Author: Bulgroz the Third
Title: The Girl from the Gym
Summary: Kurt Bauer, our mind chameleon, uses his ability on a blonde angel at his local gym.
Keywords: MF, Mdom, mc


	       SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A MIND CHAMELEON

			THE GIRL FROM THE GYM

			 By Bulgroz the Third



You don't crap where you eat, goes the saying. Wise words, if somewhat
crude. Yet that's just what I'm about to do, and pretty much with a
shrug and a smile.

I'm between sets at an abs machine in the gym of J***
University. That's my local gym. Not that I'm a student at J*** or
staff or in any way have anything to do with the school. It's just a
supremely convenient gym to patronize: just three blocks down the road
from my office, reasonable rates for what they call "community users",
and a wonderful supply of prime young coed bodies on display --
eighteen to twenty-five year old fit, toned, and scantily-dressed
girls. Talk about motivation.

Looking around, I see young nubile women, buying into this society's
view that to be pretty means to be slim and firm all over. Not that I
really mind, of course. Male privilege, I think it's called. Sometimes
that bothers me, but not today. I drink in the sights, and can't help
but think that some of these girls are purposely on display. See and
be seen, every gym's motto. Except maybe for that handful of regulars
that show up day in day out, good weather or bad, holiday or not, and
get on with their routine without talking to anyone -- hell, without
noticing anyone -- there but for the grace of getting their arms
bulging or their heart pumping.

I remember reading last year in one of the university papers last year
this student's rant about my gym. In acerbic prose, she complained
about all of these girls, and I quote, pimping themselves up in the
locker room, makeup and everything. She was incensed after catching a
girl adjust her thong to ensure it was visible over her track pants in
a blatant attempt to lure unsuspecting and innocent boys, a praying
mantis on the prowl for a mate and a snack. Innocent, my ass! Most
gyms are, for better or for worse, meat markets. See and be seen. At
least, one can still push a workout through all this nature channel
mating behavior.

My name is Kurt Bauer, and I hit the gym four times a week, early in
the morning. I've always found it to give a superb start to the day,
working out body kinks before getting to the business of investing
money and advising others on how to invest money. The world of
international finance may sound attractive, even glamorous, but its
day to day humdrum is just as boring as any other job. Unlike others,
I'm not obsessive about finance, so while I am not a millionaire I
make up for it with some amount of free time.

I have been out of town for much of the last few months, and decided
that this week I should stay put and try to catch up everything that
needed catching up on. And reclaim a semblance of workout schedule in
a gym I knew and enjoyed and not some hotel gym equipped with a
BowFlex and a treadmill.

And thus it came to pass that, a couple of day ago, I spotted this
girl for the first time -- medium height, light blond hair pulled back
in a ponytail, sporting the tight and toned body of a distance
runner. She was straddling one of the StairMaster machines that line
the way to the weights room, and like kids to an ice cream truck my
eyes were drawn to her legs, exposed to great advantage by a pair of
running shorts that bared much of her thighs, straining with her
efforts. I wasn't the only one that had noticed either, if the many
young men and not few women who sneaked a glance up the toned body as
they passed by were any indication.

Admiring her curves, I idly wondered what her long legs might feel
like wrapped around my head as I ate her out, or how the firm ass that
anyone could discern through her shorts would feel like in my hands as
she rode me to climax like a deviant cowgirl on a mad bull. I flushed
that idea out of my head presto; it's never a good idea to entertain
such distractions while lifting a couple hundred pounds over one's
chest.

And it was not just the risk of debilitating injury that slowed me
down. As a general rule, I try not to pick up women near where I live
or work. With my idiosyncratic ability, it tends to complicate matters
more than anything else. You see, I am what I like to call a mind
chameleon. I can get some people to see me as some other people for a
short period of time. In fact, let's not mince words here -- through
some cosmic snafu, I can get girls to see me as whomever gets their
motor running at the moment, if you see what I mean. So yes, I'm a
freak, but a sexually satisfied freak.

Unfortunately, some kind of negative feedback seems to occur when a
girl sees me after we have shared a, shall we say, experience with
me. The details vary. Sometimes she will suddenly realize what
happened -- that some sort of impersonation took place -- sometimes
she will harbor an instant dislike to me without knowing why, and
sometimes she will instead take a fancy to me, again without knowing
why. Regardless, it is a problem, and I therefore tend to indulge only
when I'm traveling. Once in a while, though, a girl will test my
resolve. Today is such a day.

I'm between sets at the abs machine, and as I catch my breath, my eyes
wander over to the row of elliptical machines and StairMasters. There
among the breast-bouncing cuties happily climbing stairs that lead
nowhere is my blonde angel with the tight runner's body. Her breasts
are not bouncy; they are either nonexistent or she's wearing one of
those sport bras that rival corsets of old. Considering that she does
not seem to have a single ounce of unnecessary fat on her body, my
money's on the former.

I must have been staring because I suddenly realize that she is
looking right at me. I give her my best sorry-for-staring-but-wow
smile, and she returns a small smile of her own before turning her
attention back to her machine. She may have a magazine splayed out in
front of her, but I doubt it; she seems too serious for that.

I finish my workout in the next thirty minutes, cycling through arms
and back exercises. I keep sneaking glances at blondie as I move
around the gym. She is near perfect, as if drawn by a seriously horny
artist, and I even love the way her ponytail bobs up and down as she
powers through the StairMaster's routine.

I finish my workout as I usually do, with a three-miles run on the
interior track of the gym. Few people are running and the track, an
engineering tour de force suspended over the squash courts below, is
quiet. Through glass windows the row of elliptical machines and
StairMasters is visible, and on every go-round the track I glimpse
blondie's little rear energetically pumping up and down. I wonder if
she's wearing a thong.

