Milla at College - Week 03

"Take a look at the Google Doc," Milla, a 19-year-old freshman at the University of California, Santa Rosa, said to her Intro to Psychology class partner, Lee. He was actually about 100 away, near Paso Robles for a wrestling meet, so they were talking through devices.

"Can we do this later?" he asked. "Because I ruled the mat today, and I would like to celebrate."

She smiled. "I am very proud of you," she said. "But no, we can't. The experiment proposal is due tomorrow morning."

"Fine," Lee said sulkily, moving around his tablet. She caught glimpses of his motel room, the gray athletic department shorts he was wearing and his naked, muscular upper torso before his face came into focused view, staring straight into the camera. "You are such a kill joy."

Milla smiled at the sight. The last time they had gotten together to talk about the psych experiment, he had made her cum explosively just with his tongue. Seeing even a Zoom flattened and digitized version of him instantly brought back the body memory.

Their midterm was a social experiment, the concept of which Professor Andrade needed to approve. They had decided to test the idea that customers at the Corner Cafe, where Milla worked as a cocktail waitress, could be persuaded through signage and risqué behavior on her part to be more handsy with her. And, in the process, maybe they would tip better too. Which had led Lee to dub their concept "The Libertine Prophecy."

She could tell by the angle of Lee's profile in the tablet camera that he wasn't looking at the conference call video, he was reading the document they were sharing, so she clicked on the tab.

"Well," Lee said. "I wouldn't use the word 'lascivious' in the first graph." He highlighted it in the document.

Milla had tried to write the three paragraphs not fully spelling out that they were trying to get the customers to grope her, thinking the female professor might have a prudish response, so she could see what Lee meant. "Okay, fair," she said. "'Rowdy?'"

"That sounds like they're going to fight," he said. "How about 'overly familiar'?"

"Oh, that's good," she said. "Put that in." She watched him make the change. "How badly did you beat him?" She asked after a moment."

"Bad," he answered absently, still looking at the assignment. "Should we add more details about the signage and the other things we would do to prompt them?" he asked.

"Well since we don't know what Drex will allow us to do," she said, referring to the Corner Caf manager, "it's probably better to leave that vague."

"Okay, I'm done," he said after a moment. "Just fixed a couple of grammar things."

"Great," she said, and clicked back to the Zoom video. He propped the tablet up on the motel bed and and threw himself onto it, stretching out with his face in the background and his enormous thighs in the fore.

She took her laptop to the bed herself, laying down in a position that allowed her to keep looking at his muscular form. She was wearing a tank top and underwear, and she started touching herself over her panties as she looked at him.

"How are we going to do it?" he asked after a second, looking up at the ceiling. "It seems like a stretch to 'suggest' people into radically changing their actions."

"It's not night and day," she said, a little more breathily than she probably would have were she not fingering her pussy lips. "A lot of men already do what we are trying to get them to do."

"I guess," he said, which masked the sound of her inhaling breath sharply.

"Or they want to," she said and gasped audibly.

The sound of her pleasuring herself caught Lee's attention. "Are you...?" he started saying, leaning up on one elbow and looking at his tablet. Seeing that her hand was now under her panty, he said, "You dirty birdie! You started without me."

In a moment, Lee had his shorts off, and Milla was watching him stroke his thick penis. She asked what he was planning on doing to her when he got back to Santa Rosa, and he described in detail how he would sneak up on her in the bowels of the library and take her from behind, knocking over shelves and fucking her on a mattress of books and manuscripts. He said she would get bad paper cuts on her nipples while she was face down on the pile, and that he would flip her over into missionary position, grinding into her as he licked and sucked on the cuts until her nipples got engorged.

And that's when she climaxed. He didn't last much longer.

* * *

A couple of days later, her acting professor beckoned her as she walked into class. She was wearing a short, floral-print skirt and an Oxford-style shirt that was entirely unbuttoned but knotted under her breasts, leaving her midriff exposed. The strap of her book bag fit most comfortably between her breasts, which she knew was a little provocative, especially with the knotted Oxford. As if the strap might pull apart the halves of her shirt.

