Fuck My Brains Out

Brendan doesn't turn around as I enter his room. That makes me feel even smaller; I can feel my shoulders hunching up and my head sinking down, trying to take up as little space as possible even as I give a tiny cough to attract his attention. Not that I really think he doesn't know I'm there--even if he was really as distracted by his studies as he pretends to be and didn't hear me closing the door behind myself, it's not like I don't show up at the same time every evening. He had to be expecting me. And I can see the clock on his desk conspicuously ticking away the moments until my all-too-predictable arrival.

No, this ostentatious obliviousness to my presence is all feigned, just one more little reminder that I need Brendan a lot more than he needs me. If I did somehow find the wherewithal to turn around and walk out of here while he pretended to have his face buried in a textbook like this, I'm sure he'd have no trouble finding some other pretty young co-ed to replace me. While I... god, I wouldn't even be able to get to sleep tonight. I'd lie in my bed tossing and turning, driven to distraction by worries that I'd screwed up the best thing ever to happen to me, fruitlessly trying to masturbate and finding that nothing could satisfy my aching pussy but him... it makes me feel pathetically desperate. And that makes me so incredibly wet.

After what feels like an eternity even though I can literally see the clock ticking away no more than thirty seconds, he turns to face me. I knew he would--he's never turned me away before, even if he does love putting me in place with his little dominance games--but it's still a relief to see his thin lips spread into a wide, welcoming smile. "Oh, sorry, Lacie, didn't hear you come in!" he exclaims, even though the playful sparkle in his hazel eyes gives the lie to every soulfully sincere word coming out of his mouth. "It's so good to see you! What brings you by this late at night, huh? Got a question about next Friday's Chem midterms?"

This is one of his games too, one that never fails to leave me squirming beneath his piercing stare like a germ under a microscope. "I, um, uh, no, I--I w-was wondering if maybe, um, if you and I could... I mean, um, if you, if you could... well, you know, last night was really nice, and I was thinking maybe we, uhhhh, we could do it again? Like, tonight?" My clit throbs harder and harder with every passing second as he watches me stammer and fumble my way through the request like my Copeland Award-winning debate skills have simply vanished into a warm pink fog of arousal. I notice my fingers nervously twirling a ringlet of my long blonde hair, and I can't seem to make myself stop.

I can tell he's enjoying every second of my ordeal, and a part of me wonders if I'm playing it up just a little for his entertainment. It's been getting harder and harder to tell exactly how much of what I do when I'm in this room is an act to make Brendan happy with me and how much of it is my personality gradually molding itself around the things I know he enjoys because I so desperately want to make him happy. It's a distinction that's probably meaningless in practice, but it's important to me, even though I don't know whether I'm terrified or thrilled at the notion of slowly losing myself to the persona he's shaping for me. Maybe a little of both.

He lets the silence stretch out for another good long thirty count before giving me a slightly quizzical look behind his chunky black glasses. "Sorry," he says, his voice so genuinely perplexed that for a moment I let myself be gaslit into wondering if he's legitimately confused about what I'm asking for. "We did a lot of things last night--can you be a little more specific?" I see the steel in his hazel eyes, though, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about. He just wants to make sure I say it.

My throat locks up in hesitation for a moment, but then my brain flares with panic at the thought that he might actually get bored with my meek little innocent act and change his mind and I find myself able to speak. "Could you, uhh... I mean, um, could you please...." I can feel my nipples stiffening underneath my dress, and I can tell from the way that Brendan is looking at me that he's looking right at them. He's got a fucking pup tent in his jeans now. I can't pretend it doesn't make me soak straight through my panties just thinking about it.

"Could you please fuck my brains out?" I whimper meekly at last. I can't look him in the eye when I say it. I can barely even look him in the cock. My gaze wants to go straight down to my own shoes as my cheeks go beet red and my whole body flares with embarrassed heat. "Sir," I add hastily, unwilling to give the impression even for a moment that my request is anything but properly respectful.

His smile widens into what I can only describe as a cocky grin, and I hear him reaching down to undo his fly and pull out his massive dick. "Hmm," he says, one hand rubbing his smooth-shaven chin in an expression of theatrical musing. "I think I might be able to arrange that... but I might need just a little bit more persuasion first. Can you show me just how much you need it?" His finger and thumb encircle the base, giving the shaft a little waggle, and I know my dignity should be offended by the insinuation but I don't think I have any right now. I'm so fucking wet and horny that being teased and manipulated like this only turns me on more.

I drop to my hands and knees with an unseemly haste and crawl over to him, eager to show him just how badly I want him to fuck me in that special way only Brendan seems to know how. I can feel myself salivate as I wrap my lips around the head of his jutting cock, and I can taste the salty flavor of his precum on my tongue as I take him as far into my mouth as I possibly can. His fingers tangle into my hair as he rests his hands on the back of my head--he's not pushing himself down my throat, though, not when there's really no point to it. I don't know what kind of a epic fucking porn star you'd have to be to be able to deep-throat a dick like Brendan's, but there's no way a woman barely old enough to drink has mastered the technique yet. I barely go an inch down his shaft.

