IRL Ch. 01

I'm not sure which is more satisfying: my rock hard dick finally being freed from its constraints, or the look on Katy's face. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops a little. For what may be the first time since I walked in, it's not my eyes she's staring at. "Oh. Jackson. I...God. I had no idea." She gently reaches out a hand to grab my pulsing cock. Her hand slowly closes around it, and it feels incredible.

"Still worried about my qualifications?" I ask.

She slowly shakes her head. "Not at all. You know, Jackson, I've always admired your eagerness to come to my office hours and 'go a little deeper into the material,' as you said. And now that I see what you have here..." She slides her hand slowly up and down my shaft. "I think we're going to be able to go plenty deep today." She smiles devilishly at me and brings her parted lips so. fucking. slowly. to kiss the swollen head of my dick. The sound of that kiss is so small, so quiet, but it fills the still room. She flicks out her tongue to taste the bead of precum that's formed there. And then her warm, wet mouth slides slowly over my cock. "Ooooh, God. Katy." Her big, full lips look so good wrapped around my shaft. "DSLs," I had once heard a classmate call them behind her back. It had pissed me off, and I made a mental note that that dude was an asshole. But in this particular moment, I can't disagree. She begins to take me in and out of her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside. "Oh, wow. Oh, God, that feels good," I say.

"Mmmmph," she moans with her mouth full; it feels so good my knees nearly buckle. "You like that?" She stops to say, then runs the tip of her tongue all the way along my length. "You like having my pretty little mouth on your cock?"

"God, Professor Donahue. I never thought you could be this..."

"Yes? This what?" She asks between licks.

"This dirty," I say. She didn't strike me as prudish, necessarily. People with this many tattoos (from this angle, I can see the eagle on her back for the first time) usually aren't. But there had never been the slightest hint that she had the capacity for this kind of cravenness.

"Mmmmhmmph," she groans as she takes me as deep as she can, almost to the hilt, then comes up with a gasp. "Oh? Am I? Am I being a bad girl?"

"Very." My fingers twist through her brown hair and pull her mouth back onto me.

"Mmmph...I guess I am, aren't I?" She says as she continues to suck it. "I mean...hmmmh...here I am...mmhmm...a professor, on her knees in her office...mmmhh...sucking her student's cock." She takes me deep again, swirls her tongue around, and pulls away with a 'pop!' "I guess I'm quite a little whore, aren't I?"

"You really are."

"And what does a boy like you do with little whores, Jackson?" She looks up at me eagerly as she pumps my cock with her hand. "Do you even know how to handle a dirty slut like me? Or should I move down the line? Ben York's paper looked suspiciously well-done. I bet he'd know what to do if he had a girl like me on her knees in front of—oh!" I cut her off by pulling her to her feet by her shoulders, spinning her around, and shoving her roughly over the desk. "Oumph!" She smiles back at me. "There you go. Maybe I made the right choice after all." Her ample ass looks incredible bent over the desk. It quivers with every one of her labored breaths. I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties and slowly pull them down. I tug them down to her black heels and leave them there, still binding her ankles together. The scent of her sex hits me powerfully.

"My gosh," I say, sliding one finger over her entrance, coating it in her sticky juices. "Look at how wet you are." I slip the finger inside, quickly joined by a second. She gasps in approval and pushes her ass back against my hand.

"Putting my hands and mouth all over that huge cock got me pretty worked up, I guess," she says. I loudly lick her fluids from my fingers. She tastes wonderfully sweet. "And like I told you. It's been a very long time for me. That lonely little pussy's on fire." Her sultry voice seems to drip with need.

"And what do you want me to do to that pussy now?" I ask. I run my hard, wet cock up and down her slick entrance.

"Oh, pleeeease, Jackson. Please fuck me."

"You want this cock?" I grip her fleshy waist firmly with my other hand. "You want it inside you?"

"So badly. I've wanted you for so long. You've wanted me for so long. Now you've finally got me. Bent over my desk. Begging for your cock." She looks back with hungry, pleading eyes. "Do it, Jackson. Take me."

I push the swollen head inside her. She releases a shuddering breath. I push further, working myself in. She's tight, but she's soaked. She slowly accepts it. "Oh, God," she gasps. Her eyes widen. But I'm not done yet. With a grunt, I thrust the last two inches into her. A bone-rattling moan echoes off her office walls. "YES. Oh, yes. That cock feels so good filling me up. Stretching me out." I pull all the way out, and plunge back in. "Oooooh, yeah." She grips the edge of the desk tightly, her knuckles turning white.

