Chad's Met His Match

That's when she stopped. Like, right in mid-fuck. She stopped and sat straight up. "You're saying," she said, that voice now low and dangerous, "that you aren't going to cum in me because I'm not her? Is that what you're saying? Or are you afraid of knocking me up?"

"Oh no, uhm, it's just that..." But it was too late. She was swinging her leg off me already. I sat up, distressed.

"I'm not about to take a backseat to any other bitch," she told me evenly. She glared down at my sticky dick, which still trembled. "I meant what I said: I had a good time with you. But I'm going to go ahead and finish myself off with my fingers," she said mercilessly, hunting around for her clothes. "You should make the same plan."

"Wait!" I hit the bedside lamp; she looked even more pissed with the lights on. This was bad. I sat up and looked at her, perplexed. "Look, it's not what it sounds like!"

"Bullshit." She was strapping her bra on with vicious motions; I felt an actual pang of real grief as those tits disappeared. "You've got issues, Chad. Really. You should get over yourself. Like your semen's so fucking pure and royal that I'm not good enough for it?" She spat out a laugh. "Fucking Nicole was right about your sorry ass."

I blinked, my world falling apart. My poor, abused penis drooped like a whipped dog. This was not the kind of thing that ever happened to me. More often, when I told bitches I wouldn't shoot it into them, they were happy to get a facial, or a little white titpaint. "I mean... look, Ashley..."

"Shut up," she interrupted callously. She headed for the door, finally reassembled. "One of these days, Chad, you're going to wake up and figure out that I'm worth your little white spermies. I'm worth a shitload more than just that, actually. Once you realize that, you punch in that doorcode and finish your job with me. Until then?" She grinned sweetly, then slowly extended an impeccably manicured middle finger. "Fuck off."

She was out the door before I could say another word.

* * *

It took me four beers before I confessed my shame to Jeremy and Joel, and another two before they finally figured out what to say to me. "Dude," said Joel, "first of all, you need to not tell anyone else about this. You'll never hear the end of it."

"No shit," Jeremy said with a low whistle. "I mean, she's a sophomore, man."

"It's a fucking disgrace, to cum in your hand, bro. Even over a senior or a grad student, but a fucking sophomore?"

"I know," I said miserably.

"So, you need to, like, figure out what you want." Joel drained his beer. "For what it's worth, buddy, I think Julia might be moving on from you. Like, emotionally and shit."

"Huh." I felt hollow. "Did she tell you this lately?"

"Well," Joel evaded slowly, "let's just say she and I... well, we've, uh, communicated. Like, really recently." He sipped at his beer. "She needs a break from you, I think."

But not from you, evidently. I stared at Joel, wondering whether he'd fucked Marie as well. It didn't take him long to look away. Goddamn.

"Dude," Jeremy repeated, "she's a sophomore." He was incredulous, I think, that I'd told them. "You let a sophomore blueball you."

"Seriously, bro, your hand?" Joel was truly disgusted. "Tammy was free. She'd have taken good care of you, man."

"I know, but..." I trailed off, staring up at the stars.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Jeremy reassured me. "I saw her when she came in; that Ashley is a goddamn steamin' piece of ass. But still..."

"Dude," Joel broke in, staring hard at me. "Wait. Chad, are you falling in love with this chick?" I sighed. I hadn't thought so. "Seriously?" I finally looked back at him, and even that dumb fucking bonehead must have perceived something in my eyes. "My God," he said quietly. "You're falling in love with this chick."

"Whoah." Jeremy took another pull on his beer. He glanced nervously over at Joel. "So, like, that puts you next in line with Julia Cooney, I guess?"

Joel just sat back and tried to hide a grin, and I knew. Next in line? He'd already cut that line, paid the admission, and gone into the fucking theatre.

* * *

My life crumbling, I spent Saturday working at a soup kitchen. The fraternity requires community service, and to be honest I needed to keep busy anyway. Julia had finally returned my many messages, explaining bluntly that she was going to be really, really super-busy with her National Guard unit. Like, for the foreseeable future. I wondered at that; Joel called his unit "Little Joel," not "National Guard." I sighed as I listened to the message, then put my phone away and kept doggedly on lading fucking gumbo.

I was restless, and shaky, and sweaty; the beers last night had been a shit idea. I was overpowered by an unfamiliar urge: to go before a chick and ask, no, beg her to forgive me. Men didn't do such things; a week ago, I'd have laughed at the notion and told whomever said it that they should cut their own dick off to spare the rest of us. But now? Now I wasn't so sure.