I sigh, not necessarily easy when out of breath, and make a concerted
effort to quit my gawking. Yes, she is attractive. Yes, I wouldn't
mind discovering what those toned legs of hers would feel like wrapped
around my waist. Yes, I wonder how deep she could swallow me. The
usual questions. But I have rules for a reason, and I'll be damned if
I break them today. I put my head down, jack up the volume on my iPod,
and focus on lap ten of twenty-five.

Damnation lies on an exercise mat in a corner of the track by lap
thirteen. Elevated platforms fill the rounded corners of the track
where people often stretch or do floor exercises, perhaps because
those spots afford them more privacy than the large floor mats in the
central part of the gym. Whatever the reason, my blonde angel, who
evidently finished her routine, is currently stretched out on her back
on a mat by the corner in which I am heading, and I have a long
stretch with nothing to do but look right at her and take in the
awesomeness that is her body.

I then get treated to a dozen laps of my own personal peep show,
seeing as I am the only one on the track by that point. And what a
show it is. Ever noticed how floor exercises, when done right, bear an
astonishing resemblance to stripper routines?

I am reminded of that observation as I watch blondie stretch a taut
body before me every time I take the last straight line of the
track. She starts with simple stretches, lying on her back, legs
extended, arms reaching up above her head.

By my next lap, she has shifted to her side, and she is lifting a leg
up, extended straight, in a sort of scissor move. I get to take in the
perfect line of her leg, and note how her skin is nearly golden.

Same move on my next lap, with the other leg this time, and facing
away from me. My eyes are rather unwittingly glued to her shorts,
which get pulled over her ass as her leg lifts, calling attention to
its indubitable tightness. I can't believe I'm the only one around
seeing this.

On my next lap, she has moved on to glute exercises, on her back with
legs folded at right angle, knees up, feet flat on the ground, as she
slowly lifts her hips, rotating her pelvis, keeping her knees together
and her upper back on the mat. Given where my mind has been for the
past half-hour, the movement is almost obscene. She looks as if she
was reaching up to a lover, offering herself to his thrusts, urging
him to take her faster, deeper, stronger. I try and fail to not look
at where her shorts are stretched between her legs, imagining how her
pussy lips look, how wet she gets when turned on.

The next lap brings her coup de grace. She is on her hands and knees,
back straight, head down, and gives me plenty of time to admire her
ass and how it leads into her upper thighs -- her shorts almost let
her cheeks peek out. Too bad. She then lifts a leg away from her body,
keeping it folded at right angle, like a puppy relieving herself
against a wall.

By the time I make it around the track again, my blonde angel is up
and picking up the mat she had brought with her. I take in her body as
a whole yet again, and idly wonder whether she can feel my eyes roam
up and down her legs. I suppose she does; I recall reading somewhere
that girls are often perfectly aware of all those old creepy perverts
hanging around gyms. At least I am not old.

When my eyes finally make their way up to her face, I realize she is
looking at me. Caught again. I almost miss a step. She does not seem
particularly bothered by my obvious attention; she gives me a little
almost shy smile and steps off the corner platform, mat tucked under
one arm, a towel in the other.

I only have a few seconds to make up my mind and throw all my sensible
rules out the window. If not for that last look, I might have let her
go, but that look held too much promise. Instead of rounding the track
when I reach the platform she has just left, I step over it and keep
on running, slowing down as I approach her. She's heard me, and turns
around, smiling and frowning at the same time.

"Hi," I say, out of breath, and trying very hard not to sound too much
the fool. Touchy, since I have no real clue what to say next.

"Hi?" she says. Nice voice. Lower than I would have guessed.

"My name's Kurt. Sorry to catch you like this, but I've been seeing
you around for a bit now, and figured I'd introduce myself before you
start thinking I'm nuts or something."

She's still smiling, a good sign. "Hi Kurt, I'm Sam... Samantha. Yeah,
I've seen you around too. Your routine seems... intense."

"Oh, you know, gotta keep the old body up and running. And your
routine is nothing to sneer at. You must have some of the most toned
legs in this gym."

She blushes at that. Nice. Especially since my drivel, which would be
ridiculed by the Neil Strausses of the world, is probably going to
lead me nowhere very fast. Fuck, I must really like this girl. I'm
usually not so shitty at this.

"Thanks, so... you don't look like a student here. You a prof, or --"

"No, no, I'm actually in finance. Got an office down the road. This
gym's just the most convenient for me, plus it's pretty nice. What
about you, student?"

She nods. "Senior in law school. Not as fancy as finance, I know."

"You kiddin' me? Finance is some of the most boring stuff around." And
I'm not even exaggerating, sadly. "But it pays the bills, and I get to
travel. And it does have its good moments. What kind of lawyer are you
setting out to be?"

"I don't know about being a lawyer yet. I'm thinking about going into
copyright law, the whole digital rights debate. It's been on my mind
ever since the whole thing with the student sued by the music industry
last fall."

Yes, a year ago, a student around here was sued by the RIAA for file
sharing. That caused quite a stir, and the debates around campus were
so vociferous that even I had heard about them. That was the opening I
was waiting for.

"Digital rights - you know, I have clients that are looking to invest
in digital media, but they are skittish for... well, for several
reasons. And I admit that I don't know much about what's going on in
that area. Perhaps I could pick your brain about it one of these days?
Call it a working lunch."

"I don't know." she hesitates.

"Very low key, nothing fancy, just a quiet lunch and many
questions. We can even talk about a consultancy fee. How about lunch
tomorrow, at the Panera around the corner?" Near the university, and
as unassuming a place to have lunch that I could think of.

She makes a decision, on the spot, and I can tell that it's not good
for me. "Look, you're nice, and who knows, this digital rights thing
of yours might even be true, but I have a boyfriend, and he might take
me going to lunch with an admittedly cute finance guy the wrong
way. So I'm going to pass on the invite, and I hope you won't be too
mad."