I pump in and out of her with a steady rhythm. "God, Katy. That pussy feels incredible."

"It's so hot for you," she says. My hands reach under her, kneading the flesh of her breasts as I screw her slowly. At first, she sighs and moans in approval. I can feel her adjusting to me, allowing my cock to fill her more easily every time. Then she turns to look me in the eye, whipping her dark brown hair across her back. She looks displeased. I know it's an act.

"That's not the best you've got, is it?" She dares me.

"What if it is?" I smirk. I slow down to agonizingly slow strokes.

"Then I'm marching straight to the Dean and reporting you," she says. "I thought I made myself clear. I want to be wrecked. I want to—" With both hands on her waist, I slam myself into her. The desk shakes with the concussive force. She shrieks. "YES! Yes. Like that. Make me take it." I pound her again. And again. Things on the desk rattle about. "Faster!" She screeches. I pick up the pace. Her beautiful ass shakes with each thrust. I grab her hair and lightly pull it back. "Oh!" She cries in surprise. "My, my. You are the man I've been looking for, aren't you?" Her commentary makes my dick even harder, if that's possible. I pound her relentlessly, sinking myself to the hilt each time. "Oh, GOD!" She screams. "That's so good." I bring my hand down sharp on her ass. "OH! Yes! Smack it! Show me who's boss!" I leave another red handprint on her.

She frantically wriggles one foot free of her panties, and puts her knee up on the desk. Now, I reach even further as I pound her. "MMM! UGH! That's it. You're going so deep, Jackson! OH!" She groans deeply, with her whole body. I grab her arms and pull them back as I drive into her. Her tits lift off the desk, and the force of our fucking makes them swing wildly. "Don't stop. Don't stop," she pants. "Yes! I want to feel it in the morning."

"Yeah?" I growl through clenched teeth. "Is that what you needed? A good, hard, deep fuck?"

"YES!" I'm pistoning in and out as fast and as hard as I can now. She makes small, airless screams with each thrust, like I'm driving the breath from her lungs. The desk continues to shake with the violence of our passion. "You're fucking me so good. Oooooh, GOD! That's the best cock I've ever had." She cries. My cock swells with pride and lust. I feel myself getting close to the edge.

"So you'll keep our little secret?" I ask. She gives me a sultry smile over her shoulder.

"Remember? There's one more condition. You need to make me cum," she says. "Lucky for you, I'm getting so. close."

"In that case..." I pull out. She whimpers. I take her by the shoulders and turn her around. Her face to mine. "I want to look you in the eyes when you cum," I say. And I kiss her. A long, deep kiss. A kiss like this can change your life. Her lips are so soft; her tongue is so deft. She moans into my mouth and I can feel it all the way down my spine. I take her in my arms, and gently lift her onto the desk once more. She lies back, her eyes wild and eager. As she splays out on the desk, her hand knocks her coffee mug aside. It hits the carpeted floor with a 'thud,' its contents spilling out.

"Oh my. Look what you've done," she says.

"That might not be the only stain on your carpet by the time I'm done," I say. I put her ankles on my shoulders, heels and all, and plunge back into her. No more teasing; I immediately start to fuck her hard and deep. "Mmm. I want to cum with you," I tell her. I can feel my orgasm building relentlessly. "I want to give you that hot, thick load while you cum on my cock." Katy seems like she's looking at something, off to the side. I can't tell what. "Is that what you want? You want my cum in your pussy?" I ask. "...Katy?"

"I thought it was hardwood," she says. Her voice isn't coquettish anymore. It's suddenly dull, almost despondent.

"What?" I stop.

"I thought you heard my heels clicking against the hardwood floor?" And she points at the coffee seeping into her green carpet. The whole room is green carpet. No wood.

"I...yeah. I did. I...wait, what?" I step back. I start to feel off-balance. I reach out to steady myself against the desk, but it's just a little too far away. I can't reach it.

"Jackson?" Katy cries out. She looks scared. I reach out for her, but she's just a little too far away. She was right here. I was inside her. But now I can't reach her. Everything's just out of reach. A beam of sunlight shoots through Katy's office window. I didn't think her office had a window. Another bright beam shoots in, and another, and the room is suddenly very bright. The desk and Katy seem to move farther away, as if sucked into the bewildering light. "Please! Jackson!" Katy reaches out for me. "Help me!" I lurch desperately for her. I manage to grab her wrist. It doesn't feel right. It feels too soft. Insubstantial. Like cotton. The room's so bright now, I can't see anything. Except Katy's face. Trembling, with tears in her eyes. Then she smiles a sad, frightened smile. "Rene was right, huh?" She says. But she sounds far away. Or under water.

