A Reputation Ch. 07 - Instruction

Fair warning to readers new to this series: I don't bother with much in the way of recaps usually, and this story is no exception. You can certainly enjoy it on its own, but it will make a lot more sense (I think), if you were to start with A Reputation 1: Cleaning Up. Regardless, as always, do not hold your breath for realism in my work. I aim to be plausibly ridiculous.

Also, forgive my Russian. I was a way shittier student back in the day than Will is.

Got laid a shit-ton less, too, but that seems extremely plausible.

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A REPUTATION 7: INSTRUCTION

I drove my hips in and out, gleefully fucking Cassie from behind as she bent over the desk on her side of her dorm room. I had one hand wrapped around her, cupping a spectacular boob and pinching the nipple, while I had the other curled round and down between her legs, strumming softly at her clit while my dick sought her G spot. It was an awkward position for me, but it was most emphatically doing the job for Cassie, and that was my aim at the moment.

I was becoming addicted to having a girl come, then sink down into the aftermath just enough that I could then push both myself and her again to a spectacular climax together. And I was learning enough skill by this point to make that happen intentionally.

Cassie had shown me the first time we were together that she is pretty wordless while fucking, but that she is not at all quiet. She was squealing softly as I drove into her, biting her fist to keep down the noise as her tension built. I felt a rush of satisfaction when her soft cries rose suddenly to a long wail that undulated with each thrust as I kept ramming into her. Her insides clenched about me involuntarily and her sweet little body struggled in my grasp.

Her orgasm lasted an impressive length of time...

But suddenly, she collapsed onto the desk. I slowed my efforts, straightened, and gently rubbed her back as I softly kept up some token thrusts as she came down from her high.

"You okay there?" I asked smugly.

Cassie gasped, shook her head, then snorted, "I'm getting organized here..."

"Good," I said silkily, and immediately began pumping into her again. She gasped in pleasure, but straightened and twisted herself off my cock. I was non-plussed, but she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me down for a kiss. The taste of her pussy was probably still on my lips. The taste of my cock was certainly still in hers...

Cassie maneuvered me around to lean my ass against the edge of her desk and lowered herself, dragging those magnificent mams down my body. "No, no!" she giggled. "I know what you like. And I'm kind of in the mood for another glazing, myself!"

She reached her knees and waved her big tits back and forth over my slick cock. Then she looked up at me as she grasped them and pressed them together around it. I smiled back down, completely disinclined to argue with her about the matter, and twitched my hips, pressing my cock up further into the incredible embrace of her chest.

Yeah, I eventually glazed her good. I have to say that to that point, Cassie was my first and only titfuck experience, and I found myself just slightly depressed that I was there, in that moment, peaking sexually on a Monday afternoon with my casual booty-call friend... Then I checked myself, because disappointment and my current sexual life did not belong in the same sentence.

Besides, who said I had actually peaked? This was just yet another new high...

*

That doesn't mean that my perfect life was actually perfect. After the damned near psychotic events of Saturday afternoon and then evening, I had spent Sunday literally hiding from every double-X set of chromosomes on the planet that I could.

Incredible as the first day of the weekend had been, I was frankly surprised to wake up Sunday and discover that my dick had not fallen off. I'm a more introspective person than seems rational for a guy getting as much sex as I suddenly was, and I knew afterward that Saturday was a bridge too far. I knew it was a bridge too far while I was enjoying it. It simply was not healthy to be with that many women in that short a period of time. Honestly, it should take at least four days to bang four women, not twelve hours.

Right?

I mean, surely...

That said, I certainly intended to continue to enjoy the fruits of my strangely earned Reputation! But I also knew that it was not going to work for me forever. I mean, the night before, there I was with two gorgeous girls from my dorm, naked and engaging in all sorts of shit, and I was actually jealous of Stu at a few points, as I watched him be with one girl, who was clearly in the process of becoming his girl. Not very jealous, mind you. I was three months past my twentieth birthday. I have time for girlfriends some day... much later.