Damn. Well, it was a stretch anyways. "Okay, I understand. No
foul. Look, if you do decide to look into investments for digital
media, please do get in touch. Bauer Consulting, just google it."

She nods and smiles, and my heart skips a beat. Fuck, she's beautiful.

"Well, I'll see you around." She heads down the row of StairMasters
towards the stairs to the locker rooms. In the next four seconds, an
amazing amount of processing goes on between my ears. My eyes shift
down to Sam's ass, the way her shorts hug it tight, the way her legs
just emerge from those shorts, tanned, strong, long legs with a skin
promising silky softness. A voice in the back of my head points out
that she has a boyfriend -- something I can use -- and another more
insistent voice points out that she has the most delightful body I
have seen in a long while, and she cannot be more than twenty years
old, and do I remember how fantastic twenty-year old girls can be?

"Hey, Sam!"

She stops to look at me. I catch her eye, holding her gaze without
faltering until I feel a familiar tension build up behind my eyes that
eventually spreads to my whole body. I tremble slightly, and then
something just snaps and a warm wave floods through me. Like an
orgasm, I think, not for the first time.

Sam blinks a few times, then looks at me as though she is seeing me
for the first time. Her face splits into a smile, and almost run
towards me, arms extended.

"Luke, what are you doing here? I thought you hated the gym."

Go with the flow, Kurt, you know the drill by now. She thinks you're
Luke, presumably her boyfriend. "Well, figured I'd give it another
shot, considering how much you like it."

"That's so sweet!"

"Plus I get to look at you in this outfit. You're breathtaking, babe."

Sam blushes. "Thanks. It's too bad I'm just finished my routine. I can
stick around while you finish, then we can hang out. I've got nothing
till one. We should be able to snatch a table at the student center."

Time to start taking chances, old boy. I step closer to Sam, and ever
so slowly trail my fingers up her arm. She shivers at the touch, but
does not pull away.

"Hanging out at the student center is not quite what I had in mind." I
lean in closer, whispering in her ear. "Unless they've got beds in
there that I don't know about."

Sam blushes further and tries to say something, but all that comes out
is an incoherent stammer. I take advantage of her confusion to give
her a quick kiss by the ear, lingering a second, feeling the soft
skin, still salty from her workout.

I can feel her shiver, although we are hardly touching. "Luke, not
here... People can see." Ah, so either Luke is a secret fling, or my
blonde angel is uncomfortable with PDA. I suspect the latter, but the
approach is the same in both cases. I spy a column, out of the way to
our right.

"Come here."

I reach to the column, pulling Sam by the hand. She follows after a
surreptitious look around. No one is paying attention to us, aside
from the odd male casting a lingering look in Sam's direction,
probably not even registering me.

I circle around the column into a small recess by the wall, where we
are effectively cut off from view.

Sam's back is against the wall, and she looks at me with big blue eyes
waiting for my next move, suddenly and I think uncharacteristically
passive, although the slight quivering of her lips tells me all I
really need to know. My ability at work, bless it.

Sam closes her eyes as I lean over to kiss her; her lips are soft,
warm, hungry. It does not take long for her tongue to seek mine, for
her hand to reach behind my neck and pull me closer, for her body as a
whole to press against mine, skin to skin, thigh to thigh, crotch to
crotch. Any passiveness on her part is now gone, as I feel her hands
roam my back, go down to grab my ass, come back up my chest. She moans
in my mouth.

I can't believe the contrast between her skin, warm, smooth, soft to
the touch, and her body, tight, hard, strong. My own hands waste no
time to find her ass, a reflection of her own gestures. I feel her
weight shift through the thin gym shorts, and my right hand sneaks
down to caress the back of her thigh. She obliges by lifting her leg
off the floor.

As we get drawn deeper into the kiss, hidden away in our corner, Sam
gets hotter and hotter; her hands are more active, the leg I am
holding up is rubbing against my side, she is pushing against me,
moving her hips, thrusting her groin with the music, seeking contact,
moaning.

She pulls out of the kiss, abruptly, then traps my head in her hands,
looking at me. She's shaking.

"I want you."

Perfect, I think. I just smile, and Sam stops me before I can say
anything.

"I know I said I wasn't ready yet, that I still wanted to wait, that I
was still afraid, but no more. God, I'm so horny right now, I could
jump you right here and now."

Wait, what? Not ready, waiting? Good Lord, are you trying to tell me
that I've run into the only virgin left on this campus? That makes me
pause. Virgins are no favorite of mine; they are a lot of work. Those
religions promising to send you off to Valhalla and its buffet of
virgins? Not for this boy.

Sam must have felt me pull back. "I know this comes as a surprise, but
I kindda hoped you'd be happy." She's looking at me with large hopeful
eyes. Their blue is a pale one, and contrasts with her golden skin. I
have no idea how such a combination of tones could come to be, but
there it is, shining off a beautiful girl half-standing half-leaning
against me, warm, loving, and ready to fuck.

She does not feel like a virgin. I can't explain it, just some sense
you pick up over the years. I have been with many in the past, when I
was honing my skill, and they all share certain traits, certain ways
of acting and reacting to things sexual, a mix of desire and
apprehension, tinged with trepidation or eerie calm, and Sam has none
of these. That alone peaks my curiosity. Well, that, and Sam's hand
that has just disappeared between our intertwined bodies and started
to massage my cock through my shorts. Sam has a naughty smile on her
face, a kitten happy to have found a toy to play with.

Reluctantly, I grab her hand to keep her from causing a mess I might
have a hard time explaining. This is neither the place nor the time.

"Sam, Sam, please, okay, okay, you win!" Her look is all surprised
innocence.

"Listen, not here, not now. Don't you want our first time to be
special?"

Her pout is adorable, but she nods.

"Then, tonight, how about I stop at your place, and we can do this
right?"

She frowns while she thinks, and soon breaks into a smile. "Ronnie is
off to a play tonight, we should have the apartment to ourselves."