She approached the lectern where Professor Harrison usually camped out before class, fairly self-conscious about her outfit and the tingly feeling she was getting in her midsection as she watched him watch her approach.

When she was close, Harrison said in a low tone, "Adamley, I want to check in with you, see if you are upset with me for having changed the script on you, as it were."

Because there were an uneven number of students in the class, Milla had been partnered for her first scene with Harrison himself. He was a handsome 40-something bearded man with a puckish sense of humor. They had done a scene in which Milla's character, a waitress named Andrea, fights off the advances of a cook named James at the restaurant where they work.

But Milla hadn't felt comfortable with the idea of Harrison actually grabbing her in front of the other students as the script called for, so she had asked him to change the scene so that James lunged at Andrea and missed her. Harrison hadn't been pleased, but agreed to rehearse it that way. But that's not how he played it in class.

"Oh, I enjoyed what you did," she said, but then realized that wasn't what she had intended to say, and blushed crimson."I mean, I APPRECIATE what you did."

Milla had been a little scared by his surprise attack and mortified that it took place in class for all to see, but she had also secretly enjoyed the close contact with his perfumed body, the scratchy feel of his beard on her face, the way her nipples had rubbed and twitched against his chest. But she didn't want him to know that.

"I understand Andrea more completely because of you ambushing me," she said quickly. "If you hadn't, I wouldn't have realized that James's attack gives her a renewed sense of pride."

"Huh," Harrison said in reply. "Well, good. And it hasn't changed your mind about cat-sitting?" His aging cat Brando had taken a shine to Milla when she came to his bungalow to rehearse.

"Of course not," she answered. "Brando can't help it if his owner is a perv."

"Ha!," he said. "No, he can't."

During class, Harrison had the students break into groups and do a short improv. Felipe, the handsome Latino who had praised her performance as Andrea effusively the week before, made a point of walking to where she sat and asking if she wanted to partner up.

The prompt that Harrison gave them was a pickup scene at a bar. Milla pounced into the role of the pursuer, not wanting them to fall into gender normative roles, and Felipe had no problem bantering with her as the object of the chase.

Harrison kept stopping them as they riffed their scene, urging each of them to send "fireballs of energy" at each other with each line. Standing behind Milla, he placed his hands on her exposed waist and exclaimed, "The energy comes from here, Adamley!" He half shoved her forward from her waist so that she took a small step toward Felipe.

"You are the seducer," he said, letting go of waist and stepping in front of her. "All the energy starts with you. I want you to feel it coming out of here," he said and rapped the knuckles of his right hand just below her belly button, which gave her a different sort of jolt.

"Again!"

After class, Felipe smiled at her and said, "That was a little weird, all that energy shit."

"Tell me about it," she said smiling, and draped the bag's strap over her shoulder. It snuggled between her breasts as usual.

As they walked out of the class, he said, "Do you have any interest in seeing a play with me? It's 'The Lady Vanishes.'"

"Isn't that a movie?" she asked. Milla had grown up in isolation on a marijuana farm in the Sierra Nevadas, once pot was legalized and her mom had wifi installed, she and her mom's girlfriend Fatima, had made a point of streaming Hitchcock movies with Milla -- but only the ones he'd made before "he went Hollywood." So even though she knew nearly nothing about movies, she knew full well that "The Lady Vanishes" was one.

"Yeah," Felipe said with a little smile. "It's this theater group I'm involved with, the Silver Screen Players. They only do staged versions of movies. So with Shakespeare, they'll base it on a movie version not on the original."

"That sounds great," Milla said.

"Excellent. It's next Thursday, and it's Opening Night."

She sensed that Felipe had more to say about that. "Okay," she said, with a little question mark at the end.

He blushed a bit. "They treat it as if it was a movie premiere, so it gets a little dressy."

She scanned her wardrobe in her mind and came up with a blank that qualified as either dressy or even a literal dress. Sensing her concern, he asked, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not at all," she said breezily, but she didn't mean it.

* * *

The next day, Milla clambered onto to the bus and found it was standing room only. The college bus system was usable by all Santa Rosa residents, and the busses could get ridiculously packed.

