I hadn't known Matthew very well before that fateful day. We were next-door neighbors in the same apartment building, and from time to time we would walk down the stairs together, or have a little chat outside our rooms. Sometimes through the walls I heard the ecstatic moans of an overnight guest, and, lying under my covers, my hand crept under my panties and gave me the pleasure I imagined he was giving her.
Eventually, I realized that he frequented the same library I did. Every weekend, as I studied for classes or wrote papers, I saw him there, reading apparently for his own pleasure. Sometimes I noticed he brought a small laptop, upon which he typed furiously, a machine gun in the background as read about the Cuban Revolution.
Maybe that was why I had taken notice of him so quickly, the way he reminded me of my studies. Had Che Guevara stayed a doctor, I imagined Matthew would have resembled him. They had a similar style of beard and hair, although Matthew's was far shorter and better trimmed. They both had large brown eyes and serious faces, and the same goofily contagious smile when they allowed it.
That day, Matthew was sitting alone at a long table, marking up some papers with a red pen. I sat watching him from the other side of the room from over the top of my book. His eyes were intently focused on his work, and at times, I noticed with a smile, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Suddenly, I remembered that I had a paper of my own to edit: an essay for a class. I decided to try to talk to him, using that as my excuse. I would ask to borrow his pen, sit down with him, and strike up a conversation.
"Hey, Matthew, right?" I asked.
He took a second to register my existence before looking up. "Oh, hey Helen! Yeah, it's Matthew. Funny meeting you here. Sit down, sit!" he offered. "What are you up to?"
"Oh you know, classwork."
"Yeah. I'm glad I'm done with all that, myself. What's your major?"
"I'm getting my Master's in political science right now," I answered.
"Nice. Is that what you're working on now?" he asked, nodding towards the stack of papers in my hand.
"Yeah. That's actually why I came over here. I was wondering whether I could borrow your red pen..."
He looked down at the pen in his hand. "This? Sure, I've got an extra, anyway," he remarked, handing the pen over to me. I sat down across from him and spread out my things, our papers touching at the edges, as though greeting each other as old friends.
"So what are you working on?" I asked as I began editing, crossing out superfluous sentences and correcting detestable diction, and a steady flow of scarlet streamed across the page.
"Oh, um..." he stammered, "just some boring stuff for work. Nothing interesting. I'm sure your paper is much more fascinating."
"That depends on how much you like reading about Castro, I guess."
His eyes lit up. "You know, I've always meant to learn more about him. I saw that Che movie last year, the biopic with Benicio del Toro? It was really amazing. I barely even noticed it was four hours long. It must be incredible to be a revolutionary, to be at the start of something big like that, you know? I'd love to be able to start something huge like that.
I mean, I don't want to overthrow anyone, but I like the ideal of doing what's right, no matter what. I need to try to live more revolutionarily... Be honest, do what I think is best, ignore obstacles; I think it'd be a healthier way of living, mentally. I think there are too many things we only do because we're expected to. Don't you think we ought to just surrender to our true feelings more often?"
"I agree totally," I confessed, holding my hand to my heart. I thought back to how many times I had just done what my parents and my teachers expected of me, rather than what I had really wanted.
We began talking, ignoring our respective papers. It wasn't until hours later, after one of the librarians came walking through the building on a yelling round, that we realized the library was closing in half an hour.
I checked my cell phone to verify the time: 9:30. "Shit. Guess we lost track of time."
"Time flies when you're having fun," he shrugged. "This was nice. You want to come back tomorrow? Maybe we can actually get some work done? Just show up whenever you can. I'll be here pretty early, same table."
"Sure," I smiled, gathering up my papers hastily and stuffing them into my bag.
"Do you want me to walk you back to the apartment?" he asked.
It was tempting, but I had gotten absolutely no work done today, and I knew if he walked me back, we'd just end up talking longer. "It's OK, I have to make a few stops on the way back anyway. But I'll see you tomorrow," I lied.
"See you tomorrow."
I grabbed my things and walked briskly out the door, leaving him behind to get his things together.
