexual appetites. My polite demeanor and quirky yet understated humor resulted in his having dubbed me, “lamb.” That was a myth I was determined to debunk. After all, a “lamb” would never have done the things to him that I was about to do. But a wolf would.
After a few minutes of deep kissing, in which our tongues greedily battled against one another’s, I pushed him back onto my bed. He looked at me as if he were taken by surprise that the unassuming little bookworm he had met in the library, his “lamb”, was actually a sexually ravenous wolf that might very well tear him apart and devour him at any moment. I pulled his board shorts down in one swift movement and tossed them aside to reveal a stiff, smooth and unshaven cock that effortlessly sprang to life.
“Mmmm,” I groaned at the sight of it pulsing between his thighs, “that’s lovely.”
He smiled, but said nothing. His eyes were fixated on me as I slowly raised my tank top across my toned midriff and allowed my ample breasts to fall free before slipping the shirt over my head and tossing it aside. His mouth was now agape and watering.
My hands reached out and enveloped his feet. Starting with his toes, I began massaging my way up, pushing my thumbs into his arches forcing him to groan with delight. I worked my way up, rubbing his calves, his knees, and his thighs, which began to tremble as he realized how perilously close I was to his scrotum. His hips pressed forward as if he were trying to force his magnificent cock into my palm, where he might have thought I’d give him an exquisite hand job. But I had other plans.
After sliding out of my panties, which were now wet with thick desire, I climbed up onto the bed and straddled him. I purposefully dragged my wet pussy along his leg, retracing the pathways of my hands.
“Close your eyes,” I commanded, feeling far bolder when he wasn’t watching. I also relished the power that I felt in being anonymous and mysterious. He acquiesced after taking one last, long look at my tanned, summer nakedness.
I positioned myself over his throbbing cock until it stretched to its full length against the crack. I could feel it knocking at the back door. Once again his hips arched forward, but this time, they did so repeatedly, rocking against me as if, had he persisted, his cock would magically find itself buried deep in one orifice or another. His hands found my hips and planted themselves there as if trying to gain leverage.
I grasped his hands and pulled them away, guiding them toward the iron bars of my headboard, which he now clutched, though they were a poor substitute for my soft hips and thighs. He gripped them so tightly that his fingers turned a sickly grayish-blue.
“Fuck me,” he groaned. His voice took me by surprise, but delighted me and fueled my increasingly sadistic sense of control.
“Not yet,” I smiled wickedly. I wanted his cock to ache to the point that he could no longer bear it. I wanted it to ooze with precum. I wanted to feel that precum dot my ass as his cock bounced against it. I wanted it to be so thick and voluminous that is literally dripped down his desperate shaft. His hips rocked more urgently and this muscular young man actually whimpered like prey about to submit to its predator.
I bounced lightly against his cock before falling forward and dragging my erect nipples across his chest. His mouth reflexively shot open, like an infant rooting for its mother’s milk. The repositioning of my body caused my slick pussy to slide against his cock and he nestled it between my raw, ravenous labia and my ass. I squeezed my kegel muscles as tightly as I could, pinching the rock-like dart between them, forcing him to pant. My desire mounted in response to the sounds of his pleasure. It was all I could do to maintain my control. I wanted to start fucking him until I had completely spent myself up, but I had so many tricks yet to play on my prey.
As a gesture of goodwill, and because it always drove me wild, I slid further forward and dipped my nipple into his open mouth. He instantly clamped down, licking, sucking and biting at it. The feel of his teeth gripping at it made me squeal and moan. My throaty emanations fueled his ferocity and he bit down even harder, causing my pussy to spasm. I reached down in a reciprocal move and rolled his erect nipples between my forefingers and thumbs, twisting and pulling at them. He found it hard to concentrate on sucking and biting at me as the machine-gun gasps of his hyperventilation consumed him.
Shifting once more, I ran my tongue across his cheek, into the ticklish curve where his neck met his shoulder, and across his perfectly formed pectorals. My mouth settled my debt with his, as I nibbled lightly at first, and then fully feasted upon his nipples, biting, licking and replaying all of the delicious tricks he had played on me. He released the headboard and reached around me toward his thick cock, covering the blood-filled purple head with his warm palm. He grunted like an animal.
“Come on, lamb,” he whimpered, “fuck my cock.”