She pressed her way into the middle of the bus and grabbed one of the metal straps, facing a seat occupied by nicely dressed man in his early 30s. Milla half expected him to offer up his seat, but he was wearing ear buds and seemed a bit too consumed with an app on his phone to notice her.

She was headed for Campus Casuals, the clothing store where she and her best friend Linda had gone to revamp Milla's outdated flower child wardrobe a few weeks before. She wished that Linda, who had a very good eye for fabrics, was coming this time too. Unfortunately, she had a paper due on Friday.

Milla studied the well-dressed man. He had a full head of fine, neatly combed sandy brown hair, and the aroma of cleanliness wafted up from him. He wore a knit shirt -- like a very light sweater -- colored silver-white. His pants were ironed and colorfully striped; they narrowed down to his calves, stopping short of the ankle. He had bold patterned socks and gum shoes that matched the electric blue stripes in his pants perfectly.

He looked immaculately put together in a way that made Milla feel unsure of her own getup. She was wearing a neon pink sequined mini skirt and white spaghetti-strap cropped shirt that flared at the bottom and left much of her midsection exposed. She feared that her outfit looked thrown together without much thought -- which was exactly how it had been arrived at.

The men around Milla didn't seem to care. She soon felt a hand rub against her right leg. It paused there, in contact with her thigh but not moving, which seemed plausibly incidental. But then the hand crept up, turned over and cupped her ass. She had heard female students complain about how handsy the bus riders could get, but this was the first time she had experienced anything that would qualify as actual groping.

The hand moved left and right, catching a bit on the sequins, but maintaining constant contact. After a few seconds, she felt a second hand; this one was on her bare midriff just under the flare of her shirt. It was on the other side of her body, and so, likely, that of a different person.

Another person would have squawked or moved away, but Milla was getting turned on by the contact. Was there something wrong with her?, she wondered. Could it be because of the lack of male attention she had received while growing up?

The bus hit a pothole, and Milla got thrown off balance. She was breaking in shoes with a one-inch kitten heel. She had grown up wearing only sneakers or work boots or sandals and she was finding it uncomfortable. After she stumbled, the well-dressed man glanced at he and, spotted the hands on either side of her body."Would you like to sit down?" he asked after pulling out his earbuds.

She nearly said no, but realized that her feet were a little sore from the heels. "Yes," she said, and both anonymous hands were withdrawn from her body in short order.

They switched places, and the man now looked down at her curiously. After a moment he said, "That skirt is quite something. Where did you get it?"

"Oh, thanks," Milla said. "Corner Casual -- I like the color, but it's a bit of a pain. It loses its sequins."

The man nodded in response and said, "Their stuff can be a little flash."

She pointed at his waist. "I love your pants."

The man glanced down at his pants and said, "Thanks! I kind of made them."

"Are you kidding?" she asked.

"Not kidding," he said. "I'm a designer. Mostly I do women's clothes, but when the mood strikes..."

"I was noticing how carefully the stripes line up at the seam," she said. "Was that hard to do?"

"Unbelievably," he said, extending his hand to her. "I'm Williams, with an 's.'"

She introduced herself and asked, "Is that your last name?"

"My first," he answered. "Paquette is my last name."

She still had a few minutes before her stop. "Well then, maybe you can help me with something," she said, and he cocked one eyebrow.

She explained, "I've been invited to opening night at Silver Screen players, and I don't have anything to wear."

"Oh, yeah," he said nodding. "People get pretty dressy for those."

"That's what I'm told."

"Hmm," he grunted, and seemed to think over her situation. "I don't expect you'll find much at Corner Casual, if that's where you're headed-- they don't stock much in the way of formal wear."

"I was afraid of that."

"The best places are in the malls out on Route 703, but that's the opposite direction."

"Great," she said glumly.

Williams smiled and said, "Tell you what. Why don't you come to my atelier? It's just one stop further on the bus. I have a few pieces there -- maybe you'll find something that you'll like."

"Are you serious?" she asked. "That would be awesome!"

Williams's "atelier" turned out to be a small storefront in a nondescript building, but it was clear he didn't do any actual selling out of the space. There was a desk, and a drafting table, and one section devoted to constructing outfits, with cloths in rolls and mannequins and a couple of sewing machines. At the far end, in an area with hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors on two walls, were a few wheeled clothing racks that were covered by white plastic. The space smelled like lace and buttons and fantasy.