Maybe this kind of thing was part of being mature.

Whatever. I rolled the problem around in my mind as I ladled for the smelly multitudes of the greater metro area, and it seemed I was left with two choices.

Option One: ignore Ashley, consider it done with Julia, find a few random bitches, and pump them full of Chad Juice until they could no longer walk.

Option Two: consider it done with Julia, crawl into the Quan, fall to my knees before Ashley, and do whatever she asked me to do. Period.

The Chad I knew, the Chad I'd always been, would grab ahold of Option One and ride it to oblivion. No fucking doubt.

But that was not the Chad I'd been that morning, waking up after a restless night to the smell of Ashley Gallo's glorious pussy on my sheets, on my clothes, and on my skin. She'd been all over my bed: strands of hair, blotchy stains... I'd actually gasped, out loud, remembering her bra closing over that rack.

It occurred to me that this might be a midlife crisis. Which meant I'd die at 42. But I sure as hell wouldn't waste any more time on homeless soup addicts. I plunged the ladle into the pot, gave Jeremy a pat on the back, and fled for the Quan as if I'd heard they were giving out free donuts there.

* * *

I decided, even though I hadn't meant to hurt anyone's feelings, that I felt bad enough about all this to do public penance. So I rode the 'vator, shifting nervously as I waited for the doors to open on the second floor. I had a simple plan: a short, heartfelt apology to Julia, kind words to leave her with, and then off to the corner by the stairs to see if I could stick it back into Ashley.

Make no mistake, you see: I was an unaccustomed emotional wreck over all this, but my overwrought libido was still rock-solid. As in, fully erect. I'd had a hard-on fairly continuously since I woke up, and in the back of my mind I was hoping Ashley, crazy Ashley, would keep her word and let me "finish my job with her." At least, I assumed that's what she meant; she'd pulled off me easily enough, true, but I know when a bitch is in heat and she'd been thoroughly enjoying my Chad-meat before I'd fucked it all up.

The elevator slowed, then stopped, the little numeral 2 lighting up near the ceiling; I took a deep breath and watched the doors slide apart.

And there stood a nightmare, in the form of Ana, her arms crossed beneath those big melons. A suitcase rested at her feet. Of course: it was a weekend. She'd be going home. Her black eyes narrowed. "Well now," she smiled, not at all merrily. "Chaddo. Here to show me that little dick again?"

Well, no time like the present. I made my face into what I assumed was a penitent expression. "Ana," I said, sticking my hand humbly out, "I want to apologize. And I want to try again. I'm Chad. Chad Pfeiffer, and I'm here to ask Ashley if she'll go on a date with me. I really like her a lot, and I would appreciate your approval."

Shit; it was the best I could come up with. I'm no toastmaster. I could see her, startled for a moment, thinking about what she should say. The elevator yawned behind me, and I started to feel awkward. I wondered if Ashley had told her about last night.

Eventually, though, I got my first win: those luscious breasts jiggled in a sigh, and she actually smiled as she took my hand. "Ana Oliviera," she said, emphasizing the proper pronunciation like some Mexicans do. "And I'm sorry, too. You don't really have a little dick."

I smiled back and stepped aside, actually feeling... what? Satisfied? Righteous? Just plain good? Whatever; she gave my shoulder a squeeze as she passed into the 'vator. "Have a good date, Chad. She's a nice girl."

"Thank you, Ana. I hope to see a lot more of you," I added at the end, hoping it didn't come out weird. She was still smiling as the door closed, and I paused for breath as I turned toward my well-trodden path to Room 214. There were some chicks in the lobby, whispering about me as I passed; I just flashed them a humble smile and went on my way with as much aplomb as I could muster.

* * *

No Julia; the door was answered by tiny little Marie, in boyshorts and a pink t-shirt. She actually took a step back as she realized who was there. "Chad!" she squeaked. "Um, hi! Julia's not home. She's..." her big eyes darted back and forth, the blond fringe above them rustling a little in the draft from the open window.

"I know, Marie," I said with what sounded to me like a gentle voice. "She's with Joel now. I get it. Just tell her I'm sorry, and that I wish her well." I blinked. "And you too."

"Joel," Marie said thoughtfully. She looked down guiltily. "Yeah, you're right. He's, uh..." she blushed mightily. Ah. So he was doing them both. I felt a twinge of envy, but he was my best friend, so... "He's around here a lot. I'll tell her you stopped by."

