The blindfold allowed a slim line of light through to her eyes, but mostly it was tight enough that she could not see. It was tight enough to tug on her hair and she felt part of it caught up in the knot.
The October Southern wind tugged on her skin, going through her t-shirt and reminding her of her braless state as her nipples twisted, hardening as she waited, blindfolded, in the early morning light. It was about four am. The campus wouldn't start to shift and move for another hour or so, though the occasional maintenance man did have an earlier shift than most and some students were pulling all nighters. She wondered if any of them were walking by her, on the outskirts of the front quad, questioning why she was sitting on a bench in the middle of front quad at four in the morning, blindfolded.
She had blindfolded herself, as directed. She had also worn only a skirt and a shirt, also as directed. And she waited, at the time and place specified, as directed, with her legs crossed, her back straight, and her arms at her side.
She had been talking to Her for over a semester. She knew Her email, Her voice. She had not met her, yet. She could be any of the one thousand or so women at the women's college she attended. So, here she was. Cold. Her legs crossed, her nipples hard, her fingers twitching nervously, unseeing. She shifted on the bench, switching her legs. When she did so, she realized that just waiting was causing her to get wet.
Or maybe it was the wind, and the cold, and the lack of bra.
She didn't know how long she had been sitting there. She had never been very good with waiting, with meditating. Her mind was filled with Her voice, Her words. She allowed herself to follow that route and was so distracted that when an actual voice disrupted them, she jumped.
It was Her.
"Hello." She responded, her voice breaking.
She stood, her skirt sliding down her legs and resettling and her breasts shifting with her movement.
She felt calloused yet soft hands take her wrists tightly and gently lead her. She began to follow, listening to the confident footsteps of the woman in front of her and enjoying the feeling of her hands around her wrists. She wished that she would squeeze more tightly. She wanted to bruise.
They stopped briefly and she was warned of some stairs, before they began to ascend some stairs. She truly had no clue where she was at this point. There was an end to the stairs, and she was gently led a little further before suddenly she felt Her push her against a surface, a ridged one, that she recognized as a column on a building. Her arms were held against the column and the woman pressed against her, her breasts against hers. She could feel her breath against her neck, just under her ear. Teeth grazed the surface of her neck and a low moan rolled from deep within her throat.
"What do you want?" -- Her voice was deeper and husky, and it said what she wanted. One of her hands had stopped holding her wrist and instead moved up from the gentle curve of her hip to the side of her breasts. Fingers ran underneath the line of her breasts and along her ribcage. A thumb rolled her left nipple, flicked it, pinched it gently between Her forefinger.
"You!" She felt like she almost screamed it, but it came out more guttural because at that moment Her mouth had lowered to her other breast and began to tease her nipple through her shirt, using just a little bit of Her teeth between Her tongue and the heat of Her breath to make her knees weaken and her breathing increase - causing a general appreciation of the column she was pushed against.
"Good." It was short and curt, but she could almost hear Her smile in that one word.
There was a beat, a shuffling. Then, with one a hand on her thigh - a hand that burned through her skirt - She slowly pushed the skirt up and in pushing shifted that hand up to her hand and around to her ass.
The air was suddenly there, replacing where her skirt had been and all she could do was stand there, pressed against the post as the wind whipped at her inner thighs and tugged on her moist pubic hair.
Then there was Her finger, parting her lips gently teasing her clit. The pressure increased with slow, drawn out circular motions while Her mouth was suddenly on hers, exploring soft lips and tongue.
As the pressure increased, she whimpered into the kiss, a whimper that preceded a finger sliding inside her, then another. One curled inwards, just inside, stroking that sweet spot, and the other sought her g-spot -- Her rolled her clit -- and together the hand rolled and fucked her, knuckles gracefully hitting other sweet spots on the way out.
Another finger joined the one at her g-spot, and her head fell back against the column with a deep throated moan, her hips finding the rhythm of this woman, this Her, these hands, this mouth -- when Her other hand pulled her shirt off over her head, and suddenly she was shirtless. The round, full, breasts exposed were moving with the rhythm of the fuck, of the fingers inside of her, of the woman pressing against her and fucking her. Her mouth found her shoulder, above the collarbone, and bit, hard, never loosing her rhythm, and she began to feel the pressure build with every roll of the hand, with every flick of her clit and brush within her vagina.
She sensed this.
The pace began to build and she moaned again and wrapped her legs around Her waist, pulling her and her hand closer and further inside of her.
Her free hand reached up and took her hands, and then her hands were above her head and against the column, held hard and pressed roughly against the ridges of the column.
Then -- her mind rolled slowly at first, then it, exploded, expanding throughout her entire body like a bomb. Her back arched into this woman, a low scream muffled by Her neck, her toes curling in their sandals and her nails digging into the flesh of their hands.
She felt Her hand leave her and the emptiness follow. The skirt fell back around her ankles with a flutter.
Then, Her fingers were in her mouth, and she swirled her tongue around the calluses, cleaning them of her own juice. She nipped at them with her teeth, and she heard a chuckle from the woman who had just fucked her better than anyone had before.
"Count to 100. Slowly. Before taking your blindfold off." Her voice was like honey and amber now. She could still hear her smile within it. Familiar, too, but she couldn't quite place it.
She was already walking away, down the stairs and down the path. She slumped against the column, using it to gain strength as she recovered from the orgasm she had just had, and began to count.
When she took her blindfold off, the sun had already risen and could be seen peeking over the trees beyond the chapel. The maintenance crew would be out by now.
She was standing topless on the front steps of the famous administrative building on campus, leaning against one of its grand Southern columns. Her wrists were sore and already marked - they would bruise later.
And her shirt was nowhere in sight.