I kiss her neck, eliciting a moan.

"Wonderful. Eight o'clock, then? I'll call you before I show up, to
make sure everything is okay. My cell phone's shot though. Can you
remind me of your phone number?"

Touchy. As her boyfriend, I should know how to contact her. The cell
phone trick has always been useful to get around that problem. Who
under thirty remembers phone numbers anymore? Thankfully, when I use
my ability, girls tend to not be as suspicious as they might otherwise
be, a useful side-effect.

Sam obligingly gives me her phone number. A few more kisses, caresses,
and moans before we finally break apart and get on with our day.

She has just started to resume her walk to the locker room when I call
her name once more and stop her. I get closer, and whisper in her
ear. "Tonight, would you do me a favor? Dress sexy? For me?"

A naughty smile is her only answer.

I watch her go, eyes fixated to her ass, until she disappears through
the door of the women's locker room.

				* * *

The rest of my day goes on as usual: meetings, lunch with a client,
conference calls. I try to schedule my affairs so that I only need to
be in the office a few days a week. The rest, I can do comfortably
from home.

I can't help but have part of my mind returning to Sam, looking
forward to our date later this evening. I wonder how she's spending
the day. I wonder if she's spent some time with her Luke (which I
naturally picture in my head as a Mark Hamill look-alike, a somewhat
disturbing visual) and whether she's mentioned tonight's date. If so,
then poor Luke must be a very confused boy right now. Perhaps I should
have asked her not to say anything, to treat it as a game.

The nagging worry that Skywalker might show up at our little
rendezvous tonight increases over the course of the afternoon. I wish
there was a way I could ensure that he won't show up, but I don't know
anything but his first name. Damn. And calling Sam about it would make
matters worse.

At seven, after a spot of dinner, I call Sam. This is the decisive
juncture. My ability is organic, fluctuating, affecting different
people in different and unpredictable ways. I've gotten used to it
since the ability first manifested itself when I was a teenager, and I
have learned what pretty consistently works. But here I am kicking
things into less predictable territory.

I'm nervous. The effect of my ability reliably lasts a couple of
hours, and the likelihood of it fading increases with every passing
hour after that. The longest I have ever seen it last is twelve
hours. Of course, I can always prolong the effect by using my ability
again, but that option is not available to me right now, as I haven't
seen Sam since the gym this morning, almost ten hours ago, and I have
no idea where she lives. A rookie mistake. I can only hope that when
she picks up the phone, she is still under my influence.

Sam picks up after the third ring. I allow myself a sigh of relief
when she recognizes my voice as Luke's, and points out in answer to a
comment about having missed her all day that we could see each other
now. I conclude she must not have seen her boyfriend today. One less
problem to deal with. She gives me her address when I ask and tells me
in rather colorful terms how much she is looking forward to holding me
in an hour and "take her like the little girlfriend in heat she is." I
like that plan.

Forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and casually dressed, I
knock on the door of her apartment. The building is nice, clean, and
unexpectedly quiet for being on the outskirts of the student
ghetto. We're probably in grad students land. Good, last thing I want
right now is the pounding of the bass from some undergrad frat
party. Or the police. The police still makes me nervous, even though I
haven't had to deal with them in years.

Sam's voice comes out muted from inside the apartment, telling me to
come in, the door is unlocked. The apartment is dark, with a few
flickers of candlelight about, casting a warm eerie glow. Sam's voice
again, this time from down the hall: "Make yourself comfortable, baby,
I'll be right there."

I take off my jacket, sit on the couch, and assess the
surroundings. Typical student digs, perhaps with a touch more style
than usual. Someone with taste and an eye for decoration has set this
room up. I can't judge the colors in the candlelight, but I bet they
match. The living room is spacious, and I like the thick carpet
underfoot. Kitchen in one direction, and in the other a hallway that I
presume leads down to the bedrooms.

There's a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. I pour
the wine, smell it. Merlot, the default choice for many people. Not my
favorite, but I appreciate the effort. I take a sip, focusing on the
sting of the red wine on my tongue, trying hard to avoid thinking
about what's coming. Part of the fun, I realized a long time ago, lies
in not knowing what was going to happen. Anticipation can be
intoxicating.

"Hi, baby."

Sam's voice. I was lost in thought, and didn't hear her come in. She's
standing at the hallway entrance to the living room. She's not moving,
and that's just as well because it gives me sufficient time to drink
her in, like the tallest glass of water after a scorching walk in the
desert.

She is not wearing much, and what she is wearing plays with the light
from the candles in magical ways. A short negligee is my best guess,
something satiny, held up by two thin straps over her shoulders, and
reaching down to the top of her thighs. She is not wearing anything
else I can see. Her legs are exposed in all their glory, long and
smooth and delectable. It's funny, she probably showed as much skin
this morning at the gym, but the way the negligee is molded on her
body is positively obscene. I can easily make out the outline of her
breasts, and the mind fills in the blank of her waist, following her
hips down to her thighs and the treasure that lies between them.

She looks at me look at her. "I hope you like. I did not have much
time today to find something suitable."

"You look wonderful."

"Thank you. Is that glass for me?" She pulls off the nonchalance much
better than I right now.

I hand her the wine-filled glass as she strolls across the room. "Her
majesty's glass." My eyes are glued to her legs as she gets closer,
walking silently over the carpeted floor. The quietness and fluidity
of her stride is nearly feline.

Sam reaches for the glass. "Thank you, kind sir." She sips,
maintaining eye contact. My eyes have made it back to her face.

She is smiling. She puts her glass down, heads to the shelves by the
wall, and after fiddling with the sound system some soft nondescript
mood music comes out of hidden speakers. I recognize the melody, it's
been playing on the radio lately, but for the life of me cannot put a
name to the singer. Not that that's anything new. I stopped paying
attention to commercial music after Freddie Mercury died. But hey,
tonight, if Sam's happy, I'm happy.

