Imagining the Fix

Sometimes, I’m going about my day as usual, walking around campus, sitting in class. Then, I have a thought. It starts out simple, but always it grows into something vivid. My mind brings up an image of you, and wraps itself around it. You, standing behind me, massaging my back. Nestling your face into my blonde locks, allowing the scent of my conditioner to pervade your senses. Pressing your pelvis to my ass to let me know, even through my jeans and your boxer shorts, how badly you want to take me, right there. Wrapping your arms around me, fingers teasing my bare, hard nipples, your mouth engulfing my neck.
Licking.
Kissing.
Breathing your hot, coffee-flavored breath across my collarbone, smoothing your rough hands down my body and into the waistband of my jeans.
At this point, I’ve lost any concentration I once had on the professor’s lecture. My eyes gaze at the whiteboard, but what I’m really seeing is you, slowly unbuttoning my jeans. Pushing them halfway down my thighs, letting out a tortured moan as two thin layers of cotton become the only barrier between your throbbing manhood and my tight little ass. Pulling out your cock, guiding it into the small triangular space between my thighs and my cunt as your hand finds its way inside my panties. Biting my neck, growling while your fingers explore my soft femininity. Bending me over the nearest piece of furniture, slowly sliding my panties off, taking my jeans with them. Pausing on your way back up, burying your face in my firm, round butt as your hands reach around and weave across my stomach, pulling me closer, pushing your face in deeper.
Licking...
Kissing...

Maybe I’m addicted.