Working Overtime Ch. 02

II: Full Time Students

A phone rang. A car honked twice. People yelled. Doors slammed all around and footsteps echoed on stairs and tiled floors. Laughter mixed with yells and the susurrus of everyday conversation at home. It was an apartment complex like any other, smack in middle of a city like any other, filled with people like any other. It had first been occupied predominantly by the elderly, then the impoverished masses, then not much of anyone for a few years until some industrious individual decided to remodel it and make a profit. Now it was full of students, eager to use loans to pay for a place of their own, and the whole structure rang of their humor, their vitality, their spirit, and their camaraderie. It also rang of their virility.

Robert Bret Davidson heard it all, felt it all. He also felt the lump in the pit of his stomach, the butterflies in his gut, and the sweat running down his back. The hall had to be eighty degrees, the stairs ninety, and the temperature outside encroached upon a hundred degrees. The hall stank of sweat, cheap cologne, and fresh paint. It was a place to be moved through, tolerated until one could reach an individual apartment or car outside, but Robert stood, just as hot and just as uncomfortably and just as still as he had for the last thirty minutes. He wanted a drink, not to fend against the heat, but to give him some courage and calm his nerves. All the relief he needed was through the door he stared at, and he knew it.

Apartment 69 was occupied by none other than Morgan Robertson, a sophomore at the local college, a cheerleader there as well, and the girl that took Robert's virginity. She was one year older than he at twenty, and had always been mature beyond her years, both mentally and physically. Robert had lusted after her for over a year before circumstances led them into each other's arms. Their sex was the release of all their adolescent tensions: fleeting, hot, and a real-life fantasy for Robert.

She had led him on afterward, flirting and stealing kisses for weeks before she invited him into her car for a nighttime "drive." It was a disaster. Not due to the sex, of course, Robert seemed naturally gifted and Morgan was more than adept, but afterward it was time to discuss their direction together. Morgan was interested in sex and just sex: when she felt like it, needed a quick fling and had to have a hard dick to accomplish it. Robert loved the sex, but hers was the first thing resembling a relationship he had had in years, and he wanted to hold onto that. The sex was his greatest attraction, but her mind and her company also interested him. Sex was Morgan's only attraction. She never considered him relationship material, continually looking for an older guy to be with, someone she didn't think of as a friend or a peer. Unfortunately she let him know it.

They separated then, unsure of each other and unsure of their own motivations. She would be tormented by guilt and he by his seeming romantic impotence and the dull ache in his loins for almost a full year. He got a "happy birthday" from her when he turned nineteen but no more, the silence stinging more than any insult. She moved on and away, took up residence on her own, and concentrated on her school and friends. He gave up hope as well, certain she would replace him with a bevy of men, and certain she would never need him like he needed her. He consoled himself on the internet at night, staring at the harlots on the web until his hand released him temporarily from his desire.

Unbeknownst to Robert, Morgan was no happier. She had tried to date other men, but found them all the same. For months she missed Rob's innocence, his pure effort and stamina. Finally her fate was his: guilty self-pleasure by the light of a computer screen and the caress of a palm. She buried herself in her work and her social life, making friends by the dozen, earning good grades like candy, and achieving no real happiness. The raw, sexual burning she felt was still there, aching more than ever, and it had only subsided once in her young adult life: her passionate months with Rob. She needed him back, and she knew it.

Thus came the message via Facebook. It was plain, vague, and short, but to Robert it was more beautiful than any verse ever written in the history of mankind. She gave a date, a time, and an address with an order to "meet me to talk. About us."

The time came of course, and so did Rob. He made the drive to her apartment complex, climbed her stairs, and found her door, but then he stopped. There he had been, in the heat and the humidity, for over half an hour.

He raised his hand a tenth time, intending to knock, but had to lower it. God curse his nervousness! Without it he wouldn't have driven her away in the first place! Dejectedly, he turned himself away, ashamed to admit even to himself that he couldn't face whatever ultimatum she had planned. He turned back, just once, and rested his forehead on the door as if to say goodbye for good, grimacing in shame. Then his phone buzzed.

