The Chemistry of Control Ch. 01

It was after a particularly interesting meeting late one Thursday night: the three of them were seated in their usual order, but on this night, Brandon had a surprising control over Maren's attention. For some reason, they were able to connect intellectually in a way she hadn't allowed before. It was possible she was just finally getting comfortable with him, and just beginning to trust him, but he didn't think a girl like Maren was ever terribly shy. Whatever was going on was something very deliberate, and it took him to almost the end of the meeting to figure out her motive.

"It's really a shame there aren't more serious scientists here," she had said to him, practically right into his ear, in a husky whisper. Had he imagined feeling her slick lower lip brushing against his earlobe? He must have. If she had been that close, he would have known it. It must be wishful thinking.

He bristled a bit when he saw her perform a similar maneuver on John, who had the decency to see it coming. He basked in the glory of it, all the while it was happening, and cast Brandon a mask of disinterest while she whispered something to him. Unfortunately for John, that was the only attention he got from her on this night.

When the meeting had concluded, Brandon walked Maren as far as the back doors of the building, where they finished a short discussion about a teacher they'd both had and she disappeared out in the dark of the night. Brandon leaned back against the wall in the empty hallway, replaying her physical movements in his mind. The girl had something that he'd never encountered before, but it beat the hell out of him what that was. He wished he could have her on tape, so he could watch it over and over.

"Okay, man," John's voice sudenly broke open the silence Brandon was spending in fantasy. "We need to talk about this."

Brandon smiled and didn't budge from his place against the wall. "Alright. Let's talk."

John came out the dark and leaned against the opposite wall, contemplating his verbal move. How could he ask something like this with any kind of finesse?

"I really like her."

"Aha," Brandon reacted immediately, seeing that this was as good as a white flag. John saw he had been beaten, and was grasping at the last possible weapon.

"No," John interrupted before Brandon could state the obvious. "Listen to me for a second."

Brandon listened.

"Last week, she walked to this door with me. She even squeezed my arm before she went out, and said "Goodnight, John. I'll see you tomorrow," because..well.. sometimes we study together if there is time." John took a deep breath, seemingly afraid that Brandon would punch him right then and there.

This was surprising news, though Brandon had no intention of punching anyone. He hadn't realized that his treatment tonight wasn't putting him ahead, but simply letting him catch up. She had been slowly building up the both of them. What the hell was she doing, anyway?

And then it came to him.

"You're right," he told John, smiling a genuine, satisfied smile. "It isn't right of me to take her away from you. I'll back off."

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Brandon's phone rang while he was getting dressed. He stopped in front of his full-length mirror to admire himself in full nude, pulling his towel from his body and hanging it on its designated hook. He answered the phone with one hand, and took his damp, freshly-groomed thunder in his other hand, feeling himself harden up a little bit.

"Brandon?" a soft, dimid voice asked through the line.

"Yeah." He lifted his damp cock against his abdomen and scratched his sack.

"It's Naomi. I need you."

Naomi was a particularly troublesome face from his past- one he couldn't seem to get rid of. This might have been due to the fact that he visited her dorm room from time to time to fuck her senseless when she needed some male attention. The girl was one of the biggest social rejects he had ever known, and yet there was something very ordinary and unthreatening about her. He liked the way she depended on him and basked in the glory of being plugged by someone so much higher on the food chain. He even cuddled with her afterwards if he had nowhere to be. She didn't ask for anything more.

"Naomi," he replied with affection. "I can't come over tonight, doll." He cringed at his Bogart deliverance, but he could hear her giggle through her disappointment.

"Why not?" she asked, pouting. His mind's eye could see her thin lips doing just that, and then he was again lost in the image of another woman's pout.

"Because I'm saving myself for marriage and you're just so damn persistent," he responded, fighting a smile. Her confused silence seemed like a good enough opportunity to hang up.

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They walked up to her door from opposite directions, a feat both entirely coincidental and brimming with irony. Both were clad in jeans and pressed button-down shirts- the iconic apparel of the college male. She took her sweet time answering Brandon's knock, and showed up at the door in a white dress that neither had seen before just as John strolled up. She had a look on her face that stopped them both in their formerly confident tracks. She looked downright disappointed.

"You two," she started, sighing in frustration. "You've joined forces. That takes the fun right out of it."