So, to guard my sanity and maturity, as well as to secure the structural integrity of my worn out penis, I spent the morning with Dale, working on our test vehicle for Mechanical Engineering, then we cruised back to his off-campus apartment, a place where I was pretty damned sure no females ever came, and played video games while working up a hypothetical new idea for a vending machine design. I only left when I needed to spend a couple of hours studying Russian at the library with a classmate. The classmate was female, but still. She and I had had work to do. And, alas, she always seemed immune to my charms anyway, ever since the first day of the semester. She was even apparently immune to my Reputation.

As ways to avoid women, I had employed an effective plan for Sunday. But Monday was a different story.

After all three engineering classes, I ran back by the dorm for lunch, where my lazy-ass roommate had finally awoken, and we spoke for the first time since Friday afternoon. Before I had a chance to ask any questions of my own, he got the jump on me.

"Dude! What the fuck did you get up to Saturday? Word is, you had a threesome! You fucking rock, you lucky asshole. But I get conflicting stories of who, where, and when. What gives?" I tried to change the subject, but Mitch can be relentless. We went back and forth for a while, until he pissed me off enough (which was likely his intent) for me to give him what he wanted... but not what he expected.

"Both stories you hear are true, asshole," I finally snapped. "First, I had a great time in here with two lovely ladies whom you do not know. Then, because you were in here getting jiggy with it with person unknown, I was locked out, and ended up getting together with two girls whom you do know, in someone else's room."

Mitch stared at me. I could see the whites of his eyes all the way around his irises. He knew me well enough to know I was not shitting him. His jaw worked up and down. "Who...?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Fuck you," I replied genially. "Not until I know who you were in here with for at least five goddamned hours."

And the fucker just stopped, drew a breath, then said, "Welp, we better go get some lunch." And he lunged out of our room!

What a complete cocksucker!

Worse, I had no chance at lunch to get it out of him, because he was seated with other people by the time I got through the line.

If he thought he was getting away with all this, he had another think coming. But he was getting away with it for right now. I had Russian to go to.

Once I got there, I had to endure yet another new wrinkle on our teacher, Svetlana Godinova's recent transformation from boring teacher/ice queen, to actually quite effective instructor. Two new wrinkles, actually.

First, she had bought some new clothes. She was sporting a clearly new, white suit (there were faint packaging creases still visible). The jacket was a military-cut tunic with a choker collar and a trim, torso-enhancing cut. Svetlana's torso did not really need enhancing... The bottom was a pencil skirt that ran down to mid-calf, which seems modest until you consider how tight the skirt was, and how high the slit was going up the left leg in back.

Second, she had become absent minded. She handed back one of the frequent quizzes that she popped on us, and when she was done distributing the papers, I had not gotten mine back!

"Excuse me, Ms. Godinova," I said, raising my hand, "do you not have my test?"

Svetlana frowned at me, looked irritably at my clear desk, and poked at her battered designer briefcase. "I do not see test," she muttered out loud. "Talk to me after class. I will see what is happening."

I momentarily hoped that she had actually lost that quiz. I had not felt good about it from the moment that she had collected the damned thing. So I sat there the rest of the class, wondering about my fate, rather than paying attention, and she embarrassed me by calling on me at a moment of maximum distraction. I hate getting shown up in class. It is a stronger motivator for me, emotionally, than actual grades, at least when it comes to day to day preparation.

When class was over, I wandered up to Svetlana's desk, but had to wait patiently as she talked to some other kids first, all while everybody else filed out of the room to get on with their day. I was the last student in the room, and I finally had the chance to ask, "Um, can you maybe find my quiz?"

"Bozhe Moi," she said, and leaning over her desk, grabbed her case. "I am sure I have quiz. I think was going to speak to you about it," she said absently.

Fuck. It was a stupid pop quiz. Had I fucked it up that much?

She lifted her briefcase and it tilted. A rain of paper cascaded out of it and onto the floor.

"Blyad," she cursed. That was a vocabulary word we had all learned from her. Eskimos allegedly have thirty-two words for snow. Russians, the kings of profanity, have seventeen ways to say, "Fuck!"

And she bent to gather and search the papers.