He grumbled, putting all his weight against the door through his head as he fished in his pocket for the message. Sweat dripped off his eyebrows, barely missing his phone on their way to the floor as it completed its journey below his face. "I'm going to the parking lot," it said, "You'll see me when you pull up." From Morgan. Robert comprehended its meaning instantly, but had no time to back away before the door that had forced him away for the past thirty minutes swung open, with him tumbling after it.

He reeled as his balance was forced back upon him by the door, swinging his arms and tottering forward half a step. His heart beat rapidly, its staccato a rhythmic song to his hysterical dance. He finally composed himself and stood fully upright, phone in his hand, and saw her.

Morgan Robertson gaped at him from two feet away, mouth and eyes wide open. She hadn't seen her last lover for a year, and then had him almost fall on her. He was disheveled, sweaty, and unfocused, but immediately she saw again what attracted her to him in the first place: he was fit, handsome, and young. He was smooth in the way only fair-skinned adolescents can be, with slightly bulging muscles on his chest, back, and arms. His dark blond hair was too tousled to be cared for, and the sweat had soaked through his chest and under his arms, but Morgan found it deliciously masculine. His eyes bored into hers, and his face wore an embarrassed look, coupled with the fading hope that was there previously.

"G-g-good God!" he stammered, shaken, "Do you always open doors so violently? And it's about time! I knocked 'till my hand hurt!"

She answered him, knowing he hadn't knocked once. "I like to make sure my guests are devoted to being here before I throw open the door to strangers, especially ones that are liable to lurch suddenly into my home upon the door's opening!"

They both laughed, totally surprised at the lack of awkwardness between them. As usual, all Robert's worrying was for naught. It was an instantaneous happiness, like two friends seeing each other for the first time in decades. Whatever had driven her to push him away was gone, as was the uncertainty that plagued her from the very first time she decided to fuck him. They hugged, like friends, and Rob held her away from him to look at her, closer to him than a friend would hold but far enough away to examine her.

"My, my, do you look nice!" His compliment escaped automatically as he observed her dark hair and unblemished skin, down her slender neck. Her breasts were as he remembered them: large for her petite stature and pert. He thought for a second as he looked at her chest that she was braless, but that was never like her, so he moved on. Her hips flared out almost too much, but stopped just in time to complement her breasts and make her one of the most curvaceous women Rob had ever seen. Her ass was taught, but not small, and it rolled with her hips as she walked. It stuck out just enough to catch the eye and to keep jeans from sitting above it. He loved that ass. "You haven't changed a bit but for the better, if that were possible."

"Well well," she countered, "Looks like I let in the right guy! You're a sight for deprived eyes as well, excepting that you look like you ran the whole way here."

He smiled sheepishly at her jibe, but was secretly gladdened by her obvious joy at seeing him and her hint that she hadn't been with other men.

She continued. "Come in and have a drink at least, so I can shut the door. You look exhausted, not to mention hot. How about a cold beer and a shower?"

She turned away and walked toward her kitchenette as he spoke. "That would be great! You don't mind me using your shower?"

She laughed in reply as she reached the other side of her living room and swung around the end of the bar and over to her fridge. He had pushed the door shut behind him and followed her to the counter, his eyes fixated on her butt in tight jeans. His dick swelled in his pants as she bent over to get their brews. A baby blue thong shot up from between the tan mounds of her ass. He was enraptured in its lace and the purple stripes on the triangle over her ass. All he could do was stare, until he realized she had turned her head and was staring back.

"Still haven't lost that desperation, I see." She said, teasingly. "And here I just thought you wanted my beer!"

He reddened in shock. She had never been so forward before!

"I guess I'll just have to make my shower cold." He chuckled, accepting his drink as she stood.

She just smiled at him mischievously and cracked open her can. He tipped his to her and drank as well, thirstily.

Inside they were both in turmoil. Neither could believe she had come onto him already! She was more desperate than even she herself had thought! He was still embarrassed she had caught him leering and wondered if she had seen the movement down his thigh. She just wondered if she could get it to move again.