I smiled and, greatly daring, reached out to stroke her cheek. "You're beautiful, and talented, and I'm glad I met you." I left her confused like a blind gay man in a sausage factory. I could read her mind: Who the fuck was that? Not Chad, surely!

All that was left now was the main act: a humiliating, probably futile stumble into Room 230. A girl was coming the other way; her eyes registered shock and loathing, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I passed 226, then 228...

It occurred to me that she might not be home.

No time for doubt, though. I'd just sit down and wait for her. I took a deep breath and sought to get some of my swagger back, punching in the doorcode and turning the knob. I was as ready as I could get.

* * *

Well, at least I wouldn't need to wait. Ashley sat at her desk, looking at me without much pleasure as I shuffled in. She had her earbuds in, a textbook open before her. She was wearing whatever she'd slept in, her hair still tousled from the night before; poor thing hadn't showered. Me, I'd taken care to do my walk of shame clean, pressed, and polite, having actually tucked my polo shirt in.

She glared at me, plainly not interested in making anything like the first move. So, knowing exactly how strange and melodramatic it was, I took a deep breath and fell to my knees. I looked across the little dorm room, mute, and hoped my face looked suitably tragic and ashamed.

Was there a faint smile on those full, sensuous lips? "What?" she said flatly. "You'd better not be asking me to fucking marry you."

I hung my head. "Ashley, I'm very sorry about last night. I was stupid and wrong, and I didn't know what I wanted."

There was a long silence. "And now?" she asked coldly. "Now you know what you want?"

I looked up into those angry violet eyes, and my heart did something. Holy motherfucking Christ! Maybe I was in love. "Yes," I said simply.

She took out her earbuds. "Are you saying this because you want to get back in my pants?" Her beautiful face was drawn into a frown, and I hoped I knew what she wanted to hear. A sixth sense told me she hadn't followed through on her threat to let her fingers do the walking last night. Poor thing must be frazzled and frustrated. One more deep breath.

"Yes. But that's not the only reason."

Her eyes flashed once, and she closed her book. "Good. You've got some making up to do, fuckwipe."

Oh, praise Buddha! I smiled hopefully at her, starting to get to my feet.

"No no no," she snapped at once. "Stay the fuck down. You're exactly where you need to be right now." And then, with angry strides, she came over to me and looked down without pity. I smelled sweat and the odd stench of whatever fluids she'd ended up smeared with last night. Quickly and efficiently, she pushed her faded boxers off and followed them with the panties beneath; they clung to her crotch, reluctant to give way in the face of whatever nasty, dried mess she'd left down there. "I didn't get a chance to shower," she informed me, "so clean my cunt, bitch."

I focused on the rancid pussy before me, admiring it anyway; the smoothness of her mound, the supple V of muscle, the tiny strip of matted brown hair. Her hips and thighs were strong and sturdy, fantastically curved in that lovely Italian way, like a Roman statue. She was already bright pink down there, no doubt getting off on my humiliation. Her ratty t-shirt was short enough that it wouldn't get in the way.

I wasted no time, my dick already starting to firm up. I reached trembling hands out to her smooth-shaven thighs, letting my hands trace slowly up and around to her heart-shaped ass. Her hands came unconsciously down to rest lightly on my head, and I didn't say a word as I trailed one hand back down to pull gently on her right knee. Her leg came up and over my shoulder, and the smell from last night nearly choked me.

No matter. Penance wasn't supposed to be a trip to Disney, anyway. I'd been praised for my pussy-eating for years, though not because I was talented; I'd just had a lot of practice. Plus, I'd smelled worse from chicks I liked less. So this was no problem; I leaned in, quickly finding her shrouded clit for future reference. I pursed my lips and blew gently across the whole region. She gave no response, so I stuck out my tongue and kept my eyes open as I moved my cheek along her right inner thigh. I was glad I'd shaved.

I pulled on her ass to bring her to me, and just like that I was in, well past the point of no return, my tongue tracing on autopilot over the folds of her vagina. There was funk in my mouth, and the sour taste of my own 12-hour-old dick sweat, but I plunged forward eagerly. I figured I'd get used to it soon enough anyway.

