A Burst of Confidence

My name is Joseph Cains. At the time of writing I was slim and toned. I was never too worried about keeping my body within any parameters – I happened to be the way I was because I cycled an hour or so every day and I slept very little. The body burns up a lot more fuel when you habitually get too little sleep, so I stayed thin even when I was positively stuffing myself with sweet and sickly foods and drinks – the sort of thing you guzzle when you’re a student and you haven’t really grown up yet.

This story comes from my stint at university. I shan’t say which one for fear of offending their PR department, but suffice to say that it was a small university with no more than ten thousand students – and this story is about one of the many ones who got away.

Mariana Popa was Romanian. She was a few years older than the other students – but that was fine, so was I. We’d spent a couple of months flirting online before she’d come to the university, and our first few meetings were rather confusing for the both of us – there are always differences between your idealisation of someone and their real self, that’s for sure.

But here we were, a couple of months in to the first term, and we were in a computer room surrounded by my friends again. As always.

That’s the thing about Computing. We really do have primarily male students, and of those, a disproportionate number of them have no idea about social norms. So there was no way they were going to let us flirt quietly in a corner without pestering one of us for assignment help – either me for my age and presumed seniority, or her simply because she was both beautiful and remarkably intelligent.
I realise now of course that I have not described her. I’ll do that now.

She stood tall, even slightly taller than I: six feet, two inches. She was slim, but not too slim. Her hips swayed a little when she walked, and she had a habit of wearing skintight plaid trousers and a perfectly tight jacket top that flared out at the bottom. For easily the first two weeks that she’d been in the department, nobody had been able to concentrate when she was walking away from them – or towards. She didn’t wear low-cut shirts, because she didn’t have to. Her hips drew inward to a perfectly toned stomach and of course she wore close-fitting shirts that nearly let you see the lines of her musculature. Her breasts weren’t huge, but they really didn’t have to be. A C-cup, I think? I know very little about bra sizes, but I do remember that they fit very nicely into my hand, and I have fairly large hands for a guy. I suspect that she had that mathematically perfect ratio of measurements, but she never did explicitly confirm that. Just gave me a knowing smile the only time I asked.

She got up, said her farewells, and left the room. As the door closed behind her, she looked back through the gap at me and scowled slightly. I shrugged, just a little, so as not to show the others that I was still looking at her.

They still teased me for a few minutes, but that was pretty much normal.

I looked back at my machine and the problem I had to solve today. It didn’t look difficult – just a matter of optimisation. But just as I was getting my head into it, my phone buzzed.

A text from Mariana. Come upstairs, it said. We need to talk.

That didn’t sound good at all.

I stood up and wandered out of the room with as little purpose as I could. Hopefully the others would think that I was just going to the bathroom.

I trotted up the stairs, straight past the bathroom, and in to the third room on my left. It was a small room, with an old printer and an even older watercooler in it. Mariana was leaning against the printer – she turned round and smiled at me.

“I’m not in trouble?” I was confused. Of course I was going to ask. I closed the door behind me.

“Oh, dear boy.” She had an odd way with words. But then, anyone whose first language isn’t English will pick up some odd constructs here and there. “You do confuse me. I was thinking that you need to show me more affection when we’re around your friends. But now you come upstairs, and, well. You never seem to just… reach out and take what you want.”

Was that… what was that?

This time I locked the door. It was, and I was going to take advantage of it quite thoroughly. I turned back to her and she was smiling again, even as I strode over to her, raised my hand behind her head and kissed her solidly. She let out a little noise and I knew I was doing the right thing. Her back arched, my hand landed just above her gorgeous rump, and suddenly her entire body pressed up against mine. I could feel the shape of her through our clothing – her soft breasts, the firmness of her stomach, the fullness of her hips, the yearning of her libido. This had become a teenage boy’s dream situation, and fast.

Here’s the thing about the room we were in. The back wall is a set of tall, thin windows separated by solid concrete pillars. It faces another building over a stretch of grass that nobody ever really walks on. So when she kissed me back with quite the fever and started backing up against the glass, I was quite surprised. She had always been reticent til now, as though (strangely enough) she might never have needed to initiate these proceedings with a guy.

I pressed her against the window and kissed her hard. My hands couldn’t get enough of just her curves – they slid and squeezed her backside, her waist, her stomach, her breasts.