"What?" I try to shout, but nothing comes out of my mouth.

"Rene was right. It's all just wax." She pulls away from me. She's still smiling. She's still crying.

"...I didn't even read that far," I murmur as she falls away.

And then a million thin little light beams pull the room apart.

***

I pound the door of the dorm room across from mine.

"Yeah?" Says a voice from inside, and I enter. "Jackson. What's up?" I find Coop in his natural state: playing World-of-Something-or-Other at his computer in his pajamas, eating a Pop-Tart.

"Jesus, you're already at it with that RPG shit? It's eight in the morning," I say. "Is this the first thing you do when you wake up, now?"

"It may be morning IRL, but in the Blackwood Forest, it is the eve of great battle," he mumbles through his breakfast.

"IRL?"

"In Real Life. Duh. So what's up with you? What are you doing up?" He continues to sword-fight trolls, or whatever the hell it is he does on that game.

"It wore off," I say flatly as I take a seat on his bed. "Your stuff."

"It's supposed to wear off. It would be pretty problematic if it didn't, right?"

"No. I mean, it wore off too soon. Right before."

"Right before what?" He asks, pausing the game to look at me.

"You know." I raise my eyebrows at him. "Right. before."

"Oh. Shit," he says. "That sucks."

"Yeah. In the middle of the night, too." I rub my bleary eyes. I hadn't gotten back to sleep after the light tore Katy away from me and I woke up sweating and clutching my sheets. I just laid there, intensely frustrated and a little ashamed. Frustrated that it was cut short before I finished and ashamed of my fantasies about Katy. I mean, I liked her. I respected her. Everything I said about the coffee shop was true. And of course I was attracted to her; I had been all semester. But that girl in the dream last night—and in all of my dreams for the past week or so—it wasn't Katy Donahue. It was some pornographic parody of her. The things I liked about her had been brushed away or skipped over, replaced by an almost cartoonishly lascivious portrait some part of my mind had painted. It was pure fantasy. And if made me feel kind of gross. Like I said in the dream last night, I thought of her as something like a friend. And I had called her a whore. I mean, technically, she called herself a whore first. But not really, because that wasn't her; it all came out of my subconscious. So it was me. God, this shit makes my head hurt.

"That's weird," Coop says. "I've never heard of that happening."

"You must have given me a weak batch or something."

"I don't think so, man. I trust my source. It's all legit. Maybe you're developing a tolerance."

"What? Can you develop a tolerance to Desitrol?"

"Hey, can you do me a favor and not call it that?" Coop asks.

"What do you mean? That's what it is, isn't it?"

"No. Desitrol is the name brand sleep-aid which got pulled from the shelves by the FDA because of a particular unintended side effect," Coop says emphatically. "What I push is called 'Fairy Dust,' a magical escape that sweeps you away into your wildest lusty dreams."

"But they're the same thing."

"Look. Branding is everything, in sales. If you call it Desitrol, I'm running around selling some lame ass sleeping pill that got nixed because it makes people jizz in their sheets. If you call it 'Fairy Dust,' I'm selling something new and exciting. Check it out." Coop opens his desk drawer to reveal a pile of small plastic baggies, each with a few small purple pills inside. He holds one up to proudly display the illustration of a sexy winged fairy printed on the baggie.

"Fairy Dust. Nice," I say. You have to at least admire his effort.

"Now this is a fucking brand. This is just like what the real drug dealers do, the serious players." Tyler "Coop" Cooper was not a "serious player" in the drug game. He was just a college senior selling weed who happened to stumble upon a source looking to dump a bunch of this recalled Desitrol stuff, and he decided he could capitalize on the drug's obvious—though accidental—upsides. As his best friend, I was a natural choice to be its first customer.

"Why did it get recalled, anyway?" I ask. "In what universe are intense orgasmic dreams an adverse side effect?"

"We live in a repressed society, man. It's like Victorian fucking England out there. But hey, it just means more beer money for me. I've got orders pouring in. People love this stuff."