John laughed, but Brandon couldn't. He could only raise an eyebrow.

"And what if we have?" he replied, hearing John suck in a breath beside him. It had been weeks since John admitted his affections for Maren, which had of course come as no surprise to Brandon.

She resolved to inviting them in, the disappointed look never really leaving her face for very long. They sat just as she would've wanted them to, at opposite ends of a medium-sized couch, with a space just big enough for her to squeeze in between them. She sat in a nearby chair instead, folding her legs up under her, and took a drink of the glass of ice water she had sitting on the table nearby. The water glistened on her lips and made them both immediately thirsty. It was nearly thirty seconds before anyone got up the nerve to speak, and it was John.

"Did you invite him too?" he asked with genuine interest, as if he were asking what the space weather was like on the day of his rocket launch.

"Who, him?" she asked, indicating Brandon and taking another drink. A drop of water from the outer surface of the glass dripped visibly down onto her chest, sliding down between her breasts. Brandon had to hold himself down for fear he might leap forward and lap it up with his tongue.

"Yes, him," was all he said. The man lacked the bold demeanor necessary for a woman like this.

She continued to look back and forth between them, waiting for a more detailed explanation from someone claiming to be a scientist.

"No." Brandon took the initiative to take care of this nonsense once and for all. Never before had he spent months of his life living on every tiny half-second of attention from a girl and feeling like a piece of insignificant consciousness. Never again would he. "I just happened to stop by."

She sat up and blessed them with the smile they were both deeply enamored with- the one that seemed to say Your Life is An Enormous Joke.

When she didn't reply, John stammered onto course.

"Well, she invited me."

Her smile faltered, and for a moment she gripped the arm rests as if to stand, but then she relaxed again. "This isn't a competition, guys."

"Yeah, man. Why can't we all just hang out together?" Brandon asked innocently. "Unless there was something you didn't want me to see."

"Anyway," she interrupted, neautralizing the conversation. For the first time since she answered the door, Brandon was beginning to notice the way her white dress reminded him of a bedsheet. He thought she must be beautiful in the morning, naked, tangled in a sheet from her night of heated dreams. He planned to see it eventually.

"Well," John began, and Brandon cut him off. Now wasn't the time for second-guessing.

"I think I'm going to go," he said, standing. John looked as if he had just seen his own mother masturbating.

"Alright then," she spoke, considering his beltline before standing to meet him face to face. "I guess we'll see you around."

He walked out, temporarily in denial that John had been invited over and he hadn't.

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Brandon stepped forward immediately, bluntly sliding a hand behind her neck and pulling her forward into a rough kiss. He had planned to make it a slower, more dramatic, but his enthusiasm got the best of him. The apology had taken much longer than he had anticipated. He was making up for lost time. She was nearly crying with relief.

"Oh, thank god," Ellen moaned softly against his lips. She could now be assured- falsely, of course- that it was her that he wanted and couldn't live without. He had given her a harsh kick to the pavement and been overcome with guilt. She was too euphoric to think that maybe he had just been horny and looking for a familliar bang.

"Baby," he said, pulling her back far enough to stare deeply in her eyes. They were sparkling with a volcano of tears. This was all the indication he needed to go on. "Baby, you're so beautiful. The other day, when I saw you in that new black dress of yours, I knew I couldn't lie to myself anymore. You are a goddess."

Her smile was big and toothy. He had to close his eyes for a moment to concentrate. She separated her lips to speak, and he cut her off in what he hoped would look like ardor.

"Put on that dress, honey," he suggested, looking towards her closet. "I want to make love to you in it."

She was on her way to the closet before he could squeeze his eyes closed again.

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Even though it wasn't Maren's round ass he was filling up with his pulsing erection, for a moment he almost heard her husky laugh. He closed his eyes and focused all of his mental energy on feeling her muscles tightening around him as he moved in and out of her in rough rhythm. The black dress pushed up around her waist was darker than any that Maren would likely wear, but she WOULD laugh at him. He could be giving her the pounding of her young life and she would still laugh at him as if he were trying to please her with a rubber duckie. Ellen wasn't laughing. She was actually crying. She had never had a dick in her ass before, and apparently it hurt. He would never be able to hurt Maren like this.