She bent one hundred percent at the hips. Her legs, spread just slightly apart, remained locked elegantly straight as she swept down from the waist to move and sort the papers as they lay on the floor. She was wearing three-inch white spike heels, her knees were straight, and her fingers were easily manipulating the papers all over the linoleum floor.

I was treated to the bemusing sight of her slender, perfectly rounded ass stretching out the white fabric of that skirt in... spectacular fashion, with a sliver of bonus exposed skin at the small of her back as she searched for the missing quiz. The three-quarter side view of this unconscious demonstration of sinuous flexibility was literally arresting.

In a flash, I had to consider, was this whole display really unconscious? Was any woman ever really unaware of how her ass was positioned around a guy? Or unaware of much else about her anatomy, with a watching male nearby? I may have seen a truly accidental flash extra cleavage or the like once or twice in my life, but women are aware of their asses--especially when bent over.

She had to be showing me her ass! Right? Maybe? I shook my head at how my own currently (justifiably) swollen ego was potentially making me delusional.

I did not stop enjoying the view.

"Ah! Here is test," Svetlana said, straightening in equally arresting fashion. She looked disapprovingly at the piece of paper. "Tch... Is C+. Very disappointing, Will. You must learn conjugation again." She handed me the truly screwed pooch. "If you have trouble, you should come see me in my office hours."

She dismissed me with a wave, and bent in that spectacular manner again to gather up her other papers.

It required an act of supreme discipline to take my eyes off that ass, which was turned full on to me this time, and get my own ass the fuck out of there.

Inevitably, I was still sporting a modest erection when I went up to the catwalk atop my dorm to study, only to find, as usual, my only company was Cassie. In fifteen minutes, we had almost run off the rooftop to her room.

The sex, as I described earlier, was great. The curious and amused crowd outside her door was inevitable...

When I returned to my room, Mitch was already there. He took in my disheveled appearance and definite aroma, and just sighed in awe, "No..."

"Read about it on the grapevine," I smirked, putting my books down. Was I really getting this blasé about getting caught? That wasn't my concern at the moment. I turned and shoved Mitch. "Who was it?" I growled, smiling to take the sting out of my shove, which was more violent than I had intended.

Mitch laughed, stumbling backward. "Dude! A little discretion, please!" He looked at my eyes. "Come on, you of all people cannot be objecting to my finally getting some."

"Object? Fuck, no. Congratulations on that point. Kudos. Well done. Alleluia," I kept growling. "I was a tiny bit miffed that you had poor Cap standing guard from mid-afternoon to God knows how late at night. Did you have a review session on the entire Kama Sutra in here?" Mitch actually fucking blushed at that. I just bore on.

"But what has me actually mad is that I have spent the last few weeks supplying you with more material than you gossipy little heart could desire, and you won't even tell me a goddamned name? Come on, man! A bro gotta know!"

Mitch looked like he was going to cave... like he wanted to cave. But he didn't cave. "Look man, she wouldn't want you... anyone to know it happened. We were super careful not to draw a crowd, especially given whose room we were in," he added, indicating me, his infamous roommate.

"Mitch..."

"I will give you this detail," he said hastily, knowing how in the wrong he was, and letting it show on his face. "We were so careful about the noise, that she had me gag her! With my only necktie! The whole time!" He paused. "You know, except when she was..." He trailed off, looking downward.

My pillow sailed across the room and tagged him square in the face. We both laughed and I relented.

But this investigation was not over.

*

Tuesday was blissful. My morning consisted of labs for two classes, Circuits and Mechanical Engineering. Circuits was, as always, a breeze and kinda fun. We happily assembled components and measured outputs, or lack of outputs. Piece of cake. ME lab was dedicated to our demonstration vehicles, of course. In theory, this lab time was supposed to be enough for teams to make, test, and refine their vehicles.

Almost half the teams took that supposition seriously. They were the ones whose vehicles would provide the comedic element for the upcoming demonstration/competition. The rest of us spent half our lab time concealing our designs and hiding our progress from each other, but it was nevertheless becoming clear whom our competition was.

