Oh, My Sweet RapturebyPunkrotica©
All the characters in this story are over 18. Yes, they meet in class, but it is a college class. The female protagonist is 22, and the male is 27.
Oh, My Sweet Rapture
He sat behind me in my sophomore poetry class. It made it hard to write, or think clearly about the words of others that I was listening to. I couldn't help but be aware of his presence. Sometimes I thought I could feel his body heat. I knew I could feel him looking at my back.
I'd pull my hair to the side, sometimes, when I felt him looking at me. As if I were doing it absently, though it was really such a secret, sensual gesture. My neck is quite long, and very pale, and I knew that he could see the small sweet mole I had beneath my right ear. The first time, I heard him suck in a breath, so softly, and I knew he had seen it. I knew he knew that I had showed it to him. ...yes, this is how I flirt. Indecent mole exposure.
All in all, I'm definitely not one of the "sexy girls" in the class. I'm tall, and wear my dark hair in blunt bangs that come right to the tops of my buddy holly glasses. I wear eyeliner sometimes, but never lipstick. I prefer it when boys don't stare at me. But he watched me. I could feel him watching me. He wore glasses as well, but not constantly, and behind them, his eyes burned with a heat, and a passion. His voice would get thicker as he read his poetry, and I could feel him staring at my back.
We had said not more than a few words to eachother. We realized we both had a penchant for Chuck Taylors. I complimented his scarf, and once, his Alkaline Trio t-shirt. He called me out on a Dr. Horrible quote that I worked into a poem. Did I mention that smart boys are crazy hot?
He wore that weird scruffy face-hair that emo boys seem to have such a penchant for, and a ring graced the side of his bottom lip. Which, I should mention, was also pretty hot. Did I mention that emo boys are damn sexy?
One day I was out having a cigarette before class. He strolled up, a camel wide hanging from his fingers, smoke curling up his tattooed arm. I suddenly felt very naked in my crazy-old modest mouse tshirt. I'm pretty sure you can see my bra through it. "So, what random internet musical are you going to plagiarize today?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow at me.
"None." I shot back. "I was planning on working in a few choice lines from Debbie Does Dallas."
He gave me a strange look and walked away.
"Way to go." I hissed to myself. My whole face was flushed when I went in. I kept my head down as I walked past him, thankful for my hair, my glasses, everything I had to hide behind.
I couldn't focus. I kept reliving the horrible moment when I brought up a terrible old porno to my crush in my college poetry class. Who DOES that?! I couldn't even function when the teacher instructed us to begin a free-write. I stared at the paper in front of me that I'd written the phrase "Debbie Does Dallas" on, beneath my name and the class name.
"Okay, who wants to read?" My teacher spoke in her weird not-quite-english voice, which sounded like a put-upon Professor Sprout from Harry Potter.
"I would." His voice seemed closer behind me than I expected, and I jumped.
"Oh, fabulous!" Prof. Sprout clapped her hands together, and I wanted to hit her in her inanity that detracted from the intensity of the voice behind me.
He cleared his throat, and there was a nervousness about him as he rustled his paper.
"I see a secret
No one knows I see it
He cleared his throat again, and I felt my blood pressure rising in my ears. I reached my hand back, smoothing my hair unconsciously, wondering if he was talking about me.
"She is a secret
It lives inside her
But I see it like a mark upon her flesh
Like an angel kiss"
I slowly turned, and his eyes were staring directly into mine. I gasped, and it was as though the entire room faded around us. It was his eyes. His lips. His voice. And my body, responding helplessly to his words.
"Like I could drink the dregs of her mind
When I see her secrets
She knows I see them
She shows me her pale truth
And I long to see more
I long to touch her
To feel the pale trembling
I long to find each mark
Press against her-
An angelic kiss
Like I could drink the dregs of her soul
With the heat of my tongue"
He set the paper down, and the whole class was silent, staring at him. Staring at US. I still couldn't see them. I wanted to kiss him. I had been watching his lips, as they moved, and I wanted to kiss him.
"Oh... well... I think we could all probably use a five minute break after all that!" Sprout's voice invaded, invariably cooling the heat between my thighs. Obviously, the latent sensuality of his poem had made her uncomfortable, and she quickly grabbed a pack of menthols out of her purse and headed for the door.
The rest of the class followed her, and I blushed as I heard them laughing, aware for the first time of anything other than him.
"Do you want to come into the Media Room with me?" He asked. "I have keys."
"Look, if you think, just because I mentioned some stupid porno that I want to make one-"
"No, no!" He cut me off, picking up his hat and his backpack. "I'm taking today off. Will you take today off with me? I want to know you. But I want to know ALL of you. I want to know every beauty mark, every scar." He pushed my hair back behind my ear, and all I could do was stare at him. His skin had faint freckles, and his hair was so dark against it.
I followed him down the hall, and into the media room. The music he put on was nothing I had ever heard, but somehow I instantly loved it. His hands were on my body, and mine were on his. I was unbuttoning his shirt before he had made any gesture to remove my clothing, and I think he had already known how his poem had affected me.
Our lips met, and his mouth was soft and wet, drawing me in, his tongue working against mine. It was an electric kiss. It pushed through my body, and I felt the sudden rush of heat between my thighs.
Just as quickly, as if it weren't our first kiss, as if we both knew how many times we had both imagined it, his hands were peeling my modest mouse t-shirt off, being so gentle, a man whose fingers knew well the value of a long worn and much-loved band shirt.
Then he was sucking on my nipples, running his hands over my back, and I was arching, whimpering, and soon he was between my legs, unbuttoning the buttons of my jeans, pushing me back into a rolling desk chair, and kneeling on the floor as he pulled my jeans down my narrow hips. He pushed my thighs apart, and moaned lowly.