I can understand why. When Coop had first described it to me, I was dubious. The dreams couldn't be that lifelike, I thought. I mean, dreams are dreams—even the kind that come with a, uh, happy ending. They're inchoate, incoherent, and inconsistent. They're fleeting and scattered and strange. But then I tried it. It's incredible. And it isn't even about the arousal. Well. It isn't just about the arousal. The dreams—they're so sharp, and vivid. Coop had said they would feel real, but they don't. It's beyond real. In these dreams, things are even clearer than "IRL." Like last night. Yes, the whole setup was cheesy and cliché and I feel conflicted about how unseemly it was. But I was so...present with Katy last night. So alive. I felt content, and serene, and just...there. Even though I wasn't there. And neither was she. There was no 'there.' Jesus. I feel like I'm losing it.

"Yeah, it's a trip. Except when the show gets cut short right before the grand finale," I say.

"Like I said, maybe you've built a tolerance. How often have you been using it, anyway? It is habit-forming, you know."
I shrug. "Every now and then. But I'm out now."

"Jesus, Jackson! I gave you like, seven hits a week ago. You've been using it every night?"

"Maybe. I don't know. So what? I've got sleeping problems," I say indignantly. But the truth is, I hadn't realized until Coop confronted me with the math that I had been using every night, and I was a little concerned myself.

"Yeah. Sure. It's the sleep you're after," Coop says incredulously.

"I've been under a lot of stress. And the dreams feel good. They kind of...clear my head, I guess. What's wrong with that? You just said we shouldn't be so repressed."

"But couldn't you be having like, actual sex? What's going on with Jill?" Coop asks.

I shrug. "I don't really think that's going anywhere." Jill runs in Coop and I's circle of friends. We had hooked up a couple of weeks ago. "I don't know that we click."

"Yeah," Coop says. "She's cool, available, incredibly hot, and into you. I can see why you'd want to undermine that and keep popping wet dream pills instead."

"I don't think our lifestyles are compatible. She's pretty into the drug scene, it seems like. She's been on Molly like, half the times I've been around her," I say. Coop laughs. "What? What's funny?"

"Seriously?" He asks, still chuckling. "You're going to judge her about her drug use? Sounds like you're the addict."

"First, it wasn't judgment; that's just not my scene. And second, I'm not an addicted to the pills. I could stop any time." As soon as I say it, I realize it sounds exactly like the kind of thing an addict would say.

"Then maybe you should stop. At least for a while. Some of my other buyers are really starting to get hooked, I think. It's sort of scary." Coop looks sincerely worried. I probably should listen to what he's saying, but instead it makes me pissed and defensive.

"Tell you what, Coop. I'll cool it on the Desitrol—"

"Fairy Dust. Goddamn it, man. How many times do I—"

"When you cool it on the online wizard role-playing shit. You are never going to get laid if you keep spending all your time battling Japanese kids on the internet."

"Everyone has their escape, man. The key is to keep it under control, you know?"

"Whatever. I gotta get to class soon. Can I get some more, or what?" I ask, staring somewhat longingly at Coop's desk drawer and its little purple treasures. Coop looks uneasy. "Come on. It's me," I say, appealing to our history the same way I did(n't) with Katy last night. "Between the two of us, I'm the responsible one, remember?"

"...Alright," he sighs, relenting. "Against my better judgment." He fishes through the drawer and finds a baggy with three pills. "This should hold you over for a while."

"Thanks, bud." I stuff the pills in my pocket and make for the door.

"Hey Jackson," Coop says before I can leave. "Who was it?"

"Who was what?" I ask.

"You know." He gives me a coy smile. "The star of the show. The guest of honor." I give him a blank stare. He sighs. "Who were you fucking, Jackson? In the dream?"

I shrug. "Nobody."

"Well that doesn't sound fun at all."

"I mean, it wasn't somebody I know," I lied. "It was just...you know. A girl." At first, the dreams had a rotating cast of characters, everything from an actress I saw on TV the night before to an old girlfriend from high school. I had never really felt dirty about it, though. They were just dreams. And then one night, awhile back, it was Katy. Which I felt a little weird about, since I really did like her. And then it was Katy every night. And every night, my shame and confusion seems to grow. Some part of me knows this is unhealthy. But a bigger, more insistent part of me doesn't want to give it up.

"Fine," Coop says. "Don't tell me." He grins. But his pestering has reminded me: while I hadn't plagiarized a paper IRL, I had neglected to read all of the Rene Descartes treatise assigned for class today. I wound up succumbing to the siren song of the purple fairy before I could finish it.