And she seems happy. The song has a slow but snappy beat, and Sam's
getting into it. She still has her back to me, leaning against the
shelves. I drink my wine, just looking at her. The view is
beautiful. The negligee is cut low in the back, and I can see her
backside move through the thin material. Sam's swaying her hips in
time with the music, matching the rhythm. It is altogether hypnotic.

Sam pushes herself off the shelves, and starts dancing, a slow,
sensual swinging to the music, arms raised, eyes closed. She moves
like a dancer, and I idly wonder whether she takes classes. I'll have
to ask her later. Sam's hands are roaming as she dances, traveling
down her perfect runner's body, following the contour of her hips,
skimming over her thighs. Playfully, she lifts one side of her
negligee, revealing her upper leg straight up to her hip, and I don't
see any indication that she is wearing anything under the silk.

She gestures me to come up and join her. I smile, shake my head, and
hold my ground. I hate dancing. Unfazed, she bumps and grinds her way
to me across the living room, before holding out her hand to me, a
wicked smile on her lips. I stare at the offered hand for a beat or
two before sighing and joining her. She puts her arms around my neck,
hands loosely together behind me, and sways slowly, a foot away from
me, eyes closed.

She smells fresh and clean and delicious. My hands are on her
hips. The negligee definitely is silk, and thin silk at that. It
intensifies the feel of her skin. I will my hands to move up from her
hips to below her shoulders and then up her arms, which she obligingly
lifts. I get closer as my hands reach hers high above her head, thrown
back with eyes open and staring at me and lips parted. I lean over and
kiss her lips. She melts into me, as she did in the gym earlier,
except now it's only us in the darkened candlelit apartment,and the
night is still young.

The kiss is scorching. Sam's body rubs against mine, and I feel all
its details, her breasts against my chest, her stomach against mine,
her groin pushing into my erection, her leg trapped between my
legs. If this is how she feels when I'm still dressed, I worry about
my reaction when I'll be naked against her.

Sam interrupts those idle reflections by pushing me back down on the
couch before straddling me and resuming our kiss. Her hands are on my
face, and her hips are dancing wildly on my lap. She's losing control,
I can tell. She's getting off, rubbing herself against me, against my
cock through my jeans. I feel warmth and wetness seeping through, and
am tempted to let go and lose control as well.

My hands are on her thighs feeling the intricate muscle work under a
skin as silky as her negligee. With careful movements, I tug on her
shoulder straps, and the garment, with a little help, drops down to
reveal two perfect breasts that seem to rise up to meet me. She must
have been wearing the most excruciating of sports bra this morning,
because her breasts are not at all what I was led to believe.

I dive in, and grab a nipple between my lips, hands reaching up to
squeeze her other breast. Sam's breath catches, then she moans,
pushing her chest out to give me greater access. I kiss and nibble and
suck the offered globe like a starved man. She tastes like wild
berries. I lean Sam back, straining her legs, and she has to hold on
to me not to slide down to the floor.

We make out in that fashion on the couch for the better part of the
following fifteen minutes. By that point her negligee is but a piece
of fabric bunched around her waist. Sam has managed to take off my
shirt, and took a few minutes away from kissing and caressing my chest
to unzip my pants and massage my straining cock.

"I want you, bad. Now," she says, when we pause after a particularly
heated kiss. She's back on my lap, rubbing her crotch against mine. I
can feel her pussy leaking juice even through the material of my
briefs. She takes a deep breath, seems to come to a decision, then
leans over to whisper in my ear. "I want to feel your cock inside,
stretching me out."

She's trying on the words out loud. Nice. I should be encouraging. I
whispering back to her. "Funny, my cock also wants to be inside,
stretching your little pussy out, whereas I want to make you scream."
I pull back, look her in the eyes, smile. "I think we can come to some
sort of arrangement here." She smiles back, an endearing mix of
embarrassment and arousal etched on her face. I kiss her again.

"Where do you --" I start, but she doesn't let me finish. She stands
up and shimmies out of her negligee. It was not hiding anything , of
course, bunched up as it was around her waist, but somehow seeing Sam
completely naked without a stitch of clothing breaking her lines gets
to me. She is beautiful. I mentioned the tight runner's legs, long and
smooth, right? And the flat stomach, and the gently curved hips? And
the breasts, sitting perfectly proportioned high on her chest? Her
shoulders, the shoulders of a model on which a designer would
fantasize about hanging his latest fashion? She is simply
breathtaking.

Sam kneels in front of me, reaches for my pants and briefs and pulls
them off. My cock springs up to say hello. She strokes it softly. I
close my eyes, taking in the sensations; they never get old. I
probably let out a moan too, I'm not wholly sure.

She stops, and before I can jerk myself out of my reverie I feel first
her hot breath on my cock, then her lips gently wrapping themselves
around the head. She sucks me in, slowly, then out again. I open my
eyes. Like a blonde curtain, her hair hides her face from me. She bobs
her head up and down on my cock, slower than I usually like, but the
rhythm feels right tonight, and her mouth is fantastic. I tell her so,
can feel her smile.

Without warning, she lets me go and stands back up. "Hey, no! Please,
don't stop!" I complain. She laughs, as she straddles my lap once
more, grabbing my cock and aiming it at the wet slit between her
legs. "Well, if you're a good boy, I'll get back to it later. But now,
I have other things on my mind. I want that big cock in me." The head
of my cock touches her pussy lips, and it takes a fair amount of
self-control not to come right then and there. After the briefest
pause, Sam sinks onto my rod, and down she goes swallowing me almost
to the hilt, in one long swoop. She leans on me, and I can feel more
than hear her moan against my shoulder.

