Summer Shorts 3 Page 2

  She hadn’t expected Logan to touch her there so soon. She could feel the fabric of her moist panty rubbing against her sex. Her crotch was undeniably wet. She felt a little embarrassed that Logan held proof in his hand of her intention for the night.

  “Hum,” he softly leered. “You ready, baby?”

  “Easy, easy,” Rafia said. She chuckled and pushed his hand from between her legs. He nibbled on her neck and mumbled, “You’re going to like this, baby.”

  Rafia wondered if Logan had somehow forgotten her name. She tried to remember if he had called her by name even once tonight. He hadn’t said much, but she couldn’t be quite certain. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  He massaged her breasts, and Rafia closed her eyes and moaned. She enjoyed being touched, the electric pleasure of physical attention from a boy. He nibbled her earlobe, running his hand down her back. Suddenly Logan took fistfuls of her bottom in his meaty hands and groaned deep in his throat like an animal.

  Rafia felt her dress riding high on her hips and groaned herself. His rugged abandon triggered something inside her, an unmistakable desire to be with someone exactly like him, someone who wasn’t afraid of sex and who knew how to perform. But his viselike grip pained her. As she tried to squirm out of his hands, she succeeded only in thrusting her own groin against his already hard cock. Rafia felt her dress rising over her hips, up her back.

  She wanted to tell Logan to slow down. Wanted to say that she liked him, that he could simply have her. He didn’t need to be so rough. But it was no good. She couldn’t get the words out fast enough, and he wasn’t listening anyhow. Her dress came over her head as she backed away from him, a delicate gasp falling from her lips.

  Panting from exertion, Rafia found herself standing in the middle of the room in only her panties and bra. Her blood thumped in her ears.

  For a beat, no one said anything.

  Then Logan grinned and ducked his head—that same shy boy grin from earlier in the night—and Rafia felt a surge of relief. She laughed. Shook her head.

  The last thing she wanted was to race downstairs into the crowded party wearing only her underwear. She smelled a strange odor, something like burnt match heads. A whiff so brief it hardly even registered in her mind.

  She kicked off one of her shoes and then the other.

  Logan let her dress fall to the floor, and then he was at her again, kissing her mouth and neck and touching her breasts. To prevent him from ripping her bra, she unfastened it and let her small breasts free.

  He took one of her nipples between his fingers, twirling it like a little pebble. He backed her onto a nearby couch, laid her down, and then knelt between her legs. Rafia lay back and gave herself over to him. His big hands felt good on her thighs, and she was eager to feel him inside her. As he tugged her panties from her hips, Rafia heard the fabric rip. She sighed with great disappointment, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  He unfastened his pants and lowered his fly.

  Rafia saw the head of his thick penis in his hand, and then he was on her. His weight pinned her to the couch, his hand fumbled between their bodies. She could feel the head of his cock press against her sex and then he filled her. He was inside her. She gasped aloud, as much from the shock of being penetrated as from accepting his full weight onto her slim frame.

  He rose up onto his elbows, and she found she could move just a bit. Hard thrusts followed. He seemed unstoppable. Like some overwhelming tsunami of flesh. He was pushing himself up inside her. Fucking her. Rafia peered between their bodies and saw his wet cock disappearing between her legs.

  Rafia knew it made little sense, but she felt certain he wanted to swallow her whole. Consume her. His hands cupped her shoulders, his hot breath warmed her neck.

  “Fuck, baby. Fuck,” he whispered.

  Rafia wrapped her slender legs around his body, accepting him. Riding him. She ran her hands along his torso, the cotton fabric of his T-shirt. He had kept most of his clothes on, while she lay nude underneath him. He rode her this way for the next few minutes. The fact of their unequal dress made her feel more vulnerable. Wanting the comfort of his bare skin, she sent her hands as far down his backside as she could, grasping for his bottom.

  Then he groaned loudly. Raising himself up, he ground his cock inside her.

  “Take it, baby. Take it,” he whispered in a throaty voice.

  The wide expanse of his chest loomed over Rafia. Such an attractive boy, his mouth twisted with lust, eyes screwed shut. And then he stopped. Collapsed. Sighed deeply. Rafia listened to his heavy breathing, felt the bulk of his sweaty head nuzzled beside her own.

  Then Logan snorted. He chuckled.

  Rising fast, he shushed her, touching his fingertips gently to Rafia’s lips. Snapping off a nearby lamp, he pitched the room into total darkness.

  Rafia felt grateful for the shadows.

  She wanted to collect herself. She felt aroused, not sated. As she lay there, she was aware that he was moving about the room. She heard the door open, the sounds of the music and the people downstairs momentarily growing louder, then fading away as the door softly closed.

  She had done it. Not entirely as she had expected, but then things never seemed to happen the way you thought they would.

  Her skin felt wet. His sweat, her own. As she lay there, she became aware of his cum leaking out of her. She hoped he had gone to retrieve a towel even as she heard the door to the room open again. The sound of the party, then the soft muffled thud of the door into its jamb. His return. Feet padding around in the dark. His feet.