I got home and made myself a hot capocollo, prosciutto piccolo, and provolone sandwich with spicy giardiniera and olive oil on ciabatta bread. The bread was fresh from a nearby bakery, although sadly I had to settle for Boar's Head for the meats. There was a good deli downtown, but it was too inconvenient to visit every week. I sat down with my meal and a glass of milk and took out my papers, determined to make at least some progress tonight.
I began reading. I imagined impaling Baoqing upon my rigid cock, watching her petite tits bounce jubilantly as she rode my cock to wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure. Her red lips parted as she moaned my name loudly without inhibition or restraint, unable to contain her pleasure.
What was this?! Where was my essay? I grabbed another page and read further. Her hand gripped the base of my shaft firmly. Her tongue teasingly licked me up the bottom and down the top of my rapidly hardening cock. Her lips engulfed the tip of my head, her tongue flicking back and forth across it as she sucked it gently. I stifled a moan. My hips bucked gently, eager to get as much of my cock into her mouth as possible.
My pussy was tingling as I read. My free hand had involuntarily dropped between my thighs and was rubbing my crotch through my jeans. Where had this stuff come from? Where was my essay? I had had it when I got to the library, I was sure of that. So what had happened to it...?
And then it hit me: Matthew. I looked through the pages, and saw red comments, written in a hand not my own. My eyes widened as I connected these disparate pieces of information into a cohesive hypothesis...
This is what he had been working on at the library before I arrived. Those times I saw him writing on his laptop, this is what he had been writing... I hadn't had even an inkling that he wrote things like this... I should bring it back to him, I thought to myself, and I stood up to do when I stopped.
Did I really have to bring it over right now? I mean, he had been editing it; he'd probably appreciate someone else's thoughts on it, right?
I sat back down and put the pages carefully back into order. But...the couch was sort of uncomfortable...maybe I should move to the bed. So I can be more comfortable while I'm reading...
I scampered to my bedroom and undressed, casting aside my clothes onto the floor before getting under the covers. I placed my pillow between my thighs and began reading.
The story he had written took place at a nudist camp, and as I read, I imagined myself naked, in public, in front of everyone. I clenched the pillow between my thighs, rubbing it against my wet pussy as I read, grinding against it.
I imagined myself being the center of attention while completely nude, completely exposed in front of everyone, my body on display for everyone to see. I didn't normally have much confidence in my petite breasts, but reading his story, I knew that at least he would appreciate my body, would love to see me nude. I rubbed my soft breasts, gently pinching my pebble-hard nipples, caressing my firm tits in slow, lazy circles as I read.
I imagined myself trapped in front of everyone: naked, with nowhere to go or hide. I imagined everyone gawking at me, taking pictures. I imagined girls looking on with envy as their boyfriends ogled me, amazed at my boldness, while through their pockets they sought to satisfy the urges of their eager cocks. I wanted everyone to be focused on me, on my naked brown body. I needed something hard inside me...
I reached underneath my pillow and pulled out my Love Diamond rabbit. I tested my pussy with my fingers: I was sopping wet. I put the story to one side and plunged the hard shaft into my soft, shaved pussy. For a few thrusts, I left it turned off, just savoring the feeling of being filled up by something long, thick, and hard, but I ached for more. I turned it on.
It began buzzing against my clit, almost too strongly to bear. The shaft rotated inside me, and I clenched my legs tightly together, surrendering to pleasure. I couldn't contain my pleasure, and I moaned, loudly, a primal, wordless moan. My pleasure was building, greater and greater. I groaned as I had my first orgasm of the night, electricity passing through my whole body, going out from my pussy to my fingertips and toes, hot fire burning my body from the inside. My hips bucked, I forced the vibrator deeper and deeper into me, imagining Matthew's cock ramming into me over and over, imagining that he had caught be naked and forced himself onto me, ravishing me, having his way with me.
I wondered, not for the first time, when I would finally lose my virginity. It seemed torture to deny my body any longer, but I wanted my first time to be meaningful. Another orgasmic tsunami crashed into me. "Matthew!" I groaned. I knew how thin the walls were, but I didn't care. I wanted him to know the pleasure his stories were giving me. He surely had figured out the confusion by now as easily as I had. Sweat dewed my body. My breasts were warm. I panted deeply. I was exhausted, but I kept going. My body ached for more.