I reached behind me and placed my hand over his, guiding it up and down along his rigid prick. I rolled off and lay beside him, covering his own hand once again to assure that he kept rubbing himself.
“Masturbate for me,” I said in a smoky voice that I had never heard before. It was sexy and commanding. I liked it. The seductive confidence that came through in that voice made me want to keep talking. My partner looked quizzical, as if I were crazy. We both knew how much better it would feel if I pleasured him, but my desire was being heightened by his obedience. “Do it,” I added sternly.
His left hand encircled his balls, pulling and rubbing them as his right hand spread the clear precum from his tip across his shaft and ran itself slowly up and down. I could see him pulsing his palm against himself and rocking his hips back and forth as if fucking an invisible lover. My wetness was beginning to spread onto my inner thighs and my pussy was filled with so much blood and desire that it actually hurt. Badly. It felt as if it were being dilated in preparation to receive a huge cock. My fingers worked at it, pressing and pulling at my clit, and rubbing the wet slit to ease the pain.
I leaned in toward his ear, barely brushing against it. He could feel and hear my shallow breathing and the slight vibration as I began to speak. Once again, the smoky, sexy voice spilled out in hushed whispers. “Does that feel good, baby?” I asked him as his masturbation intensified. He nodded, temporarily speechless.
“Would it feel good if I sucked it,” I added. “If I spread my hot mouth over it and milked it into my throat?”
“Jesus, fucking Christ,” was all he could say as his head pressed back into the mattress and his hips arched off the bed. His hand vigorously pumped his cock as sweat formed at his brow and across his chest. The sight of his slick body, trembling before me empowered me. This was all for me, and because of me.
“Would it?” I persisted. “Is that what you want? Should I suck your cock, baby?” He nodded, opening his eyes to shoot a desperate glance in my direction.
Before either of us could speak another word, his cock was pulsing against my warm tongue. I split my lips against the bulbous head of his erection, and sucked my way down his shaft until I had buried it deep into my throat. I could taste his precum, which by now was worked over the entire surface. His fingers were gripping at my hair, forcing me to face-fuck him, but I didn’t mind. I was still in control. It was my prey that was losing the battle of sexual wills.
I stopped sucking long enough to ask him, “I wonder if my pussy would feel any better gripping your cock. What do you think?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“Let’s see, shall we?” I added, as I remounted him. My legs straddled him and my wet pussy rested atop his stick straight cock, allowing nothing but the head to enter me. I pulsed my muscles and massaged his tip as I slid, in agonizingly slow fashion, down, down, down. When my painful cunt had finally swallowed all of him, I began riding him, beating my wet slit and ass against his pelvis. I screeched and squealed, while he moaned and grunted. It sounded as if someone were being murdered right there in my bed.
In one fluid motion, he flipped me onto my back, allowing me to wrap my thighs tightly around his hips and hold him inside of me. My hands pressed against his chest, playing in the sparse amount of hair there and clawing at the exposed skin. The wolf was marking her territory.
My prey’s face suddenly contorted into a frozen grimace and he stopped fucking me. He struggled to keep his impending orgasm at bay but it was no use. I pumped the walls of my hot, wet pussy against him, to which he responded, “no, no, no…”
It was no use. He pulled his cock swiftly out of me just in time to shoot his pearly white load across my belly and tits. It was as if the prey had turned predator and was now marking his own territory. With any luck, that meant he’d be sniffing me out again soon. And I’d be waiting, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, to turn the tables and devour him.
As I scribbled a few notes onto my yellow legal pad, he approached, selecting the seat next to mine. He probably found me unremarkable and sensed that he’d be able to get a lot of work done if he was seated next to the average, studious looking girl.
“Do you mind?” he asked. I shook my head and flashed a demure, if brief smile at him before retreating back to my book.
Within seconds I could smell him. His musky, fresh scent drifted across the small canyon between our seats and settled into my nostrils, which flared reflexively, inhaling as if trying to allow a piece of him inside of me. I grew immediately self-conscious. Could he also smell me? Was I sweaty after an afternoon in the stifling library? If so, would that natural female aroma attract him? Could he smell the pheromones I must surely have been emitting? Did they make him want me? Was my hair cute in that slightly carefree sort of way, or did I look like a repressed librarian? Suddenly everything little thing I did became a big deal for me; the sound I made while clearing my throat, the slight gurgle from my nervous stomach, and the creaking of my wooden chair as I shifted nervously in my seat.