Williams, who was a bit shy of 6 feet with a slender frame, led her inside, dropping his keys on the desk, and walked toward the clothing racks. "What are you, a Size 2?" he asked.

"I have no idea," she answered a little embarrassed. "I wear extra small mostly, or just small," she said. "Does that help?"

Williams looked at her appraisingly, then unzipped one rack, lifting one side of the plastic up onto the opposite side of the rack. "Take a look at the dresses on this rack," he said and immediately walked toward the desk. "I have to make a quick phone call. There's a bathroom upstairs," he went on, "or you can just change behind one of the racks."

A little hesitantly, Milla approached the rack of clothes he had uncovered. She wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to change in the same room as him, especially since the mirrors on the walls were likely to reflect her undressed image to most corners of the atelier.

But Williams was soon deep in conversation with someone named Jette, and Milla soon tuned his words out, riffling through the garments. Her eye was immediately drawn to a deep, emerald green. She glanced at Williams, but he was writing something down. "How much the square yard?" he asked into his cell phone. "That's a lot."

Milla undressed quickly between the racks, stepping into the sleeveless, backless dress, which ended midway down her thigh. It was made mostly of a ridiculously soft merino or other wool and it had a deep scoop that went all the way down to her ass. The front had the same scoop as the back, but there was a black, slightly metallic mesh fabric in its place that draped over the curves of her breasts and midriff slinkily, as if it were a liquid cascading down her torso.

She put the kitten-heeled shoes back on and walked to the mirrored wall. She turned this way and that, trying to get a good look at the back of the dress before realizing that all she had to do was look at the reflection of the other mirror in the mirror she was facing. There was the seamless expanse of her back, and at it's base, the dark valley of the top of her ass crack. How comfortable would she feel wearing that dress in public?, she wondered.

Williams said, "Oh, my..." and looked at Milla with an odd expression. "Jette, I'm going to have to call you back," he said a little distractedly.

He hung up and walked toward her, only glancing away as he bent down to pull a camera from a milk crate and sling its strap over his neck. "Is it okay if I take some shots?" he asked, gesturing with the camera.

She nodded, and he approached her, clicking away. He circled around her like a shark. "I would say that you look amazing in that dress, but I think that's backwards," he said pausing from picture taking. "It's you who makes that dress look incredible."

She blushed, and thanked him.

He took another turn around her, ending up behind her, looking into the mirror over her shoulder. He held his hands up in a mea-culpa gesture, and asked, "May I?"

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she nodded anyway. He took the edge of her long hair and folded it in on itself, giving her hair a neat and almost coiffed look. Glancing down he said, "I do love a beautiful back."

She made a scoffing sound and said, "Why? There's nothing there."

"That's kind of the point," Williams said, running the edge of his thumbs along the top of her shoulder blades and then down at an angle toward her spine. "Backs are the largest stretch of unbroken skin on the human body." His thumbs were now trailing down her spine as he said, "There are these tiny muscles that you don't even realize you have. Your whole back ripples with them."

His fingers stopped before he reached her ass, but she was buzzing with the electricity of his touch. If the men on the bus had been as graceful with their hands as Williams, if they had whispered in her ear about the beauties of her exposed dorsal view, she would have gladly let them fuck her, no matter what they looked like.

"You don't mind that the front is translucent?" Williams said, breaking her thought.

She looked more closely and realized that the metallic mesh wasn't entirely opaque. If you looked hard, you could make out the darkened O of her navel, the edges of her aureolas, and maybe even -- she wasn't quite sure -- the top bit of her pubes.

But you really had to stare hard in bright light. "I don't mind," she said.

He smiled and grabbed the camera dangling at his chest again. He had her walk across the floor and back as he photographed her. At one point, her right heel went over, and she stumbled slightly. "Sorry," she mumbled afterward. "I've never really worn heels."

"Really?" he said. "I wouldn't have guessed." She was still trying to work out if he was being sarcastic or not when he asked, "What do you think? Not too much?"