Chapter 31: The Dormitory Visit
The scent of her wouldn’t leave. It was in his pillows, on his skin, a ghost in the fabric of his shirt. Julian sat at his desk, a geology textbook open to a diagram of magma flows, but all he saw was the wet patch on the library floor. Anne had kissed him goodbye an hour ago, her lips soft and trusting, and he’d tasted the lie on his own tongue.
A knock at his dorm room door, sharp and authoritative, shattered the silence. Not the hesitant tap of a floormate. His blood went cold.
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Izzy stood in the hallway, a silhouette in a belted trench coat. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of his single desk lamp. She surveyed the room—the rumpled bed, the cluttered desk, the faded band poster—like a collector assessing a new acquisition.
“Cozy,” she said, her voice a low hum. She didn’t smile.
“How did you get in?” His voice was flat.
“A woman in a trench coat looking distraught? I told the boy at the front desk I was your aunt, bringing news of a family emergency. He practically ushered me up.” She unknotted the belt of her coat, letting it fall open. Underneath, she wore nothing but a sheer black bodysuit, lace cutting across her hips, the dark shadow of her nipples and the triangle between her legs perfectly visible. She was a violation of this bland, adolescent space.
“Anne just left,” he said, as if that were a shield.
“I know. I watched her from my car. Little mouse, scurrying off to her books.” Izzy shrugged the coat off, letting it pool on his floor. She approached him where he sat paralyzed at his desk. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing his lower lip. “You’ve been thinking about it. About the library. About me on that desk. You’re thinking about it right now.”
He was. His body responded before his mind could form a denial, a thickening ache in his groin.
“Good,” she whispered. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him from the chair, steering him toward the narrow single bed. She pushed him down onto his back. The springs groaned. She stood over him, a goddess of corrupted flesh, and slowly peeled the bodysuit down her torso, revealing inch after inch of pale skin. She stepped out of it, kicked it aside, and was naked.
“Look at me.”
He did. The curve of her stomach, the dark thatch of hair, the faint, gleaming wetness already there.
She climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of his head. She didn’t lower herself onto his mouth. She hovered, an inch away. The heat of her radiated down. The musky, intimate scent filled his nostrils, overwhelming the last traces of Anne’s vanilla.
“You don’t get to fuck me today,” she said, looking down her body at his face. “Today you worship. Show me what that clever tongue can do. Lick me like you mean it. Like your life depends on it.”
She lowered herself the final inch.
Her cunt settled over his mouth, warm and heavy. He could feel the swollen folds, the hard nub of her clit against his upper lip. He opened his mouth, tentatively tracing a seam with his tongue.
Her hand gripped his hair again, guiding him. “Harder. Stop being a timid boy. Eat me.”
He pressed his tongue flat against her, licking a broad, slow stripe from her entrance to her clit. She tasted sharp and clean, a saline urgency. He circled her clit, then sucked it gently into his mouth.
“Yes,” she hissed. Her hips began a slow, grinding rhythm against his face. “Just like that. Now fuck me with your tongue.”
He obeyed, probing into her opening, fucking her with shallow thrusts of his tongue while his nose pressed into her curls. The sounds were obscene—the wet, slurping noises, her ragged breaths, the creak of the bed. With her free hand, she reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, yanking them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. She took him in a firm, rough grip, jerking him in time with the movements of her hips on his face.
“This is what you are,” she panted, her voice dripping with contempt and pleasure. “A mouth for my cunt and a cock for my hand. Nothing more. Think about Anne. Think about her holding this. While it’s covered in my spit.”
The image, coupled with the ruthless friction of her hand, made him buck underneath her. He redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking with a frantic dedication, drowning in her. He felt her muscles begin to flutter around his tongue. Her grip on his hair became vice-like.
“I’m gonna come,” she grunted, her movements turning jerky, animal. “Swallow it. Swallow every fucking drop.”
Her orgasm hit with a guttural cry. She ground her cunt down hard against his mouth, a pulsing, wet flood of herself coating his tongue and chin. He drank her down, the taste of her climax bitter and profound. She shuddered, her whole body trembling, before she finally lifted herself off his face.
She was panting, her skin sheened with sweat. She looked wrecked and magnificent. Without a word, she flipped him onto his stomach with surprising strength. He heard the tear of a foil packet—she’d brought a condom—and then the smooth roll of latex over his cock.
Then she was on him again, straddling his hips, but facing away. She guided him inside her from behind, sinking down onto him in one smooth, deep motion. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his rumpled sheets, her back arched. From this angle, he could see the tense muscles of her spine, the sway of her breasts, the obscene joining of their bodies.
She began to ride him, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm. Each rise and fall took him to the hilt. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, her low moans, his choked gasps into the pillow.
She glanced over her shoulder, her emerald eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “You wanna know a secret?” she breathed, her voice a filthy whisper. “I think about her too. Your sweet Anne. I think about watching. I think about teaching her.”
Julian froze beneath her, a cold dread spearing through the heat.
Izzy leaned forward further, until her lips were beside his ear. She fucked herself back onto him with deliberate, rolling thrusts as she whispered. “I think about pinning her pretty little wrists. Making her watch as I suck you off. Then showing her how to take you deep in her throat. How would she like that, Jules? You think she’d cry? Or you think she’d get wet for us?”
“Stop,” he rasped, but his hips betrayed him, lifting to meet her downward stroke.
“No,” she hissed, riding him harder. “I think she’d learn to love it. We could corrupt her together. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Having us both? Your little girlfriend on her knees, begging for your cock, and me telling her exactly how to please you.”
The fantasy was a dark, spreading poison in his mind. It was wrong. It was monstrous. It made his orgasm gather like a storm at the base of his spine, unstoppable and shameful.
“I’m gonna come,” he groaned, the confession torn from him.
“Come then,” she commanded, slamming down onto him. “Fill the rubber. Imagine it’s her tight little cunt you’re painting. Imagine she’s watching.”
His climax ripped through him, a silent, convulsive eruption. He buried his face in the pillow to stifle the cry, his body buckling under hers. She milked him through it, rocking gently until he was spent and shuddering.
She climbed off him, disposing of the condom in his small trash can with a clinical flick. She dressed in silence, pulling the bodysuit back on, wrapping herself in the trench coat. She looked at him, a heap of trembling limbs on the stained sheets.
She walked to the door, then paused. “Wash your face,” she said, her tone now casual, almost dismissive. “But don’t change the sheets. I want you to smell me in your sleep. I want you to dream of what we’re going to do to her.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
Julian rolled onto his back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The scent of sex and her perfume was a thick, cloying blanket. He could still feel the phantom grip of her hand on his cock, the echo of her words in his ear. He imagined Anne’s wide, trusting eyes. Then he imagined them clouded with confused pleasure.
He didn’t get up. He lay there in the library quiet of his own ruin, the dangerous new fantasy taking root in the dark, fertile soil she’d tilled.