A moment of rationality jarred me a bit. "I... I don't know you..."
"Yes you do." He whispered, his eyes drinking in the fine dark hair that I kept trimmed so closely. He spread my lips, and ran his fingers over my labia. "You know me. You've listened to my poetry for months. You know the music I listen to. You might not know everything about me, but you know me."
"I... I..." I moaned, leaning my head back. My arguments were fleeing my mind quickly as he pushed his fingers in.
"You know me... and I know you." He was still whispering, but his voice was thick, and heavy, like when he was reading. Like when he was reading to me. He licked my inner thigh, as he twisted his fingers inside me. As he pushed them deeper. He moaned. "You have a beautiful pussy." He licked my hot wet pussy, and kept pushing.
"Oh god..."I whimpered. It had been too long, since I'd felt a boys mouth kiss me there.
He was kissing my clit now, passionately, working his tongue against it, and working his fingers in and out of me. The inevitable feeling began twisting low in my stomach, and my thighs started to tremble.
I tried to fight the orgasm, the intensity that was hanging above me scared me, and I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the words of the song. ...that didn't help.
"Gideon is in the drawer...
Clothes scattered on the floor
She's arching her back,
She screams for more"
My chances of fighting were completely lost, the music felt like it was lifting me off the floor, and my legs were wrapping around his back. He pulled back, rubbing my clit with his thumb, and I looked down at him. His eyes locked with mine. They were as intense as the rest of him, hazel with flecks of honey brown and green. I reached down for him, pulling him up with my hands and my feet together. His lips were wet with moisture, parted already for me, and my mouth captured his.
He lowered me gently to the floor, where his wool jacket was already spread out for me. Sweetly, carefully, he removed my glasses, and folded them, before setting them on a desk. He returned to me, and my legs opened for him easily. He knelt above me for a moment, his eyes taking me in.
A slightly smile played around his lips, and I blushed. "I..." an apology on the tip of my tongue, or an explanation, of how this could have happened. How we'd spoke probably less than 500 words to each other, and now I was laying naked on the floor of the media room before him. But there was no explanation known to me.
"You are so beautiful." He whispered, breaking into a full smile, and my feet, pale white and thin, at the end of legs of much the same description, found themselves running up the backs of his thighs to push together behind his back.
"I want you inside me." I murmured, as he lowered down, the hard head of him pressing against the lips of my wet pussy.
I tightened my legs around his back, moaning as I felt him enter me. I stretched around him, and my back arched. He held himself up on his hands, his eyes were hooded, not quite closed, still watching my face; watching my pleasure.
I was whimpering, grinding my hips, his weight pressed down on me and I loved the feel of being pinned beneath him. He lowered his face to mine, whispered softly in my ear, "you're my secret." I sobbed softly as he kissed my neck, my jaw, my body trembling, my orgasm overtaking me.
My hands fluttered over his back, he pushed deep into me as he felt me clutching around him, my hands found their place buried in his hair, I pressed my cheek to his, and he was moaning with me. Our gasps, our soft cries, kept rising with the music.
"We've gone too far...
Just one last kiss.
Just one last touch..."
The lyrics seeped into my head, and I felt the idea of a final kiss, a final touch, almost making me afraid, afraid of this EVER ending, afraid of this pleasure ever leaving, of his body ever parting from mine. "Never stop." I whimpered, my voice cracking as if I were at the point of tears, and my breath continued hitching like sobs in my throat.
"Never." He gasped back. His mouth hung open, and I loved the look of his face, lost in pleasure. Our bodies moved slowly but passionately together, I felt his body trembling in rhythm with mine, and our mouths met, wet and desperate for eachother. His tongue swirled against mine as he thrust into me, his pubic bone pressing against my clit as we moved together, my feet sliding over his back and down to his ass, my hips rising to meet each thrust.
"This feels so good.
Just barely moving.
The tension building.
Our bodies working."
Our eyes met again as he shoved deeply into me, and I cried out, my back arching. My body began twisting and thrusting uncontrollably as a second orgasm overtook me. His thrusts came faster and harder, and I bucked my hips against him, arching up to him, and he buried his face in my breasts, sucking hard on my nipples, and I felt myself gushing unexpectedly, shuddering and screaming as he rode me through the violent climax. He held my hips tightly to him, and I heard him moaning, as my vision blurred further, and I could still hear someone in the distance, screaming, and I felt a vague awareness it was me.
"I hear Jesus,
And the Angels singing
He held me closely to him as I shook and shuddered. "Oh my god," I heard him gasping, and I felt the sudden swelling of him, the sudden burst of wetness as he reached his own climax, pressing his forehead to mine, his lips to mine. I kissed and sucked at his lips. We shuddered together, and then fell apart, our skin wet with sweat, our legs entwined.
"Oh my god." He gasped again. He was breathing heavily and shaking, my legs trembled against his, as we stared at eachother, both somewhat stunned.
"Hi." Was the brilliant commentary that came out of my mouth, and he raised an eyebrow at me.
"Umm." Was my remarkably clever follow-up. "Coffee?" My next feat of spectacular wit.
"Cigarette?" Was his mind-blowing response.
"Indeed." We both laughed, at our complete lack of ability to venture into more than one-word sentences.
It was in shyness we dressed, which seemed ironic after our intimacy. He kissed me gently as he passed me my glasses and a cigarette.
Skipping classes for the rest of the day was an unspoken agreement, and we held hands as we walked to the nearest coffee shop to the campus.