Within a very short time, I had gone from being completely immersed in the metaphysical philosophies of Bertrand Russell to being obsessed thinking about the reasonably attractive, incredibly sexy-smelling coed seated beside me. I could think of nothing except feeling his remarkably smooth triceps turning to jelly under my confident palms. I wanted to touch him everywhere. I wanted to drag my naked tits against his bare chest. I wanted to consume him. I wanted to break his heart.
I won’t bore you with the events of the next three hours. They aren’t remotely sexy or particularly interesting, but the beauty of that time is that it culminated in our stumbling back into my blessedly air-conditioned apartment ready to feed each other’s sexual appetites. My polite demeanor and quirky yet understated humor resulted in his having dubbed me, “lamb.” That was a myth I was determined to debunk. After all, a “lamb” would never have done the things to him that I was about to do. But a wolf would.
After a few minutes of deep kissing, in which our tongues greedily battled against one another’s, I pushed him back onto my bed. He looked at me as if he were taken by surprise that the unassuming little bookworm he had met in the library, his “lamb”, was actually a sexually ravenous wolf that might very well tear him apart and devour him at any moment. I pulled his board shorts down in one swift movement and tossed them aside to reveal a stiff, smooth and unshaven cock that effortlessly sprang to life.
“Mmmm,” I groaned at the sight of it pulsing between his thighs, “that’s lovely.”
He smiled, but said nothing. His eyes were fixated on me as I slowly raised my tank top across my toned midriff and allowed my ample breasts to fall free before slipping the shirt over my head and tossing it aside. His mouth was now agape and watering.
My hands reached out and enveloped his feet. Starting with his toes, I began massaging my way up, pushing my thumbs into his arches forcing him to groan with delight. I worked my way up, rubbing his calves, his knees, and his thighs, which began to tremble as he realized how perilously close I was to his scrotum. His hips pressed forward as if he were trying to force his magnificent cock into my palm, where he might have thought I’d give him an exquisite hand job. But I had other plans.
After sliding out of my panties, which were now wet with thick desire, I climbed up onto the bed and straddled him. I purposefully dragged my wet pussy along his leg, retracing the pathways of my hands.
“Close your eyes,” I commanded, feeling far bolder when he wasn’t watching. I also relished the power that I felt in being anonymous and mysterious. He acquiesced after taking one last, long look at my tanned, summer nakedness.
I positioned myself over his throbbing cock until it stretched to its full length against the crack. I could feel it knocking at the back door. Once again his hips arched forward, but this time, they did so repeatedly, rocking against me as if, had he persisted, his cock would magically find itself buried deep in one orifice or another. His hands found my hips and planted themselves there as if trying to gain leverage.
I grasped his hands and pulled them away, guiding them toward the iron bars of my headboard, which he now clutched, though they were a poor substitute for my soft hips and thighs. He gripped them so tightly that his fingers turned a sickly grayish-blue.
“Fuck me,” he groaned. His voice took me by surprise, but delighted me and fueled my increasingly sadistic sense of control.
“Not yet,” I smiled wickedly. I wanted his cock to ache to the point that he could no longer bear it. I wanted it to ooze with precum. I wanted to feel that precum dot my ass as his cock bounced against it. I wanted it to be so thick and voluminous that is literally dripped down his desperate shaft. His hips rocked more urgently and this muscular young man actually whimpered like prey about to submit to its predator.
I bounced lightly against his cock before falling forward and dragging my erect nipples across his chest. His mouth reflexively shot open, like an infant rooting for its mother’s milk. The repositioning of my body caused my slick pussy to slide against his cock and he nestled it between my raw, ravenous labia and my ass. I squeezed my kegel muscles as tightly as I could, pinching the rock-like dart between them, forcing him to pant. My desire mounted in response to the sounds of his pleasure. It was all I could do to maintain my control. I wanted to start fucking him until I had completely spent myself up, but I had so many tricks yet to play on my prey.