She broke off the kiss and mock-scowled at me. “So now you want me,” she said. “Now, when I don’t have any condoms with me.”

A few days ago she had invited me back to her room and I had given her a long and sensual massage. She had made the condoms on her side table quite obvious but I, at the time quite afraid to mis-step, hadn’t taken the opportunity.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “Sometimes the impulse just kind of takes over.” My hands were at her shirt, unbuttoning it at quite a lick. I planted kisses on her throat and down the swell of her breasts as I finished undoing it, then came back up to undo the clasp – and found that there wasn’t one.

“Round the front, dear boy…”

In my haste I had missed it. I threw aside all thoughts of embarrassment and planted feather-soft kisses on her breasts, unclasping her bra and exposing those gorgeous breasts completely. She had fairly small nipples and by God were they hard. I gravitated to them with my lips and my tongue and my fingertips, and she hissed when I pinched a little too hard – she was sensitive, that was certainly good.

I kept at my work, not stopping until each nipple was visibly taut and her breath was ragged. I blew gently over her nipples and she shuddered – I was doing it right, and all I’d done was read about that particular tactic.

She glared at me. “Why aren’t we back in my room, dear?”

“Well,” I said. “We do have lectures in about ten minutes.”

She chuckled. “Nerd.”

I blew on her nipples again and she gasped quietly, arching her back and pushing them up into my face. A kiss and a lick and I stood back up straight, caught her lips, kissed her, and started turning her around.
She glared at me again, and then I pushed her against the window, squashing her already excited breasts up against the cold glass and she made a quiet noise, and my arousal pressed up hard between her buttocks and her voice caught in her throat and became an outright moan.

“You can’t make love to me in here,” she said.

“Perhaps not. But I’ll be damned if I’m walking out of here before you hit orgasm, at least.” My hands went to her waistline and true to their form, her tight-fitting trousers unbuttoned easily and the zip went down and my hand slid straight into her panties (I’d picked that one up from her already) and found her absurdly wet pussy and started sliding up and down, from clit down to the base of the hole and back, teasing the entrance for now but not actually slipping in.

Her breath was completely gone. She shivered and her thighs tried to tighten on my hand, but I started grinding my obvious arousal up between her buttocks and she bucked back, and I started pressing my middle finger inside her and she moaned again, this time turning her head as far back as she could to kiss me and muffle her voice in my mouth.

Very quickly this progressed, and before I realised it I was sinking three fingers into her, using my other hand to paint her nipples with her own pussy juices, pulling and tweaking on them and coming dangerously close to orgasm myself as I ground hard up against her gorgeous firm rump. My fingers made a quiet squishing noise as they sank into her over and over, and I briefly considered what it would be like to fist this tall, slender, beautiful creature – until she tightened up on my fingers, the tightening of her thighs pushing her hard up against the window again, squashing her breasts for any passer-by to see, the tightening of her buttocks very nearly posing a serious problem for me, and she let out a long low “fuck” – the only time I had ever heard her swear. I could feel her vaginal walls trembling around my fingers, squeezing them tight, and I could hear the tremor in her breath as she shivered her way through the orgasm.

She pushed herself away from the window, grabbed my wrist and used it to pull my hand out of her trousers. She looked at my sticky fingers contemplatively, then leaned over and put one in her mouth. She sucked it clean, then the other two, then she took hold of my head and pulled me gently down to her nipples. “Just lick them,” she said. “You’ve ruined my panties but I want my bra to at least be comfortable.” I considered arguing back but then I saw a warmth in her eyes that hadn’t been there before and I slowly, meticulously licked her breasts clean of the juices I had daubed on them earlier.

She grinned at me. “You forgot your camera,” she said, and squeezed her breasts once before reclasping her bra and starting to do her shirt back up. I, stuck for something to do, refastened her trousers – for which I was rewarded by Mariana’s shaky sigh – and kissed her.

She finished doing her shirt up and she said “You know I don’t like it, but… maybe one day I might try… oral. If you’re good.”

My mental response must have been blindingly obvious because she smirked at me, gave me a peck on the lips, unlocked the door and left.

Two minutes later I got another text. Think of me when you bring yourself off.

I did just that.