  Rafia willed herself not to look at him, though it would have been impossible to see him in the dim light anyhow. She wanted to take on the role of the wounded date. Meant to tell him about how rough he had been with her. Had he really ripped her sexy black panties? She felt annoyed. She meant to make him say her name—Rafia. Wouldn’t accept another “baby” from him for the rest of the night. American boys respected assertiveness.

  But she didn’t want to be shrill. Not a bitch.

  She raised her arms over her head and nuzzled her bottom into the couch. Tone was important. She felt the cool air on her damp underarms, enjoyed the stretch of her torso. Draped one of her slender legs over the back of the couch.

  He knelt nearby the couch, his hand on her tummy. Rafia kept her gaze averted. Let him do some work to get her attention.

  His hand moved to her breast, massaging her nipple. Cocking her arm over her eyes, Rafia enjoyed the feel of his fingertips on her body. He’d returned to make sure she’d get to come tonight. This thought pleased her. Sure enough, Rafia felt his hand on the inside of her thigh. She licked her lips, tried to remain absolutely still as he explored her. Perhaps he would use his tongue on her. When his light touch moved up her thigh to the hot spot between her legs, Rafia gave a soft moan. His thumb rubbed her clit. Gently rotating her hips, she wanted more of his touch. Could feel her own desire mounting.

  He withdrew his hand and Rafia heard him unfasten his fly, lower his pants. Here was a boy with an ability to match his appetite!

  Rafia smiled as he raised her knees toward her chest. She opened herself wide, gave herself over to him. He mounted her, remaining upright. Though she had already surrendered the role of wounded date, Rafia kept her arm mostly across her eyes, the better to focus on her own hard breathing, the orgasm steadily mounting in her body.

  She listened to the wet sounds coming from between her legs. His earlier deposit had left her wet, slippery. His cock popped out of her and he rubbed its fat head on her lips before sliding himself back inside. He pressed his hands on the backs of her thighs and pumped his hips with abandon. Rafia felt her own pressing needs rising.

  Then he leaned forward and put his warm mouth on her nipple. She groaned out loud. Reaching for him, Rafia got the shock of her life—a head full of soft curls, a slim torso. This wasn’t Logan!

  She gasped.

  If the boy recognized it as a gasp of surpri
se, he didn’t let on. Rafia’s mind raced. Perhaps there were other rooms on this floor and he had been up here with his own date. Perhaps he left to go to the bathroom, got mixed up and ended up in the wrong room. He stopped suckling her breast. His head was only inches from her own, but Rafia couldn’t make out who he was in the dim light. Rafia felt her stomach lurch, even as her body strummed with desire. Whoever this was, she had willingly opened her legs for him. Now he was inside of her. His hips jacking in and out. Fucking her. Filling her with his slick cock. What would Logan think?

  What to do? What to do? —Tap this boy on the shoulder, say, “Excuse me?”

  Lying still, Rafia listened to her own heavy breathing. The discovery had cost her some sexual momentum, but the further she got from the find—and the longer the boy pumped his cock between her legs—the less it seemed to matter. She was so very close to orgasm, her first during sex. She smelled something like burning sugar, a sweet cloying smell that soon filled her mind. A deliciously dirty idea took shape for her—Rafia decided to wait until after her own orgasm to reveal the mistake this boy had made. Of course, she would allow herself to be appropriately appalled in the aftermath, but only after she had come. As she gave herself over to this course of action, she let go, lost her inhibitions and began to roll her little bottom and moan. Whimper. Rafia rode that slippery fat cock between her legs. Suddenly the door burst open, and the rich, driving beat of house music filled the room.

  The boy raised himself stiff-armed on the couch and shouted with great irritation at the door: “Not done yet!”

  Rafia glanced toward the door and saw—before it was hastily pulled shut—a small crowd of heads and shoulders standing outside. The boy on top of her continued to thrust himself between her legs. In the dim light, she could just make out his white teeth. He was grinning down at her.

  “Logan?” Rafia asked. She meant it as a question of the boy, but then she immediately turned her head and called the same name to the door. “Logan!”

  “He’s downstairs,” the boy said softly. “He can’t hear you.”

  The boy slowed his thrusts. Now he used a gentle grinding motion of his hips. “Logan doesn’t mind,” the boy said. He sighed tenderly and settled into a comfortable rhythm with his hips. Rafia considered this new information. Her mind raced.

  No one said anything.

  The boy silently began resuming his thrusts. Softly at first, then with growing intensity and purpose. Rafia listened to his breathy grunts, the sound the couch made as it received his efforts. She realized the crowd outside the door was a line. A line of boys. Boys waiting to come inside here.

  To come inside her.

  Then the boy’s body stiffened. He groaned loudly. For the second time that night, a boy ground his cock between her legs, filling her with his warm semen. More cum between her legs, mixing with juice that was already there.

  Rafia heard the door open and close and someone else was in the room.

  A light came on.

  Chet Morris stood looking at her, his hand on a small lamp on the far end of the couch. Rafia turned her head, looked away. She felt embarrassed that Chet should see her like this—on her back, without any clothes, having just finished sex with some boy who was not Logan. Her face warmed with shame.

  The boy atop her rose, his wet dick still thick, bobbing.