I took the rabbit out of my pussy and turned it to a stronger setting, before playing it against my moist labia and my insatiable clit. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h," I shuddered, as the vibrations sent new shockwaves through my limbs. Again and again, I orgasmed, furiously masturbating for over half an hour, until, satiated, exhausted, I collapsed and fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke up supremely contented. My pussy was still sore, and my thighs sticky from last night's juices. I brushed my teeth and showered, as a plan formed in my mind. After my shower, I poached two eggs and ate them with half of a cantaloupe and a mug of hot chocolate, wrapping my hands around the ceramic, letting the warmth flow through my palms. By the time I had finished eating, I knew what I wanted to do.
But before I left my apartment, I set up my camera and turned on the automatic timer. My teeth and crotch tingling, I stood opposite it, completely naked, and waited for the flash. I plugged the camera into my computer and checked out the photo: it was perfect. You could see from my plump, red lips down to the middle of my thighs, revealing my smallish breasts, my shaved pussy, my flat tummy, well, everything really. Blushing, I printed it out and slipped it into the middle of Matthew's story before stapling the pages together and putting them into my folder. I got dressed and headed out to the library.
By the time I arrived, Matthew was already there, anxiously drumming his fingers on the table. An ignored book sat to his side as he kept his eyes glued to the door. When he noticed my arrival, he stood up urgently and flagged me over. I bit my lower lip and made my way over to him.
I sat down and noticed a slight blush in his cheeks. "I think we got our papers switched up yesterday," he blurted out as soon as my butt hit the chair, thrusting forward my papers while avoiding my eyes.
"I noticed," I said.
His blush deepened a shade. "D-did you read it...?"
"I did," I replied with a warm smile, as my crotch tingled, remembering last night's pleasure.
"Oh..." he said hollowly, as though he were condemned.
"B-but I really liked it!"
He blinked a few times rapidly. "Really?"
"Yeah! I read it last night and it was really good. You're a great writer. I love your descriptions," I gushed. "Oh, here!" I handed his papers back to him, my hand trembling slightly. Would he look through the pages right here and now? What would he do when he saw the photo? Would he know it was me? Would he think I was a pervert? "Here's your story."
"Thanks..." He made eye contact with me again. "So you...you really liked it?" he asked hopefully.
"I really did."
"So, um...I, well, I...heard you last night..." His eyes had lit up as he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Was that you...enjoying the story?"
Now it was my turn to blush deeply. "You heard me?!"
He nodded with a slight smile, both embarrassed and delighted. I clenched my thighs, trying to suppress the tingling feeling in my loins that was currently growing from the thought of him in his own bedroom, listening to be satisfying myself, as he took his huge, thick cock in his hands, stroked it, pumped it, until cum gushed out of it...Mmmm...
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Almost whispering, I moved onto my plan. "Matthew, did...did you mean what you said the other day, about how we should give into our true feelings?" I asked hesitantly, my heart pounding.
I took a deep breath. "I...I want you to write me."
"Like how you write your characters. You give them a plot and decide what they're going to do...I want you to do that to me. I want to be your character. I want you to decide what's going to happen to me."
"Sounds intriguing... Do go on."
"But there are going to be some ground rules. First off: nothing illegal. I don't want to be on the news or in a prison cell. Second: no fucking unless I say so. Third: afterwards, you have to write it all down for me. And finally..."
I looked him straight in the eyes. "Since you're getting to control my body, I get to control yours, too. For as long as we do this, you can't orgasm unless I say so. No jerking off, no handjobs, no sex, unless I give permission. And if you have a wet dream, I get to set a punishment for you."
He cocked an eyebrow. "If I'm interested, how will I get your permission?"
"You'll wait for my texts, or in person. If you absolutely need to, you can text me and ask for it." I could already feel my panties moistening. I was relishing the thought of having total control over his cock, determining when and where he could satisfy himself. I loved the thought of knowing that every time he orgasmed, it would be because I had allowed it. I squirmed in my chair, rubbing my thighs against each other. "So do we have a deal?"
He steepled his fingers and peered at me over them. "So I come up with a plot for us to follow, and you'll do it, and in exchange, I need to write the story down, and I can only cum if you let me, correct?"