They crashed their empty cans down on the counter simultaneously, exhaling sighs of content. Her apartment was cool and well furnished, with a large living room that was open over the bar into a small kitchen. A doorway led to a hall off the living room that Robert presumed led to the utility room, bedrooms, and closet. He pointed at it, feeling sweaty.

"That where I'll find my shower?"

"Yea," she said, "Bathroom's the first door on your right. Towels are in the closet. Soap's provided, just don't steal it."

He laughed and walked away, sad to leave her but wanting to be clean. He could feel her eyes on him as he vanished down the hall. She listened for the water, sipping another beer as she leaned on the counter, and sighed.

He found what he needed fast, and was washing in no time. He felt like a new man as the water washed away his sweat and anxiety. Despite his earlier joke, steam soon fogged the air along with the scent of generic soap and shampoo. His hands rubbed his stomach, chest, and arms, soaping up, and he couldn't help but think of her. His cock twitched atop his nuts at the thought of that thong and her knowing glare, and he stroked it absently, only stopping when he knew it wouldn't be prudent to walk back out with an adamant hard-on. He wasn't overly large, on the upper side of average tops, but it would still show and she would be looking.

He rinsed and stepped out into the steam, groping for a towel, eager to get back to her and find out why she wanted to see him. He dried well, but the steam made total dryness impossible, and he reached for his clothes knowing he did his best. Then he realized he couldn't wear what he had discarded on the floor.

Morgan had reached the same assumption during his shower, and had immediately smiled. She smiled still as he walked back into her living room, towel wrapped around his waist.

"Uh, Morgan...You got any guy clothes?"

She giggled helplessly. His chest and arms were red from the hot water. His hair was damp and plastered to his head. His slick torso shone in the light as did his accusing eyes. He stood in the doorway past the counter, looking in on her couch and TV.

She walked toward him as she answered. "Nope, I sure don't! Of course, you can't wear your sweaty clothes and sit on my couch." She stood a foot away and looked up at him, smiling. "You're stuck with a towel, bud."

He was at a loss. She probably planned this! And he, in his blissfully unaware state, had fallen into her trap. When had she become so devious and overtly sexual? He guessed college just changed a person.

"Well, if you won't let me dress, the least you can offer me is another beer!" He smiled to himself for the small victory as he sat down on the couch. He didn't know how she came across the alcohol, but he appreciated it.

She brought them each another cold can, and plopped down beside him. He could feel the heat of her leg against his through his towel, as he could feel the moisture on his back and legs seeping into the couch. They drank in silence, staring straight ahead at the dark television. Tension rose for the first time, preceding his unasked question. Finally, feeling foolish in nothing but a towel, and with his beer empty he spoke.

"Morgan, why the hell am I here? Was it that urgent that I shower in your apartment? And why now?" He was almost irritated as he said it, finally realizing how idiotic the whole situation seemed. All this waiting, just for two drinks and a shower? Barely any conversation, no explanation, and blatant sexual overtures? It just wasn't like her, and they both knew it. He had to have an answer, not to mention some clue as to whether his pain regarding her would ever end. "All this time without so much as a casual hello, but now you're content to keep me undressed and drinking your booze?" He glared at her, on the verge of fuming.

She stared back, stunned at how worked up he was. He was panting, flustered, frustrated, and so right. She had no answer to give him, no clue to make him understand, and no reason herself for the message she sent. She just wanted him there. Even as he stared her down she couldn't help but think how hot he made her. She settled her gaze onto his, her face mere inches away and below his, and found her answer.

Rob could do nothing but sit there when she kissed him. The anger went out of him, as did his strength, and he just sat there stunned. She threw both arms around his neck and planted it on him. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth as she rotated her hips around to straddle his legs. His arms hung limp at his sides. The heat of her body warmed his torso, damp from his shower, and he could feel her tits push against his chest. She explored every inch of his mouth and ran her fingernails along his back, writhing in his lap.