"Fuck, this feels good, so full." I wholeheartedly agree. Her pussy is
like a tight warm glove around my cock, squeezing it with every spasm
that runs through Sam. Her pussy is tighter than most I have recently
sampled, not surprising if she's a virgin. And I have to say that
things went off much better than I had feared; deflowering is much
more awkward in real life than on those fantasy stories one finds on
the internet. There's pain, parts that don't fit right, sometimes a
reinforced hymen. None of that tonight.

Sam is on my lap, having managed to take in my full length, and she is
contently sighing as she moves her hips to and fro. She seems to enjoy
the motion, if her regular "Mmmm... so good... feels so good..." are
anything to go by. I take advantage of the soothing rhythm to run my
hands over her body and nibble on her breasts, deliciously available
at mouth level.

Sam straightens up, and almost completely pulls me out, remaining with
only the tip of my cock nestled between her folds. She looks at me
with a wicked smile. "I wanna fuck you." Sure, knock yourself out. "I
wanna fuck you hard." From virgin to liking it rough in ten minutes. I
didn't know I was this good.

The thought perishes as she slams down on my cock. On the spot, I'm
not sure whether to feel pain or pleasure. For Sam, it's definitely
pleasure. Her mouth hangs open but no sound comes out, only an abrupt
exhaling as if she's not expecting what she's feeling. After a few
seconds, she goes through it again: she pulls herself off me, leaving
only the tip of my cock inside her, and then slams herself down. She
settles into a grueling rhythm, repeatedly slamming herself down on my
cock, and I fear that her stamina is no match for mine.

She mutterings under her breath, and it gets louder as she gets closer
to orgasm. I strain to hear, happy for the distraction -- her pumping
up and down is about to make me burst, and this is too much fun to
waste. Damn, I think, suddenly, protection! I don't see parenting in
my near future activities.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck..." is her litany, keeping tempo with her
humping. "Fuck... big cock... want big cock... down in my dirty little
pussy... so full... fill me... take me... ravage
me... fuck... deeper... fuck..." All sotto voce, almost mumbled. A
closet dirty talker, then. I need her to come before I let go. Stupid
machismo. If she is indeed into dirty talk, then...

I lean towards her and whisper loud enough so she can hear despite the
squeaky couch. "Come for me, my little sex angel. I want to feel you
come all around my cock. Squeeze that tight cunt of yours right around
my stiff cock."

She shivers upon hearing my words, her breath shortens, her motion on
my lap become jerkier, like an engine misfiring. She slams herself
down on top of me a few more times, hard. And then she comes.

She's a screamer, but she tries to contain it as best as she can,
jamming her face in the crook of my neck, and biting down as tremors
overwhelm her body. I hold on for dear life, trying to convince myself
that the blinding pain in my neck is a tribute to a job well done.

Sam collapses against me, drained, a sheen of sweat on her skin,
mumbling incoherently into my shoulder. Her breathing returns to
normal, slowly. She feels good against me.

"Come on," I say, gently rubbing her back. "Let's go somewhere more
comfortable."

Time to show off some of those gym moves. I just hope I don't throw
out something in my back. It's a good thing Sam's not much bigger than
she is.

I push off the couch, standing up, lifting Sam, still hooked around my
neck and with my dick embedded deep inside her. Lift with the legs,
Kurt, not the back. Sam lets out a moan and mutters something
indiscernible. I disengage, pulling her off my dick, and then she's
lying in my arms, a much easier position for me to carry her. She
cuddles up against me like a child. I head for the hallway.

"Sam, bedroom?"

Without looking, she gestures to the far door. The hallway is dark,
but I can still see enough from the candlelight in the living room. I
navigate the door frame without ramming Sam's head into it. I put her
down on the bed, and she seems to come alive somewhat, because she
pulls me in for a scorching kiss. Her body seeks mine, reaching up,
and my cock responds. But there are things I need to do.

"I'll be right back," I whisper, when I get a chance to say a word.

"Hurry," she says, eyes closed, still not wholly recovered.

I do. Step one, grabbing the pack of condoms from my pants in the
living room. Step two, kill the candles. Visions of the apartment
engulfed in flames dance in front of my eyes. I hurry back to the
bedroom.

Sam's come out of it. She has turned on a soft nightlight, and a
bluish glow suffuses the room. She is watching me, head raised up on
pillows, legs spread, a hand leisurely stroking a pussy still swollen
from out foray on the couch.

"You look very nice," I say, openly ogling. Sam blushes, but does not
close her legs or take her hand away.

I join her on the bed and flutter a light kiss on the inside of her
right thigh. She shivers, and moves her legs further apart. Lying
fully down, resting on my elbows, I kiss up her thigh, inducing more
shivers and a few moans as a reward. Her hand gets busier over her
pussy, fingers having moved to caressing her clit directly. I can
smell her arousal from where I am.

I have said it before, I will say it again, her skin is unbelievably
soft. I assess this with my lips now instead of my fingers, which
intensifies the feeling. When I reach the fold where her thigh runs
into the silk surrounding her pussy, I jump to her left thigh and
mirror my previous kiss trail. Sam moans in frustration at feeling me
get away from where she wants to be kissed the most.

Before long, though, I am back at the hearth between her thighs,
breathing in her scent, strong but sweet. She is using two fingers to
rub one of her pussy lips towards the top of her slit. I blow gently,
and when she feels it she pushes her hips up, no doubt to seek some
sort of contact. I tease her by blowing on her pussy some more, then
indulge in something I've been meaning to do ever since seeing her
this morning: lifting myself up, I deposit a slow heavy kiss on her
stomach, flat and taut and strong. I feel the toned muscles under her
skin, and follow the hollows down her sides, basking in the taste of
her skin, lightly salted after the sweat of our earlier exertions.

I return to her slit only to notice that her hand is nearly frantic
now. If I let her be, she's capable of coming again without me. I find
that completely unacceptable. Time to test out my earlier theory.

"Sam," I say, up on my elbows, face above her self-abusing hand,
"stop."