"Hmmmm...and how long would we do this?"
I smiled. "Until it gets boring."
"Alright. I'll try it out. When should we start?"
"Next Saturday. We'll meet here. That gives you six days to come up with a story and get everything ready you need. Can you do that?"
"Sure. I'm sure inspiration will strike me by then. Any story requests?"
"Exhibitionism," I said. "But remember: nothing illegal. But for right now, let's get back to work. I don't want any distractions next weekend." I began editing my paper, glancing upwards at him every time I heard the sound of a page turning, waiting for him to reach the page with my photo on it. I wanted to catch his reaction.
And then he reached it. I grinned as I watched his face go from confusion, to shock, to realization, to lust. I slipped one stocking foot out of its shoe, and, checking that there were no nearby witnesses, lifted up my leg and began to gently stroke his thigh. I wanted to take advantage of my control over his orgasms...
He looked from the picture to me, his eyes caressing my body. My chest grew hot as I watched him strip me naked in his mind. He couldn't tear his gaze away from my breasts, my t-shirt and bra invisible to his mind's eye. My toes reached his crotch, and I felt his manhood's hardness beneath his khakis.
"Is...is this you?" he asked.
I nodded silently. "Do you like it?"
"I can tell," I teased, stroking his thick shaft with my foot. Suddenly, I pulled away. "Don't forget our deal: no orgasm without my permission," I teased. He grimaced, but I knew he wouldn't risk the opportunity to bring his stories to life by jerking off against my orders. I slipped my shoe back on and gathered my things. "I hope that's enough inspiration for now. "I'll see you here Saturday, at 11am. Okay?"
"Okay," he replied, huskily. I felt a brief twinge of pity, and almost turned back to give him permission to cum once now, but I wanted all his thoughts on next weekend. Let him save all his frustration until then...
Next Saturday, I was ready. My heart was fluttering as I walked to the library. I wondered what sort of idea Matthew had created.
He was at his usual table, with a small plastic bag. "Are you ready for this?" he asked me.
"Absolutely. What's the plan?"
"Well first we need to get you prepared. Come on, there's a bathroom in the basement no one uses. Let's go there to change."
"Why can't I change by myself?"
"Trust me, you'll need some help with this outfit," he explained as he led me to the elevator. As we traveled downwards to the lower levels of the library, the levels too dark and cool for students, which were only suitable for books because of dehumidifiers working twenty four/seven, my mind raced with ideas. What was he planning?
The doors opened, and we walked out. He led me to the bathrooms, took a quick peek into the men's room to ensure it was empty, and then led me in, locking the door behind us. He took out three photos of models and showed them to me. "Now, which one of these three tops would you rather wear today?" he asked.
I looked. The first was a red bikini. The second was a white bandeau with lavender edges. The third was a black tube top. All three of them, though, were disappointingly modest. "This is the best you came up with in a week?" I asked.
"Just pick one," he sighed.
"Fine. This one, the bandeau." The coloring would look best against my skin, and I tried to avoid bikini tops: they only made my modest assets more obvious.
"Good choice." He put away the other two photos. "Now strip."
"You can't be modest now, Helen. Strip down to the waist."
Geez, whoever heard of a modest exhibitionist? I asked myself. I bit my lip and turned around, leaving Matthew with only a view of my back. I pulled off my t-shirt hesitantly and handed it to Matthew behind me, before unhooking my bra and doing the same. Holding my breasts in my hands, I turned back around. "H-how is this?"
He rolled his eyes at my modesty and smirked. "I thought you were the one who wanted to be an exhibitionist..."
"It's not something you can just leap into! I've never done this sort of thing before."
He rubbed my shoulder. "Hey, don't worry, it might be a bit scary now, but you'll enjoy it, I promise." He took a small canister and a brush out of his bag, and stuffed my clothes into it. "Now put your arms out like a cross," he instructed. I did so, slowly. His eyes turned greedy as my hands began to shift position. He's enjoying this too much... I took a deep breath and thrust my arms out. His eyes widened at the sudden sight of my bare, tanned breasts. As he unscrewed the container, I noticed an unprofessional bulge growing in his pants.
"Ugh, that stuff reeks. What is it?" I asked.