As a gesture of goodwill, and because it always drove me wild, I slid further forward and dipped my nipple into his open mouth. He instantly clamped down, licking, sucking and biting at it. The feel of his teeth gripping at it made me squeal and moan. My throaty emanations fueled his ferocity and he bit down even harder, causing my pussy to spasm. I reached down in a reciprocal move and rolled his erect nipples between my forefingers and thumbs, twisting and pulling at them. He found it hard to concentrate on sucking and biting at me as the machine-gun gasps of his hyperventilation consumed him.
Shifting once more, I ran my tongue across his cheek, into the ticklish curve where his neck met his shoulder, and across his perfectly formed pectorals. My mouth settled my debt with his, as I nibbled lightly at first, and then fully feasted upon his nipples, biting, licking and replaying all of the delicious tricks he had played on me. He released the headboard and reached around me toward his thick cock, covering the blood-filled purple head with his warm palm. He grunted like an animal.
“Come on, lamb,” he whimpered, “fuck my cock.”
I reached behind me and placed my hand over his, guiding it up and down along his rigid prick. I rolled off and lay beside him, covering his own hand once again to assure that he kept rubbing himself.
“Masturbate for me,” I said in a smoky voice that I had never heard before. It was sexy and commanding. I liked it. The seductive confidence that came through in that voice made me want to keep talking. My partner looked quizzical, as if I were crazy. We both knew how much better it would feel if I pleasured him, but my desire was being heightened by his obedience. “Do it,” I added sternly.
His left hand encircled his balls, pulling and rubbing them as his right hand spread the clear precum from his tip across his shaft and ran itself slowly up and down. I could see him pulsing his palm against himself and rocking his hips back and forth as if fucking an invisible lover. My wetness was beginning to spread onto my inner thighs and my pussy was filled with so much blood and desire that it actually hurt. Badly. It felt as if it were being dilated in preparation to receive a huge cock. My fingers worked at it, pressing and pulling at my clit, and rubbing the wet slit to ease the pain.
I leaned in toward his ear, barely brushing against it. He could feel and hear my shallow breathing and the slight vibration as I began to speak. Once again, the smoky, sexy voice spilled out in hushed whispers. “Does that feel good, baby?” I asked him as his masturbation intensified. He nodded, temporarily speechless.
“Would it feel good if I sucked it,” I added. “If I spread my hot mouth over it and milked it into my throat?”
“Jesus, fucking Christ,” was all he could say as his head pressed back into the mattress and his hips arched off the bed. His hand vigorously pumped his cock as sweat formed at his brow and across his chest. The sight of his slick body, trembling before me empowered me. This was all for me, and because of me.
“Would it?” I persisted. “Is that what you want? Should I suck your cock, baby?” He nodded, opening his eyes to shoot a desperate glance in my direction.
Before either of us could speak another word, his cock was pulsing against my warm tongue. I split my lips against the bulbous head of his erection, and sucked my way down his shaft until I had buried it deep into my throat. I could taste his precum, which by now was worked over the entire surface. His fingers were gripping at my hair, forcing me to face-fuck him, but I didn’t mind. I was still in control. It was my prey that was losing the battle of sexual wills.
I stopped sucking long enough to ask him, “I wonder if my pussy would feel any better gripping your cock. What do you think?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“Let’s see, shall we?” I added, as I remounted him. My legs straddled him and my wet pussy rested atop his stick straight cock, allowing nothing but the head to enter me. I pulsed my muscles and massaged his tip as I slid, in agonizingly slow fashion, down, down, down. When my painful cunt had finally swallowed all of him, I began riding him, beating my wet slit and ass against his pelvis. I screeched and squealed, while he moaned and grunted. It sounded as if someone were being murdered right there in my bed.
In one fluid motion, he flipped me onto my back, allowing me to wrap my thighs tightly around his hips and hold him inside of me. My hands pressed against his chest, playing in the sparse amount of hair there and clawing at the exposed skin. The wolf was marking her territory.
My prey’s face suddenly contorted into a frozen grimace and he stopped fucking me. He struggled to keep his impending orgasm at bay but it was no use. I pumped the walls of my hot, wet pussy against him, to which he responded, “no, no, no…”
It was no use. He pulled his cock swiftly out of me just in time to shoot his pearly white load across my belly and tits. It was as if the prey had turned predator and was now marking his own territory. With any luck, that meant he’d be sniffing me out again soon. And I’d be waiting, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, to turn the tables and devour him.
-J. Reed