It takes a few seconds, but Sam eventually stops. Her eyes are open
and looking right at me. I have her attention.

"Do me a favor, will you? Spread your pussy lips and hold them out. I
want a taste."

Small hesitation -- I can detect a faint blush in the glow of the
nightlight. So she clearly has no qualms lying naked before me with
her legs spread, wanton, but words do have an effect on her.

"I want to offer yourself to me."

A moan this time, and she moves her hands down to her crotch, and with
two delicate fingers from each hand, she pulls apart her lips,
revealing a wet, red, aroused slit ready to be entertained.

I proceed to thoroughly eat her out, starting with a few tentative
caresses of my tongue alongside a fleshy lip, before moving on to her
engorged clit. By the time ten minutes have elapsed, I am alternating
between driving my tongue deep inside her as far as it will go, and
sucking on her little love nub. She has come twice already, and is
well on her way to a third orgasm.

It's time I get to play as well. I kneel up on the bed to Sam's cry of
protest and reach for the pack of condoms. I fumble with one before
managing to roll it onto my cock in one nice and smooth motion. If
only it had been so easy fifteen years ago.

After her initial disappointment, Sam has picked up on what I was up
to. Smart girl. She's back to caressing herself, staring straight at
my cock, transfixed. I like seeing that expression on her face. I am
not especially long, cock-wise, but I am wide. Pleasurably girthy, if
you will.

I lie down on top of Sam, who reaches down between us and with a small
warm hand grips a cock delighted by the attention. Sam shifts her hips
forward, and pitches up for me to impale her.

Except she never makes it. I move out of reach, still on top of
her. Her eyes shoot open, brows furrowed, a questioning groan on her
lips. I smirk, feeling naughty.

"No," I say, "not yet. Before I do anything, you have to tell me what
you want."

Sam shoots me a look of incomprehension, and then gasps, avoiding my
eyes. I love making her blush.

"Go on," I continue, "If you want it inside, you'll have to tell me."

She hesitates, and very softly, whispers, "I want you inside me."

"Come on, Sam, you can do better than that. Louder"

"I want your... dick inside."

I lean over her, bring my mouth to her ear. "You want my dick, my cock
deep inside you, don't you? You want me to spread you out, open you
up. You want me to take you, ravish you, fuck you until you can't
breathe anymore?"

Sam moans. I can feel her body sway under
mine. "Yesss... Inside... Wanna feel you, wanna feel you inside." I
kiss the side of neck, run my tongue up to her earlobe. "Wanna feel
your cock inside my little hungry pussy." Her voice started low, but
gains in intensity.

"Then what?" I ask. She has it in her, I know, she proved it
earlier. Except she wasn't quite herself then. Now I want more. I want
Samantha to speak, not lust.

Sam takes a deep breath. "Then I want you to... plunge your cock deep
inside me and fill me up."

"And you want me to fuck you?"

She turns her head back towards me, the red of the blush purplish in
the blur glow. Her eyes are sparkling.

"Then yes, I want you to fuck me. Is that what you want to hear, you
bastard?" The smile flirting at the edges of her mouth belies the
harshness of her words. "I want you to fuck me," she stabs her hips up
to punctuate her statement, to get me to react, "I want you to ram
your cock in me and split me open. Is that want you want to hear?"

"Yes," I say. "That's exactly what I want to hear." And then I kiss
her hard on the lips, and as she responds to my kiss, as her tongue
starts dueling with mine, I thrust into her, and she opens up like the
most joyous of flowers on a warm spring day.

I inch my way into her, slowly, inexorably, until I can go no further,
until I am embedded inside her as far as I can go. And then I stop. I
keep on kissing her, but remain motionless on top of her, my groin
flush against hers.

After a few seconds, Sam moans through the kiss, and the moan becomes
more insistent as time passes. I'm just enjoying myself, wholly lost
in the sweetness of Sam's lips. I can feel her trying to move her hips
and get some friction going, but I remain pushed against her,
unyielding.

She breaks the kiss and pushes off to look at me. I return her stare,
slapping what I hope is a sufficient smile on face. I just look at
her, really look at her, trying to express how much I am into her, how
much she makes my blood boil, how much I want to hear her scream as I
pound her, all without saying a word, all without moving.

I don't know if she gets it, but she just stares at me, mouth barely
open, eyes wide, and I can see the lust in them grow. She strains to
move against me, but as strong as she is, I am still just
stronger. Not to mention in a better position.

"Luke," she says, finally, "please fuck me."

I smile. After pulling out, I pause, before driving my cock back in,
all the way, with more power than the first time. Sam closes her eyes,
savoring the sensation, gasping as I bottom out.

I stop again when I'm all in, enjoying the feel of her pussy grasping
my cock, the sheer feel of having her around me.

"Fuck me," says Sam. She's looking at me again.

I pull out once more, and thrust into her.

"Fuck me."

I pull out, and ram back in. Her pussy is still tight.

"Luke," she says, grabbing my head in her hand, "take me, just take
me, before I fucking KILL YOU!"

Who am I to argue with such a request? I pick up the pace, and Sam
voices her appreciation. "Yes, come on, just take me, hard, you
fucking bastard!"

We do not last a long time at that pace. Sam urges me on with
increasingly explicit descriptions and demands, and I try to maintain
a good regular beat, pulling out completely before driving into her,
again and again. Sam has pulled her knees up by her chest to let me in
deeper, and her breathing gets shorter and shorter. She's had a few
orgasms in the last few minutes, and I feel disgustingly proud.

"Sam, I'm gonna come soon."

"Go on, come, I want to feel you inside -- God, I wish I could feel
you spurt into me -- unless..." she looks devious, "unless you want to
come on me instead? Like in the pornos? Would you like to come on me?
On my stomach? On my boobs? On my face? Wouldn't you like that, to see
your jizz drip down my face?"