At first I went slowly and gently, getting used to the shape of her. I went up one side and down the other, gliding my tongue between her inner and outer lips. Her fingers were sure and steady against my scalp, her leg resting easily on my shoulder. Her only real reaction was that she occasionally dug her heel into my back, and as usual I spent most of my time trying to figure out whether I could correlate that little foot twitch with anything specific I was doing. Eating a bitch out is easy to do, I'd always thought, but hard to do well. You really have to pay attention.

After awhile things got easier; I got used to the funk, her shape defined itself, and finally, finally, I started to get gasps out of her. That happened right around the time I actually started to get my tongue past those lips and into her hot, pink hole, my nose bumping into her little strip of hair. At max extent, my tongue reached in to lick at her clit from underneath, and after that I didn't have to haul on her sweet ass anymore. She was moving, pushing her groin onto me, and finally she spoke.

"I just might have to forgive you after all," she murmured, moving her fingers through my hair; now she was pulling away from me a bit, actually hopping backward on her foot, and I tried to figure out what was going on. Eagerly I clenched at her ass, having to scoot forward on my knees to stay with her as she kept moving, and then I understood: the nearest bed was just behind her, and she wanted to get off her trembling leg.

See? No stamina. I'd need to get her on a program.

It was Ana's bed, but if Ashley didn't care I certainly didn't; she collapsed onto her back, the springs binding as she landed, frilly pink sheets everywhere. 'There we go," she said quietly, perching both heels on the metal frame of the cheap bed, her legs spread wide. I helped, resting my hands and forearms on her inner thighs and then absolutely attacking that waiting twat.

No more "slowly and gently;" we were well past that point now. With renewed energy, I licked at her, going right back to that nervous little clit behind its hood. I pulled urgently at it with my lips, sucking hard, then alternated with my curled tongue from back inside. One finger, then two, moved slowly down those dusky thighs to hook lazily over the rim of her hole; they were there to tickle, not really to penetrate. No, that was my dick's job, and by now I knew it would get its chance. It pushed fat and uncomfortable down my pants leg, no doubt staining the khakis.

Her hands grew eager on my head, gripping hard. Once again I had her moaning, that weighty voice of hers finding my ears through the sexual fog, merging with the sloppy sounds of my lapping tongue. She was actually saying my name now, and I felt a surge of wild pride: what guy doesn't love that shit?

Down the hole I went, giving her clit a rest, welding my lips against her labia and moving my head back and forth. My eyes had been closed for awhile, but now they were open to a sea of olive Mediterranean flesh, goosebumped, rising up to disappear into her scuzzy shirt. She was watching me closely, and with my eyes up as high as they would go I was able to make eye contact with her and see how things were going.

Well, at least she wasn't glaring anymore. That beautiful face was wild now, her mouth hanging open, a feral glint in those gorgeous eyes. I fluttered my fingers in her snatch, and she shut her lids briefly. Christ, what a beautiful female this was! I sent my other hand up, slowly but unstoppably, into the hem of her shirt, tracing little circles around her belly button. I felt her abs tighten as she gasped, her lips moving soundlessly; I was tasting tangy new fluid now, not the old dried shit from last night.

All in all, I thought things were going well here.

Almost time, I thought. My mouth was getting tired, but this was penance; it wasn't supposed to be fun and games, but it was supposed to lead somewhere. To my hard dick in her hot body, for starters, and I almost had her to the point where I could move on to that main event. I wondered if I could make her orgasm, what she'd look like, how her face and body would change.

It was as if she was fucking telepathic. "I'm about to lose it here, Chad," she said, and the tightness in her voice wasn't something I'd heard from her before. "Oooh, motherfucker," came the next whisper, and I kept going, my teeth nipping at that clit, paying close attention. It's always a good idea to know how your woman cums, and I was fully intending now to make her my woman, sophomore or no.

I was hunched up and over her body, a handful of fat titty, her nipple boring into my palm while I ate her out like that fine pink slit was the only lunch I would ever need. She flopped back onto Ana's sheets, her propped elbows giving way as one heel slipped off the bedframe, huffing and chanting. "Right there! Right fucking there! Right there!"

Then it happened; a surge went through that fine, tight body from bottom to top, and she quaked against my face. Ashley was no screamer, it turned out; I just heard a low, gurgling moan from above me, her pussy clenching around my fingers and tongue, her smell rich and unmistakably arousing. My dick was like rebar in my trousers. I slowed down, back to those gentle licks and fluttering fingers, finally unclasping my hand from her sweaty tit. "Mmmmmm," she sighed, her hands once again languid against my head. "So, how about it?" she said. "Am I all cleaned out now?"