  Rafia recognized him as Roy Talbot, from the senior class, who was also on the football team. He had large brown eyes and a swimmer’s slender body. Earlier this evening, Logan had introduced Roy to her, along with Roy’s date—Becky something or other—one of the cheerleaders.

  Rafia tentatively glanced at Chet. He smiled warmly—without judgment—his confident movie star smile. He looked like a prince, a crusading knight come to rescue her.

  “That was great,” Roy said quietly to Rafia.

  Roy had an impish grin. Curly, brown hair, and full lips. Though the thought shamed her somewhat, Rafia couldn’t deny she felt pleased he was such a good-looking boy. She recalled how perfectly dirty she’d felt when she decided to let him finish her off. It was difficult for her to admit that she found him attractive. Refusing to meet his gaze, Rafia looked at a point on the wall just past his shoulder.

  Roy pulled up his pants.

  Turning to Chet, Roy cocked his head. “Damn,” he said with a grin. “Give a brother a minute.”

  Chet grinned. He sat on the edge of the couch near Rafia’s legs. He reached his hand to her, letting his fingertips brush lightly across her ankle.

  Rafia blinked.

  She looked at Chet’s hand on her ankle, then looked him boldly in the eye. He let his hand retreat from her foot, but his smile never wavered.

  Chet wasn’t here to rescue her. He was here to fuck her. It was his turn. He was up next.

  Chet sipped his drink and watched Roy fasten his pants.

  Roy tousled Rafia’s hair, softly brushed her cheek with his fingertips, and then he strode from the room. As the door swung shut behind him, Rafia watched him high-five some of the boys in the hall outside.

  When they were alone, Chet handed Rafia his drink.

  “You ready?” he whispered.

  That same burning odor was in the air again, but this time it was much more pronounced. It smelled sickly sweet, like a marshmallow dropped into a campfire. Rafia inhaled deeply, allowing it to fill her mind. Chet was the whole package. Handsome. Popular. Easily the most sought after student in the entire school, perhaps all of Carnal. Squeezing her thighs together, she felt semen seep from between her legs. Her labia pulsed with desire.

  Rafia blew air nosily from her mouth and nodded her head.

  It shamed her to agree, but she didn’t care. She was already nude. Her panties were torn, her dress and bra strewn somewhere on the floor. And besides, she’d already fucked two boys tonight. What harm was one more?

  Chet stood and removed his running jacket. He tossed it over the back of the couch. He had on a light nylon shirt that wasn’t tight, but somehow accentuated his muscular torso. Just as Rafia marveled at the cut of his body under the shirt, he tugged it over his head, revealing his muscled abdomen and strong, hairless chest.

  Rafia felt a great wave of desire wash over her. If she felt any lingering regrets, it had to do with sleeping with Veronica’s boyfriend. An icy marble of guilt rolled in her chest.

  “Where’s Veronica?” Rafia whispered.

  “Downstairs,” Chet said.

  He kicked off his sneakers, lowered his sweat pants. His cock pointed straight out, long and thick, like an accusing finger.

  Rafia bit her lip. She didn’t want to be sneaky.

  “Veronica doesn’t care,” Chet said, reading her mind.

  As he got himself into position, Rafia watched the heavy sack between his legs sway. “Why doesn’t she care?” Rafia asked, her voice barely audible.

  She groaned with pleasure as Chet sank deep inside her. Her classmates’ semen had left her well lubricated, slippery beyond belief. Chet paused, and Rafia was grateful for the opportunity to accommodate herself to the big dick in her wet hole.

  “Tonight,” Chet said, “she’s making a little sacrifice.”

  He began to move his hips and Rafia wrapped her arms around his neck. It wasn’t her betraying Veronica. Chet began thrusting his hips in earnest, his plunges evacuating Rafia’s pussy of the semen already deposited there. She felt it flowing from her, wetting the cushions.

  Veronica had betrayed Rafia. It was strange for her to come to the realization this way, with her libido rising. Veronica had needed some little no-account girl, someone new to Academy who didn’t matter much. She’d needed an amusement for her guests to enjoy—a punch bowl for the kitchen, a little pump for the upstairs guest room.

  “All the cheerleaders are making a sacrifice tonight,” Chet said.

  Rafia groaned. She recalled the whispers of the girls as she ascended the stairs with Logan. How their eyes had glittered. All of them knew.

  And now t
hose same girls were downstairs—dancing, drinking.

  They were waiting for their boyfriends to come down the stairs, cocks spent, appetites slaked. Instead of using their own hands and mouths to satisfy their dates, the cheerleaders were sending their boyfriends to Rafia. She would do it. She would ride their cocks, accept their thrusts. Receive their salty semen.

  The more she thought about it, the more it turned her on.

  She was the cheerleaders’ little fuck toy.

  “Rafia,” Chet whispered in her ear, his warm breath on her neck. Hearing him say her name warmed Rafia as surely as a sip from the punch.

  She was so very close to her orgasm.

  And then she found herself wondering exactly how many boys were waiting for her outside in the hall. It was a sobering thought and Rafia clutched Chet’s bare back and held tight as he plunged his cock into her again and again.