There I was, leaned over the side of her bed, legs spread wide, bound and blindfolded. I could hardly move, could barely even squirm. She’d put these bondage cuffs on my wrists and ankles; ones that had metal fasteners to either be clipped together or restrained to something else.
And restrained, I most definitely was. She’d guided me to the bed, drunk and horny, and had maneuvered me into this mess. She’d stretched me forward, sprawled me over the bed and locked my bondage cuffs together and to something on the other side. My ankles were spread wide and bound to the bed posts via thick cords. I was completely helpless, completely at her mercy.
She played with my ass, fingering it, loosening it for the fucking to come.
It just doesn’t work like this, damn it! Men do the fucking. Women get fucked. That’s the way of life. But apparently, no one had informedher of this universal rule. I was so nervous and scared and wanted to beg off the whole thing, but something kept me silent. Something let the ass play continue and let the fucking to come draw closer. I was horny. In fact, I was so rock hard it hurt.
How thefuck did I get myself into this mess?
* * *
Like many episodes of exploration, experimentation, and discovery, this one started in college. I came to college with two very achievable goals in my minds: getting my degree and getting laid. The first was normal enough. Computer science seemed as good a degree as any, and I’d had some light programming classes in high school. So, get a degree, get a job, make tons of money. The American dream, right?
Right.
And then there was the second goal. I wasn’t exactly sure how to pursue that one. Several unfortunate and demoralizing incidents throughout my high school days had made me quite socially passive. As embarrassing as it was to admit, I was still a virgin. Nineteen and still a virgin! How pathetic.
But, I was going to rectify that inadequacy! . . . somehow . . .
Back in high school, my problem had been my personality. I was very studious and unfortunately rather introverted. Most people mistook this as snobbish and uptight, which wasso not true!
But I soon discovered that in college those problems weren’t nearly as prevalent. Most of the worthless chaff in life either didn’t make it to college, or got cut out of it early on. Bonus! Those that were left seemed much more like me than any clique in high school. I was sure I could find a group of friends to fit in with, preferably one with plenty of attractive young ladies in it (naturally).
I met Teresa (her friends called her Tessa) early in the first semester. What can I say, she washot. Her body was beautifully proportioned, not exactly voluptuous, but slim and athletic. I learned later that she’d been both a gymnast and a ballerina growing up. She had this wonderful hourglass figure, silken blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. The oval black-rimmed glasses she wore gave her a wonderful air of sophistication and intellect.
Quiet and subdued, she was almost always smiling, as if the world at large delighted her. She was such a sweet and innocent thing, almost angelic, when I thought about it. Perfect. Absolutelyperfect! Now I just had to build up the courage to talk to her (and find an opening when our calculus professor wasn’t droning on).
A perfect innocent angel. That was my first impression.
Man, was I off the mark.
She’d chosen to wear her exquisite hair in a ponytail today, held in place with an intricate clasp. She’d wore this one before, a genuine silver article . . . probably awfully expensive. The clasp had these strange designs on it, almost like waves in an ocean, and strategically placed little green gems. I wondered how wealthy her family was, and if possibly this would make her look down on me. My family was pretty middle-class.
How did I know all of this about the clasp? Because I spent fifty minutes every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday staring at the back of her head, that’s how.
The professor was late today. I later found out that he’d gotten a ticket for speeding. Good old traffic patrol. If they can catch you going 30 in a 25, they will. I made a mental note not to oink the next time I passed one of their cruisers. Delaying the professordefinitely fell into the category of public service.
However, I had more important matters to consider than where my calc prof was. My mind busily tried to conjure up some excuse to start talking to Tessa. I opened my calc book, rifled through it, glanced through my notes. Nothing was really coming to mind. I should have left some of the practice problems undone. That way, I could have asked for her help . . .
Hmmm . . . I looked down at the last problem in my notebook, gripped the top of the page, and began to pull it out along the perforated edge.
I got about halfway through when Tessa turned around.
“Hi!”
“Uhh . . .” Iso wish I could think faster on my feet.
“Got a minute?” she asked sweetly. She had this intoxicating grin on her face, and somehow, just by looking at me, she made me feel as if I had put it there. Total tripe, of course, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.
“Uhh . . . sure,” I said, recovering as best I could. “What do you need?”
Tessa adjusted her posture in her seat, swinging her bare legs over the side and crossing them. She set her notebook on my desk and turned it so I could read it. Wow. Her handwriting was so neat, way better than the scribbled notes and half-thoughts in my notebook.
“This one. I’m having a lot of trouble with it.”
I looked at the problem. My first reaction wasyou’re having a lot of trouble with that one? . . . but I didn’t say anything. I’m notthat much of an idiot.
The problem dealt with deriving of the kinematics equations for position, speed, and acceleration. Not very tough for anyone who’s had a physics class. I explained it as best I could. The problem was actually a good one to teach, since it had so many practical applications. Anyone could mentally grasp position, velocity, and acceleration, and the problem demonstrated how those three equations where related mathematically.
“Wow . . . thatreallycleared things up. How about you teach the class instead of Herr Langeweile?”
What the? Herr Langeweile . . .?
She must have seen the confusion written on my face.
“It’s German.”
Well, I pretty much figured out that part from the “Herr.”
“Langeweile means boredom.”
“Ah! Okay. I get it now,” I said, then gave her a courtesy laugh for the effort.
“Didn’t you take a foreign language in high school?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, thinking through my words before speaking. I didn’t want the situation to deteriorate, especially after having such a promising start. “I took Italian. Don’t remember a thing.”
Tessa smiled sweetly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It was pretty vague.”
“I’m sure if I understood German, it would have been very funny,” I said and that got a polite chuckle for my effort. Sweet.
We spent the rest of the class chatting about this and that, though mostly about our classes. We exchanged names officially, though I already knew hers“Nice to meet you, David. I’m Teresa, but my friends call me Tessa.” She was a computer science major, just like me, starting out this semester, just like me. I thought it was odd I didn’t see her in more classes, but then, we both had a lot of useless non-computer-science classes to get out of the way. She was actually taking Fencing this semester as one of her Phys Ed requirements.