What he was doing was anything but making love to her. He was taking out his frustration on her while simultaneously feeding his denial. So what if Maren was fucking John? So what if she wasn't? He had gotten around obstacles like this before.

"Brandon," Ellen sobbed, trying her very hardest to make it sound like pleasure. "I can't kiss you in this position."

"I know, Baby," he replied with no inflection whatsoever. "I don't deserve your kisses right now. I've treated you bad."

With that, he increased his bad treatment to a quicker pace, feeling her ass growing hot with the friction of his invasion. He let his hands wander over her narrow waist and grip ahold of her, pulling her back onto his thrusting. She was stifling a scream that could have been murder. He let his hands climb forward to grip a wad of the black fabric at her waist. In his mind it was salmon-colored, like the dress Maren had been wearing when he had seen her earlier, stepping daintily over a puddle. He concentrated on the sound of wooden beads clapping together around her neck while he took her from behind, her hair falling in front of her face and shading her almond-shaped eyes, which would either be open wide or clapsed tightly closed. Next, he fought to feel the crackle of paper under his knees where he would no doubt have strewn his term paper about, stuffing her face into it as he went to town on her perfect little butt.

"Brandon, stop," Ellen moaned, the power gone from her voice. "You're tearing me apart." The latter was meant as gentle comedy, but it was surely quite accurate. He was quite confident that a cock like his would stretch even the most experienced fuck-hole.

He slowly pulled his rod from her reddening asshole, holding it in his hand for a moment while the cool air of the room surrounded it again. She collapsed forward, burying her face in the floor and breathing heavily. He realized that he could have fucked her like that for hours and never would have been able to cum. He was a cursed man.

"I'm so sorry, Ellen," he said genuinely, apologizing not for hurting her, but for her inability to properly imitate Maren Starbor. He had used this trick before, on other women. She had accused him of hurting her, and so he would pull up his pants, fake a guilty quiver, and exit quickly. She would then think that whatever had gone wrong was her fault. This served two purposes.. he could escape and still look like an okay guy.

Before he could do anything, Ellen's door swung open and a pair of excitedly talking girls stumbled in. He froze, watching Ellen's friend A.J. scanning his engorged cock in his hand and Ellen's ass up in the air. The other girl- a freshman, he suspected- was much drunker and still hadn't quite caught on. She had a look of overdramatic uh-oh that under normal curcumstances would have been comical. A.J. looked furious.

Brandon took to his feet, feeling the life flood back into them as he stood. With one hand, he hauled up his pants, locking eyes with A.J.

"Your friends are here," he said to Ellen, who had now turned over at the sound of the door. He knew she would transfer her emotional breakdown to anger at her friends and their inability to knock. She would blame them for making Brandon leave.

He was several hundred yards away from her building before he let his mind register the events of the evening. He had turned down the sexual favor of one plain-Jane, gone out on a limb for a moment of courteous attention from the nymph of his very dreams, and ended up fucking the ass of a girl he was maniupating like a marionette. Her friends were probably trying to cut through her anger and console her. A.J. was no doubt reminding Ellen what an asshole he was. He hoped so. It would only make Ellen more pissed at A.J. He was really starting to dislike that dyke. If A.J. wanted so badly to protect Ellen, why didn't she just admit she was in love with her and get it over with? At least then he would have both of them off his back.

He thought about heading over to Naomi's after all. If nothing else, he could turn off the lights and fuck her mouth, keeping her silent and one step closer to Maren's quiet domination. Then he looked down the hill at Maren's building and saw that her light was still on. If John was having his way with her, he would have full, illuminated view of her silky body. Still, he might still be acting his tool of a self and sitting shyly at the other end of the couch, sipping at a glass of water or talking to her about grad school. Then again, there was always the possibility that he was drizzling that glass of water drop by drop onto her hard nipples with his fingertips while he tongued her belly-button.

"Damn," he said outloud, setting off down the sidewalk towards home. "This is too much."

That night, he released his anguish into the spray of the shower while he pictured John Feldman being forced to watch while Brandon slid every inch of his eager cock into Maren's tight little asshole. He would fill her up that way, he knew, while his fingers played in and out of her pussy that would be just melting with need. Then he would turn to John and say "There's one more hole, buddy... do you want it?"

It wasn't until that instant, as he was shooting his hot load into empty, steaming space, that he had the idea that could potantially solve every little one of his pesky problems.