I don't know about you, Luke, but I do enjoy coming on a pretty girl
when she's into it. But not tonight. I want to feel the warmth of her
pussy as I come. Which is exactly what happens. I stiffen as I feel my
balls about to explode, and then they do and raw fire courses through
my cock. Sam feels it, and pulls me close, hugging me fiercely,
rubbing her legs against my sides, squeezing me with her cunt.

"That's it, baby, that's it, come in me, come in me. Oooh..." she
stiffens herself, and has a last orgasm, a quiet one, a final flicker
on a long evening of passion.

We're both spent, and we just lie down, collapsed in each other's
arms. I pull out of her so that the condom does not roll off when my
cock deflates, but I shouldn't have feared anything, as my cock is
still hard. Still, I roll over on my back, and Sam puts her head on my
chest, long hair spilled out all over me like a blonde fan.

"That was wonderful, Sam, that was... wow."

"It was," she says. "Thank you."

"Oh, hey, you know, I didn't do much."

She raises herself up on an elbow, hooks her hair behind an ear, and
the gesture makes her look younger than she is. She's looking at me.

"You've been incredibly patient. I know it wasn't easy to wait so long
before... you know..."

"Before fucking like bunnies? Don't be shy, you've said much more
interesting things earlier."

She blushes. That girl is going to burn up from the inside one
day. "Yes, I have, haven't I? I guess talking dirty turns me on more
than I'd like to admit. Anyways! Your patience. Thank you."

"No problem." Ain't that the truth. I feel like Cyrano's Christian,
plucking the ripe kiss from a Roxanne seduced by someone else. Not
enough to feel guilty about it, mind you.

"And actually, for a first time, it went very well. I've heard horror
stories about losing one's virginity, so I was a bit worried."

"I wasn't a virgin."

"Huh? Then... what... why?"

She sighs. "It's a long story, and not especially interesting. To keep
it short, it involved an uncle, some clueless parents, a scared little
girl, and a lot of pain. It was only one time, one Christmas, a long
time ago, but that was enough. I've been scared of intercourse ever
since."

"Sam, my God, I'm sorry... had I known..."

"Had you known, you probably would not have done what you did
tonight. I don't know why, I don't know how, but being with you
tonight, I felt none of the fear that was plaguing me in the
past. Just overwhelming lust, like nothing could get in the way.  I
don't know how you did it, but it was like plunging through a thick
fog and finally getting to the other side back in the warm sunshine."

I could guess what had happened. My ability, which tends to arouse
deep lust fed by powerful fantasies, must have overwhelmed her
fear-induced block. Amazing. The thought of launching into a
prosperous sexual-hangup therapist career crosses my mind, before
being dismissed as a stupendously bad idea.

"I don't know what I did either," I say, "but I'm glad I did it."

She grins. "Of course, now we have some catching up to do. Shall we go
again?" She reaches down to grasp my cock, and I gasp.

"Wait... hold on. Still sensitive. Gimme a sec. I'll be right back." I
get off the bed, and head for the bathroom down in the hall.

"Hurry back, there's something I want to try." I can hear the
wickedness in her voice. Great, I created a monster, I think, not
sorry for a second.

I take a quick leak in the frighteningly pink and fluffy bathroom, and
then my life becomes real complicated real fast.

It starts with a key jiggling in the lock of the apartment door, and a
deep-seated survival instinct makes me shut the light off in the
bathroom and close the door but for a little sliver that leaves me
enough of an opening to look out in the hallway. If I'm lucky, it's
the roommate home early from a failed date. I can deal with someone of
the female persuasion. "Sam, baby, you here?"

A man's voice. Baby. Fuck. Must be Luke. Or not. Either way, bad
news. My ability doesn't work so well with men. And here I am, trapped
in the bathroom, naked but for a spent condom threatening to fall off
my now limp dick.

"In the bedroom, silly. I'm still waiting for you," shouts Sam.

"What do you mean, waiting?" I hear footsteps coming down the hall. A
tall lanky boy, short blond hair, long leather jacket passes in front
of the door I'm hiding behind. Hello Luke, pleased to meet you. Your
girlfriend's a delicious lover.

"What the...? Sam? What... Fuck... Wow!" Okay, so Luke is no English
major. Then again, I can't claim I wouldn't react similarly if my
girlfriend was waiting for me naked in bed, looking like Sam did.

"Hope you don't mind," I hear Sam from the bedroom, "but I've always
wondered what it'd feel like to be taken from behind. It is
so... nasty. Slutty. Can I be your slut tonight, Luke? Do you want to
fuck your little slut from behind? I sweat I'll make it good for
you. Please?"

I'm sure you will, Sam, I'm sure you will. The visual of Sam on her
hands and knees on the bed, tight little ass up in the air, perhaps
swaying gently, waiting to be grabbed and penetrated gets my cock hard
again. Great timing, pal.

I never hear Luke's reply, and there may never have been one. All I
hear is sounds of someone disrobing, and I take it that he is doing
the smart thing of shutting up and fucking the hot number on the
bed. Fucking lucky bastard.

And indeed, I eventually hear Sam's sharp intake of breath and
heartfelt "Fuck yeah, push that cock in me, fuck yeah, fuck me!"
followed by the unmistakable sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Off they
go.

I wait perhaps five minutes, then chance a look out the door towards
the bedroom. Luke has his back to me, standing at the foot of the bed,
and is hammering into Sam, who's indeed on all four on the bed, head
down into a pillow, giving a running commentary of the thorough
fucking she is receiving.

They are distracted enough that they never notice me sneak out of the
bathroom. Trying to be as quiet as possible, although given the racket
that those kids are making, I probably shouldn't have worried, I
quickly get dressed in the living room, and negotiate the apartment
door without bumping into a fragile vase or something.

The last thing I hear before I close the door and head back home is
Sam's first doggy-style orgasm. The thought that it is the first of
many makes me smile. You're welcome, Sam. Good luck to you.