Dale and I had spent about an hour Sunday, between video games and envisioning a vending machine empire, constructing a decoy gate-lifting device for Stretch Goal #2. We deliberately broke it twice during the lab. Our real gate-lifter was secure and safe in its box, and was of a completely different design.

We worked a little late after lab on things we actually still wanted to tweak, then I bailed on Dale to grab lunch over near my classroom for English Lit. I got through that class easily, in no small part because I was in a good mood.

I was in a good mood, because I had another study session with Elaine Waters from my Russian class set up for after, in a group study room reserved just for the two of us on the fourth floor of Memorial Library. And no, I was not in a good mood because I was likely to get laid. That was not going to happen. I was actually going to go study for a class. A class that had recently become challenging. I was going to study with a friend. One I honestly hoped would be a better friend over time. A friend who was a girl, yes. A girl who was quite attractive, yes. But that made the fact that it was just a study session made it feel so good. A little normalcy felt right.

I was in no way complaining about how sex-drenched my life currently was. No. Way. But... it was nice to remind myself that I was capable of being something beyond a Coney Island ride, socially speaking.

Our reservation had keyed the door to our student IDs from 3:30 until 5:00. I already had Thursday blocked for the same time in the same room. I clicked the door open and peeked in. Elaine was there before me, sitting at the far side of the table and looking intently at her notes. She looked up and smiled idly, before bending back down.

I slid in, said, "Zdravstvuye," and spread out my stuff across the table in front of me. I was actually looking forward to studying... Russian!

Hey, it turns out that a language is just another communications protocol for transmitting information. And having another entity to actually communicate data with improves your refinement and understanding of the protocol. Who knew?

And finishing this study session would mark three hours alone with a girl. A very pretty girl. Three hours that would be the first such span without sex ensuing, since girls had started hurling themselves at me and my uncontrolled Reputation.

Rewarding as simple social interaction was, I had to give myself a reality check. I could not help but check out Elaine as I settled in. Honesty compelled me to admit to myself that if she gave me the slightest encouragement, I'd be across that tabletop and all over her like a blanket in seconds. She had, after all, been a prominent and regular feature performer in my mental spank back, back in the dim past of three weeks ago, you know, when I still had time and semen to spare for masturbation.

Honestly, Elaine was just... pretty. Sure, she looked great from the front, from the back, and definitely from the side. Her curves were sleek and in the right places. She tended to wear scoop-necked knit tops, in bright, jewel-tone colors which were tight enough show off her contours, but loose enough to, depending on the individual garment, show some nice cleavage when she bent over her desk. The shape and size of that cleavage also seemed to vary, based on what I could only surmise was her choice in bra. Sometimes that just barely glimpsed valley between her breasts was squished together and high, other times it was wider and deeper. She was clearly not married to one type of support.

Yes. I did not just enjoy looking at Elaine's body... I cataloged its contours. Sue me.

But what always attracted me to her the most was just the way she was overall simply... pretty. Her soft brown hair was wavy, with artful blonde highlights applied to accentuate the hairstyle. She had a round, happy face, with sky blue eyes set just a tiny bit wider than you'd expect. Her nose was perfectly proportioned to her face, with just the slightest rounding at the tip. Her often smiling mouth usually sported lipstick in some striking color like a dark purple or a light maroon. And she had amazing dimples that appeared and disappeared like will o' the wisps.

But at this point in my life, I valued her most for the way she was interested in working on Russian with me, like I was just any ordinary student.

Still, ninety minutes straight was a long time to concentrate on conjugations, vocabulary, and sometimes impossible pronunciations. Half an hour in, a few minutes of us each struggling with some particularly hard to say words had us laughing and stretching at the table.

"I mean, why can't the Russians just talk like normal people?" I laughed. "Those four letters there should not sound like that. At all. Even in Russian!"

"The Russian people are pretty interesting to try to figure out," Elaine replied. "Especially our Russian. How'd you like that new suit she wore yesterday?"

I flashed on the white suit. I flashed on how it looked when its wearer had bent over. I flushed. "Yeah," was all I said.