She didn't stop until she needed to breathe. Gasping, after what seemed like an eternity, she leaned back from his body, hair messed, shirt wrinkled, makeup smeared. Her nipples stuck out from her shirt and could have cut glass they were so hard, and she could feel that telltale warmth starting in her loins. How long it had been since she'd had a man!

"That," she said huskily, "is your answer, as best as I can give it. Will you come back to me?"

He thought for a moment, seemingly serious.

"Well...you do buy good beer!" and he smiled.

The next kiss was mutual. She stayed atop his thighs and he leaned forward this time, glad for so many things. He couldn't believe she had asked him back! He was glad she hadn't found someone else, glad she still wanted him, glad she had changed for the better, and glad she was so horny. His cock grew fuller under his towel as she ground her crotch into his pubic mound. She ran her hands through his hair as their tongues met in her mouth. He palmed her ass, the butt he dreamed of fucking late at night, and squeezed. She groaned in reply, the sound muffled by his tongue.

She couldn't believe she had done it! Finally! After so many long nights with no company but her hand, she had broken down whatever internal barrier she had had that kept her from just letting go. She broke their kiss, letting his tongue escape hers, and leaned back laughing. "God I love this!" she blurted out, exhilarated at her new mindset. She reached down between her legs and grabbed his hardening cock through his towel. He jumped, smiling, in total heaven and glad to see her happy. His cock reached full hardness as her hand caressed it and stood against the towel, outlined against his leg.

Her other hand reached down to rub her pussy through her jeans, grinding the seam into her clit. She could feel the dampness spreading in her panties and loved it, knowing she would soon have the release she desired. Rob reached up and palmed her tits as she rubbed his dick, returning the favor. He gaped at her, mouth open, as he felt her taut nipples through the fabric of her T-shirt. No bra! He couldn't say he was too surprised after her recent actions, but it was certainly a plus. They radiated electricity through her body as he rubbed each one, and she gazed down at him, moaning. He panted as well, his dick straining at the towel painfully. He could smell her heat as the front of her jeans darkened, and sweat began to mingle with the condensation on his body.

The tension built between them like a stretched rubber band, waiting to snap. Just being able to touch another person sexually had both students hot and gasping. His cock throbbed under her palm as she ground it into his thigh. Her clit was swollen in her panties, as were her pussy lips, and both sent bursts of pleasure up her spine. She felt her climax approaching long before she wanted their encounter to end. His eyes closed and rolled up in his head as he finally built up for release under her fingers. He smiled, glad to have her touching him, gasping and groaning as his orgasm came.

Just as he reached the edge, however, she stopped. Precum leaked out of his dick like water from a broken faucet as her hand stopped its rubbing just in time. Likewise, the other hand left her pussy aching for more. Under his incredulous stare, she dismounted from his lap and stood before him.

Panting, she just managed to gasp "Not this soon! I'm not done with you yet!"

He couldn't believe she had denied him, but at the same time couldn't fault her. He had waited so long, he realized he wanted nothing less than to possess her, to fuck her into oblivion. "True, true" he said finally, a smirk coming to his lips, "I guess I'm not done with you either!"

Her answer was to turn around and slowly unzip her jeans. With practiced deliberation, she bent over and lowered her pants to the floor. Her thong was within arm's reach of Rob's face, the bow enticing him to untie it with his teeth, and the darker, damper fabric covering her pussy poking out from between her legs. His cock flexed against his thigh, spreading his precum across his leg. He whistled his approval as she turned back to him laughing. With one smooth motion, she gripped her shirt at its hem, and simultaneously pulled it over her head and bowed, dropping it in front of her jeans. Robert was speechless as she jumped back up, her tits bobbing in front of her. He had forgotten how much he loved them. They were as perky as could be, standing to attention in front of her torso, topped with pink nipples set in paler areolas. They were crinkled and swollen with arousal. They begged to be kissed. He reached out to them, but she danced just out of reach, shaking her head and laughing. "Not just yet, big boy!"

He watched her ass sway as she strode away almost naked to the kitchen, then he turned back and leaned into the couch, sighing. His dick throbbed as he thought of that damp spot over her cunt and he remembered the smell of her sex. "This can't be real!" he muttered to himself.