I bob my head up and down for what feels like only minutes but I'm sure is much longer, feeling my arousal gradually soak through the thin fabric of my panties as I debase myself for his entertainment while he leans back in his chair and guides the pace of my sucking with his warm hands. It doesn't feel like the mean kind of debasement, though. It's like... it's like he just wants me to know that he's the one with all the power here, that he has something I need and I'm only a puppet dangling on the end of his strings. As long as I keep that very much in mind, he's almost tender. I'm less and he's more, but that doesn't make me nothing.

It does make me a very horny cocksucker, though. My drool trickles down his shaft, lubricating him as I hollow my cheeks with suction and moan ecstatically around the plump, flushed head of his penis. My jaw's going to be sore tomorrow morning, I know that from experience, but I don't really notice it right now. My brain is entirely preoccupied with the anticipatory throb in my clit and the growing, passionate excitement I feel for what's going to happen once he's finally done showing off his power over me and decides to peel my soaking panties off and get down to fucking me stupid. I want to play with my pussy while I blow him, but I know that it doesn't really compare.

Because I... look, it's not just that his dick is big, okay? Although it is, it's fucking huge, it's big enough to spoil me for any other penis I'm likely to encounter and I find myself planning my life around access to Brendan's cock to a frankly embarrassing degree... but it's not just that. It's the way he uses it. Only twenty-two years old and he's already some kind of a--a goddamn sexual savant, if there is such a thing. Every night, I find myself craving his length inside me like a plant craves water. I can hear my thoughts getting filthier and filthier just imagining him plowing my cunt, but I don't even care because I know Brendan wants a dirty little slut and when I'm in this room, I'm what he wants me to be.

I never planned to wind up like this. I came to Georgetown fully intending to remain a virgin for the entirety of my four-year degree program--not out of any outdated notions of sexual purity, not because I thought it would be more 'special' if I waited, but simply because I had big goals to accomplish in my time at school and I thought sex would be a distraction. I wasn't concerned about controlling my libido; if I needed an orgasm or two, simply to relieve the tension, I could always rub one out before bed. It simply never occurred to me that I would find a dick that simply melted my resolve like a Popsicle on a summer day.

As demonstrated by the way my pussy clenches tightly the second he pulls my mouth off of him with an audible pop and says, "Good girl. Get on the bed, it's time to give you that fucking you asked for." I scramble to--to obey, there's no other word for it--clambering to my feet and practically pouncing onto the mattress before yanking my skirt up as high as it can go to reveal my wet panties. Then I pull them down around my knees and bend over with my ass in the air and my cunt winking lasciviously at him as I wait in helpless anticipation for his first thrust.

I don't have long to wait. He pushes into me like my cunt is made of butter, putting his hands on my hips and angling his thrust perfectly so that it rubs against my clit the whole way down. I have to use a pillow to muffle my screams of ecstasy, and I find myself instinctively grinding back against him with the desperate urgency of a rutting animal. I don't care that he's not using a condom. If anything, the absurd ease with which he teased away my lingering concerns about unprotected sex only makes me wetter. Every time he does something to remind me just how completely and totally enthralled I am by my own lust, I find my arousal multiplying until it's the only thing still left in my empty, echoing brain.

Because oh shit, he really is going to fuck my brains out. I can feel it from the moment he guides my hips into a hard, driving rhythm of sex that makes me so sloppy wet that his cock literally sloshes inside my pussy, and I know I'm going to wind up the same way I have every night for the past three weeks--not just sated but actively drunk on orgasmic bliss, so overwhelmed with euphoria that I can't think about anything at all but the pleasure Brendan provides. All my worries about academic success, all my concerns about the absurd workload I've taken on to get a simultaneous degree in PoliSci and Law so that I can go on to a career in politics and become the first female President of the United States, all the pressure I've put on myself and all the pressure my family's put on me... it's all gone when I'm getting deep-dicked like this. I can let it all go and cum until I stop thinking about anything at all.

I can hear Brendan speaking to me in a low, soothing voice as his balls smack into my labia and his dick rubs my clit again and again and again, but I can't really focus on his words right now. The only thought I manage before his cock shuts down my brain entirely is a quiet, envious amazement that he's somehow keeping his shit together enough to talk in complete sentences while having this kind of incredible sex, but even that's a loose and muzzy notion that doesn't find purchase in my mind in the face of so much intense, perfect ecstasy. I don't want to care about what he's saying to me. I only want to cum myself stupid for him.

And I do. I lose count of the climaxes I experience under his careful, precise fucking; they start to blend together until I'm simply having one continuous orgasm and I can't wrap my head around anything as complex as numbers anyway. My eyes squinch shut, my moans become hoarse and constant, and all I can do is lose myself in a fugue state of pure rapture that blends into what I think is unconsciousness so smoothly and easily that I don't even know if I actually pass out or if I just melt into a mindless fog so complete and total that I don't even remember not remembering. I only know that I wake up in my own bed the next morning with my cunt a sticky mess of jizz and musk and a feeling of absolute joy that carries me straight through my classes with bright, energetic confidence.

I already know I'm going back to see Brendan again tonight. I know I'm going to become a very different woman when I walk into his room. But I'm starting to like being her when I'm there.

THE END